#pls heed tags and warnings

[starqueensthings]

YASSSS, I love a longfic appreciation post! I see such mixed reviews about the entire 3rd POV/narration style and, I won’t lie, the significantly lesser degree of engagement it gets compared to the wider-used x reader style can be disheartening for a writer has actively spent months (nice try, Holly, years) world/lore building.

My fic is very much unfinished and ongoing, and will be for a while because 1. I’m very slow, and 2. It’s long.

If anyone is interested in checking out The Only Exception, it’s a story about a surgeon on Coruscant named June Kiore. After living the majority of her teenage/young adult years with the “I don’t need a man” attitude, she inexplicably falls in love with a teal-painted Captain named Howzer.

The story is tumultuous… euphoric at times and depressing at others, takes us through her journey of love and learning to accept it in all its many forms, and touches on some heavier topics that many of us carry around in our trauma backpacks 🎒

You’ll find lots of our clone wars favourites with a heavy emphasis on Howzer (obv), Kix, Jesse, Echo, and Fives, with a smattering of Rex, Tup, Cody, Keeli, and others.

There is also an entire Battalion of clone OC’s: the 742nd is the brigade that Howzer leads all the way up until his deployment to Ryloth, and they’re an… interesting bunch 😆

If this sounds interesting to you, please ensure you read the Foreword as it goes through what degree and variation of content you can expect in more detail.

Cross posted on ao3 (link here) if that’s your preference, though you won’t get to see of the corresponding header images there (I don’t know how to embed the picture things because I’m 900 years old— v sorry)

It’s been a while since I’ve been as active as I’d like in engaging with much outside the reblogs of my Hunter fic, butttt here I am! 🤓 Since things seem a wee bit quieter nowadays, I’d like to promote the creative works we’ve still got going on! I’ll do future posts for one-shots, but for now…

If you have a longfic, ongoing or finished (please note that in your submission), featuring our beloved clones, please reblog this and link it with a brief description of it, its content rating, and featured characters (OC, Reader, etc)!

And reblog for wider reach! 😍

xoxo

[daemon-in-my-head]

At last, here it is. A while ago, I had the pleasure of commissioning the wonderful @lokorum to portray my beloved idiots in all of their tragic glory.

So without further ado, after months, here's the first chapter of my durgetash-centred, possibly very long, post-canon Genfic (cuz even if he's not featured in the picture, he's very much the one behind it, and yes, I said genfic but they do fuck, there's just also other themes that are more important than whatever it is those guys got going on).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63147115

Rated M; further elaboration, summary etc behind the cut.

As per usual, please mind the tags. This is rated mature and may turn explicit depending on—let's be so fr—nothing but my mood. It IS a tragedy. I know how it ends. Trust me when I stress the tragedy part. I'm writing this story through tears at times. There's fluff, there is hurt comfort, there is true old man yaoi but there is just as much 'doves that aren't simply dead but rotten' and pain.

So to everyone who's not scared shitless yet (which is very valid), here's a summary:

The year is around 1530 DR. The once-revered and reformed Bhaalspawn returns to the city he had both saved and nearly doomed, emerging from his exile in the Underdark. Though he claims to seek only rest, the city's de facto ruler, Archduke Gortash, sees through the monster’s carefully crafted facade. Perhaps if the elf had never saved the Banite all those years ago—when he was little more than a blurred and distant memory—his own fate might have unfolded differently, perhaps even more mercifully. But regrets have long since lost their weight. The past is immutable, and all that remains—all that truly matters to him now—is the purpose that once again draws him into this treacherous den.

And on a personal note; I'm still squealing and shoving this artwork into the face of everyone I meet irl. I absolutely adore it. I'm not sure I'll be stopping with that soon. You will see reblogs.

Again. Tragedy. I mean it. There's fluffy moments, but I will absolutely exploit them to enhance the pain. I'm dead serious about Bhaal being able to learn from me. I caused his kid more agony than he could ever dream of delivering. And I haven't even shared the worst parts yet.

Edit: I also mean the psychological warfare tag. It's my guilty pleasure. And whatever over one year of obsession amounts to.

[scatterpatter]

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

[aurorawritestoescape]

I’m finally taking part in Tootathon and I’m so excited! Huge thank you to @jolapeno for coming up with such a wholesome and wonderful event! I’ve been seeing and admiring everyone’s posts about their 2024 faves and I’m smooching y’all for the tags😘 @sawymredfox @myownwholewildworld @joelmillerisapunk @milla-frenchy @itwasntimethatdidit40 @mermaidgirl30 @sanarsi @sunshineispunk @evolnoomym @iamasaddie 💖 dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

SERIES

Bad Blood - step uncle Joel Miller x f!reader x stepdad Tommy Miller

Summary: you want your stepdad and your step uncle offers to help.

ONE SHOTS

Always And Forever - Jackson Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel comes home after a hard day on patrol and you comfort him.

Good Girl - Professor Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you get caught in the rain on your way to Professor Miller’s house and your lesson gets derailed.

Steam - Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: you take a shower with Javi

Table For Three - Joel Miller x f!reader x Dave York

Summary: you’re having a great time on your date but a man from your past interrupts it and makes it…better?

His - dark!Joel x f!reader x dark!Tommy x m!OCs

DDDNE NON CON gangbang - Heed the warnings!!

Addicted - Max Phillips x f!reader

Summary: Max gives you everything you need but can you stop when the pleasure gets addictive?

Going Down - Joel Miller x f!reader | Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: you have a hot boyfriend and a hot ex who’s still obsessed with you. Why not get the best of both worlds?

ART AND EDITS

Joel Miller - pencil drawing

I saved her - tlou season 2 edit

Joel takes you to dinner - moodboard

FAV FIC MOODBOARDS

I feel like I’ve ‘tooted’ myself pretty hard here😅 Writing and creating have been very therapeutic for me but the highlight of the year was definitely thirsting and yearning with my beautiful moots, connecting with amazing people all over the world, feeling their support, giving them some of my love and just being together on this hellsite. Let me tag you to share your 2024 faves (if you haven’t done it already) and also to tell you how grateful I am to all of you for being kind to me😍 @milla-frenchy @iamasaddie @toxicanonymity @evolnoomym @fruityreads @huskyfox5 @604to647 @thundermartini @sawymredfox @sunshineispunk @magpiepills @sweetlummie @ellasinnombre @joelmillerisapunk @kewwrites @mountainsandmayhem @itwasntimethatdidit40 @bonezone44 @romanarose @ozarkthedog @umnitsa @yxtkiwiyxt @guiltyasdave @morallyinept @axshadows @nervousmumbling @casa-boiardi @corazondebeskar-reads @xdaddysprincessxx @schnarfer @megangovier @tateypots @princessanglophile @nana90azevedo @bubble-pop-eclectic @mermaidgirl30 @tammythr @arcanefox207 if I missed someone pls forgive me💗 I love you all and I’m sending you my warmest hugs and kisses🫂😘 Happy holidays, my loves! I wish you the absolute best in 2025!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[milla-frenchy]

Toni 🖤🖤🖤

You're so GOOD at this 👌🤌

how to break a girl in ten easy steps

dark!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: joel miller is a lonely old man, but he likes it that way. he has everything he needs: a nice piece of property in the woods, a cozy cabin, and plenty of cash. there is one thing missing, though. one thing he needs that he can't give himself.

author's note: this story is dark. very dark. it contains many things considered taboo and extreme. a full list of warnings is under the cut; reader discretion is advised.

y'all know those jokes about how sadists often have to rein in their subs' fantasies? this is a masochistic wet dream that I would never, ever want to come true. this is the kind of thing i jerk it to and then think 'what the fuck is wrong with me?' after. this is me safely exploring the fucked up recessess of my horny mind through the medium of joel miller fanfiction. do not attempt these acts in real life. practice risk aware consensual kink. disclaimer over.

please heed the following warnings. if any of them make you uncomfortable, please do not read. if you have any questions, my DMs and inbox are always open.

tags/warnings: NON-CON, kidnapping, captivity, slavery, torture porn, no outbreak AU, character deaths mentioned (sarah & tommy), sadist!Joel Miller, Joel Miller is a bad bad man, abuse, neglect, starvation, rape, forced oral, forced everything, graphic depictions of assault, predator/prey, hopelessness, conditioning, beatings, broken bones, piss play, piss drinking, vomiting, consumption of vomit & piss & other bodily fluids, cutting, burns, shock collar, obedience training, kicking, brute force, non-linear storytelling, i will add more if anything changes.

for the last time: do not read this if any of the content is potentially upsetting. this is dark, disturbing, and disgusting.

part one

part two

part three

part four

part five

part six

part seven

part eight

part nine

part ten

[kaciidubs]

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]

[never-enough-books-ever]

Mine and only

Avery x Jameson

A/n: I will tell you guys beforehand that I'm writing after a veryyyy long time and I have never written between charecters so this is gonna be absolute shit so heed all warnings. I had this idea for god knows how long and today was finally my day off so I wanted to get it down with🙏🙏

ALL COMMENTS, REBLOGS AND LIKES ARE APPRECIATED

Guys pls tell me what you think I'm scared

Tags: im just tagging random people I accidentally deleted my taglist so if you want to be removed or added pls let me know

@x-liv25-jamieswife @f4iry-bell @wish-i-were-heather @lanterns-and-daydreams @reminiscentreader @lyra-kane @jkriordanverse @shuhuaspookie @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable @nonerrata-myarchives @thelov3lybookworm

Avery pov

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Jameson asked suddenly, breaking me out of my thought process. I was looking at him like that because I was realising how much in love I was with him but he didn't need to know that. It would inflate his ego far too much

“Nothing. I just spaced out” I tell him. We were planning the riddles and the next games of the grandest game together when I just spaced out. I was thinking of a way to surprise him because he had been too restless lately, more so than usual.

Jameson had been tapping a pen against the table, a rhythm too quick to be casual, his restless energy filling the room. He didn’t notice when Nash strolled in, humming Lover under his breath, but I did. It was an innocent enough moment—Nash probably didn’t realize he’d just handed me the perfect idea.

Jameson needed a distraction, something out of the ordinary, and I had just the idea.

“Back in five,” I told him, standing abruptly.

Jameson tilted his head, his sharp green eyes narrowing in curiosity. “And here I thought we were deep in the throes of game planning.”

“We are,” I said, grabbing my phone as I walked out. “I just had an epiphany.”

I didn’t give him a chance to ask more questions, slipping into the hallway and shooting a quick message to Xander:

Need your help. Candlelight dinner. Karaoke. Don’t ask. Just be discreet

The reply came almost instantly:

I live for this level of chaos. Consider me in. Do we need fire extinguishers?

Hopefully not. But, knowing us, maybe bring one.

Xander: I’ll bring 2:)

With Xander on board, I got to work. The kitchen staff didn’t bat an eye when I asked for their help setting up a private candlelit dinner in one of Hawthorne House’s more intimate dining rooms.

By the time everything was ready, the dining room glowed with a golden light, candles flickering across the pristine tablecloth. The theater room, just down the hall, waited for its big moment.

Now came the tricky part: getting Jameson there without ruining the surprise.

I found him exactly where I’d left him, still flipping through a notebook of potential riddles for the Grandest Game. His knee was bouncing slightly—a telltale sign of his restlessness.

“Come with me,” I said, leaning against the doorframe.

He glanced up, his brow quirking in suspicion. “Where to?”

“You’ll see.”

“Do I need to solve a puzzle first?” he asked, his grin teasing but curious.

“Not this time,” I replied, offering him my hand. “Just trust me.”

He stood, his gaze flickering with intrigue, and took my hand without hesitation. I led him through the hallways, my heart pounding with equal parts excitement and nerves. Jameson was a master at unraveling surprises—would he figure it out before we even got there?

The moment we entered the candlelit dining room, he stopped short. His eyes swept over the table, the soft glow of the candles reflected in his pupils.

“Avery,” he said, his voice low and almost reverent. “What is this?”

“A distraction,” I admitted. “You’ve been restless lately, and I thought…” I trailed off, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze.

He turned to me, his expression unreadable. “You thought what?”

“That you could use a break,” I said, forcing myself to meet his eyes. “A little fun. No riddles, no games. Just… this, us.”

“It’s perfect,” he said softly, while smiling.

Dinner was a quiet affair, filled with easy conversation and the occasional teasing remark from Jameson, but there was an undercurrent of anticipation. He didn’t know about the next part yet, and I couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

After the last of the dishes had been cleared, I stood and offered him my hand again. “We’re not done.”

“There’s more?” His grin was back, sharp and eager. “You’re spoiling me, Heiress.”

I led him down the hall to the theater room, pushing the door open with a flourish. The soft glow of the LED stars greeted us, and Jameson’s eyes lit up as he took in the karaoke setup.

“Karaoke?” he said, his tone somewhere between surprise and delight. “Avery Kylie Grambs, You’re full of surprises tonight.”

“Not just any karaoke,” I clarified, motioning for him to sit on the oversized couch positioned perfectly in front of the makeshift stage. “This one’s for you.”

Before he could process what I meant, I grabbed the microphone, queued up the song, and stepped into the spotlight.

The piano intro to Taylor Swift’s “London Boy” began to play. Jameson leaned forward, his lips parting in disbelief as my voice filled the room.

“I love my London boy…”

I couldn’t help but grin at his reaction. He looked equal parts amused and astonished, his trademark smirk softening into something warmer, something unguarded.

As I sang, I poured everything into the performance—every playful tease, every bit of affection I couldn’t quite put into words. I twirled, I gestured, and I even managed a wink that made Jameson chuckle out loud.

“Oh, I fancy you…”

As the song went on, I felt myself relax, reveling in the way Jameson watched me, his gaze never wavering. When the final line faded into silence, I let the microphone drop to my side, my heart pounding.

Jameson stood and crossed the room in a few swift strides. “That,” he said, his voice low and filled with something I couldn’t quite place, “was the most ridiculous, over-the-top, utterly perfect thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Even better than your puzzles?” I teased, trying to mask my nerves.

He didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing mine. “Thank you,” he said, his tone soft and sincere. “For knowing exactly what I needed, even when I didn’t.”

I smiled up at him, feeling a warmth spread through me. “You’re welcome, Hawthorne. Now, are you going to sing, or am I the only one embarrassing myself tonight?”

“Oh, Heiress.” His grin returned, mischievous and full of life. “You should know by now—I never back down from a challenge.”

And just like that, Jameson Winchester Hawthorne grabbed the microphone, ready to turn the night into a duet of chaos and laughter.

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

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 ✨️

Any ans all of my personal/non-fanfic posts will be under the tag ✨️ #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)

[thirteens-earring]

tom scott voice I am here in the resurrectionist

korse’s sadism and what it does to party. how they twist free

[sushiwriterhere]

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.

[dustmusings]

the bitter truth

entry for @clonexocweek day 5: future

pairing: echo x kandam'aira

summary: after Kan makes a troubling realisation, she has to face up to the reality of what her and Echo's future looks like under the reign of the Empire

tags/warnings: hurt/comfort, unwanted pregnancy, vague discussion of abortion, panic attack symptoms, general discussion of family/parenthood, angst as all heck but echo is a supportive king <3

a/n: kan and echo return!!!!!! but... this is kinda a tough one. sorry. pls pls heed the warnings for this because it is a pretty heavy topic. it kinda builds on stuff from the last chapter but also stands by itself, for those who aren't familiar with their story :)

echo x kan masterlist / main masterlist / join my taglist / wc: 1.8k

“Fuck”

Kan stared down at the device in her hands, her mind blank and running through every possibility at the same time. She looked away and then back to it once more, the result it bared still the same.

“Fuck” she repeated, slumping back against the wall as the weight of consequences washed over her.

She thought they had been careful, making sure that this outcome wasn't possible. She had the implant, they used protection, yet somehow… here she was; with child.

The thought made her stomach turn, and she slid down the wall to crumple to the floor, tears springing to her eyes. She drew her knees into her chest, staring at the wall opposite as she tried to form a coherent thought. She couldn't see this through — that much she knew. She was steadfast in her views, that the rebellion came before anything, there was little that could shake that belief. It would be selfish of her, to abandon her duties, to give life to someone when she lived in such conditions.

A choked sob escaped her, her throat feeling like it was closing up, that she couldn't get air into her lungs fast enough to take a full breath. Her hands tangled in her hair, pulling at her scalp to try and ground herself, to bring her back to the present moment.

It was made difficult by the incessant and nagging voice at the back of her mind, the one that told her that this should be a happy discovery, that this was something she wanted. She couldn't allow herself to listen to it, she wouldn't. It wasn't realistic. She had to get rid of it.

It.

It was callous to call what should be such a joyous creation by the dehumanising title, but it was the only thing she could do to block out her true desires. Even though it was true, confirmed by the test she had just done, it was still hypothetical. The hypothetical child she might have if the galaxy was any different. It was not real.

A knock sounded at the door of the refresher, and Kan's head snapped up, a stroke of panic jolting through her body.

“M'aira? You alright?”

Kan's brows pinched at the care in Echo's voice, the edge of worry, of softness, that seemed to be reserved for only her.

“Yeah” she spoke up, surprising her self by how stable her voice sounded.

She knew that she had to tell him. She fully intended to, but for right now she needed to sort out her own mind, how she felt about it, before involving him.

A silence stretched out between them, the door concealing the way both of them held their breath. Finally, Kan heard Echo shift his weight, the scuff of his boot against the floor giving him away.

“You've been in there a while…” he spoke gently, “is everything okay?”

Kan swallowed thickly, trying to steady her voice once more before she spoke, but her words were stuck in her throat. Her head hit the wall with a dull thud as she gave up trying, and her tears streamed down the side of her face, dampening her already unruly hair. She tried to regain control of her breath at the very least, taking deep breaths and filling her lungs as much as she could without making it obvious she was doing so.

“M'aira?” Echo's voice cut through softly. Kan couldn't think of what to say. She couldn't tell him everything was fine, he was impossible to lie to after all. He could see straight through her. The shuffling of his steps could be heard once more, “I'm coming in… is that okay?”

Kan sighed, her voice impossibly small as she spoke up, “yes”

The door to the refresher zipped open, and Echo's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her, dishevelled and tear-stained on the floor. He was on his knees in front of her in a matter of seconds, and Kan rested her chin on her knees as she looked up at him with a pitiful expression, painfully aware of how defeated she looked. He seemed so alarmed, his eyes searching hers and brows pulled into a deep frown. Kan couldn't imagine what he was thinking, finding her like this.

“M'aira, ner cyare, what's happened?” his voice was almost a whisper as he took her face in his hands.

Kan didn't know how to broach the topic. “I… I'm—” she swallowed the lump in her throat, and her eyes unwittingly flicked to the side where the testing device lay, as if it would help her communicate the news.

Echo followed her line of sight, and Kan watched as his brain registered exactly what the item was. His breath stuttered, his gentle grip on her face loosening further, and his pupils seemed more dilated when his gaze returned to hers.

“Is that what I think it is?” he kept his voice neutral, and Kan nodded slowly.

She wasn't necessarily worried for his reaction to the news itself, but having to explain her point of view on the matter was a little more concerning. Echo was understanding, but she feared that this wasn't in the realm of things he could understand, given his experience of life being through the lens of masculinity only.

Kan could tell he was trying to find the right thing to say, a little out of his depth all things considered. The look in his eyes was intense, and yet it held no indication of his thoughts at all. As the quiet drew out, Kan began to feel doubt gnawing at her mind.

“I take it…” Echo began tentatively, “that this is not a good thing”

Kan chuckled despite herself, and the sound was pitiful through the veil of sorrow, “I don't know”

Echo gave her a gentle and sympathetic smile. “How are you feeling?” he murmured, pressing his forehead into hers.

Kan closed her eyes, feeling calmed by the gesture, and she took a deep, steadying breath, “I don't think I have an answer for that right now”

“Okay” he said ever so quietly.

He stroked his thumb across her cheek, tracing a line through her tattoos as if they were a maze, something he often did in quiet moments between them. The chill of the cybernetic's metal against her heated skin was a welcome reprieve, helping to ground her in a way only he was capable of.

“Can I hold you?” he whispered, making Kan's eyes flutter open.

She sniffled as she replied, “please”

Echo pulled her into his embrace, sitting back against the opposite wall of the refresher and cradling her body in his. He pressed a kiss to her head, and Kan could feel a little of the tension drain from her body. Kan knew Echo well enough to know that his mind must be running wild, every possible reason why she might be so upset mingling and creating some kind of monster formed of insecurities, taunting him in ways that she didn't want to imagine.

“I love you, Echo” she looked up at him and said the words with purpose. She didn't want that getting lost in translation, and she wouldn't let any contradictory thoughts linger in his mind.

Echo smiled down at her, his honey coloured eyes crinkling around the edges, “I love you too, M'aira”

Kan sighed, and reached up to hold his jaw. She could tell he wanted to understand, but was hesitant to ask.

“What are you thinking, cyar'ika?” he asked in a whisper.

Kan's eyes welled with tears once more without permission. “A lot of things” she replied, tracing his cheekbone with her thumb. She watched as Echo's throat bobbed, and he seemed to steel himself before speaking.

“If you don't want… this, with me, then that's okay” he uttered, “you can tell me”

It was obvious that he was saddened by the idea, even though he still held a strong exterior, and Kan's heart lurched in her chest.

She shook her head, “it's not that at all”

Uncertainty slid across Echo's eyes, “what is it then?”

Kan exhaled slowly, resting her head against his shoulder as she prepared to divulge everything she held in her mind.

“I'd love nothing more than to have a family with you Echo, I… I think you knew that” she began, “but… I can't—”

Kan puffed out a breath as she failed to contain her tears, and Echo rubbed her back tenderly, “take your time”

She gave herself a moment to collect herself before speaking again.

“I can't bring a life into this galaxy” she stated, her voice as steady as her resolve in feeling so, “I can't condemn my child to live under this Empire, without knowing if it would ever end. It wouldn't be fair, and I… I don't want that for you either” her voice cracked before she continued, “but I— I don't want you to miss out on something like this, especially if you don't have as long as I do”

“If you wanted to— if you… I just— if—” Kan sighed as words failed her, “I would understand if you—”

“M'aira” Echo cut her off, his tone that of warning, “I dont like what you’re insinuating”

Kan hung her head, turning away from his displeased frown, “I know”

Echo was quiet for a moment, then slipped his hand under her jaw to tilt her head back up.

“I'm not ‘missing out’ on anything. If you don't want this, then neither do I” he stated, speaking with a directness that anyone else might have been startled by. “I care far more about you, now, than anything else that might be, and as far as I’m concerned… this is a family” he held her tighter then, “we don't need a child to confirm that”

Kan let the edges of lips lift, first in a sad smile, but letting her mind linger on the idea, it turned more melancholic. “A little Echo would be very cute though” she commented.

Echo chuckled, shaking his head lightly, “not as cute as a mini M'aira, I'm sure”

The sting of tears in Kan's eyes reflected the pang of hurt in her heart, at the reminder that it could never be, not in the current climate.

“Hey” Echo took her chin, gaining her attention before her eyes could become too glazed over and mind too clouded by unhappy thoughts. “We'll be okay” he told her firmly, earning a tearful nod, “if it…”

Kan raised an eyebrow as he trailed off, “if what?”

“If there ever comes a time that you do want something like this… we could always adopt instead”

Kan smiled, and something like hope set alight in her chest, flickering into a small flame from only embers. “Yeah” she thought aloud, “yeah, I like that idea”

Echo gave her a warm smile as he bumped his forehead with hers. “I love you, M'aira” he told her, “this galaxy might be cruel, but I wont let it stop you from taking what you want from it”

Kan tilted her head and pressed a short but ardent kiss to his lips, pulling back to offer him a thankful smile, “I love you, Echo”

technical devotion taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @bunny7567 @heidnspeak @falling-among-the-stars @clones-cyare

[sinning-23]

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)

[the-invisibility-bloke]

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

[peskellence]

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.”

[cinnamostar]

stacy ᐟᐟ☆ 24 years old ⭒ she/her ⭒ latina

IM MOVING TO A DIFFERENT STATE!!! on hiatus til move is finalized <3 soz - see u late august/early sept

writing: 7dates p6 + reincarnated lvrs au┆reading: solito by javier zamora┆watching: frieren┆playing: valorant or league probably

hi, im stacy! i write skz fanfics in my free time for fun. i work a full time job and have adult responsibilities so plz be patient w updates <3

* i do not post any nsfw content, therefore i do not mind minors following. on the occasion, i may reblog fics w suggestive/nsfw content, so please heed those warnings, but i will never reblog purely nsfw fics.

masterlist under the cut

for any updates on how fics are progressing, pls check the #cinnamostar fic update tag!

chan

blankets and kisses

minho

home: part one, part two

changbin

blind date

hyunjin

love's final act

seven dates to fall in love: part one, part two, part three, part four, part five. part six (coming soon)

jisung

self fulfilling prophecy: part one, part two

felix

colors of you

ethereality

seungmin

lotus

jeongin

drunken confession

[masteroffauxsmiles]

dogman fandom I’m kindly asking pls be better than what the Sonic fandom about movie spoilers (or any other fandom does when new stuff comes out)

You— ah, ah, ah!

You better not—

I see you. You BETTER not

(Seriously, please put in a tag or a warning saying #dogman movie spoilers or smth)

Or even better, please put in a warning in big bold letters like this on the header)

(Yes I’m aware that there might be people who put up spoilers without a warning and there will be more ppl like that after the movie comes out, and they won’t take heed of this notice but I still wanna put this here to spread some awareness. People don’t like it when they get spoiled on certain things from a movie and it ruins the experience)