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sunsburns · 1 month

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four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

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jimvasta · 4 months

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Humans and their pets

The sentient races of the universe have just about started to get their heads, or approximate similar in function body parts, around the odd nature of humans but only recently have humans begun to bring other Earth creatures into space with them.

“Don't worry about Fluffy, he's totally ship trained.” the human designated Bradley spoke with frightening casualness about the creature sat at his side. It's muzzle was level with his hips and it's forward facing eyes showed it had predator history just as much as humans did.

“It has fangs.” Captain Mota'tog was unimpressed. The permissions were correctly stamped on the file and yet such a creature hardly appeared inoffensive.

“He does not, he's not poisonous. Of course some of his teeth are sharp, he's an omnivore.”

“He's a hunter.”

“He mostly hunts biscuits. He'll scavenge in the canteen from anyone soft enough to feed him. He's a certified well-being dog. People stroke him, he's got really soft fur, it makes them feel better. Look, he's wagging his tail, it means he likes you.”

Mota-tog whistled uncertainly.

“Oh wow!” One of the human engineers arrived at the airlock and dropped her bag as she stared at the dog. “So cute!”

Fluffy jumped round, tail wagging furiously, nuzzling in as the woman buried her hands in his warm soft fur.

“You are totally gorgeous. You're so fluffy and beautiful, you're like a little polar bear. You're here to stay, yes you are.” the woman happily baby talked to the dog who was more than half her size.

Bradley looked at the Captain and indicated. “See. Dogs make us happy.”

“You do all the care for it.”

“Of course.”

There were some false starts with the rest of the crew who were not so trusting of the huge pack hunter in their midst, but over the next few months they slowly learned to trust that the worst he would do was beg for food off their plates at meal times. Some of the braver aliens even began to pet him.

Then an alarm sounded.

Everyone raced to their emergency stations.

Bradley was in the cargo hold, his duty was to check the cargo was safe and secure.

He had quickly trained Fluffy to sit in a corner out of the way. It kept him safe in case anything shifted. The last thing he wanted was for his pet to get hurt by moving cargo.

The clang of magnetic grabs was deafening.

The alert was for a boarding raid.

Pirates.

Bradley cracked his knuckles and picked up a pry bar.

Through the rest of the ship there were varying degrees of panic.

A few of the other species could fight but most looked to the humans, having learned the way they fought when cornered and knowing their best hope to survive was to stay back and wait for the screaming to stop.

“What the fuck is that?!” the shout was shock and outrage. More anger than fear in the moment.

Crouching as it came through the main airlock was a creature taller and broader than anything else on the ship.

“Star spirits preserve us,” Mota'tog whistled. “A Batath.”

“It's a bloody troll is what it is.” Martins snapped.

Everyone froze as they heard the snarling and growling.

It was not coming from the Batath.

Fluffy arrived at speed and leapt, not caring can his opponent was huge. His fur was already matted with the blood of pirates and this was just another opponent.

The humans charged.

The Batath could only concentrate on one enemy at a time, it was used to picking off creatures as they ran, not fighting them off as something had its teeth deep around a knee trying to rip it apart.

The pirates ran when the Batath fell and the gore covered humans turned to face them.

Bradley let himself drop to the deck. “Don't worry, I'm fine. Good boy, Fluffy.”

Mota'tog shook his feathers as he watched the dog go back from snarling killing machine to placid fuss receiver. “I swear to the spirits, all Earth creatures are insane.”

#humans are space orcs #writers on tumblr #haso #writers #all the creatures of Earth are crazy #humans are deathworlders

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sanguineterrain · 3 months

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I am FERAL over your knight Jason thought. FERAL!!! Okay check this out: so Jason's ignoring reader because he feels guilty right? Maybe he tried to give them back but the king wouldn't allow it. But maybe the reader misunderstands and thinks they're not doing their "duties" so they make dinner and breakfast and wash his clothes and basically act like a perfect spouse. How would Jason react? 👀

Dear god... I feel another series coming on...

Idkidk, their dynamic is just really interesting to me! it's probably gonna be a bit of a slow burn here. Feel free to send more thoughts about them. I am rotating these two like a rotisserie chicken in my brain.

knight!jason todd x gn!reader. ambiguous time period but just assume it's olden times *gestures vaguely*. tw arranged marriage/forced relationship but it's complicated! jason is full of angst and self-loathing but he's a sweetie as per usual. original post for context.

****

The soldier—Jason—has said four words since you've arrived.

The first was "here," which he said whilst handing you a mug of milk. He didn't look at you as he said it, and that morning, he left for a five-day long station. You only know that because he said, after handing you the milk, "I've been stationed."

You realized it was five days when you heard his horse galloping towards the house... five days later.

You haven't initiated conversation because though you're a commoner, and no one ever had much hope for you to become anything but an old spinster, you know not to challenge knights.

But this is fucking ridiculous.

"Do you like veal?" you ask on your fourteenth day here.

Jason is about to leave, his boots half laced. He freezes at your question and looks up.

You stand tall, chin up. This is a normal question. A question a wife would ask her husband, except you're not a wife, and you're pretty sure this soldier isn't a husband either.

"I like veal," he says carefully, slowly. "Would you like me to fetch some from the market?"

Now, this is where it gets tricky. When the king summoned you, he made it clear that you were expected to care for Jason under his rules. You don't know how to navigate this world. You know what couples in your village do, but you don't know what's expected of you here.

"Actually, I..." Jason looks at you. His eyes are very green. He has a surprisingly sweet face under his helmet. "Actually, I was wondering if I could go. On my own."

"Oh."

You brace yourself for arguing or yelling. True, he hasn't raised his voice once, but he also hasn't said much at all. It's like living with a ghost.

"Yes, of course. Of course you can go." He fishes out a pouch of coins and gives them to you. You take it slowly, waiting for him to realize his mistake. He doesn't.

"Thank you," you say.

He nods and watches you walk.

"Wait."

You stop. Here it comes.

"There's a cargo ship in port today. The guards rotate at noon."

He leaves before you can form a thought. You hold the coins, watching blankly as the door shuts behind him. His horse whinnies, and then he's gone.

The market isn't far from the cottage. It's fantastic to be outside again. No one's noticed your absence, clearly, but that's alright. You've never expected more.

You buy a good cut of veal and potatoes and carrots and apples. Jason gave you more money than any cut of meat would cost, so surely he assumed you would buy other food. Why else would he give you so much?

A ship's horn drones in the distance. You're feeling some oranges when you remember his words. A cargo ship.

The sun is almost at its highest point.

"Oi! Either buy 'em or stop feelin' 'em!" the seller snaps.

You roll your eyes and move on from the orange stand. You can see the horizon of where the sky meets the sea from here. Any moment, the guards will change, and the ship will be...

You stop. Was Jason hinting at your escape?

No, he couldn't have been! That's preposterous. Why would he want you gone? The king took you for a reason.

And where would you go anyway? Once you leave, you'd be a criminal forever. You couldn't make a home on your own. And who knows what could happen in between? Pirates, enemy soldiers, anybody could snatch you up.

This must've been a test. A test to see if you would run. That's why he agreed to you going so easily.

No, your escape can't be planned now. Not when you're so obviously uncomfortable, and Jason knows it.

You ignore the ship and go home with your purchases. You spend the rest of the afternoon preparing veal stew. You warm leftover bread over the fire and set a pot of butter on the table.

Jason comes in louder than he has before, humming quietly. You perk up at the sound, happy for the lack of silence.

You set a bowl of stew at his chair and wait by the fire. As soon as he enters the kitchen, the humming stops.

"Welcome home," you say, wringing your hands. "I made supper."

Jason glances at the table, then back at you.

"You came back," he says.

"Why wouldn't I?" you ask, face neutral as you cut the bread into chunks.

"That—did the ship come?"

"Yes."

Jason sits. His face is dirty from training.

"I bought more than veal," you say, and hand him the pouch. "I hope that's alright. We—there were no more potatoes."

He takes the pouch, rubbing the string tied around the top. "You went to the marketplace... and came back."

It's not a question, but it sounds like there might be one behind it.

"Certainly," you say. "I'm loyal to you, Jason. I serve you."

He looks up, blinking rapidly. Then he looks back at his stew.

Oh, right. He's waiting for you to ask permission to sit.

"May I join you?" you ask.

Jason flinches. "You don't... you don't have to ask. I would never stop you from eating."

The words hang in the air. It's like neither one of you can speak right.

You watch him, and he watches you as you serve yourself and sit on the opposite side of the table. Jason takes the first bite, and you eat right after.

"Is the supper satisfactory? Have I done well?" you ask.

Jason stops chewing and sets his spoon down. You're struck by his shift in demeanor. You worry for a moment you've screwed up something as dim-wittingly simple as stew.

His eyes are sad as they fall on you. It's akin to grief, the pain he wears, but you don't know why he's grieving. You silently offer him more bread, pushing it toward him. He takes it.

"Yes," he says quietly and eats another spoonful. "You did. Thank you for supper."

Jason cleans his bowl three times. You have no stew leftover, which pleases you.

But as soon as Jason finishes eating, he gets up, rinses his bowl, and wordlessly leaves.

You don't see him for the rest of the night.

Somehow, you feel lonelier than when you weren't speaking.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood x gender neutral reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #knight au #knight jason #arranged marriage #batman fanfic #dc fanfic #jason todd fanfic #blurb #inbox

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simpforboys · 1 year

Text

what you need

rafe cameron x f!kook!reader, slight jj maybank x f!kook!reader

summary: when Rafe hears about your desire for JJ, he quickly steps in to remind you of what you actually need.

warnings: smut!! dirty talk, possessiveness, mostly canon!rafe, swearing, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, creampie, fluff, drug/alcohol use, degradation, terms (slut, whore, bitch, etc), breeding kink, kinda cnc (?)

based on what you need by abel tesfaye (the weeknd)

not proof read!! (as always) <3

it fucking killed Rafe that you slowly stopped answering his messages.

it fucking killed Rafe that you slowly began to hang out more with JJ Maybank.

and it fucking killed Rafe when he found out you fucked JJ Maybank.

twice.

Rafe hadn’t seen you for a few months. while the two of you had an on and off fling, everyone in Kildare knew you were Rafe’s.

no one dared to question the Kook Prince, especially since the rumors of his decreasing sanity went around.

Rafe was with Barry, the strong scent of marijuana and beer in Barry’s little trailer.

Rafe set up a line with his credit card, snorting the powdery white substance. he leaned back against the couch, closing his eyes slightly as the intense drug coerced through his pumping veins.

“dude, did you hear that Y/n fucked Maybank?” Barry asked suddenly, lighting a cigarette after he snorted his own line of cocaine.

Rafe’s already wide pupils grew wider. the veins in his neck began to bulge as he clenched his jaw.

the reason why it fucking pained Rafe to hear you fucked JJ was because the whole time you two had your fling, you would constantly tease him.

whether you two were on your sofa, your hips moving against his quickly as you chased your orgasm over his clothed cock.

and as soon as you would cum in your panties, you would leave him dry. every. fucking. time.

no matter how badly Rafe wanted to feel your pussy, you held off on him.

and to find out that a worthless fucking pogue got to your pussy before he did? oh, he wished he didn’t see JJ or else he might’ve killed the dude.

Rafe didn’t respond to Barry’s words. all the kook did was light a cigarette, letting it lay low on his lips as he collected his shit. with the keys to his car, and suddenly feeling as sober as ever, Rafe drove out of Barry’s driveway.

you lived a couple blocks away from Rafe on Figure 8. he knew your address like the back of his hand, so when he pulled onto your street he parked his truck on the curb before walking to your front door.

you opened the door, surprised to see Rafe standing there. he had a backwards hat on, a navy blue polo shirt, and tan cargo shorts on.

his baby blue eyes were dark and clouded, the white around his pupils now bright red from the drugs.

“the hell are you doing here? you smell awful.” you asked him, your eyebrows furrowed.

Rafe’s eyes raked down your figure. wearing a lace silk pj set, your breasts peeked over the top as it hung low on your chest.

Rafe paid your question no mind as he walked inside your house. “Rafe-“

“is anyone home?” Rafe asked, still staring out onto your backporch that overlooked the ocean.

“no, what the fuck do you want?” you asked, watching his tall body approach yours. in one swift motion, he captured your lips in his.

he pressed your back against the door, his fingers locking the knobs. his hand moved to your hip, pressing your body to his.

the taste of liquor melted on your tongue as you kissed him back, your core throbbing from the sudden action.

he quickly walked you backwards until you landed onto your plush white couch. your head rested against the patterned pillow as Rafe hovered over you, his hand running down your thigh.

“you gonna be a good girl f’me?” he asked against your lips, moving to kiss and nip down your neck. his eyes practically bulged out of its sockets when he saw a hickey directly on your breast.

a small growl escaped his mouth as you whined with need. you felt his tongue trace the bruised skin, before sucking the flesh into his mouth.

“fucking answer me, Y/n.”

“yes- Rafe, i’ll be a good girl.”

you sighed out as Rafe slid your shirt up, revealing your breasts. his eyes seemed to enlarge at the sight, before he swiftly sucked your left nipple into his mouth.

“tell me what that nasty ass pogue did to you, Y/n. where’d he touch you?” Rafe asks, his voice in a rasp and deeper than normally.

he was so pissed, and his questions made you buck your hips against his abs. “Rafe, is that what this is ab-“

“you’re gonna answer all my fucking questions and behave, understood?” he asked roughly, grabbing your jaw as he forced you to stare at him in the eyes.

what you saw wasn’t the man you were used to, but instead an animal coming to claim his territory. and the idea fucking turned you on.

“he- he sucked my tits…” you trailed off, letting out a small sigh as you felt Rafe’s mouth latch onto your nipple once more.

like he needed to be better than JJ, needed to show you what it’s like to fuck a real man.

“and he…” your face felt warm as you admitted all of this information to Rafe. but his lips felt chilly against your hot skin, and it was driving you insane.

“did he touch you here, Y/n?” Rafe asked suddenly. his fingers danced over your clothed pussy, making you jolt in response.

you nodded at his question.

“he ate me out,” you shyly admitted.

Rafe hummed in response, tugging your shorts down onto the wood floor. he wrapped his arms around your thighs, pulling your body til your pussy was on full display for him.

he spread your legs wide, the cool air hitting your soaked pussy. your clit twitched from the temperature, and the fact that Rafe Cameron was staring at your vagina like it was his last meal before death row.

“yeah? that little fucking pogue touched my pussy?” Rafe asked, kissing and nipping your inner thighs. his knees rested on the rug as he leaned forward into your cunt.

“‘m sorry,” you breathed out. your legs twitched when you felt his hot breath ghost over your clit.

your back arched slightly when finally began his attack on your cunt. he circled his tongue skillfully along your clit, his two fingers going up to collect your juices.

“oh my god, Rafe,” you whimpered. your hands gripped your tits, massaging your nipples.

as Rafe entered his fingers into your cunt, he left a kiss on your clit. “fuck, Y/n. does the pogue have a tiny dick? you’re so fucking tight.”

you couldn’t respond as Rafe’s fingers quickly found the spongey spot inside your walls. your legs began to shake with ecstasy and Rafe’s naughty words weren’t helping.

it was like he studied your body like a map, knowing all the little tricks to get you closer to your orgasm.

so when Rafe began to suck on your clit, he sent small hums from his throat. the action caused it to send vibrations up to your clit, making you almost scream out.

“fuck, just like that.” you told the man, your eyes fluttering shut as a knot formed tightly into your stomach.

you tried to delay your orgasm, knowing that coming within the first three minutes would be embarrassing.

but to Rafe, it made his cock throb with need as he fought to get you to cum on his tongue.

he sped up his fingers, sucking harshly on your clit until he felt your walls contract against his fingers.

you moaned out as you came, your legs shaking as you gripped onto the pillow behind your head.

Rafe gave another kiss to your clit, working on his own shorts. he unbuttoned them and quickly pulled the zipper down, revealing his big cock.

roughly eight inches, with a prominent vein running from the base to his pink tip. pre cum oozed out of the tip, as he used the juices from your cunt to work his hand up and down his cock.

“look at me.” Rafe commanded, making you to leave your euphoric state. your eyes went wide when you saw his dick, standing proudly at you.

“holy shit…” you whispered to yourself, placing your hand on his cock. you felt it twitch against your touch.

“you gonna be a good fucking slut and take it all?” he asked rhetorically, knowing that either way you would take it.

“Rafe i need you.” you said quietly, wanting his large cock inside of you. he was bigger than JJ, but JJ had a slightly bigger girth.

“what was that?” he hummed, using his tip to slap against your clit as he teased you.

“i fucking need you, Rafe.” you admitted out loudly, desperate to finally feel him inside of you.

“don’t you ever fucking forget that, got it?” Rafe said darkly, sliding his member into your cunt.

you let out a small squeal from his sudden roughness. both of you moaned as your walls worked to fit around his massive cock.

as Rafe began to piston his hips, sliding his dick balls deep and pulling out to just the tip, your mind began to grow hazy from the feeling.

it was like your pussy was made for him, Rafe kept telling himself.

“you like that dick, baby? taking it so well… did Maybank fuck you like this? hmm?” Rafe speaks, mostly searching for your validation.

you nod, although you’re barely listening. his cock is hitting your cervix and driving against your g-spot as he pushes in and out of you quickly.

“you’re gonna be a fucking whore for the pogues, gotta show you how a real man fucks.” Rafe murmurs, holding your body tightly so if you made any effort to escape he could stop you.

“Rafe- ‘s too much,” you pant.

“i thought you said you were gonna be a good girl?” he taunted you, his eyes deep with lust as he held the back of your head and neck, forcing you to stare at him as he fucked you.

you didn’t respond to his comment, pure pleasure consuming your body. it felt like he was folding you like a pretzel, your body spread wide and open for him to take you any way he pleased.

and you didn’t seem to mind, not when he can dick you down this good.

“been everyone’s slut but mine, yeah? how’d the town feel knowing that you’re fucking ran through, and didn’t even let me get a piece.”

Rafe was now speaking to himself, but the fact that he was degrading you and making you his bitch almost made you cum.

“this pussy is fucking mine, Y/n. say it.”

“my pussy is yours.” you squeaked out, only half listening to his words as he marked you.

“louder.” he demanded you, slapping your cheek slightly to get you to focus.

“my pussy is yours, Rafe! fuck!” you shouted, clenching your walls against his cock.

the devilish grin that formed on his face was enough to almost send you over the edge, like almost tripping over a mountain edge.

and as your body jolted in his hands, he continued to grunt quietly until soft whimpers escaped his mouth.

the noises barely danced off the tip of his tongue, but fuck, it was like music to your ears. Rafe fucking Cameron, whimpering for you.

“you wanna cum, baby?” he cooed at you, taking his thumb and rubbing circles on your clit.

your eyes rolled to the back of your head from the action, your pussy clenching once again.

“please,” you begged.

“tell me how badly you need it. how badly you need me.”

“Rafe i need to cum so fucking bad. i need you to let me cum- i fucking need you, Rafe.”

your words were coming off broken as you pleaded, taking every fiber of your body to not orgasm right there.

“cum on this dick, Y/n.” Rafe demanded, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm.

the way you entire body convulsed caused Rafe’s dick to twitch inside your cunt, making him so fucking close.

your cunt was perfect and he couldn’t imagine fucking anyone else after you.

“you want me to cum in this fucking cunt? show everyone that you’re my little pregnant whore?” he coos, his smirk still on his face as he bit his lip at the idea.

“i wanna be your pregnant little whore, Rafe.” you responded, catching him off guard. you felt the way he twitched once more.

“fuck, you’re gonna look so hot carrying my baby. mark you as mine so this whole fucking town knows not to go near you.” Rafe says, sucking on your tit as he cums.

his seed shoots inside of you, coating your walls with his kids. you ran your hand through his hair, his hat thrown somewhere off to the side. you both panted against each other, trying to find your breath from the pure ecstasy.

Rafe hugs your body close to his, coming up to rest against the couch. you curl into his arms, tiredness erupting over your body as you yawn.

within minutes, you were passed out on his chest as he pulls a blanket over the two of you.

“i love you, Y/n.” Rafe whispers against your temple, pressing a small, tender kiss to the skin.

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princessbrunette · 1 year

Text

kinktober : oct 5th

könig x cumming in panties

he’d cornered you when he knew you couldn’t bring yourself to run from him. könig was sick like that.

he’d been depriving you all week. you weren’t too sure on the why, but you figured he was punishing you for something. or maybe he wasn’t, maybe könig had just wanted to toy with you, get you all desperate just for his own twisted entertainment.

on monday, he’d had you speared on his cock— but not allowed to move, and overall not allowed to cum, removing you from his lap when he was finished with his work at the desk and never revisiting, leaving you empty and needy whilst he beats off in the shower. tuesday he’d insisted on teaching you self defensive moves, pinning you with your knees up and dragging his heavy bulge over your puffy slit through your leggings until you’d soaked through the material, and then getting up like it had never happened and even having the audacity to berate you for being distracted.

wednesday, he’d forced his way into your shower and you thought you’d finally get some relief— instead he’d crowded you against the cold tiles, ran his hands over your body greedily, fondled you and kissed you enough to get you whiny — before pulling away, continuing on with his shower as you stand pressed to the tiles panting in disbelief, and climbing out alone. thursday, he’d ignored you completely — which only made you want him and his approval more. it had reached friday, and you were at your breaking point. not only had you reached physical desperation, but you felt emotionally needy and fragile beyond belief too, breath hitching in your throat when you spotted him by the gymnasium on base.

when he spotted you wandering over, his eyes lit up through his hood and he smiled. he smiled and you thought thank god, it’s over. your knees are weak and trembling by the time you reach him, hands clutching his black military issued shirt. “kö,” it comes out as a sweet whine. he tilts his head, hulking frame looming over you as he cups your cheeks gently.

“hmm?” he hums lovingly and you inhale shakily, your own hand laying over his.

“its aching— need you, please. have twenty minutes until my meeting n’i won’t be able to focus.” you press yourself to him, all but begging with tears in your eyes.

“t’aww, schatz.” he whispers hoarsely, taking your waist and walking you backwards into a hallway that no one ever seems to go down. “i can give you something, yes?” he cooes and you nod so furiously you think your head might come off.

he crowds you to a wall, so that if anyone was to enter the hallway, their vision would be obstructed by his giant frame anyway. you don’t know how he’s done it, but he pulls out his cock and it’s already fully hard, thick and pretty in his grasp. he stands with his legs spread wider to lower himself a little, the height difference almost obscene and he runs a thumb over his tip, full balls resting on the waistband of his cargos. you whimper, just from the sight of it.

a low hum leaves his throat and he lets his tip graze your stomach, dragging lazily across the material of your shirt, smearing the slightest bit of precum onto it. “please.” you whisper, teary eyes searching for permission. he tsks, and pulls your skirt up to sit around your waist, gently but slightly impatiently tapping your inner thigh so that you’ll stop pressing them together tightly.

“you missed me, little one?” he questions, pressing his tip harshly over your pantie-covered clit, rubbing it in circles making you buckle.

“mhm, missed you a lot.” your hips jerk off the wall, humping back against his tip. each time you squirm, you can hear the obscene wetness in your panties making you whine in embarrassment. he chuckles harshly, pulling back.

“poor thing.” he responds cooly, accent thick and low. he pulls down the waist band of your panties and stuffs his cock inside making you grip at his clothes so that you don’t totally collapse. gripping your hips, he begins to slowly thrust. the height difference is a slight hinderance, and he’s hunched over you, but once he gets the angle right you’re whimpering helplessly, his cock sliding back and forth over your soaked slit and never once inside.

he has the audacity to laugh, strong arm bracing the wall beside your head as he leans over you, his hood tickling your cheek. “what if someone were to come down this hall, hmm? see my cock stuffed in your little panties. that pussy all needy for the colonel. you would probably like that, yes? you like to show off.” your brain was hazy but the last part rung an alarm in your head. was that what this was about? was he still punishing you?

“just wanna— wanna cum!” you cry, and you’re not aware of the mascara pooling beneath your eyes until he harshly wipes the tears with his fingers and pulls away. you groan, devastated, bleary eyes watching him rub the wetness from your tears against his own shaft. he grabs your wrist, roughly and maybe a little desperately and guides your hand to pull your waistband down a little more, exposing your needy cunt to him.

“hold this. like this.” he sneers and you do, not having the capacity to question him let alone argue. he stops touching you completely, focused on fisting at his own cock, tip aimed down your panties and you sniffle, staring up at him pitifully. you longed to touch him, have him praise you, kiss you — but all he did was stare down his nose at you with his hood still firmly in place as he jerked himself off.

your pleas and wobbling bottom lip only seemed to push him further, and soon — he was cursing, pressing you to the wall with his weight and unloading his balls into your thin delicate panties. you whimper sensitively, looking down at the way his hot seed seeps into the baby pink panties. your brain is mush by this point, and you stare up at him obediently, albeit sadly.

he recovers, jagged pants leaving him as he stands back up to his full height, tucking himself back into his pants. he takes the material of your panties and pulls them firmly back up, his cum pressing against your folds. his big warm hand comes up, rubbing you over your panties to make sure his cum has spread around and you moan at the touch, but as soon as it came it leaves— the hand grabbing your jaw for a moment and looking at you before he steps back, eyeing you with his hands now clasped behind his back. he watches you fumble to adjust your clothes and pull your skirt down, hands and thighs shaking.

“keep that in there all of today. i will come to visit you later on.” with that, he coldly steps aside. oh, he was mean. “off to your meeting. cannot be late now, liebling.”

#könig smut #könig call of duty #call of duty smut #könig x reader #cod smut #könig cod smut #könig cod

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lunarw0rks · 11 months

Note

Hello I wanna request some Valeria SMOOT cuz I'm down bad for cartel mommy. A short fic abt Valeria fucking the absolute brains out of you to the point of being dumb and squirting everywhere

warning(s): nsfw (18+), exhibitionism, overstim., dom/sub, degradation/praise, val's purple strap strikes again, humiliation, squirting, fem!reader

MAKING MESSES | VALERIA GARZA

overbearing bass, candlelit lighting, constant chatter; surrounding the two of you. the noise of nightlife is muffled by the oversized doors, still original to way before your time — almost an irony compared to the modernized club they’re housing.

it wouldn’t matter either way. your ears were ringing. every gasp, every whimper, every mutter into your ear echoed and fizzled into the noise.

her pink nails dug like needles into your hips, guiding every rut onto her strap. valeria lolled in the leather armchair, leaning back and enjoying the show you were giving her. she paid no mind to the risk, how patrons could be a hair away from hearing or seeing you two.

it was her club; her place. and you were fucking hers. anyone who had a qualm about that? they never stuck around long.

she controlled everything, every single body roll. your cunt clenched tight around the violet silicone, swallowing its entirety. “sigue adelante, nena. so fucking desperate.” she spits out her words, relishing in your whimpers. they echo off the stucco walls, likely carrying all throughout the hall. “desperate whores should get nothing. but not you. riding me out in the open like this.”

your bottom lip seeps a bit of blood from how harshly you had been biting it, pathetically failing at silencing yourself. it wasn’t any use when you’d already finished twice, leaving a milky ring around the base of the strap. your wetness dribbled down the slick shaft, soaking onto her cargo pants.

the night dress you wore, pulled down at the top to expose your nipple. it might as well be her own personal stress toy — to lap, squeeze, pinch, and slap as she sees fit.

it was pure luck that none of the clubbers had rounded the corner. if it were up to valeria, she wouldn’t skip a beat. the buzzed onlooker getting a surge of jealousy when they ogle your bouncing body; hem pulled up to expose your bare ass as it jiggles. or the drip of your pussy, messily and audibly being stretched out.

your head dips down, getting a rush of fatigue from the physical strain. if it weren’t for her harsh hands, you were sure your grinds would be nonexistent. with precision, she outstretches a hand and grips your jaw, forcing eye contact. “eyes up. you don’t get to tap out after teasing me, cariño.” valeria patronizes.

if you were of sound mind, perhaps you would’ve agreed. not wearing panties was a risky move; as risky as riding her in the dim hallway. but she always packed — that violet temptation just a zipper away.

you felt yourself plunged into another high, mewling against her palm as you climaxed. she locked in, both hands returning to your hips as she drove you down faster. this was your most intense orgasm yet; eyes rolling and body shivering.

pleasure pumped through you as violently as the strap, a warm gush messing all over her lap. you had squirted, proving that the sticky mess before was nothing. “mierda… mi putita, so messy.” valeria groaned lowly with amusement, as if she had climaxed herself.

“we aren’t done.” she leaned in close, showing the forced grinds to a stop. you had no choice but to believe her — and valeria always stuck to her word.

a toy being used on a toy <3

a/n: this is so bad... | ⊹。°˖➴ divider cred. - cafekitsune

#sorry for late reply #rachel speaks #valeria garza #valeria cod #valeria garza smut #valeria garza cod #valeria garza x reader #valeria garza x you #valeria x reader #valeria headcanons #valeria mw2 #los vaqueros #kortac operators #kortac #mw2 #call of duty

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munivrse · 1 year

Text

Takeout (on me)

tall sexy dancer gf! bada lee

cw: pussy whipped bada lee taking you in several different positions. cannot get enough of the noises you make and how good she makes you feel. good god.

a/n: i am so sorry for the filth that follows. free claim for a place in heaven!

your back arched as bada's hands ran down your sides, stopping to squeeze at your waist.

"please bada."

both her hands continue their journey down your body, spreading your legs to make room for her. she stands above you at the edge of the bed, hands massaging at your thighs, just shy of where you really want them.

"you look so pretty like this baby."

she wraps your legs around her waist and leans down to you, one hand by your head, the other rubbing up and down your thigh. she presses her lips against yours. it starts out so sweet. her lips ghosting against yours, kissing you and pulling back when you move in for more. but something switches in her when you moan into her mouth. the hand on your thigh moves up to squeeze your waist, the hand by your head grasps your hair and pulls. she bites your bottom lip, waiting for you to open your mouth. she licks her tongue against yours, groaning as she grinds against you.

"so fucking good for me." bada presses kisses in between each word. her brows furrow as she grinds harder against you, deepening the kiss by gripping your hair. you gasp, hands grabbing onto her shoulders,

"feels so good baby." your hips grind up into hers.

bada stops kissing you in favor of watching you move. you're so fucking hot. she loves the way your eyes flutter each time you meet her in the middle. your nails feel so good through the fabric of her flannel. she wants to take more from you. make you moan louder.

"fuck. fuck baby, stop." she draws out, hand letting go of your hair. she sits back up, taking a look at how flustered you looked. she's sure she looked nearly the same,

"tell me what you want, baby." bada's free hand, that was previously gripping your hair, dances down your stomach and cups your cunt. she lets you grind against her hand for a bit, enjoying the small gasps you were letting out.

"c'mon baby. tell bada what you need."

you open your eyes and bada's are peering down at you. the breath leaves your lungs as her fingers dance around your clit.

"want you to fill me up- please."

bada's eyes close. she needed to make you feel good. needed to see you fall apart against her.

"so polite," she bends down to leave a short kiss on your lips, "whatever you want, angel."

bada grabs her strap and watches as your eyes sparkle. she chuckles a bit. she's made a habit of wearing a harness underneath her pants as you've just been so needy lately. your hands reach out to help her, but she swats at you. she makes you watch as she puts it on. your head spins as you take in her appearance. she's got a loose flannel on, grey cargos unzipped just enough to account for the cock strapped to her, and a messy bun to complete her look. her bangs are starting to stick to her forehead and she's nearly panting.

she makes her way between your legs.

bada leans down and kisses you again. its so much sloppier this time. teeth and tongues clashing and when bada comes up for air, theres a line of spit between the two of you,

"open your mouth."

you comply, mouth opening almost immediately at the command. bada sticks her thumb inside and you instinctively close your mouth around it. bada kisses her way down your neck. she stops just above your collarbones and mouths over the area. she feels you take a deep breath as she sucks a mark into you. she bites at the skin first, makes her mark, and then tongues around the area, pulling away to lightly blow cool air. she loves to watch the goosebumps on your skin.

once she's done enough damage to your neck, she switches her attention to your chest. she takes a nipple into her mouth and groans. she fucking loved your tits. she pulls away with a pop,

"so good for me hmm?" she smirks against your skin when you whine against her thumb. she removes her digit from your mouth.

"'m good for you- your good girl- fuck." you moan out as she grinds her strap against your core. you try and pull her closer and she pulls away from you,

"say please." she teases, one hand takes the silicone cock and fucks just the head of it into your pussy. your back arches,

"please. please fuck me."

bada grins again, wordlessly sliding into you in one swift thrust. she revels in your gasp. she pulls almost all of the way out and grinds back into you. her hips are like water as the fluidly go back and forth. her hips stutter when she hears a particularly loud moan, making sure to grind up into that spot.

she wraps a hand around your neck and lightly squeezes, "you like it baby? you like when i take you like this?"

you respond by pulling her back down to your lips, she meets you in a messy liplock.

"deeper- please baby go deeper." you whine, hands grabbing at bada's back. she pulls out until only the head of her strap was left and pushes back into you. you inch up the bed at how hard she was fucking you. her hand comes to cradle the top of your head, making sure you never hit the headboard.

"what happened to my sweet y/n? huh?" she pulls out and slams back into you, "when you could barely ask me to kiss you, now you're begging for me to go harder, deeper." her eyes bore into yours, "you're just a needy little thing, arent you? "

your eyes water. she was fucking you too good. one hand cradled your head and the other was grasping onto the sheets to steady herself. you could feel her in your stomach and it made you lightheaded. fuzzy. you wanted her to crawl into your skin and stay there.

she taps your cheek, bringing you back to reality, "am i fucking you too good baby? mmh? or does my pretty girl need more?"

you whimper, murmering out a quiet "please" and bada takes this as an enthusiastic yes.

she leans back, the hand covering your head smoothes down your stomach and she leans back onto her feet, one hand going behind her for support. she fucks up into you, and in this position, she hits your g spot perfectly with each thrust. you also get a view of your girlfriend getting lost in your sounds. she's got one hand pressing on your lower stomach, her hips roll into yours. her bun coming nearly undone, stray hairs falling into her face. and- oh- she just put her shirt in her fucking mouth. her brows are furrowed, forehead creasing at how much she's focused on making you feel good.

your body lights up, eyes rolling to the back of your head. your hands grip the sheets behind you and bada's groaning out with each thrust as if she's fucking her own cock into you. she thinks she could cum like this. fucking into you, watching and hearing you getting mindfucked into oblivion. she fucks you like she wants you to only know her and the way she languidly rolls her hips into your own.

you were so upset earlier about how she acted in front of her class today. she put on a show for them, showed them something only you were supposed to witness; to feel.

what she doesn't tell you is that she imagined you under her the entire time.

so now she's imitating exactly what she was doing to that floor, this time, with a partner.

she knows you're about to cum when your eyes become hazy and unfocused. she cant help but be selfish in the moment. she wants to feel you cum. she wants to be the one making you feel this good. she wants to feel you clench around her, grip at her hair, shove her closer to your aching cunt. so she does what any sane person does and pulls out.

you don't even have the time to process being empty, bada yanks you by your legs to the edge of the bed and gets on her knees.

"wanted to feel you cum," she grabs the back of your thighs so that your knees are against your chest, a certain anklet dangling dangerously by her ears. she spits on your pussy and dives right in. she licks a stripe up between your lips, a stuttered moan leaving her mouth. she presses soft kisses to your sensitive clit, one hand coming down to rub at your opening.

your knees knock together, trapping bada in between your thighs,

she flicks her eyes up, "spread your legs."

you relax them a bit.

"gonna make you cum in my mouth. wanna feel you."

she inserts two fingers into you, scissoring you open. you're so wet that she can hear squelching sounds as she pushes them in, pulls them out.

she wraps her mouth around your clit and sucks. that does it for you. your back arches and the only thing keeping bada's head getting squished between your legs is her arm holding your knees to your chest. a hand flies to her head, grasping her hair. your toes curl and you feel your stomach coil up in expectation. bada's fingers fuck you through it. her mouth not leaving where you've needed it most.

bada's eyes roll to the back of her head. she could barely fucking breathe and if she were to go out, theres no better place than between your legs.

as you come down from your high, you had to physically push bada from your weeping cunt. when she lets up, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glazed over. she crawls on top of you and forces your mouth open by pushing on your jaw. she spits in your mouth and leans down to swap your own wetness between each other.

you both pant as bada releases you, smoothing your hair down and chuckling,

"you still wanna switch places with the floor?"

#😳#we goin to hell #im talkin... first class ticket #smut #bada lee #bada lee x reader #lee bada x reader #lee bada #bada x reader #bada lee smut #swf x reader #swf 2 x reader #swf2

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saylor-twift · 2 months

Text

“he loves you, but he would never say that to your face.”

“-but he would never admit that.”

“-but he would never tell you.”

???

Are you sure? I am an avid tumblr stalker, and I’ve read so many things on silly little hat man in my time. I’ve seen things that tore my heart to pieces, that patched it up, that made me want to rip my guts out and throw up, that made me feel on top of the world.

And yet this is the one thing that bothers me so very much. I know, everyone has their own interpretations and opinions on different characters. So let me share my own.

The Wanderer is such a deeply written and intricate character, strung together with deep fears and insecurities, tragic backstories, and a beautiful story of change, healing, and moving forward. (I hate hate hate it when he is forced down to the level of nothing but oversexualization and “uwu sexy anime boy”, but that’s a conversation for another time.)

I’m sure if you’re reading this, you’re probably acquainted with Wanderer’s backstory, so I’m not going to explain. A lot of shit happened that made him who he is, and ever since the events of Irminsul, he has taken on a new path that he cannot go back on. Not like he’d ever want to. He said it himself, he never had any intention of returning to the Fatui. (And also- why choose to go backwards when you’ve got such a nice path set ahead of you?)

Anyways, point is, he’s changing. Notice how I said changing. He’s not changed, he’s just starting to. He’s getting there. Which brings me back to my argument. In the case that Wanderer ends up with a partner, things are certainly not going to be like a normal relationship. (He’s got plenty of red flags, don’t even try to deny it. But he’s a fictional character, so I suppose we can let this one slide.) Is he going to make the first move? That depends on if you make him desperate enough. Otherwise, it’s all on you, babe.

He’s not going to take it well. He’s going to deny it as hard as he can. You don’t love him, how can you? He is the furthest thing from loveable as you can get on this godforsaken planet. (His thoughts, not mine) But he certainly loves you, and, albeit with some likely pressuring assistance from Nahida, he’s come to terms with that terrifying knowledge.

“But he wouldn’t admit that to you.”

STOP. STOP RIGHT THERE.

Here is where my controversial opinion comes in. Most people tend to portray Wanderer as this cold, cut-off, aloof and irritable man, even in a relationship. And before you say anything, no, I absolutely do not think he would be the lovey-dovey, sappy, overly caring and romantic type. He’s not on either end of the spectrum, but I do think he’s somewhere in the middle (but probably leaning towards the former side).

Love is so, so very scary to him. And downright unknown. He’s traversing into uncharted waters here, give him some space to figure things out. That being said, he’s testing these waters. He’s not going to say he loves you at the beginning of a relationship. He has to make sure this thing is going to work. Your relationship is a newly built bridge, and those three words are the heavy cargo passing through. Without a strong foundation, the bridge is going to collapse, no questions asked. The only problem is, it’s going to take a long, long time to build that bridge. It’s going to be more expensive, more time consuming, and cost more materials than you had originally bargained for.

But that cargo can’t sit on one side of the bridge forever, can it? No, it has to get to the other side at some point. So if you have the patience to give your time to this bridge, the cargo will find its way to the other side. The foundation may wobble, the planks may shake, but the bridge isn’t going down.

He loves you, and he would admit it out loud. He would say it to your face. Just maybe not as soon as you want it. It’s going to hurt, and you’re going to wonder if he actually cares for you or not. Fear not, because if you pay attention to those little things he does when you’re not looking, it will feed you those little crumbs you need till you can finally be satiated when the full meal is done cooking. He mends things for you, things you had given up on because you’d never have the time nor energy to do it yourself. He cooks, and surprisingly, it’s always your preferences. He collects things that remind him of you, some he keeps out of embarrassment, and some he leaves on your bedsheets whenever you’re not home.

He’s been hurt, abandoned, and betrayed far too many times to immediately let himself fall into something as complicated as a relationship. He’s going to be distant, you’re going to disagree, probably fight a bit. He’s just seeing how far he can bend the lines, how much you really want him. (red flag maybe!! but he’s working on it, it’s going to be okay. mayyyybe you can look past just this one…) If you won’t leave even if he does this, then he thinks, maybe you’re the one. Maybe fate decides to treat him benevolently for once.

And when you finally, finally get to that point, he’s going to drown you so deep you can never get out. He’ll say he loves you, does everything in his power to make sure you never forget it. (no, he’s not going to read you love poems in the moonlight and call you darling. sorry if that’s your thing, that’s not who he is.)

This relationship will never be perfect, but relationships never are. Just as long as the two of you are willing to be patient with the other and get through your differences and clashing personalities, you are going to mold together perfectly. And even if he doesn’t say it often, (which he probably won’t. he’s certain you know it. why repeat something already ingrained into your mind? he doesn’t use those words lightly), it’s not like he’ll never say it. He won’t leave you in the dark for too long. He loves you, don’t worry. He’ll say it, but he prefers to show it.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #saylor’s thoughts #wanderer #wanderer x reader #hoyoverse #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #he’s so mean lowkey but i love him #i mean #he really would try to be better for you #why would he want to be the cause of your suffering #it’s hard for him to say sorry tho #but i think he could do it with time

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icysnails · 10 months

Note

Hello. I was wondering if you could you write a platonic angst story where the reader is Blade's child. I was thinking that because Blade barely spends any time with the reader unless it's during one of their extremely harsh training sessions the reader decides to run away especially after one particularly rough training session where the reader was injured after they accidentally talked back and that night the reader starts packing their stuff but they accidentally left behind their late mother's pendant and Blade found it the next morning. (I hope you're okay with writing this and I wish you a good morning, afternoon or good night ☺️)

Family.

A/n: Hello Anon!! Thank you for your request!! I am so sorry this took so long- school + extracurriculars started so I had way less time to work on writing outside of school (TvT) But this was so much fun to write! I got a little bit carried away and it ended up being a found family type thing with all of the Stellaron Hunters– I tried to focus on Blade being a father figure as much as possible though! I hope you have a fantastic day, and I hope you enjoy!! ૮꒰ ˶• v •˶꒱ა ♡

Warnings: all relationships are platonic, found family trope, betrayal, suicidal ideation (Blade), mentions of death, reader's parents are dead, flashbacks, reader runs away, mention of bullets + broken glass, overthinking, Blade being insecure, reader uses a sword, reader gets injured a couple of times (If i forgot anything, please let me know!!)

Genre: angst, slight fluff

Pairing: father figure!Blade x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), mother figure!Kafka x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC), sister figure!Silver Wolf x gn!child!reader (PLATONIC)

Word count: 7.3k

Blade is a cruel man.

There is no love in the red pools of his irises, no signs of any humanity. Dark circles adorn the skin just below his merciless stare, eyebrows slightly furrowed in an eternal state of aggravation. It was no wonder enemies cowered at the mere mention of him. He holds nothing back, and if an enemy was unfortunate enough to meet the steely edge of his sword, they were sure to be broken and lifeless by the end of the encounter. Unfortunately, he isn’t much different off of the battlefield either.

Blade is bitter and selfish and cold, to the extreme that even Kafka and Silverwolf are convinced that he has forgotten how to feel.

The thorns of the mara in his veins torment him constantly, the pain never faltering, even after decades. The other Stellaron Hunters had begun to wonder if those thorny, agonizing vines had punctured through his heart as well. It would be understandable, to an extent. After all, he is a man who has experienced endless with suffering and loss, his mind poisoned with grief and the sole desire to die. No more pain, no more fighting, just darkness- the mere thought was enough to drag a bitter smile out of him.

He was used to the dark, used to feeling like an empty vessel.

But why, if he was so familiar with agony, would he impose that same feeling on you as well?

You had always been alone. You were only a toddler when your parents were taken from you, the only proof of their existence being a necklace your mother left with you before she died. You had spent your youngest years void of any parental guidance, hopelessly wandering between foster homes and planets, hoping someone would take you in. You gave that up by age ten, running away from your home planet to travel the galaxy. From that point on, most of your time was spent sneaking onto Starskiffs, hiding in empty cargo compartments on any moving vehicle you could find, and even stealing authorization keys to search occupied space stations, all in search of someone whom you could call family.

But what exactly did the word family mean?

You always thought it was a strange word. It had such a subjective meaning, yet it was talked about so often. You didn’t understand what it meant, and no textbook definition could help you. All your efforts to find its meaning were in vain. And yet, your curiosity haunted you.

With every new destination, the word family buzzed among the crowds constantly. No matter where you had landed yourself, all you could do was spectate. You watched as children laughed and clung to the legs of their guardians, as relatives sobbed in unified grief over flower dressed gravestones, and as teenagers linked arms with each other, growing away from the protective grasps of their parents.

Every planet you traveled to, every dragging, lonely step you took, that sickening, seemingly joyous word that made you feel so isolated was there.

Six months after you had ran away, you went out alone to buy food. It was late at night, and you were preparing to head off to another planet the next day. Luckily, you bumped into a nice shopkeeper earlier who gave you some extra credits because she thought your coat was cool (in reality, she was just worried about you wandering off all alone, but didn't want to pry about your parents' whereabouts). So, you headed out amongst the crowds as you always did, pouch of credits in hand and determination plastered on your face.

But a woman stopped you on the way there and asked why such a young child was wandering around alone at night. She had a little girl with her, who looked no older than you.

She asked you if you had any family she could call to come and get you, with the assumption that you were lost. You couldn't say anything. Instead, you just stared, your wide-eyed gaze pinned on the child that almost mirrored you. Almost. Perhaps if the world were kinder, your eyes could have donned the same innocent, joyful light. One of her hands was encased by her mother’s, while her other hand kindly reached out towards you. A cheerful “hello!” rang through the air as she tried to shake your hand.

You stepped away from her. It was hard to breathe. You had seen all this before. Yet why was it so painful this time?

Internally, you demanded the Aeons to tell you why the truth of your situation had to be rubbed in your face so blatantly. You were alone. You wondered if it might be good to explain that to them, to create some kind of connection with these people, but no words would leave your throat. Your heart felt like it was splintered in two.

You didn’t know how long you stood there staring, but you were sure the devastation tearing you up inside was evident on your face. The woman called out to you one more time, her worry falling on deaf ears as you backed away slowly. You took one more look at the girl before turning on your heel and running as fast as you could, sobs wracking your chest so deeply it hurt.

You hadn’t returned to that planet since then.

You wanted the life that little girl had. You wanted to have a guardian.

But as the years went on, nothing changed. Your travels continued, and you came to terms with the fact that you might never know what family felt like. You made acquaintances as you traveled, friends, even. They never stuck around for long, though. The darkness always swallowed them up one way or another. And with every loss, the painful void in your chest numbed and steeled over a little more.

You thought that your life would always be this way. In truth, you had forgotten that there was any other way to live.

However, that was before a certain group of Stellaron Hunters swept you away from your life of solitude, and recruited you into their dangerous yet thrilling world.

A year later, you found yourself on a sand covered planet. You were on a train, heading to one of the planets' larger cities from a smaller town. There wasn’t any way you walk- it was too hot and the distance was too far. Otherwise, you would have spent your savings on something other than train tickets.

The trip was uneventful and for most of it you just stared blankly out the window, exhaustion and boredom settling in your bones. You were tired from running errands for the previous town's residents- it was onerous but it happened to pay well. Though you were happy to have a break, your mind wasn’t used to the quiet. The barren landscape outside did nothing to help. It was a dry, flat expanse that was dotted only with dead weeds and the scraps of broken automatons. In short, nothing of interest.

Aside from that, all was going well. You had enough credits to last you at least six more train rides and get food and extra supplies, and you had several acquaintances with whom you could stay in the next city. You made a point not to talk about your budgeting skills, as it would usually spur a torrent of questions from whoever you were talking to. You couldn’t blame them though, children your age typically didn’t devote themselves to a life of aimless travel.

The train stopped right on time, and you stepped onto the platform that was crowded with people. As usual, you were met with the sight of teary-eyed relatives hugging each other, children running around and playing, and couples greeting each other. You kept your head down, feeling more inconvenienced than sad. In their excitement, the crowds always seemed to block your path to the other platforms. Besides, they say time heals all wounds, so why would you care, anyway? You awkwardly shoved your way toward a nearby stairwell, grunting as several people bumped into you. Just as your fingers made contact with the stair’s banister, ear shattering sirens echoed throughout the station.

Emergency lights flashed on and off in a blinding rhythm, the red glow engraining itself into your mind. Suddenly, pixelated bullets flew towards the ceiling, shattering several of the glass panels. Screams rang out in response, and the previously happy crowd flew into a panic, ducking to avoid the broken glass. However, the glass shards evaporated into more pixels before they could hit the crowd, preventing any damage from being done.

Amidst the swarms of people trying to escape, you cautiously walked closer to the source of the commotion. You really shouldn’t have, but the nagging curiosity in the back of your mind compelled you to do so. And even if it seemed dangerous, there was something off about this incident. After all, if the initiators were out for blood, wouldn’t they have attacked the crowd directly? If whoever caused this wasn't intending to cause harm, they must be looking for something.

As you got closer, you saw three figures: A magenta haired woman with lightless eyes, a pistol in one hand, and a glowing thread of purple silk in the other. She was leaning back against one of the platform’s pillars, watching the whole scene with fake amusement. The second person you saw was a smaller girl decked out in a myriad of purples and blues, her drill style ponytail swaying as she typed up coordinates on a hologram screen. And lastly, you saw a red eyed man with a glare so sharp it made your heart sink. You certainly did not want to be subject to whatever rage he had stored away. From the looks of it, he could kill you in a split second.

For some reason, all three of them seemed familiar. You couldn't quite place it, but you quickly realized, you knew who they were. Their faces were plastered on all of the IPC’s wanted posters, which were scattered on literally every planet you had been to so far. You couldn’t remember their names exactly, but you knew that, together, they were known as the Stellaron Hunters- the universe’s most wanted criminals. You should have recognized them from the pixelated bullets earlier- how could you have been so naive?

You could have tried to run, but it would be futile. You were already out in the open, and they had already seen you.

Your eyes widened in sheer panic as the man dressed in black set his gaze on your shaking form. There was no way you’d survive this encounter. Absolutely zero chance. He stepped toward you but was interrupted by the sound of a clanging of a spear. The station’s security officers surrounded the Stellaron Hunters, demanding that they freeze and turn themselves in immediately.

You covered your ears and ducked as a fight broke out, the Stellaron Hunters throwing themselves into battle. Your eyelids were screwed shut in fear until the sounds of fighting had ceased. When you opened your eyes, you looked up to see that all of the guards had been knocked out, and that the taller woman standing above you, watching you in a way that was eerie, yet... comforting somehow. Even so, your better judgment caused you to back away, frantically scrambling on the hot cement of the platform. The red eyed man yanked you to your feet before you could stand up, and a panicked noise left your throat as he dragged you toward his two companions. you caught a glimpse of his sword that was poised in his other hand, taking note that he was ready to strike if necessary.

“It’s a kid.” He grumbled, still glaring at you.

The tall woman chuckled and took a step forward, observing the way you struggled to get out of her companion’s grasp. You were getting more anxious by the second, she could tell. No matter how strong and collected you acted, you were still just a kid, and you had the minimal strength of one.

“Let them go, Blade. I don’t think they mean any harm.”

Small, scared breaths left your throat as you were released, your shaking legs failing to hold you up. You fell to the ground, staring in shock at all that had occurred. What would have happened if they didn’t let you go? How much danger were you really in, and how the hell were you still alive?

Then, the monotone voice of the grey haired girl met your ears.

“What a waste. Looks like those signals were nothing but a glitch.” She sighed. “There's nothing for us here.”

The scary man who grabbed you- Blade, as the woman called him- looked down at you crumpled form, eyes softening just the tiniest bit. Your fearful gaze met his, and you didn’t dare move. The two other hunters made conversation about their next moves in the background, while Blade narrowed his eyes coldly.

“Why aren’t you running?”

…What?

“Go. Lingering here will only bring you suffering”

Your fearful gaze then turned to one of confusion. It was unclear if his words were meant to be a warning or advice. Either way, it gave you the strength to pull yourself off the ground and attempt to respond, but all that came out of you was a strangled groan. Your body hurt, and everything had happened so fast that your mind was still trying to catch up. It wasn’t that you were trying to make an impression by staying, you just couldn’t bring yourself to run because of the adrenaline coursing through you. You hunched over and placed your hands on your knees to get your bearings. After a few minutes, you finally responded.

“Y- yeah, I… uh…” You hesitated, unsure of what to say. “...I have another train to catch...?”

It came out like a question, which was unintended. It was the truth, but you were so nervous that you would say something wrong and provoke him. Your life may have been spared for the moment, but they could still change their minds, and you didn't want to re-dig your own grave.

The man beside you let out a small sigh before turning his gaze back to his two companions.

“Fine.” He muttered.

A few moments passed with you and Blade sitting in comfortable silence. or, it was comfortable him, at least. He was still and silent, ignoring you entirely. You just kept fidgeting the whole time, unsure if you should stay or run for the hills. It was borderline suffocating. thankfully, the tall woman came over again, ending your misery.

“Well, we’re off.” She said to Blade, prompting him to walk towards the edge of the platform where the smaller girl stood. Before walking off, she turned to you one last time.

“Take it easy, kid.”

Something in your heart screamed at you to speak up. A strange urge began eating away at you, telling you that if you didn’t do something right now you’d regret it for the rest of your life. But do what? What could you do without potentially dying? It was stupid. And dangerous.

But that old feeling of longing, that desire to be a part of something wouldn’t leave you alone. Your desperation to attain a family of your own had been reawakened. Your undying hope, which laid dormant for years, was now ruling your judgment.

Just as they turned to leave, you stumbled forward and cried out.

“Wait!”

All three heads turned towards you.

A purple set of eyes knowingly scanned you as you trembled, a smirk growing on the woman’s face.

You anxiously gripped at your clothing, trying to summon up the courage to put on some kind of brave face for them. Before you think, pleas for them to take you with them were spilling from your throat. You told them that you wanted to see the universe and that if they gave you that opportunity, you’d do whatever you could to assist them. It was a partial lie- exploring the universe did sound fun, but it wasn't what you were truly after. Your true motivations were far too personal to tell them just yet. It felt like a wound had unexpectedly reopened ever since they arrived, and you were sure you’d crumble if you forced yourself to explain.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. You had the strangest feeling that they already knew your story to some extent. Even without the influence of your longing, you couldn’t deny that it was the opportunity of a lifetime. It wasn’t every day that you came across three highly skilled fighters who could quickly travel anywhere they wanted. You could save years worth of credits and injuries if you went with them.

Once you had finished your frantic explanation, you took a breath to calm your pounding heart. The silence you were met with was deafening, which you took to be a bad sign. A deep chuckle reverberated through the elegant woman’s chest as she took a decisive step closer to you. She hummed in amusement, holding her hand out for you to take.

“You may not be crucial to our mission,” she leaned down to your height, voice almost a whisper, “but if that’s what you want, then who are we to disagree?”

You took her hand, heartbeat slowing to a calm pace as you did so.

The days you spent with the Stellaron hunters were some of the most peaceful days you had ever experienced.

You weren’t constantly slinking around trying to find information and resources for your travels, and it was the first time you had slept in a room that had officially been dubbed as your own. You weren't hopping between inns and the homes of your few friends. Even expenses weren't an issue anymore. It felt strange to have time on your hands. Guilt inducing, even.

You didn’t get too caught up in that though, since the confusion and questions plaguing your mind happened to be stronger than your melancholy. It was beyond your understanding how three of the most dangerous criminals in the entire universe could be so kind and willing to take you in. Perhaps it was because you had seen too much. You were a witness to Blade knocking out over ten armed guards. However, they were so powerful that they seemed to be able to get away with anything. Either way, you were a part of their goup, and that's what mattered.

As time went on, you grew closer to the Stellaron Hunters. Especially Kafka, who you learned was much less intimidating in regular life, and Silver Wolf, who was still as deadpan as before, but seemed subtly happier with you around. You also were officially introduced to Blade, and were promised that he wasn't always so brooding. That was hard to believe, though.

Silver Wolf was like a sister to you. She dragged you with her everywhere. She said it was a part of your duties to accompany her on errands, but in reality, she just enjoyed having you with her. Whenever a battle presented itself, she would have you on the sidelines cheering for her as she obliterated enemies in the blink of an eye. It was clear that your support went straight to her ego, but she also secretly wanted to impress you so that you'd view her as some sort of mentor. Silver Wolf wanted to be a reliable guide and friend to you, especially after you had been alone for so long. Thankfully, you didn’t mind spending time with her. In fact, chatting and playing video games with her became one of your favorite ways to kill time. The latter was clearly her passion– after all, her combat techniques were solely revolved around her exceptional hacking skills.

Silver Wolf taught you how to play all her favorite games, staying calm and patient with you when you kept losing. Often, she would discreetly take you out to arcades during your free time, and every time it would be humbling due to your lack of gaming experience. However, losing meant that you had more time to watch her win, which was never boring. In any other situation, you might have been jealous, but it was just so mesmerizing to watch her play. Besides, she gave you all her prizes, so you weren’t going to complain. But what you found to be even more amusing was watching her lose it over the few games she hadn’t mastered yet. Her face would contort into one of sheer disbelief and anger as she held onto the machine tightly, aggressively mashing buttons and mumbling insults. You would always laugh and try to cheer her up in response. It always gave her a huge ego boost, and convinced her to try again, despite still being angry. You never expected to gain such a dear friend when you joined the Steallaron Hunters, and you wouldn’t trade any part of your friendship for the world.

Kafka was another story, though.

At first, Kafka terrified you. She held so much power over the other hunters- well, really over everything, that you were sure she’d destroy you if you stepped out of line. Her empty eyes and ruthless reputation didn’t help either.

Ever since your arrival, Kafka kept a close eye on you. She made sure that you were alright as you settled in, and that you weren’t feeling unsafe or lonely in your new environment. She offered you comfort and advice and cared for you like the mothers you had witnessed on your past journeys.

One night, a month after you had arrived, you hurt your leg on a walk and Kafka was right there to patch you up. She shushed you gently as you tried to protest that you were fine, and dragged you to the nearest chair so you could sit. She took a first aid kit from a nearby cabinet, and began tending to your wound. You winced as rubbing alcohol combined itself with your blood, and you quietly explained that you had been doing this your whole life- that it wasn’t her job to take care of you. Kafka paused and looked at you, eyes showing a rare glint of sadness. She whispered to you that those days were over. You weren’t alone anymore, and you should ask the three of them for help whenever you needed it. You weren’t a burden to them.

Kafka wasn’t sure what the cause of it was, but something in her chest began to ache when she saw you injured. She had never felt fear before. She deemed it impossible before you came along. She had always been known as a ruthless, unshakeable force of danger, who would stop at nothing to achieve her goals. But now, she had to keep you safe. Part of her wanted to berate herself for getting so protective over someone, for willingly weakening herself by caring about you. But you needed safety and a group of loving people to return to. You were just a kid, after all, and even after the short time you had been traveling with them, she had begun to feel like your guardian.

Tears filled your eyes, her words weighing down on your lungs. You couldn’t truly believe her. Not after all you had been through. But even so, Kafka was right in front of you, smiling softly, waiting and willing to take care of you. She wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. It was a foreign feeling, one that scared you more than anything else. But you were safe. You were at home.

So you let yourself cry. Your heart split open, all the bottled up agony from your past finally bursting out. You curled into yourself, the gash on your leg long forgotten. Kafka kneeled before you and gently wrapped her arms around your shaking form. One of her hands carded through your hair, while the other rubbed your back soothingly. Gentle whispers fell from her lips, promising you that she was with you. You were safe.

You weren’t sure how long had passed when you calmed down. Maybe it had been hours. Whatever the truth was, Kafka remained by your side, not pulling back until she was sure you were okay. After you had stopped crying, she leaned back, meeting your sad, exhausted stare. She looked down at your bleeding wound, grabbed a roll of bandages, and cautiously wrapped it around your leg. When she was finished, she smiled and stood up, placing a hand on your shoulder. You matched her smile, assuring her that you were fine.

However, after a moment, Kafka’s comforting smile was replaced with a teasing smirk. Confusion sparked in your eyes and your eyebrows furrowed as if to silently ask what the problem was. She just chuckled and took a seat across from you, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head back as though she was assessing you. Her next words not only shocked you but caused your entire being to wilt in annoyance and anxiety.

“I think it’s about time we start training you in combat. If a scrape has you in this much pain, imagine the damage a real battle would do. We can’t have you dying on us, now can we?”

She paused, thinking for a moment before reaching her conclusion.

“Yes… I’ll have you train with Blade. His abilities never disappoint.”

And that was how your ongoing feud with Blade began.

When Kafka decided to pair you up with Blade, you were pissed. However, you knew she was right. If you were falling apart just from accidentally scraping yourself, how were you supposed to handle actual threats? You would be utterly useless in a fight. And if anyone managed to get past the Stellaron Hunters and attempt to harm you, you would be dead on the spot. There wouldn't be a fight, just abrupt darkness, and a very disappointing end to a life such as yours. It would shatter the hearts of Kafka and Silver Wolf, who had already sworn to protect you at any cost. As you got older, the target on your back only became bigger. With the Stellaron Hunters’ reputation becoming more notorious by the day, civilians and authorities alike were bound to find out about you. Self-defense was a necessity.

But Blade never spoke to you. You felt as though you were a nuisance to him. Just another issue to be dealt with, another soul to pester him throughout the day. The way he glared at you made you wonder if you had done something wrong, or if you were imposing by being around. He made you feel out of place. Even after thorough reassurance from Kafka and Silver Wolf that his behavior was entirely normal, you still couldn’t help but worry. It was only after several months had passed that you came to understand that it truly wasn’t you- he was just grumpy. And that began to annoy you. If he wasn’t open to being somewhat nice, then why should you bother? You could glare back just as hard, and ignore him just as easily. If that's what he was getting at, then so be it. However, Kafka was the leader of both of you, and she wanted you to train. Despite your mild hatred of Blade, Kafka already had done so much for you. She only wanted the best for you. You could at least attempt to abide by her wishes.

So you gave in and begrudgingly stated training with Blade.

For a few hours every day, you and Blade would find any open area and he would walk you through different defense techniques. You expected the technical side of it, but you did not expect that you would be sparring right off the bat. On the first day of training, he threw you into your first match and charged at you with the assumption that you had sharp enough reflexes to block him successfully. Obviously, you weren’t at all prepared since you had zero experience with combat. Turns out Kafka really wasn’t kidding when she said Blade knew how to fight.

Lessons carried on like this for weeks. You would return from sparring exhausted and bruised, feeling completely done with everything as you limped to your room to sleep. You felt generally bitter, making it hard for Kafka or Silverwolf to help, and Blade just acted like it wasn’t his problem. The most he did was help you up, and that was only if you put up a good fight. But thankfully, after a while, Blade began to notice how badly the sparring affected you. It wasn’t like you were on the brink of death, but you were still in pain. And given your age, there was no doubt that it was a lot more overwhelming than anticipated. So Blade subtly began to take care of you a little more. It wasn’t much- he mainly just gave you icepacks whenever you needed them and helped you walk, but it was the most he knew how to do. He was clueless when it came to caring for people, especially children.

You were a persistent kid, which Blade found surprising. He thought you would have given up within the first week of training, but you just kept working at it. And while Blade found your stubborn behavior annoying most of the time, it assured him that you had enough courage to fight alongside him and the others. He knew you didn’t like him much, and he knew a part of you blamed him for the injuries you got, which was reasonable. As annoying as you found him, Blade never gave up on you, even when you messed up or got so frustrated that you cried. He never babied you during these moments either. Instead, he would walk you through what went wrong and have you run through the solution until you had it down cold. Even if you were upset, he wanted you to push through it and use your anger to become stronger. You had been fighting your whole life. You had the tenacity and potential to gain the strength that you required. Blade could tell that, even after joining them, you wanted a purpose. You wanted to explore the universe and find your place among the glowing webs of stars. However, the beauty of the galaxy came with dark and unfamiliar territory. If you were to traverse the universe, you had to learn how to handle to darkest parts of it.

Little by little, you improved. You worked as hard as possible until you were able to withstand Blade’s strength and evade his attacks properly. You had a long, long way to go before you could actually defeat opponents, but you could at least hold them off, which was just as important. Despite how grueling Blade’s teaching methods were, you did come to respect him more as your mentor. He looked out for you in his own distant ways and seemed to actually care about you. In truth, Blade had started getting protective over you- not that he would admit it. It wasn’t an overbearing kind of protectiveness- he just wanted you to stay out of trouble. It was nice to pass knowledge onto someone, and protect them from the world's dangers by doing so.

The truth was, even if Blade acted indifferently toward you, he secretly was really proud of you. He admired your kindness, even after all the pain you had been dealt. You kept smiling and picking yourself up, finding your back to the light time and time again. Perhaps that's what made you so different from him. His will to keep fighting was growing fainter by the day.

Even with your differences, you both became closer. Blade kept an eye on you whenever you left the ship, talked with you whenever you got bored, and even helped you whatever chores you had to do. Sure, you were stubborn, but Blade never grew to dislike you. Your relationship felt routine and safe- it held a sense of comfort that felt normal. Blade caught himself questioning if this was what family was meant to feel like. He couldn't remember, but a faint, distant memory assured him that it was. If he could contribute to the familial safety you longed for so much, he would gladly do so.

Was that even possible, though?

Blade had very little experience with love of any kind. Any memories he had of his past friend and family were long gone. His own sense of self was unstable, so how could he provide stability for you? He couldn't bear the thought of causing you pain. Or, there was a chance that he would rub off on you. That you would start to become like him. That prospect was enough to make him feel sick. So he began distancing himself from you in any way he could.

Now, whenever you crossed paths he would treat you especially coldly. Most times he saw you, he walked past you and pretended you didn't exist at all. He was back to being rude and dismissive, even more so than when you first met him.

Instead of encouraging you during training, he would call you weak and pick apart everything you had done wrong. This was not received well by you. After all, you didn’t know if Blade’s behavior was your fault, or if this was just how he truly was. You felt dejected and lonely, even with the support from Kafka and Silver Wolf. Though you loved them immensely, Blade was also someone you cared about, and you didn’t want to lose another parental figure. After weeks of being ignored, hatred replaced any good image you had of him. What used to be a safe, happy friendship soon morphed into an incessant rivalry.

It felt like Blade only wanted to see you unhappy. You imagined that he was secretly gloating over your distress- that you were nothing more than a temporary amusement to him. But you were wrong. So, so very wrong. Blade hated seeing you upset because of him. He was failing you by ignoring your wellbeing. You were just a kid. More importantly, you trusted him.

But it was for your own good, wasn’t it? His past was dark, and perhaps he was too, by nature. He would never forgive himself if he allowed harm to come to you. Even if that meant leaving you behind. No, he would much rather watch you grow up and live happily from afar.

Kafka still wanted you to train though, so Blade couldn’t avoid you entirely. Sparring was the only time he saw you anymore. Your sessions with him were difficult, but not because the material was hard. In fact, it was harder for Blade than you. You would glare at him constantly and show complete indifference to everything, making it nearly impossible to communicate with you. He wasn’t doing much better either- he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you. It felt like the consequences of his neglect were crawling up his back, ready to snap at him at any moment, and he knew that any day now, you would finally break. Soon, everything would fall apart.

You knew Blade was heartless, but his cruelty was amplified when you trained with him now. He went all out, forcing you to scramble for scraps of knowledge he had previously given you to win. But that wasn’t enough this time. You were too tired, physically and emotionally, to continue. You felt smaller and weaker than you had ever felt before.

Lightning-fast blows struck you from all sides, the scent of bloodstained spider lilies clouding your senses. You weakly pulled your sword out of its sheath and tried to block his attacks, but doing so would knock you off balance from the force of his blows. You fell back on the ground, coughing and clambering to your feet, promptly hurling yourself towards Blade with hopes of hitting him just once. Built-up anger from the last few weeks rushed through your heart, tears of desperation dripping down your cheeks. God, you were tired of this. Blade used to be your friend. You wanted to know what changed, and you wanted that piece of your family back.

In your fury, your reaction time fell short. Blade darted behind you and shoved you to the ground, watching coldly as you crumpled over in defeat. A glint of regret shone in his eyes, but he quickly covered it up by turning his back to you. Once more, you picked yourself up, your throat burning from the lack of a break. It must have been hours since the start of your match, but it might have just felt that way because you were the one getting injured. Never before had Blade fought you this hard. You weren’t prepared, and he knew that. You internally questioned if he was actually trying to make you despise him, albeit sarcastically. It hadn’t occurred to you yet that it might actually be the case. You shakily lifted your head to look at him, angrily mumbling something that Blade couldn’t understand.

Blade took a breath and turned around to face you, blank expression unwavering.

“What was that?” He growled. The world seemed to fall silent as you locked your gaze with his in an act of defiance.

“I said, I hate you!”

You hated that you were crying. You hated feeling weak. You hated what he had put you through.

But you didn’t hate him. Not entirely.

You wanted to hate him fully. You wished you were strong enough to. But even then, as you wiped your tears and walked out, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him. Maybe it was the memories you had of when he felt like family, maybe it was inherent kindness or just plain stupidity. You couldn’t feel hatred. All you felt was dejection. So naturally, you began spiraling.

If Blade didn’t want you around, there was a chance Kafka and Silver Wolf didn’t want you either. If it was possible that they secretly hated you too, you wouldn’t allow yourself to withstand their rejections as well. You might as well just get out of their way, and save yourself the trouble. It was nice feeling happy for a while. But it wasn’t what you were made for. It wasn’t how you were used to living. Perhaps this was a sign that your destiny rested in the familiar arms of solitude, away from the glowing crowds.

That night, when you returned from training, you bid Kafka and Silver Wolf goodnight and began packing your bags. When you were sure everyone had gone to sleep, you took your leave. You slipped out of the ship’s main entrance, the frigid night air numbing the uncertainty in your chest. You started walking, not sure where you were headed. You were out of practice with your usual travel routines, but that wasn’t important. As long as you were away from the Stellaron Hunters, you would be safe. Lonely, but safe. But even with your half hearted reasoning, you still felt a sinking feeling that this wasn’t right. That you might regret this. You shoved it off, cursing at yourself quietly for getting so softhearted. It was time to cut ties. It was for the best.

However, you had made one vital mistake. While preparing to leave, you had purposely left behind any photos or items given to you by Kafka, Silver Wolf, or Blade. In your rush to leave, you accidentally left behind something incredibly important to you: your mother’s necklace.

You took it off and left it on your desk by accident. It was the last existing link between you and your biological parents and you cherished it because of that. So when Kafka found it the next morning, along with your neatly made bed and discarded photos, she knew something was very wrong. Silver Wolf burst into your room shortly after she found them, questioning Kafka about your whereabouts. She had no answer, all she could do was say she hadn’t seen you. Silver Wolf left worried and agitated, grumbling about how they had to find you. As Silver Wolf left, Blade approached your doorway with the intent of finding you for your training session, because at this point you would have been late. Gripping the necklace tightly, Kafka turned to face Blade. She knew there tension had been growing between you and him for the last month. If he was the cause of your absence, she would not let him get away unscathed.

Blade’s expression was serious, but Kafka could see the glint of confusion in his eyes. He seemed entirely clueless, so perhaps interrogating him wouldn't do much.

“There’s no sign of them anywhere on the ship,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady. “There’s only this.” Kafka gestured to the thin chain that lay forgotten on your desk. Dread immediately shot through Blade’s heart.

You had left.

And it was all his fault.

He neglected you. You had every right to leave. He was meant to be a guardian to you. It was his job- no, his privilege to keep you safe, and failed to do so. And now you could be anywhere in the galaxy, wandering aimlessly once again. Blade carefully took the necklace, trying to keep his composure as questions and visions of the worst raced through his mind. What if they never found you, or what if you had gotten hurt? What if it was too late, and you were already–

He didn’t allow that thought to finish itself. Catastrophizing would only slow the process of finding you.

But would you even want to come back? Why would you, when you felt unwelcome enough to leave in the first place? And even if, by some miracle, you came back, would you ever trust him again? If you ever granted him forgiveness, would he even deserve it?

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? That was why he pushed you away- so you would leave him alone. You were gone now, and he had gotten what he wanted. Was he truly so terrible that he would still be unhappy, even after he had achieved his desire?

It wasn't meant to go like this.

You weren't meant to leave them. It was his fault though, so maybe it was best to let you go.

Kafka’s piercing gaze bored into the side of Blade's head as she watched the gears turning inside his head. She took a short breath before heading towards the door. She was scared of losing you, and angry that they hadn’t noticed your absence until now. There was no time for emotions such as anger. You were missing. They had to find you.

Blade stood in the center of your room, now entirely alone. The metal of your necklace dug into his skin as he clutched onto it for dear life, his eyes falling to the pictures on your bed. You seemed so happy before. So did Kafka and Silver Wolf- he was happy too, though he was reluctant to admit it out loud. He had broken the loving family you had brought together. A strange family, but a family nonetheless.

Blade kept staring. He wished he could go out looking for you. Unfortunately, wishes are not reality.

Blade would not search for you that day. He would be chained to where he stood, fighting with himself internally as time slipped by quietly. You could have died already. And he was just standing there, staring.

No, he would not look for you.

Because the truth cannot be denied, nor masked with excuses- in the end, Blade is a cruel man.

One who cannot be changed by anything.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #blade x reader #yingxing x reader #blade x reader platonic #kafka x reader #silver wolf x reader #stellaron hunters x reader #gender neutral reader #hsr angst #hsr fluff #blade x you #hsr x you #kafka x you #silver wolf x you #honkai star rail #platonic #angst

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 10 months

Text

The Golden Ratio - Part Two

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Derogatory language, angst, smut, virginity loss. Word count: ~4.7k

Chapter summary: Her and Michael struggle with the social side of university, and with each other. Series masterlist.

Author's note: For @assortedseaglass. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She is halfway through her second can of Carling, having downed the first as soon as Michael handed it to her, before she feels ready to speak.

In a rare display of empathy, he had handed her a lager the moment he’d opened his door to her, clearly having taken note of her miserable state. There isn’t a mirror in his room, so she has no idea of how puffy her eyes may still be from crying.

The beer is warm, but it’s doing its job and that’s all she really cares about right now. With every pass of the fizzy, amber liquid down her throat she feels lighter - she doesn’t normally drink, so it doesn’t take long.

“Go on then,” she says miserably, drink held in a loose grip between both hands as she perches on the edge of his bed. “You can say ‘I told you so’.”

“About what?” He says, eyeing her carefully, from where he is seated on his computer chair, turned away from his desk to face where she currently sits, the frame of it creaking slightly as he sits forward.

She exhales, keeping her gaze fixed on the ring pull of her beer. “Rich…he’s…he’s been cheating on me.”

“Oh.”

Michael clears his throat, obviously uncomfortable, and for a moment she thinks he won’t say anything else. Her mouth turns downwards bitterly, thinking it’s best she just leaves.

“I’m sorry,” he finally says, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear it.

Her head snaps up, eyes locking with his, and he leans back as though wary of her reaction.

“For what?” She asks, a mirthless smile tugging at her lips as she cocks her head.

He bows his head, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger. “I dunno,” he glances back up at her, “just something people say, isn’t it? When something bad happens…”

“I don’t want your empty words,” she tells him, setting her can down by her feet before resting back on her palms. “Tell me what you’re really thinking.”

“You’re already upset,” he states matter of factly, “I don’t think that’s wise.”

“Fuck what you think!” She exclaims, shifting back to the edge of the bed. “Tell me.”

“Alright, fine,” Michael sighs, “I think Rich is a fucking loser, and him cheating is the best thing that could have happened–”

“Wow, thanks–”

“No, let me finish. He’s reading art, for fuck’s sake! What could you possibly have in common? You can do better, you’ve got a brilliant mind.”

Brilliant.

In two years, Rich had never once called her that. A feeling of warmth passes through her as her eyes meet the vibrant blue of Michael’s.

“You really believe that?”

“I know that.”

They stare at each other in silence for a few seconds, and she has no idea what possesses her, but suddenly she is leaning forward, pressing her lips to his. He is hesitant to respond, and when he does it’s chaste and uncertain, a marker of inexperience or unwillingness which she cannot decipher, so she pulls away.

But then he is chasing her, large hands cradling her head as he tugs her back, his mouth finding hers once more. This time the pressure is equal, their breathing heavy as the sticky sound of their saliva grows more significant.

Moving from the bed, not breaking the kiss, she straddles his lap, ignoring the way the chair wheels back against the desk with a heavy thud. Her fingers thread into Michael’s short, sandy hair, as the embrace deepens, her tongue brushing against his. She grinds herself down upon the rapidly growing bulge she can feel beneath the zipper of his cargo shorts, causing a rumble of approval to vibrate from deep within his chest.

It feels good to feel wanted, but as their hands paw haphazardly at each other through their clothes, doubt creeps into her mind. If this is his first kiss, then it would be his first time too. He is her friend, her project partner, she has just broken up with her boyfriend. None of this is a good idea.

Reluctantly, she pulls away, sheepishly climbing from his lap. They’re both breathing heavily, and Michael gingerly adjusts his glasses as he looks up at her in silent question.

“I’m…I’m sorry,” she says breathlessly, running a hand through her hair, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m a bit pissed and got carried away…”

“Oh,” his eyes widen, as he nods in understanding, subtly moving to adjust himself in his shorts, “of course. I wouldn’t want to take advantage.”

She reaches out a hand, not quite touching him, but wanting to placate him as she fervently shakes her head. “No, no, it’s me taking advantage. I don’t want to ruin things between us. We’re friends.”

“Friends?” The way his eyes light up as he says the word makes her smile, hopeful that she hasn’t caused irreparable damage between.

“Yeah, friends.”

She needs that more than anything right now.

“So, what are you hoping to do once you graduate?” Michael asks, glancing between her and their collective notes.

It’s the day before they are due to present back to Professor’s Byrne’s class, and they have met in the library to go over everything one final time.

In the days since their kiss they have grown closer; sitting next to each other in the remainder of their introductory lectures and meeting up to work on their project, though they both know it is complete and needs nothing else doing to it.

She has grown used to Michael’s intensity, would go as far as to say she is fond of it, and genuinely looks forward to seeing him each day. Oxford feels far less lonely with him by her side.

“Something in the field of medical research,” she says, her fingers playing absentmindedly with the delicate softness of the petals of the sunflower head they’d cut down a few days prior. I read Professor Byrne’s paper before I applied here. It inspired me.”

“The one on biomedical systems?”

Her eyes light up as she smiles at him. “You read it?”

“Hmm. An interesting read, though I much prefer mechanics.”

“Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ve been reading a lot about random matrix theory. I’d like to go into the field of statistical mechanics.”

“I look forward to reading one of your research papers one day.”

They hold each other’s gaze for a moment, though she doesn’t miss the faintest of pink that tinges his cheeks.

It’s the day of the presentations, and just as she’d suspected, almost every group in the glass has presented back a table relating to how the Fibonacci sequence creates a spiral. Her and Michael share a knowing look, a smug smirk of satisfaction on each of their faces.

Aside from one presentation, which did in fact focus on rabbits, but delved too deeply into mating habits to be considered mathematical, theirs is entirely unique.

She beams with pride as she catches the impressed smile of Professor Byrne from the corner of her eye as they stand at the front of the lecture hall, talking through their findings.

“Very well done, both of you,” she tells them as they return to their seats.

The compliment makes her heart soar, providing her with a rush that lasts long after the class has been dismissed.

“Let’s go to the pub,” she says excitedly to Michael as they walk down Woodstock Road, away from the Mathematical Institute.

“You want to go to the pub? It’s the middle of the day.”

“There are no more lectures today, and I feel like celebrating. We really impressed Professor Byrne.”

Fifteen minutes later they’re sitting in the Lamb and Flag. A bright pink straw juts out of the neck of her bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and she rolls it between her fingers playfully as she watches Michael sip his pint.

The pub is half full with other students, all either skipping lectures or making the most of a free period.

“I told you that focusing on flowers would make us stand out,” she says, unable to suppress her grin.

Michael swallows his beer, wiping his mouth the back of his hand once he’s settled the pint glass back down on the beer mat. “Yeah, you did. We made the rest of the class look like losers,” he says with a chuckle.

“Yeah, we make quite the team, don’t we?”

He smiles, lowering his gaze and nods. There it is again, that adorable pink flush that dusts his cheeks.

“I’m gonna go to the loo. Will you watch my drink for me?”

He nods, watching as she stands and walks to the ladies.

Five minutes later, she can no longer see him at their table as she returns, though both their drinks are still there. She peers around the corner, seeing him standing before a larger group of students. A few she has seen around before, though they’re not on their course.

“So, is she your girlfriend then?” She overhears one of the guys ask Michael.

“No, not my girlfriend,” he responds, “but I’m helping her get over a break up, if you know what I mean.”

She swallows, feeling her heart lurch as she listens, unable to believe what she’s hearing.

“Oh yeah? Really helping her get over it, I bet,” the guy says, earning raucous laughter from the rest of the group.

She storms towards them, deciding she’s heard enough. Despite wanting to sound angry, her voice trembles as she speaks, betraying the tears she’s fighting to hold back. “I haven’t slept with you!” She shouts at Michael, meeting his shocked, wide eyed stare. “I would never sleep with you!”

Turning on her heel, the pub door swings open with a squeak of hinges as she pulls on it. She walks quickly down St. Giles’, swiping angrily at the tears that have begun to roll down her cheeks.

How could he? They were supposed to be friends and he’d talked about her as though she was something cheap. She had thought Michael was different to everyone else.

Back in her room, a hollow ache has burrowed its way into her chest, as she lays flat on her back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. The high of that morning’s presentation is long forgotten as her mind races with thoughts of what she’d overheard in the pub.

Why had he spoken about her like that? Had he been pretending to like her all this time just for the sake of the presentation?

Nausea swirls in her gut as she’s startled from her throughs by a soft knock at her door. She knows who it will be before she even answers it, and is half tempted to simply ignore it, she doesn’t want to see him. However, curiosity gets the better of her and before she can stop herself, she’s moving towards the door to open it.

Michael stands on the other side, posture not as straight as it usually is, as his shoulders slope and he looks at her imploringly. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looked remorseful, but he is too self assured for such emotions.

“What do you want?” She asks tiredly.

“I’m sorry,” he says meekly, his voice softer than usual. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she snaps. “So why did you?!”

“When you went to the toilet, that group called me over, started asking questions and I…I don’t know…I just wanted to feel what it would be like to be normal, just once. I–”

She feels anger run hot in her blood, nostrils flaring as he speaks and cuts him off. “I’m not here to act as your fucking cloak of normality, Michael! Fortunately, we’ve already given the presentation.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, brows pinching together with concern.

“I mean that the need for us to continue speaking to one another is over.”

She slams the door in his face, choking back a sob.

Fuck Michael Gavey. She is so incredibly angry with him, she wants nothing more to do with him. And yet she can’t understand why it hurts so much, somehow this feels worse than what Rich had done to her.

The next few days are torturous. She avoids Michael as much as she can, sitting away from him in lectures, looking away when she catches him staring at her. Seeing him online on MSN makes her heart ache, yet she can’t find it in herself to simply block and delete him. It feels too final somehow, worsened by the fact that she stares obsessively at his username, a part of her hoping a message will pop up from him. It never does.

Life goes back to feeling bland and lonely, with nothing to look forward to anymore. She goes about her days, alone, and then sits in her room, alone.

A week later and she is back in Professor Byrne’s class, only this time she seats herself as far away from Michael as she possibly can, trying not to think about how happy she’d felt to present beside him the last time she was in this room.

“So, I hope you all enjoyed your introductory project,” she begins, as she enters the room, setting her briefcase down upon the desk at the front. “It wasn’t just an exercise in presenting what you know about the Fibonacci sequence, it was a test of how well you work in pairs. That being said, the person you worked with will also be the person you are paired with for your upcoming tutorials with me.”

Her heart sinks.

No, no, no.

Chancing a glance over at Michael, she feels herself grow hot as she sees he’s already looking at her, and she quickly turns away. She had hoped to be able to avoid him, but now would have to spend an hour in close confines with him once a week for the remainder of first year.

Her heart races for the rest of the lecture and she finds herself unable to concentrate, hurriedly packing her bag and rushing to leave the room the moment they’re dismissed.

Unfortunately, Michael has beaten her to it and is waiting for her in the corridor. She bows her head, moving to step around him, but he blocks her path.

“I’ll ask for a different tutorial partner,” he says, “you needn’t worry about having to interact with me.”

She looks up at him, her eyes wide with shock. Her throat tightens as she’s met with the sight of his baby blues, boring a hole into her. “Don’t…don’t do that. It would look bad to Professor Byrne. We can both be mature about this.”

Silently she forces away the sadness she feels at him not wanting to be partnered with her. He’s in the wrong, not the other way around, she has to remind herself.

“As long as you’re sure?” He asks, shifting from one foot to the other, clearly feeling as uneasy as she does.

“I’m sure. I’ll see you around,” she tells him, finally stepping past and walking away.

“See you tomorrow,” he calls after her.

What?!

She rifles in her bag, pulling out her freshly printed timetable.

There it is. Tutorial - 9.05 - Prof. Byrne.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She is filled with restless energy until the next morning. Her leg bounces involuntarily as she sits in the armchair next to Michael’s in the small, stuffy room of Professer Byrne’s office, who is seated opposite them.

Her eyes scan the shelves of books, the various notebooks that are fanned across the table, anything to avoid looking at Michael, until the older woman speaks.

“So, I hope you’ve both come with notes prepared to discuss the various ways of describing and displaying data, as discussed yesterday?”

Her face blanches. She’d been too distracted following the tutorial announcement to pay attention, and hadn’t heard her assign this. She has done no reading or note taking.

Michael glances over at her, taking in her worried expression. “Actually,” he interjects, “I think we may have misunderstood the instructions. We worked on this as a pair too, I hope you’ll forgive us just this once?”

The professor sighs, crossing her legs and tapping her pen against her pad. “Fine. Just this once. But I require individual work moving forward, you aren’t earning your degrees as a joint effort.”

“Understood,” Michael nods, rifling through his papers. “Here,” he says, leaning across and handing her a few sheets. “These are your notes.”

Slowly she takes them from him, her eyes scanning the pages, mostly graphs and tables of data, easy enough to understand and explain, without needing context.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, offering him a small smile.

The tutorial goes ahead without any further hiccups. Michael talks passionately and competently about what he’s read and the notes he’s taken, and she manages to talk through the data points he has provided her. If Professor Byrne suspects any unpreparedness, she doesn’t say.

Once it’s over and they step out into the hallway, she hands the papers back to him. “Why did you do that?” She asks quietly.

“You hadn’t prepared anything,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really nice of you.”

“It’s the least I owe you.”

“Thank you.”

He nods. “It won’t happen a second time. Come prepared next week. I want to hear what that brilliant mind of yours can come up with.”

There it is again. Brilliant mind.

She smiles at that, though her heart twists painfully in her chest as she watches him walk away. This is what she had wanted, she has to remind herself, he’d disrespected her.

Another two weeks go by, and though she is lonely it gets easier not having to avoid Michael. She finds their weekly tutorials are something she looks forward to, enraptured by how fervently he speaks about each topic, and preening with pride as he sits clearly impressed as she talks through her own notes and findings.

She misses him, though she is too proud to admit it. He had hurt her, and she’d told him to stay away. It would be humiliating to crawl back to him after that.

It’s Friday night and she’s in desperate need of a snack, so heads out of her room in the direction of the vending machines, running straight into a group of girls from her floor as they’re walking out.

Their giggles die down to silence as they see her, all offering her awkward, but obviously fake smiles.

“Not out tonight?” One of them asks, she’s fairly certain her name is Annabel, from what she’s heard in the corridors.

She shakes her head. “No, not tonight.”

“You could come out with us? We’re off to The Bull.”

She scans the faces of the other girls, all clearly less than enthusiastic about her presence, then shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Oh, darling, I wasn’t asking,” Annabel giggles, grabbing her arm.

Less than thirty minutes later she finds herself squashed around a table in The Bullingdon, next to Annabel. She recognises Felix and Farleigh as part of the group they’ve joined, all passing around Jägerbombs and cigarettes.

She feels out of place and underdressed, in jeans and a long sleeved shirt. The rest of the girls are all dressed up in colourful, sparkly eyeshadow and low cut tops.

Amidst the din of their laughter and seemingly endless chatter, set to a backdrop of ‘SOS’ by Rhianna, she can barely hear herself think. She sips anxiously at her coke, pressing her lips together and shaking her head when Annabel jiggles the 35cl bottle of vodka she’s produced from her bag, asking “want some voddy in that?”

Her focus is pulled away when she spots Michael tucked away in the corner. He’s sitting opposite the guy she saw him with on the first night, whose name she has since learned is Oliver.

Her and Michael lock eyes and he gives her a polite nod before returning his focus back to his own conversation. To be so close and yet so far from him makes her ache.

Try as she might, her gaze keeps wandering back to him, unable to focus on the people around her. She watches with keen interest as he rises from his table, headed towards the gents as Oliver makes his way to the bar.

“Olly! Olly! Over here!” Shouts Felix, and to her surprise, Oliver skulks over, with the body language of someone who’s about to ask them for spare change rather than join their group.

She raises an eyebrow as Felix shuffles over, making space for him to sit down and wonders if Michael will join them too.

Her question is answered when he returns from the toilets, giving Oliver an awkward wave which goes unanswered.

“Shit sorry,” Felix says, “are you here with your mate?”

“Nah, he’s just leaving,” Oliver says nonchalantly, accepting the shot he’s been passed.

From the way Michael bows his head and leaves the pub, she knows that’s the furthest thing from the truth, and shoots Oliver a pointed look.

“‘Scuse me,” she says quietly to Annabel, pushing out of her seat and following after Michael.

The chilly October air is biting against her skin in juxtaposition with the sticky warmth of the pub, as she attempts to follow his lanky gait.

“Michael, wait!” She calls after him, hurrying her steps to catch him up.

He stops, turning to her, a look of defeat on his face. “Go back to your mates.”

“They’re not my mates, and they’re not yours either,” she says softly. “I saw what Oliver did to you, that was out of order.”

“The closest thing I’ve felt to normal since coming here is hanging out with you,” he tells her. “The rest of them are all vapid cunts.”

“Then let’s go back to hanging out again,” she offers, stepping towards him.

“After what I did to you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.

“I miss my friend,” she says honestly, “come on, we’ll make our own fun, we don’t need those losers.”

He laughs softly, and for the first time in weeks she feels whole again.

There’s an odd sense of coming home as she steps inside of Michael’s room, the welcoming warmth wrapping itself around her like a familiar blanket.

“There’s beer under the desk,” he tells her, closing the door behind him.

She makes her way over towards it, pausing when she sees the papers on top of it.

A First Course in Random Matrix Theory for Physicists, Engineers and Data Scientists is printed in large font on the top page, she lifts it away, seeing that on the second is a simple dedication to her.

Her heart flutters as she draws in a shaky breath. “What’s this?”

“Fuck!” He exclaims, eyes going wide as he steps towards the desk. “I hadn’t expected you to come back here. I’d forgotten I’d left this out. You said in the library a few weeks ago that you’d be keen to read my first paper when I published it. It isn’t finished, but I wanted to dedicate it you, since you made my first week here so–”

She presses her lips to his, hands reaching up to cup his cheeks as she kisses him fiercely. Michael returns the gesture, long arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her close.

“...so wonderful,” he finishes breathlessly, pressing his forehead to hers when they finally part for air.

“I look forward to reading it,” she grins up at him.

“Well, if you wanted, you could–”

“Do you really want me to read your paper right now?” She asks, gripping the front of his t-shirt and pulling him towards the bed.

“On second thoughts…”

He pulls her back in and their mouths meet again, desperate and needy as they topple onto the bed, tugging eagerly at each other’s clothing, quickly undressing each other.

Their pace slows once they are fully bare, and she runs her hands up and down the length of Michael’s sturdy back, enjoying the weight of his lithe body on top of hers.

“I missed you,” she whispers.

“I was an idiot,” he tells her, holding his weight up on his palms.

“Mmmm. The most stupid genius I know.”

He huffs a laugh. “I think I know just the thing that might cheer you up,” he tells her, moving down her body.

She props herself up on her elbows, watching with keen interest as he moves down her body, placing her legs over his shoulders once he reaches the juncture of her thighs.

He is hesitant at first, studying her closely, but then presses forward. She yelps at the sensation, all of his focus is on the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, and it feels electrifyingly intense with the motion in which the tip of his tongue moves against it. It’s too much.

She squirms, pushing him away with a squeal.

“Did you not like that?” He asks, seeming unsure of himself as he sits on his haunches, adjusting his glasses.

“It was a bit too much,” she admits, giggling slightly.

“Oh…sorry,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, “I read you’re supposed to shape out the letters of the alphabet when you do that. I’ve always been more of a numbers man, so I went for Pi instead.”

She laughs loudly, reaching for him when he bows his head in embarrassment. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I just want you.”

“Come here,” she says, leaning over to rummage in her purse for a condom. “May I?”

He nods, shuffling closer as she tears open the packet. He hisses through his teeth when she wraps her hand around him. He’s warm and thick, foreskin silky smooth as she gently rubs her hand up and down the length of him, feeling every ridge and vein.

“Is this your first time?” She asks softly, as she rolls the rubber from tip to base.

“Um…yeah…is that a problem?” He asks, reluctantly meeting her eye.

“Not if it isn’t for you,” she tells him earnestly, free hand stroking his cheek. “Do you want me to go on top?”

He shakes his head. “No…no, I want to feel you.”

She smiles in understanding, laying back and coaxing him to move over her, spreading her legs to accommodate him.

He feels heavy against her entrance and she fights to resist the urge to cant her hips forward, wanting to take things at a pace he’s comfortable with.

His jaw slackens as he pushes forward, and she sighs in pleasure at the slow stretch of him bottoming out inside of her. Their breaths are hot against each other's necks as he stills, adjusting to the new sensation.

When he eventually withdraws to slowly push back in again, she moves her hips in time with his, encouraging him, and he quickly finds a rhythm. They are a clash of teeth and tongues as their mouths meet messily, hands exploring each other as the bed creaks beneath the exertion of their movements.

“F–fuck…you feel good..” he mutters, causing her to moan and her toes to curl, as he nudges against her sweet spot.

She could come from this if he keeps it up, and she can feel herself clenching around him as the beginnings of her peak approach. Right as she teeters on the edge, he groans, pulsating and spilling into the sheath that separates them.

“Sorry..” he whispers, looking at her with fogged up lenses.

“It’s okay,” she reassures him, her fingers stroking through the hair at the side of his head, brushing over the temple of his glasses. “It felt good.”

“But you didn’t…you know…”

“Plenty of time for that,” she says, pecking his lips. “Like I said, we’ll make our own fun, won’t we?”

“Get another condom then,” he says, pulling out of her. “I’ve still got some making up to do.”

#michael gavey x reader #michael gavey #michael gavey x y/n #michael gavey x you #michael gavey imagine #michael gavey smut #michael gavey angst #saltburn #ewan mitchell #michael gavey fan fiction #michael gavey fanfiction #michael gavey fan fic #michael gavey fanfic #saltburn fan fiction #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #saltburn fan fic #michael gavey saltburn #saltburn michael gavey

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billythesimp · 2 months

Note

Hello, writer! Sorry to bother you. I really like your "x reader" works, they are amazing.. I really can't even find the words to describe my admiration.

(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) Anyway, I have an idea. Can I request Anton and Lycaon (separately) with short reader? (preferably male, but gender neutral is also ok!) Reader has no physical strength , he is the "Brain of the team", and therefore in dangerous moments he need to be protected.

If you don't like the request, then feel free to skip it! Take care of yourself, don't forget to rest :"3

[Grasping my chest while gritting my teeth, a faint pink on my skin]

I got a compliment- I fucken love you- 💞💞💖💖

[Is proceeded to get bonked with a shoe, an annoyed Bangboo staring at their sibling human in disbelief]

Ahem- thank you very much! hell works hard but ZZZ writers work faster.

Short Stuff

⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎…

Man, I love Anton. If I could I would marry him. So this can seem a little goof, goofy writing since I try to distinct the boys and the reader from time to time, hopefully it's to your liking!

Anton / Lycaon x Short-Male!Reader

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑖𝑡…⋙

tw: none?

✦ Being short has its pros, especially in the Hollows as you're usually a smaller target and can sneak around easier. Which is convenient since they’re not the strongest of the bunch, only really having enough to get them by the heavy lifting that is rarely called upon them to deal with. Really, he works in finances and research on the construction site, being another pair of eyes for Koleda to call upon should she need more supervision on their projects, how Anton caught their attention was beyond their understanding. Yet, Anton is always seeking them out personally before dragging them along into his little crew.

✦ Because of this, he loves to use them as an armrest for his arm or sometimes; his bro. Of course if you're a friend of Anton, you're a friend of his bro, and so far his bro really likes him, always roaring at the sight of him whenever they go out to find them. From the looks of it, he is ok with Anton’s bro, though there have been times where Anton’s bro has at least jumpscared him from behind when sneaking up on them. They both got a good scolding from him.

✦ As mentioned before, he does go into the hollows with the crew from time to time, mainly as an observer and informant. They aren’t the strongest and so they can’t really help out a lot unless it’s along the lines of carrying files or pushing storage carts around. If Anton is ever with them, best believe that any heavy lifting is his work, never letting his ‘bro’ carry anything as he doesn’t want them to strain their muscles. Really it’s an excuse to be of help to them and have a casual conversation; As if they don’t do that enough. But combat- no, they aren’t fit for those kind of situations.

✦ Hence when a sudden ethereal attack happens on the crew on site, everyone is at alarm before running for safety. At that moment, he’s not able to escape in time before getting trapped between cargo and boxes of shipment, tucked behind it as they hear the eerie distorted growls of the creatures lurking around the corners. But the roar of a powerful hand drill cuts through the air as Anton leaps into the fight, yelling for him to run to safety with a clear opening. Moving along in a hurry, the two regroup with the workers as another group is dispatched to clear the site once again so they could return to work. That is after everyone is taken back for a health inspection.

✦ Anton is by his side the entire time as they recount what resources were destroyed, workers on the roster and whatnot to Koleda, sticking to his side incase they suddenly feel faint after being exposed to ethereals at that close range. While he’s convinced it’s cuz he wants to make sure his bro is alright, in reality he was worried when he spotted them in the attack and leaped into action to protect them. Losing him would be like losing his bro, someone he cared dearly for. He would make sure he was safe no matter what, because that’s how much he meant to him.

✦ Working with Lycaon is like working with someone of equal stature. If you had to pick who the leading figures of Victorian Housekeeping are, they’d say you and Lycaon. The both of you work diligently with every commission and assignment, like clockwork with how they’re able to move in sync. Should Lycaon need someone to relay information regarding any subject, he’d turn to him. In a similar fashion, should you need someone to deal with our reconsense or transferring larger packages and items, Lycaon is more than willing to lead his strength.

✦ Admittedly, Lycaon has offered to help him grow some more muscle here and there, as well as develop a suitable fighting style. The times the two had gone to a gym to practice, Lycaon can’t help but put his hands on them. Of course, he’s only lending a hand in guiding them through their practices, but seeing how small and slim they are in some areas, he could only wonder if he’s taking good care of himself. This only leads him to wonder if he should monitor their diet as well to ensure they are getting the right amount of nutrients.

✦ When Von needs help with anything, he’ll always go to them as he is confidence in their ability to complete any task with perfection. And anytime he thanks them or even praises Lycaon for a job well-done, he can’t help but twitch his ears and fluff up his tail a little out of pride. Lycaon makes an effort to help all his workers, as a boss it’s only right to look after them, however Rina has teased him for picking favorites. It’s not his fault you ask him for his height when they needed something on the top shelf. He swore those plates were never that high up.

✦ Within the hollows should they dare venture in, he works more in the back as support. Comming any details within the area and alerting the group of any potential dangers. Also a technical genius, they are in charge of any computers and machinery, though Lycaon stands close by should anything go awry. He looms over them, sometimes asking them about how they are processing it or updating them on their surroundings. Should anything come up, he’d always request they take cover ‘just case’ before swiftly dealing with the issue.

✦ The way he pulls them behind him, Lycaon will work like a monster to keep him safe. The thought of their smaller figure curled up beneath the enemy only motivating him to stay close and keep them in his line of sight. Von will not be having any close calls with his staff, let alone him. Every instance they enter a new layer of the hollow or step into a new room, he’ll always reach behind him to feel for their smaller hands, only satisfied once he can feel them trailing right behind him.

#zenless zone zero #zzz #zonelist #headcanons #von lycaon #von lycaon x reader #anton ivanov #anton x reader #gn!reader #male!reader #yall anton is hot ok

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persefolli · 11 months

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐊𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐠 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐥, 𝐏𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲-𝐄𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡??

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @xylianasblog, @scarasbaefy, @sukunasbigtiddiewifey, @the-mourning-moon

𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

König sat at his desk sorting through papers, leaned back in his chair and looked between two documents. He contemplated which he would go through first. He hummed and tapped his foot a few times.

“Heads or Tails.”

“Tails.” You said quickly.

König flipped a coin and slapped the flip side on the top of his head. Tails.

“You have great intuition. I’ll give you that.” He said setting the paper he held in his left hand down.

You paid no mind to the comment and continued bobbing your head against him. Stroking the base of his cock with your hand and slurping up the excess saliva that spilled from your mouth.

König pulled a pen from his cup and began writing on the paper. He tried not to focus on the pleasure that was pulsing down below. He had you under his desk so many times he's learned to keep his composure while receiving head, even when one of his comrades came in.

His eyes fluttered and he gripped on his pen tight as he wrote, grumbling and muttering under his breath.

One of his hands went down to grip your head, pressing his fingertips into your scalp.

König hadn't trained himself to come in silence. So when he leaned back in his chair and let out exasperated sighs, you knew he was close. You picked up your pace and braced yourself hearing a groan build up in his throat.

He let out three pathetic whimpers as he came in your mouth, spilling down your throat.

Many people on the base noticed how close you and König were. But nobody suspected the two of you were fucking on the low. Well, König was doing the fucking.

Many thought he was just your mentor, dragging you around as your superior and showing you the ropes like you were some intern. But he kept you close for his own selfish reasons.

As an Operator, he had a lot of duties and a lot of pent up frustrations, and that wasn't easy to do as a big man. Once you were stationed to work under him, he wasted no time in giving you taboo duties to complete for the day.

Sucking him off under his desk was one of them.

You knew what you were doing was very dehumanizing, but you wanted his approval, and it was better than the work everyone else was doing.

You were like a little pet to him, bending to his will whenever and however he wanted.

“Office.” He snapped at you.

You stopped your conversation with a fellow colleague and followed behind him, tripping slightly as he took long strides.

Once in the office you closed and locked the door behind you.

König stood in front of you, trapping you between the openness of his office and the door.

He didn't have to say a word to you, just averted his eyes. You began unbuckling your belt and unbuttoning your cargos. He hummed and watched as you dropped the pants to your ankles and kicked them off, standing in your panties.

“We don't have all day.” He said sternly.

You worked off your panties, and before you could unhook them from your ankle, he picked you up by your thighs and held you up. Your back rested against the door as he planted his face between your legs.

You bit your bottom lip, muffling your moans since you were so close to the main hallway. König licked up and down between your folds, spitting harshly, and moving to suck on your clit.

You let out a soft moan and gripped at the top of the mask that covered his face. He let out a grunt, sucking harder before pulling back.

He looked up at you with glossy, tired eyes. “C'mon you know what to do.”

You nodded and began weakly grinding your hips against his face, clit hitting the tip of his nose. You threw your head back and moaned as his tongue swirled and prodded at your entrance.

“Fuck.” You continued bucking your hips as pleasure ran its course throughout your body.

König gripped the sides of your hips and began flicking his tongue against your clit, causing you to squirm in his grip and tense your thighs. He was very animated when eating pussy, he moaned and groaned, pulling away and mumbling into your heat. “On my face baby. Just like that.”

You tugged at his hair and jolted as you came on his face, riding out your climax mid-air. König pulled back and lowered you onto the ground, holding you so you wouldn't fall weak to the ground.

“You've been so good for me this week.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Come to my quarters tonight.”

It was very rare that König was feeling friendly enough to let you come to his room for the night. Usually it was a one sided ordeal, him receiving pleasure or releasing his stress, but he had eaten you out and invited you to his room tonight, which means he was in a good mood.

It was around 9 when you showed up to his room. He was in his work attire still. Cargo pants and a green T-shirt. The shirt hugged his muscles and toned abs. He put out a cigarette he was smoking, and watched as you climbed onto his large mattress.

He looked you up and down before turning off his overhead light, leaving his two lamps on each side of his bed on.

"Take off your clothes."

He stood in front of you. You began stripping off your PJ short set, unbuttoning the top and throwing it to the side. König began undressing with you, pulling off his shirt and unbuckling his belt.

Once you were fully naked you moved to help him with his pants, unbuttoning the top and unzipping it, exposing his boxers.

"On your stomach."

You turned and laid face first on his bed, he looped his arm under your hips and pulled them up. You helped as you were now in a face-down ass-up position, exposed to him fully.

König let out a low groan and took off his boxers, springing free behind you. He reached in his nightstand and slammed the drawer shut before cracking open a bottle.

You let out a low hum feeling a cold liquid being poured between your asscheeks. He ran his thumb around your hole, spreading the lube around.

You let out a soft whine as he stuck one finger in, slowly moving it in and out of your tight hole.

"I'm gonna add another." He warned, before pushing a second finger. You resisted a little bit, and gripped the sheets, moaning wildly now. You've never tried anal before, and not with a man with hands this big.

König clicked his tongue and hunched over you, chest touching your bare back. "You can take it." He whispered. "Because you're mine, and all of my girls can handle a little challenge. Isn't that right."

"Mhm." You whimpered.

"I can't hear you." He curled his fingers inside of you which made you jolt.

"I can take it!"

König removed his fingers and put some more lube over your entrance before running his tip along your ass.

"You tell me to stop I stop." He said before pushing in. You let out a loud yell and hiss in pain. "You okay, libeling?"

Konig showed a little concern, which was a little out of the ordinary. He usually fucked you without exchanging so many words.

"M'okay Koni." You whined back.

He continued to press into you, holding onto your balled fist and grunting loudly as you squeezed around him.

The two of you let out a shared shriek once he bottomed out. The stretch was intense and so foreign to you, you couldn't even muster the strength to squirm.

"Too much König." You said weakly.

"You can take it." He said with gritted teeth and began thrusting into you cautiously.

You kept your eyes shut tightly as the pain slowly began to melt into pleasure. You got used to him inside of you, and he took note of your changing body language. He picked up his pace and panted. "You like that don't you libeling. Look at you." He gripped the plump fresh of your ass

You nodded and whimpered out loud, arching your back more to get the most pleasure possible.

König began sucking his breath harshly, tightening his grip on your hips as he felt his cock pulsing.

"Fuck. Liebling you feel so good."

He let out a breathy whine and pressed against you, grumbling as he emptied himself into your ass. You whined as he pulled out of you, leaving you gaping and exposed under him.

König used his strength to roll you over, so you were laying on your back. Your ass was sore, and your legs were tense from the new experience

But it wasn't over yet, because König didn't stop until you came.

König slapped his length against your lips as few times before pushing inside, causing you to moan and throw your head to the side.

He grinded against you, hitting your sensitive spot with every minor thrust. You whined and cooed under him, holding onto his broad shoulders and whipping your head from side to side. König wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into him, causing you to moan out at the contact.

You didn't know what it was, but you already found yourself reaching your climax. "Oh fuck!" You shut your eyes and clenched around him, König groaned and fell on top of you, burying his head into the crook of your neck.

#konig cod #konig #konig mw2 #konig x reader #konig call of duty #konig smut #kinktober #persefolli #persefolliwrites

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bearieio · 1 year

Text

total perv...

(könig edition)

warnings: praise kink, panty stealing & sniffing, sorta possessive!könig, shibari, kinda needy/sub(?)!könig, reader teasing könig & vice versa, könig spoiling you

a/n: ugh ignore my poor german…… i have NOT been studying… BUT ANYWAYS...

pervy!older bf!könig who simply can’t shut up about how beautiful your body is and how he’s the only one who gets to see you when its totally ruined for him.

“meins… alles meins..” the way he compliments your every crack and crevice located on (and in) your body, calling you a “pretty baby,” every 3 minutes

pervy!older bf!könig who always has a pair of your panties in his possession. in his glove compartment, in his duffel bag when he goes to the gym, and in the lower pocket of his cargo pants. he takes a pair everywhere.

pervy!older bf!könig who can’t help but stare at what is his. when you’re changing or getting undressed with the door cracked open, when you’re getting out of the shower, or even when you’re just sitting on the couch in your pjs.

you’ll be changing your clothes before bed and see a pair of BLUE ORBS staring at you from the hallway, just gazing over every part of your body.

pervy!older bf!könig who can’t keep his hands out of his pants when you’re away.

he’ll be at home, on the couch, staring at pics of you on his phone, palming himself under his sweatpants at the thought of your mouth on him.

pervy!older bf!könig who can’t stop himself from looking at your tits whenever you’re looking directly up at him… resisting the urge to grope them right then and there..

pervy!older bf!könig who won’t hesitate to bend you over his desk and pound into you relentlessly if you just so happen to get a little snippy with him.

“want to say that again, liebling? huh? no?” he whispers in your ear, holding you by your neck, holding your small frame up against his much larger one, your hands barely being able to touch his desk below you. “oh… what happened to that little attitude you had moments ago, hm?”

pervy!older bf!könig who loves to have you bound and tied up, like a sort of present… just for him. (ugh shibari is so interesting)

he ties you up in hogties in order to tease and edge you for long periods of time.. loonngg periods of time. no matter how bratty you may or may not have been acting that day he’s definitely taken the time to practice different ties and knots with you, especially when they more elaborate ones that have you suspended in the air n stuff. “du musst fokus, liebling! here, give me your leg-”

pervy!older bf!könig who gets soooooo desperate for you when he finds his way into your pants. panting and practically drooling when you present yourself to him.

“be a good girl and let me taste you, huh? schatz?” he’d go INSANE if you kept denying his requests. he’d get all needy, his hands inching closer and closer to the elastic hem of your laced panties “nuh-uh-uh!” you’d chime in, seconds before his hands find their way inside. he’d groan and beg s’more… and the process repeats until finally you give in and let him touch & taste you.

pervy!older bf!könig who teases you about both your height difference and age difference. calling you his “little bunny,” and “kleine maus,” and often pretending to use you as an arm rest.

“how’s-uh- ....how’s the weather down there, hase?” he says, placing his arm on your head, leaning into you slightly. when you start to move from your position, he’s caught off-guard and almost falls over.

pervy!older bf!könig who tells shows you how much he loves you by spoiling you ROTTEN! buying you plushies, clothes, new trinkets and gadgets to place around your guys’ bedroom.

he somehow always has a present for you. and at the PERFECT moments too needed a new phone because your old one was outdated/broken? BOOM he already has a new one waiting you when you get home. he definitely buys you CASES and CASES of those sonny angels and those smiski glow in the dark figures in order to show his appreciation towards you :)

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korpuskat · 1 year

Text

In a Different Light

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: Explicit WC: 9,256 Warnings: Super vanilla + size difference

He’d become fixated, completely focused on a group of soldiers hiding behind a line of armored vehicles. If he could just dislodge them, they’d have an uncontested avenue deeper into the city. He knows he can rush them, can get in close and punch straight through their cover. He peaks, HUD picking up each heat signature before him- more soldiers to the right than the left.

He doesn’t see the one four stories above them.

”Down!” He recognizes your voice, but doesn’t respond, doesn’t move. He can handle this, doesn’t need your tactical input-

And your arms close around his waist. What? He looks down, takes his optics off the enemy- and he feels your heel kick behind his knee. It’s not nearly enough to buckle him- but he allows himself to go down anyway, dropping into a heap back behind the barricade.

The bullet cuts through a ribbon cable.

You sink back into the seat, weight falling off your shoulders. Under the roar of the engines sliding from VTOL to forward propulsion, your sigh is completely inaudible, utterly silent to everyone. Everyone except Ramattra’s sensitive audials. You close your eyes and lean back, yet unaware of his gaze on you. He watches your pulse reading slow from its rabbit-fast battle-ready pace, lets his optics linger on the long line of your throat. The skin there is thin enough he could feel your heartbeat. His servos itch to reach out and try it.

He had let you pull him down. Why? A snap decision he hadn't even processed consciously. But why did he trust you that much? He scours his deeply-rooted runtimes, searching for what it was about you that had tipped that reaction in your favor. In his favor, given the cable that sparks brightly at the corner of his optics.

He'd nearly crushed you, only landing on his elbow at the last moment. You must've known how badly he could've hurt you; your eyes were wide, breath held in your chest as you looked up to him.

He was touching you. Your arms were still wrapped around his chassis, hands splayed near the sensitive column of his spine, legs aligned with his body, one hooked around his thigh. His hand at your hip. In the peaking lines between your armor, everywhere your skin touched his metal he could feel your heat, your heartbeat.

For a moment, all you could do is stare at each other. For a moment, he couldn't seem to focus on his objective.

You slowly unwound your hold, but don't quite take your hands off him. They end up holding the broad ribs of his armor. He's... glad. He liked the contact. He squeezed your hip, relished in the soft give of your skin and fat and muscle.

"Sniper," You had finally breathed- and the spell was broken. Back to work.

The rest of the squad cheers and chats jovially, an easy mission. He would agree, more or less. As far as he can tell, the only casualty was his own shattered cosmetic cabling- an effortless fix for another time, for now he simply disconnects the damaged cable. But you aren't celebrating with them. The entire flight, you've kept your head back and eyes closed, swaying softly with turbulence. He can tell you're not asleep. Even if his HUD wasn't keeping him painfully aware of your vitals, he watches your hands rub at the corners of your armor plating the entire time, watches the twinges of your expression.

Pain? Ramattra wonders. Had he hurt you after all?

His GPS pings an alert for their probable arrival a few minutes before the engines shift again. When they do, it jostles you up, leaving you grabbing the supports around you as the ship comes in to land. His gyros keep him steady, never having to look away from his study of you. Without fanfare, the cargo door opens and most of the troops pile out. You stand, grab your gear-

and you look back at him. A little smile, a slight nod. He cannot smile back, would not if he could, but he nods in turn at you. You leave, following the line of soldiers ahead of you.

Only when everyone else has left does Ramattra stand.

Your quarters are blessedly quiet, at least compared to the open bustle of the barracks. The insulation between walls is thin, built for structural support, not individual solitude. At least in the lower officers quarters. The higher-ups are probably given more leeway on creature comforts. You heard once that Doomfist has a hot tub in every base.

You’d kill for a hot tub right now.

Still, it's quiet and secluded enough for you to drop your gear and close the door behind you. The ceramic of your armor clicks against the metal door frame as you lean back. Even the slight shift of your weight off your feet brings relief- as does the cold metal that presses to the nape of your neck, the backs of your arms.

He was warmer. Still much too cool to be mistaken as anything organic, but still... warmer than you had expected. The buzzing of his CPUs must radiate enough heat to bring him just above the freezing metal you had expected. He had moved more, too- the spinning of his fans had made him vibrate softly under your fingertips, but more shocking than that, it was as though he was breathing, a rhythmic movement of his chest. Some kind of ventilation, you’d guess.

You close your eyes. The fall onto your back had knocked the wind out of you- but the weight of him had never landed. No, he had perched over you, balanced on one sturdy arm, the cables of his mane dangling- the matte black making the stark white of his faceplate almost glow. You're sure it's just lights from his LEDs, but in the black shadows you'd swear you saw the red of his HUD in his optics. And he was touching you- cool fingers had somehow wound up between the hard lines of your armor, slipped right up under your shirt. Five mechanical fingers that squeezed so gently, so unnecessarily.

His presence around Talon was... sporadic at best- and you'd never actually worked with him before. His disdain for humans was common knowledge, but so when you'd been assigned to his team you had no way to anticipate that outcome. And yet it wasn’t… unwelcome.

With a groan you stand up again- no use pondering it fully geared-up at least. Your forearm guards come off easily, with satisfying clicks. You toss the plating onto your bunk; you’ll have to inspect it later- given the fall you’d had, you might already need to replace some of it. Next, your boots- which clatter together as you kick them away.

You reach up over your shoulder to undo the chestplate- and hiss with pain. Your upper back lights up with sore muscles, not yet ready to be used again. Fuck, okay. You’ll get back to that one, you guess. Instead, you twist your arm behind your low back and undo the armor over your belly.

Your door clangs- loud enough for you to jump. What the fuck? Who would be bothering you now? You hastily drop that piece onto the same pile and turn the handle-

Oh.

He's out of place this deep in Talon's barracks. He seems to know this, adjusting his posture to stand tall before you- a defensive stance against the curious eyes of your fellow soldiers that pass by. At full height he just about touches the upper edge of the door frame, making you have to tip your head back just to look at him this close. Even though there's no malice in his stance, your skin prickles.

As much as you were captivated by your little shared moment in the street, Ramattra is still your boss, more or less- his alliances with Talon are much further up the food chain than you- and there's no good formal reason for him to be here. So, you treat him as though he's one of the council. Someone way, way above your pay grade with enough power to end you and never even see paperwork for it. You stand up straight and square your shoulders, lower your gaze with a perfectly canned "Yes, Sir?"

His optics drop before he can override it; somehow he did not expect you to be undressing. Even with your undershirt still on under the white Talon armor, his thoughts race, circuitry threatening to overclock. At your voice, however, Ramattra makes a noise of disgust, shifts his head as if scowling. "Enough of that, save it for Akande." You blink, lift your sight back to his faceplate as though it made any difference in reading him. He must've already cleaned up; there once was post-battle grime, but it's already been wiped away. You look to his cabled mane- and there, too, his damaged ribbon cable is gone. "I came to speak with you." Suspicion rises again in your chest, even as he clarifies, "Informally."

Informally in Talon usually meant some kind of internal politicking that you avoided as best you could. Somehow, that doesn't feel right here- why the fuck would he have use for you?- but you don't let down your guard just yet. The instinct to tack on sir to the end of the question is so strong it nearly slips out. "What about?"

"I came to apologize." What? You bristle; if he means to apologize for touching you, well, he certainly did not wrong you by any means. "And to thank you. May I?" He motions past you and despite how much you absolutely should not be inviting Null Sector's leader into your quarters, you do so anyway.

Your room is hardly larger than a supply closet; it's positively cramped with both you and an R-7000 standing in the meager floor space. It makes his movements awkward, aware of his large, sharply pointed feet; even if your armored boots were still on, having him step on your toes would be unpleasant. Without, much worse. So, Ramattra gives you an easy solution: "Please, sit."

It doesn't help your pained neck at all, nor the growing sense of unease. Still, you perch yourself on the edge of your mattress and watch as he adjusts his cowl. "What did you need to apologize for?"

"First, I wanted to thank you for assisting me. I should have seen the sniper, or at least considered the probability, given the terrain." His voice box makes a spit of noise, not unlike clearing his throat. "I came to apologize for... scaring you, when you pulled me from the sniper's view. It was unintentional."

Scared? You can't resist a barking laugh, "That's all? I knew I was risking dropping a big heap of omnic on me. I mean, I'm really glad you were quick enough to catch yourself and all, but really, there's nothing to apologize for, you didn't hurt me."

He waits a beat, considering his words carefully. "You seemed particularly stunned afterwards."

Ah. He noticed. Your cheeks burn. "I guess. You did too, though."

"I had just been shot at and had to trust that a human had my best interest in mind." He tips his head, "If you did not fear being injured, then why?"

"Um," You rub at your neck, chase your thoughts for any acceptable response. "I was- just surprised. You were... very close."

His response is quick as he leans in towards you. “And you were not afraid?”

What is that inflection in his voice? Did he want you to be? You stare at him, try desperately to read his immovable faceplate. You bite your lip- and unbeknownst to you, Ramattra's optics tick downwards to watch. "No, I wasn't."

You must've picked right, because his voice box hums a little noise of acknowledgement, a light nod following. "I see." He murmurs, then abruptly straightens up again. "Regardless, I came to give my gratitude and offer repayment." You would tell him that it's literally your job, that you'd hope he would've done the same for you, but once more Ramattra's head tips, then nods just off to your right. "Is your armor ill-fitting?"

You blink, then look- and find yourself rubbing at your neck once more. "Oh! I mean, kind of; all Talon armor is pre-made. Mostly I'm just a bit sore."

"May I?"

He steps forward without waiting for your answer, but doesn't actually touch you. Once again, you're very close to him. This time, he's standing, towering over you with his full height from where you sit. He's offering, your mind stumbles over it, replays his touch to your hip. "Um, s-sure."

He already knows where the release to your armor is; his large fingers pressing into the divot before you can even begin to direct him. "Oh," you slip out, then awkwardly shake off each half, shoving them off the edge of the bed. His hands move towards your shoulders- and hesitate. He'd been quick to step closer, to dig into the protective paneling, but the actual prospect of touching you, even through the thin material of your undershirt, must make him pause. It's short lived- and his hands are cold enough you can feel it through the cloth.

You suppress a jolt at his temperature- but then he squeezes and all rational thought is expelled from your mind. The aching muscles of your shoulders have no choice but to surrender to his unflinching, metal kneads. It takes everything, everything that you have to not moan- and still he manages to pull a stifled inhale from you.

At once his fingers freeze, “Do you need me to stop?”

”No.” It’s all whine, a desperate plea to chase that same mind-melting touch. So, he continues on. Cool, smooth fingers pressing into taut muscle, loosening up knots with surgical precision. And when he adjusts his angle, steps a little closer and digs in again, you do let yourself moan.

He doesn’t stop- but you feel the tremble in his hands and his fans kick up their speed, humming louder in the relative quiet of your room. He adjusts again, moves to the outer parts of your upper arms- and when he squeezes there the sharp, near painful relief shoots all the way down to your fingertips. Your eyes are all but rolling in their sockets, it's all too easy to let your lids drop, your whole body swaying with each movement of his hands.

He presses into your upper back, in the tight space between shoulder blade and spine- and you don't resist the urge to lean forward. You aren't sure where exactly your forehead lands, but his metal is pleasantly cool. The vibration from his ventilation hums directly into your skull. It's soothing white noise- and you want more. Slowly, enough to make sure he can see you moving, you raise each hand and place them on the outer edge of his thighs. There, the refreshing touch of his metal is covered by dark-colored canvas, but the cloth does little to mute the hum of his inner machinery.

It makes your hands tingle- and it makes his vents crank open another notch. Beneath your forehead, his surface chills even more as coolant rushes through his systems.

The question of why rolls over your head, though the clarity of thought comes and goes with Ramattra's touch. It could be just some kind of curiosity or ultimately innocent fascination with the physicality of human flesh- something you doubt he's had much chance to experience outside of combat- but if he were not an omnic, the implication of his tentative exploration feels... obvious.

On one hand, Null Sector's leader was rarely around your base, the shame and embarrassment of being wrong about his intentions would only occasionally be relevant, but on the other...

You swallow and roll the dice. Your hands trace higher on his legs, over the straps there until you reach metal again. He all but trembles, deeply unused to soft human caresses- even more so to the seldom-touched ridges of his hips' plating. "Do you..." Your confidence slips- but Ramattra stares down at you so attentively, you can't help but continue, just to know "Would you prefer… more?"

His hands twitch against you. "If you are willing," He says it so slowly, so intentionally, he's talking to himself as much as to you. "I will take anything you would give."

Your shuddering inhale must please him, because he nearly purrs as he trails the tips of his fingers across your shoulder blades. Fuck. It’s hardly a question of what you would give, of if you are willing. You let go of him just long enough to grab the hem of your shirt and peel it off.

For a moment, your world is entirely black- and when you can see him again, half-bared to him, you're already shivering.

It's unfair to call it staring when omnics don't typically blink, but Ramattra's faceplate tips downward and doesn't lift- even as you scoot back on your flimsy mattress until you reach the headboard. Only then does he meet your gaze again. You can't see his optics, shadowed entirely by his stark white faceplate, but there's a heat about him, all his focus settled on you- and your heart races. He sees this, too, on his HUD- the spike in your pulse, in your breathing.

Ramattra waits only a moment, shamefully double-saving this moment to his memory files, then follows. Immediately one of his heavy, metal knees makes the hinges of the frame creak in protest. His attention snaps to one corner- almost furious for having interrupted his pursuit. It would be your luck to have your bed broken by an omnic war machine before you could even fuck him. But Ramattra slowly eases his full weight onto the frame- and despite the pitiful whining of your cheap frame, it holds up.

Which is good, because Ramattra wastes no time to lean over you- the staggering height difference between you barely mitigated by his new position with his knees on either side of your legs. Your heart is racing, pulse thrumming all the way down to your fingertips- and he hasn't even really touched you- but he's eager to correct that.

He reaches for you- and there's a breath of hang time. An infinite little moment between his rubber-padded palm touching your neck, a perfect little bookend to all that was before. Because cool metal circles the base of your throat- thumb and forefinger rubbing over the ridges of your collarbones and sliding on- until his palm presses to the center of your chest- and it's unlike anything you expected.

His touch is exploratory, cautious, gentle as his hand slides up your neck, away from where you had really wanted him to touch. Instead, the rounded tips of his fingers trace parallel lines up each side of your throat. He stops just below your jaw, where your pulse beats hard against the skin. Somehow, there's no threat to it- a Ravager is holding your carotid, your jugular- and you don't even want to run. No, he's turned the tables on you- you want more.

It's difficult to be patient with his exploration, but his fascination here must be sated, because Ramattra's head tips- and his other hand presses to your chest. It's still painfully chaste; he's much too high, fingertips caressing your collarbone. He shifts, presses the heel of his palm into your pec- and, oh, you're melting into him again, because you didn't even realize that, too, was sore. As much as you wish he'd do what you're thinking about, his massaging touch is far from unacceptable.

Instead, you let your eyelids drift close, rest your chin upon the hand still at your throat.

Ramattra hums at this, one thumb stroking over your jaw in a motion so affectionate it makes your heart hurt. His fingers linger there, at the edges of your face- while his other hand finally begins to move. The rubber grip of his palm slides over the top of your breast, but his wrist turns, skirts along the side. He presses there a little, feels the weight of your chest in his palm. Already your skin is lighting up, goosebumps racing along your arms- and Ramattra shifts his hand again.

One breast entirely in his hand, his metal still shockingly cold to the underside- and yet somehow, your nipple stands free between his thumb and forefinger. He's avoided it entirely so far- but between the chill of him and the tension rushing in your veins, it's hardened into a little point. He squeezes your chest and you don't stifle your sigh.

He watches his own hand as he slowly sweeps his thumb across the stiff peak of your nipple- how it bends under his touch- and with a gasp, it pops back up. At your whimper he looks back up to your face and does the same motion again, just to soak in your reaction. The weight of his gaze is not lost on you- every sensor in his array is focused on your body, your face, the little hitches in your breath as he drags his thumb in a circle instead.

Your response must be fascinating enough, because the hand at your throat finally travels downwards, mirroring the other. Just having both hands on you makes your heart race, but now you're all but trembling when he hasn't even used the other yet. You expect more slow sweeps. You do not expect him to pinch- your sensitive flesh caught between cold metal plates- and then to tug on them.

You squeal, arch into his hands- half to alleviate the ache he's produced, and half because it felt good. He only half lets up. "Is that too much?" His voice box is so quiet you nearly don't hear him.

"No," You can only gasp- and with his confidence assured, you break off into a whimper as he tweaks your nipples. It's strange- his hands have no give, no softness to them, each motion is only relentless pressure and the hard edges of each joint. It makes every touch more acute, harsher even with his slow, cautious approach.

"They're softer than I expected," He says- and he sounds so cool, almost unaffected by how he's already making you unravel. "And more sensitive."

Oh. Something falls into place. It's not just you. "Have you ever... done this before?"

"Not with a human." Another sweep of his thumb has you shuddering. His grasp loosens, your skin tingling as blood returns to where he'd held it.

His curiosity here must've been satisfied, as his hands slide off to your sides. With only the tips of his fingers skating over your skin so lightly, you squirm under him- and grab his forearms. He stills, glances up to you- "Ticklish," You explain, then press on his hands until his whole palm meets your skin. "Firmer."

Ramattra hums, nods once in acknowledgement. He doesn't have to be corrected twice; his study of your body continues with more pressure. "And you?" Methodical presses over each notch of your ribs, tracing along the lines of each- pressing into the unprotected flesh below them, feeling over the soft pouch of your stomach. No longer feather-light, now it's almost clinical, and you wonder if he's comparing your body to schematics in his head. It isn't until he pauses, squeezes at your hip- a mimic of the same touch from earlier- for you to realize he'd spoken to you.

Have you done this before? The answer is, truthfully, not in a while, never with someone who made your skin feel so electric. You lick your lips and guardedly answer, "Not with an omnic."

He seems to accept this- and to keep him from questioning further, you move to unlatch your right greave. Your bed frame complains once more as he scoots back- and then begins working on your left leg. When you're once more down to your under armor, he stops, half sits back onto his heels. The glow of his optics is hidden, but you have no doubt he's watching you intently, waiting for something. If he expects you to wilt and change your mind, you hope instead he's pleasantly surprised that you hook your thumbs into the soft elastic around your waist and roll off both your pants and underwear.

You're suddenly aware you don't know where to put your legs- sliding them back under him would be counterproductive. So, you be just a little bold, and let them lay half-open across his canvas-covered thighs. Ramattra shudders. A visible quake up his spine, ends in little twitches of his fingers. Fingers that immediately press to your skin, two at first, just above your knees, then the whole width of his palm is smoothing up your thighs.

Higher and higher up your leg, his thumbs skating along the ridge of the muscle at the top of your thigh, never dipping in too close. Even as he approaches your waist, so tantalizingly close to your apex, his hands slide out, over the curve of your hips. You whimper, voicing your displeasure at his continued teasing. Ramattra answers only with a soft humming and those same thumbs pressing in to find the divots of your hip bones.

As attentive as his touch is, it's not helping the ache in your belly. Under him you squirm, press your thighs together to sate your growing need.

This, too, does not go unnoticed. "Patience," He chides and slides his palms from your hips back up to your sides. "We could not linger earlier; I intend to take my time now."

Oh. It doesn't stop you from squeezing your thighs again, but you do resign yourself to his pace. Again he passes over your navel before traveling down; this time there's no more cloth to impede his exploration. His thumbs follow the curve of your pubic bone, coming so very close- before returning to the safety following the long muscles of your quadriceps. With a cant of his head, he's particularly fascinated by this part of you, following the imprints of his fingers as he strokes down your legs.

Once he reaches your knees, Ramattra slyly slides his thumbs inwards, between your tightly pressed thighs. This alone has you shivering, aching to think of another round of his slow mapping of your body- but the soft press of his hands against your legs, urging them outward has every thought fleeing your mind. Shame drives you to press one hand over your face, but offers no resistance to him opening your legs once more. This time, his route from your knees to your hips is no longer exploratory- it's measured. His pace is slow, agonizing- barely inching along your skin, sweeping his thumbs, pressing in when you get too excited; it's an intentional lesson in patience that borders on torture.

And finally- finally- he doesn't turn his touch away. Ramattra's gaze is fixed between your legs, watched as he finally touches you. He traces the sensitive, thin crease of your thigh first- the last line between pretendably-chaste exploration and something else.

And he charges right past that line.

Without any warning, he drags one fingertip right down the center of your pussy. You gasp- and he's skating over your clit, parting your lips, almost dipping into you- before pulling back. With so much teasing, one stroke alone has your body thrumming, heat spreading from your belly. Above you, Ramattra hums- and spreads your lips with his free hand.

The embarrassment of his hawkish observation of your sex doesn't have long to set in, because once more his fingers return to you. Two this time, swirling at your entrance to coat his cool metal in your wetness, before sliding upwards. When he circles your aching clit, you don't even try to stop the moan that escapes from deep within.

Behind his white faceplate, his optics snap upwards and watch your reaction. He's used to seeing humans' heart rates spike when he touched them, but never with such a sound accompanying it. It's... different. Another stroke over the nub, another noise from your lips confirms what he'd already suspected: he likes it. He wants to hear more.

It's just like with your chest. He's all hard metal, no squishing softness of skin and muscle and fat- wherever his fingers move, your body has no choice but to follow, to fold under the hardness of his form. Each leisurely swirl pushes at you more than rubs, compresses and bends your most sensitive skin in incessant, cruel rounds and it's like nothing else you've ever felt. And it's too much, all too quickly you're squirming away from his hand, desperate for a break from the onslaught.

He notices. Ramattra can't not notice when your languid moans warp into sharp whines, when your hips that were grinding impatiently against his fingers, instead begin arching away from his touch. He pulls away, ceases the minuscule contact- and immediately your body relaxes, hips raising up towards him again. Was he being too rough? He recalibrates, actuators hardly moving at all when he meets the pulsing nub at the apex of your sex- and once more you're dancing backwards, face pinching. Yet as soon as he withdraws, another neglected, aching noise from your lips makes his frame shudder.

He almost scoffs; what a terribly human reaction- to flinch from his touch, then crave it as soon as he stops. He doesn’t understand why you’re doing this, but he can at least guess you’re not in any position to explain it to him.

Instead his touch wanders away, down along the creases of your body. A curiosity leads his fingers towards your opening and the wetness that has accumulated there. He traces the taut skin before him- and your heart hammers in your chest. He's so close, so close to being inside you. Your body burns under him, begs silently with every breath. With hardly any effort, his fingertips are coated in clear slickness once more- two shining strings between his digits as he examines them.

"Are most humans this... well-lubricated?"

"No," It comes out broken, your psyche unable to take any more of this- and your tone makes his faceplate lift. The slits of his optics are black, but you stare into them anyway and sob, "Please."

All five of his fingers dig into your thigh, a full-body shudder following your plea. Ah, now he understands. He leans forward, repositions himself over you, his massive frame entirely covering yours, but not quite touching. The heavy weight of his forearm lands next to your head as he murmurs- softer than you've ever heard his vocoder go- "Of course."

And he slides one finger into you.

You don't make a sound- your mouth falls open in mute relief- not even pleasure yet, just succor to your unrelenting need. Ramattra, however, stutters through a moan- the hand at your head curls into a fist, shaking with focus. Your body instinctively clenches around him, pulsing against the hard metal of his digit. As distracted as he is with your wet heat, he wastes no time in circulating the finger inside you- pressing against each wall, feeling the softness that surrounds every sensor, that ripples with each movement.

The first withdrawal is agonizing, the slow pull away, the half-second that you're nearly empty is unspeakable, an awful torment after finally knowing the shape of him. "I have you." He hushes before you can even whine. And he fulfills the promise, easing his finger back in. This time, you sigh- light and airy, lost under the sound of Ramattra's own ventilation.

Your body slowly releases its harsh grasp, relaxing into his slow, careful pace- sliding easily with every stroke, the soft noise of your slickness making your face burn. As the harsh peak of your need mellows into Ramattra's pleasurable touch, you're once more met with the impassive mask of his stark white faceplate. He's so close, you think you should be able to see his optics behind the faceplate- you want to see them- but he's blocking the only light in the room, casting his entire face in shadow, save for the mild, red lighting from the LEDs around his head.

He's gorgeous up close; all sleek lines and crisp enamel. Here and there are tiny nicks on his plating, like scars marking his body. Where you pant against him, his metal fogs- can he feel that? He's too far- and you wrap your arms around him to pull him closer.

You didn't realize how worked up he already was. Even to your fevered skin, Ramattra is warm, streams of hot air escaping past your forearms. He is actually enjoying this. The realization makes your pussy tighten around him once more- and in turn he curls the finger inside you.

You buck against him, the rush of pleasure driving any reservations from your mind as you thread one hand into the thick, black cables of his mane and lick at the pistons of his neck. The effect is immediate- his head drops down beside you entirely, bringing his shoulder even close to your mouth. Near your ear, Ramattra's voicebox rumbles, somewhere between a purr and a growl- the intent lost beneath a wave of static. And not to be outdone, he slips a second wide finger inside you.

The stretch pulls a moan from your lips, made louder by reverberating off Ramattra's shoulder plates. Two of his fingers already makes you feel pleasantly full, a respectable length and girth to them made even better with his attentive exploration of the hidden parts of your cunt- very aware of how every curl of his fingers makes your body sing for him.

And it does sing. Inside you, Ramattra gently spreads his fingers, urging your body to stretch even more, pressing ever harder into the soft flesh of your pussy- and you're helpless as you writhe beneath him. You don't even do it intentionally- raising one leg to press harder against his chassis. Perhaps, if his voice box was not right next to your ear, you'd have missed the spit of static that follows.

But you don't miss it. As lust-hazed as your mind is, all you can truly think about is how unfair it is that he's shown you so little. The hand not tangled into his wire-hair slides down his back, skirts around hot air vents, and dips between each silvery rib. The touch makes him shudder- a minute shaking of his rig that you wouldn't have even felt if he weren't fully pressed to your sternum. You linger at the thin hourglass of his waist, squeezing the thick, black cabling there appreciatively-- and first, Ramattra's hips faulter, a burst of erroneous data coming from the wiring you'd handled, then Ramattra groans, loud and almost droning as his stuttering hips meet the soft skin of your thigh. The shape of his lower plating means really only the top ridge is digging into you, but any discomfort is more than outweighed by his fans kicking up again.

You're ready for him- grabbing the last silver bar over his hip and guiding him closer. He doesn't resist at all. Without a single word, he follows, allows you to match the pace of his own fingers to have him rut against you in perfect time. He's almost fucking you; the proximity of him, the shape of his fingers- and suddenly you need it. To know what he looks like, feels like-- if he has one at all (though you hope he does, please, please-)

Ramattra pauses his thus far near perfect fingering- and you almost sigh with relief- he must have the same idea. Instead, he shifts his wrist- and the pad at the base of his thumb meets your clit. It's a pleasant shock- and when his fingers resume their thrusting, rhythmic pulling against you, you understand what he's done. Every tiny twitch of your hips makes your clit rub against his palm, and with his merciless knowledge of how to make you squirm, it's all he needs to make you gasp and clutch at him tighter.

All at once you're close, hardly more than a passenger to your own undoing. Each curl of his fingers is targeted, a planned attack on the sensitive innermost parts of your body- and with the uncommanded ruts of your hips, he's making you just as complicit in the rising fever of your need, using your own reactions against you- His plating meets your thigh again- and something like a moan spits from his voice box, a choked, half-buzzing noise that has you gasping, aching-

The noise you make is hardly human, barely recognizable as speech. "Wait," And yet the effect is immediate, before you can even croak out a clearer "Wait," he's already stopped, every joint locking up save for the turn of his head- and the lights on his faceplate burn bright, an unspoken question waiting there. He waits, silent, as you shiver and breathe, letting the hard edge of your desire die down before you can find any intelligible words, separated by harsh pants. "Can you?” Less intelligible than you had hoped. “Can you… fuck me?”

The lights on his forehead actually flicker, blinking asymmetrically as soon as the words leave your lips. His systems are in disarray, faulting, replaying your request until Ramattra has to halt the processes manually. It takes him much too long to croak out a barely understandable, static-fuzzed "Yes."

The withdrawal of his fingers from your pussy is agonizing, the last ring of muscle inside you desperately clenching against their retreat. The iron will it takes to keep your noises inside is physically painful, but somehow you think if you were to moan and plead that he let you cum now, he might actually short out. As it is, Ramattra is barely keeping it together. His hand is actually shaking as he releases the shiny plate over his groin, the soft hiss of pneumatics accompanying the distorted sigh from his vocoder. His dark paneling joins your armor on the floor and-

oh.

The first thing you notice is the lights. It's mostly thick, translucent purple silicone wrapped around a suspended mesh sensor array with red inlaid LEDs dotted under the surface that are nearly maroon through the pigment. The second thing is that it's massive. As big as his frame is, his cock is somehow bigger than you expect. It’s not quite the same shape as a human cock; the first rounded ridge is almost right, if only for the fact that it entirely circles the length. Behind it, two more ridges sit further down the shaft.

You can't help but reach for it. The groan that rumbles from his synth is just icing on the cake. "How...?" Fuck, you can't even close your hand around it, thumb and middle finger easily a full inch apart.

"I made it." He admits with a sigh. The tug of your skin on the dry silicone is awkward, but Ramattra shudders and rocks into your touch all the same. Until he seemingly remembers he was knuckle deep in you for several minutes- and shoos your hand aside just long enough to wipe your own fluids on himself. Purple with little red lights and glistening with your arousal- it's nearly enough to make you moan at the sight alone. It is enough when you stroke him again- and this time your hand glides over his smooth surface with ease. Ramattra feels the difference too, his head dropping forward as a plume of steam escapes from a hidden vent.

"Please," You can barely make yourself let go of him. He follows your hand as it falls between your legs, slips through your wetness in desperation to ease your need. "Ramattra..."

"It was," His voice box pops. A harsh little noise, then silence as it frantically reboots. When he speaks again, it's clearer- and there's something in his tone you don't recognize. "... not made for human dimensions."

"I don't care." You whine, grasping at his side once again. But he remains unmoved, his hands planted firmly on his knees, faceplate trained on you. His hesitance draws you out of your haze of lust, higher thinking forcing its way through your mind. Concern- it was concern in his voice. Ah. "If it's too much, I'll tell you. We can-" You swallow, and consider the possibilities that follow, "we can try something else."

And when this doesn't quite sway him, frustration takes control again. With a pitiful whine you present yourself to him again, a meager "Please, I need you." your final offering.

The actuators in his hands whine. A pressure warning pops into his HUD and is dismissed before he can even process it. "Yes." He rasps- it's agonizing how slowly he crawls over you, but the joy that he's moving at all is all you can really think about. "If you require me to stop, inform me immediately." You nod vigorously, almost missing how his voice drops, "I did not come here to harm you."

There's no time to consider the tenderness that laces his vocals, because he slides the head of his cock between your lips once, twice. The motion alone has your hands grabbing at him- and your breath all together stops as he begins to push.

He's big. Even with his mind-melting fingering, it stings as he slowly breeches you. His force is slow and even, but merciless. He does not pause at all as the widest part of his cock stretches you open, makes your face pinch together, thighs locking around Ramattra's thin waist. There's a high pitched little noise somewhere- and you can’t tell if it’s coming from you or Ramattra. As uncomfortable as it is for you, it must be heavenly for him. And yet he continues on- not a single stutter to his patient approach.

Relief washes over you when his hard hips meet yours- and above you Ramattra sighs. You're so full. All the way behind your navel- if pressed below your belly, you'd be able to feel him inside you-- if you could let go of him long enough to try. And it's tight- and truly you could redefine the word, with how harshly your walls cling to him, how you can feel every ridge, where every light is, just because it has slightly less give.

"You are..." He begins, vocalizer rumbling close to your ear. Simultaneously, you shift your hips, trying to ease the pressure that fills you up. Even such little motion cuts him off, makes him press his cool faceplate against your shoulder. His voice cuts through with another tone, like a radio station going out. "Sublime." One large hand lands at your hip, holds you close as he rocks against you. Fully buried as he is, all you can do is gasp and cling to him, digging your fingers into the gaps between his ribs. "It's like a current." He murmurs, almost in disbelief.

His comment is so strange, so stunned at your pussy, it pulls a delighted laugh from you despite how it makes you ache again. You move one hand from his back- and your knuckles hurt for how hard you'd been gripping him- to slide into the cables of his mane again. Ramattra purrs approvingly, a rumble that fills his entire body, permeates into you at every point of contact. He rocks with you again, and as much as you need him to stop moving, if he actually stilled you might just combust.

It hardly takes more than your hand moving to his hip and guiding him into a real stroke- even if you have to grit your teeth and hiss at his half withdrawal. The sound makes him lift his head, turn the dark slits of his optics towards you. He watches as you nod and urge him on with your calves on his thighs. He's slow, keeps that same agonizing pace- easing back into you with as much caution as the first time.

With the stretch already easing, the balance of discomfort to pleasure shifts- and you're closing your eyes, letting the ripple of electricity coast through you with each little motion he makes. Now, it's your turn to sigh, that fullness returning to you- pressed up against the deepest parts of you. When he lowers his head again, his faceplate is not buried into your shoulder this time. No, his LEDs are warm against your forehead, strange with the cool metal between each light. This close, you can hear the soft whirrs of his optics moving and re-focusing. Your breath fogs the white ceramic of his faceplate. If he minds, he doesn't say anything.

He keeps the rhythm on his own now, slow and even until he's sliding freely inside you without any hint of resistance, until you're needing. Words escape you as you clutch at him, press your forehead harder to his, whine with each glacial motion. He hums again, shifts his weight onto one arm- so careful to not break the intimate little connection he'd forged- to hold your hip with one hand. You can't see his optics through the narrow slits, but every sensor is centered on you as he so carefully moves quicker.

"Is this alright?" His voice hardly makes it out of his synth, so low and quiet- and so easily drowned out with your moaning. He’s still so gentle, even with his endeavor to please you in faster strokes, they’re each guarded, measured with careful calculations. There’s no force to them at all.

You can't seem to figure out where you want to hold him; both your hands bury into his cabled hair and stroke there, twist until a stunned little noise breaks free of his vocoder, then releases, fan down until you can hold at his shoulders, at the long pistons that would be collarbones. It isn't enough. Your hands skitter onward, over his arms, his sides, over and between the broad silver struts, in the black recesses between and back up. It takes everything to twist your hands into his cowl and beg. "More, please," Your lips brush his face, "Harder."

Ramattra's entire frame shudders, the hand at your hip pulling you ever closer, once more burying himself to the hilt. "Your…" He rasps, still shaking. "Penchant towards self-destruction is… astounding."

Where he had previously chided you with patience, it seems he has all but run out. The need is taking over him as well, because he doesn't even try to dissuade you at all as he completely moves himself. No longer laid nearly on top of you, his large form stretches over you like a breathing metal canopy, bracing himself with one hand on the wall. He keeps the other hand on your hips- and his next thrust brings stars to the backs of your eyelids. All metal, no give; his hips meet yours with a new vigor. But even more, his altered angle forces one light node up against your front wall. He doesn't even have time to ask if it's good before you're gabbing at his smooth forearm, twisting one hand into your sheets. His name slips from your mouth in a plea, but you can't even understand what you're asking for. "Ramattra,"

Above you Ramattra purrs, the pleased little hum from his vocalizer vibrating out into your room. Beneath you, your bed creaks pathetically- above you, the clasps at the end of his hair-cables clack together, announcing his pace to your neighbors- and you don't care. All you can focus on is the rhythm of his body against yours, the staticy noises that slip from his vocalizer unbidden, where the pad of his palm has caught your skin, holding you exactly where he wants you. And where he wants you has your toes curling, your eyes fighting to stay open. Heat coils in your belly, and it's still not enough.

"More, more," You pant- pulling at his hips with your calves. The sore reality of getting fucked hard by a Ravager is completely gone from your mind- tomorrow's pain has nothing on the haze of desire that leaves you with only harder, deeper, more.

Whatever reply Ramattra has is lost, the noise from his synth a harsh tone that sounds more like a modem than speech. He complies immediately, his next thrust pushing you further up the bed, pressing hard enough against your cervix to make you gasp. The sheets aren't enough, you need to feel more of him- so you grab at his hand again, at his chest, where he's become positively warm. "Fuck, fuck, Rama-ah- I-" Every word broken by a snap of his hips, by the little eek, eek, eek of your mattress frame. Each thrust has your eyes rolling, panting, keening little noises because you can't stop them- and the coil is so close, so tightly wound-

and somewhere, you hear a coin dink onto the floor, hear it spin on the floor. It's so odd you can't make sense of it- can’t give it more than half a thought because you’re so close all you can focus on is the boiling desire that’s taken over your blood- until Ramattra's hips meet yours again.

And for a half-moment you're in free fall, weightless. For one heartbeat, Ramattra is moving away from you- or, no, you’re somehow moving away from him.

You stare, wide-eyed at the dark slits of Ramattra's optics- until one metal hand slips under your shoulders, faster than you can think. He catches you, but not before you’re almost inverted.

A glance up tells you exactly what you expect: the front half of your frame has collapsed, the legs have fallen flat against the floor. Fuck. It doesn't matter; that need has not been sated in the least. You shift your hips against his, shake his hand off you, and brace one arm between your head and the wall. "Don't care."

If he's planning on hesitating, you don't give him a chance. With a grab at the hand still at your waist, you clench around his cock. A real, true moan rips from his vocalizer and all caution is thrown to the wind. He holds your ass up off the slanted mattress with one hand, keeps you so perfectly stabilized as he ruts into you. Any semblance of order or careful intent is lost; the instinctual chase of pleasure has taken both of you. All you can do is lock your legs behind his thin waist and ride out each thrust, rising to meet him where you can. So hard and quick you can barely keep up with his pace, leaving you squirming beneath him, twisting your fingers into your hair as the heat rises again.

Your mind narrows down to a point, "Please, please- don't stop, fuck- Ramattra-"

Another groan from his throat and he grabs your waist with both hands. No longer just thrusting- he's all but pulling you up off the floor, spearing you onto himself over and over. He uses you like an oversized toy, fucking into you with abandon. And you hadn't even realized just how large his hands were. His thumb reaches right across your thigh, parts your lips to press against your clit. He strokes in time with his hips- and you're gone.

With him supporting most of your weight, you arch into the air- and clench down on him hard. Something in his throat pops before a groan cuts in. He doesn't stop moving, even as your walls flutter around him, as your voice goes hoarse. One hand leaves your hips- and something flutters down across one shoulder. You fight against the waves of ecstasy- each crashing over you, drowning out your senses in liquid pleasure- just enough to crack your eyes open as he peaks.

His body freezes, joints twitching out of sync, fragments of uncommanded movements while his voice breaks, a harsh tone pouring out before it clicks off entirely. You squeeze around him again- launching another wave for yourself- and above you, Ramattra's lights flicker, twinkle like stars- and then turn off. Offlined. Good. You join him shortly, closing your eyes and surrendering to the pleasant warmth that surrounds you.

When you wake again, you're right-side up. It takes a series of barely-coordinated blinks to clear your vision. It's somehow more disorienting than having been nearly upside-down to begin with. More so, you're not in your bed. No, you're wrapped up in your sheets, but you're firmly in Ramattra's lap- who has ended up sitting cross-legged next to the remains of your bed frame. It's... surprisingly cozy. The sheets soften up the hardest angles of his body and keep you warm while his frame regulates itself back to its usual cool temperatures.

"My apologies," He says in lieu of greeting. "It seemed impertinent to leave you... there."

From the forty-five degree angle of your mattress and how it's squished up against the wall. A white dust has spilled over your pillows- and it takes you much too long to piece together the Ramattra-fist-sized hole in your drywall. A tentative touch to your hair confirms flecks of paint and plaster. Yeah. You could imagine you probably didn't look very comfortable.

"Thanks," is what you try to say, but it comes out a rough rasp. You swallow several times to ease the dryness in your throat, but Ramattra seems to hum in appreciation. In all fairness, you had been all but screaming his name. A noble way to lose your voice. "Thanks," and this time, it sounds human enough.

"And I am sorry for damaging your quarters." He modulated a noise not unlike clearing his throat. "I may have gotten carried away."

You can only grin and slur your words. "S'okay, it's all cheap 'n Talon maintenance is fast." Honestly, it’s a compliment. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey. Who else can say they made the leader of Null Sector cum so hard he dug his fingers into your literal wall and shut down? You shift in his lap, lay your head more comfortably against his shoulder. When you settle, he holds you closer. "Benefits of no questions asked type of work." Once more his only reply is a quiet hum of acknowledgement. It's an easy silence- save for the quiet whirr of Ramattra's fans, which have returned to their normal pace. Only when you absolutely need to know do you risk asking, "Can you stay? For a bit longer?"

He pauses, considers the question. He shouldn’t, truthfully. This excursion has already gone well past what he had planned for. But there’s something nagging at his logic circuits, the same little impulse that had made him fall at your command. It had saved his life before- and gotten him here. When has he ever been able to deny himself his curiosities?

"Yes. I have time." He says and pulls you closer to him still, until he can feel every rise and fall of your chest, despite the blanket between your bodies. Internally, he sends a message that he'll be unavailable for a debrief with Akande.

This time, it's you that hums as you bury your face into the pistons of his neck and close your eyes.

-----

Sequel

#ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #ramattra #overwatch #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader

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