#and they WILL expect compliments tyvm

[byanyan]

if byan has your phone number, you will find yourself receiving way more selfies than you want

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this. 

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same. 

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it. 

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction? 

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet. 

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner. 

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party. 

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten. 

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again." 

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him. 

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins. 

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks. 

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them. 

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did." 

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.” 

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything —  is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting. 

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers. 

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient. 

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still. 

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in. 

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him. 

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

[niobiumao3]

For the "unrequited" mention go to 52:30 in this video, that is exactly what Dee said!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=62I-tOryz1s

Ah ha, thank you anon!! This is precisely what I wanted.

Full text transcription for those interested, since I can't seem to find it actually placed anywhere else.

"But on a happier note, let's talk about some of your favorite moments."

[...]

"Something I've gotta hilight that I find very charming is Phee's and Tech's negotiation, of what's going on between them. And it's interesting because a typical relationship that you see in a story, a movie, a play, a television show, it plays out in an expected way, but their sort of tentative, yet ongoing, unrequited relationship, there's a sweetness to it, and it's very interesting and unusual, because of how they compliment each other. I mean some people are very drawn to each other because they're very similar in a lot of ways, and these two are about as different in terms of how they negotiate reality and the world as can be, and yet there's something there, and it's uh, and I really enjoyed watching that kick along through Season 2."

A read of 'DBB says Tech's not into her' is ignoring close to 80% of his response, also, the context of what he's saying. He's specifically hilighting it as something which was a favorite moment. Why would he hilight it as something he liked and enjoyed if it's one-sided and Tech isn't on board? That really doesn't make sense to me taken in with his entire reply and the question leading up to it.

Obviously folks may or may not agree with me on that. IMO, this sounds way more like 'there is a maybe thing going on which is sweet and I liked it'. If people wanna boil this down to 'DBB said it's not real therefor' then, you know, okay. I think that's probably cherrypicking since it doesn't account for what he actually says about the interaction.

So tyvm again anon this is what I was trying to find and could NOT anywhere. I'm very grateful for the whole context and not one word out of literally 2 minutes of him talking, which is all anyone wants to bandy about.

[alberivh]

houesewives / househusband hc’s + Xiao+ Albedo + Kaeya + Diluc

SCREAMS INCOHERENT SCREAMING HEAD IN HANDDS

househusband headcannons! <3 pt.1

diluc , kaeya (seperate) x gn!reader (for diluc’s part, there would be scriptwriter readers and roleplays)

a/n : this is a pure fluff headcannons of genshin characters as househusband, there would be many cussing here so be prepared. i don’t have the energy to make one shot so accept this love xoxo AND THANK YOU VERY MUCH MIKA FOR REQUESTING THIS!! (I’ll make the other character in the next part since i have a very short time to do all of this; tyvm once again!)

Kaeya is a fucking menace. a househusband and a menace to your own household. This man could literally tease you as if his wrist were broken after cooking or running house errands so he could get some cuddles or help from you. It would immediately panicked you, but seeing you so worked up make kaeya concerned.

“dear, dear..why are you panicking? I was just joking..” picking up the bandages and medication supplies that you almost throw to his face, you exhale a deep breath before you cuss out his name. Kaeya fucking alberich, you bastard. he already ran away btw, so you miss your chance to throw the bandages into his smug ass face.

aside from getting you irritated, his wonderful cooking would make you forgive him in any second. He is a good chef, even better than his own brother to be specific. But this man could make you feel as if you’re going to be poisoned, because how unusual his food decoration is. It’s beautiful indeed but why does it look so..realistic?

He packs your lunch with love, no to be specific, questions. Kaeya would cooked you steak for lunch and goulash for the night…? You might questioned it but really, his unpredictable nature are the reason why’d you married him in the first place. Even sometimes, he would cooked you hashbrown for lunch and a classic inazuman’s delicacy, onigiri’s for the night. But really, if i have to say, the taste of his creations never failed to make you satisfied for the whole day.

His brain malfunctions at cleaning. He could clean basic household stuff and such. but sometimes, he uses the dish soap to clean the floor because he couldn’t found any difference between the smell nor the ingredients of both of the soaps. But don’t worry, after you lectured him, he’ll be more aware of this, or so you think..kaeya still needs your help at this subject, so please help him before he destruct your own resident.

at your birthday / marriage anniversary he’ll buy you plushies and treat you to a fancy dinner. He would teased you and showered you with compliment, you probably get home with a very radiant soft blush on your cheeks or messy hair because of kaeya’s headpat.

“your hair is very beautiful tonight darling…mind your husband destruct it?”

“No please don’t kaeya, it’s been 3 years since we’re married don’t y—“ and yeah, he did it. But don’t worry he’ll repay his apology with sweet kisses, so even if your hair looked messy your glance would always be neat as possible because of kaeya’s lingering sweetness. You turn into a flustering mess and kaeya…yeah he just laugh it off.

although, kaeya is a very kindhearted husband. If you need any help, you could rely on him. If you need a shoulder to cry, you could laid your head on his wide shoulders. And if you drown to a sudden exhaustion, don’t worry, kaeya is here to soothes you to rest. He assures your protection to be his number one priority. You are everything to him after all, he couldn’t bare to see you sick nor exhausted that would be horrendous.

Diluc would be the gentleman type of househusband, A literall polar-opposite to his brother, Kaeya. If he wants you to help him with errands or cooking he would do some sort of persuasions and as he expected, you would do it without any sort of hesitation. It’s a fair share of works after all, why’d won’t you do it anyways?

“It has been a while since i saw you cook..why won’t you try it just for this night?” , he pleaded to your ears. It tickles your fancy and flustering cheeks to a mess. Knowing if you stayed would just make your blush look more like a fresh apple near the winery state. He would ask if you need help or such, but maybe treating him for once would be great, so you decided to let him rest for a while, waiting for his treat to be cooked. Diluc is already a great househusband to begin with, so treating him with his favorite food and his lover cooking wouldn’t be much of a pain.

at your early marriage months, diluc is..very not so conducive with his now life. From a bachelor to a househusband, a whole new twist on his life. Actually, diluc is kind of a mess at cooking, so he needs you to teach him some of the basic to make the kitchen more in a manners instead of a mess. His creation are really good..but sometimes, it take him for about 2 hours to finish such a delicacy which you found to be not-so-efficient. Obviously, you still eat his food, lecturing him would be a waste if the food get cold sooner or after.

He’s a fast learner, so don’t worry. If you lectured him once, then there would be no mess for the second trials. He would learn about cleaning, house errands, and how to take care of his sweetheart gardens of flowers before he even proposed to you. Better be prepared for the future y’know, he told you.

He would give you tons of cuddles everytime you comeback late. If kaeya gives you kisses then, diluc gives you embracements and words of affirmation. He loved it whenever you reply back with kisses or simple words like ‘i love you’ . It’s enough for him to be happy. If you’re really tired and ended up sleeping in the dinner table, he would carry you to bed and sleep with you by snuggling his face to your chest. A habbit which diluc wouldn’t bare to change for the better.

Diluc has always lend you his jacket ever since he became a househusband and whenever you went to work. It’s not because he had no chance to accompany you to work, no..he just wanted to be cocky for once and it’s the only way for you to be protected. His jacket are known by the treasure hoarders, known to be the once darknight hero attire. He also wants the folks of monstadt knew who’d you belong to and why is it diluc ragnvindr? Donna who saw this almost fainted to the ground, but flora immediatly closed her eyes as soon as possible. “Use the jacket, they know who you belong to..always.”

EXTRA :: Diluc loves it when he had the chance to play with you aside from your work as a scriptwriter. Not to be a child-again or anything, he would just want you to be on his side. If you were in the mood to roleplay as a noble then he would be your servant. No fuck i mean, butler! The reason he thinks it nice to be a butler is the way they act so formally yet so elegant. Diluc has always been impressed with his butlers since he was a kid. So he always try to impress himself by acting the way they are. His acting are actually quite amazing, you who only watch the actors performance from your script are none to diluc’s play.

TAGLIST : @mika-zuko , @zierx, @childeluv @urujiako , @chichikoi , @noirkkat

i love butler!diluc so much, in fact i still have another version of this brainrot

[isk4649]

Chapter 1. Wed, May 19 and Thu, May 20: Yokosuka U.S. Naval Base Barracks (米海軍横須賀基地兵舎)

First chapter of Where the Waves Crest (波の上り詰める所)!!!

Chapters: 1/19

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings.

Relationships: Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford

Characters: Cullen Rutherford, Male Trevelyan (Dragon Age), Josephine Montilyet, Rosalie Rutherford, Mia Rutherford, Sera (Dragon Age), Blackwall (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras, Rylen (Dragon Age).

Additional Tags: Bisexual Cullen Rutherford, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Japan, Tokyo (City), Fluff, Angst, Healthy Relationships, Slice of Life, Smut, Gay Sex

Summary:

“You know, I’d given up on you. You texted me to check if I got in okay, and then nothing.”

“You could’ve texted too.”

“I didn’t think you liked me.”

Stationed in Japan, Cullen Rutherford is a lonely American enlisted sailor living in Yokosuka barracks. Tharin Trevelyan is a gregarious English teacher in the neighboring Kawasaki. One chance online encounter leads to many adventures in and around Tokyo, bringing the two men closer. But will they let this develop into a lasting relationship, or will they resign themselves to their many differences as well as the limit of their time in Japan?

I’m excited. Are you excited?

A snippet from the first chapter below.

Cullen couldn’t come clean about the fact that he was rapidly flipping between two tabs, repeatedly going back to ogle at the larger size of Tharin’s profile pic. The last thing he wanted was to come across as a creep. Yet, he had to admit to himself that he was mesmerized by the young man. Enough to attempt to flirt, a natural conclusion point.

yokosuka_c_guy: Hey, at least you have a real nice profile pic. You really do look great in it.

quizzy1203: Aww, tyvm. So do you. I’m sure scammers the world over are dying to pretend to be you on the Interweb.

It wasn’t entirely clear whether Tharin got the message. Still, getting a compliment from the young man, even if jokey, was enthralling.

As the chat progressed, Cullen found himself increasingly antsy with anticipation. It wasn’t at all like him to be antsy about something, let alone someone. But there he was, antsy, nonetheless. Eventually, he brought up the subject of dating in the most nonchalant way he could, hoping to glean what Tharin’s preferences were.

yokosuka_c_guy: I’ve seen one sailor date a Japanese girl so he could practice Japanese. So… how bad is it to date someone just to improve your language skills?

quizzy1203: Uh… I’d say, really bad? I wouldn’t know. Does that happen often?

yokosuka_c_guy: That guy is an outlier. Most people don’t care enough to make an effort to learn Japanese. They expect the Japanese to speak English.

quizzy1203: Ugh, that’s just shitty. I should commend you for joining a language exchange site, then, haha.

yokosuka_c_guy: Hey, who says I didn’t join just to find dates?

quizzy1203: Lol, true that.

There was a sudden lull. Messages stopped. Cullen waited for half a minute, but nothing new came. Feeling stuck, he rested his chin on the palm of his left hand and tapped his right forefinger on the laptop. He felt the bristles of his stubble grate against his skin.

Tharin did not seem to catch on to the fact that Cullen was driving the conversation toward the subject of dating. Or if he did, he was ignoring it. Cullen decided to press on gingerly, hoping Tharin would notice and not notice all at the same time.

yokosuka_c_guy: I mean, I suppose you date someone for different reasons. But dating to practice your Japanese seems a little dubious. Not that YOU would need to do that. I bet you don’t need to date anyone for that, if you’re dating someone.

Barring his spelling out his intention directly, Cullen could not have been more obvious. Fortunately, the response was quick.

quizzy1203: Haha, nope. I don’t need to, and I wouldn’t. And no, I’m single. Let’s see… The last time I was with someone was back in America. So, a year ago.

It was as if Cullen managed to pry open the door to a secret treasure trove. But he realized he had better suppress the urge to inquire for more details. He could come off as boorish.

yokosuka_c_guy: Oh, yeah?

Yet Tharin was generous enough to provide the details right away.

quizzy1203: Yeah. I broke up with a guy named Dorian before I left for Japan. He was a nice dude too… Really funny and smart. But we both agreed, it was for the best.

Ah, so Tharin was gay, possibly bisexual like him. This excited Cullen more than it really ought to have. In fact, it excited him enough to try his hand at dropping more transparent hints.

[thotsforvillainrights]

May I get hcs for Overhaul w insecure s/o? You don't have to of corse tyvm

I dont have to? Baby, I want to! God, I love Overhaul😭❤❤❤

~Kai's Insecure S/O~

headcanon|scenario|imagine|match-up

-He doesnt want to admit it, but he's so confused. Underneath that stoic face of his is a very confused man. Insecure? Why??? You're not like that other trash on the street. You're not sick either, so why are you insecure? He let's you get close to him...touch him for God sakes! So it must not be his fault but still...why?

-Kai spends a week mulling over this, and he's not to happy about it at all. He can't really focus on his work all that well, until he finally had enough. He sighs, shuts down operations for a day, and goes to find you. When he does find you, you're probably minding your own business while doing some mundane task, blissfully unaware of how stressed you made him this week. He keeps his cool and mentally prepared himself before reaching out to touch your shoulder (with the gloves still on of course). "Y/N, I want to speak with you about something."

-So you've gotten up and followed him to your shared bedroom. Here he let's out all of what he's been trying to say about you for the past week. You explain to him that sometimes people can be insecure with themselves despite what others see in them, and that it's perfectly normal sometimes as long as it's not self deprecating constantly.

-That's not a good enough explanation for Kai.

-"Angel listen...you're absolutely perfect. Your pure from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. Your an ethereal goddess/god to me and to those around you. We're all just lucky to have you grace our presence on a daily basis so why should you feel any different about yourself? It's not fair angel, not one bit. From here on, I shall make it my personal mission to show you insecurity is not necessary here."

-From then on, Kai persistent in his ways. He has more mirrors put in the house so you have to look at yourself more often. He buys you so many outfits and nearly applauded every time you wear one. He compliments you a lot more now, and he expects the others to do the same as well. He takes more pictures of you than anything, and will place them in your photo albums with kind words written on the sides of them. He works hard in the hope to wipe your insecurity clean.

[royalbluehues]

Cognitive Fidelity

A/N: Hey, it’s your girl, back at it with another Connor fic. It’s loosely based on Westworld when they make the droids go through interrogation and tests for accuracy. Honest to God, I hope that it’s not too confusing for you guys; if it is lmk asap.

 For those nerds out there that are like me and enjoy listening to instrumental music to get the full 200% experience, here is the very song I based all of this off of: This World

Feedback would be gr8- lmk if you want to be tagged in anymore of my Connor fics in my ask or comments. 

I am taking in requests at the moment, if that tickles your fancy. 

As always, hit that heart button to let me know I’m not doing a crappy job. Tyvm, and happy reading :)

Title: Cognitive Fidelity

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings: Nudity

Pairings: Connor x Reader

Disclaimer: This is set pre-everything. This Connor is a prototype to the ‘real’ prototype. The time this takes pace is a year before Kamski leaves CyberLife in 2028. Connor is just an idea, because figuring out and engineering something is a constant cycle of fixing and implementing.

You are born.

“Can you hear me?”

Your eyelashes bat softly against your cheeks, the movement similar to how a butterfly would expand its wings after having landed.

Your lips move a fraction, the movement stiff and unnatural; your eyes open fully now, and above you are blinding lights that are shaped octagonally. They are shining down on you, and you tilt your head to the left, aware of the feeling of hair touching your shoulder.

Everything was so white and pristine- and when your eyes shifted away from the lights, you could see small molecules of aerosols of dust reflecting from the light around you.

“I’ve had her stored away for a while now,” the same voice says, a fondness ringing out in the last rise of each word.  

The eyebrows furrow, and you turn your head to the left, where the voice is coming from. It’s male and it sounds slightly nasally and rough. There, sitting at desk is a man, typing furiously on a laser keyboard. His glasses are perched on his nose, and part of his hair is pulled into a bun in the back.

Next to him is another male. Although, oddly enough, you knew he wasn’t like the other man with the glasses.

He was standing, and his eyes were observing you with curiosity, brown eyes staring into yours. He, too, tilts his head just slightly.

You blink.

Once, twice. The corners of your mouth move up in a friendly smile, “Hello.”

Your voice is light, and it’s wonderful to hear on ears- it’s light and amiable.

The man with the glasses looks up from his typing, gray eyes planting on you. The man pushes his chair back, and he uses his feet to shuffle towards you. You watch him with curiosity as he comes face to face with you.

The man behind him is still silent and is still watching you.

You push off on the table you are lying upon, and a message pops up in your vision. “Aluminum alloy,” you say automatically, your eyes flickering down to the table. It’s a metallic gray, and you register it to be sixty five degrees fahrenheit, or as the metric system calls for, eighteen degrees celsius.

“Very good,” The man praises, all the while smiling, “Do you know where you are, honey?”

You tilt your head again in the other direction. Your eyes flicker about you, transparent floor to ceiling walls with a stark white back wall. You were in a 10ft x 6in room, with a 25 foot depth. Where the man had been sitting, monstrous electronics sat- like the room, they were sleek and a pure white. A logo ran along the backs of the monitors, and it reads CyberLife.

You could hear so many things: the whirring of machines just seven feet away, the beeping of a motor, the humming from the lights above, across the way somewhere, the lever of a coffee machine being pushed down on, and- the most fascinating thing, you decided- was the slow and rhythmic breathing of the man in front of you.

“I am in a laboratory at CyberLife Tower.” You say calmly, as you train eyes with the gray-eyed man. Your hands fold on your lap, “Who are you?”

A simple question.

“I’m Elijah Kamski.”

“Elijah,” you repeated slowly. Such an odd name, you think, and within less than a second, you begin to spew out information. “Elijah was a prophet. He is mentioned in the Book of Kings. He lived in a northern kingdom of Israel,” you say instinctively, watching as gray eyes look on in approval, “and he was said to have lived circa 9th century BC.”

“Very good,” Elijah repeated, gray eyes urging you to continue. So you did.

“You were born on the 27 of July in 2002, and graduated school early with an IQ of 171. You attended the University of Colbridge under the mentorship of Professor Amanda Stern. You founded CyberLife when you were just sixteen.” Your lips move as a rapid pace as you speak, “You are currently twenty seven years of age.”

Elijah nodded, his hand raising to let it hover under his nose as he leaned back into his chair.

“Who am I?” You ask suddenly, and you hear the man who is still standing shift in his stance.

Elijah says a name- your name.

You blink again, and then you repeat it. It tastes wonderful on your lips- and you enjoy the way your mouth moves when you push out each syllable. It gives you an odd satisfaction, almost making you feel honored to have something that personally belonged to you.

You pull up a search engine as you say it again, results telling you the origin of your name: mentions, other females that have the same name, social media posts containing it, the Latin and Greek root, the pronunciation, and variations if it.

You dart your eyes to the brown haired man that was watching you with interest. “You are Connor.”

He didn’t reply, but you noticed that on the side of his head was an indentation of a circle, and it contained a light. It was turning, once, three times. “You are an android.”

He wore black suit bottoms and a button down shirt; on the left side, right where his heart would be had he been human, a blue, glowing triangle was stitched expertly. The same illuminated color fell just above his right elbow in a band of some sort.

Something deep in your mind was itching at you, “Have we met before?”

His LED light turned once more, flicking to a red color before it changed to blue. Then, he spoke. “No, we haven’t.”

His voice was smooth and clear, almost honey-like, but with an edge. “We haven’t?” Your voice drips into disappointment, but he doesn’t say anymore- his body manner speaking volumes of his hesitance. He seems too familiar.

You were unaware of the fact that you were bare; not a single stitch of clothing covering your modesty. Though, many would argue and say that you did not have modesty; for you were a machine, and machines do not feel anything- shame, least of all.

You turn towards Elijah and quietly wait until he asks you a question. He had been watching the small interaction, completely immersed and making mental notes of how well your communication had evolved- as if you had a mind of your own.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she Connor?” Elijah complimented, rubbing small circles into his right cheek with his thumb.

“She’s very pretty,” Connor confirms, voice sincere.

You look at the android looming in the room, his presence bringing you an odd comfort, “Thank you,” you reply indifferently, the compliment not affecting you in any way. You blink a few times, and your brows furrow for a second time in the duration of your conversation.

Elijah is still watching you intently, his steely gray eyes following you small movements on your artificially constructed face. “Do you have a question?”

“Yes,” you answer truthfully quick.  Elijah nods, motioning you to speak. “You mentioned that you had me stored away for some time. What do you mean by that?”

Elijah was expecting this, and he gave you a small smile. “You were my first creation,” He shifts in his chair crossing his legs, the expensive fabric of his pants rustling as he did so, “my golden child of sorts.”

Your mouth opens to form a little ‘o’, “Am I an android as well? Like Connor?” You looked at Connor when you said this, the familiarity of him not having been shaken.

Elijah nods, “You are.”

You suddenly need to know more, questions popping in your mind second after second. “When was I created?”

“Shortly after I moved to Detroit. So sometime around 2019,” he explained, “but all you ever been has been a prototype to what inventions followed after you.”

“Oh.” You frown, “But why did you put me away?”

“You were originally made for a domestic lifestyle. A sort of 1950s housewife. You were a shock to the world- after all, you were the first AI bot that moved and spoke fluidly, like your human counterpart,” Elijah then sighs, “but you still had many technicalities embedded in you. By this time we were already working on other projects, other androids that were better.”

Your face falls and eyes narrow as he tells you this.

Elijah moistens his cracked lips with his tongue, “Don’t take it so personal, sweetheart. Things evolve. You were a sensation- the reason why CyberLife is here today. You have had a wonderful purpose in this world.”

This world. You smile once more, “Yes, I suppose you are right. Everybody has a wonderful purpose in this world.”

Elijah cocks his head to the side, never taking his eyes off you, “Come here, Connor.” The male android saunters forward immediately after the demand falls from Elijah’s lips. “This is all so interesting- I can’t believe I never thought of doing this before,” Elijah tells no one in particular.

“Of what?” Connor asks in a tone of suspicion, forcing you to wonder if Connor’s questions were multiplying in a rapid rate as yours were.

Elijah’s hand moves back and forth between the two of you, “You see,” he begins, standing from his chair as he walks to the monitors to retrieve a tablet, “Connor here is a prototype to a prototype we’re currently on,” he directs this comment to you now.

“Like how I am?” You inquire, feeling the cool air conditioning on your skin.

Elijah smirks down at his device, “Something like that.” As he scrolls on, you and Connor are practically having a robotic stare down, neither of you blinking or moving- the scene would have been easily unsettling had others besides the three of you been in the room.

“As I was saying, I was experimenting around with Connor’s initial program, and I wanted him to have a main drive, a sort of focal point. A ‘cornerstone’, if you will.”

Connor pertained handsome features, and you gazed upon him with wonder. He was tall and slim, his skin tone a blend of ivory with a rosy undertone, a strong jaw with a straight nose, rounded eyebrows with observant brown eyes. He had tawny freckles that littered around his face, some dark while others were faded. His rich brown hair is parted to the left side, and you couldn’t help but feel adoration for the small piece of hair that hangs loose on his forehead.

I know you, you thought quietly.

Elijah continued- “Other models have basic functions- theirs mainly pertaining to their work and civil duties… mundane drives. But I never once thought to insert a drive with an emotional setting.” He sets his tablet down on his lap, “The familiarity you are both feeling isn’t something you should be afraid of.”

You want to reach out and touch Connor, the urge to feel his skin on yours becoming slightly overwhelming.

cor·ner·stone

/ˈkôrnərˌstōn/

noun

1. an important quality or feature on which a particular thing depends or is based.

"a national minimum wage remained the cornerstone of policy"

Synonyms-

foundation, basis, keystone, mainspring, mainstay, linchpin, bedrock, base, backbone, key, centerpiece, core, heart, center, crux

"trust is a cornerstone of human relations"

“Is Connor my cornerstone?” You ask the question and your tone is laced with awe, so you reach out to indulge yourself. You raise your bare arm, and it’s the first time you see your skin tone, so different compared to his, the undertones altered. Your hand comes to lay on the left side of his chest, and beneath your fingertips, you could feel the rapid pump of his regulator.

Connor is frozen while watching you, his indicator displaying blood red, while yours is a burning yellow. He could feel the sensation of your hand against his chest, the small pressure. Everything about you was so small compared to him; he was sharp and jagged, while you were soft and delicate.

“Yes and no.” Elijah replies to you, and Connor could hear the grin on him. Connor’s eyes traveled to your loose hair, how it was parted perfectly down the middle and how it curled sightly at the ends. Your skin was free of any blemishes, not a single mark on you, as if you were  brand new.

“Like I said before, you were my first. I never thought of programming you with sentimental values. And to clarify some things, I never put you away for a long period of time. I take you out periodically and reprogram you- see if I can alter what is already set into you. And I have.” You turn your head a small degree in wonder, ears listening to the man beside you as your eyes burn into the brown ones in front of you. “But to answer your question, yes, Connor is your cornerstone, just as you are Connor’s. He just wasn’t yours in the beginning.”

Elijah is watching the gears turn in Connor head, the tablet revealing lines of code and the thought process in him.

“When we finally constructed you, Connor, I was hit with a sort of… nostalgia, for lack of a better word. You are CyberLife’s newest idea, and it made me remember who started it all in the beginning. I made sure to slip this small code in when no one was looking- make you feel something, other than your fucking love to your work, something that drives you other than your missions.”

Elijah then walks out the room, his presence leaving not striking any warning messages. You don’t even care, because you are too focused of the male standing in front of you.

Your eyes look down at his hands, and with your free hand, you reach down to take his in yours. You raise it so that his hand cups your cheek, and you appreciate the feel of his cold skin against your cold skin. You practically nuzzle into his hand, so much so that you turn your head to give the heel of his palm a small kiss.

His LED light is still red, and his lips are pressed into a tight line, so many emotions flashing into his eyes: confusion, fondness, anger, denial.

You smile lovely at him, “You are meant to have a wonderful purpose in this world, Connor.”

Connor cannot speak. He can only think, think and deny what you are, you are an android constructed to look and speak like a female. You are an android, made with the same parts like him. Nothing more, nothing less.

But why did he feel a stir of something foreign resonate deep within him?

He only had one primary directive and that was to be successful in whatever mission is presented to him.

But you have no mission at the moment, a voice tell him, and he pushes it away.

Elijah returns, and the glass door he pushes on to enter hisses as it slowly returns back to its place as it shuts behind him. He moves to stand next to you, and in his hand is a gun. He offers the black handle to Connor.

Connor’s eyes look up at Kamski in question, but doesn’t vocalize it. He tears his hand away from your cheek, and takes the weapon into his hand. He steps back from you, the small pressure on his chest escaping as he does so, and he can finally breathe.

Being around you, he decided, was suffocating. The heavy object in his hand is comfortable, much more to his preference. “Today, we will be testing your cognitive fidelity, Connor.”

Connor looks at you. You are watching him with an emotion no one has ever looked at him with. The moment he had been awoken from his eternal slumber, he found men and woman in lab coats to be taking down notes with disinterest in their eyes, marking off boxes on their clipboards as they had him perform mediocre tasks.

You are looking at him with affection, love pouring out of your eyes as a smile graces your lips. The image before him reminds him of a painting, and the very painting pops into his vision.

The Birth of Venus, the title reads.

There, Venus is unclothed, her arms laying delicately over her breasts and genitals. She was born, and Connor couldn’t help but compare you to her, because in some twisted and cruel way, you were just born too.

“I want to test and see if the code has worked at all; make you something other than the obedient machine that you are, Connor. Make infatuation happen between the oldest and the newest androids.” Kamski scoffs at his own words, “Poetic, if I say so myself.”

Elijah settles into his chair once more, but his time, he rolls back, placing space between the two of you and himself. “Shoot her, Connor.”

Connor is blinking, and he can easily pull the trigger if he applies just the slightest pressure. But he can’t.

Not while you are gazing upon him like if he were some god.

When the words pass Elijah’s lips, your smile falters, and now a warning blares in front of your vision as you watch Connor step back and aim towards you, the inside of the barrel of the gun greeting you.

You are scared, and a bitter taste stretches into your mouth at the thought.

But then, when you meet Connor’s eyes once again, and you lose all sense of worry. You just feel him. And he is your home.

You ignore the weapon that he is pointing at you, and your faltered smile is brought back to life once more.

You love him.

You love him, and you don’t care if it was some sort of code that was imbedded in you for a guinea pig experiment. All you care for is Connor.

And while the weight of Elijah’s order hangs heavy in the room, while Connor’s LED is flashing a rapid yellow and red, you open your mouth to speak. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Connor is staring straight at you, watching as you move to stand. Your body was perfectly crafted, moving whimsically as you beelined straight to him- pushing the outstretched hand away. Your face is calm and hopeful. “We have a purpose in this world, and I think that is beautiful. Completely different purposes- and yet, we are anchored to one another. It’s in your backstory like its in mine,” your face leans into his, and Connor’s lips twitch upward in recoil.

You ignore this though, because if you could feel this much love for him, you knew that he must feel the same towards you. You press your chest up to his, ignoring the looming presence in the corner.

Connor is stiff and unresponsive, but the allure of your lips call to him, and he slowly, slowly leans into you and presses his thin lips to yours.

If he were human, he would have sighed into your mouth. He feels the way your nose softly bumps into his, and he closes his eyes. He leans into your touch, the hand that hold the gun falls lax and he moves it to rest on your bare hip.

He could feel gray eyes on him, and that was when he stiffened once more. Shoot her.

You feel as he once again stiffens, but you ignore it. You move your lips on his despite his being unresponsive unlike the way they were mere seconds ago. You allow each faux human emotion within you to pour out on your lips.

You are unaware of the feeling of cold metal angling on your side, completely engrossed with the feeling of sensation.

Elijah looks down at his tablet, and is disappointed when the sound of the gun goes off. He sighs as he takes off his glasses, folding them and placing them into his breast pocket.

He looks up to find Connor enveloping you as you are limp in his arms. You are crying, and blue blood ribbons down your bare thighs.

Connor’s face is stony, but he still raises a hand to stroke the side of your face. His jaw is clenched tightly.

You feel fingers lightly touching your cheek, “This world is beautiful,” you choke out, a bit of blue blood dribbling from the corner of your mouth, “and I am grateful I’ve gotten to meet you.”

You are still looking at him as if he were the light of the world, intimacy Elijah has never seen before. Connor’s face is apathetic, his mouth opening a fraction to say something- anything, and when he does, Elijah just shakes his head in deeper disappointment.

“We are machines,” he tell you, “and we are incapable of feeling.”

You smile sadly, raising a shaky hand up to touch the small wisp of hair that frames his face, “I think I love you,” you whisper, telling him and only him, because it is just you and Connor, and nothing else. “I think I love you,” you repeat to him solemnly, louder this time, “and it terrifies me.”

Lifeless eyes stare up at him. He lets you go, allowing your body to crash with the pristine floor as he steps away from you.

Mission Successful, a message tell him.

He looks to Elijah, and all Elijah sees is a ruthless machine that is stained with blue blood. “I’ll call someone to clean this up.” Gray eyes peer down at your naked and bleeding form, “You frighten me at times, Connor.”

“You do not need to fear me, Elijah. I am not programmed to hurt anyone without a given motive.” The color of his indicator is a steady blue.

Elijah shakes his head in disagreement, toeing the side of your body, his voice venomous. “You are everything that is wrong with this fucking company.” He looks up at Connor, “Pull up your analysis and delete this meeting in your log.”

Connor stares off into space, and after two whole minutes, he blinks. Brown eyes meet gray eyes, “Hello, Mr. Kamski.”

Elijah nods, breathing in deeply as if this has happened many times before. “What happened in the last half hour, Connor?”

Connor’s LED light flashes yellow and then black to blue, “I’m afraid I do not know.”

“Are you lying to me?” Elijah questions, a dark brow rising.

Connor blinks and responds automatically, “No. I am programmed to answer truthfully.” Your eyes are still planted on him, glassy and lifeless, but Connor does not look down at you whatsoever, completely ignoring you, in fact.

“Return to your part of the building. I’ll have someone send you over when I’ve constructed her again. We’ll have another go Friday.”

Elijah turns to draw one single line on a paper, and it is littered with tally marks- a total of six altogether.

Connor obeys and leaves the room, thinking nothing of the odd statement. But distant words echo in his mind as he does so, and they are not his.

They are female, light and amiable.

This world

It is a resounding chant that does not leave his head, and Connor did two self diagnostics to see where it was coming from, but he doesn’t find anything.

He enters an empty and dark laboratory, walking up a raised pedestal and sits on the metallic chair that faces the glass doors.

</”SHUTDOWN.exe”?>

He slowly feels his bio-components whirring off, and he could feel the slowing down of his thirium pump heart regulator.

This world, the female voice tells him as if she were whispering it into his ear as he nears the end, is beautiful.

Phantom lips press on his as his eyelids close and dark surrounds him.

He is dead.

Part 2

Masterlist

Tags: @superanonymousreader 

[utopianvoices]

love languages | stray kids

↭ a/n: this is based purely on my opinion and perspective of them!!

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

chan

from what we see every vlive

his top love language will be physical touch 

he’ll come back from a long day at the studio or from practice

and he’ll just collapse on you

in need for cuddles

and just physical contact in general

whatever you and him do, there will be SOME physical contact 

brushing of hands, holding hands, his hand on your back, small pecks in between conversations, linking of pinkies ((this actually makes me so soft asdkfjaskf))

you name it and it’ll be there tbh

that being said, however, he’ll really respect your space 

so one word from you and he’ll be on the other side of the room

but you won’t miss the pouty lips he was sporting

but also lets be real who doesn’t want to cuddle him

we know he’s a great cook 

but loves it so much when you cook for him

because then he can back hug you and be that cute couple everybody cringes at but also secretly wishes that they also had that

loves winters only because he gets to cuddle you all night long without getting sweaty and shit 

also strikes me as the person who loves eskimo kisses asdlfgska; someone stop me im gonna combust from all this fluff

just give this boy all the love in the world asdfkdsjagl ;-;

woojin

oK this boy is cuddle king #2

its already established that he’s a cuddly bear

but i feel like he’s more of a words of affirmation type of person

he’s cuddly in the sense that he’ll be all up for cuddles and physical affection

but wouldn’t be as needy for it as chan

simple words can make his day

whether you say you love him 

or just things to compliment him in general

because he can get insecure sometimes

thinking that those around him are better and that he’s just not good enough to be doing what he’s doing

so your words to comfort and assure him would mean a lot to him

a “you’re doing great” 

or “that sounded amazing” when he just sang something

can 180 flip his day around SaKDa DwIJIbONa eY yO

someone take the internet away from me

like he could be having the most tiring day with nonstop practising and what not

but the moment you say these things

he just grins like the cheshire cat and collects you in a hug

thats uwujin for you

minho (lee know)

this bOi

oh snap

physical touch for days

like

okay he is soft yeS

buT

HE IS ALSO 

not soft

did you see that miguk chum (american/western dance) on asc

minhoe be going all out

bUT FOR THE SAKE OF MY HEART ILL KEEP THIS AS SOFT AS I CAN

okay hear me out on this but he just seems like a tease yknow its like how he teases the members with food :’’)

like on normal days all he wants is to hug you but seeing you flustered is wayyy more amusing

so this is just him being a piece of shit when he teases you to no ends

like if you want to hug him he’ll just run away from you 

or if you want to kiss him he’s gonna tiptoe so that you cant reach him

and then when you’re done asf with him and walk away

he’s gonna swoop in and just smother you with love and affection

but i see him being a real softie whenever he’s tired

will be pretty whiny and clingy when all he wants to do it sleep

and you’re not gonna have the heart to tease him for all the times he did it to you

because he looks too tired and cute

so you’ll let him do what he wants without denying him of your attention

and he’s just gonna cuddle up to you and will probs be the little spoon ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

changbin

okay now we have the darkest member of sk

but also the aegyo king

this duality

smh

but yes getting onto business

i see him really valuing acts of services 

if you see him struggling with something

a simple “can i help” or “is there something i can do” will make his heart go boom boom

because although he knows you can’t really help when he’s stuck with composing or writing

the fact that you thought about him and are willingly asking to help will warm his heart

also loves it when you help him clean up or cook for him

although he feels really bad for making you do it

but deep down he’s just loving it

like all he’d want to do is go home and sleep but thinking about the mess in his room and his grumbling stomach will overpower any thoughts of sleep

when he reaches home, tho, his room is clean and there’s some tasty ass food on the table

and these are the times he just goes asdfldksjf and attacks you with all the hugs and kisses

but this doesn’t mean he takes advantage of you oh no

when you’re having a busy day and he’s at home

you’re gonna come home to a clean ass house, some takeout food and the smell of smoke coming from the kitchen

he tried his best to cook but clearly didn’t succeed

hyunjin

okay this was surprisingly the most difficult to write

because hyunjin is still a mystery

one moment he’s chic 

and the next he’s goofing around with the members

so i think with him it will really depend on the time of the day and his general mood

but mostly he will really value quality time with you

but physical touch will also play an important role in the relationship

rmb when he said that he loves woojin because woojin doesn’t reject his cuddles

my point proven ladies and gentlemen

he will always be touching you one way or another when ya’ll are together

because this boy just can’t get enough of you

loves it when you feed him because he is a sOft boi

his favourite is when you sit on the counter while feeding him and he just stands in between your legs

because then he can see you eye to eye

and just admire you

is the type to interrupt you in a conversation by giving you small pecks

because why not

but at the same time while these cutesy things happen

talking about yourselves will play a very important role to him

because then he will trust you more and open up more and more

which is the most important thing for a lasting relationship

so for this boy, quality time and physical touch will have to go hand in hand

can i get a hwang hyunjin for myself (ಥ﹏ಥ)

jisung (han)

this squirrel

will looooooooove receiving gifts 

not that it’s a necessity for him

like even if you don’t buy the gifts it’s fine

but it’s the thought behind the gift that gets him all feeling squishy and cheesy and all that mush

going back to my point of not buying the gift

he loves handmade gifts more than anything

even a simple message on a torn piece of post-it that has lost its stickiness will mean the world to him

especially when he hasn’t seen you in a long time

he will feel bad if you buy him expensive gifts all the time

because he feels like he should be the one spoiling you

but even if you buy him a rock and told him it reminded you of him

you best bet he’s going to worship that rock to the ends of the world

that’s just the kind of softie he is

loves it when you leave small letters around the house for him to find

the thrill of finding a letter that you put your thought into drives him crazy

will keep every single thing you give him in a memory box and will actually lock it because he doesn’t want the members ruining it 

not because he doesn’t want them to know about it

because trust me the moment you give him something he’s gonna be screaming about it for the next few days to the rest of stray kids

and they’re gonna call you crying asking you to shut him up

felix

this soft bub here deserves all the love in the world

all of them do

but like this boy strikes me as the type who just needs words of affirmation

like you know how he was beaming when jyp complimented him during the final mission on his korean

yes exactly

that’s how happy he gets

i feel like he will constantly need someone to remind him that he deserves everything he has and more

ofc he doesn’t expect you to be praising him non stop

but he appreciates constructive criticism more than just blatant rejection like how jyp did him dirty in ep 8

anyways

telling him that “it was really good but this part could’ve been better” and actually helping him get better will mean a lot to him

which also leads me to think that quality time will also be one of his top love languages

anyone who is willing to hype him up when he’s at his best but also spend time with him when he needs improving is someone he will appreciate for the rest of his life

also loves it when you send him soft messages at ass o’clock because he’ll wake up to your messages

and it’ll immediately make his day so much better

even if he has 10000 schedules that day

pls love him 

seungmin

seungmin strikes me as the type to be really practical about life

and just about the outlook of things

so any acts of service will be enough to get him going asdlfjksaksdljf

because i feel like he is the type to believe “actions speak louder than words”

so if you want to express your love for him, he would appreciate gestures that show your love rather than just you saying that you love him

he’ll never get tired of you asking him if he has eaten or if he has gotten to his destination safely 

because to him it shows that you love and care for him that you are willing to ask him these things

also like changbin, will love it if you help him out with his work

he doesn’t expect you to help him but will be extra extra grateful if you were to help him

especially when he doesn’t ask you to

like if he has a habit of leaving some things around and then forgetting where he put them

and you make an effort to remember this and maybe help him create a space where he can leave these things

this is the shit he signs up for

this shit right here

so if you wanna make your way into this squishy left cheeked boy’s heart, empty words are a no no

stop sleeping on this amazing snail tyvm this has been a psa

jeongin (i.n)

this busan baby that’s killing everyone 

it’s busan’s water i tell you

anyhoo

jeongin is still at an age where i think the maturity in terms of relationships really hasn’t kicked in 

because they’ve been practising for debut and stuff which makes me think he hasn’t had time to really experience the world of romance

so i think he will really love receiving gifts 

bcs he’s a baby

and which baby doesn’t like gifts

but also at the same time

i think he is someone who likes spending quality time > gifts

you know when you’re at that age where all you wanna do is be with your s/o all the time

yep that’s him

he wants to talk to you about his day, his worries, his dreams, this dog he saw on the road and just basically anything 

as long as you’re willing to share everything that happens with you as well

because you naturally form a deeper bond when you share these things

so after a day at practice he’ll come home and join you in front of the tv

but no one’s gonna be watching that shit

ya’ll will just talk about your day and everything that happened while the sound of the tv just serves as background music for your deep talks

also loves loves spending time singing karaoke with you

even if you sound like a dying whale

totally serenades you with trot songs

and it works

because how can you resist this cutie with his braces

∞ end ∞

[onlylivinboy]

Tag a quality booty! You’re it! Quality booty doesn’t mean that you have a big booty, or sexy booty. It means that your booty look nice, and you deserve to be happy. If you get this message, someone is telling you that they love ur booty as it is, and they don’t care how it look. Send this to 10 blogs who you think has a fine booty. If you break the chain, nothing will happen. But it’s just good to let someone know that you love their booty! ❤

hi i’m weeping    why is this so funny i wasn’t expecting 

thanks beb <3 (idk if this is IC or OOC but either way my booty will take this compliment straight to the bank tyvm)

[labelleizzy]

Compliments: giving, receiving, making an effort

Words are my stock-in-trade. I use them to make things and to explore the world. I go to them to learn and be comforted and to figure life, or pain, or puzzles out. I come from Livejournal/Dreamwidth, before Facebook, when words were always what you used to tell a writer you enjoyed, appreciated, or interacted with their work. This is well before the "like" functionality was implemented across the internet. Complimenting artists on their art, writers on their stories, wasn't something I could do, growing up pre Internet as I did. And it's thrilling as hell to be able to, like, tag @dduane and say, "thank you, your books helped me through a painful, awkward childhood where I frequently felt lonely and unloved, and I remember them fondly thirty years later." One of my favorite poets said she could live three weeks off a really good compliment and nothing else. :) Psychology has done studies on the need for praise and compliments in developing and maintaining a healthy emotional life. We need them, compliments and praise, but we shy away from giving them. Why is that? I have theories, but this isn't the place and time for that right now. Let me tell you a very short story instead. I dig tattoos, both in the same way that I love art generally, but in a deeper way too. I have several, am planning several more. Yesterday at the service center, the lovely young man who checked me in, very well mannered, had lovely forearm tattoos: greyscale roses twining around words. (I tried not to stare, I didn't want him to feel uncomfortable) So I'm admiring his art but didn't have the right kind of courage in that moment to tell him his art was lovely. The shading, the composition, the ballsiness of being a Hispanic dude in maybe his middle 20's with visible floral tattoos, all of these impressed me. I'm waiting for the shuttle to take me home while they work on my car, reading on Tumblr, and I run across the why-guys-send-dick-pics thread, why women don't, and don't like them, how men don't receive compliments so women complaining about compliments is like the women are speaking in ancient Greek, incomprehensible. One comment that just nailed it was, "one person who's dying of thirst is watching someone who is drowning" (digression:. if you find that extended thread/conversation, please tag me so I can keep it, or throw a link in comments to this? TYVM!) And I thought, REAL compliments feed us. And I don't have students anymore who I can lift up in that way, but I do that with friends, and I do that on Facebook and Instagram and my other social media. And I do that for authors whose work I like (I need to make a long appreciative list tagging a bunch of y'all) and maybe, like my beloved friend Janice was doing years ago at Renfaire, I can start making a point of doing this in meatspace interactions again. Giving heart felt compliments. Nothing hollow, nothing that's got a hook in it, nothing manipulative. Just a gift. I mean, this thought passed through me in a flash, feeling nothing like it does now to write it all down. And then the young man with the roses came through with a clipboard. "Oh, you're Liz, aren't you?" I smiled and nodded. "The shuttle's ready to take you home, have a good day," and I half blurt "oh thank you, and I hope you don't mind me saying?" (He turns back, slightly surprised) "That I love the shading on your rose tattoos. They're really beautiful!" Folks, the LOOK on his face... I could see what ten year old him looked like when he was really happy. He looked for a flash like kids might when they catch a baseball in the stands hit by their favorite player on their home team. He looked SO HAPPY, his smile changed his face completely. I'm so glad I said something, that I got a second chance to put a look like that on someone's face. This is a thing I vow to do more of again. Compliments keep the soul alive in a world that's trying it's best to kill our souls with dread, fear, and despair. You know: They lie when they say kind words cost nothing: they cost effort, and courage, and willingness to take the risk, ability to let go of an expectation of return. But I have the energy and the commitment and this is something that I can look for opportunities to put out into the world.

[abbydraper]

It’s Been A While.

Since I am the most predictable person on the planet, I’m sure you’ve guessed this will be about one of like five things. And you’re kinda right; it’s about three of the only five things I do. 

First, it’s been a while since I’ve written here. To be totally transparent it’s mostly because you all know everything I do every day already – The aforementioned five things with maybe a surprise day at the pool. I had to search my photos through hundreds from fitness activities for that one example. If I ever start doing cool things or liking food groups other than chicken nuggets, I’ll keep ya posted. 

The stories I share here are mostly just me doing embarrassing things that will make people laugh at my expense. Lucky for you, here we are.  

The second thing I’m sure you assumed is that this would be about fitness and, well, it is. BUT NOT IN THE LIKE “I just ran an 8 speed at a 10% incline” sense (although I did that this week, TYVM), but more like, “It’s been a while since I’ve embarrassed myself this way in a long time” sense. 

For the first probably three years of my riding at SoulCycle, it was just known that I was going to cry in class. And I’m not talking a few tears when the instructor tells us there’s a light at the end of the tunnel; I’m talking the Abby Draper ugly cry with dramatic huffing and puffing, she-needs-to-sleep-with-an-eye-icepack-tonight crying. It used to happen at least three times a week and became a “thing”. To the point that I’d get texts saying, “You wouldn’t have been able to handle that class” from a rider in a class I wasn’t in. 

It’s cool. I cry a lot. 

That being said, it’s been a (long) while since I’ve had a snotty, can’t breathe cry in class. I think the last one was right before I quit my agency job. Or maybe my thirtieth birthday ride. Either way, it’s been a few years. 

Until (very unexpectedly) this week.

One morning on a whim, I decided I wanted to ride so I looked at the schedules. An instructor whose class I haven’t taken in probably four years was in the next time slot at the studio closest to me. If you know me, I am very particular about my fitness instructors so I was a little trepid, but I’d seen her out of the studio a few times recently and was really feeling her vibe. So I booked my front and center bike and went to class. 

I went in with zero expectations and was looking forward to not feeling fat for the rest of the day. I made it through like three-and-a-half songs and was really impressed by the music, the mantras, the choreography. I remember thinking, “This is a thoughtful class; I’m impressed at how much core work we’ve done” and then in the middle of a push she started talking about how others may tell you that you can’t do something. She said, “You know what? Maybe they’re right. Maybe you can’t do it the way that they think you should do it, but you can do it the way you think you should do it” and I just lost my shit. I was crying so hard, I blew my nose into my towel. Like, in front of other people. With my head down in hopes that no one could see what was happening with my face, I finished class and during the stretch I was shaking so hard, the girl next to me asked if I was okay. I’m the worst.  

I left the room to retrieve my things from my locker and when the instructor came out behind me, she said, “It’s a huge compliment to have you in my class” and, you guessed it, the weeping started again. In the middle of the morning in front of a room full of people. Probably why I didn’t Insta story that I was there, in case you guys were concerned I missed a video about my workout that day. 

I’ve recovered and have absolutely no idea where the hell that all came from, but I guess I needed it. 

And finally, yes, it’s been a while since what you definitely thought this was about has happened, too. 

[rogerdvies]

congrats on the followers!! you definitely deserve them! ♥ + painting with watercolours, and ★ + draco malfoy, if that's okay!! also the new url looks super nice

@slyttherin. tyvm love !! ♥

♥ + something that makes you happy for a blog compliment

first off: who did you kill to get your url ?? it’s so on-point - honestly, i have such a hard time finding urls that are not too mangled to be still recognizable and yours is super to-the-point and recognizable and i love it. i also adore your theme; it is so easy to navigate and so nice to look at and it all feels very organized. also your patronus is a dragon that’s so cool??

★ + your favorite hp character for a hogwarts blog rate

house. gryffindor | slytherin | hufflepuff | ravenclaw

pet. none | owl | rat | cat | toad | something illegal that would be in newt’s briefcase

quidditch position. none | chaser | beater | keeper | seeker | +captain

class position. student | prefect | head boy/girl

best core class. astronomy (i was stalking through your other blog and ?? so creative ?? i can definitely see you excelling at astronomy and totally doing watercolors of it for projects) | transfiguration | charms | potions | defense against the dark arts | history of magic | herbology

worst core class. astronomy | transfiguration | charms | potions | defense against the dark arts | history of magic | herbology

elective(s). arithmancy | muggle studies | divination | ancient runes | care of magical creatures

reason for detention(s). as a protest against the amount of essays that one single professor was assigning for a class every week (how can the students be expected to complete that many on top of their other classwork? not to mention other classes?) you handed in a complete illustration of the essay topic instead. the professor, while impressed by your creativity and deeming it good enough to warrant a good mark, still gave you detention for the snarkiness of it.

friend squad. luna lovegood, draco malfoy, vincent crabbe, gregory goyle, blaise zabini, millicent bullstrode, pansy parkinson, daphne greengrass

significant other. draco malfoy | astoria greengrass

career. auror | ministry position | minister | wand maker | professor | quidditch player | dragonologist | magizoologist | herbologist | potioneer | astronomer | curse breaker | healer | unspeakable

associated creature. unicorn | werewolf | hippogriff | centaur | dragon | basilisk | bowtruckle | niffler | merfolk

associated light spell. expecto patronum | protego | lumos | episkey | accio

associated dark curse. crucio | imperio | avada kedavra

NO MORE PLEASE.

(blacklist #things for 500 friends if you don’t want to see posts)

[breezytealy]

Do you have a headcanon for the Super Seven ages in your comics? You're an amazing artist. Love your arts.

Hey nonnie! Oh my gosh thank you for the compliments I’m glad you’re enjoying them ^^Super7/nextGen headcanon was like the BestWorst question you could ask because I have a timeline and notes hahaHAHAHAHAHAaaaaa. Here, have 3,800 words, most is under the cut. Everything I draw/write is in this “Super7″ AU :) (I wish I could write well ;A;)

–

The Earth still isn’t officially part of the federation of planets under the Galactic King’s control. They’ve had a few public alien contacts (that some are convinced are still hoaxes, Buu is just a weird-ass looking guy maybe) but no official Galactic welcome and the Z-team are selfishly keen to leave it that way to prevent what would amount to exposure. The kids would like to balance real jobs and training too thank you very much, they have enough pressure on their shoulders without the entire planet looking to them.

But come 796 it’s all getting a little dicey; there’s civil unrest at the Galactic level with the King under threat and the powers wanting to steal the throne taking a more expansionist approach, fighting amongst themselves in the the power vacuum left by Frieza. This is all putting the Earth in danger as an untapped resource full of biodiversity. The Gods go quiet, leaving it up to the Earthlings to sort themselves out, they see the problem with intervening to save just one planet. The “Super7” take on the challenge to defend alone (the older gen have their own loose team too but are taking a back seat on purpose). As skirmishes had been becoming more frequent and difficult over the years and they start to see the patterns in who’s arriving, Pan and Bra get brought in a little earlier than planned (17 and 16 respectively rather than 18) to prepare for what might end up as a battle for survival. This all coincides with someone after Bulma’s tech (the blue #15 electrofluid used in the time machine she’d recently repurposed as a general high-yield fuel) that they suspect may be an off-worlder, and someone asking extremely pointed questions of acquaintances that makes the group think their relatively anonymous existence as fighters may be coming to an abrupt end at the worst possible time.  

–

In 796 their ages are roughly: Bra 16, Pan 17, Uub 22, Marron 25, Goten 29, Trunks 30, Mai ~30/31(+).

I’ve put a crap tonne of character outlines/headcanons under the cut explaining where this all comes from, but to summarise at 796 -

- Trunks is at CC as vice president to his mother’s president/COO and his grandfather is still CEO. He is looked at as team leader too- Mai is also at CC, although moonlights making ki-based weaponry and defences without the CC logo so she can participate in battle- Goten runs a dessert café in Satan City (food and hospitality! it’s a bit random but makes sense I promise) and uses Nyoibo - both G and T keep up fusion training so Gotenks is around a lot.- Uub is full time Papayaman, taking the traditional superhero role and sense of purpose that brings, he take over from Great Saiyaman and takes credit for saving the world as Mr Satan’s protege- Marron’s way of helping is to uncover corruption as a journalist to stop the incidents Uub deals with happening in the first place, and she’s frantically working to find out who’s trying to uncover their identities- Pan is a little of a crimefighter, though keeps the extent of her abilities on the down-low, a more normal face to Papayaman’s superhero and keeps up the Satan brand, whilst she pushed against it for a while she’s settled into it.- Bra is an social media darling, and is becoming the face of CC to the youth market in particular. She’s extremely calculated in this and does not give any hint at any point she can punch you to the moon. Both her and Pan have just started to learn the fusion dance from Trunks and Goten.

General character outlines and other h/cs under the cut because it’s longgg - 

I’ve shoved a ten hour time difference between West and Satan city (it’s probably closer to 12 but ten gives more overlap in daylight) which is really fun to think about!

Due to Shenanigans in Super, God ki gets banned under pain of erasure by Beerus. Realistically this means they can only use it for universal level threats when Beerus okays it. Only Goku and Vegeta have the ability and they aren’t allowed train with it either. Whis tells the others that hybrids can’t use the technique anyway so not to bother. They suspect it’s a lie as the potential of hybrids is higher so it’s a way to prevent them from overpowering Beerus in the future, but they daren’t risk trying the ritual.

Because there’s seven in the main group they each hide a Dragonball for security, making what they hope is the start of a tradition. Four others in the group know where it’s held, no one knows all seven locations. The idea being - the balls aren’t in the same place to be stolen, they can find them without the dragon radar with two/three of the group left, and they’re nearby so the group will know if anyone’s searching for them. Further any mind-reading techniques would need at least two sets of memories to find them all (Trunks’ idea, he’s extremely careful).

Actually having the power to revert disaster but not use it (saving the wishes for the big events) weighs heavy though so they’re more domestic in helping out in Act of God events like earthquakes than their parents were. Uub takes the lead in these sorties as Papayaman as he’s the traditional hero. Gohan will sometimes tag along as Great Saiyaman, and Goten also has a GS uniform and can pass as GS, though he absolutely hates it. For everyone else (and a pining Goten) Bulma and Mai design pure black “camo” gear, impossible to get a fix on body shape and untraceable on radar, which frees them to use the full extent of their powers should they need to. Their traditional gis/armours are usually underneath, and they’ll revert to them when they need the freedom of movement in a real fight :’).  

Goten’s attitude is like his dad’s - very zen and open, although he’s massively empathetic and knows how to behave himself. He’s responsible in a fiercely protective way. He’s easy-going to the point people think he’s not smart as he won’t question ideas, but that’s because he’s able to quickly follow people’s logic and doesn’t need to question suggestions, he just gets people. He won’t do something if he can’t see the sense in it though and will dig his heels to the point even Trunks can’t change his mind. He loves people, and his openness and “big-picture” mindset mean relationships are all a big blur to him. He sees his close friendships just as deeply as any romantic relationship would be. He’s always on hookup apps to meet interesting people, but he’d just as happily “hook-up” ::cough:: as going out for dinner. Fun is fun is fun to him :). Goten loved the idea of swords but really struggled focussing his ki to an edge. Goku fetches Nyoibo for him instead, which he finds far easier and he gets proficient in staff forms, using Nyoibo’s extension abilities in battle. Like the real monkey king, Goten shrinks Nyoibo down and keeps it in his ear so he has it ready to go at all times. To everyone else though it looks like an industrial piercing and Chichi flipped out when she first saw it “first the hair, now piercings???”. (and I freaking forgot to add it in when colouring that strip, I kicked myself when I saw it missing!!!)

Goten goes to college, more on his Mum’s insistence that he get furtherly educated with that prize money they put aside for him to use than anything else. Trunks took a gap year so they could “coincidentally” room together too (taking a CC internship in his gap year where he learnt to be Responsible) so he feels pressure to go. Goten picks most of the same courses as Trunks so they can use Gotenks to study quicker freeing up their time, but he does feel a little directionless and languishes. But then, but THEN! As they have to look after themselves (“NO we’ll be INDEPENDENT SAIYANS TYVM”) he gets sick of not having sweet treats (canon his fave food is pocky and strawberry daifuku) so he spends time learning to make pastries/sweet treats/baking to get his fix. Obviously the recipes aren’t great to his amazing smell/taste (that he inherited from his Dad) so he improves them. After seeing how people match wines with savoury dishes he starts flying to remote places to buy rare coffee/teas to test with his recipes. All the while Trunks is just watching like “you’re absolutely mad”, but he keeps it up and starts pairing things and testing them out on friends. He even gets good enough to make flavour profiles for people based on their likes/dislikes to pick /exactly/ the right flavourings, he’s a savant.

People are so pleased and excited it warms his heart that he can make people so directly happy, and making things with his hands feels so natural and grounded. Eventually Trunks just pulls him aside and says “I still think you’re insane but you should do this". So Goten works up a business plan for a desserts cafe in his final year - without getting Trunks’ help - and pitches it to his parents. Chichi’s obviously a little “this is left field”, expecting him to go with the flow as usual and end up at CC, but they agree seeing how excited he is, the last part of the prize money/education pot gets put towards a run-down place in Satan City after graduation instead of a masters degree. There’s not enough money to buy /and/ do up the place, but Mr Satan agrees to put up the rest of the money as long as Goten helps cater (bodyguard at and babysit Buu at in truth) events, so it’s not a handout. At first he hates the idea of more help but reluctantly agrees when Gohan chides him. He calls it Paozu Place, (PP vs CC) and when he starts making a profit (which happens towards the end of the first year as Goten flies around himself to get products saving money, plus the flavour-profile gimmick gets him an early cult following) he sends a portion of the money back home. Chichi is so proud :’) PP and Goten’s flat above is their base in Satan City.

Trunks - is also responsible but like a Prince (“stick to the plan guys”, weight of the world etc), he meticulously plans sorties to the point Goten will actively ruin things if he thinks Trunks is over-thinking things. Public think he’s hot and suave and he has a fanbase but it’s because he freezes in front of the press and, with his severe facial structure, his deer-in-headlights look gets interpreted as “handsome brooding”. In truth he’s a giant, easily flustered dork, happier when in control and enjoys things being “just so”. All throughout college he wore a beanie hat to hide his hair and therefore his identity, but people quickly learnt to look for the kid wearing the wooly hat in summer, nothing saves him from recognition poor guy. Although, due to Trunks’ extremely guarded nature and contrasted with Goten’s social charisma, people quickly bored of him and focussed on “his friend”, which Trunks prefers. He’s not shy per-se, but is used to over-thinking everyone’s intentions and prefers to people-watch. Unlike Goten he has a serious romantic streak, (the one thing his sizeable fanbase /have/ got right) but sucks at expressing it, attaching like a limpet to close friends. He also has a dark sense of humour and is really inventive for stupid shit but he’s usually biting it back. When he’s comfortable a different side comes out and when in free flow puns are quick and his banter is razor sharp. The only time he’s ever actually “cool” or “smooth” is when he’s relaxed and trying not to be, which gets ruined when people point it out - “WOW that pose is so cool” “wait what :|?” “aaaand ya ruined it”.

Combine that in Gotenks you’ve got a guy who’s fiercely loyal with a plan to save everyone, leading from the front, but also has a sick sense of humour with no inhibition to reign it in. “Gotenks no - GOTENKS YES” kinda deal. He’s a massive flirt because he knows it’s inappropriate (also best wingman, texting people on the boys’ behalf) and King prank. He’s more focussed than when he was a kid but the dumbass techniques remain, mostly to embarrass Trunks. They communicate through journals as memories can be a little fuzzy, it all started with a little piece of paper Gotenks carries in the fight against Buu :’)

Gotenks has his own complicated angst regarding Personhood and being a fusion. The Worst Thing you can do is call him “Trunks'n'Goten” or use “they” pronouns. The guys (obvs) understand and respect what autonomy he has, even fusing so he gets some downtime so it’s not all fight-train-fight for him. At first they kept him back, but he was so desperately lonely during the college years, hating living vicariously through Trunks and Goten’s memories, that they let him start talking to Mai, Uub and Marron on texts. When that seemed to go okay they let him hang out with them every now and again. T/G/GT only let Pan and Bra in on Gotenks’ partial social life when they ask to learn fusion without any prompting, (not wanting to influence what is a huge change in life circumstance) and Gotenks is massively excited he gets to properly meet and teach his two favourite people he’d been fussing over from a distance.

Marron is not a fighter (ack sorry Swol!Marron I love you) though is trained in ki use as a form of self defense (of course!) and particularly practises flying; she was adamant to keep up with Goten and Trunks when trailing them on adventures. Good thing too as she was the sneaky little shit eavesdropping on everyone, puzzling out every mystery so the boys didn’t have to. She considers herself the common sense of the outfit, to the point she’ll reach for the alcohol when the Saiyans are being particularly off the wall (“oh my god you’re all so ridiculous and unrelatable let me get drunk and tell you more”). Despite not fighting she does want to help people just like her chief of police dad, eventually settling on investigative journalism as way to help. Her over-ambitious final-year college project led her to make enemies in a mob boss which ended up in kidnapping. She used the time to wrangle more info out of them before being “rescued” by an extremely disgruntled, recently debuted Papayaman (“well they can’t find out that /I/ have superpowers”) that led to the mob leaders’ eventual arrests, and it got her her first job. She keeps an eye out for anyone researching how deep the connections between everyone in the group go and subtly tries to scupper it, so far successfully. In the rare serious fights she work on recon and civ defence with Mai, or if she’s present as a reporter actively supports the “oh it’s totally Mr Satan’s protégée saving us” narrative.

Mai is a complicated one and I could really get into the neurodevelopment of her. Whilst some things remain as-is (skill sets like engineering and weaponry that she uses, some habits and vocabulary) her regrowth means her ability to understand her adult memories isn’t there, they slowly cloud and fall away, becoming this fussy mess of facts-of-things-that-happened rather than a complicated nuance of emotion they would be if she’d aged normally. She dreams less and less of being an adult. She’s also at the mercy of hormones and brain structure at that age, still making the same mistakes she made the first time around. As a result she’s a little maturer than you’d expect for someone her age but not massively, and gets along with Trunks, Goten and Marron fine. She works on a number of ki-based techs like integrating ki-sense onto glass for an improved ki-scouter that can cope with the numbers the gang pump out (yay for logarithms) and display the complicated flow of individual ki signatures through different colours. With enough ki behind them the shield from her barrier seeds can protect cities for a few huge hits, and she can pick off lackeys with the ki gun she developed. None of these have the CC logo however as CC “doesn’t develop weapons.”

RE: shipping - When she’s a teen she rebuffs a clingy Trunks at every turn, (poor dude) hoping to stay just friends. He’s lovely but he’s just a kid! Kiddo can’t understand why she’s being so cold though, surely they’d be great together, they were in the future! Before he goes to college she eventually tells him the truth but of course, Trunks insists he doesn’t care if she’s “old”, she’s not anymore, not really, and besides he’s the real problem. But he’s only nineteen, and she knows that’s not as mature as it feels. She has just enough wherewithal to say no, and whilst he mopes for a little they reframe their friendship around this new information. Of course, they eventually crack when he starts working full time at CC when he’s 24, they have a massive heart-to-heart about her experiences with memory and his own through fusion (because think about how ef’d up that is), they give it a tentative go, and Goten and Gotenks weep with joy they don’t have to put up with his pining anymore. Truten was a Thing at college but didn’t stick, although they are so freaking close you’d probably think they were still in a relationship of sorts anyway.

Uub is great! He is 100% the traditional hero type, taking his training so seriously when he joins the crew it winds up Trunks and Goten enough they pick up the slack again. It takes him a few years to catch up with Pan but soon becomes the complete tank for battles. He looks up to Trunks and Goten and even tried to learn weapons to be part of the cool gang but it just wasn’t his style in the end. He does his training mostly at home, though gets dragged around to Mount Paozu by Goku (Goku-totally-ITs-back-home-you-can’t-convince-me-otherwise) and Satan City, eventually working as Papayaman full-time as “Hercule’s student” to take over from Gohan’s Great Saiyaman. He supports his village, going back home as much as possible to see his little siblings, and his family is mega proud if fussing over his safety in big fights. Papayaman takes the credit for saving the Earth nowadays, and all the news articles cover the walls at home (equally with his other siblings achievements). Uub can 100% ham up the media appearances to be the dashing hero due to Mr Satan’s training, but it’s definitely something he’s only capable of with the mask on and otherwise he’s an eager, polite, caring, but ultimately shy guy.

Pan is fascinating, she’s at an intersection of being known as a publicly talented martial artist, and is well-known in Satan City for being a crimefighter (though not as into it as her Mum was as Papayaman is around now) but is privately a beast. People don’t know she has the same super-strength and flight abilities as Papayaman and she’s very keen to keep it that way. She uses the stage name “Pan Satan” for tournaments and to help maintain her Grandfather’s image. Whilst when young she got frustrated at the lack of recognition the Son side of her family got, the negative reactions a sizeable minority of the public have to the few public alien encounters the Earth’s had and to Papayaman’s “possibly real” superpowers scares her as she gets older. She has on occasion tagged along in disguise after Papayaman and used her powers freely in the background in things like hostage situations to provide barriers and prevent explosions “just to help :3”. The one time she was spotted Papayaman was asked about his friend and he despairingly referred to her as his “little shadow” and the name stuck for the gang when in camo. She has a massive number of teachers - Goku, Gohan, Picco"yo", Roshi, Chichi and Videl, Trunks and Goten (and of course Mr Satan), even advice from Vegeta. With all that her understanding of ki control, particular focuses and intents is terrifying, (maintaining barriers with very little concentration etc) and she’s eager to teach what she’s learnt to the group.

Bra took ballet as a kid, is graceful, a real effortless beauty, great with people, the model socialite … is a freaking scrapper in a fight. She spent so long working out how to guard her “perfect” nails as a kid during daily training (a frivolous challenge Vegeta set her) she can form solid and fast ki fists with an almost impossible momentum behind them given her size. She’s very physical in her attack forms, and takes a “point me in the right direction and I’ll smash them” approach. Like her Dad she can take a hit, acting as off-tank for the group (Trunks had to be convinced to let her participate, so close to danger is her attack style). She’s also calculating as hell, crafting a perfect social media profile to push the capsule corp brand amongst teens and young adults and is a media darling, every photo and hashtag considered and poured over to further her image. She is very, /very/ invested in keeping that intact. Trunks on the other hand just can’t work social media, so doesn’t do media other than official interviews if he has to as COO. Bra keeps pushing him to engage, so he has two posts - “This is my official account, all others are a fraud” and “Hey.” “Hey.” has the third highest number of engagements on the site, which both perplexes and amuses Trunks and really irritates Bra. She has a horrid temper in private and in honour of that, Trunks calls her Giggles. She and Pan are two peas in a pod though, getting into their own brand of trouble at all times and Pan is probably the only person she’ll listen to to get her out of a mood.

I could literally go on forever but I’m going to stop now aaaaaaaaa