#( alive while a name is spoken: default x. )

[slaughterlocked]

"Why are you smiling at them like that?" Nessa ghjk

“ MY APOLOGIES, MY DEAR. ” BUT HE’S SMILING, A TILT TO HIS THIN LIPS THAT SIGNALS HIS AMUSEMENT. At her expense, mostly. Sometimes he can’t help himself. “ Were there new rules added to my contract that tell me how to smile, now ? ” A raise of one eyebrow, a brief smugness touching his lips. He likes to leave her scrambling sometimes: a nice little power play, enough to cause upset but never disobedience. “ I was told my customer service skills left something to be desired. And so, ” he adds, in a good mood and only somewhat melodramatic, “ I thought I’d try harder. Don’t you approve? ”

[elleandstufff]

Let's Play a Game -`✮´- Part 3

Young and in the club scene due to the family business, you meet an up-and-coming rapper who calls himself Thanos. As the two of you become deeply embedded in the dark world of fame, money, and drugs, you begin to wonder if you can make it out alive. Pre-games, during the games, and post-games Thanos/Choi Su-bong x fem!reader

Chapter Warnings: Club setting, moderate drinking, your friends suck, sneaking around (and getting caught…), protective!Thanos (he knows how to fight and is not afraid to), fluff/cuteness, you meet his mom, reader gets a migraine at one point, SMUT, oral (both receiving), p in v, squirting, soft dom!Thanos, creampie (reader has IUD), tummy bulge/tummy pressing, praise kink, overstimulation, reader is a sex crier but I wouldn’t classify it as dacryphilia, aftercare, soooo many pet names, there’s a lot going on, okay? Dialogue written in bold italics is spoken in English, 5.4k words

Note: If you don’t like smut you can skip that section and the story will still make sense (this goes for all future chapters as well). Otherwise enjoy <3

Part 1 Part 2 Masterlist

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Your name being called pulls you away from swiping through pictures of you and Su-bong. For the last three weeks, you spent every night at the club with him watching his performances and then sneaking around together. During the day the two of you texted constantly. The two of you hadn’t yet put a label on your relationship, but you considered him your boyfriend. It all felt a bit juvenile, but for once you were happy that someone was willing to show that they wanted you for you. 

“Sorry, what?” you ask after your name is called once again. 

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for five minutes,” your friend, Eun-yeong says from behind the driver’s wheel. She was the daughter of one of your father’s business partners, so you had been friends by default for quite a while.

“She’s been obsessed with her phone ever since she started dating that rapper. Oh, wait, they’re not even dating yet,” Eun-yeong’s twin sister, Han-na, says. 

Eun-yeong snaps back at her sister. “We’re adults now. You don’t have to officially ask anymore.”

“You have to at least kiss,” Han-na says. 

“I don’t know… I think it’s kinda nice we’re taking things slow,” you mutter while looking out the car window. “I’ve never had anyone be genuinely interested in me without some kind of ulterior motive.”

Han-na looks back at you from the front seat and you shrink back, feeling like a little kid being scolded. “He’s twenty-five, babe. By this point you should practically be living together. Our older sister fucked her husband within, like, an hour of meeting him.” 

“I don’t think it has to be like that-” 

Eun-yeong squeals, cutting you off. “We need to stop and get Miss Social an energy drink so she’s not spacing out like last time.” 

You don’t want an energy drink, but Eun-yeong stops the car to let you and Han-na hop out of the car as she drives it around the block waiting for you two. You enter the little convenience store and pick out an energy drink to appease your friends. You get in line and as the person in front of you walks off an unexpected face comes into view. 

Behind the checkout counter, Su-bong looks like he’s seen a ghost. The t-shirt and work vest he wears are much different than the clothes you’re used to seeing him in, but you’d recognize his brown eyes and hand tattoos anywhere. 

“I didn’t know you worked here,” you say, breaking the silence between you two. 

“Yeah, I kinda need money…” He awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. 

You reach to hand the can forward for him to scan, but he pushes it back toward you with a smile. “It’s on the house.” 

“Ugh, come on. Eun-yeong is bitching because there’s some dude on her ass.” Han-na comes to your side with her face buried in her phone. She finally looks up and takes in the cashier. When she recognizes who it is, she makes a face. “Ah, this is your friend…” 

“I’ll see you tonight!” you can barely get out as Han-na is dragging you outside. 

As you wait outside, Han-na looks at you like you’re stupid. “You could do so much better, babe. You’re wasting your time on a wannabe rapper who works at a convenience store and hasn’t even kissed you yet when you could have ten of Korea’s richest men at your door tomorrow. We gotta work on this at lunch.” 

Eun-yeong pulls the car up and Han-na gets in. They roll the window down when you remain frozen in your spot on the concrete. 

“You guys go ahead,” you tell them through a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not really feeling well. I’m just gonna call a driver to come pick me up.” 

You try to ignore their angry whatevers as they pull away and you go back inside the store. “Forget something?” Su-bong asks. 

“Yeah, you,” you joke. “No, my friends are just mean. I’m going to call a driver to come pick me up, but my dad isn’t expecting me home for another hour…” 

“Well, in that case…” Su-bong opens the door to behind the counter, beckoning you in. He sits down and you join him on his lap. The second a customer comes in you’ll hop off, but for now it’s just you and him. 

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That night, your father has a last minute business ordeal that will keep him away for a week. Against your wishes, he orders your brother, Tae, to come and keep an eye on you. He gives Tae strict instructions on how to watch you that you immediately know you won’t be following. 

“Please just let the driver take you to the club tonight,” your brother asks. 

“This will be the first time I’ve ever driven to the club myself,” you say. “Besides, what was the point of him buying me a nice car if I never get to drive it anywhere?”

“Fine, just be careful. And don’t let Dad know.”

You are, in fact, very careful. When you arrive at The Social, you take special care to wipe down the car from any puddles you drove through. 

Once Su-bong arrives you launch yourself into his arms, unable to contain your excitement. He hugs you back, but you can tell he holds back since you’re both so used to having to sneak around. 

You pull away with a massive smile. “My dad had to fly to Tokyo for the whole week!”

The rest of the night is everything you could have hoped for. There’s no need for the two of you to hide, and you somehow feel closer than ever before. 

Right at four in the morning as security clears the building of any stragglers and the lights come on, Su-bong whispers an interesting proposition into your ear. “I don’t work tomorrow. How about you come stay at my place tonight?”

You start to say that you can’t because of your dad, but then you remember that he’s not here to control your every move. You excitedly accept his offer. 

He takes your hand in his after you get your keys and you’re almost out of the building before you hear your name being called. You turn to see your brother. 

“Where do you think you’re going now?” He asks. He looks from you to Su-bong then down to where your hands are intertwined together. 

You notice your brother’s quirked brow and you speak up. “Oh, this is Su-bong. Su-bong, this is my brother, Tae.” Su-bong reaches his hand out for your brother to shake, which your brother does but with suspicious eyes. 

“I’m just gonna stay at his place tonight, okay?”

“No, not okay,” your brother answers. You feel Su-bong’s grip on your hand involuntarily tighten. “I’ve already let you get away with a ton of stuff Dad would kill me for. This is just too far, okay? I’m sorry.” 

“Tae, it’s fine. Appa will never know. I’ll be careful.” 

“I will take good care of your sister. I promise,” Su-bong says. 

“Fine,” Tae begrudgingly agrees. “But be careful.” 

You leave the club hand in hand with the biggest smile on your face. Usually you’re stuck here for two or three more hours waiting for your father to finish up what he’s working on. You’re excited to get to sleep earlier than usual tonight, but you’re hoping you might get something else tonight too. 

The early morning air is chilly, so Su-bong slips his jacket off of his body and onto your shoulders. When you reach a puddle on the sidewalk, he promptly lifts you off your feet and over the puddle so you don’t get your nice boots wet. At the car, he opens the passenger door for you and slips the keys from your hand. He slips into the driver’s seat and runs his hands along the leather interior, the dash, and the steering wheel. “Damn, baby, this is nice!”

“Did you ask me over just to drive my car?” 

“Was it that obvious?” 

You lightly shove his arm at his joke. He grabs your hand and sits it on your lap. His hand grips your thigh, where it stays for the duration of the car ride. You’re in heaven by the end of the ride; this is something you could get used to. 

He leads you up to his apartment, and it’s not at all what you expect. He’s a young busy guy, so you expected a basic living room set-up with bare walls and probably an empty take out container or two. Instead, the place is spotless and there’s knick knacks and paintings all over the walls. It’s cozy. 

“This is my casa, baby. You like?” 

“Yeah, it’s great,” you say as you admire the various paintings and porcelain figures. “Didn’t take you for the kinda guy to collect porcelain figurines.” 

“They’re, uh, my roommate’s.” He coughs. 

“Is your roommate a sixty-year-old woman?” 

“Hey, she’s fifty-three.” He says, then pinches his nose. “I live with my mom.” 

You can tell he’s embarrassed, so you just shrug. “I live with my dad.”

“It’s different,” he says. 

“It’s not,” you reassure. You bravely reach for his hand. 

He rubs his thumb over your hand softly, and you see his pupils dilate ever so slightly. “Let me show you my room.” 

His room matches his personality better. The bed is unmade, but not messy. Posters cover the walls. There’s a desk in the corner with papers strewn about that contain half-written raps. 

“Nice posters-” you turn to say to him, but he cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours. His hands find your waist and you let one hand rest on his chest while the other reaches up to softly tangle in his hair. The kiss is so intense it shows that the two of you are not happy that you waited this long, but now that you have each other you’re never letting go. 

A needy whimper escapes your mouth, and he pulls his lips away from yours to lean down to your ear. “Fuckin’ love those pretty noises, baby. Let’s keep them coming, huh?” 

His grip on your hips tightens as he leads you to the bed. He leans you back on the bed and pulls away with one final kiss. “Gonna make you feel so good…”

He scrunches the fabric of your dress up to your waist, revealing your tiny pair of panties that barely covers anything. He rubs at your clothed clit and it’s nearly enough to make you squeal. He plants kisses all over the insides of your thighs. He’s just about to pull your panties down when you stop him with a quiet wait. 

He pulls away with confusion and concern in his eyes. He climbs over you to be level with your face that you’re shading with your hands out of embarrassment. “What’s wrong my Princess?” 

“When I finish… I make a mess…” 

His smile grows impossibly wide when he realizes what you mean. “Good.” 

He lowers himself back down and presses one slow kiss to your clothed pussy, before he takes the thin band of your panties in between his teeth and pulls them all the way off. He stares at you mesmerized and you instinctively press your legs together. He softly spreads them back open as he takes in your beauty. “So pretty and wet for me…” 

He wastes no time diving right into your wetness. His tongue greedily runs up and down your folds before settling on your overly-sensitive clit. He slowly pushes a finger into your hole and it has you arching your back. “Gotta get you ready for me, sweet girl,” his deep voice comes out muffled because he doesn’t stop or pull away from your pretty pussy. 

Both his tongue and his finger pick up speed and it causes your legs to give out and flop onto the bed. He grabs your thighs and locks his arms around them, effectively wearing your thighs as earmuffs. “You taste so fucking good.” 

The combination of his praise and his finger curling perfectly inside of you causes a string of whines and moans to slip from your lips. You’re close and he knows it. “C’mon, baby, let go. Make a mess for me.” 

That’s all it takes for you to gush around his mouth. He groans in ecstasy as he laps up your juices. When he’s finished, he comes back up to you and seals you in a kiss. You won’t meet his eye, so he softly grabs your chin to force you to look at him. “Don’t be embarrassed. You did so good for me, my good girl.” 

He starts to slide your dress off over your head but you stop him with a stubborn look. You tug at his shirt and his pants and he realizes what you want. “Since you’re such a good girl…”

He slips his shirt off and tosses it across the room. You trace your finger along his tattoo all the way from his finger to his shoulder where the ink disappears onto his back. He grins at you cockily. “You been waiting a while to do that?” 

You can’t hide your smirk at how fast he’s clocked you. Instead, you tug at his pants which he eagerly shove off. You let him pull your dress off and your bra, leaving you completely bare for him. You lean forward on your elbows toward his painfully hard erection begging to be free from the confines of his boxers. 

He realizes what you’re offering. “You want my cock down your throat, baby?” 

You eagerly nod and he helps you to your knees on the floor. He stands before you and softly cradles your chin in his hand. His thumb runs across your lips and you part them to allow entrance to his digit. He groans as his thumb pushes past your lips and into the warmth of your mouth. You suck on it for a moment, hollowing your cheeks, before he pulls his hand away. You frown at the loss, but he just pats your cheek. “Let’s replace that with my cock, mm’kay?”

He finally pulls down his boxers, and you’re absolutely floored at the sight. You’d felt it pressed against you at the club before, but you didn’t realize it was that big. He smirks at your reaction. “Open up, pretty girl.” 

You happily oblige, and seconds later you feel your mouth being stuffed full of him. He uses his dick to pull and stretch at your cheeks, before he slips both of his thumbs into the corners of your already stretched mouth. He looks down at the sight of you and your mouth stuffed full of him like a man who has won at life. “You look so gorgeous like this… so gorgeous and all mine.” 

He pulls his thumbs out and places one hand at the back of your head. His other hand gently takes yours in his and rests against his thigh. “You tell me if it’s too much, baby.”

His cock shoves deeper into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. His hips start rocking forward and back as his cock slides in and out of your throat. You’re a drooling mess and he can only let out groans and strings of so pretty and good girl. 

He pulls away right as you can tell he’s close and you could nearly cry. You really wanted to taste him. 

“You can taste me next time, honey. I don’t want to finish before I feel your soft insides.” 

He guides you back to the bed where you can do nothing but stare back at him with glazed over eyes. He presses a couple of kisses to your neck before he looks into your eyes. “I don’t know if I trust myself to pull out…”

“Not a problem,” you say, your voice weak. “I have an IUD.” 

“Fuck…” He groans, burying his head in your neck. 

He teases your hole with his tip for a few minutes, loving how it makes you squirm and whine. Finally, he starts shoving into you while maintaining eye contact. The stretch is so overwhelming yet so pleasurable that it leaves your mouth hanging open. You can feel every single inch of him pressing into you so deep. He finally bottoms out and you swear you can feel him in your guts. 

“Mmm, look at that beautiful sight,” he says and you look down to see a bulge in your tummy from how deep he is. “Can you feel me right here, baby?” He presses a hand down on your tummy where he can feel himself. 

“Feels so good,” you whisper, tears pricking at your eyes from how overwhelming it all is. 

He kisses the tears on your face. “I know, baby, it’s a lot. But you’re doing good.” 

He starts moving his hips, slowly at first and then at a rapid pace that hits all the right spots. “So fucking tight… you’re fucking clenching me, but you’re taking my dick so fucking well like I knew you would.” 

He has stamina unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. He keeps fucking into you at his brutal pace like it’s nothing, pulling two more orgasms from you before he even gets close to his. But when he gets close you can feel the way he starts twitching inside you and the way his grip on your hips tightens. “Tell me you’re mine,” he grunts in your ear with a particularly hard thrust. 

“I’m fucking yours, forever.” 

That does him in. “I’m about to fill this pussy up. You look me in the eyes when I cum in you.”

You can barely keep your eyes open, but you obey him. He buries himself in you and paints your insides white. He stays inside you, telling you over and over again how well you did, but you’re so fucked out that you just feel him and only him until you come back to Earth. 

Once he slides out of you and back into his boxers your brain starts functioning again. He helps you to the bathroom to clean you up, and you’re glad that he has his own bathroom so you don’t have to walk through his house naked. Once clean, he leaves you for a minute so you can pee while he collects something for you to wear. He returns with one of his t-shirts, a pair of boxers, and a pair of socks. Once dressed he takes in the way his shirt hangs off of you so much. 

“Adorable,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He wraps an arm around you for stability since your legs are still so shaky. 

“Sorry,” you murmur when you see his bed has been stripped of its blanket. 

“Don’t ever be sorry,” he says sternly. “I put it in the wash, no big deal. What do you want to do now?”

“Watch cartoons…” you say sheepishly. 

“Cartoons?” 

“Yeah… I like to fall asleep watching TV, and they’re usually the only thing left on this early.” 

“If my girl wants cartoons, then cartoons are what my girl gets.” 

He takes you to the living room and the two of you settle into the big recliner with a blanket pulled over you. The recliner is big, but you still have to lay practically on top of him, which is just the way he likes it. You watch the cartoons for not even five minutes before you feel insanely sleepy. 

You look at Su-bong in your sleepiness and don’t even know what you’re saying until after you say it, “I think I love you.” 

You feel like an idiot for saying it so early, the sleep clouding your thoughts. But he just looks back at you with his pretty brown eyes. “I know I love you.” 

You lay your head on his chest with a smile, and within minutes you’re out like a light. 

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One minute you’re sleeping soundfully and the next you’re being awoken by the sound of a door shutting and blinding lights overhead. You feel Su-bong stirring underneath you before he tenses completely beneath you. Standing before you is a woman smiling ear-to-ear–undisputedly his mother. 

“Mom?! I thought you were staying at your sister’s this weekend?” 

“Oh, I was, but I decided to come home early. You know how she is… always double books plans.” 

You awkwardly sit up as best as you can on the cramped recliner. You’re sure this is a great first impression of you: sitting on top of her half-naked son. It’s clearly obvious what type of night you two had. 

“So?” she asks expectantly. “Are you going to introduce me?” 

The two of you stand and Su-bong awkwardly clears his throat. “Mom, this is my girlfriend.”

You offer her your name and your hand, but she surprises you by nearly squealing and pulling you into a tight hug. “Oh, thank God he finally brought a girl home!”

“Mom…” he groans in embarrassment.

“Hush,” she says, shooing him away with her hands. “Go put some clothes on.” 

You start to follow after him, but she grabs your hand. “Not you honey, you can come with me.” 

You look at Su-bong with wide eyes before following his mother into the kitchen. You take a seat at the table while she starts making breakfast. “I was wondering who he had been texting all this time. It’s nice to finally put a face to the girl.” 

You try to hide the blush that creeps up your cheeks. You’re thankful when Su-bong comes back wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, but you still feel half naked in his oversized shirt and boxers. “Maybe I should go get dressed too…” 

“Oh, no,” his mother says. “You’re fine. I just wanted him to cover up that god-awful back tattoo.” 

You stifle a laugh. You, of course, adore his tattoo, but his mother’s hatred of it makes you giggle. 

His mother makes you a homemade breakfast which you thoroughly enjoy. Being so busy, most of your meals consist of take-out or random snacks strung together and called a meal. As you eat, the three of you talk. Well, mostly you and his mom talk while he gets embarrassed. 

“Did you see that fancy car in the parking lot?” 

You wipe your face with a napkin. “That’s mine actually.” 

Her eyes grow wide. “Isn’t that so expensive?”

You look between her and Su-bong and clear your throat, unsure of how to answer. “Umm… My father bought it for me. He owns all of The Social clubs in Korea.” 

“Yes, if it wasn’t for my sweet girl, I wouldn’t have the gig at the club.” Su-bong smiles at you in an attempt to make you feel better.

His mom’s eyes grow even wider, if that’s possible. Then her shoulders slump as she looks around her kitchen. “Sorry, I know our house isn’t much…”

This is exactly the type of reaction you didn’t want, but you can’t blame her. It’s only natural. You only hope that this won’t be the only thing she thinks about you. 

“Your house is perfect,” you tell her. “It feels so much more like a home than my house.” 

She takes your hand. “Well, you’re welcome here anytime.”

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Much to your brother’s dislike, you spend pretty much every night at Su-bong’s for the rest of the week. The last night before your father comes home you come down with a terrible headache. You try everything from medicine to rest to a hot shower but nothing works. By evening you have to text Su-bong and let him know you won’t be able to come to the club tonight. He’s disappointed, but understanding of course. 

Shortly after the club opens, you start to feel better. You know better to risk heading to the loud environment of the club, so you just accept your fate that you’ll be sleeping alone tonight. After a while of watching stupid videos on your phone, you swear you’re hearing things. You hear the sound again. It almost sounds like… someone is throwing pebbles at your window. 

You hop off your bed and head to the window where the noise is coming from. Sliding the window open, you see none other than your boyfriend standing on the ground below with a handful of rocks. 

“What on Earth are you doing here?” 

“Not gonna let my girl sleep alone tonight, especially when she doesn’t feel well,” he says, grinning. “Can I come up or what?”

You laugh and usher him up. He scales the climb pretty easily and then he’s in your room–something you never thought would be possible. 

“How’d you know where my house was?” you ask him as he admires your room. 

“I just checked your location on my phone and I figured neither your father nor any of your brothers’ rooms would have Hello Kitty stickers on the window…” He gestures to the stickers adorning your window. 

“Those are old,” you say.

“No, they aren’t.”

The next morning you’re shaken awake to your brother’s panicked face. “Dad is fucking home early! He’s in the driveway right now!” 

You shake away the uncomfortable fact that if your brother knew to warn you, it means that he heard the two of you last night. . .

Tae runs off to try and delay your father while you shake Su-bong awake. You hate to rush him especially when his face is so cute and sleepy, but getting caught with a half-naked guy in your bed would probably be cause for your execution. You gather up all his strewn about clothes and shove him and his belongings into your closet. You lay back down and pretend to be asleep. Without missing a beat, your father comes into your room and sits beside you. You pretend to wake up and rub the sleep from your eye. 

“Goodmorning, Princess. Sleep well?”

“Yes, Appa.”

“Good, your brother said everything went well- Where’s this shirt from?” 

You freeze. You completely forgot you were wearing Su-bong’s shirt! “I just bought it as a sleep shirt.” 

“Ah.” He eyes your room suspiciously. “And why does it smell like a boy’s cologne in here?”

You freeze again. You’re fucked, but you recover quickly. “Boy’s cologne? Appa, how could you be so mean? That’s my new perfume!” 

His face softens. It worked. “Well, maybe stick with your old perfume, Angel.” 

He pats your head and leaves, allowing you to let Su-bong out of your closet. He pulls you into a sad kiss, knowing that your time is up for the morning. You try to shrug his shirt off to return it, but he stops you. “Keep it. It’s your sleep shirt, right?”

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The next couple months, you successfully avoid your father becoming aware of your secret relationship. You mainly only see Su-bong at the club, but thankfully you have your secret spot that the two of you can sneak off to. 

When it comes to your twentieth birthday, you celebrate secretly with Su-bong the night before by telling your father you were staying the night with Han-na and Eun-yeong. Thankfully you get away with it because your father doesn’t care enough to verify this information with their father. 

The night of your birthday, your father closes down the club and invites your “friends” and they invite their friend’s friends. The club is filled to the brim with people who don’t give a crap about you, but you simply have to grin and bear it otherwise you’d look like an ungrateful brat. You have to literally sneak Su-bong in through the back because there’s no way you could convince your father to invite him without sounding alarm bells. He has to keep his distance, too, so that no one catches on. You spend most of the night shrugging random guy’s arms off of your shoulders. You can feel Su-bong’s eyes on you all night, and you can sense that he’s not happy. You don’t blame him; you’re not happy right now either. 

Toward the end of the night, a particularly insistent guy won’t leave you alone. “C’mon, why won’t you just come out to my car with me? Got something to show you…” 

All of a sudden, the man is shoved into the wall by a livid Su-bong. “You better fuck off before things get nasty, and I wouldn’t want the birthday girl to have to see you get your teeth knocked out on her birthday.” 

The dude rubs at his sore shoulder and starts to leave, but he looks at Su-bong first. “Whatever, dude. She’s not gonna fuck you.” 

“She already has, idiot,” Su-bong says at the man’s back, but he probably doesn’t hear it. 

You drag him outside to get some fresh air. “You okay? I didn’t want you to see me get violent, but I just couldn’t watch anymore-” 

You cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love you. I’m sorry it has to be like this.” 

“I'll sneak around my whole life if it means I get to spend it with you.” 

ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ

The next morning you sit at the kitchen table eating your sorry excuse at breakfast when your father comes and sits across from you. From the heaviness in the air, you know something is wrong. “We need to talk.” 

“I’m just going to be blunt. I’m very disappointed in you. I told you not to speak to that boy anymore, but you have been for months. And don’t lie to me more than you already have.”

You feel sick. How could he know? You’ve been so careful. “How? How did you know?”

“I heard there was an issue last night at the club involving you. I checked the cameras. And then I watched old footage. You’ve been with him every night, sneaking away to do God knows what.” The cameras. Of course. How could you be so stupid to not think about that?

“Appa, please! I love him!” You sob. “He’s so good to me!”

Your father’s hand clenches then unclenches. His nostrils flare, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying. “After reviewing the footage and seeing him defending you, I am… considering allowing you to continue seeing him. I’m not going to be happy about it but there are worse men out there, and I’m beginning to realize I can’t control you much longer.”

You tightly throw your arms around your father’s neck. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Hey! I said I was considering!” your father yells after you, but it’s too late. You’re already running to grab your phone to tell Su-bong. 

ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ . 𖥔 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ˑ

Author's Note: I’m so sorry this took so long. In the last couple weeks I went on vacation, accidentally became important at work and got a new position with a lot more responsibility, and there’s the constant onslaught of school assignments. And I’ve been off and on sick for like a month and have no energy </3 ugh! But here it is I hope you like it <3 I will be working on the other parts of this and other works too! I also have an anon request I’m working on. I didn’t forget about you anon! <3

ᡣ𐭩 Taglist ᡣ𐭩

@naatggeo

@private-vampire

@arzias

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[should-be-a-dilf]

Hello Internet people! My name is Courtney and I like older anime dudes, a niche of which I don't find many others like myself.

If you like older anime/manga/comic/video game/etc. guys but can't find many stories about them, then look no further!

I will be doing both SFW and NSFW one-shots, and maybe even a few longer stories here and there.

You may notice that I will write certain words with different spellings within the same story. This is a stylistic choice I use to represent differences in speech patterns, cultural and religious beliefs, etc. The example that comes to mind and will probably be seen the most is "hell" and "hel". Spoken words, thoughts, diary entries, etc. from characters that are specifically Norse pagan will use "hel" while other characters will use "hell". Other text, minus writings within the story (ex. a sign or something), will also use "hel". This is simply because I'm Norse pagan and that's how I spell it. Yes, they are two very different places, but the words' connection and general idea is obvious.

My rules are as follows (and are subject to be added to, removed from and/or amended at any time):

1) ALL NSFW acts (including lime content) will ONLY be between 18+ characters (meaning I don't care that the age of consent in [insert country] is 16 or whatever, anyone doing anything even remotely sexual is AT LEAST 18)

2) I will gladly write for OCs. However, you must prove that the OC is yours. I will not write stories about others' OCs unless they give me the go-ahead. Just a weird conflict of interest type deal that applies to OCs but not to mainstream media in my head, I suppose.

3) This blog is a safe place for all walks of life. Intolerance will be dealt with swiftly; I want everyone to be able to enjoy my stories. However, this isn't to say anything and everything any one other person disagrees with will be deleted/reported/etc. Basically just be a decent human being who understands everyone is equally complex, alive and deserving of respect as you are.

These stories will be X Readers. Please specify what gender you wish the reader to present as (this applies primarily for the NSFW stories, but I'll make exceptions where needed). If you don't happen to specify, I will default to writing as gender neutrally as possible for all to enjoy. If you believe I should fix how I wrote a specific gender please let me know. I wish to represent everyone equally and correctly, but I don't know all there is to know about other genders (hel, I probably don't even know all there is to know about cis women, and I'm one myself!) and I will more than likely make mistakes along the way. However, it's never my intention to insult or degrade anyone. If you believe the way I wrote a certain gender in a story comes off insulting, degrading or simply incorrect, please let me know so I can take the post down, reevaluate it, and make any and all necessary changes before reposting!

Also, if you make a request, please tell me what anime/manga/comic/video game/etc. he's from so I can look up his personality and looks. In all truthfulness I am not incredibly well-versed in many of these things and I don't wish to make anyone OOC where I can avoid it. If you want me to write for an OC I ask that you describe him/show me his reference sheet.

Thank you and happy simping!

As this blog's owner I reserve the right to refuse any request that makes me uncomfortable for any reason and I don't have to specify why if I don't want to.

[hesther-mcg]

chained  

➥ pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

➥ summary: the one where two people are chained to one another, hopelessly in love but every bit of wrong for one another

➥ rating: angst, song fic, biker!bucky au 

➥ warnings: explicit language, mentions of toxic relationship 

➥ a/n: happy valentines day! in the name of irony i’m going to post this today, bc i can. this has been rattling around in my noggin for a bit now and i actually rlly like this. i hope u do too. i highly recommend listening to the song while reading, its also available on spotify. 

chained :: elle king ft. cameron neal  chained  marvel m. list

We can run away, but we can’t hide for long 

And all that lingers harms us 

She’d tried it—moving houses, running away from the problems she was used to, changing things. She’d already tried it, and it had worked beautifully at first. The high of being in a new place, a place all to themselves, it was wonderful. And it had brought out the man she had started to believe was gone, the man she’d loved for so many suns and so many moons; years of her life having been spent growing alongside him, and she felt nothing short of complete satisfaction. 

“Thanks for running away with me,” she’d whispered to him in the late hours of the night, head rested on his bare chest and his calloused hand running up and down over the delicate skin of her back.

“I’ll go wherever you want me to, babe,” was his promise, spoken softly into the dark with a tenderness reserved for her heart and ears only. 

But all good things came to an end, and her life had brought truth to that statement. Things settled, routines came back and everything that lingered became visible. The issues that remained, the unspoken anger and unresolved conflicts rearing their ugly heads once again. She’d tried to pack up her life and her love and run away, but she was learning that she couldn’t hide for long. 

I can lie to you, but the truth comes alive

Every time I die saying goodbye

Everything was a slow progression, the honeymoon phase wearing off slowly but surely; the conflicts creeping in where they weren’t welcomed. Again, everything was fine at first, they seemed to move as a team and it filled her heart with a warmth almost indescribable—they were so much of the same mind, in her eyes. 

But then things drifted off course, the scales tipped in every which way except balanced—right where she wanted, and irritation grew to be the default when she saw his hands reach for the motorcycle keys. Betrayal became the default when she looked away from him and nodded her head, giving a flat and unconvincing ‘I’m okay,’ or ‘have fun.’ Hurt became the default when she bit her tongue until her mouth filled with the taste of crimson copper and her sobs shook her entire body, the sound of a roaring motorcycle engine filling the house. 

She could lie, but he always knew. They had their problems, they battled through their conflicts, but they were still positive and negative forces magnetically pulling the other closer, two links in a chain stuck together for eternity. 

Cause I don’t want to change

but I can’t stay this way

Love was a lot of things; sometimes she thought of it as something warm and familiar and safe, and other times she was convinced it was the chain that kept her around. She loved him, god damnit did she love James Barnes, but she knew that she was nearing her limit. Her heart could only take so much before she’d lose herself completely, and then she was done for beyond that point. Forever damaged; irreparable. 

When Y/N thought about a life where she was on her own, miles upon miles away from the man she only wanted love and comfort from, her chest felt similar to how she imagined a sinkhole made the earth feel. The memories they shared, the laughs and the cries and the endless fun, it would forever haunt her if she were to leave—but one could argue that they already haunted her, already plagued her thoughts and dreams and every second she was breathing. 

“What do you want?!” He’d screamed when she’d brought up her concerns, arms raised in the air and brows furrowed. 

“Things can’t stay this way, James,” she’d stressed, fingers knotting her hair as they frantically ran through the strands. 

And I don’t even mind staying chained, and thinking of you

Thinking of you 

“What if I don’t wanna change?” 

The breath had caught in her throat at his words, heart sinking to the pits of her stomach as her teary eyes bore into his, his figure blurry but radiating frustration. 

“Then I’ll leave,” she threatened, the words burning her mouth as she spoke them. “I love you but I won’t let that stop me.” 

But she always did—when he crawled into bed with slow movements and gentle hands, words soft, sweet, and oh so guilty. Apologies and false promises, admissions of love and sweet nothings, it mended her heart for the time being and she remained in the same place. 

Is it up to me?

It’s always been up to you to find the peace we needed to 

Strength had been dwindling, strength to fight for a relationship immersed in chaos. When things blew up, when the road grew rocky and dangerous and sometimes even lethal, it’d always been her to struggle putting the pieces back together. His words of affirmation and endless charm was the glue that only temporarily mended the cracks, but it was her will and her strive that got them there in the end. 

Strength was dwindling, and she was starting to give up. “It’s always been up to me, James,” she’d told him, voice quiet, scratchy, and broken. “It’s always been me, but it’s on you now.” 

He hadn’t responded, lips slightly parted as he took in the way that she didn’t even bother looking at him. He knew he’d been digging a grave, and he was starting to see that eventually he’d have to lie in it if he didn’t straighten up. The problems in their lives, in both him and her, they were deeply rooted and while she’d been trying to hack away at them, he’d only been watering them. 

Is it said and done, is it carved in the stone? 

How many days is it gonna take ‘til we get back home? 

Most days, he did nothing but convince her that their fate was sealed—that their ultimate demise on the horizon and refused to move for anything. She’d tried and tried to tell herself that that wasn’t the truth, exalted all resources willing into existence the fact that they were meant to be—stuck together for the trials and tribulations that life undoubtedly bring them. 

Things could change, and perhaps they would; nothing was said and done for them because only Y/N could write her story and only she could choose her ending. 

But the harder she held on, the longer the path seemed to be. If what they had was a journey through struggle and strife, then the journey seemed years and years long—an endless battle to just make it through the days to even see the end of the road, and it more often than not left her wondering how long it would take before they would make it back home. How long would it be before they returned to where they started—sickeningly sweet, head over heels in love and willing to do anything under the sun for one another. 

Cause I don’t want to change

But I can’t stay this way 

If this was what growth was, then she wished someone had told her of how painful it was. It felt like scratchy throats from screaming matches, aching chests from nights spent clawing away at the burning skin, and so many more things that weren’t even worth listing. The point of it was that she was finally reaching the point where the door was opening, creaking slowly and revealing the outside world where she could escape.

Y/N didn’t want to escape, but she was starting to see that maybe it was what she needed to do. At one point she had loved her life because he had made the sun shine brighter every day and the stars twinkle a little more each night, and while she longed for that version of James he was not anywhere in sight—and hadn’t been for a long time. 

She knew she couldn’t stay this way, she knew it and felt like a complete idiot every time she saw her own reflection, but, much like the aforementioned growth, this change was just as painful. And pain was something she’d felt enough of. 

And I don’t even mind staying chained, and thinking of you

Thinking of you

The doors had all been slammed, every single one had the unfortunate fate of being in the path of an angry James, and a few of them hadn’t survived and refused to close completely. 

“Why do you want to leave so bad, huh? If you don’t wanna be here then just fucking leave!” The emotional torment was clear as day in his voice as he screamed to the top of his lungs, and it tore her heart to shreds. 

“You know damn well why!” She’d shouted back, face beet red as her chest violently heaved. “I don’t fucking deserve this, Buck, and I’m sick and tired of it!” Her nerves buzzed under the surface of her skin and she could feel her pulse in her face, and the man before her only stared back with dark eyes. 

“You won’t change,” she’d sobbed. “You won’t and you know it, and if you loved me you would.” 

“Y/N—” he’d started, taking a step forward but she’d held her hands out, pushing herself against the wall to get further away. 

“No.” Her words were shaky yet void of fear; actually, James could hear the grit that she’d developed after dealing with his shit for so long and he felt his chest cave in slightly. “You stay there and you listen to me.” 

Will you wake me up? Will you shake me up?

Cause I’m losing my way in the game 

The cracks and creases on her heart deepened greatly, and when they did so she felt every bit of it. The way his eyes bore into hers, as if he was searching her soul like he’d done so many times before, made her look away—for this time she couldn’t trust him to search with good intentions. 

“I’ve tried for a long time to make this work, and you can’t tell me you don’t see it. You’re not stupid, James; don’t pretend to be.” She’d shook her head with her last statement, hair going every which way and tears almost filled his eyes because she was right. “But it wont work if something doesn’t give and I’ve given enough!” 

He nodded lamely, because that’s all he could think to do. He knew she didn’t want his words, they didn’t matter right now. 

“Are you even serious about this? About us? You know this isn’t a joke, this is MY life! It goes way beyond just you and your issues and your anger,” her arms waved around in the air. “James, I’m losing myself in this and you’re supposed to save me!” 

The tears did fill his eyes then, stinging the blue orbs and causing him to blink rapidly. He felt like shit, and every bone in his body ached with guilt. 

Even at our best, my love 

Neither one of us was ever really good enough 

The realization that some things truly weren’t meant to be, that some people really weren’t meant to be together, was a tough pill to swallow. Y/N felt herself choke on it multiple times throughout the years, but it was finally down and done with. She couldn’t say if they were never meant to meet, or just never meant to stay together, but either way she knew that they were a recipe for disaster. 

Her chemicals and his mixed together didn’t make the love that lasted a lifetime, the kind that made it through the dark and the light of the rocky road through life. They made poison, a stunning and paralyzing formula of toxic traits and deep rooted issues. They weren’t a match; even at their best they were never compatible—just too blind and in love to see it. 

“I don’t know why I can’t change, and I will always stay this way,” she sang softly, her heartbreak shining through under the bright lights of the stage in a bar miles and miles away from the man she loved. The band behind her kept up well, putting the raw emotion behind every beat and note that this song required, and for that she was grateful. It was a slight break in the constant dull that she felt, a break that she was beginning to believe she wouldn’t see in her lifetime. 

“And I don’t even mind staying chained,” the drawl in her voice was nothing short of old soul and broken dreams, and it wouldn’t have fit in anywhere other than the rundown bar filled with folks of a similar kind. She’d worn heartache daily long before she walked away from that house, but now it never seemed to wipe off. It was never ending, and so was the thought of him. She truly was chained to him, and sometimes in the middle of tear filled nights she told herself that he was still chained to her as well. “And thinking of you.” 

Thinking of you, thinking of you, thinking of you. 

➥ send as ask to be added to the bucky tag list! 

[forsakenoathkeeper]

I Am Alive (chapter 11/?)

Chapter 11: Interface

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • more coming soon

You can also read on AO3 & thank you for supporting me ♥

It didn't go unnoticed by you in the following days how distant Connor was, always a hairline away, like he was suddenly no longer allowed to touch you.

On the night of the second day, when you caught him doing it again, you confronted him, trapping him against the counter in his kitchen. He had turned around and noticed you standing there, right behind him.

He could have easily pushed you out of the way; but, Connor was far too polite for that. If you were being honest, in that moment, you were taking advantage of his politeness.

"Please, tell me what's wrong?" you asked, trying not to be too demanding.

"You left dirty dishes in the sink," Connor deflected smoothly.

You crossed your arms and gave him a look, the kind that said you wouldn't fall for that. His hands were resting on the edge of the counter in an odd manner, further proving your concerns. Connor's eyes shifted nervously between your gaze and the sink before deciding to let go of that attempt.

"I had lied to you about what I was," he replied quietly.

"You never lied to me about anything," you quickly retorted, voice gentle. You grabbed at his inner elbows, trying to pull his arms away from the counter and towards you. At first, he didn't nudge at all against your insisting touch.

Eventually, he gave in and let you pull his arms towards yourself. He followed and curled his arms around your lower back, leaning into your body until you were embracing loosely.

As an android, could withstand much greater temperatures than most humans. There were very few natural occurring temperatures in the world that could set off his temperature warnings. However, when he pushed against the fabric of your clothes so he could reach bare skin, and felt how warm you were, Connor suddenly felt very cold.

You shuddered a little, likely because his fingers were a little cold compared to the skin at your lower back. Some selfish part of himself didn't mind, wanting to steal your warmth, even though he didn't need it.

"-because you were designed to hunt deviants?" you asked. "Is that what's wrong?"

Connor tore his eyes away from yours and stared blindly over your shoulder. "I should have told you. I was keeping something from you that I thought would-... would jeopardize our relationship. It was self-serving."

You smiled up at him, feeling oddly enamored at the thought of Connor being selfish, because he had proved to be anything but. Or, maybe, you were feeling pride in knowing that he felt that way about you - felt a little possessive over you.

"It's normal to want to keep some things about yourself a secret, Connor," you offered, nudging his nose with your own. "It's not just about relationships, but, just, wanting a little bit of privacy."

It took him a second, but he eventually reciprocated to your nudging, pressing his nose into your temple for a moment before lowering his head so that his forehead was nuzzled against the side of your skull.

"I'm not upset with you, or afraid of you, or anything like that," you offered. "You don't have to tell me everything."

The thought of him standing on stage with Markus, the leader of the deviants, felt different with your new found knowledge of Connor's original purpose. He had chosen to stand with the man he was supposed to take down. He had chosen to defy his creators, to become the very thing he was supposed to stop.

"You have the right to know things that could potentially make me an unsuitable partner," he said lowly, sounding a little frustrated.

"You don't owe me every little thing about yourself, Connor," you replied, breath warm on his cheeks. "All these things should come when you're ready. Besides, I found out unfairly. If anything, you should be mad at me."

Connor shook his head a little, immediately disregarding the suggestion that he should be upset with you. You had come into his life so unexpectedly and changed his perception of himself, changed what he thought he knew about himself, changed what he thought he was capable of.

There were things he had never disclosed with another soul that he wanted to pour all over you.

"Why would your designed purpose make you unsuitable?" you asked, a little insistent. If there was anything you didn't want Connor to feel, it was unsuitable - for you, for love, for anything good in this world.

"I-" he began, finding himself simultaneously restless and stiff.

You leaned back enough to look up into his brown eyes with patience and longing. Connor caught your gaze and stared back, getting lost in the look you were giving him.

"When I was a machine, there was software in my operating system that connected me to Cyberlife," he explained hoarsely and you listened carefully, hanging off his every word.

"The interface was named Amanda. She was my owner, in a way: gave me missions, praised me when I did well..." Connor's eyes flickered away for a moment. "-threatened me when I didn't."

His eyes returned to yours and he continued. It was clear to you that this was therapy for Connor, even if he didn't understand why he wanted to share all this.

"At the android march, Cyberlife tried to take control of my body. I almost - I was afraid I couldn't stop it. I nearly shot Markus before I took back control," he confessed, whispering harshly. "I wasn't aware they could do that until that moment. Escaping this-... prison inside me was the hardest thing I've ever done."

Connor paused when he felt your hands running up and down his biceps, trying to soothe the stammer in his voice. He could almost feel the chill again. It was the only time he had never known what it was like to be cold, to feel the wind biting at his skin, to feel so utterly exhausted in a place that existed inside himself.

"I am the most advanced android designed by Cyberlife." It wasn't spoken with confidence, but with regret. "Sometimes I still-... feel it: factory defaults." He uttered the last two words harshly, like he was growling out a curse.

"Remnants of the deviant hunter will always remain," you whispered, dominant hand rising to cup his cheek. Connor leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut. You startled a little when the skin on his cheek faded away to interface with you. You smiled and nudged your thumb affectionally against his cheek bone.

"There's nothing wrong with that part of you," you continued. "You turned it into something beautiful, detective."

Detective - someone who tried to right the wrongs, who protected people, who saved people, who gave a voice to those who could not speak for themselves. Maybe, the correct answer would have been to become the exact opposite of what he was made to do. But, Connor truly liked this part of himself.

"When I told you I loved the android parts of you, I meant it," you insisted, hands shimmying down so you could wrap your arms around his lower back. Connor's eyes opened and he looked at you softly. "Deviant hunter, too, Connor. All your software, all your bio-components..."

"While I do not anticipate that I am a danger to you, or anyone else-" Connor explained stiffly. "-and my diagnostics no longer show remnants of Cyberlife's infiltration and remote programs, you have every right to be concerned. I check regularly, in case I am... incorrect..."

Connor trailed off when he saw the wicked smile on your face. "You are a danger to me," you teased softly. The android's LED briefly flickered to scarlet red before immediately shifting back to blue.

"I don't know what I would do without you," you explained.

Well, you knew what you would do. You would work lots of overtime to make up for the fact that all your friends were your coworkers and you went home to an empty, lonely shack in a less than favorable neighborhood.

Without Connor, you would be so utterly lonely.

He was an android. You couldn't possibly understand what he had to endure, what kind of internal struggles he continued with, the constant abuse from humans. From what you had seen, Connor powered through it with a brave face.

You had not shared much about your own life with him, unless it pertained to androids. Connor had lived a much shorter time than you; yet, his life was so much more accomplished, held so much more meaning and purpose.

You were just a simple girl from a big city and Connor was one of a kind both in his design and of his own making, by his own choices.

Despite all that, you had never felt this close to another person before.

"You would be with someone else," Connor stated, sounding almost offended. You gawked up at him, startled by the determined look he was giving you.

In his eyes, you were wonderful, beautiful, selfless, and brave. If he hadn't been so insistent, practically demanding of your attention, surely someone else would have. He couldn't imagine others not seeking your affections.

"I doubt that," you said bashfully. "I don't really put myself out there. I came onto you really strong... -like a dumb, horny teenager." You laughed a little, nervous beneath his scrutinizing eyes. You didn't regret it for a second: not Connor, nor what you had done. But, sometimes, you feared you had pushed him too strongly.

"I haven't been chaste, either," Connor offered softly. "We are not a... conventional couple." He didn't seem unsettled by that information, but more worried that you would think poorly of yourself for being forthcoming with your desires.

You giggled, brief and soft. "None of my relationships have been like this."

"They weren't androids," Connor stated.

"It's not that," you said sharply, almost scoldingly, shaking your head a little. "They weren't like this, like you, like-..."

You had loved before, in a way; but, you weren't ever in love, not like this. Nothing had ever come close to being this strong or feeling this real.

With Connor, you felt a sort of peace you never thought possible in your life. You felt like there was nothing you couldn't trust him with. He made you feel so small and so mighty at the same time.

You felt like he had given you a part of yourself that was missing; but, you felt conflicted in telling him that. You didn't want him to feel trapped or caged by you.

You had no doubt that Connor cared for you; but, there was no denying the reality that he would live much longer than you. You would grow old while he would remain young and strong and beautiful forever.

Eventually, it would come to an end-

"I've never been this close to someone before," you admitted quietly. "I - I just feel like-... You understand me better than anyone else and I feel so - I - maybe I'm projecting here-" you trailed off, feeling suddenly breathless.

Connor reached around to take hold of your dominant hand and remove it from his back. He lined up your hands, palm to palm, fingers and thumbs mirrored. For a moment, he forgot himself, forgot that you were human and couldn't interface with him. Still, he tried, the skin of his hand fading away and his joints and knuckles glowing blue.

You stared, awestruck, even though you had seen him do this dozens of times.

"You're not projecting," he whispered harshly. "We can't interface; but, I feel like we do, all the time."

You looked up at him. His eyes were closed, brow furrowed, and LED yellow, like he was trying to think, really, really hard. He wanted to interface with you, more than he could put to words, to show you how much you meant to him, to show you things that language was incapable of, to show you how he felt.

"I'm sorry," you choked out.

His eyes opened and he looked at you.

"Androids are so beautiful," you breathed. "-that you can connect like this and - all humans can do is-"

Connor leaned down and pressed his mouth against yours to silence what he knew was going to follow, the disdain you were going to put on yourself. He knew the limitations of humans very well. None of that mattered when it came to you.

"Connor-" you breathed against his lips.

He breathed your name back, like a hush.

"I'm - I'm supposed to be making you feel better, not the other way around," you whispered defiantly.

"I do," he replied, nudging his forehead against your temple. "You always make me feel better."

He felt like he had the world cradled against him, and he didn't want to let go. You continued to embrace until Connor felt you starting to sag against him. Through your touch, he could sense your breathing pattern had started to change, and realized you were dozing off.

"Come on. It's late," he said quietly. However, instead of letting you respond, Connor took initiative and picked you up, scooping you into his arms like you weighed nothing.

"W-woah," you stammered. "Geez, Connor."

"Were you falling asleep?" he asked teasingly as he carried you to the bedroom.

"N-no," you retorted sharply. You felt his chuckle more so than heard it. He tucked you into bed, helped you change - or, undress, more actually - before stripping down to the same state and nuzzling in close behind you.

That night, while you slept, Connor laid next to you and rolled through his memories.

"What I want is not important," is what he had said to Kamski, his creator, when the man had asked him what he wanted. The mission was more important, what his creators expected of him was more important; or, at least, that was what he had told himself at the time.

Even back then, he wanted to enforce the law, to bring justice, to give a voice to those who didn't have one. He wanted to prevent a civil war that would bring about the death of thousands, potentially millions, of humans.

When he accepted his deviancy, those things didn't go away. His wants evolved. He wanted freedom for his people - for androids, so they could live with the kind of freedom he was fortunate enough to have in this moment.

Now... now, he wanted so much more.

Selfish things-

Human things-

He wanted to live a life that involved choices undictated by orders. He wanted to experience the world in all its vastness, waiting for him. He wanted to go to places he had only seen through the HUD in his processor, in videos and photos. He wanted to be there - to feel, to smell, to learn with his own hands.

-and he wanted you by his side every step of the way.

He wanted to create memories with you, to share the world with you.

Connor's arm was resting over your abdomen, his hand caressing yours. You had returned his gentle grip until you fell asleep and your touch slackened. His thumb brushed against your knuckles and lowered, sliding along your ring finger just past the knuckle, and he thought about what could fit there.

It was a strange feeling. He found himself constantly longing for these things that felt so humanlike, so beyond what he was designed to do, things he once thought were all that he was capable of.

"What do you really want?" he could still hear Kamski's voice in his head.

To be free. To be wild and untamed and live life without fear of what he was and how the world might perceive him. To see the world as more than analytical data. To not see every step as a branching path, where one wrong move could ruin everything. To live life as if there was a chance he could die tomorrow.

He wanted you-

-to be his forever.

[illshowyourhurricanes]

Back to the Beginning

Who wants a little peek into the life of our favorite musician to brighten their Monday? Look no further! I hope y’all enjoy, and as always, thank you for reading!

Image prompt 6: Ryan Brenner x reader (requested by @thisisparadisemylove)

Rating: PG due to absolute and adorable fluff.

Word count: 1946

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This is related to (later down the line) A Familiar Face, which can be found in my masterlist.

The air in the city was dense and heavy. Before you could take anything in, to appreciate your time there, you had to train your lungs to breathe in the atmosphere; it was imperative to get acclimated to the moisture that hung invisibly around you. It was so thick, the humidity was almost strangling.

But when you hit that point where you could breathe again, to inhale that air with ease, the sensations surrounding you were breathtaking. 

The uneven, crumbling brick paving the sidewalks were littered with people: tourists with strands of colorful beads hanging from their necks, carrying styrofoam cups; older couples holding hands while taking leisurely strolls; giggling teenagers ducking into shops with signs in the windows boasting shrunken heads and Voodoo dolls. The air carried with it succulent smells from various restaurants, and dance troupes occupied the middle of narrow streets to entertain. People spray-painted in metallic tones from head to toe stood frozen like statues, so still it was as if they weren’t breathing. Depending which street you were on, the energy around you would flip between an electric buzz or a warm leisure--  the kind that was the reason behind the city being coined The Big Easy. 

But one constant in New Orleans, whether in the French Quarter, down Magazine Street, or lost just beyond the corner of Decatur and St. Peters’ expanse of the French Market—crowded with vendors selling silver jewelry or art, fresh vegetables and homemade soaps offered in booths at the farmers’ market further down the street, or finding hidden treasures buried deep at the flea market adjacent to the famous Cafe du Monde— was the music. 

Street performers playing various flavors of music occupied almost every street corner in the New Orleans area. But Royal Street— Ryan had told you it was pronounced roy-AL, like a duo of two male names sewn together— that was where the real music was, the music with heart and soul and life, no matter the sweltering heat and thick, suffocating humidity. Thirteen blocks through the French Quarter and several leading down toward Frenchman Street was the city’s epicenter of live music. It was where Ryan wanted to take you. 

“There’re all types of musicians down here, Y/N,” Ryan said, excitement apparent. Soft-spoken by default unless he was singing, full-bodied and soul on fire, Ryan’s smooth, soft drawl was a pleasure to hear, even if you had to strain to hear sometimes. But the enthusiasm of what he was set to explore with you— to share with you— added volume to his voice, thickened his drawl just a touch, and shifted his intonation to the point that his words sounded more like song than speak. “Jazz is the front-runner but you name it, and you’re goin’ to hear it.  I reckon there ain’t a place like it anywhere else in the world.”

Ryan tore his eyes from a two-story brick building, balconies adored by wrought-iron and punctuated with lush hanging plants. You’d read that most of the businesses in this part of the city hailed in structures that were built centuries ago. You smiled as your attention turned to Ryan’s face, lit up with a wide, Cheshire-like grin. His happiness was your happiness, and when he gifted you with that big, toothy, genuine smile,, you felt like a Mega Millions winner. You knew you’d hit the jackpot with this man. 

He’d ditched his pack in the bed and breakfast you’d booked days before, despite his protests.

”This was my idea, Y/N. “

“But I wanted to come.”

Slowly nodding his head in agreement,  Ryan gently pointed out, “I asked you to join me—“

“And I accepted.”

He eyed you with his eyebrows quirked, and you continued. “You let me come with you, and you let me live life your way for a few days. It’s been exhilarating and uncertain and I feel more alive than I have in a long time.” Your eyes were full of sincerity, and Ryan took a few steps toward you, only stopping as stood right in front of you. He reached to tuck your hair behind your ear. “So let me find us a warm bed to sleep in and cold air conditioning to lay under.”

Finally, he conceded. “If that’s what you want, Y/N, you know you got it. But I gotta tell you, it’s not a usual part of my way of livin’.”

You bit your bottom lip thoughtfully and narrowed your eyes playfully. “Maybe it’s your way of livin’ with me.”

He’d left his pack, but still carried his guitar case. His tattooed fingers were laced with yours as the two of you walked; you had a destination: the flea market just a few blocks away. But first, Ryan wanted to take a slight detour. 

“I really want to experience the music. Appreciate it. Take our time, if that’s alright.” 

You’d nodded immediately, agreeing with him. You wanted the same thing, wanted to be there with Ryan and join him in his elation and opinions and feel a bit of that love he felt for music. 

“And I know you want to go to the flea market—“

“I need to go to the flea market.” You interjected, and he laughed. You shrugged. and he shook his head 

“You’re somethin’ else.” The slight smell of coffee wafted through the air, and as the smell became stronger, it took on an almost sweet scent. Applause broke out from somewhere ahead of you, momentarily drowning out an increasingly loud dissonance of chatter. 

“You know, I think you’ve told me that before. Once or twice.” Before Ryan could answer, you found yourselves standing just outside the open-air, renowned Cafe du Monde. The scent, the chatter, and the perfect, faraway backdrop of a nearby trumpeter’s solo version of When the Saints Go Marching In was classic New Orleans. You felt a sense of nostalgia wash over you, and you knew at that exact moment that this city, so full of culture and history, art and Cajun food, voodoo and ghost tours, jazz and zydeco and blues and swing and swamp pop— this city meant something to you, and it was your first time visiting. 

Ryan gently led you to an occupied table, smack in the middle of the cafe. He pulled out your chair for you with a boyish smile before sitting in the chair across the small table, guitar case close by his side. He leaned forward on his elbows so you could hear over the noise. 

“The menu’s not your traditional menu,” Ryan warned you. His eyes danced from across the table, and he added, “Not that New Orleans skimps on tradition, but they do it their own way. ‘S their style.”

You found yourself leaning in as well, caught you in the cadence of Ryan’s voice as well as his words. Ryan wasn’t a huge talker, he didn’t need to be, but when he got on a roll about music or traveling or something that he was passionate about, he spoke up more than usual and you loved those moments. This was one of them. 

“ ‘Bout a half-dozen choices to choose from. It’s slim pickin’s, but you can’t go wrong with what they’re offerin’.”” Ryan had been to New Orleans many times; there was just no other place like it. He held up his left hand, calloused fingertips and vertical lines inked between mid and lower knuckles of each finger. “You’ve got coffee—cafe au lait. Fresh-squeezed orange juice, milk…”

You had started to shake your head as Ryan went on. He stopped before he rattled off a variety of sodas and coffee over ice; he knew what you were saying without words, and had known as much before he spoke. The two of you shared a smile, intimate with understanding. Opening your mouth to share a sentiment, you were stalled as a waitress appeared tableside, vibrant purple hair pulled back and piled atop her head. She was around your age and looked frazzled. You smiled at her. Many days at the diner had you in the same state at some point. 

“A cafe au lait and order of beignets, please,” Ryan said politely, inclining his chin to order while looking at the server, not just rattling off what he wanted. He was always attentive, and actually talking to someone rather than at them was something you valued at work. Ryan just did so naturally without a second thought. “Same for my girl here.” He looked at you adoringly with an expression asking for confirmation.

“You got it,” you said, meeting Ryan’s eyes for a beat of time, then looking to the waitress and nodding appreciatively. “Thank you.” 

In his typical fashion, Ryan followed immediately, offering the woman a small smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

When she turned to walk away and Ryan’s attention was yours again, he immediately noticed the way the corners of your lips turned upward. He looked at you as you appreciated his features from across the table. 

“I’ll wait,” he teased gently. Leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out as much as possible beneath the table without invading your space, you nudged his knee with your own. 

“Wait for what?” It was a rhetorical question; it was all in your expression, the way you sometimes got as quiet as Ryan himself and just looked at him like he hung the moon. Ryan had called you his girl, and you supposed it was true, but to hear him say it was another thing entirely. He had you reeling. It took you a moment to get back on track. “I was just thinking about your thank you ma’am. How it sounded familiar, and how someone else is bringing us coffee instead of me bringing it to you… which, in hindsight,  is why we’re here. Together. It’s all come full circle in a sense.”

It seemed like a lifetime ago. As you and Ryan enjoyed your beignets, you relished in little memories, and that was what made your relationship so special. Ryan had taught you just how important simplicity was. He laughed as you balked, tasting your cafe au lait without adding sugar first, forgetting there was chicory in the drink. You stood from your chair to brush powdered sugar from a beignet out of the scruff on his chin. He taught you the difference between zydeco and swamp pop, and insisted on paying for your coffee and beignets. 

“There you go again, Ryan Brenner. Fighting me over sweets and tips, bringing it right back to the beginning. You’d finally made it to the flea market, but before you could walk in, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You let out a sigh.

“I like the present much better, Y/N,” he said, speaking into your ear. Your shoulder shrugged involuntary, his whiskers and breath tickling your ear.  “The beginning was real nice, but this,” he paused, pressing his lips to your temple, “What we have now, it’s been on my mind since that first cup of coffee.” You looked up at him with a look of awe; it was a confession he’d never made before, and it felt like the perfect moment for him to do so, there in this huge flea market in New Orleans. You had words on the tip of your tongue, but they were stuck there. 

When you didn’t reply, Ryan just smiled down at you. It was one of those small, simple, yet significant moments. You’d had so many with him. He let his arm fall from your waist to link his fingers with yours again, leading your further inside. “You make a damn good cup of coffee, Y/N.”

[slaughterlocked]

cannot explain how much i love the post-ucn verse i have. picture william but with nothing to lose and nothing to gain and a lifetime of pain and knowledge. and then give him more mental illness when he goes back to work in the pizzaplex. ugh chef’s kiss i popped off a little with that

[slaughterlocked]

you've proven your point.

WILLIAM DRAWS IN AN UNSTEADY BREATH AND WISHES APOLOGIZING DIDN’T FEEL SO MUCH LIKE SURRENDER. It coats his teeth, makes him want to break something over his stupid son’s head and slam the door shut as he storms out. “ There’s no need for the attitude. ” He says, forced calm in his voice. “ I’m being— I’m trying to be fucking serious, Michael. It wasn’t all your fault. ”

The closest thing he can get to a genuine, honest - to - god, on - his - hands - and - knees apology. It hurts like a motherfucker. Acknowledging his failings in any way does. But this is supposed to make him feel at ease, isn’t it ? This is supposed to help him live with everything. ( Everything being the remnant and the experiments and the deaths and the murders and the torture and God, the Hell he’d been trapped in for so long. ) Isn’t apologizing supposed to fix all that burning emotion inside of him ?

And yet here he is, standing with clenched fists in front of his only remaining son ( ‘remaining’, like Michael is still just Michael ) feeling like a child being forced to apologize for a broken vase. He’s steering clear of petulance, just, but there’s still a note of frustration brimming in his voice, as if Michael is the ungrateful one for not hearing him. “ My actions, ” he begins, and then grimaces like he’s been stabbed just by the thought, “ didn’t work out the way I imagined. And what happened with — with E— Ev— ”

A little too hard to say his name. William’s throat spasms and closes. The attempt at composure is fleeting and failing. Standing in front of his son in the massive Pizzaplex, he’s never felt smaller.

“ You shouldn’t have been blamed. Do you understand me? ” He hopes Michael accepts his apology and leaves it at that. There’s only so much emotional discomfort he can take before having an aneurysm, and he’s rapidly approaching his limit.

[slaughterlocked]

i guess ‘lived’ may be the wrong term.

THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES DIALOGUE PROMPTS / always accepting!

A THIN-LIPPED SMILE IS ALL MICHAEL'S GRACED WITH. At least initially. Despite the years, William (can he even still call himself that?) hasn't lost his inability to keep his mouth shut - neither has Michael. An insufferable Afton trait neither of them have managed to escape. Leaning forward, weight shifting to his toes, and then, as an afterthought, back again, the eldest Afton's smile twists, tight and terse. "Weeeeeell," he evades, "what does it really mean? To be alive."

Family dinners in a house long since sold. Or maybe destroyed. Gathering round blueprints now collecting dust, sharing laughter and ambition. Holding your first child in your arms and feeling nothing but joy.

"You're one to talk, you know." A retort instantly rises, on the defensive. William can't help himself - he's going grey, he's going to lose his job because of a stupid glitching rabbit with his name, he's going mad and hallucinating his deceased son (one of them, anyway) - he's earned some rudeness, in his opinion. "I remember you. Quite the little arsonist when we last met." Something like guilt pools in his stomach, and he snaps, thin shoulders hunching: "Besides, I don't think you're here to argue the semantics of my existence. You're here because you want answers. Proper answers." And I have less of them than I'll ever admit. Like announcing a bedtime story, William eyes Michael with the temerity of a cornered rat. Of an old man who can't quite live up to his own memory. "You couldn't be content to let things lie unanswered. [...] Not my son."

[slaughterlocked]

❛  i wish staying was enough. i really do.  ❜ / from jules. sobs-

IT CREAKS AT FIRST, NOTHING OF VALUE TO SAY. VERY LITTLE IS OF VALUE THESE DAYS. He’s learned to conserve what’s left of his body’s strength for what really matters. Slamming into vents. Breaking down doors. Following the laughter of children endlessly. No end in sight. Nothing hurts as much as existing, at least it seems that way until it tries to move or talk, and then he remembers why he doesn’t.

But for her, it does. Lurches forwards a step, then another, wishing briefly to swallow the distance between them like wine. “ You—u-u could.” It rasps. There’s fresh blood in its throat ( it’s started marvelling him, how there’s always fresh blood ) and it hacks a vicious cough. He doesn’t have the brain power to suppress the twitch that wracks his frame, and then the snarl as its body spasms. The scent of rot and flesh follows him.

“ Stay. ” He says again. There’s a hint of imploring in his tone. Under the muscle and gristle there’s the memory of love, of anger, of want. Faded, rusted, by being so alone: but she brings it to the surface in him. She always does. “ D—o not leave me ag—again. ” It’s her fault, isn’t it ? Some part of him believes that. This is her fault. He takes an age to force what’s left of its brain to remember her name . . . “ Julie—t. ”

[slaughterlocked]

@muutos / from here !

WILLIAM’S SMUG EXPRESSION MAKES ITSELF VISIBLE. HE’S GOT HER WHERE HE WANTS HER. That is to say that he’s playing with her, in a good mood for once, willing to entertain himself at her expense. His dear Vanessa’s outburst is exactly what he needs: craving a cigarette and wishing that his shift would end about now means that the explosive nature of her distress is very much appreciated. He needs a little adrenaline to keep him going.

Makes a show of letting his eyes sweep across to the woman walking away from him. She is pretty, and the sort of woman he might have once been interested in. Someone conventional. But as much as he’s playing with her . . . Vanessa’s got him wrapped around her finger. He’s only got one woman in his head these days. Most things are done with her in mind.

“ You’re overreacting. ” He drawls, trying to hide how extraordinarily pleased he feels with himself. “ And, ” adds, somewhat primly, “ the beers are five dollars ninety. ” Not that it matters. William leans into her, gives Vanessa his best winning smile. “ Why are you so hot under the collar, hmh ? [ … ] Don’t tell me you’re jealous. ”

[slaughterlocked]

🎁 ( vanny !! )

BLUE / billie eilish - spotify wrapped meme !

THEY’RE NOT THE SAME, THOUGH WILLIAM DOESN’T KNOW IF THAT’S SELF - LOATHING OR NARCISSISM TALKING THESE DAYS. He likes to play pretend, painting pictures to Vanessa about how similar they are, about how they’re made for each other — on days like today, he doesn’t know if that’s true either. There’s a thud-thud-thudding behind his eyes from too much time spent dwelling on the past, and his heart races like it's frightened of the dimly - lit computer room he’s been sitting in for the past four hours.

Usually when she enters a room, William makes sure his attention is on her immediately. A good way to make her feel special, feel important.

Right now, the only person he can look at is his own distorted reflection in a half - covered computer screen. In the distance, he can hear children giggling, screaming, running. His fingernails dig into his scalp, and he lets one breath out very slowly.

“ I’m afraid I’m not very good company at the moment, Vanny. ” He doesn’t recognize his own voice, gravelly and low. Pale eyes meet hers only through the buffer of a computer screen, hunched shoulders furrowing more at the sight of his Vanny. “ Another headache. ” At least, that’s what he calls his lapses of self like this. Much more easily explained, rather than delving into his psyche. “ If you’re looking to chat, I won’t be much of a conversation partner. ”

[slaughterlocked]

i'm forever haunted by my mistakes. ( Rosa )

WILLIAM FEELS THE WEIGHT OF THE WORLD ON HIS SHOULDERS. A self - absorbed way to think, perhaps, considering he should be the one comforting Rosa -- but then again he's never been very good at selflessness. Especially not when it comes to his family. His loved ones. Christ, he's missed her.

He makes a restrained little movement towards Rosa, hand reaching out automatically to cup her face. So tired. Both of us are haunted, he wants to argue, though isn't sure he has the right anymore. Three children gone, to his own mistakes. If there's one thing he can't fault Rosa for, it's for despairing over his failures.

But that doesn't stop William swallowing, heavy footed and feeling out of place as he stands there. Wets his lips, dry, tries to keep his voice level. "Am I one of them?" He dares voice, maintaining eye contact. After having no contact with her for so long, the sight of her is like water to a drowning man. "A mistake, Rosa?"

[slaughterlocked]

ROSA, ROSA, ROSA. HE CAN’T STOP STARING AT HER EVEN AS SHE REPRIMANDS HIM. Can’t stop smiling, either, though lets her pull away as she wishes. He won’t hold her hostage. But he will step closer like he’s drawn in by a magnet, legs unsteady, gravitating automatically to her like he has done since the day they met. Can a sunflower help itself from facing the sun? Can the moon stop rotating around Earth? Can William be kept apart from her when he knows she’s alive?

Working in the Pizzaplex under a fake name had brought him unknowingly closer to her. AND THEN HE’D SEEN HER IN PASSING. Posing as an engineer, he hadn’t been close enough to call out to her […] hadn’t even trusted his own mind at first. Hard to after years of reality-bending torture at the hands of an eight-year-old girl. But William had found himself unable to persuade himself that he was simply losing his mind: and now he’s here, and he’d been right. He hadn’t imagined her. Rosa is alive.

Spreads his hands, indignant and incredulous despite his sheer joy. A wrinkle in his brow, William laughs, “what don’t I want to talk about? Christ, Rosa, love—” Voice tilts towards a plea, towards something sweet and tender. “—You’re the only one left.” The only one I haven’t killed. “Please,” he adds, quieting, realizing the tremor of unease in her own voice, “I… don’t like being alone, these days.” Although he never really has. Not while he knows she’s here.

@khalaesi / continued.

[slaughterlocked]

This isn't the first time I've gone without sleep. ( from vanessa )

LACK OF SLEEP STARTERS!

WILLIAM’S GAZE DOESN’T RELENT DESPITE HER WORDS. Analyzing closely, keeping her under scrutiny: it’s not that he doesn’t trust her — he’s trusted her with his life — but that he doesn’t trust her with herself. “Be that as it may,” he returns, reaching to pluck a strand of her hair from her face, carefully rearranging back into place, “that’s no excuse to let your sleep schedule fall into such a mess.” I won’t risk your life by giving you tasks while you’re tired. I need you to be healthy. Focused on me, on our goals. Those words won’t come out: like a springlock has been wedged around them, piercing and gristly.

Softens his gaze, though not his tone, when he says, “I cannot rely on you if you’re too tired to stay alert.” Hand not wrapped round his black cane lingers instead at her hair, smoothing down flyaway strands, hesitating as he adds, “You’re too valuable to lose to something as ridiculous as sleep deprivation.” Only way of showing his concern. He may not need sleep anymore, but she certainly does.

[slaughterlocked]

[ tag drop 1: CANON VERSES. descriptions under cut. ]

( weaned on poison: default i. )

The making of a man. Spanning twenty two years from birth to college graduation, William’s childhood verse finds him resentful, ambitious, and uncertain about the kind of man he wants to be. While prickly and eccentric, William doesn’t hide his insecurity or true self as much as he wishes he could: the people that meet him in college see him transform into someone who has perfected the delicately crafted persona he begins creating during this time.

( hungry dog’s logic: default ii. )

The happiest years of William’s life, from the opening of the diner to the birthday party where it all goes wrong. MORE TBA.

( house haunted by shame: default iii. )

After Evan’s death and the incident with Suzie, it’s safe to say William spirals, just a little. From the bite of ‘83 to Elizabeth’s death (in ‘90 — though this is dependent obviously on who I’m writing with too!). William at his most unstable. MORE TBA.

( still left with his hands: default iv. )

Elizabeth’s death leaves William stricken with grief and the crumbling discovery that he can’t outrun the misfortune that is plaguing his family (mostly at his own hands). Left only with Michael, his need to fix everything, and the crippling loss of his family, it wouldn’t be entirely accurate to say William is MORE stable: but perhaps less likely to murder. Between ‘90 and ‘92 (or whenever Michael ‘dies’: again dependent on writing). MORE TBA.

( just to be alive: default v. )

Entirely alone, this last human verse spans the two years between Michael’s ‘death’ and William’s own springlock incident in ‘94. MORE TBA.

( first clear thought in years: default vi. )

Get springlocked idiot! Takes place any time in the thirty years before Springtrap is discovered (1994–2024). William’s memory and sense of. well, being ‘William’ drifts further and further as time progresses as his fury and agony grows. MORE TBA.

( tomb that won’t close: default vii. )

F.NAF 3 to F.NAF 6! More monster than man but still unbearably human, it has enough of itself left to recognise its son & old friend. That doesn’t stop it wanting to ruin everything in its path. MORE TBA.

( what is the difference between science and god?: default viii. )

Sometime before Elizabeth’s death, William infuses his remnant with a computer in another effort to prolong his lifespan. It results in Glitchtrap: a virus that both is and isn’t William. Glitchtrap, emerging thanks to the game it infuses with, has only one goal — revive himself properly to continue the work he started decades ago. See this post (link tba) for more Glitchtrap information. MORE TBA.

( obsessive replay: default ix. )

Ultimate Custom Night time!! After the events of F.NAF 6, William actually dies, and his soul is transported elsewhere. Turns out, hell is the neverending nightmare that a little kid dreams up for you. William suffers, screams, schemes, and looks for salvation at every corner. It never seems to come. More TBA.

( alive while a name is spoken: default x. )

Glitchtrap’s goal succeeds, and William is back in the land of the living! Trouble is, the virus hadn’t predicted its true self facing decades of torture at Cassidy’s hands… or its true self’s inability to fully adapt to the modern world. Torn between an inability to move forward and a desperate need to not look back, William is finally honest with himself, and tries to run from things one last time. Adopting a role at the Pizzaplex unassumingly and trying to live out the rest of his life in (relative peace), he naively hopes that everything is over. Of course, he's never been more sorely mistaken. MORE TBA.