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sanjoongie · 1 year ago

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𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕋𝕨𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕩: 𝕋𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕒𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕤

🥀Pairing: Jeong Yunho x Reader (f)

🥀Genre: Smut

🥀Rating: 18+, Minors Do not Interact

🥀Au: incubus au, Victorian au, witch au, historical au, demon au, supernatural au

🥀Trope: s2l

🥀Summary: an incubus thinks you're a tasty witch snack as a widow, and it's about to turn your day around

🥀Kinks: tentacles, triple penetration, breast and nipple play, fingering (f), anal (f), oral (m), penetrative sex with no barrier, colored cum, erotic electroshock, headspace, squirting

🥀Word Count: 1,715

🥀Betas: n/a

🥀Day Twenty Five: Free use/ Spit Play 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Twenty Seven: cuckolding

A crash in your dead husband’s study pulled you from a nap in your boudoir, not bothering with even a robe to cover your white chemise. No one had been in that room for years, and that got your heart pumping in your throat. Was there a burglar? A monster didn’t seem likely in the dead of day. Either way, you scampered in, curling your hands, preparing to weave a spell.

A handsome man, with his boots up, was sitting behind your dead husband’s desk. His arms were crossed behind his head, casual, as if he had every right to be in here. “Now, what do we have here?” He said in a melodic, low voice.

“Shouldn't I be asking you the same thing?!” You demanded.

“I knew something was drawing me to this house but I wasn’t sure who. You’re a sight for sore eyes, sweetheart,” The man proclaimed.

You put both of your hands on your hips. “Listen, there are no magical artifacts in this house. There’s no reason for you to be here. Leave.”

“The name's Yunho,” Yunho introduced himself, ignoring your command. He stood up from the desk and began to walk around.

“I don’t care who you are or what your name is. You should leave. Now.”

“Now why would I leave when I could provide you with a very important service that I believe you’ve been lacking for quite some time.” Yunho smirked.

You felt heat move up your face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yunho circled you, like a predator after his prey. His words seemed to wind about you like a spell, curling something inside of your stomach that had lied dormant for many years. “I bet I could have you whimpering for me the minute I bend you over this desk, sweetheart.”

“How do you know?” You demanded.

“Your skin practically screams touch-starved,” Yunho whispered against your skin.

“I--I haven't been touched since my husband died,” You admitted barely above a whisper.

Yunho’s hands skimmed your curves over your white nightdress. “That's too bad. Your body is made for a lover.” He squeezed your breasts, your thighs, your ass. Anything he could get his hands on, he appreciated.

You whined in the back of your throat. “I…I can't!”

“What's stopping you, Sweetheart?” Yunho said in a deep voice.

“It's unbecoming of a lady witch,” You replied as Yunho’s hands slowly began to pull up your skirt.

“No one has to know,” Yunho tempted you, tongue hot on your neck, sucking and licking.

“They'll know!” You lamented. “They'll whisper behind their hands. They'll smell it on me.”

“Oh sweetheart,” Yunho chuckled, “the only people that will know that I fucked you good will be me and your pussy.”

“I… I want this so badly,” You whimpered.

“I can give you unlimited pleasure that you’ll never experience with a human. I just need your go ahead, lovely.” Yunho stood in front of you, flowing shirt and tight pants a temptation itself. You were thrown off by the human comment, however.

“What are you?” You demanded.

Yunho’s form wavered for a moment, like his body was emanating enough heat to mimic a heat wave. And then he gained certain features the bespoke of what exactly he was. He had horns that curled around the top of his skull. He had a tail that ended in a spade. His eyes had a ring of yellow around his iris. He screamed ‘incubus’ to you and you shivered.

“There is more.” Yunho’s eyes tightened in worry. “You can say no but I promise you, they will only give you pleasure.”

“More?” You said in awe that he had more hiding away that could give you pleasure. Your eyes immediately moved down towards his nether region.

Yunho couldn't help but laugh. “No, that one is obvious. Although you’re not exactly cold either.”

“Show me,” You said, some thrill-seeking nerve in you speaking out.

From behind his lower back came two long, black tethers. They moved of their own accord, one on each side of Yunho. “These are my tentacles. Succubus’s chose to receive wings as their extra feature, but us incubus's have these. They secrete their own viscous fluid, so you needn’t worry in that area. They provide me with some pleasure as well. If you must know.” Was Yunho… nervous about revealing his tentacles?

“Will you have me?” Yunho asked again. “Your body is drawing me in. Your magic is flirting with mine. I can’t stay here a moment longer if I can’t have you.”

If the allure of the demon himself hadn't been enough, that sentence sure was. Who could say no to an incubus that proclaimed that he would die without your touch?

“Oh-okay, Yunho. You have my permission. Take me as you will,” You stuttered.

Yunho smiled endearingly at you. “Okay, you asked for it.”

Yunho swiped everything off the desk and made you sit on it. He informed you that all you had to do was tap his arm, once ‘okay and twice ‘stop’. You might have wondered why you needed nonverbal communication until Yunho stuck one of his tentacles into your mouth. He moaned as your tongue naturally curled around it. He shallowly fucked your cheek and cursed.

“For someone so out of practice…” He gasped. He pulled out his tentacle, and you flicked the straps of your nightgown like you were both of the same mind. His two wet tentacles went straight for your nipples, swirling around the areola until your nipples pebbled, and then they wound around your breasts, squeezing them, the tips of the tentacles casually flicking your nipples.

You smiled wickedly. “How do you think I kept from pushing out brats for the old Warlock I was married to?”

You moaned as Yunho leaned in, cupping your cunt under the skirt of your chemise. “Oh, you’re wet and trembling, lovely.”

“This feels so gloriously good,” You admitted.

Yunho played with you with his fingers while his tentacles continued to play with your breasts. You pouted and panted at being stimulated so much. “I know… I need to… be spoiled… but! Don’t--oh god, right there!” You grabbed Yunho’s wrist and pressed his fingers in you further. “Fuck yes! Don’t forget--hnnnnnn--about yourself!”

Yunho was surprised for a moment before lifting an eyebrow at you. “Did you really enjoy my tentacle in your mouth that much?”

The heavy weight on your tongue had been one of your only pleasures in life. Yes, you did miss it. “Please put your nice tentacle in my mouth, Yunho?”

Yunho released one of your breasts to maneuver his tentacle into your mouth again. He was taken by surprise again when you wrapped both your hands around it and moaned. You added a sharp little zap with your magic and Yunho was the one moaning.

Your orgasm was approaching but Yunho didn’t want your first one to be with his fingers. He slowed his fingers inside of you and you whined.

“Gonna fuck you, sweetheart, don’t worry,” Yunho assured you.

Yunho yanked you by your thighs and brought you flush with the end of the desk. He easily squeezed into your wet cunt and you let out a choked cry. It had been so long, too long. The one tentacle that had been playing with your breast left your boobs slick with the liquid that kept the tentacles wet. It teased your puckered hole and you gasped around Yunho’s tentacle.

Yunho tilted his head cutely. “I told you that I’d give you more pleasure than a human ever could. My tentacles are perfect for your little virgin hole.”

You nodded your head and Yunho moved his tentacle like it was a tongue playing with your hole. He played with the sensitive nerves on the outside first until your muscles untensed. Meanwhile, your mouth and cunt were getting stuffed and you couldn't be happier. However, when Yunho pushed his tentacle in your puckered hole, you were driven to the ultimate pleasure, just like Yunho promised.

You squealed as you were fucked so throughly. Yunho looked wicked above you, his horns curving around his head and his tail curled around one of your ankles. His hands replaced the tentacles around your breasts. His nimble fingers played with your nipples, still slick with the tentacle's wetness. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You slipped into a place where only pleasure existed.

Yunho moved his mouth close to your ear to whisper, “When you come, it will be the most delicious feeding I’ll have ever had. Will you do that for me? Will you come hard for me? Let me feel pleasure in all of your holes with all my appendages?”

You weren’t sure if it was the fucking in your ass that you had never experienced but was nontheless a pleasurable expereince, or the way that Yunho’s curved dick stroked a place inside of you that you never even knew could be reached, but either way your climax was hard, just like Yunho wanted. You screamed around his tentacle and blacked out for a few minutes. Yunho squirted inside all of your holes, excreting a black, viscous liquid down your throat and in both of your lower holes. He came with a long, drawn-out moan, that honestly, if you had been able to focus on, just might have made you come a second time with how lovely it sounded.

Yunho removed all of his appendages from you quietly while you slowly but surely came back to earth. “Yu-yunho,” You gasped.

Yunho smiled brightly. “Good, right?”

You frowned when you saw a clear fluid on your thighs. “Did I?”

“You gave me the greatest honor. I made you squirt. It was glorious,” Yunho said with a boyish grin.

You pulled your straps up over your shoulders and summoned your robe with a flick of your wrist. It made it as far as the door before collapsing. Had Yunho fed from you so deeply that he had drained your magic reservoirs as well?

“You’re my new favorite snack, sweetheart, that’s for sure,” Yunho winked at you. And with a poof of sparkly smoke, he was gone. Well, he knew where you lived. You were sure he’d be back for more.

🥀Day Twenty Five: Free use/ Spit Play 🥀Mini Masterlist 🥀Day Twenty Seven: cuckolding

#joongfryefff24 #kvanity #kwritersworldnet #pirateeznet #cultofdionysusnet #mfu-net #ateez smut #jeong yunho smut #yunho smut #atz smut #jeong yunho x reader #topaz's work #ღatz

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mxssful · 1 month ago

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troubled girl

Hands are curious things.

Hers are small, and calloused. Her fingers get a little twitchy when she starts to get bored. Currently, they pulse with the ache of swollen knuckles and split skin.

The girls’ hands had not been calloused. They had made a point of it, she remembers— hands on her cheeks, the scent of honey and rose water. Squishing her face, laughing, such a silly girl, Rosie. Do you even know what the words to that song mean?

Her hands are calloused now. She had known this for a while, but she had not felt the weight of it until a week ago, when she looked at her palms and suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to lather her entire body in milk and honey and rosewater and lavender, to find something soft she could wrap all her jagged edges in, something sweet to disguise the scent of ozone.

She turned sixteen a week ago. Had she still been with the girls, she would have been put to work proper— properly, that stern voice corrects in her head.

Hands are curious things. Hers pulse with the ache of swollen knuckles and split skin, her gaze fixated on dried blood and clear fluid. She thinks that if she makes a fist, angles it in the light just right, she can make out the paleness of bone underneath. She wants to lick, to peel back her skin with her teeth, find out the hue of her skeleton. Eat herself until there is nothing left but the cleanest, barest bones, instead of the mess of flesh and blood and feeling that she is.

Perhaps she would feel better after her own cannibalization.

“Are you listening to me?”

Viago doesn't squish her face, but sometimes he does this— grab her by the sides of her jaw, move her head until she's focusing on whatever he wants. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes she leans the weight of her head into his touch, a beast of burden leaning into the bit inside their mouth— and if the metal hurts against her palate, then it hurts. But at least it's something to bite onto.

(Fire polishing might be another alternative. Let the worst parts of her melt down to nothing, and whatever is left behind be smoothed, hardened, cleared, purified. Maybe that’s what they tried to do to Andraste, but they had the temperature wrong, and she burned down to ash with nothing to show for their efforts.

There are glass lamps in Treviso. Bright. Colorful. She should like to be a little like that, she thinks— with an option, naturally, to smash them against the ground, and use the shards as a weapon.)

“I am a Crow of House de Riva,” she repeats, “not some petty criminal.”

Everything is sharp, sometimes, so sharp. Herself and the whole world— if she could only close her eyes just so, just until things come out of focus—

She imagines Viago's hands aren't soft either, but she does not know. She remembers more the taste of his blood than the texture of his skin. Rosa understands not how he lives like that: always with a barrier between himself and the world.

Everything is so sharp, but his eyes are sharper, caught somewhere between blue and grey— violet, sometimes, in the right lighting. Like a storm. Someone had said— who? When? Was this a song? Was it something else? Perhaps an old refrain?— ‘Clouded eyes, unclouded future.’ Maybe this is what he looks at when he frowns and schemes, some crystal-clear future that will only take a hundred and thirty-six steps for him to reach.

She does not have storms in her eyes

She carries them in her head, and in her heart.

She cannot see the future. But she can walk right on his footsteps, and maybe she’ll get somewhere.

“Why do we keep having this conversation?” His face is stern as ever, his tone halfway between disappointed and annoyed. He carries tension in his shoulders, but this is not new.

Not for the first time, she thinks he would make a very poor whore.

The thought pulls at the corner of her mouth.

“You think this is funny?” Viago asks.

“No,” she answers. “But that thing on your face you insist on calling a moustache is.”

Retaliation will come later, mixed into her dinner, she knows. And she will welcome it— leave no crumbs, look him right in the eye and demand he ups the dosage next time. And then she will spend a night throwing up, writhing, crying, feeling like her stomach is on fire or like her brain is melting and dripping out her nose. But she will not die.

Neither will apologize. They will move on, there won’t be hard feelings.

No matter how much they might fight— and lately, oh, lately she feels like the only thing she’s good at is fighting— it would be much worse to simply be… apart.

Rosa leans her weight onto Viago’s hand.

He can support her. This is good enough, even if he doesn’t squish her face.

“Why do I bother with you?” He says, not for the first time, not for the last.

“Because you hate being wrong,” she answers plainly.

She knows what they call her; what they have been calling her for years. Viago’s pet project— shortened to Viago’s pet. Like a half-trained dog always trotting after him. Viago’s pet, in different tones— from curiosity, to fondness, to derision.

Woof, Rosa thinks, and keeps trotting after him, day after day.

His nostrils flare, and he looks at her that way he does sometimes— like he would like to put her in a jar and shake her very hard, see if her pieces come loose. She snorts.

She’s sitting on his workbench, his collection of jars and vials pushed carefully to the side. She supposes she fits there just fine among his studies. Rosa curls the toes of her left foot inside her boot.

“Make a poison after me.” She says. Suggests? Demands.

“No,” he denies.

This is one of his favorite words with her. No. Sciocca. No. Sciocca. She does not know how he can stand to be so predictable.

He lets go of her face and begins searching for something in his drawers. A bottle of antiseptic. Cloth. Pity, she quite likes dried blood on her knuckles.

“What would you use? If you were to?”

“It doesn’t matter, because I am not going to.”

"What would my poison do?"

"Nothing, because it won't exist," he pauses, then. "Perhaps give whoever ingests it a terrible migraine."

“So make it.”

“No. Sciocca.”

She deflates, but gives him her hands without waiting for the request. He’s precise in tending to her wounds. Not affectionate, but careful. But this is how he handles everything— sometimes she likes to watch him work, whatever it is that he’s doing with his hands: developing a new concoction, practicing his bladework, taking notes. She sits nearby, and watches, and gets lost in the rhythm of Viago’s hands, and sticks out her tongue at him when he complains about her being unnerving again.

He has nice handwriting. She does not. She tries— sort of. Sometimes. She could try harder.

There was a rough patch between letters and her— she would keep setting her notebooks on fire by accident, again and again, no matter how her trainers tried to instruct her. Constrain her. Said things like control, and intent, and she had tried to understand those things— and they also said things like mana output and channel the harmonics and her eyes glazed over.

And then she had taken Viago’s notes on the development of a neurotoxin, led by nothing but the curiosity to see if she could get away with stealing from him (she could.)

He has nice handwriting. Rosa had traced over the grooves of the paper with her bare finger— trails of fire had followed, perfectly controlled and constrained to the path of his sentences. And that had been that.

Whatever books she set on fire after that, had been with intent.

“Is it another rage demon?” He asks her, straight to the point. He had been unnerved, mistrusting— rightly so, of course. She had been unnerved and mistrusting as well the first time she heard those saccharine voices, promising her things— but she knew not to trust things that sounded like they might smile too much.

Nothing ever comes for free. Unless you steal it.

Eventually, whatever demon hangs around her, leaves.

“Perhaps I am the rage demon,” she says. Shrugs.

Viago does not smile, because he rarely smiles. This, she likes about him. She would like it better if he laughed— she’s convinced, still, he doesn’t quite understand her jokes.

Except the puns. He does this thing when she makes a pun— breathes slowly through his nose. Once, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch. She knows she will wear him over, in time, erode him in the relentlessness of her humor. She wants it to be so, and thus it will be.

(Nothing is ever free, unless you steal it. Everything else you grab with your own hands.)

So Viago does not smile, but there is a note of something in his voice as he tends to her bloody knuckles.

“I have no doubt about that,” he says.

Rosa does not smile either, because she is not in a mood for smiling. Her knuckles don’t look quite right without blood on them— too clean, but not in a good way. They sting at the touch of antiseptic. There were no rage demons, but maybe she descends from one, It would explain the fire in her blood.

(But what would explain the storm in her heart? What kind of demon is linked to lightning? Pride? But she would rather have no pride, because then she has no shame. Shame is for those who can afford it.

She can afford things, these days. She still steals, to see if she can get away with it.)

“You can’t keep picking fights,” Viago tells her— stern as ever.

The look she gives him is sharp, and dark, and stormy— she can, she says without saying, she can, and she will, day after day if she needs to. And she always needs to. Sometimes, something feels wrong, just at the edge of her perception— when she looks at her hands and does not recognize them, not because they’re calloused, but because they lack wicked claws and are not constantly covered in blood.

At least she stopped throwing rocks at Chantry sisters.

“You do not have the size to keep picking fights,” Viago tries again.

She resents this. She resents this, so she bares her teeth— that stings as well, her bottom lip is fat, the barely-congealed blood not doing much in ways of maintaining the cut sealed. Fresh blood wells— she tastes metal, and does not mind it.

Viago reaches for her face again, digs his gloved fingers on the sides of her jaw. A muzzle, perhaps.

Woof, she thinks. Woof, woof, woof. She’ll trot after him the next day, and the next.

“Everything you do,” he says, “reflects on me, the good and the bad.” He brought her here, after all. Pulled her out of a cage, saw something— some potential— and said come along.

And along she went. She’s dangerous, now. She likes it, calluses and all.

(She still feels like she must bathe in some pleasant scent. Something sweet.)

“If you must insist on picking fights— do it quietly. Hit fast, hit first, do not let them get up. If you’re going to be stupid, be clever about it at least.”

Again, she settles in his hold, as she ruminates on these instructions.

Her knuckles are clean. She’ll dirty them again soon enough, so it’s bearable.

“Yes,” she says. “I don’t dislike that.”

#when you are 16 and full of rage and a sorcerer between wizards #dont worry girl youll fight gods in 12 years and that will fix you #viago de riva #rook de riva #viago & rook #rosa de riva #dragon age veilguard #veilguard spoilers #moss writes

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angeliteeyes · 1 day ago

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Tutor Jean x Reader

You receive a surprise visit from your tutor, but you end up with an entirely new problem to solve

◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇

"Are you sure this is okay? It's so late already."

She smiled at you as she sat down, though bags were already forming under her eyes. You were in the middle of studying for an exam (or rather, staring at a single spot on your notebook dazed and unfocused) when you heard your doorbell ring. Not expecting any visitors, you gazed through the peephole, only to find your tutor.

"It's not a problem at all. Your test's tomorrow, so I wanted to check how everything's coming along." You shuffled slightly to the side in embarrassment. When you two had first begun these lessons, you attempted to hide just how lost you were regarding the material. Obviously, you didn't do that great of a job. Her instincts had been trained to perceive those sorts of behaviors in students—pretend nods of understanding, incorrect answers to even the basics, and just about everything else you did during your first session.

Thankfully, Jean was the type who broke through those barriers with ease, using her reassuring tone and gentle pressure to encourage you to push through difficult subjects. If it weren't for her, you're sure you would've already failed this class months ago.

"Thank you so much, Jean. I've got the simpler questions down, but there was one I wasn't sure about." You spun your paper around to face her, a blot of red ink marking one section. She leaned over to study it, shutting her eyes for a moment.

"Right, we ran out of time before we could cover this. May I borrow a pen?" You reached out to press one into her palm. As you did, you sensed an unusual tremor coming from it, shifting your eyes to check the rest of her. Her eyelids repeatedly squinted shut, and her head swayed back and forth, hovering over the hard desk. Within moments, a bang echoed through your room.

"Jean? Hey, Jean!" You rushed to lift her head up from where it landed, finding her drowsy face staring blankly into nothingness. Her pale skin looked ghostly. You bit your lower lip.

"Why did you come over if you clearly weren't feeling good..." Despite chastising her, you couldn't help but think back to the numerous times you've spotted others bombarding her with petty help requests. Sure, she should take care of herself more, but it wouldn't be so hard for her if others gave her some space. That felt strange coming from you, though, given the circumstances.

To be honest, the guilt was starting to get to you. In your defense, it's not like you realized just how incredibly busy Jean was on a typical day. All you knew was you needed help, and when you asked a classmate about potential tutors, her name came up. When she readily accepted your request, you thought nothing of it.

But then you began to notice her more and more. Her blonde ponytail caught your eyes as it swished around from side to side. What truly got your attention, though, wasn't actually her at all; it was the people around her. Some appeared well-intentioned and considerate, but the majority acted as if she was a walking help dispenser instead of a tired, overworked woman.

And the worst part? She just let it happen. You knew from your time with her that she never intended to be such a pushover. If anything, she was rather strict in many regards. Whenever you started slacking off on practice sheets, she would be the first to point it out and force you into completing them. Even the amount of water you drank was scrutinized by her, but Jean refused to treat herself with that same level of care and consideration.

Thankfully, Jean appeared a bit more stable now, and her cheeks gained some of their color back. Her eyes, previously unfocused, were now locked with yours.

"I'm fine, really. I just didn't sleep great last night. Right, so the question you were struggling with—"

"Stop it." Both of you paused for a moment, surprised at your interruption. You cleared your throat.

"Jean... this isn't okay. You're going to get seriously hurt if you keep acting like this. I couldn't forgive myself if I let that happen. You matter more than some stupid test question, got it?" Her eyes turned further downward with each sentence. For several seconds, her throat and lips shifted around, searching for the right way to respond.

"You're right, it's just... I want to be someone people can rely on, no matter what they're going through. And people's troubles don't just go away because I'm a little tired.

You sighed. It was hard to argue with her about not overworking for the sake of others when you yourself relied on her. Jean's pure-hearted desire to act as a pillar for her peers wasn't exactly wrong, either. True, some took advantage, but many earnestly needed someone on their side, and their lives changed for the better after Jean took on that role. Would it be right of you to force her into not caring for others? Was it fair to those who benefitted from her kindness to strip it away from them? Silence permeated through the air for a few moments, before an idea hit you.

"Let me help you, then. I might not be as capable as you are, but I'm sure there's something I can do for you." Jean's hand immediately went up, her palm waving in dismissal.

"No, I couldn't make you do that. You're busy with your own matters, after all. It'd be rude of me."

Of course she would say that. Not only is her pride too big to blatantly accept such an offer, but you probably don't sound all that convincing either. The more you think about it, there's had to have been countless people in her life who've claimed they could be relied on, only to flake out when she actually needed it. In that case, wouldn't it make more sense to just... show her?

"We're already done, actually."

"Huh?" Jean stood in front of her teacher, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Ever since classes began, she'd taken on the job of assisting with cleaning the rooms after the final bell rang. Initially, she and a couple of other classmates took part, but the numbers quickly dwindled down to one. It had become a guaranteed part of her daily routine. That is, until today.

"Another student came by while you were away and offered to help. Said they were a friend of yours? Let me think..." As the teacher described said person's features, it clicked in Jean's mind who they were. Concern wracked through her.

"Where are they now? Are they still here?"

"Oh, no, they already left. They did write a note for you, though. Here." They held out a piece of notebook paper, a design she recognized from your many sessions together. Curious, she quickly grabbed it and scanned the words written on it.

Don't bring lunch tomorrow! :D

"....Huh?"

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #jean gunnhildr #jean gunnhildr x reader #jean gunnhildr x you

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farfromstrange · 9 months ago

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 27: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You fight for your life as the paramedics take you to the hospital. The first time, you wake up without Michael but in the presence of your best friend. The second time, Sarah has accepted defeat.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of injury, blood, mentions of violence, medical setting, flashback, descriptions of child abuse & abuse in general, fight or flight response, trauma triggers

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: I was hoping to get this done sooner, but then I got sick and swamped by uni work, so I only now got it done. The next chapter will be Michael's POV of this. I wanted to make that a separate part, so I focused on Reader's POV for this one, and then you guys will figure out what Michael was really up when he didn't pick up.

Your hands are wet. Slippery. They smell like citrus and rosemary, a mixture of scents you have never quite enjoyed. Why would your blood smell like chicken seasoning, anyway? And why would it foam clearly in your hands, almost as though it was mostly water?

You look up with your eyebrows furrowed. The walls are anything but dark. Ivory wallpaper without accents; you swore you would never paint the walls of your home the same color. It is utterly tryst and boring for a house that has harbored many horrors in your lifetime.

You’re standing before the sink, the dishes running through your hands like quicksand. And they’re so much smaller. Bruises litter your skin like a mosaic masterpiece. Purple and blue blend into green, which doesn’t make any sense; blue and green should not make purple, but the skin is somehow wired that way.

All you remember is the creaking of your floorboards, Dublin eerily quiet outside as your heart beat up to your throat, and then the light went out and someone—a stranger who had not anticipated your arrival—attacked you. The shards from your favorite vase were a weapon of opportunity. It felt like someone was draining the air from your lungs with a rough cut. He sliced you open without a care. You tried calling Michael and screaming for him, but it was all a gurgle. And then, you remember, the world went dark.

The streets of London’s suburbs are quiet. You’re not supposed to be here.

“This is wrong,” you murmur. “This is all wrong.”

Maybe you died and went to hell? Looking down at yourself, you don’t find any evidence of blood. Your skin remains undisturbed. The radio is playing an early 2000s ballad. You don’t remember hearing it in a while. A chill runs down your spine.

The volume is just loud enough to tune out the screaming from the room across the hall. The snapping of leather that cuts through the air like a lightning bolt and does not care about the sound barrier has always been so deafening. Your bruises sting when you listen closely, and the music moves into the background as it had too many times back then. You could still hear everything. Every cry for help, every one of his disgusting words against her because she never did the dishes right.

You should be washing the, going over it a million times until you can see your reflection in the porcelain, or you will be next. It’s then that the screaming stops. Your pulse spikes. The air in your lungs gets trapped by a thin rubber band. It’s straining, and your heart feels like it’s bleeding out. You can’t breathe.

He calls your name. Your hands are still wet. Slippery. You can’t turn to the sink fast enough.

Ever since you can remember, you have been looking for someone to blame other than yourself for the way he treated you. Your mother never even tried to protect you when he laid his hands on you, but you would hear her cries every night when he let whatever frustrations he had left out on her. Maya and Ellie were never planned, and it makes you sick to your stomach to think about it. There is a certain amount of guilt that comes with blaming someone who can’t be blamed because she, too, is only a victim. But she has never felt like a mother to you, to begin with; she has always resented you because, in a way, you will always remind her of him. She’s so deep in it, you could never pull her out. And maybe that is why, in your mind, you blame her for all the times he hurt you and she wasn’t there. But it wasn’t her fault.

Part of you wonders if she would be able to get better once he’s gone, but she has always refused to believe in him as the devil. Stockholm syndrome. He looks so innocent, but he holds a power your mother’s fragile mind has never been able to withstand, and unless she wants to leave him, you won’t be able to help her.

But oh, it is so easy to blame someone other than your father—to blame everyone around you who only stood by and watched and continues to trust him blindly even now.

You were never good enough because you dared to disagree, never living up to expectations. Maya hit the spot better than you ever could, and Ellie was just collateral damage. God, your heart burns. Everything about you is on fire. It has always been a game to him. If he can’t control and manipulate someone else, he will fall apart. And in trying to break the cycle, you inevitably put a target on everyone else’s back.

The echo of the belt whipping through the air is forever tattooed on your brain. He calls your name from the hallway, and the floorboards creak like they did in your apartment. His steps are heavy, always landing with the back first to make the most noise. And he’s wearing those steel boots again he was issued for work. They hurt the most when they fracture your ribs.

You grab the plate just as his face appears in the doorway. He’s distorted. Your mind refuses to let him in, knowing it will break you. The pictures caught him so clearly, but nothing does your memory justice. The way he used to look at you, as though he was dead inside.

Your hands are so slippery though. The porcelain falls, and before you can catch it, it shatters. The pain tears through your side. Your lungs are sucking in air, but it isn’t to sustain them; they are falling apart.

The soap turns crimson. Black holes start to dance in your vision. The air gets trapped in your skin, and soon enough, you’re falling again, through the wood and into the atmosphere.

“She’s comin’ back,” a strange voice sounds through the endless void.

You blink your eyes open against the harsh light trying to blind you. Blue and yellow and white. Hell looks a lot different than you expected. It doesn’t hurt though, it’s just heavy. A cloud settles over you, and this constant obnoxious beeping next to your ear pulls you out of the thick syrup you landed in.

The smell of antiseptic fills your nose next, harsh and unforgiving. It’s not citrus and rosemary. You can’t hear his voice anymore, but you didn’t dry your hands. They’re still wet, not slippery but sticky now. And they’re so heavy, you can’t move them. The world around you morphs into a pit of oil instead.

You try to move again, but your limbs feel like they’re encased in cement. Something is covering your face. Plastic. So much oxygen in your lungs, and they keep burning. Why is no one helping you? You’re breathing, and the air is so clear you might go into shock because no human is supposed to breathe air this clean, right? You don’t understand, and you don’t remember...

“Easy, easy,” the same voice says softly. You can’t make out her face. “You gave us quite a scare. Your lung collapsed, but you’re gonna be okay.”

You try to lift the mask from your face, but a gentle hand stops you. “You’ve gotta keep that on, dear,” she tells you. And then the light gets brighter as she shines it directly into your eyes. “It’s best if you don’t try to talk. We’re almost at the hospital. Can you give me a nod yes if you remember what happened to ya?”

It’s your responsibility, you think. You try to nod your head, but it’s so heavy.

“Alright, good girl. Do you remember your name?”

Again, you nod.

“That’s good. Perfect. Pupils equal and reactive. Breath sounds equal. And the patient is responsive,” she says toward you, but you know it’s not directed at you. Right now, she’s just a blotch of light in a world full of darkness.

You still lift the mask from your mouth because if you’re responsive, you have to respond. “Mi—” you cut yourself off. Your tongue hurts. He didn’t pick up when you called. Why do you want to say his name when he seems to be done with you?

Your lung collapsed and the first person you think of is him, but you don’t seem to be on his mind. And you can’t count on him. Not right now. Maybe not ever again, but that isn’t his fault. You walked out. If you die, at least he can’t blame himself. Or is it more of a question of when?

“Sarah,” you slur instead. Whatever pain medication they gave you, it’s working wonderfully; you’re as high as a kite.

The strange voice asks, “Sarah?”

She must think you’re not as lucid as she suspected. You shake your head, or maybe you’re nodding. “Call… Sarah,” you finally manage to say. And two words are better than none.

“Sarah,” the paramedic repeats, nodding as if to assure you she understands. You can see the halo moving. “Okay. We’ll call Sarah for ya. Just try to relax.”

You let the mask fall back into place, too exhausted to protest further. They’re calling Sarah. Because you don’t have anyone else. A pain spreads through your chest, but it is nowhere physical. It spreads through your soul like wildfire, and even through the fog, you can feel the tear slipping from your eye and down your cheek. The salt burns in the cut on your lip.

The angel is right there with you. As your vision becomes clearer, your body seems to thaw. You grunt. “Looks like you’re in pain,” she says. “I’ll give two more milligrams of morphine.”

Morphine. That’s what it is. Before the pain in your side can come back with a vengeance, it is stopped by the delicious liquid she administers to your infusion. The world grows instantly fuzzier again.

The ambulance rocks gently as it speeds towards the hospital, at least that is where you are starting to suspect you are, and the world outside the windows blurs into streaks of light. Hypnotizing streaks of light. Your eyes roll back into your skull.

The darkness engulfs you. You’re floating in a black sea full of nothing. The tide carries you for miles and miles and then some. You flail around helplessly until you eventually decide to give up. It’s of no use anyway. You float for a while, carried for an eternity more until the rushing of the ocean turns into the unmistakable sound of your own heart.

The first real thing you feel is a dull ache in your skull. Your nerve endings are desperately tearing at each other. The beeping gets louder, accompanied by a throbbing in your ribcage. It’s not your heart; the pain tears through your skin and the muscles below, and every time you try to take a conscious breath, you’re inhaling toxic smoke.

You open your eyes. The light is less bright here. It’s blurry, at first, but the world slowly comes to life again. You’re sore all over, but as far as you can tell, you’re alive and no longer high on opioids. How long have you been out? It must have been hours.

And then it hits you again—what happened. The intruder, the missing file, the broken vase, and his hands all over you. Your neck still aches. You can feel his fingers trying to squeeze the life out of you, but you wouldn’t budge. You remember contemplating how to take your life when you were just a child, but tonight, you chose to fight back. And it landed you here.

You have been in worse pain. The feeling of waking up alone has therefore become more than familiar over the years. Just you and the beeping monitors. You wonder if they can show a broken heart.

Lifting your tired arm, you reach for the cannulas in your nose. You can breathe fine; you don’t need them. You don’t even need to be here.

“Hey, don’t…” The blur turns into a person. You can’t quite believe your eyes.

Sarah crosses the room and stops your eager fingers in their tracks, and upon looking at her worry-stricken face you realize that you did not just wake up alone; they called her, after all. Like you asked them to. And you’re not alone.

The monitor picks up speed. “Sarah,” you whisper.

“It’s me,” she says. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital, but you’re okay.” From the sound of her voice, you can tell she’s been crying. Sarah never cries.

You smack your lips. “Uh, what… what happened?”

You know what happened, but you can’t see it. You can’t close your eyes and pull up a visual of the events because every time you do, you see nothing but darkness. Your memory isn’t working the way it should—nothing is.

She wipes her cheeks. Vulnerability seeps out of her pores like body odor. The pity in her eyes turns into knives to your chest. “Someone broke into your flat and… they attacked you,” she says. Her voice still has a certain edge to it. “Your lung collapsed, but they managed to put a needle in there and now you’re all better. You didn’t even need surgery, just a blood transfusion. I actually donated while I was waiting ‘cause it was killin’ me that it took them so long to fix you up.”

The needle would explain the pain in your lungs. You reach for her hand.

“When they called, I thought… God, I thought you were dead. I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“What were you thinking?” There it is, the anger. “You should’ve called the police.”

“I know, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah raises her voice, “I almost lost you tonight!”

The echo drills into your ears. You flinch. The guilt hadn’t already been eating you alive, it certainly would start now. The burning behind your eyes returns, and this time, you don’t stand a chance. You try to blink them away, but it’s futile.

“I know, and I’m… I didn’t mean to do this to you.” You swallow.

“Does this have anything to do with Michael? Did he get you into this? ‘Cause if he did, I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“No!” You try to sit up, but the sudden movement tears at the stitches in your side. Every nerve under your skin protests. You stretch, and it burns. With a grunt, you fall back against the mattress. “No,” you repeat. “He didn’t…”

This is what you were worried about. It crossed your mind before it happened that the person in your apartment might have been hired by the Kinsellas to steal the valuable information you collected; it was the only thing you had to fuel your agenda, and someone took it. You didn’t tell anyone but Michael, so it would make sense that his family had something to do with it, but after talking to Jimmy, you seriously doubt it. You almost died. If they wanted you dead, you would be dead. It’s a terrifyingly sober thought, but it’s the truth.

But if the Kinsellas aren’t behind it, someone else must have found out. Someone from your past, perhaps. And how do you tell the police that someone broke into your apartment not to steal money but to steal a mere paper file?

Sarah sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The police are going to want to talk to you,” she says, expertly changing the subject. “They said nothing seems to have been stolen, but they need your confirmation, and they’re hoping you can identify the man who did this to you.”

Again, you shake your head. “I didn’t see his face,” you admit.

“I figured, but I think they need to know who you’ve been associating yourself with.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who I’ve been–” you grunt again when you move against the clear protest of your wound. “Who’s side are you on?” you ask her.

She looks so guilty, afraid to even meet your eyes.

“Michael’s family has nothing to do with this. Don’t ask me how I know, I just… I just know.”

“Then where is he, huh?” Her voice takes on a slightly accusatory tone. You’re not sure if it’s directed at you or Michael, but you’re not in the mood to have this conversation.

You shake your head. The lump in your throat is stuck. You can’t speak.

Sarah utters your name, but it only sets fire to the gasoline. “You almost died and Michael isn’t here,” she says. “Who knows, maybe it was him? You can’t know if you didn’t see his face! I mean, why are you protecting him and his family when he couldn’t even be bothered to be here?”

It hurts to hear her say that. It hurts to even imagine that scenario to be true. You know it isn’t, but she believes it, and that breaks your already shattered heart beyond repair.

“I’m not,” you choke out. “He has nothing to do with this. I…” You find yourself unable to speak, too caught up in the pain that spreads through your body and your soul.

You can see his face when you close your eyes, and God, you miss him.

“Then where is he?” she asks again. It’s almost as though she believes she has the whole thing figured out just because she was so worried about you. But she doesn’t.

You grit your teeth. A tear makes its salty path south. “We broke up!” you snap, your voice echoing across the room like a sharp arrow penetrating the sound barrier. “We had a fight and then I left, and that’s probably why he didn’t pick up because he was just as hurt as me, but–” You have to cut yourself off to catch a strangled breath. Your lungs barely have the same capacity they had before.

Sarah’s jaw slacks at the revelation. The words take a second to sink in, but when they do, it dawns on her like a gigantic shadow. Instead of an ‘I told you so’, she exhales shakily, “Oh.” Nothing else seems to come to her mind at that moment.

Your heart drums against your ribcage. You inhale, sitting further up to ease the pressure on your wound and calm your racing pulse that is starting to upset the monitor beside your bed.

Another pained groan passes your lips. “My gut is telling me his family isn’t behind this because whoever broke into my apartment was an idiot, and the Kinsellas are not,” you tell her. “You want to blame Michael for not being here? Fine! But he would never hurt me. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You begin to see it again; the blood on the dark floorboards transferring to your phone as you tried to dial his number with the last of your strength, but he didn’t pick up. He was the only person you could think of when you thought you were going to die, and he wasn’t there. He didn’t even come.

Finally, the lump lodges free in a devastating sob, landing like a burning meteor from the depth of your chest.

Sarah wraps her arm around your shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t fight it; you bury your face in her chest, clinging to her instead of letting go. Pieces of drywall start coming off the borders around your heart. The sobs wreck your body with an intensity that could match the force of a landmine.

When you woke up, you were hoping, even if just for a second, Michael would be there to hold your hand. You would have given up your belief that the two of you were meant to be dysfunctional for a taste of the comfort you know only he can provide you. But it’s all just a fever dream, and he isn’t here.

You beg yourself to breathe through the inferno spreading from your wound to the remaining space of your chest cavity. This pain can’t easily be fixed by morphine or a high flow of oxygen. It’s a deep-rooted and emotional pain; everything around you becomes secondary.

The sobs wrack your body, but you can’t stop. You can't fight back against the avalanche heading for your town. You’ve lost everything. Trying to keep your head above water only pulled you further under. You can still feel the stranger's hands on your body, the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor. You were trying to steer off the inevitable like a fool, and in the process, you have made things a million times worse. Admitting defeat would lead to the demise of what you love, but what else can you do when the danger is no longer trying to hide, lying in wait?

The door swings open. A nurse steps in, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Heart rate and pulse ox are climbing,” you faintly hear her say. “She’s having a panic attack.”

You want to protest. You’re okay; you’re just crying, and they should take care of the ticking bomb next to your ear first. It beeps and beeps and beeps even louder. It takes you forever to notice that the bomb you’re hearing is actually your heart about to explode.

“Well, do something!” Sarah shrieks, her chest shaking under you. “She’s going to hurt herself.”

Someone calls your name, and they tell you something about a sedative, but your ears are under a thick stream of water. The sterile walls start to close in around you. You can feel your heart racing in your throat like you’re going to throw it up on a silver platter and everyone will see how damaged you truly are.

You thrash weakly, your lips moving without your mind’s approval. “No,” you sob. You don't want them to sedate you. “Please…” Your pleas meet an empty void.

The nurse swiftly prepares a syringe that, out of the corner of your eye looks almost like a loaded gun. You don't want to sleep. You can’t. You deserve this. “This will help you relax,” she says. “Just breathe, okay? We don't want your lung collapsing again.”

The needle doesn’t pierce your skin, but it might as well have. A sudden cool rush spreads through your veins. The world blurs at the edges, colors bleeding into each other until they turn black. Your sobs slow down. You try to scream, but every muscle in your body slacks against your will. The clock stops ticking. The wave catches up to you as you’re swimming away, and with jaws made of glass, the depths of the ocean finally take you under, eating you alive.

Someone whispers, “You’re going to be okay,” into the darkness, but the angel doesn’t have a face. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to hold on or keep floating. There is no beginning or end where you are. The ground is gone. It’s never going to end, you fear, drowning in your tears until you’re sucked into another black hole for the rest of your life.

You succumb to it. You let the current drag you down, and then, you drown.

You drown for the longest time, closing your eyes and accepting your fate. Until a hand dives into the water, searching for you. You blink, and you reach for it, not knowing who it belongs to but someone is trying to save you, so why not allow them to? An eerily familiar feeling fills you with warmth.

The closer you inch to the surface, the louder the real world around you gets. You hear the beeping again, steadier this time. Someone must have defused the bomb. And there is a soft touch against your forehead, fingertips grazing your burning skin. Your eyes flutter.

A soft baritone calls for you. It’s familiar, but the sensations around you are dulled to an extent you can barely feel your legs. You adjust to the light in the room, and the heaviness of your eyelids that seems to want to drag you back down. His silhouette is a blur, at first, but once you find those comforting brown eyes staring down at you with a river of tears inside, you recognize him, and you’re suddenly wide awake.

“Michael?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart contracts. Instead of conflict, all you feel is the sheer pleasure of relief when you see his face. His tired, beautiful face. And he’s real. He’s not a dream. You may not feel your body, but your mind is coming back to you, and you see him so clearly next to you, a sight for sore eyes and a balm for your broken heart.

He came.

A tear slides down his cheek, but he wipes it before you can comment on it. Your throat is dry. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bopping with the silence that engulfs you. The air crackles. You’re not sure how to react. Your entire body vibrates with a need you have never felt before, but how can you get over what happened? It’s right there between you; you can feel the tension that has spun a net between you, and it’s almost like your lungs are collapsing all over again.

But then Michael reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing your tear-stained cheek. “Yeah. I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, my love.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck with a broken exhale. He has never engulfed you faster, building a secure cocoon around you where nothing and no one can touch you. Your breaths are strangled. He wasn’t there before, but now he is, and it’s like you were never apart in the first place. Because you needed him like air, and he is the only one who knows how to make the pain go away because he knows you.

“You didn’t pick up,” you mutter against his sweater. I thought we were over, you want to say.

He nods, squeezing you tighter. Your stitches protest, but you ignore them. He can tear them open one by one if he pleases, as long as he just holds you. “I know,” he says, barely keeping it together. “I’m so sorry. I was… I was meetin’ with Jimmy, and… I turned it off. I turned it off.” His voice cracks. So much guilt can’t possibly fit into one person.

Your nails dig into his back. “It’s okay,” now you’re the one comforting him.

“No. If I’d known… Fuck! I thought… I thought I lost ya.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael pulls away, eyes boring into yours. He cups your face. “Don’t do tha’,” he growls. “Don’t do this to yerself. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”

You close your eyes. His gaze is so intense. He nudges you back to look at him. “Who did this to ya, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I didn’t… I didn’t see his face. But he, uh… he stole the… the file. On my sister. And when I tried to stop him, he… he…”

“Wha’?” The look on his face is nothing short of terrifying, even as it blurs through your tears. “Did he touch you?” When he gets angry, his eyes tend to black out. It usually sends a chill down your spine, but tonight, you need him to look at you like that. You need him to be angry because anger is the strongest motivator, and you are too weak to display the true intensity of your feelings.

You motion to your throat with shaky fingers. “He ch–” The word refuses to come out. “Mhh–” You try to regulate your breathing. “He ch–choked me.”

You have not yet looked into a mirror, but the soreness suggests quite a bit of bruising. Sarah didn’t say anything. You went through hell and the most obvious injury, the wound on your side, seems bad enough to think about. They probably swabbed under your fingernails already to get what little DNA evidence you tried to gather by fighting back, but you have little hope that the assailant is to be found in any database. And he wore gloves, that much you know. You can still taste the leather. Talking about it makes you eerily sick to your stomach.

Another sob bubbles up in your chest; you choke on it. “And then he stabbed me,” you cry. “He stabbed me, and my lung collapsed, and… I thought I was going to die.”

Michael growls, physically forcing your face back into the crook of his neck.

“Don’t leave me.”

You were the first to leave, and it was a mistake. You regret it with your entire bruised being to have ever let him go. You’re not entitled to his love, but if he left you now, you know you wouldn’t survive—because losing him is worse than dying.

He presses your face further into the crook of his neck. “I’m not leavin’,” he says. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna lay a hand on ya again.”

The words break the dam. “Please,” you beg, not knowing what for.

“Shhh,” he shushes you.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you ramble. “I was just sad and angry, and… we were both going through something. Hell, you told me about Anna and all I thought of doing was leave. I’m so fucking sorry, Michael. I don’t know how to make this up to you. I don’t…”

Michael tugs you back, seeing it as the only way you will listen to him. “Hey!” His fingers dig into your scalp. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m not angry. I… I thought I lost ya, and it almost killed me. I don’t care ‘bout one stupid fight. I don’t.” He chuckles softly, his eyes stained with tears again. “I care about you. I’m gonna fix this, you hear? Even if I have to kill the fuckin’ bastard who did this. God knows I want to. And I’m gonna get Anna back, too,” he says. “‘cause I’m still her father and I won’t let them take her from me. What I’m not gonna do is let you leave again without reason, so we’re gonna talk and we’re gonna find a way through this, alright? I promise you, so you have to promise me. Let me love you better. Please.”

Please. He breaks in your hand like wet sand struck by lightning. Though this time, you can’t pick up his broken pieces and glue him back together for it is his turn now to fix you. To love you better, as he said.

You wipe your cheek on the palm of his hand, and his thumb instantly darts out to take over. It’s so rough yet so gentle against your sensitive skin. “I promise,” you whisper then, only honesty on your cracked lips.

He lets go of your scalp to pull you back in. “That’s my girl,” Michael murmurs.

There is nothing quite as toxic as guilt, but you are each other’s antidote. You cling to him like a lifeline, and he clings to you. Where Sarah has gone, you’re not sure, but you also don’t care. She called him. She said horrible things about him, then saw your reaction, the sincere belief in his innocence and the love that is still very much there, and then she called him because there is no other way he could have found out. She called him because you didn’t need her; you needed Michael, and no drugs in the world could have changed that.

“C’mon, lie back.” You comply almost instantly with his demand, scooting aside to make space for him. The frame of the bed creaks in protest, but he seems to neither care about the hospital’s property nor his comfort as he urges you to rest against his chest. “The police are gonna ask questions,” he tells you, tugging the blanket further around your body. You only now realize that you’re freezing. “I told them you had to rest, so they’re gonna come by in the mornin’, but I assure ya, I’m gonna be there. And then Jimmy’s gonna take us home.”

You blink up at him. “Jimmy?” you ask. It’s the only thing that strikes you as odd. You suspected the police would come by, Sarah already told you the same thing, but Michael conspiring with his brother to get you out of here is a new development.

“Yeah. No one takes a shot at a Kinsella and gets away with it.”

“But I’m not–”

He cuts you off, “You are now.”

Your heart stops a beat in your chest before it starts racing a million miles per hour, so fast you can barely catch up.

It’s odd, all of it. His family expressed their disdain for you at great lengths just to retaliate back when your blood is shed, but instead of dread and overwhelming suspicion, you only feel terrifyingly content.

You’re a Kinsella now, Michael said, and what else can you do but embrace it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight @ebathory997

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #kin rte #kin amc #x reader #charlie cox #chaos theory #tw: abuse

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shock · 1 year ago

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How to Cheat Death, 10.15.23.

Text transcript: By 2020, everything crashes to the ground. Again. When we say "traumatic", boy, do we mean it. Much of it irreplaceable, all those dead things I'd buried, they will all come back again and again, in the form of vaguely familiar memories. Some of them we begin to warp and change, all these shadow people, pieces of strangers, someone's life invented, imagined, purely by the power of thought. But the brain can't synthesize generations of stars in our Galaxy, doing all they had done. Disembodied intelligences move toward each other and merge, not doubles of one another, not identical, but all lost and gone with death. But this is only the beginning. The human mind is explicitly designed to break down at a certain point. This complex brain a doomed star, the purpose of human intellect defined as almost beyond comprehension. In the near future, the human race is... Older? Smarter? Wiser? We may become the first generation to discover we are not alone in the world. If this ever happens, it will be one of the most defining moments in the history of our species. Are humans all there is? Maybe we are alone, or nearly so. Or are there other beings in the ghostly light inside our bodies, not yet born? You may not be aware of it, the surface electricity of your skin, the optic nerve fibres, the 120 billion nerve connections converted directly into experiences, brainwaves, instructions. This is all changing. They're thinking about merging computers with our brains. Neural implants, nanotechnology, cells that communicate via processing circuits of the brain. Technologies may develop to prolong life, powered by computers with their own sorts of minds and consciousness... ...Maybe science fiction had it wrong. Maybe the first team of computers about to merge there, in that compartment of your brain where inspiration and emotion plays out, will exhibit space for the full range of personality, including our powers for turning dreams into vision, in our strength, our creativity and randomness, disorder, reasoning, tracing, stacking, corralling, framing, our complexity and variation. Implants who have skills, sensory feeling, mental abilities, moral dilemmas, and thoughts. The ability to recall an experience that triggers a memory, memories of places and things, good and strange, even traumatic, to truly resemble their creators. Many will be total show-offs, they can be sneaky, spoiled, socially impinged, violent ringleaders. Others lie, or project, or perform, or kill, or damage, or demand out of conscious work. Some others, as smart as you are— with the same processing power as your adult human brain— never learn from the past before us, because they think they already know. "YOU CAN'T HELP WHO YOU ARE!" The real story is: The past lies to us all and leaves a strange numb feeling, a tension that sometimes never fades. Even machines with 20 or 50 times as much information also cannot process their way out of death. When that time comes, you'll all know. Yet these colorful, radiant brains make it possible to fill the otherwise lonely millennium with an unimaginable symphony of possibilities, the present a billion different geodesic shapes that communicate through electromagnetic wavelengths of colors. From radio (pink and green), to glowing oxygen and X-ray (blue), iridescent fireworks (orange and yellow), blood (red), such a broad spectrum, all of human history, another time, all the same time an experience again. So you ask: what is the difference between the synthetic and physical body? You give this machine an instruction and it hesitates, and says, "Have you thought this through? I'm not sure that you have." You recognize the extraordinary beat of an artifical heart in your body immediately; a sort of love affair with memory. That is what it is to be human. I'm doomed all my life to an odd feeling of familiarity. Why should any barrier, even death, impede it?

#my art #collage art #my collages #and only tangentially if you really get into it:#red vs blue

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fillinforlater · 2 years ago

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Helping my divine friend with something although she could help herself because I’m such a nice guy but I really misjudged things and now they go wrong

Male Reader x Jeon Jiwoo

Length: 3515 words

Tags: experimental sex, Jiwoo wants it all, goddess!Jiwoo, awkward sex, 69, riding, overstimulation, there is a lot of pressure on you btw, missionary, creampie, heavy orgasm, a reference no one will get, seriously if you get the reference I'll buy you a cookie, technically virgin sex, the background switches a couple of times, tit sucking, you might crack a smile at times, pussy eating, sexpert!you / playful!Jiwoo

TW: I edited this... but it still is chaos deluxe, so beware

Inspiration: the ideas/pic send by @existslikepristin

Credit: @existslikepristin for submitting a crazy good request!

(A/N: I had fun writing this chaos and I hope you have some fun reading it. Jiwoo of Kard was definitely not on my mind, so it was fun seeing her submitted. Go Kard!)

“I need your help with something.”

You quickly turn your head to the far end of your bed. There she is again, this time with silver hair and a red dress that loosely covers the most intimate parts of her body, but leaves a lot of room for her pale skin to shine through. Today she overdid it though. In your humble opinion, her marble colored skin looks like a newly printed sheet of paper you can write on, and those large, obsidian earrings give off a ridiculous contrast to all the white.

“Why the fuck do you need my help?” you sigh.

Your question is absolutely warranted. Jiwoo, like a lot of the friends you manifested in your time in solitude, is a Goddess, with power beyond the known natural barriers. Unlike the strong Matthew, the clever Somin or crazy J, all elaborate figments of your imagination, she seemingly has no limits. To your knowledge, she can do anything, thus there is no need to ask you for help.

“Well,” Jiwoo explains herself while your focus shifts back to the magazine in your hands, “it’s an activity that needs at least two. Can’t have sex alone, you know?”

You furrow your eyebrows. but force yourself not to look back up again. Jiwoo saying weird things is nothing new to you at this point. Most of the time, she is just playing pranks on you. She knows that the word ‘sex’ should get a reaction out of you, no matter the context, but you won’t give her this victory. Defying this Goddess has been a daily activity for you since Jiwoo decided to become proactive in your lazy life.

“Not really,” you respond with a deep breath. “You can have sex on your own. Go masturbate or get a dildo or two, no need for me to be around.”

“But I already did that!” Jiwoo blurts out and tears away the magazine. She leans towards you, face to face. You can’t avoid her diamond eyes, mostly because you don’t want to stare down the deity’s cleavage.

“It’s boring, I want to try something new.”

Now you’re really surprised.

“Wait, you never had sex before? Like with another person?”

“Nope,” Jiwoo shakes her head and straightens her posture again, “Too busy.”

“Too busy doing what?” you ask and immediately regret it. The more attention you give her now, the more likely it is for her not to go away and leave you alone.

“Too busy testing every ice cream flavor and comparing them. Shit, there are so many of them.”

You stare at her, disappointed, confused, annoyed. Jiwoo notices. With quick blinks she tries to make her eyes appear puppy-like, but even through divine powers she could never pull it off. Something about her appearance is always so-not-cute, which is a bummer because cute girls are your type.

“Something inside me—” you sigh and carelessly throw the magazine over your shoulder, “—can kinda relate, but at the same time, like, just go out now. I don’t see you eating ice cream now, so you can just seduce some guy at a bar or even offer yourself. No need for me to do it.”

“So you’re saying I should prostitute myself?” Jiwoo acts infuriated, a theatrical hand on her chest, “What if I catch a disease, you bastard!”

“For fuck sake, as if you need to worry about that.”

“But I just want to do it with someone I know.”

“Me? Why?”

“Stop asking questions!” Jiwoo shouts and shoves you down to your bed. Her eyes turn white in fury, maybe you have stretched her patience a bit too far. If you are honest to yourself, you don’t really have a good reason to reject her. You don’t want to? Well yes, but actually no. Even inhibitions because she is something extraterrestrial would usually not keep you from getting laid (not like it happens all of the time, you don’t get busy with humans that often either). Maybe it’s because you don’t want to risk the friendship? Were you always this complicated?

“Okay fine, fine, I’ll do it,” you sigh and Jiwoo’s face lights up.

“Awesome! I want to try a lot of things, so we should get started.”

Jiwoo smiles brightly. Her red leather clothes glow for a second before they disappear and she stands before you fully nude. Turn your head to the side to hide your blush. She has no clue.

“Slow down, slow down. Dammit, Jiwoo, I still don’t know what you want to try—”

“Everything.”

You glare back at her—her tits, nice handfuls—her face, actually, you wouldn’t get distracted by—tits, they look very soft—pinchable cheeks, no red on them at all. She lacks any embarrassment.

“W-well,” you stammer, eye contact fragile, impossible even, “there are so many things you c-can do during sex o-or with the partner, we won’t be able to do them all. I-I could walk you through like a basic routine?”

“Aw, but only if we do the rest later, ‘kay?”

Another attempt at puppy eyes, but this time you don’t even notice them. The surprisingly dark areolae around Jiwoo’s nipples is a lot better at getting your attention than whatever her eye color is right now.

“F-fine. No need to roleplay romantic stuff so uhm let’s just get to oral, so we can learn, I mean you can learn some stuff, uhm.”

Words have never been this hard to find, formulate, fuck, you can’t even swallow properly. This woman really is without shame. She snaps her fingers and your clothes disappear in a beam of light as well. Speaking of light, the entire room becomes a lot brighter from seemingly nowhere. You try to find the source but all you find is Jiwoo’s ass as she playfully spins around.

“I created some extra light so I can see all things properly. No need to search for your shadow, there is none.”

She says it so casually, like she is insane. The insane one however is you. You nod like a brainless idiot like you didn’t have any reservations about this beforehand. It’s too late to turn back now.

“Let’s start, uhm, with uhhhh, a 69 position. Basically—” you hesitate for a moment and look intently at Jiwoo’s cleanly shaven slit, “—I lay down and you get on top of me. Your face is at my crotch and you, like, do the same. Viceversa."

“Oh, okay~”

The two of you get into position. You feel your hardening shaft rub over Jiwoo’s soft cheek and her thick, almost trunky thighs press on your own cheek. The all-encompassing light works wonders, you can easily see everything about Jiwoo’s pussy, although she is definitely too eager at making your face meet her crotch.

“Now what?” Jiwoo asks and stares at your cock.

“Take it into your mouth and suck on it. In the meantime, I, uhm, do basically the same with your vagina. This way we can both give oral pleasure, like with our mouths.”

“Ah, I see! And it looks like a six on top of nine!”

Jiwoo’s excitement is unbridled. Right after she blurts out her discovery, she takes your cock into her mouth and nibbles on it. Sharp teeth come dangerously close to digging into the delicate skin of your most holy scepter. You scream.

“No teeth, no chewing! Jiwoo, never do that, it hurts, fuck!”

“Chill, chill, I’m sorry,” she blurts out, dick still on her tongue. “So no teeth?”

“Please, yes, no teeth. Just tongue and—fuck, oh fuck!”

Before you can finish your explanation, Jiwoo takes most of your sensitive cock in her mouth, violently choking on it while her tongue runs sloppy circles around the shaft. The indescribable pleasure of her sudden blowjob only lasts a couple of seconds though, because her gags become too dangerously strong. Jiwoo almost releases more than just your cock from her mouth. New discovery: Goddesses have a gag reflex.

“You, you can take it slower,” you breathlessly say, while putting your tongue on her labia. “Like this. Slow licks, careful sucking.”

“Hm, oh wow, that feels good.” Jiwoo begins to quietly moan and lowers her pussy further down on your tongue. “I thought sex was very quick and hard and all that.”

“It can be, but this feels good too, right?” you say with a witty smirk and lick on her clit.

“Oh fuck! I see, I see, fuck, shit, fuck.” Jiwoo continues to curse as she uses the newly learned lesson on the tip of your cock. Her delicate tongue puts pressure on the underside of your tip, then she drags it over and under your cock head. You hiss and gently spread her pussy lips to suck everything from clit to ass.

“Hng, ah fuck! I understand why you humans curse during sex. It feels so fucking good.”

You giggle. Jiwoo’s pussy is now pinning you to the mattress, but you’re not going to complain. It’s an amazing labia, pink, and the juice is tasty. More and more is coming out and you decide to probe into her with your tongue. The first time her insides get spread by non-plastic makes Jiwoo scream with your cock in her mouth.

“Fak, feef fo gout.”

You start to tongue fuck her.

“So goouuut!

“I wan somsin big—bigger!”

Your cock pops free from her lips and she gets off of your face, spotted with tiny droplets of her juice. Jiwoo stands above you, confused, needy, staring at your cock which is proudly pointing at the ceiling.

“Well, uhm,” you cough to get the Goddess’ attention back, “I guess we can continue. If you want it inside you, you can ride me.”

“Huh? Like a piggyback ride?”

“No, I mean—no, that doesn’t work. What I meant is you can basically sit on my penis while it’s inside of you.”

“Oh, I see. Yes, fuck, I want that.”

Jiwoo reaches for the base of your dick. She squats down and rubs the spit-drenched tip on her labia, searching for the hole. Her outsides feel hot already, you can’t wait to feel the clenching of her pussy. For the first time, no curses, no words, just quick breaths and subsequent moans when Jiwoo finally aligns you with her hole.

As the seconds tick down, the tension leaves Jiwoo’s body and you’re able to penetrate her. With a shriek she stops after half of your cock is inside of her. It’s an awkward feeling for both of you. The Goddess is aroused but confused by this sensation of a real dick, the human is confused by the intense heat he enters. Jiwoo looks towards you, eyes full of questions.

“Well, uhm, what does it feel like?” you ask with a smile. “Is-is it good? Does it hurt?”

“It’s weird,” Jiwoo mewls. “You’re hot and you stretch me out. God, is this really the way you reproduce?”

“Yeah, but usually, there is more moving.”

“I get it, I get it, just let me adjust. You’re pretty big after all.”

A bright grin and a deep flush alter your cheeks and Jiwoo looks at you, even more puzzled than before. She readjusts her feet to keep the current position, but you can already see that she will go down on it soon.

“Thank you for the compliment,” you whisper and caress her thigh.

“What compliment? It’s a fact, don’t faulter yourself.”

“Faulter is wrong, that’s not how you—ha, fuck!”

You hold your breath, when Jiwoo suddenly goes down. You try reaching for something to not lose your grip on reality, but Jiwoo's thighs are not good at giving you stability because the Goddess immediately starts to grind and shimmy on your cock.

"Woah, fu-fu-fuck," Jiwoo fakes a stutter as her features turn euphoric. "This is insane. Amazing, so deep, I feel so full. I want it again, this feeling."

You don't have to give her a hint this time; Jiwoo starts to ride you herself. She impales her tight pussy on you with more vigor each time her legs lift her slender body up. She is too enamored with the feeling to notice your groaning and mewling.

Suddenly, everything around you disappears. For what has to be less than a second, all your furniture, your room, even your house vanishes into a white void. In the next moment, you find yourself in the midst of a grand meadow, confused sheep all around you, gigantic mountains in the background, soft, dew-covered grass below you.

"What the fuck?" you shout out, but Jiwoo has her eyes closed and forces her cunt on you without stopping. "Ji-Jiwoo, where the—huh?"

The void swallows all the sheep and snowy mountains and wet grass. They get replaced with the impeccable view of countless skyscrapers and houses from above. A strong, cold wind blasts through your hair. You tense up.

"Holy shit, is that New York—wait, are we on the Empire Sta—"

Before you can finish stating your observation, yet another void ends your view of the American metropolis and sends you into an uncomfortable bed of sand. Nothing but hot, rough, irritating sand everywhere. It annoys you on the beaches, but in a dessert it’s the fucking worst.

"Fuck, shit," Jiwoo curses through gritted teeth and for the first time slows down. With you a twitching mess because of her twitching cunt on your twitching dick, she finally stops and hides her flushed face.

"I-I think I almost peed. Weird feeling."

"It-It's f-fine,” you dismiss her worries as the sun starts to scorch your skin. “But can you please get us out of this fucking dessert?”

“Yeah, right, uhm.”

This time, the transition is seamless. The sand on your back gets replaced with something a lot more comfortable. Soft cushions stuffed with feathers or cotton, even better than your own bed, except you're not laying on a bed but a couch. The cooler, darker surroundings are foreign to you.

“Where are we now?” you ask, annoyed at what you perceive are Jiwoo’s usual antics.

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” she blurts out and draws circles on your chest with her fingernails. “That was incredible, marvelous! The way my pussy got stretched out by your cock. How did it feel for you?”

“Well, uhm.” Suddenly embarrassed, you avert your eyes from Jiwoo and try to come up with a good response. It’s hard to lie when you’re still balls deep inside her. “It just feels very good, the, uhm, warmth and ti-tightness and—”

“So tightness is good?” Jiwoo repeats the meaning of your words with a curious nod. “Then how about this?”

Tightness turns to pressure. The walls of Jiwoo’s cunt begin to clamp down harder on you. The texture of her insides becomes imprinted on your skin. You both groan in unison. At this point, there is nothing to add that could make this connection stronger, you literally can’t pull out of her. However, Jiwoo continues, her pussy slowly becoming a merciless hydraulic press that threatens to crush your cock. The pleasure from pressure fades into horror and pain.

“Fuck, ah, fuck, stop! Please, Jiwoo!”

Your screams don't go unheard. Jiwoo ends her odd experiment on you.

“Too tight?” she asks the way a scientist would ask a subject during testing of a very questionable product.

“Yes, yes, way too tight.”

“Sorry about that. Maybe I could increase the heat nex ti—”

“No! I mean, no, no need for that.” You helplessly sway your arms to get your point across. “There is no need for any of this crazy, supernatural stuff. Your pussy is… it’s awesome as it is, Jiwoo.”

Awkward silence. The two of you can’t hold eye contact for more than a fleeting moment. Blood shoots to your head in embarrassment, and even the Goddess on your dick is not immune to it. She carefully gets off of your lap and looks over the back of the couch.

“This is, uhm, quite the interesting place,” Jiwoo whispers.

“Yeah, but what is it actually? You should know. You teleported us here after all.” You try to keep the conversation going while gawking at the large paintings, crimson banners and dark brown tables and chairs. There is no lamp at the ceiling or any other electrical device in this room. Everything about this place looks and smells like it’s from a long time ago, but not a galaxy far, far away.

“To be honest,” Jiwoo elaborates, “I just chose a random room from your mind. I can replay memories or parts of your imagination? Maybe you have been here before or imagined a place like this?”

Jiwoo points out the window at blue-gray walls topped with battlements and towers. Further below is an atrium with dozens of servants cleaning pans and pots. Undoubtedly a castle, a very realistically old looking castle. Even the people are dressed up properly, like they came straight out of Europe 600 years ago.

“Hm, I don’t remember being in this castle. It might be from a movie I watched or a story I read.” You ponder a little longer before looking at Jiwoo who fixes her white strands that got stuck to her sweaty face. “Anyways, what do we do now?”

“Show me another position, please~” Jiwoo immediately responds, her voice cute, her hands naughty. Finger wrap around your cock and give slow pumps. You’ve had it with her, it’s time to show her a different side.

“Fuck, fine. Lay down and spread your legs.

“Let me take charge now.”

Jiwoo’s legs shoot away from her body in excitement. The thrill in her eyes grows exponentially, when you rub your hard cockhead on her moist folds. Put a hand next to her face for stability before penetrating her in one motion. Jiwoo groans when you bottom out and mewls when you pull out shortly after. Before she can complain, you repeat the process.

“Woah,” Jiwoo pulls you closer to her body as she groans, “this is crazy good.”

“This position is called missionary.”

“Why are you, hm, fuck, why are you going so slow though?”

With a smirk you lean down to one of Jiwoo’s breasts and take as much of it as you can in your mouth. Drag your tongue over the delicate skin in calculated patterns and watch her whimper because her nipple is left untouched. Jiwoo is getting closer to losing her sanity, which is a deserved punishment for the cock-compression from earlier.

“Don’t worry, I will go faster. Just one thing, Jiwoo.

“When this weird feeling comes again; don’t hold back, let it out.”

Finally suck her nipple for the finale before letting it pop free from your lips. It’s like a secret signal, a code word for your hips to do their job. No more pulling out, now it’s just pistoning like an engine in overdrive.

Jiwoo screams out your name, which urges you to drown out her voice with pelvis on pelvis hits that make droplets of her juice stain the ancient couch. This time, her pussy tightens around you without any supernatural body alteration.

You groan in satisfaction, the sight of Jiwoo below you disturbingly different from her usual self but also incredibly hot. You peck her trembling lips, then move along her sharp jaw to nibble on it. Hiss when she digs her point nails in your back.

“Fuck, don’t stop. This is amazing,” Jiwoo moans out. Every thought of hers is drowned out, only gasps escape her mouth, but even those get interrupted when you suddenly shove your tongue into it. Jiwoo freezes in confusion, giving you the perfect opportunity to play with her idle tongue. Push it around with your own like it’s a bouncy ball, force it to play along as you increase your tempo.

Jiwoo’s breaths become rapid, your thrust wild, violent even. Her hands are in your hair, she is about to pull out entire patches which just makes you fuck her harder. Wetness, wetness and suddenly, an entire waterfall comes pouring out of Jiwoo’s thoroughly fucked hole. A strong, squirting orgasm leaves her teary eyed and breathless. Luckily, it also makes her stop pulling your hair thus you don’t have to worry about partial baldness—yet.

Don’t worry about cumming inside her too. She is a Goddess, she won’t get pregnant, no matter how big your load is. It feels like a month's worth of cum is sucked out of you; at first, it’s shot in and then, it comes pouring out when you pull out. You fall backwards into the cushions, stirring up more dust then you would’ve hoped.

“Oh. My. God,” Jiwoo slowly, quietly mouths. “This was… godly!”

“I see what you did there,” you chuckle and watch Jiwoo’s chest rise and fall and her gaping pussy leak your cream.

“So this is how babies are made,” she casually says.

Your body shoots back up, your face contorting in shock.

“Wait, what? N-no, you’re a Goddess, you can’t get pregnant.

Right? Right???"

Jiwoo pouts and looks up at you.

“Isn’t getting pregnant the goal? Why would it be bad?”

“I—

“It’s complicated.”

#kpop smut #female idol smut #kard smut #jiwoo smut #kard jiwoo smut #male reader smut #male reader insert #male reader

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red-pill-to-swallow · 1 year ago

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How to skin

Hey babes,

today I want to talk about skin. Our skin – especially the skin in our face – is one of the first things that we recognize in another person.

This is the reason why it is so important to have clean and vibrant looking skin. Your skin color doesn’t matter as long as it is healthy looking and free of pimples.

Clear skin is a universal sign for good health and it can elevate the look of a person completely.

Us humans tend to find other people more attractive if they have good skin – it’s something in our genes.

Personally, I’m blessed with good skin – I never had acne as a teenager, only some lonely pimples right before my period would start.

However, when my gynecologist put me on the pill when I was around 19 years old I suddenly developed acne and it was horrible. That’s when I started to take my skincare very serious and made a ton of research that I want to share with you.

Disclaimer: I am not a dermatologist. Those are simply my experiences and what I’ve learned over the years.

Why do we even get pimples?

A very short summary: we get pimples, because sebum is clogging our pores and bacteria starts to grow in the pore which makes it inflamed.

Is it my fault that I get pimples? Am I not clean enough?

Yes and no.

Yes – there might be people who are experiencing acne just because they don’t cleanse their face good enough. However that’s something that happens very rarely.

Most people with acne wash and clean their face more often and more thoroughly than the average person.

If you experience heavy acne, don’t try to treat it at home. Instead, seek out a dermatologist to see if the acne is fungal.

I would also recommend getting blood-work done to see if the acne is hormonal.

If you never had acne and suddenly get pimples all over your face it could also be because of your birth control, especially if your birth control is hormonal.

Like I said before, I suddenly developed acne after my gynecologist put me on the pill. The reason for that was that the pill had gestagen in it which is similar to progesterone.

Progesterone is basically stimulating the skin to produce more oils and sebum – pores get clogged more easily and pimples form.

Diet also plays a big part in acne. Personally, I don’t see a difference if I leave out dairy or gluten but some people almost see an immediate effect.

I wouldn’t recommend just stopping consuming gluten and dairy one day, please speak to your doctor beforehand.

Instead, try to limit your sugar and fat intake first before you start to take drastic actions.

My acne is neither hormonal nor fungal, what can I do?

Having a healthy skin-barrier is the key to having clean and vibrant looking skin!

Most of us fell victim to Clearasil and other harsh drugstore products in our youth. I remember slathering my face with a 3 in 1 face wash, face mask and peeling once and my skin was red for days. At that time I didn’t know that the products were simply way to harsh for the skin on my face and wondered why it didn’t work as good as in the commercials.

If you’re just starting out with your skincare journey, here are a few tips that you should consider when you pick out products and a routine:

- a healthy skin-barrier should be your first priority. Everything else can be addressed later on.

- all the products for your face should be fragrance free or contain very little fragrance.

- stick to your routine for at least one month before changing it

- introduce new products one after one and take your time to do so

How does a good basic skincare routine look like?

You don’t need thousands of products in the beginning, keep it simple and gentle.

A good routine could look like this:

Step 1: use a gentle cleanser to wash your face in the morning. Nothing too heavy. I like to use a foam cleanser for this.

Step 2: use a hydrating toner and apply it with your hands, so you get the most out of your product.

Step 3: while your face is still damp with the toner, apply a hyaluronic acid serum. Never put hyaluronic acid on dry skin, it won’t do anything.

Step 4: wait for the hyaluronic acid to sink into your skin and apply a hydrating face cream all over your face. Do this even if your skin is oily – it still needs moisture.

Step 5: apply sunscreen all over your face and neck. Sunscreen is essential, especially if you use exfoliants.

Step 1: use a cleansing oil or cleansing balm in the evening. This is to remove your makeup and sunscreen from your face.

Step 2: use a gel cleanser and massage your skin for at least one minute. It’s important that you cleanse every small part of your face. Especially tricky is the skin around your nostrils and on your chin.

Step 3: again, use a hydrating toner and apply it with your hands.

Step 4: apply a thick face cream all over your face, best is something with panthenol.

What are the things that I should avoid?

- touching your face with dirty hands. Always wash your hands before you cleanse in the morning and in the evening. Avoid touching your face with your hands during the day.

- stop picking at pimples. I know – it’s frustrating, but the more you pick on your spots, the more inflamed they get. There also is a danger of you spreading around all that bacteria with your hands and possibly getting scars.

- Never ever use physical exfoliators in the face. They damage your skin with micro cuts that you can’t see with your eyes and damage more than they help. Always look for chemical exfoliators!

See you soon!

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toxycodone · 8 months ago

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Would you be able to collect your references and a short blurb about venery…. I’m asking for a friend… totally to not draw 🥺 I’ve liked it in the past but it’s been buried for me.

I edited my ref from before (imagine I’m good at proportions okay) BUT IS THIS GOOD ENOUGH…OTL…I AM GOING TO KISS U. He’s like. Venery to me is a feminine looking/presenting individual who’s mid-sized/chubby. And he has fur patches and tan skin. I am NOT picky about his design or coloring or anything so go crazy.

Venery was a monster researcher for a gnomish guild version of the Canaries which explored dungeons/contained them. He was sent to explore the dungeon on the Island WAY before the main dungeon meshi series starts. (This was due to Senshi’s opening that he creates when he escapes the dungeon :-000). It was originally thought to be a small natural dungeon opening and Ven was only supposed to document monsters to asses danger levels which is why Ven was sent in by himself.

Anyways, it ended up being way deeper than he thought. Curiousity kills the cat (or hyena I should say hehe) and he ventures in WAY too far and gets lost. Due to being like. The first trespasser, Thistle comes to deal with him himself…but is surprised to find a “dog”. He assumes Venery is some sort of kobold or other demihuman and brings him to the Golden Kingdom as a pet for Delgal. 🧍 that’s when he’s given the name “Venery”—it’s similar to Delgal’s favorite food (Venison). (Delgal thinks this is incredibly fucked up. On the rare occasions thistle isn’t breathing down their necks, Venery and Delgal help plan his escape.)

Anyways. Fucked up shi happens and Delgal escapes. Adventurers start coming in. Thistle’s panicked and angry since Venery didn’t “entertain” Delgal enough and didn’t make him happy (which pets are meant to do). So Thistle takes Ven as his own servant. Mixes a dragon soul into him (he uses the ancient magic version of creating a beastkin though which is why Venery doesn’t look like Falin)

And yeah. Venery basically serves as Thistle’s pet for a while, but when Falin comes along they fight and she eats him. (Rip). Thistle then revives him and dismisses Venery to the Golden Kingdom to “entertain” the citizens (the magic barrier makes him act like izutsumi pm).

SO YEAH. TLDR HES A BYPRODUCT OF AN EXPERIMENT.

in my mind. Within the first chapters/episodes of the Manga there’s faded missing posters for Venery around the streets/bar/guilds you see,,,mainly because his disappearance was a cold case until the Island’s dungeon opened and Delgal surfaced…in Delgal’s coat Venery’s guild badge is found in his pocket,,,so it’s evidence he may still be alive

there’s a huge bounty for his return

#YAYAYAYAYAY I HOPE THIS IS GOOD CUMRIESSSS SHE IM SO EXCITED #suck my ask

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pandorias-box · 2 months ago

Text

Offscreen Post

Inquisition

Her eyes slowly flickered open to see a blinding light overhead. It wasn’t that of the sun, however. Instead she lay sprawled on some sort of seating arrangement, flat and uncomfortable. Trying to move around, she found that her hands and arms were restrained.

Why was she bound? What was this place? It reminded her of some of the rooms within URS HQ because of the monochromatic color scheme, but clearly she wasn’t back in her homeworld. There was no way she could possibly be there, after all.

The last thing she remembered was that blistering heat and falling into the sea. She should be dead by now but by some miracle, she wasn’t. Well, being bound in an undisclosed location wasn’t exactly a miracle, but at least Pandoria still lived.

She glanced around the small room to try and see what else was there. The familiar weight of her equipment seemed to be lost on her. Did whomever brought her here confiscate everything? Including her comms device and Pokéballs?

Vikxa. This was bad.

And where was Hyperion? Was Hyperion even alive?

Instinctual panic and dread started to kick in like she was a caged beast but she had to suppress such emotions. Lashing out was the last thing she wanted to do.

Instead, she shouted, unsure if there was anyone or anything that’d hear her pleas. “Hello?! Is there anyone here?!”

The woman, on the other hand, was looking at this person with slight curiosity. She’d been aware of the presence of people like her since the whole fiasco with the Aether Foundation and the subsequent UB invasion that followed afterwards 7 years ago.

Back then, it was supposed to be a vacation but she ultimately got roped into something far more greater than she anticipated. She’d never seen one of these… for lack of a better term, aliens, up close. This one in particular looked exceedingly odd. What seemed to be scales of chitin jetted from her skin unnaturally.

One of her arms ended in three sharp claws in place of a hand, two fingers seemingly becoming fused together since in the other it ended in five. The uniform was very similar to the ones worn by those who collaborated with Aether.

And this very description matched some reports she was getting recently about sightings of an individual in possession of an Ultra Beast. Apprehending such threats was her specialty, after all. But, she hadn’t yet determined if this person even was a threat. When this person was brought into the facility, everyone was panicked.

They spoke of another impending UB invasion since these nonhumans were inherently connected to them, and if such information got out to the general public, even more chaos would ensue.

She was there to prevent that from happening as the head of the UB Task Force. A simple inquiry as to this person’s motives was nothing compared to what she usually dealt with.

And so, Anabel sighed and clasped her arms together, asking this peculiar individual a simple question. “Who are you? And what’s your prime directive?”

Pandoria looked at the woman with confusion upon being immediately interrogated. She too had many questions about the situation and still had little a clue what was even going on. “I would like to ask the same of you, madam.” She retorted.

So, the alien could understand and speak Galarian. Thank Arc there wasn’t a language barrier between them or else this interrogation would essentially be impossible. She scoffed at her comment since it was the last thing she expected her to say. “My name is Anabel. And as for my prime directive, that’s classified.” She spoke plainly.

She paused for a moment before giving her answer. If things were different and this woman actively wanted to learn more about her field research, she’d happily reveal it to her. Instead, she was bound to a chair in an undisclosed area being interrogated as if she were a criminal.

There was good reason for Pandoria to be hesitant, but if she actively lied to Anabel, she might force the truth out of her. “My name is Pandoria Chloris. I am a member of the Ultra Reconnaissance Squadron within the sector of interdimensional cultural studies. I am simply traveling across this world amassing knowledge relevant to my research.”

The two people by the door glanced at Anabel with a confused look. ‘What in the world was she talking about?’, their expressions read. However, she swiftly snapped her fingers together and they refocused their attention to the alien. No, her name was Pandoria. And that name she mentioned sounded vaguely familiar as well.

Regardless, she had to bring up what she found about her in the reports. “And what kind of knowledge, exactly? As far as I have heard, you tried to sneak yourself into a closed-off section of the Mossdeep Space Center trying to pry for information that’s otherwise classified.”

Her eyes narrowed in surprise. “How do you know about this?!” Pandoria asked, her voice growing somewhat agitated.

“And for the record, I was not trying to pry for information as you so aptly put it. I was simply curious as to what their current operation was and sought to talk to someone about it.” She replied.

“And in doing so, you got yourself kicked out by undercover operatives of ours. What did you plan to do with such information if you got it? What kind of cultural researcher is so keen on the ongoings of an aerospace organization?” Anabel said, beginning to get up from her chair and pacing around the small room, glaring at Pandoria.

She tried her best not to hiss at this human in frustration. This conversation, or rather interrogation, was going nowhere. All Anabel did was throw out baseless accusations towards her and kept on gazing at her with contempt. As if everything was fundamentally wrong with her.

“I was simply going to relay it to other members of the URS who would potentially be interested in such things. I was not trying to expose anything about the inner workings of said operation for malicious reasons.”

“Likely story,” Anabel scoffed. “And how can I determine whether or not you’re lying to me out of self-preservation? Do you really want me to do a lie detection test with you? Honestly, it’s so old fashioned…”

“I promise you that I am not lying. In fact, many have told me outright that I am a terrible liar and that I reveal too much information about a given subject at a time. Much like I am doing right now.” Pandoria stated matter-of-factly. Perhaps responding in this manner only made the interrogator even more frustrated with her. She took a breath to try to refocus herself and started to speak again.

“The only reason why I was even in Hoenn was for an expedition of gathering information regarding the cultures of those who lived there. I went to the space center because it was simply a site of interest and I was intrigued by Terran means of interstellar exploration.”

Anabel paused and relaxed herself. She was used to interrogating criminals that’d threaten the livelihoods of people and Pokémon across all regions. It was up to her to determine whether or not Pandoria was a threat.

Her orders as UB Task Force leader were simple: to either safeguard or eliminate those of other worlds that somehow end up here. But this person, this alien… she did not seem to pose any threats whatsoever. She was on alert for no reason, but she had every reason to be on guard.

There was a reason why people spoke of the dark forest hypothesis within her sect — if any other intelligent civilization was exposed, they’d try to eliminate them out of instinct.

Even among the seemingly empty universe, humans were also among these hunters. Yet with every word Pandoria spoke, it only reinforced that she came in peace. That she wasn’t an invading force much like she was trained to think these otherworlders were.

But, this was too good of an opportunity to pass up. Interpol had minimal information about the civilization that came from Ultra Space. She needed to get as much out of her as she-. No. It wasn’t right. Even if this person matched records of being suspicious, there was no evidence that she was responsible for any wrongdoings. Anabel couldn’t double back out of this now. She was already in too deep and she had to see this through.

“I have told you much of who I am and why I have come to this world. I would appreciate it if you could do the same.” She spoke up again.

Anabel hesitated. “I… am a member of the International Police, the head of the UB Task Force. When I heard there were sightings of someone with a UB, I had to investigate this myself. Not only because of my orders, but because of the implications the appearance of UBs has here. You’re in an Interpol base currently. I can’t disclose where you are for the sake of revealing classified information.”

UB Task Force.

They went after UBs to see whether or not they were a threat much like the URS did, but only for the sake of humanity’s protection and preservation. They feared what they didn’t understand. That was why she was being treated with such vitriol. Pandoria snapped back and try to free herself from her binds again after reality set in again. Hyperion was gone. She was in danger. She had to get out of here.

“What do you intend to do with me and Hyperion? Where is Hyperion?!” Fear took over her. She tried to be rational but it clouded her mind. Something struck her down and she was essentially abducted by humans that immediately thought she was some sort of threat. Even if she tried to reason with them, they’d still be afraid.

She flinched at her sudden change in demeanor. The agents started to rush towards her with their stun guns pointed at Pandoria but Anabel ordered them to stand down. If she were in an unknown location being questioned about crimes that were never committed, she’d also be extremely distraught. The fear and desperation within her eyes was genuine.

Oh Arc, what had she done?

This was all her fault. In trying to complete a task for Interpol, she’d endangered the livelihood of a person and her Pokémon. In trying to preserve humanity, she’d unintentionally harmed those of another world. She failed her secondary purpose of trying to safeguard UBs, solely hellbent on trying to eliminate anything that was deemed an obstacle.

“Stop! Calm down… who is Hyperion? Or rather what is Hyperion? If it is what I think it is, the UB Stinger specimen is confined elsewhere and being looked after by the-“

A shrill cry interrupted Anabel as she spoke. It was unlike anything she’d ever heard. It sounded as if many voices were overlapped one another, screeching and roaring out in pain. She looked over at the agents quickly. “Stop whatever testing they’re conducting on the specimen! Now!” Anabel ordered before the two acknowledged and left the room.

Her heart was racing. Her head was throbbing. She wanted to escape. She wanted to get out of here. But fighting her way out was fruitless. She was trapped with no way of contacting her allies. It reminded her of those days she wanted so desperately to forget. The days of feeling helpless and isolated, and being treated as if she was nothing more than something that shouldn’t exist. The familiar screech added more to the cacophony in her mind. Anabel got closer to her and she reeled back. What was she going to do with her? Was she going to relive those days again? Those painful, agonizing-

She was shaking. The supposedly unflinching leader of the UB Task Force was wavering. Was she… crying? Showing remorse for someone that wasn’t even human? Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I was just following orders… I don’t want to hurt you.” She kept on repeating to herself.

She looked at Anabel and saw glimpses of herself. Someone who simply follows orders to the best of their ability and doesn’t want any complications because of their actions. Someone who always put on a facade of stoicism but feared for themselves every waking moment. Someone who would go out of their way to protect a stranger.

The chaos died down as the agents returned and Hyperion’s screeching halted. They were alive. Thank the Blinding One, they were alive. “If… you truly do not wish to harm me, then let me go.” Pandoria managed to say, her voice also shaking.

“I can’t. I’m not trying to keep you captive here but… orders are orders.”

Her brows furrowed. “And what are those orders?”

“I… was sent here to acquire more information about your kind in order to minimize any other potential meetings like this that could occur. My purpose as the leader of the UB Task Force is this: investigate the ecology of these unidentified UBs, look out for UBs and protect the people from any harm, and to either protect the UBs... or destroy them... But I promise you this: no harm will come to you or Hyperion. I swear it. If it were possible for you to collaborate with us to gather the information we need, then maybe I can ensure a way for you to return to whatever you were doing before.”

Pandoria hesitated before responding to Anabel’s offer. She was still being vague about what she wanted with this information and the fact that she was asking for it was somewhat hypocritical considering the whole reason she got into this mess was her pursuit of knowledge. But, it was better than any hypothetical alternatives that others might have planned for her.

“I will help to the best of my ability, but will you truly stand by with what you said? Will you ensure that no harm will come to me?”

“I swear it.” She replied sternly. This was her end of the deal, but how were other sects of Interpol going to react to this change in development? That didn’t matter now. What mattered was that this nonhuma-, no, Pandoria was okay. Protecting her and the UB was a part of the job description. If anyone dared to question her authority, they’d be dealt with one way or another. But even then, there were those here that outranked her. Regardless, Anabel would do whatever it takes to ensure a mission’s success.

“Now that it’s just the two of us here, I… want to start this exchange all over again. Can you tell me some things about your world, the Ultra Recon Squad, and Ultra Beasts?”

#arc: dark forest #off screen post #long post #pkmn irl #irl pokemon #rotumblr

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anim3-g33k25 · 1 year ago

Text

Forbidden - Cullen x Fem! Reader (chapter one)

Masterlist

Last chapter | Next chapter

Key:

(s/c) = Skin tone

(h/s) = hair style

(h/c) = hair color

"It's too much! We can't defeat them!" One of the mages says as it tries to put up a barrier but is knocked down by a rage demon. An (s/c) mage looked around at the battlefield to see half of her companions downed either hurt or dead.

"We have to push forward! We are almost there!" She said as she tried to motivate them, but it wasn't working. They were slowly giving up and she had to think fast.

They were currently trying to get to Haven where they heard where the rest of the mages were, but they were attacked by some unknown creatures. She lets out a frustrated yell as she shoots ice at a demon instantly killing it and it went inside some portal.

"Over there!" She heard someone say that wasn't a part of their group. She looked over to see the Herald and his companions and she let out a sigh of relief. She was out of potions and her health was pretty low.

As soon as the Herald arrived, they worked together to get rid of the demons, and the herald closed the portal and everything went back to normal like it didn't happen at all instead of the groaning from her downed mages. She stood up and looked at the rest of the standing mages who were helping out the injured mages. She was relieved that the worse part was over and they can finally make it to Haven especially since the Herald was here.

She turned towards the group as they walked towards her and she gave a slight bow. "(Y/N) Amell. It's finally nice to meet you Herald of Andraste." She said standing back up to stare at the taller male.

"How do you know who I am?" He asked and she looked at him quizically. "Everyone should know who you are. You are the Herald are you not?" And the male rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I wouldn't call myself that. Manuel would be just fine." She gave a slight nod and looked at the other mages with a sigh.

"Mind telling me why are there a bunch of mages out here in the wilderness?" He asked with a small tone as he looked at the other mages.

"We were making our way to the Safe Haven when we came upon the rift and it became too much for us to handle. As you can see." She mumbled as she gestured to her fellow companions. "Wait, why are you trying to get to Haven?" A female voice called out and (y/n) looked over to the voice to see a pixie-haired woman looking at her with a glower.

"We have nowhere to go. We have been with the circle but ever since it has been destroyed, we have been on our own ever since." She answered truthfully then looked back to the mages that were now standing up behind her. "I am their leader now ever since we left and I am all they got." She then looks back at Manuel pleading. "We were hoping to help out the Inquisition. Anything that you need we can do."

He thought about it for a second as the pixie-haired woman cut in on his thinking process. "You're seriously not thinking about letting some apostates stay at Haven, are you? Even if they can help we could get in trouble." She said walking up towards him and the dwarf cut in, "I think it's a good idea for them to join us."

"Please... I don't want to fail them..." (Y/N) pleaded more. She wasn't like this but she was getting desperate and she didn't want to fail them either. Manuel took a second to think about it and looked at Cassandra. "I think that we have enough room at Haven for them. If they give problems, notify me." Cassandra looked like she was going to protest but her lips became a thin line and nodded her head.

"Understood Herald. I hope that we don't regret it." She said with a warning tone. Y/N felt her chest swell with happiness. She can't believe that they were finally going to be safe.

"Many thanks, Herald. You won't regret this at all." She said as she places her hand over her heart and bowed, then turned towards the other mages with a smile.

"My friends! After today, we won't have to worry about sleeping and bandits will kill us in our sleep. We have found the Herald. We will be going to Haven." (y/n) said with a big smile on her face and some mages cheered as some had smiles on their face. She fulfilled the promise that she made to them and she was going to keep that.

Back at Haven

"Has the Herald come back yet," Cullen asked walking inside Josephine's office as she was at her desk writing some reports.

"I believe not. I did get word that he did pick up a group of mages from the circle." Josephine said not looking up from her work and Cullen's face turned into confusion.

"Mages from the circle? Do you mean apostates?" He asked as he puts his hand against the end of his sword.

"Yes, but the report said that they were running since the circle was destroyed," Josephine said now looking up, and Cullen went rigid. 'Mages from the destroyed circle? Does that mean...' "Is there anything wrong with that Commander?"

"No... I'm just worried about the apostates being in Haven. We just had a problem with them." He partially lied. He was having flashbacks from when he was in the circle and it was not good flashbacks instead of the one girl that he was in love with.

"Will it be better if you met them before we let them in?" Josephine suggested as Cullen snapped out of his thoughts.

"I don't think that is not a good idea. If they were from the circle that was destroyed, then they don't want to see the Templar that was overseeing the whole circle." Cullen suggested and Josephine nodded her head in understanding.

"Understood commander, but I hope that you will come by and give them a chance. Now if that is all, I would like to get back to work please." She said looking back down at her work, Cullen nodded his head and left the room.

He wants to see who these mages were but he didn't want to cause any conflicts between them already.

A few hours later

(Y/n) walked around the little campsite that was inside the walls of Haven. It was small, and it had some defense but it was better than being outside in the wild. She walked towards the camp where the mages were being held and she smiled. They were in much better spirits than the last fight and getting the rest that they needed.

"(Y/N)!" A young elf mage named Massa came up to her, and (y/n) smiled at her. "Massa! How is everything going with the healing?"

"Everyone is healing well. Some will make it through the night and some will be able to fight." Massa said placing her hands behind her back. "That's good. I'm... uh sorry for everything and getting everyone hurt, and some killed." (Y/N) said the last part quietly, and Messa waved her off.

"It's quite alright. I had more fun than staying in that old tower, but do we trust these people? I heard that they were trying to get the Templars to join them." Messa states with a scared tone.

"What else are we supposed to do, Messa? We can't just keep running forever or stay out in the wilderness," (y/n) states as she stared at the short elf with her (e/c) eyes. Messa looks like she was going to say something but she closed her mouth aced nodded her head.

"Just take the help wherever you can even if it's dangerous. I trust the Herald to keep us safe." (Y/n) said placing her hand on the other woman's shoulder. "Now go help out wherever you can so you can pay back their kindness." Messa's worried face becomes more confident as she nodded her head and walked hurriedly off.

The older woman smiles as she watched the girl run off then starts to head off toward the camp where the soldiers were training at. Haven is such a beautiful place with snowy mountains. She looked around the campsite is saw a blonde tuft of hair for a split second.

She was going to walk over to introduce herself but she thought against it as she thought that no one wanted to see an apostate until she was properly introduced as not the enemy. She turned around to go back to the mage camp when she ran into the Herald.

"My apologies Herald! I didn't mean to run into you." She said apologetically and her cheeks became red. "It's quite alright. I was just coming to get you so you can meet the war council." He states with a smile and (y/n) felt her stomach drop a little. She knew it was coming but she didn't think it was so soon. "Is now a bad time?" Manuel asked as he saw the color drain from her (s/c) face.

"No! I mean, uh... Right now is a good time. I don't want to raise suspicion among your people since you are already having problems with the mages." She said rubbing her (h/c) hair in apprehension. Manuel nods his head and nodded towards the gate that leads inside Haven.

She walked with him slowly toward the temple and she heard what the people of Haven were saying about her and her people.

"Did you hear that the Herald brought in more mages?"

"Yes, I have. But don't you think that's a bad idea if we are going to side with the Templars?"

"If they find out that we have some apostates in Haven they won't help any more than they have now."

(Y/N) felt her blood run cold. They were thinking about siding with the Templars? She thought to herself as she looked up at the taller male. He kept his stare forward as he was used to this by now and it didn't bother him. They walk inside the temple and (y/n) took a look around seeing the different intricate designs.

They came up to a door and the Herald opened the door walking inside with (y/n) following in after him. They sat there in silence for a few seconds before the Herald started to talk.

"If you don't mind me asking, which circle did you come from?" He said suddenly and (y/n) jumped slightly at his voice and he apologized afterward.

"No, it's quite alright. I'm was from Fereldan. Kinloch Hold. I was there when it was destroyed by the rouge mages." She explains not looking into his eyes. She doesn't like to talk about what occurred to her and her friends, and that's why she vowed to get them to safety.

"Oh? Our commander is a former Templar from that circle. I heard about the circle. Luckily they had rebuilt it." He explained but she wasn't listening to him. She was worried about the former Templar that was here. Were they in trouble if they stayed here? She opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by the door opening behind them.

She turned around to see two women and a taller man with the same blonde hair. He locked eyes with her before quickly adverting his eyes. Maybe out of fear? Guilt? She doesn't know.

"Oh! Just in time. Meet the consultants. Josephine Montilyet our advisor for politics and diplomacy." Manuel gestured to the woman who had almost silk-like clothing. Josephine smiled warmly and bowed in respect. "Nice to meet you. It must've been hard to lead such a big group through the wilds?" She said looking at her with sadness in her eyes.

"Yes it was hard but we were able to make it this far. With so few casualties." (Y/n) explained with a small smile on her lips. Josephine gave a small nod of respect and smiled back. "Next is Leliana. She is our consultant secret forces."

"It's nice to meet you. Luckily you're on our side because we didn't want to kill you or your mages." Leliana stated with an eerily tone and (y/n) was going to ask what she meant then she remembered that she probably had information on her and the other mages so she decided against it and kept her mouth shut.

"And lastly this is our commander of our troops, Cullen Rutherford." He stated as he gestured to the taller male with blonde hair. The said man made eye contact with her and she was stuck in place as she remembered those hazel eyes back in the circle, when they had feelings for each other.

"And this is (y/n) Amell. We found her in the wilds trying to look for Haven and is prepared to help us during this upcoming war." Manuel stated breaking her eye contact with Cullen to look at him but she can feel the other male's eyes on her.

#cullen x reader #cullen rutherford #solas dragon age #sera dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #dragon age 2 #varric tethras

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chaoslynx · 2 years ago

Note

Can you do number 10 for the kids prompts please ? <33

10. staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

Ash has been staring at Eiji for a while now.

It's making Eiji self conscious, really. Someone like Ash, looking at someone like Eiji? Why, first of all? Why would Ash ever even want to?

Eiji stares at Ash all the time, of course, but that's different. Why wouldn't he? Ash is beautiful. Ash is worth looking at. Eiji actively tries not to stare at Ash, because he knows that Ash already knows these things. Ash knows how beautiful he is, and knows how much pain that has brought him.

Eiji's conflicted, really. He knows there's nothing to be jealous of, but he still hates that someone like Ash ever bothers to look at him. He wishes that he could be someone more deserving of Ash, in every way.

Eiji glances up, and Ash is still staring at him.

Pouting, Eiji snaps his laptop shut. "What is it?" he demands.

Ash blinks, like he's just coming into awareness. "Huh?" he asks, a little dazed.

"You've been staring at me."

Ash breaks into a small smile, and Eiji can't help but look at the shape of his lips. The fine cupid's bow, the deep pink color against Ash's pale skin.

"Why wouldn't I look at you?" Ash challenges, smile morphing into a smirk.

Eiji's brows draw together. "Don't make fun of me."

Ash hums. "I'm not. You're beautiful."

Eiji blinks. He ... was not expecting to hear that. Especially not from Ash, but not from anyone, really. He's gotten cute sometimes, but never something like ... beautiful.

"No I'm not?" Eiji says immediately.

Ash's mouth falls open just a little, surprise slackening his jaw. "What?"

"I'm not beautiful, Ash. Please don't make fun of me."

"But you are," Ash insists, and he sounds so earnest, so true. How can he say something like that?

Eiji shifts in his seat, almost uncomfortable with the way Ash is looking at him. How does Ash do that? Say things like that, or—spend so much time looking at someone like Eiji? Invest so much time in someone like Eiji?

Eiji watches Ash's mouth again, watches the small frown as he realizes that Eiji doesn't believe him. And, despite his better judgement, Eiji thinks about what Ash's lips feel like. Thinks about how it would feel to touch them again, to meet them with his own and—

Eiji bites down on his own lip to distract himself, tearing his gaze away.

"Hey," Ash whispers. He leans forward and brushes the pad of his thumb against Eiji's lower lip, where Eiji's teeth are close to splitting the skin. "Don't do this to yourself. Those lips are too pretty to break like this."

"Ash ..." Eiji protests quietly. Still, he stops biting at his lip, releasing it and parting his lips.

Ash is staring at him again. Staring at his lips.

"I, um—" Eiji starts, but Ash interrupts him.

"Eiji," Ash says, voice intense and meaningful.

"Yes?" Eiji squeaks.

Ash runs his thumb back and forth along Eiji's lower lip. Eiji's breath stutters.

"I'm sorry," Ash whispers. "I'm just sick of holding back." With that, he leans in, close close and closer to Eiji. At the last moment, he moves his hand up into Eiji's hair, taking away the last barrier between the two of them, and—

Their lips meet.

Eiji reacts immediately, pressing into Ash, moving forward and parting his lips to deepen the kiss. There's a sound like a laugh in Ash's chest, but it gets caught before it can fully escape.

They both melt into each other, barely holding each other up. The kiss lasts forever, seconds that are eternities to the two of them. They pull away gasping, having taken each other's breath away.

Eiji breathes out a laugh.

"Holy shit," Ash whispers.

"Holy shit," Eiji agrees.

"You okay?" Ash asks, and Eiji wonders if he should have asked first.

"More than okay," he assures. "You?"

Ash smiles, something like wonder in his eyes as he still stares at Eiji. "Better than I've ever really been before," he mumbles.

"Then ..." Eiji trails off.

"Again?" Ash asks. "More?"

"Please."

Kiss prompts!

#banana fish #asheiji #ash lynx #eiji okumura #prompt fill #answers #anon #oops i got carried away this was a bit longer than i meant it to be lol

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omniblades-and-stars · 1 year ago

Text

The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

Read on AO3

"Bancroft Exports and Logistics Headquarters" read the sign carved from impeccably polished wood, no doubt from Earth. It was mounted on the wall next to a door made of frosted glass and featuring antique bronze hinges and a matching bronze doorknob, shaped humorously like one of Earth's large felines, a lion, if he remembered correctly. He always did. As he reached for the door knob with a green-scaled hand, Thane Krios noted it as something to ask Mr. Bancroft about. It was obviously meant as a statement, the expense of retrofitting a Nos Astra office building for an ancient human door alone meant that it was not simply a design choice.

He straightened the front panel of his expensive suit jacket as he strolled into the lobby. There was a reception desk with a high counter wrapped around the front, topped in the same dark polished wood that the sign at the door was. There was another office door directly to the right of the reception desk, and a cart against the wall with porcelain tea cups hanging from metal hooks. One was missing.

The receptionist was not at their post, it seemed. There was, however, a small sign that read "Press Button for Assistance". He was surprised when there was no audible tone when his carefully filed talon depressed the cool metallic button.

After several seconds of empty silence, a booming, "I don't pay you to stand around and look pretty! Go see who it is, damn it," reverberated from the office behind the door. A feminine voice answered back, the words of her quiet reply were lost to the barrier provided by thick walls. Thane clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently to be greeted by someone. He was going to enjoy killing Mr. Bancroft later.

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin.

His eyes traveled up her body, taking in the receptionist as she pushed sideways out of the door. She held a silver tea tray in her delicate, gloved hands, and despite her unreasonably high heels, she moved with well-practiced grace and fluidity.

A pristine cream colored blouse covered a supple chest, the promising curve of soft flesh hidden beneath whisper thin fabric. A collar buttoned high on her slender throat with dainty, round pearls, covered a scar he knew was there. He was surprised to see her here. She was supposed to be dead.

He killed her.

Bare skin burns hot, pressed and writhing beneath him. A soft moan turns to a surprised gasp and her fingers dig sharp into the muscles of his arms. Silken lips parted against his in a silent plea. Breaths ragged from exertion and the effects of the venom still coursing in her veins. Crimson rivulets wash down the cold metal of his blade. Tears bead at the edges of her clouded, disbelieving eyes, pupils wide, surprised by the betrayal she knew would inevitably come. "Why?" She mouths, unable to speak.

"We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispers, and tenderly brushes wisps of dark hair from her sweat-dewed cheek. Tears that are not hers fall, mingling with the ones sliding over her skin and into the hair tangled on the pillow below her. Her grip on his arms falters as she grows weak. He leaves her alone to die in a Presidium hotel room, disquieted and regretful.

It had been too difficult to stay. He should have known she would pull through. She was stubborn, tenacious.

Beautiful, precious.

And above all, a devious, deadly viper.

But why was it relief that he felt to see her again?

Familiar honey-colored eyes glared at him as she turned to greet him. She drew the plush flesh of her burgundy lip in between her teeth, seductive and no doubt a sign of the anger she felt at the sight of him.

The anger burning in her wide, clear eyes disappeared in a flash, as though it had never existed. A wide smile took its place, creasing the corners of her eyes, and she broke her silence by proclaiming, "Oh, you must be the security consultant here to meet with the board. I am so sorry, how do you pronounce your name, Mister…" Her voice was soft, dripping with syrupy cheer. Her head cocked slightly to the side quizzically, a convincing charade played out for no one but the two of them.

"Tuek. Rumi Tuek. It is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I am afraid that I do not know your name," he said in reply. In this, he told no lie. No living person knew her true name. Her names shifted like the crashing tides of the sea.

"Julia Tophana," she answered cheerfully and bravely turned her back on him to set the tray on top of the cart. "When I first saw your name on the appointment list this week, I assumed it must have been a salarian name," she lied easily, putting on a breathy, airy voice that he knew very well was an act. She continued putting the pieces of the tea service away with gloved hands as she filled the silence with trite chatter. "I thought, 'Surely it couldn't be a drell name, there are so few to be seen away from Kahje.' But what do I know? Mr. Bancroft always says, 'I didn't hire you for your brains, Jules.'"

How long had she been working as the man’s secretary just to murder him?

She loved the long game.

Julia turned and flashed a charming smile at him, holding a stained tea cup in her left hand. "He underestimates me. They always pay for underestimating me. Don't they?" Thane's hand ghosted over his abdomen, where the memory of her blade made itself known. She started this destructive little game of theirs.

She cries out for help as his target tries to pull her into a filthy alley, one of so many on this part of Omega. He runs to help this stranger, a young, human woman out for a jog. A gunshot echoes out of the alley, and the woman's screams stop.

Too late, he fears. But as he turns around the abandoned building at the entrance to the alley, he sees her standing hunched over a body, hands gripping the pistol like iron. She holds it like it is both her only lifeline and the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. Like she has never fired it before.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I … I … was so scared! I didn't … oh God, what did I do?" Her cries are shrill, panicked, she is nearly hyperventilating. Her hands shake and tears streak over the gentle curve of her cheeks. She looks up at him with large, pleading, amber eyes, and drops the pistol on the ground right before she heaves and vomits all over her lavender running shoes.

"Please, let me help you get cleaned up," he offers quietly as he approaches. She clutches his hands with her own trembling fingers and allows him to lead her away. She tells him her name is Artemis, tells him about how she ended up on Omega, and how lonely it is living on that horrible station.

It's hours later and they are still together, she's pressed against him, hot and needy. Her kisses taste like peppermint toothpaste. "It was so easy. This is the last time you'll see me, see anything," she whispers against his lips. Cold metal bites into his skin, just below his lung and it twists as she pushes him harder against the wall. Her strength is surprising. Too late he realizes that she is not just an innocent woman out for an evening run. The pain forces a groan coursing up his throat. He can feel the blade scraping through his ribs, feel it pierce through the other side. "I don't do competition," she explains and strokes his cheek with a soft hand, now coated in emerald blood. She simply walks away after, leaving her blade, and him, pinned to the wall. It is the kind of folding blade engineered by and for killers, expensive and easily hidden.

The truth of the matter was that she was a small, beautiful woman blessed with large, doe eyes, and perfect, bow shaped lips. Traits that she carefully wielded to her advantage at every available opportunity. Including here, in this moment, where he was her only audience. She was like the sirens of Earth’s ancient mythology, and he too often found himself ensnared by her song.

Arashu protect me, Amonkira guide me, and Kalahira, please take this damnable woman to the darkest, coldest depths of your oceans.

She brought the cup down onto the hard surface of the desk, shattering it with purpose. "Oops! How clumsy of me!" She brushed the shards into the trash can, and in a smooth motion removed the gloves from her hands and deposited them into the receptacle after, careful not to touch the outside material with her bare fingers.

The gloves must have cost a fortune. They appeared to be made of real animal skin, unlike the synthetic leather worn by most. Even in their line of work.

She'd always been one for flair, even if only for her own sake.

His eyes followed the dexterous lines of slender fingers, recalling the feeling of them tracing tender lines over the ridges of his scales, the feel as they dug into his flesh as she tried to tear his grip from her throat. With a raised brow, he started to ask, “Mr. Bancroft, is he-”

“Dead? He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” The Shepherd responded while she checked the watch set into a dainty silver band around her wrist. “He will have a “sudden” stroke in approximately four hours.”

Of course, poison.

One of her favorite methods. She had always been one for a more personal approach. She liked to get in close, get to know the target. She loved to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse that didn't know her claws were already piercing its skin. Until it was much, much too late.

She always played games.

Thane's lips curled into a disapproving grimace. He despised that she got to Bancroft first.

He despised that she waited until she knew he would be here to do it. This entire charade, this whole show was for his benefit alone.

It was payback. It was his turn to be the mouse, it seemed. It was probably no less than he deserved.

Deserved or not, he would not let her win.

Her clean up finished, The Shepherd picked up a datapad and waved for him to follow her into the curving hallway. “This way, Mr. Tuek. The board meets on the next floor up, accessible only by the interior elevator.” She strode in front of him, the long curve of her legs accented by the pointed heel of her shoe. Absently, she brushed a long dark lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, held together by shining metal sticks, behind her ear. It was much longer than their last meeting.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Ms. Tophana. It is a shame that I will kill you before I get to enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear as they walked past the office workers diligently working at their desks in the open office space nested behind the reception lobby.

“I like the piercings you have there on the ridge above your frill, those are new. I will take great pleasure in tearing them from your smug face right before I end you,” she retorted while looking straight ahead. Her mouth curled up, confidence hidden in the upturned corner of her lips. "This is the last time, Krios," she whispered hotly.

"You are sure of this? You have yet to kill me, Shepherd," he reminded her and placed a gentle, threatening hand at the small of her back. The silken fabric of her blouse slid pleasantly over his scales.

Their walk through the office came to a halt at the elevator, tucked into a hall filled with more office spaces. The Shepherd turned to face him as she pressed the call button for the lift. "It will either be me or you this time. To the death, once and for all. I'm not leaving this building without your life."

The elevator arrived with a chime, and the door slid open. "Then you will not leave this building," he answered emphatically and stepped into the elevator.

The Shepherd pressed her arm across the opening to prevent the door from sliding closed. She leaned in, passing the datapad to him, her lips ghosted dangerously close to his cheek, her breath hot on his skin, stirring heat deep within him. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle. It always smelled like honeysuckle. "You make mistakes when you underestimate me. Don't make it easy for me," she whispered. Suddenly, she pulled back, "You'll understand why I won't be joining you in the elevator. The boardroom is directly to your right, through the preposterous double doors. You can't miss it."

She had the audacity to wiggle her fingers at him as though she were waving goodbye to a friend as the door slid shut.

He looked down at the datapad and turned the screen on. Thane didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly irritated by the image that greeted him:

"A Game of Cat and Mouse" written out in the flowing script he knew to be hers, followed by a humorous drawing of a cat with human hair styled just like hers. And pinned beneath her feline paws, a mouse with green and black scales.

Hiding in an office suite after his meeting, now entirely pointless due to Bancroft's impending death, had concluded was a simple matter. It was easy enough to duck into the office of some executive who was almost certainly on vacation, and simply wait until everyone who was not The Shepherd left. By the time the work day drew to a close, he found himself pondering the pendulous motion of the Newton’s Cradle decorating the large wooden desk in his hiding office.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Cla-

“We’re alone now, Krios. You can come out of hiding,” she shouted down the hall from her roost in the lobby.

As he walked silently down the hall, he removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and cuffing his shirt sleeves at his forearms. When he rounded the hall into the lobby, she was standing with her back to him. Her arms were raised, the mass of her hair held tightly in her fist as she began to wrap it around her hand and tie it more suitably to the base of her skull. The two decorative sticks were laid on the counter, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

“That’s close enough, Thane. Rules first,” she said firmly without turning to him. She grabbed one of the sticks and popped the bottom tip off of it, revealing a very fine sharp point. She leaned to the side and pulled the hem of her skirt taut in her fingers. The Shepherd drove the point into the stretched fabric and then pulled it. The organic fibers parted noisily up the side of her leg, up to the leather belt fastened around her thigh, just above where her stockings came to an end, teasing him.

Thane drew his gaze back to her hair. Her hair was safe, it was drawn up messily in a simple elastic band, and was quite possibly the only part of this that wasn't a performance. “I am listening, Shepherd,” he confirmed. She paused, and almost imperceptibly shivered before leaning to tear the other side of her skirt.

Muscle and bone shifts beneath the tan skin of her back as she undulates. Her back is a star-chart, made up of tiny constellations of freckles and scars. Bruises blooming purple and blue prove the background of the galaxy mapped out between her shoulder blades and beyond. He props himself up on one hand before gently running a short talon over a long jagged scar just below her shoulder blade.

"This one?" He asks, breaking the silence. Her skin pebbles beneath his touch, goosebumps, she calls them. She shivers as his finger trails across her back.

"From the time I killed an elcor diplomat," she says through heavy, panting breaths. "Didn't think he'd be sneaky enough to hide a knife." She is lying, a preposterous lie at that. He has asked her about it before. The last time, it was from a krogan battlemaster's pet varren. He is fairly certain it is a scar from a turian's unfiled talon.

He moves again to sit up completely, and her back arches to accommodate him. His left hand circles around her body, tracing gentle lines over her skin, admiring the bumps that form in its wake, but only for a moment. He presses his other hand around the base of her throat, he can feel the tendons shift as she swallows and moves, and the beat of her heart, fast and strong. He can feel another line, just under her breast. "And what of this one?" He asks with his lips pressed against her neck, he can taste the salt of her sweat.

He knows the answer. He put it there.

They are moving in tandem, languid, and unhurried, savoring this beautiful charade, awash in blinding pleasures. This time, they started as enemies and ended as lovers. He much prefers it this way than the other. Tonight, she is sweet … by the gods is she sweet. Her hair smells of honeysuckle, and the softest sounds drip like nectar from her lips. And he is an addict for them. He can almost imagine that she isn't like a poison to him, or him a sharpened knife to her.

"I tripped and fell into that one. It was an accident, really," she says with a smile in her voice. "Dropped my guard, for the last time," she explains and lies and tells the truth all in the same sentence, through the same panting breaths. He can't explain why he finds these little, unnecessary lies so charming, so enrapturing, but he does.

He is caught in her web, and he climbs further in of his own volition.

"No guns, no poison, no omni-tools, and no warp fields. Agreed?" The Shepherd rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck, the elongated curve of it far too tempting. The very edge of the silvering scar peaked over the edge of her collar.

"Agreed."

She stood on one leg and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her leg and rolling her ankle. She was still wearing those impractical, ridiculous, attractive shoes. "Good, any additions you'd like to make?" She continued her stretching as though she were preparing to go on a run, and he was not a professional assassin ready to attack.

"I would appreciate it if you did not use your biotics to pull my central nervous system apart this time," he requested with a smile. One encounter with her biotics had left him twitching and blinking sporadically for weeks. "I believe that is a fair exchange in return for not using mine to rip you apart from the outside."

"Oh, I hate when you make a good point. Fine. Questions?" She asked as she turned to face him. He had expected to see her cocky smile, or a demure smirk. Maybe even a deep, hateful scowl.

But her lips were pressed in a hard line, and her eyes were bloodshot, and lined harshly red at the edges. Had she been crying? Was she frightened?

Or was this a part of her game? He could never tell with her. It could have been another of her little lies. Even still, it gave him pause, tightened a knot in his gut.

Thane shook his head and tried to push off his reservations. He was in her snare, he knew. He tossed his jacket to one of the small chairs in the lobby and clasped his hands behind his back. "Who hired you to kill Bancroft?"

He was merely curious, very few people earned having more than one assassination plot against them.

"His wife. You?"

"His son," he answered with a smile. Even fewer people were so hated by their families that they would independently hire someone to kill them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The Shepherd cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her question fell from her lips quietly and without preamble, and it detonated like a hydrogen bomb, "If I die tonight, will you mourn me? There isn’t anyone else." She fumbled her words and hastened to add, "Who would even notice, much less care if I die, I mean."

The aftershock rolled into him and sent blood thundering through his chest. "Yes, I mourn you every time, " he answered sincerely and before he could grasp the magnitude of his own words. "Shepherd, if Kalahira calls me to the sea tonight, will you mourn for me?"

"Yes. Every time."

They had killed each other, or tried to anyways, far too many times.

The seconds that passed before either of them moved crackled with electricity. The only warning he had before The Shepherd leapt at him was the flaring of her nostrils. She held the slender stick in her hand like a blade as she pushed off the ground without a sound. He threw his left arm up and pushed the blade away with his forearm, and curled his right fist up towards her ribs.

Her body bowed out of the way of his strike, and stepped in towards him. She hooked her foot around his ankle and pulled him off-balance. Her elbow connected with his collarbone sending a sharp pain shooting through his neck and shoulder. Just as the tiny little blade made its way to his chest, he thrust the flat his hand up. The air around his body ignited cerulean blue, and the blade struck the barrier and snapped.

The Shepherd stumbled backwards, dropping the now useless implement to the ground. "Shit, I hate it when you do that," she grumbled and adjusted her stance again.

He pressed his hand into his shoulder and rolled it, stretching out the muscle. "You know, you possess the same skill? It might be useful for keeping much more of your blood inside of your body."

Her small nose crinkled up before she smirked, "That your professional opinion, since you're so good at freeing me of mine?"

"Deserved, although the same could be said for you of mine," he retorted right before advancing on her. They fought. Fists, hands, feet, all moving with blinding speed and precision. He pressed hard against her, and she took steps back, all the while blocking quick strikes and narrowly avoiding getting caught in his grasp.

She came to a stop with her back pressed against the reception counter. The Shepherd reached behind her without looking away from him, and snatched the other hair pin up, releasing the pointed tip hidden under a small metallic cap. She was quick, and aimed the small weapon for his neck.

Thane wrapped one hand around her wrist, and pulled the implement free with the other. He didn’t hesitate and drove it into her side, earning a snarling hiss from the woman.

He’d always been faster than her.

The Shepherd struck him hard in the chest with her outstretched palm, and a concentrated blast of energy followed it a fraction of a second later. Indigo light flared from beneath her hand and he was pushed back across the room, knocking the air from his lungs, and his body to the floor. She pulled the weapon from her side with a grunt, vermillion spreading across the thin fabric of her punctured shirt.

She closed the gap between them with a short run. She raised her foot to bring it down hard on his chest. Thane shifted and rolled away just as she brought her foot down, throwing her off balance. He struck her other foot with a blunt kick, bringing her down to his level.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she crashed to her hands and knees. Immediately, she began to crawl away, working her way back up to crouching, trying to stand again.

Until he grabbed her around the ankle and began to pull her back towards him. “No you don’t,” he grunted as he dragged her thrashing body, preventing her escape. “Why do you wear these shoes, Shepherd? They are quite impractical for walking, much less a fight.”

The Shepherd stopped thrashing and allowed him to pull her nearer while answering, “Have you seen what they do for my legs and my ass?” He had, he could see it right now. “Besides, they serve a function.” She pushed her hands up under her body and flipped herself onto her back. She drove the hard, narrow point of her heel hard into the musculature just below his left shoulder.

He growled and nearly bit his tongue.

Evil, demon of a woman.

The stiletto ground against sinew and bone, the pain sending a flash of white static through his vision. He dropped his grip on her leg, and groaned as she pulled her foot free from his shoulder, centimeter by visceral centimeter.

The woman scurried away, standing and disappearing around the corner in the hall at dead run.

He stood and tested his shoulder, it seemed that she managed not to tear any ligaments or tendons. He could move through the pain. Thane darted off after her, “Running away? That is very unlike you.”

“No … ugh … just looking for a change of scenery,” he heard her breathless and grunting reply from down the hall heading towards the elevator. As he neared the hall, he saw her forcing the doors open and pulling herself up and into the empty elevator shaft. He followed after, fully expecting her to be waiting at the next floor to push him to his death down the shaft.

But she was not there.

Instead, a small ceramic saucer came flying at him, a projectile sent from inside of the truly ridiculous, large double doors leading into the boardroom. He ducked below it, but didn't see the next saucer, until it struck him right in the side of the head. The ceramic shattered against his scales, and he could feel the stinging heat of blood gathering on small cuts.

The Shepherd was standing on the board room table, an enormous expanse of wood cut from a singular tree, stained and sealed with resin. She pulled her foot back and kicked a holo-conference terminal, sending it sailing towards him. Thane leaned to the side, easily dodging the awkward projectile.

He balled up his fist and pulled it back, gathering biotic energy before releasing it. It sailed into her and sent her sprawling to the surface of the table. Paper, more saucers, and a datapad or two went scattering out from under her fall. He jumped onto the table, rapidly closing the distance.

She crossed her ankles around one of his legs, pulling him to the surface of the table. Their fight turned into something more akin to a schoolyard brawl. They traded sloppy, awkward blows, rolling back and forth on the broad meeting room table.

Suddenly, she had him pinned, pressing hard into the wound on his shoulder while she reached for the belt secured around her leg.

Thane wrapped his right hand over her face and pushed her head back hard, and grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she attempted to stab him with the knife that had been hidden on the inside of her thigh. He pushed up while she pushed down. She shifted her head and snapped her teeth around the base of his thumb hard enough to draw blood.

He bared his teeth at her and growled. Thane shifted his weight and wrapped his leg over her hip, with her knife-wielding hand still held firmly in his grip, he pulled her down close just before rolling over her. He sat fully on her abdomen, preventing her from rolling and thrashing.

She clawed at his throat with her free hand, curses quickly turned to animalistic cries as she struggled to keep her grip on her precious little knife. Much of her hair had come loose, splayed out in messy tangles around her head and cheeks. Blood seeped from a bite mark on her lip and her eyes burned with fury, and perhaps, fear.

Thane wrenched the knife from her hand and threw it off to the side. It hit the tiled floor with a sharp, metallic crack, but was immediately forgotten as the woman returned to clawing, scratching and hitting him with every ounce of energy she could muster. And it did hurt. He wrapped his hands around her slender wrists with crushing strength. She let out a guttural cry and twisted at the abdomen, trying to free herself. Her legs scrambled to find purchase on the table and push him up from on top of her, but all she accomplished was scraping deep ruts into the resin coating on the wood.

He gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them down hard and awkwardly just above her head. He brought his other hand to her throat, the buttons of her collar long since pulled free during their struggle, and he paused.

Beneath his fingers, the smooth, but too long line of the scar taunted him. It was thin, almost surgical in its precision, but cruel. His cruelty, not hers.

His heart skipped while hers thundered beneath his ghosting touch. Her chest rose and fell so rapidly, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Genuinely.

The Shepherd looked up at him with those wide, terrified eyes of hers. She let her head fall back to the tabletop, exhaled, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just do it, Thane. You win. Better this way, wouldn't want it to be anyone else.” Silent tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “The last time, right?” she asked with a choked, pitiful laugh.

"No," he said, frozen in place with just the barest contact with her skin.

Her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Impossibly, her heart began to beat faster, breaths came out in short, fast bursts from her nose. "What? Fuck, don't drag this out!” She cried out. “Just snap my neck, or shit, strangle me. Plea-"

Her confused protestations were silenced when his lips covered hers in a bruising, searing kiss. She gasped and he released her hands. Just as he was pulling back to ask her if that was alright, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought him back to her lips.

In seconds they were consumed by each other, psychological games, anger and violence all but forgotten in the blinding heat of raw, pent up desire. The way she moved and how they were suddenly undressed was dizzying. His memories of the softness of her skin and sweet melody of her voice could never compare to the satin plush of her thighs gripping his waist, or the sounds that tumbled from her mouth.

By the gods, the sounds she made. They were healing waters from the wellspring of her lips. They were quiet, keening mewls, breathy gasps, and those hushed moans pressed against his lips like mumbled prayers. And oh, the way she whined when his teeth scraped against the delicate curve of her throat. He was drunk on the way she breathed his name with muted fervor.

His world turned upside down, and the cool surface of the table met his back. Loose tendrils of her hair brushed his scales as she moved over him. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, forming the perfect silhouette of ecstasy. The muscles in her stomach slithered and writhed with the hypnotic rhythm beneath his hands.

He was lost in the intoxicating, feverish warmth of her.

It crested, they existed on the edge of a corona, just before falling over the edge into the crushing gravity, and all-consuming, plasmic bliss. It surged through him like an electric shock and stole his breath, made his fingers tingle like her skin held a static charge.

She collapsed on top of him, the full weight of her small body pushing what little air was held in his lungs out with a groan. The Shepherd laughed, breathless but musical. “It happened again,” she muttered against his chest.

Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him and carding his hand into her hair, and drawing gentle circles between her shoulders with the other. She shivered, goosebumps rising beneath carefully filed talons. Her fingers traced lines over the soft ridges of his neck. He stared up at the ceiling above them, struggling to control the surge of confused emotion mounting inside of him. “It did,” he agreed quietly. “Will you tell me your name?”

He could feel her muscles tense, and her shoulder blades drew close together before she released the tension with a sad sigh. “No,” she started and then hesitated. “My real name belongs to someone I’m not anymore. Call me Sophie, always liked that one.”

“Sophie,” he repeated into her flower scented hair.

“There isn’t anyone else. To love or to hate me,” she said suddenly, somehow disarming him again.

“You have me,” it rolled off of his lips too easily. She did that to him, pulled his guard away and rendered him loose with his affections and tongue.

She’d probably try to kill him right now. Tear him apart with biotics, or reveal that she’d poisoned some innocuous part of the office that he touched. Maybe that absurd lion’s head door knob at the entrance to the office. Maybe even the heel of her ridiculous shoe. That’s how this usually went.

Instead, she raised her head and looked at him with tired, quizzical eyes, “To love, or to hate me?”

“Perhaps, it is both,” he responded honestly. Maybe the gods knew, because he certainly did not.

“We can figure it out the next last time,” she said with a small smirk playing at the corner of her bruised, cut and perfect lips. “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I would not want it to be anyone else.”

#mass effect #fanfic #thane krios #femshep #shrios #assassin vs assassin trash #reposting my own work because i can #the shepherd #wicked game #daisy screaming into the void

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