#Building Trust and Rapport

[dirtyoldmanhole]

so i have a mentality that if i'm drawing a character and the drawing is fighting me or being super difficult to nail down, the character is in some way telling me i fucked up somewhere along the process.

like obviously characters are pixels/the fun fictional dolls we mash around in our brains etc. but it's the sense of enlivening them with lines and if they're convincing enough to be an imaginary snail in my ear yelling that said drawing of them is OOC or kicking up a bitchfit, then there probably is something physically off to fix, ya know?

(mental!gunter is extremely specific about how he's depicted by the by)

anyway

all that to say i am. also. extremely amused at how unusually well my mind!gunter is behaving with this dakimakura.

[jestiamy]

qsmp makes me feel like a conspiracy theorist almost constantly. I see someone go "yeah bad almost exclusively chooses tophats in games when given the option" and I immediately run back to my conspiracy board and pin that next to the photo of q!slime and q!mariana saying they'll adopt juanaflippa because she has glasses like q!slime/q!mariana respectively under a sticky note captioned "??? the original spanish-english egg pairs were designed in a way meant to attract certain parents to adopting them???", that's connected by red string to a note pad page stating "how random was the parent pairing REALLY?" with nothing under it - which is then connected to a string that leads to several polaroids containing the ending(s) of the wall and the wreckage of the button, captioned "why build a wall that big only to have it end at a certain point?" followed by a string connected to a notebook page in the middle of the board reading "the illusion of choice?" - connected to several other seemingly dead-end questions and theories, as well as some slight stragglers only connected to eachother and not the middle. and then I look over my board covered in feverish notes and I go. yeah okay so I may just have like a slight problem

[wallynorthbynorthwest]

I showed up late to a battle as a cat, got knocked out of wild shape then knocked unconscious cuz my hp was at like 6, got ensnared, wasted a turn pressing the end button prematurely, managed to kill a goblin at 1hp with a reaction spell and immediately after the battle Lae'zel was like "you're hot let's bone"

Lae'zel......you have a thing for cringefail women I see

[quietwingsinthesky]

it’s been like 3 minutes I’m already having so much fun hello hallucifer should have just hung around in the background of more episodes

[carla51three]

CARL A

donot trustit

it is mjean . veryrude . it atethe sandwich that i left in ur guys' fridgeforwhen i came to play Noob Dying Game .

anditwas in a big sparkly box withMY NAME ON TI!!!!! confusionwould only be by completeNONSENTIENT BEIGN !!!!!

shhh jts ok

[peaceeandcoolestvibes]

Leos are people to befriend, not date lmfao

[prettyboykatsuki]

BEND THE KNEE. | ZAYNE (LI SHEN)

♡ tags ; afab + fem!reader, reader is not explicitly mc, established relationship, porn almost no plot, somewhat undernegotiated kink, brat-taming, dom!zayne, sub!reader, corporal punishment (spanking), praise kink, emotional catharsis disguised as smut, fingering, cunnilingus (f!recieving), unprotected sex, aftercare scene included, 18+

♡ wc ; 10.6k (in two days...im so cooked)

♡ a/n ; woman has completely lost her marbles. more at 8.

about the kink being under-negotiated. it's a little tricky but zayne kind of springs this on reader which is not good etiquette technically . but because they have such a strong rapport and so much trust in each other - i think it works out for them anyway. always discuss things like this properly with your partner properly. but in this case, these two have a long established dynamic and complete trust in the other so in no way does reader feel uncomfortable or coerced. she trusts zayne to lead and thats important.

♡ synopsis ; bend the knee (verb) (idiomatic, by extension) - to show undue deference, obedience, or support for someone or something

or when zayne sees you on the edge of tipping over and decides to get you to open up, one way or another.

crossposted on ao3

You need something. 

That’s what Zayne concludes after thinking it over.  

For the better part of the last month, you have been in a bad mood.  

It’s unusual for your off-days to last this long, or at least the kinds you’ve been having lately. Easily irritable, sighing and frustrated, receding into yourself. You’re as human as anyone else - but one of the things likes about you most is that even on your worst days, you seem to smile more often than not. It’s not that you’re happy all the time - but you’re prone to things like numbness and avoidance over sadness and projected anger.  

In layman terms, Zayne has never in your entire relationship seen you so frustrated.  

And, despite his best efforts to talk to you about it, you have swiftly avoided the conversation and insisted that everything is fine.  

Zayne is used to you being stubborn. He’s had to navigate that from the start of your relationship. Though you’re open-minded and often easy-going, there are certain intricacies and small details that you refuse to overlook. Always hard-headed about the strangest things and always trying to fix everything on your own in an attempt to ease his burdens.  

(The real problem is you viewing yourself as a burden in the first place but Zayne ventures that won’t be resolved in a weekend.) 

You’ve talked about this at length already. You and Zayne are in a partnership. He’s your lover, your companion - which means you’re in it together. He can’t, however, act like a proper partner to you if you refuse to co-operate with him on any and all levels. 

It’s not like Zayne is upset with you for it. He doesn’t think you’ve done anything wrong. It’s not even especially frustrating. Zayne is patient. He’s trained to be that way. So it’s fine if you need time, and it’s fine if you need a light push from him. He can throw whatever you handle at him, give you whatever you need.  

For Zayne, that’s where the real problem lies. Your sour mood, this odd sense of secrecy, this persistent sadness - Zayne wants to help you get through it however he can. But figuring out what will actually resolve all of that proves to difficult. Do you need a push? Do you need to be forced to open up? Do you need to get emotional release? Do you need a night out or a weekend away? Maybe a date night? 

Zayne has been sitting on this very question for the last few days determined. Any time he’s had a chance to think idly, it’s always drifted back to solving this mysterious puzzle and getting you back where you need to be. Safe, comfortable, and content. 

Zayne settles on this: ultimately, you need catharsis. An emotional purging - the sort of thing that makes you break down so Zayne can build you back up. It seems like an extreme course of action but given just how long you’ve been wading this storm, he thinks that level of emotional distress is only natural.  

After he figures that out, it’s a matter of how to achieve it.  

What will give you the biggest emotional release? He considers a number of things: going on a hike, watching a devastating movie in the theaters, going to visit some baby penguins and seals at the Linkon City Zoo. Things he know will get you worked up in one way or another. Things that will unravel you.  

But nothing he thinks of feels like enough. Whatever’s distressing you is distressing you enough to make you act out of character like this for weeks. His response to that needs to be just as able to carry the weight of it all, or else it might just make you bottle it up worse.  

You need something, Zayne knows.  

He thinks what you might need is to be punished.  

He comes to this conclusion after trying not to think about it all together.  

For Zayne, sex is an intimate affair. And between you, he is the less experimental. He has is moments, but most of your play that ends up being kinkier comes from your fantasies and daydreams. Zayne is happy to do these things for you and with you - and has learned a lot about himself in the process. Too much, maybe. He enjoys making you feel good. On the rare days off he has where you can have proper sex, he wants to give you as much pleasure as he can 

Most of the kinkier things you’ve done are limited to sensation play. Things that should still feel good or won’t strain you to severely. You have had a long time interest in the more masochistic, the more punishing - and it’s not like Zayne hasn’t entertained it here and there. But still, it’s limited. Rarely a properly thought out act and more an impulsive whim. He has those with you more often then he cares to admit.  

Things like temperature play, blindfolds, and minimal restraints. Nothing more than that, and never with consideration to a particular dynamic. How you have sex on a given day depends, the ‘control’ ebbing and flowing based on mood and circumstance.  

The point being: Zayne has never properly punished you, though you’ve asked him to do it before.  

You often make wry comments when he’s being especially firm with something (most often your well-being) about how he’d do it. He teases the idea lightly, but truthfully - teasing and experimenting are different from actually doing. Zayne has never considered it deeply outside of that.  

But when you mention things to him, Zayne always remembers - stows the information away for when he may need it like right now. He likes being well-informed after all.  

It’s all of these things combined that makes Zayne conclude that fulfilling your desire to be punished might actually be the most effective method of handling the state of affairs. It hits all of the marks providing emotional release, as well as physical release - and also gives you a reason to lash out in a controlled space.  

Zayne read a number of BDSM forums and browsed through several erotica novels to get a clear picture after forming the hypothesis - collecting as much information as he possibly could on what his role would be in the affair.  

As far as descriptions go, Zayne can self-report he fits the criteria for a ‘brat-tamer’ in essence. In a nonsexual way, disciplining you borders on second nature. Being firm is easy but so is being playful, and patient - since ultimately Zayne only whats the best for you. In the same vein, he thinks you fit the description of brat in your own way. A tendency to be fussy, a dislike for being told what to do, a playful mischief that he adores and only corrects as necessary.  

It’s only after the extensive amount of research that Zayne is beholden to, does he understand the dynamic and scene itself. When the play starts to make sense, he comes upon on specific conclusion that leads him to believe this answer to be the right one.  

Above all else, you really do want to be good, don’t you?  

This isn’t working for you either. You’ve been bottling everything up for so long Zayne can’t imagine it’d be easy to approach him now even if you wanted to. Fostering an environment for you to express your feelings and for Zanyne to receive them. To respond to them, and ‘punish’ you for any wrong-doing so that the guilt doesn’t weigh down you so heavily. 

Even through your month of bad moods, you sleep by Zayne’s side every night and wake him every morning. You tell him you love him and tell him when you’ll be home, even when you’re huffy and moody. You want to be good, so isn’t it only fair for Zayne to let you?  

Zayne considers it all carefully. He thinks to make it work, he might have to spring it on you. He’s relying on the rapport between on already having been dating a few years - and the preventive safety measures you’ve had in place for other, less severe play. A safe word and a hand signal. It needs to be timed right, needs to throw you so slightly off-center in order for you to be receptive.  

If you turn it down, Zayne will be back to the drawing board.  

But he has a sneaking feeling that this really might be the last of your bad moods.  

__  

It’s one of those weeks where both you and Zayne are off-duty.  

It’s rare that happens. Given your busy schedules and being in the midst of the busy season, you agreed mutually it’d be better to stay home and save your winter date for after the fog clears. Zayne was planning on having a day at home with you pleasantly doing nothing.  

You are decidedly in one of your moods, however. He really can’t pinpoint what triggered it since you seemed to be just fine this morning, almost back to your usual self. And then something in the afternoon flipped a switch and now you’re right back where you’re started.  

Zayne does not want to waste his day-off squabbling with you over something. So he decides today, he’ll try to get to the bottom of it once and for all.  

He approaches you while you’re in the kitchen of his apartment - quietly making yourself a glass of tea. Conversation first, Zayne always tries to talk to you about it. No matter how much you try to avoid it - he thinks you could solve a lot with a conversation. No drastic measures until he at least asks, though a small part of him is expecting the same answer as he received so many times before.  

He watches you in the kitchen, furiously making a cup of tea. In silence, contemplating if now is the right time. He wants to go about things the best he can. All he wants to do is help you. He sighs and then resolves himself.  

Zayne comes up behind you, soft and gentle. “Would you like to tell me what’s happened to spoil your mood, my love?”  

You pause and then frown, huffing - brows furrowed as you somewhat violently mix your sugar into your tea. “No. There’s nothing to talk about,”  

“Nothing? Even though you were just fine this morning,” Zayne says evenly, voice lacking accusation. Still kind and only gently probing. “It’s been a month now of this. Whatever it is don’t you think it’d be better if we discussed it,”  

You pause, a hand curled into a fist on the counter. “How many times do I have to tell you there’s nothing to say?”  

He gives you a long look. “As many times as I see your mood change at the drop of a hat without a single indication as to why,”  

Zayne can see it happen real time. A brief flash of some other emotion that’s followed up by anger. You let out an indignant noise, turning with your cup and looking up at him. Your lip is curled in anger.  

“God, would you just leave it? There’s nothing to talk about so stop wasting time on your day off,”  

Zayne looks down at you with an expression unreadable. And then, he makes a choice to keep his face even. This is normally when he would drop the conversation entirely. Soothe you a bit, and you’d apologize and hug him though you’d still not tell him a thing. But he thinks right now is the best time to enact his plan. He takes your mug from your hand and sets it on the counter behind you, sitting both his and yours besides each other.  

And then he cages you in, trapping your body between him on the counter while Zayne grips onto the marble edge.  

You look at him confused but Zayne remains calm and quiet until he leans down close to you. Almost eye-level, making sure to be far enough for you to look at his face and his expression.  

He lets the silence sit for a beat. He watches your expression change. But he waits - long enough for you to squirm before he breaks it again.  

“Watch how you speak to me,” He says. Your eyes widen in surprise but Zayne doesn’t waver. “Did you think I was going to tolerate this kind of behavior forever?”  

For a minute you’re awestruck. Well and truly surprised, which is all Zayne wanted to accomplish. You stammer. First upset, then a flashing bit of sadness, then anger all over again. You have something to say but you can’t find the right words to combat him. Zayne does this on purpose. He’s always gentle and soothing and easy with you but it’s not the time for it.  

He brings his hand up to your face, palm cupping your cheek - scrutinizing your every reaction under watchful gaze. It’s surprisingly easy to make you nervous - eyes flickering away from him. Zayne decides against forcing it, opting to continue his lecture.  

“Do you think it’s fair for you to speak to me that way?”  

You stutter again. “I already told you that it’s—“  

Zayne cuts you off. It’s unlike him. “I didn’t ask about that. I asked if you thought you were being fair speaking to me that way. Answer my question,”  

“Why does it need to be fair?” Your voice trembles. Zayne does not show you any reaction. It’s harder than he expects given how cute he finds you.  

“Is it unnecessary? Then, should I punish you according to how you’ve been treating me, rather then trying to be fair to you? Since it’s not important,”  

You look utterly bewildered. “Punish—?“  

Zayne holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up slightly.  

“Yes, punish. If we’re not basing it on fairness - then the only metric left is how you’ve been acting as of late,” Zayne says slow and deliberate. “On that basis, you deserve to be punished. Either you can admit to being in the wrong or be honest with me you can be punished accordingly. Do you understand?”  

A beat. Your lip trembles like you might cry but you seem to get on the same page quickly. You refuse him, but Zayne can tell this is having the exact impact he wanted it to. He knows you’ll keep being stubborn, is expecting it - so you refuting him does not surprise him at all.  

“I haven’t done anything wrong, I already—“  

Zayne shoves a thumb into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue. You make a noise around him, words muffled as you attempt to pull away.  

There’s a long stretch of silence where Zayne locks eyes with you. Reaching out to you - affirming something. He leans on the rapport you have between you. The ability to withdraw from this if you wish. He stares at you as you crumple under the gaze but do not refuse him.  

“Assuming you still don’t understand, I’ll tell you.” Zayne says. His voice is soft, deliberately gentle all while holding your gaze. He presses down harder, feeling your bottom row of teeth at the knuckle of his thumb. “I’m going to bend you over my knee until you tell me in your own words that you’re sorry. Since you can’t be honest by yourself, I’ll help you. Now I’ll ask you again: do you understand?”  

You glare, and flinch - but you don’t back away. “I get it already. But that doesn’t mean—“ 

 Ultimately. It’s tiny, bordering on imperceptible but it’s there. A brief recognition of play, and understanding of whats going on. Zayne steps away from you, freeing you from his grip. His expression remains neutral now, less kind then before. You’re on the same page.  

“Do you want me to carry you to our room or can you handle walking on your own?”  

You look at him furious. “I can walk!”  

Zayne doesn’t say anything as he trails behind you.  

Once you enter the bedroom, Zayne steps in behind you and shuts the door. Your expression is interesting, he thinks. He’s never seen such a colorful array of emotions flash across your face in such a short time. Despite your attitude and your active grumbling, you almost seem timid to him now. You’re clearly protesting him in some way, acting out what he’s sure is your sincere frustration. But all Zayne can feel is pleased that you’re acting the ways he thought you would. It gives him a strange affirmation that he knows you as well as he thought, he’s satisfied with it. Directing it all towards him, all the frustration as you mutter under your breath.  

The words fall on deaf ears and after a while of him not responding, you snap.  

“What are you staring at me for?” You nip. Zayne looks at you unimpressed. He takes a seat on the foot of the bed, careful to leave just enough room for you as he does. He slides his robe off of his shoulders and carefully pushes up the white long-sleeves of the Henley he wears during the cold season.  

“Come,”  

You stand still and Zayne sighs.  

He’s gentler with you normally. Softer and more delicate. But soft won’t get you to listen to him so he opts to pull you closer by the wrist. It’s not often he feels any need to exert his strength over you this way. But it’s different now. It demands it of him, so he does. You struggle as you fall towards him - into his chest, caught off guard by the sudden movement.  

Zayne wastes no time - maneuvering, manhandling you to be bent over his knee. He uses one hand to slide your pants off completely but leaves your underwear as they are. You gasp under your breath in shock. You’re turned away from him, your cheek pressed to the sheets. Zayne takes a minute to drink you in, examining the white cotton with lace trim that you wear underneath your pajama pants, wearing white ankle socks with a matching trim that he finds remarkably cute.  

Your torso rests across his lap, pressed to the mattress with your arms folded in protest as your knees rest on the bed. You kick one of your feet up - Zayne thinks in a half-ass attempt at objection. He holds you down over his lap more forcefully then before, his arm around your waist. He bends down slightly and speaks with a slow, clear voice.  

“This is your punishment. Each time I spank you I want you to count. If you forget, we start over. I’ll stop when you make it up to me and say sorry. Is that clear?”  

“I didn’t even do anything!“  

Zayne uses his hand to grip your chin hard. A warning. “Enough. You had two choices and you made yours. I will not explain myself again,” Zayne says. You quiet at his tone - brattiness temporarily placated.  

It’s strangely natural to him to do this. Easier than he thought it’d be. He thought being so firm, so strict to you would feel awkward for the first time. But it’s easy to do when he thinks of the outcome he wants. Always the best for you - if this is what you need from him, then this is what Zayne can give you. He pulls back when you relent. No longer squirming away from him.  

“Repeat your safeword to me, love.”  

“Red,” You say through a huff.  

His hand rests on your lower back, tugging your panties up until they’re creased. “What do you if you can’t speak?”  

“Tap three times.”  

“Good job.” He says, soothing. It makes you pause in his lap. “Now, count,”  

Zayne uses his hands to grope and squeeze your ass gently before doing anything else. You take a shaky breath underneath him as he carefully measures the pressure. He lifts his palm high before coming back down - a resounding smack echoing through inside of the quiet walls of your bedroom.  

You let out a loud cry.  

You jolt - startling at the feeling. “That—It hurts!”  

“Do I need to remind you of what to do each time,” Zayne asks. You fuss underneath him, pressing your face to the sheets in what he recognizes as embarrassment.  

“Fuck. One,”  

“Good girl,”  

Zayne repeats the motion again. You whimper this time - clearly more prepared for that strike then the first. He stares, already noticing his handprint becoming visible. He waits for you to respond.  

“T-two,”  

Again. Zayne admires the way the fat ripples at his touch. You shift yourself away from him at the sensation but Zayne quickly pulls you right back down to your place. 

“Three,” You whine.  

Zayne touches your inner thigh soothingly.  

“If it’s too much to bear, all you need to say is sorry,” 

You scoff - showy, but your voice is wavering. “What do I have to be sorry for?”  

Zayne sighs. Again. “Shit, four.”  

“You don’t know what you need to be sorry for? Do you need me to answer that for you too?”  

“I don’t need you to—five,”  

“You kept it in for an entire month and took your frustration out on me. All you need to do is apologize and I’ll forgive you.” 

You sniffle, voice small and petulant. “I won’t.”  

Zayne hums. “Then your punishment continues,”  

Again. “Six,”  

Again “Seven”  

Again. “Fuck, eight,”  

You’re sturdy. Sturdy enough to handle a few hits with ease. Zayne knows because he accounted for it.  Your tolerance for pain, your ability to endure it. It’s why he doesn’t set a number though he has one. If he gives you an option to simply sit through a punishment , you’ll grit your teeth and bear it all the way till the end. You’re stubborn.  

You’re strong. Of course you are. He knows eight hits are barely doing much to you - even as he’s coming down on each strike so firmly. You’ve been training as Hunter for years and familiar with pain so much worse than this.  

But you’re sniffling underneath him, clearly holding in soft sobs despite yourself. He thinks it’s proof of the effectiveness but it makes Zayne feel sympathetic all the same. Zayne doesn’t think you’ll make it far past ten. But he keeps all of this to himself. He brings his other hand up to your mouth and rubs his thumb on your lower lip  - feeling for blood or indentations. He presses it to your lips.  

“Don’t bite your lip,” He says, forcing your mouth open with the digit. He presses his thumb against your tongue again as you protest it. “If you need to bite, use my thumb.”  

Where Zayne expects you to bite him sharp in retaliation, you simply close your mouth and suck. He feels his chest squeeze. Slowly but surely.  

Again and again and again. On the eleventh one is what finally makes you forgo trying to hold back your sobs. They’re quiet, almost meek - weakly protesting each one as soft tears roll down your cheek. Before the twelfth - Zayne takes care to remind you. He makes his voice softer on purpose. Makes his words kinder and less stern. 

“All you have to do is tell me you’re sorry. I’ll take care of the rest,” He promises, hand rubbing stinging skin. “That’s all. You can do it, can’t you?”  

You remain silent, hesitant. Zayne doesn’t scold you.  

Again. “Twelve,”  

Your voice is small on the last one.  A little more, Zayne thinks. “Afterwards, you can ask for anything you like.”  

Again. Your voice trembles. Thirteen comes out barely audible, but Zayne decides not to hold it against you.  

“I’m not punishing you because I’m angry, but because I want you to understand—because I want you to be good for me like I know you can be.” Zayne soothes, rubbing gently just where he hit before. “You don’t need to endure by yourself. All you need to do is remember that,”  

You’re quiet. Once more, but he does it softer this time.  

“F-fourteen,” You say. Your voice is wrecked with some unspoken sorrow.  

“Is there something you’d like to tell me,” Zayne presses, voice warm and soothing. “Or would you like to continue you being punished?”  

A pause. Zayne gives you time to respond. He takes a second to glance down further between your legs  - noticing an incredibly dark patch of wetness right at the seam of your panties. He uses his fingers to rub over the spot carefully, amused by the small gasp that leaves your lips. He only brushes it - not provoking you further. A little amused that you liked it despite yourself.  

You shift, clearly ready. Zayne takes the initiative.  

“Yes, my love?”  

Your voice comes out wobbly. Thick with tears and emotions - like you’re just about ready to shatter into a million pieces. It makes Zayne incredibly fond and incredibly heartbroken all in the same breath. He remains steadfast and waits for you as you take a deep breath and find the right words. You have something to say.  

Or you try too, but the words tumble out in a tearful mess anyway. “I-I’m sorrryy,”  

You wail. Zayne can’t help but be taken aback every so slightly by it. He was expecting it but he didn’t think it’d be so difficult for him to hear.  

“Shh. It’s okay. I’m not angry. Are you in pain? Can you sit?” Zayne asks. You sob, answering through tears. Your words are slurred, hiccuping. You cry a little longer before you answer him.  

“Is okay,”  

Zayne nods. He helps stand you up before he sits you back down on his lap - straddling him while he supports your weight. Your face is tear-stricken, eyes red-rimmed and still crying as he pulls you up. His expression warms , reaching up to brush his thumb underneath your eye and soothe your sobbing.  

And then he hugs you. Puts a hand on the back of your head and pulls you into his chest. Your face pressed into the side of his neck. He rubs slow, soothing circles into your back  - telling you to take deep breaths as he kisses your shoulder blades and whispers as many sweet nothings as he can think up.  

You’re a wreck in his arms. Wordless, helpless - your hands are fisted into the back of his shirt. All the fight has been wrung out of you. Limp in his grasp, you weep woefully and tell him you love him in thick tears. Zayne holds you tight, steady - nothing but the sound of your sobs to accompany you until you’ve let enough of it out to at least speak to him. You pull away - face messy and damp  from crying.  

Zayne cannot help but think about how much he utterly adores you.  

Your lower lip quivers helplessly. “I’m sorry, ‘m really sorry,”  

Zayne shakes his head. “That’s quite alright. I told you I’d forgive you, wouldn’t I?”  

You nod. Zayne looks at you warmly, thumb tracing the shell of your ear. “We’ll talk later. Tell me first - what should I give you for being a good girl?”  

You have a floatiness about you. Eyes glazed over just slightly - clearly comforted enough to release whatever you’ve been holding. Unburdened, it’s like you’ve become something else. Hazy and dependent - lashes fluttering and completely sincere. “I’m good?”  

“Yes. You did well. How should I reward you?” Zayne affirms. “Would you like me to take care of this?”  

He goes again to cup your clothed pussy. You rut into his hand - biting the inside of your lip as you nod. 

It’s something about you like this that sears Zayne’s subconscious like a brand. Unusually docile, vulnerable, needy. It’s strange. He didn’t think of himself as someone with such a strong desire to exploit. Or maybe this is an extension of something that’s already been embedded in him for a long time. To take something apart in his hands with precision and put it back together again. A life, a heart, a lover. You’ve been at the very front of the desire for a long time.  

“Tell me what you want. I’ll give it to you.” Zayne says. Soft and sincere and sun-warm just looking at you falling apart so easily. “Don’t be shy. You should be demanding like you always are.”  

You press your cheek to his shoulder, shivering a little in his lap. “Want it hard,”  

“Is that all the hint I get?” Zayne teases. You groan into his shirt as he bites back a laugh.  

“Yes,” You reply instantly. You’re being shy. It almost makes him laugh.   

“Well, if that’s all you want then,” He gropes you, his hands running over the soft curve of your ass  - marks still stinging underneath his palms. “I’ll have to stretch you open first. Make sure it’s soft enough for me to reach all the way in here,” He places a hand on your stomach and you shiver again. Zayne speaks against your shoulder - a smile playing at his lips.  

“Is that alright?”  

You nod. “Uh-huh.”  

You’ve been reduced down to something that Zayne should want to protect - but finds stronger the urge to experiment with. It is an unkind way of thinking after he’s already gone so far as to punish you. Wring your emotions out by force until you sob and shiver like this. But his eyes settle onto your face and the thoughts won’t leave him. They’re even more strangely persistent, even louder than usual - echoed with your wistful demand for him to give it to you hard - whatever that may mean. And Zayne intends to give it to you in the capacity in which he can.  

It means cruel, cutting precision when it’s him. Deft fingers, a sharp memory and endless amount of endurance. Zayne usually placates you, satisfies - gives you enough to make you contented, maybe refreshed, rather then wearing you down. He wants it to be something that you can unwind with.  

Despite all of this and all of the kindness he wants to show you, there’s something about your expression and how you’ve folded over yourself that makes Zayne want to ruin you completely.  

He knows he can. He knows you’d look good like that. He’d take good care of you. He has many useless, unending thoughts such as these until something in him boils over. He thinks about it with a furrowed brow and then when the silence is about to border on too long - he leans in and presses his lips to yours. 

Chaste but longing - clear intention. He eyes you and lands on only one thing to say.  

“I’ll take good care of you,”  

You blink. It’s something he’s said before - but you both know there is something different about how he’s said it. So you just… nod. Listen. Obedient like you never are and his lips tug ever so slightly at the corner.  

Zayne hauls you with him until you’re both able to lay comfortably in the middle of the bed. He lays you down carefully in the mess of sheets and pillows until you’re resting in them like a painting. You’re frayed at the edges, hands twitching at your sides. Zayne hovers over you until he’s close enough. All the air in the grows thick, hot - and he finds he can’t breath around him with the way you’re looking at him.  

There’s a reverence in your eyes. Fingers threading through his dark locks, squeezing at the base until you’re bringing him down nose to nose. Your eyes flutter back open. They’re wide and watery and beautiful—you’re really just looking at him.  

You look… grateful. Entirely grateful.  

Zayne is so hard it’s hurt.  

Zayne kisses you deeply - hungry with it. Suddenly feverish as both hands cup your face and hold you, tipping your head back so you open your mouth wide. He slides his tongue against yours, forces your mouth open deeper like he might try and eat you whole. But you relent - yield unusually easily to the demand of it as your arms go around his neck and stay there holding him close. 

The room fills with the sound of deep breaths. Wet noises that drown out the loud static threatening to render him something more beast then man. You moan into his mouth when you kiss, chasing him each time he pulls away with this little needy pout to you that Zayne adores.  

Zayne pulls away and presses his nose to your jawline. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, to your chin, all the way up to the junction of your neck and shoulder. He whispers sweet nothings into the skin - repeatedly affirming only that he wants to make you feel good.  

There’s something about how good you’re being about all of it that feels enigmatic - so much so that it’s completely electrifying for him to witness. This kind of sweetness has a novelty to it that makes his heart pump hard. You’re never so pliant. So willing to give yourself. It’s not that it’s always a fight, but you’re usually so sober during sex it borders on steely. A catlike grin with an ironclad determination to never lose, not even to him.  

And Zayne loves that about you to. Loves being wrapped around your finger or tugged by your leash - loves that you demand things of him. He finds it a privilege to give it to you. This is just too new, too exhilarating for him not to be intrigued by.  

You’ve conceded now. Your body and mind have decided it unanimously and it’s why you’re melting so easily at his every touch. Like accepting a loss - some kind of complete and utter defeat, and accepting it so gracefully it makes Zayne wonder if it’d been your plan all along. 

(He isn’t arrogant enough nor clueless enough to believe that, but the thoughts sends shivers down his spine all the same.)  

Zayne traces kisses around the parts of your body he can reach. Down the slope of your jaw all the way down to the dip of your clavicle - the center of your sternum. Your skin runs warm under his touch - he can almost feel your pulse through your skin. He stops to leave small marks just underneath where your collar would sit. They come out a shade darker and a little bigger than they normally do. They look (read: are) deliberately placed. An intentional trail from neck down. A warding signal.  

He runs his incisors against your pulse, tugging at your earlobe as you shiver somewhat delightfully in response to him. The dull drag of his teeth seems to excite you. Your back curls up, goosebumps covering the surface of your skin.  

Reaching your chest, Zayne uses both hands to squeeze and push your breasts together firm. It’s lacking the delicacy he likes showing - a strong grip, almost bruising. Fingers squeezing the fat until it spills from between them, palms pushing lightly against hardened nipples as you moan out loud in reply. Your body is more sensitive than it is usually. Each touch makes you antsy. 

He ducks his head down deciding not to waste time - mouth closing around one of your nipples while his free hand plays with the other. He flicks and sucks with his tongue, using the blunt of his nail to copy the motion to the other, giving them equal attention.  

You moan, this part of your body especially responsive to touch. He can feel them each pebble with arousal. 

 “Hngh, fuck, fuck - feelsh good,”  

Your words come out slurred as you pant as Zayne pulls each sound out of you. You look blissed out, your hips canting where he’s slotted between your knees - rubbing up against him for friction like you’re in heat. Zayne only stops to switch side. He sinks his teeth at one point, long having lost his usual composure  - licking over the indentations when it’s over.  

“Hicc, more - please, more,”  

The desperation in your voice makes Zayne pull away. He rests his forehead against you, kissing the space above your belly and whispering sweetly. “You’re being so good for me,”  

Another whine. Zayne laughs audibly at it, affectionately - something overwhelming him. He picks his head up to look at you this time. “How can you be so sweet, hm?”  

You preen under the praise so visibly it makes Zayne  shiver. Such a stark contrast, such a receptive reply. Your lips pull into another pout, eyes sparkling with the greed of a lover and Zayne cannot imagine in a million years being seriously angry with you about a single thing. One look is all it takes to unravel him this completely. 

Zayne is reminded that he’s a warm-blooded, living thing laying in bed with you. Heart-beating hard, chest heaving, ears ringing. This animal desire that wells up in his gut and whispers to him to take you while you’re at your most vulnerable - mark you somewhere his fingers can’t reach and plant a seed where no one else can touch, is a loud one. It’s like he can feel how he’s hard-wired to want, and want, and want.  

But he loves you is the thing - so much that all of that desire becomes concentrated. Heavy like dark matter, atoms splitting endlessly as if it defies all known laws of the universe.  

He thinks one hundred thoughts at once and leans up to kiss you like he needs you for oxygen. You’re startled but give him a reply as he forces his mouth onto yours like he’s starving. Signaling it back to him, I love you, I love you, I love you.   

Zayne groans into your mouth before he pulls away and goes back down. He trails open, sloppy kisses down your chest - all the way down to your navel until he’s face to face with your clothed cunt.  

He uses his shoulders to nudge your legs apart even further and feels all the air rush from his lungs like he’s been sucker punched.  

You’re wetter than he thinks he’s ever seen you. It’s thrilling, tantalizing in a way that makes the last threads of his self-control shred themselves into nothing at the sight. He shivers, hands gripping at your thighs to push them even further apart. His lust suddenly feels bottomless - an empty void with a gnawing hunger.  

And then, the only word he can think to use spits from between his lips  - half way between curse and prayer. “Fuck, my love.”  

You jolt hearing it. Whimper so loudly and shamefully, reacting it to him in such an obvious way. Zayne gets the inkling then that you’re going to be spending most of your day in bed just like this.  

He touches first. Can’t help his curiosity. His hand resting on your sex  - thumb dragging against the soaked fabric of your panties. His finger comes away sticky as he rubs and strokes and examines. Burns it into his memory, each slight twitch. How you clench around nothing - slick flooding the material so unhelpfully. The distant thought bounces around in the back of his mind, that you got off this much on being punished. There’s so much.  

Zayne breathes. Has to remember to do it after he sees you like that. Legs spread, chest heaving, and so so eager. There’s a list of things he wants to do with you but he stills, and slows - and just over the unusual pull of his desires, focuses on just touching you. He fixes in on making you cum just like that. Slow easy strokes over the wet fabric. Circular motions that are precise even while each breath he takes is so uneven.  

You keen over him. Pitchy, high - legs trembling. Sensitive. You look down at him with wide eyes.  

“I’ll cum,” You say.  

Zayne realizes you’re even deeper into the head space than he thought. You’re so uncertain about it. He hums.  

“Ask for permission when you get close.”  

The instructions abate your anxiety and you nod, sink back, and let yourself indulge in the touch that Zayne offers to you unrestricted.  

This is driving him crazy. You are driving him crazy. So out of his mind that he can’t find his usual sweet talk. His restrained motions are all he can manage. He’s the one making you cum but for some reason it feels like he needs to sober himself more than you do.  

He kisses the inside of your thigh. “Just once like this, alright?”  

You nod. You’re out of it well and truly, hips meeting his touch. Moaning and breathing heavily, hands fidgeting. You lurch suddenly when Zayne seems to brush an extra sensitive spot and you gasp, eyes shut hard. 

“Wanna cum, please can I—“ 

“It’s alright. Go on,”  

You moan a little thank you without any reminder - your whole body curling in on itself as you get off for the first time in the evening. Zayne watches your panties soak with interest. Up close and personal. Fuck, they’re so drenched now, so wet. He watches cum drip down and soak the sheets underneath you as revel in post orgasm bliss and finds himself at least a little more content.  

He kisses your thighs again. “Good girl,”  

Zayne gives you a beat to breathe before he busies himself taking off your panties. Long fingers curling in the waist band. You lift your legs up helpfully, letting Zayne roll them all the way down until you’re bare. He tosses them along with the other stripped clothes laying in a heap near your bed before settling down again between your legs.  

Your cunt is splayed open. Wet and soft and inviting, he watches it pulse. You’re throbbing, heat radiating off of you in waves. He prefers to draw things out longer, but he feels particular impatient with the state of affairs.  

He pulls you down him close until his breath is just tickling your skin, kissing your clit affectionately before using his tongue to flick against the sensitive bundle of nerves.  

You shudder. Nearly scream. Zayne can tell he’s being impacted by this whole affair in the exact way he thinks he is because of how much it makes him want to keep going. You squeak over him, a hand in his hair.  

“Wait, wait—t-too much, just came it’s—“  

“Shhh,” Zayne soothes with false sympathy. “Be good and take it,”  

You relent. A little helpless whimper leaving your mouth as Zayne takes you into his mouth again. Your clit is throbbing so hard he can feel it on each pass of tongue. His mouth fills with the taste of you, heady and rich. Zayne’s eyes flutter back, pleased with it. He opens them back up to drink you in above him, flush. On your back, spread open and so aroused.  

He feels himself go slack, lust wrenching all the usual tension from him. He’d be fine to just do this until sunrise - and he would, if he wasn’t already feeling so out of sorts. He needs to open you up so he can do what you both want. Zayne closes his lips around your clit - giving you slight suction that he follows with tongue. Your mouth drops open in silent scream, over stimulation frying your nerves. Your jaw is dropped open, drool pooling at the corner of your lips.  

He knows your body like the back of his hand and has no trouble at all navigating the quickest route to make you feel good. The specific ways you need to be touched to loosen your limbs, make your insides soft for him. It’s not that he’s rushing. But he’s being even more particular about it then usual.  

It’s hard to ignore the growing tightness in his pants. He’s been ignoring completely for a while now so he can focus on you, but he’s so hard it’s straining him. Gossamer threads of pre-cum are pooling in the confinement of his boxers, only getting thicker as he ruts himself against the bed to ease the uncomfortable friction he’s feeling.  

He adjusts himself, bringing his fingers up to your core and gently nudging them through your folds as warning of whats to come. 

You let out a low sound. “Ooh,”  

He slides his middle fingers down until  there’s give. It’s easy to find your entrance and push with how wet you are. There’s barely an resistance him when he presses the digit inside and it makes his stomach flip. You’re so soaked it takes no effort - there’s not anything left of you to resist him and it drives him, truthfully, up a wall. Still, you’re clenching down hard on his middle finger. Wheezing quietly as he presses forward, slowly fucking his finger into you until he’s all the way down the knuckle.  

You collapse above him. Your body, a mess of tension and tight nerves,  gives under the weight of the pleasure and you slump back into the bed and take. Moan loud and unabashed, his name sweet on your lips. His favorite sound. If he wasn’t occupied - he’d praise you just for saying it.  

Your pussy feels so good to the touch. Always does. You’re so much more sensitive than usual it feels like you don’t want him to pull away. A whine leaves you at the loss of the stretch. Zayne looks at you from between your legs and sees a face that’s near begging to be filled up by something else.  

It takes every fiber of his restraint to not stop right there and fuck into you immediately.  

But he’s doing this for a reason  - he reminds himself.  

He adds a second finger and it slides in just as smoother. This is enough to prep you. If he stretches you out, scissors his fingers inside of you just right - you can take him easily without him having to worry.  

But he’s feeling especially relentless tonight. You’re still reeling and over sensitive, barely hanging on over him as his mouth busies itself. Two would be good enough to make you cum just like this.  

Zayne is a little out of his wits decidedly - but he gives you a moment to breathe before adding a third finger.  

You gasp. “W-wait, wai—nghh,”  

Goosebumps pebble your skin as Zayne meticulously adds in another finger. His middle, ring, and pointer all fit inside of you with more ease then he expects. He goes slowly on his pointer. Your body wracks above him at the stretch, nothing but mindless babble as you tuck your face halfway to the bed sheets and try to hold onto. 

Three fingers all the way down to base, Zayne curls them up with a cruel demonstration of precision. His hands are bigger than yours  - thicker and longer. There’s a real possibility that this is the first time anyone has touched this deep and the thought sends Zayne reeling.  

With his mouth lapping at your clit and his digits pressed up against your g-spot with such pinpoint accuracy, Zayne is not surprised to hear you above him wailing. Completely different to before, a pleasured sob almost like you’re going to heave. Your voice is raw with need.  

“Oh, please, please, please—can I please—“  

Zayne hums an affirmative into your pussy. It’s all it takes for you to cum for him again. Both of your hands fisted in the sheets as your buck up into Zayne’s mouth - soundless. He continues through it. Makes sure the ecstasy of your high lasts as long as he can draw it out and only stops when you’re desperately pulling him away to make sure you don’t die from the stimulation.  

He pulls off, slick running down his chin - all the way in little rivulets down his neck. He wipes carefully and licks it off of his hand - since anything else would feel like a waste. He sits up on his knees before crowding over you, pressing his forehead to yours as you blink away tears.  

“Still okay?”  

You make a garbled noise. Zayne laughs, a hand coming up to wipe some of the wetness away from your face.  

“Words, sweet girl.”  

“…’m okay.” You say after a while. You stare at him and then reach for his sleeve, tugging at it. “Are you not gonna fuck me?”  

Zayne feels a shiver run down his spine at how blatantly you ask. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to hearing you talk that way.  

“Would you still like me too?”  

You purse your lips. “Please? I was good,”  

Ah. His composure is truthfully already shred to pieces but he isn’t sure he can recover from that. He’s so painfully endeared. It tucks behind his ribs somewhere, makes him feel ridiculously in love and so turned-on it’s startling. He caresses your cheek, tenderly stroke the flush skin with his thumbs.  

“You were very good. So very perfect for me, always,”  

You beam at him. A slow blink followed by a sweet little smile that Zayne reads as bashful. He drops his head onto your shoulders and just sighs. 

He comes up to look at you. It’s not like you look innocent but you’re so completely trusting in him.  

“Come here,” Zayne says. He dips his head down to kiss you as tenderly as he possibly can. You sigh happily into his mouth and he just smiles a little. He feels especially helpless to this onslaught of affection but decides it’s not such a bad thing.  

He gets up again, just to get condoms but you’re tugging at his shirt before he gets a chance to move.  

“Where are you going? And… take this off,”  

“To get condoms.”  

You shake your head. “Just hurry,” 

You’re on contraceptives. You’re also in a long term relationship. But Zayne still tries to use condoms - mostly for clean-up so he uses them more often then not. Only goes without for an occasion.  

(Or for when his lover is laid out underneath, begging him without shame to fuck her already and Zayne really finds he has no other choice.)  

“Don’t whine later when I have to clean it,” Zayne says playfully. He slips of his shirt finally, feeling ten degrees cooler as it disappears with the rest of your clothes. He pushes his pants down just barely past his thighs - cock springing free. Just having the air touching it makes his stomach tighten.  

“You wanted it hard, right? Turn over. On your stomach,”  

You shiver but listen with ease - grabbing a pillow for security as you flip onto your stomach. 

Zayne likes missionary most of all  - but this is a reward.  Prone-bone is a good compromise for what you both want. You lay on your stomach underneath him, limp and focused on nothing but getting fucked and Zayne still gets to be as close to you as possible, bodies pressed together and all.  

You’re beautiful. Zayne won’t ever get over it. The sight of your spine covered in sweat, the slight raise of trembling hips, all the curves and scars and stretch marks he’s kissed over and over again. He feels absolutely besotted with you, entranced by the very sight of you in his bed like he hasn’t seen it so many times before. He’s like this even now, the weight of his own burning desire like a hit to his solar plexus.  

He feels at his wits end when he finally bends himself over you to fuck you. He kisses all the way down from the nape of your neck to the small of your back - the kind of worship only available to the holy thing that lays in his sheets, the deity of his very life. You push yourself up against him as invitation as Zayne lets his cock rest against the swell of your ass - still lightly red from  punishment.  

You spread your legs for him as Zayne slowly, carefully finds the right angle until the tip of his cock catches.  

Your pussy stretches for him like it was made to do exactly this. The ruddy, leaking head of slides into you with ease. Silken walls hugging him, enveloping him in an impossible warmth that makes Zayne feel completely out of his wits. He puts both hands on your hips - making sure to ease in slowly. Careful and kind  - trying his best not to hurt you.  

Zayne is wound tight. It’s a tremendous show of his patience that he’s being so gentle despite, despite, despite. Most of his thoughts feel concentrated in the one part of his body he shouldn’t think with and he wants to sink into you without a single care. His whole being thrashes against this feeling. He holds steady anyway s - until he bottoms out, his pelvis flush to your ass.  

You shudder beneath him. Your face is in a pillow, fucked out and drooling. All you do is moan, pushing yourself up again and wiggling your hips like you’re attempting to entice him into fucking you. As if it’s something he doesn’t already want to do.   

Zayne drops his head onto your shoulders. You whine, wanton and the last remaining pieces of his restraint fall out of place. He pulls out and pushes back in all at once, the both of you lost in the ecstasy.  

The bliss of it is unbelievable. Zayne can barely control himself, mounting you and relying on his memory of your body to fuck himself into the spot you like best. His forehead drops onto your shoulder and he lets himself go loose - kissing the back of your neck as he ruts himself into you again and again.  

“Oh, you’re so perfect. You feel so good. I love you,”  

It’s not fast, but it’s deep. In the way that’s more brutal then him fucking into you hard. Deep and calculated - measured thrusts that force you grind into the bed chasing the friction of your clit. Your legs kicking up from the pleasure, just crushed by the weight of him. Limp and spent from being strung out so far and simply taking what Zayne is giving you. He likes being able to feel you pressed, pinned underneath him. Crowding into your space with his chin at your shoulder, kissing the side of your neck and wherever else he can reach.  

Zayne could cum any second. He’s holding out until he feels that delicious squeeze that tells him you’re getting close again.  

It doesn’t take long. Each inch of his cock ravaging your insides, dragging against your walls on each thrust combined with all the sensitivity has you babbling within minutes.  

You pick your head up just to beg him for it, but Zayne doesn’t even give you a chance to speak. He can feel it while you’re wrapped around him, pussy trembling around the length of his cock - short panting breaths. He knows you’re close before you do.  

A hand cups your jaw as he whispers into your ear.  

“Cum.”  

You cum just like that, as if on command - your entire body seizing. Every muscle taut like a bowstrong. Your hands reach back for his arm - the one he’s leaning on. Nails digging into his forearms, you cum so intensely you gasp.  

“Zayne, zayne, oh fuck - fuck, please,” 

Zayne barely gets a breath before he’s following after you. He cums hard. The load is so thick it feels delayed even as he nestles himself deep into your cunt to finish. It goes on forever until it’s spill into you and clinging around the tip of his cock.  

The both of you lay there spent for a short while before you blink, lazily - and turn your gaze towards him from over your shoulder.  

“More?”  

Zayne laughs a tired, delirious laugh.  

“Anything for you,”  

__ 

You have sex until evening.  

Zayne doesn’t remember the last time you went at it like that. An anniversary he thinks, or some kind of special occasion. You haven’t had that much time. But two days off in a row was still good enough to have you rest.  

It felt necessary, in a way. Being so wrapped up in each other, a good reminder of your trust in each other. A good way for Zayne to cradle you. Carve the notion into you that all he ever wants to do is ease your burden and improve your life rather then make it harder. In between raw sexual desire and somewhat crass display of pent-up lust, is tucked a few years worth of loving.  

Zayne can only desire you this much because he knows you so well.  

After cleaning you up a bit, he let you lay and catch your breath while he went to run a nice bath with your good products, make you a cup of tea, and order takeout. You managed to not to pass out in the mean time which he’s thankful for - as it made the cleaning up much easier.  

The both of you now settle into the warm, soapy water - only after Zayne showers with you too. To get you properly clean and then help you relax.  

You sit with him now in the bath water. The pleasant floral scent of jasmine and lavender fills the bathroom, and you rest your head against Zayne’s chest as he sits comfortable behind you. His nose against your wet hair, he breathes you in and places a kiss to your bare shoulder.  

You stay like that for a long while until Zayne breaks the ice.  

“Is now an okay time to talk?”  

You stiffen, briefly  - dragging Zaynes hand into your lap and playing with his fingers.  

“Mm. Yeah,” 

Zayne waits for you. Patient and prudent.  

You sigh a little, head drooping down.  

“It’s not even—it’s just a work thing. There’s been an ongoing investigation about a group of Hunter’s from a different association. A Special Ops Unit that dissolved right before a series of protocore related incidents. Dissolved offiically but really more like completely disappeared. The problem itself isn’t really the investigation, but the team we’re working with. We’re collaborating with another association and those fucking,” Anger rises in your voice in a way that makes Zayne laugh lightly. You splash the water, taking a deep breath, pressing your thumb lightly into his wrist to distract yourself. “They’re incredibly incompetent and very combative. It’s been a huge pain to work with them, both tactically and on paper.”  

“It sounds incredibly frustrating.”  

You sigh.  

“It has been. One of the guys from the other association is an enormous jackass. He hasn’t done anything I can document on paper and submit to HR as harassment of evidence - but he’s bane of my existence. He’s actively getting in the way of investigation and he’s dead set on specifically scrutinizing my work. It’s been driving me up a wall.” You say, scrubbing your face. Zayne nuzzles into you sympathetically. “Normally I’d just report him immediately, or beat the shit out of him while we spar or something. But,”  

You take a deep breath. 

“If you need to stop here for because of disclosure or something of that nature, I understand,”  

You shake your head. “No, it’s—I haven’t been able to bring it up to anyone, but I think he’s played a role in the sudden disappearance. I don’t have any strong evidence to corroborate this. It’s just a gut feeling. Because of that, I also haven’t been able to bring it up to anyone either. We are constantly squabbling in the office. I worry if I mention it without something stronger to back me up - it’s going to look like I’m making a serious accusation over office politics and I just—”  

“It’s alright, my love. Just listening to you now is enough to make me exhausted. I can’t imagine what it’s been like living through it,”  

You sniffle, suddenly exhausted. Your voice cracks. “It’s been driving me nuts. I know it’ll blow over eventually one way or another, but it’s been such a constant burden. I kill Wanderers. This weird corporate charade is too much for me. It got to the point where just the mention of it was enough to make my blood boil.” You say, sighing. You turn your head and give him a small smile. “I’m really sorry for taking it out on you. It was almost too frustrating and too heavy to talk about - and you already have a lot on your plate so I wanted to just resolve it quickly. But I ended up making you worry and being unfair. I didn’t even realize how bad it’d gotten,”  

Zayne shakes his head. “It’s not as if I was angry with you at any point. Really. It’s so unlike you being that irritable, I was mostly just concerned. So don’t beat yourself up over it. If I couldn’t handle such mild tantrums, what kind of lover would I be?”  

You scowl at him, smiling betraying your features. Zayne just laughs.  

“I’m truly not angry so don’t beat yourself up over it. I do wish though you would depend on me more when you need it. Even if it’s just to vent. We’re partners right?”  

You nod. “…Yeah. Sorry.”  

“It’s really alright. Though I suppose I might’ve seemed angry or given that impression based on… earlier affairs,”  

You laugh. It’s a beautiful, lovely little sound. Like a wind chime. He’s happy to hear it.  

“Wait actually, I would like to talk about that. What was that?”  

Zayne’s turn to blush. He clears his throat.  

“Well… I was worried about you and I wanted to do something for you, somehow. After some thinking, I thought you would need some kind of strong emotional release. I considered going to take you to see the penguins and seals—“  

You interrupt him. “Oh, I would’ve sobbed like a baby,”  

“Right, exactly. But I sat on it for a while and felt like it wouldn’t be enough to break you out of your shell. And then I remembered we talked about this once a long time ago. So, I did some research and thought this would work out best,”  

You smile up at him. “You had a hypothesis didn’t you? Lay it on me, doc. What were you theorizing in that brain of yours that led you here?”  

“Well… sex is a good avenue for emotional and physical release. I thought the spanking aspect and ‘punishing’ you would help absolve some of your guilt as well. So at the time, it made the most sense to me.”  

You laugh under your breath. “You know me so well, huh? It worked great, actually. Better than I thought it would. And it was super hot when you were being all strict with me,”  

Zayne laughs. “I was worried about being so harsh but you really enjoyed yourself,”  

“I did. It felt good but after the crying, I just felt sort of floaty and drunk and pleasant. Like a weight lifted. Haven’t been in subspace like that in a while, but I felt really good.”  

He smiles. “That’s what I was hoping for,”  

“You’re so smart,” You praise, voice cooing and cloying. “Thanks for fixing me up, doc. I’m really indebted to you. I wonder if I’d be doing myself a disserivce to be all honest. It’d be a shame if I never got to see you like that again,”  

Zayne murmurs against your skin, smiling. “I could always punish you for doing less,”  

You grin at him. “See, that sounds wonderful.”  

Zayne gives you a kiss on the top of your head. You look back up at him warmly.  

“Thanks for thinking of me so much. And being so good to me,” You say, almost shy. “Means a lot,”  

Zayne has a million things he thinks of saying. That he’d do anything for you. Ultimately he settles on what he thinks most often.  

“Of course. Anything to make it all better, yes?”  

[akuzeisms]

   ⬐ @seaofbeachystars ⬎

liked for a starter (thane) !

Thane was nothing that Katrina had expected. From an assassin, she expected subterfuge and a headache; Thane was… not exactly that. Subterfuge, yes, and he was certainly agile and talented, but something about him had… intrigued her. Maybe it was the fact that he was a drell, and she’d yet to meet one; and maybe, just maybe, it was that air of mystery he seemed to carry with him.

Their conversations thus far had been brief, but with some time on Illium to themselves, she’d asked him to meet her for a drink. Eternity had private rooms, and she’d managed to curry favour with the bartender, Aethyta, who’d snuck a booking in for her. Privacy was important, particularly if she was going to ask Thane questions that involved Cerberus.

As he entered the room, she flashed him a small smile, gesturing to the seat across from her. “Thanks for coming, Thane—I appreciate it.” She hoped he understood the need for privacy; this was not a conversation that could be overheard by anyone attached to Cerberus on their ship, especially given the sensitive nature of it. “And sorry if it was a bit… cryptic. I just… don’t have a lot of people on the Normandy that I can trust right now.” She just hoped Thane was one of those people. She needed his opinion, his perspective; she needed someone who could read people like he could.

[yanderenightmare]

Bakugou Katsuki

♡ TW: boyfriend Katsuki's strange guilty pleasure, harassment, nasty online comments, noncon ideations, online pervs

♡ FEM reader

“I’m borrowing your laptop, Kats!” you call. 

He’s in the bath, so you’re not sure he heard you, but also, you don’t think it’s any big deal. You’ve been a couple for years now, and living together has only brought you closer. Besides, it’s not as if you’re going to snoop or anything—you’re just going to check something real quick while you charge yours.

You rethink it when you have to write in his password. Maybe it would be better to just wait for your own machine to get ready—it’s not as if you’re in a hurry or anything. But then again, at the same time, it doesn’t hurt to give it your best guess.

Right on the first try—your name and birthday. Though you appreciate the gesture, he really should see into getting something stronger than that. The information he is privy to through his work is quite sensitive, after all.

But anyway. Onto the task at hand. You click into the browser. It’s already got some tabs open. 

You don’t mean to let your eyes wander, but it just can’t be helped. Katsuki sits before this thing, sometimes for hours during the day. Of course, most of it is surely work-related, writing incident rapports and profiles and the like. But this page right here… you don’t know… something about it seems strange.

“Some type of forum…” you mutter to no one but yourself. Katsuki had never struck you as the type to neither read nor partake in other people’s banter. Again, you’d promised yourself you weren’t going to pry, but it only takes a few seconds to read the comments—it’s over before you can stop yourself.

I bet she’s a squealer, like a really cute squealer

I wanna tie her up in an abandoned building somewhere no one will hear her scream

Same, but not on the bed though, on the floor and take her like a bitch

I‘m sure dynamight fucks her every day, i know i would! 

Dynamight’s such a lucky guy I hate him

You blink reading through the comments—completely having forgotten what you were doing in the first place. Who are these people? What are these comments about? You keep scrolling, eyebrows knit, and then you see it—your name. 

She looks like the type of girl that lets her man fuck her anywhere he wants whenever he wants

I’d literally kill for an hour of having her alone. And I’d make good use of that hour. Make her dump that blond asshat to be with me.

If she were my girlfriend, I’d keep her leashed to the bed with a collar. Can’t have other guys looking at her when she’s mine.

I’d only feed her cum. Trust me, she wouldn’t go hungry.

You’re eyes are fully wide now. Are all these chats about you? What’s Katsuki doing in a place like this? Reading all these sick comments as if he isn’t your boyfriend.

“Hey!” A shout knocks you out of your trance—and startles you enough that it very nearly even knocked you off balance.

“What’re you doin’ on my computer?” he asks in accusation while taking hurried and thundering steps toward you—still wet from his shower, wearing nothing but a white towel around his lower half.

“Uh,” you struggle to find your voice, heart hammering in your chest, head spinning—feeling both caught red-handed and the exact opposite. “Uhm, nothing—I just—”

He rips the laptop off the desk, angry eyes staring at the screen—then quickly going round.

His face pales. You can practically see the goosebumps as they rise in a rush across his skin. 

He swallows thickly, jaw-locked—doesn’t even dare look at you as he asks the question, “Did you read?”

You almost consider saying no but decide against it. This wasn’t something you could just ignore. No, you needed an explanation. Who knows? It might be completely innocent.

“Some of it…” you confess.

He shudders, and then he places the laptop down again, slowly, soundless. He rests his hands on the table and leans his weight on them, head bowed, voice small.

“I just… I… It’s, well…” He scratches the back of his neck, looking for the words.

You’ve never seen him like this before. Katsuki is nervous. But you suppose it’s for good reason.

“It’s not what you think, okay?” he declares, finally looking at you. 

His face is something unfamiliar—riddled with this guilty anxiety you’ve never pictured before—frazzled. It’s completely odd.

“Okay,” you say calmly. You don’t know if you’re angry or not yet. You know you probably should be, but the look on the man’s face is making you feel sorry for him.

“I don’t agree with any of this,” he insists, gesturing to the laptop. 

“Well, yeah, I sure hope so,” you say, although the question still remains, “But why are you on there then?”

“It…” He’s blushing—profusely—bright vermillion-tipped ears and apple-red cheeks. He looks away again. “I don’t know…”

I don’t know is an excuse you’ve never heard come out of his mouth. In fact, excuse or not, it’s a phrase you didn’t think him capable of. But look at him now, using it the same childish way a kid would after being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“You better not lie to me, Katsuki Bakugou—or I know someone who’s sleeping on the couch,” you finally find your strict tone. He’s crazy if he thinks this is something you’ll just forget about.

He sighs and then he falls into his desk chair, back hunched, hiding his face, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you close, nuzzling his head against you, mumbling under his breath, “It’s sick, and it makes me sick…”

You wait, giving him the time to figure it out.

“But it…” he continues. You feel his hands tremble just a bit before he confesses, “It makes me feel good.”

You’re not sure you understand, and so you ask for clarification, “What makes you feel good?”

He sighs again, and this time, his voice comes out dark and lusty, leaving no room for confusion, “To know that I have something everybody else wants.”

♡ BAKUGOU KATSUKI masterlist ♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist ♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist ♡ ALL masterlists

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 12. Confrontation gone wrong!

PREV PART trigger warning: shouting, attempted gaslighting, medical + physical + emotional neglect, trackers, the yandereness is turning up slowly main m.list       series m.list

Nightwing’s behaviour was strange, odd even. But it wasn’t as weird as your family’s, ever since that one breakdown they’ve been acting like nothing happened. Like you’re apart of the family that they’ve shunned you from, yet they’re still keep cards close to their chess. And when you realised that Damian was showing up at your favourite hang out spots a bit too often, you got paranoid.

You always carry a messenger bag around, filled with little activities, extra medication and much more. But when you forgot it at home, or at your friends house you didn’t run into Damian. You didn’t run into your family at all.

And if your suspicions are correct? That bag is the reason why Damian keeps finding you.

You drop the contents of the bags on your bed, searching through it with such precision a surgeon would be jealous and then you found it. A trinket you don’t recognise, that looks like a magnet, but you’ve watched enough crime shows to know what it is. A tracker. “That little fucker,” you curse as you snap it without thinking. The strength that it took to do that was too much for you to use in one go, your body aching the second you broke it. “and now I’ve got high ass pain, thanks Damian. Fuck you too.”

But wait a minute, why would Nightwing follow little old you?

Why would any of the bats follow you?

You who never harmed anyone, you who is just a host at Cobblepot’s restaurant.

Either the bats are in Bruce’s pocket, or they are the bats.

The time-line of the younger vigilantes would make sense with your families time-line…. “Oh fuck no,” you curse as you quickly turn to your desk, rummaging through your drawer until you find a hard drive. You quickly plug it into your laptop and check if it works, and thank god it does. Even if you don’t know for sure that your family are the protectors of Gotham, you need to put the groundwork in for plan B. You need to send this all over to Maria, to Duke, to Francis, fuck, to everyone you can. To everyone you know and trust, you need to build rapport. Maybe… maybe even send this to your work…. No, that will be your plan C.

You make a group chat and you send a mass message; ‘Publish this if you don’t hear from me for a week and Maria doesn’t inform you where I am’. (attached; file (Name) and family incidents)

“(name),” Alfred says through the door, not even bothering with knocking. “Master Bruce expects you at dinner.”

You sigh, loud enough for Alfred to hear. “Yeah, I’ll be down soon!” you shout back as you shut off your laptop and hide your hard-drive once more. “Just need to freshen up real quick!”

When you hear him walk away you breath out in relief as you try to ignore the way your phone is blowing up.

As you ignore the way your heart fills with dread, and your body becomes tense and rigid with every step you take. You know Maria will have your back if your suspicions are correct, you know that Duke would have no issues with fucking everyone up if needed. But if your family is the ‘Bat’ family, he stands no chance. Unless… unless he’s Signal, which wouldn’t surprise you, he’s always ready to help others. But unlike the bats, he doesn’t seem afraid to get his hands dirty.

But there is no time to think about that right now, you have to face your fears.

You have to get this over with.

The moment you got to the dining hall your paranoia just got worse, especially with how Damian is staring at you, with how his arms are crossed. With how he looks like he’s been scolded through and through. Good, but you’ll still have to scold him for leaving a tracker in your bag, you will not tolerate such behaviour. And you never will, yet if you keep silent he might be bold enough to try again. To do so even smarter. “Well, you guys seem tense,” you comment without thinking as you sit down at your spot, which is next to Duke (thank god).

“Who wouldn’t be?” Damian asks, slamming his fist on the table. “When a family member has hidden their health to the extent you have!”

Your eyes snap towards Cassandra but she looks everywhere but at you. Duke clenches the arms of his chair, grounding himself before he does something he’ll regret. Luckily you have no problem with showing your anger, you have no problem with omitting the truth. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” you say as you tilt your head. “I’ve never hidden my health.”

Jason scoffs and you can see Dick roll his eyes, but most importantly you can see Bruce stare you down. A glare that you can only describe as identical to Batman’s. “Give me your phone,” he says, holding out his hands. “you’re grounded until you can tell us, me, the truth.”

You laugh, you can’t help it. “What truth?!” you shout, slamming your hands on the table. “I’ve tried telling you about my health when Jason attacked me, that I was scared about another flare up. But you dismissed it, I never lied, I just never told you.”

“You committed medical fraud,” Barbara points out.

“Can you blame them?” Duke asks, glaring at her. “When none of you took them to the hospital after they were in a coma?”

At least that gagged Barbara, too bad it didn’t shut Bruce up. “Your phone, (Name).” he stresses out, making a gimme hand motion (good thing you always have a back-up phone, huh), you throw it at them. And he catches it with ease. “Thank you.”

Jason groans, this wasn’t the confrontation he was expecting. He expected them to be harsher, not to offer you a way out by giving Bruce your phone. It pisses him the fuck off. “Oh my fucking god,” he curses, throwing his head back. “how the fuck did you get the hospital to give you surgeries, to give you researches without any adult present?!”

You stare at him, raising one of your eyebrows as you cross your arms. Looking as if you’re challenging him to explain why the fuck he thinks you would answer questions like that. And Jason is officially pissing of Duke, and from the look in his eyes Cassandra could assure Jason that he’s getting his ass beat during training. “Where’s your medication?” Stephanie asks, trying to diffuse the situation. “they’re heavy, wouldn’t it be handier if someone else handled them?”

You scoff; “iI someone is to handle my medication it’s Duke, and I don’t need help remembering how to take the pills I’ve been taking for fucking years thank you very much.”

Bruce runs his hand through his hair. “No, I am your father and we will have this conversation and you will give me your medication so that I can ensure you don’t take too much or too little!” he raises his vouce,

“Whatever,” you say as you roll your eyes, but your shoulders are tense and Duke rubs your back trying to keep him calm. “let’s just eat.”

“No,” Damian hisses out. “explain, now.”

You stare at him, wondering where he found the goddamn audacity and you reach in your pocket. Throwing the broken tracker at Damian. “When you explain this, you little shit.”

Duke curses, you never had heard such creative insults come out of his mouth. If you didn’t know better you would think these insults weren’t his own, truly he’s been spending too much time with Francis. But before Duke can stand up from his seat and threaten Damian in his face you shake your head. “Duke, glad that you at least seem to understand how grave this situation is,” you say with a smile. “but we should hear what this little shit has to say before either of us put our hands on him. He’s still a child you know, and I don’t condone child abuse.”

Unlike these fuckers, went unsaid but not unheard. It makes Duke smile. “I would love to hear his explanation,” Duke agrees. “but wouldn’t you also like to know how they got your medical history.”

You grin and pretend to have a dramatic eureka moment. “Oh, babs, did you just scold me for committing medical fraud, but how did you guys get my history?” you ask, pretending to be thinking. “ahah! You guys must have done something illegal as well? My oh my, did it also make you realise that neglect is illegal?”

It got silent, and it’s clear everyone’s waiting for Damian’s answer, but also Bruce’s comments. After all Alfred is just standing there in a corner as if he did nothing wrong. But when Bruce and Damian didn’t say anything, you grinned.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

NEXT PART GUESS WHAT, :) this story is just going to get darker from here on out.

taglist closed: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[demigods-posts]

luke fumbling in recruiting percy has to be one of his greatest failures. a beautiful thing the show does regarding luke and percy's relationship is building rapport between them through shared moments like settling into camp, eating meals together, but especially through swordfighting lessons. the swordfighting scene at the beginning of episode 8 not only reveals that percy and luke already share similar beliefs about the fear-based system the gods have cultivated, but it's clear the conversation stays with percy when he fights ares and later calls out zeus on his waning skills as a father and a king. however, luke's plan fell through the moment percy learned that the winged-shoes were meant to drag him to tartarus. not only that, but the shoes nearly killed grover, a friend percy cared for deeply. if nourishing loyalty and trust was the key to ensuring a partnership with percy, then it was luke's faulty planning, arrogance, and impatience that cost him the greatest ally he could ask for.

[hayatheauthor]

hello! i'm trying to write a manipulative/cunning character that uses his charm to get what he wants, but i'm unsure how to go about it without being too overt. he basically acts all polite and uses peoples' inherent biases (like how they are more likely to listen to or trust someone who's conventionally attractive)

i'm also struggling to come up with instances where he'd use those skills. surely he can't just walk up to somebody and say something out of nowhere haha

thank you for your time!

That’s such a fun character to write! For subtle manipulation, focus on how he frames things—he never demands, just suggests. He compliments before slipping in a request, or pretends to confide in someone to earn their trust.

Manipulation has three core tactics:

Mirroring – He subtly copies people's tone, body language, or opinions to build fast rapport. People feel more at ease when they see themselves in someone else.

Framing choices – He never gives direct orders. Instead, he offers two options—both benefiting him—but makes one seem like the “better” or more moral choice.

Playing the victim or the hero – Depending on what the situation calls for, he knows when to act vulnerable to gain sympathy, or when to seem competent and generous to earn loyalty.

As for scenes: think small but calculated moments—like offering help so he can later call in a favor, or using flattery to get into private conversations. His charm should feel effortless, like everything he does just naturally benefits him. Let people want to say yes to him, because why wouldn't they? He'd never do anything wrong!

Use foreshadowing and drop hints through your scenes too, like:

He helps a powerful person in public (small act, big praise), later using that goodwill to get access somewhere.

He praises someone’s intelligence just before suggesting a risky plan—making them feel clever for agreeing.

He eavesdrops, then later "guesses" something personal about someone to seem insightful and trustworthy.

Basically, his charm is a tool, not a mask—it’s always used with purpose.

One character that comes to mind for inspo is Tom Riddle. I wrote a Tom Riddle fanfic series for like 2 years and crafting scenes where everyone thinks he's perfect while internally he's looking down on all of them was so so fun! Some personal tips from that experience:

Have someone who knows the truth! The one person who doesn't fall for his charm no matter what he tries, make his eye twitch and smile strain as he tries to maintain the farce of perfection whenever this person calls him out in public.

Internal monologue. It's important to make sure your readers get that this guy doesn't actually like the random girl he flirted with to get access to the professor's records. Or that the group of friends that constantly swarm him are really just nuisances in his eyes.

Make things easy, but not too easy. Have people who easily fall for the physical charm, and others whose trust he gains by making them let their guard down. The sceptic trusts him because he's apparently part of the same tiny dog club as them, the girl who falls for no one feels her heart flutter by how 'real and kind' he was during the moment they 'accidentally' met outside school.

I hope this helps!

[rcmclachlan]

Can you imagine what Tommy looked like when he went in for his shift later that day?

(8x11 coda)

+

When Kinard walks into the locker room at the start of their shift, Lucy does a double take that would make Tex Avery weep with envy.

No one at Harbor would be able to say with a straight face that Kinard's been fully himself over the last few months, what with the wistful eyes and the almost complete lack of Independence Day quotes, but watching him stow his shit in his locker now, he looks diluted, like someone spilled water past the edges of his outline until he grew blurry and ephemeral. She has no idea what could've happened to make him look like this.

He shuts the door to his locker not with the cheerful flair with which he's done since she met him, or the way he's been doing it as of late: quick and perfunctory, like if he wastes even the slightest bit of movement, he'll be losing some kind of bet with himself. 

He shuts the door with a quiet click. Then he just stands there, hand on the handle. She's not even sure he's registered that she's in there with him.

"Kinard," Lucy says. "You good?"

It takes a second for it to penetrate, but she sees the moment it does. He blinks himself out of the fugue state and straightens up,  no expression on his face. He looks like the fucking Terminator. 

"Kinard," she says again, this time barking it out as forcefully as she thinks he can handle. That tone never fails to work on her brother's demon kids, and also Captain Ribiero.

"Donato." He says her name slowly, almost dreamily. He's as solid as a cloud. If she got off the bench and put her hand on his arm, it would fall right through him. "Do you remember the second time we flew together? The gas explosion at Park Fifth. Do you remember what you said to me after we got the kid out—Charlie?"

Wide-eyed, she stares at him, because he's never once brought up Park Fifth since it happened, mostly out of fear that she'd bludgeon him to death with the closest thing within reach for the reminder. It's been literally years since then, and the trust and rapport they've built has erased any hard feelings from that night.

"I asked..." She trails off with a grimace.

It hadn't been her finest moment, considering the kid had just died in his arms. It was her fault—for not listening to him when he wanted her to fly to the east side of the building, downwind, so he could get in and run to where little Charlie Kindstrom was trapped inside with a gas fire that wouldn't quit no matter what they threw at it. She had wanted to get in from the apartment window, have him attack it head-on, to save time, and she'd used her seniority to override him. They wasted precious minutes anyway, trying to get him inside by way of the one clear corner and somehow keep him from being flambéd. 

When they finally got Charlie on board, Kinard had been covered with ash and blood from where Charlie's skin had sloughed off during the transfer, and when Reina, their aeromedic, couldn't get her pulse back, he looked at Lucy with what, at the time, felt like blame. The guilt and frustration and the fact that this smart-ass fucking newbie was calling her out on her mistake, even though he wasn't, not really, got the best of her, got control of her mouth before she could wrestle them back.

"I asked if you ever got tired of being right all the fucking time."

He'd rocked back from it like he'd been slapped, eyes wide and hurt, red from the smoke and the loss, but he never answered her. Reina called time of death, and nobody said a word the entire flight to LA General. When they got back to Harbor, they had it out right there on the tarmac, then walked back inside, arms slung around each other, to find three of their teammates holding up pieces of paper with scores written on them. Nico gave them a 6.5, the fucker.

Now, she watches with wordless horror as a smile like a flatline slowly creeps across his face, eating everything in its path. He steps back from his locker.

"I do," he murmurs. "I really do."

Kinard exhales, then visibly steels himself, plates of armor sliding down, locking in, and then walks out into the hangar like nothing can touch him. Like nothing will touch him ever again. 

Realization hits, and it takes conscious effort to dig her nails out of her palm so she can grab her phone off the bench and open a very, very, very old text thread.

Blowing out a breath, she puts her phone on Do Not Disturb then slides it into her pocket so she can finish tying her boot laces, trying to unclench her jaw with varying success.

Not only does she have an entire shift to lead during the fourth straight day of a county-wide burn ban, which means every idiot from here to San Bernadino is going to try to burn their neighborhood to the ground because they couldn't go a week without throwing a backyard barbecue, but her best pilot's nursing what is clearly a freshly broken heart, and that's a thousand times more dangerous than some dumbass lighting up a firepit in their bone-dry yard.

"I should've called out," she mutters, then stands up.

Would've, could've, should've, but that won't pay her bills. Spending the next 48 hours keeping Kinard from falling out of the sky, however, better come with OT pay.

[joelsrose]

Guns & Roses

next chapter

Summary: New series! Joel Miller couldn’t stand you, and you weren’t exactly fond of him either. Yet somehow, fate seemed determined to weave your lives together, no matter how much you resisted.

TW: just mean!joelmiller - 4.8k words eee enjoyyy

Chapter One

You and Joel Miller were not friends. Not at all.

Ever since Joel Miller had entered Jackson, there had been something—something you couldn’t quite name—that kept him at arm’s length from you. It wasn’t just indifference or distance; it was as though every time you were near, it set off an invisible alarm in him, a deep, simmering irritation that crackled in the air between you.

You didn’t understand it.

It felt personal in a way that made no sense, as if just being around him was enough to make him want to leave the room.

And you had no idea why.

Sure, Joel was a gruff man, with his trademark stoicism and hard edges. Everyone knew that. He was someone who struggled to connect, someone with walls so high you’d wonder if he’d ever learned how to take them down.

But slowly, after a few months in Jackson, Joel had softened. Not by much, but just enough.

You’d see him offering small smiles to the townsfolk, his weathered hands occasionally helping out with a chore, his nods of acknowledgment more frequent. He wasn’t friendly, exactly, but he was warming up to the people around him. Jackson, with all its noise and community, had chipped away at his rough exterior.

But with you? Joel Miller remained a brick wall.

He didn’t smile at you. He didn’t wave or nod. He didn’t even make eye contact unless it was absolutely necessary. Every interaction felt like walking on thin ice, a sharpness to his silence that made the air between you ache with discomfort. The warmth you’d see in him, the small flickers of humanity that everyone else seemed to coax out? They evaporated the second his gaze found yours, as if all the walls that had softened for others came crashing back up around you.

It wasn’t just confusing. It stung.

What made it worse was that you couldn’t figure out why. You were well-liked in Jackson. You had a reputation for being kind, caring, funny—charismatic in a way that drew people in without much effort on your part. People sought you out. You were the type of person others trusted, the one who could make a tense moment lighter with just a smile. You knew how to connect with people, how to build friendships that were rooted in something real. You had friends everywhere—Tommy, Maria, the patrol groups—and wherever you went, you fit in.

But not with Joel Miller.

With Joel, it felt like no matter what you did, you could never find your footing. He didn’t laugh at your jokes, didn’t seem to care about the easy rapport you had with everyone else. If anything, his coldness made you doubt yourself, made you second-guess every interaction, every conversation. You, who had always been so sure of your ability to connect, were suddenly questioning everything.

You could still remember the day Joel arrived in Jackson, Ellie by his side, both of them looking weathered and wary. There was something raw in the way Joel had embraced Tommy, a kind of relief that softened the edges of his usual guarded self. For a moment, he had looked so vulnerable, so unburdened by the weight of the world, that you’d thought, maybe, just maybe, we’ll get along. After all, if Tommy loved him, how hard could it be?

Tommy had been so excited to introduce you two. You were one of his closest friends in Jackson, practically family, and he’d pulled you aside that day, a wide grin on his face as he said, “I can’t wait for y’all to meet, I know you’ll get along great.” There had been such hope in his voice, such warmth. It had made you smile, had made you eager to get to know Joel. You had thought of all the ways your bond with Tommy would naturally extend to Joel—how you’d become this little trio of friends, tied by loyalty and time.

But it hadn’t happened that way.

Instead, from the very first moment you and Joel had locked eyes, something had been off. You couldn’t pinpoint when, exactly, it shifted, but as the months wore on, the gap between you seemed to widen. You couldn’t understand what you had done to push him so far away, but whatever it was, it felt irrevocable. It was as if, in Joel’s eyes, you had done something unforgivable before you even had the chance to know him.

Tommy’s words echoed in your mind sometimes, taunting you with their false promise: You guys will get along great.

You remembered the first time you had met Joel—it had been one of those evenings meant to feel light and warm, filled with laughter and food. Maria had invited you to Tommy and hers for dinner, a small gathering, just family and close friends. The kitchen had smelled like garlic and rosemary, the scents swirling around you as you helped plate the dishes while Maria buzzed beside you, chatting about the latest updates in town.

Then you heard the door creak open, the murmur of low voices carrying into the kitchen. Joel and Ellie had arrived, their figures framed by the dying evening light streaming through the doorway. There was something comforting in how they stood—a familiarity, an ease that only family can share. Tommy’s laugh rang out, hearty and genuine, as he clapped his brother on the shoulder, leading him into the room.

“Hey, Maria,” Joel’s voice cut through the air—gruff, grounded, with a depth that seemed to echo from the very walls of the house. And then, Tommy turned to you with that warm brotherly smile of his, introducing you.

You’d smiled—nervous but friendly—extending a hand as you offered a casual greeting. “Hi, it’s so nice to finally meet you, Joel.”

A light-hearted joke about the food had slipped from your lips, something meant to fill the space, to break the silence, to ease the unfamiliarity. But Joel had only stared for a heartbeat too long, his hand moving to shake yours with a grip that felt as solid and immovable as stone. There had been no warmth, no softness in his eyes, no smile to meet your own. It was as if your presence unsettled him, a chill descending between you two in that brief exchange. You had felt it then—the distance, the resistance.

And it only grew from there.

Through the evening, you had tried. Tried to coax him into the conversation with little remarks, to pull him in through laughter and lighthearted banter. Ellie had laughed, her bright smile flickering like sunshine breaking through the clouds. Tommy had nearly fallen out of his chair at one of your jokes, his laughter filling the space between bites of food. Even Maria had chuckled softly, her eyes glowing with warmth as she nudged you playfully.

But not Joel.

Every time you spoke, his brow furrowed just a little deeper. His lips pressed tighter together, and his eyes flicked away from yours as if he couldn't bear to hold your gaze. It wasn’t outright hostility, but the coldness lingered like a shadow, hovering between every word exchanged. The more you tried to engage him, the more distant he seemed, as if you were pushing against a wall that refused to budge.

And the more Joel pulled away, the more it gnawed at you, turning your confusion into something more jagged, more bitter. How could someone you barely knew have such a hold on your thoughts? How could one man’s distance feel like a rejection of everything you thought you were good at?

As the days blurred together, you’d find yourself thinking about it more than you cared to admit. And as much as you tried to brush it off, tried to tell yourself that you didn’t care, that his coldness didn’t matter—it did. It mattered more than you wanted it to.

And Joel? He didn’t seem to care.

That was why, when you saw your name paired with Joel for the next patrol, you were stumped. A frown pulled at your lips as you stared at the roster, the list mocking you with its cruel pairing.

Joel Miller.

The man who could barely look at you, who actively avoided your presence, now slated to spend hours—days even—alone with you out in the wilderness. Whoever had put this together had to be playing a joke on you.

But as your eyes drifted down to the bottom of the roster, you saw the telltale initials: M & T. Maria and Tommy. The two people in charge of organizing patrols.

Of course.

You gruffed in frustration, the idea of spending hours in silence, or worse, awkward small talk with Joel, made you inwardly groan.

Shaking your head, you started the short walk toward Maria and Tommy’s house, the crisp winter air biting at your cheeks. The snow beneath your boots crunched with each step, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet evening. Jackson’s main path was lined with soft, glowing lights that reflected off the fresh blanket of snow, guiding your way.

Their house wasn’t far, tucked neatly alongside the other homes, warm and inviting with its soft glow spilling from the windows. You could see the familiar curl of smoke rising from the chimney, a sure sign of the roaring fire inside. As you approached, you could hear voices filtering through the thick wooden walls—louder than usual, urgent. You slowed your pace, the tension in the air becoming palpable, the muffled sound of raised voices stirring something uneasy in your chest.

“What the hell is this, Tommy?” Joel’s voice cut through the stillness, gruff and laced with irritation. You stopped short of the door, your breath catching as curiosity took hold. You shouldn’t eavesdrop—you knew that—but you couldn’t stop yourself. You needed to hear what Joel had to say, especially if it would finally give you some insight into why he always seemed to look at you with that simmering frustration.

“What’s the big deal, Joel?” Tommy’s voice echoed back, exasperated but steady, trying to keep the peace.

“You know damn well what the big deal is.” Joel’s tone was biting, sharp enough to cut through the thick wooden walls. His frustration was palpable, practically vibrating through the air. “You’re pairin’ me up with her? Jesus, Tommy, you know I can’t stand her.”

The words hit like a physical blow, and your heart clenched painfully, the sting immediate and deep. You had suspected it for a while, of course, but hearing him say it out loud—that he couldn’t stand you—felt like a punch to the gut, one you weren’t prepared for.

You weren’t the type to let words get to you, especially not like this, but this—this was different. A lump formed in your throat, and before you could stop it, tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over. You pressed yourself closer to the door, the silence inside the house heavy as if even Tommy was taken aback by Joel’s outburst.

Finally, Tommy spoke again, his voice filled with frustration, tinged with disbelief. “And why the hell not? She’s a good person, Joel. A damn good person with a heart of gold. What the hell did she ever do to you?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat growing. You stepped closer to the door, your heart pounding as you waited—needed—to hear Joel’s response. You needed to know why.

“It’s not that simple, Tommy.” Joel’s voice was quieter now, the frustration tempered, but it carried a weight that made your pulse quicken.

“What the hell’s so complicated about it?” Tommy shot back, his voice rising in disbelief, clearly at the end of his patience. “You’ve barely said two words to her since you got here. If you’ve got a problem with her, why don’t you just spit it out?”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. For a moment, you thought Joel wouldn’t answer at all. The tension hung in the air like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

And then, in a voice so low you almost didn’t hear it, Joel finally spoke. “It’s just… I can’t, alright? I can’t… be around her like that.”

Your heart pounded painfully against your ribs, confusion swirling inside you. What did that even mean? You had no idea what he was trying to say, but it twisted something deep within you, the uncertainty gnawing at your insides.

“Jesus, Joel,” Tommy sighed, his voice carrying the weariness of too many conversations just like this one. You could practically hear him running a hand through his hair, frustration and exhaustion blending in his tone.

“Look, you don’t have a choice here. What if one day it’s just the two of you out there, the only ones available for patrol, and something goes sideways? You gonna let things fall apart because you can’t get over yourself and work together?”

There was a pause, Tommy’s words hanging in the air like a plea for reason. You knew you had heard enough. The knot in your chest had tightened to the point of pain, and you were ready to turn away, to retreat before things got worse.

But before you could move, the door creaked open.

Joel stood in the doorway, his broad frame blocking out the warm light from inside. His eyes found yours immediately, and in that instant, you knew—he had seen you. And he knew you had heard everything.

The flicker of recognition in his eyes made your chest tighten even more, your heart racing as the tension between you grew impossibly thick. There was no apology in his gaze, no softening in his expression. He just stared at you, his features tight and unreadable, leaving you suspended in the heavy silence of everything unsaid.

Behind him, you could see Maria and Tommy, their faces filled with worry, watching as the situation unfolded like a slow-motion tragedy. You felt exposed, raw, like an open wound, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone to witness that vulnerability.

Joel pushed past you without a word, his shoulder brushing yours as he strode down the steps, his footsteps heavy against the ground. He didn’t even glance back, leaving you standing there, heart in pieces, with nothing but the cold air biting at your skin.

You turned on your heel, walking away from the house, your steps heavy, dragging, like your body was weighed down by the ache in your chest. You wanted to move faster, to disappear into the night, but your legs felt unsteady beneath you, refusing to obey the urgency in your heart. Each step felt like a struggle, the sting of unshed tears blurring your vision as you tried to hold it together.

“Wait—” Tommy called after you, his voice tight with concern. “Come inside, talk to us.”

But you couldn’t. The tears were already threatening to spill, your throat tight with the pressure of holding everything in. The last thing you wanted was for them—for him—to see you like this, breaking apart in front of their eyes. Your vision wavered as the first tear slipped free, and you blinked hard, trying to will it away, trying to push down the hurt that was clawing its way up.

You needed to get out of there. Anywhere but here. You moved faster, your boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts as you made your way down the path. The cold air nipped at your cheeks, but it did little to numb the burning in your chest.

Behind you, you heard Tommy rushing after you, his footsteps crunching through the snow, his voice softer now, urgent but gentle. “Hey, kid—he didn’t mean it. You know Joel. He’s complicated. He doesn’t know how to—” His words trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the right way to explain something even he didn’t fully understand.

You stopped, your feet rooted to the ground, but you didn’t turn to face him. You couldn’t. Not like this. Not when you were one breath away from falling apart entirely, from letting everything you’d been holding back flood to the surface.

“I’ll be fine, Tommy,” you said, your voice tight, barely managing to stay steady. It felt like a lie, like a betrayal of the truth you were burying inside, but you couldn’t let him see you like this. Not over Joel Miller. You wiped at your eyes hastily, trying to brush away the tears before they fell. “I just… I need to go.”

There was a pause, the silence thick between you, weighted with sympathy, with Tommy’s understanding and his guilt. He didn’t say anything else, and in that moment, you were grateful. He didn’t push. He knew better.

So you walked away, your heart heavy with the weight of it all. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but the sting of Joel’s words hurt so much more, echoing in your mind like a wound that refused to heal. And underneath it all, one question burned like fire, searing through every doubt and every hurt—Why?

Why did Joel hate you so much? What had you ever done to deserve it?

•••

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of your small home, casting soft, golden beams across the wooden floor. The house was modest—just enough space for one person, with a kitchen that opened into a cozy living room, and a bedroom tucked away in the back. The walls were lined with small, personal touches—books you had collected over the years, a few framed photos of moments from before, and little trinkets you had scavenged from various patrols. It was a quiet space, peaceful, but this morning, the weight of the silence felt heavier than usual.

You sat on the edge of your bed, your hands lingering over your boots before pulling them on with a sigh. The air in Jackson had the sharpness of early morning, and you knew the day ahead would be long. As you tied the laces, the conversation you’d overheard at Tommy and Maria’s house replayed in your mind—the sting of Joel’s words, the coldness in his voice. "Jesus Tommy, you know I can’t stand her." It had been days since, but the ache of it still hit like a fresh bruise, tender to the touch.

You stood and moved to the small table by the door where you kept your patrol gear—your rifle, your gloves, a well-worn coat. Everything felt heavier today. As you strapped on your holster, you caught your reflection in the window. You looked tired. Not just from lack of sleep, but from the quiet hurt that had been growing inside you, quietly gnawing at your spirit since the moment Joel’s words reached your ears.

With one last glance around your home, you opened the door and stepped outside, the crisp morning air hitting your cheeks. The stable wasn’t far, just a short walk, but the journey felt longer today. Each step reminded you of the awkward silence that was bound to hang between you and Joel, the weight of unspoken words and the tension that had always been there but now felt even more unbearable.

When you arrived at the patrol meet-up spot, your eyes immediately landed on your horse. He whinnied softly, recognizing you as you approached. You smiled faintly, running your hand along his muzzle, brushing through his thick mane. It was a ritual by now—whispering a soft hello to him, patting his side, and taking a moment to ground yourself before setting out. He was the one constant, the one being you could rely on during patrol. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to his, letting the warmth of his presence calm your frayed nerves.

But then, you heard the familiar sound of boots crunching in the snow behind you. Without even turning, you knew it was Joel.

You felt his presence like a weight in the air—heavy, silent. He said nothing as he walked past you, his eyes fixed on his own horse. There was no greeting, no acknowledgment, just the awkward tension that had settled between you both like a fog. The memories of that conversation played over again in your mind, and the pang of hurt hit you square in the chest as you stiffened slightly.

You stole a quick glance at him as he saddled his horse. His face was set in that same stoic expression, the one he wore around everyone in Jackson—but with you, there was an added distance. He kept his eyes averted, focusing on the task at hand, and for a moment, you wondered if this day would pass without a single word between you.

With a sigh, you climbed onto your horse, settling into the saddle with a practiced ease. The silence between you and Joel was palpable, thick like the cold morning air. You wanted to say something—anything to break the tension—but the words caught in your throat, stifled by the hurt that lingered.

Joel mounted his horse without a glance in your direction. You both sat there for a beat, the sound of horses shifting in the snow the only thing breaking the stillness. Then, without a word, he nudged his horse forward, and you followed suit, the two of you riding out together into the white expanse of the wilderness beyond Jackson.

The only thing heavier than the quiet was the unspoken weight between you.

You began your journey through the thick silence that had settled between you and Joel like a fog. The cold wind bit at your skin, but it was nothing compared to the coldness that radiated from the man riding just ahead of you. His shoulders were hunched, his back stiff, his eyes never once flickering in your direction. The snow crunched beneath your horse's hooves, the sound the only thing to fill the uncomfortable quiet between you.

Not a single word had passed between you since the patrol began. The tension was unbearable, the weight of Joel’s unspoken words hanging heavily in the air. You hadn’t expected warmth or friendliness, not after everything, but the biting silence cut deeper than you could have imagined.

Hours passed before Joel finally spoke, his voice a low mutter as he pointed toward a narrow path. “We’ll go through here,” he said, his tone flat and emotionless, as though he were simply checking off a list. It was strange to hear him speak after so long, and for a moment, it felt as though his words didn’t belong to him.

You followed in silence, the trail winding deeper into the forest, the trees closing in around you. The snow-covered ground glittered under the faint sunlight, casting long shadows that twisted and danced between the trees. The world felt smaller here, more enclosed, and with each passing moment, the unease inside you grew.

Eventually, you arrived at your destination—a crumbling cabin tucked deep in the woods, half-buried in snow, its wood aged and brittle against the cold. The stillness of the air made everything feel heavier, like even the trees were holding their breath. You dismounted your horse quietly, your fingers stiff from the biting chill as you fumbled with the reins. Joel had already tied his horse to the post, his movements precise, practiced.

He turned toward you, the lines of his face hardened, eyes sharp as they caught yours for a moment too long. His jaw clenched, the tension palpable. “Follow me,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the cold air like a whip. “And don’t say a word. Not a single word. From here on out, we’re silent.”

His command, rough and unyielding, struck you with a sharpness that left your chest aching. It wasn’t just the cold seeping into your bones—it was the weight of his disdain, pressing down on you, constricting your breath. You nodded, your throat tightening with unspoken words you knew would only make things worse.

You followed him toward the cabin, the wind howling softly around you, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear. The snow crunched beneath your boots, the scent of pine lingering in the air. But despite the open wilderness around you, the world felt unnervingly small. The cabin door creaked on its rusted hinges as Joel pushed it open, the sound echoing like a warning in the eerie stillness. You hesitated before stepping inside, the dim light barely illuminating the cramped space that lay beyond.

Your pulse quickened, your instincts telling you something wasn’t right. You’d been on enough patrols to recognize danger, but this… this felt different. It felt personal. Like the shadows themselves were watching, waiting.

Joel moved ahead of you, his broad shoulders tense, his gun drawn as he scanned the small room. His silence felt thick, suffocating, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the hammering of your heart, but the unease gnawed at you, made every sound sharper, every shadow darker.

And then it happened.

A figure lunged from the darkness, too fast for you to react, the world tilting violently as you were tackled to the ground. The impact stole the breath from your lungs, the cold, hard floor biting into your skin. The raider was filthy, wild-eyed, his hands rough and cruel as he pinned you beneath him, the sharp gleam of a knife flashing before your eyes. Panic surged through you, but your limbs felt heavy, useless against the overwhelming force holding you down. The knife hovered dangerously close to your throat, the cold steel grazing your skin, and for one terrifying moment, you thought this was it—this was how it would end.

But then Joel was there.

He moved like a storm—fast, brutal, and unstoppable. In one swift motion, he yanked the raider off of you, throwing him to the floor with a strength that seemed to come from somewhere far deeper than just muscle. Rage radiated from Joel as his fists met flesh, each blow landing with a sickening crack that echoed through the tiny cabin. He didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The raider’s body went limp beneath him, but Joel kept going, his fists relentless, pounding into the man with a fury that seemed to possess him, until the only sound left was the ragged heave of his breathing and the wet thud of blood dripping onto the floor.

You lay there, gasping, your chest rising and falling in uneven, desperate breaths. The world spun around you, the edges of your vision blurred by adrenaline and fear. You pushed yourself up on trembling arms, your body weak, every nerve on edge. Your heart thundered in your chest, so loud you could hear it in your ears, drowning out the silence that had settled like a heavy fog.

Joel turned toward you then, his chest still heaving with exertion, his fists stained with blood. His face was dark with anger, his eyes burning as they locked onto yours. “What the hell was that?” he growled, the fury in his voice so raw it made you flinch. “You could’ve been killed.”

His words were a blade, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the thin veil of composure you’d been clinging to. You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat making it difficult to breathe. You wanted to speak, to defend yourself, but the intensity of his stare pinned you down more effectively than the raider ever could. Every word you wanted to say died on your tongue.

And then he muttered it, low and venomous, just loud enough for you to hear: “Fucking burden…”

The words sliced through you, deeper than any knife. You felt them settle in your chest, a sharp, stinging ache that spread like wildfire, consuming the air around you. You stared at him, the sting of his words leaving you breathless, your heart sinking as if it had been thrown into the abyss.

“No,” you spat, your voice shaking with a mix of anger and hurt. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”

Joel’s eyes flashed, his body going rigid as he turned fully to face you. “Excuse me?” His voice was dangerously low, like the quiet before a storm, but you didn’t back down. Not this time.

“You heard me.” Your chest was still heaving, adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but your resolve was stronger than your fear. “You don’t get to treat me like I’m some… problem you have to deal with. I’m out here trying to do my part, same as you.”

His expression darkened, disbelief twisting his features. “Do your part? You almost got yourself killed back there! If I hadn’t been here—"

“If you hadn’t been here?” you cut him off, your voice rising as the anger overtook the fear. “What, I’d be dead? Is that what you think? That I can’t handle myself? I’ve been on patrols long before you showed up. I’ve survived without you. Just fine.”

Joel scoffed, his lips curling in frustration. “Yeah? Didn’t look like it just now.”

His words were another blow, sharp and biting, but you refused to let them break you. “I didn’t need you to save me, Joel. I would’ve figured it out.”

His eyes narrowed, his jaw working as he fought to control the anger simmering just beneath the surface. “You think this is a game? You think you can just figure it out when you’ve got a knife to your throat?” His voice was loud now, booming in the small space, filled with a frustration that felt all too personal.

“You could’ve died. And for what?”

“Fuck you, Joel.”

The words slipped from your lips before you could stop them, raw and jagged, fueled by the fire burning in your chest. You didn’t care about the consequences, didn’t care that his eyes had gone dark with shock. You were done. Done with being treated like something fragile and disposable.

Joel stared at you, his body tense, his mouth slightly open like he hadn’t expected the bite of your words. For a moment, the space between you felt like a battlefield, the silence pulsing with the weight of everything unsaid. The anger that simmered in you wasn’t just from this moment—it was months of pent-up frustration, of feeling like you were constantly crashing against a wall with him, never allowed in.

Your chest heaved, your hands trembling with the adrenaline still coursing through you.

“I don’t need you to save me,” you said, your voice shaking with the force of what you felt. “I never asked for your help, Joel. And I sure as hell don’t need you treating me like I’m some burden. So fuck you.”

His eyes flashed with something—anger, guilt, maybe something softer, but he quickly buried it beneath that familiar cold exterior. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might snap back, might throw something just as harsh in your face. But he didn’t. Instead, his gaze dropped, just for a second, like your words had found their mark.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low and hard. “You don’t need my help? Then don’t ask for it.” He turned sharply, storming out of the cabin without another word, his footsteps heavy in the snow, leaving you standing there in the cold, breathless and burning with the aftershocks of everything you’d just said.

But even as the silence swallowed him up, you knew the storm between you wasn’t over—it had only just begun.

[assassin-artist]

Mild obsessed with Mercy and I wanna know more about her! What would you say her relationships with other heroes is like? Namely the current Guardians roster.

A couple of doodles to go with the answer (:

I talk about the events of the show including the latest episode (3x07) so don't read if you aren't caught up!

-immortal - bad. immortal started off with warning her that he's watching her every move, similar with mark. he doesnt trust the twins because he never trusted omni-man, and his distrust was clearly justified after the events of the first season. she thinks he's an egotistical asshole who doesn't care about anyone else because of his refusal to become attached to his teammates, he thinks she's a time bomb waiting to go off just like her dad and brother. more than anything, though - she hates that he keeps comparing her to her father. her dad is one topic that she's sensitive about and can get temperamental if he's brought up. she tries to just stay away from immortal most of the time because she's confident she'd just start fights with him every other conversation.

-black samson - okay! samson, to me, has the vibes of a guy who's trying to hold the team together as best as he can. he's a charming guy who seems to care about them, and he does his best to get to know each of them. mercy isn't part of the guardians of the globe roster, but she works with them often enough that he probably considers her an honorary member or something. mercy is pretty closed off to others trying to 'take care of her' because she's trying really hard to be seen as independent and mature, so i think she shakes his concern and compassion off most of the time. not too rudely, though - she appreciates his attempts to be friendly. she just wishes he'd be friendly in a 'this person is my ally and teammate' way instead of in a 'this is a child i need to protect' kind of way.

-bulletproof - okayish. i don't think they interact much with each other at all in the beginning. but considering bulletproof is the only other flyer that she works with on a regular basis, i think just them having convos as they fly to and from missions will go a long way to building a rapport - for no other reason than because it's something only they can do. they'd be work friends i think. getting along on the job, but not really talking much off the job. i think they could be good friends off the job too, both of them like art and being a hero, but Mercy is the one who isn't interested in getting to know him further. sorry man, let's keep it all strictly professional..

-rex - close friends. she kind of had a crush on him the first time they met, and then she realized he was dating eve so she backed off immediately. and then she learned he cheated on eve and hated him with a passion for a while. similar to immortal, she thought of rex as egotistical and a complete jerk for a long while. but of course after his near-death experience, he turned his personality around and started being less of an ass, so her opinion of him changed quite a bit. the only person on the team that Mercy actually hangs out with outside of the job - they're similar in age and can talk to each other about their struggles of being abandoned by a parent (or 2 in rex's case). i think it's interesting that they gave Rae and Rex a romance in the show, because if Rex didn't have a romance, she absolutely would have been interested in him again. Well... we know how it ends, so i guess it's better for her that she never let her feelings develop too far...

-robot and monstergirl - bunking them together because Mercy always sees them together so they're basically a duo in her mind. Robot is crazy intelligent and Mercy respects it, but his penchant to talk from multiple copies of his robots kind of creeps her out and interests her at the same time. Kinda wishes she could do that too lol. Mercy feels sympathy for Monstergirl because of her curse, and the few times they do talk they get along just fine. It's just that they don't talk often. They aren't on the same team together and they never interact outside of the job, so there's just not enough there to build a relationship of any kind off of.

-duplikate - they have an okay work relationship, but they're both headstrong people with very different views on things. i think one of them might throw a jab at the other and that's all it would take to start a fight between them. they do NOT talk outside of work, and in fact, only talk during work if they have to communicate during a fight. in the headquarters? they're not really interacting at all. Mercy rolls her eyes when she learns that Kate and Immortal are getting married because "yeah of course the asshole is marrying an asshole".

-shrinking rae - not as close as Rex, but Mercy and Rae could definitely get along pretty well. maybe if we get to learn more about Rae in the show I could see them being friends outside of the job as well, but for now they're just close coworkers.

-darkwing ii - lastly, darkwing 2. crush material, but very slow buildup. she didn't go on that mission when Mark took Darkwing in for murder, she only heard about it second-hand from Mark himself, so that might be why she's way more forgiving of his issues than she is willing to be for Sinclair(she saw Sinclair's labs and victims personally). she still thinks he's unstable in the beginning and generally avoids him for a while, which he definitely notices, but i think all it would take is one comment from him talking about his remorse for what he did, and she might be willing to stay and talk it over with him. a short debate about morals turns into a longer conversation about regrets and what they would change if they could go back... about how the things they've seen and done has changed them forever. i think the two of them could be very good friends.. and maybe more (: such a shame he disappeared so fast in the show, but maybe id change the story a little bit now that Mercy is here to save the day, heh...

Edit: I CANT BELIEVE I FORGOT SHAPESMITH.... He's my personal favorite hero on the guardians team, which of course means Ellie is going to like him too (: Another rare instance of Mercy allowing this coworker to hang out with her outside of the job. I think she'd be really interested in learning about his life on Mars, and in return she'd help him acclimate to life on Earth. Always bringing him little trinkets or candy from a dollar store, stuff like that lol. They would be the best of friends, I swear. He's not the best person to go to when she's looking to vent her frustrations about life and her issues, but he's always there to listen anyway, and she appreciates that.