#so i don't even need to organize it. just a few drabbles here and there a scene here yakno | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sobbingscripter · 1 month ago

Text

Tags: [mlw][crack][fluff][reader is an asshole][this is their karma for some shit they did in the past]

Includes: Damian Wayne; Bruce Wayne; Dick Grayson

A/n: a lil' drabble to broaden my horizons and see if I should stick to smut :3

"Okay, listen here, Sulu, I don't take orders from you. I take orders from your mother. So if she says I need to keep you safe, best believe, I'm doing my job to the best of my ability."

You're off-putting on your best day.

Alfred and Jason love to call you Damian's karma for him being a massive dick, and Bruce likes to call you.... Well... When Damian's not on his best behaviour.

"Listen, Cobra Kai, you better get your shit straight and listen to Batman." You stare at Damian, your eyes narrowing at him with distaste, upper lip curling in disdain before you look up at Bruce, your expression warm and your eyes fucking sparkle like a supernova.

"Huge fan." You reassure Bruce before looking back at Damian, finding those emerald eyes simmering with barely contained rage and he just about has it when you take two fingers, pointing them at your eyes and then, pointing them at his.

And almost as if to drive in your point (which you definitely do not have), you take a hefty bite of the nearest edible thing to you as you stand in the centre of the kitchen.

The nearest thing being an onion. Freshly peeled.

Your teeth sink into the flesh of the vegetable, and your throat burns but you don't waver, simply retreating back to your assigned bedroom and Jason lets out a whistle, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest.

"I expected her to start tearing up at the taste." Jason comments, taking a bite of the orange in his hand, the fruit already peeled and missing a few bites, which suggests that he didn't even cut it.

"I don't think she can cry." Bruce mutters quietly, before letting a shiver run down his spine and he visibly shudders. "She's intense."

Meanwhile, you're in the en suite of your room, coughing your lungs out your ass and trying not to gag as you feed yourself palmfuls of water from the bathroom sink. The water's clean, clear enough to be drinkable and you rinse your mouth. Your lashes are wet with unshed tears as you allow yourself to sink to the cool bathroom tiles, resting your back against the wall and you wipe the water droplets from your chin, letting out panted breaths.

"Holy shit." You mutter quietly.

Talia had trained you personally, wanting you to be her son's bodyguard when he needed it the most. And she deems him 'needing it the most', as now. When he's been living with his father for about 9 years. When he's 6 foot 2. When he's jacked and a fucking ninja who quite literally, is like...

Have you ever seen that movie? Ninja Assassin?

That's Damian.

Moving organs and shit.

It's barely midnight when Damian clomps into your bedroom, arms folded across his chest and he stares at you from beneath dark lashes, eyes glittering like jewels in a cove as he spits out.

"What do I have to do, to make you leave?"

His expression is tight, eyes narrowing and the muscle in his jaw is wound tighter than... Well a wire. That's wound super tight around a thing.

Damian's fingers tap impatiently on his bicep as he waits for you to answer his question, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching tightly around the muscles of his torso, extending past the waistband of his pants. And he runs his tongue across his teeth, stopping at the sharp point of his canine.

"I'm waiting, vermin."

You scoff.

"Calm down, Beverly Hills Ninja." You watch Damian's jaw tick in annoyance at the nickname.

Somehow, they always seem to get worse. Even when they're... Awful.

"I'm not gonna be here for any longer than you need me to be."

Your voice is as grating to his ears as nails to a chalkboard, but that stupid cadence and the lilt of your tone have his mind wracking for ways to put your stupid mouth to better use.

"I don't need you to be here." Damian grumbles.

"Listen, Kung Fu Hustle," you roll your eyes, readying yourself to go to bed as the back of your head makes contact with the puffed up pillow, the satin pillowcase making you let out a sigh of relief, "I'll tell you what you need."

Bruce would actually rather be in that alley again than work another case with your dumb ass.

Commissioner Gordon's protege, the only officer that somehow seems like a combination of Spencer Reid and Jake Peralta. But more Jake, than anything.

"Come on, Sherlock Homo." You snap your fingers in front of Bruce's cowl-covered face, but you watch as his eyes narrow while he stares down at you. But he doesn't speak, simply glancing back towards the clues laid across the surface of the desk in front of you two.

In the archives of the GCPD building, Bruce and you remain working silently. His wards having taken over his patrol, giving him the time for a physical breather but God, his jaw finds itself clenched tighter than Arthur's fist.

The air smells like musty books and ink, a hint of pine cleaner and you settle into your seat, lifting the clue to your eyes, scanning over the parchment for any kind of spot that could mean something.

"I think we should refer to previous riddles." Bruce hums softly, biceps bulging beneath the Kevlar of his suit, his cape fluttering in the breeze that creeps through rusted vents.

"Or we can use Chat GPT?"

Bruce watches, his expression falling to one of incredulity as he watches you grab your phone from your bag, the device just so...

He's distressed, on your behalf.

15%. A few cracks in your screen guard and that bright notification that says your storage is far too full for your phone to be functioning optimally.

And Bruce watches as you type the riddle into the AI app, and he watches as those dots appear, signalling a response being formulated. And Bruce nearly groans aloud when he sees an ad light up your screen.

And he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration when he watches you screenshot the name of the stupid widget app, saving it for later when you can download it.

"Should we use my phone?"

Bruce's question is unexpected and you crease your brows, shaking your head.

"Nah, I just need to connect to the wifi."

And Bruce wipes his hands over his face, a low groan rumbling in his broad chest before he drops into the seat beside you, and he waits for you.

Each minute seems like a lifetime, and he hears that little beep.

"Did you get an answer?" Bruce questions, his voice tinged with barely contained annoyance, frustration. Almost everything that points to him yanking out his luxurious, inky hair.

"It says I used up my free messages." You purse your lips. "I'm gonna make a new email really quickly."

Half an hour passes before you get an answer. Which is, that there is no answer.

"This...—" Bruce let's out a shaky breath. "Have you ever been told that you're disorganised?"

And you scoff, raising a hand in Bruce's direction to dismiss him.

"Listen, Karate Kid, who went to police academy?" You question Bruce. "Not me, but still. I've still got the badge, American Ninja."

"You're not a legal officer?!"

"License and registration, Mr Wing."

Dick can't believe this.

He's getting a speeding ticket for chasing a fucking criminal on his bike.

"They have my secret identity on them, so I can't give it to you." Dick answers, pulling his bike onto the curb and cutting the engine, and he rests his forearms on the space between the handlebars. Because he just knows this is gonna take a while.

"So you're impersonating right now?"

Dick rolls his eyes behind his mask, and his lips part to protest.

"Listen, officer, I'm in a bit of a hurry and it'd be really nice if you could just... Not do this right now."

Dick's trying to be nice, really. Trying to respect the law and act like a model citizen, like the kind of citizen he'd be happy to protect and serve.

"Well, too bad Britney Allen, justice... Isn't nice. Justice is messy, hard and fast. Like a creampie." And you pull the notebook out of your back pocket, the action of tilting your body just a bit draws Dick's attention to your body.

Perfect hips, only accentuated by those stupid cuffed, cargo pants and that bulky holster belt.

Dick clears his throat.

He seriously cannot be finding you sexy right now.

"So, Twinkle toes, you wanna tell me why you're going 130 in a 80 zone?" You hum, eyes lowered to the notebook in your hands, continuing to scrawl his parking ticket before you glance towards the number plate of the sportbike.

Or more accurately, the lack thereof.

"Oh, Pom Poms," you muse, laughter in your voice as you continue to scrawl, "riding without a number plate? That's an 80 dollar fine."

Rummaging through a hidden compartment, long gloved fingers wrap around a hundred dollar bill before handing it to you. And you pocket it.

"Now what about the fine?"

#dc comics x you #dc comics #dc fluff #dc #sobbingscripter #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #nightwing #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #drabble

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joelscruff · 2 years ago

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ummm hi this is so random i just needed to tell someone about this cause no one i know likes pedro

so i was watching s1 narcos and javi was wearing this fkn white half sleeved shirt and they knew what they were fucking doing and i’m dying he’s so fkn hot what do i do!!, if i was interning for him and he walked in the room wearing that oh my fkn god i would be dead sorry for this rant

soaked (javier peña x f!reader) 18+

so as usual what was meant to be a little drabble became a full-fledged fic. what is wrong with me????? this outfit is truly insane though and i couldn't stop thinking about it getting wet 👀 i hope you enjoy xo (and thank you anon for the inspo and for telling me what episode this lovely shirt was in!) summary: it's hard being an intern for a man who won't even look at you, but maybe there's something else to it that you don't see. rating: 18+ explicit warnings: smut, blowjobs, deepthroating, protected p in v sex, praise kink, dirty talk, size kink (javi has a big dick), biting, probably bad spanish (blame google) word count: 6k (this was supposed to be a drabble!!!!!!! wtf!!!!!!!!) ao3

You're pretty sure you're going to quit your job.

You've been an intern at the DEA for about a month now, in charge of extremely mundane things like pouring coffee and organizing paperwork. No one really talks to you other than Steve Murphy, one of the agents you're assigned to, and even then he's too busy to really give you much attention. It's lonely and boring, and part of you thinks you might have quit already, if it wasn't for...

"Morning, asshole," Javier Peña enters the office with long strides, tossing a stack of papers toward your (very tiny) desk. You can't help but stare at him, swallowing nervously as you assess the plain white shirt he's wearing, loosely tucked into his tight jeans and accentuating his strong, tan arms. How does he always look so good? His hair is messy, brown curls tangled and sticking up in places like he's just rolled out of bed, and he probably has. The faint scent of whisky that follows him tells you all you need to know about how he spent his evening.

You're worried for only half a second that he's talking to you, but you realize his gaze is directed toward Steve, who simply shrugs.

"You didn't have to come," he replies with a laugh, "You coulda said no."

"To your fucking wife? Please." Javier sits down in his chair with force, leaning back to immediately put his long legs up on his desk and reach for a cigarette from his pocket, "She was excited about it, you dick."

Steve just laughs again, turning back to his work, "You did the right thing, man. I don't know what else to say."

You wish you understood the story, knew what they were playfully ribbing each other about, but for the past month you've been on the outside of their relationship. Steve gives you reassuring smiles and some small talk every now and then but it's not enough to feel like you actually belong there, not to mention that Javier has only spoken to you once. Even now, as you rise from your chair to pour some fresh coffee into his mug, he doesn't even look at you.

"You owe me," he says to Steve, lighting up his cig, "Pendejo."

As you pour his coffee you can't help but notice the way the collar of his shirt rides low enough for you to see his collarbones, see the light dusting of hair smattered across his dark skin. There's a few droplets of sweat here and there, and you resist the urge to lean forward and press your tongue to each one.

"I'll have some more too, sweetheart," Steve says behind you, and your thoughts scatter as you pull back from Javier's mug to go re-fill Steve's. You're aware of the way Steve's eyes trail to your breasts, hidden only by a thin layer of blue fabric; it makes you self conscious and also a bit confused. Steve has never looked at you that way before, "That's a nice blouse," he says to you with a smile, eyes going back up to your face, "My wife has one similar to that."

"Thank you," you say quietly, finishing filling up his mug and wanting to go back over to your desk as soon as possible; you don't like the idea of a married man ogling you.

"Isn't this a nice blouse, Javi?" Steve continues, and you freeze.

What is Steve doing? Is he trying to get you insulted? You turn slightly to look at Javier, coffee pot trembling slightly in your hand when you see that he's got an irritated expression painting his face, mouth downturned in a stern frown.

"Thin ice, Steve," Javier replies and takes another drag from his cigarette, his eyes set firmly on Steve's face, not even bothering to even look at the blouse in question.

"What? It's nice," Steve seems to be feigning innocence, yet again another inside joke you're not apart of. Except this time it's at your expense and you're not sure how that makes you feel. Suddenly Steve reaches up and takes a ruffle of your blouse near your arm between his fingers, "Really soft, too."

"Steve," Javier repeats, eyes dark, "Thin. Ice."

You look from Javier to Steve and back to Javier, absolutely bewildered. It's like things are being said but you can't hear them, have no idea what kind of secret language they're speaking. You pull away from Steve a bit, feeling uncomfortable.

"I'm gonna go put this back," you say quietly, referring to the coffee pot.

"Of course, sweetheart, I won't keep you," Steve gives you a wink and you know something is off. From what you've gathered so far from your time here, Steve loves his wife, has a picture of her on his desk right in front of him that you always catch him looking at. You've only been here a month but you swear he's mentioned her every single day, if not to you then to Javier, if not to Javier then to another intern or agent. So why is he suddenly being flirtatious with you?

You leave the room and return the coffee pot, staring at the aged tiles on the wall in front of you and feeling a lump form in your throat. You really do hate it here, you don't know why you've stayed as long as you have.

Yes you do, you idiot.

It's raining outside by the time your work day ends and you feel yourself deflate as you walk out the front doors of the DEA; you'd been hoping for the hot weather to continue so you could go for a run and distract yourself from this weird and uncomfortable day, decide whether or not you're going to just quit already. It's like the heavy rainfall is mocking you.

You feel much too depressed to walk home so you go back inside the building and make your way back to the office to call a taxi. Steve passes you in the hallway and slows down, puts his hand up to stop you.

"Hey, I'm sorry for this morning," he says, eyes kind and gentle, "That was inappropriate, I shouldn't have touched your blouse."

You're not sure what to say, giving him a small shrug, "It's, uh, okay. I was just..." you shake your head, "Yeah, never mind, it's okay."

"You're wondering why I did it." he states, frowning, and you almost laugh at his immediate assessment of the situation; deflecting a DEA agent? Not the smartest idea.

"Well, yeah," you shrug, "It was kinda weird. You're usually, um... very respectful so-"

He winces, "I know, I'm sorry. It was just me trying to get on Peña's nerves," he shuffles awkwardly in front of you, shifting the weight from his left leg to his right and back again, "He'd kill me if he knew I was telling you this, but I owe him."

You look at him in total confusion, shaking your head, "I don't understand."

He chuckles, shaking his head, "I know, I'm just trying to figure out how to word it," he bites his lip and then seems to resign himself to something, "Javier... he likes you."

You stare.

"My wife and I, we kind of wrangled him into having dinner with us last night. They were talking, she was askin' him about women, if he'd been on any dates, typical questions," he laughs at the memory, "He said no and she asked if he had his eye on anyone. He said no again, but I know this guy like the back of my hand, I can read him like a book. I knew that second no was a goddamn lie."

Your heart is pounding in your chest but your thoughts are muddled, unable to draw a clear conclusion from what Steve is telling you. You continue to just stand there wordlessly, listening.

"A few drinks later - well, more than a few - I asked him who he had his eye on. You wouldn't believe how easy it was to get it out of him, he just smiled, took a drag of his cig..." Steve acts this out, bringing his cigarette-less fingers to his lips and pretending to take a puff, eyes heavy-lidded and bleary, "And said your name."

You can't believe what you're hearing, there's no way it's true, no way he's telling you about something that actually happened. Your heart continues to pound relentlessly, staring at Steve like he's speaking another language, a million wordless questions flying back and forth in your mind at top speed.

"She's the most beautiful creature I ever saw," he quotes, voice slurred and gravelly, "She's sunshine incarnate."

"But he doesn't even look at me!" you blurt out, eyes wide.

Steve drops his hand and laughs again, shaking his head, "Sweetheart, he looks at you all the time. You're just looking away when he does it."

This revelation hits you hard, makes your breath catch in your throat. Is this actually true? Or is this some sick inside joke they're playing to get you to finally put in your notice, one of their private little games that you're not a part of. On principle it's the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard; the man has spoken to you once, only once, and it was on your first day. He'd introduced himself, shook your hand, and that was that.

"What do you mean you're doing this because you owe him?" you ask, shaking the thoughts away, "Isn't this just humiliating him?"

Steve smiles again, slightly smug, "I see the way you look at him too, you know. I'm not blind," he looks at his watch then and makes a face, "Listen, I gotta go, but if you're heading back to the office, he's still there."

"But, Steve, I-"

"Trust me," he gives you one of his reassuring smiles, "He needs - scratch that - wants someone like you, someone... stable."

You don't think being on the verge of quitting a paid internship would be considered stable, but you understand what he means. You may have only been here a short time but Javier's reputation is widely known around the office, something you've found yourself sympathizing with instead of villainizing him like others do. You know his history with women is pretty bleak relationship wise.

Steve begins to walk away from you, leaving you standing there speechless, "You better hurry before he leaves," he calls. He picks up his pace but you're still able to hear him as he mutters, "and that's my good deed done," then saunters down the hall and disappears around the corner.

The office you share with Javier and Steve is the only one still lit on your floor, meaning everyone else has already gone home. You know that Javier likes to stay late sometimes, work on the case alone and look at things from different angles in solitude. You feel nervous as you approach the door, not wanting to bother him. But regardless of whether what Steve said is true, you still need to call a taxi.

You turn the knob and walk inside, trying to be as quiet and slow as possible. Your efforts are pointless though, as Javier looks up from his work and sees you immediately, his eyebrows going up in surprise.

"It's raining," you say softly, awkwardly, "I need to call a cab."

"Right," he nods to you and then returns to his work without an afterthought, writing something down on a piece of paper.

You stand there for a few moments just looking at him, watching his face, trying to find any indication of affection behind those focused eyes, his serious brow. He looks the same as always, lost in thought, scribbling away, handsome as he does it. The white shirt certainly isn't helping; he's unbuttoned it more now, his chest exposed and sunglasses hanging from a button near his pocket. He's so effortlessly gorgeous, it makes you ache.

He must sense you still standing there, not making any move to walk to your desk and pick up the phone. He looks up at you again, brow furrowed, "Do you need something?"

You shake your head quickly, cheeks burning, "N-no, sorry," you shuffle over to your desk and sit down in your chair, doing everything you can to avoid looking over at him again. You think about what Steve said, how Javier is always looking at you but only when you're not aware. You wonder if he's doing it right now.

You reach for the phone, unable to stop your hands from shaking slightly. You're almost sure you feel his gaze on you now, boring into you and watching every move you make, eyes deep and brown and calculating, always calculating. Assessing. What does he make of you? If what Steve said is true, what does he see when he looks at you?

Sunshine incarnate.

You can't help but smile at the words, dialing the number for the taxi slowly as your brain repeats them over and over. Had he really said that about you? And meant it? Your thoughts are so jumbled that you accidentally press the wrong button and have to start over, hanging up the phone quickly before picking it up again.

Just as you go to press the first number, a hand comes down and stops you, brushing against your fingers in a tender and gentle way. You freeze, staring at the hand, knowing it's his, knowing that if he wasn't looking at you before, he certainly is now.

"Why don't I just give you a ride, cariño?" he asks quietly, voice slightly rough around the edges, "I'm heading home now anyway."

You will yourself to look up, eyes capturing his immediately and getting lost in their depths, big and brown and soft and searching. Your lips part but no words come out. You force yourself to give him a nod, repressing the urge to jump up and kiss his mouth, envelop him, hold him close and look even deeper into those soulful eyes.

You stand shakily and walk to the door, feeling his eyes on your back as he follows behind you. The walk down to the main doors of the building is completely silent, save for the clicking of your heels against the linoleum and his heavy masculine breaths at your side. It's still raining once you get outside, and you can't help but make a face.

"Not a fan of the rain?" he asks you a bit loudly over the pelting of water against the concrete, a smile tugging at his lips.

"It's not my favorite," you admit, wincing, "Where are you parked?"

"You stay here where it's dry, I'll pull it up front."

You watch him dart out from under the eaves of the building, rain immediately soaking his white shirt without apology. You watch with wide eyes as his back becomes visible from the downpour, skin a pinkish brown beneath the suddenly translucent material. You catch sight of two dimples near his lower back before he disappears from eyesight.

You swallow, trying to pretend you don't feel yourself begin to throb within the confines of your underwear, a wetness pooling between your legs that has nothing to do with the rain.

Only a few moments later he's pulling up front, waving at you from behind the car window. You dash forward and feel the rain soak your hair, your skin, your blouse. There was nothing about rain in the forecast this morning so you hadn't thought to bring a jacket with you; you're now regretting that decision greatly.

The passenger side door is already unlocked and you slip inside gratefully, slamming it behind you and exhaling loudly. The rain continues to pelt the windows, the roof, a steady and repetitive sound as you look down at yourself to assess the damage. At least you chose a blue blouse and not a white one, although you can faintly see the shape of your nipples poking through the fabric. A bit self conscious, you cross your arms and huddle forward in the seat.

"Should heat up soon," Javier says beside you, quiet like he'd been in the office, "Seatbelt."

You glance over at him for only a second but regret it instantly, immediately noticing the way the rain has completely soaked his white shirt, exposing the taut and firm muscle beneath, his wide pecs, dark nipples, his flat stomach and belly button, the trail of hair that leads down to...

You grip the seatbelt in your hands and turn your attention to clicking it into place, feeling yourself throb even more. God, he's so fucking hot. You can't blame all the women he's slept with for wanting to get in his pants, he's a fucking Adonis. You take a few deep breaths as he pulls away from the building, focusing on the small bursts of heat that are beginning to radiate from the vents in front of you. You rub your hands together, momentarily forgetting that he could probably see your breasts through your blouse if he looked over.

But that's just it...you never know when he's looking at you. And part of you wonders what would be so bad about him seeing you like this.

You drive together in silence for a few moments, an undeniable tension building and building the longer you both sit there without speaking. Every so often you can't help but let your eyes trail back over to his body, eyeing the way his wet shirt clings to his skin, beginning to slowly dry in small patches from the car heater. You can vaguely make out the shape of a scar on his abdomen and you find yourself wanting to reach out and trace your finger along the length of it, ask him how he got it, kiss it better.

"I feel you watching me, querida," he murmurs, eyes on the road.

Your eyes widen and you sit back in your seat stiffly, "S-sorry."

In your peripheral vision you see him smile, thumbing the steering wheel, "You're always watching me, aren't you?"

You don't know what to say, swallowing tightly around the lump you feel building in your throat. Is he about to call you out? Tell you to stop?

"That's okay, I'm always watching you too," he says it quietly like it's a secret, taking a heavy breath as he continues, "But you know that now, don't you? Steve's a little shit."

You can't help but laugh, which makes him grin wider. He looks over at you and you meet his gaze, feeling shy when his eyes drop to your chest and back up again.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you," he murmurs, eyes back on the road, "I'll be real gentle, I promise."

You stare at him, slightly confused. It's only a moment later that it dawns on you: you never told him your address.

"Where are we going?" you ask quietly, voice shaking slightly in anticipation.

He gives you another side glance, smiling kindly at you, "I think you already know, cariño."

No more than twenty minutes later he has you laid out on his bed completely bare, his mouth pressed firmly against your wet core as you writhe and moan under his touch. His palms are pressed flush against your stomach, holding you to the mattress, never releasing you even when you start shaking uncontrollably from your orgasm. He just keeps going, sucking on your clit and fingering your throbbing hole, nose buried in the patch of hair on your mound.

"Javi, Javi, Javi," you repeat over and over again, thrashing in his sheets, fisting the duvet. He'd told you as soon as he had you in his bed that he didn't want you calling him Javier anymore, and you'd had absolutely no problem with amending your vocabulary.

He hums, giving your clit one last hard suck and making you almost scream with overstimulation, body heaving up off the mattress as he finally pulls away from your core and looks up at you with those big brown eyes.

"That's it, querida, feels so good, doesn't it?" he breathes, crawling back up and pressing kisses against your skin as you come down from the pleasure, heart pounding in your chest, "Your little pussy needed me so bad, didn't she?"

"Yes," you whimper, voice weak, unable to say anything else as he continues to kiss along your breasts, your neck, your cheeks. His mustache is soft and welcoming against your skin, tickling every inch of it in the best way possible as he worships you.

You can't believe you're even here, lying in his bed, lights dim as the rain continues to pelt the windows and drench the city while Javier drenches you. He's still wearing the white shirt, still damp and tucked into his jeans. You reach forward and pull at his belt, fingers trembling.

"Oh, cariño," he coos, kissing the corner of your mouth hungrily, "Want my cock now, do you? Thought that might have been too much for you."

You shake your head quickly, feeling tears sting in your eyes at the thought of him not giving you what you want, "Please," you whisper, voice breaking, "Please, Javi. I need it so bad."

"You do," he agrees, hands trailing upward to squeeze your breasts, thumbing your hard nipples, "You need to get fucked, knew it from the moment I met you. Knew it had to be me to do it."

"Why didn't you say anything?" you ask, voice breathless as he begins to undo his belt, "Why didn't you talk to me?"

"Because you're so pretty, hermosa, so pure," he tosses his belt to the ground and reaches for the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head. Your eyes fall to his bare chest, his stomach, so much clearer now than they'd been through the wet fabric. He's absolutely perfect, and you feel yourself salivate as you reach up to palm the soft skin of his belly, feeling the hair under your fingertips, tracing the scar you'd seen earlier. He grabs your hand gently, squeezes it, "I knew if I talked to you, you'd end up right here. In my bed."

"And that would be a bad thing?" you whisper, eyes searching his, "This is bad?"

He shakes his head quickly, unbuttoning his jeans, "No, querida, this isn't bad. This is what you need, I know that now," he unzips himself and your jaw goes slack when you see that he isn't wearing any underwear, his cock completely bare and on display beneath the denim. He pulls himself out, showing you how long and thick he is, cut and curved, leaking from the tip. Some of it drips onto your tummy and you both watch it dribble down your skin, dipping into your belly button, "You need it," he whispers, "Knew it when you started looking at me like that."

"Like what?" you breathe, still staring at his large cock, wondering how it'll possibly fit inside you without splitting you in half.

"Like the way you're looking at my cock right now," he says softly, shuffling forward a bit on the bed, "Now, sit up, okay? Give it a kiss."

You don't need telling twice, scrambling amongst the sheets and crouching forward to envelop the head of his cock inside your mouth, warm and sticky on your tongue. You close your eyes, feeling them almost roll back in your head as you suck gently and swallow down his precome, tickling the back of your throat.

"Gonna see how much you can take, okay?" he says quietly above you, and you feel his hands in your hair, stroking your scalp reassuringly, "You can stop if it's too much."

You slowly move forward to take a few more inches, eyes still closed, only opening again when you feel his hands grip your hair tighter. You look up then, eyes lidded and heavy, and he's looking down at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"Such a pretty mouth," he murmurs, thumbing the base of your neck, "Just made to have my cock in there, huh?"

You nod slowly, breathing through your nose and pushing yourself further, wanting to take as much of him as you possibly can. You get about three quarters down and feel the tip prod the back of your throat. You still, inhaling deeply and feeling tears well in your eyes, silently begging yourself not to gag.

"Just a little more, querida," he whispers, stroking your hair, "You can do it, I know you can."

With his soothing encouragement you slowly take the rest of him, not stopping until your nose is buried in his pubic hair. You inhale again and your senses are overwhelmed by his masculine, sweaty, musky scent. It's heaven. You open your eyes and look up at him, tears welling over and spilling down your cheeks.

"Oh, baby," he says, biting back a moan, "That's so good, knew you could do it," he feels you trembling on his cock, throat closing around the head, and he carefully slides you off.

You start coughing immediately, drool running down your chin in long ropes. You'd feel embarrassed but he's smiling at you, leaning down to press kisses to your forehead.

"You did so good," he praises, wiping your chin with his thumb and kissing your lips tenderly, tasting himself on your tongue, "Took all of it so well, querida."

"I can do it again," you say quickly through another cough, voice rough, "Just gimme a second."

He smiles wider and shakes his head, "I know you can, but you don't need to, not tonight. Just wanted to see if you could take the whole thing in that pretty mouth," he thumbs your lips and you immediately capture it between them, sucking his thumb feverishly. He groans slightly, watching it disappear, "and now that I know you can... we need to see how well it fits inside that perfect little pussy, hm? Think it'll fit?"

You nod immediately, releasing his thumb with a pop, "I'll make it fit."

He groans again, getting off the bed and pulling his jeans down his legs, "That's what I like to hear, baby." He pulls open his bedside table and grabs a condom, tossing it over to you, "Now put that on my dick, cariño, gotta be safe."

You shuffle to the edge of the bed, ripping the condom open with your teeth and sliding it down his length. You feel his eyes on you now; you'd never been able to feel it before, had no idea he'd even been looking at you, and now it's like his gaze is burning your skin. You lean forward and press one more kiss to the head of his cock, smirking when it twitches.

"Come here, hermosa," he mutters, taking your hand and carefully pulling you off the bed. You both stand there naked in front of each other as he leans down to kiss you tenderly, hand trailing up to press flush against your back. He's so beyond everything you could have ever hoped for; you still can't believe this is actually happening, "Stay there for a second," he whispers.

You watch as he gets on the bed and sits at the top, back leaning against the headboard. His cock stands stiff and inviting beneath him as he splays his legs out and opens his arms.

"Sit on my cock, querida," he breathes, and without any hesitation you climb into his lap, legs shaking as you grip his shoulders and hover above him, "Nice and slow," he whispers, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, "That's it."

The tip of his cock breaches your entrance and you keen at the sensation, still shaking slightly as you slowly ease yourself down on him. You're so wet, his length slipping inside easily at first, but once you get about halfway down your hips stutter and you whimper.

"You got it, baby," he breathes, thumbs splayed across your belly, "Not much more," he pushes inside a bit further and you cry out in ecstasy, burying your face in his shoulder. His hands move to your back, holding you tightly against him as he continues to fill you, not stopping until he bottoms out, "There," he murmurs, rubbing circles into the skin of your back, "That's all of it, cariño. Did so good, taking it so well for me."

You sit like that for a few moments, him whispering praises in your ear and rubbing your skin soothingly. He's so thick inside you, you've never felt so full. After a few more moments he carefully grips your hips and slowly begins to move you on his cock, up and down, watching your expression and reveling in the whines emitting from your throat.

"That's it," he says, brow furrowed as he keeps his eyes on your face, "That's what a real cock feels like, querida, and it's the only one you're gonna get from now on." Your face scrunches up in pleasure and you find yourself hiding in his shoulder again, wrapping your arms around him and starting to move your hips to match his pace.

"Javi," you whimper, feeling the head of his cock pushing against the deepest part of you every time you brace down, "So big inside me, Javi."

"I know, cariño," he murmurs, soothing you again with a gentle rub to your back, "Filling you up so good, huh?"

You hum and let yourself go, nose pressed into the dip of his collarbone as you still on his cock and let him go back to working you up and down, murmuring in your ear about how good you feel, what a perfect girl you are, how you'll never fuck anyone else but him for the rest of your life. And you want to believe it's true.

"Work won't be the same anymore," you say against his skin, voice muffled.

"Christ, baby, you're thinking about work?" he taps on your neck and you pull back to look at him, shivering as he continues to fuck you relentlessly as he speaks to you, "Don't think about work right now, querida, not when I've got my cock buried inside you."

"I want you to start fucking me at work," you say suddenly, brow furrowing in pleasure as he hits the deepest part of you again, "In secret, please."

He stills for a second, surprise appearing on his face before he smiles, starts fucking you again with even more fervor, grunting with very thrust.

"Of course I will, baby," he says, pressing his forehead against yours, gripping your hips tighter and fucking you fast and hard, so much so that you feel yourself writhe off the bed again, fingers clasping around nothing as you moan loudly, "I told you, ever since I met you I knew you needed this, needed my cock," he kisses you then, wet and hot, and you feel the tension in your belly start to build, "Gonna give it to you every chance I get from now on, I promise."

You whimper at his words, fucking yourself down on him as hard as you can and letting out cries of pure bliss as he begins to hit your favorite spot over and over, so impossibly deep inside you that you think maybe he will split you open. He rises off the bed with you a bit, holding you tight to him as he wildly bucks into you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Gonna come, hermosa," he whispers in your ear, breath hot and sticky against your skin, "Give me one more, get that pussy all wet for me," you let out an inhuman sound and feel yourself involuntarily bite into his shoulder, making him groan.

"I'm sorry," you moan, pulling back and seeing the crescent shaped mark in his flesh.

"For what?" he groans, and you feel his thumb start to prod your clit, rubbing it furiously, "Do it again, baby, mark me up, make me yours," you feel your orgasm overtake you at the words, fingernails digging into his back as you writhe and cry in his arms. Without hesitation you bite down on him again, not hard enough to break the skin but enough that there will most certainly be a mark there tomorrow.

He groans at the sensation, pulling you impossibly closer and stilling inside you as he pumps the condom full of his spend, twitching inside you at every pulse. He doesn't pull out right away, just lays still within you while you pant against his shoulder, eyeing the purple mark beginning to bloom on his skin.

"I bit you," you say, eyes wide.

He shifts slightly beneath you, cock still filling you up as he chuckles, "Yes, you did."

"I'm sor-"

He puts a hand up, shaking his head, "Don't apologize, cariño, I like it."

You nod slowly and carefully pull yourself off his cock, already missing the full sensation of having him deep inside you. You lay back on the bed beside him, eyes closed as he disposes of the condom and then settles himself tightly against your side, spooning you and pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck.

"Did you mean what you said?" you ask quietly, eyes still closed as you feel yourself begin to drift off in his embrace, "Will you really fuck me at work?"

He laughs, gorgeous and perfect in your ear, "Yes, mi sol, I meant it."

Javi takes you home early the next morning so you can change your clothes, not wanting Steve to know about what happened last night, as much as it would probably tickle him to know he had a hand in it. He waits for you outside, listening to the radio in his car and squinting against the bright sun, fingers tapping against the base of the window absentmindedly. After a few moments you come back out, wearing a yellow blouse this time in honor of your new nickname. He smiles radiantly at you and you know you made a good choice.

You both manage to keep Steve completely in the dark for the first part of the day; Javi goes back to ignoring you the way he usually does, which you have to admit makes you feel a little bad. But it's all water under the bridge when he follows you to the women's bathroom around noon and locks you inside one of the stalls with him. A few seconds later his cock is hitting the back of your throat as he proves to you that he wasn't lying.

"What's that?" Steve says in the late afternoon, only about an hour until you can go home. You look up from your desk but he isn't talking to you, his gaze fixed on Javi.

"What?" Javi replies, brow furrowing as he looks down at himself, "Got a bug on me or something?"

"No, you have a bite mark on your shoulder," Steve says matter-of-factly, and you feel your cheeks go hot, eyes widening as you stare at Javier and watch him figure out what to say.

He just shrugs coolly, "Yeah, slept with this wild bonita last night, she wanted to mark me," he looks back down at his work, "Your wife ever do shit like that, Murphy?"

Steve sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair, "No, she doesn't."

"Thought so," Javi smirks, still not looking up from his paperwork, and you watch as Steve twists his mouth into a scowl, shaking his head.

A few seconds later Steve's looking over at you, giving you a small look of what you can only describe as sympathy, "Sorry," he mouths, shrugging dejectedly, "My bad."

You give him a smile in return, shaking your head, unable to help the rush you feel at not getting caught.

"It's okay," you mouth back, "I'll get over it."

You know Javi is watching you this time.

thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed it and here's my kofi if you'd like to leave a tip (entirely optional of course but much appreciated).

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #javier pena smut #javier peña smut #*

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lovesickeros · 1 year ago

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☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

#genshin impact #genshin impact yandere #genshin yandere #neuvillette x reader #yandere neuvillette #yandere neuvillette x reader #arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino #yandere arlecchino x reader #furina x reader #yandere furina #yandere furina x reader #fic tag #pats neuvillette this noodle dragon can be so pathetic #aiming for pathetic desperate and slightly guilty. it gnaws at him knowing he's keeping you like a bird in a cage #esp if you react extremely negatively hes like a kicked puppy #not outwardly but internally hes a MESS. sobbing crying wailing #furina and neuvi sopping wet kittens u found in a cardboard box in an alley #vs arle thinking abt all the crimes shes going 2 commit in the process w/o an ounce of guilt. blackmail? check. kidnapping? check.#a little murder for flavor. as u can see im coping horribly w being practically snowed in rn i need 2 be put down #its like 4 degrees out rn (fahrenheit) and getting colder ueueueue i am dying..........#only thing keeping me going is my furinameow plushie coming. eventually. staying strong just for her.................#also needs 2 be mentioned all the stories r separate ksjfkhdsf #no not everyone in fontaine is yan and trying 2 kidnap sorry for getting ur hopes up..#yet #anyway u cant convince me arle isn't bribing (or just straight up forcing) her agents into doing stupid shit so she can “save” you #and make you owe her #two silly goofy little creatures vs the personification of gaslight gatekeep girlboss (heavy on the gaslight)#also split this up in 3 parts bc. lol. lmao. im not writing 9 characters at once goodbye #also all the masks do actually have significance i have an entire essay on why i gave each animal to specific characters okay

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lookingfts · 7 months ago

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hey can i ask for tips on how you write this fast? i always fall into writer's block and i never know how to break it.

Sure! I've always been a pretty fast writer, but I do get stuck. Here are some things that help me:

Setting a small word goal. For me, that's about 500 words. I don't write every day, but if I have some time and I want to write, I try to break it down or it gets overwhelming. I'll either write 500 words and decide that's enough for that day, or more likely, I keep going and write a few thousand.

Switching between fics. In an ideal world, I would always finish one thing before moving on to another, but sometimes I'm just not in the mood to write that specific thing. The other day I had planned to write a new chapter of Sugar and it just wasn't coming to me, so I switched gears. I'll usually have one longer fic in the works, and then some shorter fics or drabbles whenever I need to write something different.

Skipping scenes. Sometimes I just cannot figure a specific scene, and I used to insist on writing things chronologically. Now I understand the value of just skipping to the next scene, or writing the scene you most want to write first.

Changing small things. I write in light mode and edit in dark mode, or vice versa. I sit in different places in my house. I listen to different music. Even a tiny change in perspective can help shake something loose.

Keeping notes constantly. Every time I have an idea for a plot point or dialogue, I write it in Google docs. I have documents for all my fics, plus a document that's just fic ideas and random snippets. When it's time to write, I already have something to work from. I have it all organized by chapter, and the outline doesn't have to be fully fleshed out from the jump, but it keeps me from asking "what's next?"

Trusting my instincts. I doubt what I've written all the time, but I always remind myself that I've doubted my writing before, and people like my work. So I just keep going and trust that whatever comes to my mind is the right direction to go, even if it's not the direction I originally planned for a fic.

Treating writing and editing as separate jobs. This was advice I read a while ago and it's so valuable. I don't edit as I'm writing. My goal is just to write a first draft and then look at it later, usually a few hours later or the next day when I've had some distance and can see it clearly.

Not forcing it. Yes, I often have to push myself to write SOMETHING because starting is the hardest part. But if I'm stuck, I just go for a walk or snuggle with my cats or stretch or watch something on YouTube. By not focusing on the problem, you can often resolve it.

I hope this helps a little! If anyone else has tips, please leave them in the comments.

(And here's a bonus photo of my cats)

#bridgerton #kanthony #asks and answers #kate x anthony #bridgerton fic #anthony x kate #writing asks

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wanderingaldecaldo · 1 year ago

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I've been posting Ros and Val without any context or backstory because my brain has been going brrrrrrrr too much to write anything proper besides drabbles, and a couple of unrelated oneshots. I'm still figuring out their story but I've discovered some of the major beats and wanted to get it down for my future self, as well as anyone who's following along at home.

Their story follows PL fairly closely with a few places where I took some creative license. Val and Ros hook up at the safe house, and it takes Reed a little longer to get everything organized, giving them a few days together in Dogtown before Ros is spirited back to D.C.

Lemme just wipe off your cheek real quick...

Val needs family. She doesn't know it, but that's why she gravitated to Jackie and Lupe. It's why she calls Panam for help in her canon. Rosalind represents family in a different way. She's the mother who knows what's best, who cares about "her" people, and Val doesn't realize how much she needs that attachment. Several times during the rescue, Ros displays affection and concern for her—when the building collapses before the Chimera fight, during the Relic malfunction—and combined with the mission to keep her safe, it triggers something deep inside V, a loyalty that she doesn't understand.

Rosalind, on the other hand, just lost a lot of crucial advisors. While we don't know who was on board aside from So Mi, we can guess that there were high ranking staffers, such as communications, security, and campaign, plus her own personal assistant and Secret Service agent. She has no one. She is vulnerable with V, admitting that she doesn't know what to do, that she has no one; and V's response is to remind her that she's there, and she's determined to get her out of the situation. Loyalty is something Ros values highly, and here is this merc tasked with saving her, but who sees the situation as more than just another gig; who has become personally invested in protecting her. It's intoxicating to have someone who's unflinchingly loyal to you, and who has seen the real you.

Once they reach the safe house, things escalate because of the mix of all those emotions, plus all the adrenaline and endorphins from the escape. It becomes more than just a hookup, but because of their situations (Ros's, let's be real), they both know it's an untenable relationship. Their time is bittersweet because of that knowledge.

Just squint a little and the Dogtown apartment isn't that bad!

Continued after the cut...

Later after the events of PL, they stay in touch, and there is affection between them still. Ros reaches out by text for fashion advice on the magazine shoot. They both agree that V isn't the right person for the job, but Ros knows she'll at least be honest. Later the acting campaign manager thinks having Ros take photos with the merc who saved her life in Dogtown would be good ad material, so Ros recruits V to the photo shoot.

Note: add at least one eagle for the "real" patriots

V uses the photo shoot to her advantage and successfully lobbies for the dinner date Rosalind promised. They have it that evening at Embers, as it's easy to secure for VIPs. Ros wants to know what V expects, because surely she can't think there is hope for a real relationship; but V wants whatever she can have. At this point, she knows she's crazy about Rosalind, while Ros is in denial herself over how much she cares about V.

“Where do you think this will go, V?” Rosalind's voice is soft and melodic. She doesn’t know, doesn’t care. She needs something, will take anything. “Hopin’ the first stop is my bedroom,” V says and gives her cockiest grin, but it quickly fades. “After that? Kinda up to you, yeah?”

They spend the night together and Ros decides to give it a try. They officially start seeing each other, but in secret and only when Ros has reason to visit NC. The new mayor provides a good excuse, so Ros visits under cover of extending diplomatic ties, and providing an opportunity for date night with her merc.

It's good to have powerful friends, like the new mayor of Night City.

After a few months of this, they slip up and the media catch wind that the President is spending time with the merc who saved her life in Dogtown. The campaign manager wants to use the media frenzy by spinning it as Rosalind recruiting V as her personal bodyguard, while still encouraging theories about their secret romantic relationship so the screamsheets will go crazy over it.

Eventually people are gonna notice when AF1 keeps showing up in NC airspace.

At that point V is ready to upend her life for Ros. She agrees to the plan and moves to D.C. The media eats it all up, and suddenly the only thing the NUS cares about is whether the President and her merc are fucking (they are). Eventually they transition to openly dating, and the President's approval rating shoots up by having a partner who humanizes her and makes her more likeable.

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laughhardrunfastbekindsblog · 5 months ago

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Notes: This is an expansion of the first section of my Tech Lives short story Lost and Found, and is told primarily from Echo's and Omega's perspectives. It started as a drabble to highlight Echo's/Omega's initial reactions to finding Tech, but my brain just wouldn't stop adding more details so... well, it is no longer a drabble 😅

Read on Ao3

Word Count: 6726

The Lost One

Echo walked into the rather small wooden cabin and glanced around. He was looking for Tintha's engineer/mechanic - the engineer who had become somewhat famous among certain circles not only for his brilliant skills but also due to his rather abrupt appearance on the codebreaking and data slicing scene in the past few years. Word had reached Echo's corner of the Rebel Alliance that not only was this engineer trustworthy and reliable, he could decrypt anything; and Echo needed this data decrypted if he wanted the intel necessary to free the small but influential rebel cell that had been captured by the Empire.

Echo was fairly certain he was in the right place - the cabin had clearly been converted into a workshop of some kind, with engines and wiring and computers and datapads and other projects in various stages of construction or repair scattered across every surface in some kind of organized chaos - but there was no one else to be seen...

"Do you require assistance?" a voice came from a back room.

The voice struck Echo as being eerily familiar, almost like... - but that was impossible, so he brushed the thought away.

"I'm looking for Nu," Echo replied.

"That would be me," the other said, rounding the corner and examining his client with a frank stare.

Echo had seen enough strange things in his lifetime that he thought he had long since reached the stage where nothing could surprise him. But this...

If he didn't know better, he would think this engineer was Tech. An older, scarred, limping version of Tech... Then again, if Tech had lived, he would be about the age of this man...

But Tech hadn't lived. He had sacrificed himself, shot the connecting strut of the rail car he was attached to in a desperate bid to let the rest of the squad escape. It had worked - the family had survived and even eventually got the Empire off their backs - but Tech had been lost. There was no way he could have survived that fall.

Shaking his head slightly to clear his thoughts, Echo forced himself back to the task at hand.

"I need the information on this data disk decrypted," Echo said, holding out the referenced item. "I was told you're the best person for the job."

"Your intel is correct," the one called Nu said, his face taking on an expression of interest as he looked at the disk, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. "There is nothing to date that I have not been able to decode."

It was like talking to a ghost - a living ghost. Which made absolutely no sense, even for a clone who had worked closely with superstitious Jedi. The voice, the mannerisms, the speech patterns, the looks... All of it was so reminiscent of Tech.

But Tech was dead.

I have got to get a grip on myself, Echo thought.

"I expect discretion with this," he stated.

"But of course, that's standard protocol."

For some reason, this reassurance alone was enough to prompt Echo to hand the disk over. "How long do you need?" he asked.

Nu slipped the device into a datapad and, after scrutinizing it for a moment, nodded firmly. "The job will be done within the hour. Shall we settle on a fee of 100 credits?"

"Fair enough." Actually, if Nu was as good as he claimed, this was a bargain. "I'll wait here, if you don't mind."

Nu nodded again, rather absently this time, his attention now fixed on the data as he stepped over to a nearby counter to do his work.

Echo wandered aimlessly along the workbenches, glancing at all the projects but with his mind too full of questions to really take note of anything.

It just wasn't possible. Even if Tech had survived, he would have found a way back to the squad, not hidden away for years on a backwater planet that didn't attract even the Empire's notice. He's not Tech. He's NOT Tech....

The villager who had led Echo to Nu's shop had cautioned him, "Nu is quite nice and very smart, but he is also... odd. Everyone likes him, but he keeps to himself and rarely talks about himself, always seems like..." the villager had waved his hand around his head vaguely before finishing, "I dunno, just odd." Echo could now see what the villager meant: confidence in his own skills notwithstanding, Nu seemed uncertain, unmoored, as if he wasn't fully present in the moment, as if... as if half his mind was constantly searching for information that was just out of reach, even as he expertly carried on with mundane tasks and conversations.

Telling himself he was being illogical and irrational wasn't enough. If something had somehow happened to prevent Tech from coming back to the squad, Echo had to know for sure - and he turned to face the engineer.

"So where are you from, Nu?" Echo asked in what he hoped was a casual tone.

Nu looked up at him and blinked. "Are you referring to my birth planet?"

"Yes."

"I... am not sure," Nu shrugged awkwardly.

"Uh, where's your family from, then?"

"I do not know," Nu replied. He was frowning now. "I don't remember any family."

"What do you mean?" Echo pressed, anticipation and dread and - was that hope? - building in his chest.

Nu seemed to briefly ponder whether he wanted to continue participating in this interrogation, before deigning to reply somewhat stiffly, "I was critically injured in an accident many years ago. I remember very little of my life before the accident, and nothing of any family."

Echo's mouth had gone dry, but he pressed on. "What do you remember of your life from before the... accident?"

It was abundantly clear that this was not a pleasant topic for him, but for some reason Nu didn't disengage from the conversation. Instead, he sighed resignedly as he answered, "Nothing that is of any benefit to me. None of it is clear or complete. I cannot even remember the accident itself. I must confess, it is quite unsettling to have dreams or flashes of what seem to be memories, but not recognize any of it."

"I can imagine," Echo said automatically in an attempt to be conciliatory; but he needed to know more. Everything Nu was saying was leading to one conclusion...

"When was your accident?" Echo asked now, drawing Nu's attention away from the device again.

Nu's sigh was more impatient this time. "Oh, about a year or two after the Empire was formed."

Echo's voice was still steady, but he could feel his heart pounding in anticipation. "Where did it happen?"

"On an Outer Rim planet called Eriadu."

It felt like the bottom fell out of Echo's stomach, and his mind went blank...

"Now, if you're quite finished with the questions, I can get on with the work you requested I complete," Nu hinted sharply.

Echo blinked - he was still human, despite the cybernetic implants, and he thought this moment was the closest he would ever get to feeling like he was physically rebooting. "Of... of course," he stammered. "It might be best if I wait outside."

Nu had already returned to his work, and didn't reply nor seem to give any notice to Echo almost staggering to the door.

Once outside, Echo leaned against the wooden framework, closing his eyes and breathing as heavily as if he had just outrun Imperial infiltrator droids, his mind swirling with the implications of the recent conversation.

Nu was Tech. He had to be. A man who looked, sounded, and acted like an older version of Echo’s former squadmate and had suffered and accident on Eriadu that had apparently left him with amnesia, and with all the timeframes matching? Echo had never been as good as Tech at calculating odds and risk, but he intuitively knew the odds that this man was Tech were far greater than the alternative.

I have to tell them, was Echo's first coherent thought; and then he corrected himself. I have to tell Omega.

He couldn't tell his brothers, not yet. Whatever the odds might be, Echo couldn't face the idea of telling Hunter, Wrecker, and Crosshair that their long-lost brother was alive when there was even the slightest chance he was mistaken. He had to be absolutely certain that his suspicions were correct. Besides, it was clear that Nu - Tech - wanted to regain his memories, wanted to know who he had been before; but he would want solid proof of his identity, more than what at this point amounted to no more than (very) strong circumstantial evidence, and Echo would have to gain Nu's trust if he wanted to have any hope of assisting with this objective. And Echo had the feeling that it would be best to give Nu some space to regain his memories before raising the family's hopes...

"It's finished," Nu said, dragging Echo away from his contemplations and gesturing for Echo to follow as he stepped back into the workshop.

The engineer handed Echo the original disk as well as the datapad, stating simply, "The data in its decrypted form is downloaded onto the datapad. It will be easier to decipher that way. Now, about payment..."

"Will you meet with a colleague of mine?" Echo suddenly burst out. Events during the recent rebel conflict had made Echo wary about revealing to strangers his familial ties to Omega, and with force of habit prevailing, it was too late to correct it now. "She's a pilot named Omega, and she needs help with a rather complicated task."

If Echo had been hoping the name ‘Omega’ would jog Nu's memories as Tech, he was disappointed. No hint of recognition crossed Nu's face, but his expression did become inflexible, surprising Echo.

"I will meet your colleague," Nu replied, "but I must inform you that while I sympathize with the Rebel cause and will assist you in these tasks, I am not interested in committing to the Rebellion."

Echo, taken aback, attempted to save face. "Who said this is for the Rebellion?"

"It's obvious," Nu deadpanned, clearly unimpressed by the other's feeble protest.

Echo sighed. There were signs Tech - Nu - had changed somewhat over the years, whether from time and experience alone or from the loss of memories, it was impossible to say. But Echo still felt inclined to trust him; and besides, it was a rebel who had recommended Nu's services anyway.

"This isn't an attempt to recruit you," Echo promised, before blurting out the idea that had been circling in his mind. "And maybe... maybe we can help you figure out who you are, in exchange for your help."

Nu scrutinized him for several breathless moments before responding. "Very well," he assented. "When shall I expect your return?"

"Within the next few rotations or so," Echo replied as he handed over the promised payment.

"That is not very specific."

Echo almost smiled. "Now you know what us rebels are like."

Nu shrugged. "I suppose it doesn't matter, as I have no plans to relocate anytime soon."

Echo nodded, even as the thought flitted across his mind that he hoped there might be reason for plans to change in the near future.

He wasted no time in contacting Omega, opening comms as soon as he stepped into his ship. As usual, he couldn't help but smile at the sight of Omega's bright face, though the shock of the recent revelation must have still weighed heavy on his face, for Omega instantly furrowed her brow.

"What happened?" she asked.

Echo sidestepped the question for the moment. "Have you completed the Sindoni mission yet?"

Omega huffed out a breath. "Not yet. All of our attempts have failed."

"There's someone I'd like you to meet who I think will be able to solve the problem." He took a breath, preparing to reveal the news, but Omega spoke first.

"You're a lifesaver, Echo! Where should I meet you?"

"I need to get this intel back to my people, but we can meet in a few days on the planet Tintha, in the Torus system. I'll send you the coordinates. And... Omega? The person you'll be meeting? It's... Tech."

****

Omega landed next to Echo's vessel, briefly closing her eyes and taking a deep, calming breath.

She knew Echo would never tell her anything he wasn't sure of... But the idea that Tech had survived and was still alive had been so difficult to grasp that even now, after acknowledging that the evidence Echo presented led to one distinct possibility, she couldn't accept it.

She had agreed with Echo that they should wait to tell the others - partially because she herself still couldn't believe it.

She had always been an optimist, hoping for the best - but THIS hope seemed so far beyond the realm of possibility, it was wrenchingly painful to even consider.

Perhaps this disbelief was why she had remained so calm the past few days as she had prepared to meet her rebel brother on Tintha. Now, however, the butterflies that had woken in her stomach threatened to steal her composure. These weren't the slightly anxious yet giddy butterflies that accompanied significant but relatively low-consequence events like first dates or public speeches or talking to her brothers about getting her own ship. No, these were far more violent butterflies, doing wild acrobatics that made her stomach awfully queasy and her head woozy and her legs weak.

She wasn't her brothers' kid for nothing, though: no matter how on edge the anticipation was making her feel now, no one looking at her would ever guess how she was truly feeling as she steadily and confidently strode off her ship to meet Echo, giving him a warm hug before letting him lead the way down the quiet, dusty street to the cabin workshop that apparently housed Tech.

Tech, possibly found alive after all these years of being presumed dead.

"Just go with the flow," Echo said in an undertone as they neared their destination. "We're just here for me to introduce you and for you to ask if he can help with your squad's problem. Remember, he goes by the name Nu now. I don't think it's time yet to tell him our suspicions."

Omega nodded - she and Echo had been over this several times, but she knew her brother was still processing this turn of events just as much as she was.

She didn't realize just how tightly she was wound, bracing herself for disappointment, until she caught sight of Nu... And the sudden shocked hope that welled up inside her nearly made her knees buckle.

"Hello again, Echo," the engineer called to them.

The face, the features, the voice, the frank and clear gaze... Even the clear evidence of serious past injuries only served to bolster the theory that this man was...

"Hey, Nu. This is Omega, the pilot I was telling you about," Echo said casually.

Her brain was screaming ECHO'S RIGHT; outwardly, however, she greeted the man who was very likely her brother as she would a new acquaintance she was meeting for the first time, which was rather easy to do given that he approached her the same way.

She had developed such a strong bond with Tech... but right now she was meeting Nu, and Nu didn't know her.

What if he wasn't Tech...?

If he wasn't, the universe was as cold, cruel, and unfeeling as Crosshair often claimed it to be.

She swallowed her heartache and the sharp disappointment that so closely followed the surge of hope, managing a friendly smile as she grasped Nu’s proffered hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said in a tone that thankfully came out as calm and even as Echo's had been.

"Likewise," Nu replied. "Now, what was this project your colleague described as 'complicated'?"

Omega cleared her throat. "We need to find a way to tap into an Imperial communications relay undetected."

"Almost any droid could do that," Nu returned somewhat dismissively. Looking openly at Echo, he added, "Given your cybernetics, you could likely do that."

Omega shook her head. "We need to install the software for the data tap remotely. All our infiltration efforts have failed; this is our last and only option. And the target is a major relay hub processing intel from multiple sectors, so there are more than the usual layers of security and encryptions to breach..."

"Ah, that is a challenge," Nu said; and Omega's spirits sank when his eyes, which had been gleaming with interest, now took on a faraway look.

"Are you saying it can't be done?" she faltered.

The distant look faded as Nu's attention snapped back to her. "Oh, it can. Though it will take me a day or two. And you must be aware that chances are high the program will eventually be discovered by Imperial security sweeps, though I can assure you it will take quite some time for them to detect it."

Omega grinned, relieved; she had come here to verify Echo's suspicions that he had found Tech, but accomplishing a major mission objective that had frustrated her entire division for months was also a win. "That will be fine."

"I assume you have more information regarding the location and security details of the relay in question?"

"Yes, I do," she assured him as she passed over the datapad with the requested intel. "How much do we owe you?"

Nu, suddenly hesitant, glanced somewhat helplessly at Echo. "I was under the impression that you may be able to assist me in discovering my former identity," he said stiffly.

"And so I can," Echo replied promptly. He had already discussed this plan with Omega, and she was happy to let him explain the details. "A blood sample and a scan of your wrist will be a good place to start."

Nu glanced down at his wrist. "I've run my blood sample against a few databases before, but I never considered the possibility that I would have any implanted identifiers..." he said thoughtfully.

"We're not sure you do," Echo answered. "There were some populations pre-Empire who had identifying chips as a standard, though. Worth a shot to scan for one. Even if you have one, it might take a while for me to run it through some of the older databases."

"Very well then. Shall I provide you with the required samples now?"

"No time like the present," Echo replied.

Only a few minutes later, Omega found herself following Echo back to his ship. Nu had indeed been implanted with an identifying chip, though it would take Echo some time to access the old clone databases and run the chip data against the entries. Her brother strode along as calm and confident as ever; she, on the other hand, was caught in an excruciatingly uncertain limbo between hope and despair, and it was leaving her feeling drained.

"Echo, what if it isn't him? And what if it is? He didn't even recognize us at all," she blurted, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.

Echo paused in the middle of the deserted path leading to the outskirts of the village, turning to look at her. "Steady, Omega. One step at a time. We need to verify his identity first. No point focusing on what ifs."

Echo was so much like Tech in this regard: taking everything in stride, adapting so readily to any and all surprises, and so rarely getting flustered. She admired this about him, especially since she didn't fully understand how he managed it.

"How can you take this all so calmly?" she sighed.

Echo paused, considering her question. "Because whatever the results of these tests, we're going to have our work cut out for us later to help him," he replied, before resuming the trek back to the ship.

****

Omega hadn't been planning on returning to Nu's until tomorrow - he had said he would need at least a day to complete the job, after all, and she didn't want to bother him - but after several hours of fruitless waiting on Echo's ship, then trying unsuccessfully to catch a nap on her own ship, followed up by some time wandering aimlessly around the tiny village and smiling back at the curious and overall friendly residents, she found herself walking through the threshold of the little shop again and looking around for the owner, stepping to the side to dodge a young boy exiting the cabin holding what appeared to be a power coil for a stove.

She spied Nu seated at the corner of one of the long workbenches, various apparatus having been pushed to the side to give him room for his current project. Omega saw her datapad was connected to two other pieces of equipment she didn't know the names for as Nu studied another screen, occasionally tapping on a second datapad.

Nu didn't look up, but he must have noticed her, for he now spoke. "I take it you have memorized the layout of the settlement? Hedi was telling me just now that you made no fewer than three full circuits of the village."

Omega chuckled a little self-consciously. "I think it might have been five. Your village is rather... small, and there's not much else for me to do right now."

Now he looked up, considering her for a moment before saying, "This job will be completed sooner if you feel inclined to assist. It will also help pass the time for you."

She hadn't been expecting this, but she needed no further invitation. Pulling a stool up to the workbench, she sat and faced him. "How can I help?"

Nu slid several tools and a small rectangular gadget towards her. "This adapter needs rewiring to be compatible with the computer model you specified you will be using to upload the spike. Do you know how to do that?"

She picked up the adapter and examined it for a moment before nodding. "Yes."

"Good," and with that, Nu returned to his work.

She set to work herself, while thinking back to the countless times before when she had helped Tech with his projects...

This was so similar, yet so different. Tech, prone to being equally absorbed in his work, had still passed the time they spent working together fielding Omega's sundry questions and keeping up a steady conversation with her. Nu, on the other hand, was so quiet, hadn't yet shown any hint of Tech's quick wit and sardonic humor and tendency for banter, and was somehow intently focused on his work while simultaneously distracted. He seemed... lost.

Nu was so much like Tech, yet not quite Tech... He couldn't be, he didn't remember any of Tech's life - or at least, as he had told Echo, the very little he did remember made no sense to him.

She didn't want to interrupt him, but she couldn't help speaking.

"Echo says you lost your memories."

"Yes, I had assumed he told you."

"You... You had no idea who you were when you woke up from your accident?"

"Well, I intuitively had a general idea of my identity as an adult human male, and I knew how to talk and perform basic mobility functions, but I had no recollection of my name or family or skill set or previous life. My general knowledge of facts about the galaxy returned with very little prompting, and skills such as these" - gesturing vaguely around the room - "seemed to come naturally to me. I assume I acquired them before I was injured."

"But... No idea of your name? Your home? Your... Your family?"

"No."

Something seemed to shift in him with this admission, the sense of loss becoming almost tangible, and Omega's heart nearly burst with sympathy. Whether he was actually Tech or not, Nu had somehow managed to regain so much of himself, but it wasn't enough. There was still something missing.

"You don't just want to know your former identity. You really want your old memories back, don't you?"

Nu paused but kept his eyes fixed on his work as he replied slowly, carefully considering his words, "I am who I am. Recalling my previous name or place of birth or prior occupations will be welcome knowledge - it will be a relief to no longer be ignorant of such an extended period of my own life. But that knowledge likely won't change my nature or who I have grown to be. However, there were people in my old life who were important to me - of that I am certain. Above all else, I want to remember them. I want to discover if they are alive and well now. The tribe on Eriadu cared for me, the people here on Tintha are welcoming; but what family I may have had, I want to know them."

She looked away to hide the tear that escaped down her cheek, but she needn't have worried: Nu didn't look up. Taking a few moments to steady her voice, she finally said, "Well, we'll find out who you are, and then you'll be able to find your family. I'm sure of it."

Shaken out of his reverie, Nu straightened and refocused his attention on the apparatus in front of him. "You're an optimist, then," he observed mildly.

Omega couldn't help but grin. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Well, let us hope your optimism proves to be reality."

She smiled somewhat sadly now as she turned back to the adapter.

Indeed, all they could do was hope.

****

The results left no room for doubt: both the blood tests and the chip scan matched the identity of one particular clone.

"Oh Force, it's him, it's really him," Omega breathed - and suddenly the dam burst.

She was weeping, sobbing so hard she could barely catch her breath, as the flood of emotions - ecstatic joy and fully realized hope and the relief of certainty, mingled with sorrow and regret for lost time - filled her to capacity and overflowed.

Tech was alive. Her brother was alive! And, all things considered, he was relatively well, and had managed to recover enough to build a life for himself. This was nothing short of a miracle.

But... he had been lost for years. He was respected here and had some caring neighbors - of course he did - but no family. And despite the life he had built, he had clearly struggled with the knowledge that there was so much he didn't remember - so many people he didn't remember.

And while she and Echo knew who he was, there was no guarantee this information would help Tech remember who he was and who had been important to him.

Forcing the flood of tears to subside with no small amount of effort, she managed to speak again. “We found him. He lived, and in this whole wide galaxy, we found him. It’s… it’s a miracle.” She actually chuckled a little. “When we help Tech get his memories back, I’m going to ask him to calculate the odds of this happening. Well, what do we…” The question died on her lips as she turned to Echo and saw the stricken look of remorse on her brother's face.

"Echo, what's wrong?" Why wasn’t he happy about this? He set his expression back into its usual stoic lines. "Nothing."

"Yeah, that’s a lie."

He shook his head. "Really it’s nothing. I'm fine."

She fixed him with a stern look. "Echo, you trusted me enough to invite me to join the Rebellion. You can tell me about this. What's wrong?”

He gave her a small smile, which softened his features just enough that she decided to stop pushing him. “Nothing is wrong. Tech is alive – this is impossibly good news.” He sighed. "Now we just have to figure out how to break this news to him.”

Omega shook her head slowly - it didn't feel right to just walk in to the shop and tell Nu that he was a deviant Fett clone named Tech. "He doesn't just want to know facts about himself. He wants to remember his family."

"It's like you said, Omega: he didn't recognize either of us."

"Well, we have changed a bit since he last saw us," she pointed out, willing herself to ignore the painful clenching in her gut that always accompanied the memory of Tech falling out of sight...

"Hmmm..." Echo rubbed his chin in thought. "Do you still have Tech's old goggles with you?"

"Of course," she said promptly. "They're in my ship, right on the piloting console. What do you have in mind?"

"If the goggles themselves aren't enough to jog his memory, ask him to help you recover the recorded data.”

She frowned. "But I already recovered... Ohhh!" she broke off, grinning as understanding dawned. "Echo, you're brilliant!"

"Well...."

"Give me a minute," she said, already picking up the devices Nu - Tech - had given her and making her way toward the ramp. "I need to ask Anton to come here to pick up the materials for the communications tap, and tell my commander I'll be on leave for a while."

"Won't your division need your help with the mission?" She could hear the frown in Echo's voice, and turned back around to face him while walking backwards off the ship.

"This was the hard part," she countered, waving the gadgets at him. "If they need my help to install this program from the safety of our own base, we're in a lot more trouble than I ever thought. I'll be right back, don't go to Tech's without me!" And with that, she ran off.

****

Echo, sitting on the narrow wooden bench set along the wall and watching Omega and Tech pull up more recordings on the holoprojector, marveled at events of the past few hours.

Somehow, the goggle suggestion had worked. Just seeing the old Clone Force 99 picture had been enough to help Tech recognize Omega, and this had been enough to open the floodgates to memories of his life before the catastrophe on Eriadu. One would think this would be overwhelming, but Tech had taken it all in stride.

Then again, this was Tech. Of course he had taken it all in stride.

Tech had asked about Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Rex, Phee, Shep, Lyana, and a few others from Pabu; beyond revealing the basics regarding Crosshair's return to the family and reassuring him that everyone was safe, however, Omega had opted against inundating Tech with more details. "Let's focus on you getting your old memories back before we fill you in on the last decade," she had said; and when Echo had agreed with her, Tech hadn't argued further.

Echo now saw Omega stifling a yawn, and he leaned forward. "Omega, we've been at this for hours, and I don't think you've slept in days. Go get some rest."

Omega shook her head stubbornly, with an expression that highlighted her resemblance to her equally stubborn brothers. "I don't need..."

"Perhaps it would be best for me to take a brief respite, too," Tech put in mildly.

She sighed, relenting reluctantly. "Fine."

"There are some cushions and blankets in the other room," Tech continued. "You can rest there, if you decide against returning to your ship."

"I'll do that," she smiled brightly. "Thank you, Tech!" And she bid them good night, leaving her brothers sitting in pensive quiet.

Tech was the first to break the silence.

"Did you and Omega join the Rebellion at the same time?"

Echo shook his head. "No. I worked with a rebel cell for several years before mentioning to Omega that the Alliance needed pilots. Hunter might forgive me for that, someday," he finished gruffly.

Given Tech's small smile, Echo guessed he remembered how protective Hunter had always been of their sister, and was perhaps relieved to know that some things hadn't changed.

"Given what Omega said about your success on Tantiss, I assume you were also involved in the events that have become known as the clone rebellion,'" Tech said now.

Echo raised a brow. "How did you...?"

"Tintha may be sparsely populated and well outside the notice of the Empire, but we are not entirely cut off from news of happenings in the wider galaxy," Tech responded dryly, to which Echo chuckled. "Was Rex part of that uprising, too?"

Echo nodded, but somehow the mention of Rex and the clone rebellion brought to the surface the needling remorse he had tried to hide from Omega, and he found that he couldn't speak as several seemingly unrelated events coalesced in his mind.

Rex and Tech had been the ones to free Echo from his captivity, the first friendly faces Echo had seen upon being released from cryostasis. Tech had been the one to take the lead in convincing Hunter to allow the squad to join Echo in infiltrating Eriadu to find Hemlock's base, arguing that they didn't leave their own behind. The lesson Echo’s original squad had learned as cadets, never leave anyone behind, had become an integral part of him; and his drive to do more, to help all his clone brothers as much as he could, had led him to not only free the prisoners on Tantiss, not only help Rex save those they could from being trapped in service to the Empire, but also be a key driver in the push for clone rights that had led to a full-scale uprising.

He had done all of this for his brothers; and all the while Tech had been abandoned, left behind to recover as much as he could from a fall that had stolen his memories, left behind to fend for himself, all alone with no familiar face, no one to help remind him of who he had once been.

Echo knew his guilt was unreasonable, his shame misplaced, knew he wasn’t to blame for Tech’s loss, knew no one in the family was to blame for Tech’s loss. And yet… when Tech had fallen, they had left, they had all assumed the worst and Echo had recognized the futility of going back later to check and therefore had said nothing of it, and then they had taken Hemlock’s word for it – Hemlock, a man who had every reason to lie to them – they had just accepted his proof, no questions asked.

He knew that if he had shared these feelings with Omega, she would have pointed out that he had never and would never hold Rex culpable for assuming he was dead and moving on, especially in the middle of a combat zone; and she would have been right, which is why he hadn’t bothered telling her. Before now, he had never understood why Rex had felt any measure of guilt over Echo’s captivity – after all, it wasn’t his brothers’ fault for concluding he had died in an explosion that definitely should have killed him, and as soldiers they knew how to honor the dead while moving forward.

But all these truths were not enough for Echo to rid himself of the guilt he now felt for all Tech had suffered.

"Tech, I'm sorry."

His brother looked nonplussed. "For what?"

"For leaving you behind."

Tech blinked. "I expected nothing else." Realizing, likely from Echo being unable to hide a wince, that this remark hadn't been reassuring, Tech sighed and continued on in the tone he had always used when he was explaining something he thought should be obvious: "I fell and took the rail car with me so you all could live and escape, not so you could be captured trying to retrieve my remains."

Echo gave an involuntary shudder. "You... you really expected to die?"

"I knew it was the most likely outcome. The fact that I did survive would seem to indicate that at least one of several plans I had devised in an effort to escape the inevitable proved successful. I cannot recall what the plan was, but... perhaps that is for the best." He was quiet for a moment before regarding Echo again. "You did what I wanted you to do, Echo. You lived. You helped the others live. You ensured the risk I took was worth it. If you hadn't escaped... well, it's quite possible we wouldn't be here, together, right now."

The ghost of a smile crossed Echo's face. "Omega said she'd be asking you to calculate the odds of you surviving and us finding you."

"That's easy," Tech instantly replied. "Approaching infinity to one, against."

"I guess she's right in calling this a miracle."

"I would consider that an apt description," Tech nodded solemnly. He briefly fell silent again, before adding, "Though, considering what happened on Skako Minor, I would term it a coincidence - an unlikely one, but a coincidence nonetheless - that you in particular are the one who found me."

This observation – two clones, both presumed dead, both inexplicably surviving, each playing a significant role in finding and rescuing the other – left Echo stunned, and he was silent for some time as Tech returned his attention to the holoprojector.

Echo had once heard a Jedi say, "The Force works in mysterious ways, far beyond our ability to comprehend." Echo wasn't sure any Force was actually at work here, but he did know many occurrences in his life were far beyond his ability to comprehend, and this was one of them.

However, regardless of how circumstances had aligned this way, he found that he was grateful. Grateful that Tech had given them the chance to live, that his sacrifice hadn't been in vain. Grateful that Tech himself had survived the fall. Grateful that others - strangers - had cared for his brother enough to allow him to recover and thrive. Grateful that he, Echo, had come to Tintha to seek the services of a relatively unknown yet respected engineer. Grateful that he had heeded the feeling to probe for answers rather than convincing himself to stay silent. Grateful that Tech had wanted to remember, and now remembered. Grateful that Tech still loved them. Grateful to have Tech as his brother.

And with so much to be grateful for, he found there was very little room left for guilt.

Tech had been found, and he wouldn't be left behind again.

****

Echo had joined Omega in the other room to rest several hours ago, but Tech was still wide awake. He had long since stopped going through his own old recordings, though, opting instead to take some time to sit with the recollections he had regained thus far.

They hadn't all returned yet, but the flashes of memories he had had before, suddenly given context, now made sense, were recognizable; and the more he sat in thought, the more the details of the memories became clear and connected to other threads of memories that began to expand in their turn, bringing with them the meaning and purpose and need to know that he had been seeking for so long.

Memories, his memories, filling with light and blazing color a space in his mind that had been achingly dark for some time, filling with warmth and comfortable serenity a void in his heart that had belonged to those loved ones whose names and faces he had forgotten but now remembered with blessed clarity.

What's more, those loved ones still lived. He had calculated correctly; his gamble had paid off.

He had told Omega that knowing his name wouldn't change his nature, and he had been right. Knowing now who he had been before, he recognized that over the years since Eriadu he had somehow managed to reclaim himself, much more successfully than he might have ever hoped; on a fundamental level, he had always been himself. But hearing his name, Tech, spoken by one of those individuals whose kinship and familial love he had held most dear - not only had this been the spark that reignited his old memories, it had indeed wrought a significant change in him.

For the first time since he had woken on Eriadu, he felt whole.

#the bad batch #star wars the bad batch #tbb tech #tech lives #tbb echo #tbb omega #tbb fanfiction

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hiemaldesirae · 9 months ago

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Thorn here: that's fucking hilarious that Vox is SOO proud on how his fucking cat KILLED 3-4 of his ppl and then MAIMED more of em he literally told ALL of HELL. I'm DYING.

Lucifer: *looking *directly at Alastor.* "It figures the only guy interested in you could tame THAT beast. Of course he'd be an animal person."

Husk: *chokes on his drink.*

more cat drabbles it is. go forth pathetic little orphaned child and the rest of you freaks (/aff). feast

"No, okay, I fucking *get* it, Populis--" Vox puts a hand to his forehead as the door opens behind him, suppressing another sigh as he turns around to greet Velvette, the doll sinner raising an eyebrow in an unimpressed manner as she watches him fumble with his phone. "Look, I'll get back to you later. Velvette. To what do I owe the displeasure?"

"Not even trying to keep up the act anymore, are you?" Velvette crosses her arms as she enters the room, releasing the fluffball of red fur in her arms to let him run to Vox, the Media Overlord immediately scooping Venom up the moment he gets close enough. "Val and I can only do so much, you know. Belle's been running damage control for days now, and she doesn't know how much longer she can keep it up without organic photos."

"Don't even start with me on that. Dei and Lis have been all up my asshole about it enough, I don't need you guys too," Vox grumbles. "Listen, Vel, I'll get back to business *soon*. Really, I will. I just need to figure out what the fuck Alastor is playing at this time."

"Just tune him out! What's the fucking point of listening to a thing that bastard has to say?" Velvette throws her hands up in her air in exasperation, "I mean, come the fuck on, Vox- it's not like he's some sort of demented ex trying to get your attention back or something! It's just your stupid, crazed rival who rejected you *once* a few years back because he's got no taste."

Vox frowns down at Venom, who simply cuddles into his arm and purrs. The tension drains from his posture as he watches the kitten rub up to him, letting his shoulders slump as the little ball of fluff curls up closer into his chest. "It's not... like that, Vel."

"Then what the hell is it? I mean, you and Val are always acting so secretive about your past with the Radio Freak-- you can't expect me to be able to stay in the loop with all that when you two are acting like this, right?"

"He's just taunting me again," Vox murmurs. "He does that sometimes. You know, there was that one time after he left, seven years ago... the frequency from his end turned on. When I tried to tune in, the only thing on the other end was laughing. I wanted to ask him how he was doing, but..."

"So... what, he likes to taunt you by destroying full blocks of buildings?"

"Something like that," Vox shrugs. "Just... it's fine. It'll all go back to normal once he grows bored of doing it or whatever, and then we can go back to normal again."

"If you say so," Velvette frowns. It's clear she doesn't believe him, but she doesn't press further-- a discretion that Vox is grateful for. He runs his hand over Venom's soft fur as Velvette exits the room, being careful not to scratch the little cat with his sharp claws.

Sighing, he looks down at the cat still laid on his chest, cheek smushed against his torso. "What do you think I should do about your freaky doppleganger, hm?"

The cat looks up at him and simply meows, looking up at him with its large eyes.

"Yeah, okay, I don't know what I was thinking asking that," Vox snorts. "I'll just... wait it out."

"Okay, Smiles, seriously, what the *fuck* are you doing?!" Angel bursts into the main lobby with an angry look on his face, something unusual for the porn star. "The Vees Tower has been on complete lockdown for like, a week now! I've got fuckin' bills to pay, drugs ta' buy! Stop being a fuckin' freak so I can go and get my paycheck!"

Alastor's eye twitches from where he sits hunched over the small shrine, complete with several dismembered plushies of that damned fucking cat.

All this, and Vox still wasn't acknowledging any of his attempts to get his attention. And that fucking cat... at this point, perhaps he would just have to break into Vox's tower himself.

#ran rambles #hazbin hotel #general asks #radiostatic #cursed cat alastor

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amyisherenowitsokay · 27 days ago

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Not sure if this was asked before, but when you write, do you have a clear vision of what you want from beginning to end or does it come to you along the way?

Also how do you get so detailed with your writing? Is there a trick to it?

Don't worry about repeating asks! Usually people word their questions enough for me to be able to give different answers, and if not, I'll just elaborate on what I've said before.

In regards to your first question, it depends on the fic, honestly. The Re:MHNY requires waaay more planning because of what I'm trying to do with the story, my intentional parallels, etc. For that series, I basically have a google doc entirely dedicated to just bullet points and a synopsis of the plot, important themes, character, etc. Just a big ol' digital plotting board. Along the way I'll also sporadically write chapters at random as the ideas come to me, or even write just a few sentences that illustrate a point I want to make before I forget the wording. The amount of Notes on my phone that are just fic drabbles is absurd.

For other fics like Dead Weight, That Thing on Your Wrist, etc., the idea just sort of occurs to me. Like for That Thing On Your Wrist, I really was sulking about not being able to find more ZAGR fics that follow a trope. Invader Zim is really sci-fi, adventure-packed, humor-oriented cartoon, and so I think it's really easy for the fans such as myself to write themselves exclusively in these little pockets we've carved out for ourselves. And don't get me wrong, I obviously love writing as close to the canon as I can get, but also, what about my beloved cliches? And so that idea becomes infectious, and I start picking out the details in my brain. There's a million little Soulmate AU's (seeing color when you touch, hearing each other's thoughts when you touch, hearing each other across distances, etc.), rifled through the cards, and picked one I felt was easiest for me to do while keeping the characters how I wanted them, with appropriate amounts of drama.

It just itches at my brain until I start to add little practicalities to the situation. For Dead Weight, I want them as Irkens, but also it has to be a romance story. And it still needs to be in-character. So ZAGR, but with the added brutality of child soldiers and uniquely Irken-trauma. What does that look like? And that's usually how random entire chapters get formed in answering that question. What's Irken courtship look like? What do sibling-adjacent-relationships look like? What circumstances would make that possible?

I'm infamous for also just writing 6k words that I know go in a fic, but have no idea when. So I'll just sit on this chapter I love for like a year until I'm like aha! You'll fit here! And then make adjustments to make all the pieces fit together. Unfortunately, as the story develops, that does mean sometimes jokes or ideas I wrote in a random draft have to be edited or removed to fit in the circumstances I made. Re:MHNY1 has tons of deleted chunks that were funny or that I liked, but that didn't end up working in-context.

So short answer, I find an idea I want to write, and then just keep hammering away until that idea feels like I can make it make sense, and then keep adding bricks that justify it, if that makes sense. My fics are me standing in front of an enormous cork board with red string, thumbtacks, and fanart everywhere explaining why ZAGR makes sense in this circumstances. In this essay I will etc. etc.

In regards to detail, my goal in my writing is to ground the fantastical. What does an alien ship feel like? Cold, cause void of space, right? Well no, because organic creatures like bees pass out in the cold, so they'd need warmth. But this is a run-down piece of shit ship, so they'd probably keep their inhabited areas warm, and leave other areas cold, like Gaz's cell on the Valkian ship. I also catch myself making gestures or miming out certain scenes. If I smirk, how does that muscle twitch feel on my face? Or if I try to suppress a smile, I catch myself gritting my teeth a little, and so I add that into the description. Just because a circumstance is made up doesn't mean you don't have sights, smells, feelings, or other senses that affect how a character perceives the situation.

Like in The Corn Maze in Paradorx, I've personally never been chased by a corn demon, but I do know what freaks me out. Everyone is careful when they're outside at night, because they're worried of who else is out there with them, among other things. That's a real, legitimate fear that pretty much everyone can relate to. And so I write in scenes of the corn leaning towards them listening to them when they're not paying attention, and the nasty odor of rotting pumpkins because people remember that smell. I think my most successful details aren't describe every individual piece of wood grain, but picking out aspects of a situation that the everyman reader knows and can remember. Those are the details that are most effective, that people tend to comment on as what gave them, in this case, the heebie jeebies.

Also, I like to find punchier words. It's not a smell, it's a stench. It doesn't hurt, it aches. The English language has some wonderfully specific words that I think are wonderfully appropriate to really specific situations, and I discover them by being an avid reader of novels in general.

Sorry again for the crazy wait regarding answering this ask! Hope I answered your questions anon! If I missed anything, or you'd like me to elaborate anywhere, let me know and I'll do my best to answer in a much more timely fashion.

#amyisherenowansweringyou #ravenfollower13

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echosoftheflower · 8 months ago

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A little drabble I wrote in an hour and a half based on a single brain nugget. TCD has me in a chokehold and I can't escape. If it feels unpolished, it's cause I finished and edited it in the middle of math class.

TW for guns, needles, and medical drugs

As they collected themselves and what was left of their recently split group they took in the world around them. The place seemed desolate. The only two things in sight being the player like zombies they had been running from since being dropped in here and, in the distance, a few building-like structures.

As they approached Grian recognized the structures as old warehouses and store fronts, the place likely had been, or made to look like, an urbanized town. Despite the dilapidated appearance of the buildings, they were mostly stone and seemed although they had once held steady. They were built to be used often and withstand weather without constant upkeep, very unlike the more varying and decorative material choices of Hermitcraft and other whitelist servers.

"This place had been residential, there used to have been businesses, and elders, and children here. Oh God, what happened to them? These types of servers are typically peaceful. Most don't even know how to use a sword." Gem murdered in horror

"Just because the server is meant to be peaceful doesn't mean it always is. A residential server can be just as dangerous as any whitelist. More so, as most are perma-death" Grian informed her with a hardened look in his eye.

as they walked closer to the border of the town Grian heard a sound that made his stomach drop and instincts kick into overdrive. The faint click of a gun's magazine being loaded.

His wings automatically snap inwards pressing themselves tight against his back as he drops to the ground for cover. He never was more thankful for his time with Sam, the Mafia, and police force than he was now as the old familiar movements caused him to shout out to his confused friends.

"WERE UNDER FIRE! GET DOWN!"

Suddenly loud and rapid BANG!BANG!BANG!s rang out causing many of the group to cry out in fear, likely not being prepared for such a weapon. The active fire was quick but to Grian's trained ears (of which he was covering to try and block out the noise for multiple reasons. God he hopes Ren is ok with how loud it is.) The fire was a bit too slow, sure faster than any crossbow that's for sure, but nothing close to the borderline automatics he was issued. Maybe it was his memory (finally) failing him, but these shots sounded too spread out, too precise.

The shooting soon stops. The hermits were only under fire for a minute and, due to Grian's quick reaction time, only sustained small injuries. They looked around trying to find where the shots had come from, soon spotting a figure on the top of one of the biggest buildings, seemingly leaning in their direction.

Mumbo, ever the polite one, waves to them. The figure moves back before disappearing for a moment. They reappear soon after, waving something in the air.

"I think we should head that way" Ren declared gesturing towards the strange person.

"Wha-" Grian sputtered "you want to go TOWARDS the person who was just shooting at us?! Are you insane?!"

"Griba, he has a point, '' Pearl started, ignoring Grian's distressed arguments. This is the first person we've seen and, judging from the rest of this place, it makes sense they're a bit jumpy. We probably spooked them"

"We also have to find the others" mumbo added "and I would very much like to get out of the zombies"

"I- well- but-" Grian continued to sputter but as he scrambled for something to say he realized this was probably their best chance. He sighed "....fine... But keep your guard up, we don't need them suddenly turning on us."

They approached the building and found the door barricaded from the inside. There was shuffling heard from inside the building as what sounded like multiple heavy objects were removed with struggle. Soon the door opened, just enough for a human to fit through. The door revealed a person, an eerily familiar person. He had short choppy cut brown hair, military goggles propped up on his head, a bandana laid over a vest holding multiple kinds of ammo. His button up shirt and pants, one leg now torn to the point of shorts, were a mess. His whole outfit was worn and dirty, old and new blood stains creating a sickening pattern. He is covered in everything from scratches to bruises to burns, and that was just the stuff he didn't bother to cover with bandages. He was covered in a multitude of old dirty bandages, anything from proper gauze and bandages to multiple plasters being desperately pasted over a wound that looks better suited towards stitches.

He looked thin, and tired and halfway to being a zombie himself, but his eyes seem to light up as he looked at them with shock, confusion, and hope. But behind it all was a sense of paranoia, the way his eyes flickered behind them, looking them up and down as if searching for weapons or supply.

Despite the bandages on his face hiding most features from sight there was something so achingly familiar about him, as if seeing someone you know’s family without the context they are related.

"Oh my God, I wasn't imagining things. You're actually alive, there are other survivors!" He breathed out in disbelief. But it was his voice, the cadence to his words, that finally struck them on why he was so familiar.

Scar

The group was separated when they first entered the world, scattered about in smaller groups. They had no clue where the others ended up but finally seeing Scar should have been such a relief.

But it wasn't

The man in front of them was missing some key features of their friend. From the skin that was shown, there were missing scars, the one across his nose bridge in particular stood out as missing.

Some of the less weary members of their group were held back to keep from telling the doppelganger anything was off.

"Oh, oh! Get inside quickly! I've cleared out most of the place but there may still be a few stragglers that somehow slipped in." He usured them inside and then promptly began attempting to seal the door again.

The struggle was clear and the reasoning for it was horrifying. The Scar lookalike's leg that was still covered by his pants leg was broken, twisted at an awkward angle. But that's not the worst part (though in this environment it is a pretty distressing reminder of the lack of respawn) no, the worst part is that he didn't seem to care. There was no crutch, no walking stick, no brace or even splint. He just struggled on it as he dragged the heavy looking crates back to block the door..

"I never thought I'd meet other survivors! Though I had considered that maybe there was someone else out there I had stopped looking after the first few weeks, and wow you guys look like your set up good. I look like a really mess out here compared to you." The other Scar excitedly rambled on as he finished blocking the door and started checking his supply, using the wall to make his way over to it.

It reminded Grian of a habit Scar had during the life games, always running a hand on the wall and checking the supplies every time he came in the door, no matter how short the trip.

" Do you guys need anything? This isn't my main base so I don't have much food on hand....Or water....Or medical.... But I can help out in any way I can. Though, you guys don't really look like you're hurting for much."

The look of confusion was back on his face as he looked them up and down once more. "How is that, by the way, I mean, I get perhaps being better off than me but you look like you have the water to spare to regularly clean your clothes. Or enough food to feed you all comfortably. How is that?"

"Oh, well, uhm" Ren began " we aren't really from around here."

The other Scar's eyes narrowed slightly. Seeming to trust them less and less as time goes on.

"You mean you're from a different area? Cause, friend, I've been all around the place and nowhere is safe. They can swim, climb, and crawl just fine."

'What he means is that we are from a different server" Mumbo chimes in, Grian gives him a look. Scar looks confused.

"Other...'server'? Like a computer? Sorry, I'm not really following." The hermits look at him in shock. Grian steps in first.

"How long has the world been like this?" He asked

Scar humed lightly "maybe, let's say.... Few years? Five? Somewhere around there I think. I don't really have a calendar, just an outdated GPS. He held up the device and the thing looked old even by whitelist server standards. It was run on some kind of daylight sensor keeping it charged and using electricity. Residential and peaceful servers were typically known for using electricity over Redstone as they have the people to maintain it and no mobs to worry about damaging or setting it on fire. If tango were here he would probably have snatched up the old thing.

But he says he had been here for a few years and doesn't seem to recognize them at all. Definitely not their Scar, so Pearl asks the next most pressing question. "Who are you? What's your name?"

"This is starting to feel an awful lot like an interrogation" he muttered under his breath "I'll answer but then I get to start asking the questions. My name is R-" he cut himself off before thinking for a moment. Then a mischievous, almost childish smile spread across his face. "Scar." He decided "you can call me Scar."

Other than the realization that that is definitely not his real name. The fact that he apparently shared a name (nickname????) with their friend would have been strange on its own but with all the similarities this was a whole new level.

"Alright, my turn, uhm...what's your guys names first of all. Gosh it's been a bit since I got to know someone." The last part was muttered under his breath but those in the group with advanced hearing heard.

"Well, I'm Gem, the Dog hybrid is Ren, the avian is Grian, that's Pearl, and he's Mumbo" she told him, running through their introductions

"Cool! Cool! And, uh, these servers you were on about? Can't say I'm too familiar."

"Server, you know, like different worlds. People set them up to live on and sometimes they have gimmicks or respawns?"

"Oh! World hoppers! I've heard about you before! My parents sometimes talked about rich people who didn't care for..." He trailed off, clearing his throat, seemingly thinking better of what he was about to repeat. "What brings you here?"

"Yeah, those, we uh, we got turned around and ended up around here. Thought we could ask someone for directions but couldn't find anyone, well, except you." Mumbo explained. "Where are they anyways, the other people I mean."

Scar's face solamed. He averted his gaze from them to stare at the ground

"The Other people?" Scar huffed a half laugh though there was no humor in his eyes. "I'm sure they probably gave you a warm welcome on the way in.

Realization struck the group, those player like mobs...

"You mean- those were-"

"It's nasty what a mutated virus can do."

The group grew silent, comprehending the terrors of what they just learned. It was broken by Scar who was trying to shove himself up using the wall.

"You're bleeding." He stated simply, looking to Ren whose ear got clipped by a stray bullet and various other hermit's injuries. "I have some bandages and, I don't know about where you're from, but here, if you bleed out, you stay dead."

"Mate, I'm not sure if you should be moving. That leg of yours doesn't seem to be in very good shape" Pearl started moving towards him to help.

"Oh, yeah, that, don't worry about that." He laughed nervously "I honestly can't even feel it."

"What?! How can't you feel it?! It's all twisty!" Gem exclaimed.

Scar didn't answer right away, making it over to a chest with the help of Pearl. He carefully began rummaging through it putting most things in his bag but setting aside a half used roll of bandages. Through his rummaging he pulls out of the chest a small, rectangle box. Inside is a syringe with some kind of clear liquid. Grian's eyes widened, glancing back and forth from the needle to Scar.

"Is that-"

"Morphine." Scar interrupted "Found some in a military medical supply and first aid kits. I try to use it sparingly but since I broke my leg it's been hard to move around without it" he puts the syringe away and puts the whole box carefully in his bag.

Grian furrowed his brows. "You should be careful, you could get addicted to that stuff."

Scar raised an eyebrow at him. "When choosing between using it too much and getting addicted and not using enough and dying, I think the choice is pretty clear." Pearl once again helped Scar make his way back over to the group with the bandages as he started to get them patched up.

Mumbo cleared his throat attempting to change the topic. " Sorry, but we actually came here with a group. You haven't happened to see anyone else around, have you?"

Scar shook his head "no, you guys are the first survivors I've seen in...well, in a long time"

"Right, right, of course" Mumbo mumbled "maybe you can help us go look for them?"

Scar looked conflicted, glancing out the window and at his bag. "I...I don't know. It's rough out there and if your friends are unprepared-"

"They are alright" Ren interrupted him, making Scar jump. "They are very good fighters and can adapt, I'm sure"

Scar looked at him, seemingly unconvinced, before once again thinking for a second, then he glanced back at them. "Ok, I can help you navigate and find your friends, on one condition"

Grian eyed him with suspicion, everyone knew scar was a conman, whatever this deal is could very easily leave them worse off than before. Scar leaned closer to them. "I want you to take me with you."

"What?" Gem questioned

Scar brightened up "take me with you, when you leave. After all, in order to leave you need to find your friends, and to find your friends you need me to act as your guide. So it seems only fair that when you leave, I can tag along. Sounds like a pretty clear cut deal to me!"

The hermits glanced at each other. Had this been a stranger then yes! They would have brought him along no problem. Just explain the situation to Xisuma and gain a new hermit. However this guy, he was somehow connected to Scar. Maybe he was another clone or evil counterpart, or worse maybe he was somehow a younger version and they would be destroying the timeline.

To bring him along was dangerous, however he did raise a good argument. Without his knowledge, they won't be able to find their friends, and by proxy the real Scar, at all. And also, one look at the small hope shining in his eyes at just the thought of escape, it twisted their hearts.

"We can't just leave him here," Pearl whispered to Grian.

Grian looked at him, conflicted before those eyes broke him. He sighed. "Yeah, ok, you have a deal"

Scar lit up and started laughing. He seemed to bounce excitedly and, if his leg wasn't messed up, may have gotten up to start pacing. "Oh! Oh good! Trust me you won't regret this. I will be the greatest guide on this side of the apocalypse. You just wait."

He started to stuff all the bandages back into his bag before zipping it up.

"We should head out as soon as day breaks, it's a bit of a walk back to my base and I'm sure you will want to look for your friends on the way. I'm sure we will find them before you can think"

"Really?" Mumbo questioned "because you didn't seem so confident before."

Scar smiled at him though it looked a bit more strained now "well that was different before. Now we just have to find them" his smile slowly fell as he looked towards the barricaded door. "We have to..."

#echos talking about old minecraft servers #echo's fics #tcd scar #the crafting dead #tcd #Hermitcraft

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nrdmssgs · 2 years ago

Text

A heart full of pity (part 4 (final))

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut

Summary: Cruelty leads to cruelty. This circle is difficult to break apart, sometimes it ends up breeding monsters, chimeras. But if one participant finds the strength to show compassion: there is hope for everyone.

TW: Mention of scars left by an injury (burns). Swearing. Smut part under cut. Thanks: @homicidal-slvt opened this portal for me and helped me share something very personal. I can never thank her enough. Check out her absolutely beautiful Nik drabble. @sofasoap created Lastochka series and got me absolutely enamored by a character I, could barely stand before. This is the real power of writing. And my dear @gamergirlbones who woke up one morning and decided to be the best, most supporting and encouraging person out there.

Authors note: Im sorry for Nik literally not shutting up for a single minute in smut-part. In his defence: he behaved for a good two parts. This is the final part. I may return to these characters one day, but this story arc is over.

Their final destination appears to be a secluded sea bay, which would look like a tourist heaven if it was located in a more popular country. For the first time, Nikolai doesn't take her on a meeting, and she is on her own till the evening, when they were supposed to go have a much-needed drink. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact, that Nik not only had a full military organization at his disposal, but also was trying to hire her even in her present ‘useless’ state. “I need you.” These were the exact words, he used that morning, leaving her alone at their table. The words stuck in her head, as she was aimlessly roaming around a seashore, cooling her barefoot in water. Here, away from prying eyes, she could finally take off a warm thick shirt and expose her back to sun rays. In the evening, Nik meets her at the hotel entrance, and she immediately regrets agreeing to go out for a drink with him. Of course, she hoped to take her mind off his "Project C" for at least an hour. But she hadn't planned on being distracted by the top buttons of his shirt, which were, quite ‘by accident’, left unbuttoned. And by no means did she plan to stare at the rolled-up sleeves hugging tightly his forearms. She felt, she was desperately losing the ‘look anywhere but at him’ contest every time she caught his smug grin. He was clearly amused by her attempts to find any topic to speak on, just to avoid long pauses in which he just tilted his head lightly while looking at her. “I've just remembered that time Gaz asked me if there were any specifically Russian drinking games. I had to think for 5 minutes straight and still didn't manage to come up with anything.” She takes a sip out of her glass, not raising her gaze. “How does ‘survive the morning after drinking with a Russian’ sounds?” Nikolai lets out a dark chuckle. “Oh no, even I suck at it. A thousand years ago, when I was still young and naive, I once drank rum with a guy, claiming, that I was immune to alcohol due to my origins… I believe my lips were all over him just a few hours later. And on the next morning, my head was killing me.” By the end of the story her face goes red, but she shares it anyway, since the memory is more funny than embarrassing after all these years. “Poor little one.” Nik reaches out and pats her head. “But you also make me question myself, why the hell aren't we drinking rum.” “Because I now can't stand even a smell of it. And because you don't need it.” She looks beyond his back at slowly crowding bar. A few pairs of pretty eyes are glued to Nikolai, and she envies them for being able to sneak a peak, while he doesn't notice. The more people gather in the bar, the more stuffy and warm it becomes. At some point, she understands, that all the layers of cloth, she is hiding her skin under, are going to suffocate her. So she excuses herself and goes to the ladies room. There, she closes her eyes and splashes some water on her face. “Excuse me?” An unfamiliar voice is calling. She brushes the drops from her eyes and turns towards the sound. Two women: mesmerizing eyes, caramel tan, light sundresses dancing around soft curves, smiles making the whole room seeming more illuminated. “Yes?” She straightens her back. “Excuse us if we misread, we've noticed you and your partner sitting there, and… do you guys date? Because if yes, then sorry again.” One of them speaks, while the other is standing back, trying to mask her interest. She stares blankly at them for a couple of seconds, processing, what she just heard. “Ehm, no! No, we are just colleagues…” “Oh in that case don't you mind if we talk to your colleague? You see, she back there has a thing for accents, and I am here more for show… and to help her.” “Yes, of course!” It seems, her brain turns off and her mouth keeps forming words automatically. “In fact, I was just going to call it a night anyway, so he'll be free in a 5. He's a great guy, yes. Nik. Very nice one…” She mumbles some more nonsense and storms out of the room.

She manages to sneak behind Nikolai and leave the bar. On the way back to the hotel, she takes out her smartphone and types a message. "Sorry, just remembered something urgent. Don't worry, I'm fine. Please have fun.” As soon as the display blinks, showing a new notification - she turns the smartphone off.

Back in her room, she finally drags her clothes off. Her head is full of questions, she is angry, disappointed and despondent, her eyes burn with tears. “This is the right thing, the right, very right thing to do,” she mutters, stepping in the shower. Yes, of course it was only right to help a good friend to find a pleasing company. Well, maybe, it wasn't so gracious of her to run away, but she let him know, she was ok. Tomorrow, he himself will thank her for being such a nice wingman. What obviously isn't the right thing to do is to picture their fingers undoing his belt and shirt, playing with his hair… She growls and turns on freezing water. She hates cold showers, even in summer. But now anything will do just to shush those images away from her mind. Ice-cold water cramps her wrists, pains her legs. She closes her eyes and leans against the wall. Drops of water mix with tears, flow down and disappear into the drain. "You did the right thing," she whispers as shivers run through her body. She is interrupted by a knock on the door. "Great, let's have someone else mix up their room with mine and break in here," she mutters, wrapping herself in a towel. The knock repeats and she opens the door just a bit so that she could assess the extent of her problem and decide if she can handle it on her own. Nikolai is standing outside the door and his appearance alone does not bode well. Never before has she seen such a deep worry on his face. “You ok?” he reaches out his hand to her, but she backs up. “Can we at least talk? Please.” She lets him in and frantically dresses up in a bathroom, while he is waiting outside. “Sure, we can talk. Anything wrong?” She tries her best to sound calm and happy. When she walks in back in the room, he hands her his smartphone. “You tell me. If I did anything wrong, if I scared you with that rum-joke or crossed any line - you tell me, please. But don't sneak behind my back, setting some random girls on me. Don't disappear like that, because it is scary. And you know, I'm not the one to get frightened easily.” She looks down on his phone. He texted and called her. A lot. Guilt squeezes her throat, stings her chest so hard that she struggles to breathe in. She sits on her bed and gives him his phone back. “I'm sorry, Nik, I didn't mean to ruin your night. It's just… They asked me and I thought, it would be nice for you to look at someone other than me for one evening. Someone jolly and fun.” “Why do you make it all about me, little one? What about our night, why give up on it? For a sake of some ladies, you see for the first and the last time in your life?” He lifts her face by the chin, and she notices that his hair was disheveled. Perhaps he was really in a hurry to find her and ran. “For your sake. I wanted you to have a good time. You deserve to be surrounded by beautiful people, to have a little joy here and there.” Despite guilt burning inside, she made herself look him in the eyes. “And that beauty and joy exclude you? Who said you that, dear? Who was that idiot? Give me the name.” His tone is still warm and friendly, but his words make her nervous.

“No, Nikolai, this is not a situation, where you need to prove me wrong about my appearance. I'm ok with that, I promise. How I look, how I make others feel, is not my entire personality. I'm fine with being the way I am now.” Her voice trembles treacherously. “You are so fine with that, you hide yourself under a ton of sweaters, jackets, long pants, hoodies throughout the whole summer. And if I don't comment on that - it doesn't mean I don't notice. Now stop ignoring my question and give the name.” He smiles as if he doesn't plan on having ‘the talk’ with anyone, who planted this idea in her head. “It hurts even to glance at me.” The familiar words that escape her lips felt like they doused him with boiling water. It was him, all this time it was his words, that brought her pain, made her hate her own body. Nik slowly sinks on the bed beside her. “Grebanniy pridurok*” He quietly curses at himself, looking right before him. “Now, how about you end this charity evening and leave my room? Because I know, a heart full of pity can gather me an army, get me any weapon, set half a city on fire… but let us stop right there, because I don't want your attention or affection when it's all a ruth.” Her voice becomes again colorless and plain, just like the day he made her look at her reflection. “I was out of my pity for you on the very next morning after they hurt you.” Nik goes to the bathroom and returns with a towel. He sits beside her, carefully takes her wet hair, that soak her shirt and dries them with a towel. “The moment you woke up after that night, when you barely slept because of pain. At that exact moment I saw, you are not done fighting. At that exact second, there was no more pity for you. Maybe it was too soon, too hard on you. But if I had a pity - I wouldn't say that nonsense only to push you forward.” His touch is gentle and light. After drying her hair, he softly pulls her unbuttoned shirt down as it was so wet, he could see another layer of cloth under it. She doesn't protest, she just stares silently at the wall, letting him do whatever he wants. What difference does it make if she doesn't feel anything anyway? So she thought until his fingers brush against her shoulder. “You know, when you climb above the cloud level in an airplane, you can look down and not recognize clouds. There is this ‘altostratus’ type, that looks like frozen sea waves from above. Just like this place right here.” He traces a semi-circle on the back of her shoulder covered with marks and seams and covers it with an open warm palm. Her pulse quicken with panic: she hasn't felt anything in months, she could even accidentally cut her scorched skin and not notice, and now she clearly felt Niks` touch. “And when you climb up a bit more - you may find cirrostratus clouds. They float like bird feathers underwater and look just like this.” His fingers move the strap of her tank top a little and draw a pattern over one of her scars. “But my favourite one is cumulonimbus, a feisty one. Heart of thunder and plane hunter, it can produce tornado, lightnings, severe weathers of almost any kind. But it is gorgeous: it towers above others and changes constantly. Like this deep line, going down your spine.” “Nikolai, you really believe, fetishizing my scars will help?” She hides her face, feeling her cheeks burning and her heart racing. Whatever he was doing - it was working, as he made her feel something long forgotten. “Apparently you believe, hiding behind a sarcasm will help. So why don't I go on and be honest with you and repeat, that what I said a few months ago is an absolute bullshit and I regret every word of it. And I see beauty in those battle scars. Not some ‘funny face’ type of attractiveness, but a true beauty I used to see only up in the air.” Nikolai slips down the bed and ends up on his knees just to meet her face. “What do I have left apart from a sarcasm? I don't know what should I do.” She smiles bitterly.

“You have a great deal of grief, you have anger, you don't let out. Why not share it all with someone, who is here for you?” And if that wasn't enough, Nik squeezes her hand, making her finally look at his face. “You want anger? I am angry, Nikolai. I am pissed.” She starts talking quietly. “I hate myself for getting into this mess, for letting my Captain down. I hate it, that everyone around me are always right. Like Price was right about you being a good guy, you were right about me being able to pull the mission through. I'm surrounded by so many wise men, and I hate being the one you all get to teach. I hate it that my life consists of hospital screenings and that you are laying yourself out just to change that. ‘Here is new job’, ‘here is new contract’, just because I can't go on with 141… And I swear to god, you call me ‘little one’ one more time and i'm gonna break your face. I'm not that much younger than you, Nik! But the worst part in this situation…” She cradles his face and for one short moment digs her fingers in his temples. “The worst part is that even with all this frustration, I'm still sorry, that circumstances did not turn out differently, and I can't let myself even try to… nevermind, this all doesn't make any sense, when I say it out loud…” Her hands fall limply on her knees. “I have so much to say.” He straightens his back, takes her hands and returns them to his face. “But I'll start with the last part. Ti mozhesh. Moya khoroshaya, ti mozhesh pozvolit sebe podpustit` kogo-to blizhe. Ya skoree sam sebe ruku otgrizu, chem sdelau tebe bol`no, moe nebo. Odno slovo, odno slovo i ya ostavly tebya v pokoe. Nikogda ne potrevozhu. No mne nuzhno eto slovo*.” She listens to him and slowly shakes her head. “I can't let you closer and pretend my body causes me anything apart disgust and fear. I know, there are many things beyond physicality, but I don't want to be a constant reminder, you'll never feel a warmth of simple touch.”

His lips cover hers so swiftly, she doesn't even manage to get scared or worried. His touch, his moves - everything is full of care. He wasn't ‘testing the waters’ or teasing. She could only describe what he did as ‘kissing all the worries away’. He covers her hands on his cheeks with his palms, leaning closer, letting her cling to him, hiding her behind his figure. It's only when he feels, she is no that tense anymore, he pauses and speaks without even leaning back. “Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think, this was that exact warmth of touch, you were talking about. And I love it. And crave more if you have any to share and feel like it.” For a few long moments she doesn't move, as if weighing all the pros and cons. Nik lets her take time and closes eyes, silently enjoying the moment, her proximity, her hands, her scent. “If you feel anything, you'd rather not feel - tell me right away.” Her lips brushing against his cheek, as she says it, send shivers down his body. “There is nothing, not a single thing, I'd rather miss, when it comes to you.” He melts under her reserved touch, catches her hands just to press a kiss on a knuckle, leans closer, cups her cheeks to pepper her face with kisses. It's when his lips meet hers once again, he makes her frown, gradually going for a deeper kiss. A wave of his deep earthly scent fills her nostrils, carries her mind away. The outlines of the room blur before her eyes. She doesn't want to think, how much grace of his touch is left there for her, so she loses herself in his hands, letting him wrap her in a tight embrace, gently lower her onto the bed. Hovering over her, he does not allow their bodies to touch, reducing contact to his fingers, tracing lines over her jawline and neck. He stays close enough to share his warmth, but he keeps the minimum distance even when she sinks her fingers in his hair, guiding him closer. He clenches his jaw, keeping his own desires in control. “Patience is such an underrated virtue. I was never the one to practice it bona fide. But I've waited so long for you, I may restrain myself for a few hours more, until there is absolutely no doubts left on your mind.” “...you've waited? Nik, I don't want to disappoint, but there is not much to look forward to.” She leans back against the pillow, letting him go, but he catches her hand. “You never felt lingering gazes, touches, that could definitely last shorter?” He chuckles darkly. “Never assumed, I might have thoughts about you, about what would you feel like? Dear, I dreamt about it, I fantasized, I came to it.” He leans closer for another kiss, and she stops hearing any distant noises, coming from behind her door. There is only his breath, becoming heavy, his deep velvety voice, his heartbeat.

“You will help me stay patient, won't you, dear?” Nikolai dips his head, licks his lips. His pupils are blown wide and dark. He needs her help, if she wants to go slow. There is only one problem: she doesn't. Not when he is that close and his fingers brush against her neck, lightly clasp around her throat for a brief moment and then go on tracing a long line down her collarbone. Not when his breath is hot on her earlobe. Not when he frowns and softly growls every time she squeezes her thighs around his waist.

It is only when there is no more clothes on her, she understands why Nik is so careful and slow: he eases her into the feel of him. But he does it so smoothly, she can't even remember, how he started undressing her. Maybe it's his ‘fixer’ nature, making him insensibly lead his target to any action, any consequence, Nikolai needs. Or maybe he really doesn't want to scare her, to lose her right after he finally got her all to himself. Either way, in the end it is her fluttering her eyes shut, panting and mewling ‘Please, I need you’ clinging to his shirt, that he still doesn't let her unbutton. “In a good time, moe nebo, in a good time, I promise,” he murmurs, caressing her inner thighs, running his fingers over her slick and covering her lips with his to drink on her moans. Her arousal covers his fingers as he presses inside her, thumb tucked against her clit. She tries desperately to be still, to accept anything he might give and not grind against his hand, asking for more friction. “Posmotri na menya, milaya. Mne nuzhni tvoi glaza*.” His pulse is throbbing in his wrist, pushed against her core, making it almost impossible for her to concentrate. Yet she manages to open her eyes, dark with desire. “There's my girl.” He grins, as her whole body tenses, tightens, when he pushes the first digit deeper in. As his deep long thrusts are not enough, he leaves a wet trail of open mouth kisses from her ear to her chest and hovers just adobe her nipples. "You must already hate me for taking so long, poor thing. Just look at you - dripping wet. But there are so many things, I want to do to you, so much time I want to spend on you, so many things, I want to taste on you. I'm enjoying every moment of it and so will you, because I'm going to make sure you come for me, my girl." His hot breath rolls against her skin, while his fingers quicken. She arches her back, barely containing waves of pleasure, taking over her fogged mind. “Sh–h-h, my dear, there is more. So much more out there. I haven't even started, haven't even tased this heaven beneath me.” his gaze roams around her breasts. “You know, there is a certain technique to do that? First you circle it with your tongue,” and his hot wet tongue traces a circle around her nipple, barely touching its edges. “And then, you run the flat of your tongue over it.” Nik doesn't limit it to one touch: his tongue caresses her hardening nipple over and over again, all while his thrusts get bolder. “And only after that you can squeeze it, put it in your mouth…” He does just as he has said, thriving on her tender skin.

Her toes curl in ecstasy, when he whispers with a tad ragged breath ‘let me check, how my precious girl is doing down there’ and pulls his fingers out of her burning hot sleek. Her breath catches in her throat as he savors on her juices, sucking on his fingers. She presses her lips together, but her plaintive sob still reaches his ears. “I'm sorry, my dear, but this tastes so good, I just need more,” Nikolai is cooing, brushing away a lone tear, rolling down her cheek. He keeps covering her body in kisses, slowly moving down. “Wait! You don't need to, this is not necessary, really!” She manages to cover herself just before his lips press against her sex. The kiss is pressed nevertheless. And then another and another one, till his tongue brushes between her fingers, trying to reach out for what Nik is aiming for. He wouldn't stop talking, when he could easily avoid any words at all, but now, when he could really ask - he decided to convince her without words. With a few strokes he slips through her fingers and grunts. “See? No need to hide yourself from me.” He takes her hand and guides it to the back of his head. “Here is something for you to hold on to, dear.” Her mouth falls open as her vision whites out completely, when his tongue drags along her slick and flickers over her clit. He purrs praises, chuckles at her fruitless attempts to control herself, hisses, when she tries to pull him away, but never stops, not for a single moment. His tongue dances on her flesh, as his fingers accompany every movement. Every touch, every single stroke feels absolutely intoxicating. His tight grip on her waist, his warmth, his soft yet persistent touch doesn't help her to stay quiet and reserved. “Don't hold back, my girl, don't even think of holding back with me.” His deep rumbling voice has such a power over her, that she feels her mind spiraling in a dark void of pleasure the next moment, he says that. She doesn't feel other parts of her body, doesn't care for her scars, for callused skin, marked with severe burns. All she feels is her heartbeat throbbing in her pussy, as he is feasting. Her release, irresistible and powerful, washes like a wave down her body. She tries to cover her mouth to not scream, but Nikolai catches her hand in a mid-flight. “Those moans belong to me! No one may steal them from me, not even you, my dear!” He groans, when he finally returns to her lips, as she is still trembling. “I`m sorry, I… I was trying to keep this just between us and not wake up people next door.” She is breathless, so it's a miracle, she manages to answer him.

“Such a greedy girl. Not letting others enjoy her moans. You are afraid that these sounds will get stuck in their heads, provoking them to try to picture you, to fantasize, to get hard or wet with a mere memory of your voice?” Nikolai grins, noticing that he can make her blush even after she came all over his lips and fingers. She looks at him pleadingly, tucking under his shirt, and he finally lets her unbutton it with a nod. “Go on, dear, but don't forget, I have opposite plans. I want them all to hear, how I make you feel. And I'm not turning down on my intentions today, no matter how nicely you ask.”

He gives her complete freedom, lets her do whatever she pleases: be it grazing her teeth along his neck or unbuckling his belt. He doesn't interrupt her and only hisses and clutches the cool fabric of the sheet in his hand to channel a tension, she awakes deep inside him. Her fingers slide down his abdomen and her lips start following down his chest, when Nik catches her, presses closer to his body to let her feel, how desperate he's already for her. “Wait, wait, my dear, not now. I need to be inside you. I need to fuck you. Moe nebo, proshu tebya*.” And she feels him: hot, painfully hard and pulsing under her fingertips. In the back of her head, she understands, this might hurt as now their size difference is more obvious than ever, but at this point, she doesn't care. So when he hovers over her, slowly angling himself, she arches her back, pulling herself closer, not caring for a burning pain accompanying him stretching her. “No, not like that. I said, I'd rather bite my own hand off than hurt you, my girl, and I meant it. Let me guide you.” He brings his lips to hers and goes in for a long kiss. Nik eases into her with gradual thrusts: each next going just a bit deeper. His lips don't leave hers, even when a throaty rumbling sound escapes his mouth. It is one part desperate, one part growl, all encompassing as he finally sinks into her, making her eyes roll back as he gathers her up to him. “I thought I knew, how good would it feel to be inside you… Oh what a fool, what a desperate fool I was. You feel hundred times better than my wildest dreams, dear.” Nikolai whispers, picking up his pace.

If she had any doubts left - there are no more, as her brain seems to short-circuit after he finds a new angle with which she feels every his vein. She gathers all her strength to last as long as she can, to stay focused, to not lose herself, but he doesn't let her. His movements become relentless as he squeezes her hips and presses her closer. “You are stubborn. I like it.” He grins despite a slight tremor in his voice. He freezes for a second, brushes hair out of her face, and leans a little closer to her ear. “You are stubborn, but so. am. I.” Every word is accompanied by a hard push, she mewls, tries to catch his lips, but he leans back. “Tvoi golos, moe nebo, mne nuzhen tvoi volshebnui golos*.” Everything in her body tightens, winding tighter at the request, his body slamming against hers, making her break with a scream. It covers up shameless sloppy sounds, with which he fucks her. She loses sense of time as his throbbing cock doesn't let her climb down to sweet aftershocks after her peak. “Stubborn, but so generous to me, letting me ravish in your moans and clenching around me that tight.” All she knows - her entire body burns with a sensation, she never felt before, when he catches her shoulder in an open mouth kiss growing into a bite as he comes. He doesn't stop, as if dragging her to her peak twice was not enough - even when his body is shaking with a wave of pleasure - he makes his point. He is not backing up until she is fully, completely at his mercy. “Moe. Moe nebo. Tolko moe.*” Her hips tremble with overstimulation and he softens his pace gradually until he barely moves. Nik carefully cups her face and touches her forehead with his lips. No kiss - just a gentle touch, quiet cooing, his voice helping her mind find a way back. He holds her close while she comes to her senses, whispering praises, and doesn't pull out until she lets him. Its only later, when he brings her in shower and runs warm water, cleaning her up, she remembers, why she was afraid of letting him close in the first place. She takes a step back, pressing her back against the wall, but Nikolai immediately shakes his head and pulls her back in his embrace. “No-no-no, don`t. It is my sky, my heaven. Never hide it from me, please.”

***

“Please, promise me one thing.” She whispers in his embrace, as he is holding her close to him, the same way, he held her on the first night after the operation. “Promise me, this wasn't an act of pity. I'll hate myself if you forced yourself to do… all this just of pity.”

“No pity in my heart left for you. Compassion maybe, but no pity.” Nikolai kisses her knuckles and forehead, pulling her closer.

As she slowly drifts to sleep, he looks at the dawn, dimly illuminating the night sky in the window behind her.

“There is no pity left in this heart - only you.”

*Grebanniy pridurok - bloody idiot.

*Ti mozhesh. Moya khoroshaya, ti mozhesh pozvolit sebe podpustit` kogo-to blizhe. Ya skoree sam sebe ruku otgrizu, chem sdelau tebe bolno, moe nebo. Odno slovo, odno slovo i ya ostavly tebya v pokoe. Nikogda ne potrevozhu. No mne nuzhno eto slovo - You can. My dear, you can let yourself let someone closer. I would rather bite off my own hand, than hurt you, my sky/my heaven. One word, one word and I'll leave you alone. Ill never disturb you. But I need your word.

*Posmotri na menya, milaya. Mne nuzhni tvoi glaza - Look at me, dear. I need your eyes.

*Moe nebo, proshu tebya - My heaven, please.

*Tvoi golos, moe nebo, mne nuzhen tvoi volshebnui golos. - Your voice, my heaven, I need to hear it.

*Moe. Moe nebo. Tolko moe. - Mine. My heaven. Only mine.

#cod #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mv2 #cod x reader #cod fanfic #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #mw2 x reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #mw2 fanfic #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #nikolai x you #cod x oc #nikolai x reader

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 1 year ago

Text

Sicktember #12

Prompt: Old Wives Tale

Fandom/OCs: Science Lovers OCs (Peter and Violet)

Words: 1360

Sicknario inspo: Catching cold after doing something foolhardy from this post and caretaker being sneezed on from this post (both posts by @sickromancer !)

Author’s comments/background: So many characters that I only write for Sicktember, but it’s such a treat to revisit them. I loved Peter and Violet’s first story so much (read it here), and watching them grow up is delightful to me. So here’s another domestic drabble set in the Victorian era.

~~~***~~~

Peter and Violet were sitting by the pond behind their tiny home, enjoying the late autumn sunset. They were dressed for warmth, since the wind had more than a hint of winter on it, but it was a beautiful, sunny day and they knew they wouldn't have many more of those. The married couple spoke little, enjoying the silence and each other's company. Peter had been staring at the surface of the water contemplatively, when suddenly his eyes lit up. He was on his feet in a moment, crouching at the edge of the pond with rapt stillness, carefully sliding out of his jacket.

"Peter? What is it?" Violet asked, feeling the need to whisper.

He gestured for her to be silent, his attention fixed on something at the center of the pond. They sat frozen in silence, Violet waiting for some sign as to what was happening, when out of nowhere, Peter dove into the water. The motion was so unexpected that Violet stood with a gasp, rushing to the pond's edge, hands over her mouth, but Peter appeared a moment later, grinning triumphantly with something clenched in his fist. He waded to the bank crowing with pride:

"I found one! The final specimen needed to complete our frog study! We've been looking all summer but none of the lads have even seen this breed and we'd all but given up. It's past the season for them, really. I've no idea what she's doing here now, but she's a winner, big and fat! She'll look tremendous at the exhibition."

"Oh Peter, but your clothes! You're covered in filthy, stinking pond water now. And it's freezing! You're going to catch your death behaving so."

He came fully out of the water, all of him now sopping wet and colored various shades of green and brown. "They're just clothes," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "They'll wash, and so will my skin. Besides, Britain's scientific community will benefit much from our exhibition. I'd say the contribution we're making is worth a few ruined shirts," he said, almost pleadingly, as if begging her to agree with him.

Violet glared at him, hands on her hips, not so easily swayed. "Just you wait, sir," she said, shaking her head. "You'll sing a different tune when you've caught a beastly cold from acting like a child, and I'll not feel one whit sorry for you. Diving into dirty ponds in October indeed. Why must women be vexed with men?"

Peter was already shivering in the cold air, but he cradled the frog tenderly, being careful not to injure it. “Vi, dearest, you needn't be cross. I want to be excited, and I don’t want to spoil the day by quarreling with you. I'll see to my clothes so it's not a worry on you. And you of all people, with all your training in medicine, should know that I mightn’t get sick just from getting wet. The new research from John Snow and others says that microscopic organisms are the cause of illness, not air and weather. I read you that journal just last week, don't you remember? You see, I'm sure I’ll be just fine. And right now my only wish is that you'd be happy along with me!"

Violet sighed, but a smile twitched the corners of her mouth against her will. He was so sweet and earnest as he spoke, just as he’d been when they first met. “Oh go on, then. I’m pleased you found your precious frog. But come, now, you must get cleaned up. They may be saying that weather doesn’t cause illness, but I’d rather we not tempt fate.”

Peter willingly followed her to the house, but wouldn’t see to himself until he had secured his prize to ensure she would stay well until he was ready to dress her for display. Meanwhile, Violet wouldn’t let him in the door until he had stripped down naked and been doused with a few buckets of water to remove the worst of the slime. As she was helping him disentangle himself from his sodden shirt, he froze. Just as she was about to ask him if he was well, he sneezed harshly, trying to turn away from her, mostly unsuccessfully. His nose was immediately running from the sneeze, but he had nothing to wipe it with other than his filthy shirt. She hastily handed him her own handkerchief, unable to keep a smug look from her face.

“You’ll say that sneeze was a coincidence, I’m sure, but I’ll not wonder the cold water is already having its way with you, foolish man.”

Peter made an annoyed sound. “It's only the water and slime in my nose. I’m not taking ill. Illness from the cold is an old wive’s tale now. Just you wait and see.”

~~~

Wait she did, and her reward was to see him come down with a beauty of a head cold in two days’ time. He continued to insist the foreign stuff from the pond in his nose made him sick, though, not the cold air and water. Violet kept her opinion to herself, and tried not to be too smug. Anyway, it was hard to be angry when Peter was so happy. His frog and the completion of his collection thrilled him, and he earned the unabashed admiration of his friends for his boldness and quick action. (His clothes and shoes were a loss in the end, but he paid for new from his own pocket with good grace.) The amphibian was a fine specimen to be sure, and everyone was certain she would be the crowning jewel of the exhibition.

Amidst all the excitement, though, Peter was a sniffling, sneezing, shivering mess and within a week he was unable to leave the house due to how poorly he was feeling. Putting aside her own feelings, Violet gave his cold the best care she could, for Peter's colds turned feverish at the slightest provocation. One night during the worst of it he could hardly draw breath for the clogging congestion in his chest and sinuses (worse than usual even for him, and this she could easily attribute to the pond water), so she drew him a hot bath for his feet and kept him wrapped in quilts as he soaked in the steam to keep the sickly shivers at bay, with a clean stack of handkerchiefs near at hand. He sniffled and sneezed and generally carried on, though she knew he was doing his best not to, so that her heart melted for him, even when he managed to sneeze or nearly sneeze on her almost every time she was near.

"Thangk you, dearest," he managed as she placed a bowl of stew near at hand. "I'mb sorry to incodvedience you, and I appreciade your care as always."

His earnest, watering eyes above a pink, runny nose were so endearing that she could only kiss his temple fondly. " 'Tis no trouble, for you're an easier patient than most. I'll not even waste my breath telling you never to do anything so foolhardy in the name of science again, because I know you would do it over a hundred times, given the same circumstance. So I must content myself with helping you take care in the aftermath."

He gave her a sheepish smile, scrubbing a wrist across his upper lip absently. "You do such an excellent job of idt. I'mb mbost fortunade.

She had to laugh. "I can hardly listen to you when your voice is so. You're completely pitiful when you've caught cold, my dear. I simply can't bear it." She pressed another kiss to his hair as his lips formed a pout.

"You ndeedn't treadt mbe like a child," he muttered. Yet he let his weight fall against her as she continued to stroke his hair.

"Perhaps if you didn't go jumping into ponds in your shoes and trousers like a child, I'd be less inclined to do so."

He pulled away from her to glare, but she continued to work her fingers through his hair, smiling to show she was only teasing. He leaned against her once more, mollified. She continued her ministrations to his scalp for a long while until, sick as he was, he fell fast asleep against her.

#sicktember 2023 #skt 2023 #prompt 12 #science lovers ocs

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