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mikavlcs · 2 years ago

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Shade Astray

Pairing: Ghostface!Tara Carpenter x fem!reader

Summary: Never in her life had Tara met anyone that made her feel like you did. She would make you hers, no matter what it took.

Warnings: graphic violence(!!!), murder, mentions of drugs and suicide, tara’s like genuinely terrifying here (tarafying? sorry), relatively bad pacing, overuse of the word anger and its various synonyms

Word count: 6.1k (sorry)

Notes: ...sorry about this, i just needed to get it out of my system. not proofread bc i was tired of looking at this story lol, but i’ll be back to my regularly scheduled wednesday stories in a few days<3

Masterlist | Part 2 | Part 3

For as long as Tara could remember, she had always struggled with her anger.

It was an issue during her early days. She of course didn’t remember, but her father would always humorously recall how she would scream absolute bloody murder as a baby if she wasn’t fed or if they took her toys from her.

Her patience did grow over time, but her possessiveness only ever got worse.

She treasured the things that she designated as “hers”, always treated them with the utmost care and she hated when others tried to take them from her.

Her family learned very quickly to not touch her stuff without asking. Only a few incidents were needed for them to understand how to respect her things.

Her older sister, Sam, seemed to understand better than her parents, but they learned, nonetheless.

And when she started going to school, it was the same.

Only once did someone make the mistake of taking something of hers. It was first grade. They were out for recess and one of her classmates, Alex, wanted to play with the stuffed animal she brought for show and tell. She said no, but he didn’t listen and snatched it right out of Tara’s hands.

In retaliation, she snapped the action figure he brought clean in half and threw the halves across different ends of the playground.

Alex wailed; she just snatched her plushie back and went back to her spot on top of the slide.

Her teacher was worried by the display, but her parents wrote it off, saying she would grow out of it. If only she were so lucky.

Over the years, her anger ebbed and flowed and changed as she did, but it never left.

Hundreds of pencils and toys suffered at the hands of her rage, but never another person. That simply felt like a line Tara couldn’t cross.

And she did not cross that line.

Not when her father suddenly left. Not when Sam abandoned her for no reason. Not when her mother started drinking and leaving the house for days at a time.

She stayed firmly on the “right” side of the line, but the anger still persisted, strengthening with each person she watched walk out the door and never return.

It was almost funny how the emotion that haunted Tara was more present in her life than her actual family.

At some point, it became a comfort of sorts. Even on Tara’s worst days, days when she couldn’t feel much of anything, she could still feel that simmering anger within her. It grounded her in a way she knew it shouldn’t.

Years began to go by and neither her father nor Sam came back. Her mother’s alcoholism waxed and waned. Eventually, she began to go to rehab, but Tara didn’t really notice anymore. Even when she was sober, she wasn’t really present anyways.

What she did know was that through everything, her anger never faltered. It simply persisted, festering in silence, and at some point, Tara welcomed it.

As she entered middle school, Tara found herself migrating into a group of friends. The group was on the smaller side, consisting of five other members besides Tara herself.

There was Amber, a rebellious self-described “wild card” who loved parties. Wes, a shy, soft-spoken nerd that crushed on every girl he saw. Mindy, a slightly obnoxious film buff that would talk your ears off about her favorite franchises. Chad, a dumb jock with a heart of (mostly) gold. And Liv, a pretty girl with a startling lack of individual personality.

Tara adopted the role of the good, responsible girl. The one that reminded everyone about homework and urged them to study for tests. It was an easy enough persona to maintain.

They weren’t perfect, but they were more tolerable than the rest of Woodsboro and they were fiercely loyal. And weekly group hangouts were much better than just sitting in an empty house.

But these new friends did complicate Tara’s life a bit. When there was no one else around, there was no need for her to try and hide her anger.

Now, she needed to be cautious around others, to make sure the carefully crafted mask she wore around them never slipped. It was hard at first, but she got used to it with time.

The discovery of the Stab franchise changed her.

It was movie night at Amber’s house, the group favorite since her house was huge and her parents were virtually nonexistent. Amber insisted on them binging the Stab movies because she was obsessed and after enough “my house, my rules”, they obliged.

The group watched, Mindy and Wes pointing out every little thing they deemed ridiculous, but Tara was completely engrossed.

She had known about the movies and how they were based on the various real-life Ghostface killings across Woodsboro, but actually sitting down and watching them was riveting.

The movies themselves were fine, all overplayed tropes and cheesy one-liners, but the kills were another thing entirely.

Something about the brutality of them excited her, a mixture of anger and excitement creating a dangerous high that she was already addicted to.

Tara was immediately obsessed.

Immediately when she got home, she watched them all again. Within weeks, she had read every book and article she could find about the murders, absorbing it all like a sponge. She even joined the stupid Stab subreddits.

Her dreams became riddled with blood and gore and her behind that iconic mask. And from her dreams, it permeated her thoughts during the day. She daydreamed about it during class and when something inevitably angered her, it was the first thing she thought of.

The Line, as she had come to call it, could not be crossed in real life, but there were no boundaries she couldn’t cross in her mind.

If someone stirred that anger within her, she simply imagined herself donning the Ghostface mask and carving out their insides with one of her kitchen knives.

For a few years, that was sufficient, just thinking about the awful things she would do was enough to satiate the darkness within her.

Then you arrived.

You moved to Woodsboro a few weeks before the start of junior year. Tara heard about the new town residents, nothing stays secret for long in a small town, but she didn’t actually see you until the first day of school.

She and her friends were sitting at their usual table outside the school. Mindy and Amber were debating about some horror movie they saw, and Tara had checked out about five minutes ago when something out of the corner of her eye caught her attention.

A car pulled up to the school, grey and sleek and entirely unfamiliar to her. Her interest piqued, she watched on as two figures in the front seats talked. The passenger seat opened, and out of it came someone she’d never seen before.

You.

All it took was one look and her world stopped. When it started again, it no longer revolved around the sun, but you.

You waved goodbye to whom she assumed to be your father and scanned your surroundings, hesitance apparent in your mannerisms. She intently watched you nervously thumb the strap of your bookbag, a plan to make you hers already formulating.

It began with something innocuous. Throughout the day, she found that your schedule was similar to hers, and in all the classes you two shared, the seat next to hers just happened to be the only one open.

Tara took the opportunity to introduce herself. You introduced yourself, voice soft and melodious, and already, she wanted to hear it again. She offered to show you around, which you shyly accepted. Before she could say anything else, the bell rang, lapsing the class into silence as the teacher began speaking.

Throughout class, she couldn’t keep her eyes off of you. You were everything she could ever want, and she knew then and there that she would stop at nothing to make you hers.

Within a week, Tara being by your side at school became normal. What was once a mere convenience became routine, and your place in class became rightfully next to her. Somewhat awkward small talk became friendly banter. And Tara finally got you comfortable enough to accept her invitation to sit with her at lunch.

Unfortunately, her friends were also there, but meeting them was an inevitability, and you ended up getting along with them pretty well. A bit too well in some ways.

Wes, of course, took an immediate liking to you. His light blush and stuttered words gave him away instantly, and as much as it annoyed Tara, that wasn’t what worried her.

What worried her was Amber’s behavior toward you. She was always talking to you, always grinning with her arm over your shoulders or a hand on your arm. A look in her eyes that Tara couldn’t—or more accurately, didn’t want to—place.

So Tara took a different approach. She started taking pens and pencils so you would ask to borrow hers, and she happily obliged. Then your class notes started going missing, textbooks disappearing between classes, but Tara always let you use hers.

She began inviting you over to her place under the guise of studying, but inevitably you ended up just hanging out. With some gentle coaxing, she got you to open up a bit.

You ranted about anything and everything, she listened, and you thanked her afterward.

She kept doing that until it became a habit. Until you began seeking out Tara to talk about something that was bothering you, which made her happy.

Tara slowly positioned herself to be the person you could rely on most, the one you could go to about anything.

And for a fleeting moment of time, that was enough—to know that you trusted her more than anyone else in the entirety of Woodsboro.

But, of course, it didn’t last. (It never did.)

You had an odd effect on Tara. You were the first person she had ever met that could calm her deep-seated rage. Any fury she felt at an incompetent classmate was washed away by the mere touch of your hand to hers.

But you also exponentially worsened it. Because even if she hadn’t made an official claim on you yet, you were hers. And she began to notice just how many people had their eyes on you.

The boys she caught leering at you in the halls, the jocks she heard having vulgar conversations about you—hell, even the occasional person that asked you for a pen in class. They all awoke an unprecedented amount of ire within her.

Every time Tara saw someone staring at you during lunch, she wanted nothing more than hit them until the skin on all of her knuckles was split and bleeding. Whenever she heard anyone talking about you, she wanted to reach into their throat and tear their vocal cords out.

She never did, she never once laid her hands on any of those people. But she wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

Tara quickly found herself inching closer and closer to The Line, using all of her remaining control to stop from crossing it.

All of her remaining self-control and morality went out the window when someone finally asked you out.

Tara was the first person you told. And she didn’t know what angered her more—the fact that someone had the gall to try and take what was hers or the fact that the person that asked you out was Amber.

Boiling hot anger bloomed in her chest and spread through her veins.

Tara’s relationship with Amber Freeman was complicated.

In some ways, Amber was Tara’s closest friend. The whole group shared a love for horror films, it was what initially brought them together, but Amber was the only one whose love for the Stab movies rivaled hers. She had even introduced Tara to the franchise. But that wasn’t what made Tara’s relationship with her so different from the others.

Her bond with Amber was special because Amber was the only person Tara had ever met that was like her.

She saw it most in the way Amber looked when she watched the murders in the films. Sure, Amber always loved the gory kills in slasher movies, but something about the Ghostface kills made her more intense. And it only took one glance for Tara to know why.

The acute passion and almost primitive desire she saw reflected in Amber’s eyes when Ghostface slaughtered someone was something she was entirely familiar with.

In that moment, Tara knew that Amber was capable of the same terrible things that she was. And she knew Amber knew it as well.

They never talked about it, just let it linger in the air between them, open and free. Their special connection brought Tara closer to her than any of the others.

But that also made Amber Tara’s biggest threat. The horrifying potential within her made her unpredictable, and while that had yet to actively oppose Tara’s own wants, it was beginning to become a nuisance now.

Because she had seen the way Amber looked at you, knew what that desire in her eyes meant. She was taken with you the same way Tara was.

And she couldn’t accept that.

She wasn’t able to sleep that night. Her anger was so potent that it felt like it had swallowed her whole. Her fists shook violently, a scream she had been holding back for hours bubbled up again and Tara could only curl into herself and swallow it back down.

It was too hot, sweat coated her skin and soaked her clothes. Her fury was burning her alive from the inside out and she ached for something to take it out on, needed anything—even if it was painful to drown the fire inside of her.

More than anything, she yearned to get rid of Amber. Permanently.

She knew she shouldn’t, but once she thought of it, she couldn’t stop. It would be so simple, to just sneak into Amber’s house and gut her. Hell, she even had a costume, nearly forgotten in the back of her closet from Halloween a few years prior.

And if she didn’t do this, there was a chance that she would lose you.

With that realization, the dam broke, her moral walls crumbling under the weight of her need for you.

The Line was the last thing on her mind that night and before she knew it, her plan was fully formed.

Exactly one week before she planned to kill Amber, Tara invited her over for a Stab marathon. Likely around the twentieth one they’d had over the years, but this one was different.

Watching these movies never got old for Tara, and they were always made better by another person that shared her love for them.

But even with that, it was still less passionate, less enthusiastic than those other times. A melancholy had settled in the air. There was a new finality to the rolling credits, and Tara would be lying if she said it didn’t get to her.

She wondered if Amber could feel it too.

On the walk home, Tara was somewhat conflicted. But then she reminded herself that Amber was trying to take you away from her and that was enough to have her seeing red.

Without anymore hesitation, she took a step over The Line, crossing into that horrifyingly seductive forbidden territory, and firmly planted her feet there.

You were Tara’s and she wasn’t going to let anyone get away with trying to take you from her, not even a friend.

The kill itself was easy enough to pull off.

The Freemans were almost never home, leaving Amber to roam the house by herself most nights and she was never the best at remembering to lock the windows. She relied mostly on their cameras to alert her of anything, but even those were easy to avoid if you knew where they were.

She slipped in through a window around the back, swift and silent as she made her way through the house, mindful to avoid the inside cameras when she could.

Amber was in the living room, watching some show Tara didn’t recognize. Her phone sat on the couch beside her, and the sight of it nearly made her sigh. She had debated doing the phone call, but she didn’t have the iconic voice changer and thus, was forced to do without it.

She knew that Amber would be turning in for the night soon, so she waited, lingering in the darkness of the attached kitchen for her moment to strike.

That moment came mere minutes later. Amber turned the tv off and stood, stretching for a moment before heading toward the stairs. Tara gripped the hilt of her knife and quietly walked out. Her heartbeat quickened, perfectly matching her footfalls as she came up behind Amber.

One of her last strides had a bit too much weight behind it, causing one of the floorboards to creak. Amber whirled around and only had time to blink before Tara struck.

She buried the knife right between Amber’s ribs then twisted it sharply, finding a sick satisfaction in the way she felt something crack. Her heart raced as she pushed Amber to the ground, settling on top of her as she yanked the knife out and plunged it back into her, slightly lower this time.

Then she did it again and again and again. Tara would admit that she lost herself a bit, the adrenaline pumping throughout her pushing her into almost a frenzied state as she brought the knife down then back up.

Amber, to her credit, didn’t scream. The only sounds that filled the air were the sounds of the knife piercing flesh and Tara’s labored breaths under her mask.

When she finally snapped out of it, all she could see was red. It was everywhere—on her knife, the carpet, the surrounding furniture. Some had even managed to splatter onto the ceiling. It was oddly beautiful.

Knowing her time was limited, she turned her attention back to her victim. Amber remained silent, only the occasional bloody cough escaping her as she stared at Tara above her.

Tara reached into Amber’s pocket and pulled out her phone, holding it briefly in front of her face to unlock it. Once inside, she opened the security app and remotely shut off all of the cameras in the house. She waited for a moment, ensuring they were off before reaching up to pull her mask off.

Amber’s eyes widened slightly when their eyes met but she didn’t look surprised. If it were the other way around, Tara supposed she wouldn’t be either.

In a way, they both knew this would only ever end one of two ways.

They would either wreak havoc on the town of Woodsboro together, or one of them would eliminate the other. And unfortunately, it had to be the latter.

Tara adjusted her grip on the knife handle, careful not to move the weapon as she held her dying friend’s gaze. Neither of them said anything, they just let everything sit in the air around them until, finally, Amber stopped moving altogether.

Once the warmth left Amber’s body, Tara stood and pulled the knife out of her one last time, cleaning the blood off of it with a quick swipe of her hand per tradition.

She stayed there for another minute then left, making sure to lock the window on her way out.

Later that night, as she waited for sleep to take hold of her, she wondered if she regretted what she did, finally crossing that line after all these years of holding herself back. It took only a few moments for her to find that her answer was a firm and resounding no.

She would mourn the loss of a friend but never regret her decision. Tara was going to make you hers, and she was going to make sure that no one stood in her way.

It took three days for the body to be found.

Considering Amber’s parents were probably somewhere in Europe, they took no notice of their daughter’s sudden silence, but the rest of the group did. They had been on edge since the end of the first day and by the third, you wanted to go over and check on Amber.

Tara stopped you immediately, not wanting you to see what waited in that house, and suggested calling the police to perform a wellness check because “what if it’s something serious?”

Amber’s face was plastered all over the local news within hours. Along with the news that her killer was another Ghostface.

For public safety reasons, the security camera footage was released and immediately caused an uproar. The idiots in the Stab subreddits were clamoring, new theories being posted every hour. Tara ignored them.

Her entire focus after Amber’s death was made public was you.

The entire group was upended by Amber’s passing, but you were distraught. Even if you didn’t return her feelings, Amber was still your friend and her death hit you hard.

She took every opportunity to be there for you. She hung out with you after school when you didn’t want to be alone, invited you over on the weekends when you needed a shoulder to cry on.

In your eyes, the two of you were grieving together, and in some ways that was true.

When you cried, she would always hold you and cry with you. Sometimes her tears were real, sometimes they were fake, but her concern for you was always sincere. And the way you held onto her like a lifeline made her sure that what she did was more than worth it.

Aside from your sorrow, everything was going relatively well. The fraudulent mask of sadness she needed to sustain almost everywhere she went was exhausting but necessary.

She knew she would have to grieve with the pack, and she did it masterfully while also paying special attention to you and your mental health.

Her ever-present anger had also been noticeably dull. It was always tempered when you were around, but even when you weren’t present it was still anemic.

It was actually somewhat peaceful, and she expected it to remain like that for a while.

What she didn’t expect was her sister to suddenly return to Woodsboro.

Tara swore she had never been more surprised when she answered the door, expecting it to be the police, and saw instead her sister standing there. She was taller, a bit rougher around the edges, but she was still the Sam that Tara tried to forget about over the years.

She let Sam in more out of curiosity than anything. Tara wanted—no, needed to know why her own sister had to abandon her for years without even attempting to contact her.

And, admittedly, the explanation was worth her time.

Turned out that her sister was actually her half-sister. They had the same mother but different fathers. Sam’s father was Billy Loomis, one of the original Ghostface killers. Sam ran away because she was scared that she would end up like her father, that she would somehow hurt Tara if she stayed.

So she left and ended up getting mixed up in all kinds of bad shit. (She didn’t specify, but the track marks on her arms told Tara everything she needed to know.) But she heard about the rise of another Ghostface and that convinced her to finally return, for good.

Throughout Sam’s explanation, Tara bit her cheek until she bled and gripped her chair until her knuckles were white.

It was all she could do to not laugh in her sister’s face.

The “darkness” inside of her that she was so afraid of amused her because she knew it didn’t exist. She couldn’t see the potential that either she or Amber held in her sister’s eyes, and that made the entire situation laughable.

Tara couldn’t help but wonder how frightened Sam would be if she found out about what she did, how terrified she’d be if she knew about the things that Tara thought about doing.

Part of her was jealous, to come from such a profoundly blood-stained family legacy sounded incredible, but she knew it was for the best that it was Sam and not her. It would only make her a prime suspect.

So she flooded her eyes with tears and feigned understanding, allowing her sister to hug her for the first time in years.

The words “I forgive you” tasted like ash in her mouth, but the act needed to be upheld.

Sam expressed her want to move back into the house, something Tara was immediately against. But as she thought about it more, she found herself allowing it.

For insurance mostly. If there were more victims, Sam would be able to back up Tara’s alibis about being at home. She would also serve as her backup plan in case things went south.

After all, if the police were to ever suspect her, it would be so easy to implicate the ex-addict daughter of Billy Loomis in her place.

The following months were an adjustment period.

Tara having to relearn how to cohabitate in her house with her sister, the group learning to function without Amber, and the town having to deal with the fact that there was another Ghostface on the loose all at once proved to be…a lot. For everyone involved.

Naturally, Tara managed just fine. She dealt with the hurdles that came with her sister’s constant presence as they appeared and found a rhythm to fall into relatively quickly.

Things with her friends were similar. With more practice, her persona got easier to maintain and as the group began to accept and move past Amber’s death, it became effortless.

You had grown much closer to Tara over the past months. It was obvious that her insistence to be there for you when needed had paid off. You naturally gravitated toward each other, spending nearly every moment together at school.

You were also doing much better, smiling and laughing again like you did before. The effervescence you usually exuded was back and Tara couldn’t be happier.

There was just one problem.

Amongst the chaos, Tara found that the calm that settled in after Amber’s death slowly faded, her anger returning to her with a fiery vengeance.

But her rage was never more apparent than when she was with you at school.

Those guys that ogled you in the halls didn’t simply disappear (as much Tara wished they did). If anything, they only got bolder without Amber’s presence. Some of the stares she saw them giving you were downright disturbing.

And that wasn’t even mentioning the vulgar conversations she overheard about you.

Every disgusting word she overheard in class or in passing while she searched for you in the halls made her fingers twitch toward her side, looking for a weapon she didn’t have.

It was like before, but now that she had crossed The Line it was so much worse.

Now she didn’t simply want them to hurt, she wanted them to die by her hand, slowly and painfully. She wanted to watch the life slowly drain out of their eyes, for them to die with the knowledge that you would never be anyone else’s but hers.

Tara could only hold back for so long, especially when it came to you.

She gave in four months after Amber’s death, almost to the day.

Her second victim was Daniel Holmes, a lanky art club snob that had a crush on you. During Calculus, Tara would see him drawing pictures of you in his notebook.

His older brother found him on his bed with 11 stab wounds and no fingers. He would never draw you again.

Her third victim was Rowan Morlow, your tall and endlessly arrogant chemistry partner who took every opportunity to make you uncomfortable. He flirted with you relentlessly, ended up giving you a stupid poem about how you were “his sun” that always managed to light his world up.

Tara burnt him alive. The police could only identify him through his dental records.

Her fourth, and (for now) final victim was Jason Lowry, a linebacker for the school’s football team. Tara hated him. He was a repeat offender, ogling you in the halls, saying disgusting things about you in class, and always trying to get your attention. He was always on her list, but the others distracted her from dealing with him.

She finally snapped when she overheard him talking to his friends about wanting to drug you at a party you planned to go to that week.

That same night, she stabbed him 43 times and then slit his throat with so much force that she nearly decapitated him.

(Later that week, she convinced you to not go to the party and stay with her for a movie night. Just in case.)

After Jason’s murder, she had to take a step back from Ghostface and lay low for a bit. The media coverage was picking up and the sheriff was getting more and more intense about finding the killer. Especially after Jason’s (deservingly) brutal death.

The police were really starting to crack down, patrol cars were on nearly every street and Tara couldn’t afford to take any chances.

So, begrudgingly, she locked her Ghostface costume away and took a break from the killings.

Her hands still itched for the hilt of her knife when she saw someone’s eyes on you, but you made it manageable. And now that she wasn’t planning murders, she had more time to spend with you.

You seemed just as eager to see her, which pleased Tara. Biweekly hangouts became you coming over nearly every day to watch movies and just spend time together.

You admitted how terrified you were about the Ghostface killer running around Woodsboro and she nearly said that “she would never hurt you” before she caught herself.

It was the truth. Tara would kill herself before she laid a hand (or knife) on you. But she couldn’t say that outright.

Instead, she offered to drive you home after school every day.

And that’s where she was now.

Classes for the day had ended only twenty minutes ago, so there were still tons of students there waiting for buses and parents. She sat in the parking lot, blaring music in her car while she watched for you to appear at the entrance.

Two songs later, you finally walked out the doors. She perked up, about to get out the car to wave you down, but stopped when she saw who walked out with you.

Wes.

He was matching your strides, pulling you to a stop before you could look out to find Tara in the lot.

Leaning forward, she watched him step close, much too close for her liking, and ghost a hand over your arm. Every time you went to look away, to look for her, he pulled your attention back to him.

It made her want to tear his insides out, but she held herself back. So far, the killings had been deemed random. Two murders within the same friend group would look suspicious. Not to mention the fact that Wes was the sheriff’s son. If she killed him, there would be a manhunt.

Before her thoughts could go forward, you looked over and saw her. The way your expression brightened almost made her forget about Wes, but he remained there. Even after you started making your way to Tara, Wes stood and watched you go.

Tara’s palms itched.

The passenger seat door opening brought her back to the present. She turned to see you already looking at her with a beautifully bright smile that she couldn’t help but return.

Momentarily forgetting about Wes, she put the car in reverse then paused. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours.”

Tara nodded. It was the same answer you always gave, and she forced herself to swallow the lingering question of why.

She turned the music down and handed you the aux before she sped off toward her house. The drive was spent with Tara listening to you ramble about your day, your music playing softly in the background.

But even the melodic sound of your voice couldn’t distract her from the nagging thought of Wes and his stupid crush.

She lasted a few more hours before she finally cracked.

The two of you were in the living room lounging on the couch in front of the tv. Sam was out, thankfully, so Tara didn’t need to keep you holed up in her room to avoid her.

Some movie Mindy recommended was playing on the tv, but Tara had long since stopped paying attention, instead focusing on the feeling of your head on her shoulder.

But again, Wes and his stupid blonde hair invaded her thoughts. He was so close, looked so hopeful about whatever he was talking about. She couldn’t help herself.

“So, what was Wes talking to you about earlier?” She tried for a casual delivery and given the way you answered without hesitation, she succeeded.

“Oh, he just wanted to know if we could study for the chem test together. I told him I’d have to check my schedule,” you said, and she could hear the smile you inevitably had in your voice.

A growl bubbled up in her throat, but she forced it out as a breathy laugh. “He totally likes you, you know.”

You only hummed in response. Tara didn’t like that. She needed a definitive answer to how you felt. So she took a more direct approach.

“Do you like him?”

This time, you sat up straight, putting a bit of distance between you to her displeasure. She tried to meet your eyes, but you stayed quiet, not quite looking at Tara. She clenched her fist, nails digging into her palms so hard they nearly drew blood.

“Because if you do, you could always go hang out with him. I wouldn’t mind,” she lied, unable to keep a touch of bitterness out of her voice.

She absolutely would mind. If you left her for him, she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to stop herself from slitting his throat—sheriff’s son or not.

You looked at her then, eyes wide, “No, I don’t want to leave. I’d rather be here, with you. I feel safe with you.”

Tara’s fists relaxed, pride swelling in her chest at your admission.

“Besides, I like someone else.”

Surprised, Tara froze. Her anger flared again but she tempered it immediately. She knew she shouldn’t ask, that hearing you say anyone’s name but hers would send her on a rampage, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Who?”

You glanced away, lips pursing as you fiddled with your finger. She couldn’t be upset with you for your lack of answer when she saw the subtle shaking of your hands.

“I can’t say,” you eventually said.

Tara’s jaw clenched, but she kept her voice soft. “Why not?”

You brought your eyes up, not making eye contact but close enough, and bit your lip. Tara could barely tear her attention away from it to hear you whisper, “Because it would ruin things.”

“What?” Tara asked, confusion drawing her brows together. What did that mean? What exactly would you ruin?

Again, you stayed quiet, but a deep blush was rising on your cheeks. Your eyes traveled the length of her face as you stuttered something too soft for her to hear.

Finally, you looked up and met Tara’s gaze and she understood.

“It’s me?” she whispered, her disbelief more than apparent in her tone.

A sharp inhale, then you nodded, slow and shy. That was all she needed.

Without another word, Tara surged forward and crashed her lips into yours, kissing you fiercely. You were surprised at first, but you reciprocated with the same urgency, hands rising to her face. At the feeling of your hands

Tara lifted you onto her lap, slowly running her hands from your thighs up to your hips, slipping her fingers beneath the fabric of your shirt to graze your bare skin. A soft yelp escaped you, but you only moved closer, both of you losing yourselves in each other.

You stayed pressed against her until long after the movie ended.

That night you fell asleep in Tara’s arms. She laid awake, barely able to close her eyes with the overwhelming amount of emotion running through her. You had always heightened her emotions, but now that she’d kissed you, claimed you it was different. More intense. A type of euphoria she’d never been privy to.

But the anger still remained, still thrummed at the very thought of someone else touching you now. Unconsciously, her arms tightened around you.

You were finally hers.

And if needed, she would kill every single person in that godforsaken town to make sure it stayed that way.

#this is bad sorry #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #ghostface!tara #scream #scream vi #jenna ortega #idk what tags to use #pls heed the warnings #like it gets kinda concerning #i promise i'm normal

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scatterpatter · 7 months ago

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So I made a sketch comic- sort of a vent, I guess? Mainly about plurality, and feelings on a past abuser and the lingering trauma, all to a part who didn't experience the trauma for himself... But realized it could be quite triggering so heed the following warnings!

Mentions of trauma and abuse (nothing explicit), showing alters in distress from the trauma

Speaking to the abuser in second person, in a very personal context (ex. "You did this to me" language). This comic is not targeted towards any of my followers/mutuals/anyone who sees it, but if you are easily triggered or otherwise made uncomfortable by the very personal language usage, please skip and know this is not targeted towards you

Eye contact and unsettling eye imagery

Brief blood imagery and mentioning wanting to bring harm to an abuser

All under the cut, proceed with caution!

I want to make it clear: We are okay, I just wanted to express my personal feelings on dealing with one of my system's traumas.

And for legal reasons: I do not actually wish to harm anyone, and have no intentions to do so. I harbor malice, and went a bit harsh on the imagery/language used to depict my malice, but our system is safe and we don't intend to bring any harm to anyone, regardless of how they harmed us

... Also if you got this far, bonus doodle of how me and one of my alters is now unwinding, to bring the positive vibes back <3

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cherubfae · 9 days ago

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𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔠𝔨 || {𝔪𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔪}

In thick dick we trust

|| 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐁𝐅𝐀𝐄'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 ||

tags: smut, NSFW, fem!reader, breeding, blowjobs, fingering, slight angst/fix-it-fic and spoilers for JJK (Gojo), predator/prey dynamics, public sex, no foreplay (in some), monster fucking, belly bulge, impossible standards but we can dream, unprotected sex, slight dubcon (pyramid head), this is a trail mix of all sorts of some of my favorite men (and my bestie's)!!. Pls enjoy!!

leon's is a bit short bc he's got a halloween treat comin' up ;D

Leon

"This is not a good idea." Leon's voice hisses next to your ear. Ever the hypocrite, he's not one to heed his own warning. He is far too focused on tugging his pants half-way down his ass, panting hotly at your ear, the clasps of his belt jingling together as he frees his swollen cock. His fingers push into your hole, messily stretching you out. Knowing you two don't have much time, he pulled them out after, lapping at your essence with a pleased moan. "So fuckin' good, princess."

Sinking into you with a guttural groan, Leon snaps his hips into you. His shirt is messily pulled up to his abdomen, biting his lip to conceal any moans. You back your ass up, meeting his thrusts as quickly and most importantly, as quietly as possible.

"I know this is rushed but you gotta try to relax for me, baby." He kisses just below your ear. "You were the one who wanted to fuck at a Halloween party, right? I promise I'll take care of you as much as you need me to when we're home... But for now, loosen up that pussy for this cock you love so much, yeah?" He breathily chuckles.

Zayne

"You're too bold for your own good...," His lashes flutter, his head falling back to rest on his chair. Legs widening, Zayne's breath stutters out of him the deeper you take his rigid length. "Doing such a thing like this in a place of healthcare practice and to a renowned surgeon no less. How naughty."

His heart stutters at your intense gaze between his parted thighs. Pulling off his cock, he can see how his length and your lips glisten with precum and saliva. "You say that... But were you not the one who fingered me to sleep last time I was here?" You smirk as Zayne's ears flush red.

"You said you needed help sleeping... Orgasms can provide that. When all of your muscles are tight during sexual arousal, an orgasm helps relaxes those muscles." Came his clinical response, despite both of you knowing you'd successfully cornered him. You grip his cock once more, relishing in how his hips jerk upwards.

Lapping at his tip, you grin. "And that's what I'm doing just now. My favorite doctor said he needed help relaxing-- and I think this is just what the doctor prescribed." The groan Zayne let out as you lowered your mouth onto him was music to your ears.

Sal Fisher

After your very first successful Halloween party in your new shared apartment, you and Sal giggle and hush one another, messily pulling off each other's costumes. You, a witch and Sal, a skeleton (or as he worded it, your 'willing victim'). With Chase Atlantic playing rhythmically from Sal's old stereo, he pushes you gently onto the soft bed.

Mask left forgotten and his glass eye already out of his socket and cleaning in a cup at his bedside table next to his tiny suction device. You couldn't help but adore him, staring up at him tenderly. You loved that he was able to be so comfortable with you like this. You supposed knowing him since high school and dating since sophomore year helped!

You reach up and cup his scarred cheeks, running your thumb above his missing nose. Sal closes his good eye, breath warm on your palm. He kisses your fingers, covering your hand with his. The passionate energy takes a softer turn, gently pulling off your clothing until you were both laid bare.

"I will never get over how beautiful you are." Sal murmured, his cold hands cupping the swell of your breasts, thumb circling the hardened nipple. His thick cock, surrounded by blue hair, nudges between your folds, though he is no rush to enter. Leaning down, he kisses you softly, an action you readily return.

Pyramid Head

You were easy to corner. It was laughable, really. Pyramid Head couldn't ignore those sweltering feelings any longer. The thrill of hunting you down like small prey had thrilled him to no end. He was sick of those nurses and the mannequins. He wanted something real, someone warm.

The scrape of his Great Knife splitting through concrete and asphalt grated on your ears. Wedging his knife into the crease of the segmented sidewalk, Pyramid Head backs you up against the fence. He towers above you; he has no visible eyes to look at, only the cold, rusted and bloody triangular helmet that presses against your cheek.

A shuddering, inhuman growl bellows like iron rubbing together, followed by a rather curious huff. Something hard pokes at your tummy and your eyes widen, heat rising to your cheeks. This thing... This humanoid embodiment of hate was rock hard, rutting his large erection against the seam of your jeans. His hands grapple for your shoulders, huffing demonically again. Impatient.

Seeing no other choice and admittedly, you were a bit curious. It certainly had been quite some time since someone had craved anything of you. And from what you could see of the great Pyramid Head, your curiosity had been thoroughly piqued.

Shimming your jeans and underwear down, you yelp as Pyramid Head hauls you into his strong arms. One arm barred across your lower back, his large blood covered hand spreads open your folds. Then, the fattest tip you've ever seen pokes out from under his dirtied apron; sliding up your folds to collect your wetness. He rubs himself against you messily, his hand moving to lock at your elbow, keeping you in place.

With immense searing heat, he pushes his thick, swollen cock into your tight channel. You feel like you're floating, your head knocking back against the fence. You could feel him stretch you impossibly wide, your tummy extending ever so slightly, and with the frantic upwards cant of his hips, you knew that the beast was far from done.

Gojo Satoru

He was here. He was home. Sukuna was dead. Defeated. The strongest had once again prevailed. Satoru had made it back to you alive.

Satoru approaches you like you were a newborn deer, power thrummed off of him. He'd let his infinity down. You weren't sure what you looked like in that moment, but you imagined he was mirroring your expression back at you. His snow-white hair was messily disheveled, his lips in a wobbly, uncertain smile and his eyes-- those endless ocean eyes. They looked like rippling waves with the more tears that filled them and spilled over, clearing paths on his dirty cheeks.

"I'm home, honey." Satoru spoke hoarsely, trembling as he gathers you in his arms. Instantly, his face finds its home at your neck, breathing in your scent. "I'm home." His grip tightened.

After hours of snuggling up on the sofa and Satoru freshly showered, you along with him--neither of you could bear to be apart from the other right now. You curled into his embrace, his arms wrapped around you like a safety belt, his long fingers brush the waistband of yours, his, sweatpants. Satoru kissed your jaw.

"Is it okay, pretty? I--," Voice breaking, Satoru swallowed thickly. "I need to know this isn't a dream." Nodding, you shift your hips up, helping him push your sweatpants and underwear down. Satoru does the same, gently swirling his pink head against your folds.

Leaning into his embrace, you grip his arms, making him look at you. "I don't need prep, 'Toru. I wanna feel you too. Want it just like this, please?" Cupping his cheek, he leans into your touch and nods understandingly. Guiding himself into you, the two of you gasp. Your fingers thread together tightly, slowly rocking into each other. Reunited once again. <3

Cloud

It was no secret that Cloud could be quite socially awkward. When he wasn't thinking about his next payment, the free estate of his mind more than often drifted to you. It was rare for him to not have you by his side, but you'd had your own mission to attend to.

Mako-blue eyes drift to his lap, feeling the subtle twitch in his black trousers. He'd been throbbing for days on end now, but rather than dealing with it he willed it to leave on its own. Pleasure always felt better when it was shared with you, after all. But thinking of you only served to make his cock harden more.

Hissing, Cloud shoved his bottoms down far enough for his swollen member to pop up, slapping wetly against his bare stomach; a string of sticky pre connecting his skin to his reddened tip. With a growl, he wrapped his hand tightly around the base of his thick cock and squeezed his eyes shut tight, doing his best to mimic how you felt around him.

He could still feel the phantom touches as you traced your fingers up to his tip and down to his base, moving your hand to cup and fondle at his heavy balls, every touch of yours was like you were worshipping a beautiful lost god.

"Shit--fuck, baby!" Cloud gasps, hips jerking into his fist, cum squirting out of him until his knuckles were dripping in it. He'd really been too pent up... He couldn't wait til you were home. He misses you. :(

Bonus for the sillies<3

Astarion

"Shhhhhh, darling...," Astarion hushes into your mouth, making you snort back at him. The two of you drunkenly giggle, a little more than pleasantly buzzed, and chat with each other out in the hall of the inn in what you two think were whispers. "Can't wake the others. Do you have the key?" He hiccups softly, leaning his chin on your shoulder, making your hunt for the room key that much more difficult.

You grin and pull the key out of your chest bandages, winking. Astarion purred approvingly. Leaning your forehead onto the door, you narrow your eyes and focus on trying to hold it steady, struggling to line the key up with the doorknob. Behind you, Astarion snickers like a schoolboy.

"You don't struggle this much guiding me into you... Has a door bested you, love?" He slurrs, nuzzling at your arm like an affectionate cat. You scowl and playfully and softly place your entire hand on his face and ease him back.

"Ack!" Astarion sputtered, blinking with annoyance as you unlock the door triumphantly. You enter first, the spawn stumbling in behind you. He makes for the bed first, leaving a trail of clothing behind him and crawling atop the sheets. Propping his cheek up with his palm, he relaxes into an attempt to look seductive, which wasn't hard. His thick cock, however, was quickly becoming so. Everything about him was ethereally beautiful, even in your drunken haze.

You squint at him, weighing your options as best you could with your inebriated state. If the two of you started fucking, the chances of either waking up another inn guest or resulting in some sort of drunken injury were quite high.

Ultimately, you decide it's not a good idea, as delicious as Astarion looked. You shed your boots and sit on the edge of the bed. The spawn pouts, reminding you of a cat once again as he paws at your backside.

"Don't you want to, love? We can snuggle instead if that's your desired passion." Astarion wiggled himself under your arms. You smile, brushing back his bangs to kiss his forehead. "We should wait 'til we're both sober, honey." Astarion nuzzled himself against your bosom.

Easing you both back onto the bed, Astarion cuddles into you. The both of you pass out, the spawn entirely naked at your side and you; half-dressed and half-off the bed in a starfish spread, mouth wide open in a snore.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

#love and deepspace x reader #zayne x reader #sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy vii x reader #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #cloud strife x reader #silent hill x reader #pyramid head x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #cherubfae 2024 #cherubfae's halloween special 2024 #astarion smut #astarion x reader

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makoodles · 2 years ago

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ミ tìtunu

part one | part two | part three (nsfw) | part four (nsfw

🍓pairing: tsu'tey x human fem reader

🍓word count: 9k words (oops)

🍓warnings: alien courting rituals, misunderstandings, accidental sexy touching

yoooo i was not expecting people to like this ahhahahaha but thank you all so much for all your lovely excited comments! they've been so fun to read and honestly pushed me into writing this faster! pls forgive me if i forgot to tag you (i tried to include everyone that asked) 🍓 masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

Tsu’tey is beginning to wonder if he had received some irreparable damage to his head in the fall from the sky that had nearly killed him all those months ago. It’s the only explanation for what’s gone so terribly wrong with him.

After his failed first attempt at courting, you don’t come back to the village for a few days. It’s probably a good thing, Tsu’tey tries to convince himself; he needs to decide what it is he truly wants, and how far he’s willing to go to get it. But even though he tries to use the time to himself productively, he finds himself on edge and impatient.

His foul mood is clear to the whole village to see, and so it’s only a matter of time before someone confronts him about it.

It’s just his luck that the person who approaches him about it is Jakesully.

“So,” The new Olo’eyktan drawls as he sidles up to where Tsu’tey is watching a group of young warriors training with their longbows, “Word has it that you’ve chosen a mate.”

They may be brothers in arms and tentative friends, but that doesn’t mean that Tsu’tey is pleased to have him poking around his business. His ears flatten back in a wordless warning to back off, but Jakesully pays no heed to it.

The bastard is grinning, as though this is the most entertained he’s been in weeks. “Word has it that your chosen mate is human.”

“Do not speak on matters you do not understand.” Tsu’tey bares his teeth in a move that is bold at best, considering he is speaking to his clan chief.

But Jakesully just laughs, his stupid shoulders straightening. He has become so confident since becoming one of the people, and Tsu’tey envies him for it. He was sure of himself just like Jakesully once, but now it seems like all he does is doubt himself.

“Relax, brother.” Jakesully says casually, leaning on one leg as he follows Tsu’tey’s gaze out towards the young warriors. “You are too tense. How could she want someone so grumpy?”

Tsu’tey turns to him then, his tail coiled in a tense loop as he glares. “She is a demon.”

Jakesully just rolls his eyes. It's a gesture so human that it’s almost jarring. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that he is alien, just like you.

“Everyone sees the way you look at her.” Jakesully says, raising a brow at him. “It’s a different kind of scowl than you give everyone else.”

Tsu’tey doesn’t think that he scowls that much. He tries to force the frown off his face as he turns to look at Jakesully head on.

“It does not matter what you think you see,” He bites out, frustrated and on-edge with embarrassment. “She is tawtute. Sky demon. She does not see, cannot connect with the People or with Eywa.”

Jakesully is nodding, but he still has that infuriating smirk curling around his mouth that suggests he understands Tsu’tey’s feelings better than Tsu’tey himself does.

“That hasn’t stopped you so far, has it?” He points out with a faux-innocent tone that is utterly unconvincing. “I mean, you certainly seem happier to show her around and explain things to her than you ever were with me.”

“That is because she listens, Jakesully.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jakesully waves this away as if it’s inconsequential, before his expression shifts.

The next look he levels at Tsu’tey is uncomfortably sober.

“Look. I know that you’ve been having a hard time since...” He trails off, and his eyes dart down towards the harsh, ugly scars that cover Tsu’tey’s torso from where the brutal human weapons called bullets had nearly torn him apart. “Look, who cares what anyone else thinks? The People are still wary of the humans left over, but they’re looking to you as an example on how they should act. You could set a precedent here.”

Tsu’tey clenches his jaw as he stares out at the warriors. Instead of answering, he shouts out to one of the younglings near the edge of their makeshift firing range. “Netu’li, keep your elbows up.”

Netu’li fixes his posture, and the next arrow he looses hits home in a perfect bullseye. Tsu’tey nods in satisfaction.

Jakesully is still staring at the side of his face, and Tsu’tey realises that there is no way for him to escape this conversation. He takes a breath, and tries to ignore the resentful embarrassment coiling in his belly.

“She did not accept my advances.” He mutters, his ears flattened against his skull.

Irritatingly, Jakesully doesn’t seem bothered by this in the slightest.

“Oh yeah?” He drawls. “Hm. Well, I never thought you’d give up so easily. I’m surprised.”

Tsu’tey flicks a quick glance his way. What a ridiculous, painfully transparent attempt at goading him into admitting the interest he’s been trying to deny. The worst part is that it might actually be working.

“I did not say I was giving up.” Tsu’tey says sharply, well aware that he’s playing right into Jakesully’s hands right now. “I am just… I am thinking.”

Jakesully raises his stupid eyebrows, but Tsu’tey is studiously avoiding looking at him now. This whole situation was mortifying enough when it was all going unsaid; now that it’s being discussed, Tsu’tey feels like climbing inside of a yomioang plant and never coming out.

“Well,” Jakesully sounds smug, which should be a warning in itself, “You’d better do some thinking quickly, because I believe that’s her coming now.”

Tsu’tey straightens quickly, and tosses a look over his shoulder. Sure enough, your familiar figure is standing awkwardly by the treeline. It seems as though you’re reluctant to step further into the village; you’re fidgeting with your fingers, eyes darting around until they finally find him.

Something in his lower belly leaps, and he finds himself taking a sharp inhale through his nose at the sight of you. It’s been days since he’s last seen you, and he had been beginning to wonder if you would ever seek him out again. The sight of you here is a ridiculous sort of relief, one that he doesn’t even want to fully think about. Even better is the fact that you look alright, you look healthy. It doesn’t seem as though he’s done lasting damage to you with the meat.

You smile at him, and even from across the village he feels his heart thump against his ribcage. Perhaps you don’t hate him after all.

Aware of your eyes on him, Tsu’tey hefts his longbow from his back and shoots an arrow. It flies straight through the target, and hits it with a heavy, satisfying thump.

Jakesully just laughs. “Wow. Impressive.”

“Be silent.” Tsu’tey grumbles, his tail coiled tightly around his leg. He is anxious in a way that is entirely unbefitting of a warrior, and he resents you for being the cause of it. “I do not wish to speak to her.”

“Oh, come on!” Jakesully tilts his head back, shaking his head as though Tsu’tey is nothing but a child. “I thought we just talked through this!”

Tsu’tey ignores him. He can feel your gaze on his back like a weight, and though he stands straight and tall he cannot bring himself to turn around and meet your eyes. It’s all too much – even from across the camp your presence needles at him, and he hasn’t even decided on what he’s going to do just yet.

Jakesully’s eyes on the side of Tsu’tey’s face don’t help very much either. “Where’s all your confidence from the other night gone, when you practically declared what you wanted in front of the whole clan?”

Tsu’tey’s tail lashes restlessly. That had been a moment of pure madness. “It was rash of me.”

Jakesully just makes a face. “Whatever. Look, if the People could accept a skxawng like me as Olo’eyktan, why wouldn’t they accept your interest in a human mate? They respect you; they’ll respect your choices.”

It’s a reasonable point, but Tsu’tey remains stubbornly silent. It rankles, the way that Jakesully is trying to insert himself into his business. Tsu’tey’s thoughts and feelings about you are confused and conflicted, but they’re private. The way Jakesully speaks about you as though he knows you makes Tsu’tey’s skin prickle.

“I must think on it.” Tsu’tey says at last. It’s a weak response, but he just wants to buy himself some time.

Perhaps Jakesully is right. Tsu’tey has always been strong-willed and stubborn, and has always known exactly what he wanted. Now though, he's floundering. Now he doesn’t know what he wants, and he’s casting about desperately in the hopes that someone will advise him on what to do. After having his life and expectations so soundly upended, he just wants to make his clan proud. He wants their approval, but Jakesully is right – when has he ever given up on anything just because it posed a challenge?

“Fine.” Jakesully says, jarring Tsu’tey from his thoughts. He had nearly forgotten the Olo’eyktan was still there, and it’s unnerving to realise that he’s being watched with a smug sort of smirk. “I’ll keep her company for today, then. Considering you need your space.”

Tsu’tey’s jaw clenches hard but he does not protest. He can’t, not after making such a big deal out of not wishing to speak to you today. His pride is hurt, and all he can do is double-down on his position. Besides, Jakesully is mated to Neytiri, and Tsu’tey knows that he would rather die than stray from her.

That doesn’t stop him from turning his head as Jakesully leaves his side, watching with sharp eyes as the Olo’eyktan approaches you. Even from this distance, he can see the little smile on your face through your mask as you tilt your head up towards him. The sight of it causes something to curdle in his low belly.

That should be him on the receiving end of your sweet little smile. It’s a selfish thought, but one that he can’t quite shake off. The sense of possessiveness surprises even him, and he watches with narrowed eyes as Jakesully leans down to say something to you.

When Jakesully’s stupid five-fingered hand touches upon your shoulder to lead you away to somewhere else within the camp, Tsu’tey feels his tail whip around his ankles in aggravation.

I will try again, He thinks wildly as he turns back around to stare unseeingly at the practicing warriors in front of him. And this time I will not fail to impress.

Now that Tsu’tey has reached the decision to court you (officially), there is much to be prepared. He has never been one to take half-measures, and initiating a courtship is certainly no exception. You may not be Na’vi, but he will court you with all the respect and courtesy as he would if you were one of the People.

Part of him wonders if his decision is written across his face somehow, because the People of the village seem to know. When he begins searching for materials to make an official courting gift for you, he begins getting help from unexpected places.

Some of the children have started leaving pieces of twine and plant fibre in his treehut, and he is pleased to find that it is of good enough quality to begin weaving immediately. The old woman, A’nayla, who is the best at carving beads in the whole village, slaps his hands away impatiently when he attempts to pick out a number of beads for your gift. She directs him instead to some of her shiniest and most vibrant beads, and refuses to make any trades. A gift, she had insisted, her old face crinkling in a knowing smile as she had waved him away.

He feels supported, even more so when Neytiri visits him in his treehut one evening after dinner. It has been a few days since you visited the encampment, but Tsu’tey is determined to have everything in good order before he approaches you in earnest.

When Neytiri enters the small hut he had built in the trees when they first settled in this encampment, she takes a moment to peer around with a neutral expression.

Tsu’tey has been sitting on the woven mat in the middle of the room, but he looks up and waits for his old friend to speak.

“My Jake has told me about your intentions with the tawtute.” She says after a long moment, stepping forward and sinking down to sit in front of him with her legs crossed. “Many people speak of it in the village.”

Tsu’tey’s ear twitches at that, embarrassed, but he just focuses back on his weaving. There’s no point denying it; he does not plan on hiding it for much longer, anyway.

“Yes.” He says simply. “My first attempt was… not successful.”

Neytiri hums. He thinks he can hear an undercurrent of amusement. “Yes. I saw.”

His ears flatten in earnest at that. He had hoped that no one had witnessed that particular humiliation, but that’s no matter. People will soon forget, and he will soon have you distracted with his second (and surely more successful) attempt.

Her eyes fall on the half-finished woven piece in his hands, and she eyes it carefully. “That is too big. She is small, remember.”

“Of course I remember.” He snaps, before raising the half-finished jewelry to his face and squinting at it. “You think it will not fit?”

“Give me.” Neytiri demands, and stretches out her hand.

Tsu’tey passes it without complaint. They have known each other since birth, certainly long enough to forgo any passing formalities and niceties. He trusts Neytiri with his life, his best-friend and once-potential-mate, and he finds himself waiting with his tail curled protectively beside him as he awaits her judgment; not only on his half-finished gift, but also on his choice of a mate.

“This decision I have made,” He says suddenly. “To court the sky demon. It is madness, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Neytiri speaks with hardly a hesitation, though she doesn’t raise her eyes from his weaving. She starts picking out a loop where he had made a mistake, and begins reweaving it with deft fingers. “But I will not be the one to judge you for that.”

“And Mo’at?”

“She thinks you are a skxawng.” Neytiri says easily, “But she loves you like a son.” The next look she darts at him is quick and sharp out of the corner of her eye. “Out of everyone in the village, your heart was the most firmly closed against the Sky People. Does that not make it all the more meaningful, that you have chosen a sky person as your mate?”

Tsu’tey is silent. He used to think that he knew exactly how his life was going to work out; he would be Olo’eyktan, he would mate with his first love Sylwanin, they would be happy and prosperous and strong together. But that future evaporated like mist before his eyes; not all at once, but gradually, until he could barely see the vapours. His reality is very different now; he clings almost desperately to the idea of you. There have been many people that Tsu’tey has not been strong enough to protect, but you are so small and soft – you need protecting more than anyone he’s ever known, and he’s determined not to let you down.

“She will accept,” Tsu’tey murmurs, before casting an uncertain glance in Neytiri’s direction. “Do you think so?”

“I see her look at you.” Neytiri murmurs back, her mouth curving. “She will accept.”

That brings a rush of relief so sudden and unexpected that Tsu’tey feels it like a physical blow. He keeps his head bowed in the hopes that it will not be so obvious, and hums absently as though he’s only half listening. It’s not enough to convince Neytiri, but he hopes that it works to recoup at least some of his pride.

“You have redecorated.” Neytiri comments, though her eyes stay focused on fixing the small section of the necklace that Tsu’tey had messed up. “Your kelku is inviting.”

That pleases Tsu’tey, and he sits up straighter. Decorating has never been a strong suit of his, and it presented more of a challenge than he had initially anticipated to decorate in such a way that it would appeal to a human. He knows you are very interested in the plants of his planet, considering the amount of time you spend studying them, so he has effectively cushioned the rough wooden walls and floors with softer wide leaves. From the ceiling hangs intense blue eanean flowers and hippophae leaves, lending a soft phosphorescent glow to the small space.

“Humans are weak,” Tsu’tey grunts. “Soft bones, fragile skin. She needs soft surroundings, too.”

Neytiri hums her agreement, before finally lifting her head. In her hands, the knot in the half-finished necklace has been unpicked and resolved. She hands it back, and Tsu’tey takes it cautiously into his hands before peering carefully at her work. Her hands are far more practiced in the art of weaving than his; she has done a wonderful job.

“Thank you.” He says quietly. He is appreciative on several levels; for her weaving, for her company, for her support.

She seems to pick up on what he isn’t saying, as usual. “You should approach her again soon. My Jake says that she is sad – she thinks she has upset you, and that you are angry with her.”

Tsu’tey raises his head sharply at that. He’s not sure if he’s more displeased at the idea that you are upset or the fact that you have apparently been confiding in Jakesully. It is difficult to push past the feeling that you should be confiding in him, that he should be the person offering you comfort. But how could you approach him when he was part of the problem?

“I will find her tomorrow.” He decides. The thought of him losing his chance is sickening – he can’t afford to wait until everything is perfectly prepared. He will just have to do his best with what he’s got so far.

Neytiri grins at him, her lips peeling back of her teeth in a way that is both joyful and intimidating.

“Sìltsan tìtaron.” She says, and Tsu’tey finds himself grinning back without conscious thought.

It is a customary saying in their tribe, used for both chasing prey and courting mates. Good hunting.

When the next day dawns, Tsu’tey curses himself for feeling nervous.

The last time he felt this way was the night before his iknimaya, when he was a fledgling warrior. Even then, he was so confident, his ego inflated by the simple fact that he had never experienced a loss before.

This time is different. He finds himself anxious in a way that he is utterly unused to experiencing, and it makes him bare his teeth in frustration as he bounds down from his treehut into the village properly. It is already a hive of activity, and the familiar buzz of conversation and laughter eases some of the tension out of his shoulders.

He will take this slow, he’s already decided. Slow and careful.

The thought of you refusing him is something that he can’t bring himself to consider; he needs to show you that he is strong, that he is thoughtful and caring, that he can provide for you and keep you safe and make you happy. He has to convince you that there is no one who can care for you better than he can.

Finding you is easy enough; the human scientists that have remained on the planet follow a routine, and you are no different. Besides, as some of the children in the village tell him, you have been lingering close to the village for days now. Ostensibly you are studying the plantlife, but Tsu’tey knows that you have likely been waiting to catch a glimpse of him. The realisation has a hollow feeling of guilt gnawing at his stomach, but he tries to push it aside – he will apologise soon.

He finds you in the forest, only a little while outside of the village. You are not alone; as is standard procedure, you are accompanied by three other scientists and a dreamwalker.

Norm is as awkward as ever in his Avatar state, discussing whatever he is reading from his demon technology with wide eager eyes. Tsu’tey is familiar with Norm now, mostly against his will – Jakesully is fond of the scientist, and he has been invited to take part in village life on several occasions. Tsu’tey will begrudgingly admit that the dreamwalker is respectful of Na’vi life and culture and he has come to accept his presence both on his planet and around his people, but seeing him around you is making him fidgety.

One of the scientists is armed (and the sight of the gun makes his skin itch from the memory of bullets tearing flesh) and Norm is at least Na’vi-sized, but that is the extent of the protection they have brought. Tsu’tey’s fingers twitch. It is not enough. You are so small and fragile, entirely unsuited for his world. Don’t you know that? Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be out here like this with so little to protect you?

You’re so preoccupied with the helicoradian you’re studying that you don’t seem to notice anything else around you. Your head is bowed, your eyes bright and shiny with interest as you inspect the orange pigment dusting the leaves.

The dappled light that filters through the trees casts shadowy patterns across your face in a way that is nearly mesmerising, and he ends up staring at you for a longer moment than he had originally intended. You are strange-looking and alien to him, and yet his fingers itch with the desire to touch you.

Tsu’tey leaps from the branch he had been watching you from, and lands neatly on the balls of his feet. His movements are nearly soundless, and none of the humans raise their heads. They don’t seem to sense his appearance at all.

His brow furrows in dissatisfaction. Anything could creep up on you, and you would not see it coming until it was too late.

He reaches out one leg and steps purposely on a twig. The snap is resounding, and the man with the gun whirls around and hoists the weapon higher, aiming at Tsu’tey’s chest.

He just bares his teeth in warning.

“No!” You yelp, throwing your hands up as soon as you realise what’s happening. “Don’t shoot him!”

Despite the situation, he’s sure that he looks quite smug. It feels good to experience you standing up for him, even if he doesn’t really need it – he could knock this puny little gun-toting tawtute into the dirt with a single backhand if he wished, though he refrains. He’s trying to be on his best behaviour.

“Fuck!” The little man yells, clearly spooked. “What does he want?”

That makes you falter, and you look up at him with uncertainty. It seems like you’re waiting for an explanation as well. All of the scientists are silent are apprehensive, eyeing him cautiously as they wait to see what he’s going to do. Their eyes linger around the knife strapped to his waist and the longbow strung over his shoulders.

Norm is looking at him with raised eyebrows, his ears perked up. Judging by his expression, Tsu’tey assumes that Norm has guessed exactly what he’s doing here.

“I wish to speak with you,” He tells you in Na’vi – he knows that some of the other scientists will be able to interpret his words, but it brings an illusion of privacy all the same.

You blink, but hesitate. When you don’t agree immediately, Tsu’tey feels his ears pin back. Your uncertainty is surely a bad sign for him – has he misjudged how upset you were?

He turns to the other humans and narrows his eyes at them. “Leave.”

They burst into motion satisfyingly quickly. The moron with the gun looks as though he is about to start arguing, but Norm hooks the long fingers of his demon body into the back of his collar and tugs him away. For once, the scientist is not being a nuisance.

You’re still standing there, turning to stare in apparent bewilderment at your comrades, who are practically fleeing. “What-”

“Come.” Tsu’tey says. Now that it’s just the two of you, he loses some of the edge in his voice.

When he turns away and begins to lead you into the forest, you follow after him without complaint. Out of the corner of his eye, Tsu’tey can see you twisting your hands nervously. Your clear anxiety has him frowning – he wants you to be comfortable with him, not on edge.

Once he’s determined that you’re both far enough away from the other humans that they could not hear you, he turns to you. You’re already looking at him, fingers twisting as you bite at your lip.

Calm and steady, Tsu’tey thinks to himself. Just apologise for ignoring her.

Apologising does not come easy to him, but he rolls his shoulder and takes a breath before opening his mouth.

“I’m sorry!” You blurt before he can make even a sound.

That throws him, and he ends up staring at you with his mouth ajar for a long moment like an absolute moron. Why are you apologising? This isn’t how this was supposed to go.

“I didn’t mean to get sick,” You continue, a little desperately, “I really did appreciate your hunting, it was very impressive and the meat was very nice, I swear I didn’t mean to come across as ungrateful-”

Oh no, are those tears he sees shining in your eyes?

Tsu’tey feels as though he’s been frozen in place. He knows that his face is stuck in a confused scowl, but he can’t soften his expression no matter how hard he tries. Panic starts to curdle in his stomach. He may be a seasoned warrior, fearless in the face of fearsome opponents, but he finds himself at a total loss in this situation.

You just keep going – his silence seems to be making you even more upset. “I never meant to offend you, and I’m so, so sorry if I have. I never meant to make you angry-”

Finally, Tsu’tey manages to find his voice. “I am not angry.”

Even he has to admit that he doesn’t sound particularly convincing, but he’s never been an eloquent person. How does he explain that he’s not angry at you, he’s frustrated with himself? Right now, with you staring up at him with your eyelashes all wet and clumped together as your lower lip trembles, he feels like kicking his own ass.

He needs to make his move now, he realises wildly. Be conciliatory, he thinks. Let her know you are interested.

His voice sticks in his throat, but he manages to push the words out. They come out slightly strangled, but semi-confident all the same.

“Would you like to come fishing?”

You hesitate, and Tsu’tey feels his heart seize in his chest – you’re not going to turn him down, are you?

“Would I-” You begin, face crumpling. “What?”

Despite all the similarities in your bodies and faces, Tsu’tey finds himself floundering when it comes to reading your expressions. Is that disappointment? Confusion? Anger? It’s so difficult to tell with your tiny blunt ears and lack of a tail.

“Fishing.” He repeats. His own tail lashes restlessly, the only part of his body that moves at all. “Come and watch me fish.”

It doesn’t come out quite as smoothly as he had planned in his head the night before, sounding a little more like an order than an invitation, but Tsu’tey thinks it’s a victory just to get the words out at all.

You look a little lost, but you nod all the same. Your tears are blinked away, your expression smoothing a little. Is Tsu’tey imagining it, or do you look hopeful?

“I- alright.” You swallow, and your hands reach up to tug at your hair in what appears to be a compulsive sort of movement. “Yes. Fishing. Right.”

Tsu’tey barely stifles his reaction. A success. He can’t stop his ears from pricking up, but otherwise he tries to appear neutral – he doesn’t want to scare you off.

“Come then.”

Just like before, you follow him readily through the jungle. He is careful to keep his back to you – it is a display of trust, to show off his conviction that you will do him no harm. It is mostly symbolic in your case, considering that you are unlikely to cause him any real harm even if you wanted to, but he is determined to carry out these courting rituals correctly even if the rest of this courtship is unconventional.

His ears are pricked the whole time for signs of danger or any other signs of life approaching, and to ensure that you are close behind as the two of you make your way towards the river winding towards the Omaticaya stronghold.

“You don’t have a fishing rod.” You say when you both finally reach the river.

Tsu’tey has no idea what you’re talking about, but it sounds as though you’re doubting his ability to fish.

He frowns, turning to squint at you – is this a challenge? Do you require him to prove his prowess right away? Displays of physical prowess and skill are part of the courting process, but he had thought that he had already done that with the hunt you had witnessed. But then again, the meat from the prey of that particular hunt had made you sick – perhaps you had decided not to count that hunt as an official courting display.

You stare back at him, looking perfectly innocent, if a little confused.

Fine. Tsu’tey straightens his back, and pulls his bow from his back. If it’s a display of prowess that you want, that’s what you’ll get.

In one smooth movement, he draws, nocks, and looses an arrow. It lands true, hitting home in the sleek, smooth body of a large fish that has just darted out from behind a stone lodged in the riverbank.

You let out a startled sort of sound, but lean forward quickly as Tsu’tey strides into the water and reaches for his catch. He had been planning on drawing this fishing display out a little longer, but it seems that you’re a demanding little thing. He doesn’t mind that; if anything, it will make satisfying you all the more exciting.

He retrieves his catch and holds it up for you to see. The fish is a large one, and it glints in the sweet sunshine that streams through the canopy of trees above you. It is a catch to be proud of, but he is careful not to be too pleased with himself until you react.

You laugh at the sight of the smooth glinting silver surface of his catch, clapping your hands together.

“Oh!” You call out, and you sound delighted. “Amazing! You make it look so easy!”

The praise sends a pleasant warmth effusing through his chest, and he feels a slow, hesitant grin begin to spread across his face.

“I am good at providing.” He tells you earnestly, stepping forward. He snaps off the long shaft of the arrow before proffering the fish towards you for your inspection.

You glance down, still smiling, but you don’t look particularly closely at his catch. That dulls some of his satisfaction – he glances down at the fish himself, wondering if there was something about it you found lacking.

“I know.” You murmur, tilting your head as you gaze up at him with lidded eyes. “You’re strong.”

His ears twitch like a child’s, and he nods, pleased. Hearing those words coming from the person he has chosen as a prospective mate fills him with a type of excitement that he has never experienced before. As a tawtute, you cannot connect with Eywa or with the People; but in this moment, Tsu’tey feels as though you see him anyway.

He swallows, and sets his catch aside in the pouch at his waist. He feels flustered in a way that is entirely unlike him, and he has to push his reactions down deep. He doesn’t want you to think of him as a silly little youngling – he wants you to see that he has taken this decision to court you seriously.

Time for the next step.

“We are close to an area where the Tsahìk gathers her herbs for medicine,” He says, clearing his throat as he turns to look at you with wide, earnest eyes. “I have offered to collect some for her. Would you like to help?”

Plants have always fascinated you – he knows that the original reason that you came to his planet was to study the wildlife and the flora. He waits, hoping that he’s right in thinking that this is something you will enjoy.

Your strange, sweet little face brightens. “Really?”

Tsu’tey nods, relieved by your reaction. “You would like this?”

“Yes!” You breathe. For the first time since he had approached you, you relax in earnest and Tsu’tey finds himself mirroring you.

He reaches out and cups your elbow as he helps you step over a log, and he doesn’t miss the little shiver and quick glance that you send towards his hand where it’s wrapped around your arm. It seems like you’re just as taken with the size difference between you as he is, and his lips begin to curl in excitement at the realisation.

This is good, He thinks, biting at the inside of his cheek. He is very slow to remove his hand, and you make no move to shake him off. Very good.

Tsu’tey does not want to speak too soon, but he feels as though his courting attempts are going very well indeed.

You had loved gathering the medicinal herbs with him, even more than he had hoped – you had badgered him with questions, curious about the names of the plants and their properties and their appearances, and you had bounded along at his side with a bright grin the whole time. It had pleased him greatly to experience your interest in the ways of the Omaticaya and the life of his planet; it was proof that you could be taught, that you were willing to learn.

And most thrillingly of all, you were receptive to his advances. Over the next couple of days, he continues with his cautious attempts at approaching you with little gestures.

When he gives you flowers and pretty leaves, you take them with brilliant, near-blinding smiles. Every time he shows off by flexing or practicing wrestling with the other warriors, you watch with interested eyes and tiny smiles. Whenever he tentatively touches you, small brushes to your shoulders or hands or waist, you never flinch away – on several occasions, you lean into him.

He tries not to let it go to his head, but it’s difficult. Since he’s started to admit his urges and his attraction to you, he swears it’s gotten worse. It feels like all he thinks about is you. He’s distracted during training, during his duties, during meals. He thinks about your reactions to his offerings, to your smiles, your scent, your voice. It really does feel like an illness, but it’s one he’s beginning to come to terms with if it means having you close by.

It’s beginning to get more difficult to keep his hands to himself. Traditionally, at this point in a courtship it would be acceptable for a courting pair to exchange flirtatious touches and other little intimacies, but Tsu’tey is aware that this is not exactly a conventional courtship.

He’s trying to be careful, to avoid spooking you or making you uncomfortable or uneasy, but it’s beginning to wear on him. Though he’s getting bolder with his little touches, it’s not enough to quench the skin-hunger growing in him.

But no matter. The courtship is going well, and moving at a good pace. The next step is one of the most important ones.

His carefully woven courtship necklace has been completed. It is customary to present a potential mate with a statement piece of jewelry, and Tsu’tey has spent several late nights fussing over the finishing touches. He recognises on some level that he’s stalling; it’s not in his nature to be nervous, but he’s beginning to grow nearly obsessive about getting the necklace as perfect as possible. It has been crafted to fit you exactly, with fibres and beads selected by him personally based on what he thinks you would like and what he thinks would suit your features.

The finished product is eye-catching, and Tsu’tey feels nearly delirious at the thought of it decorating your neck.

He crushes any semblance of nerves as best as he can, just like he might have done before a big hunt.

Of course you will accept his mating advances. Why wouldn't you? He is a strong warrior, a protector, desired by a great number of women. He could likely pick any woman he wanted out of the available women in the clan, and they would be honoured. Why would you be any different? You may be difficult to read at times, but he has laid his intentions out loud and clear and you have not shied away. You would accept him.

His mating necklace for you feels like it’s weighing him down as he steps through the village. It’s tucked safely into the pouch at his waist, though his hand keeps drifting to his hip to check that it’s still there. He’s not unaware of the looks he gets as he makes his way towards the edge of the encampment, but he ignores them. No doubt many of his people have guessed at what he’s up to, but he can’t give them his attention right now; he’s too focused on you, now that he spots you sitting next to one of the large pxiut trees.

Your head is bowed over your silly little notebook, lost entirely in your own world. Tsu’tey’s steps slow as he approaches you, taking the opportunity to drink in the sight of you while you’re unaware of his gaze.

His eyes track over the curves of your strange features, the slope of your alien nose, the arch of your neck. Your features may be exotic, but he’s finally beginning to admit to himself what he’s been trying to deny for a while now – you’re attractive to him.

He likes your weird little face, your odd five-fingered hands, your thick silly accent when you speak his language. He likes that you are so much smaller than him, he likes that you are soft.

He appreciates that you are patient with him, too. He knows he can be gruff and surly, and most people find him off-putting or intimidating, especially when they don’t know him. But you – you’re so calm and sweet, and you never seem to care when he’s stoically silent beside you. Most of the time when he’s around you, most of his brain-power goes into trying to keep his hands to himself, and he doesn’t have much intellectual power left to attempt conversation. He’s content with simply listening to you about whatever it is you wish to talk about, occasionally chiming in to ask a question or just to hum gently to show you he’s listening.

As he watches, you shift where you’re sitting and reach up to scratch absently at your neck. Beneath your odd human garments, your skin is glowing lightly with a thin sheen of sweat. Tsu’tey finds his eyes tracking over your exposed skin like a moron, and he clenches his jaw as he pulls himself together.

You're a warrior, you're a warrior, you’re a warrior, he chants in his head. He would not be cowed or intimidated by a tiny human.

You raise your head as he approaches, and a smile unfolds across your face. Your expression is bright, full of pure innocent happiness just to see him. He wavers, and nearly turns right back around.

“Hey, big guy.” You call out, setting your notebook aside as you beam at him.

You’re waiting for him to join you, he realises. He jolts forward, his previously confident stride turning a little jerky under your sharp eyes.

“Hello, little demon.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low and level.

You bite at your lip, still watching him with that little smile on your face. He watches you back just as closely, even as he sinks down to sit next with you. Your smile melts into a little look of surprise; usually, when he comes to you it’s so he can invite you somewhere else, either to show you something or to give you something. Joining you as you just sit is new for both of you.

For a moment, you’re both quiet. It seems like you’re waiting on him to speak, but he stays silent. He’s trying to compose himself, to appear cool and calm as he reaches his hand towards the woven bag slung around his waist.

Finally, he says, “I have something for you.”

It comes out impressively calm and level. While he’s not a man prone to nerves or to doubting himself, this is entirely new territory for him. When your expression brightens into a look of excitement, he feels a new little seed of confidence build in his chest. You’re anticipating his gift, you want it.

When he slips his hand into his bag, you sit up onto your knees so that you can watch him. Over the last few weeks, you’ve gotten used to receiving little flowers, plants, beads, or little carved figures. You accept each one with your usual brilliant, sweet smile; the thought of how you may smile at him when he gives you the necklace makes Tsu’tey’s tail flick eagerly.

He pulls it carefully out and hands it to you. As you take it your fingers brush his, and he twitches slightly as he stares at how small your hands are next to his.

“Oh,” You breathe, lifting up the necklace to eye level so you can get a good look at it. “I… Really? For me?”

“Yes.” He says simply, his eyes sharp and alert as they drink in every minute flicker that crosses your face. What are you thinking?

“It…” You begin, and then pause. Tsu’tey is just beginning to feel like crawling out of his skin when you slowly continue. “Tsu’tey, it’s beautiful.”

You so rarely say his name, choosing instead to call him variations of big guy, and he feels a near physical jolt run down his spine at the sound of it in your mouth. He wants to hear you say it again.

He just hums, still watching your face. You are examining the necklace intently, fingering the beads and the weavework, and he feels his pride inflate the longer you inspect his work. You are giving real, earnest thought to his offering rather than simply making your decision rashly. He respects this, and revels under the careful consideration you’re giving his proposal.

“You like it?” He murmurs. His voice comes out rougher than he had intended, and you jerk your head up to look at him.

Like this, your faces are very close together. Tsu’tey had leaned closer unconsciously as you were examining the necklace, and he makes no attempt to back off. Likewise, you make no attempt to retreat either, blinking up at him from behind the odd clear surface of your bubble-like mask.

“Yes,” You whisper, a shy, cautious smile beginning to bloom across your face. “Did you make this yourself?”

Tsu’tey just huffs. What sort of fool wouldn’t make their mating offering themselves?

“Of course.”

“Oh.” You bite at your lip. You seem to be trying to suppress your smile, though he can’t imagine why. He wants to see it, now more than ever.

You are certainly not racing to give him an answer. Your fingers trace over the beads, taking your time to admire the craftsmanship. Your obvious appreciation is certainly inflating his ego, but the longer you go without giving him a firm answer, the more agitated he gets. He hides it as best as he can, aiming to appear cool and unflappable. He is a warrior – he doesn’t want you to think of him as someone who is easily ruffled.

When you finally turn to look up at him, your eyes are shining. He can’t help but sit up a little straighter, watching you very carefully as he awaits your decision.

You proffer the necklace back to him, and Tsu’tey feels his stomach positively plummet. He truly hadn’t considered what he would do if you refused him.

“Will you help me put it on?” You ask, a little shyly.

The relief nearly bowls him over. Tsu’tey swears his stomach jolts so violently that he nearly makes a truly undignified sound. You are not refusing him – you wish for assistance.

“Yes.” He says lowly and seriously, taking the necklace back.

You beam again, then turn your back to him and bow your head to give him access to your neck. Tsu’tey’s heart thumps dully in his chest at the display of trust and vulnerability, though he keeps his face carefully still.

As he reaches out and slips the necklace around your neck, he gives in to his weakness and allows his fingers to drift over your shoulder. Your skin is so soft, your frame lacking the lean hard musculature that is so common among his own people, and he allows himself a moment to admire the feeling of you beneath his hands before finally beginning to tie the two ends of the necklace together.

He can feel you breathing carefully beneath his hands, the steady rise and fall of your chest matching the thumping rhythm of his own heart. The blood is rushing through his ears as his knuckles brush over one of the knobs of your spine at the base of your neck and you shiver in response.

Success, his instincts are screaming at him. Success.

When he finally pulls his hands back, you turn to look at him through your eyelashes behind your breathing mask. The corner of his mouth twitches as he eyes the way the necklace sits above your collarbones; a perfect fit.

It probably goes without saying that you have accepted his advances, but the customs of the Sky People are odd and he wants to make certain.

“You accept, then?” He asks, reaching out and settling his fingers over the woven fibres of the necklace. You’re small under his hand – his fingers reach one of your shoulders and his palm reaches the other, dwarfing you.

Your head tilts, a little frown creasing your brow, before you smile and nod. “Of course I accept it. It’s very lovely. I’m honoured. I didn’t know that you made your own jewelry.”

The last piece of mating jewelry he had crafted had been a bracelet for Sylwanin. It’s not something that he wants to think about right now, so he shrugs roughly.

“I do not, usually. This is different.”

“Oh.” You say, a little breathlessly.

Tsu’tey’s tail twitches recklessly. It’s time for the next step.

“I would take you to my hut.” He begins cautiously, watching your face. “It is finished now. I have made it comfortable.”

You blink, and take a careful breath. He wonders what you’re thinking.

“I would like that.” You say quietly, your eyes drifting towards his tail, which is twitching as he awaits your answer.

Triumph soars in his chest, and a slow smile begins to spread over his face. This feels better than any hunt, any accolade, any success he has previously enjoyed. This one is his and his alone – you see him, you want to be his just as he wants to be yours.

You appear to get flustered, and look down at his twitching tail in an apparent effort to distract yourself. You watch the movement, your own lips beginning to curve, before you reach out to touch it.

Tsu’tey goes entirely still, his eyes flaring wider in surprise. He doesn’t pull away, watching intently as your fingers trail over the thin, sensitive skin of his tail. It is bold of you, so bold it nearly steals his breath away.

“You’re like a cat.” You say, and laugh.

Tsu’tey has no idea what that means, and just continues to stare at you. You’re still holding his tail in your warm, soft hand. The fact that he isn’t pulling away seems to embolden you even more, before you start to bite your lip as you look up at him.

Tsu’tey takes a soft, quiet breath – do you even know what you’re doing to him right now? Desire is beginning to pool, dark and hot, in his belly as your fingers stroke absently over the thin skin of his tail, your liquid eyes gazing up at him with that shy, enigmatic little smile playing over your face.

Slow and steady, he tells himself firmly, fighting to stay composed. He doesn’t want to scare you away by moving too quickly, but your soft warm hands and sweet little smiles are making it terribly difficult. He wants to touch you back, but he doesn’t want to startle you.

“Sorry,” You murmur, apparently growing self-conscious. You begin to pull back. “I didn’t mean to-”

“You may touch me.” He interrupts before you pull too far back. He has been intimate with women before, but this moment with you feels infinitely more intimate and illicit than anything he has experienced before.

You watch him in return, eyes bright. Is he imagining the excitement on your face, mirroring his own feelings?

Slowly, you trace up his tail. His skin shivers under your touch, but he doesn’t pull away. In fact, he leans in a little closer as your fingers move from his tail to his chest, tracing over the lighter stripes on his skin. It feels as though your touch is leaving trails of heat in its wake, and he fights to keep his breathing steady and even as your eyes follow the path of your fingers.

His own fingers twitch, but he keeps his hands to himself. He wants to give this to you, to allow you the opportunity to be in charge of this moment. You’ve always been curious, and watching you exploring his own body only stokes his desire – but he holds back. He will be patient, and he will take this slow. He wants to do this whole thing right.

Your fingers trail down over the defined muscles of his abdomen, and he flexes entirely on instinct. You must like what you see, because your smile turns bashful as you trace your way around his waist.

He’s so preoccupied with watching your face that he doesn’t watch where your hands go next. It means that he is taken entirely by surprise when he feels your delicate, small fingers wrap around his kuru.

His back goes ramrod straight, his eyes flaring wide in shock. It was an innocent touch, only wrapping around the protective braid curiously, but the sheer fact that his prospective mate, wearing the mating gift he had made, holds the most intimate and sacred part of him in their hands has his toes curling into the dirt where you sit.

A jolt of pure, liquid elation jolts down his spine. No partner of his has ever touched his kuru – it was saved specifically for a mate. And though you may not be capable of making tsaheylu with him, the sheer sensation of you holding this sacred part of him nearly makes his vision white out.

“Oh!” He hears your voice say as though from a distance. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep-!”

He’s sure his pupils are blown wide, his ears alert and hot. He wants to reassure you that your overstep is most welcome, but it feels as though his brain has half-melted.

“Tsu’tey?”

He comes back to himself, though his thoughts are still scattered. As he regains some of his awareness, he realises that his desire is beginning to grow obvious beneath his loincloth.

Fuck. He was meant to be taking it slow! He couldn’t invite you to his hut and then grow so visibly aroused in front of you; it was not honourable, and he did not want you to feel pressured.

He lurches backwards, nearly sprawling in the dirt. It’s a graceless movement, ungainly and unlike him, but then again all of this is entirely outside of his realm of experience.

You’re staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth, your hand still raised in midair.

“I have to go.” He says sharply, pushing himself to his feet. It’s all he can think to do to preserve both of your dignities before he ruins his careful courtship plans with his own reckless desires.

“But-” You start, your face crumpling. “Am I still invited-”

“I must go,” He repeats, hastily angling himself so that you can’t see his front.

He takes several firm steps away before hesitating, then turns back to look at you. “Tomorrow. You may come back tomorrow.”

You still look utterly bewildered, but Tsu’tey hurries away all the same. As he goes, he adjusts his tewng as surreptitiously as possible.

Despite his tactical retreat, he feels more optimistic than he has in a long time. As he approaches the village he feels a feral triumphant grin begin to grow over his face. That likely could have gone smoother at the end, but overall he finds himself feeling impossibly pleased with himself.

He has succeeded at his attempt at courting a human, and he has done so without Jakesully’s help. You have accepted all his gifts, you agreed to come and see his hut, and judging by the way you had groped at his tail and his kuru, physical attraction certainly wouldn’t be a problem for either of you.

It has left him excited for tomorrow, and yearning for more of your soft little hands against his skin.

#tsu'tey x reader #tsu'tey imagines #tsu'tey #avatar 2 #avatar x reader #avatar way of water #na'vi x reader #na'vi x human #alien x human #avatar 2009 #terato

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kaciidubs · 10 months ago

Note

telling pillow princess hannie to top you, and so he sits there dumbfounded, unsure of where to even start. as he’s desperately fucking into you, he’s whining and begging you to take the lead again, because it’s just soooo difficult and tiring for him to do all the work </3

PLZ MAKE THIS A DRABBLE / MINI FIC

Nonnie, your brain is AMAZING for this! I'll turn it to a short drabble for now, but perhaps in the future it could expand it into a mini fic! ❣️ ❣ Warnings; Pillow Princess! Jisung, Fem Mean Dom! Reader, decryphilia, begging, degradation, dom/sub dynamics, slight feminization, mommy kink ❣ Additional tags; Han is referred to as Jisung, Sungie, and more, Reader is referred to as Jagi, and Mommy

Telling pillow princess! Jisung to top you would go something like this...

"Y-You want me to what?"

It wasn't that he hadn't heard you clearly, no, not at all, but the words you said almost sounded foreign to him the first go around.

"Fuck me."

Yep, that's exactly what you said.

Of course, he'd wanted to get into your pants the second he came home, his brain going dumb as any and all thoughts centered around you, you, you - but he didn't want the lead, he wanted to be used as per usual.

Jisung was submissive through and through, and though he had spikes of switch tendencies, they all usually ended with him begging to fill you or be filled; body resting beautifully on the crumpled sheets of your shared bed - your dirty little pillow princess.

"I... But... I wanted you to-"

A disinterested hum floated through you as you laid against the bed, taking his place amongst the pillows and blankets, "That's strange, I don't remember asking you what you wanted, Sungie. I told you to fuck me, did I not?"

He whimpered, his already hard dick jumping between his legs at your harsh tone, "Y-Yes, mommy."

"Well, then," you parted your legs further, inviting him toward your glistening cunt, "come and do as you're told, princess."

He tried, truthfully he tried, but the minute his tip sunk past your walls, he was doomed; body shivering with restraint as he tried to think of how to start without fully crumbling to his desire of chasing his orgasm.

Did you want him fast? Slow? Should he have eaten you out first? No, you didn't ask him that - you would've sat on his face without even mentioning it. God, you were so tight, how was he supposed to do this?

"Jisung, if I wanted to cockwarm you, I would've done it myself."

"'M sorry, I just-" An airy moan fell from his pink lips as you purposely clenched around him, shaking hands seeking refuge on your hips, "F-Feels too good, Jagi, I don't know-"

"Move."

He looked up at you with teary eyes, pouting in hopes of coercing you into changing your mind about putting him in control, "Jagi-"

"Move, Jisung."

Heeding your command, he delivered a shallow thrust, eyes fluttering as a wave of pleasure shot up his spine, before he repeated the action again, and again, and again - eventually working himself up to a slow, unevenly paced flow.

Your fingers tweaked at your nipples to provide yourself further stimulation as you watched your adorable sub worked himself into an overstimulated fit.

It was too slow, it was too sporadic, he couldn't fight his full instinct of burying himself to the hilt in order to give fuller strokes and he couldn't take it. He didn't want your guidance, he wanted you to use him like a toy - fold and bend him to your liking and take as much of him as you desired, he was good for it, after all.

"Mommy?" He was defeated, and it didn't even feel like a full ten minutes of him topping, "Mommy, please, I-I can't do it."

A disappointed sigh escaped you, though from the way you were practically dripping around him it was obvious you weren't truly dissatisfied - you loved watching him crumble.

"Are you that much of a needy slut to even take what you want from me? Even after I offered myself up to you so nicely?" Tilting your head, you sized him up with a sharp gaze, "You can't even get yourself off without begging for my help, can you? What a shame, I shouldn't even let you come."

Jisung let out a sob, shaking his head frantically, "N-No! Please, mommy, I need it - I need you!"

Deciding to spare him further turmoil, you nodded your head to the side, "On your back, princess."

Pulling out of you with a whine of disdain, he quickly flopped onto the empty space beside you and watched as you pushed yourself onto your knees; throwing a leg over his lap to straddle him with ease.

"Just so you know," you huffed, hovering above him and watching as that familiar spark glimmered in his eyes, "I'm not stopping until you're dry, you hear me? You want me to use you like the little sex toy you are, fine - I'll use you."

[Unedited]

#✧. ┊ kacii answers #skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung hard thoughts

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sushiwriterhere · 1 year ago

Text

breathe you in

summary: "The only one of your senses that seems to be clear, that seems to be working, is touch. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, amplifying every brush of his fingertips to a thousand." rating: explicit (18+ mdni) pairing: the mandalorian x f!reader word count: ~4.7k (oops) warnings: sex pollen (dub-con), mando is not affected but reader is, dom(ish)!mando, fingering, spanking, nipple play, no use of y/n. please heed the warnings. notes: this is dedicated to the lovely, the talented, the amazing @tremendum ily!! tysm for encouraging my mando addiction + hope you enjoy :,) this is my first time writing mando so pls pls tell me what you think! my other works are here tagging: @joelscruff @joels6string @pedgeitopascalreads @magpie-to-the-morning @softlyspector @dindjarindiaries @tulipsbymybed @ezrasbirdie @anchoeritic tagging ppl whose Pedro work I love!!! Lmk if you’d like to be added/removed :)

You know you should say something to Mando when you start feeling the tips of your fingers tingle and the edges of your vision go shock white. It must’ve been a plant that grazed you or one of the patches of sunlight you stepped through, swimming with dust and pollen.

Leave it to you to get high on accident with Mando protected by his helmet, stalking through the undergrowth just a few feet in front of you. You can’t help but notice how broad he is, just how deftly he moves through the forest and clears a path for you and the Child to make it back to the Crest. God, the Child. Is he okay?

You whip your head down to look at him, somehow feeling guilty at the thought that he too, might have inhaled something or gotten injured. It’s your unofficial job, making sure that he’s safe (that and making sure the Crest doesn’t fall apart). But he’s tucked away inside the floating cradle, its little doors shut with him likely sleeping away soundly on the inside.

So it’s just you.

Your head swims slightly, but you keep your eyes fixed on the Mandalorian in front of you, hoping whatever it is that’s happening to you will at least hold off until you get back to the ship.

The pathway back for you is cleared by Mando stalking through the undergrowth, disregarding just how loud the fallen branches snap under his weight. You shuffle along and try to maintain composure as you feel your body temperature spike, and sweat start to bead along your hairline.

A relatively peaceful walk through a cool forest like this one shouldn’t be making your breath come as quick as it does. It shouldn’t be making you tremble like a leaf in the wind, your stomach cramp.

Time slips away from you when you get back to the ship. You think you might’ve muttered something about needing to use the ‘fresher but you’re not sure. All you can feel is the cramping in your lower abdomen, the way the hair on the back of your neck is plastered to you with sweat, and the way your mouth is somehow simultaneously flooded with spit and dryer than the desert, all at the same time.

When you stumble into the ‘fresher, the stale air feels like a momentary reprieve from how warm you are. You can feel your pulse hammering in your throat, and you’re sure you look like a crazed animal. What sets you off balance most, however, is the intense and burning need you feel, centered between your legs and spreading to the very tips of your fingers.

You barely get the door closed before you’re shoving your pants and underwear halfway down your thighs and slamming one palm into the wall so you can bite into your bicep to try and stifle your moans.

But it doesn’t alleviate what you’re feeling. In fact, it just makes your mind fixate on the Mandalorian even more. His broad shoulders, the thickness of his fingers always covered by those gloves, his strong thighs and waist that you know would be behind all the power of him thrusting into you.

You let yourself indulge in that fantasy, easily slipping your fingers into yourself. Your wrist tweaks at the angle, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

That’s how he finds you, three fingers buried in your weeping cunt, standard issue pants just barely shoved down the middle of your thighs, palm braced against the wall. You hadn’t even turned the shower on.

He calls your name from outside the door, “Are you alright?”

You fight the keen high in your throat at the sound of his voice, the cramping worsening as if in response to the thought of him. Fighting the shake in your voice you try to respond, but instead let out a small wail.

“I’m coming in.” Mando’s voice is authoritative, clear in his intentions. He thinks you’re hurt.

“Mando, wait— ” But before you can finish your sentence, the door is opening.

You know how you look, sweat along your forehead and plastering your hair to your neck, arousal dripping down your wrist steadily, body trembling. Mando doesn’t move from where his body is halfway through the doorway slightly tilted forward, hand clutching the frame, gloves stretching against the tension of his grasp.

Before he can say anything, an explanation starts tumbling out of your mouth—as if you were the one to catch him three fingers deep in himself. “I think I inhaled something while we were out and I know you’re always telling me to be more careful, and I checked that the kid wasn’t harmed he’s okay, but Mando I don’t know what’s wrong with me—!”

You cut yourself off with a gasp and you can feel the tears streaming freely down your face, but the next words you don’t mean to say, “Mando, please help, please. I need—I want you.”

This isn’t how you wanted this to come to light. You wanted it to be something natural, the sort of thing you heard in stories of love truer than the galaxy itself. Sometimes, you thought it might be happening in the way he’d relaxed around you, indulged your pleas to leave the Crest and shop at a street market. Maybe it was your imagination, but you thought he might be staring at you as you dozed off in the co-pilot's chair, feeling his gaze as it watched you through your reflection on the windshield.

At your begging, he moves. Instead of pouncing on you or slamming the door shut, he quietly walks over to you, pulls your hand away from your pussy that hasn’t stopped absolutely drenching your thighs, and scoops you into his arms. You scramble to clutch at his chest, beskar making for a lousy grip against your soaked hand. You’re confused and overwhelmed but the pain subsides, ever so slightly.

Closing your eyes tightly to preemptively fight vertigo, you feel him moving through the body of the Crest til you reach his quarters. He rarely ever sleeps there, that you know. But now, he moves to open the door, the slight hiss as it opens and shuts signaling that you’re inside.

Inside the room is pitch black and the air is stale, but ice cold. Like when you entered the ‘fresher, it brings momentary relief against what feels like a thousand degree fever burning you up.

You can’t understand if he’s rejecting you, if he’s moving you here so he doesn’t have to witness this. You start to spiral slightly and try to cling to him as if that might change what’s about to happen.

As he lays you on the bed, you whimper and grasp at his shoulders, until his voice is the one that breaks the moment, “I’ll take care of you, mesh’la, I’m not going anywhere.”

You almost weep with relief as he begins undressing you, pulling your pants and underwear, both embarrassingly soaked, off you. He doesn’t take off your tunic, apparently going for efficiency. You keep your hands tangled in the sheets, afraid that if you touch him he might change his mind.

What you don’t realize in your haze as he spreads your legs and removes his gloves, is that he can see everything through his helmet. He can see the way that your tunic sticks to every curve of your breasts, your nipples hard and your chest heaving with arousal. He can see the way that your cunt glistens with slick, your clit swollen, your hole pulsing and clenching around nothing in desperate need.

Whatever you inhaled is clouding all of your senses. You can’t seem to get enough air into your lungs so your mouth hangs open, panting. All you can smell is Mando–that combination of polishing oil he applies to his armor, sweat, and something distinctly him that he always carries. There’s a buzzing in your ears that only breaks when he speaks or exhales loud enough for the modulator to catch it. You can’t see for shit, the room completely dark and beyond that, your eyes are shut tightly trying to regain some semblance of composure.

You jolt at the first graze of his fingers against your thighs, barely registering the fact that his bare skin is touching yours. His hands are strong and calloused, gripping you tightly and forcing your knees apart. Your hips buck weakly and a whimper escapes your lips.

The only one of your senses that seems to be clear, that seems to be working, is touch. Every nerve ending in your body is on fire, amplifying every brush of his fingertips to a thousand. He moved his hands over your hips, your stomach, and back down to your pussy.

When he finally lets his fingers dip into your cunt, you try and jam your legs shut from how overwhelming it is. He shushes you gently and makes sure to prop you open with his knees and a firm hand on one of your thighs.

His pointer finger pushes through your curls, ghosts over your lips, barely dipping into you. He circles your clit, avoiding the bundle of nerves, seemingly focused on spreading your wetness over your cunt. As if that was necessary—you feel like you’ve been aroused for hours, potentially wet from your pussy down to your knees.

Your first orgasm is a weak, pathetic thing. You almost miss it when the tip of Mando’s finger just barely enters you, far thicker than one of your own. It hardly does anything to break the fog in your mind. In fact, it only serves to make your more aroused as you clench desperately down on his fingertip and thrash feebly in his hold.

A sharp exhale echoes loudly around the room, crackling and odd through his helmet. He lets his fingers pet your weeping cunt and in the dark he lifts and spreads his fingers to watch your cum hang sticky in between them.

“Mando,” Your chest is heaving from the effort of trying to gasp out a coherent thought, “Please, I need more.”

He shushes you again, and tells you sternly, “Be patient, sweet thing.”

But you can’t be patient. Your first orgasm has only intensified the cramping in your abdomen that’s begging to be soothed by his cock filling you.

When he finally pushes a finger into you, you wail and moan. He’s still holding you down so you can’t escape the way he crooks his finger inside of you, petting at your walls in a way that makes your mind spin more than it already is. Another finger and you can’t seem to figure out why you’re fighting him, your hands finally moving to grasp helplessly at his beskar-clad thighs as he twists his wrist and makes a come-hither motion with the fingers he has buried in you.

He works his fingers in and out of you at a relentless pace. At one point he seems to tire of the way you won’t stop thrashing in his hold despite him propping you open, and so he grabs both your wrists in his free hand, pinning them above your head and your body down with the line of his.

“Hold still,” He commands softly.

Maybe if you were more lucid you would have noticed the shift in his demeanor as he lets himself settle into taking your pleasure for his. It’s no less doting, no less sweet, but it has a biting edge not unlike the way a burst of sour fruit brings both the bite of acid and the satisfaction of something almost saccharine. Nevertheless, he seems to know what you need better than you do.

The weight of his body soothes the ache in you, allowing the haze to clear just slightly. At that, you force yourself to hold still, force yourself to simply take the way his fingers make you feel. His shoulders blanket yours easily, and his thighs are strong and powerful in between yours.

Your second orgasm is only marginally stronger than your first, still failing to break the spell of your intoxication. He can feel the way you spasm around his fingers, the way your wetness wets the wrist of his flight suit in a way that makes him pull out, lift his helmet just slightly, and press the digits into his mouth.

You hate the immediate emptiness you feel. You clench fruitlessly around nothing and try to breathe out a plea that’s almost crushed out of you by his weight. Your mind floats aimlessly as you try to focus on regaining your breath, two orgasms normally more than enough to satiate you when its your own hand, but not even close to enough in this moment.

His frustration is palpable as you continue to whine and beg, but he reminds himself that you’re so strung out on whatever is in your system that you can’t help it. You’ll get all you need in time.

“Mando, please,” You can’t seem to understand why he won’t heed your pleas, why he’s still holding out on you.

Except, he isn’t, not really. Especially when he makes quick work of flipping you into his lap and settling you against him as he’s propped up against the wall. Especially when he has you on your knees spread over his thighs, his cock hard against your back and your wrists still pinned together but this time behind your back.

“Patience,” He urges as he pulls his cock out of his flight suit with his free hand.

He coats himself in the combination of your arousal and his spit, the combination doing something deadly to how badly he wants you. You’re still half delirious, unsure of how this will end.

When he finally, finally, lets you sink onto his length, you think that might finally be what breaks the spell. You can feel just how heavy and thick he sits inside you as he slowly nudges you down. He seems to last forever, but also just long enough at the same time. The head nudges at some spot deeper inside you than you can ever manage to pet with your own fingers.

You can feel yourself clenching around him, trying to adjust to his girth. More than anything, you want him to move. You want him to fuck you so hard it steals your breath, so the pain and burning desire finally fades.

But he doesn’t move. He doesn’t move to prop his feet up on the mattress so he can thrust up into your tight heat. Instead he keeps your hands pinned between your back and his chest so both his hands are free to work up your top. You spasm around his cock and you’re sure you’re staining the crotch of his pants where he’s still wearing them.

“If you’re a good girl, if come like this, I’ll give it to you the way you want it, I’ll fuck you deep with my cock,” He almost croons. The helmet has always distorted what you imagine to be the true tenor of his voice, all lovely and smooth and chocolate rich.

You’re not sure what he means, “like this”, until his fingertips brush over your nipples, until his hands grasp your tits in a firm grip. You jerk in his hold involuntarily, but one of his forearms is already pressed against your ribs as if anticipating your inability to hold still the way he wants you to.

As he continues to play with your nipples, you almost want to tell him that you can’t, not like this. That you’ve tried before and it never got you there, that you just can’t. But the words escape you, and all you can do is try to breathe through the onslaught of sensations. Every exhale comes out a desperate, debased whine.

He pets over your nipples, twists them, even tweaks them in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. It borders on painful as he keeps you pinned to him, not letting you move even a centimeter away from the pads of his fingers. There’s no discernable pattern, as if he’s experimenting with what draws out the most whimpers, what makes you twitch most.

A particularly rough pinch draws a groan from you and one of his hands smooths down your stomach. The way he circles his fingers around where your hole is stretched open around the base of his cock is filthy. The way the tips of fingers prod at the edges of you around him, as if testing if there’s still room for something beyond the sheer girth of him makes your chest heave with the promise of more.

Finally, he touches your clit and rocks his hips up ever so slightly. You gasp wetly as your third orgasm washes through you. Your cunt squeezes him tighter than he ever thought possible and he has to steel himself against the feeling that tugs at his gut at the sound of you panting and the way you respond to the slight shifting of his hips with a weak attempt at riding him. Cumming on his cock brings you light relief, but to your dismay it still isn’t enough.

“You still with me?” Now his hands are petting your sides, and his hips are still.

You respond to a question he didn’t ask, “Need more, Mando,” You whimper.

When he lifts you off his cock, it takes the little lucidity you have not to wail in protest. He manhandles you face down, hips up in between his spread legs. He moves too, settling on his knees behind you, cock level with your cunt but he doesn’t press into you.

The position change allows you to relax a bit, but now you’re more empty, you think, than when you started. You start to whine, to protest, before he pushes into you again. Until you realize that he doesn’t keep going, his hips don’t meet yours. You try and wiggle backwards, take a mile where he gives you an inch, but the grip on your hips is firm.

Stuttering slightly, you try and beg for more, “I-I thought you said if I was good, you’d fuck me the way I want.”

He doesn’t budge, instead one of his hands comes between your legs to stroke your clit in a way that makes your thighs tremble.

“You were good,” He hums, “But give me just one more.”

You lurch forward on the bed when his free hand comes down on your ass with a crack. A broken moan leaves you and you realize you’re begging for him to do it again. He ignores you momentarily, choosing instead to smooth his hand over the heat of your skin where he just spanked you.

The sting of his palm on your other cheek stands in stark relief in comparison to the way he keeps drawing lazy circles around and over your clit.

Despite the way you can feel the way the haze, whatever the source, has begun to leave your system, it still clings to you. It amplifies the way his fingers feel on your clit just enough for you to cum again, squeezing the head of his cock. It’s a dizzying contrast, the way you’re split open on just the beginning of his length, the rest of you clenching on nothing.

He rocks you on him just barely, just enough to draw out your pleasure into the biting overstimulation that comes with four orgasms. Distantly it occurs to you he must be enjoying this somehow, the head of his cock just barely in you as your walls flutter in desperation and arousal, his hands holding your hips so hard you know you’ll bruise. The pain of his fingertips is almost soothing.

You beg for mercy as best you can–beg for him to fuck you properly, you promise anything you think might get him to fill you again: cumming on his cock as many times as he wants; swallowing him down til you can’t breathe and tears streak your face.

“You said–,” You hiccup through what you realize are light sobs of neediness, “You said you would f-fuck me if I gave you one more.”

Instead of replying, he pulls out and lays you on your back. Then, he hitches your thighs up and presses you in half with your ankles at your shoulders. His cock slides wet and hot against your cunt, still soaking from all your previous orgasms mixed with the copious amounts of precum that have leaked from him. He kneads at your ass and thighs like a lothcat with one hand while again holding your wrists above your head with the other.

When he finally slides into you, it knocks all the remaining breath out of your lungs. You don’t fight his hold any more, all your strength sapped and simply willing to take what he gives you. Your head lolls to the side, mouthing at what skin you can reach where he’s pushed his flight suit up over his elbows.

When he finally fucks you, it’s unhurried but each stroke is deep and powerful. You can hear the way his grunts come through the modulator of his helmet and distantly, just barely, it registers in your fucked out mind that he’s muttering absolute filth to you.

“The sweetest cunt I’ve ever had, ever tasted. Maker I can’t believe this is what it took for you to let me take care of you, sweet thing. Always talking back, always trying to prove you know what’s best, even when I’m making you cum. Not so loud-mouthed now, are you?”

The words make your head spin and you can’t decide if you want him to stop since they’re driving you quickly over the edge again or if you want him to keep going, to keep confessing his deep seated desires to you. He makes the decision for you as he lifts the lip of his helmet over his mouth.

“Want you to hear my voice when I tell you how badly I’ve wanted to have you like this. How badly I’ve wanted to have you in my bed. I can hear you through the walls you know, touching yourself and moaning my name, even when you think you’re being quiet. You dirty little thing, you’re so good to me.”

Your fifth orgasm feels like a supernova as he continues to fuck you deeply. It starts in your pussy and spreads to the tips of your fingers, leaving you gasping for air and crying out his name in repeat.

“There you go,” He says, “Cum on my cock like a good girl. You’re doing so well. Maker, you’re so fucking tight.”

That orgasm isn’t what breaks the fog in your mind. It’s him.

You can feel how close he’s getting and you decide, preemptively, to beg again, “Come inside me, please, Mando, please, I need it.”

He groans brokenly as he finishes inside you and the warmth of his come finally clears your mind. You clench rhythmically around him, hoping to milk him for everything he’ll give you. The motion of his hips doesn’t stop, the coarse hair at the base of his cock grinding against your clit sending skittering sparks throughout your body.

When his hips finally stop rocking against yours, it’s finally quiet in the room again. Your body finally feels like it’s your own again, and you can sense the ache in your hips from the way he’s got you pressed in half, the light sting on your ass from where his hands came down hard.

Lifting himself from you with a groan, you hate the way you feel empty, like something is missing, when his softening cock slips from you. You briefly consider begging him to stay with you like that, but your mind whispers, another time.

Instead, you let him stand and shuffle about in the darkness, clearly tucking himself back into his pants. He shucks off your tunic; it makes a heavy sound as it hits the ground somewhere next to the bed. You let him lift your limp, exhausted but finally satiated body, and carry you back to the ‘fresher. You never turned the light off.

Mando turns a small jet of water on and washes you with steady hands between your legs, soapy hands running over your breasts, your shoulders, and your thighs. You try to say thank you, try to ask him if this will change things, but you’re too exhausted to form words. He shines under the artificial lights.

He wraps you in a towel and places you gently into his cot that barely has room for two. It’s then that you realize that since this ordeal started, since he picked you up like you weighed nothing more than a single ration pack, that he hasn’t stopped touching you.

Not when he had his way with you, not when you begged for more, not when he coaxed one more orgasm from you. He kept some part of him in contact with your skin so you knew he was there the entire time. His hands never left you in the ‘fresher as you did your best not to shake like a leaf.

You protest weakly as he goes to leave and the lack of physical contact registers in your exhausted mind. It’s the first thing that’s come to you clearly since you inhaled that substance in the forest.

He strokes your hair and gently murmurs, “Let me change. I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You want him to stay, to abandon fresh clothes and stay there with you. But you don’t have the ability to voice it. Instead, you let yourself sink into the cot and breathe in the scent of him in the sheets and in the pillow next to your head.

He returns within a few moments, helmet still on but this time stripped of his body armor and apparently in a new flight suit. When he shuffles you over to make room for himself, you exhale deeply in relief.

Next to you, he’s heavy and warm. He pulls you impossibly close to him, your head tucked into his chest and your legs tangled together.

He speaks first, “Are you alright?”

Part of you wants to pretend to already be asleep, but you’re sure if you don’t confront this now, you’ll never do it.

“I think so.” A beat passes. “I’m sorry.”

With his hand ever so gently under your chin, he tilts your head up so you’re making eye contact with the helmet. Even though you can’t see his eyes you’re sure you’re staring into them. You wonder what color they are.

“No reason to be sorry, you needed my help. I wasn’t too rough, was I?” You think he sounds unsure of himself, that maybe he thinks he got too caught in the moment.

You stroke your fingers across the helmet where you imagine his cheekbone might be, “No. It was exactly what I needed. I’m just sorry that you had to find me and feel responsible, I never wanted—“

He stops you by pulling you into his chest, muffling the rest of the sentence. You think you hear the hiss of his helmet release but you’re not sure till you feel his lips on the crown of your head. You hold your breath.

With his lips pressed into your hair, he murmurs softly, “You have never made me take on a burden I didn’t ask or want to take on. You take care of the Crest, of the Child, you have to let me do the same for you.”

The helmet hisses shut again when he tilts your head up to face him. One un-gloved finger strokes over your facial features, so gentle and tender in comparison to the way you know he’s capable of violence. You’re silent and you let your eyes slide shut, the exhaustion overtaking you.

And that’s how you fall asleep: in the arms of the Mandalorian, content and with a glimmer of something new to come tomorrow.

#din djarin #din djarin fic #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian fic #mando x you #mando x reader #no use of y/n

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dumpsterfire-daydreams · 3 months ago

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If you've found me for the first time, welcome to my special circle of hell~ I am committed to my sinful ways and cannot be saved rofl.

If you're already acquainted with my AO3 shenanigans (or my brief time on TikTok), hello again lol.

Yes, I'm late to the Tumblr party. But hush I'm here now, okay? 🤣 I suffer from severe brainrot, and the only cure is writing CoD fanfics. All of my completed stuff is already on my AO3, but I'll be gradually reposting them here, too.

MDNI (I mean it 🙅‍♀️🚫 no meddling kids, I will yeet your ass!)

Heed all warnings pls 🙏🥹

Will write: age gap, bdsm, s/omno, n/oncon, c/nc, yandere, ddlg, daddy k!nk, etc.

Will not write: gore, n/cest, watersports, etc.

My AO3 can be found ✨️ here ✨️

All my personal/non-fanfic posts will be tagged with ✨️ #personal shit ✨️

Angst: ☂️

Dark (dead dove: do not eat, s/omno, n/oncon, c/nc, impact): ⚠️

Ddlg/ageplay: 🎀

Fluff: ☁️

Smut: 🌶

Mine | Soap, OC ☁️🌶

You Have Something I Want (YHSIW) | König, Ghost, Reader

Main Story ☁️🌶⚠️

Ending 1: Choosing König + dark!Simon route 🌶⚠️☂️

Ending 2: Choosing both/Throuple route 🌶

Ending 3: Choosing Simon route 🌶☂️

Bloodlust 🎀🌶⚠️☂️ | König, Ghost, OC

Search and Destroy | König, Nikto, Aksel, OC

Act I ⚠️

Act II (WIP)

Act III (WIP)

#call of duty #cod fanfic #call of duty fanfic #simon riley x konig x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #konig x reader #konig call of duty #john soap mactavish #soap x reader #dark!simon #dumpsterfire daydreams

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jinkoh · 15 days ago

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I don't wanna lose you now (or ever)

hyunjae x gn!reader

wc: 0.7k, tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a hopeful ending, reader has mental health issues, hyunjae loves them regardless, SFW; warnings: (implied) worries about reader being suicidal (it's never stated that they are, it's more a fear that they could be)

a/n: honestly this was mainly inspired by the way hyunjae always seems to take care of and worry for others idek he's just so sweet. (and yet this fic is kinda heavy so pls heed the warning)

listen to: luca fogale - i don't want to lose you

masterlist

Sometimes Hyunjae thinks he can feel you slipping through his fingers, just one step away from losing you without anything he can do about it. He feels it happening again now, notices it in the way you barely respond to him or the world around you, as if life wasn't anything you actively take part in, but instead just something that happens to you. At times he fears you want it to stop happening altogether. Your eyes just look so empty, drained from the joy and mischief that usually lights them up, lacking any kind of emotion. He’d rather see you crumble than to watch this empty shell of yours, because then he could at least do something, hold and reassure you and listen to your troubles to maybe lift some weight off your shoulders. But there is no room for that now and he doesn’t know how to make any when you constantly turn away, rejecting his every attempt at comforting you. It’s as if your mind is in a place far away that he can’t reach and is never sure you would return from. It isn’t your fault, he knows it isn’t, and the last thing he ever wants is to make you feel guilty about it. But Hyunjae hates seeing you like this, hates the endless fear it instills in him, hates how helpless it makes him feel. He doesn’t want to lose you, now, or ever.

And yet, all he can do, all he knows to do is watch from the sidelines, trying to make sure you eat enough and take your meds; convincing you to brush your teeth, helping you wash your hair when you can’t bring yourself to do it alone. Sometimes he manages to coax you out onto the balcony with him, letting you catch at least a little bit of sun and fresh air, knowing a walk would be too much to ask for. It never feels like he is doing enough, it never feels like any of that can keep you around. If he could, he would stay home with you, because the thought of being too late haunts him every minute of his work day up until the moment he comes home to find you curled up in bed, unresponsive but there, breathing, alive.

It’s the same today, his mind riddled with anxiety as he rushes through the aisles of the grocery store, getting some necessities on his way home from work. His list includes that yogurt he knows you love, and some apples that he’ll cut up for you the way your grandma used to do. He also grabs some Christmas candy for good measure, even though it’s barely fall. It’s too early for that, and usually he’d find it ridiculous how they already start stocking them at the beginning of September, but maybe the thought of Christmas and the memories of all the years you’d spent it together would spark at least a little joy.

“I’m home,” he says softly as he closes the door of the apartment behind him. He knows better than to expect a reply, but he just wants you to know that he’s there, at home and for you. And maybe saying it makes him feel a little less lonely too. To his surprise, he hears the shuffling of feet against the floor, and then suddenly you stand there, in the doorway to the living room, wrapped up in your duvet. You look awful; tears streaming down your puffy face and your nose all red and snotty. And yet Hyunjae feels a sense of relief. Because he can see you there, broken and shattered but unmistakably you, ready to pick yourself up again, piece by piece. And Hyunjae will be there for every step of the way.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out through sobs, and Hyunjae knows what you’re apologizing for but he doesn’t think you should be, doesn’t think that any of this is something to be sorry about. He opens his arms with a soft smile, his own eyes brimming with tears, too. "Welcome home," he whispers gently, and when you stumble forward and let yourself fall into his chest he holds you tight, making sure you know he isn't planning on letting go, now, or ever.

masterlist ♡ pls consider reblogging if you enjoyed this ♡

#hyunjae x reader #tbz x reader #lee jaehyun x reader #the boyz x reader #kpop scenarios #tbz fic #tbz angst #tbz fluff #the boyz imagines #the boyz fanfic #hyunjae x gn!reader #the boyz scenarios #tbz drabble #hyunjae drabble #tbz writing #kebbis.writing #scheduled

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sinning-23 · 10 months ago

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Glass Chandelier

Warnings: swearing, depictions of violence

Notes: Hellooo! This series is gonna be sorta gut wrenching or at Leary I’m gonna try to have it be lol. Let me know if your like to be added to a tag list and enjoy!

Ps. Pls ignore any spelling errors I did my bestest

Introduction

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Evening at the Baratie was as busy as usual. The brunch rush had well started and patrons tumbled in sitting at their designated tables they more likely waited months to get. It was a bit brighter than you would have liked but the booth you're sitting in is just right. Night time was more your speed at the floating restaurant but the waiter from last night had piqued your interest. As an attempt to see him again, you came in a bit earlier.

You sit, cross-legged and slightly impatient, hoping to see a mess of slightly wavy blonde tresses but he never shows. Part of you feels silly for entertaining the idiot but you simply couldn't resist an opportunity like this.

-the night prior-

"Fancy a drink with me after this?" He asks, smiling right back at you as you remove yourself from the booth and stand before him.

Your fingertips dance across the collar of his blazer and you cant help but to flick the hair that falls in front of his face away. He watches, cheeks tinting even darker as you flatten out his attire.

"I fancy far more than a drink.”You tease, circling him as he tries to find the words to respond to your far-from-innocent comment.

The blonde only chuckles in response and tries to fight the smile that creeps over his face. Damn, did you look good walking away.

Your head snaps towards the restaurant entrance as the doors sound as if they not only swing open but are slammed into the wall behind them. The other customers didn’t seem to notice, still enjoying their meals. As a reoccurring customer, you were well aware of the ‘No fighting inside’ rule they followed seeing as you’d watched that same waiter and many others break up a fight before they could even start. You reach for your pick, seeing not one or two, but three fish men that looked far from friendly stop down to the main floor.

If the current customers were paying attention before they were now as the slightly larger one lifted the man who just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time out of his chair and threw him across the dining floor. It would be wise to leave now and you weren’t the only one with the same idea.

However, a sharp and quite threatening, “SIT DOWN” booms returning most to their seat.

Zeff, the man you’d grown quite close with as a reoccurring customer had stepped out amid the commotion, eyeing you and hovering his head a firm shake. If he knew you he knew you’d leave one way or another but this situation was different.

He was well aware of your ability to protect yourself but three against one wasn’t fair and these ‘gentlemen’ seemed far from it. You heed his advice, crossing your legs and sitting back down to sip your drink.

“If you don��t bring me that straw hat by the time I finish my meal, maybe I’ll start adding some of these nice folks to the menu.” He threatened, narrowing his eyes at your defensive frame.

How entitled did you have to be to not only ruin everyone’s meals with this nonsense but threaten to harm them as they are already cowering in fear?

It took less than a few minutes to finish you drink and once you were you had already removed yourself from the booth and was walking toward the exit. A hush falls over the hostages as your heels click against the tile.

“And where are you going?” The fishman who you’d learned was named ‘Arlong’ growls, the two lackeys eyeing you as if you spat at them.

Arlongs patients ran thin with humans if there was even any to begin with. So for you to not only NOT be afraid of who he was and what he could do to you while simultaneously ignoring his threats was enough to piss him off beyond comprehension.

“Leaving, I finished my drink. I thought that was obvious?” You speak, turning on your heel as the screech of the chair sliding on tile makes you stop again.

Reaching for your weapons would give you away too soon. The ice picks were more of a close combat weapon so until you were at the required amount of space, revealing them just to appear big and bad wasn’t wise. It was never really an option to begin with considering being flashy wasn’t your forte.

You were accurate and precise…calculated. That’s what mattered most in a fight. Sure raw talent and strength were great to have but critical thinking skills, common sense, and planning were things that weren’t quite easy to come by.

He’s towering over you now, your eyes scanning the surrounding area as well as his current physical state. If Arlong could throw a grown man damn near 30 feet away he’d surely break you in half without a second thought.

“Don’t you know who I am girl?” He growls, his fists clenched at his sides as you act as if he’s not a threat. It pisses him off more.

“Yeah, I just don’t care.”

He reaches for you, his hands going for your neck but you’re quick to duck, pulling the sliver of metal from your garter. You slice upwards, the point sliding from his ankle to mid-thigh. A hiss leaves his mouth as he tries to reach for you again but you slip between the opening of his two legs left before dragging the needles point down the left side of his back. A gasp leaves your mouth when a second pair of hands snatch you from your current position. Damn it.

Your arms flex and before Alrlong can even raise his fist your feet are off the ground and kicking firmly into his chest. It wasn't enough to fully push him back, just make his scoot maybe an inch back. You take the chance to flip out of your captor's grasp, Legs locking around his neck as you lift your pick.

Air leaves your lungs when you hit the floor of the Baratie and you feel the drink you'd previously finished rise up your throat after a swift kick to the stomach that sent you flying.

"Allow me to make an example. We all know fishermen are superior, but you just don't truly know the extent of that." Arlong growls, lifting you by your hair as you groan, pain shooting through your ribs.

His teeth sink into your shoulder as you thrash, doing anything you can to get him away despite the pain. Your flesh tears open, and the smell of your own blood fills your nose as it slides down your back and arm. A silent scream is stuck in your throat and when he finally decides to tear away a sizeable chunk he drops you, the thudd making patrons flinch.

The restaurant doors burst open for a second time and your heart almost bursts out of your chest when your blonde meets your injured frame. You managed to sit up against a pillar, pulling part of a tablecloth apart to dress your wound.

The straw hat Arlong had been looking for had stepped down, conversing with him briefly as the waiter seemed to pale just looking at you. It must be bad. You flash him a smile forcing yourself to stand as a bang sounds from beside you.

And when Arlong breaks Zeff's leg with a swift yet powerful kick, hell breaks loose.

You force yourself up, grab your picks, and sprint towards one of the two lackeys seeing as the blonde waiter was occupied with the other. You jabbed in his direction, missing by mere inches. A punch to your gut makes you gag and falter, the pain in your ribs shooting to the pain in your shoulder.

You growl, grabbing a discarded fork and jabbing it into the large-lipped fishman's calf. You stand, grabbing him by the collar before stomping your foot over the fork, diving it deeper, tearing a sizeable gash in the process. With a clenched fist, you wind up and punch as hard as your could before landing a final kick to his chest.

“BLONDIE!” You yelp, scrambling to get the waiter on his feet as he groans, his fans gripping his ribs.

Slinging his body partially over your uninjured shoulder, you also groan, limping to the kitchen the double doors whilst the straw hat boy and Arlong had moved outside. His lackeys followed. You sit the blonde down, immediately going back out to help Zeff. Pain shoots through you again as you huff, any adrenaline warns off now and you fight tears.

The kitchen is quiet, only the sound of the waiter's heavy breathing and your own filling it up as Zeff leans wearily in his chair. You whimper, touching the raw and open wound with a warm towel, the color becoming a deep red with every drop of blood it soaked up.

Hot tears slide past your cheeks as you to try and find some sort of reflective surface. The young blonde only limps after you. With steady hands he lifts you onto the counter, being mindful of the obvious injuries you’d earned in the fight.

Despite wishing you were dead instead of in excruciating pain, the action makes your heart flutter. He is much larger than you, his frame wider than you remember. His waist is a lot smaller too, it being seemingly curved and leading right to a pair of thighs you'd managed to lay your eyes on. The veins running up his arms look awfully tempting as they lead right down to a large pair of hands, one adorned with a ring.

His nails are trimmed and surprisingly clean. It's clear he takes care of himself, the smell of cigarettes and spice fills your senses. His lips are moving but you can’t hear any sound and his eyes are so concerned looking at you. Blue....so soft and so blue. His eyes crinkle at the side when he smiles...

“Hm?” You quip, cursing yourself for swooning when he gives you a faint smile.

After rolling up his sleeves, his fingers move along your torso, gently touching your sides as he repeats the question.

“What’s your name darling?”

His voice sounds so much better than you remembered. He's focused, fighting a grimace as he rinsed and rang out the cloth that's now soaked in your blood.

His hands are stained with the color, but so are yours at this point. He returned the towel to your injury, getting a fresh one soaked with warm water before brushing it over the palm of your hand oh so gently.

"Why, you wanna take me out on a date?" You tease, eyes meeting as you both share a smirk. "Well you just helped fight off 3 fishmen all of which were twice your size. I wanna know who I'm thanking for that." He speaks, the gentle caress of the towel stopping when his index finger lifts your chin.

A heavy sigh and grumble forces you to turn away. Zeff was still slumped in the chair watching this whole scene play out and quite frankly hed rather not watch his 'son' flirt with one of his more favorable patrons.

Perhaps the flirting could come to a brief pause. You open your moouth to answer and flip the question but he's already back out the door when someone come yelping for help.

Something about "Luffy" being thrown into the ocean and needing saving?

________________________________________________

Taglist: @waannty @strangermeats (yall reblogged i assumed you'd want to be notified of the next chapter lol)

#x reader #one piece #reader is black #one piece live action #i don't care he's hot #headcannons #one piece x reader #smut #opla #hes so hot #sanji #sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #sanji live action #one piece sanji #opla x reader #slowburn #strangers to lovers #glass chandelier

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iite-cool · 8 months ago

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masterlist

hello!! i'm violet (she/her) and i write sometimes. i reblog a lot!! a lot of which is explicit (pls heed individual warnings) so this blog is strictly 18+

i write for cod (atm)

my requests are closed atm but pls send me asks about characters i'd love to talk w you guys!!!

i will love you forever if you comment on my posts, i am desperate to share the brainrot

i often write for chubby readers but if there are any descriptions of appearance, it will be tagged on the post

also tagged will be any gendered content. if a gn!reader is implied there will be no gendered tags but others (e.g. f!reader or afab!reader) will be tagged <3

☔︎ - fluff, ꨄ︎ - smut, ♡︎ - suggestive

simon riley

being his looks good on you ꨄ︎

beer with bluecollar!simon ☔︎♡︎

bedtime ritual ☔︎

roommate!simon can't help himself ꨄ︎

beauty mark ☔︎

how he loves ☔︎

kitty!simon ☔︎

simon in denial ☔︎

bad day ☔︎

johnny mactavish

(coming soon)

ghoap

your boys take care of you ꨄ︎

check vi.writes for more fleshed out work, vi.muses for shorter brainrot and vi.rambles for random shitposts

all dividers, unless specified otherwise, by @cafekitsune

#vi.masterlist #cod x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #ghost smut

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the-invisibility-bloke · 4 months ago

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Me writing my first Problematique™ content: pls heed the tags and warnings no seriously read them again this is not an endorsement of real world behavior I’m so sorry I wrote this I never meant to romanticize this terrible thing I don’t know what’s wrong with me

Me now: here’s some cross-gen incest, you filthy animals

#lol #how the tables #tw: incest #fandom #pro ship

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glossysoap · 10 months ago

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rules:

i write 18+ content so please refrain from interacting with it if you’re a minor. thank you. if you knowingly let minors follow you, do not follow me.

i also write some dark content. i always tag it very thoroughly, so please just heed the warnings and be honest with yourself. if you think it’s too much for you, don’t read it.

it’s your responsibility to curate your own experience and choosing to read something or choosing not to. please refrain from reporting and just block instead. if you’re not 18+ please do not interact with my explicit works in any way.

boundaries;

what i will not write:

scat, bestiality, necro, diapers, race play,

on occasion i will thirst over real people (where they can’t see). if you have a problem with me thirsting over them please either let me know in a polite way or just soft block.

i have a life. not only does this apply to my update schedule, but this also applies to any and all discourse. do NOT assume that i’m privy to everything going on. i’m most likely not. instead of blocking/softblocking/unfollowing/reporting, inform me of what’s going on. please do it via dms. and do it politely.

if i don’t want to be involved in it, please be understanding as writing and fandom is my escape from my troubles in real life.

i do not condone, and never will condone, threatening violence over fiction. that also applies to telling people to off themselves. it doesn’t matter to me what the fiction is about. grow up and ignore the piece of fiction that you have a problem with, act like the adult you should be acting like.

if you’re a follower/mutual/etc and i find out that you’re supporting someone who has been threatening people or encouraging suicíde, i will block you accordingly or at least soft block you.

i don’t tolerate racist behavior or defending of racists, so if i see that you’ve made racist comments towards poc/regarding poc, ill block and report you. this goes for mutuals as well.

if i see you actively still supporting a racist blog after it’s been brought to your attention that they’re racist, i’ll be soft blocking you/hard blocking you.

note: if you’re 18+, dms are always open! but please keep in mind that personal things/everyday life does get in the way, so i might not respond right away. it doesn’t mean i’m ignoring you, and i will respond when i’m able to. if there’s a family emergency, please be patient. please be patient in general, really. also please keep in mind the time zones.

if any of my followers wish to be mutuals, pls dm me and i’ll most likely follow you back <3

if any of my followers/readers/moots wish to be removed from any of my tag lists, please don’t hesitate to let me know! there’s never any hard feelings! i just know that there’s a 50 tag limit for each post so i want to shorten it to people that still want to be tagged.

this post is subject to change at any time.

#for my pinned <3

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peskellence · 7 months ago

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/ Comfort

Next Chapter

AO3 Link

Summary: In the aftermath of Detroit's android revolution, Nines grapples with the complexities of his newfound deviancy. As he seeks to establish his place in a newly transformed society, his resolve is put to the ultimate test when he is paired with Detective Gavin Reed—a notoriously volatile human with a well-established hatred for androids—to investigate a series of murders.

While initial impressions of his partner seem to suggest his reputation is well-deserved, the more time Nines spends with him, the more he is forced to challenge his judgments. As they form an unexpected bond, the RK900 is also pushed to examine truths about himself he would much rather seek to forget. (A Retelling of ‘More Than Our Parts’ from the POV of Nines.)

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 6.4K

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel

♡If you would like to be added to the tag list please let me know♡

The android's inaugural duty went far beyond his basic training. An HR400 had been discovered deactivated in their apartment at Hartwell Tower. Upon arrival of first responders, foul play was swiftly determined. The case had been delegated to the homicide department, with Nines tasked to assist.

He understood he should approach the assignment with a degree of enthusiasm or, at the very least, a sense of drive, but he found himself unable to muster either sentiment. This was due to the unpleasant, unforeseen condition attached to it.

While a partnership was not something he took issue with, an objection arose from the identity of his appointed associate.

Humans could make for contentious company at the best of times—a fact most androids seemed to agree with, albeit with varying degrees of openness. RK800 was a stringent advocate for diplomacy on the matter. That being said, there was one human that even he struggled not to antagonise.

Detective Gavin Reed had a reputation—among both humans and androids—as being completely insufferable. From their admittedly limited interactions, Nines was inclined to agree. The man seemed to exist in a perpetual foul mood, gearing for a fight at the slightest provocation. All this superfluous aggression came with frequent vulgar quips, which he assumed were meant to be amusing.

As he marched through the precinct towards Captain Fowler's Office, he wondered what he could have done to upset his superior that warranted such egregious punishment. RK800 trailed beside him, struggling to keep pace with his increasingly brisk stride as he offered words of assurance:

"He's not as bad as he used to be, much less hostile since the revolution—”

Approaching them was another pair of officers, sipping coffee and exchanging pleasantries as they headed for the exit. RK800 repositioned himself while Nines strode on, staunchly unfazed. The officers were forced to veer sharply to avoid a collision, liquid spilling from their cups and forming trails behind them.

“There is no sense in downplaying the issue,” Nines asserted, paying little heed to the women's bewildered stares. “I have seen into your mind, viewed your memories. I know precisely what he thinks of us."

Despite the older android’s attempts to counter his growing pessimism, it was clear he was exhausting arguments that held any merit. His LED flickered yellow in deliberation, and he paused briefly before continuing. "...Maybe you can be a good influence on him? Help to smooth out his edges."

For the esteemed 'negotiator' of the RK line, this proved an impressively weak attempt at persuasion. They both knew all too well that his limited social protocol made Nines an unlikely candidate for smoothing out anyone's edges, especially those of a man who seemed to despise him for simply existing.

Even if he hadn't been provided insight into Reed's numerous acts of animosity towards his counterpart, Nines had already experienced such behaviour firsthand. It started with a tense encounter at the DPD Christmas party and escalated into frequent hostile glares whenever they happened to cross paths.

He was quick to remind RK800 of this, effectively ending the debate. "Given our shared physical attributes, I highly doubt my presence will have any positive impact. If anything, it'll likely encourage him to act with even greater antagonism.”

RK800’s smile had become tremendously strained, pulled taut across his face like a rubber band on the verge of snapping.

"There’s always a chance he’ll change his mind…and even if he doesn't, just remember this is only temporary.” His typically assured tone wavered, betraying his lack of confidence. As though to compensate for this, he gripped Nines by the shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Also, that Gavin Reed’s opinion holds extremely little value.”

Upon reaching the windowed cubicle of their superior’s office, Nines peered inside, discreetly observing the occupants. Though the soundproofed panes prevented him from hearing the conversation, he was still able to read their lips. The majority of the inane drivel being spewed from Reed's mouth consisted of tired anti-android rhetoric, with Fowler berating his subordinate for the antipathetic stance.

"I think you should probably go in," RK800 advised, gesturing towards the door of the office.

The younger android rejected the notion with a firm shake of his head. "I'll wait until they are finished so I may seek to speak with the captain privately.”

> So I can more aptly explain why this case should be reassigned immediately.

"No, I think you should go in now. The Captain is waving at you."

Upon redirecting his focus, Nines confirmed this to be correct. Captain Fowler was staring at him, flexing his fingers in a beckoning gesture. The tight crease of his brow and pronounced scowl made it clear any insubordination would not be tolerated.

The android's core body temperature surged, rising until it pooled in his cheeks. With a steady exhale, he released the surplus warmth, determined to uphold a degree of professionalism in the forthcoming exchange. Back straight and shoulders squared, he made his way into the office.

Reed's sour demeanour hardly improved upon his entrance. If anything, it worsened significantly. His indignant slouch grew so pronounced he was in danger of falling off his chair, arms pulled tight across his chest and chin tucked into the fold.

"This is RK900—I'm sure you've already met.” Fowler regarded his subordinate with a pointed glare as he awaited his response.

The detective made little effort to acknowledge the android aside from a contemptuous glower cast over his shoulder. His hair was unkempt, sticking up at odd angles, and he was wearing the same shirt as the day before. This was paired with a leather jacket, which Nines doubted had ever been washed, the front pocket containing a crumpled cigarette packet and a pair of sunglasses.

He zoned in on the unusual detail with greater scrutiny. The current temperature outside was 32°F, with persistent overcast and rain. The accessory served no apparent purpose, with the only reasonable assumption being it was present for aesthetic reasons.

"Yeah, we've met."

His words were spat with such animosity they seemed to imply their mere acquaintance served as an insult. The cutting syllables sliced through the air, mingled with traces of ethanol. As the component reached the RK900’s olfactory receptors, it triggered a physical assessment:

> SUBJECT — DETECTIVE GAVIN REED.

> 5”9 176 LBS

> PHYSICAL ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS…

> SWOLLEN BLOOD VESSELS IN SCLERA — INDICATIVE OF IRRITATION.

> WATER RETENTION IN FACIAL REGION.

> IMPAIRED CARDIAC AND DIGESTIVE FUNCTIONING.

> BAC CONCENTRATION - 0.088%

> ANALYSIS COMPLETED.

Nines felt a scowl tug at his lips as he realized just how unequipped his new partner was to fulfil his current duties.

"...The fuck are you looking at?" The man bared his nicotine-stained teeth in a venomous snarl, his lingering inebriation seeming to inspire additional hostility.

This created an even greater host of challenges than Nines previously anticipated. He responded to Reed with as much civility as he could reasonably muster. As it transpired, this wasn’t a lot.

"Apologies, Detective. I was determining how you might have arrived at the precinct this afternoon. Your blood alcohol content is 1.1 times over the legal limit."

The underlying accusation had not gone unnoticed, as the detective offered up some weak parody of an excuse. Something about 'taking a cab', as well as allusions to him being a 'plastic asshole'. The RK900 wasn’t paying much attention, far more attuned to the shifting patterns present in his vital signs.

As he spoke, his cortisol levels spiked, coupled with an elevation in respiratory and heart rate. His deceit proved painfully transparent, and Nines wasted no time in informing him of this. "My sensors indicate that you are lying. It is unsafe for you to operate a vehicle in your current condition. I am surprised you were not involved in an accident."

A ruddy tone tinged the man's sallow complexion as his heart rate continued to escalate. Then he stood from his chair and began to advance towards him. His hands were balled into fists, knuckles turning white. "If you don't shut your mouth, you're going to be the one in a fucking accident."

The man was not permitted to escalate matters beyond this initial threat, as their superior sternly intervened. " Enough , Reed."

This interruption proved extremely fortunate for the detective, whether or not he realised it. Nines had no issues defending himself physically, in spite of his inability to feel pain—unlike his predecessor, who would likely humour the efforts by permitting a blow or two.

The contentious man emitted a short, strangled noise as if gearing to defend himself until he was cut off again:

"You've been assigned your case, and you have your address.” Fowler gathered the loose papers strewn across his desk, aligning them against the wood with a firm tap. “Now, get out of my office before I fire you both."

The detective's bizarre utterances persisted, stuttered through the clumsy flaps of his slackened jaw. Then, as if a moment of clarity had broken through his frustration, his gaze shifted to the ground and he fell silent.

The respite this granted proved disappointingly brief—as with a final, aggrieved grunt, the man angrily stormed away. Each of his steps echoed harshly against the polished floorboards until the door had been slammed firmly behind him.

In the aftermath, Nines found himself presented with an opportune moment to voice his concerns. He hadn't so much as parted his lips, however, before Fowler sternly dissuaded him.

"I don't want to hear it." His fingers flitted towards the exit with a dismissive half-wave. "Reed is enough of a headache already. I'm trusting you to keep him in check."

It was clear that cracks were beginning to show in the android's stoic veneer, as once the captain caught sight of his expression, his gruff demeanour softened—if only slightly.

"...Consider it a chance to prove yourself.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, grumbling under his breath. “With any luck, you'll both learn something from this experience.”

Nines wasn't entirely sure what he had meant by this, but he knew there would be little point in protesting. Humans could prove frustratingly stubborn, even if their decisions defied any logic. With any luck, Reed would do his job for him in proving his unsuitability. Until then, he would be forced to endure the arrangement as best he could.

As he entered the entrance hall, a barrage of system errors assaulted him. Each step toward his partner seemed to compound the issue, prompting him to draw on a self-regulation tactic learned from RK800:

> CONSIDER THE POSITIVES.

While he struggled to discern any positives in his current situation, Nines conceded that perhaps the detective might exhibit a modicum of professionalism in fulfilling his official duties. Even if the change was minor, it would certainly prove welcome.

Despite the overwhelming temptation to maintain their current distance, the android quickened his pace, coming into step with his partner. "I suggest we take an automated dispatch vehicle, or you allow me to drive. I would prefer to make it to the crime scene in a single piece."

Reed's initial response seemed promising, employing only sparse vulgarity and lacking his usual combativeness. "Do whatever you want, like I give a shit—”

Any hope the man may prove amenable persisted for the length of time it took him to pause for breath. The emergent optimism was shattered the moment he chose to reopen his mouth.

"—Just don't expect me to stroke your dick because Fowler wants me to play nice."

Nines could only assume this was hyperbole rather than a serious proposition, but it proved difficult to discern. He couldn't imagine the joke would be any funnier were he able to grasp it fully. "I had no expectation that your cooperation would involve sexual favours, Detective.”

Reed ground to an abrupt halt—as though welded to the floor. His mouth gaped open in disbelief, and his eyes bulged to unnatural proportions. “...It's a figure of speech, dipshit.”

A wave of relief crashed over the android. The man’s abrasive demeanour was irksome enough in a professional context; envisioning intimacy between them proved deeply unpleasant. "Regardless, it seems wildly inappropriate for a workplace environment. We have an investigation to attend to."

Despite the fact they were already late in attending to these duties, Reed had insisted on taking a 'smoke break' prior to their departure. This extended far beyond what could be considered reasonable, leading Nines to conclude he was doing it deliberately. He smoked the cigarette in long, exaggerated drags, emitting loud sighs of contentment with every puff.

By the time they had finally entered the car, the RK900 was left profoundly frustrated, and a tense hush had settled between them. Most of the vehicle's processes were automated, meaning he had little distraction from the persistent annoyance in the passenger seat.

The forced proximity did not help, as his sensory receptors were overwhelmed by a constant slew of information. This included the potent smell of tobacco clinging to the detective’s clothes and the restless tapping of his fingers against the console.

Accessing the dispatch report that had been left dormant in his cranial processor, he attempted to dismiss the superfluous data and redirect his attention to more pressing matters:

> ACCESSING FILE… DPD_internal_437689.txt

> FILE ACCESSED.

According to the report, the victim had lived on the fourth floor of their building. While not impossible, it would have been difficult for an assailant to break in due to the height. Beyond the lobby of the building was a steel-inforced security gate with a fob-activated panel for residential access. With a lack of forced entry also cited in the initial statement, it seemed likely that the culprit was known to the victim—or, at the very least, had been permitted access willingly.

> CLOSING DOCUMENT…

As Nines' vision returned to him, he became aware of two factors. The first was that the vehicle had come to a stop, and the second was that his partner was no longer in it.

Following a cursory scan of his surroundings, he located his colleague standing along the perimeter of the Hartwell Building, leaning across a police barricade. In close proximity stood a well-dressed woman, whom his facial recognition software identified as Teagan Rodgers—a Field Reporter for Channel 16.

Honing in on the unfolding scene, he noted that Detective Reed appeared to be grappling with Miss Rodgers for possession of her microphone. In the midst of their altercation, the device recoiled, striking the centre of her chest with a sharp thud.

Undoubtedly, this was precisely the type of incident Captain Fowler had been alluding to when he advised Nines to keep his partner ‘in check.’ He could only speculate on the irreparable damages Reed might inflict on the department's reputation were he allowed to continue. With begrudging acceptance of the prior instruction, he exited the vehicle.

Nines approached the detective, who now stood with his back angled towards the car. The reporter noticed him first, rouged complexion turning pale as he entered her line of vision. She had frozen in place, lips clamped shut, as a manicured hand hovered inches from Reed's nose.

While he hadn't been able to see them previously, he noted two more figures present. One was a currently unidentified man in a DPD-issue uniform, while the other was a GB200 dressed in similarly formal attire to the reporter. As she locked sights with Nines, her body adopted a similar state of paralysis. Her LED shifted to red as her dark eyes widened in fearful acknowledgement.

It was an expression that felt all too familiar, one he had seen previously—

> WARNING.

> MEMORY FILE CORRUPTED.

> CRITICAL ERROR HAS OCCURRED — URGENT ACTION REQUIRED.

Nines struggled to retain stability in the wake of the cognitive glitch, stumbling back and clutching his head. By the time his optics had sharpened, both the human and android reporter had made a speedy retreat. The matching clicks of high-heeled shoes were just barely audible as Nines darted into a news van, disappearing from view.

Reed and the unknown officer watched on, staring at the doors of the van. It wasn't until the detective turned around that his confusion appeared to shift to envy. No doubt, he would have happily accompanied the woman in hiding from his partner had he been made aware of his presence sooner.

"I suggest we make our way to the crime scene," Nines informed, glossing over the frosty reception. "We are wasting valuable time."

A squeaked yelp was uttered in response, which he was fairly confident had not originated from Detective Reed. Held in his grasp, gripped by the shoulder, was the other ‘officer’—who the android now recognised as a trembling juvenile dressed in an ill-fitting uniform. Evidently, a new recruit.

The young man was noticeably shorter than his partner, an impressive feat considering the former's less-than-imposing stature. This, coupled with the childlike softness of his features, did nothing to minimise the aura of helplessness he was exuding.

A quick scan confirmed his identity, as well as his current physical state—the outlook for which was less than promising. "Officer Lewis Andre, you appear to be unwell. Your complexion is sickly and pallid, and your heart rate is elevated."

The man flinched in response to the address, the passive jitters that racked his body worsening significantly. A fine sheen of perspiration had bloomed on his forehead, and he appeared to be struggling to hold himself upright. Nines soon began to suspect that Andre was suffering from a mental ailment rather than a physical one.

"Your stress levels are indicative of emotional instability," he said plainly, monitoring the man's respiratory rate for signs of hyperventilation. "I suggest that you fulfil your duties in escorting us to the crime scene and then excuse yourself so you may consult a psychiatric professional."

"Right, uh, yes…of course, sir." The officer made a weak gesture toward the building’s entrance, avoiding eye contact. "The victim's apartment is on the second floor. He was an HR400, a former Traci, went by the name of Jason."

"We already know this.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Andre and Reed regarded him with looks of mirrored confusion. It seemed he was speaking for himself on the matter, a testament to just how little his partner had invested in ensuring he was informed of the case details.

The android resisted the exasperated sigh that threatened to pass from his lips before continuing his address to the younger officer. "Show us the crime scene.”

As Andre led the way, Nines followed closely in the interest of catching him should he decide to faint. Reed showed none of the same motivation, lagging behind at a rate so sluggish he almost appeared stationary—and forcing his colleagues to wait in the lobby as he sought to catch up.

Both men were proving themselves to be inconvenient in furthering the RK900’s directive, albeit in their own uniquely frustrating capacities.

Mercifully, the journey to their desired location was not subject to further delay. After a brief ascension in the elevator, the chrome-plated doors parted, revealing the fourth floor of the complex. Nines briskly exited, following a prominent stretch of caution tape along the landing until he had reached the victim's apartment, indicated by a partially opened doorway and weathered number plate.

He directed a curt dismissal to the fractious youth behind him, who was twiddling the hem of his jacket, wrinkling the already rumpled material:

“You may leave now, Officer Andre.”

With another nervous yelp, Andre promptly scurried away, disappearing out of view. Reed glared at his partner relentlessly as they crossed the threshold into the crime scene; animosity exuded from his demeanour with even greater prominence. Nines was uncertain what had inspired this, although he bore it little consideration.

Upon entering, one of the first things he noted was a series of faint scratch marks on the panelled floorboards. They formed a sprawled formation in five concurrent lines and followed an ongoing trajectory further into the home. With this path came traces of Thirium embedded into the grooves.

Then, the trail stopped, replaced by blunt scuffs which stretched the remaining length of the walkway. They concluded at the foot of a nearby door, at which several forensic photographers appeared to be taking records.

"You know, humans generally don't like it when you treat them like shit."

A notification flagged on his HUD, disrupting his analysis in order to inform him that Reed wished to speak. Regrettably, he was already aware.

After a brief deliberation, he realized the man was likely referring to his interactions with Andre. He glanced up, refocusing his optical units, and offered a perfunctory response.

"I believe I treated that officer fairly. If he cannot handle the pressures of high-stakes police work, he should reconsider his profession."

Reed reacted poorly to the suggestion, his already surly expression etched with disapproval. Given his inability to conduct himself outside of the duress of personal biases, it came as no surprise that the rationale eluded him.

"I'm sorry that people don't pop out of the factory perfect and ready to go.” The words were spat aggressively, laced with palpable vitriol. "They need a chance to grow and improve. I wouldn't expect you to understand, but a little compassion wouldn't hurt."

Of all his lacklustre attempts at humour, it was at that moment—when the man had intended to be taken seriously—that Nines found him the most amusing. "That is an interesting assertion, detective. Especially coming from yourself.”

"...What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I find it odd that you, of all people, would assert the need to show kindness to others. Given your history of aggressive and inflammatory behaviour."

A silence followed, and Nines took the opportunity to progress his suspended analysis. Through the critical scope of his optics, he noted the scattered array of magazines gathered at his feet. He determined the source to be a nearby table, which had been callously overturned.

The victim had attempted to block their assailant, likely in hopes of escaping, but the efforts had proved unsuccessful. A blue splatter on the adjacent wall suggested the android had been struck before being dragged in a forceful manoeuvre back through the apartment.

"I'm plenty nice, you prick. I just tell things like they are."

"Quiet, please."

Electric pulses charged his mind as threads of cognition began to connect, forming a timeline. To resolve any potential errors in the developing chronology, the android lowered himself, scooping a sample into his mouth.

"Oh, what the fuck—"

In a shamelessly petulant display, the man began performing an exaggerated gagging gesture. Given the lack of significant change in his vital readings, Nines surmised the physical aversion was greatly exaggerated. "Why the hell did you do that?"

The subsequent readings supported his theories, and the reconstruction was finalised, ready for review. He stood from his knelt position, satisfied, as he smoothed out any creases in his clothes. "It is necessary for the investigation."

"How is that necessary? We can see its blue blood; you don't have to put it in your mouth."

"The data from my internal analysis can provide valuable insight into the case, such as allowing me to scan for traces with the same forensic profile."

He hoped the simplified explanation might succeed in penetrating the bounds of the detective’s weaponized incompetence. It did not, with Reed quick to dismiss him, raising his arms belligerently as he did so. "Well, best of luck with that. I can't see any more blue blood, can you ?"

"As it happens, I can. Thirium evaporates after a few hours of air exposure. However, it can still be detected with the correct equipment, such as myself."

"Wow, I'm so impressed.” The droning retort was punctuated by a childish eye roll, so profoundly exaggerated that he was in danger of severing his optic nerves.

Nines was uncertain why, but it was this particular presentation of the man's remarkably foul attitude that finally breached the walls of his tolerance.

There was something deeply infuriating about witnessing a thirty-six-year-old man—and a police detective, no less—throwing what could only be defined as a temper tantrum in the middle of a crime scene. Were he seated in a stroller, Nines was confident there would be multiple toys littering the floor.

"Your sarcasm does not elude me, Detective,” he informed, exercising a tremendous deal of restraint as he spoke. “I am also displeased with our current partnership, but rather than waste our time with snide remarks, I suggest you listen to me so we may progress our investigation."

Despite his efforts, it was evident that some emotional weight had coloured his tone. Reed gawked back at him, brow raised in surprise. "The fuck did you just say to me?"

A cascade of blue enveloped the room, flickering walls of code drawing like curtains. They cleared his field of vision of any unnecessary obstructions, and the virtual stage was set. The simulated struggle between killer and victim began to play out as Nines attempted to direct the belligerent man's attention in line with their movements:

"There is a trail leading from the entranceway and extending towards the back end of the apartment. The rate of evaporation present in the corresponding Thirium traces suggests that the attack was finished here.”

When the simulation ended, he looked to his partner to see if he had anything to contribute. Judging by his face, he had failed to ascertain any of the deductions that had been presented to him and was receiving this revelation with a potent air of resentment.

He tucked his arms across his chest in a defensive gesture and grumbled under his breath. "Alright, smartass. So if the attack ended here, then where is the body?"

> I can't imagine the perpetrator took it with him, detective.

> I suspect you will find there is a correlation between the location of the victim and the congregation of forensic officials roughly 75 meters away from you.

Nines relented on this response, as per prior guidance he had received from RK800. When dealing with humans, a direct approach was not always the most productive, given their propensity to view such assertions as 'combative.'

This made little sense to him, but he trusted his predecessor's judgment on the matter. Whilst his tempered reply diverged widely from what he had wished to say, the substance remained mostly unchanged:

"The oldest marks take the form of nail-like drags before adopting properties more consistent with the dragging of a heavy object. It would suggest that the android was moved after shutting down."

"Oh please, like anyone would be able to move one of those things. They weigh a ton—"

“Detective Reed, RK900."

Their exchange was cut short by a rogue voice smoothly addressing them. Nines confirmed it as belonging to Colton Sanders, a Senior Forensics Investigator who had been assigned to oversee current operations.

It was intriguing to witness just how dramatically Reed's demeanour shifted. His prominent scowl softened into a far more personable grin as he hurriedly shifted away from his partner, closing the gap between himself and the encroaching figure.

"Sanders, how the hell are ya?" The greeting was punctuated by a clap on the shoulder, which the android presumed was a sign of affection. "Am I glad to see some good old-fashioned flesh and blood."

The tenuously concealed slight did not go amiss as the detective levelled a sharp glare from across his shoulder. Nines made a point of ignoring this, and a conversation commenced between the two men, to which he remained vaguely attuned.

Truthfully, he was happy to have his partner's attention redirected, as it permitted him a welcome reprieve in the confines of his mind palace. Scanning through the magazines, his HUD filled with details of their contents. Whilst this did not prove especially relevant, what did strike as interesting was the object partially obscured beneath the blanket of glossy pages.

"...what are we looking at here?”

Sifting through the pile, he retrieved the item as the light of a nearby camera flash caught against its polished surface. It was a tablet - display consisting of heavily splintered glass and a damaged LCD fitted beneath. As he glided a thumb testingly across the screen, it flickered to life, revealing several unopened notifications. The titles suggested the item had most likely been used as a personal organizer.

He retracted the synthetic skin of his hand, preparing to examine the discovery further. This was an action he soon regretted, as once his exposed chassis had pressed to the breadth of the spidered glass, his mind was flooded with a slew of questionable material.

Clearly, the tablet had been used for more than scheduling purposes, as the internal storage was filled with extensive audio-visual files. The majority of these depicted their victim engaged in explicit intimate encounters.

Analytics were prompted autonomously, and he scowled grimly as the scan informed him that one of the numerous participants—a 35-year-old Fredrick Carlton—was most likely suffering a protein deficiency, given the composition of the genetic material he was expelling.

"... so many potential DNA profiles that it'll take a couple of days to cross-check."

"Why so many?"

He promptly deactivated his forensic functions, not wishing to be subjected to any more unsolicited analyses. To his relief, the gratuitous exposure to nudity hadn't been in vain, as he eventually found what he had been searching for. Something that might actually prove useful.

"I believe this will answer your question." Standing from his crouched position, he gestured towards the tablet, prompting Sanders and Reed to join him. Upon bypassing password protection, the device unlocked, illuminating the men's faces in a soft glow and permitting them a visual of its less egregious contents.

"The victim had recently viewed his electronic diary: It contains a list of names with corresponding dates and times. The document is titled 'Clients'.”

With the diary's purpose made apparent, Reed received his subsequent revelation with all the poise and eloquence Nines had come to expect. He laughed—if the noise produced could be defined as one. It was a harsh, grating sound which lingered in the air long after it concluded.

"The android retired from the Eden Club to pursue a career as an escort? Oh man, that's fucking priceless ."

Officer Sanders regarded the matter with a greater degree of respect, although he appeared somewhat uncomfortable, evident in the peculiar inflections in his reply. "Yeah, so with the volume of…‘clients’...we've got our hands pretty full."

"You and the blacklights."

Another cruel snicker followed, seemingly as a self-congratulatory gesture for the tasteless remark. Deciding he had endured enough of the irksome provocation, Nines adjusted the settings on his auditory processors. Reed's abrasive tones became increasingly muted until they were drowned by a steady hum of static.

> ACCESSING CASE OVERVIEW…

In light of all that had been established, it seemed the perpetrator had most likely posed as a prospective client in order to gain the victim’s trust. Scanning through the bookings, there was one in particular that seemed to align conspicuously well with the timeline.

While the HR400 had not been given time to upload footage from his most recent encounter, the RK900 hoped that his cranial and optic processors had sustained minimal damage in order that they may be accessed. While shutdown had likely caused a degree of corruption, there was still a chance of recovering snippets that could prove valuable.

A thorough examination of the body would tell for certain.

> FILE UPDATED.

After reconfiguring his drivers, eliminating the audio feedback, he was able to pick up on the ongoing exchange between Reed and Sanders:

"The window in the bedroom was wide open. There's guttering on the side of the building that the perp could have used to shimmy down."

"Anything on the drainpipe?"

"Can't say, I'm afraid. It's been raining cats and dogs all day, so any DNA evidence that might have been there is long gone."

It became apparent the men's deductions were lagging rather significantly behind his own. Rather than wait for them to catch up, which he feared may be a lengthy process, Nines opted to interject. He’d long since exhausted his patience with the unnecessary delays the day had subjected him to, wishing to move on from his current location as quickly as possible.

"It only started to rain heavily at 2:34 p.m. this afternoon,” he plainly informed. “With this in mind, as well as consideration for the evaporation rate of the Thirium, it would be safe to assume that the crime occurred approximately two hours ago."

Turning in the direction of the android, the more personable of the two men paused before offering a hum of acknowledgement.

"That would line up with the witness reports,” he confirmed, rubbing his fingers along the length of his peppered beard. “A neighbour called the police around lunchtime, citing a domestic disturbance."

"With our current time frame in mind, our culprit is most likely a scheduled client by the name of 'THOD GRAWS.” Nines stored the HR400’s client records to his memory banks, preparing them for upload to the precinct database. Having exhausted the use of the victim's tablet, he removed his palm from its screen and set it down on the arm of a nearby couch.

Unsurprisingly, it was Detective Reed who sought to rebuke the validity of this assessment. "I doubt he was stupid enough to use his real name,” he droned, brow furrowed sceptically.

"It is highly improbable, but it will be interesting to see if any of the DNA profiles collected match our criminal databases. There is a possibility that we may find someone known for using the same, or a similar, alias."

"Instead of dicking around with dead leads, how about we check out the body?" In another deliberate snub, Reed pivoted on his heel, turning his attention back to Sanders. "Mind showing us the way?"

"Sure thing,” the older man agreed, albeit his voice was tinged with a small hint of resignation. “Just warning you now, though, it isn't pretty…"

"The victim was an android. How bad can it be? No blood, no guts, no smell —come on, Colt, I'm a big boy. I can take it.”

As Sanders led them deeper into the home, his team cleared a path, permitting them access to the door that remained conspicuously shut. Several officers appeared uneasy as their superior reached for the handle, leading Nines to speculate on what could elicit such a response from individuals well acquainted with the darkest aspects of humanity.

He was not left to dwell on this long, however, as the passage was pulled open. Establishing a lead over his cohorts, he strode purposefully across the threshold, readying to commence inspection of the primary crime scene.

The first thing he noted was the crudely penned message scrawled across the adjacent wall. The lettering was harsh and jagged, which seemed fitting given the sinister content:

SUCKS COCK IN ANDROID HELL.

He recorded a handwriting sample before turning his attention to the remainder of the room. From here, the reason for the forensics team's aversion soon became apparent.

The HR400 had been displayed above his bed; limbs affixed to the curtain rail in a cruciform position. Across his abdomen was a large laceration, with his lower body having undergone severe mutilation—sexual components missing. Both ocular units had also been removed, leaving vacant cavities.

Thirium fanned across the bed, which had been stripped of its linen, flowing in steady streams from the gaping hole in the victim's stomach. Surrounding the liquid in a circular pattern was what appeared to be a series of photographs.

Nines moved forward, seeking greater vantage before gingerly pressing his hand to the side of the android's cranial chassis. A subsequent review of the neural processor confirmed the component to be heavily compromised, with any information stored garbled beyond the point of recovery.

As he removed his hand from the mangled cranium, a terse scoff emanated from behind him, followed by a snarked quip:

"Charming."

He assumed this to be in reference to the grotesque condition of the victim. This seemed profoundly disrespectful, even when considering the man's bigoted ideology. The RK900 shifted towards his partner, prepared to voice this before discovering he was still idling in the doorway.

The man scratched the side of his jaw, leaning in closer to examine the clumsy inscription. "Looks like we've got a real wordsmith on our hands.”

“Detective,” he said sternly, dissuading the tedious commentary as he sought to redirect his focus.

Reed swivelled towards him, and Nines watched the smug sneer that had been prevailing on his face promptly fall, morphing into something far more subdued. Clearly, he had overestimated his mettle in confronting the scene, as the synthetic carnage proved more unsettling than anticipated.

"Jesus fucking Christ…"

Sanders mumbled some form of jaded agreement before directing Reed towards the bed. "You might wanna take a look at those photos,” he suggested, sunken face marred by a deep-set grimace.

As his partner began to study the pictures, Nines proceeded to survey the wider area surrounding the body. Traces of biofluid stretched beyond the length of the mattress, filling a scope no longer visible outside of his chemical sequencing.

"Any luck finding its eyes and...you know..."

"Looks like the guy must have taken 'em, like a sick prize or something.”

The RK900 was disappointed to discover there were no fingerprints, suggesting the culprit had been wearing gloves. As his focus reached the end of the trail, he felt his cognitive processes stall, giving way to something beyond his rationalised analysis.

"...There is another message. Written in Thirium."

Reed appeared somewhat perturbed as he awaited elaboration, although an effort was made to conceal this. He jutted his chin upwards in a forged show of bravado. "What does it say?”

Another rogue sentiment flagged in the RK900’s mind. Attempting to press to the front of his consciousness, exerting control over his functions. He fought to suppress it as he slowly began to read out the message:

"I KNOW YOU CAN READ THIS. I WILL NOT REST UNTIL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU FILTHY MACHINES IS RIPPED APART."

> NEW FILE GENERATED — HARTWELL SUSPECT PROFILE.

Nines considered the meticulousness with which the crime had been carried out. The degree of care exercised to avoid leaving evidence and the efficiency with which dismantlement had been performed. Any incidental injuries appeared purposeful, inflicted as knowing, malicious desecration.

"This is not the first time our culprit has acted in violence towards androids—and it certainly will not be the last.” He turned to address the men behind him, who were suspended in tense silence. “If we do not apprehend them soon, I anticipate there will be many more victims.”

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