#or at least make some indication you’ve tried to find answers on your own before asking someone else

[dykeredhood]

The perma-scowl is perma-scowling today

[gothcsz]

imagine moving into your new apartment and finding out that javier peña is your next door neighbour 🤭

tags: f!reader, friends to lovers i think, sprinkle of angst, mutual pining, alcohol consumption, throwing up/vomiting mentioned (if you're squeamish to that kind of thing), javi being javi, untranslated spanish, smut, p in v sex, overstimulation, there are feelings involved, unbeta'd, no use of y/n, if i missed any other tags pls let me know ok thx.

~ 4.2k w/c - gif found on pinterest - masterlist

a/n: i just want javier peña to look at me... is that too much to ask for?! this is tropey asf and not what i was initially thinking of writing when i got this ask—but i like how this lil one shot turned out. i hope you do too, bestie! 🖤

You’re in the middle of unpacking boxes in your new apartment, surrounded by a mess of your own doing, when a sharp knock on the door startles you. You weren’t expecting anyone.

Wiping your hands on your jeans, you head to the door and swing it open to reveal a striking woman. Auburn hair, sharp eyes—she’s undeniably beautiful, but her expression is less than friendly.

Her eyes narrow as she sizes you up. “¿Y tu quien putas eres?” she demands.

Before you can get a word out, she’s already pushing past you into your apartment, not waiting for an invitation. “¿Donde esta Javier? Malparido tramposo. ¡No te escondas de mí!” she continues, storming through your space like she owns it.

You stand there, dumbfounded at the absurdity, watching her move, her fury palpable. Your Spanish is still novice, at best, so you don’t really understand what she’s saying.

“Uh, I think you have the wrong—” you start, but she cuts you off again.

“Wrong, my ass.” She replies, her Colombian accent thick. “I know he lives here. All the Americans do—”

Your brain finally catches up and puts two and two together. She’s looking for Javier Peña. Your colleague and now, apparently, neighbor.

You’ve been quietly, hopelessly crushing on the agent since you started working at the embassy. And now you’re standing in the middle of your half-unpacked apartment while some furious woman is ranting about him.

You’re about to speak again when, as if summoned by the chaos, Javier himself strolls past your open door in the hallway. The woman halts, her eyes following him like a predator tracking its prey.

You see her face shift from righteous fury to utter confusion. It hits her finally—she’s in the wrong apartment, like you tried to tell her.

She mutters something you can’t understand, barely meeting your eyes before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

You stand there, blinking, still processing what just happened. If that was any indication on how things around here will go, at least you know you won’t be bored.

It’s later in the evening when there’s another knock at the door. You’re almost hesitant to answer, unsure if you’ll be met by another beautiful woman scorned, so this time you make sure to look through the peephole before blindly opening it.

It’s Javier.

You glance down at your clothes, suddenly self-conscious. You’re not exactly at your best, sweaty and disheveled from moving all day. Definitely not how you pictured running into him outside of work.

You take a deep breath, trying to pull yourself together, then open the door, “Hey.” You greet him, a little shy.

He leans casually against your doorframe, that signature smirk playing on his lips. “Sorry about earlier,” his deep voice sends a shiver down your spine. “Not the best way to be welcomed into the neighborhood.”

He glances past you, noticing the half-unpacked boxes scattered around your apartment, and you’re mortified for a second, wondering how messy everything must look through his eyes.

You laugh, though it’s a little shaky. “I, uh… didn’t know you lived next door.”

Javier grins, giving you a devastatingly handsome smile that you’ve only seen when he tries to bribe his way through some of the other girls at the office. “Yeah, been here since I moved to Bogotá,” his eyes linger on you, but you don’t notice with how you’re focused on not making a fool out of yourself. 

“Well I hope you and your… friend worked things out.”

He exhales through his nose in an amused laugh. “Somethin’ like that,” he says, sounding almost entertained by the whole thing. “I owe you for that inconvenience.”

Your heart stutters and you hope, no—pray, that your eyes haven’t morphed into hearts with the charming way he’s looking at you.

“It’s fine, really—“

“No, no. I insist. It was rude. The least I can do is make it up to you.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to back down, a stubborn man through and through, you give him a slight nod, trying to play it cool even though your nerves are buzzing. “Okay… sure, fine. You owe me.”

His smirk softens into a half-smile, a little less cocky. He pushes himself off your doorframe, straightening up. “Alright, cariño. I’ll see you around.” The word rolls off his tongue as if he’s said it a thousand times to you, but it lands right between your legs, sending warmth to your cheeks.

“Have a good night,” he adds with that enamoring gravelly voice of his.

You manage to mumble a goodbye, watching as he walks down the hall, his presence making the air feel electric. You’re left standing there, alone with the heavy realization that your harmless work crush just became a lot more dangerous.

Living next door to him is going to be torture.

Months go by, and torture would be an understatement.

You’ve developed an odd, friendly relationship with him. It’s not exactly what you imagined when you first laid eyes on him at the embassy, all brooding intensity and effortless charm, but it works.

You exchange casual greetings in the hallway, little snippets of small talk when you bump into each other at work. 

It’s... normal. Comfortable, in its own way. But every time he says your name, with that gravelly edge to his voice, something flutters in your chest.

He’s even taken it upon himself to help you with your Spanish, which is as endearing as it is embarrassing. On the days when you can steal a few moments to talk, he’ll have you practicing phrases, repeating them until he’s satisfied with your pronunciation. Sometimes, when he’s feeling particularly amused, he’ll leave a sticky note on your door with a new phrase scribbled on it for you to learn.

It’s become part of your routine. Him giving you little bits of language, you trying to impress him with how quickly you can pick it up. You tell yourself it’s just a… fun thing, nothing more.

Then there are the nights when you’ve made too much dinner. You know that man doesn’t eat. Not properly, anyway. So you bring over a plate, standing awkwardly at his door until he opens it, shirt half-buttoned and hair tousled, like he just rolled out of bed.

“Brought you something,” you say, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens as his eyes flicker to yours, a mix of surprise and amusement.

“Thanks, cariño,” he takes the food from you with that half-smile that makes you feel like a damn schoolgirl.

But it’s not always like that. There are times when he’s away for days at a time. Out doing who knows what—your level of work doesn’t intersect with his at all. 

His return comes with whispers around the office or in the form of news broadcasts that seem to be reporting nothing but atrocities as of late.

In the dead of night, you’ll hear the sound of his boots echoing through the enclosed hallway, a sure sign he’s finally back. You wonder what he’s seen, what he’s done while he was gone. The thought keeps you restless sometimes, but you never ask. He doesn’t offer, either.

And then there are the women.

You hear them through the thin walls—his low voice, their laughter, the unmistakable sounds of them fucking. The rhythm of their pleasure reverberates through your apartment, impossible to ignore.

Every time it happens, you’re reminded of the rumors you’ve heard around the office. The whispers about Javier Peña, about how good he is in bed, about how women fall over themselves to spend a night with him. Now, you know firsthand that they’re true.

It stings more than you’d like to admit, considering how you feel about him but knowing that he doesn’t see you as anything but a friend. 

You’ve caught glimpses of him after his flings, too. You kind of wish you could wipe from your memory, if only to keep your sanity.

It’s during different times of the day, really, when he’s leaning casually against his doorframe like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s shirtless, skin still damp from a shower or maybe from the sweat he’s worked up, and his jeans hang sinfully low on his hips. The soft light from the hallway casts shadows over his golden chest, highlighting the faint beauty marks that map his body.

You do your best to keep your eyes averted, pretending you’re not affected, pretending you don’t notice the way his muscles flex as he stretches, or how his dark hair is tousled in that perfectly messy way. But your throat tightens every time, your stomach flipping at how effortlessly good he looks. It’s not fair how someone can make post-coital exhaustion look so damn attractive.

He’s usually saying goodbye to one of the lucky girls, tossing a wink their way, or brushing his fingers through their hair as they share a final kiss.

You tell yourself it’s just Javier being Javier, but it’s impossible to ignore the way jealousy twists in your chest when you see them, all blissed-out and satisfied, practically floating down the hallway after a night with him.

You turn your head, pretend you didn’t just catch a glimpse of him looking like some kind of god, and hurriedly unlock your door before he notices you staring. 

And sometimes, when you least expect it, he catches you.

You’re fumbling with your keys, doing your best to mind your own business, when his voice cuts through the silence. “Hey,” he calls out, casual as ever, and you freeze. Your hand stills on the doorknob, and you force yourself to look up.

Javier is standing there, half naked, leaning against his door as if he has all the time in the world.

You try to swallow the lump in your throat, “Hey.”

“You alright there, cariño?” he asks, voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding back a laugh after watching you struggle with your keys.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a long day.”

He hums, his stare lingering on you, and your heart pounds in a way you can’t quite control. But then, as if nothing’s changed, he shifts back into that familiar, teasing grin.

“Okay, don’t work too hard. Can’t have you burnin’ out before me.”

It all comes to a head one night at the bar near your place. You’re out with a secretary from a different department, downing margaritas like they’re water. You’re tipsy—no, you’re drunk, and the world is spinning just a little too fast.

That’s when you see him. He walks in like he owns the place, scanning the crowded space until his eyes land on you. He acknowledges you with a jut of his chin and you smile drunkenly at him, waving, before you’re brought back to the conversation with your friend.

He’s here for work, meeting one of his informants—a very pretty, very obvious, working girl. You hate how seeing him with her swirls the green in your drunken heart.

Maybe it’s the tequila talking, maybe it’s the months of pent-up frustration, but when Javier approaches as your coworker excuses herself to the bathroom, checking to see if you’re alright, your mouth runs faster than your brain.

“Don’t worry about me,” you slur, waving him off. “I’m sure you’d have more fun with her,” you add, nodding toward the woman with a sharp, sarcastic edge. “Probably more your type anyway.”

Javier raises an eyebrow, his expression shifting into a playful uncertainty, head tilting slightly. “What?”

You don’t know how to respond. Honestly, you’re not even sure you can form a coherent thought right now. All you know is that you’re in way over your head, and he is standing way too close.

But that liquid courage surges through your veins and the words are tumbling out of your mouth.

“It’s obvious, Javier,” your frustration is crystal clear, despite the way your words run into each other. “The kind of company you keep. They’re more fun,” You gesture vaguely toward his booth. “I’m just… here. A bore that’s drunk on a Wednesday night. It’s why you came to check on me. Why you’ve been overly nice.” Your words sting, even as they leave your lips.

The alcohol amplifies every insecurity you’ve kept buried.

The playful look on his face vanishes, replaced by hardened disbelief. His brows furrow, and for a moment, he just stares at you, like he’s trying to figure out how you could possibly think so little of yourself.

Instead of giving you an answer, he just reaches for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. “Come on,” he mutters, “I’m taking you home.”

You snort, shaking your head, another wave of dizziness washing over you. “See? Taking pity on me. Again.”

He rolls his eyes, unfazed by your drunken resistance. “That’s not what this is,” he pulls out a wad of cash and drops it on the bar top to settle your tab.

He makes sure your friend is taken care of, telling the bartender to call a cab for her. Then he goes to dismiss his informant—a woman he definitely had plans to sleep with. She seems surprised, but Javier brushes her off and hands her some money. 

Your drunken mind can’t quite comprehend that he’s choosing to deal with you instead. As he guides you outside, you make it difficult, stumbling and resisting as he tries to steer you toward his car.

“I can walk, Peña,” you grumble, though your legs aren’t exactly cooperating.

“Sure you can,” he says dryly, his arm wrapped around your waist to keep you upright. “You’re making this real easy.” He comments sarcastically.

You’re so going to regret this tomorrow when you’re fighting a hangover at your desk, thinking of how you just fucked up this friendship.

But right now, you can’t focus on anything but how warm his large hand feels against your side as he helps you into the passenger seat.

Your head lolls against the window, and you groan softly. “You didn’t have to do this, you know. You could’ve stayed with her.”

Javier slides into the driver’s seat, glancing at you as he starts the engine. “Everything you said back there was bullshit,” he says bluntly, pulling out of the parking lot. “You think I pity you? That I only talk to you because I feel bad? You really don’t know me at all.”

His words are cutting, but not in a cruel way. He sounds… disappointed. “I like spending time with you,” he continues, quieter now, more serious. “It’s not some charity case. You make me feel normal. When I’m with you, it’s like the rest of the shit I deal with doesn’t exist.” The faint hum of the radio fills the sudden silence.

“You… you’ve got this smile that makes me feel a little better about myself.”

The sincerity in his voice sobers you up just a little, enough for your foggy brain to process what he’s saying. You turn to look at him, eyes wide, but before you can fully grasp it, your stomach lurches.

“Oh no,” you groan, clutching your middle. “I’m gonna be sick.”

He glances at you, and in an instant, he’s speeding up, making it to your complex faster than you would’ve thought possible. He parks hastily, helps you out, and practically carries you to your apartment. The second the door swings open, you make a beeline for the bathroom, barely making it in time to empty your stomach into the toilet.

You hear him lingering by the door, then the sound of running water as he fills a glass in the kitchen. You hate that he’s seeing you like this—pathetic, drunk, and embarrassed.

When you finally sit back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, Javier is there, handing you the glass of water. His expression is soft, more concerned than anything.

“Drink,” he orders gently, crouching next to you. His voice is soothing, and for a moment, the embarrassment fades under the warmth of his presence.

You sip the water, avoiding his gaze, but he’s not letting this go. “You okay?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

He sighs, settling beside you on the bathroom floor. “You’re not a bore. Don’t say that shit.” His voice is firm, but there’s an undercurrent tenderness beneath it.

Your head is swimming—not just from the alcohol, but from everything that’s happened in the last hour. 

You lean your head back against the wall, the glass of water in your hand almost empty. With a soft sigh, you begin to speak, your tone hesitant.

“Sometimes… I just feel average, you know?” you admit, glancing at Javier from the corner of your eye. He’s sitting quietly beside you, his long legs stretched out in front of him,  gaze focused on some point on the floor. “Like there’s nothing more to me than this mediocre job, answering phones, filing papers. I mean, I didn’t move all the way to South America just for that.”

You pause, trying to organize your thoughts. “That’s why I transferred here. I thought maybe… maybe I’d find something more. Maybe I’d find me.” You laugh bitterly, shaking your head. “But ever since I got here, it’s been nothing but monotony and homesickness. I don’t even know if this is where I’m meant to be.”

The words hang between you. You’ve never said this out loud to anyone, never let yourself be so transparent.

Javier doesn’t say anything right away, and it makes you think that maybe you’ve said too much. But then, you hear him sigh softly, his shoulders slumping as if your rambling has hit something deep within him.

He’s silent as he digests your confession, and you’re about to apologize for oversharing when he finally speaks.

“I get it,” he replies, low and rough around the edges. He shifts beside you, resting his arms on his now bent knees while he stares at the floor. “You’re not the only one feeling that way.”

You blink, slightly taken aback by his agreement. You hadn’t expected him to relate—the sharp, confident DEA agent who always seems so sure of himself. He glances at you, offering a wry smile. “You’re not average,” his voice is firmer now, like he’s trying to make you believe it. “It takes time to figure out who you are, what you want. And if it feels like you haven’t found that yet, that doesn’t make you less than.”

There’s an irony in his words, and he lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I should probably take my own advice,” he admits.

Your heart flutters at his reassurance, but you can see it in his eyes—there’s more. Something heavier sits in his chest, pulling him down.

“What about you? What’s weighing on you?”

Javier sighs again, leaning his head back against the wall like you. “This job,” he says simply, but you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “It’s… confusing. Difficult. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore. I thought I’d come here, do some good, but it’s just…” He trails off, his jaw tightening. “I’ve lost myself in all of it. The work. The women. Because I don’t know what else to do.”

Your chest tightens as he speaks, hearing the vulnerability in his words. He’s always seemed so unshakeable, but now you can see the cracks in his armor, all that he’s been carrying. And then he turns to look at you, his expression softening.

“But you,” he says quietly, “you’re the one thing that keeps me grounded in all this shit.”

You look down, not believing that he’s actually saying this to you. You have to be dreaming. 

“Your smile, the way your eyes light up when you’re happy. Shit, even the way you butcher half your Spanish words with that accent of yours.” He chuckles, and despite the heaviness of the moment, you can’t help but laugh with him.

The tension breaks for just a second, and when you finally meet his gaze again, your breath snags. He’s already staring at you, his beautiful brown eyes gleaming.

You quickly look away out of habit, your heart hammering in your chest, but then he calls your name softly. “Mírame, cariño,” he says, all gentle and insistent.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to do so.

“I’m not just telling you this to score. I mean it.”

And you don’t doubt it for a second. However, the moment is too heavy, too intense for your tequila-soaked brain to handle. You can taste the lingering bitterness of the alcohol, your throat feels raw, and your head is already starting to pound. You’re too disoriented to fully process this moment that’s happening.

“I know,” you nod, picking at your cuticles, “I just don’t think right now is the best time to have this conversation.” Your words are punctuated by a hiccup and you bring your hand up to cover your mouth in fear of accidentally throwing up again.

Javier’s lips twitch with amusement, but he works his jaw, nodding in agreement. “You’re right. Not the best time,” he concedes, though the way he says it tells you he wanted this conversation to happen—needed it to.

“I just had to tell you. And if you genuinely feel like you don’t belong here then go home.” He tells you softly, though his cadence and the softening expression on his face say otherwise.

You glance at him, your lips curving into a weak smile. “While I do feel lost, I think half of all this is the margaritas’ doing,” you admit, your voice a little hoarse.

“Tequila’s dangerous like that,” he agrees with a small laugh, shaking his head. 

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to push through the embarrassment still swirling around inside of you. “I’m sorry about what happened at the bar,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean to be so self deprecating.”

He waves off your apology, his expression relaxed. “It’s no problem.”

“Thank you for bringing me home, and for… opening up like that… I know it wasn’t easy.” Your voice softens as you say it.

He gives you a small smile, but his eyes linger on you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “You make it easy,” he says finally, the words leaving his mouth like a confession.

You sit there on the cool bathroom floor, your heart stumbling all over the place. Leaving isn’t an option anymore. Not when Javier Peña looks at you like this. Not after realizing that you mean so much more to him than you could have ever thought possible.

Javier hovers above you, his gaze locked with yours, filled with desire and adoration. Your legs are tightly wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, feeling every inch of him as his hips move suavely while he fucks you. 

His breath is hot against your neck, biting and licking at your skin. You can barely keep your thoughts straight, your mind clouded with the pleasure he’s stirring in you, the rhythm of his body guiding you to that edge again and again.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, his voice a low growl, “You feel so good, baby. I can feel how close you are... all for me.”

Your body clenches around him in response, a soft whimper escaping your lips as the pleasure tightens inside you, building and building. It’s the fifth time tonight he’s coaxed this out of you, and you don’t know how you’re still holding on.

His weight presses against you and your nails dig into the broad expanse of his broad shoulders, pulling him impossibly close. His chest, warm and slick with sweat, crushes against yours, and the hairs at the base of his cock graze your swollen clit with every thrust, sending shockwaves through you.

You gasp, your voice trembling with each word. “Javier... I can’t... it’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t relent, instead he grins down at you, a wicked spark in his eyes, pressing his lips against your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—kissing you everywhere he can reach while his other hand keeps your jaw locked in place, fingers denting into your skin.

His lips finally find yours in a messy, urgent kiss, swallowing your moans as your body tightens around him again. You’re lost in what he’s giving you, your world spinning as your orgasm tears through you, leaving you a trembling mess beneath him.

His hips stutter as he groans your name, his cock twitching inside you while he comes. He stays there, still buried inside, his body heavy and comforting as the world fades back into focus.

When he finally pulls away, his touch softens. He’s gentle as he plants tender kisses on your forehead, your nose, your lips. His hand caresses your naked side, soothing you as your breathing slows. He shifts then, pulling you close into the safety of his arms, his body wrapped around yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Just relax.”

He stays with you, his hand tracing lazy circles on your back, murmuring soft reassurances until you’re completely at ease, your body melting into his.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @almostempty . @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @sunshinefive . @dinanabuu . @angiewatson .

[fungalenchantress]

Just working though some thoughts I’m having

Recently a formerly dear friend of mine broke up with me over a three minute text conversation about cleaning the house. There are many factors that lead to this outcome and I won’t suggest that I don’t have at least some blame. However, despite any other reasons for the conflict, I do believe the primary reason was my friend's inability to see beyond herself and her feelings and see me as another well meaning person.

I noticed that my friend and I had different approaches to the needs and wants of our loved ones pretty early in our friendship. I have always tried to consider the needs of the people I care about as approximately as important as my own, given the context of the situation of course. I try to find a good balance and never neglect my own needs in my endeavor to be there for the people I care about. I acknowledge there are pitfalls to this way of behaving. I do not believe this is the best way for a person to be. I myself have fallen into the trap of being too giving of my time and energy to people before and making them uncomfortable. It is easy to do. I do think I’ve gotten better at avoiding this over time, but I will never be perfect. Certainly I’m also selfish at times, and that’s also ok. I’m not claiming to be free of desire, just describing how I try to be aware of others.

On the other hand, my friend doesn’t seem to consider the wants or needs of the people around her when it comes to most things. I don’t mean she never does anything nice for people, she’s bought me thoughtful gifts and if you ask her to help with something she often will, it’s just without external prompting she very rarely seems to incorporate other’s needs into her thoughts and plans. (And even with external prompting I VERY rarely see her go out of her way to help others) For example, if she makes food she doesn’t clean the kitchen so that someone else could cook after her. Or if she’s going to the grocery store she doesn’t shoot a quick text to her housemates asking if anyone needs something. These little ways we can just consider others in our day-to-day life. To be clear, I do not believe there is anything inherently wrong with behaving like this. I am fully aware that if behavior like this makes you uncomfortable, the answer is to simply move on and befriend someone else, not to try to blame or change the person. As I got to know her I just didn’t really mind that we approached relationships differently. There were so many other things I appreciated about her, like her (verbal) compassion for others and quick wit.

The problem came when I finally had the courage to disagree with her about something. To even frame it that way certainly indicates that I knew there was some issue, because I avoided thinking about how uncomfortable disagreeing with her made me up until this point. It didn’t help that I think she has a great deal of insecurity tied to the topic of cleaning and cleanliness. Regardless, the unavoidable consequences of that mindset was very suddenly laid bare, her inability to consider the thoughts or needs of others lead her to jump over any potential introspection and straight to rage as a defense mechanism. At which point, as she wasn’t thinking of me as a thinking feeling person who cared about her, instead I seem to have become “evil bitch who hates me” rather than and then use that as moral justification to verbally accost me, and eventually even physically menace me.

This is awful for all sorts of reasons. The worst for me is the helplessness. Once you get placed in the category of “evil bitch” there is nothing you can do to escape. You are just trapped there as people you’ve never been anything but kind to don’t even come to talk to you because they heard you were a bad, abusive person and anything you say is lies or misrepresenting the truth. It is an isolating nightmare. And it’s disturbing to know that for so many people your actions mean nothing. Should not our previous behavior be justification enough for at least listening to your experience as well? “Believing the Victim” is a powerful concept that I do firmly support, but what happens when the victim is portrayed by the person perpetuating the abuse as the abuser? The answer is illustrated in the recent Depp V Heard trial where it simply didn’t matter what the reality was (Depp was objectively the abuser) because all that needed to happen was he had to say she was also an abuser and that became the reality many people believe to this day. 

I can’t help but remember the concept from “A Self Defense Study Guide for Trans Women“ that crowds will always subconsciously side against a trans woman and wonder if that plays a role here too. I always hesitate to claim something’s transphobic unless it’s blatant because of the fear I have of using that as an excuse to ignore legitimate criticism. But right now I can’t help but wonder if that’s at least part of why not one of our mutual friends has come to comfort me. I don’t know. In my darker moments I wonder if perhaps they don’t come because I’m the one in the wrong, that somehow I’m the abuser in this scenario. Then I remember that I spoke calmly from a place of empathy and understanding for both our needs, and she tried to menace me into my room so she could “talk to me” alone. So I remind myself that regardless of who was right and who was wrong in the original argument, the escalation and behavior of my former friend are unacceptable. 

At least, I think so?

[forebodingprophet]

Manners and Decorum

               “When?”

               Anastasios looked up from the paperwork on his desk and eyed the intruder warily before heaving a sigh. 

               “‘When’ what?”

               The intruder, resembling a teenager even younger than himself, stormed over and slammed his hands on the desk.

               “You said the portrait lady comes to visit sometimes.  I want to know when.”  Anastasios had to shield his documents from the rain of angry spittle the teen produced. 

               “I don’t know,” Anastasios replied.  “Why do you care so much?”

               “I just do!  Why’s it matter to you?” 

               The teen was actually a rather ancient Zoroark.  If someone told Anastasios that he was the same age as Lady Aria, he’d believe it, but that didn’t even begin to answer the question of why he wanted to meet her so badly.

               “Look, considering the first time we met you tried to turn me into a pile of fleshy chunks, not to mention the fact that even after a year here you can’t be bothered to learn the most basic of civilities like knocking or saying ‘hello’ before demanding things from the young master of the mansion, indicates to me that you are not fit to meet her.  Regardless of my own personal opinion on the matter, other members of the house would throw a fit if I let someone so uncouth anywhere near Her Holiness again.  Frankly speaking, you standing here trying to intimidate me into acquiescing and summoning her for a visit is far less intimidating than the idea of having to deal with the entirety of my family breathing down my neck again.”  The Zoroark balked, his hands clenching into fists as he began to pace angrily back and forth.  He stopped his pacing after a moment, turning as if to bark at Anastasios again, but then returned to pacing.  Anastasios returned the majority of his attention back to the document pile in front of him.  “Look, I get that you have some circumstances.  You aren’t required to tell us about those circumstances so long as you don’t bear your fangs at any members of my family.  But you cannot simply expect the future leader of the house to bend to your every whim just because we worked together.  Especially when the request you’re making is being made not only without decorum, but is also a request to meet one of the most powerful individuals in the world.  Understand, I have to keep her safety in mind.”  Even though the last thing Balia needed was Anastasios looking after her safety.  That seemed to make the fox relent though.  Now, rather than looking desperate, he just looked frustrated, and more with himself than Anastasios.  The young patriarch returned his attention to his intruder.  “You’ve lived for hundreds, if not thousands, of years.  I can promise you that a visit will come, especially while I and Hikaze are alive.  Until then, you need only make yourself presentable- or at the very least learn to control your impulsiveness.  That’s your current major flaw.”

               “I don’t want to hear that from the person who lets that run amok as he pleases.”

               Anastasios’ expression dropped.  “That is a lost cause.  Consider it a blessing that you have more intelligence than him, and simply leave it at that.  At least you’re capable of learning.  He could barely even learn the most basic of noble pleasantries in three months.  I’m sure you will find more success.  Consider it a compliment that I even have expectations.”

“… So… where am I supposed to learn these… manners?” the fox grumbled out.

               “You can ask Théo.  His manners are overly impeccable.”  The man wouldn’t even use Anastasios’ name in an informal setting.  “I’ll tell him to teach you if you can manage to approach him with the basic manner of saying ‘please’.”  The Zoroark grumbled, and Anastasios could almost see his tail swishing back and forth in frustration.  Was it because he had memories of Erebus doing the exact same sort of thing?  That was probably why he was willing to even give the fox a chance at all.  “Regardless, we’re going to have a while before I can even attempt to invite her anyways,” Anastasios ground out as his eyes shifted to the mountains of paperwork on his desk.  Seriously, was his papous trying to bury him?  It certainly felt like it.  “Can’t do a damned thing until I finish all the work papous foisted back off on me the second we resolved that issue.  I can’t tell if its supposed to be training or a punishment.”

               The fox snickered.

               “Just remember,” Anastasios said with a nasty grin, “I can’t send even so much as a letter to Lady Aria until this is all complete.”  That wiped the smile of the other’s face pretty quickly, and the fox was back to frowning at the mere idea of Anastasios’ general existence.  “Ah ah ah,” Anastasios scolded.  “Remember, manners.”

               “I didn’t even-!”  The fox grunted loudly before storming out, likely not wanting to deal with Anastasios any more than he absolutely had to today. 

               “You do so love to get people to leave you alone by making them as upset with you as you can, don’t you,” Celia remarked from her spot on the chair nearby where she had heard every bit of the conversation.

               “If only it worked half as well on that idiot, I could finally get some of this work done.”

               “Shoulda thought of that before you went off to do everything on your own.”

               “I’d say ‘I won’t do it again’, but this house won’t give me much of a choice.”  Anastasios returned to his work, muttering discontentedly under his breath about the ridiculousness of bureaucracy and politics in a house.

[landoncrris]

secret heart - chapter four

mason mount x reader

SECRET HEART // MASTERLIST

notes: italics indicate a flashback

word count: 3.4k

When your alarm started ringing the next morning, you immediately opened your eyes and tried to switch it off as quickly as possible. Even though you were still too tired to know exactly why. But as you rubbed your eyes and cleared your view, you realised that you weren’t in your bedroom. In fact, in a room that didn’t look familiar to you at all. After a few more seconds, you felt a slight pressure on your shoulder, and when you turned around, you found Mason lying next to you.

He lay on his side, his arms tucked under the pillow, while his forehead rested against your shoulder. At that moment you remembered everything that had happened last night. The thought of it, and the sight of Mason beside you with his lashes lying on his cheeks and his mouth slightly open — his lips looking even pinker than usual — made you smile.

However, that only lasted until you remembered that you had to go to uni soon and also find an excuse why you didn’t come home last night to tell Kai and Sophia. For a short moment you thought about skipping today’s lectures so you could be there for Mason, as you were sure he would have a terrible hangover. You could make him breakfast, maybe some pancakes or scrambled eggs or whatever he was in the mood for.

But you wondered once again if his sober self wanted you around as much as his drunken self. Which you couldn’t possibly know, so you quietly made your way out of his bed so as not to wake him yet. You glanced in the mirror and saw yourself standing there in only his T-shirt, which was obviously too big for you, but you liked it. After replacing it with your own clothes from the day before, you looked around his room again. Your eyes lingered a little longer on the dresser with the various perfumes and deodorants, hoping that he wouldn’t mind or notice if you put some on yourself. And you had to admit that it smelled fantastic, you must have chosen the right perfume because it smelled just like him.

You left him the neatly folded T-shirt, another glass of water, some painkillers you found in your bag and a note saying to call you as soon as he woke up and that you already had to go to uni. You also thought of making him something to eat again before leaving, but you didn’t want to feel too much like home and use his kitchen without his permission, so you decided against it.

*

After only twenty minutes of driving, your phone rang. Without looking, you quickly connected it to the car speakers and answered the call with a small “Hello?”.

“Hey.” Mason groaned on the other end of the phone. His voice sounded as deep as you’ve ever heard it, and the slight edge to it already told you that he must feel terrible without needing to ask.

“Good morning, you feeling okay?” you wanted to make sure, whereupon he snorted as if to say that he was clearly not.

“Like someone cut my brain in half and tried to put it back together.” You couldn’t see it, but his back slid further down the headboard where he had been sitting before. Turning on his side, his head at least found some comfort in his soft pillow. However, the other half of his bed smelled like you, which, without admitting it, made him smile.

“Have you taken the painkillers I put on the bedside table for you yet?”

“Yup. Thank you.” he tried to hide a yawn as his body still seemed to be in desperate need of sleep, but he didn’f feel like hanging up either. “I’m sorry I ruined your evening, though.”

“You got me away from a date that was only semi nice, so there’s nothing to apologize for.” you tried to joke, even though he still felt guilty for calling you out of all the people he could have called, he felt some kind of relief from hearing that your date was only semi nice.

“Did I throw up?” he asked to change the subject. As he really couldn’t remember much after the called you. Only fragments of the moment when you took him to your car, and of the moment when he suddenly sat in his hallway and messily brushed off his jacket and shoes. After that, there was nothing.

“Mmm.”

“Great.” he grumbled after you hummed in reply. That explained why it was not only his head that was bothering him, but also the question of whether he should try and eat something or just go back to sleep to get rid of the headache first.

“Listen, I’m at uni now, but if you need anything, just give me a call, yeah?” you said after a few moments of silence. As you just turned the last corner before arriving at your uni’s car park. Trying to make him understand that you would do it again anytime and take care of him. Since that’s what friends were for.

“Okay, yeah. Thank you a lot, see you.” he said, waiting for your answer before hanging up.

*

The next few days were luckily very different from your last week. You talked to Mason more now, thankfully, but you also saw him almost every day as he visited you quite often at work, you both getting a coffee to go and took a walk before you both went home separately again each time. Only yesterday you didn’t see him as he started training again and therefore didn’t have time to come over, which you were sad about, but you also understood that he couldn’t.

You just walked in the front door, happy that the weekend was finally starting and you could have two days off again. You took off your shoes and put them to the side as you caught the smell of food from the kitchen, coupled with a sizzling sound. Immediately you hoped it was Sophia cooking something, as you had not had a chance to eat that day. But you wondered if you should really join her, as you could hear her and Kai arguing about something. Doubting that they hadn’t heard you, you made your way to the kitchen anyway.

“So what, Kai? He is one of your best friends—”

“Exactly.” you could understand them better now as you approached the kitchen and stopped in the doorway, but you didn’t want to eavesdrop secretly. So you knocked softly on the door, catching their attention as you smiled at them. But you only got a smile back from Sophia, who was indeed standing in front of the counter cooking something.

“Am I interrupting?”

“No,” Kai replied, ignoring Sophia’s sigh as she turned her attention back to the pan in her hand. You walked over to the kitchen island and sat down in your usual spot as you dropped your bag down on the stool next to you. You were about to ask everyone how their day had been when Kai interrupted your thoughts.

“We need to talk anyways.” he added, making you swallow. You were afraid that despite their promises that you could live with them as long as you needed to, they would kick you out. Which would be understandable, but not something you were ready for at the moment.

“About what?” he raised his eyebrows and took a deep breath, turning over his phone that was lying on the counter and handing it to you. “This.” he said, crossing his arms as he waited for you to look at it. When you saw it, a nervous knot formed in your stomach. You saw two pictures of you and Mason that someone had taken and published, of you walking down the streets holding hands two days ago.

“It doesn’t taste good?” you asked as you looked over at Mason and watched him frown and clear his throat after taking a sip of his coffee. He didn’t normally order this one, but you told him it was your favourite and how amazing it tasted, so you made him one for your little walk that day.

“What? No, it’s good.” he kept his gaze forward as he slowed down a little, and his behaviour worried you. You already had many scenarios running through your head of what could be wrong. Mason cleared his throat once more and suddenly turned around so that he was standing right in front of you, bringing you to a halt.

“Let’s just go back, we’ve walked enough, haven’t we?” he muttered, trying to walk past you and back to your two cars. But you grabbed him by the wrist so that he stopped and closed his eyes dejectedly. You just looked at him dumbfounded, not understanding why he was suddenly behaving like that.

“Are you all right? What’s wrong?” you asked, loosening your grip around his waist, thinking that maybe he just wasn’t feeling well and that it didn’t really have anything to do with you. He was about to open his mouth and mutter some stupid excuse when someone came up behind him. A blonde girl who wrapped her hand around his arm like it was nothing as she tried to get a better look at his face. Her eyes flashed as she did so.

“Oh hi Mason, fancy seeing you here.” she said, her voice sounding very squeaky, obviously happy to see him. While he only smiled half-heartedly, wishing you had turned right earlier, as you had suggested, instead of going down this path.

“Hey.” he nodded while you tried to connect the dots. For a moment you thought it might be the girl from the club, but as far as your memory went, her hair was much lighter than that of the girl who was just standing in front of you. Her eyes lingered on him, a twinkle in them, before she looked over at you for the first time. The smile on her face was replaced by raised eyebrows, eyeing you curiously from top to bottom. She was probably wondering who you were as much as it was the other way around.

“Oh, right. Um, Lucy, Y/N. Y/N, Lucy.” he pointed his fingers between the two of you, introducing you as a nervous laugh left him. He still had Lucy’s hand around his bicep as if they were together. But when he told you her name, a name he had spoken about before, you remembered the conversation you had on one of the first rides to your university. You talked about the reason you moved to London. So you told him about your ex-boyfriend, which quickly ended in the two of you exchanging horrible relationship stories. He didn’t tell you much about her, just that it was his latest relationship and that he’d certainly never been as heartbroken as he was then.

She barely gave you a smile in response and immediately turned her head back to Mason, now grinning again. The hand that had been wrapped around his bicep now rested flat on his chest, and you now wished you had taken a different path too. “So, how have you been?” she asked as you could see his hands playing with each other around the cup, rubbing his fingers together. Something he always did when he was nervous. And all you wanted was to somehow get him out of this situation, as you knew how hard it must be.

“Good, good. And you?” he replied, trying to avoid eye contact with her as much as possible. He felt more than uncomfortable in this situation. Feeling like he was being punched in the stomach all over again, and with you as an audience he felt even worse.

“Oh, you know... I’m fine now, but I’ve been thinking about you a lot. About us.” said Lucy with a pout on her face. And although you didn’t know exactly what she had done, and whether the break-up was even entirely her fault, you felt a kind of anger towards her. It only got worse with every word she uttered at that moment. Mason was about to open his mouth and say something when she continued.

“Maybe we should try again? We could go out tomorrow night?” her hand that had been resting on his chest now slid up to his shoulder, a sweet smile on her face. But a mischievous gleam in her eyes that already let you know that if he said yes, you would strongly advise against it. Even if it was out of your hands.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” he said, quickly saying no before his body could betray him and giving in to her. He knew he really didn’t want to do that. His fingers were still playing nervously with each other as he wondered if he should say anything else. Although that was all there was to say, it really wouldn’t be a good idea.

“At least think about it, you still have my number, don’t you?” asked Lucy, but as she spoke your hand found his. You didn’t think about it, you just wanted to comfort him however you could, and thought that intertwining your hand with his would help a little to stop him getting even more nervous. At least, you hoped it would. But suddenly he felt himself getting even more nervous, only for different reasons. But he found the confidence he needed in himself when you squeezed his hand a few times, showing him that you were there for him.

“I won’t. But thank you.” She rolled her eyes, raised her eyebrows and scoffed. It only added to the annoyance you felt for her. She adjusted the small bag that sat on her shoulder and patted his chest with her hand. “I know you will.” she said before winking at him and not even looking at you again before disappearing. You and Mason remained standing there, holding hands. You didn’t push him to talk about anything, though, so you were still none the wiser about what had actually happened in their relationship.

“I— Kai, there’s nothing going on between us, I promise.” you said, because you knew that was his only concern, and that was also the first thing going through your mind, as you saw how it must’ve looked to others. But he just laughed and threw his head back in the process.

“You could at least tell me the truth, Y/N.” He looked at you again and propped his arms on the edge of the kitchen island.

“I am.” and you were, because nothing ever happened between you. You even told Sophia several times that you didn’t want anything to happen, who was still standing next to you both at that moment, her posture revealing that she was trying very hard not to say anything herself. Fortunately, because you didn’t know whether she would support you or not.

“Yeah, do you think I’m stupid? Despite clear evidence, you still try to lie to me?” to which you laughed incredulously. He has always been stubborn, but why he was so convinced that you were lying to him, you didn’t understand. You jumped off from the bar stool and grabbed your bag, wanting to leave as there wasn’t much left to say.

“Okay, for the last time. I’m not lying and we’re not dating or anything—”

“But you are.”

“But we’re not.”

“Then why are you holding hands?” you rolled your eyes at his stupid assumption. You knew everyone else would think the same, you just hoped it wouldn’t get through to your acquaintances. Because that probably wouldn’t make your situation any easier at the moment. When you looked Kai in the eye again, you noticed that he was still staring at you with raised eyebrows. Causing you to open your mouth, wanting to answer his question. But since you felt that you couldn’t just tell him the truth, not knowing how much he knew about Mason and Lucy, you didn’t get a word out.

“Yeah, see.” snorted Kai and stormed past you out of the kitchen. He was being dramatic, yes, but without you being able to give him an answer to his question, you couldn’t even blame him now. You lowered yourself back onto the bar stool, Sophia turning to you with a sympathetic smile but saying nothing, not knowing what. You decided to send Mason a message to see if he was home and if you could come over. After he answered both questions in the affirmative, you jumped off from the bar stool again and made your way to the car.

*

“Hey, come on in.” said Mason as he opened the door, a big smile on his face as always. He stepped aside so you could walk past him before he closed the door behind you. “Any particular reason you wanted to come over?” he asked as you walked towards his living room, he flopped down on the sofa before tapping the seat next to him.

“Mhm. Did you see the pictures?” you asked and sat down next to him, looking around you noticed that he has been watching a film that was now on hold. As he looked at you in confusion, he wondered if he had forgotten something or if you had sent him something without him seeing it, but he couldn’t remember anything.

“What pictures?”, which made it clear that he did not know what you were talking about. You then unlocked your phone, still having the website open where the pictures had been published, and held out your phone for him to take.

“Oh.”

“Well, at least you didn’t have to argue with Kai about it.” you mumbled, watching his reaction. To be honest, you would have expected a worse one, because he only frowned for a few seconds as he looked at them. Before he pushed the phone back at you, looking rather unbothered. Which you found odd, because when you looked for the pictures, you didn’t see any of him and another girl. Only with you.

“Anyway, I was wondering if you could do something about it? I don’t know, make them disappear or something?” you laughed, but he just frowned again. Mason searched your face for some sign that you were joking, but found none. Although, to be honest, he was surprised at himself that these pictures didn’t bother him at all.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want it on the internet.” you said with a shrug, not understanding why he needed a reason, because you came here thinking that he would agree with you and do something, anything, to get those pictures taken down again.

“But why?” he urged further, sitting up straighter and turning his body so that it faced you to await your answer.

“I just don’t want anyone to see.”

“So what, you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?” he asked, though he immediately hoped the words hadn’t slipped out, fearing it would come out wrong. He really didn’t want to argue with you so as not to scare you away.

“No, of course not, but it gives the wrong impression.” you explained. He then took a deep breath and tried to relax and calm down. Even though he didn’t quite understand why he was so irritated, because it was true, it gave the impression that you might be together. But that was not the case.

“So what did you tell Kai anyways?”

“I told him there was nothing going on between us.” you sighed, letting your head fall back onto the back of the sofa. This whole issue has taken more energy out of you than it should have, but you were probably just tired from work and uni and these two arguments didn’t help.

“Is there?”

[moonlit-reveriee]

Baby Blue

technoblade x fem!reader

concept: techno is scared of ‘corrupting’ the reader, but the reader’s kinda into it...

content warning // NSFW, virgin!reader, very minor angst?, small argument that gets resolved

listen to this while you read: BBBlue (Single) by Olivver the Kid

(this fic was heavily inspired by the lyrics of this song, so i highly recommended giving it a listen!)

───※ ·���· ※───

When Techno found out you were a virgin, he was terrified. Not necessarily of the thought itself, but of the implications.

He’d never forget the look on your face when you told him. You tried to be casual about it, but he knew you well enough to spot the dusting of pink across your cheeks. You nuzzled yourself closer into his side. Whether out of embarrassment or something else entirely, he couldn’t tell. All he could feel was his heart dropping as the voices chanted at him to “ruin her”

Of course you, his pure sweet angel, would be a virgin. He once again crumbled under the idea that you had chosen him. How on earth could a person like you even think of being with a beast like him. Yet alone, giving up your virginity to him.

He hated how horribly turned on he was by the thought of taking it.

The voices had been relentless about it ever since. They were hyper focused on your every move, twisting every thought of his into something promiscuous. When you rolled out of bed in the morning and stretched, a small sigh escaping your lips, it was endless cries of “make her do that again” “you should fuck those moans out of her” “make her scream”

While making breakfast together in the morning, they wouldn’t stop telling him to “bend her over the counter” “take it right here”

Even at times where he was alone, the voices preoccupied him with endless thoughts of you. He was fairly certain they had forced him to imagine every possible way in which he could have you. “imagine fucking her against the wall” “you can be gentle for the first time y’know” “she’d feel so good writhing underneath us” “press her face into the mattress instead” “make her get on her knees and suck you off” “she’ll be such a pretty little slut for us”

He tried to take care of himself as often as he could, but it was becoming impossible to keep up with. There were only so many times a day he could jerk himself off alone behind locked doors. He was desperate, and sexually frustrated to say the least.

He felt disgusting for it.

After a week of this torment, he could barely even look at you yet alone touch you without the voices and his own guilt pounding against his skull. You couldn’t even think about broaching the subject again, because he was avoiding physical contact like the plague. He wouldn’t come to bed until he knew you were asleep, and would leave long before you woke.

As much as he tried to hide it, you could tell he was tired. Something was wrong, but you knew that he’d never just tell you about his problems unprompted. Techno was insufferably stubborn in that way. After several days of avoiding your gaze and leaning away from your touch, you chose to confront him.

“Techno”, you called for his attention quietly, trying to sound stern while remaining gentle with him. He didn’t turn to fully face you, but he glanced at the spot on the wall just above your head.

You struggled to find the words you wanted to say, so you settled on telling him, “Techno, you look tired.”

He turned his attention away from you. “Just a lot of work around the house this week. I’ll be fine after I rest.”

“Then come to bed with me.” You saw the way his body tensed and tilted away from you at that simple suggestion.

“I just need to write a couple letters first. You can go ahead of me.”

“Techno...”, you whined, daring to take a step closer to him. He gave you an almost panicked look, “why does it feel like you’ve been avoiding me?”

“I haven’t been avoiding you”, he responded quickly, trying to look through you instead of at you.

“Yes you have”, you responded firmly. A flash of guilt washed over his face at your tone. “You haven’t kissed or touched me for nearly a week now. I don’t even know for sure if you sleep in the same bed as me anymore. Fuck, you barely even talk to me.”

Angry tears threatened to spill down your cheeks, but you wanted to hold them in. Techno felt his chest tighten at the sight of it. He instinctively turned and reached out to comfort you, but forced himself to freeze.

“There”, you said, gesturing towards him, “just like that. You’re stopping yourself. Why are you doing that?”

He repeatedly opened and closed his fists at his side, wanting to have any conversation other than this one.

“[y/n], there’s just a lot going on in my mind right now”, he said. It wasn’t a complete lie. “I just need to work though it.”

“Then let me help you.”

“No”, he responded a little too quickly, “I- I mean, I just don’t want to talk about it with you yet...”

“Why not?”, you retorted, trying to squeeze any information you could out of him.

“I just don’t, okay? It’s uncomfortable, I don’t want to talk about it yet.”

“... is this about me being a virgin?”

“I never said that”, he replied, but the tension in his shoulders was enough to tip you off.

“Ah geez Technoblade, if it was that much of a problem for ya, you should have just told me”, you said sarcastically, “instead of avoiding all physical contact for a like week straight!”

“It’s not a problem, [y/n].”

“Certainly doesn’t feel that way.”

Techno huffed in frustration, grabbing a fistful of his hair at the root. He wasn’t sure if he was more upset with himself, or the fact that a few of the voices were still begging him to “please fuck her already”

“Love, I wasn’t avoiding you because I didn’t want it. They”, he tapped a finger against the side of his skull, “they want it so badly. It’s driving me insane.”

He breathed in and out shakily, trying to gauge your expression in the brief moments before he continued.

“I’m a monster. I’ve spilt more blood than anyone every should in a single lifetime. My appearance is more beast than man.”

He looked up briefly to find you staring right at him, a tight-lipped frown upon your face.

“What does that have to do with any of this?”

“I- ... I don’t want to corrupt your innocence”, he admitted.

“What on earth do you mean by that?”

“[y/n], you’re so perfect”, he answered almost breathlessly, “you’re so kind and so pure. Just living with me does enough to taint your reputation, I don’t wanna-“

He cut himself off to swallow thickly. He almost seemed scared of the words he was going to say next.

“I don’t want to ruin this part of you either...”

A heavy silence filled the tiny sitting room of techno’s cottage. In those few seconds, your eyes widened ever so slightly as his words suddenly clicked in your mind. This hulking boar of a man, an undisputed war criminal, was scared. He was scared of damaging you, your reputation, or your recently revealed ‘innocence’. Compared to himself, he saw you as a pure being who could be tainted by unwholesome thoughts.

If what he said about the voices was true, then his actions of the past few days would’ve made sense for him.

“Oh techno...”, you muttered softly, tentatively placing a hand on his jaw. His posture was curled inward, making him look small despite his size. He was stiff at first, but allowed you to lift his gaze to meet yours. He searched your eyes desperately for an indication of your reaction. You gave him a reassuring smile.

“Do you remember when we first met?”

A small wave of confusion washed over his face, but he nodded anyways. “It was at the festival...”

“That’s right”, you said, moving the hand on his face down to rest over his shoulder, “and do you remember what I did that day?”

“You threw an axe into Schlatt’s shoulder”, he answered, watching as the scene played out in his memory.

You lived with Niki in her bakery at the time, and witnessed firsthand the injustice she faced during Schlatt’s presidency. As the chaos after Tubbo’s execution occurred, you took the opportunity to hurl your axe where Schlatt stood upon his podium. The blow wasn’t fatal, but that wasn’t necessarily your goal. You just wanted to see the man in pain.

“It was a lucky shot really”, you admitted, “I wasn’t even aiming properly.” That managed to draw a small smile onto Techno’s lips.

“And do you remember”, you continued, “when I tried to confront the Butcher Army by myself?”

He grimaced at the thought. You had told him you just needed to make a quick trip to L’manburg for some supplies, leaving him at home alone to recover from the previous day’s events. You returned that evening with a sprained wrist and a couple large bruises forming on your body. None of them were trying to kill you, but you took a pretty good beating from Quackity just for trying to confront them.

“Why are you bringing all of this up now?”, he asked.

“Because”, you said, “this is the evidence that will support my next point.”

He looked bewildered by that statement, but continued to listen.

“I’m not a perfect person”, you resumed, “I have blood on my hands just like you do. I know it’s hard to compare to you, but I’m not devoid of my own sins. I can be mean, I’ve hurt people. I’m not a pure, angelic being who would quiver at a single inappropriate thought. I think you forget that sometimes.”

He let your words swirl around in his head; he couldn’t deny the logic in them. The evidence prevented him from denying the truth of your statement. He could almost be mad that you’d talked him into a corner, but he was more overjoyed at the fact that you knew him well enough to do so.

“And you know...”, you spoke quietly, letting your hand fall down to rest on his chest, “if you did somehow ‘corrupt my innocence’ as you say... I really wouldn’t mind that.”

Techno’s breath hitched in his throat. There were a brief few moments, maybe minutes, where he just stared at you. Then his lips were on yours; sudden and clumsy, but passionate. You gripped the fabric of his shirt as he grabbed at your waist, desperate to have you in his arms again.

“I’m sorry, I had to”, he muttered, his lips left hovering a hair’s breadth away from yours.

“You’re so silly sometimes”, you sighed affectionately, rubbing small circles into his collarbone. He gave you a gentle smirk before pressing another kiss into your lips.

“I’m sorry darling, I really am”, he said as he drew you into a tight hug. He took in your scent and the feel of your skin for the first time in days. It felt like he could survive off the feeling of your arms wrapped around his body alone. He wondered why he ever let himself be depraved of this.

“You know I trust you, right?”, you spoke with your face pressed into his chest.

“I’m not sure why, but yes.”

You decided not to reprimand him for saying that. You could help him unpack all that later. Instead, you brought your head up to whisper in his ear.

“You have my full and unconditional consent to take my virginity whenever you’re ready.”

Techno inhaled and held his breath, though for what, he wasn’t sure. It took a while for the full weight of those words to sink in. He leaned back to stare at your face, bringing one of his large and shaky hands up to cup your cheek.

“Are you sure?”, his eyes were wide with trepidation, practically pleading with you to tell him the truth. You leaned into his palm, indulging in the feeling of his skin on yours.

“I want you, techno. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Techno was lost in your words. The sudden absence of guilt left his heart light and airy in his chest. For the first time in days, the voices were only a gentle murmur.

“she’s so beautiful” “she wants you” “make her feel good” “show her how special she is” “make her smile” “she’ll be so pretty” “she’s always pretty” “be gentle, no need to rush”

“make love to her”

“... I think I’m ready now.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

ayyyy guess who finally finished writing something!!!

parts of this feel a little rushed but ehhhhhh i was just excited to finally post it. i looove writing techno as an extremely self-conscious character who’s too caught up in their own head to see how ridiculous they’re being. so, this was a treat for me to write

i hope you enjoyed :D

-moonlight

[archivewilliamrikerstblog]

I Thought I Told You To Be Careful - William Riker X Reader

Summary: Riker leaves for an Away Mission in a hurry, causing his partner to worry while he is gone. A worry that is at least a little founded when he comes back all scuffed up.

Word Count: 700+

Rating: SFW

Warning(s): -

Author’s Note: -

- - - - - - - - - -

The Captain's urgent voice, requesting the presence of his First Officer, shattered the peaceful sleep you and Riker had been trying to catch. Both of you more or less startled awake by the voice over the coms.

"Better go see what he wants." Riker grumbled as he got out of bed; quickly finding clothes and starting to get dressed. Still a little dazed with sleep, and although not fully committed to the effort, you start to follow.

"It's probably nothing. I'll be back in a few." Riker spoke as he turned back to you, stopping you before you could slink out of bed. You've only a moment to turn your head up in time to meet him for a quick kiss before Riker was rushing out the door.

Blinking a few times as you woke better, realizing you were now alone in Riker's quarters, figured you might as well stay in bed a little while longer.

-

It is a while later when Riker comes back; running a hand through his hair and heaving a sigh as he steps back into his quarters. In a few short strides he makes his way back to you. Riker can't help but smile at the fact you have fallen back asleep.

While he hates to wake you, he didn't want to leave without letting you know.

"Hey. Y/N listen, I got to go." Sitting down on the side of the bed, Riker gently roused you with a hand on your shoulder. You made a soft whine at being woken once more, quickly turning your bleary gaze toward him.

"Go, go where?" You ask, confusion thick in your tone as you pulled yourself to sit up in bed.

"I can't tell you, but I promise I'll be back-- Okay?" Riker shook his head, unsatisfied with his own answer. He was trying too to hide that something about this mission was unsettling to him, but it bled into how quick he was to offer a promise.

"Okay. Will just-- be careful." Still unsure, you can do nothing else but agree.

Leaning closer, you raise a hand to hold his cheek in your palm. Leading him in for a soft, parting kiss. Riker hums softly against your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling away with a reassuring smile.

"Always am."

You watched as Riker walked out of the quarters, unease settling in. There was only one way to distract you from the worrying thoughts, so you started to get dressed for the day; intent now on spending the day in the Lab.

- As it turned out, getting to work was the best idea. Tucked away in your office; you were able to allow the complicated science of disecting numbers and figures take over your mind. Occasionally it did wander, getting caught up in some odd line of worry before you pulled yourself back to focus on the task at hand.

It was near the end of your shift when you heard the doors to your office part. Looking up, you were greeted by the sight of a very much disheveled First Officer. Uniform dirty, torn at the right shoulder; hair a mess and several small clean lines across his cheek indicating a cut healed by the dermal.

"Will? Are you alright?" You ask, instantly out of your chair. Quickly your rounded the desk and made your way over to him.

"I'm just fine-- Dr. Crusher said so." Riker assures with a soft smile.

"I thought I told you to be careful." You can't help but chastise the man as you reach up and attempt to fix his hair back into place.

"And I was. It was real dicey back there for a while." Riker tries to defend himself. Gently taking hold of your wrist, pulling it back down to your side before sliding his hand in yours.

Riker leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

"I'm alright. I promise."

"I know. I just worry about you." You almost whine, expressing a small amount of frustration this reckless man caused you.

"Love you too." Riker chuckles and straightens up. He takes a step to stand next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you close.

"Now come on, I'm hungry-- what about you?"

[ilici]

a night to remember.

Summary: After a long 4 months of just bickering, they finally decide to meet up. (Second part to 'Pretty Little Lies')

NSFW MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: Choking, cockwarming, hair pulling.

Word Count: 2892

Dream had enough of the two bickering at each other, he finally slammed his desk with his hand, making the two come to a halt. “Will you two fucking shut the hell up?” He asked annoyed, and Y/N just scoffed while looking away from the screen. “You two have reached my breaking point.” He said, seeing George just look away and Y/N discord icon stop glowing green besides the few shuffling coming from her side. “All you two do now is just bicker, we get it you guys have sexual tension but for the love of God, please just shut the fuck up.” He begged, while George’s ears burned at the mention of sexual tension. Opening his mouth to speak, nothing came out as Y/N was the first to speak up, “If I buy a plane ticket to go and visit the UK will that help you?” She asked sarcastically, and Dream sighed in relief, “Yes! Yes it fucking would!” he said loudly, while Sapnap just listened in noting to himself that he saw George’s eyes light up at the thought of Y/N visiting him. “I was joking but sheesh fine, I will.” She mumbled, and George looked between the sleeping Dream icon, and the Coraline icon that belonged to Y/N.

“Do I not have a say in this?” George finally spoke up, and raised an eyebrow that disappeared behind his long hair. Sapnap now laughed dryly, “Don’t act as if you didn’t enjoy the idea of Y/N coming to you, you know damn well your eyes lit up at the mention of it.” He said, and George just shrunk down in defeat while Dream laughed at the boy’s reaction. “There I bought the plane ticket.” She said, and they heard a ding indicating someone had joined the call, “Why the fuck did I just get a message saying I bought a plane ticket to the UK?” Quackity asked, and Y/N laughed loudly, “It’s for me but I used your money since you owed me anyways.” She told him, while Quackity just stared at his screen in shock. “That’s it I’m leaving.” He said, leaving the call right afterwards. George was now silent, and playing with the strings on his hoodie, “How long will you be staying?” Sapnap asked, and Y/N hummed leaning closer to her mic, “About three months, I want to meet everyone else, not just George here.”

Nodding, Sapnap seemed satisfied with the answer, “Wear protection.” Dream said, and George snapped his gaze up looking back at the screen, “Shut up.” He muttered, embarrassed while Y/N just laughed to cover up the fact that she too was embarrassed. “Well, I leave for the UK in two days, I still have to find a place to stay.” She explained, and George rubbed his chin before he came to a decision in his head, “You can stay with me, I recently moved into an apartment that has two rooms, you can stay in there. Although I won’t be home until later when you arrive mainly because I’ll be recording a video with Tommy and Phil.” He told Y/N, and she just listened, “Alright, then that’s settled.” She said before she grew confused, “How will I get to the house?” She asked and George shrugged, “I could have Tommy and his dad pick you up when he comes to pick me up.” He said, and Y/N nodded even though no one could see her. 

“Sounds good to me.” She said, “Well I will arrive around 9 am, so.” She muttered, looking at her phone, “That’s perfect because Tommy said he’d be around at my apartment at 9:30, and the airport is only a 20 minute drive away.” He informed her, and she nodded, shooting Tommy a quick text and telling him to keep it under wraps since he was streaming. The other two in the call were silent, enjoying the time where George and Y/N weren’t arguing. “Well I better go, I need to go pack and I also need to fix my sleep schedule.” She sighed out, before saying her goodbye’s. Leaving the call, everything hit her like a brick. She was going to leave to see George in two days. Hearing her phone ring, she saw Sapnap was calling her, answering it she put it on speaker so she could hear him while she got ready to pack. “Hey Sap.” She said, and Sapnap greeted her back, “I was wondering if I could see your face before you leave to see George.” He asked, in a very rushed way which was difficult for Y/N to keep up with.

Laughing to herself, she shrugged as Sapnap was one of her best friends and she planned on face revealing to him anyway. Clicking the FaceTime option, she propped her phone up so he could see her packing. Sapnap answered it, only showing half of his face, before his eyes widened at Y/N. She changed a bit from what George had described four months prior, “Wow, George was right. You are hot.” He said, and Y/N laughed, “Although you look a bit different apparently.” He said trying to pinpoint what looked different on her, “Oh, my hair is longer and I also dyed the the underneath of my hair.” She told him, and he nodded noting that her hair did look different from what George said. “Are you nervous?” He asked her, trying to keep the conversation going and Y/N shrugged, “A bit, mainly because I feel like when we meet things will be awkward, and we will manage to argue.” She said, while Sapnap just nodded in understanding.

“Well, if you ask me, I think meeting Tommy is going to be worse, mainly because he get’s to see your face.” He told her, and Y/N grimaced at the thought of the loud child bragging about seeing her face. “Don’t remind me.” She grumbled, while Sapnap laughed at her reaction, “Well, that’s all I need to pack.” She said after a three hour long call with her friend. “I’ll see you later, sleep well.” Sapnap said, before ending the call leaving Y/N to her own thoughts. Shooting Dream a text, asking her for advice that she’d read when she woke up. Sighing, she laid down in bed looking up at her ceiling that seemed bare to her now ever since she took off the stars. “God why did I do this?” She muttered to herself, covering her eyes with her arm before drifting off to sleep.

Finally, it was the day she was leaving for the UK. She was at the airport with her two suitcases waiting to board the plane. She had coffee in her hand as it was super early for her, and she was on call with Callahan who didn’t speak back but would text responses in return. “Callahan, I board in seven minutes holy shit.” She said, starting to panic a little, and Callahan quickly tried to calm her down making some typos along the way. “Okay I can do this.” She whispered to herself, and Callahan sent a message telling her that she’d be alright and he’d be here for her when she landed. Callahan planned on staying on the call, even though he’d be left alone for some hours. Their plan was as soon as she lands, she’d join the call and let him know she had landed. Thankfully he’d be awake as he was busy coding stuff for the new manhunt. “Well that’s my plane, I’ll see you after I land.” She told him, and he sent a quick goodbye before she left the call.

Y/N got on the plane and decided she’d sleep the entire plane ride. She had thankfully gotten first class, so she had privacy. Reclining back, she put on the movie that seemed least interesting so she wouldn’t get engaged in it. Shortly falling asleep, she woke up a couple times and would restart the movie if it had ended. Finally, after what seemed like days she finally heard the voice saying they were landing. Stretching she groaned hearing her body crack, and got up when they officially landed. Walking out and going to get her luggage, she went to get something to eat and a drink She joined the call back to see that Karl was also in the call along with Dream. “Hey guys, I landed.” She spoke up, and she got a response from Callahan first, and Karl soon unmuted, “That’s good, I hope things go well.” He said, while Dream finally unmuted, “I was about to head to bed, but I’m glad you made it safely.” He said, before he muted again going back to whatever it was he was doing. Karl and Y/N spoke for a bit, till she got a message from Tommy saying he was here. 

Leaving the call, she walked out and looked around for the tall teenager, and finally spotted him looking at his phone with his face covered by a mask. “Hello Tommy.” She said, and Tommy looked up from his phone, seeing the girl approach him without a mask, figuring it was because she had food and a drink. Walking over to her, he pulled her into a hug, “Hello Y/N, I can’t wait to brag to George that I met you before him.” He said while the girl rolled her eyes, as someone grabbed her luggage that she was struggling to bring as her hands were full from the drink and food. “I bet.” She said, and they all got into his car, as she was full on jet lagged. “You can sleep, I’ll wake you up when we get there.” The older male spoke up, and she thanked him, closing her eyes to let the sleep consume her. Feeling herself being picked up, she groaned a bit but kept her eyes closed wanting to go back to sleep.

Hearing muffled voices she could decipher some of the sentences, but the rest were just gibberish to her, “Let her sleep, I’ll wake her up when I get back.” She heard someone say, before she fell back asleep. George looked down at the sleeping girl and rolled his eyes, “First day here and she’s already getting treated like a princess.” He muttered under his breath sarcastically, as he had to carry her into the guest room. Getting up and leaving, he couldn’t help but think of what was to come. After 6 hours of hanging out, George walked into his apartment, and was shocked to see Y/N on the couch watching some random movie. “Hello Georgie.” She spoke, and George just looked at her, “Seems like you’ve made yourself at home.” He said walking over to the couch and sat down beside her, keeping his distance. Y/N looked over at him and her lips tugged up into a smirk, “What are you smirking about?” George asked, looking over at her.

“A little birdie told me that you said you’d give me a night to remember.” She told him, and George froze before he looked over at her once more, “I’m going to kill Sapnap.” He said gritting his teeth, and Y/N shrugged, turning her attention to the movie. “Why don’t you give me a night to remember then Georgie? Hm?” George now clenched his jaw as he turned his head grabbing Y/N’s jaw forcefully making her look over at him. “Someone’s being a bit cocky.” George said, and Y/N just looked at him and groaned when George moved his hand down wrapping it around her neck. “Not so cocky now, are we?” He teased, leaning forwards and chuckled into her ear. Y/N was genuinely shocked at how quick he switched. “It’s the first day, and you’re already wanting me to fuck the shit out of you.” He mumbled, and Y/N shivered, letting out a soft whine.

“Don’t act like you don’t want to.” She bit back, and George just looked at her before laughing dryly, “Who said I don’t want to?” He told her, as he grabbed some of her hair, forcing her head to lean back. Tightening his grip around her neck she whimpered out, and closed her eyes, clenching her thighs together. George noticed this and smirked, “Someone’s enjoying this.” He said, and Y/N was about to let out some curses but she bit her tongue to hold herself back. Moving his hand away from her throat, he started unbuckling his belt while Y/N watched him in a daze. “Stop staring and strip.” He demanded and Y/N immediately obeyed, stripping off her clothes. George looked at her body, and he bit his lips, “Come on then.” He said patting his now bare lap and Y/N quickly straddled his lap. 

“Since you’ve been so rude every time we talk, maybe it’s time I fuck some sense into you.” George whispered to her, as he grabbed her hips lifting her up so she could easily slide down onto his dick. “You’re on the pill right?” He asked, and Y/N just nodded her head, before she let out a loud moan at the feeling of George stretching her out. He leaned his head back, letting out a slight groan at the feeling. Tightening his grip on her hips when she tried to, she groaned, “Why?” She whined, and George just leaned forward moving her hair out of the way as he kissed the back of her neck, “You are to stay like this until I feel like fucking you.” He told her, and Y/N shivered at the kiss only listening because she enjoyed this feeling. “Such a good girl, I figured you would be a brat since you act like one.” His voice rang through her mind, and Y/N just whimpered leaning her head back on his shoulder.

“George, please I can’t wait any longer.” She begged, and George just smirked before he lifted her off of him, and threw her on the other side of his couch. Y/N yelped as she was thrown, before she had the chance to raise up George had a hold of her hips making her ass stick up in the air. Pushing down on her back so she was perfectly arching her back, he was holding onto her hips making sure he left bruises. Slamming into her, Y/N moaned out loudly, gripping one of the stray pillows that was near her. Biting her bottom lip, George kept relentlessly pounding into her while Y/N was now a blabbering mess. George enjoyed this as he reached forwards grabbing a handful of her hair and tugged on it. “You look so beautiful like this, so sweaty for me.” He teased, while Y/N just let out an incoherent ‘fuck you’. 

Not liking this, George brought his hand up and slammed it down onto her ass. Letting out a small scream, Y/N felt herself grow closer, and George reached around now toying with her clit. He himself was feeling close to his climax, and Y/N could tell from how sloppy his thrusts were getting. Using the hand that had her hair in it, he moved his hand up grabbing her neck bringing her up so she was against his chest. “Fuck George-” She muttered, leaning her head back against George’s shoulder much like earlier. George gave sloppy kisses along her jawline and neck, as they both let out a loud groan. Y/N mumbled words, and George let out a quick, “Fuck” as they both felt themself cum. Pulling out, George watched as some of it leaked out and onto her thighs.

Wiping away the sweat that was on his forehead, he picked her up, “Have you seen the bathroom?” He asked Y/N, who only shook her head, “You’re about to see it now.” He told her as the two made their way into the bathroom. It had a shower, and a bathtub, “Pick which one.” He told her, and Y/N looked between both and pointed to the tub, “I would’ve chosen the shower if it weren’t for how my legs could give out at any moment.” She whispered embarrassed, and George chuckled as he sat her down on the side of the tub, her feet in the tub. “Let me how you want the water to feel.” He said, turning it on and Y/N waited till it felt good, and she nodded, “That’s good.” She said, as she sunk down into the tub.

George smiled at her, as he went over to the cabinet under the sink to grab the bubble mixture. Pouring some into the water, he watched as Y/N mixed it around which formed bubbles. Sinking down into the water, he brought Y/N over to his body, and let her relax against him. “Don’t tell Dream or Sapnap, they had a bet. I really don’t want to lose.” He said, while Y/N lightly laughed at his words, as he massaged her shoulders. “I’m still going to be here for 3 more months, so they are bound to know it happened at one point.” She shrugged, and George hummed in agreement.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Prompt idea: Geralt gets a contract for a monster that has been sighted nearby. When he tracks it down, he is surprised to find mothman!Jaskier who (much like actual mothman) has an ass that won’t quit.

?

I just want you to know that Mothskier now lives in my head rent free 24/7. I love him. I would die for him. This is my new favorite emotional support au.

2k-ish words - please feel free to shove comments through the bars of my enclosure, I would really like that

art by the ever-wonderful @mawbwehownets, whose drawing of Mothskier made me legit cry.

tw: mild injury, brief blood mention, strangers to lovers

---

“So what you’re saying,” Geralt raises an eyebrow slowly, curious, “Is that you need me to catch a monster that’s half man and half moth?”

“Yup.”

“Alright,” Geralt pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and pointer finger. The frustrated Witcher takes a slow breath to calm and center himself, before he ends up botching the entire contract-writing process. Humans tend to grow attached to the strangest monsters sometimes, and apparently this mysterious local being was no different. “Let me get this totally straight, so there are no mistakes or misunderstandings. You want me to capture this man-moth and get it out of your woods, but you don’t want me to kill it?”

“He’s called the Mothman, and he’s pretty damn stubborn about sticking around,” the aging farmer corrects Geralt with a little frown. Then his expression shifts and he smiles in a way that seems almost apologetic. “We were hoping you could find a way to relocate him without hurting or killing him, Master Witcher.”

“That’s completely possible, if he isn’t attached to this specific patch trees by any magical or biological means. You said his natural habitat is just… the forest?”

“As long as there's an abundance of pine around he seems pretty happy. Before he came to live with us, Mothman lived in a heavily forested area up the coast; or at least that’s what the historical records and local mythology seem to indicate.”

“That’s actually pretty helpful information to have on hand, I’m impressed,” Geralt nods. “Alright, Mr. Stevens. I promise to relocate the poor thing without killing or maiming him, and I’ll be sure to take him somewhere far enough away that your crops won’t be in danger. Thanks for calling me first instead of just going straight to an extermination service.”

“Honestly, Master Witcher,” the farmer sighs and readjusts his dirty baseball hat, “If it weren’t for the mischief he’s been getting into lately, we would have let him stick around until spring. I hate to admit it to a man as strong and stern-faced as yourself, but the poor creature is almost… adorable at times.”

“Well that’s a first,” Geralt chuckles, honestly amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “A monster being referred to as ‘adorable’ rather than ‘terrifying’. I’ve never heard such a thing in my many years of life.”

“Then you’d better prepare yourself, Sir Geralt. He’s got a pair of big blue puppy-dog eyes that’ll knock you on your ass if you aren’t careful. And that’s coming from a man who raised three daughters with dimples.”

“Hmm. Fuck.”

---

Geralt knows enough about moths to come up with a plan he thinks will work.

Before he heads into the woods to find and capture the poor wandering creature, the Witcher takes a detour through the lighting section of the nearest Lowe’s.

---

Unfortunately for Geralt, the farmer was right about the power of Mothman’s puppy dog eyes, which are big and blue and begin to water as soon as the Witcher’s net knocks him to the ground. The creature lies in a whimpering tangle of limbs beneath the heavy, magically enhanced restraints. Geralt takes an opportunity to look at what the locals called "a cryptid".

Mothman has a long, lithe body that's covered in a light layer of grey-brown fur, but his hair resembles that of a human’s, falling over those enormous blue eyes in a lovely chestnut fringe. When Mothman sees the swords on Geralt’s back he cries out in panicked recognition and tries to pull his arms up far enough to shield his face. The lamp Geralt used to lure him into the clearing is still bathing him in a pool of yellow light; it’s almost pretty for a monster, Geralt notes.

As the Witcher takes a step forward, the cryptid squeaks and buries his face against his own shoulder. His entire frame is trembling.

“Hey there, shhhhh,” the Witcher murmurs quietly. He drops into a squat and holds both hands up to show Mothman that they’re weapon free. Tears are now falling freely down the creature’s surprisingly human face; whoever or whatever this is, they are likely some kind of Fae. “I’m not here to hurt you, I just want to get you back through the veil.”

“Liar,” Mothman huffs. His voice has a surprisingly musical quality to it and Geralt is now sure of his Fae parentage (or grand-parentage).

“I promise I’m not lying,” Geralt reassures him, slowly crawling forward. When he reaches for the nearest corner of the net, he feels all of Mothman’s muscles go tense. “I’m going to lift this up and I am going to restrain you, but I swear that I’m not going to kill you. I wish to cause as little distress as possible. Is that alright, Mothman?”

The creature hisses and yanks his foot back away from where Geralt’s hand had nearly touched it. “Jaskier.”

“Hmm?” Geralt glances up, raising an eyebrow.

“My name is Jaskier,” the Fae repeats, glaring up from between the sections of woven rope that make up the heavy net. “Not Mothman.”

“My apologies, Jaskier,” Geralt bows his head. He words his introduction carefully, in case this thing can manipulate his name like others of his kind: “You may refer to me as Geralt.”

“That’s your real name,” Jaskier states. The Witcher’s head snaps up.

“How did you know?”

“Hmm,” Jaskier sticks his tongue out as he mimics the sound Geralt made earlier. “Not telli-AH! Stop! Oh go- gods, stop! Please!”

Geralt drops the short section of rope he’s trying untangle from around Jaskier’s ankle and snaps his eyes upwards, already searching for damage. “What’s wrong!?”

“My wing!” Jaskier bawls. His scent spikes out through the clearing, sharp with panic and pain. The creature’s chest begins to shake more violently than before, his shoulders shuddering with the rising force of his sobs, “It’s t-t-torn! Oh gods, my wing! Sir Witcher, p-please!”

Geralt freezes, his gaze settling on the torn section of Jaskier’s large, furry wing. It’s a nasty wound near one of the joints, a faint trickle of barely-luminescent blood has already dried around the edges. Jaskier tries to flutter it a little and screams in agony when the muscles shift too suddenly, shrilly enough that Geralt needs to cover his hypersensitive ears. The Witcher's heart crashes down into his boots; based on the way the shivering Fae has gone pale and silent, the pain is too much for him to process. He’s gone into shock.

A torn wing is exactly the kind of thing Geralt had promised the farmer (and the collective of townspeople he represented) wouldn’t happen to the peaceful moth creature if they hired a Witcher instead of an exterminator. He sighs and gives the strange being another once-over. “Everything's alright, Jaskier. You’re going to be alright. I’m so, so sorry that you've been wounded. We’ll get you out of this net and get you something for the pain, but it’s going to hurt a little to untangle you. Stay still, don’t struggle, and it’ll be over soon.”

“J-Just kill me,” Jaskier pants. He’s continuing to hyperventilate and Geralt needs him to calm down before he passes out. The Fae reaches a hand for the dagger at Geralt's waist and the Witcher twists out of reach with a frown. Jaskier sobs again, fingers still seeking, “I might n-n-never fly a-again so just k-kill me!”

“Breathe with me, Jaskier,” the Witcher instructs, forgoing patience and cutting through the net with that same dagger. He scoops Jaskier up into his arms, ignoring the keening sound at the back of Jaskier’s throat when his wing is jostled, and rushes the Fae to his truck, tucking him into the passenger’s seat and wrapping him in a large, fluffy blanket. “I’m taking you to my friend. She’s an expert at healing magical creatures and I'm certain that she'll get your wing fixed in no time.”

Jaskier doesn’t give an answer. When Geralt looks up into the creature’s face again, the injured Fae has already passed out.

---

Jaskier moves with all the grace of a newborn foal as he explores the room Geralt has provided for him. His wing has been inspected, treated, and bandaged by a rather scary sorceress named Yennefer, who glared at the Witcher the entire time she was caring for him. She had also taken one of Geralt’s old t-shirts and cut an enormous hole in the back for Jaskier’s wings to fit through. The shirt’s bottom hem falls to the middle of his thighs and the thick black material is softer than anything he’d ever felt before.

He hears a knock on the door and calls out, “It’s open!”

Geralt enters slowly, bearing a pair of pajama bottoms and a mug of tea. “I brought you some last minute supplies and - uh… I brought you some tea. Yen always likes some before she goes to sleep and I figured since this was a new place and new places can be scary that I should-”

“Thank you,” Jaskier interrupts, smiling shyly. His antennae twitch happily as he takes the offerings from Geralt's hands and the Witcher watches them with wide eyes. Jaskier carefully sets the pajamas and the tea on the nightstand before turning back to look at Geralt. “I will… see you tomorrow?”

Geralt gives one sharp nod. “Hmm.”

“Goodnight,” Jaskier sing-songs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed as Geralt exits.

From the other side of the closed door, Jaskier’s superior hearing picks up the Witcher’s final whisper: “Goodnight, Jaskier. I will always be sorry for causing you pain.”

The next morning he meets Geralt at the breakfast table, refreshed and ready to learn about the human world. He’s summoned a glamour in order to hide his more Moth-like traits, the only things that remain of his true nature are his wings and antennae; his fur is gone and he’s dressed in a pair of sweatpants and that same old shirt. The Witcher offers him a bowl of fruit and mug of something sweet-smelling. Jaskier glares into the mug with a slight pout to his lips before finally asking, “What is this?”

“Hot chocolate.”

Jaskier takes a sip and his antennae flutter, twitching happily as he swallows the best drink he’s ever had in his long life. He eats a strawberry from the bowl and slowly works his way through the hot chocolate, eyeing Geralt warily as the Witcher moves through the familiar kitchen to make his own breakfast.

“Where is Yennefer?”

“She went home,” Geralt shrugs.

“She isn’t your mate?”

“N-No,” Geralt sputters, turning to stare at the nervous young Fae. “Why would you think that?”

“You smell like each other.”

“We spend a lot of time together,” Geralt shrugs again. “Good friends, that’s all.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier mimics his host for a second time. Rather effectively by the annoyed twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth. “Just wondering.”

“Anything else you’re curious about?”

“Why don’t you have more lights?”

“Huh?”

“Lights,” Jaskier gestures around the minimalistic layout of Geralt’s open-concept kitchen/living room and its distinctive lack of lamps. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans forward against the dark marble countertop. The pout has gone from 'slight' to 'full-bore' and Geralt is clinging desperately to his braincell with how cute it looks. “It’s no fun.”

“You really like lamps, don’t you?” the Witcher replies, mouth dry. Jaskier huffs and takes another sip of his hot chocolate, antennae flickering back and forth in irritation. Geralt bites his lip to hide a smile; it’s too fucking cute, which is an odd thought for a Witcher to have.

“So what if I do enjoy a nice lamp or five in my living space?” Jaskier argues. "I'm a Moth of taste."

“No matter,” Geralt laughs quietly. “Finish your drink before it gets cold.”

---

Jaskier stays with Geralt for a few weeks while his wing heals, and for a creature whose sole interest seems to be fancy light fixtures, the Fae becomes a source of light in Geralt's own world. They go to a nonhuman friendly second-hand store to find Jaskier some more clothes and Geralt discovers the cryptid's love for oddly patterned shirts in bright colors. Jaskier chooses several to fill out his closet, as well as a sweater two-sizes too large in deep black (Geralt tries his best not to attach any meaning to this choice), a few pairs of pants, and a jean jacket that he declares, "Can be altered."

They watch movies together and make food together - Jaskier is always incredibly impressed by the way the automatic coffee maker works, and how easily Geralt can control the flames of the stove. Jaskier also follows the Witcher along on less dangerous hunts and helps bandage him up after worse ones, always there with a smile and a little kiss over the cleaned-up wound.

“It really is magic,” Jaskier always insists, lips pink and shining from licking them as he concentrates. "It makes you heal faster."

Geralt realizes one night - two weeks into Jaskier’s stay, as he leans against the doorframe and watches the strange creature’s even breathing - that he has gone and done the stupidest thing a Witcher can do: fall in love with a pretty, temperamental young Fae. Head over fuckin’ heels, actually.

So he makes a decision.

---

The next evening, after the dinner dishes have been cleaned and put away, Geralt herds Jaskier down the hall to the guest room. Those entrancing blue eyes blink up at him in obvious confusion. “Bedtime already?”

“No, not quite. I just- I made you… uh…”

“Do you have a surprise for me?” Jaskier asks, used to the Witcher's issues with verbalizing.

Geralt nods, relieved and thankful for the Fae’s steadfast understanding. “Do you want to cover your eyes or should I just open the door and show you?”

“I’ll close my eyes,” Jaskier smiles, covering his eyes with both hands. Geralt finds it adorable, as Jaskier always is, and allows himself a matching grin as he swings the door open. The ceiling light is off but Geralt has built a blanket fort at the center of the room and surrounded it with fairy lights of all colors and sizes. Inside the blanket fort is a mass of blankets and pillows; Jaskier has the odd habit of building nests - Geralt jokingly calls them cocoons - and sleeping in those on the floor instead of on the very comfortable mattress the Witcher has provided.

“Open them,” Geralt urges.

Jaskier pulls his hands away and Geralt watches as his pupils go huge and wide. Jaskier's face breaks out in the sunniest, most blindingly happy smile Geralt has ever seen. He turns and throws his arms around the Witcher, his wings fluttering behind him and his antennae twitching and flicking above his head. He tries desperately to speak but only manages a half-snuffled little “I’m-” before bursting into tears of joy.

Geralt just holds him, letting his arms fold carefully around Jaskier’s waist, just beneath his wings.

"I just wanted you to know that, if you wanted to stay, there would be room for you. Your room, if you want it."

"I do," Jaskier smiles, burying his face in the Witcher's neck. "I'd love to stay. I'd love nothing more than to spend my days going on adventures with you."

"Well then," Geralt gathers all of his courage and presses a soft kiss to the crown of Jaskier's head. He's met with happy spasms from the antennae so he does it again. And again. Moving from the top of the Fae's head to his cheeks and then his mouth - pretty and pink and pouting and so worth the trouble. "I suppose we can get started on our next adventure tomorrow."

[ncitygirls]

yours - jaemin x f reader

fluff, smut, bffs2lovers, 3k

before joining you to your cousin’s wedding, jaemin had made a big deal about not being properly invited. as always, mark kept true to his habit of innocently causing trouble when it suited him. ‘i’m like family! where’s my invite!’ but it was hard to fault mark, because of course jaemin had been invited. somehow, his parents neglected to inform him that your cousin had rightfully assumed jaemin would know he was included in the na family’s invite. you said nothing though. especially when jaemin had briefly explained the reason for his displeasure. ‘we deserve our own invite, y/n. one for us together.’ which made no sense at all, because you’re just friends. you’re not together. however you had no idea you were alone in thinking that.

you see, jaemin was more acquainted with your family than some of your own relatives. he was invited to christmases, weddings, birthdays. basically any and all occasions your family saw fit to celebrate, jaemin was in attendance. yet surprisingly, even after having grown up alongside you and mark, a few of your more distant cousins were more than happy to express their displeasure with his more forward placed seat. because, like you keep reminding everybody: jaemin is just your best friend. but apparently, best friends didn’t reserve the rights to things you gave to jaemin. not in your extended family’s eyes. not that yours and mark’s family cared.

yet in the end, like most things regarding you, jaemin knew his attendance tonight had been a mistake. but not because of the petty feud his presence birthed in the lee lineage. oh no. it’s because, unlike most nights jaemin spends in your company - with your hair strewn about, mascara permanently smudged, and a lazy grin etched on - tonight, you were his least favourite kind of y/n. the one where he can’t help but follow you with his eyes, watch the placement of your feet, enjoy the shrill tone of your cackle. throughout the night, jaemin had found himself warmed by the way you drag your balled up fist over your made up eye, how you sing along to songs you don’t know the words to, how you wobble in your heels before you cling to him.

jaemin makes the mistake of enjoying you a bit too much. how you scowl as your relatives chat shit a bit too loud for you liking, how you make a scene of conspicuously covering his ears, unaware of how unbothered he is. how you try so hard to make him happy, in the smallest and largest of ways. so he drags you into a dance when you move to walk over, ready to rip your own blood a new one. “i’m gonna kill ‘em.”

“no,” he states simply, one of his hands slipping from your hand to your waist. “dance with me.”

“who do they think they are!” your voice adopts an unsettling shrillness that he can’t help but chuckle at. it even throws his head back. “why are you so happy? you should be mad!”

“because i don’t care,” he shrugs, tightening his hold on you slightly. “i’m here- you’re here. why would i not be happy?”

“you’re such a fucking leo.”

he still doesn’t know what that means, but he laughs anyway, happy that your deduction seemed to satisfy you. you eventually calm down, a peace settling over you as he spins you lazily around the dance floor. there’s some early 2000s track playing, one definitely unfitting for the way he’s swaying you. but you pay it no mind, speaking softly as he presses his cheek to the crown of your head.

“when do you wanna head up?” up, meaning the hotel room your relatives are also wound up about. it was intended for the bridal party and far travelled guests, neither of which they are. and neither of which you are. but you were your cousin’s favourite. and so was he. so naturally, you two had one reserved. even your parents had opted to stay at a cottage a couple roads over. “i think the boys are all gone already.”

he notes the guilt tainting your tone, knowing how drained jaemin grew from both physical and social interactions of any kind. so you knew well what his answer would be. “when you’re ready.”

“okay,” slipping out of his hold, you drag him over to the newly married couple. you exchange brief goodnights and grateful tidings before he excuses himself to find the jacket of his tuxedo. the search doesn’t take long, his eyes landing on the black coat a few seconds after parting. he does give himself a breather though, his knees cracking as the seat holding his jacket readily carries his weight. he doesn’t dare shut his eyes, knowing full well he’ll fall victim to his fatigue. so instead, he let’s them follow the one thing that always occupies his mind, that can keep him up all night. he finds you far quicker than he did his coat, the pink satin of your dress falling half way down your calf as you skipped over to bid some other guests farewell. he sighs happily, glad you never force him into such tedious pleasantries. you learnt a long time ago that while impossibly affectionate, jaemin’s social clock ticked a few hours faster than any one else’s. so by your timing, it had probably expired a little after the vows. it took a little bit of getting used to, but it also meant for quicker farewells and a speedier exit.

it’s only now jaemin realises this was a mistake. because before he ever gets his breather, less from you, but all the feelings that come from being with you, you’re at his side. he’s learned how not to cease up at your touch anymore. instead, linking his fingers with yours when they rest gently on his shoulder. when he peeks up at you, his eyes blinded less by the party lighting and more by your tired smile, he knows not to sigh, forcing down his body’s natural response to your attention. but when you tug at his hands, bringing him to stand, whispering a-

“let’s go home, yeah?”

he knows this isn’t a mistake. this is torture.

it’s how you pour him a tall, ice cold glass of domesticity with every meal. your hand wrapped in his as you lead him through the hotel. you slip out of your heels somewhere between the lobby and the elevator, grinning up at him as he takes them from you. jaemin even curses himself, his body responding to your needs unthinkingly. he tries to calm his beating heart by counting the floors, his eyes following the analog dial as you lean against his shoulder, fiddling with his cuffs.

“do you want them off?” you ask softly, barely a touch louder than the elevator music. he nods, though your gel nails are already picking at the gold, removing them with ease. “gimme the other one.” he inhales deeply, cursing whoever gave you to him. well, not really. you weren’t really his. but god did you act like it.

your hands slip into his pocket for the room key before slipping back into his hand. he just follows you out, caught in a happy daze as you take him ‘home’. you struggle a bit with the key card, trying it every which way before he leans into you, wrapping his arm around you as he reaches for the card. “the arrow’s pointing this way,” his thumb nail presses on the black arrow indicating the direction you have to push it. he doesn’t see you roll your eyes, but he guesses you do. so he presses his lips to your temple in apology. “you’ll get it next time.”

“piss off,” you laugh, pushing the door open when it clicks. he throws the heels and jacket on a chair by the door before collapsing onto the adjacent couch, his body ready to succumb to his dire need for rest. he can just about hear you rustling through the bags in the bathroom, your feet padding around on the linoleum. when it muffles slightly, he figures out immediately what you’ve returned for when you stop between his thighs. “thank you,” you sigh, his fingers already pinching at the zip on your dress. it sits low at the base of your spine, the back of the dress leaving you completely exposed. he’d taken to placing his hand there all night, his fingers gliding up and down the skin whenever he got the chance. when it’s down, his eyes linger on your hips, the top of your panties peeking out before you slap his knee.

“what?”

“the necklace,” your back is still turned, hair blocking his view. “please?” you add, hand smoothing over the skin of his knee.

“come here,” he pulls you down to sit between his thighs, his legs parting to make space for you. you land with a huff, quickly realising you haven’t sat down all night. jaemin realises this too, your neck craning a bit further to the side than necessary as he tucks your hair over your shoulder. “you okay?”

“mhm,” you hum, squeezing his thigh. “just a bit sleepy.”

“a bit?” he laughs, a little breathless as he gathers the chain he got you one christmas. “i think you’ve earned a good sleep.” he surmises, hands squeezing your shoulders gently. “but you know you were a guest today, right? not the planner?”

“yeah?” turning onto your knees, you glare down at him. “someone had to sort my uncle out, he was steaming!”

“yes, true,” he laughs. “just make sure you’re not doing that at my wedding.”

you feign surprise at that, “i’m invited to your wedding?”

“of course,” his hands squeeze yours earnestly before he whispers, “can’t have my wedding without the bride, can i-”

“fuck off!” his cackles chase you out the room. while you wash up, he makes quick work of his tux, throwing his slacks over the back of the couch, his thumbs slowly unhooking each of his buttons. a true man of leisure, he’s in all but his socks and draws when you return. “all done!” you sing, throwing the dress down as you reappear in an oversized t-shirt. he recognises it almost immediately from uni. it’s his soccer team’s jersey. it has his number on the back.

“finally,” he whines, pushing you aside as he makes his way inside, quickly locking the door to avoid your attacks. he goes to reach for his wash bag just to find the reason he did already waiting unpacked. in a small cup on the side is his toothbrush, resting sweetly beside yours. he ignores the hygienic implications of this and skips right to the romantic. because, while jaemin thinks and often dreams of placing your first name with his last, and while he spends most of his free time with you, and while he would take any number of bullets for you, he still can’t for the life of him figure you out. even after he bombards you with affection, praise, teasing, flirting, kisses. you’re still just you. making him just him.

and that’s fine, if that’s what you want. but he’s not sure he truly knows what it is you want. and this gets him thinking about the little things. how his hand is seldom empty in your presence. how you never think of him second, always first. how you want to be with him always. moments like now, when he returns to find you hanging his tux on its hanger, encasing it in its protective sleeve. his arms slip around your waist, pulling you flush against him. and you melt instantly, resting in his embrace. “thanks,” he mumbles, lips pressing gently to your shoulder.

“‘is okay,” you hum, hanging it over the back of the door before resting your hands over his. see, hands never empty when you’re near. he sways you back and forth, his heart beating gently into your back as you lean into him. “did you have fun?” you ask, squeezing at his forearms, “i know we probably stayed later than you’d like-”

“it was great.” see, always putting him first. “did you want to stay longer?”

“not without you.” see, how you want to be with him always. he wonders how you don’t see it. how you don’t see you’re killing him. “come on,” you mumble, shutting off the light as you blindly drag him to bed. jaemin has an annoying habit of following you in, his body shuffling in after yours, rather than separating and meeting in the middle. it doesn’t allow you much room, by the time you reach your side, he’s encased you in his arms, legs, even his head, his chin slotting itself in the crook of your neck. “nana?”

“hm?”

“i’m sorry about today,” the apology doesn’t shock him, but rather your disappointment. “you’re more like family to mark and i than they ever were. tonight was just proof of that.”

“it’s okay,” he squeezes you a touch harder, trying to decipher whether your words harm or soothe the growing hole in his heart. “i can’t say i don’t see where they’re coming from.”

“what d’you mean?”

“i dunno,” he starts, thinking as his lips press to the back of your neck. “i guess i’d be confused by us too,” he mutters against your skin.

“how so?” you press, turning in his hold, gazing up at him. his eyes are more than used to the dark now as he gazes back down at you. you’re tucked right up to him, the covers strewn over your lower halves. he rests his temple on his palm, elbow pressed into the mattress as you fiddle with his fingers. “what’s confusing?”

he shrugs as best he can, watching his hand in yours. “i dunno,” he repeats, grinning when you huff. “i just- i think it’s hard for people to get that i’m your friend,” he tries, “just your friend.”

“what else would you be?” what else? what else?!

“i dunno,” he repeats for the third time, though he knows exactly what you’d be. but you don’t need to know that. not when you seemed so happy, so satisfied with how things are already. and that’s what’s most important to him. your happiness. and jaemin couldn’t exactly say he wasn’t happy with how things are either, he just knows there could be more to you both, more to this. more to him than being your best friend. but maybe it’s for another night. like he tells himself every time you push a topic you’re not remotely ready to breach. “let’s forget it-”

“no,” he flinches, just preparing to settle down for sleep. “am i missing something? if i am, just tell me.”

“i-” he drops his forehead to yours then. he’s so close, your eyes have to cross just for you to see him. it’s only when he rises you see a change in him. a nervous jaemin isn’t one you’re use to. it’s one that you would rather never see, it truly worries you. especially as he agrees, a small “okay,” leaving him before he kisses the tip of your nose, his lips barely puckered as they meet the skin. he grins as he does, his teeth gleaming in the moonlit room, his eyes open just wide enough to see you. his lips drop to your cheek, warming as your skin does. he hovers there as your hand tightens on his arm, clinging to him. he daren’t move, afraid the slightest jolt will wake him, drag him right out of this sleepless dream. when your grip loosens, he drops his head until he’s right by your mouth, his lips daringly puckering before he presses them to the corner of your lips. he stills as yours do too, your soft lips, now embalmed in his memory, pressing there ever so gently before he rises once more. he waits a second, watching the smallest of shivers rack through you before he dips again, lips falling to your neck. he smiles against your skin, overjoyed as you subtly crane your neck. his teeth drag over your skin as he journeys down the column of your neck, your hands gripping onto him a touch harder when he stops.

his fingers glide along the skin of your side, thumb pressing into the dip of your waist. he stops short of your chest, locked mid motion as he watches you breathe. there is no haste in his movements. no need to rush anything. no need to hurry. all there is, is a beat. a steady one in his chest. one that holds him here, one where he can’t move, can’t bring himself to test the waters you’ve just dared he enter. not even as the pads of your fingers glide along the warm skin of his neck, nails dragging through his nape, silently daring him to move. he pants over your chest, a lazy grin pulling at his mouth as you ask him again-

“what else would you be, jaem?”

he moves unthinkingly. as his dampened lips meet the hardened nub through your t-shirt, sucking on you through the aged material. his rolls his teeth gently, his fingers at your side finding your neglected nipple as you whine out for him. he feels himself slipping into delirium, caught somewhere between a dream and reality, unsure where exactly he’d rather be. he decides it doesn’t matter, not when you’re there. here. with him. letting him touch you in ways he never really thought possible. ways jaemin only ever imagined, only ever let himself surrender to in the dead of night. in the solitude of his own shameful company. he never thought of this. not really.

he had hoped, maybe even prayed, but never truly believed he’d have you whimpering for him. your fingers falling in the gaps between his own, pressing his open palm harder against your thinly veiled heat, your hips rolling against it. jaemin never thought he’d hear your whines, the sound cutting through him like knives, like ice shooting through his veins. he never thought you’d want him. not like this.

“jaem,” he’s with you in seconds, his spit slick lips an inch above yours. he watches patiently as you grind up against his hand, feeling his fingers prod at your desperate heat.

“you wanna know what else i could be?”

you nod. “please.”

“i could be yours.”

[connorwhumpaddict]

Deserving of pain (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Epilogue

Summary: When Reed messes with Connor’s scanner at what he thinks is a secure bomb site things doesn’t go according to plan!

---

Chapter 4: Scanner malfunction

“I’m sorry Con, just a little bit longer now. I’m almost finished!” John tried to reassure as he typed manically on his keyboard, his eyes never leaving his live screen in front of him, fully devoted to completing his task as fast as possible.

Connor drew in another sharp inhale in response as he gripped the edges of the examination table he was currently reclining on a tad tighter, making the steel frame creak beneath his strong grasp. His back was arching off the table and his eyes pinched as he tried to stay still for the technician to complete the last adjustments and calibrations to his external sensors along his entire left leg, where several wires were plugged in at various ports along its length. The procedure wasn’t difficult to do but was lengthy and painful to endure.

“Aaaaand done!” John finally exclaimed as all codes finally flashed back to green on his screen, indicating the recalibration had been successful.

Connor all but collapsed back down on the padded surface beneath him, his breath escaping in harsh, quick pants from exhaustion and in effort to cool his core temperature back down from the uncomfortable level it reached during the 25 minutes it had taken to reset his legs’ sensor back to standard setting.

John quickly made his way to Connor’s side, perching on the edge of the table and gently put his arm under the android’s heaving upper body to help him into a more upright position. “Easy Con, try to slow your breathing a bit and take some deep breaths for me. I know it’s hard and you’re running hot, but just try.”

Connor’s own hand unconsciously reached out to find purchase and support on John’s broad chest as he tried his best to comply with the others’ instructions.

“That’s it, you’re doing great.” John’s hand rubbed soothingly up and down the length of the android’s back in a comforting manner and reached out with the other to grasp a pack of thirium with lemon ice-tea flavor. He knew that was Connor’s favorite and that he’d taken special care to always have in stock in his clinic. “Catch your breath and then drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”

Connor took a few, slightly more controlled breaths, before he accepted the pack and took a generous drink. “Thanks.” He said as he finally trusted his voice, even though it still came out somewhat raspy.

The tech smiled and stroked Connor’s back a few more times before standing up to begin gently unplugging the many wires from his leg.

“How does it feel, anything hurting?” John asked after having detached the last wire. He braced one hand against Connor’s ankle and ran the other along the length of the calf with a soft, soothing pressure. Connor felt a blush blooming on his cheeks at the touch that spread an unfamiliar kind of warmth throughout his chest, he could not attribute to his core temperature. He was quick to dismiss the oddity as he was not entirely sure how much he could trust his body’s reactions with his recent malfunctions.

“No, just feels a bit tender.” Connor answered.

John nodded and repeated the action, venturing above the knee before stopping at mid-thigh this time with a bit more pressure, but still making sure to be gentle. “That’s good. Your self-healing program will take care of that. I want you to stay here at least until you’ve finished drinking that pack and you promise to keep your thirium reserves topped, alright? Then we can do your other leg in a couple of days.”

Connor bit the inside of his cheeks, wanting to be abiding to John’s treatment since the kind tech had already devoted so many hours of work to speed along his recovery, but not able to keep totally silent. “I want you to recalibrate my other leg now, please.”

John’s head snapped up, pausing in his alleviating rub-down of Connor’s leg. His eyes turned sympathetic yet determined. “Con.. I know you’re eager to get back to full reinstation, but we can’t rush this along. It’s only been ten days since your sensor glitch, you need to give yourself time to heal.”

“I feel fine, really. My thirium pump is stable, my hourly diagnostics program has not reported any errors or instabilities since my last incident and I promise to keep my thirium at optimal levels. All I need to be fully functional is the last sensor calibrations to my right leg. Please, John?” Connor pleaded, hoping it would convince the blonde to comply.

“It’s not that simple Connor. You’ve just suffered through half an hour’s painful reset, it’s not ethical for me to push you through another procedure already. Another reset so soon is going to hurt even worse than the one you just completed. Your health and wellbeing are my biggest priorities and concern, so it’s out of the question.” John stated.

“I can take it. My systems should be stable enough to complete another reset within 15 minutes when I’m done topping off my thirium levels, with minimal risk of complications.” Connor retorted.

“Yes, I know, but that’s not the issue Con.” John countered.

Connor couldn’t help his voice from rising as his frustration grew. “I need to get back to full commission, John! I’m supposed to be an asset to the DPD, not a nuisance and a burden! Every minute I’m inefficient I’m a liability to the force and to you! If I can’t..”

“You’re not equipment, Connor!!” John interrupted with a yell and grasped the android’s head in both of his hands, pulling their faces close together so he could make firm eye contact.

Connor’s eyes widened in shock at the motion, his eyes automatically scanning the tech’s face now only inches away from him. The blonde’s expression was determined, but his blue eyes shone with worry and care. John inhaled deeply still not letting go of Connor, resolute to make the brown eyed detective accept he was more than just an expendable gadget.

“Your worth is not defined in how useful or how effective you are at your work, Con. You’re a person! A living, breathing, feeling being! And you’re allowed to get hurt and be injured and taking the time you need to heal! I know those Cyberlife bastards made you think you’re expendable and only merit something if you exceed expectations, but it’s not true! You are enough, Connor!” John’s voice was firm, but then softened along with his eyes, his thumbs moving to gently caress Connor’s face. “I know it’s hard, even after deviancy. But in time I’ll make sure to make you believe it too. Until then, I will patch you up whenever you need it and keep you safe to the best of my abilities and I promise you that it’s no burden at all. I know that’s true for everyone else as well.”

Connor swallowed around the lump that had grown in his throat. It was hard.. Sometimes it was as if he could still hear the echo of Amanda in his head whenever he didn’t perform a task perfectly, solved a case fast enough or couldn’t prevent Hank or others from getting hurt or injured. Each time her ice-cold voice would be brought forth by his memory; failure, disappointment, letdown, useless, worthless..

None of his colleagues, including John, had ever been anything but supportive, helpful and understanding towards him after his deviancy and never demanded anything further of him or berated his work. Well, no one except Gavin Reed.. Who’d on more than one occasion loudly shared, to everyone willing to listen, many of the same beliefs that his insecurities were rooted in. But even Reed seemed to be on his way to accept him. The fellow detective had even helped him back to the precinct when his sensors had malfunctioned. So, he really didn’t have any excuse to keep feeling like he was failing for not being able to do anything else but desk work for ten days, but he still did.. It filled him with unease and anxiety. Sometimes he’d talk with Hank about it, but every so often it was just too hard to put words to all those feelings and it’d be easier just to apply himself further into his work instead. Trying to do better, to be better.

Now it felt like John could see right through him, offering understanding, care and compassion without him even having to try and explain himself and it felt like such a huge relief.

“T-Thank you.. That’s.. I..” he stumbled as he had trouble finding his words. His emotions started to overwhelm him which was hard as well when you still had trouble identifying half of them.

But John just smiled that soft, beautiful smile that always seemed to leave Connor even more flustered than he already were.

“No need to thank me, just know that I’m here for you Connor. Not because I have to, not because it’s my job, but because I want to. Simple as that.” He finally released his hold of the android’s head, allowing some more space between them, though his left hand lingered just a tad longer in a prolonged caress. “Now, please relax and just let me take care of you for a while, ok?”

Connor offered a soft nod as answer, once again not totally trusting his voice and allowed himself to relax back into the mattress. He could feel his chest swell with warmth, feeling safe and completely comfortable as John stated to run a precautionary system check before he’d be allowed back to his desk.  

---

Connor returned downstairs to his desk, only limping slightly on his left leg. If hadn’t been for his LED circling yellow you’d almost not notice that it was causing the detective discomfort. When he found his seat, his LED turned back to its more stable blue hue.

“You alright kid?” Hank asked from across the table, seated at his own desk, eyeing his son with slight concern. He knew very well how painful Connor’s sensor resets were, but the kid still insisted on working throughout his recovery period. John, Hank and Fowler had all been unsuccessful in their effort to convince the deviant to take time off to heal. Connor had insisted it was easier for John to preform his resets at his clinic at the office and if he was at the office he might as well complete whatever work he could from his desk. In the end Fowler had resigned and allowed Connor to continue desk work, figuring that this way they could at least keep an eye out for the detective together.

“Yes, I.. I think so.” Connor answered, looking to be deep in thought.

“You think so?” feeling alarmed by the uncertain answer Hank pressed further. “What’s wrong? Did you suffer another glitch?”

Connor placed a hand on his own chest, looking confused. “I’m not sure..”

“Talk it out son, what’s on your mind?” Hank prompted.

Connor looked at his father as he tried to explain. “I’ve started to notice several recurring symptoms whenever I’m in the presence of Dr. John Hale. They started before my major malfunctions began and they’re not painful or unpleasant, but lately I feel like they’re growing in intensity. I wonder if it might be related to my latest glitches?”

Hank scratched his beard in a thoughtful manner. “I see.. And what symptoms are we talking about?”

“Usually when I see John my thirium pump will lose its rhythm for a fraction of a second before resuming normal beat. A warmth spreads in my chest when he’s close. My facial complexion is easier to flush, especially when he’s touching me and it feels like a live wire of low voltage is humming inside my abdomen whenever he smiles and are kind to me.” Connor clinically ticked off each of his observations. “I haven’t told him about it because until now it seemed harmless, and I don’t want to worry him further or make him think he’s causing me any discomfort when he’s already gone so much above and beyond to care for me.”

As Connor explained a soft smile grew across Hank’s face, making the android frown in confusion.

“Why are you smiling like that? Have I said something funny?”

Hank chuckled and weaved his hand. “Sorry kid! No, it’s not funny, but.. Have you ever wondered why John goes so much out of his way to help and care for you?”

Connor shrugged. “Because he’s a very skilled and compassionate technician, I’m sure he treats everyone of his patients with just as much care and skill as he does me, I’ve just taken up most of his time lately.”

Hank had to fight hard not to shake his head at the deviant’s obliviousness, reminding himself it wasn’t Connor’s fault he still had so many first experiences and emotions to live and learn. “Well, I’m pretty sure you have nothing to worry about regarding your symptoms when you’re with John.”

“How can you be sure of that?” Connor asked.

“Just trust me on this, I know. And I just want to add that I think John is a very nice, handsome and intelligent young man.” Hank added with a wide smile.

This only made Connor even more confused. “I agree John is very socially adapt and extremely intelligent, especially in his professional field. And yes, according to socially constructed standards he’s quite handsome, but I fail to see why any of these basic observations is relevant for our current discussion?”

Hank let out another small laugh. “I’m sorry kid, it’s sometimes easy to forget how new emotions still are for you. Ahh, how do I put this..” Hank took a minute to consider his words. “Son, It sounds like you might be experiencing your first cru..”

But Hank didn’t get to finish his sentence as Fowler suddenly came rushing out from his office calling everyone to attention with his authoritarian voice. “Listen up people, we got a situation on our hands!! We just received a triple bomb threat aimed at a shared android and human family center downtown! You all know the drill! I want all personal working this! I will head out with Alpha team now and you’ll all get updates in route go go GO!”

The whole office immediately became a flurry of motion and action as all personal answered on their captain’s order.

Hank stood and pulled on his jacket ready to move out as well. “Sorry kid, I’ll catch you later, ok? Mind the base while we’re gone.”

“No, I’m coming with you!” Connor stated standing as well, ignoring the lingering pain in his leg.

“Connor you’re grounded! Until we figure out the cause of your malfunctions you can’t join the field. You know that!” Hank ordered.

“But..” Connor was about to protest when Fowler appeared beside the pair.

“Gear up Connor, I’m gonna need you on Alpha.” The captain interrupted.

“Jeffery, what the hell?! I thought we agreed Connor was on standby until we know what causes his glitches!” Hank protested, wanting to keep his son safe.

Fowler look apologetic to the lieutenant. “I know Hank, and I wouldn’t be asking Connor to join if the situations weren’t so dire. Likely multiple bombs are at play and our bomb squad won’t be able to cover all the ground. Connor and his state-of-the-art scanner, detection programs and skills are our best hope to come out of this with no casualties.”

“I won’t let you down, captain.” Connor promised, his eyes determined.

“Damn it, alright! But you stay close to me you hear?” Hank pointed at Connor.

“Yes lieutenant.” Connor answered, slipping into professional mode automatically, relived he was allowed to join his team and help.

“Alright, with that settled let’s move it” Fowler barked.

---

Reed arrived at scene with Tina. The two had been on patrol when the call about the bomb threat had reached them. Even though they’d speed along at full speed and sirens, the scene was already busy as evacuation was being planned, bomb detection was set up and a perimeter was being established.

To the detective’s great dismay, he found the Tin Can standing with the bomb squad, helping with the set up and talking possible locations of the bombs. Reed grinded his teeth, the android wasn’t even supposed to be here! The fact that it was gave way to the possibility, that the glorified computer had been deemed necessary to fulfill the hope in coming out of this casualty free.

“Reed! I need you as leader on evac, move your ass!” Fowler suddenly barked, startling him out of his hateful musing. Reed decided he’d find a way to deal with the Tin Can later. He didn’t really care about the androids, but there were actual human lives at stake and that needed to be dealt with first.

Once the evacuation was completed Reed looked around to see where else he could assist and found himself at the small base operation where the bomb squad where busy trying to track down the bombs. It seemed the Tin Can was doing most of the work as it operated his wide range scanners and had already succeeded in locating two of the three bombs that had been threatened, sending bomb techs teams and drones on their way to do disarming.

Most officers on site were looking on in admiration as Connor quickly and efficiently took over and administered the task at locating the bombs and guiding the field teams to the correct locations, managing the multitasking flawlessly.

Reed had to bite the insides of his cheeks so his anger wouldn’t be too obvious. He longed to reach down into his pocket for his remote and mess the android up, but even he knew that interfering right now in such a high-risk situation, were actually human lives was on the line wouldn’t do.

The last bomb took longer to locate, but finally Connor managed to lock down its position, directing the last bomb squad towards it. All bombs had been placed in adjacent buildings next to the Family center, but all had been android related in some way. One had been in an apartment building that housed a mix of humans and androids, another had been placed in a free android tech clinic and the third had been in a converted Cyberlife store that now sold upgrade services and spare parts to most models.

One by one each bomb squad called in as they located a bomb and when they’d successfully disarmed it. When finally the last ‘Bomb is neutralized‘ was called in, it was as if the whole group of spectators let out a collective sigh of relief before bursting out in applause and cheers.

Reed was furious when he saw all the cheering was directed towards the Tin Can. People walked up to pat it on its shoulders and compliment it on its work. You didn’t congratulate or thank a damn computer for just doing its fucking job!

Hank walked up to the android to put an arm around his shoulders. “That was damn impressive son, I’m so proud of you.”

Even captain Fowler walked up with a pleased smile and took a firm hold of the Tin Can’s shoulder. “You did great detective, you saved a lot of lives today.”

Connor accepted the praise with a stained smile. For some reason he didn’t feel as calm or relieved as he should be, it just felt.. Too easy. It had been fairly simple to locate and disarm the bombs. Granted his scanner systems were the best prototype technology, but still. Something didn’t feel quite right..

Reed was fuming, so the Tin Can wanted to show of its fancy scanner? Well, so be it. Since the danger had passed there was no need to hold himself back any longer. Finding a discreet spot, away from most of the crowds, Reed fished up his remote. He quickly entered the Tin Can’s service code, he’d memorized by now, and found the setting guide for its scanner systems;

[Scanner settings // Scanner radius setting 1.8 miles] Reed readjusted; [Scanner radius setting 30 miles // WARNING a smaller scan radius is recommended // Risk of overheating to model]

The Tin Can’s current setting was specially designed to scan for certain components and signal weaves needed for the making and remote activation of most bombs, explaining why the android had been so efficient in location them. The setting adjustments guide also allowed to include many specific parameters; radio tower signals, different types of organic lifeforms, magnetic forces, radioactive material and so on. He crossed of every single box he could.

[WARNING smaller search margin is recommended // Current settings will require excess processor usage]

Ignoring the pop-up warnings as always Reed proceeded with the override, turning to watch with glee.

The effect was immediately. Connor suddenly let out a harsh grasp and took to his head when suddenly his scanner reactivated spontaneously, with a much wider range than advised and including all possible search parameters available. His head was flooded with feedback of thousands of results, making his head pound fiercely.

“What’s wrong kid?” Hank asked, immediately alarmed at his son’s obvious distress.

“Are you suffering another malfunction?” Fowler followed up taking a stabilizing hold on Connor’s shoulder to keep the detective from stumbling.

Connor nodded tightly. “Y-Yes sir.. My scanner suddenly turned to its highest setting capable. I-It’s intense..”

“Come on then, let’s get you back to the station before it gets any worse.” Hank said, already guiding his son towards their waiting squad car.

Reed watched with satisfaction as the Tin Can struggled to even walk straight, even with assistance from both Hank and the captain. The gathered crowd parted willingly as the two cops aided the android towards the car.

Suddenly the Tin Can stopped up abruptly and straightened. “Wait!!” it called out, its eyes wide yet distant, clearly paying attention to something on its scanner, unseen to everyone else.

“What’s the matter Connor?” Captain Fowler asked, immediately ready for action. Sensing the detective had caught something of importance.

“T-There’s another bomb! It’s.. It’s of a different unorthodox design.. So I.. My scanner didn’t detect it before..” Connor stammered, clearly struggling to make sense of all the inputs he was receiving from his wide scan, making even speaking an exhausting challenge at the moment. “It’s big.. Much more p-powerful than the others.. They were.. Probably just d-decoys to distract us from finding t-this one..”

“Fuck! Can you locate it?” Hank asked, his body already coiling with adrenaline and anxiety at the unwelcome news.

“It’s inside the c-center facility.. In an old sealed off vent in the basement..” Connor’s breaths were starting to turn harsh, as the intense scan was overheating several of his components, forcing his ventilation system to work harder. He struggled to keep focus on only the relevant inputs, despite the bombardment of scan results that kept flooding him. “We.. We need to widen the perimeter.. If this goes off our current position won’t offer a-any safe…” Conner stopped in the middle of his sentence, his eyes widening with fear as his scans showed him another horrific discovery. “T-There’s a human child still i-inside the building!!” He suddenly exclaimed.

“WHAT?!” Both Hank, Fowler and Reed exclaimed loudly in unison, as horrified outburst echoed throughout the surrounding crowds.

Fowler turned to Reed with a strict stare. “Reed! You were in charge of evacuation! How the hell could you miss a fucking child?!” The captain barked angrily.

Reed was taking totally aback. He had been in charge of the evac. He’d made a through plan and sent divided teams into the building, each covering a designated area that had called in when a section had been cleared. He pulled out his pad on which he had the full blueprint of the building and had winged off all sections that had been cleared. He was sure he’d checked off all sections!! All… Except one… A small area containing a children’s playroom had been overlooked.. He’d missed it… A cold dread filled up inside the detective as he realized his mistake. He’d been so preoccupied with how to carry out his vendetta against the Tin Can he’d neglected a whole section of the building in his evacuation plan. For once in his life Reed was stunned into near silence.

“I.. I.. I don’t know how.. I didn’t mean..” He stammered in despair, his eyes never leaving the pad in his hands that started shaking.

“Shit! Widen our perimeter with at least 200 yards!!And we need a bomb squad drone ASAP! We have a child’s life at stake here!!” Captain Fowler shouted out.

Connor shook his head, his eyes still distant and pinched as he focused on his scan. “There’s no time..” He muttered and before anyone had time to react, the android pulled free of the supporting holds Hank and Fowler had on him and sprinted towards the building himself.

“CONNOR!!” Hank bellowed and made a move to follow his son, but was forcibly held back by both Fowler and Ben.

“Hank!! You can’t go in there!!” Ben called, struggling to hold the lieutenant at bay, even with captain Fowler’s help.

“Connor’s in there! I need to fucking help him!!” Hank shouted, vigorously fighting the hands holding him back.

“Connor made his choice before I could intervene, but I won’t risk two of my men today!” Fowler groaned as he fought against the lieutenant.

“Fuck, Jeffery I can’t lose another son!!” Hank cried out, as the fight slowly drained from his body, a cloud of despair and fear settling over him instead.

“This is Connor we’re talking about. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Chris offered with confidence in his voice, although it did little to calm Hank’s gut.   

Reed stood back, still staring dumbfounded at the pad on his hands. He was so out of it he didn’t even notice when the remote in his pocket vibrated with the ‘Connection lost’ message, as the Tin Can ran selflessly into the bomb threatened building to save the child he was supposed to have brought to safety first.

‘Fuck…’

---

Connor felt an immediate relief as his scanner suddenly returned to its normal parameters once he’d sprinted the first 50th feet or so towards the family center. He didn’t dwell too much on it though, only being silently grateful he could now readjust it to pin down a firm, undisturbed, location of the child wandering aimlessly around on the first floor. Sprinting as fast as his still affected leg component could carry him, he burst through the doors, wasting no time.

“HELLO!” He called out loudly as he made his way to the stairs, leading to the first floor. “My name is Connor, I’m here to help you!” He called out again, hoping announcing his presence before making direct contact would appease the no doubt scared child.

“Call out if you can hear me!” He then added, knowing he was getting closer.

“H-Hello.. I-I’m here.. I’m scared!” A small voice echoed down the hallway seconds before the figure of a young yellow haired girl, no older than five appeared at the end of the floor. She was clutching a stuffed dog to her chest and tears were streaking down her cheeks in a steady stream from her brown eyes.

Connor was quick to reach her before he picked her up in a hurry, although he was careful not to hurt her in the process. He cradled her protectively against his chest and ran back the way he came. The small girl yelled out, startled at the manhandling, clutching her stuffed toy closer to her chest.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to scare you. I just want to get you out of here as fast as possibly, ok? I promise I’m not going to hurt you.” Connor reassured, making sure to keep his eyes soft and his voice as non-threatening as possible, despite the growing unease rising in his chest.

“I want my mommy!” The girl cried out.

“I’ll get you to your mom, I promise. Don’t worry, everything is going to be alright.” Conner soothed. He was almost at the exit just a few yards more…

.. Then the ear deafening sound of an explosion…

Connor had just enough time and wits to throw himself under the metal bolted receptions desk, tightening his hold around the small girl in his arms and covering her the best he could with his body before the building came crashing down, turning the world around them black…

---

The resounding shockwave from the detonated bomb floored the entire DPD and emergency responders. Shards of glass were raining down upon them as the windows in the surrounding buildings blew out.

One by one each officer fought themselves back onto shaky legs, their ears ringing and bleeding. Scraps and purple bruises already blooming on torn skin. Reed took to his head where a steady stream of blood was flowing, hissing sharply at the pained touch. He looked to the now demolished building of the Family center with wide, unbelieving eyes. To his left Hank was stumbling forward unsteadily, only resulting the man falling to his hands and knees, tears making a clean streak down his ashy cheeks. He was screaming something, but Reed could only hear the ringing of his own ears.

This.. Was not how he’d planned things to go…

---

The collapsed building debris creaked and shifted loudly above them in the little air pocket. The metal desk they’d taken cover under had partially collapsed over them and was now pressing hard against Connor’s staining back as the android was bracing against the immense weight from above with his forearms and knees. A sharp metal piece from the shredded desk had drilled its way into his lower back, right beside his spinal cord, warm thirium dripping from the wound. The little girl was currently laying shielded under him in a curled-up ball, whimpering softly, covered in dust. The only light filling the small space being the red light of Connor’s LED spinning slowly. The weight above was crushing and the pain from the protruding metal in his back was excruciating, but he forced himself to keep conscious and stay strong for the frightened girl crying beneath him, he couldn’t let her know he was struggling or how much danger they were still in.

“Shh.. Shh, it’s okay.. I got you.. Are you okay? Anything hurting?” He spoke softly, compelling himself to keep his voice calm and comforting despite his current agony, determined not to let it show and scaring her even further.

The girl unfolded slightly from her curled up position, her stuffed toy dog still hugged close to her body. She looked at him with her big, teary, brown eyes.  She shook her head gently no to his question.

“Can you tell me your name?” He followed up. “O-Olivia.. A-Are we going to die?” She whimpered timidly.

“No.. No we’re going to be just fine. I’m going to send a message to my friends outside and they’re going to find us very soon.” Connor reassured. Some of his hardware had been knocked offline or damaged by the blast, but he still managed to send a single, simple message to Hank’s phone, hoping his dad’s device (and his dad himself) were still intact and alive after the explosion. ‘Both alive. Buried by debris. Damaged. Send help urgently.’. The light around them turned yellow as Connor sent his message, before turning back to red once more.

“T-There.. They’ll be here any minute to save you.” He soothed, managing a soft smile, even if it was a bit strained from his current state.

“And you..” The girl offered quietly, turning a bit beneath him to look more directly at him.

Connor nodded. “And me.” He agreed, hoping she was right.

“W.. W-What’s your name?” Olivia asked. “My name is Connor.” “My mommy was in h-here as well.. Is she dead?” Olivia asked, her eyes overflowing with tears.

Connor shook his head. “No, no one else but you were in here. So, I’m sure your mom is okay and is very w-worried about you. T-That’s why I came to find you.” He quickly reassured.

Olivia sniffed a couple of times, reeling her tears back in. “Thank you for.. F-Finding me.. I.. I wasn’t supposed to leave my mommy, but I wanted to go play in the playroom and went there without telling her.. Suddenly.. Everyone was just gone and I couldn’t find her.. Do you think she’ll be mad at me?”

“I promise you she’s not going to be mad at you. G-Getting you back safe is all she cares about right now, and I’ll make sure you do.” Connor promised.

“O-Okay..” Olivia accepted and started fiddling with her small hands in a nervous gesture.

There were a few seconds of silence before Connor spoke up again, wanting to keep Olivia distracted and hopefully ease a bit of her rightful anxiousness.

“That’s a very cute dog you have there.. What’s his name?” He asked, readjusting his position slightly even though it offered him no relief whatsoever.

“It’s a girl.” She offered, sounding a bit offended by the misgendering of her toy, stroking its brown fleece head lovingly.

Connor was quick to correct his mistake. “I’m very sorry.. What’s her name then?”

“Muffin.” She answered.

“That’s a nice name.. I h-have a dog too you know..”

Her eyes lit up a bit at that. “You do? A real one?” She asked eagerly.

Connor nodded. “Yes, his name is Sumo. He’s a very cute and good dog too..”

“I love Muffin, but I’d like to have a real dog too someday. Maybe I’ll ask Santa for one next Christmas.” She explained, clearly very passionate about her possible future with a dog.

Connor was moved by her excitement and furthered his determination to make sure she’d get to experience the joy of having a dog. “That’s a very good wish, I.. I’m sure you’ll have a real dog someday, Olivia.”

Olivia beamed at that, but it quickly turned into a frightful gasp as the metal desk above them groaned loudly as the wreckage above shifted once again. The shifting made the weight suddenly increased immensely above and Connor couldn’t help but letting out a pained cry as the whole ceiling lowered an inch before he was able to brace hard enough against the added burden. The shift caused the metal splint to burrow even deeper into his back. He bit down another cry, but his red LED blinked wildly for a few seconds from the intense pain, before settling again. Connor’s breaths escaped in a few harsh pants to cool is inner core as much as possible before he turned off his own ventilation systems completely. Olivia needed the air more than him and he needed to conserve what little there was for her.

“Do you have a big owie?” Olivia then asked him once she recovered from the scare and looked at him with sad, worried eyes.

Connor’s head snapped back up, having dropped it when he’d needed to adjust when the load had shifted.

Before he could even answer Olivia continued in a slight babble that happens when a kid tries to explain something hurriedly. “ Because.. My neighbor Lucas is an android and he also have a light in his head like you, he sometimes babysits me when my mommy’s at work.. And.. Once he fell and his light turned red like yours. He told me that happens when an android gets an owie.. But his light turned back to blue in a few minutes.. Yours haven’t so.. Do you have a big one then?”

Olivia was clearly bright for her age and Connor was torn between not wanting to lie to her, knowing she’d not be fooled anyway, but also not wanting to make her worry about him. “I.. It j-just hurts my back a little staying in this position, but I’m going to be ok, don’t worry.” He settled, not a complete lie, but not the whole truth either.

Olivia luckily seemed to accept the explanation, though she still eyed Connor with a bit concern. “When I have an owie, my mommy will put a bandage on it and give me a kiss and a hug.. Do you have a mommy? I know Lucas doesn’t have one..” She then asked.

“I don’t but.. I have a dad..” Connor answered. He really hoped Hank was alright.

“Does he bandage and kiss your owies?” She asked, her eyes big.

“Well, he does give me bandages and hugs if I hurt myself, not so many kisses though.” Connor answered, able to find the mental image and innocent questioning a bit of humorous, despite their situation.

Olivia seemed to muse this over for a few seconds. “That’s okay, Muffin can give you a kiss, that might make you feel a bit better.” And she followed up by lifting her toy dog up and gently tap its soft snout against Connor’s cheek.

Connor leaned slightly into the touch and managed a soft smile. “That feels much better, thank you Muffin.” He said, he didn’t but he appreciated the sweet gesture non the less.

Suddenly Connor’s internal screen lit up with an incoming call and Connor felt a momentous rush of relief seeing the name. [Incoming call: Hank Anderson // Receive Y/N]

[Y // Connecting… Connected..]

“H-Hank?!”

“Connor, thank fucking God you’re alive son!! I thought I lost you!! Are you alright?” Hank’s voice filled the small space, full of relief and worry.

“I-I’m with Olivia, who was in the building. We’re buried under the rubble, in a small a-air bubble under a desk. She’s unharmed, but the oxygen is going to be depleted in approximately 37 minutes. w-we need a rescue team.” Connor explained quickly.

Hank do doubt noticed his son’s failure to actually answer his question, but quick to understand it was because he was in the presence of a child and could not detail his own state.

“We’re working on it, but the damage site is huge, Con. Do you have any idea where you’re at?” Hank asked trying to find out where to search and bring help most efficiently.

“I can..” Connor had to pause when a coughing fit overcame him, spilling thirium down his chin that had built up in his ventilation system. One of his interior lines must have bust when the weight on his back had increased.

“Are you Connor’s dad?!” Olivia suddenly called out, sitting up slightly to be closer to Connor’s head, probably thinking she needed it to be heard on the line.

There was a brief pause before Hank came to his senses and answered.

“Y-Yes, I am!”

“P-Please send help really, really soon mister.. Connor says he doesn’t have a big owie, but the light in his head is spinning red and holding the ceiling up is really hurting his back a-and some of that blue water androids drink is starting to spill on the floor. He needs help really soon too!” Olivia begged, her voice turning more and more distressed as she talked.

Clearly, she’d been much more observant than Connor had given her credit for, and it seemed like she’d tried to be strong and brave for him just as much as he tried for her.

“You’re Olivia?” Hank asked.

“Y-Yeah!”

“You’re a really brave girl Olivia and I promise we’re doing everything to get you guys out. Your mother is out here waiting for you, she’s really glad you’re ok. Now, I need you to stay strong and brave and take good care of my son until we find you, can you do that for me?”

“Y-Yeah! I can do that! But hurry please!” Oliva answered.

“Good girl!” Hank praised.

Once he finally recovered from his fit Connor returned to the conversation. “Hank.. W-We were close to the entrance when the building collapsed.. I’ll t-try to send a GPS location to your phone, but I can’t m-maintain audio communication at the same time and I.. I don’t think I’ll have enough energy to keep up the link for more than 10 minutes without.. R-Risking going into stasis and that must not happen.” Connor explained, his voice rough from his coughing.

“Got it! Do what you have to do. I have rescue on scene. I’ll make sure we’ll have your location locked and located within 10 minutes.. Hang in there son..” Hank added softly. “And you too Olivia, I’ll see you guys soon!” The lieutenant promised before the connection was cut.

Connor did as was agreed, knowing now that a signal could break through the ruble with certainty. His LED kept spinning red but every few cycles it turned yellow whenever he uploaded their location. He looked down his own body and just as Olivia said, thirium had started to pool on the floor from the steady stream running from the wound in his back. Connor’s arms and legs were starting to shake with the effort of holding the immense weight above them.

“It’s okay Connor, your dad is coming to save us and then he’ll help you get better.” Olivia said in a comforting voice, looking at the android with determination.

Despite his agony, Connor felt his heart swell. What an amazing girl Olivia was. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to make sure she made it out of this alive. The world needed more Olivas in it.

“Don’t worry O-Olivia.. I’m okay as long as you’re here.” He reassured her.

Olivia nodded in a serious manner. “I promised your dad to take care of you.”

Connor smiled. “You did.. I’m very l-lucky that I have such a brave, sweet girl like you to do that.” He agreed.

“You’re really brave too Connor and really strong.. I like you.” She declared, like it was an absolute fact before adding. “And Muffin likes you too.”

“Thank you.. I like you and Muffin too.” The android answered truthfully.

“Maybe.. When we get out and your owie is better I could come visit you and your dad and Sumo?” She then asked shyly, like she was afraid the answer might be no.

“I would love that very much and I know my dad and Sumo would too.” Connor was quick to confirm. Olivia smiled brightly the answer.

[WARNING // Thirium level 72% ∨∨ // Seek replenishment or technical aid immediately]

[WARNING // Core temperature 115°F^^ // Seek temperature reducing measures immediately]

[WARNING // Damage to internal lines 32:B-5:D] [WARNING // Spinal components 2-31 overloaded // R and L arm components overloaded // R and L leg components overloaded, L component down to 36% integrity]

Connor’s vision was being flooded with warning messages and error codes from the increasing strain in keeping the air bubble intact. The pain from the piercing metal in his back was so excruciating that the thought of saving Olivia and seeing Hank again was the only thing keeping him going at this point.   

Suddenly a loud grating noise filled their small space and Connor realized with a rush of relief that it was the sound of excavating vehicles digging above them.

Oliva crumbled back into a fetal position, hugging Muffin close once again, as the loud noise scared her, no doubt fearing their small safe space was about to collapse around them.

“It’s o-okay! It’s just the rescue team trying to dig us out!” Connor was quick to explain to the frightened girl. “You’ll be out in no time to see your mom, just a bit longer.”

Oliva looked at him with her big, brown doe eyes. The disturbing of the ruble from above made dust and grime start to rain down upon them.

“Come here, closer. Don’t be afraid. It’ll be over soon.” Connor beckoned for Olivia to seek further down so he could shield her better from the dust. She did, before reaching out to take a firm hold around his wrist for comfort. If Connor hadn’t needed to keep his hand so firmly braced to continue to keep the pocket from collapsing he’d offered to hold her hand, but sadly he couldn’t.

The noise got louder and louder as the rescue team above got closer to their position, unfortunately every time the machines dug it jarred the metal in Connor’s back, sending weave after weave of torturous agony throughout his whole frame. It took every bit of his willpower and every single override command he knew to keep himself from slipping into emergency statis mode.

Finally light, real light, broke through as the surface above them were breached and voices called from above.

“Olivia!! Connor! Can you hear us!” A man’s voice called.

“HERE!” Connor called back as loud as he could to drown out the loud machines. Since the weight had finally alleviated a bit from the cleared debris Connor used his last strength to pull Olivia out from under him, leaving him to brace with only one arm, and lifting her towards the waiting arms of a faceless first responder.

He barely caught her distraught call of his name as she was finally lifted from their sealed of prison before he finally let himself succumb to his multiple error codes and warnings and everything turned dark…

---

Reed looked on in disbelief as a small girl was lifted from the ruins of the building, dirty and crying, but otherwise totally unharmed. She was crying out the Tin Can’s name.. Even as she was handed over and buried into the neck of her waiting mother, who took her in a firm, tearful and relieved embrace. The scene grew even more frantic as the rescue team gathered around the area from where the girl had been pulled, calling for equipment and a technical EMT team to be on standby. Anderson had been denied access beyond safe perimeter (much to the lieutenant’s dismay), but he looked on worriedly from the sidelines along with the rest of the DPD personnel at scene.

After about 15 minutes they pulled the unconscious RK800 from the same spot, laying it on a gurney on its front. Four rescuers carry the gurney to the waiting tech ambulance in a half run and Anderson and several of his colleagues joins. Reed stays back, still too shocked and dazed to move from his spot. He watches as Anderson climbs into the back of the ambulance the Tin Can is loaded into and speeds off with blasting sirens.

How the hell had this day turned out so fucked up, he wondered silently.

---

Connor awoke with a jolt and is immediately punished by a piercing pain shooting all the way up his spine, making him hiss out sharply in pain and arch his back from the soft layer beneath him. The last thing he remembers is Olivia crying out his name, a blinding sea of error codes and an agonizing pain before his world turned dark.

A gentle hand presses against his shoulder as a familiar voice follows. “Easy son. Don’t strain yourself.”

Connor turned his head towards the voice, finding the soft look of Hank watching him closely from a chair pulled close to the bed in the technical aid facility the android now figured he’d woken up in.

“O.. Oli.. Olivia?” He manages to stammer, his throat feeling raw.

“Is safe and sound back with her mother, all thanks to you kid. I’m so fucking proud of you.” Hank reassures, his pride evident in his voice, stroking his thumb against his son’s bare shoulder in a calming gesture.

Connor sighs in relief at the news, settling a bit back against the slightly elevated bed under him, not able to suppress another wince as he’s once again reminded of the presence of the severe wound to his lower back. He looks down and find most of his torso covered in thick gaze. He let his head fall back on the pillow eyes closed.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Connor muttered tiredly. A line with fresh thirium was running to his left arm, but his reserves were still fairly low making him feel more drowsy than he’d normally be.

“And I’m glad you’re okay too.” Hank agreed sincerely.

Suddenly the echo of running footsteps could be heard down the hallway outside the private room and John burst through the door, slightly out of breath, looking worriedly towards Connor in his bed.

“Connor! Thank God you’re ok! I was so worried about you!!” The blonde exclaimed, marching to the android’s bedside

“J-John? What are you doing here?” Connor asked in confusion, not unhappy to see the tech, just surprised.

“I called him, told him what happened and asked him to come.” Hank explained like it was obvious.

“I’d have come anyway!” John argued, his eyes never leaving Connor.

“But.. But I’m in a tech facility.. I’m sure I’m going to be fine.. There was no need for you to burden yourself getting here.” Connor reasoned.

“I didn’t come here because I thought you needed fixing Con, I came here because I was worried sick about you when I heard you’d been caught inside that building when it exploded.. And I needed to see you.” John explained his eyes wide and voice emotional.

“O-Oh..” Was all Connor could offer as reply at first, but a small smile growing on his face. “That’s.. Thank you, John.. I’m glad you’re here.”

Sensing the vibe in the room Hanks stood up from his chair. “Well, I’m gonna go and try to find a decent cup of coffee in this place. Watch out for him for a bit will you John?” Hank asked and patted the tech on his shoulder.

“Of course.” The tech answered, his eyes still not leaving Connor’s though, as if he was afraid he’d disappear if he turned away.

Hank excited the room silently, only looking back briefly to see Connor replicate the gesture and squeezing John’s hand back with his own. The lieutenant somehow managed to find a small silver lining in seeing his son experiencing some kind of relief and happiness, despite his recently trying time with painful malfunctions and bad luck. He just hoped it would last a little longer for once…

[buckyownsmylife]

Animal of the Night - Tom Hardy smut

The one where you decided to tempt Tom by wearing a sexy Venom costume.

Warnings: smut, jealousy, possessiveness, daddy kink, oral sex (m), spanking, dirty talk, name-calling, choking

Word count: 3.1k

A/N: this was requested by the lovely @jbreenr​ a while back and it’s finally here 😎

Tom’s P.O.V.

I’d been casually watching the door, waiting for her to arrive like it was no big deal, but it absolutely was. I’d been dying to see her ever since filming wrapped, but because there was still so much to be done until I could go back home and she was knees deep in some work herself, we’d agreed that we’d meet at this off-season Halloween party one of our friends was throwing. Even though I much preferred to be locked inside a room with her all night.

“Hey, man! What you’ve been up to?” I got distracted as the host of the night finally approached me to make some light conversation. It had been a while since we had the opportunity to chat - I’d been spending all my time in the city at her apartment or mine, consequently ignoring our group of friends as I’d much rather be buried deep inside of her, but I had to admit that I did miss the guys.

Not enough to stop me from wishing I was alone with her, though.

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been so absent. You know… work. What have you been up to?” I accepted the beer he was offering as well as the hug, throwing one last glance at the door before turning my body to fully concentrate on him.

“Just the usual. Work hard and play hard. Not a lot going on at the moment.” I nodded, taking a swig of the beer before I realized I should probably ask about the rest of the gang.

“What about everyone else? Is something different going on?” Tyler seemed to think for a moment - it’s never too easy to come up with stuff to talk about when put at the spot, I should know that - but then his eyebrows shot up and a big smile opened on his face, clear indications that he had thought of something interesting.

“Yeah! I don’t know if you’ve heard this already, I know you two are kinda close, but with you being away… Apparently, Y/N has a boyfriend.” My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach at that, panic clawing my insides and begging me to start yelling.

How could she start dating and not tell me about it? Sure, she was free to find a boyfriend, what we had wasn’t exactly official, and consequently, not exclusive, but I thought I deserved at least some update when she found someone to replace me.

The thought of her being with anyone else burned me to the core, and I held the bottle of beer so tightly I was surprised it didn’t break. Grinding my teeth so Tyler wouldn’t realize there was something wrong, I asked as monotonously as I could, “Oh, really? Who’s the guy?” But all I got was a shrug.

“We don’t know, she hasn’t introduced him to anyone yet. We just assume that’s the case because she’s been skipping all of our meetings but when she does come, she giggles at her phone all the time.”

She used to do that with me. When we were all out and I’d text her something I couldn’t say out loud. I always found it adorable, and the idea of her giggling for someone else’s stupid jokes almost made me puke on the spot.

“It’s no wonder she’s been keeping him hidden, really,” Tyler continued, completely oblivious to what I was going through. “She always did like the bad boy types.”

That comment made me frown, thinking back on her exes. In all the time that we had known each other, she had only had a handful of boyfriends - but maybe those were just the ones she introduced me to. The only thing that they seemed to have in common was their absolute inability to treat her how she deserved to be treated, so while I didn’t necessarily think that she had a type, if there was one way to define them, it would definitely be as “bad”.

“Mind if I join you, boys?” A seductive and familiar voice came from behind me, instinctively making me stand up straighter before turning around.

“Oh, fuck…” I heard Tyler comment at the same time that I took in her costume, my eyebrows shooting up as he continued, “You look fucking hot!” and I spilled out, “What the hell are you wearing?”

Y/N frowned, looking down at her own clothing like she had honestly forgotten what it was that she was dressed into - a sexy, slutty version of my venom character, barely recognizable with the lack of fabric.

“I’m venom!” She excitedly exclaimed, looking up at me again with a huge grin. “I thought you’d be the first to recognize it. What kind of an actor are you, really?”

Tyler chuckled behind us, but I could only focus on the woman looking up at me, provoking all sort of conflicting feelings to course through my body. There was jealousy and longing, desire and possessiveness. All I knew was that I needed to get her in a secluded environment in the next five minutes, or I would publicly explode.

“Come here with me, will ya?” I took her by the elbow, effortlessly moving us through the crowd of our drunk friends until I found an empty room I could shove her in, paying no attention to Tyler’s low whistle as we left him behind.

Once the door was safely closed, I turned around to stare down at her, really taking in her outfit. “I thought you knew better than to tease me like this,” I chastised, clicking my tongue as a smirk painted my lips at seeing her shiver when my voice dropped. Boyfriend or no boyfriend, I could still pull a reaction from her.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“We have quite a lot of things to discuss, little girl…” I bit my lower lip in an attempt to reel myself in and remain motionless, instead of just jumping on the man I was so desperate to feel up.

It’d been way too fucking long. Any time apart from Tom was already hard on me, but ever since we started fucking, any night I had to spend without his gorgeous body hovering over mine was particularly painful to me.

Which is why I decided to wear this “sexy” Venom costume. Even though he offered to meet me back in my place, I knew he missed his friends - our friends - and this way, we could get everything we wanted.

I just had to make his resolve crack so he’d pull me into the nearest bedroom and bang me five ways into tomorrow, and later we’d rejoin the party and mingle again.

By the way my night had been going, I could see I was very close to getting what I wanted.

Tilting my head to the side, the picture-perfect idea of the innocent little girl he always liked to treat me as, I asked, “What’s wrong, daddy?”

Tom’s reaction was… surprising. His mouth fell open, his fists curled and he stood there watching me until suddenly he was all over me, pulling me to stand on my tiptoes so our lips could connect.

I moaned into the kiss, briefly forgetting about his odd behavior as the familiar taste of him invaded my mouth. “God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he groaned when we parted, leaving me almost dizzy with desire as I rapidly blinked a few times to be able to focus on him once more.

“What would your boyfriend think about you being locked up in a bedroom with me, wearing this, huh, sweetheart?” And now I was back to confused. What the hell was he talking about?

“Boyfriend?” I asked, pushing him away just enough to look him in the eye. Tom’s expression was inscrutable as he stared down at me with that fire in his eyes that never failed to make me shiver.

“Yes, boyfriend. Tyler told me all about it,” he commented, shrugging as if it was no big deal, yet his fingers pressed tightly against my hips, keeping me close to him. The anger was clear in every single one of his features.

I could read between the lines. I knew Tom like the back of my hand, through the years of friendship and now… whatever the hell this was. The hint of possessiveness was there, just threatening to take over, and my God was I desperate to see how it would play out.

“What did Tyler say?” I asked, looking up at him from under my eyelashes as I tried not to let my smile grow, so he wouldn’t catch up onto what was happening earlier than I wanted him to.

“That you’ve been skipping outings and whenever you do go, you’re always staring at your phone and giggling.” I bit my lip so I wouldn’t giggle right then, turning away from him in the hopes of hiding my expression.

When I turned around once more, his eyebrows were raised. It was clear he wanted an explanation, so I cleared my throat and tried to speak as seriously as I was able to do at that moment.

“Oh, right…” I didn’t deny it, fiddling with some random knick knacks on the bedside table. “You mean… like I do when I’m talking to you?”

Looking at him over my shoulder, I watched as realization suddenly hit, and that’s when I couldn’t control myself anymore. I dropped to my knees before him, mouth watering just at the prospect of having that delicious cock of his deep in my throat, filling my mouth.

A beautiful blush spread over his chest as he panted over me, a sign of just how affected he was, with his lustful eyes watching my every movement when I started to suck on his member.

“What about the costume?” He asked, making me giggle when I pulled back to answer, but kept my hands working his cock, keeping him hard and ready for me.

“I just wanted to tempt you.” A growl escaped his chest, making me even wetter just as he reached for my hair and pulled me back to my feet.

“You should have reconsidered if you wanted my dick anywhere near you.” I whined when I realized what he meant. Even though I loved his punishments, I was aching for his cock, and he was right - I wanted it now. So maybe I should have thought twice before looking for this slutty venom costume just so I could rile him up. “Now I’m gonna have to spank the shit out of you.”

He bent me over the bed, pushing the cheap fabric of my clothing to my stomach and exposing my naked pussy to his gaze. “You’re such a whore,” he chuckled when he realized I had forgone any type of underwear, and I found myself rubbing my thighs to get some relief from hearing him call me names.

Should I feel bad that it got me so hot? Oh, well. There was really nothing I could do about it except hope he would take care of me eventually.

Tom’s P.O.V.

Witnessing her pleasure in being humiliated like this only added to my frustration. She really was the perfect woman for me, but instead of ravishing her like I wished I could do, I’d have to entertain myself with her delectable ass, all ‘cause she decided to behave like a slut to catch my attention.

“You look so delicious, darling,” I teased her by running my fingers over her pussy lips, gathering some of the nectar already threatening to spill from there. “It’s a shame you misbehaved.”

I let my hand fall over her right cheek then, startling her so I could hear her yelp. I knew she got off on the pain - it was another thing that I loved about her - but it wouldn’t be half as fun if she didn’t pretend this truly was a punishment, huh?

“Can’t reward that kind of teasing,” I kept admonishing her, slowly inserting a finger into her hole, frustrating the both of us further just so I could have her trembling in anticipation, trying to guess what type of touch I’d grant her next.

But I needed to get this show on the road so I could fuck her properly, so abandoning all type of play, I laid slap after slap on her ass, watching it bounce back after each spank, hearing her moans before they were drowned by the sounds of the party downstairs.

“Daddy!” She moaned, clinging to my thigh, making me even harder inside my jeans. She really did love getting her ass spanked, and I loved her ass, so I’d take any opportunity to get my hands on it.

“You know how long I’ve been dreaming of burying myself deep inside this pussy, little girl? Do you?” I snarled, hearing her whimpers like they were music to my ears. “And then you pull shit like this, and how the fuck am I supposed to keep myself together long enough to tame your bratty ass?”

Her thighs began to tremble, fingernails biting on the skin of my thigh. I knew what this meant, so I immediately stopped spanking her, pulling her by her hair so I could whisper in her ear, “I know you’re a whore, but no cumming before I have my dick inside of you, got it?”

She cried out at the authoritative tone in my voice, but I knew her well enough by now to know that she wasn’t done testing me yet. “You can’t control my orgasm,” she dared to fight me. “You don’t own me. I’m not yours.”

I clutched her throat, cutting off her air so I wouldn’t have to listen to any more of her shit.

“Shut. Up.” Her eyes were wide when I threw her on the bed, pulling her by the ankles so her legs were dangling off of it, keeping her on her stomach as I unbuckled my belt.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” I complained as I climbed up her body and forced her legs open as wide as they could go, considering the position, and slid home. I knew it wouldn’t hurt her because she was already dripping, but I also knew she’d feel the stretch from being without me for so long.

Call me sentimental, but I didn’t feel like I had to ask to know she hadn’t been with anyone else, considering our previous conversation.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“You didn’t say shit like that when I had you over my lap, screaming for your daddy, huh?” He taunted, hand pulling on my hair once more as the other held my hips down, granting him the leverage he needed to fuck me against the mattress. “Or when I fucked you so hard that you couldn’t walk without feeling me for a week.”

That was a fun day. Memories of our last time together rushed through me, adding to my arousal, especially once I remembered how smug he was when I told him about my difficulties to walk during our weekly calls.

It was good to know he’d thought about it so much that it still lived in his mind, all those months later.

“Should have known I’ve owned you ever since I shoved my cock inside this tight little pussy, sweetheart.” I shivered when he whispered the warning against my ear, voice low and seductive like that night he took me in a bar’s bathroom before taking me home. It’d been the culmination of years of sexual frustration and dirty dreams, and I still thought about it every time I had to get myself off.

“How did you think this would go?” He questioned, incredulity clear in his tone. “Did you think you could fuck me until you were tired and then I’d let you go find a little boy toy you could control? Oh, no, darling.”

“There’s no going back anymore, little girl.” The threat had me coming around him, eyes rolling to the back of my head as the entire moment became too much for my poor hungry body to handle.

I’d always been known for biting off more than I could chew, but honestly, I’d rather die than waste the opportunity to be owned like this by Tom fucking Hardy.

“I’m not gonna leave this pussy, sweetheart,” he continued, like he was honestly telling me something that I didn’t want to happen. “Ever.” To drive his point home, he kept fucking me through my orgasm, pulling on my hair as my moans became whimpers and my hands bunched up the sheets of a stranger’s bed.

“It’s mine now.” With that, he pulled me back enough that he could meet my gaze, allowing me to witness him panting with his own pleasure, eyes darkened as he took in how my body folded to abide by his wishes. “You’re mine,” he announced, such firmness in his tone that any doubt that could have lived inside of me instantly disappeared.

I knew this wasn’t just dirty talk anymore. He was telling me the truth - he was warning me of a fact, now. My body belonged to him.

Still, I guess even he needed to be reassured from time to time, because the next thing to fall from his lips was a plead, “Tell me that you want me.” His cock kept plunging in and out of my cavern, caressing my oversensitive walls in that way I loved so much. “Say that you are mine.”

I didn’t even hesitate before granting him exactly what he wanted.

“I’m yours, daddy, all yours!” I cried out, entire body trembling underneath his,  desperate to make sure he heard me so he wouldn’t keep me away from my second orgasm of the night. “Oh, God!” I pleaded, fucking myself back against him. “Please don’t stop, daddy! Please!

Tom’s P.O.V.

“I’m not gonna stop, darling,” I assured her, hands caressing her back in an effort to calm her down. “Not until I feel you clenching around me.” A groan escaped me when I felt her do just that, and I didn’t know if it was on purpose or if another orgasm had hit her.

“Why would I ever stop fucking you?” I was babbling now, I knew - delirious with my own pleasure, trying to get her to cum one last time before me so she could milk my orgasm in that way only she knew how. “Best fucking pussy I ever fucked, would never leave you if I could.”

A strangled cry escaped her, right when blinding white bliss took over my sight and I pulled out just in time to stroke my release over her ass, grunting in the relief that followed.

“Fuck, I love you,” I whispered to the silence of the room before she turned around from underneath me, unworried about dirtying up the bed that didn’t belong to either of us.

Pulling me by my shirt, she whispered against my lips, “I love you more, daddy.”

[feral-ella-flynn]

Paying the Toll, pt 2: M Troll x F Human, SFW (for now)

Part 1

Male Troll + Female Human

still SFW (so far)

2.5K/6.5K word draft

tagging @feralprose @monster-bait @apocalypticromantic666 @pre-schoolervengance @bresilienne-ami @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic @dont-call-me-a-faerie @kirmalight (comment to be tagged in updates!)

I bet no one expected this to be updated! Including me! This installment is definitely not as long as I intended, because I got really hung up on details--that’s why I’m posting anyway, to get some momentum so that hopefully the third part will be both longer and not so tardy. 

Escaping a goblin raid on your village leads you to a bridge, but you have nothing to offer the troll who guards it for a toll...except yourself

You wake in darkness.  At first you aren't sure you're awake at all--it's only by touching your own eyelids that you can feel sure they're open. It seems to make no difference between the thick, pressing dark around you either way.

“Mattie?” you whisper, your voice thin and hoarse. 

There’s no answer, and understanding comes crashing down on you, like floodwater overwhelming a dam. You are not in your cramped room under the eaves of the big house, Mathilde is not sleeping on the narrow bed an armspan away–if she’s lucky, perhaps she was able to hide in the cellars or the attics, somewhere that was safe enough until the goblin raiders felt they had run out of things to raze and ravish and moved on. Or perhaps help would come, from the regiment billeted outside the market town, or from rangers who might have been near enought to see the smoke. If Mattie was unlucky….

A sob catches in your dry throat, then turns to choking dry heaves that leave you shuddering. Bile burns on your tongue. You huddle into the nest of furs, remembering now where you are and how you came to be here, naked and alone in the pitch black.

Not alone. There is the hush of leather brushing against stone, a faint musky scent. 

“Brúsi?”

“Aye.” The troll’s gravel-rough voice is low and close–you almost reach out, ready to blunder once again into his arms rather than be alone with your fears.

The scrape of flint is loud enough in the silence to make you jump. Sparks illuminate the troll, kneeling at your side, and as he coaxes the tinder to unfurl into flame you hastily wrap a fur around your bare flesh. Whatever mood made you so bold before has been banished by your nightmares.

“Is it morning?”

The troll shrugs. “Near enough.”

“Shall I–shall I make breakfast for you?” Your fingers knead anxiously in the soft nap of the pelt that you clutch closed over your chest. “What do you like for breakfast?”

The troll–Brúsi–glances at you, his head tilted in the way that is already familiar. You think it means he’s just as bewildered by your contract, and by you, as you are yourself.

“Dried goat,” he says. “Morning meal, evening meal. Unless there is a new goat.”

“Oh. Where do the goats come from?”

He shrugs. “The bridge provides.”

Well. You take a deep breath, pushing the fear and panic of the last day, of the dark dreams, down into a tight ball at the bottom of your stomach, where you can ignore it for a little while. “Does the bridge ever provide eggs?”

And so you begin your month as housekeeper to a troll. 

Your clothes are badly stained, and chilly from being spread out on the stone floor, but they're dry and you dress in them anyway, trying to ignore the scrutiny of Brúsi’s dark blue eyes as he watches you. He seems fascinated by the layers as you lace your stays over your shift, tie the strings of your petticoat, and your cheeks burn with a blush as you finally button your gown. You do your best with the tangles in your hair--letting it hide your face until your heart stops thumping in your ears before you twist it into a hasty braid. 

There are no eggs. But you take a lantern the troll indicates and follow him into another cave that serves as a store room.

“There is goat,” he says, pointing at the considerable supply of dried meat, “and other goods, if tha wish them.” His gesture at the heaps of bags, crates, jars, casks, boxes–all jumbled together and shoved to one side–is dismissive, as if there is nothing of value to be found. You stare wide-eyed at a bolt of fine silk, at the glint of gold from a carelessly overturned casket with a broken lid.

“What is all this?”

“Payment for the toll, for when there were no goats.”

“You don’t do anything with the things paid for the toll? They just sit and rot?”

He shrugs. “I butcher the goats.”

You can only shake your head, but the practicality can’t be denied–gold and silk isn’t much use in a cave, and it’s with less wonder but more delight that you find flour, oil, and salt.

Breakfast is fried bread--and goat meat.

Once the meal is prepared and cleaned away, the troll vanishes up the dark tunnel. He takes no lantern with him. He also doesn't say a word to you before he leaves, and you stand in the cave for a while, expecting him to come back with instructions, or–well, something. But he doesn’t, and  you can only twist your hands in the skirt of your gown for so long. Eventually you pick up the lantern and explore. 

There is little enough to see. Other than what you noticed when you arrived, there is an alcove that must be where the troll sleeps, on piled furs that smell musky but not unpleasant. There is the storage cave, although it seems larger than it did at first, because you realize that you can’t see the far wall before the circle of light gives way to darkness.

And then there is the tunnel entrance, where your new employer disappeared, and which presumably leads out, to--your stomach lurches at the memory of being upside down from the sky–the underside of the bridge. But perhaps that had been an illusion, and the tunnel merely led out to an opening in the bank underneath the bridge? You had been half out of your mind with fear, after all. Maybe you dreamed that part.

Maybe…maybe you could simply walk out of this tunnel, out of the dark, and walk all the way home.

Except that you agreed to a contract. And the troll did say he wouldn’t eat you, wouldn’t even touch you, which was more than any of the men at the big house ever promised...none of them had touched you, but you knew that was because you had been careful, so careful, all the time, to be invisible. 

It had helped that Mattie made it easy to fade into the background. She flaunted her pretty curls and winsome dimples, and when she sometimes crept into your shared attic room well after midnight she always had a new length of fine fabric for a dress or a necklace of amber beads to show for it. You asked once if she wasn’t afraid of falling pregnant, but she just shrugged.

“I know to be careful,” she said, and hid the coins she’d gotten for selling her latest bauble away beneath her bed.

Thinking of Mattie makes your eyes sting with tears, and reminds you that probably there was no home to walk back to–and if you tried, there would likely be nothing to be done there except burying the dead. You leave the tunnel entrance alone, and busy yourself with organizing the heaped goods in the storage cave.

When Brúsi returns, he brings you eggs, freshly laid and nested in a straw packed basket. 

“They had no goat." He shrugs. 

Other than struggling to invent new ways of preparing goat meat, most of your time is spent sorting. You find all manner of things in the storage cave, from precious jewels to plain linen fabric. The gems and gold you store in caskets, and then can’t shift on your own–Brúsi laughs at you, and picks them up with one hand, arranging them neatly along one wall as you direct him. You stack bolts of fabric, folding shorter lengths neatly into a another chest, you line up swords with gold wrapped hilts, swords with elaborately carved scabbards, swords that are short, swords that are nearly as long as you are tall, and then there are maces and axes and other things you can’t name. There’s even a pair of pistols in a tooled leather box, their handles gleaming mother of pearl. It’s more treasure than you ever imagined, and you feel that you’re in a dragon’s den instead of a troll’s cave--except that Brúsi shows little interest in the goods, except for the goat meat.

“If you don't have a use for these things, why accept them?” you asked, after the third day of sorting boxes and bundles and barrels, and still not finding the back wall of the cave. You’d found a crown, heavy and lumpy, like something out of an ancient grave, and under it a belt of bronze scales that linked together.

The troll just shrugged. “They are the toll, for the bridge. There must be a toll.”

“Then…" you bite your lip, but blurt "can I use some things?”

“If tha hast a use for them, then mayhap the bridge meant them for tha to use.”

“You make it sound like the bridge is alive,” you murmur, running your fingers over the bolts of fabric, already imagining yourself in a dress made of such soft material.

“The bridge is the bridge,” Brúsi says.

“What does that mean?”

He just shrugs.

You sigh, picking up a bolt of wool–practical, and still finer than anything you’ve ever worn. “If the bridge provides, can I give it a list? I need thread, needles, scissors, buttons…I can’t keep wearing this dress,” you gesture down at yourself. “Not without something else to wear while I wash it, at least, but I can’t make anything without supplies. And for that matter I need soap–”

Brúsi tilts his head. “Tha may always ask the bridge, but it works slowly. Simpler for tha to go to a market.”

You stare at him, your mouth falling open. “I can? I mean, is that allowed? I thought…”

He stares at you, the intense blue of his eyes unblinking, and you finally shrug. “I just thought I couldn’t leave the cave.”

“Not for long, but art not bound to the bridge as I am. Come.” He scoops a handful of coins into a pouch and leads you into the tunnel.

The ground slopes upward under your feet, and after a time there is a door before you, swinging outward. Brúsi ducks under its arch, his broad form filling the opening. When he doesn't move to let you through, you realize that he's blocking the way deliberately. Unease spikes through you.

"Is something wrong?"

"The bridge made tha sick before," he says. “Tha shouldst close thine eyes.” You squint suspiciously up at him–is he laughing at you?–but obey. You hear the rattle of his bone-decorated belt as he steps toward you, but then he stops. “I must touch tha,” he says. “Just to lift tha over the topside.”

“All right,” you whisper. You stifle a gasp as his enormous hands circle your waist, lifting you easily off of your feet, and then after a blur of motion you feel stone under you again.

When you open your eyes, you’re on the narrow stone arch of the bridge.  Your lantern flame becomes suddenly pale compared to the warm sunlight that makes you blink and squint. There is no dark and shadowed forest hemming in the river. Instead there is a road, smooth hard dirt fringed with wildflowers on either side, and the rooftops of a village in the distance.

“Where…” You look down at the bridge under your bare feet. 

“The bridge is all bridges,” Brúsi says. He holds out the leather bag of coins, and you take it, staggering a bit at the weight. “Buy whatever tha need.”

You hesitate, glancing from the troll to the road. What is there to stop you from walking away and never returning, from making a life somewhere? The bag in your hand holds more money than you had ever expected to earn in your life. There would be nothing to hold you to the bridge…except your promise.

“Tha canst not escape the bridge.” Brúsi seems to be reading your thoughts, although he’s not even looking at you. He’s gazing down at the water. “Every bridge tha sets foot on will be this bridge, until the toll is paid.”

“Of course.” The bag of coins drags at your arms, and you fumble it open, taking out a handful. “I should be able to get everything I need with these–it would be dangerous to carry all the rest of this.”

The troll frowns, glancing from you to the distant rooftops. “Danger from other humans?”

“Only if I seem to have more money than I should,” you assure him hastily. “It would get attention from the wrong kind of humans. I'll be careful.”

 The coins bite into your palm as your fingers clench unconsciously. The frown creases his forehead, not smoothed away by your reassurances, and you half expect him to shake his head and pick you up under his arm again, ready to toss you back under the bridge. 

“Please?”

 You bite your lip too late to keep the word in, but there are lazy curls of smoke rising from the distant chimneys, and you can hear the lowing of cattle nearby, the friendly chime of chapel bells...and all you can think about is cheese. Cheese, and fruit to pair it with, or potatos, perhaps. Honeycakes. Your stomach rebels at the very thought of dried goat.

Brúsi jerks his chin toward the road. “Go, then. The bridge will be waiting for tha to return.”

You hand off the sack of coins–your shoulders more than grateful to be relieved of its weight–and the troll adds it to the other oddments that dangle from his belt among the bones. He folds his arms.

The handful of coins you kept are barely enough to make your pocket sag with their weight, but you can feel them as a reassuring lump under your skirts. You run anxious hands over your hair and stained gown, smoothing uselessly at wrinkles. 

“I wish I had been able to bathe properly,” you mutter. “I look like a ragamuffin.”

But your hands and face are clean, your hair neatly tied back, and dusk is not far off, so perhaps your bare feet will not be noticed. You step from the cool stone of the bridge to the warm hardpacked dirt of the road. 

"I'll be back s--" Your voice breaks off as you glance over your shoulder. The bridge behind you is a simple one of wooden logs, straddling a stream that a child could leap across. Gooseflesh prickles the back of your neck. You hurry down the road towards the village without looking back a second time.

[yanderenightmare]

bitchy bratty catty pretty-girl who gives fuck-all, the school tries to straighten her ways by introducing her to a temporary captured shiggy, who is soooo fucking pissed off at this smug pretty bitch, going to track her down and make her pay!!!! >-< plez Mizz Nightmare

yandere kidnapper ! SHIGARAKI TOMURA

TIP-JAR

goodiebag WARNINGS: yandere, dubcon/noncon, abuse, profanity, bullying, anxiety, drugging, kidnapping, abduction

CUTTHROAT

“Wow! Right for the kill?! You’re real cutthroat.”

She wasn’t really surprised to hear that they’d caught him, and unlike many others she wasn’t surprised to hear that they’d be holding him on campus. She had full confidence in both the faculty, the promising Hero-course students, and UA’s security system, knowing damn well it could serve well as a prison not just for the students who went there, such as herself, but for the leader of the League of Villains as well.

To say she felt safe as she walked with Aizawa to meet him would be an understatement. She knew why the teacher had been tasked with taking her there, the intention being to scare her, give her a picture of what scum she would become if she continued down the path of fuck-all she was currently on. But, even though she wanted to rebel against taking any orders, she was feeling something far more superior than the will to fight back, something that trumped safety and laid waste to fear, she was feeling thrill. 

This would be a means to an end, a cure for boredom as well as a way to show once and for all that she was a hopeless cause, maybe then these obsessive heroes would leave her the fuck alone already.

“Wow, you’re really ugly! I mean, they warned me you were, but I could never’ve imagined it’d be this bad!”

She was jeering laughs at the lanky figure who towered over her, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat and his eyes spiraling in disbelief in process of understanding why what was found beneath his fingertips wasn’t turning to ash.

“Aren’t bad guys supposed to be sexy?” Her idiotic rambling only succeeded in confusing him more as she shrugged his seemingly useless normal hand away, walking to sit down on the floor, knowing it would be a while until Aizawa let her out again. “You know, to seduce and lure people into their ranks?” She looked over the meal tray he’d flipped out of her hand before seizing her throat, nothing sharp, no cutlery, no broken glass, just one measly apple. “I’m guessing you’re not in charge of recruiting. I mean… who would ever want to follow your ugly mug?”

She watched in anticipation of what remark he’d hurl her way. She’d heard he was bratty, she’d heard he was the one who could set her straight, divert her from this collision-course she’d set herself out on. Yet, his response was more than disappointing, not at all the tornado of a tantrum she had been preparing for. “You talk too much.” He didn’t even sound at all any provoked by her words, dismissing her as he slowly made to pick up the apple from the ground, checking to see if it was his quirk that was gone or if there was something else afoot, finding his answer in the ashes of the fruit.

“Come on.” She drawled, crossing her legs beneath her, keen eyes looking at him as he too sat back down to lean against the wall, looking only a fair bit of annoyed with her presence, as though she were a stain on his shirt, an inconvenience of some sorts. “You were gonna kill me!” She laughed, his red scrutinizing orbs looking to her with a sneer. “Without a thought, in cold blood, no remorse, even after I gave you food like the mutt you are, the least I can do is spit in your face!” 

He didn’t answer. Eyes still set on her where she sat planted without a single care, annoyed with how comfortable she looked, as though she were in her element, as though she was winning some sort of game, a game that wasn’t even about him as her eyes flittered to the black-glass of the window every now and again.

She clicked her tongue, beginning a new ramble. “Tell me, Shiggy.” She smiled, eyes wicked and gleaming and untamed. “That quirk of yours…”

She might have phrased it all like a question, but Shigaraki could hear it plain and simple, how her one goal was to mock him, poke at him until he burst, and not even for the sake of watching him burst, but for the sake of proving to whomever was on the other side of that glass that they couldn’t tame her. He didn’t need to know her entire story to see that much, how he was being used as a pawn to convert some meaningless pretty-girl.

“Can you control it? Or does everything you touch turn to ash no matter your desire?” It wouldn’t have been out of place if she’d licked her lips with how dripping with venom her words were. “It’s like the Midas touch, isn’t it?”

Her poetic phrasing of his deadly quirk had his eyes narrowing, but he hadn’t much time to think her wording over before she began a new escapade.

“Have you ever fucked anyone, Shiggy?” She didn’t even look at him as she asked, alerting him of what he already knew, how she had no interest in his answer, only his reaction, and the reaction his reaction would beckon from the people in the other room. 

She was trying to rile him up, prove how vicious she could be, prove how she hadn’t a single fuck to give. 

“I bet you’ve never truly touched anyone. How could you? I mean, first…” She laid down on her back with a careless roll, looking to the ceiling, ignoring him if it weren’t for the fact she was talking to him, or about him, or at him. “Who would ever want to fuck you? All those wrinkles and all those scars. You look like the onset of death.” She giggled, and he watched her tits bounce as though they were laughing at him too. “I cannot imagine anyone willingly wanting whatever you have to offer. And even if you force it on them, you’d be bound to fuck up with how much they’d struggle.” You’d think she carried a vendetta toward him, with how personal her attacks were, yet it was all given away with how little she was paying attention to him, as though she’d judged already whatever it was she found interesting and was now done with him. All she remained focused on was creating a show, to see how far she could take it before anyone came in to stop her, how much she could poke until something snapped, how much she could bend until something broke. “Just one slip of the hand and you’re left with your dick only halfway wet in a pile of dust.”

He didn’t know if she knew how correct her imagery was, he guessed she didn’t, he wanted to believe she’d show a bit more restraint then, a bit more unease, more respect. She acted as though she wasn’t trapped in a box with a notorious villain, seemingly unaware of her own stature as well as his. She was nothing but a school-girl and yet she felt comfortable enough in her safety to be lying on her back, flinging insult at the person she was locked in with.

“I don’t see how it could bother you for too long though.” Again, she had him intrigued. “I mean… pretty stupid bitches who’re only worth one fuck anyway can’t really be counted as a loss, can it?”

It was clear she didn’t view herself as one of said pretty stupid bitches, even though a pretty stupid bitch is exactly what she looked like in Shigaraki’s eyes. Perhaps that was her point exactly.

“Have you ever dusted someone who did count as a loss?” She rolled over, head propped up on her elbows, laying in her palms, her feet kicking the air behind her. “You ever fuck up so bad? Committed an irredeemable act? Something so unforgivable even you can’t forgive yourself?” Her eyes were set on him again now. “Do you think about it every day?” Her tone shifted then, to something sadistically sweet. “Does it hurt just as much now as it did then?” Her face split into a grin, eyes ablaze as she observed, searched for a breach in his composure. “What happened to mommy and daddy, Shiggy.” She singsonged, toying with him. “Were they your first victims? Did you cry? Do you still cry? Or did they deserve it?”

Her look was earnest, salacious until she rolled her eyes in boredom at his lack of response.

Sighing, she calmed back down, briefly. “I get it… You don’t want to play with me ‘cause you don’t think I’m a worthy player.” She scoffed as she looked to the side with a melodramatic drag. “You should check yourself. We keep you in a cage, give you food, have you on a leash and collar. You’re nothing but our pet!”

She giggled again, biting her tongue, gnawing on it between the rows of her teeth with her mouth open in a wide smile.

“You know… My quirk is called immunity, but it should really be called repellent.” She looked at her hands then, now kneeling in front of him. Her gaze split like lightning, snapping to look at him again, a catlike smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. “You and I aren’t that different, are we?” It looked for a second as though she were about to stand up, but the movement fell short as she instead gave way to crawl closer to him, one elegant arm followed by the other, all with the grace of a huntress, a panther easing in for the kill. “In fact… I think I’d go as far and say we’re the exact same…” His eyes didn’t deceive him, this time she did lick her lips, only now her words weren’t dripping with venom, but with some other sickly-sweet nectar. “’Cause…where I never let anyone come close, you let ‘em come close… only for them to die!”

“That’s enough.” He must have closed his eyes the second he felt her breath fan over his face, because he’d missed the time the erasure hero had walked in. “This was a waste of time.” The dark-haired man groaned, disappointed.

“Aw, really?”

She wasn’t in front of him anymore, to his surprising disappointment, though her sweet smell still lingered about him pleasantly.

“And I was just getting to the fun part…” She walked to the threshold of the cell-door, not once indicating she’d turn around and take one final look at him. “Well, anyway… tootles, pet.”

Even as she insulted him, she did it twice over by not returning his gaze.

-

She was still sleeping, she noted as her mind, though still groggy and drowsed out, became lucid enough to start thinking. She was sleeping, yet the sleep felt unsafe, as though her alarm was bound to go off any second, firmly shaking her awake and telling her time was running out for her to get to school. And if she’d slept through the alarm, a teacher was soon to come fetch her. Yet, for now she remained halfway asleep, waiting for an alarm or a knock on the door unknowing of how it would never arrive.

He wasn’t sure if it was the drug that had perhaps made some of her senses dull under the impression, for… surely she should feel that her mouth was stuffed full and made to suck on a rag, surely she should feel that her wrists were tied together behind her back, and how her thighs and legs were secured together in a frog tie, the rough rope, scratchy in texture, and how it scraped against her soft doughy skin. Perhaps he didn’t tie them tight enough. It was hard to get a good grip without accidentally dusting the ropes, but he knew the struggle was worth it, seeing her now, in all her defenseless vulnerable rightful glory.

“Not so tough now…” He taunted at her small sleeping frame. Even with her clothes still on, he knew her naked body was only a mere touch away from him. How he could spread her open without her being able to kick, only wiggle for him, like a worm on a hook. No… that imagery is too ugly to be describing her, when she’s so far from ugly. She’s more like a butterfly trapped on a pin, wings fluttering hopelessly, reduced to nothing but beauty, nothing but a little doll for him to play with, tamper and poke fun at just like how she’d done back when he was captured at UA.

He decided pro putting the blindfold on her, perhaps the product of her bullying him in the cell, her jabs at his appearance subconsciously having gotten to him despite himself wanting to dust them off like he did with everything else. Her comments were sharp, and seemed to have the same type of immunity her body had, where his ego, much like himself, hadn’t the thickest of skin. Besides, she was… so painfully out of his league.

It hardly mattered though, now that he would regain all the control.

She laid on her stomach, face mushed against the mattress. He’d removed the pillows and comforter so she’d be placed like a centerpiece on his little operating table. She looked so harmless now, so sweet, especially tied up the way she was, and with those whimpering moans that were simmering to the surface, breaching her sleep, escorted by her wiggling, her delicious tempting little wiggling, begging for Shigaraki to come introduce himself, now with the turned tables.

“Did you really think I was just gonna let it slide?” Her wiggles came to an abrupt holt, breath caught in her throat, making her choke out a curt gasp through the thickness of her makeshift gag. “Did you think you were safe? Like you were simply spitting on a grave. No ghosts coming to haunt you.” She panicked once she felt the bed dip, four fingers sharp in their venture, sweeping up her back, settling around her neck, drawing out painful sudden studded goosebumps, spreading across her skin like wildfire in a field. “Silly little slut.” She squealed at the feel of his warm breath on her cheek, unable to move away, her head halfway buried in the soft mattress, teeth sinking into the cloth in her mouth when his tongue, wet with drool, large and flat, dragged up her already teary cheek. “Boo.”

Her ears were burning, so much blood gushing and rushing and pooling in her head like a storm, she barely registered him drawing back with that maniacal giggle, where with as trademark as it were, there was no doubt where she was or who she was with. Yet, she hadn’t the time to think about it, she hadn’t the time to regret or answer questions she hadn’t even the time to ask, because as her mind was cooking up chaotic whirlwinds of fear, crippling fear despite being crippled enough already, brutal fear that her gut feeling like acid festering and mind reeling in on itself in such vehemence she felt she might just faint, give out like a light in a blizzard, she was given no time before he was talking again, pushing her even further out on the edge she found herself, stepping on her fingers one by one, with no mercy as she dangled above jagged rock that were sure to spear her like an arrow through a dove.

“You were wrong, you know.” She felt his hands trace a careful set of four fingers down the fabric of her shirt, rubbing into her spine, further pushing the breath from out of her lungs. “I’ve fucked before.” He spoke casually, though peppered in between the notes of nonchalance was found the spiked flavors of spiteful mockery, like the mean girl on campus, like how she usually talks, like how she had spoken to him. “But, what I haven’t done is played with someone’s body the way I’m gonna play with yours.” He listened to her whimper, sobs surely to soon wrack through her body, uncontrollably and thoroughly, making her gasp and choke on nothing but air and fear. “I mean, it’s only fair.” She heard the shrug in his voice, that sarcastic sigh and lightheartedness. “You fuck with me, I fuck with you.” This time he growled and she swore she would piss herself with how scared she was.

He was going to kill her, she knew it, she could feel it crawling up and down her body as though mites were hidden in her clothes. She already sensed him peeling off her skin, flaying her with her screaming. And in those seconds, those hopeless seconds, she wished for death, for it to be quick, painless, like simply snuffing out a light. She nearly prayed, squeezing her eyes shut to pray to that God or Devil she never believed in, never needed as badly as she needed them now. She wished for her heart to give out, for the right vein to pop, for a lung to collapse, anything, just for her to be dead before he had the mind to torture her to death.

“Does that sound fun, pet.” And there she broke, waterworks in full effect, no longer simple silent tears but something that had built under pressure like boiling pot of water, bubbling, soon to be blubbering incoherent sobs out into her gag, all to his vengeful amusement.

He watched her for a moment, one longer than he’d probably intended, despite not having view of her eyes, watching the blindfold wet as her eyes leaked at the complete overwhelming loss of hope, lips sucking on the gag those tears that managed to escape and run down to salt her lips.

“So pretty, aren’t you?” He accused, giving her barefoot a squeeze, making her wiggle with what mobility the bonds allowed her, looking handicapped, as though he’d disintegrated both her arms and legs when he’d simply tied them up where they would be stored safely and out of the way until he deemed it okay for her to use them again, where until then… she’d remain his little immobile toy. “Pretty little girl, all tied up.” He giggled, both amused and pleased, leaning down to tug those locks of hair that had curtained her face behind her ear, making the thin wisps at the back of her neck bristle in alarm. “All alone with the big bad ugly villain.” He bit it out with a smirk, and she swore she felt venom drop where he spit the words on her face. “Pretty girl… dressed in such pretty things.” He mused, tugging on the fabric of her silk pajama shirt, his other hand stroking a thumb over himself and his caged member, the beast behind the boxer, the one she was still so completely unaware of. “To hide her rotten core.”

He snickered some more at the notice of how ticklish she was, or perhaps it wasn’t as much a reflex but rather a violent display of her fear, how she kicked, or tried to kick her legs, once his hand with its lanky slender fingers danced a pattern on the sole of her foot.

“They won’t be of much help to you now…”

It’s was a cute display, seeing her struggle in an attempt to swat away his spidering hand, endearing, had him drooling he realized, but didn’t bother to wipe his chin, instead giving into the urge he had to touch what was so temptingly sprawled out before him.

“I bet you think of these as your armor, don’t you?”

All five of his fingers touched down on her shirt, and soon there was no shirt left to separate his dry course fingers from her warm skin. He nearly let out a gasp as he watched how she stayed in place, having not become a pyramid of ash. Her beautiful body still right there, warm glowing skin still touchable, more touchable than anything else.

“Keeping you safe from prying eyes and hands… Not my hands though.”

He could excuse how he hesitated on the fact of him wanting to enjoy himself, wretchedly and thoroughly, gorging in every moment he was gonna make her scream, but… he knew that wasn’t the reason… he was… and he hated to admit it, but… nervous. He had this gorgeous creature trapped and under his thumb and he was nervous? No matter how terrified she was and immobilized it was like she still had the power, just like she had in that prison cell.

Perhaps it was due to the fact that he’d thought about her everyday he was trapped in there. She had said she would see him later yet she never once, not once, came a second time. Why would she lie? Just to fuck with him some more? One last and lasting punch in the face? He had dreamed of it. How many times had he fantasized about doing every possible nasty thing in the book to her, teach her a lesson, make her beg, make her kneel, make her bow before him? But now, having her right there, this frail little girl who wouldn’t have the strength to fight him even without the tight rope holding her down, this little girl who despite being just that had him enthralled for months, still just as hellbent, enslaved, spellbound to make her pay… but that wasn’t it either… making her pay was only half of it, maybe even less… what he wanted, what he truly wanted, was to prove to her that he could have her wrapped around his finger despite being what ugly freak she’d made him out to be, that despite being ugly, he could have a pretty-girl like her melting.

He gave fully into his wishes then, her shorts gone with a touch, leaving her in a precious pair of cotton boxers. A sigh of reverence left him, a shudder running through him. He was expecting red lace or something exotic, something vain and narcissistic meant to enhance or simply show off just how pretty she was. He figured that was what she’d dress in, something sexy, because she had the full body that one believes go hand in hand with hot lingerie, yet… she’d chosen comfort. And why wouldn’t she? When she could make it look like the hottest item his eyes ever had the privilege of seeing.

“Fuck…” He drawled, now with a wanton whine, his hand giving himself a squeeze as his cock was beginning to strain uncomfortably inside the confines of his boxers. “Just look at you…”

He only barely dared touch her, not just out of fear of her disappearing like anything else would, but because he didn’t at all feel as though he had the right to put his hands on something so beautiful.

“You shouldn’t be allowed to wear clothes.” He stated, still in awe. “Not when they cover up this perfect body.”

She screamed into her gag as he grabbed around her waist, pulling her pliable little body up into a kneeling position, then pulling and arranging some further to have her in the same position, just over his slap this time, with his bulging cock rubbing through the fabric of his briefs up into her still clothed sex, though with both cloths a thin material she felt the abrasive ticklish friction begin to stir something in her lower abdomen despite her fear and no regard to her disgust. And now, provided with the full view of her delectable little frame, her precious tits sprung free and strutting towards him with how her arms were bent in their confinement behind her back, and perky by both the cold wind of his breath and the goosebump-giving anxiety, leveled with his face, looking eager to receive his mouth, perfect nipples for him to suck on, gnaw between the rows of his teeth.

“These perfect tits…” He licked his lips, hands kneading one mound greedily as the other held her steady. “And this…” He placed all five fingers on the fabric of her panties, turning them to ash, all five staying to touch the delicate skin of her sex, feeling her quake, such a good replacement to feeling someone disintegrate. He groaned out a curse, body sagging, slouching at the sight of her exposed bare little private, he hunched over in awe as he ran his fingers through to disappear in the slit of her precious pussy. “This perfect little pussy.”

She wiggled on his digits with a squealing whimpering sob, so alive and warm and soft he could cry with how safe he was beginning to feel, without the fear of touching just a bit too much getting in the way. Although he was feeling the slight sensation of inferiority in the light of her perfection, or maybe even because of it, he decided he’d give a little scare, perhaps as a means of tipping or evening the scales.

“You know, pretty girl…” His other hand, the one not currently preoccupied with cupping her pussy, brutally brazen for the first time, spread its fingers to stroke the dome of her ass, before curling like claws to grab a fist-full of the ample flesh, making her jump and lose balance, resulting in falling flush against his chest all with a muffled cry. Her face mushed against his collar, her wet reddened nose painting tears onto his throat, such a strange type of comfort against his scars. “I’ve never slapped anyone?” He could feel her heartbeat and how it hammered like a race-horse on the track. “Or, no, I’ve slapped plenty, but a slap from me means death, usually.” His hand ascended, wrapping around her throat, all five fingers with hungry-pressured fingertips, guiding her back off his chest to sit properly, though leaning to bite her earlobe, all to feel her rub down on his aching cock some more. “But I slap you and it means pretty marks and pretty screams, doesn’t it?”

He laughed, knowing full well that he wasn’t going to hurt her, or at least not as badly as he had given reason to think.

“Such a fucking pretty girl, aren’t you?” He trailed a path of wet open-mouthed kisses down her neck and between her breasts, gripping her waist as she recoiled back. “With pretty tits.” Breath labored, or hefty with greed and desire. “Pretty girl with a pretty pussy.” He squeezed her sides, as though getting ready to make a ragdoll of her again, pulling her into the desired position. “Let me taste you.”

Her heart hammered like a hammer hitting an anvil, as she was placed on her back, hands crushed beneath her, uncomfortably wrenching in their bonds. Her mind, stuck in its prospect, hadn’t pieced it together, despite having been stripped naked, she still hadn’t given it a thought, hadn’t dared give it a thought, but his comment made the realization coat thickly, drape her and the pressure seemed too much for her mind to take, plummeting into a free-fall. He wasn’t just going to kill her, he was going to rape her first.

Thighs easily pried open for him to settle in between, scooting back on the bed so he could lie down, lower half humping the mattress desperately, imagining having her wrapped around him, but all in good time. She shook more than writhed, seizurely beneath him, with her blushed pussy a beautiful slit so ripe for the taking, quivering at the warming breath he whispered upon the tender flesh. With his hands wrapped around each their ankle he pushed her thighs and legs up and out of the way as to not have her knee him in the head while he feasted.

He listened to her struggling to breathe, her stomach rising and falling sporadically with her sobs, untuned and painful and begging for any kindness he had to spare, he was going to give her exactly that. Kindness.

His chapped lips felt so good it was cruel, abrasive and inescapably delicious, welcomed yet unwelcome by the bucking of her hips as she squealed into her gag, falling prey to more and more hopelessness. His tongue came second, warm and wet and long and strong, sliding in between her folds only to swipe up and flick off at her clit, forcing a shudder to run all the way through her core into the tips of her toes, mind reeling.

“So cute.” He noted the sensitivity with a mocking jeer, the sound simmering on her skin. “I bet a pretty girl like you’ve never been fucked by a guy like me before.” Then his teeth were the ones to make an impact, grazing over her budding clit with how it reached out in search for stimulation, having its wish granted in such a sense forcing her toes to curl. “Come on my ugly face, pretty-girl.” She really couldn’t resist with how his words were tickling on that sensitive spot, and how intent on finding and following that spot that had her coming on done and abusing it, playing with it with his tongue and chapped lips, switching between such smooth soft yet forceful pressure and bristled rough chaffed contact, making her spasm, wanting so desperately to tug her arms loose to push his incessant face off, because she wouldn’t be able to resist it, she was going to come and make an humiliating mess on his tongue just like he wanted, the knot was going to snap and she would be screaming from the force of it.

He smirked with the taste of her essence on his tongue, giving her a couple more torturous kitty-licks that had her brutally recoiling by the oversensitivity he was abusing. It served well as an ego-boost as he was suddenly feeling the urge to take her blindfold off, make her gaze upon who had her wrapped around his finger. What more, he wanted to remove her gag, hear what she had to say to defend herself, what pathetic please she would come with to try and prevent him from going any further.

His mouth sloshed its way up her stomach, hands touching and grabbing and groping with greedy fingers onto anything and everything they got ahold of, feeling up her smooth skin and soft flesh, before having made their way to grab at the blindfold. Her eyes were petrified, blinking rapidly, especially every time his clothed cock bumped into her bare pussy, leaving strings of spit and fine silken cum to hang from between where she parted with the cotton of his pants.

She was thoroughly out of it, delirious, fear-ridden and numbed with pleasure, cotton yet swivel-eyed as he fought to be her focus. He pulled the gag out of her mouth too, wiping his chin before turning the fabric to ash, eyes looking her over all the while.

His tongue rolled over his lips. “Such a pretty face.” He gathered her face between his fingers, blunt fingertips pushing into squishy bloated cheeks. “Even prettier with those tears you fucking crybaby.” It will never get old, the feeling of nothing happening still under all his five fingers. “Even better with my handprint, don’t you think?” It was funny how she didn’t seem to pick up anything of what he was saying. “Or covered in my cum.” Her brows had scrunched so hopelessly close together, whimpers upon sniffles and whiny mewling and hiccupping panting, so pathetic and precious. “So fucking pretty.” He groaned, giving his lips a second wetting with his tongue. “Kiss me, pretty-girl.” He scrunched her lips together some more, leaving her incapable of refusing.

She tasted herself on his tongue, choking on the sweetness as he forced it like a slug down her throat. Her own tongue submissive in nature, staying beneath and out of the way of his. It was a series varying from needy whimpering moans and growls that followed from his throat, poured into her receiving mouth, giving nothing but weak whines in return. His one free hand, the other one still holding a firm grip onto her chin and cheeks, continued in its hungry exploration, grabbing with an almost childlike curious freedom, leaving painful marks in their wake, having her yelp against his willful lips, which smirk grew upon every inch of reaction she fed him, until pulling away in a haze, panting, with a new little wish he was going to have her be the star of.

“Let me fuck that pretty face.”

She hadn’t the time, nor the mind, to form any protest, reduced to mere whimpering as he pulled her back into a kneeling position, conjoined thighs and legs folded beneath and supporting her ass, still with her arms tied snuggly and unbudgingly behind her back, made to watch him fiddle with the band to his sweats, pulling them below his hips and falling to his thighs, displaying his surprisingly clean boxers and not so surprising hardness. Cock throbbing within its confines, fighting desperately to come free. His hand pulling his boxers down and, cock springing loose, slapping against his abdomen, standing long and hard, tip blushed red and angry, a bead of pre-cum spilling sweetly from his slit.

“Open up, lick it up.”

She’d been lost in taking in the sheer size of him, girth thick and threatening, looking bigger than what she could wrap her hand around, her stomach twisting in tension and unease. Too caught up in imagine it ripping her apart than realizing how he was going to fit it into her mouth first.

Her eyes widened upon the thought, lips slightly apart in horror, bottom-lip quivering. “Come on, pretty-girl.” One hand tugged on his shaft, the other gripped her face, protruding nails to sink into her jaw, prying her mouth father apart to accommodate his size.

She whined at the taste of him, arms struggling behind her back, knees shuffling wider apart to support herself as he pushed on further, fingernails still digging into her soft cheeks, making her lips pucker into a soft welcoming oval. He liked the way her brows furrowed into that beautiful look of plead that had his balls aching where they hung, soon to be pressed up against her soft skin, smothering her chin. He also enjoyed how her whimpers had turned to delicious little vibrations of his cock, drumming alongside his length, such pretty friction.

“Come on, take all of me.” He licked his lips as he urged, other hand coming to caress the back of her skull, gathering her pretty locks between his fingers, abandoning all regard to how she should be turning to nothing but dust molecules instead of being a nice warm soft wet pleasure hole for him. His usually small scrutinizing scarlet eyes turning moon-wide with lustful frenzy. Voice ragged as he clawed at her scalp to obey him, no thought to her whining in protest. “You can do better.” His tip met with the back of her throat and her whine turned more desperate, nearly a scream, but he couldn’t care, not with the memory of her talking to him like he was some pussy-bitch, he was going to show her who the bitch and who the boss was. “Such a pretty little thing with such a nasty filthy ugly fucking mouth.” He spit through grit teeth, begging to fuck the back of her throat, having her gagging on him, hopeless in search for breath. “A mouth like that is only good for one thing.” He gave a few more painfully deep ruts, having her eyes roll back at the loss of breath, before ripping loose again. “Same goes for that pussy.”

“No, no.” She scrambled on the bed, trying to get away, trying to rip free, so hopeless he should have felt bad, but couldn’t bring himself to the feeling as he sat there and laughed, eyes wild, dick prospering, hand pumping his length to the sight of her.

He followed her pathetic struggling little shame, climbing on top of her. The panic swallowed her again, forcing a overwhelmed rush of sobs to come spluttering and blubbering and screaming from her little shape caught beneath him. “Such a little slut.” His fingers were at once groping her pussy, diving between her folds to rub her slit and clit. “Still so wet, are you excited?” She turned her head away as she struggled, eyes squeezed shut. “Aw, pretending it’s not me.” He snickered. “Good luck.”

Offended, he decided against making it pleasant for her, thinking she deserved as little sympathy from him as she had showed him, but his brutal actions slowed at the feel of the pressure around his finger when he’d pushed it inside her.

“So tight.” He stated, shocked as he tried swirling the digit inside, to feel the walls giving little wiggle-room to do so. She winced as he hooked, a heavy breathy shrill type of wince, as though he was pulling a knife from her gut.

He left the finger there, much to her discomfort.

“That comment…” He started, working her tightness as much as he could, still with only one finger. “When we first met.” His other hand gathered her face again, forcing her to look at him as he leaned down, resting his forehead on hers, wanting to see those eyes as he got confirmation on his suspicion. “You said you push people away… that you were a… repellant.” Her breathing hitched as she sniveled like a little girl who scraped her knee. “Did that count for this as well?”

He hadn’t yet let the smile stretch on his face, but the chiding smirk started to grow as the answer was clearly displayed all over her face and by the telltale feeling his finger shoved inside her way too tight hole told him.

“Aww, is the pretty little girl a virgin?” He gave her no inch of regret, even with the fact clear as day. Having worked her tightness well enough to cram another bony-knuckled finger inside her, making her cry out. “Don’t worry, that pretty pussy is in good hands.”

She owed him, this way they would be even. Besides, he wasn’t making it completely miserable for her either. Her face might be telling one story of torment, but her drooling pussy was telling him something utterly different. Perhaps it was due to her amateur ability to hold on, but she was soon creaming all over his fingers, body spasming in tired bliss, eyes fluttering for a moment or two, trying to grasp what the fuck was happening. It was adorable.

“I think my little slut is ready.”

She murmured a sigh, energy spent on crying and struggling and coming twice already, all she could do was moan when his cockhead broke through her tight little weeping hole. He had to moan as well at the snug hug her pussy squeezed and seized him with, biting roughly into his bottom lip, tooth snaggling in the dip of his scar. Brows raised in bliss, scrunched in an eruption, as he sunk deeper and deeper into her tight convulsing cunt, preciously clutching around him, fluttering upon the fulfilling snug fit that had her toes cramping in their curled state, eyes zoning out, unable to focus, mouth blubbering and chewing on incoherent sentences, only capable on slurring out muddled moans and wet gasps as he fucked slowly into, lolling his hips forward carefully, holding onto the mouthwatering feeling of her warmth around him.

He pushed his thumb into her clit, which had her back arching and moan ripped from her throat before she settled down into the mattress again, welcoming the stimulation where she was crippled to preventit. “Your pretty pussy loves being taken by my disgusting cock, doesn’t it?” She could only hum and croon in reply, as he hit the very back, pushing into her cervix with a rather soft nudge, having her result to sucking on her bottom-lip, purring whines like a little kitten taking pleasure from their master. “I hear it in your pretty moans.”

He was no longer biting out the word pretty as though it were a curse or venom on his tongue. It sounded more like praise than anything, something akin to awe, pride even, smug for having it all under his thumb, burying his cock inside the word, for being the one to have reduced such a pretty thing to such a pretty mess, all for him, all by him, making her all his.

She made a shuddering gasp, moaning into his mouth as he leaned down. “Oh, is the pretty girl gonna cum all over my disgusting cock.” He cooed, all five fingers placed on her cheek when cupping it to have those gorgeous opium-blown eyes look at him when she came undone, for him to find such dangerous satisfaction in seeing her conquered beneath him, finding it to be the last push to send him off his own edge as well. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum in that pretty pussy.”

He made to have that final bone-crushing kiss, faces mushed together in a sloppy mess of wet slippery tongues and drool, moaning and groaning, inhaling each-other.

Reduced to mere gasping and panting. Cock, having for the first time felt the fulfilling pleasure of blowing inside the warm comfort of a precious goddess, feeling her gush and come all over him in the near split-second, feeling her clench and tighten around him like a vice, robbing and ringing and milking him for every drop he was worth. He gave some more pumps, pushing deep within her, felt a shudder run down the underside of his cock, overstimulated and satisfied for the first time.

Still coming down from his high, he made to take in her shape and state.

He hadn’t really fantasized she’d be so pliant after being fucked, but looking at her now, he couldn’t imagine her any other way, anything more right then her glossy sweat-slicked body spasming in aftershocks of her orgasms, laid so preciously snug against his chest, thighs visibly shaking with still small feeble stuttering moans slipping from her lips in blubbers. He wasn’t too far from the same state himself, having had only barely the mind before exhaustion rendered his limbs too heavy for moving, to untie the knots and rearrange them into something more comfortable. He decided tying her wrists together in front of her to be better, legs free but too tired and dumbed-out to struggle.

He looked at her drowsy state with a smile, betting he could make such a grateful little pet out of her, and if not, then scramble her mind through so many cruel methods, and make do with a brainless toy instead. But, looking down at that blissed-out hopeless look on her face and that dainty defenseless body he’d manipulated and forced to its knees, he couldn’t really see how any cruel methods would be needed.

It seemed to him that all she needed was cock, a couple of orgasms forced from her pent-up body, a little relief. The little brat was just a bit grouchy and grumpy because she hadn’t had her pussy played with. He could relate, he also gets frustrated when not getting his dick wet for a while. She was just begging for someone to come handle her and that’s all there was to it. Just look at her now, so sweet and spent, lying in his arms.

Come to think of it, he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be needing to apply any harsh treatments in taming her, she just needed to be tied up and made to feel just how good being taken care of feels until she accepted it willingly. And if and when she decides on being bratty, he’ll have plenty of methods of shutting that trap right up, or in making her scream.

TIP-JAR

[hobidreams]

june 1869.

you’ve never been able to hide from him.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, fluff? words: 2.3k contains: choices, consequences.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 21. start from the beginning?

The moment you reach your private chambers, you collapse against the door. Your heart softly shudders with strain as you finally let the first tears fall, trickling steadily down your cheeks. The bundles you carried in fall to the floor as you cover your face with your cold hands, trying to stifle the quiet sobs that seem so determined to come.

You had gone into town after your work today. Walked down, escorted by a guard that you pretended wasn’t there. (The king now insisted upon such a thing whenever you left the palace walls, but you could tell the guard thought the job much beneath him.) You had just finished picking up a few ingredients from the market traders and was on your way to see if the bookstore had received new products when your attention had been caught by the sizeable crowd gathered outside the town clinic.

“Please, please, give me medicine for my daughter!” The peasant woman clutched a child that couldn’t have been more than two years old. The babe’s crying was as raucous as the yelling, the noisy mix of voices all clamoring with want.

“I need to see someone! My side— It hurts every day. I can’t work anymore. My family’s going to starve. I need treatment!”

The physician’s assistant stood on the clinic steps with folded arms and a bitter, hard look on his face. “Are we running a charity? We need to eat too! If you can’t pay, you can’t see the doctor!” He slammed the door in their faces, leaving them out in the sweltering heat, crying out that they could pay next week or as soon as they could, they just needed help right now, but the door remained shut.

Your chest felt stiflingly tight at the sight, compassion’s hand squeezing hard around your heart because you knew you could help. You had to help. You took a step forward, ready to offer your services only to have the guard block your way.

“Su-uinyeo-nim. We must return to the palace.”

“No, I want to stay.”

He shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. They could harm you.” And if they did, then his own head would likely be on the chopping block. Ridiculous.

“They won’t. They just need treatment, and I’m a physician.” You didn’t have many of your tools here but you could at least take a look, provide a diagnosis or recommend some easily obtainable herbs.

“The king would not approve of putting yourself in danger.”

You opened your mouth only to shut it. The king wouldn’t approve of a lot of things, but how could you just stand here and do nothing? These people, they needed your skills.

You took another step forward.

“Su-uinyeo-nim.” The guard’s voice was firm. He indicated for you to start walking away, towards home.

You shot him a stare, the hardest look you could conjure, but didn’t move. Not yet, damn it.

“Oh—uinyeo-nim!”

You dallied long enough. One of the women had evidently recognized your outfit and was now barreling towards you with a fire in her eyes. “Uinyeo-nim, you can help me, right!? It’s my daughter, she’s been having a fever and—”

“No, she cannot.” The guard’s glare was as sharp as the blade that the hand on his sword promised.

“Oh, please!” She threw herself against the arm the guard tried to reign her in with. Threw herself forward trying to reach you. “My daughter, my daughter will die if she’s not treated!”

“Let me—” You started, only for the guard to shove her harshly back since he could not do the same to you. She cried out, almost toppling over from the force as she clutched her baby, but he did not relent.

“We are leaving.”

He began to boldly walk towards you, practically into you, leaving you no choice in the matter. You were too afraid he might hurt her further if you did not comply even though every step away felt like a blow to your chest, like tiny fists pounding against your ribcage, making you sore and ache because the stark truth was that your inability to help her wasn’t even entirely the guard’s fault.

All those years ago, you chose to stay.

You never opened the affordable clinic mother had dreamed of. You put your feelings before the wellbeing of all those people you could have helped then, and you did it again today. Selfish. Selfish and helpless and selfish. For all the work you’ve done, it never feels like enough. There are always more patients in need and here you are, living among this extravagance and opulence but really getting nowhere. Not with the king. Not with how much change you can bring to the people.

Even your tears can only be shed here, in privacy and cowardice.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper through your blurry vision, but these are just words. They do nothing in the end and every choice feels like the wrong one and that there will only be dire consequences to follow them.

“Su-uinyeo-nim?”

At Eunuch Kim’s muted voice, you startle. Hurriedly, you wipe the backs of your hands against your eyes. “Y-Yes?”

“The king has requested your company tonight.”

“Oh.” Shit. You’re in no state to face him, not for what he has in mind, but you must go. “I-I’ll be ready in a few minutes. Just allow me to… change.” You push to your feet, onto shaky legs as you sniff.

“Of course.”

The brief walk over in the cool summer evening helps to pull some of the sorrow from your mind (or at least tucks it away to be revisited later when you find yourself as always, alone). Eunuch Kim is kind enough not to probe into the heaviness about you today; he simply chats about the latest novel he has picked up in town, a study of birds that he recommends heartily to you. The king is not so kind. The second you enter his chambers, tilt your head just enough for him to catch your eye, he frowns.

“You’ve been crying.”

It’s not a question.

“I, um, simply had some dust in my eyes, jeonha.”

Searching for a distraction, you begin to undo the tie of your blouse. You’ve never purposefully let him see you openly upset, or at least not since this ‘arrangement’ began.

“Dust. Really.”

You nod, unwilling to meet his stare.

The floorboard creaks as he steps towards you. Covers your hands with his own so he can strip you instead. You can’t tell if he believes you; he is so quiet while he pulls layer after layer from you, letting the fabric drop to the floor in bunches of crumpled white and light blue. The warmth of his fingers on your skin feels like comfort, even when it’s only a prelude to his desire.

Isn’t it stupid, that some excessive part of you wants him to openly refute your lies even as you tell them? To undress your mind as hungrily he does your body until you have no choice but to be bared and free, released from the burden of your own thoughts?

“Get on the bed.”

Maybe it’s better like this. You are the only woman he has ever known in this way; you can’t let yourself be so greedy, to again let that selfish part of you want and want and want so much that appetite consumes you, bones and all. You press your palms and knees to the hard bedding. Squeeze your eyes together. Force the tears to stay back while you wait for the burn to come.

His calloused hands land on your waist, but it’s to urge you to turn over instead.

“J-Jeonha?” you question, confused when you see him already on his knees, that piercing gaze provoking goosebumps from your skin. “Why…”

His hands find your ass, urging you towards the edge of the bed. He throws the top layer of his robes aside before he spreads your legs apart, letting them rest against the wood.

What… What is he doing? You find your answer as the sokgot strips fall to the floor beneath his touch and abruptly, before your poor heart has time to prepare itself, his breath blows warm across your clit.

“Ah, this—!” Wild-eyed, you try to squirm back, hot with embarrassment that his face is this close to your crotch. It floods you with worry after worry about your scent, the possible bumps marring your skin, the tufts of hair, but he doesn’t seem to care about any of it as he hooks his hands beneath your thighs. “You’re not—”

Soft lips and a slick tongue are pressed flush against you.

Your entire body seems to quiver at the first lick; a single taste of wetness followed by a second, a third, a relentless fourth that makes liquid pleasure crest, surging upwards, a high, rushing tide in mere seconds. You buck, hands finding no support upon the sheets and part of you wants to cover your face instead, to let die the moans that surface with each gasp but that means you would miss the sight. This unforgettable sight: inky eyes between your thighs, the quick, pink tip of his tongue swiping heat directly into your veins. It feels messy before he finds his rhythm, settles into a beat that only reaffirms how he is irrefutably dominant even while he is on his knees before you, for once not breaking you apart but making you feel so dizzyingly whole you could burst.

While his fingers have learned almost every inch of you, this remains a scenario you never even thought to entertain, never even thought he would want. His pleasing only you. His putting you at the forefront of even his own satisfaction. Stop. The grip on your thigh tightens; you never want him to let go. Stop giving me hope. He does anyway with a drawn out suck, his stare as hazy and heady as if he’s been drinking the most exquisite cheongju.

Your body is taut, sweat beading down your spine. “This is— I can’t—”

“You can,” he quips back, and whatever words you could have said are stolen by orgasm. Taken, and made unbecoming moans that blow past the last shreds of your resistance now resting between his teeth.

It overwhelms you, this newfound sensitivity from being consumed; it makes you want to shirk back but he doesn’t let you. Somehow one of your legs finds its way over his shoulder and he uses that momentum to keep you against his stunning mouth, giving you what you need but never what you want. Each lick nudges you further off the edge, finding an acute bliss past every limitation you thought you had and you think, feverishly you think — it’s like he’s giving you permission to fall apart.

Tears coalesce at the corner of your eyes but you don’t notice. You don’t even know they’re there until wetness trails down your cheeks and even then you’re distracted by another peak, this one a muted swell that makes your muscles tense around his thin frame; he supports your weight without a word of complaint as his strokes finally dwindle in time with your pulses until both drop off entirely.

As he lets your leg roll off his arm, his breaths come almost as unsteadily as yours. Slowly, he retracts his wide hands from your thighs. Rolling his tongue against the inside of his own cheek, you watch him paint your taste in his mouth and don’t know what to make of any of it.

It’s only when a few tears cling to your eyelashes and blur your vision that you realize what’s happening. How embarrassing. You told yourself you wouldn’t do this on the way here and look at you now. You’re about to reach up to wipe away the tears, the damning evidence of your weakness when the king wraps his hands tight around your wrists. Pushes you back. Presses his knees to the bed as he hovers above you, all silence and heat and him.

“Um, j-jeon—”

He leans down and cuts you off with a kiss.

You gasp into his mouth but he doesn’t pull away. He is just soft, persistent, firm, and soft as he moves naturally across territory that should have been unfamiliar, but instead it feels like he’s been mapping, planning this capture for as long as you have. An impossible dream, yes, but the warm breath ghosting across your skin, lingering, is real. You open for him. For your first kiss. Your first kiss with him.

The warm fingers at your wrist squeeze harder.

“You… You can cry.” His voice is a murmur, delicate and hesitant against your lips, as if imparting a secret. “If you want.”

So you do.

You finally let yourself cry while he kisses you again and again, adjusting his angle to push you further into the pillows, releasing a wrist to cup your wet cheek. He kisses you with his nose pressed to yours, a tiny, precious moan finding freedom from someone’s throat.

Yoongi, your mind recalls, clinging to the syllables that belong to a word you’ve never dared to say aloud as he kisses you, kisses you, kisses you until both your mouths are swollen and your chest feels a bit lighter, his a bit heavier in exchange.

And when he finally pulls away, he holds you. His arms accept all your gravity for just a few lingering minutes more, a few heartbeats more, until it’s time for you to go.

[windblooms]

Hi!! Could you do headcanons of Diluc, Kayea, Childe and Zhongli with a s/o who is touch starved but is too shy to intimate physical affection please? Thank you!💙

decided to answer the two of these in the same ask since they have similar personalities for the reader, and they evolved into scenarios.  hopefully what i’ve written is all right!

edit: to the second anon, i’m sorry, i don’t know how people write more than 500 characters in asks. ㅠㅠ  is it maybe a submission . . . ?

childe:

as a very perceptive individual, childe would pick up on your hesitations relatively soon, however won’t say anything about them outright.  

while he may ask you if something’s wrong whenever you reach out, but self-consciously pull away, or when you’re on the verge of words but can’t bring yourself to speak, he won’t pry into your meekness. 

he knows that some people prefer to keep things to themselves or away from others – he’s a prime example of this himself.  so he doesn’t want to push you, but will continue to keep mental tabs on when you shrink away, or backtrack after you sound as if you’re going to ask him something.

if the trend continues for a while, he’ll eventually sit down to talk with you about it.  he’ll discuss with you patiently, not wanting to invade past things you might not want to share just yet, but he still tries to find the cause of your hesitancies so he can better understand you.

“there’s something bothering you, isn’t there?” he leans forward across the table, and rests his chin on his hand.  “you can tell me, you know.  i’ll try and help you with it.”

as you take your time to answer, he grows increasingly concerned, but still wears a poker face to not influence you as well.  across the table, he’ll slowly reach out his hand as a means of comfort, and clasp yours when you don’t pull away.

you begin to speak about your uncertainties, and childe listens intently.  ah, so that was it – now that you mention it, the two of you don’t hold hands much, or really touch each other.  he had assumed that’s how you preferred it, little to no physical touch.  but now that you’ve explained why you’ve concealed those wishes . . . 

“i’d be more than willing to hold you.”  childe’s words are soft, and he manages a small smile to encourage you.  as soon as your face flushes, though, he can tell that there’s something else you want to say.  so he pauses, expectant, but you still seem nervous.

he takes a gander and speaks.  “we can start off slow, if you want . . .  actually, anything you want, you can tell me.  you don’t have to worry about being embarrassed.”

from there, the two of you work out what you want.  you both agree to take it slow, since this will be a first for you; small touches against each other’s fingers as reassurance, and taps against his shoulder when you’re too nervous to outright ask for his attention.  he also has something of his own to suggest:

“there’s some custom that mondstadtians have,” childe ponders aloud suddenly.  “hm – something about tapping three times, meaning ‘i love you’?”

at his notion, you become bashful, and look down towards your lap.  you know where he’s going with this, and at your reaction, the snezhnayan chuckles, unfolding his hands from atop each other to squeeze yours in demonstration.

“one, two, three.  it’s just gonna be between us, all right?”

diluc:

diluc is arguably one of the most emotionally reserved characters in all of mondstadt.  sure, he’s got a sense of dry humor and wit whenever he feels snarky enough, but when it comes to personal sentiments?  he keeps them behind lock and key, with the exception of passive aggression.

if you’re self-conscious about asking for affection, such as when you’re about to reach out to tap at his hand yet pull back at the last instant, you find him looking at you expectatntly, his notorious half-lidded gaze fixated on you.  if there’s something you want, you’ll ask for it is his mentality, since he assumes that the two of you are both comfortable enough in your relationship to do so.  and relationships are built around trust.  so why are you hesitating?

that is to say, he doesn’t stare at you until you crack.  after a few seconds, he’ll look away, and resume whatever he was doing beforehand.  if it were anyone else, he’d most likely ask them verbally what they want, since there’s no use in prolonging the time, and he’s an impatient man. 

he makes a conscious effort to be more gentle with you.  he can’t quite tell if you appreciate it though especially in these scenarios, since you always chew at your lip and refrain from looking at him afterwards.

diluc will only allude to these instances.  he’ll ask “is there something you need?” or “is something the matter?”  he has no experience with physical affection of any sort, at least since his father all those years ago.  so he’d be quite lost with your circumstance; he doesn’t know at all what you want unless you make a verbal indication as to what it is. 

one day, in the privacy of his office, he senses your fingers just near his forearm.  diluc looks over in time to see you clasp his coat rather shakily, but your hold is there nonetheless.  much like usual, he’ll peer at you with a half-lidded gaze, although this time he addresses how skittish you appear. 

“something the matter?” he’ll say as per usual, but this time he isn’t vague; he’s referring to your sudden committance to reaching out as opposed to pulling away.

“ . . . just wanted to hold you.”  your confession is a mere whisper, but your boyfriend still hears it.  the two of you sit in silence for a bit, before he turns his body and puts his hand on the side of your head, pressing gently so that you lean flush against his arm. 

you’re speechless, however the circumstance doesn’t need words anymore.  content with you hugging his arm, and now understanding your wants, diluc continues to work as you drift asleep against him.  while there’s still a ways to go, as he’s sure that this isn’t the only desire you have, it’s surely a start.

kaeya:

the astute captain that he is, kaeya can hone into your desires with relative ease.

before you can retract your hand after reaching out, he’s already grasped it in his own.  you’re caught off-guard, not expecting his agility, but his grip isn’t firm or unpleasant; it’s gentle, as if he’s caring for glass.

he lowers his face so that the two of you are eye-level.  “no need to be shy.  it’s just us.”  kaeya’s reassurance is playful at first, until your contemplative silence queues him in on the severity of your timidness.

he’s concerned: is there something serious that’s bothering you?  he’d just assumed that you wanted to hold hands, or lean on each other.  for how long it takes you to speak, he’s thinking the worst: is a coworker bothering you?  are you ill with a fever?  kaeya’s eyebrows furrow, and he immediately speaks again.  “what’s wrong, precious?  tell me, please.”

looking up at him, you realize that he has the wrong impression.  tenderly enveloping your cheek with his hands, rubbing your skin with his thumbs, you sink into the affection – but he’s got the wrong idea.  

“i-it’s fine,” you begin, and he blinks rapidly.  “just . . . wanted to, uh,” you nudge further into his hands, and squeeze his arms gently, “ . . . touch you.”

ah.  your meekness makes sense now, although considering your personality, his initial guesses probably wouldn’t have been far off.  nevertheless, kaeya indulges you, even if you both continue the circumstance in silence.  it’s evident that you’ve been holding back this request for a while, and as much as he loves to tease and would like to in this moment, he doesn’t believe now is an appropriate time.

so, kaeya continues to stroke your face, soothing away your nerves.  his other hand clasps yours in your lap, giving you the time and affection you crave.  

he finds your vulnerability endearing, but there’s guilt on his conscience: why have you been nervous to approach him about this, and why did he not pick up on it sooner?  not that he expects you to come for him for everything – kaeya just theorizes that there must be some reason as to why you appear so touch-starved, and he’s thinking the worst about such a reason.

“feeling better?”  he inquires, still cradling your face, and he pulls you into a hug.  his warmth is reassuring to you – the security that you’ve longed for.  if this is what affection feels like, you’re not sure that you’d ever want to pull away.

“yeah.”  hesitantly, you lift your face from his chest, but your arms remain around his waist.  your boyfriend grins slightly, and ruffles your hair, pushing your bangs aside so he can kiss your forehead.

“tell me about it.  we can figure this out together.” 

zhongli:

about three weeks into your relationship is when zhongli receives questions from hu tao: “hey, you and y/n don’t touch each other at all.  i know you’re ‘professional’ and stuff, but jeez – not even hand-holding?  thought it’d get more exciting at this point.”

and while he initially thought of her remarks as rude – your relationship isn’t any of her business – it did prompt him to consider her words.

specifically, she’s right: while he’s generally busy at wangsheng, he strives to make time for you whenever possible.  and in that time, never once have either of you touched each other.  he’s never minded, since he’s admittedly gone without it for so long and is used to life without it – but it’s the modern age, and isn’t it customary for liyuens to . . . ?

so he takes it upon himself to ask you over dinner.  he’s made bamboo shoot soup for you tonight, and as you sit across the table from him, finishing the dish, he speaks so candidly it nearly makes you choke on your last bite.

“would you like to hold hands in the market tomorrow?”

“what?”

zhongli makes a strange face.  he knows you heard him, so why do you also look startled, and are averting your eyes?

he repeats himself nonetheless, and while you do answer him this time, it’s by mumbling under your breath.

“ – odd question,” is how you start, and your boyfriend folds his hands underneath his face, yet doesn’t rest his chin.  “um, sure.  yeah, sure . . . ”

you most definitely do not sound sure, but it’s in a way that further perplexes him.  you look . . . thrilled now?  he can see that you’re refraining from smiling – the corners of your mouth flutter – but why?  zhongli doesn’t recall saying anything that would be good news . . .

“is something the matter?” the archon supplies instead, to which you shake your head.  your hands are in your lap.

“ah, no.  what you said just came out of no where.”  an unconcealed smile from you now, and zhongli finds himself relaxing.  if you’re certain, that’s all he cares about.

he stands up, and prepares to take your dish to the kitchen.  before though, he makes sure to bring you up to your feet, and intertwines his fingers with yours.

“may i kiss you?��  he asks, suddenly, unexpectedly.  he sees you nod, the slight pressing of your lips together, and gives them a quick peck before retreating; zhongli can still taste the slight bamboo left over.

when the two of you draw away, there’s a noticeable flush on your cheeks.  once more, you seem giddy, however this time he doesn’t have to ask why.

“i’ve never done this before.”  there’s trepidation in your voice that causes his brows to furrow slightly.  “so . . . it’s all right if we start out slow, right?”

“of course,” zhongli doesn’t hesitate to respond.  you could mean so many things, and he isn’t sure which you’re referring to: initiating physicality with him, or maybe that you’ve never had a partner before . . . ?  but he doesn't dwell on that.  “your comfort is what matters.”

in the market the next day, zhongli finds comfort in the slight tugs on his coat sleeve from your fingers, and the smile that beams on your visage.