#protocol references if you squint

[a-deed-without-a-name]

Prompt: it might rob Martin of a lot of characterization depending on reading/execution, but— what if he *had* killed Elias in the Panopticon? Followed through on Peter’s original intent

Ohhhhh this is so interesting.

You've got some pretty drastic immediate consequences:

Fearpocalypse doesn't happen, at least not right away (It depends on when Elias wrote his ritual and where exactly he put it)

A good chunk of the Institute staff die - because it's funner for me personally if Elias was telling the truth about that. Vampire rules

Peter probably doesn't drag Martin into the Lonely the way he did as punishment, Martin continues on his path to avatarship

Jon and Martin don't end up together

So what spins off from that, a few months in the future? Maybe a year?

Let's find out.

(Spoiler alert: nothing good.)

It was the sort of thing that usually involved a board, a quarterly budget meeting.  Even for small, private academic institutions.  But the previous administration had seen no reason to involve that sort of oversight, and the new generation were following their lead in that area, at least.  So the director of the Magnus Institute met the representative from the Lukas Family Foundation in a cafe on the other side of Chelsea.

Jon was the only person in the cafe, sitting somewhat awkwardly in his suit.  Even the barista had ducked into the back and not returned.  That was the sort of thing that tended to happen when a place was expecting Martin.

Martin entered exactly when Jon expected him to.  He Knew that he’d checked in at the Institute, but he’d also Known that he preferred to spend as little time inside the building as possible, and where he was most likely to suggest going instead.  As Martin sat down across from him, Jon told him, “I got you a tea.”

“Thank you,” Martin said, and did not touch it.  He was smartly dressed himself, ginger curls neatly groomed and a heavy navy trench coat wrapped around him.  His glasses (a new pair, Jon noted, pricy) seemed to be semi-permanently fogged; there was a long moment where Jon could not see his eyes, before it cleared somewhat.

They were colorless.  What color had they been before?  Jon couldn’t remember.

He cleared his throat.  “How - how have you been?”

“We ought to focus on the Institute,” Martin said, and Jon said, “Fine.”

He brought out the heavy binder he’d put together, laying it on the table between them and beginning to walk Martin through everything.  Progress on the repairs, easing scrutiny from the authorities.  The new security system, badly needed, as Melanie became a growing threat.  Their rising employment costs.

“That’s going well, then?” Martin asked.  “The hiring, I mean.”

He said it so casually it put Jon’s teeth on edge.  “Yes, well.  It’s not exactly easy to more or less rebuild the staff from scratch…especially at the Magnus bloody Institute.”

A workplace shooting, and Legionnaire’s disease.  That had been their story.  The first half had covered those who had died in the Institute when Martin slew Jonah and the damage Trevor, Julia, and Daisy had done; the latter, those who hadn’t been at work at the time.  It was a flimsy story…but when had the Institute ever had anything but?

“The new folk aren’t up to your standards, then?”

“I didn’t say that.  I’m…quite pleased with the archival team, actually.  Lena runs a tight ship.”  Was making more progress with Gertrude’s very intentional mess than he’d ever managed to, that was for sure.  “And the assistants show a lot of promise, too.  Sam in particular.”

“Have you told them?” Martin asked placidly.  Jon hesitated.

“...no.”

“I thought you wanted to be honest.”

“I-I do, I’m going to, I just - I don’t.  I don’t know how to make them believe me.  Not yet.”

“If you say so,” Martin said, and sounded so much like Peter that Jon had a near-physical reaction.  He grit his teeth and changed the subject.

“Look, we both know the financials are solid,” Jon said.  “We don’t really need to go over them.”

“Should I go, then?”

“No.  Good lord, there’s - there’s so much else we need to talk about - ”

“Like what?”

“Daisy, for one.  Have you…heard anything?  Seen anything?”

“No.”

“Still in the wind, then.  I wish…”  Jon stopped himself from finishing the sentence.  I wish we still had Basira to track her down.  “How about rituals?”

“You’d Know more about that than I would,” Martin said, and Jon swallowed his frustration.

“And what about the Extinction?”

“That’s not really the point of this meeting, Jon.”  Martin flipped over a report.

“Surely we can at least discuss it.  It was this huge, looming disaster, and then all of a sudden - nobody wants to talk about it.”  Which was ironically, Jon couldn’t help thinking, what happened with a lot of the things associated with the Extinction.  Warming oceans, rising CO2 levels, garbage patches…

“Things are a bit better than they were, now some of the other powers are stronger,” Martin said with infuriating patience.  “Not quite as urgent.  We’ll let you know when we need your help; for the moment, we’re taking steps on our own.  We’d rather prefer to keep it that way right now.”

“‘We?’” Jon asked somewhat bitterly.  “Or ‘him?’  Or ‘them?’”

“‘I,’ actually,” Martin said firmly.  “It’s my project.  One of them, at least.”

“O-oh.”  Jon was somewhat taken aback, and felt guilty about being so.  He shouldn’t have been so surprised.  “Congratulations.”

“I don’t need it, but thank you.  I suppose.”

“You don’t stutter anymore, you know.”

“Don’t I?”  Martin looked faintly surprised.  It was the most emotion that Jon had seen him display all day.

“Guess you don’t need to,” Jon said.  And it was a low blow, petty and impulsive, and he regretted it as soon as he said it…especially because it was pointless.  Martin’s face didn’t even flicker, and Jon Knew what he was feeling: the same thing he always did.  Nothing at all.  Just a great, flat void inside of him, peaceful and static.

Perhaps that was what had kept him there.  In the Lonely, with the Lukases.  More than anything else.  That…peace.

Could Jon have ever given him that?  He could’ve Looked, he could’ve Known, even if subjective things like that were more difficult.  He shied away from it, and didn’t need to Know to be aware of what a coward he was.

“Why did you leave?” Jon asked, because 

“Why didn’t you?” Martin returned, but it was in that same bland, dreamy tone he’d used for the entire meeting, and for every other time Jon had met with him before.  He’d begun to think of it privately as the “Lukas lilt.”  “You know how.  With Elias gone - ”

“Jonah.”

“ - you might not have even needed to gouge out your eyes.”  Martin continued patiently after the interruption.  “Why didn’t you…burn the whole Institute to the ground?  Why’d you become director?”

Jon said nothing.  Martin nodded.  “I suppose you have your answer, then.”

“I don’t feel that I have much of anything at all,” Jon snapped, and Martin sighed.

“Do you have any more pressing questions, Jon?” he asked him, with the implication heavy in his voice that if he did, he ought to just Know the answers.

“No,” Jon said.  “I suppose not.”

“All right, then.”  Martin stood.  His chair slid back noiselessly.  “Your funding request’s approved.  I’ll talk to you again in three months.

But as it turned out, he actually did have one more question.  It leaped out of him as Martin went to leave.

“Martin…when you killed him.  Eli - Jonah, he’d told us what would happen.  To the others, everyone at the Institute.  Did you…think that he was lying?  Or did you forget?”

Martin paused at the door, looking only halfway back over his shoulder.  His expression was far away, and he took a long time to answer.  Jon waited impatiently, and was about to ask again, more sharply this time, when Martin finally spoke.

“I don’t really remember what I was thinking then, Jon,” he told him softly.  “But I don’t think I cared.”

"I know that's not true," Jon said as he shoved himself to his feet, and now he was angry. "I know you cared. I know how much you cared, and who about, and - and I know that you still do." He stared Martin down. "Somewhere."

"Really?" Martin tipped his head, and chuckled slightly. "Do you Know it?"

Once again, Jon said nothing. The silence that stretched out between them was frigid and desolate, empty as the ocean, as the moors. As the now-collapsed tunnels beneath the Institute.

Finally, eventually, Martin said, "Goodbye, Jon," and left.

[confusedgeckotree]

I enjoy media by getting so into it that anything I say is incomprehensible to a non fan. Sometimes even to a very casual fan.

Examples:

"MACKEREL!"

"Octokittens." / "The ship is biomechanical. The ship is sentient. The ship was also once a moon. This means that the ship, as a moon, was sentient and also at least somewhat fleshly."

"Oh. Yknow. The giant fucking angler fish god?"

"Oh. Yknow. The homophobic vase."

"Okay, but how did no-one see two children dragging a corpse to a tree?"

"The candy is a sedative!?" / "Bagged children"

"Five pebsi: triple affirmative." / "Catboy Pebbles."

"Where did you go, Tidedad?"

"If I read the word preternatural one more time I'm going to scream."

"Oh. Yknow. Erika."

[cloudkissedmusic]

Question, do you have any lines you associate with characters other than Jon in your TMA fansong/do you wanna infodump about it

hi !! this is such a great question !! and i would LOVE to infodump, thank you for asking >:)

“Watcher’s Crown” is written from jon’s perspective, and i imagine it to be his inner monologue, but there are definitely lines that are directed toward other characters !!

for example, in the first verse, “and whatever you might think of me, it’s my responsibility, and i can’t act like everything is fine” is directed toward the rest of the archive staff- but specifically at tim, as that line was written to reference jon’s stalker era and tim’s growing distrust of him. this whole verse is jon justifying his actions to himself as he spirals into paranoia.

in the second verse, we have the lines “i don’t want to be a player, i don’t want to be a pawn, i don’t want to be a token in your game”, referencing his situation at large, but directed specifically at the beholding/elias, as jon becomes increasingly aware of the part he is being forced to play.

with the line “i’d do anything to save you”, we turn his focus to martin, where it stays for much of the song’s remainder.

we have jon pleading with martin, deep in the throes of the lonely, to run away with him, followed by the harmonica solo/creepy whispering segment. this part is meant to reference the safehouse period with the soft harmonies, culminating in the clash of all the instruments/rougher vocals as jon “opens the door”.

this last chorus references jon and martin’s journey to the panopticon. “we know where we should be” refers to jon’s survivor’s guilt and the beginning of his understanding that he’s on borrowed time. this culminates in “the epilogue that no one wants to see”, as he resolves to sacrifice himself to the panopticon, and “what do you say, will you end the world with me” which are the last lyrics referencing martin, and serve as jon’s final goodbye to him.

the final verse is directed at elias once again. this was my favorite verse to write, and i had it in my notes app for a long time before i even thought about finishing the song, let alone releasing it !!

jon reflects on everything he’s been manipulated into and has his well-deserved crashout moment. (i do imagine elias just squinting down at him, one eyebrow raised and just. vaguely confused and annoyed at this part ).

and then he kills him !!! :D hooray !!!!! this is my favorite verse to sing. it’s very cathartic.

the “are you still listening” bit was very self indulgent. i had this song written WAY before The Magnus Protocol was ever announced. i actually sang it in VC in the MagCon discord server year before last. i was in the trenches during the ARG. this show means a lot to me, and that was my little nod toward the sequel show, while also being a bit of a 4th wall moment !!

anyway, thanks for letting me rant, and thanks for listening to Watcher’s Crown !!! :]

[ficmashup]

A Date

Summary: You join TF141 after something happened on your last deployment. They take you in and while it takes some time, you find yourself warming up to them, and them to you. Perhaps especially to the Captain.

A/N: These two are such idiots, I love them. I'm already feeling the itch to make this ten parts and I'm trying to resist (not really) so we'll see! I know what I want to happen next, but we'll see how many chapters it takes to get there. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Some SA references if you squint, crass language.

Word Count: 3.1k

Feral Masterlist

My foot taps insistently on the floor as I stare at my reflection in the mirror. I’ve changed clothes five times and while each outfit has irritated me in some way, nothing makes me more frustrated than the fact that I’ve changed clothes five times. It’s so unlike me. But there’s no protocol for going on a date with your captain. There’s fucking protocol to not date your captain. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” I take a deep breath, my gaze dropping to my phone for the dozenth time.

It’s been a couple days since Price stayed here and since we set a date to go out. Like actually go out.

The only people I can call are the people I absolutely do not want to know about this. Simon would either pretend not to care then tail us from my apartment or show up randomly wanting to meet my date. Soap would tease the hell out of me and keep bothering me until I told him who it is so he could do a background check. Gaz…he’s the wildcard. And it’s for that reason alone that I pick up the phone and call him.

The phone rings as I put it on speaker and set it on the dresser in front of me as I stare at the screen. “G? Hey!” His voice comes over and I smile a little at the instant warmth in his tone. The tapping of my foot slows.

“Gaz.” I greet him, then realize I have no clue what I’d like to say. “What are you doing?”

“I’m in the shops getting a few things for this weekend. You’re going to fucking love the dip I’m bringing.” I hear the soft shuffling of bags and more of my nerves ebb at his easygoing tone. We’re all gathering at Price’s to watch the game before we’re heading back to base this weekend. “You’re bringing something too, yeah?”

“You know I’m bringing dessert and I don’t want to hear a fucking word about it.” I bite and smile when I hear him chuckling.

“Thought your idea of dessert was sucking on a spoon of sugar, G. You know the whole point of watching the game is to eat chips and dip in front of a big tv, yeah? We don’t need dessert.”

“You need something sweet to cut the salt all of you are inhaling every second.”

“It’s a dip party.”

“It’s a football party and I’m making a dip.”

“A dessert dip? The fuck is it, a bowl of whipped cream?”

“I’ve seen you and Johnny race to finish containers of whipped cream, so don’t even try pretending you wouldn’t love that.” I’m grinning now and while a ball of nerves still remains heavy in my stomach, I no longer feel weighed down by it.

Gaz grunts over the phone. “Ugh, right. Nearly threw up after that.”

“Mmhmm.” I remember clearly, for some reason, I was suckered into rubbing both Gaz and Soap’s backs while they tried not to puke. “If you don’t want to try what I bring, then you don’t have to.” There’s a beat.

“No, I’ll try it.” He gives in almost instantly and I smirk while I walk into my kitchen, leaning against the counter while I stare at the door. A glance at the clock reveals that it’s nearly time and if there’s anything I can count on, it’s that John will be on schedule. “But did you need something, G? Or have you just missed my sweet voice?” Gaz asks and I hear some plastic crinkling as he no doubt piles chips into his shopping cart.

My lips press together for a moment as I consider what to say. “Just missed your voice, Kyle. Looking forward to trying whatever monstrosity of a dip you end up bringing.”

“Hm, careful, G. All those sweets are starting to rub off on you. That was almost sweet.”

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah, that’s more like it.”

“Bye, Gaz.”

“Later, G.”

I hang up and take a deep breath, feeling steady again before there’s a knock at the door. The zing of nerves flushes through my body and I don’t let myself think about it as I walk over and swing the door open without hesitation. My body instantly softens at the sight of Price in a white button down, pressed slacks, and a bouquet of roses. I’m struck dumb instantly.

My name falls off his lips, sweet as honey, and the way he looks me up and down makes me grateful that I finally chose a black dress. “You’re stunning.” He says it like a fact and I smile, pressing my lips together to keep from grinning like a fool as I welcome him inside. I definitely don’t let my eyes slide over his broad back and see how his pants fit his backside and thighs very nicely. “Wasn’t sure how you felt about flowers, so I figured I’d hedge my bets.” He places the beautiful bouquet on my kitchen counter while I grab a vase and I smile as I turn around to see him placing a small bag of my favored hard candies beside them.

“And you say that you’re not good at diplomacy.” I tease and earn a chuckle while I fill a vase with water.

“Don’t think many would accept flowers and candy in exchange for weapons or tac gear.” He lifts the bouquet and slides the already cut stems into the vase as I set it on the counter next to him.

“You never know. Something to try.” I smirk up at him while he smirks down at me and fuck, it’s been a long time since I’ve so easily had fun with someone. “You look really good.” I say it before I can think too hard about it and luckily, my head is blissfully quiet as his smile sweetens while those pretty blue eyes shine.

“Good thing too. Maybe I won’t look too outta place next to you.” He says and I blink before I lift my hand to flutter over my mouth to hide my wide smile. Fucking smooth talker. “Ready?” Price tilts his head towards the door and I nod, grabbing my small purse and sliding a few candies into it. He offers his arm and I take it with a little smile, feeling…well, like I’m going on an actual date.

The car ride is easy, nothing we haven’t done before, but the nerves creep back as we walk into a nice restaurant. Although it’s terribly sweet how John shifts and his hand slides over mine wrapped around his arm when he confirms the reservation. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am. “Is this your usual haunt for dates?” I ask him softly as we settle down at a table. Thankfully, it has a clear view of the doors.

John heaves a breath and shakes his head. “No. Thought that since we’re both a bit out of practice, going back to basics might be best.” He settles into his chair and there’s a small smile on my face as he looks around a bit, hands smoothing over his thighs. Somehow, him being nervous makes me less nervous. It means he cares as much as I do.

“Bet I can beat you there.” I challenge and he stills, quirking an eyebrow at me. “Two years. And a little longer if we’re talking a date with someone that matters.”

John half-smiles. “A year for me. Year and a half for anyone that mattered.” I hum, claiming my victory while his eyes sparkle with amusement just as the waiter comes by to take our drink orders. I take a small risk just to put him a little more at ease.

“An old-fashioned for him.” I order his favorite with a little smirk at the look he gives me.

He considers a moment while the waiter looks between us with a dubious expression. “Mojito to start, then white wine for dinner. Something sweet.” Price looks at me for approval and I nod, pressing my lips together to keep myself from grinning like a fool. The waiter takes this in and his bemused glance at us nearly makes me laugh as he walks away.

“Think we’re scaring the waiter.” My tone is light as my fingers glide over the silverware laid out on the table with the cloth napkin in my lap. At least I remembered a little about how to act in a place like this.

“He’ll recover.” John says without an ounce of concern and I try not to glow under his steady gaze. It feels surprisingly nice having all of his attention. I don’t mind being seen by him, never have.

My head tilts a little. “Do you enjoy scaring the general public?”

“Occasionally.” He leans forward a little and I copy him, unable to resist. “Although, I’m not the one who nearly knocked out some idiot in a bar.”

I smile at the memory. “He would have deserved it.”

Price nods without hesitation. “I almost regret not letting you. That happen often when you’re home?”

My head shakes as I fiddle with my glass of water, turning it in a slow circle. “I handle things a little differently here. My reaction there was due to being around a crowd of other military men who seem to always understand physical denials better than verbal. Something I’m sure you’re not unfamiliar with.” He sighs, but nods with reluctant acceptance. “I figured it was better to make my stance clear right away. At home, I’m a bit more lenient. More drinks thrown in people’s faces than fists.” The pads of my fingers tap against my glass as a thought occurs to me. “What’s your choice of deterrent?”

My question earns me a warm chuckle and brings the slightest of blushes to his cheeks. “Ah…most are chased off by a stern warning.” My smile widens a bit when he doesn’t deny being chased after. It’s not a surprise. In my clearly biased opinion, Price is a catch. Which makes it all the more puzzling that he’s on a date with me.

We order and conversation is easy as always. We veer away from the topic of work and speak more about our family life, what it was like for us growing up, and how we eventually decided to go into the military. It’s nice hearing him talk about himself for an extended period of time. I’m used to hearing him talk about plans, missions, and all with a firm tone with a goal in mind. Now, he’s relaxed and smiling and his tone is light. Even playful. I could listen to him talk all day.

“I don’t need dessert, John.” I insist, smiling ear to ear as he hands the dessert menu back to our waiter after already ordering me one. “I’m not going to eat it.”

“You’ll have at least one bite here, then eat it tomorrow.” He states and my head shakes while I swirl my wine around in my glass. It’s actually good. He chose well.

“Only if you have a bite too. You need more sugar in your life.” I say pointedly with laughter in my voice. His smile in return is warm and both of us have our elbows on the table as we lean towards each other.

“Good thing I have you then, sugar.” His eyes sparkle as my head ducks a moment, my face heating.

“Mm, good thing.” I return and fuck, he’s pretty when he smiles like that. All teasing and light and sweet. The dessert comes, the sweetest little thing they had on the menu, and we both take a bite as promised. I might have a few bites more before we finally walk out. The night is brisk and I pull my wrap tight around my shoulders, automatically leaning into Price’s warmth as I wrap my arm around his. He accepts me instantly and it’s easy to feel like a normal couple as we walk down the street towards his car.

“Should we think about what to tell the team or are we putting a pin in that for now?” I ask idly and Price sighs, the warm air from his lungs appearing as an amorphous shape in the cool air.

“As soon as we tell them, we’re going to hear about it for a while.”

“Weeks?”

“Months, if we’re lucky. Years, if we’re unlucky.”

I pull in a deep breath, shaking my head at the thought of the boys nagging us for so long. But it does make me happy to think about years spent with them and Price. “How about we talk about it over breakfast on Friday?” I suggest, my lips pressing together a moment as nerves swirl in my stomach. I can count on one hand the number of times that I’ve asked a man out with varied success. But when I look back at Price, he just has a sweet smile on his face.

“Sounds good to me. Dinner tonight, lunch tomorrow, breakfast on Friday.” We reach the car and I raise a brow at him as he opens the passenger side door for me.

“Lunch tomorrow?” We hadn’t spoken about that yet.

He nods, a teasing glint in his eyes as he helps me up into the passenger seat. “Mmhmm. Sound good?” Good is a severe understatement, but I manage not to grin like an idiot while I nod.

“Sounds good.” I agree and that little glint grows brighter as he closes the door. I allow myself to lean my head back against the headrest as I smile as wide as I want, then compose myself as Price gets into the driver’s seat and takes me home. We both walk very slowly as we head up to my flat and I almost laugh at both of us acting like teenagers not wanting to say goodbye at the end of a date.

He sighs heavily as I unlock the door and I smirk at the sound. At least I don’t have to wonder if he had a good time. I push my door open and turn back around, leaning against the door frame. “Thank you for this.” My hands smooth down my dress as I look up at his handsome face and I’m glad he’s not wearing his usual hat pulled low over his face. I like that I get to see this side of him. “I had a really good time.”

“So did I. Thank you for letting me.” He says with a playful edge in his voice and I give him a look for the insinuation that I don’t often let anyone do anything for me. Despite it being absolutely true.

“And are you going to tell me where I’m letting you take me for lunch tomorrow?” I turn his words around on him and feel immense satisfaction as he smirks and leans against the doorframe opposite me.

“I’m going to show you a few of my favorite places around the city. It’ll be a bit more relaxed and we’ll be walking a bit, so comfortable shoes would be wise. I’ll come to pick you up at noon. Alright?” He tilts his head towards me slightly, waiting for me to agree, and I smile at his thoughtfulness as I nod.

“Alright.” I agree and we stall for another moment. We’ve reached a soft line tonight. Sure, he’s been in my apartment, ate my food, drank tea, slept in my guest room, but that was all while we were friends. He’s not getting invited inside after the first date. I cross my arms and he seems to realize the line a second afterward, smiling as he straightens and takes half a step away from my door.

“I…” He hesitates and my arms fall back to my sides as I wait for whatever he has to say. His pretty blue eyes are locked on mine with his lips parted and I raise a brow, silently telling him to go on. He takes a breath and turns his body back towards mine, but doesn’t move closer. “I’d like to kiss you, but I need you to tell me if that’s alright or not.” His voice is a touch lower and surprise trickles through me, then warmth.

I take a steadying breath before stepping towards him. “It’s okay. Just…slowly.” My eyes stay on his, my words frank and honest, just like we’ve always been with each other. He nods and leans down a bit, the only part of him touching me is a callused finger sliding under my chin to tilt my head for him. The barest touch sends electricity sparking through me.

I taste his breath first and the leftover sweetness from our last bite of dessert mixes with distinct, bitter scent of his cigars. It’s intoxicating and I hum ever so softly while my eyelids flutter. John murmurs my name before brushing his lips against mine for the first time. I stiffen out of instinct and he pulls back an inch before freezing, his eyes scanning my face. It takes a moment for me to relax and this time, I reach up and gingerly slide my hands through his beard as I get myself used to him. He sighs and I’m immediately comforted by the way he leans into my touch.

“Again.” I request, lightly scratching my dull nails over his beard without even thinking about it.

Price’s eyes widen for a moment, but he doesn’t hesitate to kiss me again. I focus on everything that makes Price, Price—the smell of his cigars, his trimmed beard, the way I can feel the tension in his hand as he tilts my chin up, doing everything he can not to touch me more because I haven’t asked for it yet, haven’t said it was okay. His lips are gentle against mine and the kiss is simple. Just a little pressure and the slightest taste of his breath once, twice, a third time before he pulls back and straightens.

Our hands fall away from one another and I rub my fingers together, still feeling the sensation of his beard under my fingertips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says in a low tone that I’ve never heard from him before and all I can do is nod. He smiles and I barely stop myself from reaching for him again as he walks down the hall and into the stairwell.

It’s only when I’m inside my apartment and leaning back against my locked door, fingers on my lips as they tingle, that I realize just how much trouble I’m in.

Taglist (I love all of you sm! <3 If anyone else wants to be tagged, lmk!)

@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas @cherry-blosom-tree

@thriving-n-jiving @jinxxangel13 @emsstuff1 @missmidnight-writes @thereeallink @younggirlgenius @1wh4re1nova

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop pt.4

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x F!reader

Click here for m!reader version

Check pinned post for masterlist and all previous parts

Includes: fluff, angst

Summary: Adam and y/n establish their relationship, but trouble ensues after a while of dating

Adam woke up early the next morning, his bedsheets were pulled over y/n sleeping soundly next to him as the sun crept in through the window and gently caressed them both. If the figure sleeping next to him wasn't enough to make him really believe that last night happened, then the evidence of the night before strewn across the floor in the form of clothes and an empty whiskey bottle would hammer the point home. Adam let a shuddered breath escape his lips, the moment was so perfect and fragile, he felt as though even breathing too loud could shatter it.

Adam hadn't really had any perfect moments in his life before, the closest he could think of was when he was five years old, his rascal of a best friend at the time, Scott, had pushed him off his bike and he'd run home crying to his mother. She had cleaned the scrape on his knee, kissed his forehead and told him how brave he was. Of course, that moment was sullied by his angry father smacking the back of his head and telling him to man up. A Ray of hope snubbed out by an evil man.

History had repeated itself for Adam in the jigsaw trap, when he had thought he'd found a friend in Lawrence. The comforting thought of a trustworthy companion coming back to save him, quickly replaced with John kramer himself, and the loss of all hope.

As much as Adam was enjoying this blissful moment in bed next to y/n, his heart raced. It seemed as though whenever he had something good in his life, something immediately came along to ruin it. He wished he could take this moment and bottle it, perhaps turn it into a scented candle or even better, inject it into his veins. He was so so desperate for this to never end.

Y/n stirred slightly in her sleep, rolling over and curling into a ball next to Adam's chest mumbling something that didn't matter. He pulled the duvet over her shoulder and wrapped his arm around her, before going back to sleep himself.

At around noon Adam woke once again, to the sweet sensation of a kiss on his cheek.

"Morning, handsome" a sleepy voice whispered from beside him. Adam peeled his eyes open gradually, before looking at y/n. Her hair was beautifully tousled and her eyes soft and dreamy, it was clear she hadn't been up for long either.

"Morning" he mumbled back with a smile.

"So what exactly is the protocol for something like this? You know, after last night" y/n asked, casually resting her head on Adam's chest.

"Protocol...?" Adam squinted his eyes

"You know, on a scale of "why are you still in my apartment" to "Let's stay in bed and cuddle all day" where exactly do I stand?" Y/n asked with a giggle.

"Hmmm... I gotta admit, the latter does sound pretty good" Adam chuckled, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head.

Adam and y/n never had the big "will you be my girlfriend" moment that most couples do, it just sort of happened. From that day onward it went without saying that they were in a relationship. The two of them would often frequent eachother's apartments, just to play house with eachother. Y/n would cook and Adam would do the dishes, Adam would take their clothes to the laundrette and y/n would fold and put them away. They filed the holes in eachother's lives perfectly.

Adam would often make reference to an article he once read about tarantulas and frogs living together in the amazon. The tarantula provided shelter and food for the frog, whilst the frog would protect the tarantula's eggs. He always thought that his and y/n's relationship was a bit like that, they both needed eachother and both helped eachother wherever they could. Y/n found this analogy cute, but was less keen when Adam called her his "little frog". In his defence, he really was trying to be romantic, he just wasn't very good at pet names and the like. It got a good laugh out of y/n though, and so whenever she needed cheering up, Adam would call her that stupid nickname until she cracked a smile.

For a while, everything was perfect, but as the months went by, the honeymoon phase began to wear off, and the couple had their first fight.

It was an evening in march, y/n had been preparing dinner in her apartment and waiting for Adam to come over after work. He'd quit his job as a stalker-for-hire and gotten some work at a small photography firm. The pay was okay, and the hours were decent- and it was far less dangerous- but Adam was no longer his own boss. He hated being spoken down to, and his new boss did just that. Of course, his boss knew exactly who Adam was from the news, and thought himself something of a mother Teresa for taking such a "troubled young man" in and giving him a job- and oh boy did he make sure Adam remembered that.

"There aren't many employers who'd take someone like you, you know. You're very lucky to have this job" he'd remind Adam whenever he slipped up.

On this particular day, Adam had spilled something in the redroom and damaged a few shots from a child's birthday party. It was nothing serious, and the images could be mostly cleaned up, but of course Adam was treated far more harshly that anyone else would have been. A slew of insults and colourful language was directed towards him, including several "I don't even know why I hired you"s and the odd "You're absolutely useless, Stangheight" thrown in here and there. It was safe to say that Adam was in a fairly sour mood when he finally finished work and headed to y/n's apartment.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Y/n asked as Adam arrived and threw himself down on her sofa. No kiss, no "Good evening," not even eye contact.

He sat down rubbing his forehead angrily.

"Adam, honey? Tell me what happened" she said, sitting next to him and trying to take his hand, which he quickly pulled away.

"I'm fine, work was just a real pain in the ass today" he grumbled.

"Let me fix you a drink, and we can work this out over dinner" she said, her voice nurturing and kind.

Y/n returned from the kitchen about 30 seconds later, and placed a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of Adam, who still hadn't looked up.

"Dinner just needs a little while longer. Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?"

Adam shook his head, like a sulking child.

"Adam, please talk to me. We can't fix whatever's troubling you if you don't talk" she insisted.

Y/n was being perfectly reasonable, but to Adam, who had heard nothing but beratement and orders all day, just interpreted "Please talk to me" as yet another order.

"Oh my god y/n, just leave it!" He snapped,  "you don't need to try and fix everything, I'm a grown man for Christ's sake. Stop talking to me like I'm a child."

Y/n was hurt, but he wasn't one to sit there and let a man see him cry, so he fought back.

"Don't you talk to me like that, in my own home as well? What the fuck is up with you?" She bit.

"I'll talk however the fuck I want to"

"Not in this apartment you won't"

"Fine" Adam stood up

"Fine!" Y/n watched as Adam stomped over to the door, and left,  slamming it hard behind him.

Now that she was alone, y/n finally felt safe to cry. She pulled the food out of the oven and set it on the side, no longer feeling hungry, and brought the bottle of wine over to the sofa from the kitchen. She drank Adam's untouched glass and then poured herself a refill. For about an hour, she sat crying softly and watching some mundane sitcom, trying to distract herself. Adam was stressed, stressed people snap, that's understandable. She attempted to rationalise with herself, she'd call him tomorrow they'd talk it through, and Adam would apologise. But she felt little comfort.

Just when she thought about turning in for the night, she heard a knock at the door. Before she opened it, she noticed a little piece of paper sticking through the gap under her door. It was a piece of card folded in half. In the front was a little sketch of a tarantula and a frog holding hands, and inside, written in scruffy handwriting was a note.

Tarantulas have a nasty bite, but they should never bite their frogs. I'm sorry I shouted, I shouldn't have taken my work stress out on you. I love you so much, please forgive me?

-Adam

Y/n wiped a tear from her eye and slowly pulled the door open. There, Adam stood with his hands in his pockets and his head hung.

"I'm sorry, froggy" he said timidly.

Y/n wrapped her arms around Adam and pulled him in for the tightest hug she'd ever given.

"Forgiven" she whispered in his ear.

"D'ya think we could maybe restart the evening?" Adam asked, smiling awkwardly.

Y/n pulled him by the hand into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

"I think that can be arranged" she smiled.

A/n thank you so much for great response I've had to this story!! My ego is really enjoying being watered and fed for once teehee<3

Comment to be tagged in part 5

Requests are open! I'm looking to write some Adam one shots, so definitely ask if you have any ideas! Check my pinned post for details and masterlist <3

[frozenjokes]

club talk about death and space

ao3 link

“Come here often?”

Cleo wasn’t expecting to see anyone up on the rooftop of Mumbo’s home, especially not today, but apparently she had not yet kicked misfortune off her scent. 

Cub must have gotten impatient with their lack of response. “I do. Come here often, I mean. I live here.”

“So I’ve heard,” Cleo spoke dryly, but her tone had no effect on Cub’s plain demeanor. He said nothing, like he was expecting more, and Cleo would have happily left the silence to rot if his blatant staring wasn’t so off putting. “What do you want.”

“Who says I want anything?”

“Don’t be coy.”

“Roof’s a nice place to sit. I never came up here when I was alive. It’s even got company.”

“I thought you specifically didn’t want company here. In your house.” Cleo wasn’t expecting any kind of reaction from that comment, but Cub’s silence made them wonder if they’d been too snide. (Quickly, they remembered they didn’t care what Cub thought, but the pang of anxiety remained.)

“I dunno.” Again, Cub was quiet. He had a savant-level talent for creating unbearable silences. “I think all that time alone wasn’t very good for me.”

“Humans are like that.”

Quiet, again. Cleo was about ready to throttle him until he finally spoke.

“Do you know how I died?”

Cleo snorted with a jerky shake of her head, “I’m not omniscient. You didn’t keep tabs on that tidbit of information?”

Cub did not react to their sarcasm, staring blankly at the shingles below his feet. “I don’t know. I mean. Maybe I did know. I think I forgot. It wasn’t quick.”

Cleo shrugged off her discomfort, replacing it with exasperation, “Well if you don’t even know how you died, I don’t know why you’d expect me to.”

Cub took a breath, then stopped midway, as if remembering he didn’t need to anymore. “The other angels. Knew something. They knew something was wrong with me. That’s why I asked.”

“Oh.” Cleo felt suddenly awkward, squinting for any signs of something Strange, but their only point of reference was Joe, who wasn’t exactly normal looking either. Cub looked like how any ghost ought to, in Cleo’s opinion. She grimaced, looking away. “I didn’t exactly get any training for how to fit this role. I mean. A couple things, sure, but usually there’s whole courses on guardianship. It’s a popular program. Guess they didn’t want to wait on my penance.”

“That’s kinda fucked up.”

“Eh.” Cleo sighed, laying back on her hands and looking up at the sky. A nice, cloudy day. “Far from the worst thing that could have happened to me. Mumbo’s at least halfway through his life, so I won’t even be stuck here that long. Might not even bother trying to get help with the ‘seeing spirits’ fiasco just in case I get reassigned to a baby.” Cleo pursed her lips. “I have a feeling they already knew, though. The more I think about it, the more I’m sure. This is exactly the kind of pettiness angels love.”

“Damn.”

“Uh huh.”

“Angels must be a lot like humans then.”

Cleo shrugged. “Maybe. I dunno though. Sometimes I think you guys are better.”

Cub quieted. It was not such a bad quiet this time. “You’re still in contact with them, aren’t you? Your uh.. ‘parole officer.’ Could you ask them? If they know what happened to me?”

Too genuine. Too real. Too much like Joe. “I don’t really want to do that.”

Cub did not recoil so much as he melted away. Cleo scrambled internally, they hadn’t meant to hurt him, but—

“I don’t think any angel would care to help you, is all. Ghosts and stuff.. protocol is typically Ignore unless it’s a threat. They don’t care about humans in between life and death.” It didn’t fix anything. 

“I see..” Cub mumbled, laying back alongside her. 

There was nothing else to say. 

Afternoon turned to dusk. Then night.

“Do you get to see the stars up close in heaven? Do you see Earth from space?”

Cleo was startled by his voice, but there were no stakes in it, enough to lull Cleo back to calm. “I’ve never been to space. Heaven and hell don’t exactly exist as strictly ‘ups’ and ‘downs.’ It’s just.. a different world.”

“Do you want to? Go to space?”

“I’ve never thought about it.”

“Really? There’s some cool stuff up there. I miss my telescope. I couldn’t use it after I died, it wasn’t even set up outside or anything, but it was comforting. Just to have. My memories of what I saw through it feel fuzzier without it.”

Cleo shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. About the cool stuff, I mean. Angels didn’t really keep pictures or anything.”

“What? Nothing? Surely you’ve seen a good picture of the moon at least.”

“Not even one.”

“Whoa— After I get Mumbo to stop commandeering my house I’ll have to make him show you some pictures. It’s great stuff, really great.”

“Sure.” Cleo snorted. “Maybe you should be the one going to space.”

“Oh, well I don’t think that was in the cards for me. I’m not quite astronaut material. Even if I was, it’s not exactly guaranteed I’d get to go, and there’s also the part where I like not being dead. Astronauts are kinda crazy.”

“Well you can’t die twice.”

Cub blinked. “You think I could go now?”

“I don’t see why not,” Cleo shrugged, then chuckled at the little sparkle in his eyes. “I mean, unless there’s something specifically tying you here.” She looked up. “Might take a while.”

“No time like the present.”

There was no gradual ascension and no goodbye. If Cub had possessed a physical body he would have left a crater in Mumbo’s roof with the force he vaulted into the sky, and it wasn’t long before Cleo lost the little Cub-speck in the stars. Huh. Must really like space then. 

Cleo laughed to themself as they leaned back on their arms, gently shaking their head. Unorthodox, maybe, but if that was one of Mumbo’s spiritual problems gone for good, maybe Cleo wasn’t such a bad guardian angel after all. 

[8unknowndoee]

!!!!!!! MAGNUS PROTOCOL SEASON 1 EPILOGUE SPOILERS !!!!!!!!!

So, I want to scream. Forever- preferably into the black hole / universal brain altering horrific beauty that is the reality wound.

The next few paragraphs should be proceeded with caution- I might have actually gone insane while writing this and you can tell by the strange paste and everything as it slowly goes down and drowns with other t.v. show references because my mind was racing.

So, I guess don't read if you don't want random unimportant references to Gravity Falls, Teen Wolf and My Babysitter's a Vampire.

Okay, first off. I both live in fear and excitement for the OIAR under Gwen's leadership because she is clueless. She is in the same position of power as Elias as in Archives but the exact opposite on everything else. She has no clue of the horrors that are truly around her, the few externals she has met is nothing in comparison to what Lena must know- to what Elias knew. Unlike Elias, Bastard of the Eye, his eyes are wide open to everything.

Gwen? Gwen has her eyes shut closed tightly and those few moments with the externals she spent was just her squinting at the bright light of horror that the actual world she lives in is. She doesn't even know what to do now that she is appointed Lena's position, she's just waiting there, tapping her nails away on her desk. She doesn't have a clue on what to do. She might have honestly aimed for a position of power she had no clue about, she just wanted the position and maybe the power that came with it within the OIAR without clearly seeming to think through what Lena might have been doing behind closed doors.

She's floundering and maybe if things had been alright, she could have learned slowly- if not in its own spectacularly horrible way but now? Now? Now is actual hell, Sam and the Archivist, in their eyes, presumably died. Colin is most likely dead inside their own work room's servers. The only one who may have had some sort of clue was fired and gone, leaving someone who has their eyes shut leading it all and we still don't know what Teddy might bring to the table.

Also, about the Colin ending, he might actually be dead or that ending became the most fucked version of Soos crawling into the arcade game machine in the world- it'll be that episode of My Babysitter's a Vampire where Rory was taken over by the sentient tree's crossbreed roots of electronic and plant life except it's all in one server machine rather then a school's computer room and crossbreed of him rather then plant life. Which is horrifying if he's still aware.

Which, Hello?

Did the Freddie Program do this separate to the three voices within it, just a machine that has been corrupted in a way similar to the tape recorder being able to bite? Did Jon? Martin? Jonah? Some fucked sense mix of the three's consciousness trying to move things along? Will Jon, who has been shown to place his hands into things via emails and specifically placed statements, send Gwen emails as a way to guide her into doing what he wants, guide Alice or Celia into something else?

In a fucked up sense will Jon become the Eye to this group of people, except more hands on? Will he be something similar to the Web and the Eye in the way where he isn't just watching as the Eye had but also playing a part in it well enough to pull strings along?

Is Jon building his own web of manipulations and schemes in this world, to become a later antagonist? Are the other two aware of this?Is Jon aware of this? I might actually go insane with how many random thoughts my brain is just coming up with as I write this.

Colin- Colin. My bastard, I'm in pain because we saw so little of him, less than Sasha which is why I'm leaving that horrified ending scream not as a 'he's dead!' and more of an horrifying open-ending of Colin pulling a Corey being part of the train stations's electrical manufacturing in Teen Wolf- like, it would be horrifying if he's alive let alone aware of everything that is happening but anything to make the problems here even larger. Colin fighting Jon literally from the inside.

Finally, the smallest but biggest thing of the whole Epilogue, Sam. He's alive! Hadn't doubted that because main character but what of the Archivist- what of the world they landed in? Is it our post-apocalypse world of Magnus Archives or new, crueler/kinder world? The tape recorder is there and we heard from it so we will hear from Sam still in this new world along with those in the OIAR within the computers, phones and lines.

I'm passing out now, the black hole / universal brain altering horrific beauty that is the reality wound has been screamed into.

[theworldibuilt4you]

[Addie blinked a few times in surprise as they observed that the multitude of extra arms weren't some new threat, but rather apart of Sonny. That alone soothed their nerves, and they did their best to dissolve the remainder of their panic. Sonny was okay. Everything was fine. It… it worked. Things were going to be so much better now.]

[They allowed themselves to be awash with relief, laying down onto their stomach and resting their head on their hand. They peered at Sonny with a little pout as he insulted himself.]

…Nnnope! You're just as charming as the day I first met you, Mr. Handsome.

[They put a playful emphasis on the old name, their cheeks warming. They looked right past his disheveled appearance, past the sweat and spittle, and saw only the man they loved doing his best, and taking on the heaviest of burdens. They sighed, wishing for what had to have been the hundredth time that day they could hug him.]

[…]

[He… Would probably be extra good at giving those, now…]

I... Do wonder where those came from, though...

[Addie pondered hard, squinting at the tentacles.]

Y'know, Jade has called you an octopus before... I thought it was a pretty weird nickname, but looking back it's kind of a funny coincidence...

-Addie

"Has she now...?"

[Sonny gave a gentle chuckle- It's been a rather long time since Addie has referred to him like that. It was kind of nice...]

[He gave a shudder of a huff, raising his dominant hand to pull up a terminal. It was actually a lot nicer looking than his previous ones. Much sleeker, less jittery... Much more put together.]

[Sonny probably shouldn't be getting to work so soon after all of that- He could hardly focus with all these new codes working in his head- But he really did have to take a look..]

[He had a much more full access to his own codes now- Probably stuff he shouldn't even touch, too... Jesus, he.. has full access to EVERYTHING, really.. It was rather overwhelming to look at all the new things he could poke and prod at.]

[First thing he did was reach a hand forward, pecking his fingertips shakily against the screen- And after whatever he did, a sigh of relief exited his lungs, and his muscles relaxed]

"God that's better... Never thought I'd be able to access the... The pain simulation protocols... I think mine have been set too high for... a while now..."

[He takes a breath, really trying to get used to his vision. It was so much... clearer than he was accustomed to.]

"I... I got a theory... And.. And I can probably disable it if... if I want..."

"....If you want."

[zaewriteshere]

Guardian of the Protocol

Outing

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

AO3 Link

Masterlist

You realised that you never got to decorate your room the way you wanted it.

Looking at it, it was honestly… Kinda empty. Only the bare minimum was present, a bed, a very small desk, and one just as small wardrobe. 

You wanted to remedy that. 

“Hey Lynn, what are your favourite places in our world ?” You curiously asked as you were searching the HQ for a piece of paper and something to write with. Finding what you were looking for, you went back into your room as your ghost answered you : 

“The Dreaming City is my favourite place. I really admire the architecture there.”

You nodded, it would probably be easy to have some elements reminding you of this place.

You wrote a couple things down : 

Dreaming City

Archs 

Big (or small) ball greenhouse

Little bonsai tree

That was, at least, what you remembered of the place. 

What stood out to you.

But now… How to make those ideas a reality ?

You were thinking of a solution when you heard a rhythmic, a bit over-the-top knock on the door.

You didn’t know anyone who did it in such a manner.

Intrigued, you got up and opened the door, only to find Chamber – Vincent, you remembered – right on your doorstep, smiling softly with his charming grin. He greeted you and said your name, the smile never leaving his face.

“I was wondering if I could take you out for breakfast ?” He asked, looking at you from head to toe. His eyes caught the piece of paper you were still holding, and he sent you a questioning glance.

You thought about it.

Both the offer and letting him know of your plans.

He surely knew more than you did…

“I don’t mind, if you’re okay with waiting that is. I kinda want to decorate my room like my home…” You admitted, an apologetic smile gracing your features.

It didn’t seem to deter Vincent however.

“Do you have an idea on how to obtain what you’ll need ?” He questioned, arching an eyebrow, his smirk still present.

“Uh,” You intelligently replied, blinking repeatedly. He took your confusion and silence as an answer.

“Alors, let me assist you my friend,” He offered, his smile widening. 

You took a moment to consider it.

Vincent looked like he knew what he was doing, and judging by his style and how other agents talked about him, he knew where to look to get exactly what he wanted. You nodded.

“Sure, let me just… Get out of those clothes,” You said, referring to your attire. It was too casual and exposed in your opinion – good for chilling at home, not for going out.

“Ah, but you look magnifique no matter what you wear, my guardian ~” 

You slammed the door on him. 

You sighed as you changed your outfit to something more suitable for the weather outside… Wait, where were you going ? From what you learned of Earth – and your experience across the solar system – each hemisphere had a different type of weather… Not to mention the equator. You breathed out a long exhale, putting on a long sleeve shirt and opening the door again, you peeked out shyly, and was surprised to see Chamber waiting for you patiently. 

“Where are we going ?” You tentatively asked.

“Wherever needed. I’m thinking of France, lots of good craftsmanship there,” He replied thoughtfully.

“Right, because you aren’t biassed,” You squinted your eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” His smile turned into a mischievous one, which made you sigh, but you couldn’t hide the smile slowly forming on your lips.

You closed the door again, more gently this time, and looked up the weather there.

Sunny but with a breeze. It was also late morning, so everything would be warmer as the sun went up in the sky. 

On top of your long pants and long sleeve top, you took out your denim jacket as well as your backpack. 

Exiting your room, you made eye contact with Vincent, who was still in the same position as before. When your gazes met, he smiled.

“Are you ready, my guardian ?” He questioned, walking up to you. 

You nodded as a reply, and he guided you to the aircraft area, a hand resting on the crook of your spine.

Not that you didn’t know where it was already… But you said nothing to the hand that was staying on your back, not really minding it.

Soon enough, you were seeing from above the city, with a big tower… 

Was that Paris ?

“My guardian, bienvenue to Paris !” Announced Vincent, peeking over your shoulder as he took in the view that you were looking at.

So it was the city of lights.

You saw Lynn out of the corner of your eyes, admiring the view themselves as well.

Once you landed, Chamber guided you to a car that definitely didn’t belong to the airport. You squinted your eyes at the vehicle, and turned to your colleague, who simply smiled and opened the door for you : 

“Après vous ~” He said in a polite manner, and even though you couldn’t speak a word of French – that was Lynn’s deal to know every language spoken by humanity – you understood that he wanted you to go inside the car.

You did as told, trusting that you could defend yourself if anything were to happen. 

You went out of the runway into the city which was bustling with life in the middle of the day.

You remembered the first time you went out with Ryo, and you were too distracted by the neon lights and flashy shows to notice how the city lived.

This time, there wasn’t really anything flashy. You could pay attention to the people and how they behaved in the middle of their day, what was happening, and so on and so forth.

It was different from what you were used to, and so it was nice.

You stopped at a more humble environment, where the buildings weren’t as pristine or as expensive looking as before. Vincent was the first to go out of the vehicle as you took your time looking at your new surroundings. He opened the car door for you before you could even touch the handle, however. 

Exiting the vehicle, you spun on yourself to take a full idea of your location. Chamber however, didn’t want to waste much time as he gently guided you into a small shop which had lots, and you meant a lot, of different nooks and crannies. 

You curiously looked around, smiling at the owner who greeted you – or at least, that’s what you thought they did – and resumed your observation. 

“Anything catches your eye, my guardian ?” Vincent asked, his body a bit too close for comfort. You stepped aside, holding a small ball made with wires interlacing each other in a pretty pattern. He saw it. “Do you want to have this ?” 

You nodded, but you weren’t done. You needed some plants for the projects. 

You continued looking, and soon enough, you found what you needed. 

Everything, even the big arches for your door.

You wondered how they’ll all come back to HQ, though.

You just needed to find the solution for the plants. You decided to ask your colleague, curious about his opinion.

“What should I do with the plants ?” 

“Depends, my guardian. Do you have a green thumb ?” He replied, eyeing you out of the corner of his eyes.

“A ‘green thumb’ ?” You repeated, not understanding the term.

“Ah, it’s when you… How to say it in english… When you are good with plants,” He finally answered, and you realise you have never seen him like this before.

So unsure of himself, stumbling upon his words.

It was interesting. It made him more human and less like a projection of what he wanted people to see. 

Maybe being in France helped him feel at ease ?

“Ah, I don’t know how to grow plants. Wasn’t exactly in the list of teachings for a guardian. The war… Kind of took our hobbies from us, or at least the people who had some,” You explained nonchalantly, your attention elsewhere. When you looked back at Vincent, he had an unreadable look on his face. It didn’t last long, however.

“Then it might be best to go with fake plants, so you won’t have to worry about them dying,” His smile and normal demeanour was back.

“People make fake living beings ? Why ?” You asked incredulously.

“So they don’t have to worry about them as much as a living version,” He answered simply. “Do you know which plants you want ?”

You shook your head and looked around. Soon enough, you found some plants that reminded you of the Dreaming City, as well as the bonsai that you wanted to have.

Once you’ve shown your findings, your colleague waved to the owner and told them what you wanted, and without letting you have a say in anything, paid the full price.

Your jaw dropped.

Why did he do that ? 

“Wha- why ?” You asked, still under shock. 

“Just helping a friend out,” He winked at you, putting his card back where it belonged. 

“I… Thank you. I owe you one,” His smile widened ever so slightly at that. 

“Now, shall I take you out to lunch, my guardian ?”

You accepted the offer.

You were looking forward to his new surprise. 

[zeebamed]

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[specialagentartemis]

We all make fun of Pryce and Carter's Deep Space Survival Procedures and Protocols Manual for having off-the-wall nonsense tips such as "679: Eating celery always, always leads to the start of an adventure.  Don't believe us?  Go ahead, try it out.  We'll wait." and "231. DO NOT INTERACT WITH ANYTHING YOU SUSPECT MIGHT BE A LEPRECHAUN."  When will those ever be useful and relevant survival tips in space?  How can Minkowski swear by something like this?

However, Minkowski and Eiffel's Deep Space Survival Procedures and Protocols Manual, 1st Edition (2017) will absolutely have tips such as "293: If aliens contact you, use plain and direct language when you answer them.  Do not speak to them in pop culture references.  It will make everything so much easier later." and "384: The terrarium might appear and disappear from your vessel sometimes.  You don't need to worry about it.  It's nothing you did." and "577: Try to avoid bioengineering angry plant-animal hybrid horrors beyond mortal understanding.  578: If you ignore the previous tip and you do bioengineer plant-animal hybrid horrors beyond mortal understanding, be nice to them.  They're your crewmate now."

Future astronauts are gonna squint in confusion at their shiny new DSSPPM that’s advising them “Always keep a harpoon handy.  You never know when you’ll need one.” and go ??? this has got to be a prank, right

[zeenmrala]

THE SHADOW BENEATH a darth maul x f/afab!reader fanfiction

Summary: You work as a technician on the lower levels of Coruscant. In the middle of the night, an angry Zabrak crime lord arrives, in need of transport parts and repairs. You both find a little bit more than you bargained for. Pairing: Female/AFAB!Reader x Darth Maul Rating: 18+, explicit. Pure smut ahead! Minors do not interact! Word Count: 12.4k (a big one) Warnings/Kinks/Tags: There are a lot of these. Female/AFAB!Reader with she/her pronouns, references to canon-typical poverty and violence, threat, force choking. Smut: thigh riding, inappropriate use of the force, inappropriate use of a lightsaber (Maker forgive me), cybernetic lower half!Maul, dominant!Maul, BDSM, vaginal fingering, controlled/delayed orgasm, female!receiving oral sex, male!recieving oral sex, PiV sex, rough sex, spitting, smacking, biting, praise kink. i am so sorry and also you’re welcome A/N: This is a bit different to my usual style - but I really had fun with this! Inspired by a few of these smut prompts sent in by anons. ♡ do you think this is a joke? / good girl / I’ve been holding back the things I wanna do to you right now / use your words ♡

The Shadow Beneath [Read on AO3]

Hooking up with one of those fancy Force lords from the surface was not how you expected to begin your week. Yet here you are, in the very early hours of Primeday morning, kissing on and feeling up the weirdest, meanest (and only) wizard you have ever come across.

Tonight was nothing out of the ordinary – well, it was pretty normal before he showed up. In the early evening you took a walk to collect a few old bits of junk that you thought you had swindled from a Rodian thief. You made friends with her at BG-RT’s cantina the other night, and after a couple of drinks you agreed to buy the crate of parts from her (though ‘friends’ now may be too strong a word – as it seems that you may have been the one that was duped). You negotiated what you believed at the time to be a steal of a price for the parts that she was offering – they were highly discounted of course, due to how they were illegally obtained. Though looking down into the crate of stolen goods once you had collected them, you thought that maybe you had been a bit too optimistic about it. Though it wasn’t a loss yet, you just had to work your mechanical magic and make your credits back. With this bunch of rubbish. Somehow.  

So you started sifting through it. It was a total mish-mash of stuff, parts from old droids, engines, speeders – a bunch of junk that’s been borrowed (stolen) from a couple hundred levels up, much nicer stuff than what you can usually get down here anyway. Could have been worse. With your glowrod in hand and your eyes sharp, you began the search for any working (or working looking) parts you could shiny up, use or sell on. You were able to salvage a small repulsor-lift engine, fully functional and sorta new. Though probably not worth much to the big wigs up on the surface, it was something you could peddle down here if you put on a pretty smile and tried. Folks were always breaking their antigrav tech – what with the shoot outs and such – or at least, their tech was always getting caught in the crossfire of said shoot outs. Everyone always had something needing fixing down here. And that’s where you would come in. It’s not much, but you get by – and it’s kind of an honest living (which is actually pretty impressive, considering the level you live on).

Your eyes started to hurt after hours spent squinting inside a protocol droid torso, so you eventually threw down your tools. After a depressing dinner of a stale Maize roll with an hour of Holotelevision, you decided to call it a night. But you just could not seem to doze off, no matter how much you tossed and turned on your sleep mat. There seemed to be no reason in particular for your insomnia, it was just one those nights where the unrelenting, blaring noises of Level 1313 alongside a strange feeling in your gut kept you from drifting off. It is not unusual around these parts to be a bit anxious, or to be kept awake by some trigger-happy chap or a hollering idiot. There was always some kind of shooting or foolery going on down here, the crime-ridden underbelly of your home-world.

You soon grew fed up of wasting your time, just staring at the ceiling of your home/bedroom/workshop, listening to the screeching shouts of drunks and thugs. So you thought kriff it and forced yourself up from your sleeping mat. There was no point in just lying there when you could make the most of a couple extra hours to clean up some scrap. You thought about maybe picking through a few wires from that protocol droid – though he was an ancient model, you could probably scrub up some of his veins, make them look nice. With a bit of sweet talk you were sure you could move them.

So you punched the top of your karkin’ useless caf machine to get it going. As a technician you could likely fix it up nice and easy, make it so it works without you needing to give it a solid thump – but your time was precious. An hour spent fiddling in the back of your caf machine wouldn’t make you any extra credits now would it? But shining up an old catalytic processor from one of them funny decon droids? Well, you could squeeze a couple meals out of that if you could flog it to the right sucker. Once you got the caf brewing, you threw on your coveralls and looked around with itching fingers, grabbing at bits and pieces of scrap from around the room. You then studied them under the warm light of your central lamp to see what you could best shiny up.

So there you were, singing to yourself between sips of caf, stripping the wires from the old proto-droid when everything went awry.

Because that was when a looming figure emerged from the darkness, and you did a startled double-take, in utter disbelief at first – then you jumped out of your skin when you realised it was a person and not a shadow, and that this mystery figure had somehow broken in to your home without you knowing. You reached for the blaster pistol you kept beneath your worktable for moments exactly like this. Though no one had broken in for a long while, your reflexes were and always will be as sharp as the claws of a tooka. They’ve got to be, living in these parts.

When the figure stepped properly into the light, you tried to see if it was someone you recognised. It wasn’t, which made it all the more confounding. It was a stranger, and a real scary looking one at that. A Zabrak man cloaked in all black, with striking black-on-crimson skin and glowing yellow eyes. His entire being oozed darkness, and as unnerving as this situation was, you couldn’t help the intense level of intrigue that mingled with your fear. He was…Maker, he was kind of fine. There was something about those intense eyes, the shrouding black of his tattoos, something about how that low cut tunic suited his hard body so kriffin’ elegantly. You suppressed a snicker, cursing yourself for finding your own home-invader attractive – what a damned fool you were acting. Yes, he may have been good looking, some may even say hot, but he also looked right scary and had broken in.

…But then again you are used to intimidating looking persons making their way through the underworld of your home. And you know that far-away folk can sometimes have different customs to you, maybe customs like silently encroaching on a technician’s business in the middle of the night? Who were you to judge? So what with his good looks and all, this stranger didn’t strike too much fear into your heart.

At least not at first.

You sat on your worktable with your legs crossed, your blaster in hand and pointed at his horned head. “Hey Mister, it’s mighty rude to sneak up on a girl in her own home,” you said, “especially when she’s all by her lonesome in the middle of the night.”

Your eyes ran over his strange markings, and after wracking your memory of all the faces you’ve seen in your time, you realised that you hadn’t ever seen someone who looked quite like him before. When he said nothing, you kept talking.

“What skughole did you crawl out of anyway? I ain’t never seen you round here.”

He still didn’t say anything in reply, and his lack of conversing was starting to feel more threatening than not. You both just stared at each other in silence for a moment, and then you demanded what you should probably have lead with.

“And what the kriff do you want?”

“My transport needs repairs,” he said quietly. He seemed annoyed. At you, specifically, for existing in your own home. Even though he was the one that had disturbed you at a stupid hour, even though he had snuck up on you alone in the middle of the night, he was the one that was cross. There was a passive violence to each word he spoke, as though his patience was already running thin.

“There is a part that I need. I was told here,” he flickers his eyes around your tiny workshop, thoroughly unimpressed, “was where I should go.”

“Grife,” you groaned, relieved.

He was just a customer. Albeit a grumpy one who had broken in way past closing time, but a customer nonetheless.

“Why didn’t you start with that? What’s with all the staring? Here’s me thinking you were some crinkin’ psycho-murderer, or some sleemo that was gonna rob me.”

You froze at your own words, then back-peddled with an awkward smile, “Not that I’ve got nothing worth robbing.” Your arm with the blaster had slightly relaxed, so you straightened it again, putting on your best I-don’t-take-no-kark face. “So don’t get cute with me.”

He just glared at you, and made no movement or sound. He had absolutely no reaction to having a blaster pointed at that handsome, tattooed face of his. This fellow was definitely one to keep an eye on.

“Okay,” you said, slowly lowering your hand. This guy hadn’t made any stupid moves yet, but you could already tell that he was at least a little bit barvy, so though you did lower it, you kept your blaster in hand as you jumped off of the worktable. You rested your free hand on your hip.

“You were told right. I may be able to help.”

He just kept silently glowering. So you carried on.

“It depends on what kinda transport you got. I don’t really do starships, though considering how deep down the levels you are, I don’t think that’s what you’ll be needing.”

You moved over to the corner of the workshop and pointed towards a pile of crates with your blaster. It’s where you keep the most commonly needed vehicle parts, on hand and ready to sell for the passer-by’s just like him. “I’m more of a droids gal. But I got a bunch of speeder parts and I am a great technician so I can give it a go. Whattaya need?”

You had swiftly switched into customer-service mode. You straightened your back and flashed a sweet grin, trying to get a read on how rich this good-looking goon was, how many credits you may be able to squeeze out of him.

But he just huffed and barged straight past you, and began to quickly search through all of the boxes of parts on his own. You stuttered on your next words, a bit miffed at his abrupt rudeness. You were used to sleemos of all breeds, but at least the other ones you had done business with spoke more than a couple of words to you. Not even the pirates acted like this. This horned chap was not only scary-yet-sexy and strange, but also terribly impolite.

It didn’t take long before he was mumbling to himself in annoyance, rifling through all of your crates chaotically, no real sense to what he was doing. He clearly needed your guidance but you supposed he should probably figure that out for himself, so you chuckled in disbelief and leaned back on your worktable, watching the stranger willingly waste his own time. You took the opportunity to admire how he looked from the back, and to be a little bit brazen and maybe sneak a quick peak of his rear...

Wait, were those – were those cybernetic legs? They were, impressive ones at that, and your jaw dropped slightly.

“Well I’ll be Kesseled…” you whispered.

Where the kark did he get those kind of synthetics from? No-where around here you were sure. He was definitely not from these parts. Not at all. But either way, he looked good. You were smiling, enjoying the view of this attractive, angry man - that was until he started chucking your vehicle parts on the floor, and you stood up with a frown to scold him.

“Hey, don’t be so rough with those!”

He only grunted in response. “I told you, I can help!” You reminded him. You rolled your eyes as he ignored you again. You picked up your caf, taking a sip, continuing to watch him suffer in his own stubbornness.

But then…then he started throwing things around without touching them.

And that was just too damn much.

The first time he did it you thought it was a trick of the light. But then he did it again, and again, lifting parts out of the crates with a flick of his hand, then sending them flying across the room.

You gasped and your stomach dropped as you realised that he must be one of those wizard folk you hear so much about. Kriff! What’s one of them doing down here at this time of night? What’s one of them doing in your little workshop? And…Oh kark! All of those parts he’s rifling through…they’re stolen!

Is he here to arrest you? Is he looking for some specific part that was thieved from a rich old scummer up top? You knew that you needed to get him to stop rooting around in those crates, hell, you really needed to get him out of here. And more than that, he was throwing all of your belongings around the workshop hard, breaking them, making a ruckus and a mess, ruining your livelihood!

You snapped yourself out of your shock and said, “Excuse me!” to try and get his attention. He ignored you and continued using his odd magic to throw around the contents of the crates.

“Hey!” You objected louder, “What’s your problem? There is an order to this stuff, just tell me what you want and I can see if I got it!”

He ignored you, continuing his hunt for whatever it was he was looking for.

“Look mister, I don’t want no trouble…” you groaned desperately, “And if I ain’t got what it is that you are looking for – there is another repair shop I can point you to that -”

He interrupted you by pushing over one of your boxes, and it collapsed to the ground with a loud crash as engine and motor parts spilled across the floor. By this point, you had had quite enough of this strange man’s antics. You really had reached the end of your blasted tether with him. So you did what any sensible person would have done in this situation.

You shot a warning blast from your pistol.

However – it came real close to hitting him, and looked more like an attempt on his life than a warning blast. It was a total accident, you had never been a good shot. But of course, he didn’t know that, and so responded accordingly to your threat.

He immediately whirled around, fury and disbelief in his eyes as he brought his hand forward and clenched it into a fist. You felt your throat constrict as you were lifted into the air. You dropped the blaster and reached for your neck, gasping frantically as he choked you without touching you.

What the kriff? He’s not just a little bit barvy, he’s entirely barvy!

Confused, scared and completely overwhelmed, you forced yourself to try and say something, anything to get him to stop. “It…was…just…on…stun,” was all you could croak, trying your best to deescalate this situation.

He growled. “I don’t have time for this!” he shouted. He then dropped you to the ground.

You collapsed into the floor, and gasped in air desperately. “Oh,” you said once you got your breath back, “sir, you’re mighty scary.”

He paused and cocked his head, looking down on you curiously – and it was as if he was seeing you for the first time. The anger abated from his features for a moment, replaced with a puzzled look.

“What is wrong with you?”

“Me?!” you squeaked, “What’s wrong with me? Mister, with all due respect to someone of your…um…,” you stuttered, not knowing how to phrase it. He certainly didn’t seem like one of those Jedi wizards. So what was he? “Ugh, you broke into my place in the middle of the night and then started destroying my things without even touching them!”

“So you shot at me?”

“Yes! What else is a girl meant to do in such a situation?” You pulled yourself to your feet, running your hand over your throat. “What the kriff was that all about? What did you go and do that for?”

Karkin’ wizard. That really, really sucked.

“Don’t do that again,” you said. He blinked slowly, as if simultaneously amused and confused by your saying such a thing. He then smirked when he saw your hand caressing the skin of your own throat.

“Why not?” He asked.

You stuttered again. “W-Why not? Why not!?” You raised your voice in frustration. “You bastard, because I’ll shoot you for real next time!” You bent down to pick your blaster back up. But before you could grab it, he sent it to the other side of the room with the flick of a finger.

You scowled at him, and he smirked back at you. A bit better than glaring, you supposed – but then oh no, that didn’t last for long. Because he was soon glaring again. But not in the scary way he did before the wizard-choking.

He started checking you out.

With no shame and no subtlety. He just took the time to properly look you over. He ran his eyes over your body ever so slowly – his line of sight dipped beneath your face, down over your breasts, your stomach, hips and waist, down your legs. And then back up again. He used a languid yet purposeful gaze as he looked over you, assessing and admiring you – thoroughly drinking in the shape of your body. Yes, you thought, he had definitely only just really seen you. His rampage for the transport parts clearly clouded his vision because – well, it was as if he could not get enough of the sight of you now that he was looking.

And it was making you feel…hot.

Maker, yes, he was definitely checking you out. Which was a bit weird considering what had just happened. But what was weirder, was that even after his breaking in, his rudeness, his destruction of your property and his almost choking you to damn death – you liked that he was looking at you in this way. The way his eyes lingered a little too long on your curves caused heat to prick at your cheeks and to pool beneath your belly button. That was when something shifted, and the tension between the two of you morphed into a kind that you were not expecting – but you couldn’t deny that you weren’t mad about where this was heading.

Get it together, you thought to yourself. He may be a looker but he’s also kind of a nutjob. A dangerous one. You can’t go being seduced by someone like him…can you?  

“Ain’t never seen a girl in coveralls before?” you asked, as indifferent as you could manage.

He brought his eyes back up to yours. You took a moment to take him in too, his facial tattoos, his glowing eyes, his crown of horns – and oh Maker, those little diamond shaped markings on his nose? How did you not notice them before? Those are truly adorable. Kriff, you wanted to kiss them, you wanted to run your lips over all of his tattoos – to taste his bold, two-toned skin.

When your line of sight dipped down to his lips, and traced over those sharp patterns of black markings just above them, you had to bite your own bottom lip. Because you thought that despite how striking and somewhat frightening he appeared, his lips looked really soft.

And oh by the Galaxy, did you want to kiss him. You wanted to kiss him all over.

Your breath hitched when you pulled up your eyes to meet his again. You tried your best not to smile or smirk. You did not want him to know that he was having this effect on you – a man busts in to a girl’s home, destroys her wares and then uses sorcery to choke her, then she gets all hot and heavy with him? No way, that wouldn’t be a good precedent to set. Not at all. Even so…you did feel a sweet warmth begin to flutter between your thighs, and even though you did want him to sweep you into his weird, wizard arms – you were also still pissed off at him. And you tried to hold on to that. You didn’t really want him knowing the true extent of how badly you wanted him to bend you over your worktable and have his way with you.

Not yet, at least.

You crossed your arms against your chest and sighed, abruptly ending the odd sexually charged moment between the two of you.

He straightened, standing slightly taller. “Help me find this part,” he demanded.

“Pffft, no chance,” you scoffed. “After that little display? Absolutely not.”

He frowned. Then he sighed, and glared (in the scary way) again. “What?” You chuckled, “hasn’t anyone ever told you no before, stranger?”

You held his gaze and refused to budge. Staring him down as if you weren’t frightened and weirdly turned on by his threatening expression.

“I’m not helping you with a crinkin’ thing after that!” you touched your throat again.

“You are being dramatic,” he scoffed, “you shot me!”

He can’t be serious.

“I did not shoot you!” You huffed, in slight disbelief at the audacity of this crook. “I shot at you. And dramatic? Me? I’m not the one who literally emerges from the shadows and throws things around with invisible magic!”

He smirked, and appeared much less menacing with such a smile on his lips. He seemed amused by your reaction. By the Maker, was he teasing you?

“If you do not do what I say,” he shrugged, “then I will take my business elsewhere.”

Oh that karkin’ bastard. He said it as if that would be the most terrible thing in the galaxy for you. You ain’t that desperate! Credits ain’t everything! What, just because you’re poor means you have to put up with laser-brains like him? Absolutely not.

So you smiled as wide as you could. “Oh good! Finally,” you replied, “please leave.”

He didn’t move. He lingered, staring at you, wearing that slightly perplexed expression again.

“Go on then,” you shooed him with your hands. “Run along now, mister.”

Much less amused, he groans. “I don’t have time –”

“For this, yeah, you kriffing said that already.” You rolled your eyes and couldn’t help the smirk that painted your lips as you interrupted him. He flashed a brief smile then, clearly entertained. The sight was so sweet, yet also implied such depravity that it shot a searing flare of heat to your sex.

He stepped forward, bringing his face closer to yours. Oh kark, he really is so handsome. Dangerously so. And Maker, he smelled good. A woody, deeply masculine scent that made your heart and mind race.

“For such a pretty little thing,” he said, “you have a filthy mouth.”

A shock of white-hot desire drenched you between your legs. Oh. Now that is just damn unfair. His voice was rich, and it cut straight through to your loins. How could it not? The way he spoke was absolutely loaded with nefarious intentions. It was so bad, but it felt so good, and you grinned. You couldn’t help it. It’s been a while since someone ruffled your feathers like this.

“Honey,” you whispered, “you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

He released an approving sigh, the corner of his lips tugging into a hesitant smile.

“Yet?” He crooned, “are you promising something?”

You suddenly felt terribly brave. Kriff it, so what if you want to have your way with this deliciously dark stranger? He may be a no good criminal sorcerer who is particularly rude, but how can you expect any better of someone who has business so deep in the levels down here? And a girl wants what she wants. No helping that.

So you leaned into him, looking into his eyes as you softly spoke.

“Hmmm,” you hummed nonchalantly. “You choke every pretty thing you meet?”

“Just the ones I need to tame,” he replied huskily.

You laughed playfully. “Oh Mister, good luck with that,” and you stepped back, then turned around and away from him. You heard him utter one word, deep and explicit.

“Enough.”

That was when he reached forward with a gloved hand and grabbed the back of your neck harshly. You gasped as he pulled you back around in one swift and quick movement, returning you close to him. He positioned you so that his lips were mere centimetres from your own. You could feel the warmth of his breath of your face, and combined with the robust hold on the back of your neck and his rich, commanding voice – Maker, it made your cunt ache with desire, and you wanted to beg him for his touch there and then.

This was happening.

“My name is Maul,” he stated clearly. “Lord Maul. That is how you will address me.”  

He was gorgeously domineering. So much so that you immediately wanted to please him, you already craved his praise more than your own climax. But you weren’t just going to grovel, not yet. This was much too fun.

“Is that so,” you snickered back, looking into his eyes. “What’s a fancy Lord like you, doing in parts like these, hm?” As you asked, your gaze flickered down, so mesmerised by those lips of his.

He didn’t answer your question. He was clearly as magnetised to your lips as you were to his, because he just kissed you instead. A hard and wet kiss, his tongue snaking into your mouth as soon as you pushed up into him and kissed him back. He groaned, one of his hands on your waist, another in your hair.

And so here you are now – kissing him, his hands pulling at your hair and your coveralls. Your own fingers having already thrown his robe to floor, and now tugging at the neckline of his tunic, your palms running over the hot red-black of his chest. Kriff. This feels both crazy and irresponsible, but also entirely perfect and necessary. You twirl the both of you around and push him back onto your worktable so that can straddle one of his legs. You are suddenly desperate for friction, the wild, yearnful ache between your thighs utterly unbearable –  and so you grind down onto the hardness of his metal synthetic limb. He groans his approval into your mouth, and his touch becomes harder, his grasp tighter.

“I thought you didn’t have time for this my Lord,” you whisper into the kiss. He bites your lip in response, and you snicker a soft tut.

“Mmm,” he hums, his hands running down your shoulders, around to your back and then he reaches down and squeezes hard at your ass. You hiss and arch into the touch, and he raises his leg, rubbing the firmness of it into the growing wetness of your sex. “You really are a wicked little thing.”

You purr at his observation, deepening your kiss and sucking on his tongue. You pull his tunic off and claw at the newly revealed flesh. His skin is so hot, and all you can think about is licking him, biting him, grinding your slickness all over him. You pull your lips from his to trail them across his jaw and up to his ear.

“Yes,” you agree with him, “Though I’m not usually like this – I swear.” He groans, one of his hands now grasping tightly on your hip, pulling your body down roughly onto his leg. You rub into him automatically, frantic for his touch. “You put a spell on me or something?” you whisper.

He moves your face to bring your lips back to his, and his kiss becomes lethargic and gentle, as if you are suddenly the most breakable little lady in the galaxy. “What should I call you?” he asks.

“Oh cut the kark,” you chide him harshly. “I know you’re from one of those no good crime gangs. Don’t act like you’re some kind of gentleman kissing me all soft like that, asking for my name like you care who I am.”

He grunts, and grasps your face, and then brings his lips to your ear. “So you like gangsters, is that it? You like criminals? Bad men?”

Oh Maker. Now this feels a bit dangerous. But it also feels so good. Your core is burning up real nice now, and you think that you might not be able to hang on much too longer before you really do melt into a puddle at his feet.

“Depends,” you reply in a hoarse voice. “Are you a gangster? A criminal?”

He bucks his leg up into you then, and a sharp moan falls from your lips as he rubs against that sweet bundle of nerves through the material of your coveralls.

“Are you a bad man, Lord Maul?” you coo as you grind down on to him.

He groans, kissing at your throat, running his teeth over the sensitive skin. You gasp at the sharp scraping pain it causes, but lean into it, allowing him to mark you.

Your hands explore his body and roam lower, down his torso and to his hips. Then your fingers graze over something cold, a long cylinder of metal. A weapon? Two of them. You find on the opposing side of him that there is another, a shorter one, and less smooth, more –

He snatches your wrist at once, and pulls on your arm hard. “Do not even think about it,” he commands.

You tut and giggle at his seriousness. “Whatever.”

He whirls on you then, switching your positions so that you are now against the worktable, pulling back from you yet holding tightly on to your wrist with a strong hand.

“What’s so funny, girl?” he questions you.

And then there is suddenly a cold pressure beneath your face. Your eyes meet his, and a shock of numbness washes over you as you understand the threat of what he is doing. He is using the hilt of the weapon you just touched to tilt your head up, to make you look at him. The weapon, that you now understand, is a lightsaber. Of course. The chosen weapon of sorcerers everywhere. You haven’t ever seen one this close up before, you haven’t had the misfortune of crossing the kind that uses them. But of course, you have caught a glimpse of the glowing blades in your lifetime, as they never fail to cause a scene. They always make quite the ruckus – especially when wielded by the types of people down here, thugs who end up with them from the black market...or more rarely, from slaying a wizard themselves.

“Do you think this is a joke?”

“N-not anymore, I suppose…” you squeak in reply, your voice wobbling at having such a weapon against your skin.

He slowly drags the hilt of his blade down your throat, a cruel ghost of a smile on his lips. He is clearly enjoying rattling you in this way. He is gentle though, the touch has basically no pressure now. It is a delicate caress of cold danger as it grazes your flushed, kiss bruised skin. His eyes dip and follow the hilt as it trails lower, down to the collar of your coveralls.

“You like what you see?” You whimper, any bite that you intended with the comment does not translate. Surprisingly, you are far too turned on at this point for any of your sass to cut through.

He nods apathetically, as if he does not really care one way or another. Karkin’ bastard, you think. His eyes have now dipped beneath your clothing, pulling your neckline down with his saber hilt to admire your breasts. What a day to not wear your chest wrap.

“Hmm,” he groans, pulling the hilt away from you, releasing your wrist from his grasp. You whimper at the loss, and he looks at you in surprise.

“Why…” you start, “why’d you stop?”

“You want me to carry on?”

You nod.

“Tell me,” he says.

You bring your hands to your neckline, then swiftly undo the front of your coveralls, pulling the upper half free from your shoulders so that your naked chest is now exposed to him. Then you push the garment lower, exposing your stomach. You push it down until it hangs off of your hips, not yet revealing anything below your lower abdomen.

“Keep going,” you say softly. You lean back on the worktop on your hands, shaking your hair out of your face and behind yourself, then arch your back so you push your chest forward for him.

“Please,” you add, for good measure.

He sucks in a sharp breath, his yellow eyes hungrily taking in the sight of your newly exposed skin, glazing greedily across your breasts and nipples. And then he moves, he moves so fast, returning the hilt of his blade to your throat.

And then – then he also has the hilt of his second blade in his hand, the longer one. He rests it gently against your sternum, just under and between your breasts. You release a sharp hiss, the threat of two of these weapons on your body now almost too much for you. Almost.

He keeps the first hilt hard at your throat, keeping your head up and your eyes on his. The touch of the other is much lighter. The metal of the long, cylindrical hilt is cold, and he drags it down, ever so slowly. Until it meets and passes your belly button. Then lower and lower, until it hitches on your clothing. He tuts, dragging the hilt down harder, pulling it over the material and continuing the leisurely journey down your body.

Then he slides it between your legs.

You gasp gently as you feel the cold metal press against the blazing heat of your sex through the material that separates it from you. The hardness of it feels good but - dare you grind down on to it? You do not know how these things work, how they are powered.

He smirks, as if he can sense what you want, and your hesitation in doing so. “How badly do you need my touch?” He asks. “And be honest with me,” he insists.

You take a long, deep breath. You do not dare lie to him.

“Mister, I’ve wanted you to bend me over this here table since I first saw that handsome face of yours.”

He pushes the hilt up into your cunt hard – both your fear and desire surge, and a flustered moan is torn from your throat. He warns you, “I told you how to address me.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter, “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Good girl,” he praises you quietly, leaning forward and planting a peck on your lips.

Then he pulls his weapons away from your body, and returns them to their place on his hips. You release a tortured breath, whining pathetically at the loss. Then you reach forward, wanting to touch him, wanting him to touch you. You run your fingers down his arms, and then you take one of his hands in your own. You peel his glove off and throw it to the ground. You do the same to his other hand, then you bring them both to your lips to kiss them. His hands are rough and marked by those black tattoos – they extend up his fingers, bleeding into his long black nails. The markings are not as bold on his hands and fingers as the rest of his body, his palms especially, faded from years of friction with his choice of weapon, you assume. You squeeze at his wrists, and then bring his hands to your chest, encouraging him to feel you.

“Please,” you say, “please touch me.”

You close your eyes and throw your head back as a clawed finger scratches down your left breast, then he takes the bud of your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You shudder, and your breath hitches as his touch sends shivers of hot desire through your core.

He cups your right breast in his other hand. “I have been holding back…” he whispers, and then squeezes you, hard. “Holding back, all of the things that I want to do to you...”

“Why?” you ask, slightly surprised. You open your eyes, keeping them trained on his face. He is looking down at the bare skin of your breasts, watching his own long nails scratch and pinch the soft flesh of them.

“I did not know if you were truly willing,” he says.

You noted his use of the past tense. “Did not? Do you know now?”

His eyes dance across your erect nipples, how you are keening into his fingers. Then they flicker down to witness the way that you wantonly try to grind your clothed sex into his cybernetic leg.

“Hmm. I have an idea,” he replies. “Though I would prefer you to use your words.”

“Yes,” you say, “Yes, I am willing.”

He tilts his head very gently.

“I want you, Lord Maul,” you whine, and addressing him in this way causes a sly smile to tug at his lips. One of his hands is suddenly around your throat, and your face is intimately close to his again.

“If you change your mind, you will tell me immediately,” he insists.

“Yes,” you whimper, “of course.”

“Good,” he says. Then, much huskier in tone, “you will do as I say?”

“Yes,” you confirm, that carnal ache between your thighs becoming almost too much to bear. “Yes, anything.”

“Then strip naked,” he demands, pulling you off of the table and stepping back.

You obey him without hesitation, hooking your fingers into the material at your hips and pulling the remainder of your clothing down. You then step out of the coveralls, now wearing only your panties.

You simper at him, leaning back against the table.

“I said naked,” he reaffirms, scowling at your accidental insolence.

Before you get the opportunity to fix your mistake, he is on you. He picks you up easily, and effortlessly places you on to the workstation. He then throws everything that is on the table to the ground with an indifferent wave of his hand. The loud clatter of metal smashing on the floor makes you groan in annoyance – but you do not feel anything more than mild irritation at his apathy towards your work and your tools, towards your personal belongings. It should probably make you much more furious. It should probably make you want to slap the bastard to the other side of the galaxy. You should care, you should be mad, you should tell him to kriff himself and to get the kark out of here – but you can’t.

Because you don’t want to. You are now consumed only by lust. In fact – Maker, you want the table cleared and ready for you, you want him to disregard absolutely everything that isn’t your body. And by the Planets – there is something about his destructive nature that is utterly bewitching. How his touch, no matter how violent, makes your body only yearn more for him. How his words, no matter how threatening, makes you want to naturally submit to whatever he says. How you crave only to obey him as if it is what you were created to do.

He throws you down on to your back and pulls your legs apart, then positions himself between them. He is now standing up straight, each of your legs on either of his shoulders. He runs his hard, callused hands down them, feeling the softness of your bare skin. He starts at your ankles, and moves insufferably slow down the length of them towards your cunt. When he reaches your lower thighs, he dips his hands inwards and spreads his fingers, squeezing at the flesh of the inside of them before roughly spreading you open. You let out a loud, shocked moan, but then it bleeds into a needy whimper as he begins to lightly touch the edge of your panties. You start to needily arch your back, impatiently trying to push your cunt forward into his touch. Before you are able to fully do so, a hand pushes down on your lower torso, returning you flat against the surface of the table.

“Stay still,” he demands.

You whimper into submission, your fists clenched in anticipation as he ever so slowly runs his fingers across the thin material above your sex, teasing you with his featherlight touch. You are lust-stricken as you look up at him looming above you. His toned chest moves calmly with steady breaths, the shadow of his crown of horns appears so regal in the low-light, and his glowing eyes are fixated solely on how his tattooed fingers taunt your dripping cunt. He hums a moan as he reaches your entrance, lingering on the damp material of your underwear. “So wet already,” he says with a tut. “And I haven’t even begun.”   

And then he is cupping your cunt with his palm, and the heat of his hand feels so good that it is too much to bear, so you go to sit up, to shove yourself forward and rub into him – but you are swiftly thrown back by an unseeable Force, struck down into the hard metal of your worktable, as if he had heaved a great weight on top of you. But there is nothing there; one of his hands squeezes your inner thigh, the fingers of the other making light circles over your underwear. But you now lie there unmoving, as if strapped to the table with invisible bindings, and no matter how hard you try to thrash around, you cannot budge an inch.

“I am in control,” he says. “If you will not stay down, then I will make you stay down.”

You can only groan in retaliation, a mix of frustration and pure heat coursing through your veins. “Do you understand?” he asks. You feel a slight slackening on your ghostly chains, just enough for you to nod at him. “Good. Now tell me, you filthy, wicked little whore,” he smirks, “do you enjoy being subjected to my power in this way?”

“Yes,” you reply instantly, “yes.” He must also enjoy holding you down like this, because you immediately return to being unable to move at all. You cry out a broken “please,” practically begging him to strip you down, to please keep going – and he hums a cruel chuckle as you continue to whine for his touch.

He must take pity on you then, because he permits you the small mercy of finally being bare for him. The fingers of both of his hands skirt up to the top of your underwear, his nails slip beneath them and he pulls them down. He tugs them past your rear, then uses one of his hands to raise up your legs, the other he uses to pull your panties off of you. He throws them aside, then ever so slowly, painfully slowly, spreads your thighs again.

He sharply inhales as he finally takes pleasure in the sight of your soaked cunt. “Oh,” he groans huskily, “you are simply desperate for this, are you not?” He brings his eyes back to yours, and you groan in agreement. Yes, yes, Maker damn him, you are entirely in despair, so utterly teeming with desire that you cannot think. When you see his fingers dip out of view between your legs, you flutter your eyes shut and take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the sweet relief of his touch, for a reprieve from his torment.  

As his fingers circle your clitoris and he finally exerts some pressure onto you, you cry out in relief. Now that he is finally touching you, the noises he coaxes from you cannot be silenced. They never could be, even if he gagged you or forced your mouth shut with his wizardry, you would find a way to moan his name, to purr your high-pitched, gratified whines. It feels much too good. His fingers glide down the slickness of your slit, and you want nothing more than to move closer to him, for him to rub into you harder – but you are still held down to the table with his power. It is an addictive, dizzying frustration, being authorised only micro-doses of his touch. Not yet satisfied, so desperate for more – yet overwhelmingly grateful for more when it inevitably arrives.

“Good,” he praises you, “let me hear you.” You do not need to be told twice. Unable to physically react or squirm beneath him, all you are able to do is sob your approval in hearty, raw moans as he begins to work your aching cunt with his hands. He moves harder, then faster, listening to your whimpers to determine the specific spots that will most exploit your pleasure. Then he teases at your entrance, and pushes into you slowly. Kriff. His fingers dance the sweetest rhythm between your thighs, and the welcome intrusion is dazzling. He slips in a second finger, crooning them both deep inside of you – and then Maker, a third. As he stretches you out, you already feel the hot coil of climax stir in your lower abdomen. It will not be long now – but you wish you could move, that you could sit up and watch him plunge his fingers in and out of you as you come all over them.

At that exact moment, you are released from your invisible bondage, movement returned to your body. “Writhe for me, pretty girl,” he commands. And you do, as he works his fingers in and out of you with one hand, the fingers of his other dancing circles on your clit – you contort in pleasure beneath his touch, your back arching, your hands gripping the sides of the table with tense knuckles. This stranger, this terrifying and intoxicating man – kark, with such simple movements he is making you feel a way that no one else has ever been able to before. You rock down into his hands, and he groans at your shamelessness, at your unabashed desperation. “Please,” you whine, “please, I’m going to – ”

“No,” he says sternly. “Not yet.”

His commanding voice does not help his cause, as it cuts deep into your blossoming orgasm, flaming it further onwards. You ignore his instruction and groan as you begin to clamp down on to his fingers, throwing your head back and awaiting that glorious tide of satisfaction to wash over you. But it never comes, you never come. Because he growls and pulls himself out of you. Depriving you of your climax, leaving you empty and whimpering pathetically beneath him. 

“I said not yet,” he reiterates harshly. Then you sit up and raise your eyes to his face. He releases an irritated tsk, then says, “such insolence will not go unpunished.”

You are sitting up now, looking at him with bewilderment and disbelief painted across your features. You watch as the bastard spits at your cunt, which sends a surprising hot jolt of pleasure up your body. What the Galaxy? Why was that so kriffing hot? You find yourself wanting him to do it again. He then gives your sex a sharp smack, and you cry out a startled whine. He grins, pulling your legs forward so you are now perching at the end of the table, so very close to him again.

Then he is taking the hilt of the longer lightsaber from his hip and bringing it to your face.

You curse under your breath as he places the tip of it against your cheek. The thrill of having such a dangerous weapon on your body again surges through you, and you go to grind on to him, his leg, his fingers, anything – you just want to rub down onto something. He smirks callously, his eye line flickering down as you clench on nothing, empty and destitute of satisfaction.

“Patience,” he says, pushing the saber hilt against your lips, his eyes darken as he senses both the lust and fear it stirs inside of you. You take a deep breath through your nose, and then boldly, you look into his eyes and purse your lips, kissing the hilt of his weapon.

“Brave girl,” he observes, then catches your chin in his free hand. He pulls down on your lower jaw, and you let him open your mouth. He glares at you, and you know what he wants. So you push out your tongue and he places the hilt on to it, holding your face still as he pushes it deeper into your mouth.

You have a sharp, jarring moment of fear-based clarity – where you think, what the kriff are you doing? This is a lightsaber. Not any old metal blade or a karking blaster with the safety on, a saber, which could ignite at any moment and tear your face in half. Again, you consider – that logically, you should be terrified, if you were sensible you would be pulling away and telling this man where he can shove his blasted laser sword. But you don’t. Because in this moment, you aren’t logical or sensible. You don’t want to be. You want to take his weapon in your mouth, you want to let him discipline you for you indiscretions, to spit and smack and hurt you. Maker, why does this feel so good? It does not seem to make any sense, how absolutely depraved you are feeling, how much you yearn for his dominance. But it doesn’t have to make sense. Because the newness of such a craving is exciting, this brazen dalliance is so dreamlike. You know more than anything that you want this, that you want it to be this way. And you know that you will do anything for him, to please and pleasure him, to gain his permission for your orgasm.

“There she is,” he purrs, watching your face relax around the blade’s hilt as you fully give in to his control, submitting fully to his will. “There’s my obedient little slut.” He chuckles, a powerful and cold sound – “Oh, I knew you had it in you.”

He pulls the saber out of your mouth quickly, and it makes you jump. He hushes you and cups your cheek in his palm, then plants a gentle kiss on your lips. “Good girl,” he praises you. You whimper into his mouth, your cunt now blazing for the return of his touch, of any touch – and so you automatically go to move your hands so that you can play with yourself. He catches your wrist with a tut. “Oh, I am not done yet,” he warns.

He steps back and places the both of his weapons to the side. Then he pulls away the material that covers his upper legs. You blink rapidly as you take in the sight of his cybernetics, not only at how impressive they are – but in awe at the fact that he has a cybernetic cock. Your mouth waters in pleasant surprise. You did not expect this, you did not know such a thing existed. “Kriff,” you mutter, running your eyes over the hard length of him – solid and thick, the colour as dark as the black ink of his tattoos, and though you recognise that it is synth-skin that coats the outer layer of it, you do not know synthetics of this kind well enough to say with certainty how he will feel inside of you.

Making you all the more exhilarated to find out.

“So vulgar,” he scolds you, and swiftly his hands are on you, pulling you down to the ground by the back of your neck, and pushing you on to your knees before him. “Now,” he says, grabbing the back of your hair with a strong fist, “shall we put that filthy mouth of yours to good use?” You are already salivating, so ready to take him in your mouth, to taste him. He tugs on your hair to make your eyes meet his, and his expression is expectant.

“When I ask you a question,” he growls, “you answer me.”

“Yes,” you reply. “Yes, Lord Maul.”

“Better,” he says. “So?”

You nod, “yes, please, let me – ”

He cuts you off. “Open.”

You obey him. Then he slides his pointer and middle finger into your mouth, still so slick with your own wetness. You suck him in further, and with a groan he pushes deeper, teasing your throat, your tongue brazenly lapping at the taste of yourself on his fingers. You close your eyes and moan as he reaches further in, and his knuckles knock into your teeth. He hums a moan, then he is pulling out quickly with a wet popping noise. He curses in language you cannot quite place, but the sound is rich and laced with a sensual hunger.

“I cannot resist you anymore,” he confesses. You suck in a greedy breath, your eyes fluttering open, looking forward to the length of his cock. “Look up, look at me,” he commands, “let me see those eyes.”

You do as he says, and though you cannot see him do it, you know that he takes his cock in his hand. “Put your hands on my legs,” he says. You rest them just above his metal knees, on the synth-skin of his thighs. “They stay there,” he says. “If you want me to stop, you tap me. Twice. Do it now.” You do. “I can feel that. If you do that I will stop. Do you understand?”

You nod, and a moaning hum slips from your lips in anticipation of what is to come.

“Good girl. Now open your mouth for me.”

You obey. “Do not dare be careless,” he warns, “I can feel everything.” Then he brings the tip of his cock to your lips, and pushes inside. You lick at his shaft, working on getting him wet, tasting the hardness of him. He tastes and feels like real skin, though his cock is really firm, harder than an organic one – but he is not as tough as durasteel or metal. As you work on taking him further into your mouth, you moan around his cock, imagining the feel of him deep inside of your cunt, dreaming about how hot and full you would feel. Will feel – with any luck, soon. Both of his hands are in your hair now, and he tugs you forward, encouraging himself deeper.

“That’s it,” he purrs, “you are already doing so well.”

Your nipples keen into hard buds at his praise, your aching cunt clenching on to nothing. You want to touch yourself – you even think about it. But you do not dare move your hands, you no longer want to disobey him. You want to please him, this cold, dangerous stranger, you want to prove yourself to him. And more selfishly, you cannot possibly risk depriving yourself of the bliss that you will earn once you have followed his instructions. You focus on breathing through your nose, and you squeeze on his legs as he begins a steady thrust in and out of your mouth. He moves faster, and you begin to choke, making raspy, wet and ragged noises. He pulls out with a loud groan, and you gasp, a thread of spittle still connecting you to his shaft.

“Good,” he groans, letting you get your breath back. “Now deeper.”

And then he shoves himself back inside. You work on swallowing him down, switching between holding your breath and breathing through your nose, trying to determine what works best. Once you get the hang of it, he holds on to your head tightly, then buries his cock deep in your throat. Then he pulls back, and you gasp, steadying your breathing. He does this several times, a chaotic, hard set of thrusts – then holds himself in as deep as you can take him, then he releases you, and you gasp for air, your eyes streaming and lips dribbling with your own spit.

“You messy little whore,” he mutters, running a finger down your cheek, now stained with tears. You heave in deep breaths, looking up at him. You feel a deep resentment for him, still holding a grudge for his rudeness and his entitlement – but at the same time, those same qualities make you feel so hot, so attracted to him. They make you want to please him, and as you look up at him with wide, wet eyes, you are find you are hoping for some kind of praise. He obliges. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you, “you look prettier than ever.” You smile and squeeze his legs.

“Again,” he says. You take him back in your mouth. On instinct and without really noticing, you slide one of your hands down his leg, your cunt desperate for your own fingers. He notices though, of course – and loosens a hand from your hair to catch your wrist and put your hand back.

“No,” he insists. “You want to touch yourself so badly? Then you need to earn it,” he says. “Prove you deserve it.”

So you do. You begin to bob your head, working the length of him in and out of your mouth. “Try harder. Lean on me,” he says. You do so, putting your weight forward against him via your hands as you desperately work your mouth over his length, focusing only on pushing him deep into your throat and out again, over and over, breathing sporadically through your nose, choking on him and your own saliva, making a complete and utter mess of yourself. You have no idea how long you are on your knees for him, but you enjoy every second. You love being told what to do, you find great satisfaction in making him moan, and the longer you take his cock in this way, the better you get at it. His growls and groans of pleasure are each more guttural than the last. You are so lost in the moment that you do not realise he has had his fill of your mouth until you are being lifted from the ground.

“Up,” he says, taking your elbow in his hand and heaving you to your feet. You settle on unsteady legs, weak from being down on the floor for so long, and from the intensity of your carnal appetite – Maker, your cunt is absolutely dripping. You cannot remember a time ever being so wet.

He snakes a hand through your hair, clearing your face and taking the opportunity to look at you. He growls softly, “pretty, filthy girl. I am going to ravish you,” he promises. Before you get a chance to respond, he lifts you back on to the table, and with a grin pushes you down into it with his sorcery – though he does not hold you down once you are there.

He drops to his knees before you - and positions himself so that the only part of you he can see is your sodden cunt. You lean up to watch him, and his hands grasp on tightly to your hips. He pulls you forward, your legs over his shoulders, and your weight onto him – then buries his face between your thighs.

It is instantly the most incredible, dizzying pleasure you have ever experienced. He laps at your clitoris with excessive devotion, and the determined swirl of his tongue is pure bliss – it sends sweet surges of hot satisfaction through your body, and oh Maker, he is relentless – he doesn’t stop, he hardly breathes, he just focuses entirely on your pleasure, on the wet, sultry deliciousness of your sex. It is so euphoric that you begin to believe you have fallen into an entirely different state of being.

His strong voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to come?” he asks into your slickness, his hot breath as gorgeous a feeling as the caress of his tongue. “Would you like that?”

You reply with a string of pathetic whines, crying out “yes, yes, yes” over and over again. He chuckles, a deep booming laugh of pity that vibrates into your lower half. “Then come, you beautiful girl,” he says, “I want you to come.”

Then his tongue is back on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you fast and hard, both hitting those wonderful parts of you exactly where you need them to – and it is so incredibly perfect. You squeeze your thighs around his head, and the horns at his temples dig into your soft flesh. You throw yourself back to the worktable with abandon, your hands grasp at your own breasts, your lips release frenzied moans. And then you are coming – a scorching orgasm, profound and consuming, it washes across the entirety of your body. Your cunt clenches on to his thrusting fingers, and he doesn’t stop his movements, not one bit. He keeps pumping and licking, working you with the utmost dedication, dragging out your peak as long as he can. Your legs begin to shake, and when your climax finally abates and your muscles relax – your mind is scattered and clouded in an orgasm-stricken haze.

You moan in contentment, unable to speak. He hums into your cunt, teasing and smug. “Are you quite ready for me?” He asks, “are you ready to take my cock now? Do you think that you deserve it?” He plants a final, gentle kiss on your slit as he pulls back and stands up.

You cannot seem to form what you want to say, still so speechless from your peak. You can only bring yourself to spread your thighs in response, opening yourself up to him and hoping he understands. “Mmm,” he moans. “I do like to see you in this way. But use your words,” he demands. “Tell me what I know you want.”

“P-please,” you whine, and he looms over you, settling himself between your legs which are opened up so wide for him. He stares down at your cunt, so perfectly soaked and stretched, just begging to be used by him. His hands run up your body, and then he is leaning over you and his lips are at your neck, his tongue hot and wet lapping at your skin, as if he can encourage the words out of you with his kisses. It works. “Yes,” you whimper, as he drags his teeth down, sharp and wild as he bites at the soft flesh of your breasts. “Yes, please.”

He catches your wrist as he moves back, pulling you to your feet. Then he whirls you around and bends you over the table, crossing your arms behind your back, gripping on to them tightly.

“Take me,” you moan, “take me, please, please.”

“Since you asked so nicely,” he says, aligning his cock at your entrance. You try and move back into him, but his grasp on you is rock solid. “We have already practiced this, sweet, filthy girl,” he says. “Stay still.”

You stop moving, doing as he says. With a sigh of approval, he uses the cold metal of his lower synthetic leg to spread your thighs open further, and then he pushes his cock into you. He groans as he easily slips inside, your cunt so wet from all of his previous attention. You cry out enthused, whimpering moans as he then begins to move in and out of you, slow at first as you adjust to the length of him. But then he rocks into you hard, and he is soon in to the hilt – and Maker, the feeling of fullness is even better than you first imagined. He thrusts hard, over and over again, smacking the full weight of himself into you with each pound of his cock. One of his hands still holds your wrists tightly behind your back, the other he uses to grab the back of your neck, pushing you down firmly into the table.

He moves so rapidly, his cock drumming into you at a deliciously quick pace, his weight so heavy and severe against your backside. You groan through gritted teeth, and his hand slips to your throat, pulling your head up so that when he leans forwards, his lips are at your ear.

“You can take it,” he says, then slides two fingers into your mouth, and you moan around them as he pounds into you, again and again and again. He eventually lets go of you, throwing you down without concern – and you can tell from that gesture alone that he has been holding back, and that such weakness ends here. He is about to give you his all.

And by the Galaxy, are you ready for it.

He moves his hands to your ass and grips at you hard, his long nails claw at your soft flesh, using you as leverage to truly tame you, using the drumming rhythm of his cock to ride you into total submission. He does not relent, he just keeps going and going. He is merciless as he has his way with you, growling deep, harsh noises as he uses you and your body for his own gratification. It is so intoxicating, and you lie there unmoving, limp and pliant for the taking. He keeps going and going, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, each moan he growls stoking that carnal fire within – until there it is, and another roaring orgasm tears through you, and it is such a thundering ecstasy that you scream his name again and again and again. He praises you with brash and filthy words, telling you how good and tight you are as your walls clamp around him.

You pant, breathing through the frenzy with deep, desperate gasps. He pulls out of you and grabs your body, throwing you to the floor. You laugh as he catches you just before you hit the ground. “My hero,” you say sarcastically. He lowers you down gently on to your back and falls between your legs. “I thought that I actually shut you up,” he says with a smirk. You lean up to catch that smug smile of his in a passionate kiss. He sucks on your tongue, then he sheathes himself back inside of you. You moan into his mouth, and he kisses you over and over again as he restarts that beautiful, hard rhythm.

“Tell me your name,” he groans between kisses, “tell me.” You gasp as he thrusts his cock inside of you deeply, holding your frame tightly in his arms as he does so. You reveal to him your name, pecking the corner of his mouth after you say it. Then he repeats it back to you, and the way he says it – kriff, it is such a gorgeous, addictive sound coming from his lips, such music when it is said in his rich and commanding voice.

“Look at me,” he demands into your lips. You pull away from the kiss to do as he says. “Keep your eyes on my face now. I want you to watch me as I ravish you.”

You lie back and hook your legs around his hips, gazing up at him as he takes you harshly into the ground. His handsome, tattooed face is no longer hard and unmoving like when you first saw him. He is thoroughly enjoying you, his expression softened with pure delight and satisfaction, his bright eyes burning into yours – until he stutters in his movements, until his moans become a decadent mix of curses, until his grasp on you tightens and he shuts his eyes as your heat and your obedience coax him into his own climax.

He groans through it, slowing his movements and breathing heavily, until his hold on you becomes lax and he slowly slumps forward on top of you. You pant beneath him, your heart racing. Maker. That was incredible, of course but – but it was also absolutely the most barvy and unexpected thing you have experienced in a long time. And by the Planets - you are shattered. You are certain now that you will finally be able to get some sleep tonight. You wrap your arms around Maul’s neck, planting a kiss on his cheek.

He hums a “mmm”, softly removing himself from within you and then lying beside you, so that you are both on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. You are both silent for a few moments. You tilt your head towards him to look at him, taking in the sight of his side profile. He is so striking, even when he is at ease like this, when he is calm and truly relaxed. His eyes are closed now, and he is clearly still basking in the euphoria of his own orgasm. You don’t actually know how it works, how his cybernetics allow him to experience such a thing – but it must feel damn good, considering how serene this once terrifying, severe man appears now. His fingers find their way to your hand and he traces small, gentle circles into your palm.  

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“I’ve been better,” you reply.

He opens his eyes and tilts his head towards you with a glare, and you grin.

“Nah, I’m just playing with you,” you say, rolling onto your side. “I feel great.”

He smirks, doing the same, moving to lie on his side. He bends his arm and leans his head on to his hand. “This was unexpected,” he says.

You roll your eyes and shoot him a look. He smirks again, taking a deep breath. “A pleasant surprise, nonetheless.”

You nod in agreement, curling your body into yourself. He runs his free hand up your arm, watching as you smile at his touch. There is a moment of raw fondness between you, and it is strange – but also nice.

“Well…” he says, then his eyes glaze past your face and he stares behind you, and then he squints, that puzzled expression returning. “What?” you say curiously. He smirks, raising his hand from your arm, up into the air. A piece of metal shoots past your head and into his hand. “That’s just what I was looking for.”

You stutter, “you bastard, that almost hit me!”

He rolls his eyes and then sits up, groaning as he eventually stands. You stay on the floor, trying to summon the energy to crawl over to your sleep mat.

“You’re gonna have to pay me for that,” you say.

He slowly turns his head, raking his eyes over you and flashes an amused smile.

Then you understand how that sounded. “No not for that, no the – ” you groan. “For the part, laser-brains.” You sit up and reference the multitude of broken scrap around you. “And for all of this mess too, actually.”

He dresses himself, grabbing his weapons with a self-satisfied expression as he hooks them to his hips.

“I’m good for it,” he says.

“Yeah, sure, I’ve heard that before.”

“I’ll wire it over,” he mutters, “where is your – ”

“Fine,” you point to the other side of the room, where your datapad is. “You better.”

“What?” He says, picking it up and tapping at the thing – presumably, hopefully actually sorting the payment. “Don’t you trust me?”

“You are so lucky you’re a looker,” you say, rolling over, heaving yourself on to your sleep mat, and pulling your blanket over you to cover your nakedness. He throws the datapad down, then picks up his robe from the floor.

“Hey – I didn’t tell you how much you owe me!”

“It’s covered,” he says.  

“Good,” you laugh, “Now get out of here. You rudely broke in here, and now I’m rudely kicking you out. I need to sleep, even more so now that I have to deal with the ruckus you’ve caused in here tomorrow. And I know that you don't have time for this. You are clearly a very busy man, you've got some crimes to commit I’m sure.”

“Something like that,” he says.

“Who told you to come here anyway?” You ask, “you said someone told you this was the place to come get your parts?”

“Some Rodian in the tavern down there,” he replies indifferently, pointing in the direction he means, then pulling on his robe.

Ah. So maybe she was your friend after all. Or maybe she just felt bad for swindling you for the box of trash. Or maybe she really hated you and sent a murderous wizard your way, hoping for your demise. Either way, you were mighty grateful she did send him on his way to you. You just had the best sex of your life, and now you were about to finally get some decent shut eye. Maybe you’d even buy her a drink.

Maybe. Depends on what you can sell those damn parts for.

“By the way,” you say before he leaves, “I’m sorry for shooting at you.” Then you blow him a kiss in an exaggerated gesture. “I’m sure glad I missed.”

He scowls, then takes one last look at you, orgasm-dazed and relaxed on your sleep mat – and he smirks.

“Mmmm,” he says. “Also, I did not break in, as you put it so many times. I walked in. You left the door unlocked.”

“Awh, hell,” you say. “Get that for me on the way out, will you?”

“As long as you leave it open next Primeday,” he shoots you that sultry glare that you have grown to like so much.

You huff a laugh. “If I don’t, be sure to break in anyway.”

Then he disappears into the shadows, and when you hear the click of the door’s lock, you close your eyes. Karkin’ wizard, you think, finally exhausted enough to fall asleep.

The usual racket of Level 1313 does not wake you for the rest of the night and into the late morning, not even once.  

--

my ao3 / my masterlist

tagging: @corona-one​ @seriowan​ @kimageddon​ @gggoldfinch​ @elledjarin​ @lifeless-being​ @the-good-shittt​

[messenger-of-stupidity]

Protocol Mug - Day Three

Welcome to day three! I actually enjoyed writing this. The dynamic between Asset and James is barely in existence, but the few videos they interact are some of my favorites. So enjoy.

Prompt: Hand-painted mugs

Characters: James and Asset

CW: Mentions of distrust, reverse of progress, worries about the future, a hint of mystery, fluff if you squint. And I mean if you squint like you’re half blind and are trying to see the details of a mosquito’s wings. Might as well get a fucking microscope at this point, minimal cursing 

Masterlist

Asset followed the security guard down the hall, the noise compressors installed into their body silencing the otherwise loud metallic footsteps they would have had against the linoleum. They stared straight ahead, line of sight bypassing the security guards shoulder.

The day had started out simply enough. They had powered on Marcus would have said they should use the term "woken up" because it made them more relatable to humans, which would improve their social standing, and picked out an outfit to wear today. Granted there was no variation. But they could pick out which white long sleeved shirt and light gray pants they wished to wear. Footwear was unnecessary and their installment team wanted to test the noise compression updates. They were partial to the socks commonly found within a human hospital that allowed for the wearer to find friction on the ground for movement. They liked the soft sound of it sticking. Plus when they were well and truly alone, as much as they could be, they could turn the sock around and use the fabric to slide this way and that.

They had been waiting for the first summons or appointment when the security guard had come to get them. That only ever meant one thing. They were going to meet with James.

She didn't acknowledge them as she knocked on the door to James' office. She only departed when the door was pulled open and Asset was greeted with his smiling face. Smiles can't be trusted. Don't start now.

"Good morning. How are you doing?" James asked them as they entered. The bionic eyes shifted in their sockets, documenting every new and little shift of their surroundings before they took their usual seat.

"I'm well. All my systems are functioning properly, and the new upgrades appear to be working as the installment team had hoped. As for my emotional health, nothing today has gone wrong to cause a dip within my... happiness." They answered, hands folding in their lap as they looked at James carefully. "How are you this morning?" James smiled at them, but it was soon replaced by a frown. Their emotional detection reasoning spun as they tried to orient and assign an emotion to the expression on his face.

"A bit troubled if I'm being honest. I'm worried about you. Do you want to tell me what's going on?" They seriously doubted that he needed anything from them. After all every activity they participated in, whether scheduled or not, was documented and reported to him and his own teams. So he would know everything. They looked away.

"I don't know what you are referring to. Please specify." They replied. It was a demand, but James knew they meant it as a question.

"Gladly. The newly appointed lead for your social protocol team reported you as uncooperative and disinterested." If they were human, they might have flinched. But they weren't, so they remained still with their expression carefully maintained. "And it's only with your social protocol. I can understand how it might unnerved you, but is there another reason why you want to avoid all interactions with the team?" He asked. They wished he hadn't been so thorough with his question. It had been purely analytical, so there was no room to dodge or leave information out. He certainly had a knack for getting to the heart and root of all of their problems.

They fidgeted with the stitched hem of their shirt. He knew it was on purpose though. Every action that seemed accidental was always done on purpose and thought through.

"I don't want to risk something like the code happening again." They muttered and James nodded with a sigh. They didn't like it, but they kept the opinion to themselves. They watched him lean against the edge of the desk and cross his arms over his chest.

"That's understandable. But these protocols are important to your connection to humanity. And you have to have that connection to have true and unshakeable motivation to save us. It's unknown what you'll encounter but we have to make sure you'll never waver." He said, sympathy coating his words. They nodded along with a frown. "Would it help if it was someone you could trust?" He asked. They stared at him before their shoulders moved in a shrug.

"I suppose if I already had a solid basis of trust and mutual understanding, it would make me less apprehensive to allow my social training to resume." They relented, unsure of where the conversation was going. They knew everyone that worked with them, but that didn’t necessarily mean they trusted them. The only person they could think of that they trusted was Anton, but he was on the team that focused on installing upgrades. That was what his contract was for. They watched as James nodded as if he had gotten some clarity. They still remained confused however.

“Alright. Do you trust me?” He asked, still staying where he was. They eyed him before copying his open stance. It wasn’t a perfect replication, but the flaws in it were also made on purpose.

“I suppose so. However, I don’t have a lot of data on you. While you have been very forthcoming with information in the past, you also held some information away. It brings into questioning what else you’re not releasing to me.” They responded. James’s smile didn’t go away, but his eyes remained guarded. They weren’t going to pull anything new from him, but that was expected. If they had been trying to get more information from him, they would have continued their line of questioning. Instead they leaned back in their seat and dipped their head a few calculated degrees towards him. James clapped his hands together, signaling a change in the conversation direction.

"Well then. Now that you've established you trust me, with some added tidbits, how would you feel if I took over your social protocol training? At least until you built a relationship with your new team lead and member, or until we found a suitable replacement. Whichever comes first I suppose." He asked. Asset paused at the offer, genuinely caught off guard. It didn't happen very often since they were usually able to predict outcomes. Then again, James had always managed to trick them. So they shouldn't be surprised. Although it was a very human thing to do - becoming surprised by the typical behavior of an individual.

"You have enough recreational time to set some aside in your schedule to take part in my training, James?" They asked skeptically. James didn't answer them, but the question was more rhetorical than it was literal. They nodded, as careful as usual. "I suppose that would be an acceptable temporary arrangement." They responded and James nodded, straightening up as he walked around his desk to the other side.

"Perfect. I figured that we would start now since you're already here. Is that okay with you?" There were a few possible reasons for the consistent check ins. It could be because James was that type of person, he wanted to keep their trust, or he was trying to get them to trust humanity as a whole once again. They guessed it was a mix of the latter two.

"I have no complaints with doing so." They responded, watching curiously as he pulled out a plastic shopping bag. They leaned forward slightly as their eyes grew wider. There was a soft mechanical whir as their pupils audibly zoomed in. James pulled out a couple art kits and he watched with amused interest at the way that Asset replicated the soft scrunch of their nose and the disinterested lip curl that was so present upon human expressions. "You want to do arts and crafts for my protocol training? I don't mean to bring doubt upon your methods, however... unprofessional they may seem, but I must question what painting clay pottery has to do with learning the social behaviors and patterns I'm meant to emulate of the human species." James laughed softly at their confusion as he opened one of the boxes to pull out the kiln-dried mug from its protective styrofoam casing.

"True true. But it's not the act that is the protocol training. It's the act of the bonding over such a project. I admit I also want to test your creative cylinders. But humans are social creatures, so we seek anyway of bonding. Plus I figured it would be a nice way to ease into this arrangement." He said, waving the mug harmlessly by the handle. Asset's eyes tracked the movement before their gaze shifted to lock eyes with James.

"Observations tell me that you have no inclination how my social team teaches and trains me." They deadpanned. His smile turned sheepish and he shrugged. His eyes never lost the guarded calculating look though.

"Guilty as charged. I can put the mugs away if you'd like." He offered. They stood up and walked over to grab the unopened box. They turned it over in their hand before meeting his eyes again.

"Negative. I'll take part in your scheduled activity. From my understanding, conversation is often present during such activities, often leading to mistakes being made which provokes frustration. I have multitasking program installed, so I shall not get frustrated. What would you like to converse about?"

When James had first met them, their speech had sounded slightly off. Just a nudge away from sounding genuinely human, bar any slang. But after the Marcus incident they had been distancing themselves further from more human speech patterns. It was what had provoked James to intervene in the first place. The concern that they would distance themselves as much as possible from humanity as a whole had been the more concerning factor. The sense of duty to save humanity had already been established, however they also wanted the Asset to desire to save humanity. It would make them try harder and cut no corners.

"It could be anything you'd like." James answered as he pulled out his radio to request a small table to be brought into the office for the two to work on. He watched as they sat down on the floor, carefully and methodically unboxing the mug. He wondered if they would purposefully cause bits of the styrofoam go splinter off like it would under a human's clumsy hands. But they managed it without much mess and collected little bits that came from it scraping against the flimsy cardboard of the box.

"I have nothing to say or contribute. Choosing topics are often in my clearance as well. The privilege was revoked since my topic of interest was always..." Their voice trailed off, body and expression stilling. The silent name was practically tangible. And for a moment they could almost feel his fingertips drifting along their sensors. They shuddered and refocused on the mug. They didn’t look up as the door clicked open and two people entered, carefully carrying a table as the third held the door open. James waited for the door to close before grabbing an edge of the table and scooting it to where he desired.

"I was serious when I said that whenever you changed your mind we could pursue legal action. It might be a bit difficult because of the memory modification, but we have legitimate proof of his crimes.” James offered gently. They looked at him, their head already moving in a shake.

“I would prefer to just try to let it become less detrimental within my memory hard-drive. It’s better to let it not get in the way of my progress.” They responded as they picked up the mug and painting accessories from the floor to bring it to the table. It was at average knee height so there was no need to drag a chair over. They moved towards it on their knees, holding the objects close to their chest. It was a very human behavior, although James didn’t bring it up. He carried his own project and sat down on the floor across from them. The cold temperature of the tile below the rug brushed along his thighs. He was sure that they were able to detect it. But it wouldn’t bother them.

“Alright. I just want you to know that the offer was still on the table.” He said as he leaned an elbow on the table, fist supporting the weight of his head, as he eyed the mug calmly. They stared at him, trying to analyze and sort his behavior. Giving credit where credit is due, he looked very relaxed and open. Too bad he couldn't mask the expression in his eyes. Unless he was leaving that open on purpose. Or was that a mask hiding different intentions itself? "You're trying to read me again, aren't you?" James asked, his attention now returned to them. There was no point in lying.

"I'll admit there was never a pause or lull in my analyzing. It's always active and directed to any organic lifeforms in my vicinity. Isn't that what some of my program updates' purpose was?" They answered. They grew confused at the appearance of a crease in their... what was he... owner? Boss? Manager?’s forehead. He didn't give them a chance to ask a question. He simply wet his brush before dipping it into the paint palette and began to carefully move it along the mug. They stared before mirroring the action. They hesitated before letting it touch the dried clay though, thinking. They let the brush touch briefly in intervals to let it place small green circles over the expanse.

"Have you decided what you want to talk about?" James asked. They glanced at him, but he was still carefully constructing a pattern out of their view.

"Yes, I have realized a conclusion to your inquiry. I would like our topic of discussion to be about you. It seems only fair considering how you already know everything about me. Especially since you been on this project since before the start of my operating. Don't you agree?" They asked. It was a little passive aggressive of them, but if it would get them what they wanted, it was a small price to pay. Silence filled the room as James considered his answer and they waited patiently. After a couple minutes he responded slowly. Carefully.

"What about me specifically?" He asked, looking up from his project to regard them. They washed the green away from their brush before putting yellow on one side and making small brushstrokes of the yellow to make repetitive small rectangles.

"Have you always resided within this nearby vicinity?" They asked. James shook his head without pausing to think. It meant that it was a safe question for him to answer. And that meant that some information was being held away from them due to the danger factor of it. How many threats were there?

"No. I travel around some for my job. This is just one of the longer stays." He answered. That didn't surprise them. They had scientists, programmers, doctors, ect. from all over the place brought in under NDA and contract to work on the project. Project being them of course. Of course there were those who didn't mind it as much and those who did. Like Brian. Although was that just because he had to leave his family?

"Do you have family, James?" They asked, the volume of their vocal compartment lowering. It was the most human they had sounded for a while if reports were to be believed. There was a pause this time and their grip tightened slightly on the shaft of the paintbrush, applying more pressure to their mug.

"Yeah, I do. My..." His voice trailed off as he paused to think again. He corrected himself soon after. "The person I care about is waiting for me to come back." He finished. They nodded, understanding the feeling, if a twisted form of it.

"I apologize for keeping you away from your loved one." They added a couple moments later, remorse filling their tone. James smiled.

"This is important. You are important. My partner understands this to some extent due to the confidentiality of this project. Besides, once you succeed, I plan on spending more time with them again. So don't feel sorry for existing. It will be thanks to you that I'll be able to see them again by the end of it." He said. They nodded, not offering a verbal response. The topic was moved away from James, as well as their end goal. A part of them wanted to ask what would become of them once if they completed the goal of saving humanity. Would they be repurposed? Held in some kind of mental frozen animation in case they were needed again? Scrapped?

“What happens at the end, James?” They asked suddenly as they used the water to help blend some blue and violet together so they could get the intended gradient effect on the handle of the mug.

“The end of the book? I haven’t finished it yet, so I don’t know.” James answered, misunderstanding the direction of their question.

“No, at the end of my mission. What happens to me?” They looked up to see James smiling and they frowned in return. What about their question brought him enjoyment? 

“That’s a really human thing to wonder. Improvement. But to answer you question, I don’t know. That would be outside my jurisdiction. I’m high up there, but I still answer to people. It would probably be the decision of the project originators. Which is a council of people when it comes to answering that. I hold no sway there.”

Out of all the information within their grasp, all the statistics they were able to run, variables to account for, educated and often correct assumptions to make, the answer of their future was always out of their reach.

A soft buzzer sounded and the door opened. They looked up to see the face of a security guard to act as their escort. “It’s time for their physical, sir.” The guard said. James sighed and nodded, standing as well.

“Alright then. Next time I suppose. Thank you for meeting with me today. I’ll see you again in a couple days, is that alright?” They stood, hesitantly leaving the partly finished mug on the table. 

“Yes, that’s fine.” There was only an illusion of another answer choice, but they appreciated the structure of a question instead of a demand nonetheless. They dipped their head to James before following the guard out. The door to his office closed behind them. 

James turned towards the table to look down at the paints, cups of water, and two mugs. He picked up the Asset’s to look at it. As soon as he did, he swallowed at the sight, a chill running down his spine and his jaw tightening. He stared at the design on top of the blended background. How the fuck did they know what a shade looked like?

[more-than-a-princess]

For someone far too accustomed to luxury mattresses and Egyptian cotton bedsheets with a terribly high thread count, Sonia was sleeping quite soundly. Car engines, footsteps through the hallway, and all other sorts of mundane (to most people, anyway) noises couldn't rouse her. It would take something far more important, more precious, to wake her from the sleep she so sorely needed.

"Mm.." She murmured against the thin pillow and threadbare sheets. Kisses, it seemed, would do the trick: pressed to the side of her neck where a deeper, passionate kiss had been bestowed upon her hours before. The sort of bruise that couldn't be hidden by the wide scooped neckline of her sweater. A problem for future Sonia to solve, alongside her tangled hair and a distinct, though pleasant ache in her abdomen. Present Sonia was all too content to lay there a bit longer, surrounded by Wylan's warmth, one hand releasing its grip on the spare pillow it clutched to find his.

"Hey. We killed someone last night."

And that was enough to jolt her awake, his fingers leaving hers to tickle the spot he'd found during their escapades the night before. "Eep!" She cried out, sitting straight up and pushing him back to his side of the bed. Perhaps well deserved, considering his teasing, though she now had a chance for the upper hand in that department: Sonia hadn't bothered with any sort of clothes after several rounds of lovemaking, the thin sheets now only covered her from the waist down. Save for her hair, which she pushed over her shoulders before giving him a squinted look: awake, but still sleepy.

"That...is an interesting way to refer to La Petite Mort," She replied, as teasingly as she could muster so early in the morning. There had been several 'la petite morts,' if she recalled the events of the previous night accurately, and the room's state of disarray would be sufficient proof to such claims. Overturned television, a broken lamp, the second bed a complete mess: she had to be thankful that, for as far as she could see, her clothes had survived rumpled but intact. There had been an urgency in her undressing, some of which he'd assisted with, and the delicate lace of her undergarments could be easily torn. A challenge she was not up for explaining, as she'd already need to do so with the purpling bruise on her neck (and other places, if the tenderness she felt was any indication).

She did not envy future Sonia one bit as she smiled down at him. Mischief, but something more than that resided in his eyes. Something she liked, she thought, as she leaned down to kiss him gently. "Good morning to you too...I think it is morning, anyway." There was no way to tell from the darkness in the room: light cancelling drapes had been the room's single luxury, other than the privacy it afforded them from the rest of the world. Something that shouldn't be undervalued. "I suppose I should finally turn this on and alert the rest of the world as to my whereabouts?"

She nodded to her mobile phone on the nightstand, its screen black: before she'd left her own hotel last night, she'd turned it off. By now, her security team was likely in a panic, debating whether to follow protocol and alert Novoselic Castle that the Princess was gone, thus sounding an international search for her whereabouts, or pray they could wrestle useful information out of her cousins. "I learned two things in Las Vegas, you know: one of which was to shut off my phone and get rid of hidden tracking devices if I want to run away with you and not be found."

Brushing a lock of his hair out of his eyes, Sonia gazed down at him warmly. If he had to ask what the second one was, she could only suppose he wanted to hear it from her lips again, once more in addition to the many times she'd said it last night: in tears in her own hotel room, through moans in his arms in this one.

"I suppose the only question to ask is: what now?" There was much to consider: how would she inform her family about Wylan and who he was to her, how they intended to live (it wasn't as if she could leave home), and of course, what he would do about his current career. Something that would have to be kept a family secret, like so many others that were buried from the rest of the world. It certainly made snuggling back down beneath the thin, off-white sheets a bit more appealing. She was becoming cold anyway, from the goosebumps that had emerged over her shoulders and arms, and all she wanted was to continue being the Sonia in Wylan's arms for a little while longer rather than the Princess of Novoselic who was, for everyone responsible for her whereabouts at least, currently on the run.

The break from Wylan's slumber was met with an echo of the exploits the previous night. The congress of muscles returns his motion with a unanimous declaration that maybe. Perhaps. Quite likely. Wylan had pushed himself a fair bit more than normal the previous day. To say nothing of his mental gymnastics, the physical ones had been quite taxing. And drawn out. Even before the exploits of the hotel room had been everything involved in the meeting prior to it.

Still in darkness, Wylan's eyes squeeze shut again within the pillow. One more minute? Some historians will say this wasn't a bad idea, to let a memory of what had transpired flow out from his subconscious as reminder. This shudder, is not so much ache as it is from something else. That was pretty damn good. Started off different from his usual but... hm. Hm! Hmmm...

"Hmmmnhnghnngh. Fruggh." What hour was it? What time was it? When had time stopped and their activities stopped and when did sleep start? Pulling up from the pillow to let his eyes adjust is a good start. Puzzle things out. A glance around the room offers a crime scene of possibility. Blankets on the spare bed tossed to the side. Markings best not investigated under a black light. The fact there was anything covering the two of them could be considered a miracle. Oh. The tv is on the floor. But it's not broken. The lamp was. Okay.

And then. There she was. And as soon as Wylan's eyes fall on Sonia that wellspring of emotion flows over it's rim once again. A thrumming in his chest and a fluttery feeling that almost has him giggling if his throat wasn't so hoarse. Water would be a good next step, but right now he's content to lay himself next to her again, settling down with his upper half on top of hers. Light kisses pressed to her neck. No. He's not going to set a mark to mirror the one existing. Tempting it may be.

"Hey. We killed someone last night." He murmurs into her ear. A tease. But also somewhat true if you really think about it. Wylan had died. Or one of the Wylan's. The Wylan? The Wylan laying here now, tracing fingers and finding that ticklish spot again to get the runaway princess up and awake was still somewhat the same and yet completely different. A learned detective need only look into his eyes to see that. The trickster remained, but something else now dwelled.

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop pt. 4

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x M!reader

Click here for F!reader version

Check pinned post for masterlist and all previous parts

Includes: fluff, angst

Summary: Adam and y/n establish their relationship, but trouble ensues after a while of dating

Adam woke up early the next morning, his bedsheets were pulled over y/n sleeping soundly next to him as the sun crept in through the window and gently caressed them both. If the figure sleeping next to him wasn't enough to make him really believe that last night happened, then the evidence of the night before strewn across the floor in the form of clothes and an empty whiskey bottle would hammer the point home. Adam let a shuddered breath escape his lips, the moment was so perfect and fragile, he felt as though even breathing too loud could shatter it.

Adam hadn't really had any perfect moments in his life before, the closest he could think of was when he was five years old, his rascal of a best friend at the time, Scott, had pushed him off his bike and he'd run home crying to his mother. She had cleaned the scrape on his knee, kissed his forehead and told him how brave he was. Of course, that moment was sullied by his angry father smacking the back of his head and telling him to man up. A Ray of hope snubbed out by an evil man.

History had repeated itself for Adam in the jigsaw trap, when he had thought he'd found a friend in Lawrence. The comforting thought of a trustworthy companion coming back to save him, quickly replaced with John kramer himself, and the loss of all hope.

As much as Adam was enjoying this blissful moment in bed next to y/n, his heart raced. It seemed as though whenever he had something good in his life, something immediately came along to ruin it. He wished he could take this moment and bottle it, perhaps turn it into a scented candle or even better, inject it into his veins. He was so so desperate for this to never end.

Y/n stirred slightly in his sleep, rolling over and curling into a ball next to Adam's chest mumbling something that didn't matter. Adam pulled the duvet over y/n's shoulder and wrapped his arm around him, before going back to sleep himself.

At around noon Adam woke once again, to the sweet sensation of a kiss on his cheek.

"Morning, handsome" a sleepy voice whispered from beside him. Adam peeled his eyes open gradually, before looking at y/n. His hair was beautifully tousled and his eyes soft and dreamy, it was clear he hadn't been up for long either.

"Morning" Adam mumbled back with a smile.

"So what exactly is the protocol for something like this? You know, after last night" y/n asked, casually resting his head on Adam's chest.

"Protocol...?" Adam squinted his eyes

"You know, on a scale of "why are you still in my apartment" to "Let's stay in bed and cuddle all day" where exactly do I stand?" Y/n asked with a giggle.

"Hmmm... I gotta admit, the latter does sound pretty good" Adam chuckled, pulling him close and kissing the top of his head.

Adam and y/n never had the big "will you be my boyfriend" moment that most couples do, it just sort of happened. From that day onward it went without saying that they were in a relationship. The two of them would often frequent eachother's apartments, just to play house with eachother. Y/n would cook and Adam would do the dishes, Adam would take their clothes to the laundrette and y/n would fold and put them away. They filed the holes in eachother's lives perfectly.

Adam would often make reference to an article he once read about tarantulas and frogs living together in the amazon. The tarantula provided shelter and food for the frog, whilst the frog would protect the tarantula's eggs. He always thought that his and y/n's relationship was a bit like that, they both needed eachother and both helped eachother wherever they could. Y/n found this analogy cute, but was less keen when Adam called him his "little frog". In Adam's defence, he really was trying to be romantic, he just wasn't very good at pet names and the like. It got a good laugh out of y/n though, and so whenever he needed cheering up, Adam would call him that stupid nickname until he cracked a smile.

For a while, everything was perfect, but as the months went by, the honeymoon phase began to wear off, and the couple had their first fight.

It was an evening in march, y/n had been preparing dinner in his apartment and waiting for Adam to come over after work. He'd quit his job as a stalker-for-hire and gotten some work at a small photography firm. The pay was okay, and the hours were decent- and it was far less dangerous- but Adam was no longer his own boss. He hated being spoken down to, and his new boss did just that. Of course, his boss knew exactly who Adam was from the news, and thought himself something of a mother Teresa for taking such a "troubled young man" in and giving him a job- and oh boy did he make sure Adam remembered that.

"There aren't many employers who'd take someone like you, you know. You're very lucky to have this job" he'd remind Adam whenever he slipped up.

On this particular day, Adam had spilled something in the redroom and damaged a few shots from a child's birthday party. It was nothing serious, and the images could be mostly cleaned up, but of course Adam was treated far more harshly that anyone else would have been. A slew of insults and colourful language was directed towards him, including several "I don't even know why I hired you"s and the odd "You're absolutely useless, Stangheight" thrown in here and there. It was safe to say that Adam was in a fairly sour mood when he finally finished work and headed to y/n's apartment.

"Sweetie, what's wrong?" Y/n asked as Adam arrived and threw himself down on the sofa. No kiss, no "Good evening," not even eye contact.

He sat down rubbing his forehead angrily.

"Adam, honey? Tell me what happened" y/n said, sitting next to him and trying to take his hand, which he quickly pulled away.

"I'm fine, work was just a real pain in the ass today" he grumbled.

"Let me fix you a drink, and we can work this out over dinner" he said, his voice nurturing and kind.

Y/n returned from the kitchen about 30 seconds later, and placed a glass of wine on the coffee table in front of Adam, who still hadn't looked up.

"Dinner just needs a little while longer. Is there anything I can do to help in the meantime?"

Adam shook his head, like a sulking child.

"Adam, please talk to me. We can't fix whatever's troubling you if you don't talk" she insisted.

Y/n was being perfectly reasonable, but to Adam, who had heard nothing but beratement and orders all day, just interpreted "Please talk to me" as yet another order.

"Oh my god y/n, just leave it!" He snapped,  "you don't need to try and fix everything, I'm a grown man for Christ's sake. Stop talking to me like I'm a child."

Y/n was hurt, but she wasn't one to sit there and let a man see her cry, so she fought back.

"Don't you talk to me like that, in my own home as well? What the fuck is up with you?" She bit.

"I'll talk however the fuck I want to"

"Not in this apartment you won't"

"Fine" Adam stood up

"Fine!" Y/n watched as Adam stomped over to the door, and left,  slamming it hard behind him.

Now that he was alone, y/n finally felt safe to cry. He pulled the food out of the oven and set it on the side, no longer feeling hungry, and brought the bottle of wine over to the sofa from the kitchen. He drank Adam's untouched glass and then poured himself a refill. For about an hour, he sat crying softly and watching some mundane sitcom, trying to distract himself. Adam was stressed, stressed people snap, that's understandable. He attempted to rationalise with himself, he'd call Adam tomorrow they'd talk it through, and Adam would apologise. But he felt little comfort.

Just when he thought about turning in for the night, he heard a knock at the door. Before he opened it, he noticed a little piece of paper sticking through the gap under his door. It was a piece of card folded in half. In the front was a little sketch of a tarantula and a frog holding hands, and inside, written in scruffy handwriting was a note.

Tarantulas have a nasty bite, but they should never bite their frogs. I'm sorry I shouted, I shouldn't have taken my work stress out on you. I love you so much, please forgive me?

-Adam

Y/n wiped a tear from his eye and slowly pulled the door open. There, Adam stood with his hands in his pockets and his head hung.

"I'm sorry, froggy" he said timidly.

Y/n wrapped his arms around Adam and pulled him in for the tightest hug he'd ever given.

"Forgiven" y/n whispered in his ear.

"D'ya think we could maybe restart the evening?" Adam asked, smiling awkwardly.

Y/n pulled him by the hand into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

"I think that can be arranged" he smiled.

A/n thank you so much for great response I've had to this story!! My ego is really enjoying being watered and fed for once teehee<3

Comment to be tagged in part 5

Requests are open! I'm looking to write some Adam one shots, so definitely ask if you have any ideas! Check my pinned post for details and masterlist <3

[hurricaneonanesthesia]

hey!! <3 could i request like literally anything cypher related? maybe comfort idk, GN or fem is fine :) theres way too little cypher stuff </3

Of course you can! Of course if you want some really good Cypher content I recommend @agentgumsh0e, their writing is super good! Please go give them a follow, cause they definitely deserve it >:) ~Admin Hurricane

Warnings: a suggestive comment if you squint

Word Count: 550+

Genre: fluff

Pairing(s): Cypher x GN!Reader

You had been struggling with a rough week, as soon as you made your way into your shared room with Cypher, you just beelined straight for the bed collapsing onto it, too exhausted to move. You could hear Cypher chuckling as he turns away from his monitor and spins around in his chair to gaze at you. Surprisingly he has his mask off, but then again it’s just the two of you alone and most of the other agents are out of missions. “What’s wrong my rose? Has Brimstone been running you ragged?” he questions with a mischievous smile, referring to how Brim has been sending out multiple teams recently, coupled with the daily threat of the mirror earth agents, but also because of the mysterious blackmailer that had suddenly been making their presence well-known to everyone in the VP. It pained you to see Cypher so frustrated especially with his capabilities, but even he was unable to decipher who this mysterious individual was. You lean into his grasp, blinking up at him your bottom lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Well I mean we have been really busy recently and I haven’t been able to spend time with you properly. I know it’s our jobs to save the world and such but…” you trailed off gesturing helplessly at Cypher’s monitor where an algorithm was running itself, still attempting to decode the mysterious emails that Brim had forwarded to Cypher to crack. “You’re always so good at getting to the bottom of things but…this person is scary good, and they know everything about, well, everyone. What do you think is gonna happen if they actually expose the Valorant Protocol…and us, to the public? How much scrutiny and pressure do you think we’re gonna face from the media?” you inquired, your brow furrowed with concern. Cypher sighed softly, chuckling lightly as he poked your forehead affectionately. You shrunk back a bit, rubbing your forehead. “Now now, there’s no need to concern yourself with these incessant thoughts,” Cypher reassured you, “I promise you, I have it handled and I have Sova working with me to uncover this mystery. Whoever this person is, if they do anything to harm you in any way, they’ll have hell to pay,” he murmured pressing his forehead against yours. “I only wish that you would stop working yourself so hard, you haven’t slept properly these past few days,” you looked up at him, gently grasping his hand rubbing circles with your thumb, “Sova too,” you added. “I think you guys deserve a break.” Cypher pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, as he cupped your cheek, staring lovingly at you. “Thank you my love,” he chuckled, his voice rumbling in his throat, “You’re always so considerate of me.” “Well of course,” you frowned, pulling away from him, “What did you think I was going to tell you? Nono, please, keep working yourself to the bone,” you quip sarcastically, “Just promise me that you’ll at least get some rest tonight, I’m tired of watching you constantly stare at your computer.” Cypher laughed, the sides of his lips quirked up, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Very well, so long as you join me tonight, and you know how I get when I’m lonely,” he teased. You snorted, pushing him back playfully, your hand lingering on his chest for a moment. “Fine, fine. I guess I don’t have a choice then do I?”

Reminder that my requests are open! Be sure to send something my way if you’re interested! Requesting Rules are here!

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Thanks for reading and have a lovely day!