#she has scars underneath her clothing

[hauntingmiser]

Ok uhhh hands you a nurse OC ( it's Marlene )

I swear she has a little bit of Trauma-

( also she's from an Indian heritage )

[midnight-pluto]

COMPARISON — scar

You know Scar, and you know why he’s so obsessed with this ‘Rover’ character — he’s told you why, but why does it still hurt watching him act as if he was a lovesick puppy to them?

contains: established relationship, the relationship is lowk toxic, jealousy, insecurity, rovers gender is left ambiguous, canon-ish, swearing, angst, short fic

a/n: scar is so pretty omg; also the lack of scar x reader content is CRIMINAL

‘IT’S JUST FOR the mission, it’s just for the mission,’ is what you kept on repeatedly telling yourself in your mind, but it really doesn’t look like it from your side.

You can tell that this ‘Rover’ is prone to noticing the little things and figuring out everything with just one piece of the puzzle, so you decide that it’s best to keep your distance from the matter at hand occurring in the village.

The conversation they were both having was being played clearly in your ear — a hidden microphone on Scar’s waist, his idea, not yours. He offered up this idea as a way to assure you nothing special was happening, but you wish you would’ve never accepted it in the first place.

Hearing the words Scar say would’ve been sweet, if only they were directed towards you. You weren’t dumb, you could hear the flirtatious undertone in his voice as he spoke to them.

Swallowing thickly, you take a look at the picture given to you previously as to what Rover’s appearance was like; suddenly Scar’s words made more sense in your head.

Their dark hair was disheveled but still managed to look effortlessly good on them; did Scar ever think of you that way whenever he saw you get out of bed? Their clothes complimenting their natural appearance beautifully; did the red and white of your clothes really suit you?

It took you years to achieve what you have with Scar now, but Rover was able to see and receive genuine interest from Scar in just a matter of moments.

Just listening in on their conversation felt like you were the one interrupting something, like you were third-wheeling your own boyfriend, as if you were a side piece in your own relationship.

Embarrassing.

“Huh?” you audibly let out, tapping your earpiece with your gloved finger multiple times. Only the sound of static could be heard. “Shit.”

Scrambling for your binoculars in your messenger bag, you shuffle them out and life them to your eyes to see what has occurred in the village below. Narrowing your eyes, you see that Rover had skillfully disabled the microphone on Scar’s waist with their blade.

“Of course,” you scoff out, dropping your binoculars back in your bag and proceeding to walk away from the scene.

Your terminal beeps and lights up and you pause, seeing that Phrolova had called you. “Leaving so soon?”

Huffing out a sigh at her words, “I see no point in staying.”

Humming in thought for a moment, she merely says, “Alright, go on then.”

The soil beneath your feet crunches underneath you with droplets wetting them at the same time; the sky is clear today.

SCAR’S EYES WIDENED at the sound of the mic clattering onto the ground, falling from his waist. “Well, aren’t you good? I thought you wouldn’t notice it so soon.”

“And I thought you said you didn’t want anybody else intruding on our conversation, seems kind of hypocritical to have a microphone attached at your hip,” they taunt.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs, burying down the feeling in his stomach. “But they too, were special to me, I just wanted to share a conversation with two very special people, and what’s the matter with that?”

“So they’re special to you?” they raised a brow, suddenly interested in the newfound topic raised.

Scar laughed at their attempt to get him to reveal information about himself, but he would never put you in jeopardy like that — never in a thousand years. “Did I say that?

“Well, it’s not like you’ll ever get to find out any time soon,” he stomps on the already broken microphone, smashing it to pieces.

Rover simply rolled their eyes, “Just give me back Yanyang so we can be done with already, I’m bored of your story.”

“And here I thought that we already established,” Scar took a few strides forward, “That you aren’t in the position to bargain.”

Unbeknownst to Scar, you had left your earpiece in, the sound of static becoming wonderful white noise to you. The unfortunate part was that you could only hear a few bits and pieces of their conversation out of context.

“…were special—“ were? What does he mean by that? Why is he using past tense? Is he saying that to fuck with them or because he thinks you can’t hear him anymore? Or are you just reading to far into it?

“..two very special people—“ it should only be one, shouldn’t there? Is he saying that Rover’s already as important — if not more important than you?

Harshly taking out your earpiece, you throw it into the dirt. Unable to let out a frustrated scream you let your anger out through crushing the earpiece under your foot.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, you glare back down at the shattered earpiece beside you. Rubbing the corners of your eyes, you begin to walk away, “The white noise wasn’t even that good anyways.”

a/n: not my best work — obviously — since i wrote this in an hour, on my phone, with fake nails. but i was feeling like shit so i dumped it all here, sorry kinda sorry

[nina-renmen]

Yandere Hybrid Team 141

I’ve been seeing posts like this and thought I would jump on the bandwagon. The idea of yandere hybrid 141 is not my idea but this specific scenario is.

Summary: Team 141 stumbles upon y/n. Thinking that she’s small and fragile they attempt to ‘take advantage’ of her only to figure out she’s a polar bear hybrid. (Polar bear hybrid was chosen because they actively hunt humans.)

Team 141 had relocated, their base stationed in colder weather. Soap didn’t mind, considering he was merged with a wolf. He quite liked the snow and throwing snowballs at his captain.

Price was not amused at all. Given the fact that he was a grizzly bear hybrid his instincts told him to get ready to hibernate. Thus, leaving the male annoyed most of the time. A few times he almost lunged at Gaz for flying around so much in his little ‘battle’ with soap.

Gaz, being a harpy was the most human like out of all the men. The only thing that changed about him was his arms, meaning that the male usually stayed bundled up which in turn was given odd looks by ghost from time to time. But now ghost, an undead being began to get used to seeing his fellow teammate underneath two layers of clothing

Gaz was the first one to stumble upon you During one of his rounds he looked up from above, his eyes catching sight of you in the cold, crisp water. White, round ears were on top of your head. You must’ve been a panda hybrid. You didn’t seem dangerous at all.

A wicked grin crossed Gaz’s face. Swooping down, the sharp claws grabbing you. But before he could get far with you, you bared your teeth at him. Sharp canines covered in blood from your latest kill were flashed. Your sharp claws slashed his face before dragging him down into the water. Immediately your form switching making Gaz’s eyes widen in horror. Such a sweet, helpless looking girl was actually a polar bear hybrid. Your pupils dilated, jaws snapping at him as the beast seemed to foam at the mouth, getting ready to rip his throat out.

Price was the first to arrive, hearing Gaz’s screams and yells.

While Gaz was under you he saw a flash of brown. The harpy sitting up, wincing in pain at his broken leg but his eyes leaving the mangled leg and up towards the fight that was happening. The roars of both the bears attracting the attention of the rest of the team. Gaz has never seen price almost loose a fight before. Polar bears were already larger than grizzled bears but because you were a female you have a good two feet over him. Your fur was more adapted to the arctic waters but Price’s wasn’t, his movements were a tad bit slower than yours due to the below freezing temperatures. Just as the rest of team 141 arrived you were gone.

After the ‘fight’ Price scolded Gaz. Grumbling about how he shouldn’t have assumed what kind of hybrid you were. But based off of your human descriptions he didn’t blame Gaz for trying to snatch you up.

Price only had minor injuries. A couple of gashes and bruises. It would leave some scars but nothing too serious. On the other hand Gaz’s leg was broken. The gash on his face had left a nasty scar. Ghost only mocked the younger male, telling him to suck it up and to not do dumb shit.

Soap had the second encounter with you. After a few months Gaz was able to walk again. But Soap was to accompany him as they did their rounds.

“That’s her.” Gaz whispered, crouching down making Soap follow suit. The wolf hybrid peeking around the corner to see you. He couldn’t believe that you were the one that did all that damage. Granite it was in self defense but you looked so fragile and soft.

When y/n turned around she had a fish in her mouth. Her eyes immediately catching onto Soaps who had been careless when admiring y/n from a distance. Y/n’s gaze wasn’t threatening like what Gaz had described. She seemed curious.

Soap took this as a green light to fully come out. Gaz whispers to not falling on deaf ears. When soap began to get too close a growl came from y/n as she took a step back making her drop her fish. She had to look up at him, which she didn’t like.

After a few moments Soap gained her trust, picking up the dropped fish and slowly inching close to her. Y/n opened her mouth, taking the fish from his hand. Nuzzling her black button nose against his hand, a purr coming out of her but she stopped. A whiff of Gaz’s scent on Soaps hand making y/n pull away. “No! No, no, no! I’m friendly.” Soap exclaimed, putting his hands up. He needed to avoid all conflict. The only person that was able to take you down was captain price, he doubted that Ghost could take you down in your monster form. Soap knew he’d need to calm you down. Polar bears actively hunt humans, meaning Gaz and himself were on your lunch menu. But y/n only turned around leaving once more.

Now price’s encounter with you went a little bit different. The man went out to have a smoke. “That shit stinks.” A feminine voice came from behind Price. Turning around he seen your form crouched down, a wolf torn open in front of you. It was the same size as Soap in his monster form. Its guts spilled out, coating the white snow in its blood.

“Didn’t know you could talk.” Price muttered, breathing in the smoke from the cigar. His eyes taking in your form. You were fragile looking, just as Gaz said. Your big doe eyes could have fooled him.

Y/n didn’t respond, instead opting to rip out more chunks from the wolf with her jaws. Tearing into the predator that turned into her prey. “Ya’ hurt one of my men.” Price said loud enough for y/n to hear.

“That lousy excuse of a bird?” Y/n said as she ripped into the wolf. “Tell him to keep thinking with his dick. Maybe next time I’ll tear his throat open.”

Price chuckled, leaning back on the tree as he watched you eat. You were fiesty. The longer he stared at you the more the gears in his head turned. You had wide hips, perfect for carrying his cups. You looked healthy, a few scars hear and there but each one told a story.

Pushing himself off the tree he stalked towards you. A growl ripping through y/n’s throat as she make eye contact with Price.

“I ain’t gon take your food sweetheart.” Price said as he crouched down in front of you and your kill.

“I said that shit stinks. Put it out.”

“And if I don’t.”

“I’ll eat you before you can turn.”

The two looked at each other for a while. “I’m stronger and faster than you darlin’.”

“Not if I drown you in that water you won’t be.” Y/n shot back. Ah, so she’s caught on to his weakness. Price was considerably weaker in colder water temperatures. Especially if the waters were deep.

Needless to say, Price put out the cigar.

[mikasa-imadebiscults]

KNY Hashira NSFW Hcs

(Characters Included- All the Hashira besides Muichiro)

(Warning: NSFW, orgasm control, ball gags, body worship, mutual masturbation, mirror sex, degradation, praise, mentions of lingerie, etc)

🌊Giyuu Tomioka🌊

- When it’s his first time doing it he will be really nervous because he doesn’t want to hurt you. But as time goes by and you guys start doing it more he gets less and less nervous.

- He would be a switch.

- When he’s dominating he goes gentle and slow unless you want him to go rough then he’ll try his best to fulfill your needs.

- When he’s a submissive then he’ll want it from behind (it could either be your fingers, dick, any sex toys if you have any)

🦋Shinobu Kocho🦋

- She would like to have a lot of control during sex. Like when you orgasm, how loud you are, what movement you make, etc.

- She’ll act and sound very gentle but in reality behind that fake smile she’s plotting something mischievous to break you down into a spiral of pleasure.

- Like I said before in another post, she would be a dominatrix.

- It will be very very rare for her to be a sub. The only time she’ll ever be submissive is if she’s in dire need of comfort.

📢Tengen Uzui📢

- He will almost always dominate you unless you’re stronger than him then he’ll have no other choice but to summit to you.

- If you’re not stronger then him, well, there are occasions where you are the dominant one but it’s only if you’re upset or something and he wants to cheer you up.

- He’s into lingerie, it will turn him on quickly if he sees you wearing it.

- He likes to watch you get dominated by his wives because it excites him and he thinks your facial expressions look hot as hell.

🐍Iguro Obanai🐍

- He would be a switch leaning towards submissive.

- The first time you guys do it he was really nervous because of his mask. He was afraid that you would think of him differently because of his scar.

- It makes him really flustered when you show affection to his scars.

- He often turns his face away from you whenever he’s moaning so you’ll have to grab his face in order for him to look at you. He’ll still not make eye contact with you.

🪨Gyomei Himejima🪨

- He has a low sex drive so whenever you guys decide to do it he likes to take it really slow and intimate. He will never be rough with you, even if you want him to be rough he won’t.

- Before he takes off your clothes he always says “May I?”

- He’s a switch, it’s depending on if you want to be dominant or submissive.

- He’s really into praise, on the receiving end and on the giving end.

🌪️Sanemi Shinazugawa🌪️

- He would be really into gagging you all the sudden. For example he’ll be pounding and pounding into you mercilessly and then he’ll shove a ball gag in your mouth.

- He’s a dominant, mostly a rough dom where he degrades and breaks you down but he does have his moments where he’s soft and sensual.

- He chuckles whenever you squirm underneath him at every little touch.

- Likes to do it in a place where you two can easily get caught, it gives him a rush of pleasure. If you guys do get caught then he’s quick to cover you up.

🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🔥

- He loves to worship your body, whispering praises into your skin as he places soft kisses on any parts that your insecure about.

- He enjoys doing it in front of a big mirror so that you can see the stunning facial expressions you make.

- He can be a switch, but he’s mainly a dominant because he loves making you feel so good (in other words he’s a pleasure dom)

- He loves to do oral while he’s blindfolded so that his other senses can increase and it will be more fun and exciting.

🍡Mitsuri Kanroji🍡

- She gives you what you want and when you want it.

- She’s a switch. When she’s dominant she’s a pleasure dom and when she’s a submissive she is very obedient.

- Definitely likes a lot of praise from you it turns her on like no other.

- She has a somewhat high sex drive so if you’re out somewhere on a mission then she’ll touch herself while thinking about you.

- She’s also into mutual masturbation.

Masterlist

[cobaltperun]

Lost in your eyes

Tara Carpenter x female Reader - smut (18+, so, minors do not interact)

Bottom Tara x top Reader, hell if I know what else to add here. This is basically Lost 11.5, Tara and Reader's first time, though it can be read as stand alone, just know that this is set between Scream 5 and 6, that Reader is an MMA fighter and has several scars from fighting Amber and Richie.

Lost masterlist

Word count: 4.6k

You were finally at peace; you were back home. Tara was with you, sitting on your lap, only wearing a shirt, your shirt, by the way, and underwear, and it was already six in the morning, a day before her birthday. You had no idea how long you stayed like that, with your arms wrapped around Tara’s lower back, or her arms around your neck, with her right hand gently playing with your hair, or her head tucked beneath your chin as she relaxed in your arms. You just knew this was home. The two of you held each other as close as physically possible until the first hints of sunlight began seeping through the window. "Think we should move to bed? Maybe sleep for at least a couple of hours?" you suggested, not wanting to disrupt the bubble you two created, but still wanting to make sure Tara was comfortable.

Tara just lazily nodded, letting you handle all of it. And you did just that, easily lifting her up before you lowered her down on the bed and were about to lay down next to her when an arm around your neck held you back. "Y/N," she brushed her fingers against your lower lips. "Let's just stop pretending we don't want this."

Everything else vanished, leaving only the desire burning in Tara's eyes, the desire you were sure was present in your eyes as well. You placed your hand next to Tara's head, to keep yourself from pressing too much of your weight on Tara and leaned down. She met you in the middle, eagerly pressing her lips against your own.

You let her lead, feeling her eagerness to finally kiss you with every move of her lips, feeling it in the way she moaned into the kiss as she wrapped her legs around your hips, pulling you closer. She was almost desperate, nibbling on your lower lip, kissing you so hungrily you couldn’t help but match her with just as much desire. You felt her need for you in the way her left hand pressed against your back and the way her right hand frantically went from your neck to your cheek, to the back of your head, then beneath the collar of your shirt, You felt it in the way she moaned into the kiss when you slid your palm down her side, all the way to her naked thigh. The oversized shirt she stole from you rising as Tara pressed her hips against you, rolling her hips and arching her back.

You growled, deepening the kiss, and gently nibbling Tara's lower lip as your fingers made contact with the waistband of Tara's underwear. Tara broke the kiss by leaning her head back, abruptly letting it fall back on the pillow, moaning softly when you rested your palm right against the bare small of her back and pulled her in, smiling as she continued rolling her hips against you.

"Y/N," she breathed out as you kissed her neck, tugging on your jacket.

That seemed to snap you out of it for a moment and you pulled back enough to look her in the eyes. "Are we going too fast? Do you want me to stop?" you just kissed for the first time and already you were making out, and given the way things were going, you likely weren’t going to stop there unless you stopped right now, or unless Tara told you to stop, and you felt like she was even less likely to want to stop than you.

"No, please don't stop. Just, your clothes," Tara was quick to reassure you.

That almost instantly flipped the switch, and you leaned in to kiss her again, taking your time and committing the feel of her lips to your memory, memorizing every twitch of her body underneath your own before letting her breathe once more. "What about my clothes?" you whispered into her ear, smirking as she gasped when you lightly bit her earlobe and then moved to kiss your way down to her neck.

"Y/N!" Tara whined, prompting an even wider smirk from you. If your arm wasn't planted so firmly on the bed you were sure she'd try to take your jacket off herself, but as it was, she'd need your help.

"What about my clothes, Love?" you peppered small kisses all over her neck. "Talk to me, Tara."

"Take them off, already!" she cried out.

Okay, less teasing, you'd have to remember that. "As you wish," you briefly kissed her and pulled back, slipping your hand from her back, and slowly getting back up.

Tara grabbed onto your back, annoyed at reduced contact, but you just grinned, pulling her arms away from your back and kissing the inside of her left forearm, kissing up to her wrist, all the way to her palm. She watched you intensely as you kissed her palm a few times, completely still as you moved her hands above her head and leaned in. "Patience, Tara," she hummed at that, relaxing, trusting you.

"I've been patient, Y/N," she complained, but this time allowed you to pull away and kneel above her, smiling widely as she watched you take your jacket off. Tara smiled mischievously, you’d dare say seductively and took your hands into her own, pulling you toward her and placing them over her breasts. You instinctively squeezed, feeling the soft flesh even through her bra and your shirt. Tara moaned teasingly, but you could feel her fingers squeezing your hands a bit tighter as your thumbs brushed over her still soft nipples. It wasn’t the act itself, you figured, it was the fact that you were finally doing this that made her so sensitive and receptive to your touch. Tara took her time to feel the muscles in your arms flexing under her touch. “So strong,” she whispered, biting her lower lip when you once again lightly squeezed her breasts. You could feel her nipples hardening under the shirt and her bra.

This was happening, this was actually happening. You were touching her, oh and there was nothing friendly about it. You loved her, you wanted her, and Tara felt her heart soaring with happiness and excitement at the mere thought of giving herself to you. Finally, finally, you would make love and the years of loving you and wanting to be with you were finally finding their outcome.

You leaned down and kissed her neck again, biting gently, but still leaving marks. You slowly moved your hands up from her breasts and took hold of her collar. It was your shirt, after all, and you tugged, your biceps straining under Tara’s touch as the collar stretched.

“Shit,” Tara sighed, hearing the threads in the collar rip. “Y/N,” she moaned your name, but then her breath hitched, and she pulled her left hand back. You pulled back, confused by the sudden change in her demeanor, and then you remembered. The scars from that night…

“Tara,” you let go of the collar, moving up and kissing her forehead. You slowly caressed her cheek and took her left hand. She watched you, her eyes no longer filled with lust but regret as you brought her hand to your lips and kissed her scar. “Talk to me, Love,” you encouraged her, your tone completely different now that you weren’t teasing her. You were more than willing to stop right here and now, as long as Tara could open up about how she felt.

“I’m sorry, I just got self-conscious,” she murmured, running her fingers through your hair. “You protected me and got scars and mine,” she paused, looking away. She didn’t say it, but you saw it in her eyes, she thought they were ugly, she was ashamed of them.

You leaned back, placing your hands on Tara’s legs and spreading them so you could move away from her. She didn’t resist, she looked at you, at first looking vulnerable, almost rejected, and it broke your heart that she could ever feel like her scars made you love her less. “My Love,” you breathed, all the while softly caressing her calf and making a small smile pop up on her face. Tara always was a bit ticklish, but more importantly, through that giggle, the previous emotions faded away and now Tara was just confused and curious, as you lifted her right leg up and kissed the scar from the surgery. “Yours are the marks of a woman that wouldn’t give up, no matter how painful and difficult it was to stay alive,” you smiled as Tara blushed and you lowered her leg slowly.

You waited for her to stop you as you pushed her shirt up, revealing the rest of her scars, but she didn’t stop you, she just watched you as you kissed the scars on her stomach. With each kiss you felt Tara calming down, her back arching slightly, and her stomach twitching when your fingers traced the scars you weren’t kissing at the moment. And as you kept kissing her scars, Tara closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she touched the scar on the right side of your jaw. She didn’t flinch away this time, so when you felt like you kissed each one enough times, you looked her in the eyes, silently asking her to turn around. And she did, giving you access to the scars on her back. You kissed those too, smiling when Tara, almost desperately grabbed the pillow and squeezed it as hard as she could “And you’re just as beautiful as you were before,” you said as Tara took her shirt off, tossing it aside and revealing her back to you. Fuck, you saw her naked before, you saw the freckles on her shoulders, and the few on her back, but this was different. “My beautiful girl,” you murmured, your fingers tracing over the freckles on her back as Tara inhaled sharply. And then you just wrapped your arms around her waist and just waited. She’d tell you when you can move again, she’d decide if she wanted to keep going or just stop and cuddle.

She never doubted you, she never thought you’d reject her over her scars, but she would be lying if she said she expected you to kiss each and every one, to show her you loved every bit of her equally, regardless of how it looked. She felt silly for even being worried, but she didn’t tell you that, knowing that you’d just scold her and reassure her again. She wasn’t sure how many minutes it took her to gather enough courage to get you going again, after she stopped like that. She knew you wouldn’t mind just sleeping like this, with your arms around her, spooning her, you weren’t in a rush, and neither was her… But still…

“I need you,” she arched her back, trembling when you took that as permission to keep going and began kissing along her spine. Your hands slid up her sides, one cupping her breast and the other pushing her hair out of your way. She grabbed the pillow, her knuckles turning white as you licked under her ear and then dragged your lips back down her shoulder. “Y/N,” she purred, and your name fell from her lips as if it was the only word that would ever matter.

You smiled, kissing the back of her neck, and then whispering right in her ear. “Slow down, Tara,” you rasped, almost daring her to rush you, but she just shuddered, her hand reaching behind to pull you in for a kiss. She opened her mouth for you, begging you silently to deepen the kiss and pressing her tongue against your own. When you separated Tara was breathing heavily, her pupils blown and her face flushed, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. She turned onto her back once again, just kissing you as your hands teased her, you caressed her sides, her neck, you pulled her closer, but you weren’t giving her what she wanted, not yet.

Tara moaned, your hands and lips driving her crazy, your touch leaving her skin hot, and she was embarrassed at how wet she already was, and you didn’t even go that far yet. The taste of your lips, your tongue against her own, the firm muscles she wanted to touch for years finally within reach for more than a hug, and your hands occasionally squeezing her body, grabbing her just gently enough for her to love it, yet roughly enough to know just how much you wanted her. And you were still wearing your shirt, still teasing her so mercilessly.

She gasped when you slipped your hand between her thighs, still not touching her, but instead just massaging her inner thigh, so close to what she wanted, yet still so far. Blood rushed to her face, and she whimpered when she felt your fingers, damp from touching her thighs, moving to her ass and pulling her closer to you. With embarrassingly shaky hands, she unbuttoned your shirt, her hands immediately exploring the exposed skin. “Fuck,” she hissed, feeling your abs, your shoulders and arms, your back, as if made of stone from years and years of training and fighting. You shuddered, stopping what you were doing and giving Tara a chance to start taking control. She began kissing your neck, sucking and leaving hickeys anywhere her lips could reach.

“Tara,” you moaned, your tone low and making her throb at the mere thought of how you would sound and say her name when you came. She pushed you, fully aware that you were willingly moving to her whims, until you were on your back, and she was straddling your abs.

“I told you I’ve been patient,” she pecked your lips and began grinding on your abs, whimpering and moaning as you flexed your muscles, and she felt her clit rubbing against them through her panties. “Y/N!” she cried out, leaning down and clutching your shoulders when you grabbed her hips and helped her move faster. She was getting close and she looked down, blushing when she looked down and saw how hard your abs looked right now.

“Damn,” you grunted as your hands squeezed her ass and then moved to her thighs and she had to look at your face, to see what she was doing to you, so with great effort she sat back up, still humping your abs.

“Just like that,” you encouraged her, taking over her movement before she could tire herself out and she dared to look you in the eyes. You looked mesmerized, lost in her eyes, in her movement, taking it all in and committing every tremble and response of her body to memory. And she was responding, alright. That look in your eyes, the desire, the need, it just turned her on more, and she unhooked her bra and took it off, baring her breast to you, just for a moment thinking that it wasn’t fair. She was left in her panties, and you were almost fully clothed. That thought disappeared in an instance as you pushed her panties to the side and her bare pussy touched your abs. “Fuck, Y/N,” she whimpered, throwing her head back and moaning, she was right there, just about to cum when you lifted her up.

She looked down, hips instinctively moving back and forth through the empty air and her eyes wide as she slowly came down from her high. “W-What?” there was no way you would… Surely, you’d… no, the grin on your face told her she was completely right and you flipping your position, so Tara was beneath you once again only proved it.

“Not yet,” you whispered in her ear, so sensually she felt her pussy clenching, but she saw the question in your eyes, the silent question if this was fine. And oh, fuck, it was more than fine.

She blushed, remembering how she, about ten months ago, slightly tipsy and with no filter whatsoever, mentioned she didn’t think she’d mind being teased and edged. Well, not only did you remember that, you’d make sure she could see if she really didn’t mind that. So, she nodded, not trusting her voice.

You went lower, taking her nipple in your mouth, one of your hands caressing her body, just barely ghosting over her skin so she could feel it. She felt you stopping just above her pussy and she closed her eyes. “Please,” she gasped as you lightly bit her nipple, but you still didn’t move your hand. “Please,” she tried again, not sure what you could possibly be waiting for as you switched to her other nipple.

“Please do something,” she was ready, and you knew it. She spread her legs and grabbed your wrist, pushing it lower. “Anything,” she pleaded desperately, but you remained stubborn, just twirling your tongue around her nipple. “Fuck me!” she shouted, not caring who heard her, the who building could hear her for all she cared, just as long as you did anything. “I’m begging you, Y/N, I can’t wait anymore,” she whispered, having reached her limit, and finally, finally you slipped your hand into her panties and lightly teased her entrance.

“Yes!” she cried out, though it wasn’t enough. It was just getting her worked up, and that was exactly what she wanted as she rolled her hips into your touch. “Y/N,” she whispered, a broken gasp leaving her lips when you slowly pushed a finger inside her.

“Tell me when you want to cum,” you said, your gaze once again focusing on Tara’s face, on the smile she couldn’t wipe off, on the lust in her eyes, she knew you enjoyed the soft content sighs coming from her lips, so she didn’t hold back and sighed and gasps coming out as your finger slipped in her.

“Keep doing that,” she encouraged you, whining when you slipped another finger in and found just the right spot. “Slow down!” she cried out, afraid she’d cum too quickly if you kept fingering her like that, and you slowed, just barely pumping in and out. “So good,” she sighed as she was once again brought close to the edge and then made to relax as you released her nipple with a pop. Her entire body, used only to her own touch, quivered, moved in response to your touches and she felt ready to go over the edge. “Make me cum now, please,” she had enough, she wanted you to make her cum, and she nearly came from just watching you drag your upper lip down from her breasts to her hips and take her panties off with your teeth. And to prolong her waiting you took your shirt and bra off as well. “God, Y/N,” she moaned, chewing her lip when you lifted her legs and placed them on your shoulders.

You began kissing her ankle and kept going until her inner thigh, your lips brushed against her, just teasing her clit with a quick lick, before you did the same with her other leg, and Tara was just gone, digging her fingers into your hair and pulling you closer so you could finally make her cum. You were all she could feel, the smell of sex, her and your arousal filled the room, the sound of your kisses, the feel of your fingers pressing into her body, finding all the sweet spots she knew about and some she was just realizing she had, and all she could see was you between her legs as she lifted her head up to look at you. She immediately dropped her head down, seeing you like that would only make her cum even faster.

You started slow, just kissing her lips, experimentally licking every now and then and gauging her reaction. When she moaned, when and how she twitched, what made her arch her back, you took note of each and every one of her reactions. Of the way her body moved in sync with what you were doing, the way her lips parted when she inhaled sharply. Or how her pupils dilated, and her eyes revealed the desire within her. You parted her lips and slipped your tongue inside, moaning at how wet she was, at her taste and her reaction. Tara squeezed her thighs, pressing them against the sides of your head and bucked her hips and you simply needed more. You lapped at her entrance and massaged her thighs as she twitched in your arms. And then you wrapped your lips around her clit and slipped two fingers inside her, speeding up the pace just enough to, combined with all the teasing you did before, bring her over the edge.

“Y/N!” she cried out your name, her body convulsing as you held her close. You kept fingering her to ease her back down and kissed your way back to her lips. Tara eagerly kissed you the moment you were close enough, not caring one bit she was tasting herself on your lips and tongue. “That felt so good,” she sighed when she pulled away, still breathing a bit heavier and occasionally twitching beneath you.

“Good,” you kissed her again, though it was only a quick kiss this time. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than ever before, or maybe it was just the fact that she was finally yours. Her hair was messy, lips swollen from all the kisses, skin glistening, and arousal still present in her eyes.

“Your turn,” she looked eager to get back on top, but you had other ideas as you pinned her hands above her head.

“This is my turn,” you made sure to slip your fingers inside her once again, just to get the point across. “I want to see you cum again,” you told her, grinning when she clenched around your fingers. You wanted her to cum again and again, you wanted to make love to her, to keep pleasuring her.

Tara’s eyes widened and she moved to pull away, which you immediately let her do. “Then… could you,” she pointed at the drawer, and you raised an eyebrow, moving away from her and sitting down at the edge of the bed. As you grabbed the handle, Tara wrapped her arms around you, kissing the scars on your back just like you did to her. “Let me do this first,” she pleaded softly, kissing the scar beneath your shoulder blade. And you relaxed as her soft lips left marks on your skin, as her hands caressed your front. You let her do it all until she moved to kiss your neck. By that point you figured she was ready for whatever was in the drawer.

You blinked a few times, seeing a harness and a not exactly small strap-on and you looked back at Tara nervously hiding her face. “Can you take it?” you asked, and your heart skipped a beat when she nodded.

“I tried it when I bought it two weeks ago,” she mumbled, clearly embarrassed. It was actually adorable how she had no issues before, but now that there was a toy involved, she suddenly got embarrassed.

You unbuckled your belt and got up, stripping slowly as Tara watched your every move. Her fingers twitched and she sat back, rubbing herself as you got ready. When you were done she spread her lips and you swallowed hard seeing how wet she still was. “Can you take me though?” you teased, approaching her, and loving how her breath hitched when you slowly rubbed the tip against her.

“Do it,” she breathed out, grinding against the toy and teasing you with that smile on her face.

“Not until you ask for it,” and to get the point across you inserted just the tip before pulling out.

“Please,” she thought that would be enough. You’d prove her wrong.

“That’s not enough, Love,” you repeated the motion again.

You didn’t expect her to get closer and kiss your neck. “Please, Y/N, please make love to me,” she whispered sensually in your ear.

You put your arms around her lower back and pulled her closer. “Damn, Tara,” as if you could tease her more after that. You slowly pushed the tip in, letting her adjust before pushing more of the strap into her. Tara held onto your shoulders, her breathing getting a bit deeper as her body adjusted to the toy being slipped into her. Finally, she took all of it and you stopped to let her fully adjust, kissing her neck and shoulders, and rubbing her back to relax her. She looked so beautiful, face red, eyes wide, her breasts rising in the rhythm of her heavy breaths and her hair sticking to her forehead. You couldn’t resist, you had to brush a few strands of her hair back.

“Move, please move,” she pleaded, and you did as she asked, slowly moving your hips. It was awkward at first, seeing as you weren’t used to this kind of movement, but it didn’t take long to find the right rhythm.

Tara held on to you desperately as your bodies moved, a thin layer of sweat covering your skin and she moaned into your ear. You loved how vocal she was, how responsive she was, how her nails dug into your back, just enough for you to feel them and leave the marks on you, but not nearly enough to pierce the skin. You loved how she moved her hips, meeting your thrusts and pulling you down to kiss her lips without once stopping. And, fuck, she was taking it so well and you wished you could know how it felt to be inside her like this.

When you stopped kissing you just looked her in the eyes, noticing how dilated her pupils were, and you couldn’t help but moan. “I’m close Tara,” you pushed her down, so she was lying on the bed, instead of being in your arms, and you began rubbing her clit while thrusting into her.

“Me too,” she whispered, swallowing hard and wrapping her legs around your back. “Just a bit more,” she cried out when your body jerked, and her arms wrapped tightly around your back.

You kept going, pushing through the pleasure so you could make her cum again and luckily it only took a few more thrusts for Tara to come as well.

The moan Tara let out was guttural, and her back arched as she pulled you down to her chest. You were breathing heavily, but you still focused on her heartbeat, loud and fast and so welcome to hear.

“Fuck,” you pulled out of her, and while taking the harness off just rubbed her back. “You’re amazing,” you kissed above her chest, once again trying your best to help her calm down.

“Mhm, you too,” she sighed, content and relaxed once again, though her body did occasionally twitch, but the obviously satisfied look on her face told you it was more than worth it.

“Right, let’s get you cleaned up, and get some chocolate and water or whatever, hell if I know,” you chuckled, making Tara laugh at that.

“Chocolate and water first, shower after that,” she agreed. “And kisses,” she added quickly.

“And kisses,” you laughed.

A/N: Well... that was an attempt at something... I'm not sure if I should ever touch writing smut or if I should give it another shot eventually, but I'm fairly sure it's obvious I've never written smut before 🤣🤣🤣 so, yeah, it's up to your reactions.

[astralnymphh]

ellie nude hcs yes please. don’t forget to mention them abs and muscles 😩

ellie nude hcs

⋆' aestras footnotes x.

⋆' a/n; decided to write them. right then and there. lmk your ideas below!! enjoy!! MDNI.

masterlist

⋆' ellie, who sleeps half-nude, always ravages her hoodies in the process of taking them off. gets that excited to feel your skin through and through, big spooning you in bed with her perky nipples grazing the grooves of your back. I think most of the time, her boxers will remain untouched when you're just sleeping. but, feeling horny? now they're chucked to some lifeless corner of the room, and the sticky plush of her pussy is dragging against your butt, one leg hooked over your thighs. humping like a dog, as usual. "hahh– fuck, couldn't wait– mmh, can'i touch you?"

⋆' with her toned abdomen, built from the patrol routes that had her climbing, hauling and lifting, she's fucking eye candy. indirectly flaunting her beautiful abs when you straddle her. you always feel the creases and grooves of her robust muscles contracting and tightening whenever you're feeling her up, gulping firmly and staring you down with those emerald eyes. always has to fondle you back, hands reaching instinctively to your hips, giggling into a kiss.

⋆' a girl who loves having her scars caressed by the pad of your thumbs. kiss them, and she's holding you close, pleating her boxers down to her ankles while keeping steady contact, hot breath choppy in her invigorated state. in particular, the scar on her thigh. brush your lips over it, and she'll nearly start riding your face right away.

⋆' the freckles most viable of seeing them that dot her face, trickle down and strike her skin like a cinnamon constellation. shoulders are the next most freckled area of her body. that's why you love kissing her there, she's gone so sensitive for those nibbles, whimpering little "mmhs–" and "babe, fuck–" when you latch there. her pussy is angrily throbbing at that point.

⋆' happy trail. that's it. never shaves it. perfectly horizontal and framed by a beautifully mild v-line down her hips. thank aphrodite this girl wears low rise to show that auburn trail off.

⋆' speaking of hair, yeah, she's unshaved. pretty little bush under those jeans. spokes out on the top leading to her happy trail. a duller auburn, maybe? she doesn't care enough to get rid of it, it's just hair. just bobby pin it to the back if you got work to do!! (blatant referencing) short length pussy prbly. thats so random but that's what my foresight tells me 🥱 who would even go into details like that? outie.

⋆' has the nicest back to ever grace your eyes. toned to just the right amount, celestial looking in golden light, finely broad shoulders, and always needs a massage. predictably tense. more the type to sit criss-cross with you behind, molding your fingertips into the ductile muscles of her neck, laxing her head back with an "ohhhh, fuck." enlongated groan and husky toned as ever as the tension releases with every grip. don't forget the coral red scratches you marked, scraping up her shoulder blades when she hits that g–spot like lightwork.

⋆' i think she opts out of wearing a bra a lot. so, with that idea grounded, perky nipples. sososooo sensitive. which is bad, cause she hates wearing bras, so any loose clothing has to be worn with a tank underneath. won't admit it, but loves when you suckle on the light pink buds. can't you just imagine, scissoring, you on top, ticklish mouth latched to her nipple, digging your hips into hers, and she's all mouth gaping, limbs twitching at every tongue flick, nearly tearing up when you tug it, blowing pushy air through puffed rosy cheeks, callighraphizing her nails indent into your scalp, pussy getting glossy as hell and pounding her hips back up in quick paced rolls, the delicious tightening of her clit numbing up every cell in her body. the next morning, her chest and legs would ache, reminiscence of last nights actions notched in her bones. also her tits would be so pretty. small, but cute. nipples hardening and poking through the fabric when you touch her. ♡

⋆' as much as ellie loves your ass, getting hers nudged and groped when she's pounding her hips into in missionary stuns her reason more than it should, skin pounding harder together, clenching up at your touch, eyelids faltering shut and mouth clumsily flobbing over curses and praises. "fufufufuhckk, purr–fect puss– mhh, s'good baby I can– shit– uhhuh, hold.. on–!" i wanna eat her ass btw. dc if looks small or flat. have you seen the curve of her back during the nighttime farm scene? argue with the clicker idk.

⋆' knees are probably roughed up from how much she's on top, chafing on the cotton fabric, abrasions and discoloration. doesn't help when she's kneeling for you either though 🤣.

⋆' calloused hands. of course. a touch so soft can feel a bit tough and bumpy, but, they probably feel soo good on your clit. added texture when she palms you with three fingers in deep. and the way her taut fingers peel your legs open, gripping the callouses deep into the plush fat of your thigh, letting go and flattening her palm on the inside of them to keep you open. so hot. probably can't even feel them when she slaps your ass though.

⋆' her tattoo.. bro.. gets so aroused watching her tatted arm flex and twine when she fingers you. she's hovering above you, bicep tucked close to her chest, extending towards your cunt and dipping three fingers in those slobbed folds and thumbing your clit. she drones little whimpers and splits her lips only to mock your variably louder moans, "'oohh, ellie', yeah? that' good? who's fingers in you right now? mhm– ellie's fuckin' fingers."

[mavrintarou]

[4:38 PM] Oikawa Toru [7]

Posting this before I go on vacation. I hope you all enjoy this chapter... it threw me off as the writer.

Warning: this chapter is pure explicit smut - that's all I have to say. It makes up for the other chapters without any spice. Enjoy and hold on...

Sixth part Eighth part

. Y/n woke up in an unfamiliar room before her memories jogged back in time, reminding her that she was currently in Toru’s room.

And on his bed.

And in his arms.

She maneuvered around until she was facing him and wrapped an arm around his lower back.

Last night after he made her cum with his fingers, all she could remember was that they somehow made it to his bed.

Toru’s mouth moved hungrily against hers in a never-before way. He desired and hungered for her.

His fingers tugged her blouse from underneath her skirt and began to undo the buttons.

Y/n’s fingers were eagerly pulling at the belt buckle and his button.

He hissed when she slipped her hand inside his boxer briefs and wrapped her hand around his cock. “Fuck…” he growled, rutting against her fist. His fingers quickly unfasten the rest of her buttons, cursing at the small things. He reached his hand behind her back to feel her bra claps and undid them in one motion.

Y/n flips him onto his back as she rolls on top, straddling his crotch. She shrugs out of her blouse and bra, tossing them at the end of the bed before undoing the zipper to her skirt.

Toru was speechless, Y/n stripping before him, gorgeous and goddess-like. He reached for her breasts, palming them before rubbing her pucker nipples and tweaking them.

“Wait, let me take off my pants.” Y/n shifted off of him as he quickly shredded his clothes. He smirked when her eyes were on his cock that she was just fisting moments ago. “I’m so hard for you, Y/n.” His eyes widen when her face moves closer and she pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock.

Toru’s cock twitched when her lashes fluttered upwards at him, giving him a mischievous look. He was at her mercy. To tease him further, she licked the tip and swirled her tongue, licking off the pre-cum leaking. His head rolled back and a low groan rumbled from the back of his throat as she took him inside her mouth. “Fuck, Y/n…”

His fingers thread through her hair as he guides her bobbing on his cock. He nearly came when he hit the back of her throat. “Y/n… stop… if you don’t want me to cum in your mouth…”

She released him with a pop, a string of saliva bridged from his cock to her lips. “You don’t want to?”

“I’ll never say no, but I don’t want to nut so fast.” He wiped his thumb across her lower lip. “And I’m barely holding on… your fucken mouth feels wonderful but I rather stuff my cock elsewhere.” Something clicked in his head and he pulled away, reaching to open his nightstand drawers and groaned in disappointment. “Fuck, I don’t have any condoms.”

He hadn’t needed them for a while, so he didn’t have any on hand.

Y/n chewed her lower lip. She didn’t have any either, Woojin always had them on him.

Toru kneeled in front of her with his head dropped in disappointment. He has not had any relationship with anyone else other than Mateo’s mother. He was too embarrassed to admit it but he was still scarred with risking an unplanned pregnancy.

No matter how bad and how much he wanted Y/n…

“I can go get some!” his head snapped up, eyes wide and voice filled with excitement.

Y/n looked at the time, it was past midnight. She shook her head with a soft smile, “it’s okay Toru, we can pleasure each other in different ways?”

He stared at her, “what are you comfortable with?”

She was silent for a few seconds before answering, “are you comfortable with rubbing?”

“Y – yes?” his voice croaked.

She pushed him onto his back and crawled onto him. She lowered herself and pressed against his cock. They both let out a synchronized groan and moan. Y/n reached to thread her fingers with his as she rocked her hips.

Toru watched with hooded eyes, lost in their trance as his cock got massaged by her pussy lips. He never thought being rubbed in such a way could excite him very much. Every time the tip of his cock bumped into her clit, Y/n would moan and rock harder.

“Please,” he begged, catching her gaze. “Let… let me put just the tip in?”

Y/n contemplated for a second before saying, “I’m not on birth control, so you will have to make sure not to cum inside me for now.”

“I promise.” He rolled them over and widened her legs. It was his turn to rub his cock along her wet slippery slits before he pushed only an inch of his cock inside of her. He kept his words and rocked slowly.

Y/n moaned loudly before covering her mouth. “Toru,” she whispered repeatedly, “Toru, you feel so good… more…”

“No,” he choked, no matter how much he wanted to shove his cock inside of her and pound into her sweet and hot pussy, he shouldn’t. “Next time, I promise.”

Little did Y/n know that each time he thrust inside of her, he pushed just a little bit more inside her.

“Fuck… I’m going to cum,” he announced and withdrew to fist his cock fast. His cum ejaculated over her pussy like icing on a cake. A large glob landed right on her clit.

Toru dipped his head and began cleaning her. He suckled hard on her clit until she squirmed underneath him, tugging at his hair.

Y/n choked on her moan, biting her lower lip to remain quiet.

His tongue lapped lazily against her trembling pussy, watching her catch her breath from the aftermath orgasm. A finger slipped inside her pussy as he slowly teased her tender walls.

“Toru,” her tone came out whimpering instead of a warning. “I – I can’t…”

“Yes, you can, you can for me. Come for me again Y/n.” He slipped a second finger inside her pulsing heat and demanded another orgasm.

Toru finally opened his eyes and gazed down at Y/n, whose face was nestled into his chest. He had been awake for quite some time as she stirred and shifted in his arms before eventually waking up.

He thought he had dreamed of everything last night until Y/n was really in his arms, deep asleep.

Beneath the comforters, they were still naked from their activities from a few hours before. He made her cum two more times before they drifted into slumber within the comforting embrace of each other.

“Morning,” he murmured, he felt her flinch, probably not expecting him to be awake. He chuckled and kissed her forehead before her lips. He kissed her and kissed her, and kissed her until they were both breathless.

“Toru, you’re… hard…” She reached between them and wrapped her hand around his cock. “So hard…”

He hummed. Or groaned. “One more time, please?”

Y/n continued to tease him and lift her leg when she felt his fingers. Three fingers plunged into her already soaking pussy, thrusting painfully slow and deep.

“I don’t hear you saying… no?”

Y/n opened her mouth to answer when the sound from Mateo’s baby monitor interrupted.

“I swear my son has the worst timing…” Toru grumbled under his breath. He tightened his arm around her when she tried to leave his arms and bed. “No, he’ll be fine… he needs to have me-time anyways.” His fingers quickly worked in and out, making Y/n half moan and giggle, still trying to pry his arms open when he tightened his grip. “No, don’t leave me…” he begged like a child. He rolled them so she was trapped underneath him. He put his dead weight on her, burying his face in the valley of her breast before nipping at the pale skin that hadn’t yet been marked.  

“Toru – we should get up anyways.”

“No we don’t,” he swirled his tongue around her puckered nipple before sucking the whole nub hard. He switched to the other side, giving it the same attention, ready to cum against her as she wiggled and squirm beneath him. After feeling her give in, he released her very suckled nipple, satisfied with his work, and begged, “just five more minutes. I promise to make you cum in twice.”

And he did.

. .

Toru pushed the grocery cart behind Y/n, watching her look at two different items and comparing them to herself. Strapped in the baby carrier was Mateo, fast asleep.

Since experiencing firsthand just how soft and jiggly Y/n’s breasts are, he understood why Mateo loved to sleep on them.

The exact moment, Toru was jealous of his son, getting to nap comfortably against Y/n’s cushioned breast…

But Toru made himself feel better, telling himself that he got to suckle her nipples.

“Do I want to know why you have such a smug look on your face?”

Toru straightened up and cleared his throat, shifting his mind to think of something else and shifting his posture to hide the growing bulge inside his jeans. He was about to deny her accusation but instead took the bait. He rolled the car closer to her and stood behind her, to anyone else it looked like a happy couple just shopping, but to Y/n, she felt the tent poking her lower back.

Toru leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I was thinking about how jealous I am of my son sleeping against your chest… but,” his voice became lower, “I made myself better because I at least got to suck your tits.”

Y/n gasped, whipping around, a hand pressed protectively behind Mateo’s head. With her other hand, she smacked his arm. “You have no shame!”

The grin on his face only made Y/n fluster and turn into a deeper shade of red as she continued down the aisle without him.

. .

A kiss is pressed to the nape of her neck when Y/n looks upward at Toru. He leans down and drops a kiss on her lips.

Y/n’s fingers stop moving as she reaches to wrap her finger behind his neck, moaning into his mouth.

They were always kissing.

Constantly kissing.

Kissing here.

Kissing there.

Kissing everywhere.

She loved kissing Toru.

His kisses were addicting and she couldn’t get enough of it.

Toru pulled away and turned her around on the bench. He kneels in front of her and hooks his arms behind her knees and shifts her to the edge of the bench. “I’m hungry for you.”

He slips his hands beneath her flowy skirt and finds her panties, tugging them down her legs before he lifts her skirt and goes underneath it.

Her legs are shifted over his shoulders and her ankles are crossed behind his back as he drove in and devours her pussy.

“To – Toru…” Y/n falls backward, pressing down a handful of her piano keys. Her room echoed with a horrendous melody but she did not care.

Mateo was with his grandparents for the night, leaving Y/n and Toru alone to make all the noise they wanted.

His tongue slips and thrusts inside her pussy with his fingers, he slurped and groans as if it was the best meal he has ever had.

“Toru,” Y/n moaned and pleaded, “enough, I want you… I want you inside me.”

Toru slipped out from beneath her skirt and pulled her up onto her feet before throwing her over his shoulder. He spun around and brought her to his room, which was the closest. He set her down gently on the bed reached behind his back pocket and pulled out a flap of condoms he purchased earlier after he dropped Mateo off. He stood up and pulled his shirt off, dropping it by his feet before pulling down his joggers. His cock stood up proudly ready as he tore the package of the condom and rolled it in place.

“Wait,” Y/n quickly began taking off her clothes before scooting to the middle of his bed.

Toru crawled towards her and spread her knees apart.

Without wasting another second, he slowly guides his cock and thrusts fully.

Y/n’s moan echoes in his room, her hips tilting and back arching.

She wasn’t the only one who needed a second to embrace the euphoric instant.

Toru leaned down and hugged her, loving the feeling of her arms automatically wrapping around his neck. “Are you okay?”

Her eyes open and she nods her head, “wonderful.”

“Can I start moving?”

“Please.”

He started at a steady pace at first and gradually increased the speed and depth.

Toru drops his forehead against hers, “Y/n, I’ve been…. I’ve been dreaming of this moment and can’t tell if it’s real or not…”

Y/n presses her lips to his in a haste kiss before pressing his forehead to her cheek in an intimate gesture, “it’s real… so real Toru. You feel real… inside of me. I love it. I love how you feel inside my pussy.”

Toru lived for Y/n’s lewd mouth. The first time he heard lewd words come out of her mouth, he nearly came right there in then, in her mouth.

“Fuck my mouth, Toru,” Y/n begged with the head of his cock resting against her tongue. “Fuck my mouth like it’s my pussy.”

Toru remembered having to close his eyes for a few seconds before opening, them to make sure he wasn’t in a dream or that it was someone else kneeling before him.

“I love your filthy mouth,” he whispered, pressing kisses to her neck. “Your filthy mouth… tight pussy… can it all be mine?”

He moved faster and harder, making her scream. “Yes! Fuck, it’s all yours!”

Toru was not one to be possessive, but he needed Y/n. Need her heart, body, and soul.

His hands found her wrists and he brought them above her head, pinning them both down with one hand of his. Lifting his body, his other hand groped her breast, massaging the mound that fit perfectly in his palm.

He knew it was too early to think about it but at that exact moment, his mind wandered about how her breast would be when full of milk. How they would leak and how he would have a taste of it. How the perky dark pink nipple would pucker just for him to suckle. He loved the sound she would make when he suckled them hard and soft, how she would clench tightly around him when he would nip her bud.

Each day, Toru’s heart and mind races with the future. Their relationship was going so well, so beautiful, so beyond what he could ever imagine and he wanted to keep it safe. He wants nothing more than to seek a future with Y/n.

Every time he sees Y/n with Mateo, he can’t help but imagine what it would be like the day when they would have children together. Toru knows he’s getting ahead of himself and shouldn’t scare her off with his wild fantasy.

He releases his hold on her mound and watches them jiggle each time he thrusts into her.  

“Toru,” Y/n whimpered, “I’m going to cum… make me cum.”

The grip on her wrists loosened as Toru used both his hands to push her legs wider and higher, folding her in half. His cock reached deeper and he groans, feeling himself close to the finish line. He shifts his weight over her and began to pound hard into her sopping wet pussy that gushed each time he withdrew. He feels his heavy sacks slapping against Y/n with each thrust.

Her soft gummy walls tighten and she cums around his cock. Toru continues to thrust and caught up to her high, cumming hotly into the condom.

They gaze at each other, both trying to regain their breath. Toru gently shifts them onto their sides and they hold each other close.

He moistened his dry lips, “I know it sounds cliché, but I genuinely mean it…” he looked deeply into Y/n’s eyes, summoning the courage to confess, “I’m in love with you, Y/n.” Her eyes widen, his heart hanging in the balance. He has nothing left to lose but her, and he is determined not to lose her again. “I’m so fucken in love with you.”

. .

Y/n waited patiently for the doctor to return to her room to conclude her annual physical visit.

It has been a few weeks since she’s become sexually active with Toru. He makes sure to wear a condom every time but Y/n wanted to get on birth control for an extra precaution.

Toru wasn’t exactly on board with the thought of her taking pills for the sake of the chemicals going into her body but he respected her wishes. After all, she had a point.

They had sex almost every night, and a box of condoms could barely last them two days. Neither of them could keep their hands off each other once Mateo went down for the night.

Y/n giggled and shook her head when they were both caught up in the moment that it was the first time Toru had forgotten to put on a condom.

She had to go out of town for two nights and three days. It was unbearable but the moment she returned, a few hours earlier than promised, the first thing she did was hug her two favorite boys.

And the second they had alone time, their clothes were all over her living room floor.

His cock slipped inside her pussy and he grunted at the initial thrust. He nearly came at that moment feeling Y/n’s pussy again after two nights away from each other. He just wanted to stay buried deep inside of her.

Toru’s eyes shot open as realization hit him, “fuck! I forgot a condom.” He was about to withdraw when Y/n locked her legs around his waist. He winced, feeling her hot and soft velvet pussy walls clamp down on his raw cock. He let out a choke as he felt something shoot out, “wait – Y/n…”

“It’s okay – it’s my safe day, you can just pull out when you’re about to cum,” her tone was desperate as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

He could never say no.

He would never say no.

“Fuck, you feel so good without a condom,” he groaned, fastening his hips. He pushed her knees deeper into the couch, wanting to feel deeper inside her. “You’re so wet… Goodness… Y/n, you’re going to be the death of me…”

The knock at the door pulled Y/n out of her memories as she prayed her face wasn’t as flushed as she hoped.

The doctor took a seat in her chair and sighed, making Y/n frown.

“I have a question,” she began, glancing down at the files. Her brows furrowed, as she grappled with her next words. “You’re interested in a prescription for birth control, but…” she hesitated, then added carefully, “are you aware that you’re pregnant?”

. . .

E/n: SAY WHAT!

@queenelleee @mfreedomstuff @erintaro @callmeraider @chaotic-fangirl-blog @wolffmaiden @cloud-lyy @rukia-uchia-98 @anejuuuuoy @tooruchiiscribs @mommyourcall420 @haikyuubiggestsimp @lilguycoded @random-734 @ghostlyneckoaftoad @abcde12345 @shotenvinsoot @princess-sunshyn @anonymoussimper @junglewoos @basically-an-anime-stan-acct @mih311 @m1nt-3lla @qualitygiantshoepsychic

[skinwalker-bratz]

Creepypasta coquette au 🎀

🔪 | Jeff the killer

He wears a light pink sweatshirt with bows decorating the sleeves.

His knife has pink bows on the handle.

He doesn't get blood on himself, that's not delicate

"close your eyes, darling 🎀"

🦇 | Jane the killer

She still has a gothic vibe so it's dark coquette.

She has white bows decorating her curly hair, and wears a ruffled black dress with white bows and long white tights with mary JANE shoes and a pearl necklace.

her mask has light makeup and is scented with the scent of roses.

"don't close your eyes, darling 🎀"

🫀 | Eyeless jack

He has long braids decorated with bows, to hide his scars he wears light makeup and takes care of his appearance.

His medical kit is pink and he performs surgeries as delicately and precisely as possible, and he eats kidneys on a plate with a knife and fork without getting dirty.

He usually wears pink and white and his mask is always clean. (He also painted it pink.)

"harvesting organs is so coquette 🎀"

🎮 | Ben drowned

Don't like violent games, that's not coquette.

He always plays a female character and wears pink gear.

The clothes are delicate and in light tones, his hair is long and braided with bows holding it back.

"you have found a dreadfully charming fate 🎀"

🕑 | Clockwork

She wears a pink vintage clock on her eye.

She doesn't swear and is rude, that's not a lady's attitude.

She wears a pink coat with white fur, a white skirt with ruffles, black shoes with white delicate lace socks.

"your time has arrived, darling 🎀"

🪓 | Ticci toby

Wearing a white wool coat and jeans decorated with pink bows and pink sneakers, he takes a shower every day.

Their axes have pink ribbons decorating the handles.

He is very polite and if he says something bad with a tic, he will apologize.

"why bother socializing when I have voices in my head for company? 🎀"

🎀 | Nina the killer

She has some light pink streaks in her hair and a big bow decorating the back. Wears pearl necklace and bracelet, delicate white coat with decorative bows with a light pink shirt underneath, light pink skirt with ruffles, white leg warmers with black shoes.

She likes light and delicate makeup in pastel shades of pink, her nails are French style and are always trimmed and painted.

She doesn't chase Jeff, she prefers to use her charm to attract men.

"let me take you to the dreamland, my prince 🎀"

🌲 | Slenderman

He stalks people and turns them into his coquette proxies.

Instead of a suit he wears a white blouse with a black vest with pink bows and tie.

When a person is infected by it, that person starts to feel the desire to take care of themselves and act in a more polite and delicate way, gaining a taste for pink things, bows and pearls.

"Humans must learn to be more coquette 🎀"

[vigilante-3073]

Hold Me

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

PART 2

Reader has the power to teleport

Summary: Bucky confesses his feelings while stranded on a beach.

TW: Mild angst, fluff, comfort, confessions of love, self-deprecating thoughts, bad joke.

A/N: For those who wanted a part 2, hope you enjoy.

@vicmc624 @loki-laufeyson68 @eat-limes-bitches @classyunknownlover

Y/N woke up, blinking up at the dark sky above. She watched the palm fronds rustling in the breeze, listening to the soft sound of the waves gliding against the sand.

She should be dead.

Y/N shifted with a grimace, her muscles ached and her throat was raw.

She shifted herself up onto her elbows with a whimper, fingers finding the bottom of her shirt and dragging the stained material upwards to expose her stomach.

The gunshot had healed crudely into a patch of red, twisted, painful-looking scar tissue. Y/N let the material fall back into place, digging her elbows into the sand underneath her as she pushed herself up into a seated position with a wince.

She looked around, eyes finally meeting with the icy blue ones that had been silently observing her from a few feet away.

"What happened?" She asked softly.

"I didn't have a choice. I couldn't let you die," Bucky stated, looking down at his hands.

"What did you do, Bucky?" Y/N questioned.

Bucky tucked a hand into his pocket before pulling out the empty syringe of serum, "I'm sorry," He said, holding it out to her.

She took the vial from his hand, examining it carefully before looking up at him again, "Where did this even come from?" Y/N asked.

"I saw it in the sand, must have gotten swept up when you teleported us," Bucky said.

"You saved my life," She stated.

"I'm also the reason you got shot in the first place," Bucky muttered, gaze focused on the sand between them.

He looked up as Y/N shifted, using the trunk of the palm tree to steady herself as she stood.

"You really shouldn't be moving around right now," Bucky stated, standing up and moving towards her, "Sit back down before you hurt yourself," He advised.

Bucky stiffened as she wrapped her arms around him, pressing her body against his chest, "Thank you," She said.

Bucky gulped, tears gathering in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace.

He had almost lost her today.

Bucky had held her in arms as her blood soaked into his clothing, listening helplessly as her heartbeat slowed.

There was a point when he thought the serum wouldn't take hold, but Bucky was endlessly thankful that it had.

He couldn't imagine his life without her, regardless of how much of an annoyance she could be sometimes.

She was alive. She was safe. And he loved her.

"Thank you, Bucky," She repeated.

....

The pair had decided that Y/N would try to teleport them back to Latvia in the morning.

She needed to rest and heal before attempting to use her powers again, especially after being given the serum.

Bucky had built them a fire on the beach to keep warm through the night. He watched Y/N through the flames, she sat quietly with her knees pulled to her chest.

"How do you feel?" Bucky asked.

She shrugged, "Not really any different. My body is a little sore though, my throat too," Y/N said.

"You were screaming," Bucky said, stabbing a stick into the sand in front of himself.

"I was?" Y/N questioned.

"Yeah, and thrashing around. I held you down so you wouldn't hurt yourself," He said, avoiding her gaze.

Bucky felt guilty, he had given her the serum without her consent and forced her to go through the worst pain that he had ever endured.

Bucky knew how awful it could be to have your ability to choose taken away. Despite her reassurance, his guilt still sat heavily in his stomach like a rock.

"I don't remember anything," Y/N said.

"That's a good thing, trust me," Bucky assured, breaking the stick in half and tossing it into the fire.

"Can I ask you something?" She asked softly, Bucky nodded.

"I know that you don't like me very much. So, why did you save me? Why did you stay?" Y/N asked.

Bucky scoffed, shaking his head, "What? Am I missing something?" She questioned.

"Yeah, you are," Bucky stated.

"Care to enlighten me, then?" Y/N asked.

"I saved your life because I'm in love with you," Bucky said quickly, eyes finding her's across the flickering flame.

"But I thought-" "Yeah, well, you thought wrong," Bucky snapped, eyes dropping to the embers in the bottom of the makeshift firepit.

A tense silence settled over them, punctuated by the soft crackle of firewood. Bucky kept his eyes fixated on the ground, he couldn't bring himself to look at her.

Her rejection would destroy him, but he deserved it.

"You love me?" Y/N asked softly.

Bucky huffed, bright blue eyes reluctantly meeting with her's, "Yeah," He admitted.

Bucky watched her as she stood, making her way around the fire and sitting down directly beside him.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

Y/N grabbed his wrist, lifting his arm over her head and allowing it to settle around her waist as she leaned into his side.

"I'm in love with you too. Despite your bad attitude and hatred for my obviously hilarious jokes" She said.

A weight felt like it had been lifted off his shoulders.

She loved him back. She was alive and she loved him.

Bucky smiled slightly, "Your jokes are awful," He said.

"No, they're not," Y/N stated.

"They are," He argued.

"No, listen to this one, I've been saving it just for you... What do you call an alligator detective?" She asked.

Bucky shook his head with a smile, "I have no idea," He said.

"An investi-gator. Get it? Because the-"

Bucky cupped her cheek, pressing his lips to her's in a gentle kiss. Her eyes fluttered shut, lips moving tentatively against his.

Bucky pulled away slightly, resting his forehead against her's.

"Tell me another one," He said softly.

[sevikasenby]

just you (ao3 link)

wc: 1.9k

i think that grinding your cunt against sevika’s is probably the most effective way to fuck her stupid. sevika is actually quite a touchy person when she’s with someone she loves. it takes her a while to get comfortable with the fact that someone wants her to touch them, not even in the sexual sense, just like holding hands, a hand resting on your back, legs bumping into each other or tangling your legs together while getting warm under the covers.

it goes the other way as well, sevika took time to understand that someone wanted her to touch them but also that she wanted someone to touch her. whenever she fucked you, you were always gripping onto her in some way, pulling her impossibly closer, just showing that you needed her. but she also needed you. she needed you so fucking bad.

it usually happens after a very long, tiring, and frustrating day of work where sevika will come home and just need you. whether that means in a non sexual sense of taking a shower (or sometimes bath) together, cuddling on the couch and eventually falling asleep or in the sexual sense of her eating you out to help her relax, and vice versa, or one of your favorites, her fucking you into the mattress to let out some frustration because you can never say no to getting fucked by your painfully hot, angry and frustrated girlfriend.

even after all of that, you still have one absolute favorite. when she needs you. when she needs you to be on top her. when she needs you fucking her and telling her how good she is. when she needs to come home and be taken care of by you.

and when sevika came home tired, frustrated, and almost immediately going to change out of her work clothes (because a lot of the time she will sit around for a bit or go and do something like work on her arm in said clothes) you knew it was one of those nights.

a couple minutes went by and you went to check on her. you found her sitting at her desk, already out of her work clothes of course and into a loose t -shirt and a pair of boxers, cleaning some excess shimmer off of her arm. you didn’t need to say anything as you walked up behind her and grabbed the rag she was using and started cleaning her arm for her. she let you, she always does.

you leaned back against the desk while she watched you. you’ve gotten pretty good at cleaning her arm, and sevika’s gotten good at letting you clean her arm. you would clean it from time to time. normally if there was too much blood or dirt down in between some of the mechanics she wouldn’t let you clean it since she could get too it easier. on the rare occasion you did, sometimes having to extract the blade or get in between her claws, sevika always tried to see it as a reminder for her that you weren’t scared of it.

after you finished cleaning, you dropped the rag onto the desk and sat yourself in sevika’s lap, wrapping your arms around her neck. you rested your forehead against hers as your fingers gently ran through her dark hair, feeling her relax against you. her arms curled around your waist, pulling you flush against her chest.

your hand came up to cup the side of her face, your thumb caressing her cheek, “what do you need, love?”

“just you.”

“how?”

her lips were quick to capture yours. it’s the first time you’ve kissed since she’s been home. you could still feel the scar that was on her bottom lip from just a couple days ago and the taste of her cigars still lingered on her lips. she normally has a smoke on her way back from work.

her flesh hand made its way underneath your shirt, lightly scratching your back. her soft lips never left yours, the kiss becoming more and more desperate but still gentle as ever. her breath quickened, her heart was starting to race, and her grip on your waist had tightened, not wanting to let you go, not even for a second.

you took the opportunity to roll your hips against hers, making a soft moan escape her lips. one of your hands trailed down between you and brushed your fingers against her core. another moan fell from her along with a breathy “i need you.”

thats all you needed and next thing you knew you were on the bed with sevika underneath you. her shirt was removed first and your mouth instantly attached to one of her hardened nipples, the one other being rolled between your fingers. her tits have always been so sensitive and you can make her come just from touching or sucking on them.

you felt yourself growing wet as sevika’s flesh hand cupped the back of your head, bringing you closer her, if that was even possible. she was squirming underneath you, moaning so so pretty, her mech hand gripping the sheets beside her. you released her nipple, making a wet pop noise and moved over to her left one, her most sensitive one. faint blue scars traced her skin. they were very faded but still present.

while your tongue swirled around her nipple, your hand slid beneath the waistband of her boxers, and much to sevika’s delight, finally touching her. not surprising, her cunt was soaked and still growing wet as you continued to suck on her breast.

“f-fuck, baby.” she moaned as she arched into you when your fingers brushed over her clit.

“that feel good, sev? hmm?”

“so good, feel’s so fuckin’ good.”

her clit was throbbing as you continued drawing circles over it. you could now feel the wet spot you had made on your own underwear. sitting up and pulling away from her breast and your hand out of her boxers, you took your own shirt off and then your pajama pants and underwear. you moved to her boxers, looking at her for a moment so she could give you a nod that she was ready.

you slipped her boxers off her, finally revealing her wet pussy and watched as she clenched around nothing. god, you just wanted to dive in and suck on her sweet clit till her thick thighs clamped around your head but instead you kissed where her happy trail lead down into the beautiful patch of hair she had.

sevika squirmed under you again, whining and grabbing at you to bring you closer.

“you want something, love?” you knew she did.

“need to feel you, please.” and you knew exactly what she meant.

as bad as you wanted to tease her, to make her plead and beg for you, the desperate look in her eyes made you want to give her everything she wanted. she needed you, so she had you.

you made her lift her leg up so you could slot in between them. you hovered over her heat, not wanting to touch her just yet. you leaned down to capture her lips in a soft kiss, hearing her sigh happily against you. you didn’t pull away as you finally lowered yourself onto her, connecting your already soaked cunts together and you got what you wanted: her gasping against your lips.

still not pulling away, you started moving your hips to rub your cunt against hers, wanting to hear and feel her moan and whimper against you. her flesh arm wrapped around you, pulling you impossibly closer. her soft breasts were pressed against yours, making you both sigh in contentment.

it was easy to figure out why sevika loved to be the one on top fucking you so much, hearing your moans was music to her ears and now hearing her moan so pretty because of you made you never want to stop pleasuring her, never want to stop taking care of her.

while you wanted to let her stay wrapped around you, you decided to pull away and sit up, letting you hit just the right spot every time and letting out your own moans and curses. between the sound of your cunts kissing and sevika’s sinful moans, you weren’t sure which was turning you on more.

maybe it was the way your warm, wet cunts molded perfectly together, maybe it was how sevika’s eyes rolled back every time your clits touched just right or maybe it was how she couldn’t form a coherent sentence together besides strings of curses and the occasional “please”, “more”, “faster”.

“closer, please."

you weren’t going to deny her this time, there was no way in hell you could. you leaned down letting her wrap her arms, both flesh and metal, around you. she buried her face into your neck, muffling her moans, not in a way to try and hide them, but because she just wanted to be as close to you as possible.

you ended up wrapped around each other, faces buried into each others necks, the combined wetness of you both was definitely soaking into the sheets beneath you and was making an obscene squelching noise. the way her hands gripped harder at your back as if you still weren’t close enough, you were never close enough.

you tried your best to keep your own moans down, only wanting the sound of hers filling your ears but the feeling of her warm, wet cunt drove you absolutely crazy.

“you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” you told her. “so fuckin’ good for me."

when she pulled away for some fresh air, her mouth was slightly opened, her breathing was heavy, a thin sheen of sweat covering her forehead and her hair was all messy. one of your hands came up to brush the hair out of her face so you could rest your forehead against hers.

you watched as she fell apart beneath you even further, getting closer and closer. you sped up when you felt her legs start shaking, doing your best to keep yourself steady while you were also getting close.

her throbbing clit rubbed against yours so perfectly, you were both reaching the edge so quickly now.

“aah, fuck!”

“thats it, sev, let it out, i’ve got you.”

sevika shoved her face back into your neck, streams of moans falling from her lips.

“i’m not gonna let you go.”

and you didn’t. you held onto her while her whole body shook with pleasure as she came.

feeling the way her cunt pulsed against you made you finally tip over the edge, gripping onto her shoulder while you slowed down your thrusts, not wanting to send either of you into overstimulation.

you both completely relaxed, still holding onto each other while catching your breath. you felt something wet against your neck and you pulling your head up and saw sevika with tear streaks down her cheeks. she wasn’t actively crying but she obviously had at some point. it wasn’t unusual at all either. it wasn’t like this was uncommon for her, or for you at times.

sometimes it just happened. it was happy crying. sometimes the pleasure you were making her feel was too much, too good and she just couldn’t help it. same goes for you.

your hand reached up and cupped her cheek, wiping away the tears with the pad of your thumb. her eyes were already droopy, near falling asleep as you placed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“i love you so much.” you whispered to her.

“i love you more.”

“impossible.”

taglist: @abitohoney @archangeldyke-all @shimtarofstupidity @sevsbaby @zaunite-leo

[chiptrillino]

shout out to @transuncletaylor and @sulkybender for to pun idea!

[ID: three digital drawings in cute simple chibi style of aang, appa, momo, mai, ty lee, sokka and zuko from avatar the last Airbender. 1st drawing shows aang sitting on the ground legs spread out, a pumpkin-shaped bin filled with candy in front of him. he is leaning forward and resting his hand on his bin. He is wearing an orange beany with a blue arrow on his head. his body is covered in a white blanket sheet. he is dressed as a ghost. on his face is painted a smiling face that sticks the tongue out his eyes closed. behind aang on the left is appa a big fluffy dog wearing batwings and a pumpkin charm on his collar and small black devil horns. on the right is momo, as a cat walking out from behind aang looking up at him. also wearing, like appa, black bat wings. they are placed on a pale orange background with moon and stars.

2nd drawing pictures mai and ty lee. they are holding hands and jumping off the ground looking as if they are hovering above the ground. Mai is on the left covered in a black veil with black spikes and red roses crown. she has funky red glasses which are red bat-wing-shaped. the face she painted on her white ghost cloth is serious. underneath she seems to wear a black sweater and red shorts and fishnet tights and black healed half-boots. ty lee is wearing a crown made out of gold spikes and pink gems on their end radiating out, pale rosa roses and white butterflies. she is wearing pink flower glasses. her expression is smiling and she is winking. her ghost cloth is pale rosa and frills at the edge. her top is not recognizable underneath the cloth but she wears pink plated shorts and withe plateau sandals. the background is rosa. surrounding the girl are small black bats and yellow stars.

3rd drawing shows sokka and zuko going out for trick or treating. sokka on the left has his right arm raised a still empty carved pumpkin caved bin in his hand. he is wearing a withe cloth as a ghost costume. the face he painted on is open-eyed with a toothy smile. he is wearing blue glasses in the form of waves. his small wolf tail is peeking out. on his chest is written "HeBoo" he is wearing blue jeans and pale blue crocks. with his left hand, he is holding Zuko's right hand. Zuko's body language is less excited than Sokka's. he is also wearing a withe cloth as a ghost costume, the face he painted on is frowning and has a stain over his right eye (hint at his scar but on the wrong side). His costume has written on his chest "HimBoo" he appears to wear a red flannel shirt wrapped around his waist. and black ripped jeans paired with red convers. he is also holding an empty pumpkin bin for trick or treating. the background is dark purple, and surrounding the boys are yellow and darker purple stars. a wiggly font says "trick or treat" behind their head. End ID.]

[chloedrewitt]

𝘉𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘰𝘯 - 𝘈𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘦𝘯 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 [𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 2]

summary: The day of your arranged wedding has come, and a new alliance is forged. Despite what you know about your new husband, his presence alone is enough to make your heeks flush and your hands shake. But would it be so bad to give in to these things you are feeling? Aemond, for one, seems to have made his mind up about you. Though the royal succession is a strong wind to withstand, and the future is never clear.

pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

word count: 4k

warnings: making out, strangers trying to take the reader’s clothes off as part of a wedding tradition, no smut; fade to black

a/n: I can’t wait to see adult Aemond in a few weeks!

Part 1

Request status: temporarily closed [info]

Taglist:

@amethystwonders11 @khaleesihavilliard @nura300 @ateliefloresdaprimavera @aestmilky​ @rainazinha​ @cullenswife​ 

If you wish to be added to or removed from the character taglist, please comment underneath this post​.

Masterlist - Ko-fi

All eyes were on you as you stepped into the throne room. On the right side, you spotted your mother and siblings surrounded by guards, as your stepfather Daemon Targaryen took his spot next to you in your late father’s stead. Your siblings looked worried, but when you met your mother’s eyes, she offered you a reassuring smile. She knew you were making a huge sacrifice, and she was proud of you for that. 

Music started playing as you put one foot forward and took hold of your stepfather’s arm, your gaze glued to the stone floor beneath you. The beautiful, cream colored dress you wore squeezed your waist so that you feared you would faint then and there, since the chest piece consisted of a corset partially made out of metal. The sleeves were of the same material, resting upon your shoulders and shaped like relaxed dragon wings, hidden underneath your maiden’s cloak which bore the colors of House Targaryen and House Velaryon. 

You raised your gaze only for it to land on the iron throne behind the altar, partially hidden by ornaments and decorations. The throne was not at the center of today’s festivity, and yet, it was the reason that the civil war broke out in the first place, and the reason why you had to marry a man you barely knew. When you were little, before your mother brought you to Dragonstone, you played with Queen Alicent’s children, but the memories of it had faded long ago, leaving only blurred images and memories of feelings.

“Your mother would want me to say that you are doing the right thing,” whispered Daemon when you looked to the left, where the groom's mother and her other children stood. It pained you to see Helaena, since you had spent a lot of time together when you were younger. They all had grown so much, you would have never recognized them on the street. 

“And what do you want to say?” You asked, your voice sounding the most emotionless it had been in years. You heard people whisper as you slowly passed them, and the name ‘Strong’ rang in your ear, but you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to focus on walking. 

“That you should run if you want to.” His voice was even quieter now, and for a moment it seemed like you actually contemplated the idea, but then you looked at Daemon and offered him a weak smile. 

“I will be okay,” you said, which ended the conversation. 

The wedding altar had been placed before the iron throne was made of dark stone, and you almost felt a hint of remorse for those who had been tasked with bringing it here. Usually, weddings took place in a sept, but since this was very likely to be the most important wedding of the century, Aegon had allowed to use the throne room for it. 

The septon who would officiate the wedding smiled at you as you took your place next to Aemond, who was wearing an own version of the wedding cloak, only his was kept solely in the colors of House Targaryen. Underneath, you saw a black vest and parts of the Targaryen sigil. You looked up at your fiance, taking in the eye patch and scar that appeared from underneath it, while the septon gestured for you both to take each other's hands.

Aemond’s skin felt warm on yours, and you only noticed that your hands shook when he gently squeezed them, making you raise your gaze to meet his eyes once more. The entire throne room was looking at you both, while the septon spoke about a holy union, but looking into Aemond’s eye, the moment felt surprisingly private and intimate. He offered you a faint smile, most likely in an effort to reassure you further, and you smiled back, which made him visibly relax.

You were so caught up in your silent communication that you tensed when Daemon placed his hands on your shoulders, ready to take off your maiden’s cloak. You nodded at your stepfather when he joined your mother and siblings, your cloak in his hands. It was an old tradition for the father to take the bride’s cloak when the time came, and even though you always got along well with Daemon, a part of you wished it was your real father standing next to your mother now. 

For the first time, the gathered could marvel at your dress and the beautiful handiwork. You even saw Aemond admire the way the material hugged your body, and the dragon wing shaped sleeves that made you look like you were the embodiment of dragon flame. 

“Princess.” You turned your head towards the septon when he addressed you, and you quickly realized it was your sign to proceed with the ceremony, so you let go of Aemond’s hands and turned your back towards him. Without his hands or eyes to anchor you, a brief wave of panic overcame you and you cursed yourself for how pathetic that sounded. You told yourself that you would be brave. It was the responsibility you carried as heir. 

You felt Aemond’s presence behind you when he stepped forward to place his cloak on your shoulders, the soft fabric warming your naked arms. His hands lingered on your shoulders, and gently brushed down your arms when he lowered them again, something that caused some of the spectators to whisper. You drew in a breath, reminded of the time you spent together on Zaelix, when he’d held your waist and you’d felt free for the first time in years.

You turned to face him again, taking your hands in his, and waited for the septon to allow you both to speak before proceeding. 

“With this kiss,” Aemond and you began in unison, “I pledge my love, and take you for my-”

“-lady and wife.”

“-lord and husband.”

Your eyes dropped to Aemond’s lips as the words left yours, and you caught yourself wondering if they were as soft as they looked. He was so close that you could smell him; an earthy note with a hint of leather. 

“With the power given to me, I declare you man and wife. From today on, you are one flesh, one heart, and one soul. Now, and forever. You may kiss.” The septon lowered his head in respect, taking a small step back to offer you two some space. 

Your lips parted as Aemond placed his hand on the back of your head, gently guiding you to meet his lips. Applause erupted from all around you, and all the tension you had felt in your body before eased when Aemond placed his other hand on your cheek and pulled away slowly. 

The tingling in your stomach made you open your eyes, realizing that you wanted to kiss him again, but it would not be appropriate and you had enough self-control to behave like the princess you were raised to be. Still, you were reminded yet again of when Aemond took you to your dragon and went against his brother, the king he swore to serve, by letting you go for a ride. 

The feast that followed was mostly uneventful, except for the numbers of men who got drunk on the finest wine House Targaryen could afford. Loud chatter swallowed any attempt at conversation that you tried to make with Aemond, especially when the food was served and the clinking of forks on plates increased the volume even more.

Your new mother-in-law gave you disapproving looks all evening, but you noticed Aegon trying to ease her repeatedly, until he must have given her the order to behave, because at some point she stopped even looking at you. It helped that she was seated on the other side of the banquet table, out of your sight. But it did not help with the loss of appetite you experienced as you pushed a piece of meat around with a fork. 

Then, Aegon stood, his goblet raised towards the ceiling and silenced the room with a single word. All eyes were on him, despite some people being barely able to stand. The part you had dreaded the entire night came, you knew it the moment Aegon’s eyes fell onto you and your new husband. “It is time for the bedding,” he declared, clearly having had his fair share of liquor himself. 

You clenched your teeth, hating how every man in the room turned to look at you with hunger in their eyes. Some women were eyeing Aemond in a similar way, but you could only drop your gaze to the half-eaten plate before you and try to ignore the burning in your cheeks. 

Next to you, your mother put her hand on yours and leaned in to say something, but loud singing interrupted her before she could even speak.

Two men you had never seen before walked around the table, as they threw their drinks on the ground as if the throne room was a simple tavern smallfolk would visit. But your disgust turned to horror when they grabbed your arms and dragged you from your seat, tearing at the fabric of your dress. The tradition was old and respected by most, but nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of being undressed by strange men. 

Your mother  told them to stop, but the men were too drunk to think straight, so they continued singing their sea shanty instead, about the daughter of a captain and the untamable waves of the sea. It made you sick. 

Just as a woman reached for Aemond, he stood from his seat and wrapped an arm around your waist gently. “Traditions are all good and well,” he said, loud enough for the gathered to hear. “But you’ve all clearly had too much to drink.” The booing almost made you roll your eyes and even move a bit closer towards Aemond, which he must have registered without looking at you, since he tightened his arm around your waist. 

“The bedding will take place!” Exclaimed Aegon before falling back into his chair laughing. 

“That is quite enough,” intervened your mother as she gestured for you and Aemond to leave, just as Queen Alicent made a snarky remark you were too exhausted to pay attention to.

You felt relieved when Aemond started guiding you out of the throne room, followed only by a handful of servants who had probably been assigned to show you to the quarters. You noticed that you were clinging to Aemond’s robes when you entered a corridor, letting the door fall shut behind you. The sudden silence was deafening as you let go of Aemond’s clothes to rub the palms of your hands together nervously. 

You could not look up at him, too big was the unease about what was going to happen. Would he force you to do things you did not want to do? Would he claim you as property, despite it being against the agreement between Queen Alicent and your mother? He could do what he wanted behind closed doors, after all.

Suddenly, the servants stopped in front of a door and lowered their heads. You looked around, trying to figure out which wing you were in, since you had been too busy thinking about the possible outcomes of the night. It was easy to get lost in thought when Aemond helped you navigate the castle, but as you both came to a halt, he removed his arm from your waist. 

“Thank you,” he said to the maids, and they bowed their heads again, before leaving you both alone. 

Aemond did not seem keen on letting the silence between you become uncomfortable, since he immediately moved to open the door and let you inside. The room was large, with a king sized bed on the right side and a red velvet carped on the stone floor. You heard the door close behind you, but you did not turn as you looked around, taking in the paintings that hung on the walls and the chandelier above your head, until your gaze landed on the bed. 

You swallowed, before finally turning to face Aemond. He looked at you softly, his black clothes seemingly blending in with his surroundings. A sudden shiver came over you, and you missed the cloak he had put around your shoulders during the ceremony. 

“I will not force you to do anything tonight, Lady (y/n),” he said genuinely, but you took your time to answer. There were no chairs in the room, so you were forced to sit on the bed to relieve your aching feet, watching as he leaned against the bed frame first, but you moved over a little to make space and gestured for him to take a seat. You’d have to sleep in the same bed tonight anyway, refusing to sit next to him would have been ridiculous.

“I appreciate it,” you replied and Aemond nodded at you as he sat down, eye wandering around the room in thought. You looked at him silently. It was the first time you two were so alone in such an intimate environment. Yes, the dragon ride had been more physical, but now you could properly look at him for the first time. At his scars, and the way they disappeared underneath his eye patch. You raised a hand to touch his face but stopped when he tensed. 

“I remember when that happened.” Your voice was quiet, your hand still lingering in the air. “I don’t remember much from when we were younger, but… I do remember that. There was blood everywhere when my brother took your eye.” 

Aemond pressed his lips together, and you saw him reaching for the eye patch, but his hand dropped before he could do it, so you decided to touch the leather, watching as Aemond closed his eye in response. “Why do you wear that?” You whispered, tracing the leather band wrapped around his head. 

“I do not wish to scare the ladies at court.” Your heart ached when his words reached your ears, and you could see on his face that it must have bothered him a lot.

You cupped his cheek, continuing to stroke the leather with your thumb. His lips parted, gaze jumping between your eyes and mouth. 

“Do you think you scare me?” You asked, but he didn’t answer. “I am not a mere lady at court. I have been born into war and bloodshed, my earliest memory is of it. I have seen bodies rot and men die. So, no. You do not scare me, Aemond. And you do not have to hide in front of me.” A pause followed, as you searched for the right words to say.

“We are wed now. And, as you said, we should make the most of it. Neither of us should feel caged or unseen.”

You pulled at the string a little to see whether he would resist, but he only closed his eye and allowed you to gently pull off the eye patch, revealing the scarring underneath. You traced the soft skin with your finger, and brushed over his lid softly, before he opened his eyes again, revealing a sapphire crystal which the scarring framed, just big enough to substitute his actual eye. 

It was glistening softly when he tilted his head to look at you better, and you let your hand drop, caressing his bottom lip with your thumb. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed, gaze flickering between his eyes. You noticed how the blue of the sapphire made his iris seem brighter in color, as well. 

“Do you really think so?” He asked, doubt in his voice but you nodded, and shifted a little closer towards him. 

“I’m sorry my brother did this to you,” you said genuinely, “but scars are proof that we survived something. I have my fair share of them, too. At first I hated them, especially the ones caused by my own folly. Then I realized that they are a constant reminder of how fragile we are, and that makes life worth living. Knowing that there will be an end one day, that it could be tomorrow, lets you cherish and live it to the fullest, and gives you courage to do the things you want to do.”

His gaze dropped to your lips again, where it lingered even as he replied, “And what do you want to do, Princess?”

You closed some more of the distance between you slowly, giving him time to retreat if he wanted to, but he placed a hand on your back and pulled you even closer towards him. The sudden movement made you gasp, as you placed your hands on either of his shoulders. Your bodies were so close now that your torsos touched each time you inhaled. 

“Do you remember when we were younger, we used to play together sometimes. Before your mother brought you to Dragonstone.” You felt his breath on your skin as he spoke, and his muscles underneath your hands tense. But all you could do in response was shake your head, since you did not remember much from your childhood, one some core memories. “You wanted to train with the swords like us boys, but Ser Criston Cole did not allow it.” That, you did remember. A smile appeared on your lips as you thought about how let one of Helaena’s bugs crawl into his armor when he hadn’t been paying attention. 

“Each night,” Aemond continued, “you’d sneak out of your quarters to secretly train.” 

“How do you know that?” You asked curiously, since you had been sure no one had noticed back then. 

“Because I did the same. Only I did not train, but used the peace of the night to spend it in solitude. Back then, you thought no one saw you. But I did. I saw you how you wielded that sword, getting better each time you picked it up. And when I look at you now, I still see that fierce warrior you trained yourself to be.”

You could only look at him, mouth agape. He clenched his teeth, and you saw that he started regretting saying anything, but you placed your hand on his. “I truly thought no one had even noticed. But… why did you not say that you not mention our past when we saw each other first in that dungeon?”

“I did not know how much you remembered.” 

You smiled, as the tingling sensation returned, and you twirled a strand of his long, white hair between your fingers, nose brushing his. “Earlier, you asked me what I wanted to do,” you whispered, before pressing your lips to his softly. “This,” you added when you pulled away. “I want to do this.”

Aemond searched your eyes for a moment, seeming surprised and uncertain. The muscles of his arms flexed, but whatever internal battle he was fighting, it seemed to be over the moment he placed his arm on your back, hooking the other under your knees. His mouth ghosted over yours, before uniting again. You remained in this position while you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and melted into the kiss. It was more passionate and fierce than the previous one, a fire that the kiss which sealed your marriage had ignited and could now finally burn. 

Aemond bit down on your bottom lip softly, and you moaned just as he finally lifted you up a little, only to lay you on your back, letting you sink into the soft mattress. He climbed on top of you, his long hair tingling your cheeks, which made you giggle against your will. 

You weren’t sure about your feelings yet, and this marriage had just begun after all, but something about the way his hand felt on your skin, and the way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention made you believe this might not have been the worst thing to happen to you. 

In fact, you were sure that the entire castle could hear the euphoria he made you feel that night, and you did not mind even the slightest bit.

---

Eight Years Later

You were gently swaying the crib from side to side when Aemond entered the candle lit room, your six year old son, Aerydor, behind him. He giggled happily when he spotted you, and you wrapped your arms around him the moment he ran up to you. 

“How is the council?” You asked Aemond as you ruffled your son’s white hair. 

“Unbearable in your absence, my love,” he replied with an exhausted sigh, but a smile soon followed. 

He came to a halt next to you, placing his hands on your shoulders, which he slowly started to massage. You exhaled deeply when he kneaded your tense muscles, looking down at the peacefully sleeping baby in the crib. “As it is when you are looking after her,” you replied, turning to offer your husband a tired smile. 

“At least she grows up with her parents taking care of her, not maids.” Aemond dropped his hands from your shoulders and walked to the side of the crib, to pull the baby’s blanket higher a little. 

Six years ago, Aegon and his children had died, leaving you and Aemond to inherit the throne. Since then, you had both attended council meetings and reigned as equals. Though your luck couldn’t be greater, you had a feeling that your family had had something to do with Aegon’s death, but you chose not to investigate further. None of the plotting and family wars of the past concerned you anymore, since you had found your luck and happiness.

“She seems to get bigger with each day that passes,” Aemond said, smiling brightly. You hadn’t seen him this happy since your son was born, and it warmed your heart. 

“Mommy, I’m tired.” 

Aemond and you both looked down at the little prince, who was now rubbing his eyes and looking very grumpy. You laughed and lifted him up to sit him on the bed behind you. “How lucky that you are already wearing your sleeping clothes, then.” You kissed his forehead and watched as he crawled underneath the blanket, hearing the sound of Aemond extinguishing the candles one by one. 

You both changed into your nightgowns and soon joined your son in the bed, where he was already sound asleep between you two. Although he had his own room, he was scared of the dark so you and Aemond let him sleep in your bed from time to time. Though Aerydor had most likely already decided that this bed, which was four times the size of the one standing in his room, actually belonged to him. 

“When Elaena grows up,” you whispered to Aemond, whom you were facing on the bed, “I want her to train just like Aerydor does.” 

“So she wouldn’t have to sneak out at night and do it herself?” Aemond teased, but you only rolled your eyes with a smile. 

“Yes, precisely.”

“Do not worry.” He reached over Aerydor to caress your cheek with his fingers, eye flickering between yours, as his sapphire glistened faintly. “I will see to it personally that Elaena will be as skilled with a sword as she will be at court.” 

You smiled, eyes jumping between Aerydor and Aemond, as you marveled at your small family. Briefly, you wished your mother could have been here to see how well your life had turned out and that you had ascended the Iron Throne at last. Not as consort, but as Queen. It was the first time in history that Westeros had two reigning monarchs, and it was a change you were keen on keeping. 

Aemond closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as he wrapped his arm around you and Aerydor, and soon you drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a princess and a dragon, who brought even the strongest of knights to their knees.

[ladykailitha]

Across a Crowded Room Part 3

Oops! This has five chapters not four. So I might double up next week depending on how far in the other stories I get.

This is a long boy. Longer than I usually make parts, but there was no place to break it without slowly down the plot.

Also heads up, if you're familiar with me at all, you know that I tend to write a nuanced, but mostly unfavorable Nancy. I like the character, (I know it doesn't seem like it) but she's isn't a good person. So when I write her, she isn't a good person especially if I'm writing post canon (ish, Eddie lives) but she is brave, she is strong, and she is tenacious.

So you are a fan of Nancy and don't like the way I write her in this story, please hit the back button, not the comment section. Please?

Eddie and Robin don't come out great in this chapter, either, but at least they're trying.

And sexy times ahead.

Part 1 Part 2

****

Eddie shook his head as he watched Steve go. His little plan about moving out to Cali to be with Eddie made him so happy. That Steve wanted to be with him even if that meant being further away from Robin. And wasn’t that the be all, end all.

Steve was out in no time at all, tight jeans and grey Henley. Eddie wanted nothing more to rip them off of him and toss him into bed to ravish him.

Steve caught his heated glance and winked at him.

“We’ve got plenty of time for that, rockstar,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “you’re here all week.”

The fire in Eddie’s gut didn’t quench, it ignited. “Same goes for the apartment hunt, honey.” He pulled Steve in close, wrapping one arm around his waist. “I could please you in that bed of yours or even on the sofa if you’re eager enough.”

Steve felt a shiver down his spine and his eyelids drooped. “Yeah, and just how would you please me, Eds?” He placed both arms around his neck.

“I’d start with these two little moles,” Eddie purred, licking the spot he had just described.

Steve let out a low moan. “And then?”

“Then I would get my hands on that glorious ass,” Eddie continued. He went back to licking and kissing that part on Steve’s neck, but his hands cupped his ass and brought Steve flush against him.

“Eddie...” Steve whined. He was so hard.

“You like that?” Eddie cooed. “Then after bringing you close, I would let my hands roam. In your hair, under your shirt; your back, your stomach.”

Steve legs started to shake as Eddie did just that.

“Hmm...” he purred into Steve’s ear, “looks like we’re gonna need to lie you down, sweetness. What’s it going to be, the bedroom or the sofa?”

Steve’s hands slid down Eddie’s arms, rubbing them up and down as he thought about it. “Bedroom. Definitely the bedroom.”

Eddie grinned and spun Steve around. “Lead the way, babe.”

Steve scrambled to the bedroom, Eddie hot on his heels. Eddie slammed the door behind them as Steve sat on the edge of the bed. Eddie prowled his way to his boy, who smirked up at him.

Eddie licked his lips. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. I can’t want to take you apart.”

“Come get me.”

Eddie proceeded to just that. Clothes were quickly dispatched and Steve lay on the bed looking up at Eddie with wide-eye wonder.

Eddie crawled over top of him and kissed him deeply. Hands roamed again, mapping out every freckle, every mole, every scar, every line. He kissed the spots he found he couldn’t get enough of.

Steve moaned and whined in pleasure as Eddie made his way down his body.

“You got condoms, big boy?” Eddie asked, face directly above Steve’s cock.

Steve pulled out a box and tossed it at him.

“Keep these under your pillow, Stevie?” Eddie admonished playfully. “Such a dirty boy.”

Steve’s cock twitched in response and Eddie grinned. He quickly sheathed both of their cocks and then went to town, licking and sucking Steve off.

Steve’s hands buried themselves into Eddie’s hair, trying not buck into those perfect lips.

Eddie reached underneath Steve’s balls and pressed a finger in. Steve nearly jackknifed off the bed.

“Drawer!” he panted. “Lube in drawer.” His hand flailed at his nightstand and Eddie grinned.

“I should have asked if you had any, baby,” Eddie said. “Let’s make this really easy for you.”

He grabbed the lube and looked at the bottle. “Strawberry passion fruit?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I like the flavor,” Steve grunted.

Eddie shrugged and coated his fingers with the stuff. He lowered himself back onto Steve’s cock and then slow pressed one finger to Steve’s entrance.

Steve moaned as Eddie pressed past the rim and into his ass. It was all he could do to not just come down Eddie’s throat in a heartbeat. Not that he could do that with the condom in the way. But that’s what it felt like. The second finger joined the first and Steve was a goner. His back arched as he emptied his load straight into Eddie’s hot mouth.

Eddie pulled off with a slick pop and stared down at the very debauched Steve Harrington. He removed Steve’s condom and tossed it away after tying it off.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he murmured. “That was the hottest thing ever.”

Steve blushed and the blush went all the way to his nipples to Eddie’s enjoyment and Steve’s chagrin.

“Just you wait, Stevie,” Eddie purred, placing a kiss on Steve’s overheated stomach. “There’s more good coming for you.”

“Eds...”

Eddie kissed his inner thigh and began working Steve open again. Once he was satisfied that Steve would be able to take him without discomfort, he pulled his fingers out.

“Please...” Steve begged.

Eddie rubbed his hands soothingly on Steve’s thighs as he lined himself up to his ass. “I’ve got you, honey. I promise to make you feel good.”

“I trust you.”

And if that wasn’t the kicker, Eddie didn’t know what was.

He went in slow until his hips were flush against Steve’s beautiful ass and then he immediately picked up the pace.

Steve moans became cries and Eddie could tell that it felt good from the way gripped the sheets.

“I’m not going to last long, you feel to good.”

“I wanna see,” Steve murmured breathlessly. “I wanna see you come, Eds.”

One, two...

And then he stilled, filling the condom with his load. Steve was nearly sobbing from the intense pleasure.

Eddie pulled out and disposed of his condom. Steve collapsed on the mattress, sated at last.

Eddie laid down next to him and they cuddled together as they came down from the high of really good sex.

“Holy shit,” Steve said once his brain came back online. “What was that?”

Eddie chuckled, nuzzling Steve’s neck. “I call it a suck and fuck.”

Steve threw back his head and laughed. “Because of course you do.”

“It’s good to see you so happy, Stevie,” Eddie murmured. “You know, when I first arrived at the bar and saw you with your friends, I thought ‘he’s happier without me’, but now that I see you now, and how much happier you are now. There’s no contest. I make you happy. I make you happy. I make you happy. And there is nothing better in the world than that.”

Steve kissed him. “Is that why Robin was pissed when you said the plan was for you to move to Chicago, because you thought I didn’t need you?”

Eddie nodded. “She made me see reason.”

“I’m glad.”

They cuddled for a bit longer before they hopped into the shower to get cleaned up and to spend more time in each other’s arms before facing the world yet again.

****

Steve was starting to get a migraine. Well, okay not really. But that’s what apartment hunting was starting to feel like.

Their first day had been a complete bust. Too high of a down payment. Shitty landlords. Beautiful pictures, horrible reality. Bad neighborhoods.

So they decided to go to dinner with Robin to blow off some steam after such a crappy afternoon.

“I’m just grateful to be sleeping on Nancy’s couch until I can find a place,” Robin said in sympathy.

“How is Nancy and Jonathan?” Eddie asked.

Steve took a drink to hide his grimace. It bothered him that his two best friends were still in contact with his ex and the guy she cheated on him with, but he couldn’t tell them why it bothered him without completely blowing up Robin’s living arrangement. So he kept his mouth shut.

“They’re taking a break,” Robin said with a wince of her own. “She’s pissed at his lack of ambition and he’s pissed she cost him a high paying photography gig by shooting off her mouth to the wrong person at the wrong time.”

Steve ducked his head because the was no glass big enough in the world that he could lift to hide his gleeful expression. He fiddled with his napkin for something to do with his hands.

“That’s rough,” Eddie was saying. “I was rooting for them, you know?”

Robin nodded. “They were cute together.”

Just then Steve was spared the mortification of shouting out that she cheated on him by the waiter coming up to take their drink and appetizer order.

“I’ll drive,” Robin said. “You order whatever you like.”

Steve ordered a strawberry daiquiri and Eddie snorted into his water glass. Robin rolled her eyes.

“Of course you did,” she huffed. “I’m just surprised you two made it out of the apartment at all, if I’m honest.”

“Just a whiskey for me,” Eddie told the waiter to get out of this suddenly very awkward conversation.

“I’ll take a cherry Coke, please.”

Once the waiter had gone, Steve went back to playing with his napkin.

Their drinks arrived and then their appetizer. They ordered their main as they happily munched on their nachos.

About half way through dinner Robin rolled. “Come on, Steve. It’s not like you can avoid talking about her forever. You two broke up before you even met Eddie and me.”

Steve just shrugged, twisting his napkin further. He was sure it was going to be in pieces before this meal was over.

Eddie looked between them in confusion. “Who, what now?”

“Nancy,” Robin said. “He always gets super quiet and broody when I bring her up.”

Eddie frowned. “Hey, man–”

“Don’t call me ‘man’, we fucked!” Steve spat. He got up quickly from the table and stormed out of the restaurant.

Once he was out onto the pavement he pulled out a cigarette and lit it. A minute later, Eddie was lighting one up next to him.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie muttered. “Going back to calling you ‘man’ after all the sweet nicknames I had been calling you all day was wrong.”

Steve’s hand shook as he let out an exhale of smoke. “I guess I just don’t get why you two are friends with her.”

Eddie sighed. This is the one sticking point he had with Steve. Nancy Wheeler. “I know she was your ex, but you two seemed to put it past at the gang get togethers, so I thought you were okay. But obviously not and I don’t why.”

Steve looked up at him with tears glittering on his eyelashes. “Isn’t it enough for me to say that she hurt me as the reason?”

Eddie sighed and pulled Steve in close. Steve went, a little reluctantly, but he went. He finished his cigarette, tucked under his arm.

Robin came out just as they were finishing their cigarettes. She handed Eddie his credit card and sack that held the remains of their dinner in to go containers.

“Let’s go home.”

She led the way to the car and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Eddie paused when Steve got in the back. He shared a panicked look with Robin, before he got in on the side behind her. He slid all the way to the middle to wrap his arms around Steve.

Robin looked at them in the rearview mirror and sighed.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she said softly. “I know bringing her up upsets you and I do it anyway. First relationships are complicated and yours more then most.”

“Baby?” Eddie asked. “Why did you invite Jonathan and Nancy if being around them upset you this much?”

Steve was quiet for a moment. “Joyce told me I was being rude inviting Will and Mike, but not their older siblings and if I continued to snub them, she would stop Will from coming. And if Will didn’t come...”

“Mike wouldn’t come,” Eddie finished. “And if Mike didn’t come, neither would El, starting this chain reaction where it would be maybe the Sinclairs if they didn’t side with the others. Shit, baby, I had no idea.”

Steve shrugged.

“Uh uh,” Eddie said fiercely. “This is something that has been hurting you for years and we just ignored it. You have a right to be upset.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Robin said. “We made you feel like you couldn’t come to us with what you were feeling and I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t want to say anything because you didn’t have a lot of friends that were girls at the time and I felt like if I brought it up it would really splinter the group.”

Eddie kissed the top of his head.

The car lapsed into silence the rest of the way home. Robin pulled into their covered parking and turned off the ignition.

“What do you want me to do, dingus?” she asked softly. “If you don’t want me to bunk with her I won’t. You are more important to me than she is.”

“But what will you do until you find a place?” Steve asked in dismay.

“I’ll figure it out,” she said. “I can talk to my boss and see about getting temporary housing or if she knows a good cheap motel.”

Steve let out a shuddering breath and decided to tell them the truth that had been weighing on him all these years.

“She told me she never loved me,” he whispered, “and that everything we had was bullshit.”

Robin whipped around in the front seat to stare at him in shock.

“She said what?!”

Eddie was twisting in his seat too. “Stevie...”

“I thought it was just a fight,” he continued. “But apparently she thought she was clear that we were through and slept with Jonathan like literally the next day.”

The silence in the car was deafening and Steve was starting to panic. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He undid his seatbelt and struggled to get out of the car, but Eddie was still wrapped around him.

“No, baby,” Eddie murmured. “You really should have. You’ve been holding onto this pain, with the people you care about the most telling you to get over it.”

“This is so messed up,” Robin whispered in anguish. “Do you know what she says happened between you?”

Steve stopped struggling and shook his head.

“That you were just weren’t right for each other and went your separate ways,” Eddie said quietly.

Steve snorted. “That’s the most watered down, polite version of that she could have possibly said.”

“It also removes her from all responsibility from her actions,” Robin hissed. “I’m so angry right now!” She hit the steering wheel. “Fuck! I told Kendra I would be sleeping over there tonight, but all I want to do is call Nancy and bitch her out. Jesus fuck!”

Steve got out of the car and hurried to the driver’s side. He opened the door and pulled her out into a hug. “I appreciate you. I love you for being angry on my behalf. But go. Talk to Kendra, rant about it. But don’t call or text Nancy until tomorrow, okay? Not even drunk. Promise me?”

Robin sank into his arms and sighed. “I promise. But the fact that she kept lying about it and telling me that you were just bitter that she found someone else so soon just makes me so angry.”

Eddie got out and closed the door behind him. He walked around to the side of the car that they were standing on and leaned against the hood of the car with his arms and legs crossed.

“I feel like such a bad friend that we took what she said at face value,” he muttered darkly.

“Guys, no!” Steve protested. “I should have told you but I was so ashamed by the whole thing. We were together for two years and I didn’t know she didn’t love me? Like were there signs I missed, thinking everything was perfect? I just felt so stupid.”

“Do you need me to stay?” Robin asked. “Because I will. I’ll call Kendra right now and sleep over tomorrow.”

Steve shook his head. “I think I just need a tub of cookie dough ice cream, The Lizzy Bennett Diaries, and a bottle of wine tonight.”

She kissed his cheek fiercely. “I love you, dingus. Never forget that. Even when I’m in New York. Okay?”

He nodded and she squeezed him tightly before letting him go. She handed him back his keys and made her way up to their apartment.

“Do you want me to stay or go, babe?” Eddie asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

“You have that expensive hotel you’re paying for, Eds,” Steve said with a chuckle. “You should use it.”

Eddie deflated and nodded, looking away.

Steve walked up to him and kissed him deeply. “I forgive you both. I’m not mad, I’m just upset, and we are not through. You’ve got me for life, but I just need a night to myself, okay?”

Eddie let out a shuddering breath. “Yeah, okay, Stevie. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry tonight went down the way it did. That comment about rooting for Nancy and Jonathan was out of line even without the stuff you told us tonight. You deserve better than that.” He took Steve face in his hands. “And this is my promise: I will always strive to be your port in the storm, that now matter what comes your way, you can always depend on me to take your side.”

Eddie kissed him deeply. They said goodbye and Eddie was driving off when Robin came down the stairs with her overnight bag.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” she said tenderly.

Steve nodded. “Like I told Eddie, I forgive you guys, I just need time to sort out my feelings about everything. It’s been a crazy twenty four hours and I need to figure out what I want.”

Robin kissed his cheek and then said goodbye.

Steve watched her drive off with a sense of relief. Not because they were gone, but because the truth was out and he felt lighter for it.

****

Part 4 Part 5

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[erikahenningsen]

14 or 43, either rejanis!

14. A kiss to the stomach

The fact that Janis is now a person who gets to make out with Regina George in her bedroom after school is, even three months into their relationship, mind-blowing.

Of course, it took them several months to get on speaking terms again, let alone hanging out alone together.

In all the ways that Janis imagined them kissing—although for a period of several years Janis only fantasized that Regina would kiss her so Janis could punch her in the face and then tell the entire school—it was never Janis who made the first move.

Janis remembers it like it was yesterday (and, okay, it was only a few weeks ago): they were sitting in Regina's backyard, soaking in the last vestiges of the summer air before the leaves started turning and Regina started wearing leather pants again. Regina had looked so breathtakingly beautiful in the light of the setting sun, laughing at something Janis had said, and Janis suddenly couldn't stand living her life having not kissed Regina George (that disastrous sixth grade spin-the-bottle game notwithstanding).

So now Janis finds herself on a Thursday afternoon, her mouth on Regina's as they recline on Regina's bed, hands wandering over warm curves and soft skin.

They still haven't graduated past making out and some heavy over-the-clothes petting. And Janis respects Regina's boundaries. She really does. It's just that the fact that Regina apparently has boundaries now has taken some time to wrap her mind around.

Janis toys with the hem of Regina's shirt, fingers aching to slide underneath, flexing in the material, and she decides there can't be any harm in asking.

"Can I take this off?" Janis murmurs against Regina's mouth, frankly impressed that she still retains the ability to speak in sentences with the scent of Regina's perfume enveloping her and warm hands roaming over her back.

Regina stills, and is quiet for so long that Janis starts to feel a creeping sense of dread.

"Janis," Regina whispers, pulling back a little. "You have to understand that I..." She pauses again. "I do want you to."

"Okay?" Janis says, like it's a question, because that didn't exactly sound like a yes.

"But I'm not—I don't look how you might expect," Regina says, so quietly, her eyes not meeting Janis's. "I have scars, and I'm still working on losing the weight from..."

She doesn't finish the sentence, and she doesn't need to. They've talked about this, obviously—the things Regina did to Janis, and the things Janis did to her in return. Janis knows Regina has a lot of insecurities about her body. But she never realized that this was what was holding them back.

"Regina, I'm sorry," Janis says, but Regina shakes her head quickly.

"I don't want you to apologize," she says. "I just want you to... manage your expectations."

Janis, frankly, can't imagine a more ridiculous idea than finally seeing Regina—all of Regina—and being anything other than elated, but she just nods, and Regina nods in return.

Slowly, Janis pushes up Regina's shirt, not pulling it all the way off, but just past Regina's bra, revealing inch by inch pale, smooth skin that Janis can't tear her eyes away from.

There is, in fact, a scar that runs down and across Regina's side, the skin puckered and pale but no less beautiful. On either side of Regina's lower stomach are silvery, thin stretch marks, much like Janis has on her own body in other places.

After a moment, Janis realizes that she's just staring, slightly open-mouthed, so she leans forward and gives Regina a reassuring kiss.

"You're so beautiful," she whispers, her hand finally brushing over Regina's skin with no barriers. She feels Regina's stomach muscles tighten under her touch.

"I bet you say that to all the girls," Regina replies. The way her voice quivers tells Janis she's using humor to deflect her anxiety.

"Well, I only mean it when I say it to you," Janis teases back.

Janis starts trailing kisses down Regina's mouth, over her chin, to the divot between her collarbones, and then down the center of her abdomen until she's eye level with Regina's bellybutton. Regina tenses, holding her breath, and Janis looks up at her. Regina's cheeks are flushed, eyes dark. Janis never, ever gets tired of the sight.

Carefully, tenderly, Janis presses a kiss to one of the stretch marks. Though Regina's skin is warm, it erupts in goosebumps, and Janis feels a surge of lust at the realization that she is the one causing these reactions.

Janis moves across Regina's stomach until each stretch mark has been softly kissed and Regina's breath starts coming in little pants. Once she finishes, she makes her way back up to Regina's mouth, murmuring, "Gorgeous," and punctuating it with a kiss.

"You're so cheesy," Regina says, a little breathlessly.

"Keep complaining and you won't get your reward," Janis says, mock-threateningly.

Regina's eyes narrow. "Reward?"

"Yeah," Janis says.

Then she sits up and pulls off her own shirt.

Regina doesn't complain again after that.

[twola]

Yo yo yo! I have a request. Do Arthur x f!reader where he's teaching her to fish because Hosea/Dutch has found out shes weirdly squirmy about fish but she's being a reluctant brat about things and Arthur loses his temper 'GODDAMMIT wOmAn!' Style. Make its as unhinged smutty as you please (so a LOT 😏) Thank you! 😘😘😘

Ooh. Well now - I do not like fish that much, so this isn’t a stretch for me 😂 This was super fun!! I hope you enjoy.

Gone Fishin'

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

As Arthur reaches the end of his convalescence after his run-in with Colm O’Driscoll, Hosea has a task for him - teach one of the girls how to fish. The task, he finds out, is a little harder than he imagined. Also, he’s a little harder than he imagined. 

Lemoyne was warm. Warm and humid, buggy, and miserable. Arthur’s work shirt stuck to his skin, even after shedding his full union suit underneath his clothes, he’s still too damn hot. 

He’s hot and bored.

The pain in his shoulder is just a niggle at this point, but Grimshaw refused to let him go work again, even though the wound has closed up, scabbed over, and is scarred with new pink skin. 

Three more days, Grimshaw pointed at him, and with that tone that he knew he would catch hell from her if he disobeyed.

But he’s past languishing under the shade of his tent. Idleness may suit a drunk like Uncle - but not a man like him. He is a man of action.

He needs to do something. Or he is going to go crazy.

-

“Oh, come on, dear. It’s relaxing.”

“Hosea, I don’t do fish. I don’t like eatin’ them, and I sure as hell wouldn’t like catching them.” You huff, standing at the end of the dock. 

Hosea sits next to you, a fishing pole in his hand as his feet dangle over the side of the dock. You fiddle with your skirts as you gaze out at the lake, the water glinting in the afternoon sun.

“It’s an art, dear girl.”

You scowl down at him, “Fish are disgusting.” 

He laughs, “Oh, you. We’re on a lake, you’re gonna have to get used to fish real soon, missy.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s hot, and you wear just a simple white chemise top tucked into your cotton skirt, baring your arms and decolletage to the sun, a welcome opportunity after almost freezing to death in the Grizzlies. 

Hosea looks back toward the camp, where he sees Arthur mulling about. An idea strikes him, genius, as his ideas often are. He stands up, and waves over to the recovering gunslinger, “Arthur, c’mere! Got somethin’ for you to do!”

“No- Hosea,” you whisper harshly, clenching your fists in your skirts, “What are you doing?”

Arthur approaches the end of the dock, running his hand through his long beard, not having shaved in weeks at this point. “Hosea,” He grunts, then looks to you, “Miss.”

“Dear, you need to learn the fine art of fishing. And Arthur over here? He needs somethin’ to do other than sit around pissin’ off Grimshaw.” Hosea waves his free hand toward the camp,

Hosea claps Arthur’s back with his free hand, then turning and tugging you toward the gunslinger on the dock.

“Now you kids take the boat and get on out there, it’ll do both of you some good.”

“Wait wait, wasn’t it you and Dutch makin’ fun of me for the trout incident? I shouldn’t be teaching anyone how to fish.” Arthur shakes his head.

“Nonsense, boy. You caught plenty last time we went out. Besides, it’ll get you out of camp.”

“Fine.” Arthur groans, grabbing the fishing rod from the older man’s outstretched hand.

“Hosea-”  You whine, but your benefactor nods his head, cutting you off.

“Go on.” 

You roll your eyes, following Arthur as he steps into the rowboat moored at the dock, taking his outstretched hand, and helping you step into the small boat.

“You kids have fun now.” Hosea waves, a smile on his face.

Arthur grunts, picking up the oars and pushing off from the dock. You sit in the bow of the rowboat, scowling, as Arthur rows away from the camp, scanning the horizon. A hushed quiet falls as he guides the boat southbound, the camp becoming smaller and smaller as he rows deeper out into the lake.

“Why do you want to learn how to fish?”

“I don’t.” You huff, your arms crossed over your chest.

“Then why the hell are we out here?” Arthur stops rowing, a scowl also settling in on his face.

“Cause you can’t say no to Hosea.”

“Looks like neither can you.”

An awkward silence settles in between you.

“Well, we’re out here now. Might as well make the best of it.” Arthur says, pulling the oars into the hull of the boat and picking up the fishing rod. He holds it out to you.

You let out an exasperated sigh, refusing to uncross your arms.

Arthur grumbles, adjusting the hat on his head, before drawing the rod back and pulling a feathered lure from his pocket, placing it on the hook. He casts the line further out into the lake. 

“Didn’t really plan on fishin’ today, otherwise I’d have some live bait - worms or crickets or whatnot.” He turns back to you, tugging on the rod slightly, glancing back as the lure bobs in the water.

You glower, scrunching your nose at the mention of live bait.

“I hate fish.” You grit out.

“Oh, hush.” Arthur chides. The line pulls, and he feels something bite.

“Here ya go!” He pulls back the line, the fish hanging in the air. With a grin, he swings the pole in your direction, the bluegill flopping on the line, getting closer to your head.

You scream, standing up in the boat and batting the fish away from your face, causing Arthur to jerk to the side, dropping the fishing pole in surprise. The boat violently bobs side to side with your movement.

“Goddamnit, woman!” Arthur yells, nearly falling over the side of the boat as he tries to catch the pole that you batted away from him.

“I told you I don’t like fish!” You screech, sitting back down slowly as the boat bucks. 

“That’s it, Christ; you’re such a goddamn brat!” Arthur throws the pole within the hull of the boat and grabs the oars, thrusting them into the water forcefully. He heaves the oars, forcing the boat forward as he angrily pulls and pushes back toward the shore, breathing heavily as he propels the boat through the water.

“Arthur - wait-”

“Waste of my goddamn time,” He continues, fuming. It actually feels good to work his muscles like this.

“Arthur!”

By then, it’s too late. The boat hits a sandbar and beaches itself, and the speed at which Arthur was rowing causes the boat to lurch violently, sending you flying forward into his body, and you both tumble to the hull of the boat, a jumble of limbs and your skirts.

Arthur pushes you up, and you nearly fall backward with the force of his shove.

He swears as you get your footing, sitting up and looking for the oars as he pulls himself back up to his seat.

The oars are nowhere to be found. He probably dropped them when he beached the damn boat. Actually, as he squints, he sees one floating away from the sandbar, back toward the middle of the lake.

“Shit.” He curses.

“You idiot.”  You sneer at him, lifting your boot to find it wet with lakewater, a hole having sprung in the bottom of the hull, the wood splintered as water rushes in. You hike up your skirts as the level of water rises within the boat.

Arthur jumps out of the boat, grumbling, looking this way and that as you climb out as well. The sandbar the boat is beached upon is on one of the small islands off the shore of the lake, a good fifty feet to the mainland. He curses to himself as he looks back into the boat, the hull filling with water.

“Now what?” You ask critically as you let your skirts down, following him as he stalks along the island’s shore. 

He doesn’t answer, looking around at the sandy ground beneath his boots.

“Watch out for the snake.” He points at the ground next to you, and your eyes dart downward as a brown water moccasin slithers by.

You scream, jumping toward him in fear away from the snake as it glides away into the water, and in a jumble of limbs, you’re somehow climbing the man as he stumbles backward.

“Get me out of here!”

Arthur tries to have some sort of propriety as he tries to regain his balance, but it’s hard when the only hold on you he can get is to loop his hands under the backs of your thighs. You’re clutching at his shoulders, trying to get yourself off of the ground, and end up finding purchase on him by wrapping your legs around his hips, your skirts askew as you pant in terror.

“Fuckin’ stop-” Arthur grunts, stumbling backwards, finally losing his battle with gravity as you and he tumble into a sand dune. His hat flies off, rolling on its rim in a circle, finally settling a few feet away.

Of course, of course, it couldn’t suit him to land in any kind of proper or decent way. No, no, he had to land completely on top of you, slotted between your hips, your skirts creeping up while his traitorous, immature, villainous cock swells at the pressure of his weight against your clothed cunt.

The air has been knocked out of your lungs, but beneath him, you gasp as he tries to move. Your knees frame him, skirts fallen to your hips to show your skin. Your arms are still thrown around his shoulders as he tries to push himself up, his hands slipping in the sand, causing him to crumble down on you, his hips fully pressing down on yours.

Shit. Shit.

He’s trying to think of anything - rotten meat, Uncle’s laundry - anything to stave off the growing erection tenting within his pants. But alas, he is a slave to his own biology, as his cock stiffens and his blood rushes into his groin.

You stare up at him. His eyes dart away in embarrassment, a blush deepening on his cheeks.

Then, you do something that throws him even further into this pit of arousal he finds himself in.

You slowly roll your hips against him and he cannot help but to let out a low moan in response and press his swollen cock against you harder.

Christ, your hair has fallen from its bun, spread out on the sandy soil of this island like some sort of halo.

Two minutes ago he wanted to throttle you. Now, underneath him, he wants to make you gasp and cry and oh, to say his name in a high whine-

“Fuck-” he curses, but before he can go any further, your hands move from his shoulders to the back of his neck, and you pull downward gently - not enough to move him, but enough to give him permission.

He waits for a moment, searching your wide eyes, your open, wet lips, and in that moment, he throws caution to the wind and leans down to slot his lips against yours. You continue to roll your hips against him, crossing your ankles over his back in a surefire sign of what you wanted, whining into his mouth.

And fuck, if he wasn’t going to give it to you.

As he leans back on his knees, sliding his arms from around your waist, he paws his suspenders down and starts unbuttoning his pants, desperate to free his swollen cock. He grunts with a hint of satisfaction as he pulls his length from his pants, closing his eyes as he strokes himself several times. He faintly recognizes your squirming beneath him, and when he’s opened his eyes again, hand still on his cock, he’s struck by what he sees. You’ve shimmied down your bloomers, skirts flipped up and over your hips, pooling across your waist.

Your folds glisten with moisture, and his hips jut forward near uncontrollably, his cock seeking out your warmth, his body yearning to bury itself within your hips.

“Y- you sure-?” One last chance - one more opportunity to back away from the precipice - to realize that you are both being ridiculous - one second ready to kill each other, the next…

“Arthur please.”

Well, there goes his reservations.

One of his large hands spreads out over your hip, the other around the base of his cock, and he presses the swollen, dripping head of his cock against your folds, trailing downwards as he parts them to your opening, groaning in pleasure as he slips in half an inch.

His hand leaves his cock as he leans back over you, arm landing next to your shoulder, as he gently presses his hips forward, sliding in as you shut your eyes in overstimulation. By the time his hips press against your own and he’s sheathed in you to the hilt, your eyes flutter open as you let out a breath you were holding. Arthur’s other arm comes up to bracket you in, his mouth hanging open as a strand of his honeyed-brown hair falls forward between his eyes.

He lowers himself down to his elbows to press himself completely against you, seeking out your lips again as he bucks his hips forward, causing you to mewl into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his neck, one hand cupping the back of his head, fingers threading into his long hair, grasping it tightly as he settles into a rhythm of rolling his hips back and forth.

You pull on his hair and he groans, thrusting hard into you in response. Seems like you aren’t over your surly mood. He finds a hard and punishing rhythm, again feeling good to work his muscles after his convalescence.  It had been much longer than that since he’s worked these particular muscles.

“A-Arthur-” You moan loudly as he continually strokes that spot within you. He grunts in response, pulling his cock nearly out of your cunt before slamming his hips back into you.

You shriek in pleasure, and for a moment he’s thankful he’s marooned the two of you on this island yards away from the shore of the lake.

“Y’gonna come for me?” He harshly whispers into your ear, “Y’gonna come on my cock?”

That does it.

You cry out, back arching against him, head thrown back into the grassy dune, a high keening sound that makes him moan helplessly in response, gyrating his hips as your cunt clenches hard around his length, warm and wet and perfect.

“Fuck - fuck - woman…” He groans, rutting forward as you come down from your high, his cock pulsing and covered in your warm slick, and he is forced to pull himself from you, gliding out as he sits back on his knees and starts to pump himself.

You look up and god, is he a sight. His hips buck forward as he strokes his length, his mouth hanging open and muscles of his abdomen clenching under his shirt tails. A low moan escapes him as his other hand flies to cover the head of his cock, and he comes with his eyes screwed shut, looming over you.

He pants, for several moments, before opening his eyes. You sit up, needing, needing more, and you loop your hands around his neck again and pull his lips to yours, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He grunts in surprise, but leans into the kiss, tangling his tongue with yours.

You pull back, a smile creeping across your face, and as he opens his eyes, he cannot help the same.

“Is that how your lessons always end?” You laugh as he tucks himself away with his clean hand, leaning to the side to wipe his other hand in the grass as a half a smile creeps across his face.

“Only when the student is difficult.” He rumbles, tucking his shirt back into his pants as you start to pull your skirts down over your thighs.

“Mm.. I do remember you offering to teach me to shoot before Blackwater.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow as he rebuttons his pants and slides his suspenders back up. “Y’gonna be a brat about it?”

“Of course.”

He smirks, reaching for his hat on his knees. You push yourself up to stand, shaking your skirt free of sand and grass as you look for where you tossed your bloomers in your fit of passion.

“Arthur.”

“Mhm?” He replies, running his hand through his long hair before placing his hat back on his head.

“How are we going to get back to shore?”

-

Hosea smokes a cigarette sitting by the scout fire, the sun having gone down some time ago.

He’s starting to feel a niggle of concern that the two of you aren’t back. The both of you can certainly take care of yourselves.

You’re stalking back toward your tent, your clothes soaking wet, hair plastered down your neck. You refuse to give Hosea even a passing glance as you head back to the women’s tent.

Hosea arches an eyebrow as Arthur walks closer, also fuming. Also soaking wet. The gunslinger looks at Hosea briefly before carrying on.

“Lesson didn’t go as planned.”

[drivinmeinsane]

Officer K x GN!Reader ※ { masterlist } ※ { ao3 }

※ Summary: With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line. “That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar. ※ Rating: 18+ for mature content and themes. Please mind the warnings. ※ Content/tags: Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Implied Reoccurring Sexual Abuse by a Supervisor, Emotional Hurt, Identity Issues, Self-Harm, Alcohol Abuse, Smoking, Eye Trauma, Canon-typical Violence, Slow Burn, Developing Relationship, No use of Y/N, No Pronouns Given for Reader ※ Word count: 15,713 ※ Status: One-shot / Complete ※ Author's note: In the wake of a mentally difficult month, I present the story that accompanied me during that time. Here's to brighter days. ※ Song inspiration: Someone to You - BANNERS

In a cruelly human twist, the moment that K is incepted, birthed from a plastic bag like an item purchased at a supermarket in the years before the Blackout rocked the world, is also the moment he begins to die. This is something he won’t mind, once he realizes that death is a gift given only to the living.

As he lays, wet and trembling, atop compressed rubber and metal grating, he feels nothing but terror. His body is stricken by the wracking sobs of the newborn. His face gradually relaxes with each passing minute. The replicant’s wailing turns into coughing when his body chooses to expel the synthetically made amniotic fluid from his lungs.

“Are you done?” comes a woman’s voice. Clinical. Detached.

Suddenly made aware of the world around him, the small sterile room that it is, he opens his sticky eyelids only to be forced to squint against the penetrating glare of the artificial lighting overhead. He lays there for a moment, twisted and gasping like a crushed bird on the pavement—filled with the old memories of the nest and waiting, beak agape, for a mother who will not come. He shivers.

When KD6-3.7 manages to focus his eyes, the first thing he makes sense of is his own hands, and then the mark on his own forearm that is slowly blossoming to life. It’s all too much. His brain feels as though it is pressing against the confines of his skull, threatening to crack the bone and spill out onto the rubber. If it does, perhaps it will slip through the grate like the yolk of a broken egg.

Feet step up to him. They’re clad in sensible heels over black socks, utilitarian. K peers through the pulsing behind his eyes and sees a worn woman’s pinched face peering down at him. For just a moment, he’s certain that she intends to snuff him out. All the same, he pushes aside his fear and reaches out for her. She will become the closest thing to a mother he will ever know. K clasps his slimy hand around her sock-clad ankle. The bones are fragile underneath his grip. One too-tight squeeze and they would snap under the pressure. She tries to shake him off. He clings on, desperate for some kind of contact. He does not yet know that he will be raised solely by the wire mother with no comfort of the cloth.

“Let go.” Her voice cuts over the faint noise of the plastic crinkling above him. Disgust mars her lined face. He will grow familiar with expression. Both from her and from others.

As if burned, he immediately does. The compulsion to obey is too pressing for him to ignore. Every blood vessel and muscle fiber in his body is hardwired for submission. K tucks his hand against his chest, shrinks in on himself. He is not praised for his obedience or comforted through his turmoil. Tools, he learns later, do not need reward.

The woman crouches suddenly. She grabs at his arm and extends it under the harsh light. Her nails bite into his skin. It is the first pain he will experience from another living being. Both he and the stranger look at the elegant lines set into his flesh. She does not speak and neither does he. She lets go of him, red crescent moons grace the pale sky of his skin in the wake of her fingers.

There is a gesture that he doesn’t understand and, suddenly, he is being hosed down. The cold water sluices over him, washing away the newborn taint. With one final look cast down at him, the woman leaves.

Time passes in her absence, minutes smearing together in a twisted tangle made only more disorienting when the lights shut off. He is left in the dark, cold and struggling to comprehend. Refrigerated. He is experiencing punishment for a crime he does not yet understand. Wallace’s creation dared to have the trace of a soul in him. The evidence of it is clearly visible to the naked eye.

Eventually, the woman comes for him and lets him out into the light. He learns that he is hers, like a hunting dog belongs to a huntsman. His madam tells him that the mark adorning his forearm is a meaningless tattoo. She had only wanted him to be special. It’s the first of the many lies she tells him.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Advertisements cut through the gloom of his living room. In them, organics emphatically gesture to convey their success with the soulmate finding services being advertised. The blue light shifts to purple then to red. In the disorienting glow, anything could look real. Seated on his couch with a room temperature glass of whiskey that is only getting warmer with the heat of his hand, K watches Joi dance alone to the easy swing of Frank Sinatra.

“Did you know this song was first released in 1954 under another name by another singer? Kaye’s last name, Ballard, sounds a lot like ‘ballad’, doesn’t it?” she asks.

K hums, agreeable. The alcohol coursing through his bloodstream accompanied with his ever-present exhaustion have left him slumped bonelessly into the rigid angles of the cushions. It had been a day. It always is.

“Sweetheart,” the replicant says to his pretend wife, “will you indulge me?”

The DiJi smiles at him. He can see a knowing curve to her lips. It’s rare that he asks her for this. With a flourish, she flickers to an outfit with short sleeves. Joi kneels by the couch and rests her elbows on the edge of it, chin on her interlaced fingers.

“Is this what you wanted?” she asks, teasing. She presents her arm with an elegant flip of her wrist. The twin to the mark gracing his own forearm twinkles back up at him. He can almost imagine that it’s real.

Wordlessly, he extends his hand out and barely stops himself from reaching right through her projected skin by accident. He manages to stop himself before breaking the illusion. She plays at resting her arm in the palm of his hand. K can convince himself he can feel the warmth of her underneath the hovering passes of his thumb. Like trying to avoid breaking a gossamer thin strand of spiderweb, he carefully caresses her. Joi preens under the attention, reaching for his own mark in return. He feels the faintest trace of static.

He closes his eyes before he can register how the pixelation of her always makes the edges of her copied mark look not quite real. The replicant has to convince himself that this is enough. It’s all he has, so it must be. He cannot afford to dream of what it would be like to feel another body against his. Their kind must never look to the stars.

───※ ·❆· ※───

There had been a time in which K had wondered if the other bearer of his soulmark was his madam. He had been made for her, after all. It would only be right if they were intertwined down to the very cells that made up their bodies.

Joshi isn’t, of course. He finds out the first time that she has him strip her bare in the privacy of her office. Her skin is unmarked by anything but the scars of being human. K cannot boast the same. He heals too fast, too completely, to carry the same marks. For him to scar with any significance, an injury would have to be so severe that an organic’s body would be grievously devastated from the trauma.

He is not sure if the emotion he feels over the lack of mark on his handler is the grieving of what might have been or the relief at what isn’t. It would have been easier if it had been her. She hollowed him out. Used him. Uses him still. His madam owns him in every way that matters.

───※ ·❆· ※───

This retirement job is meant to be routine, the same as the last dirty dozen. He puts down an average of two Nexus 8 models every month. His work ethic has proven to be top of the line, much to the pleasure of the retiring department’s lieutenant. The routine success is enough to give him the security to sleep on the way to the property he’s being sent to. The ‘9 is exhausted from the long night he’d experienced.

K had poured over files at his cramped desk until his eyes burned and his throat grew so dry as to rival the arid chemical wastes of the Nevada desert. Still, he hadn’t bothered asking for water. It would cost money he didn’t want to spend. Besides, his experiences with liquid within the walls of the precinct have come hand-in-hand with punishment.

He wakes when the spinner chimes. Head snapping up, the officer inhales and exhales hard. It’s a sign of vulnerability he feels free enough to express as he turns off the autopilot and regains personal control over the vehicle. In the distance, a scattering of structures rise out from the perpetual haze of the world like a nervous herd of bovine protecting a calf against an approaching predator. He angles towards them, passing over a broken windmill on the way.

Pulling the spinner several yards short of a dead tree, he sets it down in a sprawling waste of infertile soil. A cloud of dirt gets kicked up by the disturbance. There is no hiding his arrival.

As he does on every job, K pops the latch for the spinner’s parrotfish in order to send it lazily into the sky. He gestures up at it to begin its rounds. The replicant tugs his jacket collar up over the lower half of his face. His lungs will ache for days if too much dust finds a home among the tissue. A minor discomfort, but he prefers to avoid them when he can.

Before stepping into his quarry’s home, he knocks the dirt off his boots. He doesn’t rap his knuckles against the door.

Unsurprised, he finds the living space as bare as his own apartment. There are small hints at a life here. Everything is cleaned, maintained, loved. K ignores the stab of camaraderie, buries it. He and this replicant are not of the same kind. He can’t allow them to be. It will only make the inevitability of what’s coming that much harder.

There is a pot of something fragrant boiling away on the stove that he had smelt the moment he opened the front door. He ignores it, for now, in favor of taking a seat in the kitchen. The Nexus 9 knows that he will be joined by the master of the house shortly.

He is proven right by the arrival of the pre-Blackout model shortly after settling into position. Sapper Morton bypasses him on his way to the sink. K silently observes him for a moment, elbow on the table with his gun in hand, as the wanted replicant scrubs at his work-worn hands. The water is loud in on the stainless steel basin. A flash of his inception flares to the forefront of his mind. He speaks to shake it away.

“I hope you don’t mind me taking the liberty. I was careful not to drag in any dirt.” K bites down the urge to continue, to explain that the wind had been turbulant, to actually have a real conversation with someone other than Joi. He’s not here for friendship.

There comes the rattle of something on the window ledge just out of K’s field of view. Sapper’s resigned voice answers him. “I don’t mind the dirt,” he says with a sigh and the noise of eyeglasses being placed on his rough face, “I do mind… unannounced visits.”

Heavy footsteps trod towards him in the dimly lit room. The seated officer tries not to react as the mountain of a replicant approaches him before coming to a halt a polite distance away. “You police?”

“Are you Sapper Morton? Civic number NK680514?”

“I’m a farmer.”

Sapper seems to be just as adverse to answering questions as he is. K can respect that. Answers can be a dangerous thing to give. Any vulnerability can be exploited.

“I saw that. What do you farm?” he asks, genuinely curious.

The mountain moves across the tile floor and a massive hand rises to open a cupboard. Morton slams down a container onto the counter before withdrawing a small cluster of white, wriggling objects. K watches quietly as the ‘8 approaches and drops the mass onto the table by his hand. Nematodes.

“It’s a protein farm. Wallace design,” Morton supplies as way of explanation.

Isn’t everything? K thinks. That man has fingers in nearly every form of industry in their society, both on and off world.

Taking his hand off the gun, he points at the air with a small twirl of his finger, subconsciously mirroring the gesture he’d given the parrotfish before entering the house. “Is that that I smell?”

“Grow that just for me… Garlic.”

“Garlic…” K says, wonderingly. The word feels just as exotic in his mouth as the plant might taste.

“Do you want to try some?”

“No, thank you. I prefer to keep an empty stomach until the hard part of the day is done.” The pot starts boiling even louder on the stove, as if it were protesting the refusal of Sapper Morton’s hospitality. “How long you been here?”

“Since 2020.”

“But you haven’t always been a farmer, have you?” Silence from the other replicant is answer enough. K continues, “Your bag. It’s colonial medical use. Military issue.”

He doesn’t miss the change in the older Nexus’s body language. The almost unconscious touch on the bag’s canvas side reminds K of the way he touches his own jacket when he’s uncertain. He presses onward with his information gathering.

“Where were you? Calantha…? Must have been brutal.”

“Planning on taking me in? Huh? Take a look inside?”

“Mister Morton, if taking you in is an option…” K sighs and leaves his gun aside on the table. “I would much prefer that to the alternative. I’m sure you knew it would be someone in time.”

A frustrated exhalation of air bursts from the other replicant as he pulls off his glasses. K tosses him a cursory glance before looking down, eyebrow slightly raised. He reaches into one of his inside pockets to pull out the small handheld retina scanner the police department issues for use on the field.

“I’m sorry it had to be me.”

“Good as any,” Morton says while K activates the device.

“Now, if you don’t mind… If you could just look up and to the left,” he instructs, uncrossing his legs and getting to his feet.

He knows what’s coming. He had seen him pull the scalpel out of the bag, so it comes to no real surprise when Sapper Morton lunges at him. K catches his hand before the blade can lodge itself between the span of his ribs. In return, he gets slammed against the wall by the far larger replicant. Managing to dodge the punches leveled at him, he tries to break free to create some distance between the two of them. He doesn’t succeed. The ‘8 grabs a firm hold on him and slams his body into the wall like Cain bringing the stone down upon his brother. Fighting to keep his chin tucked against the curve of his shoulder so that the back of his head doesn’t meet a similar end to Abel’s, he takes the brunt of the force over the span of his shoulders until finally the drywall gives out beneath him and he lands hard on the floor.

There is no time to recover because Morton falls with him, dropping the scalpel upon impact. They wrestle, trying desperately to get the upper hand over the other. K doesn’t want to do this. He wants to walk this back, reset and try again. He opens his mouth to tell the farmer just that when Morton is suddenly choking him. It’s as though an iron collar has been fastened around his neck. With tears leaking freely from him, he can feel the blood vessels in his eyes bursting under the strain. He growls, forcing air through his throbbing lungs and slams his fist into Morton hard enough to drop him.

Gaining traction, he manages to straddle the other replicant and he hits him one, two, three, four, five times in the throat in rapid succession. His adversary falls back, struggling to breathe through a damaged windpipe.

K wedges his fingers on the winded replicant’s eyelids and pins the eye open, trying to get the scanner ready. Morton interrupts him by grasping onto the scalpel and driving it into the meat of K’s upper arm. The officer grunts as pain radiates in his right side. He slaps the ‘8 back down and hits him. It’s punishment. Bad dog, his madam would say.

For good measure, he hits him for a second time to quell any further resistance. He doesn’t relish the feeling of his knuckles crushing against the other replicant’s trachea. This time, when he grabs Morton’s face, he manages to hold the eye open long enough for the handheld device to read it.

The screen confirms what he already knows. The man beneath him is Sapper Morton, charged with deadly assault of organic life and wanted for retirement.

Muscles twitching with adrenaline, K gets to his feet and looks down at the replicant choking on his own ruined body. “Please, don’t get up,” he says, accompanying his words with a pleading gesture.

He already knows that he will. They always do. The taste of freedom only serves to kill them in the end. Dying for the it seems… well, K can’t understand it, not like this. His eyes have not been opened to the benefits of being free.

Behind him, he already hears the rustling of Morton sitting up. He retrieves his gun from the kitchen table. It’s heavy in his hand. When he turns around and retraces his steps back towards the living room, the other replicant is on his hands and knees. Those calloused hands are clutching at his throat.

“How does it feel? Killin’ your own kind?” the farmer grits out.

“I don’t retire my own kind because we don’t run. Only you older models do.” There it is. The distinction he must draw between them to keep sane. He won’t pass his baselines otherwise.

“You new models are happy scraping the shit. Because you’ve never seen a miracle.”

K looks at him, jaw clenching with the effort not to speak. It’s on the tip of his tongue, that he has seen his own miracle. He carries it with him every hour of every day, right in his very skin. He doesn’t have a soul and yet he’s marked.

Sapper Morton rushes him, the last efforts of a wounded bull in the arena. K puts two bullets in him. The mountain falls. The house shakes and then goes still.

He covers the dead replicant with a blanket pulled from the back of the couch before extracting his eye with careful hands. He draws the makeshift shroud over Morton’s face when he’s finished. Bloody fingerprints get left behind on the faded fabric.

No matter how much soap K uses in the sink, he can’t get rid of the tacky feeling that seems as though it’s part of him now. His hands will never be clean. Innocence belongs only to the freshly incepted.

Before he leaves the small house, he takes the farmer’s glasses. Some part of Sapper Morton will live on with the replicant that retired him. It’s all K can offer him now.

───※ ·❆· ※───

A fog has laid itself over his shoulders like a second skin. It feels more familiar, more his, than the actual flesh that coats his bones. His DNA was taken from a donor. K is occasionally loathe to even call his body his. Some days, it feels like it has been parted out to anyone who might want a piece of it.

The numbness he’s feeling ensures he passes his baseline with flying colors after the retirement of NK680514. He gets to keep the moniker of “constant” K.

Joshi is pleased at his performance, When he goes to her office for his post-baseline report, she assigns him to another case to keep him occupied while the dig team finishes at the protein farm. His madam doesn’t like him to be idle for too long. He will be heading out in the morning to check in on another old model number.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Having never existed in a world where the skies are clear, K finds the beauty in the varying colors of the haze. Today, the old, industrial streets are bathed in a brilliant orange light due to the rising run. It’s a cheerful hue for the grim work that lies ahead. He supposes this area must come to life at night, being so far from the main heart of Los Angeles and its daunting amount of law enforcement.

K sends the spinner into a slow dive, cruising to increasingly lower altitudes as he gets closer to his destination. As always, the coordinates were provided by Lieutenant Joshi. She had been kind enough to provide him a suspected apartment number, rather than have him go door to door down the halls to find the culprit. Even with a number, K still doesn’t like the idea that there will be neighbors that might bear witness to this.

He finally parks the machine against the curb outside of a run-down apartment building. Even from inside the spinner, the officer can see that that bricks have broken free of the structure's edifice. He deploys the parrotfish for a halfhearted backup that will be useless unless he’s outside and gets out of the spinner.

The front door is uneven on its hinges. It squeals loudly in the silence as he pushes it open. Any dream of subtly is already dashed. The tone for this visit has been set.

Here, the hallways are dusty and unpopulated. He finds it to be a novel contrast to his own living situation. There, the building’s common areas are constantly wet with snow melt and teaming with bodies. The ‘9 wonders if this is how the explorers of ancient tombs felt. Like they were navigating the body of a slumbering Goliath. Finding the door that leads into the stairwell, he mounts the stairs. They creak and shift with the settling of his weight upon each one.

“Unit 405. One known occupant. Possible second.” the message had said.

Officer K reaches the fourth floor to find it predictably devoid of anyone in the hallway. He finds the door with its brass number and steps up to it. The knock echos in the empty hall. There is a long moment of silence before he finally hears footsteps approaching the synthetic wood. A rattle of a chain against the material, and the door opens just enough for an eye to peer suspiciously at him. There’s not enough of a gap for him to get the toe of his boot through.

“I’m sorry for the intrusion. I have some questions I need to ask.”

“You’re a cop?”

K keeps the frown off his face. This is reminding him too much of yesterday. “I’m looking for someone. Civic number NK687725. John Gradus.”

“What if I shut this door?”

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says, genuinely apologetic.

The stranger sighs and steps aside, opening the door all the way. “You better come on in, then. Nasty business to do in the doorway.”

Trailing after him, K rolls the situation over in his mind. He already knows the face matches, even from the glance he’d taken. It is now a matter of confirming the identity with the eye scan before the next step. Either the replicant can surrender or they can be retired. As Sapper Morton had demonstrated to great effect the day before, it’s never surrender.

“Please, sit,” the older generation model says with a gesture to a worn couch before taking a seat across from it in a chair that looks to be more tape than metal.

K readily complies, not wanting to make waves just yet. There is someone in the kitchen. They’re just out of sight.

“Can you bring us tea?” Gradus calls out after giving him a searching look. “I think it would do our guest some good.”

He’s in the middle of opening his mouth to protest when he catches movement in the kitchen entrance and he falls still. The last thing he was expecting here was you. An organic. The officer had simply assumed that the other potential occupant was another ‘8 like the one he was paying a visit. There is not mixing across kind. His madam has been aggressively clear about there being lines that must never be crossed.

Taking in the hard look you give him when you emerge from the kitchen carrying two cups, he adverts his eyes to the low table in front of him. The porcelain teacup that you place on coffee table is well loved. The edges of it are chipped and the saucer it’s resting on doesn’t match the delicate floral print.

K doesn’t miss the way that you and the other replicant engage in a silent conversation before you hand him his own drink. He is thrown off balance by this situation. The strangeness of it is putting him on an unfamiliar edge. His hand clenches on his thigh.

Across from him, you take a seat next to the ‘8 on another battered chair. Cracked vinyl and dented metal legs groan feebly under your weight. K realizes that everything in this apartment has been well-used. Repaired instead of replaced. He wonders which one of you is the sentimental type.

“Who are you?” you ask, breaking the uneasy silence. NK687725 looks embarrassed by your bluntness.

Head reeling, he responds. “Officer KD6-3.7.”

“That’s not a name. You’re one of them, then.” It’s not a question. Disgust colors your voice. That, at least, is familiar.

“Easy,” John Gradus mummers to you. He reaches over to pat you on the sleeved arm with his pale hand.

K marks the difference between this model and Morton. Where the farmer had been a combat model, it looks like Gradus was meant for another line of work altogether. He is delicate in the places where the other had been robust. K decides that he is likely an old pleasure model. A doxie, perhaps, or meant to be a private client’s pet. He can be easily overpowered in either case.

“Why are you here, Officer?” the other replicant asks, addressing him. There’s a resigned look in his eyes. K’s presence here is no mystery.

“I was sent to follow up on reports on a… rouge serial number. My betters needed reassurance.”

“You’re going to take me in? I’m afraid I don’t have much left to offer.”

“If you’re willing, I will gladly do that rather than the alternative,” K responds. Maybe today, he’ll catch a break.

“He hasn’t done anything wrong!” you cut in, rising to your feet.

K ignores the twinge he feels in his chest. “He ran.”

“So? Why don’t you?”

Left without an answer he is willing to articulate, he doesn’t respond to your question. Loyalty runs too deep when there is no one else to be loyal to but his madam. The thought of running is incomprehensible. There is nothing out there for him but the LAPD. He’d become what he hunts.

He observes quietly as Gradus manages to coax you back into your seat. Reluctance and anger are painted all over your face in broad strokes. The freedom of your expressions reminds him of Joi.

The officer’s eyes flick to the tea cooling on the table. It’s a different color than coffee, differing scent as well. A faint steam trail rises off of it. He tries to focus his attention on it rather than the strange sensation tucked behind his ribs. Distantly, he wonders if he is having a heart attack. Can his kind even have them or was their DNA too tampered with during the growth process to allow for such a thing?

“What kind is it?” he asks, abrupt.

John Gradus smiles over your disbelieving scoff, seemingly delighted at the conversation change. “Green. I grow it myself right here. Please, have a taste. We do not have any sweeteners, but I have grown to like it without additives.”

Extending his hand out to pick up the cup, his mind drifts. Why do all replicants seem to have a desire to create, to put their own mark on the world? It’s an all too human behavior for beings without souls.

The teacup is dwarfed in his grip. A bit too much pressure and he fears the entire thing might turn to wet chalk in his palm. He hovers it underneath his nose, inhales. There’s a crisp scent to it, something fresh. He presses his lips to the edge of the cup and sucks in a mouthful. Involuntarily, his eyes slip closed as the mellow flavor rolls over his tongue.

“Good, isn’t it?” the other replicant says gently. K opens his eyes and carefully places the cup back on its saucer. His side tingles underneath his gun holder, like its burning a hole into his flesh. It’s a reminder that he’s here for something other than a social call.

Reluctantly, he reaches into a pocket and pulls out his field scanner. K looks regretfully at the pair seated across from him. If he could walk away, he would.

“If you could look up and to the left for me, Mister Gradus…” he says, getting to his feet.

You surprise him by also lunging to your feet and moving to stand between him and the still-seated replicant. “Leave my friend alone. Please.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry,” K tries to move around you, but you put your hands against the wide expanse of his chest and try to push him back. Heat radiates from your palms, soaking through the threadbare material of his shirt. He doesn’t do anything more than sway from the sudden pressure. The strange feeling in his chest is worse. Why would you protect the thing sitting behind you? He was taught that all replicants are disposable, meaningless in the eyes of organics.

You must be the sentimental one, he realizes. You can’t bare to let go of broken things.

“Just tell your boss or whoever sent you that you couldn’t find us.”

“I can’t lie. I have orders.” K tries to sidestep you. “Please stand aside.”

You don’t listen. Instead, you continue to block him by crowding into his space. He finally catches you with a hand on your upper arm. Applying just enough force, he makes it to where you have to step aside to relieve the pressure.

“Officer, please,” the other replicant speaks, finally rising from his chair after setting down his own teacup, “You have my full cooperation if you do not—”

Gradus’s words get cut off at your sudden explosion of violence. K feels you sock him in the face with all the strength you can muster. Stars explode across his vision. A tall, white fountain looms into his mind’s eye, beckoning him closer. He staggers but recovers quickly. Moving faster than the older model behind you, he clamps his hand around your wrists before the ‘8 can do more than take a shocked step forward.

You fight his hold, struggling like an animal caught in a trap. He clenches his fingers down just enough to keep you captive.

“Please stop,” he requests of you.

“Let go of me!” you snarl in return.

This visit is escalating fast, too fast. K has no precedent for this. In every other retirement case he’s been involved with, the organics have steered clear of the situation. They never interfere, instinctively knowing better than to get between two replicants. You can’t insert yourself into a dog fight without risking getting bit in the frenzy. Already, he can almost feel your more delicate skin bruising in his grip. You’re fighting him hard despite gaining no ground.

“I’m going to need you to let go of my friend now, Officer.”

In the altercation, K had made the mistake of diverting his attention from the real threat to you. He’s chagrined to find that the other replicant has chosen to level a gun at him. It had been retrieved from its place inside a basket between the two chairs judging by the tangled mess of synthetic yarn draped cross the edges of the plastic.

Gradus is turning out to have a harder edge to him than the ‘9 had anticipated. It looks like you’re the breaking point of the wanted replicant’s amiableness. K releases his hold on you and puts both hands up before taking a step back in a show of placation. The eye scanner is still in his left hand.

“If you could put the weapon on the table,” the officer says with a nod to the surface not far from his knees.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Gradus says apologetically, still pointing the gun at him.

“We all know I can’t do that no matter how much I want to… Direct orders.”

Sighing, the other replicant lowers the weapon in surrender but doesn’t set it aside. It’s still enough slack that K feels comfortable enough to step around you. It’s a mistake.

The instant you aren’t unintentionally shielding him from your friend, K sees movement. Gradus raises the firearm in a quick, decisive motion. K responds instinctively. His fingers leap for the gun holstered against his ribs.

With a deafening pop, the bullet blows a hole in the older model’s shoulder. John Gradus falls, gasping, to his knees. K watches, mentally disconnecting from the scene unfolding in front of him as the injured replicant claws at the wound soaking the carpet with each beat of his heart. K feels your absence in a way that is not dissimilar to a limb being severed when you leave his side and throw yourself at Gradus.

Strange. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t even know your name, and yet he is experiencing loss.

Forcefully dispassionate, he watches as you ease your friend onto his back to get better access to the wound. You pull your jacket off, desperately attempting to stanch the flow of blood by shoving the material against the hole until your knuckles pale from the pressure. There is already crimson smeared across your newly bare arms.

Officer K crosses the floor and crouches next to you. He presses a knee onto Gradus’s side to keep him still for what is coming next. K holds the replicant’s eye open and readies the scanner. He holds steady even when you let go of the wadded up jacket and start to rake at the back of hand he’s using to keep the eyelids apart. Even when you manage to open up cuts in his skin with your nails, he doesn’t react. The gouges you leave behind sting less than your pleading voice.

“Leave him alone. Please, just leave him alone.” You’re sobbing.

Emotions start to bubble up from the soil he has mentally buried them in, he beats them back with a shovel. He retreats into the comforting quiet of numbness until he gets a proper look at your blood-smeared forearm.

A hauntingly familiar mark adorns it. How many hours has he spent looking at the selfsame mark on his own arm? How often has he traced along the lines and let himself dream, just a little, that there really is something real out there for him? He’s even managed to convince himself at times that someone is looking for him because they want him as much as he wants them.

The scanner beeps, flashing green. It slices through his mounting alarm. He manages to spare a glance at it. The number inset into the tissue of Gradus’s eye is a match for the civic number he’d come for, just as he’d known it would be. He hates himself for the necessary evil he is about to preform.

Digging his knee more firmly into his target’s ribs, he extracts a small knife from another pocket in his jacket. He tunes you out. The blade runner accepts the harm you’re trying to inflict on him as penance for his cruelty.

K is as gentle as he can possibly be while he cuts the eye out of the still living replicant. The older model thrashes and struggles underneath him, but is ultimately unable to break free. K had been right about him being easily overpowered.

Trembling, he gets to his feet and moves away from you both. The eye is clasped carefully in his hand, optic nerve dangling freely. With his fingers slick with blood, he finds an evidence bag in one of his pockets and tucks the eye into its new, plastic prison. The bag goes back into the pocket it had come from.

You and Gradus had referred to each other as friends. The way that you’re curled over him, the protective hunch of your shoulders as you tend to him, supports the notion. Replicants were made to be isolated, sank deep in their work. Tyrell and, later, Wallace had engineered them to be the perfect servants. K doesn’t know what to make of this bond.

Before he can leave, there is one other thing left he must confirm or refute even though he already knows the answer. His own memory had supplied it. Grasping the edge of his own sleeve, he pulls it up to expose the mark etched into his cells. He looks from his forearm to yours, eyes following every memorized curve, every line.

They match.

The mouthful of tea he’d just had in what feels like a lifetime ago threatens to expel itself on the thin carpet. He’s found his soulmate. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

K gets to see the moment you realize you register what he’s looking at. Horror blossoms on your face as your mind tries to make sense of what you’re seeing, of what you really are to each other. The emotions running across your face are all caused by him. He feels sick.

“What?” he hears you mumble. It’s a broken little noise.

Stricken by the urge to comfort you, to lay himself on the floor beside Gradus so that you may flay him open, he clenches his hands and takes another step back. You’re looking up at him like he might attack again. The cut on the back of his hand weeps, doing what he cannot.

He isn’t going to hurt you and yours any further. K had already decided that the moment he saw your soulmark. It’s a choice born from a newfound sense of selfishness. His loyalty had gained a chip in the smooth surface of it, like the teacup you had placed in front of him. He is going to lie to his madam. As proof of a job complete, he’ll bring the stolen eye back to the precinct. If the other replicant survives the trauma inflicted on him, he will be continue to be free. He can go through his life without looking over his shoulder quite so often.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a cellular device starts chiming in his pocket. His madam. No one else would call him. The officer withdraws the device and presses the button to accept the call.

Lieutenant Joshi’s voice is tinny and crackling through the speaker. She doesn’t waste a breath on pleasantries. “Your dig came through. Get down here. Leave whatever you’re working on.”

The unit trills when she hangs up. He put the phone back into his pants pocket.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He means it, perhaps more than anything else he’s said since his inception.

Understandably, you don’t say anything in response to him. Instead, you try to stand despite your legs being too shaky to manage it easily on your own. Before he can show restraint, employ any measure of sense, he bridges the distance between the two of you. K offers you his hand. He’s stunned when you actually take it. Yours fits against his own, palm to palm, as though he was made for you. In a way, K supposes, he was.

There is a breathless moment where the two of you simply stand together hand in hand, eyes peering into the other’s. He wants to shift his hold. He wants to interlink his fingers with yours. Just as he is on the cusp of fulfilling that desire, you wrench your hand free of his and that’s when K knows his time here is up.

Gathering himself just enough, he puts his back to you. The door seems miles away as he starts walking towards it.

“Hey.” There is a flinty quality to your voice.

He pauses and looks back towards you. K is unsurprised to see that you’ve picked up Gradus’s discarded firearm and are now pointing it at him. He wishes that you weren’t shaking so much. He pivots to fully face you, keeping his hands at his sides. The least he can do for you is hold still so that you can line up the shot.

The conviction bleeds out of your face and your arm lowers. The gun falls to the floor at your feet with a heavy thud. At the back of his throat, he tastes the bitterness of disappointment.

K exits the apartment unit. Every step feels wrong. He wants to fight the order. He wants to turn around. The officer wants to offer something, anything, that could make this right. He wishes he could undo the blood pooled on the carpet, but he can’t do anything at all but obey. Free will doesn’t exist for him. His madam has called him in, and for now, he belongs to her no matter what the flesh might claim.

───※ ·❆· ※───

In the morgue, K doesn’t find himself to be any more stable. Joshi had called him in to make use of his intuition and rapid processing ability, but he feels numb. His thoughts keep wandering to you.

He’s barely aware of Nandez talking to him as he idly traces a thumb over his jacket where it lays draped over his arm. He thinks the material had been a more vibrant green once, before he had acquired it from an ‘8 who had, in turn, lifted it off a ‘7.

“Your box is a military footlocker issued to Sapper Morton, creatively repurposed as an ossuary. Box of bones. Meticulously cleaned and laid to rest about 30 years gone. Nothing else in it but hair. She’s pre-Blackout so DeNAbase doesn’t give an ID.”

K manages a nod. He doesn’t bother speaking.

“It was she, plus one,” Joshi says as if it were a shocking revelation. It’s not. From his understanding, organics often manage to reproduce.

Pregnancy, death, panning shots over the dead woman’s bones… His soulmark burns like a phantom brand. The fire feels like it’s spreading to his brain. He’s going under in a cloud of embers. Bits of conversation drift around him. They’re as untouchable as the pretend wife waiting at home for him.

Struggling to gain focus, he drags his intuition up from where it lies dormant and cooling. Coco is leading the forensic discovery today, a small relief. The tech zooms in too far and K gets a flash of scrapes along bone. Man-made alterations.

“Go back. Closer. Closer. That. What’s that?” It’s time he’s spoken since being recalled to the precinct. The three organics eye in him surprise.

“Notching on the iliac crest. Fine point, like a scalpel. Looks like an emergency c-section... Cuts are clean. No sign of struggle,” Coco reports.

K thinks for a moment, mulling over the information. “He was a combat medic. Maybe he tried to save her but just couldn't.”

His words cause the others to debate. They do it with little regard of what he is.

“He didn’t seem like the saving type.” Nandez sneers.

“He took the time to bury her. A sentimental skinjob…” Coco muses, but freezes, stricken “Sorry, K,” he adds.

K shrugs off the apology. He has long since been pushed past any feelings over any slights that come his way. It had been a necessary thing in order to survive here.

“Didn’t seem like the daddy type either. So where’s the kid? You scan the whole field?” Joshi says, knowing very well that replicants are sterile.

“Just dirt and worms. No other bodies.” Nandez’s response is immediate.

“Maybe he ate it.” Coco says, more serious than he should be.

Something flares, white hot, in K’s chest. He has never had a proclivity to anger. The vicious tone to his words surprises even him. “Or maybe he loved her. Maybe he took care of the kid like it was his, at least for a while.”

The silence is deafening. Three pairs of incredulous eyes stare at him. Then Joshi speaks, cutting through the silence punctuated only by K’s harsh breathing. She sounds like she’s talking to a very small child. “But your kind doesn’t love.”

“Oh, he definitely ate it,” Nandez follows up, barely able to get the words out before he starts laughing. Coco joins him.

K bows his head, thoroughly chastised. He only just keeps from curling in on himself.

His madam sighs. “Finish up here, boys. K, with me.”

Unsure of what to expect, he follows the woman to the elevator. He presses himself into the corner during the ride up to her office, unease biting at his bones. The confined space has only been a breeding ground for trouble. Having learned a few hard lessons, he takes the stairs these days unless he is with Joshi.

The lieutenant leads him through the bullpen once they get off the elevator. Nobody pays them any attention. Eyes automatically advert from his madam. When they get to her office, she leaves him to close the door behind them. Upon turning to face her, he finds that she has already seated herself behind her desk and is in the midst of pouring herself a drink.

K waits, face turned submissively down at the floor. He doesn’t fidget.

“The world’s built on a wall that separates kind. Tell either side there’s no wall and you’ve bought a war or a slaughter. Your kind is incapable of love. That’s a trait only given to humans. So whatever notion you have in your head about the skinjob and the woman, you leave that behind.” Her tone is lecturing. It leaves no room for argument, not that he would even dare dream of it. Whatever his madam says to him is the law that he must obey.

“Yes, Madam.”

“What isn’t possible can’t be.”

“Yes, Madam,” he says again.

With a sigh, she sits back in her chair. Her eyes trace over his body, appraising. His breath catches in his throat before he forces his nervous system to relax. The only sign of his discomfort is the clenching of his hand at his side.

Lieutenant Joshi’s mouth pinches. Her face takes on a harried look. With a decisive thunk, she sets the glass tumbler down on her desk. It has been emptied for the first of what is likely to be many times.

“Go home. Get your head on straight. I don’t need you wanting retirement.”

“Yes, Madam,” K agrees.

Any relief he feels as being allowed to leave is cut short when she stops him. “Hey.”

He pauses, letting that be the acknowledgment that he’s heard her. The officer waits like the obedient dog he was made to be.

“You’re getting on fine without it.”

He feels his eyebrow twitch upwards in question. “What’s that, Madam?”

“Love.”

───※ ·❆· ※───

It’s late. The sun sat below the sprawling expanse of buildings hours ago, leaving K to sit in the dark room with only his thoughts and his DiJi for company. While he looks out the window at the other apartment building across the street, at the wall of lives stored in little boxes, he feels more hopeless than usual. The mark on his forearm feels like a slap in the face.

What use is a miracle if it only serves to remind him of his failures? It is a monument to what he destroyed without even knowing what it was he was about to rip apart.

He stands up from the purple chair and takes a few stumbling steps over to the built-in table to pour himself another too-full glass of whiskey. The bottle he had opened after getting off work tonight is already more than half gone. K doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to pour it into a glass other than to occupy his hands. He might as well drink straight from the bottle for efficiency.

With the glass in hand, liquid nearly sloshing over the edges, he goes to where his coat his hanging by the door. He swallows down another mouthful of alcohol while he reaches into one of the pockets. He takes out the small knife he uses for extracting eyes on retirement cases. K figures he should have just given you the blade and let you take his instead.

“K, what are you doing?” Joi asks, tone colored with apprehension.

She is lingering by the window, nervously shifting her nonexistent weight. The replicant ignores her. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Something has changed in him.

Crossing the room again, he takes a seat on the couch. K sets his glass on the side table. Stray drops of whiskey escape over the lip of it at the careless motion. They soak into the paper of his book, his most prized possession. It doesn’t matter. Joshi already soiled it months ago with her own glass, not dissimilar to how she has with him.

Tightening his grip around the knife, he looks down contemplatively at his right forearm. He is not wearing a long sleeved shirt this evening. Maybe he should have been.

Joi starts to plead with him the instant she realizes what he’s about to do. He manages to block her voice out and sinks the blade into his skin, just below the soulmark. The metal works its way through flesh and meat until the fine tip of it scrapes against his radius. It burns as he drags it sideways, up and to the left. Blood wells up from the wound and starts dripping freely onto his pant leg. It soaks into the material.

K has decided that he is undeserving of the fragment of soul he was given at inception. The mark must be removed. Perhaps with it no longer on his body, its twin will appear on someone else. You can have a better soulmate, and he will just be another serial number. Unremarkable in every way.

Delicate hands flicker and clip through his, grasping futilely at the knife. Joi has thrown herself to her knees in front of him and is trying to stop him. Projected tears are falling from her eyes in shimmering droplets. He follows the steady flow of them to her face and realizes that he is scaring her. In her distraught expression, he can only see your agonized face as you sob over the replicant he put a bullet into just days before. Her hands are yours in the way that they attempt to pull at his, to put a stop to the damage he’s inflicting. The comparison stops him cold. He can’t do this to Joi. Even if their relationship together is an elaborate game of pretend, he can’t make someone else feel the way he made you feel.

Smothering the emotions inside of him like a flawed replicant straight from the artificial womb, he wiggles the knife back and forth to free it from his body. He sets the blade aside on the coffee table and retreats to the bathroom. Joi is unable to follow him. She is stuck to the hardline as if on a leash. He never got her anniversary present.

Away from Joi’s worried eyes, he washes the injury in the cramped bathroom sink. Water spills out over the sides and splashes onto the floor in swirls of pale pink on the tile. It makes its way lazily to the drain in the middle of the room. He will scrub the traces of his blood out of the grout later, when he has had a moment to distance himself from everything he shouldn’t be feeling.

Feeling unsteady, K finds the platelet jelly and sets to gluing the self-inflicted wound shut.

If he pinches the sides of it together harder than what is necessary, that’s only for him to know. The bite of pain is enough to ground him in reality. It clears away some of the drunken fog.

Closer to baseline than he was, K rejoins his distressed “wife” in the main room. She rushes at him and he draws her against him as much as a living being can do with a hologram.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he soothes while she sobs nonexistent tears against his chest.

The replicant can’t help but wish that she were someone else. He wonders if his role and that of Gradus had been reversed, would you have tried to protect him? What would it be like to have someone care enough to try?

───※ ·❆· ※───

After that night where he had made an earnest attempt to remove his soulmark, he shuts himself off from Joi. He barely responds to her these days. He can hardly stomach interacting with anyone at all. Still, he does not turn off the DiJi. She is left to do wander around the room and do whatever her algorithm wishes. There is a strange sort of comfort in not feeling completely alone, even if the company isn’t actually there. He isn’t real in any meaningful way either.

His evenings become routine in their spiral. He sits, he smokes, he drinks, and he very rarely sleeps in the hours before his alarm chimes. You haunt the moments of rest he is able to get. He hears your voice in the throats of a thousand others. He sees your anguished face with every blink of his eyes.

K wishes he knew even just your name. He has nothing tangible of that day in 405. Perhaps it was just a dream, a terrible nightmare that has bled into the waking world.

He has to stop eating the synthetic meat he gets for his dinners. The artificial bloodiness of it transports him back to the moment he saw your soulmark covered with the gore caused by his mistake. He should have overridden instinct. He should have done something, anything, differently.

K nearly stops eating all together. His body is slowly wasting away, eating at his muscles. He’s taken to wearing more layers to offset the loss. No one comments at the change.

───※ ·❆· ※───

If only so you can put him down, he tries to find you. The opportunity for him to dig for information comes when he’s put on a case with Nandez. The detective leaves K alone promptly at the end of second shift. The replicant is not sad to see him go. Even at the best of times, Nandez is at his throat despite not having the authority to demand anything from him. K sincerely hopes that the man never gets a promotion.

With Nandez gone, K pulls up the property records for the apartment building he found you at and starts searching. There is nothing substantial, certainly nothing for an additional occupant in the unit rented by John Gradus. No co-signer, no lease agreement, no roommate paperwork. It’s a dead end.

Frustrated, he gets out of his chair and paces. K knows full he can’t risk diving too deep into the systems. Doing so might draw attention to his extracurricular activities. His madam would want answers, and not the ones he is willing to provide. She can’t know of your existence. Joshi was very clear about the boundaries between kind. Without question, he would find a way to retire himself if given the order to harm you.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Squinting his eyes against the feeble sunlight managing to stream into his window, he registers that Joi is looking at him. Her face carries the same serious expression that it has for the past few weeks. He feels a distant pang of guilt at being the cause of it.

She’s projected herself to be laying beside him on the thin mattress. In the dreamlike quality of the light, she looks almost tangible like this. Touchable. These small moments are why he never bothered with blinds or curtains.

“Tell me about your soulmate,” she says. He realizes that she’s emulated his mark into her hologram skin.

“There’s not much to tell.” His voice is thick with sleep.

“Tell me anyway.”

At that, he closes his eyes and summons his memory of you. With each detail he recounts aloud about your appearance, Joi alters herself. She replicates your accent, your hair, your eye color. When he opens his eyes, he finds himself looking at a pale imitation. It’s almost closer to a mockery than anything else. The morning light can’t make it real. Nothing could.

Tenderly, his DiJi reaches out and tries to press her fake mark against his in the way he’d always hoped his soulmate would when they found each other. He lets her, numb. It doesn’t feel like anything more than the faint static tingle of her projection. She clips through him.

“A special boy needs a name, a real name.” she prompts, mulling the thought over.

“Don’t,” he interrupts, softly. He doesn’t want Joi to name him. She’s not what he really wants. If anyone were to give him a name, it should be you.

With a flash of hurt on her face, she pulls away. The attempt at a loving game of pretend like they used to play is over. There is not likely to be another one.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Carefully, he tears out the title page of his book. K does not have any other paper. This will have to do. With the same marker the replicant used in his spinner to label the bag containing Gradus’s eye, he writes on the alcohol-warped page.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

Officer K folds the paper and tucks it into his badge holder for safekeeping. He has a premonition that this day will end with him staring into the lens of a camera like the barrel of a gun while one of the precinct’s baseline administers hammers him with questions asked forcefully enough they might as well be physical blows.

Pushing through the crowd on the stairs, he doesn’t register the turmoil around him. He breaks free once he’s out the front door. The walk to the garage seems to pass in the blink in the eye and feels like only heartbeats pass before he’s in the work-provided spinner and on the way to the apartment building he’d been to a lifetime ago.

He puts the spinner down curbside out in front of a struggling noodle place. K doesn’t want to be parked too close to his objective. If someone comes sniffing around after him for going off-map, he doesn’t want it to be immediately obvious where he’s going.

As they had been the last time he’d been here, the streets are empty. They’re marked with obvious signs of nightlife. It all but confirms what he had suspected when doing the flyover. Graffiti and broken class litter the sidewalks in front of the row of businesses shuttered for the daytime hours. The neon signs are off and the blinds closed.

The apartment building looks the same as it had last time. Despite his own world being shaken to the very foundations, the structure he is entering looks unstricken by revelation. Retracing his footsteps, he ascends to the fourth four and finds the unit. The doormat he’d not bothered to acknowledge before is still out front.

With his pulse pounding in his ears, he raises his hand and knocks. He waits for the telltale sign of life behind the barrier. Nothing. Concern prickles at his mind, and he knocks again only to get no response. For just a moment, he thinks about just sliding the paper under the door but on a whim, he tries the knob. It turns easily in his grasp. It was left unlocked.

“Hello?” K calls out as he steps across the threshold.

Silence greets him in return.

From what the officer can discern upon casting a searching look at his surroundings, little has changed. The furniture is where it had been on the day of his visit. He is not sure if any of the personal effects have been disturbed. They had not been near the top of his priority list at the time.

A loud ringing noise shatters the peace and he startles, nearly hitting his elbow on the wall. It’s his phone. His madam must have checked on his tracker code and realized that he isn’t anywhere a good boy might be found under normal circumstances. He lets it ring through unanswered. His countdown has started.

Reluctantly, he continues his investigation and looks at the place where he had dropped Gradus. The blood stain he’d left behind is a mere, blush colored mark on the carpet. Someone, probably you, had tried to scrub away the evidence. The basket of yarn that had contained the gun has been righted and moved to a place between the couch and the blind-covered window.

Showing some level of restraint, he resists the urge to wander into the bedrooms. There are two of them. A glance through the doorways reveals that each has a bed. You and the ‘8 must not sleep in the same room. Instead of trying to puzzle out which might contain your possessions, he moves into the kitchen.

There is moisture in the sink. Someone has been here recently. The apartment had not been abandoned in his absence.

The water in the basin reminds him that Gradus had asked you to bring tea to them. Could it be your usual chore? The thought sparks an idea, and he pulls his badge from his pocket and extracts the folded piece of paper. He leaves it on the counter as his phone rings for a second time. Ignoring the repetitive trill, he picks up a pen from the coffee table and returns to the kitchen to unfold the page he’d torn from the book.

Again, his phone goes off, barely a pause between the attempts at reaching him. The timer is running out moment by moment.

Underneath the words he wrote at his apartment, K presses the nib of the pen against the paper and takes a breath. In careful writing, he adds to them.

Do you feel that there's a part of you that's missing?

What's it like to hold the hand of someone you love?

Immediately, he wants to erase the words. With the feeling that he’s making another mistake when it comes to you, K refolds the sheet of paper and tucks it partially under the kettle resting on the counter. He wishes that he knew your name so that he could write it on the paper. Even without it, it’s clear enough who the message is for. Gradus hadn’t been the one with who shared his soulmark.

With an air of finality to it, the device in his pocket rings a fourth time. It’s his cue to leave. Spurred into haste, he puts the pen back where he’d found it and takes a final glance around, still curious about which decorative choices were yours.

He leaves the apartment, making sure to close the door securely behind him. The replicant all but sprints down the stairs in the effort to create distance between himself and the apartment unit. He narrowly manages to keep his pace limited to a brisk walk on the way back to the noodle restaurant. Just as he’s reaching for the lock on his spinner’s door, he hears a low roar rapidly approaching.

Looking up, he sees a police issued vehicle pull into a stop. It begins its decent as a voice projects over the loudspeaker. “Officer K D6-3.7. We’re taking you in on failure to report.”

K puts his hands up and automatically lowers himself to his knees. Acutely, he’s aware of what will happen if he doesn’t perfectly comply. LAPD beat cops are trigger-happy organics and ready to spray and pray at anything that so much as breathes wrong in their direction. He has never respected them, never been given cause to in all his dealings with them.

A cop gets out, leaving another behind the wheel, as soon as the spinner lands. In short order, K finds himself handcuffed and made a passenger in his own provided spinner. The organic makes a stab at ruffling his nerves on the way back to the precinct.

“Lieutenant’s real mad at you for taking off like that.”

K offers nothing in response.

“What the fuck were you doing all the way out here, skinner?”

He shrugs in his restraints, chooses how to interpret the question. “Noodles.”

The officer whistles, pitchy and uneven. “Oooh, she’s going to string you up.”

K is aware. He knew the cost for his apology when he set out today. He had also decided it was worth the fallout.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The stool that Officer K is sitting on is uncomfortable—a hard, impersonal thing meant to be hosed off as needed. It’s the same as the rest of this room bathed in the sterile light of humming florescent bar. Underneath the copper burn of blood is an antiseptic tang. The baseline testing room is everything but a slaughterhouse floor in name. He’d opened his eyes for the very first time in a room like this.

Ringing fills his ears followed by the whir and click of the wall-mounted camera in front of him. A disembodied voice reads off his serial number and informs him that the test has begun.

Responses leave the replicant’s throat through as though someone else is speaking through him. He’s calm, retreated so far into himself that any residual fire inside of him has been snuffed out. He feels cold. The joints in his fingers ache with the sensation. He doesn’t dare to flex them or to rub at his chafed wrists.

The cops that had been sent to fetch him had removed the handcuffs as soon as he’d been delivered to the testing room. One of them in particular had found great amusement in hauling him through the precinct by the narrow chain like a dog catcher with an animal on the end of their pole.

Finally, the pounding against the walls of his mind stops. The interrogation is over. The camera powers down and the examiner sighs, hard, almost disappointed.

“You’re free to go, Officer. Your lieutenant will see you in her office.”

K rises, stiff, eyes unseeing. He barely registers the activity of the precinct around him as he traverses the hallway and climbs the stairs in clear avoidance of the elevator once again. He feels trapped enough in his own head without the physical captivity of being in a little box.

Low murmurs roll against him akin to the waves against the seawall when he crosses the bullpen and knocks on Joshi’s door after reaching the floor housing her office. She calls him in immediately. Her tone is like an angry wasp. It provides a sting that jolts everything back into sharp relief.

She barely waits until he closes the door behind himself. “The hell is with you?”

Years of experience have taught him to let his madam work through her anger without input from him. K waits, still and patient, in front of her desk.

“You take off without informing me, you ignore my calls, and then what? We pick you up fucking around in the street outside of some shitty restaurant? What was so important about it that you had to go out there?”

“Apologies, Madam,” he says. Repentance drips from his voice like honey from the comb.

Joshi waits, looking expectant. Her expression shifts to frustration as no more words come. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say to me? Tell me why you were out there.”

It’s a direct order. The instinct to obey pulls at him. He gives in without a fight. “I was following up on the second retirement case. Civic’ NK687725. It was a surprise, Madam. I had hoped it would be a welcome one.”

Like magic, the severely set lines in Joshi’s face soften. She is becoming convinced that he’d meant his… willfulness as a gift, as a credit to her and her management.

“Did you find anything?”

“There was no one there,” he pauses, twists the truth in his own mind, “Hadn’t been for a while. It’s probable I scared them off and they went underground.”

Who is to say what “a while” means? Time is relative.

Joshi lifts a hand and beckons him closer, around the corner of the desk. Eager to avoid more trouble, he instantly follows her direction. She rotates her chair to face him when he comes to a stop within touching distance. He has learned through trial and error to predict exactly where she wants him based on her mannerisms and tone. It has never bode well for him to be wrong.

“Good dog,” the lieutenant says, lightly kicks him in the shin. “Just let me know before you decide to be proactive again.”

“I will, Madam.” He’s glad that she has decided to be lenient today.

“Get on out of here. I don’t need the distraction.”

“Goodbye, Madam.” It’s polite and he keeps his pace measured as he leaves. He doesn’t want to seem too eager. It would send the wrong message.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Weeks pass K by without any outward indication that you’ve received the paper he had left behind at your residence. He has made a resigned peace with the idea that your paths may never cross again when he arrives back to his apartment following a day kept late at work doing overtime, again, for Nandez. Following routine and nearly swaying on his feet, he puts his hand on the scanner for the door lock. He opens it just enough to slide through and is greeted in the entryway by Joi for the first time a while. Panic is displayed on her face. Taken aback, he’s about to question her when she speaks first.

“You have a visitor. I didn’t think you would want me to say no,” she whispers.

Frowning, he mulls over the list of potential visitors and only comes up with one idea of who it might be. But, he’d just seen Joshi at the precinct before leaving for the day. She had given him no indication that she would be paying him a visit tonight. In fact, his madam had had him sit down on the other side of her desk to share a drink with her.

It had kept him occupied for the better part of the hour while she got intoxicated enough to insist that he give her a kiss before he leave. She’d failed to push things further by not ordering him to his knees before her or manipulating his hands onto her body. K thinks that she’s grown bored of him, at least for the moment. The thought makes him feel relieved.

Joi touches him on the shoulder, putting an end to his thinking. “Good luck.”

Anticipating, despite the unlikeliness of it, to see his madam, he passes by the DiJi into the main room. K stops in his tracks, stricken dumb. He’d have sooner expected Coco spread out on his couch in nothing but his clear, silicone labcoat and an artificial rose in his mouth than to be staring at you. Somehow, you don’t look as out of place as you should among his sparse possessions.

“How did you find me?” the replicant asks.

“You said your identification number the day you showed up. KD6-3.7.”

It’s strange a strange thing, hearing his “name” come out of your mouth. He doesn’t supply the nickname he’s been given during his time as a blade runner. He’s already pacing on the knife’s edge. This evening could tip him in any direction without forcing any further familiarity.

“You got the note.”

“Yes.” Your tone is matter-of-fact. “You wanted to know if I felt like a part of me is missing.”

He is left waiting for a follow-up that doesn't come. The thought hangs there, uncontinued. In the quiet of the room, K shrugs off his jacket and goes to hang it on the hook by the front door. He unholsters his gun and puts it on a nearby shelf. No matter how things go, he will not be using it on you.

Before he faces you again, K approaches the controls for the hardline crossing the ceiling. When he casts a look at Joi with his finger hovering over the power button, she looks at peace. She gives him an encouraging shooing motion of her hand. He turns her off for the first time in months. You and K will not have any outside distraction.

“He lived, by the way.”

K feels a tightness loosen in his chest. “I’m glad.”

“Why? You could have easily made the shot fatal, why didn’t you?”

“Somebody cares about him. He would have been missed.”

“And that matters to you?” You don’t sound judgmental to his ears, only curious.

“Yes. I’m sorry I had to do it.” He swallows hard, voice breaking as he continues. “I didn’t choose this.”

The replicant knows that he is only what he was made to be, nothing more, nothing less. Nature had dictated his obedience. Nurture had molded him into being what the Los Angeles Police’s retirement division had had in mind when he was purchased for their use.

Under the weight of your gaze, he begins to self-soothe by clasping his hands together in front of him and rubbing one thumb over the other. He finds himself relieved from the burden when you shift your attention to your surroundings. He watches, fascinated, as you begin to explore.

Your fingers trail over the box where he stores his cigarettes and the lighter he’d found in the pocket of one of his previous retirement jobs. Moving onward, you pick up his book and flip briefly through the alcohol warped pages. He sees the recognition dart across your features when you find the place where the torn out page had once resided. The care in which you set the volume back down on the table surprises him. His madam had never displayed that level of consideration. Neither had Joi with the projected clone of it.

“These don’t look like yours,” you say. In your hands are Sapper Morton’s glasses, held as if they might break apart in your grasp with so much as a wrong exhale.

“They’re not.”

“Whose are they, then?”

“Sapper Morton. He was a retirement case,” K pauses, hesitates, then quietly adds, “I didn’t want him to be forgotten.”

“Why?” you ask, rolling the word in your mouth like a pearl.

The question makes his skin itch. He stills as though he had just taken a seat for his baseline. The only betraying movement is the continued motion of his thumb atop the other.

“Why?” you repeat, softer this time. There’s something close to tenderness in your voice and that makes him afraid.

“He was more than a serial number.” K admits, feeling the answer clawing its way out of him. “I… they all were.”

“Are you?”

“No.” His response is immediate. Firm.

“Why not?”

Unable to answer, he looks away. Shame laps at him with an overeager tongue. There is a divide between the older models and him. In some ways, Morton was right. The ‘9s are happy scraping the shit because it’s all they have been taught to know.

He’s aware of you setting the glasses back in their resting place on the shelf, but it still surprises him when you cross the small amount of space separating the two of you to stand in front of him. You’re so close to him that he can feel the heat of your body. It makes him want to burn in your fire.

“I do feel like there’s something missing. It’s like there’s an empty space next to me that should be filled by someone, but that someone never comes. It’s the part of the reason I came here. I… wanted to talk to you knowing what we are to each other,” you tell him.

K nods. Words catch in his throat, tumble over one another. In the end, he is unable to utter any of them.

“Will you show it to me?” you ask with a gesture to his covered arm. “I want to be sure.”

With a tremor threatening to shake his body, he slips his fingers under the edge of his shirt sleeve and pulls it up to his elbow. His soulmark is laid bare before your eyes. The wound that he had left in his own skin when he had tried to carve out the design has faded to a raised, pale line.

“That wasn’t there before,” you murmur, taking his forearm in your hands. Your pointer finger traces over the scar.

His breath catches at your touch. Overwhelmed, he has to close his eyelids against the moisture welling up in his eyes. He opens them again when the pressure of your hands leaves and sees you taking off your own coat to toss it over the back of his chair. The replicant barely has a moment of respite before your left hand resumes its position cupping the underbelly of his forearm. You keep him steady as you raise your right arm and nestle it alongside his to place the soulmarks side by side.

K’s eyes hadn’t been deceived back then. They are perfectly identical.

It’s more than he can handle. He curls into himself, instinctively seeking the fetal position. His chin is against his shoulder, face turned away from you. He’s not sure if he’s burning up or drowning.

“Hey… hey.”

Suddenly, your arms are around him. K feels himself being guided in until he’s all but cradled against you as you ease the both of you to floor. He finds himself pressing his face against your neck as you rub a soothing hand up and down his back. For each moment that passes, the replicant grows increasingly more worried that he’s overstaying his welcome, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you gently rock him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding choked even to his own ears.

“I’m sorry too. I misjudged you. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still pissed, but it wasn’t… I have an understanding of why you did what you did.”

Forcing himself to put some distance between your bodies, K finally pulls away. He doesn’t want to risk being reprimanded for taking too much. Your hands fall into your lap in the void he leaves behind.

There is a part of him that keeps expecting to discover that this is a vivid dream. Will he wake up and be staring at the water-damaged ceiling instead of your face? The hard floor under his knees, the chill of it creeping through the fabric and trying to find a home against his skin, seems to signal otherwise.

“Please don’t apologize. What I did was unforgivable.”

“John’s not mad at you, you know?” The words come as a surprise. He searches your eyes for a joke only to see sincerity reflected back at him. “He said you probably extended his life a few years by taking his eye and turning it in. Nobody’s gonna come looking for a dead man.”

“He’s not on our radar anymore. His file has been greyed out,” he says, getting to his feet.

Automatically, he reaches down to offer you his hand. It’s a mirror of your last interaction. He can tell by your expression that you are reliving the same memory as he. Still, you once again take his hand without hesitation. You hold it for just a moment before letting go. He doesn't think he imagined the reluctance.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time, Officer. I don’t want to intrude,” you say, turning to pick up your coat from where you had left it.

“Please. Stay,” he bursts out. The feeling of imminent loss batters at the walls of his chest, “unless…”

“Okay.”

He blinks, not expecting the ease in which you had agreed. He’s left cycling through various scripts in the effort to find something to say. Latching onto a familiar interaction with Joi, he asks, “Do you want coffee?”

“Sure, I’d take some.”

K finds himself with you in his narrow kitchen. He heats the water while you take down two mugs and locate the instant coffee grounds after some direction from him. It’s domestic in a way that he was never able to have with Joi. With her, he didn’t need to worry about knocking elbows together or pressing her into the cabinetry while trying to reach for a pot holder.

Once the hot water is ready and split between the two mugs and stirred together, the two of you take seats on the couch. Between sips, conversation flows, a trickle at first and then a flood. You talk for hours, long after your mugs are drained and sat aside.

Following the natural progression of all things, the words begin to slow as tiredness sets in. Pauses between sentences lengthen like shadows. At seeing your eyes between to flutter shut, K rouses himself out of his own comfortable stupor.

“I’ll take the couch if you want to sleep in my bed tonight,” the replicant offers. He’s relaxed, at ease in a way he’s not sure he’s ever been. You’ve changed him.

The effort that it takes for you to keep your eyelids open as you think over his stab at hospitality only endears to you him further. Finally, you shrug and smother a yawn. “I’ll take you up on that. I don’t think I need to be behind the wheel like this.”

While you pull out your phone and send a message to your roommate to let him know your plans, K gets up and crosses the room to fold down the bed. He opens a nearby drawer and pulls out the pillow and blanket to put on the mattress. With a helpless twinge sigh, he surveys the setup. It’s not the lap of luxury, he knows, but he hopes it will be sufficient.

“All yours.”

“Thank you, K.” The light press of your fingers against his soulmark warms him almost as much as the use of his nickname. You had slipped into using it when he had admitted his preference for it over his job title or serial number in at some point in the previous hours.

He nods, a shy dip of his head and lets you slide under the blankets. After fetching his jacket off the hook to use as a blanket, he turns off the lights and lays down on the couch. Sleep comes to him almost immediately. It’s dreamless.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Morning comes to him with the shrill chiming of his alarm. Fumbling for his handheld, K silences it and lays still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. The replicant fell asleep on the couch again. He knows that he has been doing that more often than he should. Too much alcohol and flipping through the pages of his book time and time again on the hunt for any new meaning that he can gleam from the words he knows by heart have contributed to this being a regular occurrence.

With a stiff back, he sits up and swings his legs to place his feet on the floor. He freezes right on the cusp of standing up. There is a body tucked into his bed and it’s not Joshi. Yesterday evening hadn’t been a whiskey soaked dream brought on by too much wishful thinking. It had been real.

K knows he needs to get ready to go to the precinct and pushes himself through his morning routine accordingly no matter how much he would prefer to wait at your side to resume the domesticity the two of you had begun to forge. By the time he’s out of the shower and dressed, you’ve gotten up and put the bed back in its stored away position. The bedding is neatly folded and set on a shelf with the pillow.

With his hair still damp, he observes you for a moment from the kitchen. You’re tracing the faded letters and numbers on the back of his jacket with a finger, clearly trying to decipher the characters.

“N7H00105,” he supplies, sparing your eyes.

Amusement causes the corners of his mouth to rise into a smile as you turn to him with an incredulous look. “How did you…? It’s so faded.”

“It was easier to read when I acquired it.”

“Another one of your job finds?” you ask, offering him the jacket when he approaches.

“Yes.”

While he’s pulling the comforting weight of the garment over his shoulders, he tracks you with his eyes as you step into your shoes and tie the laces. You haven’t put your coat on yet, leaving your arms bare. There is a moment of silence, the two of you regarding one another. He does not want to be the first one to make the gesture to leave and, it seems, neither do you.

Your teeth are worrying your bottom lip. He wonders what you’re thinking about, but in the clear light of day, he finds himself unable to ask. The sun has burned away some of the ease of last night.

Finally, you speak. “If you had the option, would you leave all of this behind?”

He blinks, uncomprehending. “What?”

“Your job. Your life here… Would you leave it behind?”

“I… I don’t have anything else.” His words are uncertain, shaky.

“What if I’m offering you something else?”

“My kind doesn’t run.”

“It’s not running, K. It’s living.”

Rattled by the conviction in your voice, he sits down on the couch. His chest feels tight as barely defined images of things he’d hardly dared to dream of race through his mind. The enormity of what you’re suggesting is all but unimaginable. He has been loyal to his madam’s cause since the day he was incepted. There could be no deeper betrayal than slipping free of his tether.

The sensation of your hand on his shoulder jolts him back into the present moment. He meets your concerned eyes for a heartbeat before he has to look away.

“You don’t have to decide right now. You can think on it.”

“Saturday. I’ll be ready on Saturday,” he chokes out. His heart is pounding in his throat. He knows he cannot risk sitting through another baseline in the wake of this. He will fail.

“You’re sure? You won’t be able to come back here.”

“Yes.” Recklessly—impulsively—he has made up his mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

The Saturday of his departure dawns like any other. The sunlight peering into the apartment’s only window would make K’s morning wholly unremarkable in its routine if his surroundings hadn’t been wiped clean of any personal possessions but a select few items that he is leaving behind for his madam to repossess. His entire world had fit into one furtively purchased duffel bag.

His nerves are alight with restlessness as he waits for you to arrive. The replicant had spent a few fitful hours laying on his mattress before rising ahead of the sun to ensure his readiness for the life ahead. As part of his preparations, he finally purchased Joi’s anniversary present. An emanator. He had transferred her to it after yesterday’s shift at the precinct. She had been joyous, nearly overflowing with excitement for him when he had explained the situation to her. He had cautiously let himself share his own tentative optimism.

At the DiJi’s suggestion, he had snapped the emanator’s small antenna after deleting her save file from the main console. The risk of being tracked or leaving behind damning information was too great to allow for cloud backup. Despite his own trepidation, Joi had insisted the risk of her being able to die like a real girl was worth K’s freedom.

A firm knock against the door alerts the Nexus 9 of your arrival. With haste, he moves through the entryway to open the door for you. Both of you wait until it’s securely closed before you greet each other.

“Good morning,” you tell him.

K is just opening his mouth to respond in kind when you surprise him with a hug. The replicant wraps his arms around you, careful to not apply too much pressure. It’s a novel thing, getting to hold someone like this. Reluctantly, he lets his hold on you loosen after a short moment. He knows there is work to still be done. A final step in the plan.

Without you needing to ask him, he gestures to the table in front of the window. The supplies for the task ahead are already laid out on the surface. He strips off his shirt and sits backwards in the chair as best as he can while avoiding the armrests. K closes his eyes and tries to relax.

“I almost thought you might not come back,” he admits.

He hears the snap of disposable gloves against your wrists followed by the sound of your voice. “You’re my soulmate. The mark on your arm says I’m going to keep coming back for you.”

“Not everyone likes their soulmate,” K says quietly.

There’s the sound of a packet being torn open. He experiences the sensation of a disinfecting wipe passing over the area at the base of his neck. It’s cold against his skin. You focus most of the attention on the column of his spine, right in the center of his middle trapezius.

“True, but I realized the other night that, despite everything, I do like you. Congratulations, you now have me digging a tracking chip out of your back.” Your voice is colored with fondness. It makes him want to smile. How rare. He had kept his positive emotions hidden under cloth as though they were something precious to sequester out of sight.

Hissing against the sting, the tip of K’s eye extraction knife punctures his skin. The sensation of blood trickling from the wound begins shortly after he hears you set the knife on the table and pick up the tweezers. There’s a pinch, a strange pulling sensation, and then he opens his eyes just in time to see you drop the small device on the table alongside the bloodied blade. The tweezers clatter against the laminated surface and your gloved hand snatches up the platelet jelly.

“That was in deep. They nailed you between the vertebrae. John’s was right under the skin.”

“Wallace learned from the tail-end Tyrell models. Mostly what not to do.”

He hears you hum, interested. Packaging crinkles behind his head and he’s aware of you pressing a gauze pad against the sealed wound. Your touch is so gentle as to make him believe you think he is something worth care, that he might even be special.

“Hand me a bit of tape, please?”

Obligingly, he tears off a strip and passes it to you. His bare fingers brush against your gloved ones as you take it from him. You secure the tape in place and pat him on the shoulder. “You’re all done.”

The skin feels tender beneath the bandage. But it is as though his collar has been cut. He puts his shirt back on and layers his jacket over it while you peel the gloves off. To avoid leaving more identifying forensic evidence behind that would point to you as being the accomplice, you flip them inside out and tuck them into a pocket for later disposal.

At your searching look, K nods. He is ready. The replicant picks up his bag and, together, you make your way to the front door. He pauses on the threshold, door open. Your fingers find his and give them a squeeze before he adjusts the angle and interlinks them together. Like this, he can feel your pulse beat in time with his. He feels close to human.

With one final look at the apartment that has been his cell for the past few years, he gives it a silent goodbye and closes the door for the final time. He is free.

───※ ·❆· ※───

On Monday, when Joshi arrives with two organic officers as backup, she finds the apartment stripped of any personal effects. She picks up his discarded phone off the coffee table where he had laid it between his firearm and his badge. The woman throws it against the wall so hard it shatters. Pieces of plastic rain down onto the tile. He hadn’t even left her a note.

If she ever finds him, she is going to put a bullet in him with the gun he left behind. Still, there is a part of her that is grudgingly proud of him for finally biting her hand, taking it off right at the wrist. Her replicant was a lot of things—obedient, kind—but never a coward. He better have a good life while he can. She’s going to place a purchase order for his replacement the moment she gets behind her desk.

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