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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months

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NOBODY'S SON, NOBODY'S DAUGHTER (VI)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER VII

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 7.0k

WARNINGS: Angst, mentions of stalking & stalking behavior, creepy men, talks of death, weapons, toxic modeling standards, food issues, dead animals, talks about gore, symptoms & descriptions of dissociation, scars and mentions of intense medical procedures, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you.

Nikto stands in the bathroom connected to the library—at the very end of that train car-like set-up of your loft rooms. His fingers move to the straps of his Kevlar, peeling them off as the loud tearing sounds echo in his ears.

He can hear you stumbling about in your room, too. Getting ready for bed. Blinking, Nikto grunts as he thinks over your comment from when you first showed him around. He hadn’t been able to get it out of his head since you’d said it.

Well, I guess brain damage will do that to you.

The man’s vest is taken off, hitting the floor in a heap. Next follows the clips of his thigh holster, and the belt buckle in the loops of his pants. Each joins the pile with a slap of material.

“Brain damage,” Nikto grunts.

It wasn’t something he should be worrying about—in fact, it was at the very bottom of the long list of things that even mattered. First was your safety, then the identity of this pathetic individual who was infatuated with you. But it stuck with him nonetheless.

He’d never had to look after someone with this affliction before. The stumbling; the shakiness. But he’d gone through worse. Yet, at the same time, it was far larger than just his assignment. In his own way, Nikto was…appreciative that you seemed to at least listen to him most of the time. And you were easy to talk to.

There was a sort of kinship there, as well. In broken things. Maybe that was why he felt himself growing to you.

Striped down to nothing but his mask, the Russian glimpses himself in the mirror and stills. He was always struck by it.

How something could be so brutally ugly.

Scars ran so tightly over his skin that it was indented like a fissure in the earth. Pieces boldly sliced away and chunks missing. The muscled bulge of his stomach was cut up—thighs with such horrors as cigarette burns and the remnants of tattoos that were carved away like hog’s flesh. That’s what he was, Nikto knew. A hog tied to the ceiling and ready to be butchered.

He looked at himself now like he was through the lens of a movie, like the ones he would watch as a child—it was far away from him, the edges blurred as his reflection shifted; another being entirely.

A hand comes up—his hand—and it presses into the material of his mask, large fingers shifting over black coloring as the pale blue of his eyes stares back. None of it felt real. Nikto’s head tilts, but he does not feel the bones in his neck move, only the acknowledgment that they had to have.

The dark ink of the tattoo over his back peaks itself into existence, the starting of obsidian over his shoulders. Nikto shifts his top half as if seeing it for the first time, unblinking eyes taking in the visage of a snarling bear locking gazes with him. At the side of his left shoulder, the sigil of his old unit burnt his skin.

“New,” he utters, voice tiny and hoarse. “Gotten after.”

He already knew that…why was he repeating it like he had forgotten sitting in that tattoo shop’s chair? Nikto’s eyes clenched shut, hand coming back up to his masked head and pressing over it.

He was not beautiful, and no one would ever call him such. He didn’t want them to because it would always be a lie.

With a low growl, his fingers grip his mask and rip it off of his head.

The thing slaps against the marble of the counter, hitting with a hard clack of the coated synthetic fiber, sliding over the top until it hits the toothbrush cup and causes it to fall on its side.

Nikto can only stare at the person in the reflection as the sounds swirl in his ears—a world away.

There’s so little of him left that he recognizes that it scares him.

Grinding his jaw, Nikto’s pale eyes slip down the length of the damage. His dark hair is cut close to his head, strong bones in his nose and brow above the deep sockets of his eyes—the glare of black and blue bags gives way to his lack of sleep. The wideness of his cheeks leads to a sharp chin; a square face overall.

But the marks.

The hyperpigmentation.

Half of a Glasgow Smile peels the flesh back like a tear in paper, and a line is sliced staring at his right ear and curving in a half-circle down to his jaw. Into his hairline, three ragged cuts that had been very badly cauterized to stop him from bleeding out, the hair never able to grow back properly. His neck is the same—a red scar the size of his forearm wrapping from behind and crossing it, little slivers breaking out like a tributary.

He still wasn’t sure how he survived that one, but then again he hadn’t in the long run.

Nikto’s heart had stopped after all.

There’s a knocking at the door, and the man flinches violently—head twitching to the side.

“Nikto?” Your voice is muffled by the wooden barrier, and the Russian’s breath is ragged before he blinks away the distance in his expression. “...Are you alright in there?”

He clears his throat, feet shifting over the plush purple rug you had on the floor as his fingers twitch with tight nerves. But your voice distracts him, fractured brain slowly coming back into focus.

“We are fine,” his voice is harder than he intends. More snappy.

Nikto’s eyes find your shadow under the bottom of the door, your feet moving and re-setting as they usually do. He sees you pause.

“Alright,” your voice calls. “If you need anything, just ask me.”

He watches you stand there for a few seconds longer before your shadow moves back and disappears. Torn ears twitch to your receding weight, eyes beady like a feral dog’s.

Nikto’s bare body is frozen until he finds himself moving to turn on the water to the hottest setting, stepping into the stream with a hiss and a snap of teeth at the burn. He only turns it hotter. Thinking. Wondering.

Brain damage.

—

“I can never see color,” you say into the air bluntly, watching the man tie his shoes. He freezes. “Just thought you should know.”

Your eyes see Nikto blink, a silent moment passing between you two before he looks up slowly, brows pulled in and lids crinkled.

“...Что?”

Something swirls in his vision, a deep intrigue and another that’s harder to name. Hidden. Kept under lock.

“I can never see color,” your voice reiterates, trying to put on a show that the only reason you were saying this was because you wanted to—a sign of trust.

In reality, it was a stepping point.

A small test even if you felt your face heating—growing hotter by the second. “Same accident that caused my brain damage.” You smile softly, motioning a hand to your head. “Even if I find my soulmate, I won’t be able to tell. Weird, huh?”

It was two hours after your phone call with Yaromir and Galina, and there wasn’t much to dwell on from the two. You’d talked about DNA, Sergi, and why no one was taking your claims seriously.

All they chose to tell you was that they needed more to build a case off of. Galina was still trying to get DNA samples, and without that or a large break that gave you any idea about who could do this, you were in the dark. All they had was a partial fingerprint on one of the plastic bags.

Excuses were all you got by the very frustrating end, and your hope had dwindled on every pause over the line, your phone on the coffee table and Nikto watching silently as he placed breakfast in front of you with a firm hand. He’d been quiet today, even more so than usual. You’d even given him more tea last night, though the cup was once more washed and set back by morning.

And he was stiff too. Tense.

Today, you made a firm decision to go back to AMA—not because of your shift. You had no intention of staying in that building even if you knew you should; this was a quick visit. You needed to discuss a large gap in your schedule with the CEO, one that had only shown up in the small hours of this morning.

You really hoped the explanation wasn’t because you were being fried.

Nikto is still, watching every beat of your pulse and how your fingers play with themselves in front of you. His chest is frozen, eyes unblinking as the paleness of them is similar to a knife’s edge. In your internal fight, you hadn't noticed how long he’d just been watching you…dead to the world of the living. His gaze was so intense once you did realize, that you cleared your throat softly as an awkward uncomfortableness built on your expression.

Perhaps today wasn't the best time to test your theory.

The man’s fingers twitch, he stands up to his full height, and then moves into the elevator without a single sound.

Your heart gets stuck in your throat, blinking as you make a confused noise.

“Nikto?” You turn after him. “Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” Calling, your feet shift over the rug of your entrance, seeing the void of white as he stands with his hands behind his back and his covered face diligently forward. No words. “I thought we were past the whole lack of speaking thing?”

A chill moves up your spine slowly, and it’s enough to hide away the reason you’d mentioned your affliction in the first place. He was…so stiff again. Enough so that you partially wondered how this person could be the same that had cooked you dinner last night and barked his feral laugh into the chilled air.

What had changed in one night?

Nikto’s eyes were more of a void than the blackness of his Kevlar.

Apprehensiveness growing, you move and grasp at your jacket with a twist to your lips, slipping it on softly. No sentences being spoken, you shift into the elevator and stay to the far left of him, taking out your keys from your purse and slipping them into the metal.

With a jolt, the thing begins moving slowly.

“Y’know,” you awkwardly laugh. “It would be nice if you responded. I just told you something important to me. I mean,” your anxiety makes you backtrack with a very fake laugh, eyes glancing to the side. He hadn’t moved; was just staring at the space ahead of him. “It’s obviously none of your business,” you wave a small hand, being sly in your word choice. “But I want to be transparent with you about everything going on, especially with how I don’t know if you see color or not. It’s a disadvantage on my part and I—”

“I see color.” Is the monotone, dead response.

I know that.

“Oh. Good,” you try to smile shakily, hand jerking as it hangs at your side with a low simmer of a pounding pulse. A shimmer of excitement runs through your spine. “That’s good, Nikto, I’m glad that you do. So, if you don’t mind me asking, who’s your s—”

A low growl. “I do not want to.”

Tension overtakes the small area and your wide eyes stare unabashedly in shock. All eagerness utterly ceases to exist.

“Excuse me?” You push out your utter confusion, shoulders moving higher.

Surely he didn’t mean he doesn’t want the gift of seeing color.

No one would ever say something like that. Ever. Even those who’ve gone through Soulmate Psychosis have never stated they didn't want to see the shades and hues of the leaves—the sky or the earth. How the clouds looked when the sun was getting low. Purples and blues, colors you’d only ever be able to try and understand knowing that it would be impossible.

And what did this mean for you? You’d been banking off a confession, but this wasn’t the kind you’d expected.

“It is useless to me,” Nikto avoids your gaze. “Неуместный.”

“I have to disagree,” you stutter, slightly shifting your body to tilt his way. The crafted plan in your head is thrown to the wind. “Nikto, we’re talking about color here. Soulmates. The…the person you’re supposed to be destined to be with—how can you say that? Don’t you remember how the world looked when it was all black and white?”

A low snarl echoes, pale eyes jerking your way as a head snaps.

“Достаточно!” You suck in a fast breath as the elevator dings, both of you arriving at the ground floor, doors rolling back to the open lobby. “We do not need you speaking to us on such things.” Nikto moves forward, your nose almost bumping into his chestpiece as the scent of rotten wood infects you. Your body takes down a swift breath, head snapping up to watch. “You know nothing!” His face is right above yours, looming, nearly bending your spine over. “Spoiled girl with pretty face—thinks she knows what she wants, yes?” The Russian scoffs, speaking low as your hands clench at the assumption. “Keep this to yourself.”

He turns and stalks away with a hostile grunt, leaving you blankly staring at where his face used to be, the image of his Kevlar mask burning in the back of your mind. A knife of hurt gradually takes place between your ribs, breeding until your lungs are ruthless in its clutch.

This wasn’t what you had expected.

Nikto glares at Isaak, who had watched with wide eyes and a loose jaw, and not moments later, the doorman quickly averts his gaze to stare at nothing on his desk. The Russian’s pulse is roaring inside of his breast, mind troubled.

Brain damage. Can’t see color.

Halfway to the parked car, Nikto’s mind returns to him and he slams his fast feet to a stop. Blinking, as if something in him had changed at that moment, a second of confusion leaked into his hidden expression as he said nothing. Waiting.

At the small, hesitant movement of shaky feet coming closer, his shoulders slowly tense.

You come up behind Nikto and shift past, taking the car door in your hand and opening it. Moving inside, you close the barrier to the chilled outside morning with a definitive slam. Darkness, for a moment, enshrouds you.

Face unyielding and pulled with guilt, you get a small queasiness in your stomach as the seconds pass in the vehicle.

Maybe you’d been too forward, but Nikto’s response had been…well, explosive. And his comments about color? Who in their right mind would say that?

“That makes no sense,” you whisper, hand coming up and rubbing at the scar on the back of your head. The one you dreamed would disappear in the small hours of the night as a teenager, remembering the beep of hospital machines and the plastic taste of the tube shoved down your throat.

Doesn’t want to see color? Your mouth sucks down a shaky breath. I’d trade anything for only three seconds.

The world outside of the windows is gray as Nikto pops the driver's side door open, bending low with a grunt before sitting into the seat. He doesn’t apologize as he shoves the keys into the ignition—starting the engine. The car rumbles to life.

Maybe you’d been too forward.

“You think?” You whisper to yourself under your breath, tearing your eyes away from the Russian man, grabbing and clicking in your seatbelt.

Socially, you had grace—were used to carrying it to those horrible parties and events. But talking about more personal matters was another thing entirely from work-life. From designer clothes and when they came out, shoes, and makeup. Sex and alcohol. Everyone at AMA speaks with vanity, and you were included. You knew you were beautiful, you’d been told and retold with every pluck from your eyebrows and spread of lipstick over your mouth; ruthless petting like a cat or a doll—there was never any doubt about that.

You could speak beauty, but you can’t speak about real love. Call you hopeless, but that was really all you ever wanted.

Love. Romance. Care and concern. It was addictive to you in every sense—and you just kept coming back for a hit of what you couldn’t have. You’d warned yourself after Yefim, but it hadn’t even taken a month before you had found another man to fixate on; the body of the previous stuck still in your nightmares.

But there was that sliver of something in your gut every time you stared at Nikto; something that didn’t add up. You weren’t deterred—weren’t put off. There was something deeper there that you just had to get to the bottom of first.

There had to be something he wasn’t telling you about why he can see color.

“If I upset you,” you ease out, tongue like lead and your eyes stuck outside the moving vehicle. Your hands tighten over your seatbelt in small intervals, for a moment mute of what to say. “I’m sorry, Nikto. I was just curious, I won’t pry into your personal matters again; you have my word. Just like talking about your mask.”

“Good,” Nikto’s hands flex over the wheel. It’s all he says, and even then it’s curt.

Small-like, you mutter, “Also…thanks for breakfast.”

It had been a small and incredibly healthy—buckwheat porridge. You’d eaten the entire thing with fruit on top and never even glanced at the yogurt in your fridge. The man’s eyes had been sneaking glances the entire time you had brought the spoon back to your mouth, but you weren’t sure if it was to make sure you were liking it, or if you were eating in general.

It was his job to hover, though.

Nikto doesn’t respond to your thanks, but his shoulders slightly loosen a bit, eyes blinking from the view of the mirror.

With a sigh, you keep your mouth shut and sit in silence for the rest of the ride, pulling at loose threads from your jacket pocket. Your fingers tap something firm from the inside, and you pause, blinking down at the dark fabric.

Your brows furrow, but whatever’s inside will have to wait, because Nikto pulls up to the sidewalk and parks the car with a huff. Like before, he opens your door when he’s outside.

“Your investigators will come for any package,” he explains as you shuffle and stand, fixing the collar of your coat and glancing his way. It’s like he hadn’t just snapped at you minutes ago—that numb sheet was over his head once more. “You will not take them.”

There seems to be a moment where he waits for confirmation, raising a brow into the cold air that you can only partially see.

You clear your throat and look away down the street.

“Sure,” you say.

…Had he really called me spoiled?

Nikto glares at you, jaw clenching under his mask. He looks you up and down quickly without moving his head, skin tight and scars pulling. Your words in the elevator had… aggravated him, even if he can’t pinpoint why.

You were messing with his head—and that is an already very broken thing. Yet…your questions weren’t pointless. He knew you’d ask them sooner or later, like a fox to a trap, it was only a matter of time.

He should have expected this, and while cruelty is his nature, he can’t be that to you. The Russian had snapped too violently in the lobby, and it wasn’t your fault. Even with moments of relative calm, he knew that to be fact. But Nikto was a brooding creature—he picked only between missions and guns to be his avatars. Emotions were a loser’s game, and he would not lose at anything so long as he was living. Nikto was a bloody victor holding the remnants of a fresh kill. Nikto was as much a bear as the one printed on his back.

Pale eyes close, a low snarl stuck in the back of his throat.

You blink at the arm that gets held out to you.

“Grab it,” the man doesn’t give away anything; his eyes are ahead and his voice is low like your ability to understand his sudden change.

Every five minutes this Russian was switching between anger and relative tolerance of you. Your brows lightly rise on your forehead, wrinkles forming on your flesh.

Your quivering hand raises and slots itself through his left arm softly, head tilting.

“As much as I appreciate it,” you speak as he helps you up the curb with a firm pull, side-eyeing you. “I can manage. I’ll ask if I can’t.” A tentative smile. “Last-minute mascara is most of what I trust you with besides the food.”

“There will be less of the former in our future.” He grunts as you shut the door behind you. “We have no plans to do such things.”

“You said that about cooking,” you tease, falling back into seamless flirting, trying to get the man who had cooked you supper back into his skin. “I didn’t know you’d be such an attentive roommate.”

Those light orbs stay pinned to you for a long moment, twisting in like a knife with only a glint in the circles of his blackened pupils.

There’s a click of the car locking, and the Russian is all but dragging you forward. Chuckling under your breath, you follow as well as you’re able through the front, feet only stumbling for a moment before you can lean your weight to the side and rely on Nikto to keep you straight. It helps, you admit, though he’s a bit more stiff than Aly.

Your hand rests on his bicep, fingers moving to spread over the hard material and sensing the sinews of his flesh writhe at the action. Nikto huffs under his breath, rolling his shoulders to dispel tension.

Your scent is wafting into his nose like he’d put his head into a tank of ambrosia—your perfume addling his senses, shaming him like a venomous snake being held by a dove.

By an angel.

“Останови это.”

You blink and turn to him, humming. “What was that, Nikto?”

The man is tense again, eyes snapping about as he pushes at the front door to AMA, your own nerves becoming apparent, yet, having your distraction here to pull you away from that.

“Nothing,” he monotones. “Where are we going.”

“Upstairs,” you sigh, walking past the front desk as the women look on in confusion when you don’t stop by. They hadn’t expected you to come in, apparently. It was your job. As you pass pictures and paintings in the hallways, you slowly begin to speak.

“What color is that one,” your finger points to the frame on the far left. It was a dark shade that moved into a lighter one—Ombré.

Nikto’s feet slow, his attention moving from ahead of you to the side for a fast flash. Gruffly, and feeling his chest tighten at the sensation of you freely touching him above the corrupted flesh, he responds in a clipped fashion. “Blue and Green.”

You hum lowly. “Light blue?”

“Нет. Light green to dark blue.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head at it as you pass, peeking over your shoulder. It wasn’t like you could really understand that, but…a small smile pulled at your lips as you turned back forward.

Nikto blinks at it from the corner of his vision, narrowing his eyelids momentarily like a wolf.

“... We do not understand the fascination with it,” he grumbles. “Color.”

“I don’t want to upset you,” your head shakes. “We don’t have to talk about it—”

“I do not like losing my temper at pointless discussion.” You’re interrupted, and you feel your lips part not at the behavior, but the tone at which he takes. A strange firmness that bleeds into conviction. “It was an…error in my judgments.”

It’s only when you steer him lightly to the right hallway to the elevator that your lips move into a smirk, leaning into him even more. Nikto’s eyes flash with surprise, darting down.

“Was that an apology, Big Guy?”

“No,” he scowls under his mask, but his body is gaining heat to it. “An observation of character.”

“I think you just apologized to me and don’t know how to admit it,” you move your face close to his just as he had to you in the penthouse, nose brushing the canvas of the lower half of his face covering. You hear his breath hitch, his large frame going still and yet not pulling away. Your matching feet continue to move.

He seems to lean closer, even, or was that just a trick of the light?

Your lips release a chuckle, your face begins to burn and your veins pump oxytocin that Aly would be intrigued to learn about.

You pull back after a bit too much staring into his eyes, saying breathlessly, “I’m more flattered that you think I’m pretty, Nikto.”

His large sigh is all you hear, hand releasing his arm for a moment to push the elevator’s button to the top floor of the building, chuckling under your breath.

Nikto grumbles but responds with nothing more than a twitch of his fingers when your heat leaves him, motioning his arm again when you come back over. The sudden lapse in your pressured fingers made his spine straighten.

Kliment Fedorov’s office floor is large—very large. It takes up the entire top of the building and his influence seeps down to the very bottom like blackened oil. You’d been here before, as well as seen it from video calls, and while you could have talked to your manager about the gap in your schedule, the fact was that the man was quitting on you.

Dead birds in plastic bags were a bit too much.

It left you only able to go to the top for any clarification until a new manager could be hired.

“When we’re in there,” you comment to Nikto, hand going back to touch him. The Russian blinks slowly, fighting how his body wants to sag. “It’s probably best if you don’t speak, okay?”

Pale eyes narrow, head tilting to the side.

You sigh at the movement, placating him with an explanation. “It’s not that I don’t trust your judgment, but Mr. Fedorov is,” your voice trails off. “He’s very lofty if you get what I mean.”

“Lofty?” Nikto prompts as the elevator continues to move upwards. He seems confused by the word in English.

Your free hand raises and gestures vaguely before you twist your lips and end on a simple, “Arrogant.”

“Ah, да,” the large man utters. “I am not a stranger to such, yes?”

It’s strange how the two of you can just slip past the small arguments that pop up—or, more of the one-sided breaking points and the prodding comments. His words didn’t bother you, and that was different; if your mother had snapped like that, it would be a different story entirely even if you, ultimately, would have let it pass like the rest.

“Do you really think I’m spoiled?”

But you did tend to linger on things.

Before there’s an answer from Nikto, who grunts under his breath, the main door opens with a small ding. Sharing a glance, you shake your head with a quirk of your lips and walk out with a tiny pull at his arm.

You lean and whisper, “It’s okay, I forgive you.”

Nikto doesn’t like how his heart constricts like there’s a vice around it—eyes snapping back. He holds back a flinch.

From there it’s checking in with the secretary and being waved in by her hand, already talking to someone else on the phone and typing away on her computer. You hum under your breath, and Nikto feels your hand jerk. He glances over as the doors get closer, calmed down at least for now.

“You are worried.”

“Only a little,” you mutter, brushing down your jacket, feeling that bulge of something in the pocket.

“Do not be.” The masked man looks forward after studying the layout of the floor—where the emergency exit was and the most efficient places to take cover.

Easy for you to say, you huff. Nikto had a very stiff way of comforting people.

And then you’re knocking on the door, and a voice is telling you both to enter.

—

“Lovely Seraph!” The CEO’s bald head is as shiny as you remember it, and those fly-like eyes are beady enough to make it seem like they move through you instead of at you. “Welcome, come, sit!”

A hand is waved from behind a large mahogany desk, a round face nodding quickly as you smile although it’s not entirely real.

“Mr. Fedorov,” your voice is light and airy—a fake tone of elegance. It comes easily. “It’s so good to see you again. I hope everything is well?”

“Ah,” he laughs, Nikto helping to guide you along even if the room is sparsely decorated beyond potted plants and a large rug. “It is going well, my dear. Very well.”

Eyes slip down your body, past your modest clothes. Something moves behind Fedorov’s expression, shifting. Nikto is a firm brick beside you, only letting you leave when the chair is in front of you. You slide him a thankful glance and slip away, grasping the side of the seat and moving into it with little trouble.

“My dear, I hadn’t expected to see you in last year’s collection.” You blink, eyes darting down to stare at the shirt you wear—it isn’t anything fancy or eye-catching. But it was expensive.

“Oh,” stuttering a moment, you try to play off a suddenly tight laugh. “M-my apologies, Sir. It must have slipped my mind this morning—”

“I will send the newest to you, don’t fret,” Fedorov smirks. “We can’t have one of our best ladies wearing rags.”

A spike of anger levels itself at your throat like a knife, and Nikto, who had moved like a shadow to stand at the far wall with his hands behind his back, feels his pupils constrict.

“You don’t have to do that,” you clear your throat lightly, looking to your guard quickly. “I don’t need any more presents, Sir, I promise.”

“Nonsense.” Kliment dismisses you, splaying his hands from where they rest on the desk. “You’ll enjoy them. Very nice collection this year. My gift to you for your success here.” You shrivel in at his next comment. “Your last photoshoot was…just exquisite, my Dear. Those white tones look heavenly on you.”

Swallowing down saliva slowly, you shift your thighs and let your arms circle your waist, feeling naked as gray eyes move your frame.

But you can’t say anything.

“Thank you, Sir,” you push out tinily. Nikto’s temper flares from across the room, eyes sparking up in a deep display of rage. He goes to take a step forward, not even knowing what he’s going to do, but, as if sensing this, your eyes snap over and you level him with a mute command.

Nikto’s boots still, the heel only half raised.

You twitch your head in a fraction of a shake, and he’s settling back to the wall with a glare and a hard clench to his hands. A growl is trapped in his esophagus, and you’re surprised that Kliment hasn’t gone up in flames because of it.

“Of course!” Fedorov laughs. “I personally arranged your schedule. I know what’s best, hm?”

“I was here to ask about that, actually,” you try to move the subject on, feeling dirty as Nikto silently fumes. “The gap starting in two days? I’m sorry, but I wasn’t sure what that meant and I wanted to come in personally and ask.”

Fedorov’s expression sours, scowling. “Those investigators. Messing with my work—won’t let you come in, Seraph, see. Horrible people think we can’t put up with silly little boxes and mail.”

You shakily take an inhalation and chuckle, lips twisting down and eyes dead still.

Silly little boxes. What would he do if he got a box full of dead birds or a bomb? Then again, he never would—he’d have someone else open it for him.

The CEO continues with his hand moving to grab papers from his side, sliding them to you slowly as you look down at the material with curious eyes, seeing shiny gray signatures and large looping words. The realization is as rapid as a knife to the neck.

Party invitations.

Your heart drops, bones like steel inside of your flesh. The room is suddenly far too small.

Not this again. Fuck no, not this.

“I took the liberty of confirming your attendance since you can no longer be here all the time—you’ll be doing,” fly-eyes glint. “... crowdfunding, if you will. You remember what to do. You used to be our best seller for investments.”

“Sir…I,” you fight the bile in your throat, the world swirling. Not again. I tried so hard to get out of it. Fedorov doesn’t care.

“It will also get you out of the main city spotlight!” He smiles. “I’ve emailed you the bookings and hotels—clothes to be sent.” Arrogant lines on his face. “The dresses.”

Fedorov smiles as you stare blankly, lips slightly parted; your fingers curl in to try and stop the shaking.

“But!” You flinch at the loud exclamation, and this time, Nikto does take a step forward, hand brushing his Beretta without your knowledge. “That’s all I have for you today. The two days you have to yourself to pack and get ready, yes?”

What could you say to this?

You can’t say you won’t do it—you’d be out of a job and out of a stable income. Your mother would only say it was your fault, and that would be the extent of her help; with the stalker…you had to admit being away was the best, but doing parties again…

It made you want to shrivel up and die.

“If that’s what you think is best, Sir.” Fedorov shakes his head, chuckling and sending a layered smile that peels his skin.

“I do. I know what the company needs—and what it needs is you, my lovely Seraph. Our angel from the heavens,” he smirks vilely. “Sending us down precious money instead of bread. You’ll do well away from the building for a while. Let things cool down, you see.”

And thus it’s settled with a meaningful look and a passage of papers, your quivering hands taking them up, not missing this time, and trying not to strangle them in your palm.

“Thank you, Sir,” you whisper, not at all thankful. Your mind already runs to times and dates—small talk and comments about your ailments. The explosion and the stalker are going to be hot topics. You would be mobbed.

But that was exactly what the man wanted.

“Quickly now, go home,” Fedorov motions. “Be safe—remember to limit your food, Seraph.” A glance is sent to your stomach. “Have you been following your diet?”

“We need to leave,” Nikto speaks up in a sharp bark. “Сейчас.”

You see the CEO look over quickly as if forgetting someone else was here when looking at you. His face moves into a hard sneer at the sight of the large man.

“And who is this?”

“Nikto,” you explain quickly. “He’s my—”

“Yes, Girl, I know who he is.” Kliment’s voice is low. “Keep him on a tighter leash. Dismissed.”

You nearly stumble when getting out of the chair.

A hand grabs at the small of your back, pushing you forward quickly, though not unkindly. Nikto’s face is rigid under his mask, lines hard and eyes narrowed. Over his shoulder, he throws a heated glance at the man at the desk, but all he does is smirk like a crocodile. If he were any lesser, he’d have no problem getting into Kliment’s face—Nikto knew the man would pose no challenge to him, he couldn’t even shine a light.

“Nikto,” you utter, putting a hand to his side.

The Russian re-focuses, attention returning.

Your feet skid, shoes slipping at the force he guides you along until you’re back out the door and walking back to the secretary. “Slow down.”

Immediately, Nikto’s hands leave you, and you come to a swift stop with a deep breath in your mouth. Hands out, you shake them for a moment and try to calm your heart.

“Thank you,” you say under your breath, hand moving to rub the back of your skull. “You, uh,” trying to lighten the suffocating air, you blink at his chest. “But I told you not to speak.”

“What was that?” He growls. “You let people speak like that to you?”

“It’s not that serious.” It wasn’t anything he could change. “He’s arrogant, I told you.”

“He’s—”

“Why do you care,” you stare at him, suddenly defensive. “It’s my job—just like yours, I can’t lose it.”

Pale eyes sizzle. “That is different.”

You laugh despite yourself. “It’s really not.” Shaking your head, you brush past him slowly, gaining back your senses. “Even if I want it to be, this is all I’ve got going for me.”

Shadows walk beside you, keeping a close eye as the secretary doesn’t look up from her work as you both pass. “It is causing you to be stalked, Whelp. It is not sane to stay.”

You’re silent at that, taking Nikto’s tactic of steel lips and a dead stare ahead.

Beauty was all you had. He could never understand that.

“We have two days.” Uttering in the elevator, you sigh. “Even if I don’t like it—it’ll get us away from AMA. That’s the most important part, and one that even I can’t argue with.”

You don’t want to go to the parties. Not even an ounce of you was eager for it. For what was expected.

Nikto’s hands go to grasp the top of his vest’s collar, hanging as he thinks. The Russian can’t snap at you for that, it was true. Getting away was good, but it meant he had to memorize more floor plans and re-learn routines. No matter, he could adapt if it came to that.

He hums to himself, blinking.

“Very well. That I agree with.” Nikto pauses. “But I do not like that man. Like…” he snarls, “bald snake.”

A shocked snort exits you, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. Silence settles for a bit between you two as you process everything. Your teeth bite at your lip, leaning toward him delicately.

“...I was thinking frog.”

Nikto’s eyes spark, looking down at you from behind the black smudge of his sockets.

“That is better.” He comments. “Да. Frog.” You both lock eyes and you feel your lips pull in a small smile, your face losing a sliver of that fear that moves in your DNA as of late. The truth comes out as vulnerability.

“...Do you think it’ll work?” Your question makes him stare, head tilting.

“What?”

“Leaving.” The elevator nears the ground floor. “Do you think it’ll stop him?”

Nikto had said he would never lie to you.

“I do not know,” he speaks slowly, feet shuffling as his shoulders roll. “Do you?”

“I don’t know if I need to worry about the stalker more,” you chuff without any amusement, “or the parties I have to go to.”

Curiosity moves in his pale orbs, swirling at your confession to him. Nikto stores it for later, humming as the door opens and he moves—sticking out an arm that you easily loop with your own.

He walks slower, now, lips open as he hesitates for a moment. As your face is far away, expression open to the world, the Russian eases out, “I do not think you are spoiled, yes? I should not have said such things about your character. Do not apologize to me for it.”

“Everyone loves apologies, Nikto,” you joke even as your heart swells—heat coming up your neck. “It’s human nature to believe you’re not in the wrong. There’s no need to—”

“I do not like when you apologize. So do not.” He walks you forward. “Stand your ground. Speak freely.”

“That usually hurts people’s feelings,” you state in an utterance.

It’s a good while before Nikto answers you, and when he does you glance over to find his eyes already looking at you—but the makeup is wrong, it isn’t as dead as they always seem to be.

They were nearly soft if that was even possible. Hidden behind a half-lidded layer of darkness. You blink, feet almost stumbling as you lean into his arm.

Tell me, your mind begs this beast. This monster who never shows a sliver of his face—who holds scars more numerous than you can even imagine. You don’t even know why you want him, and that scares you. Tell me I’m yours.

“Then those people are not worthy if they can not handle the truth,” Nikto grumbles, shifting his head away.

The connection is broken.

You focus on the way you hold his arm as you both walk past the front desk, taking the weight and heat of it in little by little until you have to hold back a shiver. Even stretching your fingers, you couldn’t grab around the entire thing—much like it would be fruitless to try with his thighs. Even his waist would be difficult.

So consumed in the thoughts of Nikto, slowly taking you over, you both walk past the front desk swiftly.

Only when you see the flash of a square object do you begin to slow—Nikto was having none of it.

“Do not.” His arm shifts out of yours, and you startle before his limb loops your waist, nearly stapling you to his side.

“I didn’t even move to it,” you huff, looking up at him, frown over your lips.

“You were thinking it,” he grumbles, pale eyes sliding like water over your face. “Stay.”

“Woof, woof,” you sarcastically utter.

You can feel the tension in him—in you.

And then you push open the front door, and the box is left on the counter without another glance.

TAGS:

@anna-banana27, @random-thot-generator, @midwesternwitchery, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @halfmoth-halfman, @alpineswinter, @blingblong55, @cryingnotcrying, @lxne20, @not-eclipse, @theecoffeebean, @phoenixhalliwell, @h3ll-guttz, @tiinkerbell, @genjilvr, @azush4rp, @escapefromrealitysm, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @finnigansxz, @cowboybaby2, @delaynew, @doggydale, @zapphir, @littlemisstrouble, @xxtmoe, @grizzersmamma, @andreas-river, @blogdddxx, @jade-jax, @emthegrace, @lovebugmsyd, @makariaspresence, @noisyprofessorhoundsalad-blog, @scythebot, @blueoorchid, @kra-rino4ka, @caramlizedtomatoes, @strawberymilk,@frazie99, @homicidal-slvt, @develised, @crispyhusband, @cathnoneofyourbusiness, @ghostslittlegf, @generalcloudtraveler, @azsteris, @rvjaa, @creminemisinthehizzyforshizzboy, @comsyki

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rs-hawk · 4 months

Text

Love this post by @microsff

You went to a garage sale to see what you could find. You had been working on so many projects that you were hoping to get parts for cheap, when you saw an Andrew the Android. He was sitting on a table, swinging his feel that barely scraped the ground. He was an early version. It was easy to tell by his stocky build, and the way he barely looked humanoid. Newer ones looked more human.

“How much is he?” you asked the man sitting by a lock box, pointing to Andrew.

“You don’t want that one,” the man grinned, showing off all his teeth in a way that made you frown. “It’s a weird one. Sent it up to clean my gutters in a storm, you know, testing out that ‘waterproof’ feature.”

“Uh-huh,” you said unsurely, shifting on your feet slightly.

“And it got struck by lightening. Been odd ever since. Telling me to call it ‘Andy’ and asking me questions. Didn’t think these ones of them were meant to be so annoyingly human.”

“I still want him. How much?” you insisted.

You and the man go back and forth for a bit before you finally handed him a small wad of cash. A giddy feeling fluttered in your chest as you approached him. He looked up at you, a blank look on his expressionless face.

“Hi there. I’m Y/N. I just bought you,” you explained as you offered him your hand. “I’m so excited that I found an early Andrew. You’re one of my favorite androids of all time.”

“Andy, please,” was his response. He held up his hands, no, claws, as if to apologize for not shaking yours. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You brought him home, and he settled in quickly. One day, he greeted you at the door.

“Can you make me hands?” he asked.

“Why? Your claws work better, and you can swap them out with other attachments,” you asked back as you started gathering things for the project you were working on.

“I want to pet your cat.”

“You can’t even feel her fur though.”

“But she can. And I want her to like me petting her.”

You paused, thinking for a moment. “Alright. I can build you hands.”

“I also want to learn guitar. Can you make sure I have good fingers?”

That made a grin crack your face. “Yes, I’ll make you good fingers.”

You two lived in good harmony for awhile, until one day, he showed you a book. “Why is one character being called ‘they’?”

“Oh, because they’re non-binary.”

He nodded as he went back to the book. “I think that fits me better than he.”

You nodded back at them, scrolling through your phone. “Okay.”

Another day, they come to you, holding a book with a picture of a flute. “Can you build me a mouth? And move my port?”

“You want to learn to play the flute?” you asked curiously, looking at the book, their fingers curling around the pages.

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

They took to the flute much better than the guitar, but you don’t say anything. Even when they wake you up in the middle of the night. They’re still not very good, but you enjoy hearing their progress.

Yet again, they come to you, showing you a magazine with synthetic skin and hair on an android. They don’t say anything as they hand it to you, looking down.

“Okay. I’ll take you in and let you pick everything out,” you say as you hand them back the magazine.

“Do you think I’ll really be able to feel?” they asked nervously, rolling the magazine up into a tube.

“Maybe. Why?”

They looked away, and you thought if they were human, they would have blushed. “I want to pet your cat.”

“You pet her all the time.”

“I want to be able to feel it too.”

As always, you nodded. “It’s worth a shot at least then, right?”

Andy went in many times for many more modifications on top of the ones they asked you to make for them. Over the span of months, but in a way that hit you all at once, you fell in love with them. The way they laughed. How excited they were to learn. How excited they were to just be.

“Hey, Y/N! Andy! Welcome in yous guys. I got the room set up. Andy’s got a surprise for you, Y/N. You’re gonna let Andy pick out everything as always, yeah?” the mechanic greeted the two of you as you stepped inside.

You thought it was a little odd she just kept saying “Andy” instead of “they” but you brushed it off. “Yeah Sal. It’s Andy’s body. They can do what they want.”

Andy and Sal shared a grin before you were ushered into the waiting room. A couple hours later, a dark haired woman came out, her hair styled into a neat bun on the top of her head. Her eyes were green, your favorite color. There was a softness to her face and features, as well as a stockiness to her build. She reminded you of Andy, in a way, so you returned her smile.

Sal came up behind you, gesturing to the woman. “What do you think?”

“Oh she’s lovely, perfectly stunning, but you know I’m just waiting on Andy,” you said with a frown and furrow of your brows.

“Hi Y/N,” the woman said shyly, looking down at her feet.

“Andy?”

“I mean, I guess, but I want a new name.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

You tilted your head, looking at her curiously. “But you already know every name that there is to know.”

A sweet smile touched her lips as she walked over to you, taking your hands in hers. “I don’t know how they sound when you say them yet.”

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merakiui · 1 year

Note

Had a thought I wanted to share (CW for noncon+Yan stuff)

Idia being so obsessive and horny and making a sex doll that looks just like his darling, and using an enchanted onahole to ensure it feels exactly like them - even reacting and tightening just like them~

The one issue is that (either on purpose or accidentally) it turns out his darling can feel everything he does to the doll.

Omg yes!! This trope works so well for Idia. Not only is he using the doll for pleasure, he’s also treating it as practice for when he (hopefully) gets to fuck the real version sometime in the future. Even though creating something like this is no sweat for a genius like him, Idia feels like he’s really outdone himself. As synthetic as everything is, it’s still very soft and lifelike, functioning just like his darling beloved’s tight hole. He uses it more times than he'd like to admit, but he just can't help it. It feels too good, and there’s no way he's confident enough to talk to you in person, much less even broach the idea of dates, relationships, or sex. So this doll will have to do for now, and it certainly works wonders. It’s so warm and wet inside, and the doll's hole hugs his cock so snugly. He likes it even more because he can dress the doll up in your clothes just to pretend it's really you underneath him.

Unfortunately, there’s more to the doll than he knows.

You’re in class when it first happens, lazily scribbling away in your notebook while Professor Trein drones on about magic history. It’s the strangest, most invasive sensation. One minute you think you might fall asleep out of sheer boredom, and the next you’re jolting awake when a slick finger traces along your hole before sliding in. You’re staring hard at your notebook, wondering if that really just happened. But then another finger is easing in, and now these phantom fingers are beginning to work you open. Thankfully, that’s all that occurs. You manage to escape class right as the bell rings, your lips bloody from how roughly you bit down to silence your noises, hurrying to the washroom to see what's causing this. The minute the door shuts behind you, though, is when the fleshy head of someone’s cock is prodding at your hole. You can't see it, but it’s there and it's pushing inside, inches stretching you so slowly before whoever it is swiftly bottoms out, promptly knocking all coherent thoughts from your brain.

You’re fucked silly against the wall by an invisible dick and it takes all of your restraint not to make the lewdest sounds you can possibly produce. By the time this person has finished using you, your hole is spattered with cum and you think you might just faint from the overstimulation. Luckily for Idia he has a surprising amount of stamina when he’s in the mood. Unluckily for you, you’re going to be spending the rest of that day bedridden for…reasons. :) and he always cums inside no matter what, so you’ll be very exhausted and very filled by the end of everything.

#meraki thirsts #yandere twst #tw: noncon #n/sfw #omg imagine if you were his discord kitten as well #T-T idia learns the onahole is connected to you and he short-circuits #all this time he was pounding his discord kitten… he’s the happiest man alive <3 #and he can continue to use you without your knowledge #he never even has to see or speak to you at all #his luck is too good he feels like he’s just pulled many ssr in a row

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shotosjupiter · 4 months

Text

HEARTLESS LOVE (LET ME LOVE YOU.)

࣪𖤐 sypnosis... kunikuzushi is not accustomed to the feeling of love. how will he go about dealing with those feelings when you're always around?

࣪𖤐 note. i haven't wrote in forever so - there's that warning! i refer to scaramouche as kunikuzushi instead of scaramouche! 1.5k words.

࣪𖤐 tags. scaramouche x reader, slight angst (scara's feelings) but overall very fluffy and romantic!

KUNIKUZUSHI had never experienced this feeling before. He had, of course, experienced many emotions and feelings throughout the course of his long, half a century life but never this. Kunikuzushi has experienced the feeling of anger, rage, heartbreak, betrayal, and hurt above all. He was well-versed with these emotions, he had reveled in these emotions in another life. But this, this bruising feeling had nearly enraptured his very being.

He felt it within the cavity in his chest, the place where a heart should be beating, strongly. This yearning, this aching. It was akin to the desire of wanting a gnosis; to want wholly because perhaps then finally he would find his purpose, his meaning. And yet, it was deeper than that. Your existence meant more than that. You were more multifaceted than simply being the person of his desires. He knew that better than anyone that existence was no longer something that was whittled down to one trait. He knew, and yet.

Perhaps he was just feeling ill - yes, that was it. He was just under the weather, never mind the fact that his synthetic puppet body was not able to get sick (not to his knowledge at least). The warmth that circulated from his cheeks to his ears was simply a fever he had caught, even though he only ever experienced it when you would look at him with stars in your eyes. The anxiety he felt when he saw you becoming very close with someone else was simply just upturned nausea from food he had eaten earlier, yes. The chest palpitations he felt in his very void chest was perhaps just simply a by-factor of his body wearing down over the ages.

At least - that’s what he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t quite sure how long these… symptoms were ongoing for but he had only become aware of them - and their meaning - merely two weeks ago.

He prided himself on the fact that even if he was experiencing the weakness of feeling these symptoms, emotions, feelings, at least he was able to keep them confidential. You would never even see the difference in how he acted then and now.

…Right?

Kunikuzushi is repeating the mantra over and over that you haven’t the foggiest clue about his inner emotional turmoil when he bumps right into you.

There’s a low fluttering in his abdomen that feels vaguely as if he’s being tossed around upside down and around when he meets your glittering eyes. The smile you reward him with doesn’t seem to help his cause either - he swears the feeling of crystalflies in his stomach isn’t something that was a regular symptom before.

Add ‘about to throw up when in their vicinity’ to the list then, he grumbles internally.

He factors in the fact that you’re talking to him about something, but the words were lost in the rush of adrenaline and nerves that were rushing through his ears. You looked oh-so pretty while you talked, with your hands waving around to make your point all the more there but then -

“What do you think, Kunikuzushi ?”

He blinked. He hadn’t been paying attention to what you were saying in the least. It was in no disrespect to you, but he was a little… distracted to say the least.

“No.” That was a safe answer, right?

“You don’t want to go for lunch together?”

Apparently it was not a safe answer. He balked at your response and waved his hands around, trying to explain, “No. Well - yes. Yes, I do want to go but, I didn’t mean-”

He’s cut off by the sound of your laughter and he can’t help the smile that’s itching onto his face. Once you stop giggling, you nod to him and confirm when to meet him for lunch. You walk off afterwards, declaring that there was much work you had to do in order to have a stress-free lunch.

Kunikuzushi lets out a sigh of relief at your departure. Hands covering his face, he screws his eyes shut as he replays the encounter that just happened. He really needs to get his shit together.

His moments of embarrassment did not end there, much to Kunikuzushi’s dismay. At lunch, he had believed he was going strong. The restaurant was your choice, with a homey and warm environment with two bowls of hot soup ladened with noodles as your choices for lunch. He had just finished his bowl, setting down his chopsticks, when you had reached over from across the table and tucked strands of his hair behind his ear.

His chopsticks had dropped down onto the table in a clatter and his head snapped up at you, ears slowly developing into an ombre of red. But you seemed unbothered by it at all and had gone back to tucking into your noodles, as if you had done nothing at all.

A few days later, he was in the Akademiya library helping you find a book to help you further conduct your research. The library was his favorite place in the whole Akademiya - with its mosaic of stained glass on the roof letting in filtered colored light, the shelves upon shelves of old books, and most of all, sustained silence. Kunikuzushi reveled in the library.

He was just coming back to you with three books when you appear in front of him, in the narrow passageway between bookshelves. You slip past behind him, letting your hands touch around his waist in order to effectively move past him, muttering a kind “Excuse me,” as you walk past.

Yet again, he’s left feeling flustered, this time with the ghost of your hands still on his waist. He remains silent and quietly walks back to the desk which has a plethora of books sprawled all over. He scoffs at his nerves and dedicates himself back to the books in front of him. He was not so weak as to completely crumple from such a miniature gesture. His feelings were stronger than that, in fact.

(He yearned to feel the touch of your hands, once more.)

His last and final moment of embarrassment was late at night. The two of you were sprawled across the grass, near a small hill next to one of the Akademiya buildings. It was dark, past any time to be awake with the only noises outside being the sounds of crickets and your rhythmic breathings. The grass left a nice sensation across his bare hands and arms as Kunikuzushi counted the exhales you exuded.

The stars were bright that night. He could see the constellations of Andromeda and Cassiopeia, and was just about to point them out when you had turned towards him calling his name out softly.

“Hm?” He prompted.

“You’ve been different lately. Why?” You were always prompt and direct when it came to confrontation. However, he could tell from the way you were imploringly searching his eyes that this was something that had been bothering you for as long as it had bothered him.

He let out a sigh. He wasn’t quite sure how to go about this. He clutched blades of grass beneath his fingers, pulling them out of the ground. Avoiding your eyes, he started, “I am no god. I am no god, and it is evident from how I yearn for you so desperately. I want you. I feel for you, I feel for you romantically and-” He takes a deep breath, despite not needing one.

“I would like for you to give me a chance. To prove I have purpose, to prove I can make you feel happy. Let me love you.” He whispers the last sentence as if it was a thought that barely escaped his soul.

Kunikuzushi finally looks up to your eyes, this time his eyes doing the searching. Your hands reach out to cradle his face, and he can feel whatever synthetic heart he has within him soften. He reaches up to cover your hands with his when you whisper, “You are no god and yet I love you as if it is worship, Kunikuzushi. I will let you love me if only you allow me the same.”

He realizes he doesn’t know how to process this. Kunikuzushi never imagined that you felt what he felt. That you felt the intensity of this feeling. He felt the trail of something liquid going down his cheeks, tears, he realized, as he nodded vehemently. “Yes. Yes, I’ve never wanted something more.”

You leave a small kiss upon his forehead as he holds you close to his chest, hands trembling that he can touch you like this. He has never felt more bliss than in this moment.

#— writings.#if ur reading the tags hi ily #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #wanderer x y/n #wanderer fluff #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche x y/n #genshin x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff #scaramouche x traveler

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dawndelion-winery · 2 years

Text

Hear Me Out

They try hint at their crush on you

Ft. Arlecchino, Capitano, Childe, Dottore, Pantalone

Arlecchino:

She does it from the moment she confirms that her feelings for you are genuine and not just some passing fancy

Which means she's very serious about it and does take slight offence that you're not responding accordingly

Do you not like her back? Are you ignoring her hints to avoid hurting her feelings?

The definition of "please reject me so I can move on"

Is it because you heard the orphans calling her "mum" and got the wrong idea?

Please she's dying to know, she's been bringing you flowers like every other day

Lends you her jacket and hopes you forget to return it so she has an excuse to see you again

Columbina awkwardly patting her back when she stares into empty space in agony when you brush off yet another of her flirting attempts as being friendly

At some point she does ask you to just outright reject her so she can move on

Lowkey wants to go apeshit when she finds out you actually like her too and were just too nervous to flirt back

Capitano:

He has a good rep, so he hopes that improves his dateability in your eyes

He'll bring you cute trinkets he comes across from wherever he goes!!

Would also keep a matching piece for himself so he can imagine that y'all are dating

Also has someone help him take pictures of him should he ever go anywhere scenic and have it made into a sort of postcard for you

He wonders if you ever end up looking at him instead of the view (he hopes you do)

He subtly sneaks glances at you, but not so subtle so that there's a chance you'll catch him and possibly tell him that you're into him too

Ok in all honesty his flirting game probably sucks ass and he'd probably tell you your eyes are like his dog's as a compliment

Please just give him a chance his colleagues are getting sick of his silent brooding when you don't notice how he polished his helmet extra shiny just for you

Childe:

The most obvious of them all please he's clinging to you like he's obsessed

So many terrible jokes that aren't even jokes

"Wouldn't it be funny if we kissed- no? Not even once? Ok haha, no I'm not upset I was kidding."

Unlike Arlecchino, he knows rejection isn't going to make him move on

So he hovers like a dog off the streets that just picked you as its new master

Makes a point to tell you everything he succeeds at, even if it's mundane

Stuff like "hey I made really good waffles, I could cook for you y'know?" Or "Yeah I fixed that door all on my own I'm really handy around the house."

Like Capitano, he brings you trinkets

Unlike Capitano, they aren't always wholesome and may come from the people and monsters he beat up/killed

Brings them to you like a cat presenting their hunt

Dottore:

Makes synthetic human parts that are as identical to yours as possible and compliment them in front of you without telling you they're based on you

"What do you think about these eyes?"

"...yes, they're very...eye-like?"

"They're a lovely pair of eyes, wouldn't you agree? Look at how they-"

Yes, he absolutely will point out how they function to you. Yes, he thinks he's being romantic

So he doesn't get why you don't seem to catch on that he's into you

Did you not realise those were your organs he complimented?

In a way it gives him some weird satisfaction that he knows you more intimately than even you

But he does want you to realise eventually

So he'll walk up behind you under the guise of "monitoring your work" and inhale your scent like the lunatic he is (another trait of yours he'll make sure to remember)

Pantalone:

Isn't it obvious? He spoils you

He lets you use his wallet like a subscription trial

Enjoy it? Consider dating him to extend the privilege duration

He makes it very clear cut to you: he's into you, and he'll take care of you for as long as you're his beloved

He also makes his interest in you very clear to everyone else, so chances are, there's no one else who's dare approach you unless it's another harbinger

And be very clear on this: once you say yes to him, there's no backing out

Even before you start dating, he acts as though you already are

He wouldn't pressure you into anything you're uncomfortable with, but expect an arm around your waist to hold you close to him

Like I said, very clear cut, there's no way you could mistake his affection

Taglist[send an ask to be added/removed]: @myluvkeiji @pluvioseprince @aqui-soba @favonius-captain @tiredsleep @raincxtter @loverofthe-stars @gensimping-for-all @irethepotato @almond-adeptus @mx-kamisato @yuzuricebun @chaosinanutshell @heizours @codename-hiraeth @andreiling01 @callmemeelah @sadlonelybagel @plinkuro @thevictoriousmoon @mastering-procrastinating @ineshapanda

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suzukiblu · 5 months

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WIP excerpt: the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon.

“Half-Kryptonian, half-human,” Bruce reports flatly, clearly not liking the answer. Clark feels his heart clench painfully in his chest again at the confirmation, even as obvious as it was to his eyes. “Specifically, fifty-four percent Kryptonian to forty-six percent human.”

“I think it’s more like fifty-two and forty-four, technically,” Kon says. Bruce looks irritated again, but Clark’s immediately curious, since that obviously doesn’t add up to a full hundred percent and also he just wants to know everything about this kid. “They custom-built the last four percent or something, I guess, so it’s kinda . . . synthetic DNA, probably? Or something, I dunno. That’s where the TTK and the part where I haven’t collapsed into clone soup comes from, though. Apparently, anyway.”

Clark feels briefly nauseous at the mention of collapsing into . . . “clone soup”, which just leads to all sorts of horrifying mental images, but Kon says it casually, as if it’s not an actual concern and more just a morbid reference, which is . . . still concerning, admittedly, but at least less concerning than it could be. If he’d had to watch Kon degenerate to death while knowing his other version would never even know what had happened to him . . .

That sounds like a literal goddamn nightmare come to life, yes. And he can’t imagine being that version of himself, either, and just never, ever knowing. Just having that empty place in his life forever, and never knowing why it had happened or what had happened to the person who belonged in it, and just hoping against hope, without knowing it was already too late.

God, what a thought.

“Satisfied, Batman?” Clark asks, trying not to think about it. They’ll get Kon home. If there isn’t a way to track down his home reality with science, magic is still on the table. The League is full of resourceful, well-connected people who are owed a lot of favors, and someone always knows someone.

“Not even remotely,” Bruce replies, stepping away from the scanners and gesturing Kon towards Diana. “Lasso.”

“Batman . . .” Clark sighs, folding his arms. “You’re three Robins deep and they’ve never had to answer to the Lasso of Truth.”

“None of them showed up already wearing a bat on their chest and claiming ties to one of the most singularly powerful people on Earth,” Bruce retorts flatly. “And even if he’s telling the truth, for all we know this boy’s Superman is a supervillain.”

“He is definitely not, actually,” Kon says, shooting him a dubious look as he folds his own arms the exact same way Clark just did. Clark resists the urge to take the imitation as flattery. Bruce looks exasperated, very briefly.

“Then you won’t mind telling Wonder Woman’s lasso that,” he says.

“Robin would tell me to ask for a lawyer, I’m pretty sure,” Kon says, still more dubious. Bruce looks very exasperated.

“Well, he isn't wrong,” Diana says, clearly amused.

#wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #long post

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mlmxreader · 19 days

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Fallout + nsfw [MDNI]

m!reader - mlm/nblm only

includes: Preston, Maximus, Nick, Hancock, MacCready & Cooper Howard

Preston Garvey

His hands were on your ass, soft grunts coming from the back of his throat as he bucked up into you; your hands on his chest and able to feel the pounding of his heart against your palms. You've both waited so long for today, tired of all the rushing around and hopping from settlement to settlement; he just wanted to take things slow and so did you. His cock seemed to hit every single sweet spot in your ass as his breath grew more and more ragged. Preston knew that you would probably think it was just pillow talk, but the way you moaned his name so sweetly had him wondering if he should ask you to be his husband already - but he bit his tongue, wanting to make the moment last.

"Fuck, General, keep going."

Maximus

Maximus loved to draw it out with you, making each session last as long as possible, and tonight was no different as he clenched around you and squeezed his eyes shut. His face buried in the mattress as he grinned and moaned loudly for you to keep going; it seemed like he got more and more vocal each time and you would be lying if you said you didn't love it. Leaning over, you put all your weight onto him, your arms either side of his head so you could feel every single little movement; Maximus groaned loudly, thankful when he felt your hand slip under his, his fingers instinctively locking with yours as he grinned and nodded - but it was short lived, a sharp and loud moan coming from his mouth when he felt you hit his sweet spot.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Right there! Right there!"

Nick Valentine

Nick had memories of pornography from before the war, and he knew what the fuck he's doing when he's with you; he had you pinned down and bent over the side of the bed, his metal fingers working your ass with ease. He could be gentle when he liked, but he could also be rough when you asked him to; one thing that never changed, though, was how much he liked to use his hands on you. Feel your cum on his synthetic skin every single time. Oh, he adored it. Especially when you made all those little noises that he so adored. The soft begs for him to keep going and to make you cum once, twice.

"Keep it up, trouble, I'm not done with you yet."

John Hancock

Hancock was never shy, and fucking you in his office was always one of his favourite places for it; especially now that you were certain that someone was watching. It only spurred you both on as his grip on your throat grew a little bit tighter, his teeth nipping at the edges of your ear as he expertly hits all the right places in your ass. Your eyes started to roll into the back of your head, your tongue lolling out of your mouth so that a long string of spit dangles from the tip. Above the smell of sex and the sound of skin slapping against skin, you can easily hear the short teasing phrases coming from Hancock.

"Fuck me, you are a good boy. Shame nobody else gets to see how fucking good you really are, huh?"

MacCready

MacCready was never exactly a stranger to sex, and it didn't take very long into the relationship for you to end up having sex in less than conventional spaces, either. In fact, after clearing out a gunner hideout on the outskirts of Diamond City, MacCready had suggested staying for a while, as it was getting dark. But now, here you were - on your side with him pressing one hand into the spot just below your stomach, the other firmly on your throat. You didn't even think about how dangerous it could have been, calling out his name and begging loudly for him to keep fucking you - but MacCready didn't exactly tell you to shut up, either. You kept moaning loudly, thankful when he moved a little so that once you turned your head you could kiss him; MacCready was greedy, eagerly taking every single moan that left you as he didn't even think about slowing down. But when he pulled away, he couldn't help the breathless praises that left him.

"You feel so good, baby... so good... doing so well, too."

Cooper Howard/The Ghoul

Cooper never liked to show weakness, even when he needed to to get what he wanted, but sex was a different story; some shady pub-inn type thing on the way to the next job was all too tempting. Now he was bent over the side of the bed, fingers roughly grabbing the sheets as he grunted and growled out his pleasure, trying to keep as quiet as he could; you just smiled, keeping your hands on his shoulders as you pounded into him, keenly listening out for anything he told you. Usually it was just a short "harder", "faster", but he did also praise you from time to time as well.

"We don't tell a fuckin' soul about what us, alright? And next time, do that thing with ya tongue again."

#preston garvey #preston fallout #fallout maximus #maximus #nick valentine #fallout nick valentine #john hancock #fallout hancock #fallout maccready #maccready #cooper howard #the ghoul #fallout headcanons #fallout imagine #fallout x you #fallout x reader #fallout

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artastic-friend · 6 months

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Some things I love about DJ’s sound design and animations in Help Wanted 2:

Every time he makes a bigger movement that requires shifting of its weight you can HEAR IT- It creaks and you can hear hydraulics inside of him WHICH BTW IS SO COOL IN SO MANY WAYS BC (tangent): it makes sense as to why he needs hydraulics being so huge and heavy, but also because the way real spiders extend their legs is like a natural form of hydraulics!! They pump their hemolymph(basically bug blood) into their legs which then allow those legs to be filled with more pressure that causes them to extend! This is why a dead or near-death spider’s legs go into the curled position (the death curl) :(

The sTOMPS I always loved the stomps even in base sb but there is just something so cool about hearing them around you as he is so close!!! It all just adds to the feeling of his weight and size 😫

HIS GROWLING?? AND MORE ANIMAL-LIKE SOUNDS??? In the past we would hear a little bit of it when he was sleeping in SB, but now we hear more examples of it and just like- closer and more noticeably 😳 it’s almost like you can hear it breathing at times and it is so cool and uncanny in the best ways :D

Ok the SNAP?!? The way he snaps his fingers and the sound reverberates all around you?!? And the way the light ring of the outside of his tunnel turns on at the same time??? I don’t really think that DJ is actually producing the snap sound from the snap alone, as with the synthetic materials its gloves are made of probably can’t produce that crisp of a sound, BUT THAT JUST MEANS THAT HE MAKES THE SOUND HIMSELF WITH ITS SPEAKERS OR SOMETHING AND SO HE’S DOING IT 100% FOR STYLE POINTS AND I LOVE THAT FOR HIM

The sound of its teeth clanking together to the beat of the music, that’s just a neat feature I like very much

Ok movements now, THE WAY HE SWAYS HIS HIPS(?) TO THE MUSIC!?! especially when it is doing that little happy dance of his or pointing at the player when it’s their turn to play. I LOVE THAT LITTLE DANCE IT’S SO CUTE

Ok the way he leans in reaaal close before settling back? He’s probably just doing it as it shifts its balance to lean back, but like, I wanna believe he’s also sorta doing it on purpose a little 🤭

Speaking of which, the movements for him going from leaning towards you to shifting his weight back and getting into that badass cross-armed pose?!!? Love it 😭 I love it sm- once again, the recoil and the followthrough of his movements just emphasize its size and weight so well I am just obsessed

OH AND HIS LITTLE FINGER TAPS WITH HIS MIDDLE RIGHT ARM THAT’S ON THE FLOOR?!? It’s a smaller detail but I am so glad they included it because it’s just so neat!?! I don’t know how to explain why I like it but it is so neat and adds to his vibe so well

OK I JUST NOTICED THIS BUT WHEN IT IS DOING THAT LITTLE DANCE AND POINTING AT YOU WHEN YOU GOT EVERYTHING RIGHT: he like, Bops his head a little and with each head bop his headphones bounce a little as well!! Idk why that is just such a neat little detail to me!

Ok this one I probably should have mentioned sooner since it’s one of the first things it does but the way it climbs out of the tunnel and grabs the sides like that with his middle set of arms? 😫😫✨ Idk what to tell y’all but that is the most attractive shit I’ve seen!!! Y’all need to step up your game if you wanna be like him XD /j

His head tilts. Need I say more? They’re adorable.

THE JUMPSCARE??!?? Dude I know it’s probably meant to look like he’s coming in to bite/eat you or something??? But to me and my DJ-Simp corrupted brain it just looks like we’re boutta make out 😁😁😁

OK THAT’S ALL I GOT FOR RIGHT NOW, but I might possibly add to this later???? If I notice anything else that stands out to me.

#dj music man #djmm #random rambles #help wanted 2

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roseyodditea · 2 days

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Shooting Practice - Boothill x gn! Reader

Summary -> Cowboy teaches you how to shoot.

Warnings -> Mentions of a gun (no actual violence)

A/N -> Fun fact, this is the first thing I've ever posted. Created an account just for this. Feedback and suggestions welcome! I'll figure out how to format better later lmao

***************

“Hold it steady” The deep southern drawl rang gently right next to your ear, his metal hand cold against your wrist. “Back up and let me do it myself,” You try to not grit your teeth, the cowboy once again far too… overbearing.

Boothill let out a scoff of annoyance, watching you hold the gun shakily in your hand, but he did back up, crossing his arms. You stood with your legs far too close together, arms too overextended, aim entirely off. It was abysmal to watch for the gunslinger. There was a sharp crack in the air, followed by your groan of frustration.

You placed the gun down on the table in front of you, taking off the hearing protection that hugged your head too tightly. Boothill chucked, “Told ya s-” “Don’t.” You glared at the man, that stupid cocky smirk on his face. “Maybe you’re just an awful teacher.” Boothill stepped close, grabbing his spare pistol off of the table and slipping it into your hands again. “Nah. C’mon. Let’s try again” He stood behind you, too close yet again. The smell of motor oil, gunpowder, and the cheap cologne attempting to cover up the stench of the oil invaded your nostrils. “Feet shoulder width apart” He says, waiting for you to adjust your stance.

“You don’t have to go through the steps so slowly” You practically growl, frustrated.

“I’ll stop goin’ so slow when you get it right” He growled right back, matching your less than thrilled energy.

“Don’t sass me while I’m holding a gun, Boothill.”

“We both know I’m quicker, sugar” He chuckled. “Feet shoulder width apart, shootin’ foot back, relax, and don’t lock your elbows” He guides rather gently for a man you’ve watched gun down IPC without a second thought. “Eyes on the target, deep breath, and when you’re ready, squeeze the trigger.” You took a moment to go through the checklist. Feet apart, dominant foot back, relaxed… Boothill’s hand on your waist, making sure your torso wasn’t turned. You could feel the chill of the metal, hear the crackling of his synthetic voice box, his body breathing out of habit rather than a need. He was paying very close attention to your stance, and you could feel it. You could feel his gaze, his crosshair eyes locked onto you. “Stop staring. You’re making me nervous.” You sigh out through clenched teeth.

“Take the shot.” That was the only answer you were going to get out of him as he didn’t listen, only kept looking at you expectantly.

There was a crack, followed by a clink, the empty beer can that was setup on the table being knocked over.

“Oh my god! I did it!” You placed the gun down and excitedly turned to Boothill, who had a huge grin on his face. Without even thinking, you wrapped your arms around the cowboy who you had spent the last half hour trying not to slap. It only took a split second of hesitation before he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Can’t believe you actually hit it.” He teased, chuckling softly.

“Just be proud of me.” You plead softly, resting your head on his metal chest, feeling it grow slightly warmer, the once quiet hum of cooling fans getting louder.

“With a stance that fudgin’ shaky I’m shocked you-” “Boothill!” You smack his chest, the soft sound echoing in his chest compartment. His hands move to rest on your hips as he smirks at you.

“Fine fine… I’m proud of you, sugar.” He says in a shockingly genuine tone. “We can work on makin’ you a bit quicker in the future. You take that long linin’ up your shot and you’ll end up dead.” You didn’t respond. You didn’t want to. You were so used to the cowboy being loud and brash, but now he was being soft and caring… borderline tolerable, a new record for the man. Boothill always said he was a dead man walking, but right now he seemed more alive than ever.

“Thank you for doing this.” You said after a long beat of silence, a slight crackle in your voice as you tried to swallow the emotions you thought you were so good at hiding.

“Of course.” He replies just as softly. “I want to make sure you’ll be alright when I’m out on bounties” “You say that like you’re going to come back.” You scoff, trying not to make it sound like you wanted him to.

Boothill looked away, swiping a hand down his face and letting out a breath, adjusting his hat before looking back into your eyes. “Well… this planet is out of IPC space and has good liquor. Pretty easy to hitch a ride to and from. And it has you.” He adds on, trying to make it sound like he wasn’t hung up on the word ’you’.

“I’d like for you to come back.” You confess and before you can even take a moment to process the words either of you had just said, cold lips were on yours, metal hands on either sides of your face, the cooling fans in his cyborg body spinning impossibly faster as he pulled away, looking at you in shock.

“I think I’d like to come back to you, sugar”

***************

#boothill x reader #boothill x you #boothill fluff #hsr x y/n #hsr x reader #boothill #oneshot

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yournecessaryevil · 11 months

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☆These Games We Play☆

🖤 CHRIS MOTIONLESS X READER ONESHOT 🖤

Summer has officially started, and to kick off the season before their tour, Ricky's decided to throw a party for you and the guys at his place. But you decide to test Chris's patience halfway through the party, and... he isn't having any of it. Then again, maybe that'll work in your favor...

• NSFW; Daddy kink; adult themes (Dom/Sub relationship); fluff; language

☠️ TAGLIST: @synthetic-wasp-570 @darigyu @veroxbarnes @nixwolfe

Summer.

It was the one season people looked forward to the most, a season holding the promise of adventure and other good things to come.

And oh, were there ever so many good things to come for you this time of year. You were getting ready to embark on yet another tour with your boyfriend and his bandmates, and this was sure to be the best one, yet.

But that time wouldn't arrive for at least another two weeks, so to kick off the season (and to give you and everyone else a chance to unwind and take some time off), Ricky had decided to host a backyard gathering at his place.

You had immediately taken a liking to the idea; a break from the stress of touring was much needed, not just for you. Everyone had been rather on edge lately, despite the good show they were all putting on to hide it.

No, today would be a day to just relax, unwind, and share some good laughs... and maybe something else, too. You and Chris were as close as ever, but lately you'd been feeling rather... neglected, if you were being perfectly honest. You knew he couldn't help it, his music was one of the most important things to him, it was what drove him, he needed it.

But lately, you'd been really needing him.

The two of you had a rather unconventional relationship when it came to the bedroom. He had a bit of a dominant streak, not that you minded, of course. You yourself were known to be kind of a brat both in and out of the sheets, something that drove him utterly crazy in all the right ways.

He knew (most of the time) how to tame your inner brat, he'd proven this to you on more than one occasion. It was one of the many things you loved most about him, the way he always knew how to leave you both satisfied and wanting more, all at once.

And it was that very thing you'd been craving all week from him.

So today, you had a plan.

Was it a good one? In retrospect, probably not. Would it get you in trouble with him? Most definitely. But was that exactly what you wanted? Fuck, yes.

It wasn't even a want, at this point.

No, it was a fucking need.

So today you were going to see just how far you could push him, before that dominant side of his would come out to play, before he'd snap and give you exactly what it was you needed: Chris putting you in your fucking place.

A slight grin turned up the corners of your mouth as you snuck a glance over at the empty driver's seat, your mind running through all sorts of scenarios as to how today would go for you. He had no idea, the poor guy...

Leaning over, you laid on the horn for a few seconds, until you saw Chris emerge from the house you two shared, your boyfriend giving you a raised eyebrow as he got into the car. "Someone's impatient today," he teased you, turning the key in the ignition.

You stuck your tongue out at him, unable to hide your grin. "Not my fault you walk slow, old man," you shot back. That earned you a look from him, the look, in fact. It was the look that was a warning, a threat, and a promise all rolled into one.

"Do not be a brat today. I mean that, Y/N. I want you on your best behavior while we're at Ricky's party. Play nice, or it's gonna be a long fucking night for you," Chris warned you, as he pulled the car out of the front driveway.

Ha, you knew that side of him would eventually come out to play! Although, you were more than a little surprised by how quickly it had happened. You tugged your bottom lip between your teeth for a moment to hide your grin before you reached across the center console, resting your hand atop Chris's.

"No promises," you teased him.

You could practically feel the look he gave you then, and you had to try your hardest to hold back your laugh as the two of you drove out to Ricky's place. Today was going to be something else, that was for damn sure...

"Two more weeks, man. And then we leave."

Chris's answering groan brought a smile to your lips as you sat there by the edge of the pool, your shoes off and feet buried in the water.

"Come on, dude, I don't want to think about that right now," he answered with a shake of his head. Ricky shot him a grin, raising one eyebrow. "Sick of tour life already, are we?" he asked.

"No, see, if that was the case, I'd be like 'Who are you and what have you done with the real Chris?'" you interjected with a grin of your own. Laughter rang out from around the pool, and you winked at Chris, his answering smile creating a sense of warmth in you, a feeling completely different than the warmth brought on by the sun beating down on you all.

He shrugged, running one hand through his blonde hair. "I don't know, I mean, don't get me wrong here. I'm beyond thrilled to be doing another tour with you guys, but... two weeks. That's gonna come fast," he said.

You couldn't help the small laugh that escaped unbidden from your mouth at that moment. Apparently you weren't the only one; both Vinny and Ricky snickered from across the pool as soon as they got the joke, each of them exchanging a furtive look with you.

Chris shot you a questioning look, and a slow grin spread across your face as you quickly raised both eyebrows at him. "You know what else is gonna come fast?" you began, exchanging another sly glance with the boys before your gaze slid back to Chris.

In that moment, it must've finally clicked for him, because he gave you a warning look, similar to the one he'd given you in the car.

"Y/N..." he started, raising one dark eyebrow at you. His eyes remained locked on yours, but the longer you stared back, the more you noticed certain things, little things.

One corner of his mouth twitched up briefly, like he was fighting back a smirk, as he continued to stare at you. Oh, so he had found it funny, though, hadn't he? Your grin widened a little as you scooted closer to him, leaning over to whisper in his ear.

"I bet you can make me come fast."

The timing couldn't have been better; you leaned back just in time to see Chris's mouth fall open in shock, those brown eyes widening, a barely audible gasp the only thing being heard above the faint music drifting over from the small portable speaker by the pool.

"What? What'd she say?"

"Dude, what did she tell you?"

The guys' questions went ignored as Chris sat there, stunned and speechless for a moment. He wasn't the only one; a quick glance around the edge of the pool showed you that every single one of his bandmates was watching, waiting to see what Chris's next move would be... or what your next move would be.

"You did not just go there, not here, at Ricky's-?" Chris started, trailing off for a second.

"Y/N, you-" he began again, but like before, he stopped mid-sentence.

"Damn, Y/N, I think you broke him," Justin suddenly spoke up, trying not to laugh.

"Dude, he's fucking speechless!" Vinny laughed.

"What did you say to him?" he added with a grin, raising a brow at you.

You grinned back at him, shrugging.

"Ask Chris," you answered, sneaking another glance at the man in question beside you.

He was still staring at you, but now there was a hint of something darker in those brown eyes of his.

"Say it again, I'm gonna toss you in the pool," he warned you. And yet, despite the warning, there was that same hint of a smirk from before.

"Go ahead, I'll pull you in with me," you shot back, sticking your tongue out at him with a cheeky little grin.

One dark eyebrow arched up, and he leaned in to whisper in your ear this time.

"At least then you'll already be wet for me."

Now it was your turn to be rendered speechless for the moment.

Chris leaned back with a satisfied smile, looking all too pleased with himself.

Shooting you a wink, he got up from the edge of the pool, nodding over at Ryan.

"I need to go help him with food prep, do me a favor and behave, Y/N," he told you.

You were still too stunned to speak, merely nodding in response and watching him walk away.

Game fucking set and match on his end, then. You'd have to get a bit more creative...

Ricky's laugh broke through your thoughts, as he sat down next to you.

"Sounds like someone's in trouble," he teased you, lightly nudging you with his shoulder. You snuck a glance behind you, watching Chris, unable to help the soft smile that made its way onto your face.

There was just something about the way he moved, gods, you could watch him all day.

And then he happened to look up at that exact second, his eyes meeting yours. A slow smile spread across his face, and he winked at you before going back to helping Ryan with getting lunch prepped for the day.

Turning back around, you nudged Ricky with your shoulder. "Hey, don't tell him this, but... I've been kind of a brat today because I'm actually sort of hoping he'll reach his breaking point and... you know," you told him.

He grinned, casting a quick glance in Chris's direction before his eyes met yours again.

"Ah. Yeah, no, I get it. We've been kind of busy with touring and I know you guys haven't exactly had any time to be alone together," he started, an awkward little smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"I mean, I will say this: if things do work out for you today, I've got the extra guest room you guys can use, just so you know. Just... clean up when you're done," he said, trying not to laugh.

"Also, if you really wanna get him to his breaking point quick, let me know, I'll gladly help you out," he grinned. You were unable to keep from laughing at that, the sound drawing Chris and Ryan's attention.

"What're you Girl Scouts laughing about over there?" Ryan asked. His question only made you laugh a little harder, you and Ricky exchanging a furtive look with each other.

"You gonna?" he asked in a voice low enough for only you to hear.

You grinned in response, merely nudging him in the side and nodding in Chris's direction.

Getting up from the edge of the pool, you turned to face Chris, your heart racing with anticipation of what you were about to do.

"Eyyo, Christopher! Lemme get that dick!" you called out, heat flooding your cheeks as you waited for his reaction.

And oh, was it ever the reaction you were hoping for.

He turned around to face you, his mouth open, eyes wide, and brows raised to the fullest extent.

"What did you just say??"

He took a warning step towards you, giving you that look you loved so much, his head tilted ever so slightly to the right.

But you weren't going to let him rattle you that easily. No, you were going to see this through.

"I mean, I can say it again if you'd like?" you answered, biting back a grin. He took another step forward, that warning look still in place. Silence once again settled over the group, the only sound being that of the music streaming softly from the speaker by the pool.

Your gaze shifted to land on Ricky; he was watching the two of you with a poorly concealed grin on his face, and when his eyes met yours, his smile only grew wider, like he was on the verge of laughing.

"Y/N."

Immediately, you glanced back at Chris, your eyes widening when you noticed he'd gotten more than a step or two closer to you still.

"First of all, wildly out of line of you to ask me that, here in front of the guys. And secondly... excuse the ever loving fuck out of you, that's not how you ask me, now try again," Chris spoke firmly, his eyes never wavering from yours.

You started to sneak a glance over at Ricky again, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Chris shake his head at you.

"No, don't look at him, he's not gonna help you. You wanted to start this little game of yours, now you're gonna finish it," he said. Before you could stop yourself, you blurted out the first thing that came to your mind.

"Oh, I'll definitely be able to finish, will you?" you grinned, waiting for his reaction.

Someone laughed, and Chris shot them a sideways glance, before those brown eyes met yours again. "That's one. Try again," he said, his voice dangerously low and smooth.

You bit your lip in anticipation, mentally weighing your options here.

On the one hand, if you played this his way, there was no guarantee that you would get what you wanted, what you needed. But on the other hand, if you played this your way... well, there was still no guarantee of that, either.

You supposed you'd just have to fuck around and find out, then.

"Er, um... may I please get that dick?" you repeated your earlier request, albeit a little more politely this time around.

The expression on Chris's face seemed to soften, and he took another step towards you. "There, see? Now wasn't that a much better way of asking me?" he said softly.

"Pfft, no," you answered, before you could stop yourself.

Almost immediately, both eyebrows were raised again, before he narrowed his eyes at you, though you could swear you saw him smirk for the briefest of seconds.

But then with three more steps, he was suddenly in front of you, picking you up and holding you over one shoulder, like one would with a disobedient child.

"That's two. You're done," you heard Chris say.

Your mouth fell open in protest, and you turned to look over your shoulder at him as best as you could.

"Wait, what happened to three?? You know, three strikes and you're out?? You don't play fair, Cerulli!" you protested.

"Nope, you're done. And I don't want to hear it, you don't exactly play fair either, Y/N," he answered.

You could hear the slight amusement in his voice, could practically see the smirk on his face, at this point.

Ricky laughed, getting up from the edge of the pool. "Tour update: Y/N is a brat, and Chris... is not having it," he teased.

"Yeah, not helpful, Olson," you heard Chris say, but even he couldn't keep the smile out of his voice. "You wanna finish helping Ryan out for me? I've got a brat I need to take care of," he added.

Ricky nodded, and you heard Vinny laugh from where he was sitting by the edge of the pool. "Ooh, you're in trouble!" he called out, grinning.

A few catcalls and laughs ensued from the rest of the group as Chris began heading towards the house, still carrying you rather unceremoniously over one shoulder.

As soon as the two of you were in the house and out of earshot of the others, Chris set you down, a dark look now present in those warm and (usually) gentle brown eyes.

"You wanna explain to me why you're being such a little brat for me today, Y/N?" he asked, casting a quick glance over his shoulder.

Ooh, did he really want the honesty? Or was it perhaps better not to clue him in? To be fair, you were already this far, it wouldn't make sense to back out now, right?

Biting back a smirk, you shrugged.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I've been so mild today," you said, trying to remain casual.

On the inside, you were a mess. He was reaching his breaking point, you could feel it.

Just a little more...

"Besides, if I'm such a brat, why don't you do something about it?" you sassed him.

Something in his gaze hardened; this was it...

"Yeah, you know what, I think I will. Bedroom. Now. Go," Chris answered, voice firm.

Ha, this was it, finally...!

You stood your ground, waiting.

And he promptly picked you up, putting you over one shoulder again and carrying you down the hall, towards the guest bedroom Ricky had told you about earlier.

He tossed you down onto the bed, not giving you any time to catch your breath before he was leaning over you, quickly pinning your wrists above your head with one hand, the other curling gently around your throat.

"You gonna behave now?" he asked, his voice low and face mere inches from yours.

You stared back at him, your gaze rather defiant as you shook your head at him.

"Mm. Wrong answer, Y/N," Chris breathed.

He closed the distance between the two of you, his mouth finding yours in an instant, all tongue and teeth and dark seduction, the promise of being left unable to walk lingering behind every rough kiss he pressed to your lips.

A groan slipped unbidden from your throat, and you heard him groan in response, his mouth moving urgently against your own. "Mm, safeword?" he breathed out, in between harsh kisses. "Porcelain," you breathed back, earning a hum of approval from Chris.

"Good girl," he muttered, his words sending a chill down your spine. His grip on your throat tightened briefly before he let go, pulling back to admire the way you were still pinned beneath him.

"Fuck, I've missed seeing you like this," he sighed, running his free hand through his blonde hair. The hint of a smirk rested on that perfect mouth of his, a mouth that was as sinful and dirty as it was pretty.

Releasing your wrists, he stood up, staring down at you with that familiar look in his eyes.

You knew that look, it was only the same one he'd worn in the countless scenes you two had done together since you'd learned of his dominant side.

Fuck, did you love his dominant side...

"Stay still. We're gonna play a game, you and me. You're not allowed to move, you're not allowed to make a single fucking sound. Understand?" he said.

The minute you opened your mouth to answer him, he raised a brow at you.

"I mean it. Not a sound. Trust me, you make the prettiest fucking noises for me, but that's just it: they're for me. Not my bandmates. Got it?" he asked. You nodded, earning an approving little pat on the head from him.

"Better, that's my good girl," he murmured.

With that, he leaned down, leaving little kisses along the exposed skin of your throat, finding your sweet spot so easily. It took everything in you to hold back your moan, the noise instead escaping as a barely audible whimper.

And yet, Chris still heard it.

He paused for a moment, lifting his head to give you a warning look, before leaning down again, marking up that sweet spot at the base of your throat. "Better be quiet..." he warned you, in between kisses.

You were trying, honestly! He was making it ever so difficult, though. One more kiss here, one more kiss there... fuck, he really wanted you to suffer, didn't he?

Another small whimper slipped free from your mouth, and you could both see and feel the smile that briefly turned up the corners of his mouth as Chris glanced up at you again.

"Do I need to gag you? Is that what you want?" he asked. You shook your head at him, and he raised an eyebrow at you. "Then I need you to stop, and be quiet for me. Be a good girl, or you lose the game. Understand?" he said.

You nodded, Chris's answering smile of approval bringing a smile of your own to your face. "Up, now. I want this off," he told you, tugging on the hem of your shirt. You did as you were told, keeping eye contact with him the entire time. "Everything?" you asked, biting back another smile as you let the shirt fall to the floor.

"Everything, everything. All of it," came Chris's answer, his voice trailing off as he watched you undress for him. But when you went to undo the ties at the sides of your swim bottoms, he shook his head at you. "No. Down," he ordered you.

Lying back against the bed for him, you watched with baited breath, your teeth digging into your bottom lip, as he leaned down and took the ties between his teeth, tugging them free. Fuck, that had to be the hottest thing you'd seen him do all day...!

He did the same thing to the ties on the other side before standing up again, his hands making quick work of discarding your swim bottoms, casting them aside. You now lay exposed before him, every inch of you waiting to be ravished and ruined by him, just like you wanted, like you needed.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath, staring down at you in awe, like a blind man seeing the sun for the very first time. "So fucking beautiful, Y/N," he murmured, leaning down to kiss you. His touch was no less gentle than it had been earlier; he wanted this just as much as you did, he needed this too.

"Chris," you moaned his name, reaching down to grasp the hem of his shirt, but he stopped you before you could get any further than that. "Mm, no, Y/N, I thought I told you not to move," he murmured, breaking the kiss to stare down at you, those warm brown eyes holding you captive and scorching your very soul alive.

"But I want to touch-" you started. He shook his head at you, a hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. "Only good girls get to touch," he answered. Leaning down, he whispered in your ear, his voice low and full of amusement.

"And you haven't been a good girl for me today, have you, baby?"

Before you could stop yourself, you shook your head no, staring up at him with wide eyes. Gods, he already had you tiptoeing the line into subspace for him. Fuck, he was good...

You watched as he stripped himself of his shirt, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw the inked up expanse of his bare skin. You wanted him so bad, you wanted to run your fingers over his ink, trace every line, every curve, you wanted to taste him, you needed him so fucking bad...!

A whine escaped unbidden from your throat, earning you a chuckle from Chris. "Aw, my sweet girl's all pent up, isn't she?" he teased you, before finally ridding himself of his swim trunks. You sucked in a rattling gasp, nodding frantically as he leaned over you, kissing up the side of your throat, eventually finding the spot below your right ear.

"It's too bad she's been a brat all day," he whispered in your ear, his words only working to pull another whine from the back of your throat. "Shh, lucky for you, I'm not mean enough to just leave you like this," he added, leaning back to look down at you, his gaze softening.

"But," he added with a grin, "I'm also not gonna sit here and just give you what you want, not that easily." Leaning forward again until his face was inches from yours, he placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"You want this dick so bad, Daddy's gonna make you fucking work for it," he told you. His words sent a hot spike of arousal straight to your core, where you needed him the most, and it took every ounce of whatever self control you had left to not sink all the way into subspace for him.

"Oh, but it'd be so easy!" your inner thoughts protested, pleaded, even.

Fuck it.

You stared up at him, your gaze locked with his. Chris knew, too. He knew in that moment, he had you exactly where he wanted you. Fucking checkmate, right?

"You gonna be a good little whore for me, Y/N?" he asked, staring down at you. Fuuu- if he kept talking like that, you wouldn't last long around him. You nodded, too stunned and too far gone to speak properly.

Not that he minded, of course. No, he was in full Dom mode, he knew exactly how much power he held over you right now. "That's my good girl," he muttered, before reaching out and tapping you twice on your inner thigh.

"Up, I want you on your knees. Now," he told you. You complied ever so easily, the prospect of you getting what you want lingering around the corner, just out of your reach. He wanted you to be a good little whore for him, you could do that, no problem...

You knew what he wanted without him even having to ask, you two had done this dance many, many times before. That, and he was making it ever so obvious; he was already so aroused and so hard for you. Kneeling down, you took him easily into your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat.

Fuck, you could already taste him, you'd missed this so much. The minute you had your hot little mouth wrapped around his dick, Chris released the dirtiest, ungodliest of moans, one of his hands finding its way to the back of your head, his fingers winding themselves through your hair and holding you in place.

"Fuck, good girl, fuck, just... just like that," he groaned, watching you go down on him, take him, every fucking inch, all the way to the back of your throat-- fuck, you were doing so good for him-!

He watched with a mix of arousal and awe, his grip on the back of your head tightening slightly, his hips rising ever so carefully to meet you halfway. Brown eyes widened, Chris's head falling back as you moaned around him, an echoed groan of his own filling the hushed silence of the room.

Holy- how the fuck could you take him as deeply as you were?? Then again, he wasn't sure why this should surprise him, you'd always done so well for him, more than deserving of any and every ounce of praise he'd ever given you.

"There we go, good... fuck, good girl," Chris panted softly, every exhaled breath trembling on his tongue. "Not such a brat now, are we?" he added with a breathless laugh. You paused a moment, lifting your head to meet his gaze, making a face at him and baring your teeth.

He smirked, trying hard to hide his laughter. "Aw, little kitten thinks she's so tough. But look at her, such a pretty baby, kept all quiet with her mouth around my dick," he cooed at you. God, the filthiest things that could come out of this man's mouth-!

You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks, your blood pounding a frantic staccato within your veins, Chris's words echoing in the forefront of your mind. You gave him your best doe-eyed expression, watching intently as his own expression shifted, his grin faltering as the cracks started appearing in his calm facade.

In the few beats of silence that followed, you could hear the sharp hiss of breath escaping his lungs, his eyes locked intently on yours. The minutes seemed to tick by before he finally spoke, his voice trembling and his words seeming to stumble over each other in their haste to get out.

"D-don't... don't do that, don't look at me like that, kitten..." he pleaded with you in a breathless whisper.

Ha... who was in control of who, again?

A smirk playing at the edges of your mouth, you cast your eyes downward again, your hands moving up to grip the tops of his thighs, fingers digging in as you pulled him in deeper once more, a low groan rising up from the back of your throat.

Any further pleas Chris may have had for you died out on his tongue, another sharp exhale hissing from between his teeth as he watched you, his entire being held wholly and utterly spellbound by your every fucking move.

You could feel his grip on your hair loosen, his hand falling to rest at his side, his self-control starting to slip ever so much further with every touch of your hands, your tongue. You could tell the moment he was close, his fingers tensing and gripping tightly at the bedspread beneath him, his hips rising to meet you halfway.

"F-fuck, Y/N-!"

The way your name left his mouth, spoken like a swear word, like a sort of forbidden oath--

You were completely done for after that, all self-control you may have had, just... gone.

You only had the briefest of warnings from him, before he was coming undone for you, the taste and feel of him heavy on your tongue and in the back of your throat, as sweet and addictive as novocain...

He was your drug, your fix.

And you doubted you'd ever be able to get enough of him.

His climax easily added fuel to the fire of your own, but you knew better. If you came now, that was it, game over. You knew how he was as a Dom, he'd make you wait...

Holding back a groan, you let your eyes drift upwards, meeting his. "Don't swallow yet, baby, I wanna see," he told you, head falling back as he tried to catch his breath, one hand rising to run through his hair.

You slowly pulled back, releasing him from your mouth as you sat up on your knees for him, waiting patiently and trying your hardest not to swallow. His composure regained and that smooth, calm facade back in place once more, Chris reached out with one hand to gently grab you by the chin as he leaned forward, his gaze intent on yours.

"Open up, pretty little brat, let me see..." he breathed.

Eyes wide, you nodded, easily giving in to his demands, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out for him, putting on full display the mess he had created for you.

Chris stared back at you in awe, taking note of the way his cum dripped from the tip of your tongue, spilling down your chin, your throat, his hand...

"Look at that, look at you, you beautiful, messy little girl," he whispered, pride in his voice, his brown eyes softening as he smiled down at you.

Ah, and there it was... that feeling you always craved, the part you most looked forward to whenever you two did this together.

The way he would give you praise, it was indescribable. He wouldn't just praise you for the sake of doing it, no, oh no. He would go so much further than that, always.

He had a certain way of making you feel so completely special, like everything about you mattered, everything about what you did and who you were just mattered.

Because to him, it did matter. You did.

The softest of whimpers left your mouth, your gaze held captive by his own.

This was one of the parts Chris secretly loved too, seeing you like this, so soft and sweet and pure for him... even though he knew better, you both did.

The moments where you were so open for him like this were incredibly rare, this show of vulnerability was something only he got to see.

Another small noise left your open mouth, regaining his attention. "Shh, I know, baby. Swallow for me, every last drop," he spoke softly, leaning forward to kiss you gently on the forehead.

You did as you were told, swallowing the taste of him, a bittersweet feeling of emptiness lingering behind afterwards. That was the part you hated, no longer being able to taste him, to feel him on your tongue, in the back of your throat.

But Chris knew the feeling just as much as you did, he always knew.

With the softest of touches, he used his thumb to clean up what was left, pushing lightly at your lips, watching as you eagerly opened up for him, taking him into your mouth, indulging in what remained of the taste of him.

Releasing his thumb from your mouth with the smallest of bites, you sat back on your heels, staring up at him with those doe eyes. He smiled back at you, reaching out to stroke the side of your face.

"Such a good girl for me, you did so good. Here, come here, pretty baby," he cooed, beckoning you to him. You climbed up into his lap, one leg on either side of him as you wrapped your arms around him, holding on to him like he was your only lifeline.

"Let me take care of you, Y/N, give you what you need," he whispered in your ear, drawing you close to him. You only too easily complied, letting him have full control, slipping as far into subspace as he could get you to go.

He entered you slowly, wanting you to feel every fucking inch of him, down to the last. Unified groans echoed through the quiet of the room, his fingers digging in to the velvet softness of your hips, clutching you to him like he was going to lose you.

Only he wasn't; you were his as much as he was yours, you were here to stay...

His name left your mouth, a hushed plea for him, all of him, everything he could ever give you.

"Shh, I know, I'm here, m'gonna make you feel so good..." came Chris's muffled reply, his face buried against the side of your neck as he placed soft, slow, open-mouthed kisses along the skin there.

You let your head fall back, eyes closing and lips parting in a silent groan, fingertips brushing along Chris's back, nails digging in ever so slightly to leave tiny half-moons patterned over the surface of the skin.

His breath left him in a quiet hiss, one of his hands moving up to cradle the back of your head, holding you close to him as he left deep kisses along the exposed skin of your throat, leaving his mark on you, taking claim to what was his.

A bit ironic, wasn't it? He'd always told you purple was a good color on you...

The sweetest of noises left your mouth for him to hear, drawing out a mirrored echo of his own, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, biting softly at your shoulder.

Fuck, he didn't think he'd ever be able to get enough of you, even as close as he was to you in this moment, right here and now...!

He wanted you in every way he could have you, he had every fucking intention of it, you'd asked him so nicely before, hadn't you?

Sure, you'd also been kind of a brat and gotten him entirely too riled up all day, but-- wait. Was that why you-? Is this what you had been after the entire time, what you had craved so badly from him-??

A low groan slipped free from his throat as he bit at your shoulder again, before soothing the bite with the gentlest of kisses. His fingers dug into you as his hips rose to meet yours, pushing him deeper into you than he'd ever been, than he could ever hope to be.

The softly exhaled swear word that left your mouth at the miniscule movement was enough to make him slip up and smile, a quiet laugh rising from his throat.

"Is this what you were after, huh, baby? Is this what you've been wanting, why you were such a brat for me earlier, hmm?" he breathed, thrusting up into you and earning another whispered expletive from you.

You were too far gone, too far entrapped by him to be able to answer properly. A mere nod was all you could manage, your head falling forward so you could bury your face against the side of his neck, choking out your soft moans.

"You poor, sweet baby, all you had to do was tell me that you needed to be fucked, you didn't have to be a brat to get my attention..." Chris said softly, trying not to laugh.

"I ddnt knw cld..." came your muffled reply.

"Hmm?" Chris breathed, waiting for you to repeat yourself.

"I didn't know I could," you reiterated softly, lifting your head to meet his gaze. Chris's answering laugh caused the heat to flood your cheeks again, as you blushed.

"Y/N, sweetheart... you know you can ask me anything, yeah? Mm, you've got to tell me if I'm not giving you enough attention," he answered, leaning forward to kiss you on the cheek, your chin, down towards your throat, your shoulders.

"Doesn't matter if I'm with the guys, if you need me, pull me aside and let me know you need some time away..." he added, brushing soft kisses along your collarbones. "I'm sure they'll understand, at least half of them know what it's like," he continued in a murmur, dotting more featherlight kisses along your skin.

"What what's like?" you gasped softly, head falling back again as Chris's hips rose to meet yours in another particularly deep thrust. He had to choke back a groan before he was able to answer you, his fingers flexing tightly along your hips for a moment.

"Fuck..." he groaned, eyes closing as he sat there, buried deep within you, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second.

"They know..." he breathed out, eyes reopening as he lifted his head to look at you, "they know what it's like to have a girlfriend to come home to, someone they're just so incredibly desperate, so hard up for, the entire fucking time we're on tour..."

His hand slid from the back of your head, down, down to instead grip the back of your neck, fingers flexing softly, tightening ever so gently, holding you in place as he slowly fucked you, every thrust deeper and more sensual than the last one before it.

You cried out as the waves of dark ecstasy ebbed away just at the surface, threatening to overtake you and drown you in their depths at any given moment. You were close, you were so very close, he was so good, too good, everything was too warm, too stifling, fuck-!

Chris's answering moan fell in perfect synchronicity with your own sweet sounds, creating a seductive little symphony only the two of you would ever be able to hear.

"Fuck, I know, baby, you're so close, Daddy's close too, fuck..." he groaned, his head falling forward to rest against your own.

"Just a little more, hold out a little longer for me, hmm? Gonna make you feel so fucking good, fuck you so full of my cum, breed you 'til you fucking drip for me, baby..." he added, keeping up the dirtiest stream of whispered profanities against your skin, his hand tightening on the back of your neck.

"Chris, please-!"

Your begging only added fuel to the blaze growing hotter between the two of you, your desperate pleas sending him chasing after that high, right over the edge--

And you fell down with him, oh fuck, did you fall fast and hard with him--

Chris barely had time to growl out the words "Cum for me, Y/N", before you were doing just that, his name leaving your mouth in the loudest of cries. You were sure if his bandmates hadn't heard the two of you before, they would now.

But you didn't give a fuck.

You were so lost in those waves, so lost in him, to even care.

The way he held you down tightly against him, the way he was so intent on making you feel every inch of him, every drop of seed he had to give you--

It was too much, it wasn't enough, it was... it was everything--

"Fuck, Chris, fuck--!" you ground out, your breath leaving you in sharp, gasping exhales as you clung tightly to him, holding on desperately.

Your thighs trembled beneath you, and yet... you didn't drown, not completely. Chris held you as tightly as you held him, the two of you keeping one another aloft through it all, riding the high until there was nothing left to take, nothing left to give.

The inside of your head felt blissfully like radio static, as if someone had left it carelessly unattended between channels, the white noise filtering through to your brain, to your very nerve endings.

Chest heaving, breaths trembling, you collapsed against him, the weight of Chris's embrace a comforting presence as you came down from your high. Little did you know your very presence was of great comfort to him as well, the two of you guiding each other back home.

"You- I... fuck," you gasped out in a breathless whisper, unable to find the right words. But at this point, words became unnecessary, a sort of unspoken agreement forming amidst the aftermath. Chris knew, he always did...

He sat there for a while afterwards, holding you close to him, not quite ready to let you go, not just yet. If he was being honest, he felt rather selfish in that moment. It wasn't enough, he still needed you, needed to feel you, to taste you...

"Here, lie down for me, baby..." he murmured, helping you up as he slowly withdrew from you. The sharp hiss you let out at the feeling of emptiness afterwards, oh, how he hated that sound. But he'd make up for it, he'd see to it, you'd see...

The minute you were lying prone and soft for him, Chris gently parted your legs, immediately leaning down to kiss you in that most intimate of places, working with tongue and teeth to cleanse you, but fuck, the taste-!

He groaned against you, the muffled sound being unwillingly ripped from his throat, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you in place as he instead devoured you, every taste of your essence and his heavy and seductive on his tongue... he wanted more.

No, fuck that, he needed it.

And the way your fingers tangled tightly in his blonde hair, pulling harshly as he ate you out so deep, fuck-- he needed more of it, he needed all of it.

And you-!

You'd swear up and down, Chris was practically made for eating pussy, holy fuck-

It was one of the things he was particularly skilled in, the way he could have you coming unraveled at the seams for him just like that...

Fuck-!

Your thighs shook, a harsh cry tearing itself free from your parted lips as you came for him, Chris using that sinful mouth of his to fuck you through not one, but two orgasms, holy-!

You tugged harshly at his hair, his answering hiss sending a flush of heat straight through to your core, shoving you carelessly, blissfully, over the edge one last time, before Chris decided to show you mercy.

"N-no... more..." you gasped out, panting softly for him. "Safeword?" he breathed, lifting his head to stare up at you through heavy eyes, those warm brown irises scorching through to your soul.

You shook your head at him, unable to respond vocally. But much like before, words were unnecessary with the two of you. He leaned back, taking you by the hands and gently pulling you up to cradle you to his chest, hugging you tightly.

You were done, you had reached your limits.

But that was okay with him, you had done more than what he'd expected of you, much like you always did.

It was one of the things he had come to grow fond of, with the relationship you two had.

"Fuck, you did so good for me, baby. 'M'so proud of you," Chris murmured against the top of your head, his fingers tracing light circles along your back, tracing up your spine, working to bring you back down to earth, back to him.

You were much too exhausted to respond, instead settling for a soft hum of acknowledgement, your breathing eventually returning to normal as you left your high behind.

Only then did you finally take note of one minute detail that had previously escaped your notice.

The door to the guest bedroom had been left open, the entire time you and Chris had fucked.

Anybody could have walked past, could have seen you and Chris like that...

"Fuck..." you mumbled.

"Hmm?" came Chris's soft reply.

"The door. It got left open," you answered in a tired murmur.

There was a moment's silence before you and Chris both looked at each other, neither one of you suddenly able to keep from laughing.

When the laughter had died down, Chris cast a look over his shoulder at the door. "Probably a good idea to close that next time, yeah?" he remarked, turning back to grin down at you. You nodded, your cheeks flushing at the thought that one of his bandmates might have seen the two of you.

And then Chris's words clicked into place.

"Wait, next time? You mean that?" you asked softly, a hopeful look in your eyes. He nodded, smirking down at you. "You don't think I'm gonna let you get away with this twice, do you?" he teased you, leaning down to kiss you.

You grinned, shrugging as you kissed him back. "Maybe? I got you this time, didn't I?" you teased him in response. "Mm, no," he answered, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth for a moment before releasing it, "no, baby. I got you."

You leaned back to pout at him, earning another laugh from him. "Alright, how about this? Truce?" he asked, holding out a hand. You eyed it dubiously for a second, before finally relenting, shaking his hand. "Alright. Truce," you agreed. "For now," you added a moment later, unable to keep from smirking.

Chris raised both brows at you, before calling you a brat. Although, judging by the faint smile on his face, you knew he didn't mean it.

And you were right, he didn't mean it. You were his good girl, you'd always been, always would be...

"I mean, you guys cleaned up in there, right? I'm not gonna find anything... questionable... later?" Ricky asked, raising an eyebrow at Chris. There was some light laughter amongst the rest of the guys, as they all sat gathered around the open, brightly blazing fire-pit.

The last rays of the dying sun had long since bled out, leaving nothing but ink and gemstones and a silver smile gracing the skies. Food had been eaten, drinks had been had, laughter had been shared, and now that things were winding down, you had ended up falling asleep in Chris's lap, your head resting on his shoulder.

Chris made a face at Ricky, earning more laughter from his bandmates. "Of course we cleaned up. Besides," he said, glancing down at your sleeping form in his lap, "I think she needed this today."

"How long had it been for you guys again?" Ryan asked, arching an eyebrow. "Too fucking long," came Chris's instant reply.

A few low catcalls and whistling ensued from some of his bandmates, earning them all an eyeroll from Chris. "Sooo... tour update: Y/N's no longer a brat?" Ricky teased, grinning.

Unable to hide his own grin, Chris shook his head, glancing down at you again and placing a soft kiss atop your head as you slept. "No... she just needed a little extra attention from me today, that's all..." he answered.

"Dude, you're so fucking soft for her," Vinny grinned. "Yeah, man, I don't think I've ever seen you like this with anybody, our fans included," Justin agreed.

Ricky snorted, casting a sideways glance at his friend. "It's cause he loves her," he said with a wink. Chris waved him off with a smile, but he knew his bandmate was right.

He did love you, more than he ever thought he could, more than he thought he deserved to. How he'd ever been lucky enough to land someone as special as you... that was still, and probably would always be, a mystery to him.

"Oh and by the way, you guys were totally loud," someone suddenly spoke up, earning another round of laughter from everybody.

"Shut up, we were not!"

A/N: I know this one was a bit of a long read, I do apologize. But for those of you who stuck around and made it all the way to the end, I want to very humbly thank you and hear what you thought of this one! (Also, if you think I should do more of these, please let me know in the comments and REBLOG! Every little bit helps! Thank you so much, fellow Creatures! 🎃

#chris motionless x reader #chris cerulli x reader #chris motionless oneshot #chris cerulli oneshot #chris motionless smut #chris motionless #motionless in white x reader #motionless in white oneshot #motionless in white smut #motionless in white fandom #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white #miw things #miw #smut #these games we play

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sshadowritestoriess · 11 months

Note

I apologize because I know you get a lot of ramattra requests, but can I request a sexually frustrated ramattra?

No problem, this was fun to think about honestly :]

Sexually Frustrated Ramattra

Ramattra is already a very stressed-out and aggravated omnic, so I am in full belief that he would not be able to recognize right away where this new kind of frustration is stemming from

And it would drive him to the brink of insanity. He would seek solutions, first: being somewhat of a workaholic, he’d frantically complete task after task until he has nothing left to finish for that day, maybe even for that week, before he finally allows himself to sit down and meditate for a few hours.

But no matter how deeply he breathes or how still he sits, no matter how many times he refreshes his thoughts and (quite literally) clears his mind, he cannot shake this internal burning feeling that nips at his very fingertips and makes him want to scream

He would resign the peaceful exercise for something more exerting; violence. Practicing the martial arts he was taught at the shambali, kicking and punching at practice-bots and dummies, reaching the point of tearing one apart limb-from-limb and ripping into the center of its intricate chassis— pulling out wires like a child would do to grass in a temper-tantrum

And then the object of his infatuation would pass him by in this all-too-embarrassing moment, asking if he was okay, and then it would click for him. But who was he to ask for that kind of aid after being seen like this?

He would assure you that he’s fine, then escapes your presence to try to take care of it himself, hiding away in his own quarters and stroking himself off with an intense quickness to try and make it go away. Refreshing his systems to rid of this error.

He’s rough with himself, leaning hard into a wall and pulling at a fistful of his cabled mane until he hears the wire enamels creak and snap in his fingers, damaging his own ‘hair’. His hands are just my no means soft, providing an intense friction around his synthetic sex.

So as the Iris would have it, his own stimulation and imagination would not be enough to satiate this cursed sense of hunger.

He would try to disconnect his copulative attachments after some failed attempts to provide himself relief, yet the cravings would remain, just slightly altered for lack of equipment. He still needed to have someone near, to feel hands that weren’t his own reaching into the crevices of his body to force his guard down. He needed to relax at someone else’s bidding. He had just had far too much time by himself and his codependence trait had finally unraveled.

And everything about it makes him angry about the entire world around him, including himself. So the second time he bumps into you, much later in the evening, he’s somewhat hunched over and marching down a hall from his headquarters, red and yellow glimpses of wires practically glowing with a display of rage from the new tears in his cables. There’s always been an air about Ramattra that seems dangerous— but now especially, it felt that he may kill the next thing that enters a ten-foot radius around him.

So you would stop before getting to close, and he’d freeze just the same, staring at you through the dark slits of his faceplate. You could see the way his shoulders rose and fell in a more exaggerated manner, as if he was breathing heavy in his anger (though he doesn’t breathe at all).

It’s not at all difficult to guess he has had a very rough day. And he would further hate himself when you cautiously ask again if he was doing alright— clearly, he wasn’t, but it was invitation to speak or ask for help. And with a small pause in reluctance, feeling far more embarrassed than he would have liked (especially for spending half the day trying to get off) he would.

“I need… assistance,” The word would be hissed out as if he had gritted teeth, “for something far more mundane and—“ he’d force his gaze away from you, “—private than our usual tasks.”

You’d ask what it is he needs, of course. There’s an air of nervousness between you both— Ramattra in fear of dragging himself further through this muddy situation, and destroying all chances of you feeling comfortable around him ever again for what he’d like to ask of you.

But he’s already found himself here and has run out of ideas, and he’s not the omnic to put things very lightly. So he’d just come out and say it.

“Sex.” The word is spat as though it offended him, and he’d drop his head toward the ground with a defeated sigh. He’d raise a hand and roll his wrist almost dismissively, “I cannot bring myself to function without this lingering frustration for the moment, so if you would like to help or have any suggestions that would ensure this feeling goes away, I would certainly appreciate it.”

#overwatch #overwatch2 #headcanons #ramattra #reader insert #ramattra x reader #smut #ramattra overwatch #ramattra x listener #imagines

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bestworstcase · 2 months

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Thanks for your response ala Ruby & Yang, great stuff!

Idle aside, but do you have any thoughts on Yang's role as the sort of black sheep of the family by dint of Raven associations?

Cos like, Tai overtly favors Ruby, projects Raven onto Yang, resents Raven being rough up and is bad enough about reminders of her Yang feels she has to apologize for his negative reactions. Let alone his... Everything else.

Then there's Qrow who doesn't seem to interact with Yang over much at all and one of if not their most major interaction. Involves him straight up saying he thinks she's either a liar hurting people for fun or "crazy".

I recall someone I was chatting with wondering: Imagine doing everything you can to keep your family from breaking apart & being compared to the woman who left you when you were a baby?

Cos I do wonder how Yang feels about all that given she seems to downplay and or try to work around her family's issues when she can. Let alone what it says about the adults in the room.

smth i think about a lot is the way yang’s narrative about her childhood shifts between v2 to v5

’cause in v2 it’s: “it was tough. ruby was really torn up, my dad kind of shut down. it wasn’t long before i learned why…” all to provide context for this anecdote about putting ruby in a wagon and running away to find her mother. and then her conclusion is “my stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.”

and while there is a degree here of yang framing the story to emphasize the point she wants blake to understand, it’s also very obvious in her delivery that the emotional reality of this memory for yang is “the time my stupidity and stubbornness almost got me and ruby eaten by grimm”—when she was [checks notes] like five, six years old, and regularly left at home unsupervised.

but in v5, it’s: “my mom left me. ruby’s mom left too. tai was always busy with school, and ruby couldn’t even talk yet; i had to pick up the pieces. i had to pick up the pieces. alone.”

aside from the telling slip (tai, not dad)—yang centers her own feelings and the harm this situation did to her this time. which is something she’s always felt but i don’t think she could have brought herself to say it out loud to anyone during the beacon arc, because it was pressed down under the guilt on display in burning the candle, the feeling of having been inadequate and too stubborn and too selfish and and and–

coughs quietly. “my stubbornness should have gotten us killed that night.” / “you were predictable. and… stubborn. and maybe a little boneheaded.” yang’s narrative about the wagon incident—which happened when she was five or six!—pinning the blame on the thing tai imagines to be her fatal flaw is…probably not coincidental. yang in v4 after a year of being loved by her team and supported by mentors like glynda / oobleck / port has the perspective to know that tai doesn’t know what he’s talking about; but as a small child who’d just had a terrifying near-death experience with her baby sister… 😶

it definitely had a big impact on the way yang sees herself

BUT i do read qrow's talk with yang in 3.8 pretty differently ->

because the context is: yang saw mercury attack her and struck back in self defense, then had like a dozen synthetic soldiers point guns in her face, then looked up and saw the replay footage of herself walking over to shoot a boy who was just kneeling on the ground. and some of the most powerful authority figures in the world are pushing this narrative that stress and adrenaline "clouded her judgment."

like this would make anyone doubt their sanity. bc holy shit.

yang, though...a couple weeks ago, yang after being knocked unconscious woke up and blearily saw someone she thought was her mother walk away from her and disappear in a flash of red light. she hasn't mentioned it to anyone, because it's just so bizarre—yang doesn't know about raven's semblance yet—she must have just been seeing things. right?

aside from raven (who isn't here) and yang (who believes she hallucinated), the only other person who knows that yang saw her mom on the train is qrow, because raven told him about it. he also knows that:

tai insisted on not telling yang ANYTHING about her mother, and qrow respected that up until now; so yang doesn't know about raven's semblance and can't make sense of what she saw.

salem's infiltrators are the same people who attacked amber, and qrow didn't get a good look at them because they seemingly vanished into thin air—pretty damn good chance that one of them has a semblance that manipulates what you see.

ozpin wants #2 kept secret, so yang has some very powerful people actively trying to convince her that she's crazy. ironwood is straight up gaslighting her.

qrow also—based on the first thing he says, which is "why'd you do it?"—seems to consider it a possibility that it is what it looked like but yang did have a good reason, and i actually do not think that is an outrageous thing for qrow specifically to think. because qrow was emotionally abused as a child, and he knows yang, and in the event that yang really did suddenly turn around and punch a guy who was kneeling on the ground, why would she do it?

glances at shay d. mann. well. maybe this kid has been harassing her? maybe he said something horrible or threatening to her and in the heat of the moment she just snapped? maybe "he attacked me, i saw him attack me" isn't really a lie per se, she's just scared that "he's been picking on me ever since he got here and he made a disgusting remark and i just couldn't take it anymore" won't be taken seriously? as in, he did attack her—verbally/emotionally.

it's probably worth asking, at least!

so, qrow leads with "why'd you do it?" in case there is some invisible reason justifying the apparent action. yang says "you know why." qrow goes okay, well, i only know what i saw, so you're either lying (i.e., yang had a reason she now isn't telling) or crazy (i.e., yang saw something different from reality that was very real to her).

she says "i'm not lying." qrow believes her: "crazy, got it."

at this point, he knows the most probable explanation is that one of salem's infiltrators fucked with her head. the inner circle's gaslighting doesn't sit right with him; he's not going to buck ozpin by telling her the truth outright, but he wants to make sure yang knows she isn't losing her mind. he also has all the info needed to guess that yang is actually really really scared that she might be crazy.

which is why he kicks off the wall and begins to pace around. the language he uses sounds dismissive, but his tone is mild and his body language implies "let's talk about it, let's figure this out."

leading to:

YANG: Who knows? Maybe I am. QROW: And here I thought your dark-haired friend was the emo one. YANG: I saw my mom. …I- I was in a lot of trouble, took a pretty hard hit. But when I came to, the person attacking me was gone, and I thought I saw… her. Her sword. Like the one in you and dad’s old picture. QROW: You’re not crazy, Yang. That was your mom, alright. Let me guess—she didn’t say a word, did she? YANG: How did you know that? QROW: I don't see my sister very often, but she does try to keep in touch... whenever it suits her. YANG: Wait—you mean you talk to her? That was real!? QROW: Yeah, she found me. Had a tip from my most recent assignment and wanted me to give you a message.

it's really telling that yang responds to him this way. 'cause we've seen how yang acts when she feels dismissed or belittled:

TAI: Well, "normal" is what you make of it. YANG: What is that supposed to mean? Do you want me to just pretend like nothing happened? I lost a part of me. A piece of me is gone. And it's never coming back. TAI: You're right. It's not coming back. But that doesn't have to stop you from becoming who you wanna be. You're Yang Xiao Long, my sunny little dragon. You can do whatever you put your mind to. So whenever you're ready to stop moping, and get back out there? I'll be there for you. YANG: I– I...

she freezes and shuts down! her teachers have to come to her rescue!—but when qrow goes "crazy, got it" and suggests she's being "emo," yang blurts out her big secret. i saw my mom. to me that suggests a level of trust and understanding that isn't there with tai: qrow says stuff like "okay, so you're crazy" and "here i thought your friend was the emo one" but what he means is "hey, i know something's really bugging you, tell me about it," and yang picks up what he's putting down.

it's akin to how ruby goes "did you miss me? DID YOU MISS ME??" and qrow's like "nope" and they both laugh. or the back-and-forth ribbing between him and the girls in 3.4. there's this layer of mild ironic meanness in the way qrow converses with his nieces that all of them are fluent in, and in this scene he's using that mode to signal that "crazy" is not off-limits, that it's okay to talk about openly.

crucially, there's a code-switch in the middle of the conversation: as soon as yang gets real and says "i saw my mom," qrow reflects that seriousness back to her. you're not crazy, that was your mom, she found me afterward and told me about it. it was real. you're okay. qrow's ability to do that—to shift into a more serious mode when irony isn't appropriate—is why yang can have this rapport with him that she doesn't have with tai, because tai isn't... being ironic when he says mean or dismissive things to her.

anyway, qrow passes on raven's terrible message and then kind of annotates it: "raven's got an interesting way of looking at the world that i don't particularly agree with, and she's dangerous." (which is a very diplomatic way of saying he thinks raven is full of shit. lol.) but then he connects this whole conversation about raven back to what happened after the match: "you're a tough egg, kiddo. don't let this tournament thing getcha down. you had a slip-up; sometimes bad things just happen."

implicitly: yang isn't crazy. what she saw on the train was real, a product of raven's personality and her semblance. sometimes bad things just happen. qrow believes that yang had the experience she says she did when she punched mercury. he doesn't know why she had that experience—yang doesn't either!—but he knows she isn't just "crazy." sometimes things that seem crazy are actually real.

remember what he tells the girls in 3.4? "you may be acting like huntresses, but you're not thinking like one." same thing here. he's telling yang, hey, you're not crazy, you know what you saw, but you don't know what or who caused you to see it. "you cut off the head of the king taijitu, but now the second head's calling the shots."

hint, hint.

it's subtler than the hints qrow drops for ruby in 3.12, but very much in the same vein, and yang is plenty smart enough to figure it out. she might... not have? in the couple of hours between this conversation and everything going to straight to hell, but if they'd had literally just one more day, just long enough for the wheels turning in yang's head to click together with what ruby heard from velvet about coco hallucinating during her and yatsu's 2v2 against emerald and mercury, she would've had it.

more... generally, i've never gotten the sense that qrow projects raven's flaws onto yang in the way that tai does; qrow is definitely a lot closer with ruby than yang, but i think that has less to do with favoritism on qrow's part than it does ruby thinking he's like the COOLEST uncle ever and wanting to use a scythe like he does.

'cause like, qrow isn't their parent, he doesn't live with them, he's not responsible for raising these kids like their dad is, so while he obviously did contribute to fucking them both up because: alcoholic, ultimately there just isn't the same degree of betrayal or emotional abandonment; he's not their dad. both times yang talks in detail about her childhood, it's "my mom left, ruby's mom left, tai wasn't really around, ruby couldn't even talk, i was alone"—she doesn't mention qrow. there isn't that deep hurt, that feeling that qrow is someone who left.

when he isn't drunk, yang seems to feel pretty okay around him, and qrow likewise treats her... honestly a lot better than tai does:

he stops by their dorm in v3 to hang out with both his nieces; yang is fully in sister mode—cheers for ruby to beat him until ruby loses, immediately shoves her out of the way like "my turn!! >:D"—and qrow ribs them both, takes ribbing from both of them in good humor, tells both of them "you two are gonna go far."

qrow nicknames to show affection; ruby is "pipsqueak," yang gets "firecracker."

we only see qrow's goodbye to ruby, but in 5.4 yang indicates that qrow came to talk to her before he left, too. she also has complete trust that he's keeping the promise he made to look after ruby.

yang, as noted, opens up to him about seeing her mom; she's also shocked that he's still in contact with raven and indignant that he didn't tell her sooner, but—unlike with tai—she doesn't seem surprised that qrow is willing to talk about raven in general.

which tracks with what tai says in 4.11: "despite asking him numerous times not to, i know qrow told you where you're mother's been at these days"—meaning, this was a point of contention between him and qrow. behind the scenes, while tai refused to discuss raven at all, qrow was going okay well, let me tell her then, she deserves to know. and then ultimately he just bit the bullet and told her behind tai's back. i wouldn't be surprised if it turned out qrow had been straight with yang that her dad wanted to be the one to tell her the important stuff, and he wanted to be respectful of that, but raven wasn't an off-limits topic.

general contrast between yang-tai and yang-qrow dynamics; for example both of them say almost verbatim "you've got a long way to go before you're ready for the real world" (3.4/4.4). from tai it's belittling, he's insulting her; from qrow, it's meant to encourage, it's "remember you're still new to this, you'll make mistakes, just keep learning, keep trying." (rwby does stuff like this all the time, refracting an idea in different directions to highlight contrasts between characters; ozpin's advice to ruby vs port's advice to weiss is another example.)

a lot of qrow's resentment toward raven is centered on her abandonment of yang: "did you know yang lost her arm? [...] rhetorical question, i know you know. it's just obnoxious that you'd bring up family and then carry on like your own daughter doesn't exist. [raven: "i saved her."] once. because that was your rule, right? real mom of the year material, sis." like he is PISSED on yang's behalf that raven won't even try.

my impression is that qrow—although a) often away on long missions in far away places and b) an alcoholic who sometimes got blind drunk and became a burden yang and ruby needed to take care of—when he did manage to be there, made a serious effort to connect with both of them. he ended up being closer to ruby bc she wanted to learn scythe-wielding, but i do think qrow would've trained yang too (or instead) if the girls had different combat interests.

and while his relationship with ruby has a mentorish aspect, i don't get the sense either of the girls see him as a parental figure: he wasn't part of their household, he traveled a lot, his alcoholism in combination with tai's neglect eroded the adult-child boundaries because they had to be responsible for him as often as the reverse. he's a friend who also happens to be related to them. and that's especially true for yang, because he wasn't her teacher.

(i know it's a... pretty common headcanon / fanon that qrow lived with them, but i really don't think that's supported by the text? whenever ruby or yang look back on their childhoods, the family unit is always them + tai, and qrow isolates himself out of fear that his semblance will injure those he cares about. plus ozpin sending him all over the place as the one member of team strq still active. it makes way more sense to think he lived alone, and visited when he had the chance. which is the main reason i'm WAY softer on him than on tai, 'cause qrow wasn't in a caretaker/parent role; at most he was an occasional babysitter. so while his incidents of turning up drunk on the doorstep contributed to the harm... it's like, it would absolutely have been better for them if qrow were sober, but that wouldn't have changed anything about their home life. they'd just have somewhat easier relationships with qrow.)

TO WRAP THIS BACK AROUND TO THE QUESTION, tai is unfairly judgmental and harsh with yang bc he projects his idea of her mom onto her; yang also has a better relationship with her mom's brother than she does with her dad. how do these two dynamics interact? how does yang feel about hearing from tai that she's too branwen, so to speak, while also getting along better with the branwen side of her family? how might that fuel her desire to find raven?

if her uncle treats her better than tai does, then... maybe her mom would too, if only yang could reach her?—obviously it's not rational, but like. i don't think five year old yang put her baby sister in a wagon and ran away to find her mom because she thought she would ask "why did you leave me?" and then get her answer and go home. as yang grew older and developed a more realistic perspective it shifted to "i just need to know why she left" and she projects that backward onto herself as a child, but at the time what she wanted, what she was looking for, was someone who would take care of them.

#never-ending heap of yang thoughts

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