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makeyoumine69 · 5 months

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Euphoria (Memory Reboot x2)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x gn!Reader

SUMMARY: After wrestling with the lingering thoughts of Bateman, you finally found yourself open to Paul Allen's offer — a life-changing opportunity. But despite your resolve, you couldn't shake the need for closure. Determined, you sought one last encounter with Patrick, intent on resolving the unsaid and the undone before the cityscape of New York faded into your past.

CONTAINS: Smut, angst, mutual pining, obsessive behavior, desperate & sensual foreplay, anal fingering, pegging, sex toys, face riding, penetrative sex, rimming (Patrick receiving), oral sex (69, blowjobs), edging, biting, spanking, cum shot, masturbating, praise kink, body worship, drug usage, pet names, dirty talk, needy Patrick, misogyny, swearing, gaslighting, manhandling, mind manipulation.

WORDS: 8.7k

SONG REC: VØJ, Narvent — Euphoria

A/N: Hello everyone, I'm sorry it took me quite long to write this, I hope you like it! If you find any mistakes regarding gn!reader, please let me know!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [CHAPTER 1].

The clock’s ticking was the only sound in the opulent meeting room of Pierce & Pierce office. Your heart seemed to beat to the rhyme of ticking, while you were nervously spinning the thin cigarette in your hands but never really trying to actually smoke; the glass ashtray in front of you would probably be left empty till the end of the day. It was even funny how drastically things changed after that…moment of privacy you shared with Bateman. Starting from that, you couldn’t really get him out of your head, even though it has already been several weeks of your pretending game of “nothing had happened” between you and Patrick. It was a matter of time, when your colleagues would start to notice your strange behavior whenever you and Bateman were in one room.

Squeezing the cigarette between your shaky fingers, you turned around in the leather chair to look at the New York skyline through the wide window. ‘That it is not an exit,’ echoed in your ears and you tried to shake the nervousness off from your tense shoulders, but the more you were being alone, the more surrounding space was weighing on you as if you were on the very bottom of the Pacific ocean.

The moment the door swung open and Timothy Bryce entered the meeting room, you were more in control of yourself. “Hey, Tim. Haven’t seen you in ages.”

“Sorry, (y/n). Had a business call with some delusional prick.” Bryce snarled and took a seat across from you.

“Delusional prick?”

"Yeah, you know...delusional," he chuckled and glanced at the cigarette in your hand, which was still more like an accessory. "The guy thought I gave a fuck about his life and his wife, who used to be a whore, by the way."

With a soft snicker, you made yourself more comfortable in your chair, throwing one leg over another. “Wanna smoke?”

“Yep,” he leaned over the table to take the cigarette, your fingers touched for a moment but none of you paid attention. “So, what happened? Why did you want to see me?”

Confused, you took a moment to think about your answer. You worried a lot about picking the right words, but now you were even more anxious. ‘I just need to tell him the truth and that’s all,’ you reassured yourself before turning to face Tim. “Well, the thing is - I’m quitting P & P.”

Tim’s face remained unchanged for a second, but then the man furrowed his brows, tilting his head and rubbing his ear as if he didn’t hear. “You're what? Quitting?”

"Right," you gave him a half-smile and continued. "Recently, I received a very... very good offer from one company in Chicago."

“Jesus Christ. Chicago? Really?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

Bryce lit the cigarette and leaned back in his chair. “Who the fuck even gave you this idea? And why so sudden? You have such a good job here, with a good salary and…” He paused and blew a few rings of smoke. “Do those bastards pay well?”

Laughing heartily, you crossed your arms over your chest and watched the smoke dividing the room in two with a white veil. “So many questions. Are you interested in leaving Pierce & Pierce too?” That was not a serious question, since you knew that Bryce was more than satisfied with his job. “If I say who recommended that place to me, will you keep it a secret?” Tim nodded even before you could say something else. “I was at one P&P party, that one you decided to skip a week ago. So, there I met Paul Allen and we talked a bit and he mentioned that he just came back from his business trip from Chicago…we had a long conversation, but as a result he proposed to me to think about the option to change my current job.”

All the time while you were speaking, Tim was glancing at you with wide open eyes, his prominent brows curling up and down whenever you mentioned Paul Allen’s name. It was always funny for you to watch Bateman & Co getting so frustrated and annoyed whenever Allen was around or whenever someone discussed his success with having the Fisher account. To say the least, his ability to get a reservation at Dorsia. ‘I’m not gonna tell any of them that Allen offered me dinner in Dorsia after that party.’

“So you were unsatisfied with your job all this time and didn’t say anything? That sucks, (y/n). Didn’t expect that to come, not gonna lie,” Bryce made a low sound which was very similar to growling, but at the same time it also sounded like a scoff. “But, if that really is what you want, then who am I to judge you? We have only one life to fulfill all our needs, right?”

Timothy’s statement was like a balm to your soul, that was exactly what you hoped he would tell you and when he did, you felt some kind of relief washing over you like a breeze of fresh air.

“Thank you, Tim,” you finally grinned and put your elbows on the table. “Glad you didn’t start to read me notations.”

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Him?” You squinted and tilted your head; your intuition was screaming that something was so damn wrong.

“Bateman,” with a sly smile, Bryce put the cigarette out in a glass ashtray; his glance was eloquent but you never really managed to read it. “I bet he will be upset. Very upset.”

“Bryce ” you rolled your eyes. ‘Is he lying or…?’ That question remained unspoken. “Leave these cheesy jabs to yourself, okay?”

Tim only laughed at your weak attempt to threaten him and stood up from the table. “You know, I saw him with Jean in Arcadia last night…” Now this information could come in handy… “I think they had some kind of date or something, huh,” he chuckled again and fixed his tie, giving the picture on the opposite wall a scrutinizing glance. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but something is definitely happening. In my opinion, you should tell him about your…unexpecting leaving, you know.”

Before you could respond, Timothy Bryce looked at you one last time and left the meeting room. Now, you were left alone but not really alone as the weight of the newfound information lay on your shoulders like two massive dumbbells. ‘If everything is too obvious for Bryce, what other things might the others think about me and Bateman?’ That was a rhetorical question mostly, but still you couldn’t even get up from the chair, sensing the strange, chilling fear inside your chest—what if you were mistaken with accepting the offer of a new job?

Gritting your teeth, you snarled and almost kicked the table from beneath, your palms were clenching and unclenching, thankfully no one could see you like this. Swiftly but nervously, you finally stood up and headed out from the meeting room, striving to avoid any of your soon-to-be-ex colleagues on your way to Bateman’s office.

How many times have you rehearsed the words you were going to say while you were walking up there? Countless. But still, when you entered Patrick's office and saw his lovely secretary, everything inside you froze - words, emotions, even your breath.

“Hi, Jean,” you mumbled, with a half-smile on your slightly tensed face. “Looking good.”

“Uh, thank you,” the blonde woman replied and fixed the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

As soon as you heard the echo of Patrick's voice through the office door, a lump formed in your throat and you had to cough several times because of the unpleasant dryness.

“Well,” you paused and glanced at the closed door with a nameplate ‘Patrick Bateman’ on it. “You would help me a lot if you let me have a private conversation with your boss.”

“Patrick is,” her voice suddenly wavered, implying that something was wrong. “He’s busy right now.”

“Oh,” you stepped back involuntarily. “Okay, I can come later.”

“No,” Jean replied curtly. “I’m sorry, but today is not an option at all.”

‘Is that some kind of joke?’ You hummed to yourself, already regretting coming here in the first place. “All right then. Have a nice day, Jean.” Turning around you already stepped out from the office when you head her voice:

“(Y/n), wait. Oh, I hope I pronounced your name correctly.” She blushed once you came back inside. “I think I can tell him about your visit, when he will be less busy.”

That offer was not something you would expect. “Actually, that would be nice,” you clicked on your tongue, considering your next steps. “Tell him that I have a reservation at Dorsia at eight o’clock–”

“Today?” Her question cut off your bluffing. “Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

You just grinned politely in return. “Yep, today. Tell him…that I need to talk with him about business and stuff. And, that it would be probably the last chance for him to catch up with me.” Jean’s eyes widened for a moment, but you reassured her instantly. “No drama, just changing my job.”

“Uh, that was probably a tough decision?”

“Not really,” you winked at her and crossed your arms over the chest. “But don’t tell him about that, okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” She tried to hide her confusion behind a warm smile but failed. “I’ll tell him that you will be waiting for him at Dorsia tonight and that this conversation is very important.”

“Uh-huh,” you hummed and for a moment just stood there, looking at the closed office door. “Thank you, darling. For everything.”

You made a special accent on the word ‘darling’, purposely embarrassing her and leaving no room for any questions and other stuff that would make a current situation even more fucked up.

After you left Bateman’s office you had to find Allen as only half of what you told Jean was actually bluffing—you knew that Paul had a reservation at Dorsia tonight, considering he was inviting you for dinner. Allen’s strange interest in you wasn’t your top priority at that moment but using it for your sake was something you couldn’t deny at such a situation. So when you finally found Paul in one of the meeting rooms, you persuaded him to give you that reservation, explaining that you wanted to show one of your colleagues Dorsia before you would leave New York and move to Chicago. And even though everyone would find out that that colleague was Patrick Bateman, you wouldn't’ care since you would be far away from here.

A few hours later, the melodious voice of Whitney Houston reverberated off the walls of the opulent living room in Bateman's apartment, the lyrics of "I Wanna Dance with Somebody," which Patrick knew perfectly, striking a chord in his chest every time the song came on.

But today everything was different.

Everything, except some random blonde bimbo who was on her knees between Bateman’s spread legs, sucking his thick cock but not actually giving him any pleasure. Frustrated, the man tugged on her hair without any compassion, bringing her closer, so her nose was almost brushing against his hairy pubis. But almost immediately, the woman began to whimper and claw at the perfect skin of his hips, and he didn't like it.

“What? Already tired?” Bateman sneered and fixated the blonde’s head in one place for a moment by her neck. “Or is that your first time? Then, I’m so fucking honored!"

As soon as the man let the blonde go, she pushed him away and sat back on her ass, breathing heavily. “Are you crazy?” the bimbo inquired and pressed a hand to her half-exposed breasts, her whole appearance looked messy. “I was about…t-to choke on your fucking dick!”

Sighing, Bateman rolled his eyes and just stretched out on the couch, lazily stroking his half-hard shaft. "So, this is your first time?" The woman hesitated to answer, which only made Patrick mock her even more. "Did you tell me that you have a boyfriend? And he works at P&P, right?"

Wiping her mouth with undisguised contempt, the blonde started to get up, but Patrick stepped on the hem of her dress and she almost fell. "Marcus! Stop it!"

"Uh, look at you," the man chuckled, watching her feeble attempts to get up. "Such a pathetic little bitch, pathetic and greedy," the man added, giggling. "Ready to give head to every vice president at Pierce & Pierce! Your boyfriend should be so proud of you."

The woman was on the verge of tears when Bateman finally allowed her to get up and collect her things. She had been in such a hurry that she had left her panties on the glass coffee table. All this gave Patrick much more pleasure than the blonde's inexperienced blowjob.

"Ask your boyfriend to teach you how to suck dicks," he blurted out as the woman rushed into the hallway, rifling through her purse looking for something. "Since he's probably a pro at that sort of thing."

But the girl was already gone. So the man could only laugh to himself, so proud of his cheeky jabs, if only he didn't feel like a schoolboy dreading his upcoming meeting with his teacher. With a heavy sigh, Bateman closed his eyes for a second, his cock was already soft, but his sac were still tense and full of his cum; he felt too unsatisfied with himself, which only made things worse.

What was it even for?

The man could just take some coke, lie down on his bed, close his eyes and think of you—that was enough for him to cum so hard that he had to go to the laundry almost every day because he ran out of sheets. But today was different, considering that Patrick was going to meet you, and not just anywhere, but in fucking Dorsia. It seemed that everyone in this town could get a res there, but not him.

Biting his lower lip, the man looked down at the throbbing cock in his hand - the mere thought of you was making him horny as hell. "Shit…" If only he could reboot his memory and get rid of that scene in the Tunnel. If only. Meanwhile, the Whitney Houston tape continued to play the song "Where Do Broken Hearts Go". Bateman doubted he would be able to masturbate, he was too nervous and stressed out, even imagining you while that bitch was giving him head didn't work. Although it usually did. "Dorsia, huh," the man giggled nervously and checked his Rolex - he still had plenty of time. As if spellbound, Patrick slid to the floor and kicked off his leather shoes, his red tie already loosened and his pants hiked down. Leaning against the couch, Bateman threw his head back and began to jack off, recalling the forbidden, sinful sensations of your hand sliding along his hot flesh. "Mmm-fuck," he moaned and shivered, his free hand already gripping the edge of the white couch, several beads of sweat running down his tense temples. What if today he finally found the courage to confess? Confess that all these days had been a fucking torture for him, that he was ready to crawl on the walls from how much he longed for you, not even physically, but mentally. Maybe, just maybe, your reassurance that everything was not over for him, that maybe he still had a chance to have some normalcy in this cruel world—could change everything?

"Fuck, f-fuck!" Patrick cursed, sensing that his impending orgasm was slipping away from him just by reflecting on the things that were happening between the two of you. Jerking off and thinking about your sexy voice, your hot body and your cheeky smile was one thing, it always turned him on better than anything else, but thinking about the complexity of your relationship… that was not a turn-on for him. Not at all. Cursing to himself, Patrick slicked back his auburn hair and quickly got up to stagger to the bathroom, where he nervously opened the cabinet behind the mirror and found a small white jar of pills. Xanax was his only stress reliever so far. Taking a deep, almost desperate breath, Bateman looked at his reflection, his bloodshot eyes full of tears that threatened to cascade down like a waterfall. "This is not an exit." Patrick told his reflection, but opened the jar anyway and took a handful of pills. Frustrated, unsatisfied, he didn't know how he was going to survive dinner with you, and Dorsia was the last thing on his mind. "Because I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared."

Luckily, the marble walls of his bathroom were the only witnesses to his downfall.

Dawn came to New York faster than you could imagine. All the way to Dorsia you were nervous, but still confident in the plan you had made earlier that day. Even though you had failed in your previous attempt to dot the T's at the Tunnel, today would be different, you were sure of it. ‘I don't even know why, though,’ you chuckled to yourself, and the taxi driver gave you a concerned glance, but you just shrugged it off, signaling him to concentrate on the road.

In the restaurant everything looked the same as when you were here with Paul Allen, but this time you were not the one who was invited, but the one who invited another person—named Patrick Bateman—and speaking of whom, was late and that made you quite anxious. ‘What if he just doesn’t come?’ This thought made you fidget in the chair, your hands fumbling with the napkin on your knees and after telling the waiter for the second time that you were expecting someone else to come, your fingers became cold as if they were frozen.

“Maybe I can bring you some drinks?” The waiter didn’t give up, spurring you to order at least something to drink.

Quickly running a hand across your strained face, you exhaled loudly and nodded. “Yeah, drinks,” you stummered when you looked past the waiter, noticing the familiar elegant silhouette coming close to your table. “Can you…bring…some water?”

Confused, the waiter glanced down at the full glass of water next to you. “Uh, more water?”

“(Y/n),” Bateman’s voice echoed across the space. “I hope I didn't make you wait for so long,” he chuckled and took a seat at the table. “Had some important business affairs.” The moment he noticed the confused waiter, Patrick gave him his most sassy smile and checked his Rolex for no reason, probably just to show them out. “Can you please bring me a glass of J&B and some fresh salad to your taste.”

‘A salad, really?’ You almost snickered, but instead your face turned into a neutral expression. "Business, huh?"

Bateman rested more comfortably in his chair after the waiter finally left. "You know, some affairs with blonde hair and long legs, big tits and an amazing ass."

That came out of nowhere.

Still calm, you watched the man across from you smile, surely proud of himself and so damn bossy it was almost absurd. "You mean someone in particular, don't you?"

“Oh, yeah,” Patrick put his both elbows on the table, clasping his hands, revealing his gold Rolex once again. “Her name is Stephany, if I’m not mistaken, she’s a girlfriend of one of our accountants,” the man paused before snickering. “That one who makes monthly reports, you know him. So, I’m a bit late because I couldn't leave such a lovely girl without a treat she deserved.”

Right now, you didn't care if it was true or not—his well-framed—confidence was something you found very interesting and even amusing, as it was proof that he was preparing for this dinner just like you were.

"And that's when I thought vice presidents actually worked at Pierce & Pierce." With a slight grin, you joked and finally took a sip of water, feeling your throat suddenly go dry, just like when you were talking to Jean earlier.

Bateman's sudden laugh rang out like shattered glass. "'C'mon, (y/n), don't pretend you don't know that-"

"I know that your father owns almost half of the company," you interrupted him abruptly, and he wasn't happy about it. "And that gives you certain privileges."

"Don't be envious. It doesn't suit you."

"Envious?" You set the glass of water aside. "I think it was me who invited you here so that you could finally visit Dorsia… at least once."

The air between the two of you was thick with venom and something even more poisonous. Nevertheless, you'd be lying to yourself if you said you didn't think Bateman was acting like the jerk he undoubtedly was. But, to be honest, you expected him to act a little less smug.

"I still think this place is overrated," Patrick hissed through clenched teeth right as the waiter brought him his whiskey and salad with sliced vegetables and some cheese, which he didn't even touch, taking a big gulp of his drink. "So, uh, Jean told me you wanted to talk to me about something important. What is it?"

The waiter didn't even try to offer to check the menu again and retreated, but he would definitely come back later with the same request, since you hadn't ordered anything yet.

"Well, it doesn't seem to matter anymore," you suddenly declared, crumpling the paper napkin before dropping it on the finest tablecloth. "The thing is—I'm quitting P&P and moving to Chicago. That's it. Nothing special, really."

The moment of silence washed over them both like a tidal wave. Visibly shocked, Bateman just sat there, then nervously straightened his tie and looked around as if to call for help. 'Not so ballsy anymore, Patty?' There was something about the way he was humiliated, something that stirred a burning flame in your gut that came dangerously close to burning you alive from the inside. And again, you would be lying to yourself if you pretended you could control it.

"Chicago?" Patrick repeated as if he hadn't heard correctly.

"Why do both you and Bryce react as if Chicago were a desert island?"

"Heh," Bateman rubbed the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair. "So Bryce knows everything. Why am I not surprised?"

"I'd tell you more," that was the moment you'd been waiting for so long—the moment of his vulnerability, and you couldn't stop yourself like a shark who sensed blood in the water. "Paul Allen was the one who actually recommended this job to me."

Patrick's jaw clenched at the mention of Paul Allen. "Really?"

"Yes," you continued to corner him. "One day we were having dinner, here, in Dorsia," you grinned, catching every little change in Bateman's no longer confident face. "He said one of his buddies was starting a new company, and they were looking for specialists… like me."

"Well," he began, sliding his hand across the table's surface as if to calm down. "Good for you, (y/n). Congratulations!" That was the most fake 'congratulations' you ever heard, even though you were expecting a slightly different reaction. "But I don't understand. Why didn't you talk to me before? Before you made your decision."

This question almost made you choke. 'Did he really say that?' And just as you were about to answer, the waiter came across the table again, choosing the perfect moment. Before he could offer to check the menu, you raised your hand in an irritating gesture. "Bring me a vodka and orange juice," Patrick's eyebrows arched almost immediately. "Double vodka, please."

"Yes, s-sure." The waiter stuttered before taking the crumpled napkin and walking away, very stressed.

Without giving yourself time to think, you leaned against the table and muttered. "Why should I? We are not friends."

"Of course not," Bateman scowled, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the black pinstriped suit outlining his physique perfectly. "Not after you gave me a decent handjob in the Tunnel bathrooms."

Patrick caught you off guard by injecting this argument so blatantly into the conversation. "Decent? It was fucking amazing." You growled and quickly turned around to see if anyone was paying attention to your table, and when you were sure there was nothing to worry about, you faced Patrick again. "Too amazing, considering you seem to be thinking about it all the time."

"W-what? I… I didn't…"

Sneering, you tapped your fingers on the table in nervous anticipation of your drinks, even though you hadn't planned on drinking any alcohol, wanting to keep yourself as sober as possible for the dinner and everything that might or might not happen afterwards.

"Relax, Bateman," you rested your chin on your clasped hands, finally allowing yourself to examine his handsome appearance, including the way his cheeks were tinged with a red hue. "You've said too much already."

And from that moment on, you began to feel relaxed, even pleased with all the things Patrick revealed to you, accidentally or not, you would use every little detail to your own advantage when the time came.

A little later, when the waiter finally brought your cocktail, you finished it too quickly, so you asked for it to be repeated under the attentive hazel eyes of the man sitting on the other side of the table. The more drunk you got, the more topics you discussed, but when you mentioned Paul Allen again, you noticed that Patrick's good mood was fading.

"Wait a minute!" You held out a hand to stop him from jumping from one topic to another. "Can you tell me why the mere mention of Paul Allen triggers you so much? Is there something between you two?"

Bateman couldn't hold back a loud, hearty laugh. "That joke's too tasteless even for Bryce," he finished his whiskey, the salad still untouched on the table in front of him. "Allen…he's…not the person he tries to pretend to be."

"Oh?"

"I think he's part of that Yale thing."

You narrowed your eyes and leaned in closer. "Yale thing? What do you mean?"

Patrick quickly licked his lips, not expecting you to delve further into the subject. "Well, I think he's probably a closeted homosexual who likes to do a lot of coke and have orgies with male hookers."

At first you just giggled out loud, not caring that some people were looking at you, but then your face suddenly became serious. "How do you know about that? Did he tell you or…" you smiled playfully. "Did he do something… that made you think so," you bit your lower lip and drank the last drop of your cocktail with unabashed thirst. "That sounds strange…very strange."

"You're drunk, (y/n)," Bateman murmured, tilting his hand as if thinking about something. "Too drunk, which gives me the impression that you're as much of an amateur at drinking as you are at doing coke."

"Uh, s-shut up."

"See? Can't even speak words."

"Maybe...maybe I am drunk, now what? Are you gonna be a fucking gentleman like you always try to be and offer me a ride? Or maybe," you fixed your hair nonchalantly, your vision slightly blurred. "Would you be brave enough to show me your apartment?"

As soon as those words came out of your mouth, you knew there was no turning back, and your inner voice, which usually kept you from doing shit you would regret, seemed to fall asleep from the high level of alcohol in your system.

The man across from you straightened up at your bold suggestion, reading the subtext with ease. "Is that what you want? For me to take you to my place?"

His question hung in the air for a moment before you managed to come up with an answer, but you didn't know how to get out of this situation and turn it into a joke, as you usually did. Maybe you just didn't want to get out of it? Just like you didn't want to let him go when he helped you get up from the table after he'd paid for dinner and the two of you were in a cab. Not to mention when you almost fell down and the man caught you in his arms, but there was still a barrier between the two of you—an invisible wall—the only line that kept you apart. The line that was too dangerous to cross, but too tempting not to think about what lay behind it.

By the time the cab pulled up at the American Gardens Building, you were half asleep on Bateman's shoulder, his Lancome cologne not helping at all, making your mind even more cloudy. But you did your best to get out of the car without his help, letting the cool fresh air bring you some relief and clarity.

In the elevator, Patrick began to mumble about his musical preferences, but you didn't really pay attention because your brain was overworked trying to come up with a plan B in case things went too far. 'As if they hadn't gone too far already,' your inner voice suddenly tried to break through the thick layers of alcohol, affection and uncontrollable desire.

Bateman's apartment looked exactly as you had imagined—opulent, stylish, and very minimalist. Everything seemed to be in its place, including you, standing next to the tall window in his living room.

"Not a bad view," you admitted, taking off the jacket of your suit. "Not Central Park, but not bad at all."

"Central Park?" Patrick asked, hiding in the kitchen, which was perfectly connected to the living room, but you couldn't see him behind the wall as he examined the large number of different kitchen knives.

"Yeah, you know, Paul Allen's apartment faces Central Park, looks really fancy," you didn't mean to hurt Bateman's feelings, but the moment you turned around and saw him, it was obvious that your words had reached him. "But, I really prefer your place...it's more modern for my taste."

Puzzled, Patrick didn't hurry to join you in the living room, his thin fingers never ceasing to slide up and down the sharp blade in his hand, but at the very last moment, the man put the knife back in its place. With deliberate steps, he walked out of the kitchen and approached his stereo system.

"Really?" He asked in disbelief, as if his life depended on your answer.

Such a reaction from him was oddly appealing, the vulnerability, the desperation in his brown eyes. This was a level of satisfaction that no drug could ever match. Meanwhile, Bateman turned on the music, the charming voice of Phil Collins filling the room as "Invisible Touch" began to play.

The man was examining the tape in his hands when you slowly approached and gently cupped his face, inducing him to look at you. "Yes, I do," you confirmed your previous words, and when Patrick didn't flinch from your touch, you decided to go on, tracing your finger along his sensual lips, fighting the urge to kiss them here and now. "Speaking of preferences," you removed your hand only to place it on the lapel of his suit. "Would you be a good boy and give me a full tour of your apartment, including the bedroom?"

In any other situation, you would probably die from shame at saying something like that, but not now. Not with him, because no sooner had your question escaped your lips than you noticed that his hands were shaking, and the CD was about to fall out of them, so you had to gently grab it and pull it out of his hands. Bateman reminded you of a man struggling with addiction, every twitch of his plump lips, every furrow of his perfect eyebrows spoke volumes about the undeniable affection between the two of you, an affection you were both too exhausted to fight and hide.

Without further ado, you placed the CD on top of the stereo and pressed Patrick against the nearest wall, holding the lapels of his Valentino suit and sealing his hot mouth with yours, opening it wider with your tongue, so eager to taste him again after such a long wait.

"Mmhm," he purred into the kiss, his hands desperately wrapped around your waist, then going lower to cradle your hips, groping and squeezing a little too hard so that you had to bite his lip to make him stop, but the man just growled and pushed you closer, your groins rubbing against each other in the most lewd way possible. "Bedroom...go to the bedroom...and wait for me there."

Bateman's words right after the kiss sounded like nonsense, which you found oddly arousing. With a foxy smile, you licked his cheek, then his neck, almost biting the artery and sucking on the reading mark. "No, no, no, Bateman," you shook your head, grabbing his neck slightly to kiss him again, but he did it first. Even now Patrick was trying to take the lead, your tongues fighting for control like two snakes entwining around each other. "I'm in no mood for games or waiting."

The moment you said it, Bateman lifted you with practiced ease as if you weighed nothing, and you didn't even have a chance to protest as he began to move toward the closed room behind his white couch. In his arms, you finally felt complete, even if you let him take the lead for a while. Noticing the pair of panties on the glass coffee table, you wrapped your legs around him and buried your fingers in his silky hair, ruffling them and letting them fall on his forehead, making him look even hotter.

Jesus, you were on the verge of an explosion just from the foreplay alone.

Bateman's bedroom greeted you with stark white walls, the brightness of which was almost painful to look at as he turned on the light holding you with one arm, and the king-size bed on which he carefully placed you, but you didn't let him pull away, tugging at his tie and forcing him to lay on top of you.

"Fuck, look at you," Patrick grazed your earlobe before massaging your chest through your shirt and hovering over you. "So insatiable, aren't you? Running in circles like a trapped kitten."

Growling, you pulled him closer again to suck on his lower lip, letting your body rub against his so you could feel how hard he was, so painfully hard, considering the sound he made when you snaked your hand between his legs to cradle his bulge. "Are you gonna cum in your pants if I don't stop?"

With a determined persistence, you continued to massage his hard cock through the layers of his expensive clothes as you removed his jacket and then his suspenders, one by one. Bateman didn't interfere as he was also busy getting rid of your clothes without actually tearing them apart.

"Let me," you insisted as soon as you noticed him struggling to unbutton your shirt. "This is my favorite shirt, you know," you gasped, your own fingers trembling, making it difficult even for you to finally remove your shirt. "I don't want it to get torn."

When you finally got rid of the top part of your clothes, the sight of your exposed skin made Patrick grunt in hunger, and the next second the man was already sucking on your nipple, his muscular frame shaking on top of you from your teasing ministrations on his twitching dick and hard balls. Damn, you wanted to suck him dry as much as you wanted to ruin him until he forgot his own name.

"Don't like it anyway," Bateman muttered suddenly, holding your hands above your head. "You need to go to some... fashion shows... maybe you will have more free time in Chicago, considering Paul Allen offered you this job. I'm sure it would be some boring shit."

‘Good Lord, he mentioned him again…’ You rolled your eyes and turned away from his face, eliciting a low rumble from Patrick's massive chest. "What the fuck is wrong with Paul... are you... jealous of him or something?"

"Me?" he asked, confused and you took the opportunity to release your hands and roll over so that you were now on top of him. "I'm not the one bragging about having dinner with him in fucking Dorsia!"

Bateman sounded like a little boy who was upset that no one wanted to play with him, which made you giggle, but then you straddled him and opened his white shirt and removed his tie.

"The more you talk," you murmured as you ran your hands along the smooth skin of his torso, paying special attention to his toned pecs and abs. "The more you make me think you two had a history," you leaned down to teasingly lick his lips, your sneaky hands already working on the zipper of his pants. "But still, I don't care." In one swift motion, you pulled down his pants along with his boxers, watching his thick cock pop out, yearning for your attention. "Mhmm, the last time we were alone you worked me up really good, I wanna return the favor," your hands wrapped around the base of his beefy shaft, the small droplets of his pre-cum already covering its tip, forcing you to lick your lips in hunger. "If you have nothing else on your mind?"

Did you really care about his feelings since you asked him that question?

The man beneath you was definitely growing impatient, his hands gripping your hips as if he was about to imprint his fingerprints on your skin if you were not wearing your pants.

"Lie on your side," Bateman suggested suddenly. "Take off all your clothes and lie down here," he tapped the spot next to him and you stood up quickly, as if he had cast a spell on you. Never in your life did you get rid of your clothes faster than now. "Uh, what a cute ass you have, (y/n)."

You frowned at his words, giving him your dead stare as you slipped out of your underwear, giving him the full view—the glint in his hazel eyes was too much to ignore—so you turned around and presented yourself to him; Bateman couldn't help but lazily stroked himself, putting a hand under his head.

"Tell me, Bateman," you began, your hands slowly sliding down your bare skin. "Have you been thinking about me all this time?" You cupped your ass, bending over a little so he could see the spot right between your legs. "Or have you found a way to forget things you don't want to remember?"

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a second. "I wish there was a way to forget." Patrick murmured and watched as you lay on your side in the 69 position, then he did the same, his hot breath scorching the soft flesh between your thighs.

You wrapped your hands around his hips and eagerly took his drooling dick in your mouth, while he was lapping at your crotch. "Mm-fuck," you jerked against his face, your fingers digging deeper into his skin as Bateman feasted on you like the most delicious meal. "Me too, Bateman, m-me too."

Having said that, you swirled your tongue around the swollen tip of his veiny cock, causing a muffled moan to erupt from his mouth, its vibration sending shivers down the base of your spine, only spurring you on to go further, pushing his dick deeper into your mouth. Soon the room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of your shared oral pleasure, punctuated by soft but powerful moans and groans as you both teetered on the edge of ecstasy. Gripping your ass, Bateman responded to your actions with the same passion, devouring every drop of your flavor and giving you no chance to escape, his strong arms like ropes around your body. After giving his cock the attention it deserved, you decided to tease his heavy balls with light lapping on them, before slipping a finger inside his tight ass, you expected him to protest but instead you heard him moan and the next moment his hips began to move towards your penetrating movements.

"Good boy," you praised him, rolling your eyes at the way the man was sucking on your most sensitive spot. "Taking my finger so well..."

The coil in your lower abdomen was about to snap at any moment, but you still wanted more, you wanted to feel that cock inside you, even if it was going to rip you a apart. Breathlessly, you didn't even remember asking him about condoms, and how you managed to get out of bed and go to the closet, where you found a little box Bateman was talking about—its contents almost made you gasp in awe, so you decided to take it with you.

"Well, well," you crooned as you stepped back into the bedroom. "Should I ask you what this is or are you going to tell me?"

With a wide grin, you held out a large purple dildo, Patrick's eyes twitched and he gulped, leaning on his elbows. "I... I use it with hookers," the man confessed, licking his glistening lips covered with your juices. "Why?"

"Hmmm, you like watching women play with it?" You asked as you reached the bed. "How about actually using it and not just watching?"

Damn, you could swear you saw his breath catch in his throat, his muscles tense and his dick throbbing just at the mention of using that sex toy on him. 'So he likes that idea, what a naughty boy,' you chuckled to yourself and took your place on the bed next to him. "This is going to feel so good, baby," you brought the dildo to his lips, suggesting that he lick it for lubrication, and when he did, you could barely keep yourself from cumming, just from the sight of his tongue flicking around the tip of the silicone sex toy. "Get on your knees and let me take care of you."

"Fuck," Bateman cursed, but it was too late to turn back. Embarrassed but extremely aroused, the man got down on all fours and gave you full access to his firm ass, which you immediately fondled, spreading his buttocks and biting them one by one. "Mmh-hmm, (y/n)."

"Relax," you stroked his hips, kissing the lower part of his back just above the dimples that were too sexy to ignore. "God, you have such a beautiful body," you decided to praise him, knowing the effect it would have on him. "I would worship it forever if I could," which was only half true, or maybe...it was not. Leisurely, you showered his soft skin with little peaks here and there, dotting it with your marks of love, not even realizing that you were giving all of yourself to the process.

As you pressed the tip of the dildo against his puckered muscle ring, Patrick tensed at your touch, gripping the sheets and closing his eyes, so overwhelmed and confused at the same time, but your reassuring hand on his trembling one encouraged him to look back at you as you hovered over him to kiss his lips, his neck, his shoulder.

"(Y/n)," Bateman suddenly huffed through his clenched teeth. "I want you to..." he gasped as you flickered your wet finger around his tight asshole. "...fuck."

"You want me to feast on that delicious ass of yours?" You finished the sentence for him, grinning in pure gratification at his complete submission. "Is that what you want?"

"Yeah, y-yes," he grasped the sheets and positioned himself more comfortably on all fours— a clear sign that he was not used to this position and you couldn't miss it. "I want to feel your tongue... all over me."

"Shit, Bateman, you're a real sweet talker." With that you put the dildo on the bed next to you and before you knew it you were spreading his ass cheeks wide open to make a flat lick along his tight hole. "I wanna hear you," you gently but insistently probed his ass with your warm tongue, giving him several slaps on the buttocks that drove the man wild as you felt his velvet walls tighten around your tongue. "Good boy, c'mon, spread it out for me."

Blushing, Patrick used both hands to spread himself for your eager ministrations as you fucked him with your tongue while your hands traveled all around his hips before you wrapped one of them around his pulsating cock, fuck, he was so close, you could tell by the way his balls tensed when you gave them a slight squeeze.

"Don't cum until I let you," you commented and the next moment you were already pushing the sleek sex toy into his ass and this time he accepted it gradually, taking it in with ease—the sight made you gasp but you focused on giving him pleasure. "Tell me, Bateman, how does it feel?"

The question remained unanswered for a brief moment as you began to slid the dildo in and out, stimulating his prostate and causing him to shake and whimper in pure bliss, but when you decided to add fuel to the fire by jerking him off and sucking on his strained sac, Patrick could barely contain himself, his legs about to give way at any moment.

"F-fuck, a-aahhh, mmhhmm," he murmured into the pillow, his hands finding their way to your messy hair, gripping them almost to the point of pain. "I...c-can't...hold...it any longer," Bateman's wailing bounced off the walls of his luxurious bedroom, which had never seen anything like it before. "I..."

Though you wanted him to last longer, you were too overwhelmed yourself, feeling the string in your belly ready to burst. "Let it go," your words were like a balm to his ears as, just a moment later, his cock pulsed in your grasp, spraying loads of his thick cum across the Chinese sheets that Patrick had always been so fond of. "That's it…" You didn't stop fucking him with a dildo, nor did you stop pumping his throbbing dick, milking it until the last drop of his seed. "Good boy, you're such a good boy."

Panting, you pulled out the sex toy, covered in his slick, and brought it to his trembling lips, inducing him to suck it before taking it into your mouth, feeling the mixture of tastes on the tip of your tongue. Then, Bateman rolled onto his back, desperately gasping for air, his cock still hard. That was fucking phenomenal, but you didn't comment, thinking about your own orgasm at last. Locking your eyes with Patrick's hazel ones, you touched yourself the moment he beckoned you over, and without words, you mounted his flushed, sweaty face, riding it as desperately as you could, using his tongue and lips without shame. Tilting your head back, you grabbed his head and almost clawed at his scalp, feeling your insides about to fucking explode from the tension. So when you peaked, your scream could be heard all over Bateman's apartment. The orgasms you had before were nothing compared to this. It took everything from you, it made you die and rise again.

The final chord of the parade of shameless lust was when you let him fuck you in a way you didn't even expect. Spooning you from behind after he put the condom on, the man lifted your leg and sheathed himself inside of you till the hilt, making you feel so full you had to wrinkle the fabric underneath, but that was just the beginning as Bateman pulled you closer, trapping you in his arms like a cocoon, his tongue sliding around your ear shell with undisguised affection,

"Mmhmm, fuck, you're...so perfect," the man whispered into your ear, setting up the pace and resting his hand between your legs for extra stimulation. "Holy fuck! I'm cumming again, omh-shit..."

"Fuck m-me, yeah, just...l-like that...a-ahhh," you coaxed him to fuck you harder as you suddenly found yourself on the verge of climaxing again. "Gimme everything, baby, a-awww...goshhhhhhhh," you were the first to fall over the principle of pleasure, twitching along his body as if you were hit by the electric shock, all your nerves were on fire. "Bateman, mmhm-fuck-fuck! Your dick feels s-so good.."

Your vivid orgasm became the last straw for his second release as you felt him bite at your neck, his buffed frame shaking in spasms of pure rapture, you even had to hold back a scream from how painfully Patrick's hands squeezed your hips, but it was pleasurable pain of being ruined, of being fucked into a wet mess. Barely breathing, you didn't even remember how you passed out from exhaustion and for the first time in the last few days you fell asleep completely satisfied and happy.

When the first rays of sunlight crept through the blinds into Bateman's bedroom, you were already awake, as was he, but since you were lying with your back to his face, you didn't notice until the man kissed your shoulder, snuggled up against your neck, and made you roll over to face him.

As you did so, you dared to look directly into the brown eyes still clouded by the aftermath of your shared pleasure. "Hey." He muttered in a husky voice.

"Hey," you murmured back, hugging the pillow. "Did you sleep well?"

“Surprisingly—yes," the man stretched his arms, flexing his muscles and checking himself in the mirror on the other side of the room, which you hadn't even noticed. "(Y/n), I want you to go to the office and tell everyone that you're not going anywhere."

Shocked, you blinked several times, not knowing what to say as you hadn't expected anything like this.

With a nervous chuckle that turned into a hearty laugh, you rolled onto your back before sitting up on the bed. "Oh God, you're such a little Delulu, it's even funny," you looked at him—his face was nothing but a blank space without any visible emotions. "Did you really think that random sex would change my mind about changing jobs?" You chuckled again, louder this time. "I mean, the sex was really good, but... it's not like I'm going to give everything for this, you know?" With that, you got up from the bed and wrapped a blanket around yourself. "Can I take a shower?”

Trapped in the thought that only he could know, Patrick rolled onto his back, his eyes fixed on an invisible spot on the ceiling above him. "Yes," he murmured, barely audible. "Do whatever you want."

Walking towards the bathroom, you suddenly stopped and turned half around. "You better forget it," you said, savoring every word and finally returning the favor. "Maybe ask Paul Allen for advice," you grinned as you watched Bateman close his eyes in a feeble attempt to distance himself from everything that had happened. "Maybe he knows something about memory reboot machines that can help."

Without waiting for his answer, you continued on your way to the bathroom. Even though you were pleased with yourself, your revenge didn't taste sweet, but bitter, and its bitterness would remain on the tip of your tongue even after you washed yourself clean under the hot streams of water.

But the game was worth the candle, as they said.

Was it?

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

#american psycho #patrick bateman x reader #patrick bateman imagine #patrick bateman #patrick bateman x female reader #patrick bateman x you #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slasher x you #slasher smut #patrick bateman smut #patrick bateman headcanon #christian bale smut #christian bale x reader #patrick bateman reader #christian bale #patrick bateman imagines #patrick bateman x male reader #gn reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 2 months

Text

The End (The Surprise, Part 25)

Emily Prentiss x fem!reader Warnings: mentions of afab body parts, baby times, emotional times, explicit language (let me know if I've missed anything!) Word count: 2.3k

Summary: Everything you've ever wanted, everything Emily's ever wanted–it's happening. ❤️

NOTE: You guys 😭😭😭 I've literally had so much fun writing this series! I know it's not the end end. I'll keep adding chapters as I feel like it. But still. This is a bittersweet one to finish up. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. ❤️

The End

You blinked awake, and it was as if your senses, your body itself, were restarting after a hard reboot. Your brain couldn’t quite catch up with the bright lights, the beeping of the machines, the throbbing pain below your belly…

Your breath caught in your throat. Your belly. It had shrunk, not completely, but it was empty, you knew. You coughed and winced, glancing around the room so quickly you made yourself dizzy, your brain seemingly unable to take in any of the visual information. You felt tears spring to your eyes, a cold panic seize your chest; you could hear your heart rate monitor beep faster, more urgently, until alarms were going off. Where was the baby!? Something was wrong, something had gone terribly, terribly wrong. She was gone. She was lost.

But, then, something familiar, finally. A voice you recognized. Emily’s: soft and gentle and comforting, the way she always sounded when you were scared and she was trying to calm you down.

“Hey, hey,” she cooed, and your eyes swam as her face came into view. You were so confused and you felt sick and your stomach hurt and your baby… You choked out a sob and Emily gently grasped your face, kissing your eyelids. “It’s okay, honey. You’re okay.” She had huge, dark circles under her eyes, like she hadn’t been sleeping, and when your eyes focused, you could see that she was on the verge of crying, too. And that terrified you.

You couldn’t seem to get any words out, but managed to place your hand over your stomach, looking into Emily’s eyes to ask a question you weren’t sure you wanted the answer to.

Emily wiped tears from under your eyes and sniffled. “Baby, she’s fine. She’s just fine. She’s sleeping right there.” Emily pointed to the chair behind her. Beside it was an elevated box, an incubator, and inside, just barely poking out, you could see her skin, her little foot, minuscule and perfect.

You sobbed in relief and Emily kissed your forehead, wiping her own tears away before running a hand through your hair. “She’s okay, honey.” Her voice broke as she looked at you. “You scared us, you know that?”

You pulled Emily toward you, so you could press your forehead to hers, could just breathe her in. She was so relieved, had been so scared, her body literally shook with it. You kissed the side of her head, holding her close.

You cleared your throat and looked again at the incubator, shocked at how your stomach had shifted from being sick with worry to being sick with excitement.

“A girl?” you asked, voice hoarse from the anesthesia. Your eyes twinkled with mischief as you waited for Emily’s answer.

She nodded, grinning and shaking her head at the long-running joke. “You were right. You want to hold her?”

You nodded vigorously, trying to sit up further and wincing at the pain in your abdomen.

“Careful, careful!” Emily exclaimed, lunging forward to help you. “Be gentle with yourself, please, baby,” she insisted, watching you as if you could break at any moment.

Emily washed her hands thoroughly, then doused them in hand sanitizer before squirting an ungodly amount of sanitizer in her hands and bringing it to you. She rubbed it into your skin, then pulled your shirt open a bit so that your chest was exposed.

You waited, barely breathing, as Emily carefully pulled the incubator over. She opened the little door and reached in gingerly to grab the baby, cradling her carefully and kissing her forehead.

“Eve,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Meet your mama, sweet pea.”

Emily’s eyes were full of tears again–and so were yours–as she carefully placed the sleepy baby on your chest. You sniffed, blinking tears away as you cradled your daughter’s tiny, warm body. Eve gurgled and wriggled and blinked her eyes open. She wrapped her hand around your pointer finger and you giggled. Nothing had ever felt more right, more perfect in the world, than Eve resting on your chest, than her little heart beating against yours, than holding her here while Emily sat propped on the bed beside you, running her hand through your hair and kissing your head every few moments.

“Hi, pretty girl,” you whispered to the baby. Eve coughed a bit and started to cry and you patted her back gently. “Oh, shh. It’s okay, Evie. You’re okay, baby girl.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat like that, you and Emily, just watching her, just beaming to one another every time Eve moved, every time she made a new adorable sound, every time she yawned or blinked or squeezed her little fists. But it wasn’t long enough. You didn’t know that you’d ever get enough of this.

Dr. Delgado came in and smiled at you all. “How are all my ladies doing this morning?”

You grinned so wide your cheeks hurt. You pressed your hand into hers and looked into her eyes. “Thank you. So much.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, and by her voice you could tell she really meant it. “Now, Y/N, you lost quite a bit of blood during the c-section and the resulting surgery to repair your uterine lining. I’m terribly sorry to have to tell you this, but… you will not be able to have more children.”

Emily squeezed your shoulder, and both she and Dr. Delgado waited a bit, as if waiting for you to break down. But you didn’t feel sad, at least not right now. You had Eve. You and Emily had a child. That’s what you had set out wanting, and that’s what you had. You couldn’t imagine needing anything or anyone else besides the two girls you had with you right now.

You nodded. “Okay.”

“It also might take a bit longer for your c-section incision to heal than most, since your body’s healing internal damage, too. All that to say, let Emily help you. Understood?”

“Understood,” you confirmed.

“Alright,” Dr. Delgado consulted her tablet. “Some official business now. Emily, now that Y/N’s awake, do you feel comfortable putting the name on the birth certificate?”

“I do,” she said, her hands never leaving you.

“Alright, so obviously, first name ‘Eve.’ Last name?”

“Prentiss,” you told her. You’d both decided that a long time ago.

“Any middle name?”

You looked at Emily and she nodded toward you. “Your call, honey. You won.”

You stared down at Eve’s sweet, crinkled face and smiled. “Julien.”

Emily sucked in a little breath beside you, furrowing her eyebrows when you looked at her.

You shrugged. “It’s can be a girl’s name. Your family should be a part of her name, too.”

“Eve Julien Prentiss,” Dr. Delgado repeated. “Is that right?”

You both nodded, and Emily planted a kiss on your cheek.

“Alright. She was born yesterday, August 24, at 5:42 AM. Four pounds, one ounce. 17.1 inches. All in all, she’s doing very well. I’d like to monitor her for at least 48 more hours and, ideally, I’d like her latching and breastfeeding, at least some, before you take her home, if we can make it happen. We can always supplement with formula as needed, though. Right now, she’s got a nasal cannula to help her breathe, but she’s doing very well with it, so I think we should have you guys home within the week, at most. Alright?” She set down the tablet and gestured toward you. “While I’m here, you want to try breastfeeding?”

“Yes!” you answered excitedly. “Please.”

Dr. Delgado handed you a moon-shaped pillow and placed it around your waist. “Okay. So we’re gonna send you home with one of these. It’ll help you stay comfortable, especially while you’re recovering. You’re gonna want to do what’s called a football hold while your incision is healing…”

She gingerly lifted Eve off your chest and positioned her under your arm, just like you were holding a football, and showed you how to hold her head up. “You’re gonna kind of lift the breast up,” Dr. Delgado explained. “And then you bring her to the nipple. You almost want her nose to touch the breast.”

You followed her instructions, using your other hand to press Eve toward your nipple. Emily watched behind you, her fingers rubbing the bottoms of Eve’s feet. You frowned a bit as the baby tried to squirm away, twisting her head.

“Here,” Dr. Delgado suggested. “Try squeezing the tissue around the nipple to make, like, a nipple sandwich. Then brush it against her mouth. She should kind of yawn… Yes! Just like that!”

Eve opened her mouth wide, and you gently pressed her toward your nipple, gasping softly as she took hold and began to suckle. Her little mouth was warm and firm against you.

You smiled and turned to Emily, who was looking at you like she might start crying again.

“Well, that was easy,” Dr. Delgado said, clapping her hands together. “I tell you what, if all babies latched that easily, new parents would spend half the amount of time in the hospital.” She stood and made some notes on her tablet before moving toward the door. “I’ll leave you all alone for a bit. She’ll unlatch when she’s done, you can burp her, and she’ll likely want to take a nap afterward.”

“Thank you, Dr. Delgado,” you called after her.

“Thank you!” Emily echoed.

When the three of you were alone again, Emily wrapped her arms around your neck from behind, planting kiss after kiss on the side of your face.

“Oh, honey, you look so beautiful,” she said, nearly breathless. “Both of you. You know what…”

Emily stood and rifled around in her purse for her phone. When she had it, she stood back and held it out, as if to take a photo.

“Hey!” you protested. “I thought we said no hospital pics!?”

Emily gave you a pointed look. “We said no labor photos. And I kept my word on that! Honey, you’re too pretty not to take a picture of. I mean, look at you!” Emily’s eyes were suddenly swimming again. “Look at my beautiful girls!”

You let Emily take her pictures, knowing that you’d probably be glad to have them later.

A few minutes later, as Emily was scrolling through the photos with a discerning eye–“Baby, do you mind if I post one of these? …Not the boob ones! Just one of the others? Oh! Could we take one of all three of us?” –Eve unlatched from your nipple and yawned, spilling milk out the side of her mouth, which you dabbed up with your hospital gown.

“Hey, Em,” you called to her. “Could you come here and take her for a second? I need to burp her, but I’ve got to move a little, my leg’s falling asleep.”

She was at your side faster than you could finish the request, lifting herself into the hospital bed next to you, and gently taking Eve from you.

“Okay,” you said, fighting off a yawn. The adrenaline of meeting your daughter was wearing off, and the exhaustion of meds and healing and new motherhood was hitting all at once. You tapped Emily’s arm. “I can take her back.”

“I can burp her, honey,” Emily told you, reaching slightly for a burp cloth and draping it over her shoulder. “Why don’t you rest for a while?”

“Are you sure?” you asked, already lowering yourself, slowly, painfully, so that your face rested on Emily’s lap.

“I’m sure,” she said, running one hand through your hair while the other tapped rhythmically against Eve’s back. “It’s not just you now, honey. I can finally pull my weight.”

You squeezed her thigh, smiling against her. “Oh, Em. Baby, you’ve pulled more than your weight. The whole time.”

Before you had the chance to say anything else, you were conked out. So conked out that you were drooling, even snoring a bit. Emily smiled and shook her head at you.

Eve let out a burp that seemed almost too big for her body, and Emily chuckled. “Oh, good job, sweet pea,” she whispered, kissing Eve’s head. “That was a big one. Let’s not wake up Mama, though.” Emily patted Eve’s back for a bit longer, then noticed the deepening of the baby’s breath, the rise and fall of her tiny chest. Eve was asleep, too.

Emily watched you both, her heart filled with so much love she thought it might burst. And to think, just 24 hours ago, she’d been so close to losing you both. She’d never been more thankful in her life, never more determined to keep people safe and happy than she was you and Eve.

In a moment of inspiration, she fished her phone out of her pocket, and held it above her head, positioning all three of you in the photo. You, curled asleep on her lap and Eve sleeping softly on her chest beneath her hand.

She typed out a caption for social media:

My girls ❤️

She couldn’t help it. You were, both of you, too good not to share. And she’d gotten about a million calls from the BAU, not to mention your mom and even her mom, asking for photos and updates. She pressed post and then threw the phone to the side, content for now just to be. She would never take you for granted again, knowing she could have lost everything yesterday. But instead, she had gained everything. Everything she’d ever wanted, here in this room, in this bed. Forever hers. Her girls. She was the luckiest woman in the world.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic

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blueparadis · 9 months

Text

//CWs —>alpha!gojo x omega!fem!reader, switch!alpha, just hints of abo verse. primal play. will never get over the duality of this man.

The first time when you are about to get cozy and intimate with your boyfriend, Satoru he is painted with nothing but shyness. He is practically sitting at the corner of the bed, hands locked and head down; eyes sneaking in your direction every other minute to check if . . . you are beckoning him or not. It is embarrassing actually, to think that he would be this nervous to do what he is about to do, to you. Heck! the first time you kissed him he had stayed silent for the whole day. Shoko and Suguru constantly kept asking if something was up but he just brushed it off asking him to leave him alone. It was like his whole body was on reboot. And, the most embarrassing part of all this is that you just gave him a little peck on his cheeks. Yes, on the cheeks.

But it is not like he hasn't thought of you in less holy ways for being shy and not taking upon your advances as he should. He has, and every time he would get a boner. So, eventually, he learned to deal with it; regulate his longing for you, the raging hormones and his stupid heart that beats like crazy whenever he is with you. Then again, when your lips finally touched his, it took a few seconds for him to settle in, to process the fact that all those wet dreams he had about you might just become true.

You think Satoru is just being shy, and you always found that adorable about him yet now you are pinned down on the bed, his grip making your hands immobile to place them along your ears and the only sound penetrating this silence is his hard panting. Don't get him wrong he loved the feeling of your fingers skimming through his undercut, tugging on your hair as you kissed him but right now, all he knows is that he can not let go of you, he has to satiate this hunger inside of him that has been building for months otherwise it is going to drive him in utter lunacy.

So, when he is done staring at you the first thing he does is to suck at your neckline, biting at the end and inhaling your scent. It has lingered on his mind since the first time he shared a hug with you. The kisses continue, and every time you exhale it gets heavier. He does not even forget to soothe the areas he bit, he licks them afterwards. His knee nestles in between your legs as you try to move, and fidget with your hands in hopes of letting his grip become a little lithe yet all you feel is his grip getting stronger; a minute later he pulls away asking with a restless look on his face, "What? What's wrong?" He almost seems annoyed. You catch up on your breath when he notices your taut nipples.

"Do that again," you murmur in between your breaths and finally, when your breathing becomes even you just look at him in the eye without any hesitation it makes him raise an eyebrow.

"So, you liked that huh?" he adds before going down on you.

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heartfullofleeches · 9 months

Note

Remy I miss you I love you also. Titus. I love him and miss him. And also Nightlight reader. Babies. Beloved.

[I had am old blurbo with Nightlight and Titus I scrapped. Here's one for him and Remmy too]

Remmy finding Nightlight Reader at a thrift store while looking for more dolls to add to his collection of antiques. They're the most beautiful "doll" he's never seen- (anything that has a humanoid form and is made of plastic, wood, cotton is a doll to Remmy- even androids). He takes the android home - planning to clean them up and give them a comfortable spot in his room. When Remmy touches the heart on their chest-

"Powering on.......backup battery at 12% percent....Accessing memory...No memories found... error...error...err-"

"Ah!.. That was scary. Hm, where did I end up now? Oh! Hello, tiny person - are you my new owner?"

Remmy instantly falls in love seeing this robot pick up on the dolls on his bed and speaking to it as a normal person. "Um, actually..I think that's me."

"Whoa! Where did you come from? My apologies, owner - what should I call you?

Remmy falls more in love with Nightlight by the second. They're so caring, and warm, and they love to play with his dolls as much as he does. They would follow his every command as part of their programming, but Remmy hardly feels the need to order them around because he knows they'll never leave him and for that he'd do anything from them. Stays awake all night until nightlight carries him to bed making new clothes for them. Buys all the books he needs to repair any minor damages they might have - and completely erase any trace of their memories of the past.

All Remmy needs is Nightlight. All Nightlight needs is Remmy.

Titus is given Nightlight Reader as a present from his guards after finding the android in a landfill on earth and repairing them to working order- The emperor has been more irritable than usual- if he dislikes this bot, his guards pray that smashing them to bits will be enough to quell his anger at least for a time. The guards present the android to their king and wait-

"What have you brought to bore me with now?'

"We believe it is an earth made machine designed to relieve stress for humans-"

The emperor chuckles. "Is that so?~ I have been rather pent up recently, and it isn't a complete eyesore, but you are aware of our difference in size, yes? Are you certain it won't break on first use?"

"Er, not in that exact way, your highness. You see, they-"

Titus huffs. "Then what good is it?"

"Just....allow me to turn them on. Please place your finger on their heart, your highness."

"This is ridiculous...."

The emperor does as instructed

"Powering on....Battery at 100%...System rebooting."

"Mm....Huh? What a strange place... Are you my new own..er? Oh, owner- your stress levels are dangerously high - they're increasing by the second! Why won't I sing you a lullaby while you relax with your favorite drink? I know lots, but I can always make up new ones - maybe one about your pretty eyes."

"That..... actually sounds wonderful. I haven't had a decent night of rest in ages. It's humorous to me how you were able to figure that out in seconds when these fools have been with me for centuries. I think I'm going to enjoy your company more than I thought."

Titus cannot go or sleep anywhere which his little nightlight. Feeling their heated, smaller form is all thats needed to knock him out like a light. Nightlight Reader is restricted from joining Titus in meetings for that sole reason. This whole ass tyrant sits in his chair pouting like a child until he can reunite with his little love. Decorates them like the doll they are with jewelry and adorable outfits. Whenever Titus is in one of his rages, guards quickly run off to retrieve nightlight from wherever they're exploring in the palace

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere oc #male yandere #Remmy my oc #Titus my oc #Yan

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welcometothejianghu · 5 months

Text

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 重啟之極海聽雷/Reunion: The Sound of the Providence/The Lost Tomb Reboot/this thing has too many names

Reunion (I'm just going to call it that) is a 2020 action drama about the most specialest little babygirl in the tomb-raiding world, his two husbands, and the cadre of assorted weirdos they pick up as they try to follow a set of directions left by a dead (?) man in the thunder.

Imagine if someone showed you the Mandalorian, and you were like, gee, that was a neat little sci-fi one-shot! because you'd never heard of Star Wars. That was basically my experience watching this show, having no idea that the Lost Tomb franchise (DMBJ) was even a thing. Turns out that not only is there a whole big continuity out there with these characters, but that Reunion takes place a few years after the main story's resolution. Don't worry, though -- Reunion doesn't spoil you for that resolution. It doesn't spoil you for much, period. Look, DMBJ has a weird relationship to endings, okay?

I have written a more thorough where-to-start guide for DMBJ as a whole, so if you want to consider other entry points, well, that information is there for your consideration. Yet it is my opinion that this is the best entry into the overall franchise, and a fun thing to watch just in general, and I'm here to make my case for both of those.

The rest of this rec will assume that you have no familiarity with the DMBJ series. That's okay; you don't need any. All you need is to trust my five reasons you should watch this.

1. Old Man Yaoi

As you begin this show, you are introduced to the Iron Triangle. That's them in the picture up there. Left to right, you have: Xiao Ge, magically tattooed immortal hottie who just got back from ten years in [scene missing]; Wu Xie, our protagonist, who's just a little guy and it's his birthday; and Wang Pangzi, the literal best.

(And yes, Wu Xie is in his 30s and Pangzi is in his 40s, which is not technically old man anything, but ... look, if you watch, you'll see why I think I'm justified in calling it that.)

They are extremely married. They are a disaster trio of disasters so disastrous that no one else should ever be subjected to their chaos. They're going to make sure lots of people are, though, don't you worry about it. Sometimes those people even deserve it.

However, because the show (tragically!!) decides that Xiao Ge has somewhere else to be like 95% of the runtime, most of the relationship you get to see is between Wu Xie and Pangzi.

I'm saying this now as an old gay nerd who just this year celebrated her 15th wedding anniversary: I have never, never felt so represented in media as I have watching Wu Xie and Pangzi interact. There's a little wake-up song they sing together near the end of the show, and it just ... it packs so much character development into thirty seconds. These boys have been living adjacent lives for so long that they've made up their own little shared songs about the mundanities of daily living. That is just what happens when you marry your best friend and then decide to get old and weird together. Ask me how I know.

Look, if you want to know whether this show is for you or not, watch to the end of the first episode, to the part where Pangzi flips over the table. If your heart is filled with joy (as it should be), keep going.

Love makes a tomb-raiding syndicate family.

2. A fun-filled action-packed romp of nonsense!

If you're familiar with Hellblazer canon, this will make sense to you: Reunion is Dangerous Habits. If you're not familiar with Hellblazer canon, try it like this: Reunion is a terrible place to start because it plays on your extant affection for a character who gains a terrible status effect almost immediately. It's a also great place to start because it throws you right in the action with measurably high stakes and gives you a reason to build that affection very quickly.

I'm also going to warn you right off the bat: The plot of this show got cut to ribbons by censors.

See, the DMBJ books, being books, are allowed to get away with supernatural shit! So you've got zombies and ghosts and curses and monsters and immortality and all your other standard ooky spooky semi-urban fantasy trappings. But the DMBJ adaptations, being live-action, are heavily regulated in their content. This is why, in the early Reunion episodes, our heroes are menaced by human-looking creatures that are actually ancient mannequins made of leather that are piloted, mecha-style, by evil clams. Because evil clams are more scientific than zombies. I guess.

So yeah, the plot of this book already had to get mangled into a more "science"-compliant shape even before it made it to filming. The real problem is that a whole lot more of it got cut after it was all filmed and put together. I have read an explanation of what the actual storyline was supposed to be, and yeah, if you know what you’re looking at, you can see (and hear) the scars where major elements got hacked out with a weed whacker.

Therefore: You cannot expect this plot to make sense.

But that's okay! You're not here for the plot to make sense! You're here to watch some characters you love run around through ridiculous and sometimes beautiful labyrinths, trying to solve puzzles you're never given enough information to understand, all in search of the resolution to a mystery that had half its guts torn out before you got to see it -- and you are here to love it. If you have ever laughed and cheered your way through a Mission: Impossible film without pausing to care too much about the plot holes it’s dodging left and right, you are in the correct frame of mind to appreciate this. Just believe that whatever engaging nonsense the show tells you is correct for the time being and go with it.

You cannot watch DMBJ and care about the laws of physics. You simply cannot.

Do not, however, let me give you the impression that the shoddy plotting is accompanied by equally shoddy performances. A major part of this show’s incredible watchability comes from how the cast is shockingly good. There are some serious heavy hitters among the actors. A major part of why this Wu Xie and Pangzi are my favorite together is the incredible chops both Zhu Yilong and Chen Minghao have, to say nothing of their real-life affection for one another. (See that scar on Wu Xie's neck? That scar is there because Zhu Yilong commits to the bit.) Effortlessly charming Mao Xiaotong turns potentially irritating wunderkind Bai Haotian into a perfect precious weirdo baby. Wu Erbai's entire second-season character arc could have been unintentionally comedic, but veteran of queer cinema Hu Jun sells even the undignified moments as relentlessly tragic. And of course Baron Chen absolutely kills it with...

3. This giant fucking loser

This is Hei Xiazi. That's not his name, but it's close enough. Allow me to do a dramatic reenactment of my watching his first scene:

[camera pans over to him]

me: Ugh, I recognize this kind of wannabe badass character design. I hate his type. He's self-important, hyper-masculine, and just a big jerk, and the show thinks he's soooo cool. Barf.

[thirty seconds later]

me: Oh no. I was so wrong. I love him forever now.

This is because he is (as indicated above) a giant fucking loser. Yes, he's a good fighter who knows lots of things. He's also a wet potato chip of a man. Sure, he can get you into a headlock, but he can also annoy you into submission, and that's honestly more fun for him. My wife has used the phrase “Vash the Stampede-coded” to describe him. My wife is not wrong.

And the kind of ridiculous thing is, being such a loser is what wraps back around to making him cool again. He's a loser because he just doesn't fucking care. His masculinity is the opposite of fragile. You tell him to wear a dress and makeup, he'll do it -- and sure, he'll complain, but only because he enjoys complaining. He has no dignity. He’s tits-out. He's gender. He's the worst and also the best.

Hei Xiazi is a major character in the other installations, to the point where he and his boyfriend (more on him later) even have their own movie. But of course, I did not know this on my first watch, so I kept expecting the show to explain his whole deal. It does not, but you don't really need it to. He sees better in the dark. He doesn't age. He's a thug for hire. There, that's all the bio you need.

One of the things that makes him great is that he is the least sexually threatening person ever. Across all the properties he's in, he spends a fair amount of time with women -- sometimes in very close quarters -- and they are perfectly safe around him. I actually wrote a whole post about it once upon a time (warning for tiny spoilers for a series that isn't this one) wherein I claim that not only Xiazi but Reunion in general is the television equivalent of the shirt that says I RESPECT WOMEN SO MUCH I DON'T HAVE SEX WITH THEM.

That said, this loser does get a sort-of romance plot here -- and honestly, I find it very cute! It's not even the only instance in this series of a bisexual guy in a long-term same-sex relationship getting a girlfriend, and I like that other one too! Look, the handle of my DMBJ sideblog is @katamaricule because I joked that Wu Xie treats polyamory like a katamari, and if you don't move fast enough, you're going to be rolled right up into his gay little cuddle puddle.

This is not a show for exclusive ships; this is a show for inclusive ships. The Jiumen Association is a polycule. You don't even have to know what the Jiumen Association is to know it's true.

4. The power of friendship

This show has a lot of characters.

I'd say the supporting cast is divided into three categories: characters who have been in previous installments, characters who have not been in previous installments, and characters who probably should have been in previous installments (or at least mentioned) but who were only created for Reunion so we have to pretend like we've known about them all along.

There is no way to tell which is which -- which is part of my argument that this series makes a good entry point to the franchise.

Take Huo Daofu. Huo Daofu is a brilliant doctor masquerading as a donut stand operator who treats Wu Xie with all the cold disdain of a man confronting the person who left him at the altar years ago. On the one hand, yes! We do know Huo Daofu from a previous series, and we've known he's both a doctor and a bitch. On the other hand, oh, we have no idea why he's like this about Wu Xie, and we probably never will. The show just treats it like it's for an excellent reason, and you know what, from what you know about Wu Xie, it probably is.

Consider also Jiang Zisuan. One of the show's principal antagonists, Jiang Zisuan turns out to be the brother of ... well, let's just say it's someone whose having a brother really should have come up before this. It has not come up. (And that's even before we get into the issue of his surname.) His stated identity as that person's brother is so bizarre that my favorite interpretation is that he isn't actually that person's brother -- all the flashbacks we see are just his delusions about a relationship he's completely invented. But there's no way you'd know how fucking weird this is on your first run.

Then there's our friendly little support himbo, Kanjian, who shows up to all occasions with two tickets to the gun show and not a thought in that beautiful head. (His name just means "vest," which is par for the course when it comes to the author's naming conventions.) He was a lot more menacing in the last series (where they kept putting sleeves on him, geez), where most of what we learned about him is that you can loan him out to other tomb-raiding families. Now he's a golden retriever with great aim and a slingshot. It's an upgrade.

The trick is, you cannot be surprised when someone shows up and the show treats them like you should know who they are, even when there's no possible way you could know who they are. I mean, for heaven's sake, Liu Sang arrives in the middle of an obvious beef with Pangzi, the origins of which are never satisfactorily explained, while also having a giant do-I-want-to-fuck-him-or-do-I-want-to-be-him crush on Xiao Ge, which is also never satisfactorily explained. Whatever, you just roll with it. He's got good hearing, a bad attitude, and questionable taste in idols. Now you're good to go.

(I should throw in a special note here that Liu Sang is many, many people's little meow meow, and not undeservedly. For a fuller explanation of why that is, please consult this other post I made.)

Part of the fun of this big cast is the adorable interactions you get. All the characters have appropriately big personalities, and the show loves letting people you wouldn’t expect bounce off one another. It’s not your typical action-hero show where nothing happens without the protagonist in the room. There are lots of exciting combinations and tons of charming dynamics! Unlikely friendships form all over the place! Enemies become allies! Allies become friends! Friends become friends with other friends! Some friends become enemies again! You'll need a scoreboard to keep up!

This is not to say the show treats all its characters perfectly or equally -- one of the precious few main female characters doesn't even get a real name, for heaven's sake, and the less said about the brownface racism, the better. It is, at its heart, a dude show for dudes made in China, with all the troubling decision-making that implies. Where it does deserve credit, though, is in understanding that its supporting characters are actual people with personalities apart from their function in Wu Xie's narrative. Sometimes the show just asks "what if [random character A] and [random character B] had to interact?" and has fun considering the answer! Which is almost always a delight to watch, and sometimes even breaks your heart.

5. Amazing rewatch value!

And by this I mean the experience of watching this show is remarkably different once you have any understanding of the rest of the DMBJ universe.

For instance, there's a point where two characters are scuba-diving past some submerged coffins, and one character tells the other whose coffins they are. Working only on information Reunion has given you, you're like, oh, that's where they buried the guy who built this creepy place, that's a little weird. Once you recognize that name from other series, though, your reaction is far more, excuse me, they did WHAT to WHOSE corpses?

Or another point where a character you've already met is on a train, and there's a handsome gentleman who just happens to be riding with her. He hands her his business card! Aw, that's sweet, he seems like a nice guy! Well, no, Xie Yuchen is not nice, but he is one of our allies, and he's Hei Xiazi's boyfriend, and a lot of what he's doing hits real different when you have a fuller grasp on why he's doing it and for whom. (Honestly, a major reason to watch Reunion first is so you're not fully and appropriately upset by how your black/pink gays merely have one teeny tiny scene together.)

From the way the series treats the persistent absence of Wu Sanxing, Wu Xie's third uncle, I absolutely, 100% assumed that he was a completely new character to this installment of the series, an extremely long-lost relative that we've somehow conveniently managed to never talk about before now. So imagine my gobsmacked surprise when I went to watch a different series, set much earlier in the timeline, where the opening scene prominently features Wu Sanxing as an actual character in the present-day narrative! ...Well, sorta. Look, there's a lot of fuckery with his identity in earlier parts of the story, and fortunately you need to know none of it to understand Reunion. But when you do, it suddenly makes a lot more sense why Wu Xie talks about someone who was a major part of Wu Xie's adult life like he died when Wu Xie was nine.

AND THE FLASHBACK SCENE WHERE A-NING GETS KILLED BY THE SNAKE, AND YOU'RE LIKE, OKAY, AND THEN YOU WATCH ULTIMATE NOTE AND IT WASN'T LIKE THAT AT ALL look, I know there are kinda reasons for this, different production companies and all, but seriously, what the fuck

All of which to say is that the experience of watching Reunion the first time is, hey, this self-contained romp is a lot of fun! The experience of rewatching it after watching any of the other DMBJ installments is a transcendently wonderful head-clutching avalanche of one moment of recognition right after another.

And here's the thing: You will watch more. Reunion is a gateway drug. If you are interested enough to make it through all 62 episodes, you're going to be interested in watching more. Which is great. The English-speaking fandom needs more people. Come down into the tombs. It's great down here. We've got snakes and arguably unintentional homoeroticism. Join us. Join usssssssss

Are you ready for an aventure?

There are a couple different ways to watch the first half, but there's (weirdly) only one way to watch the second, so for both of them, I'm going to send you straight to iQiyi: Season 1 (32 episodes) and Season 2 (30 episodes).

And just so you’re ready when Reunion is done, here’s how you find the rest of the DMBJ series, in the absolutely non-chronological order in which I, personally, think you should watch them:

The Lost Tomb 2 (AsianCrush, YouTube)

Ultimate Note (iQiyi)

The Mystic Nine (iQiyi, Viki)

Sand Sea/Tomb of the Sea (Viki, WeTV, YouTube, also YouTube)

Also, there's a lot of movies and side series and other pieces that are worth seeing, and even a couple of full series I've left off the list, and you can just slot them in wherever. And maybe we'll get Tibetan Sea Flo-- IT'S HERE! IT'S HERE! And someday maybe I'll actually have time to watch it! What a concept.

They're so perfect. Perfect triangle. Perfect boys.

#dmbj #重启 #重启之极海听雷 #盗墓笔记 #Reunion: The Sound of the Providence #the lost tomb reboot #rec post #i made this

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rieamena · 2 months

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I wonder at what point in the "reboot saga" would the other cunning hares step in and help Billy? Like, on one hand you have a convenient way to stop Billy from whatever he is doing, and watching how Y/N is trying to confess without crashing him must be entertaining. On the other after crash 65 it must get worrying :/

finally!—

the first few crashes had been amusing, a source of lighthearted teasing among the group. you’d attempt to confess, and billy, ever the charismatic and responsive robot, would suddenly freeze, eyes flickering as his system struggled to process the influx of data. the scene would end with him rebooting, and the cycle would start anew. after the first couple of crashes, the laughter faded into concern

“i don’t get it,” you muttered, sprawled out on the couch in the cunning hares' common room. “why does he keep crashing? it’s just a confession.”

“he’s not built to handle that kind of emotional intensity,” nicole explained, fiddling with the handles on his jacket, metal body limp after yet another of your failed confessions. “his programming is complex, but at the core, it’s still a machine trying to process human emotions.”

“and you’re very special to him,” anby added, smiling gently. “that makes it even harder for his system to cope.”

the three of you brainstormed solutions, testing different approaches and environmental controls. they installed cooling systems, tweaked his software, and even practiced mock confessions. yet, each time you poured your heart out to billy, his system would crash and reboot, leaving you both in a loop of unfinished sentences and unspoken feelings

one night, after crash number seventy two—a number that was only devised due to your intricate logs of attempted confessions in your mini journal—the serious gravity of the situation hit everyone. billy’s constant reboots were taking a toll on his system, and the risk of permanent damage was becoming too great to ignore

“this has to stop,” nicole declared, her voice heavy with determination. “we need to find a way to get through to him without causing another crash.”

after much debate, the team devised a new strategy. it wasn’t just about cooling fans and air conditioners; it was about creating a space where billy could process his emotions without the threat of overload. they set up a room specifically for this purpose, equipped with not just temperature controls but also calming visuals and sounds designed to keep billy’s system stable

the designated spot was meticulously prepared. soft lighting filled the room, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. the hum of air conditioners and strategically placed fans ensured the environment was cool. in the center of the room, billy sat on a cushioned chair, looking a bit puzzled but the aura he exuded was always happy

anby gave you a reassuring nod as she adjusted a fan to blow directly at billy. "remember, y/n, stick to the script and stay calm. we’re right here with you."

you took a deep breath and approached billy, your heart pounding. "hey, billy," you greeted, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach

"hey, [name]," he replied, the crescents of his eyes lighting up the room. "what’s up?"

you clutched the script tightly, glancing at the words one last time before looking up at him. "billy, there’s something i’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. it’s been on my mind, and i need you to know."

billy’s eyes widened slightly, his full attention on you. you continued, your voice soft but clear, following the script's guidance. "you mean a lot to me, more than just a friend. whenever i’m with you, everything feels brighter and better. your laughter, your kindness, the way you always know how to make me smile. i cherish every moment we spend together."

billy blinked, processing your words. the fans hummed softly, maintaining a cool breeze. you took another deep breath, steadying yourself. "billy, i like you. a lot. more than just a friend. i care about you deeply, and i wanted you to know how i feel."

for a moment, there was silence. billy’s eyes flickered, and you held your breath, waiting for the familiar signs of a reboot, slower movement, glitched speech, loss of composure, but instead, his eyes displayed bright red hearts

"[name]," he said softly, reaching out to take your hand. "i… i like you too. more than just a friend." nicole crept over to a cooling fan close to him, cranking up its power

unfortunately, the slip of paper didn't have any more words to refer to so you had to improvise. "so does this mean we're like, dating now?"

"are we really?! we're dating now?!" billy jumped up from his seat, practically oozing excitement and happiness, "wait, but i've never had a partner before. what if i do something wrong? what if you don't like me anymore?!" he shook your shoulders, speaking a mile a minute, ranting about all the things he could do wrong and all the things that could go wrong

"also, it's really cold in here, i can almost feel my metal constricting! can we turn the thermostat up or something?"

you couldn't help but laugh. "one step at a time, billy. let's start with the thermostat."

you finally got billy kid after seventy two reboots, and boy, wasn't it rewarding.

its actually so embarassing how long this took and its not even good....

billy kid taglist

@pedrosimp137 @mary-moongood @nyxin-lynx @lemonboy011 @eisblume77

@amaryllisenvy @megan017 @astral-spacepumpkin @corrupted-tale @inkycap

@thurstonw @plapsha @lavenderthewolf @kurakusun @vitaevaaa

@sweetadonisbutbetter @cobraaah @mochiitoby @clickingchip @bardivislak

@h3r6c00k13 @cozi-cofee @apestegui-y @luvuyuuji @theitdoitnobody

@fersitaam @cathrnxxo @monkepawbz @fl1ghtl3ssdrag0n @dabislilbaby

@many-names-yuna @muffin1304 @doort @j3llycarnival @juuanna

@discipleofthem @spookylorekeep @wazkalia @miaubrebmiau @hersweetsstrawberry

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asamiontop · 1 year

Text

Supercorptober - Wild or…

Captain Underpants (also on Ao3)

Lena: Text me when you get this.

Kara squints at the message. If she narrows her eyes to slits, the photonic assault hurts her eyeballs less. The text is from Lena, so she answers right away. Doesn’t matter that it’s far past late at night and still hours away from early morning.

Kara: hey got your message. what’s up?

She thinks, mistakenly, that Lena will be asleep. She hopes, misguidedly, that that will afford her a few precious hours of rest herself. Her phone chimes and shatters that fantasy in its infancy.

Lena: Are you home?

That’s concerning. Even through the swampiness of fading inebriation and a blossoming hangover, Kara’s synapses spark to life at the idea that Lena may be in trouble.

Kara: I’m home. everything okay?

The response comes back so fast that Kara suspects Lena started typing before she’d even answered.

Lena: I’m coming over.

Kara glances blearily at her alarm clock. 2:47am. Something is definitely wrong.

It’s a testament to her body’s exhaustion that, despite the urgency, Kara manages to fall asleep. She jolts awake to the sound of cannonballs exploding in her ears, the echoes rattling around in her skull. Her superhearing is out of whack from the sleep or the alcohol or both and nearby noise is amplified a thousandfold. The resounding knock at her door sounds more like a battering ram than a fist.

“Kara?” Lena’s voice drifts through the apartment and all other noise seems to melt away. The soothing effect is immediate. Kara’s heart slides back down her throat and thumps in relief. She sags into her pillow with a sigh before she remembers the fact that Lena is visiting her at three in the morning.

Kara superspeeds to the entryway. She just barely reminds herself to touch down on the floor before unlocking the deadbolt.

“Lena!” Kara whips her door open. She’s prepared for the whole range of human emotion, perhaps some tears or sobs or panic or any external sign of distress.

Instead Lena greets her with pursed lips (puckered in that distracting way that accentuates the crisp line of her jaw), a tilted head, and brassy raise of her eyebrow. Lena looks as beautiful as ever in the middle of the night, but she certainly does not appear distressed.

She gives Kara an undisguised once-over.

“Hello, Supergirl,” Lena deadpans.

All the oxygen leaves the room. Kara’s anatomy doesn’t require much of it, but she still feels like she’s choking on the lack of air. Her eyes bug out and she momentarily loses all cognitive function as her half-drunk system begins a hard reboot into this new reality where apparently Lena now knows her secret identity. The corner of Lena’s mouth twitches victoriously and somehow that is what kicks Kara back to the land of the living.

Without so much as a warning, she snags Lena by the wrist and yanks her bodily into the apartment. It’s a whole miracle Kara doesn’t slam the door off its hinges as Lena stumbles past the threshold.

“Heh—Supergi—that’s funny—what, uh.” Kara squeaks, sounding totally normal. She whirls around to face her friend with a manic laugh and round, wild eyes, “W-what are you talking about?”

Alex teases Kara relentlessly for her inability to play it cool. As she scratches the back of her own neck only to realize that her hair is down and her glasses are sitting uselessly on her nightstand, then completely misses the wall she intended to lean against and surreptitiously floats to keep her balance, Kara admits that her sister may be onto something.

“Kara, please.” Lena’s eyebrow lifts so high that her forehead wrinkles to accommodate it. “Don’t insult me.”

She opens her mouth to speak but something about the way Lena’s regarding her—resolute and impatient, like she’s just waiting for Kara to catch up so they can move on— makes her snap her jaw shut. Kara abandons her remaining denial with a long exhale.

She can’t help but cling to a thread or plausible deniability though.

“What, um.” Kara clears her throat. “What makes you think that I’m—” her voice cracks on the words, so foreign to her in this context— “that I’m Supergirl?”

Instead of answering, Lena raises an unimpressed eyebrow. Wordlessly, she turns on her heel and heads for Kara’s coffee table. Puzzled, the superhero follows. She just about combusts when Lena flicks on the television.

There, in what must have been filmed by a cell-phone, is Supergirl, twirling through the air suitless and cape-less—wearing nothing save for a matching sports bra and boxers. Kara’s jaw unhinges. She thinks her eyes hurt from how wide they’ve gotten. Supergirl’s hair is blowing freely in the breeze and she looks absolutely delighted as she corkscrews aimlessly above the city, half-naked and carefree.

Kara watches in horror as the video zooms in shamelessly on her butt. (Rao damn The Fruit for stuffing their mobile devices with such capable cameras.) This, mortifyingly, is precisely where Lena chooses to pause the coverage. She clicks the remote, freezing the frame on a screenful of Kara’s backside, and points an elegant but accusatory finger at the blown-up image of Kara’s favorite underwear.

It’s not just any old set of underwear. These ones are indescribably soft and comfortable. They fit just right, snug in all the right places, and they are adorned with a bizarrely adorable pattern of cartoon potstickers, puppies, and chopsticks. Most precious of all, they were a gift from one Lena Luthor last Christmas.

Kara ventures a shifty glance at the CEO, whose eyebrow is still quirked expectantly.

Stupidly, Kara blurts the first thing occurs to her. “That could be anyone.”

A second eyebrow climbs to match the first, shifting Lena’s expression from confident to incredulous in a single movement.

“I—I mean,” the superhero stammers, “it’s a really cute pattern a-and maybe Supergirl got herself the same set you bought me.”

Lena’s eyes close slowly, patiently and she shakes her head. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she mutters, “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

“Why not?” Kara demands, incomprehensibly committed to her flimsy excuse. “Lots of people like potstickers and puppies!”

“Because they are custom, Kara.” Lena’s head tilts sharply and she skewers the blonde with a pointed look. “I had them custom-made for your gift.”

“Oh.” Kara blinks. “You did?” Her voice ticks up at the end, betraying how oddly touched she feels at the gesture.

Lena appears exhausted but at least somewhat amused now. “Yes. Did you think I happened to fortuitously stumble upon the exact combination of all your favorite things printed on the exact type of undergarment you happen to favor?”

“Um… yes?” Kara shrugs even as the feeble defense crumbles around her. “You can find anything on the internet nowadays.”

Lena sighs. “Kara.” The super’s eyes lock on hers and Lena deliberately drags her green gaze down Kara’s front and slowly back up.

The hint of heat in Lena’s eyes isn’t lost on the Kryptonian, so her face is already two shades pinker than normal when she follows Lena’s stare down her own body.

Her cheeks flame up fully at the visual reminder that she is in fact still wearing the offending undergarments and precious little else.

“Oh.” Kara swallows. She is fully on display for Lena—not only mostly undressed, which induces its own type of stirrings in her belly, but also in clothes unmistakably identical to the superhero frozen on the screen. It’s four coincidences too many.

“Oh,” Lena parrots, nodding once.

Kara’s arms cross instinctively over her bare stomach. She’s ashamed. Not of her body, but of attempting to keep up such a charade without a lick of self-awareness. Mostly, she’s ashamed of hiding the truth from the person with whom she’d most wanted to share it.

Frankly, it’s a monumental relief to be unshackled from her secret. Without the burden of her identity, Kara can truly give Lena her full self, share all the bits and pieces of her that have sat leaden and unspoken on the tip of her tongue for months. Now that Kara has the liberty to be well and truly honest, maybe she can finally entertain the budding intimacy and extra warmth that’s been building around her best friend. She’s never felt quite so enthralled to be the focus of someone’s gaze before and maybe if—

Kara shakes her head, clearing away the cobwebs of hope. There’s a very different reality to be faced right now.

Casting an anxious glance at her feet, Kara flexes her toes and reaches for the grounding sensation of the grain in the hardwood.

Kara swallows thickly, mind alight with all the wrong turns this revelation can take, all the covert ways her secret could have already poisoned their relationship beyond recovery.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbles, forcing her voice to remain steady even as she collapses into a defeated heap on the couch.

After a few seconds of silence, she gathers all the courage in her rapidly accelerating heart and glances up for Lena’s reaction.

Once again her best friend surprises her. Lena doesn’t seem mad or hurt or resentful. She looks… perplexed, if not a little exasperated.

“What exactly are you apologizing for?” Lena asks slowly once their eyes lock.

Kara senses her own crinkle bunching between her eyebrows to match Lena’s. “For keeping this from you,” she answers dejectly.

Lena’s eyes widen and Kara rushes to justify herself. The explanation clambers out of her of its own accord, gathering momentum and volume like a snowball rolling downhill.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you so badly, Lena. For months! You’re one of the most important people in my life! I trust you. I–I can’t really explain it, but something about you has always made me feel safe. I just, I felt like I knew you from the moment we met. And that feeling hasn’t faded at all. In fact, it’s grown stronger. I think maybe it’s even become—”

Kara stops short of broaching that subject and launches up off the couch, beginning a proper maniacal pacing across her living room floor.

“You didn’t even need to but you went ahead and proved to me and Supergirl and everyone in the world that you are even more noble and good than I imagined. You are so incredible, Lena. Of everyone I love, you deserve to know this part of me. But—but this superhero thing is so complicated. There are all these rules with the DEO and it’s not always safe for the people that know my identity and—”

“Kara—”

“—and as much as I wanted to be completely open with you, I couldn’t risk you getting hurt. I can’t. I won’t. So then—”

“Kara, darling.” The endearment smashes sideways into Kara and brings her ramble to a skidding, screeching halt. “Stop talking.”

Dumbstruck, Kara does. She turns back to Lena and nearly suffocates at the fondness she finds shining back at her. It’s accompanied by a dash of amusement and that same exasperation from before, but the affection is there and it’s so warm that Kara’s cheeks heat up to match. How Lena can still look at her like that after what Kara’s kept from her is… it feels unfair.

“I’m really sorry Lena,” Kara insists quietly, this time staring directly into those striking windows of sea-glass green and willing her to see how acutely she means it.

“Don’t be.” Lena’s expression softens even further and Kara wonders if this is how it would feel to live life as a lava cake. Airy on the outside and melty on the inside. Warm and delicious all over. It’s nice. Maybe she can get Lena to eat her if—Kara blinks out of her daze. Okay so perhaps she is still a teensy, weensy bit tipsy.

Lena doesn’t seem to notice her brief departure because she adds very earnestly, “I understand why your identity needs safeguarding. I can’t imagine very many people know this about you.”

“No,” Kara agrees, eyes seeking the floor again.

“Frankly, I wouldn’t have expected you to reveal something so sensitive to someone like me.”

The self-deprecation in Lena’s tone is unacceptable. Kara is about to protest that she wanted to—would have if not for the magical influence of Alex’s good sense—when Lena shrugs.

“And we’ve only known one another for a year. There are bound to be some secrets.” The next part is whispered, as if Lena doesn’t mean for Kara to hear. “God knows I have some.”

“Wait—” Kara teeters closer, itching with that Lena-fueled curiosity that swims constantly through her veins.

Lena’s eyebrow twitches haughtily and she smiles, reaching out to pat Kara’s hand. “Matters for another time, darling.”

She wraps her fingers loosely around Kara’s and guides them both onto the couch. Kara, ostensibly still in her underwear, pulls a throw pillow into her lap.

Without warning, Lena resumes the video. The frozen widescreen snapshot of Kara’s behind shrinks away mercifully to the top corner of her TV, revealing a smirking newscaster barely keeping her laughter at bay. Her brown eyes dance as she describes Supergirl’s latest antics in excruciating detail to whichever unfortunate souls are watching at this time of the night.

“Why are we still watching this?” Kara mumbles, hugging the pillow to her chest. Lena remains placidly silent.

Just as Kara thinks her public shaming is complete, a new video overtakes the screen. This one is shot from a much better—or incriminating—angle. Namely, a news helicopter hovering at altitude, level with Supergirl as she floats in lazy spirals then flutters hundreds of feet down, playful and giggling, before shooting back up and starting again.

Kara really takes the cake when she stops mid-somersault and flashes the camera an unfocused wave and a dazzling smile. ‘Up, up and away,’ the half-naked superhero slurs. Then she proceeds to plunge straight out of the sky, giggling gleefully as she falls.

“Oh god,” Kara groans as the camera swings wildly to chase her back into the frame. It finally catches up to her as Kara’s trajectory is intercepted by a green-black blur. She and the blur disappear in a flash of red and the video gives way to the newscaster once more, speculating about the inexplicable nature of her behavior.

So that’s why J’onn had showed up to fly Supergirl home.

“I…” Is there kryptonite in the room or is she just burning up from sheer embarrassment? “I don’t remember doing that,” Kara whispers, quiet as a mouse.

Beside her, Lena snorts. Kara swivels to glare at her but the image of Lena stifling a laugh into the tips of her fingers is entirely too cute to hold a grudge against. She pouts instead.

Eventually the CEO regains her composure and asks, exceedingly gentle, “What do you remember?”

Kara’s features scrunch into a frown as she replays the last several hours in her head. It’s somewhat blurry, but there’s a chronological consistency to the snippets of clarity.

“It… it was my night off,” Kara begins. A picture of Alex’s rowdy laugh shimmers to life in her mind’s eye and she smiles. “Sister’s night.”

Lena nods, smiles just because Kara did and that—that’s really something. Her heart does a happy little flump. Then she remembers.

“That’s why I didn’t have my supersuit!” Kara snaps her fingers. “J’onn told us he had everything covered tonight. He said we should take the night to really unwind.”

Lena’s unimpressed little ah sets Kara into a guilty grimace. “I… don’t think this is what he meant he meant by unwind,” Kara admits.

“Probably not.” Lena agrees. It’s a gentle admonishment and a flat tease all in one and Kara is too busy thinking that Lena is miraculous to be at all bothered by the joke at her expense. “What did you two plan for sister’s night?”

“Well… Alex came over and we had a few drinks. I remember she brought some sort of alien punch or something. I don’t know what was in it but it was really yummy. I… got a little drunker than I meant to.”

Kara omits the part where she ignored Alex’s warning about the potency of said beverages because ‘I have a Kryptonian metabolism Alex. I’ll be fine.’

“Oh. So this…” Lena gestures vaguely in the direction of the television. It’s paused on another unflattering view from below and Kara wrinkles her nose. “Was alcohol-induced?”

“Yeah…” she admits, dragging out the word.

Lena raises an eyebrow. “And… voluntary?”

“Um. Yes.”

Lena regards her for a long moment, then releases a gargantuan breath. Her shoulders fall with it, settling almost one full inch below where they’d been twisted in tension since she arrived. “Well that’s a relief,” she exhales.

“It—it is?” Kara tilts her head.

“I thought you’d been poisoned.” Lena looks at her sharply and Kara swallows. “I was… concerned.”

The flash of vulnerability in her eyes is as close as Lena gets to chastising her, but Kara still feels it like a punch to the gut. It doesn’t take much work to put herself in Lena’s shoes, to imagine the sensation of the ground dropping out from underneath her when a slew of worst case scenarios take up residence in her brain. Combined with the realization that Supergirl’s erratic behavior is also her best friend’s, it might just warrant the frazzled and urgent messages in the middle of the night.

“I’m sorry,” Kara winces. “I promise I’m okay. Just a bit hungover, probably.” She pauses thoughtfully. “If it makes you feel any better, you weren’t entirely wrong.” Lena’s brow furrows and Kara grins dumbly, if only to inject a little levity into the moment. “Alcohol is pretty much poison. I just, you know, did the poisoning myself. I had a great time.”

There’s a stifled snort sound again and then Lena’s chuckling, loose at last and shaking her head fondly. Kara melts into the angelic sound, into the familiarity and affection twinkling within.

“So long as you’re okay,” Lena adds.

“I’m alright,” Kara reassures. She reaches for Lena’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “I promise.”

Keeping their hands joined, Lena tips her head curiously. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand.”

“Yeah?”

“If you and Alex were home—here, then why did you leave without your suit on?”

“Oh, uh...” Kara thinks for a moment. “We went out at some point. Alex convinced me to go to Al’s—the alien bar—to meet up with Maggie—which,” Kara bristles and sniffs loudly, “was extremely generous of me, considering it was sister’s night.”

She glances at Lena for validation but her best friend just blinks placidly and waits. Kara pauses to wonder if she’s causing any sort of distress with all of the alien information she’s tossing her way. After a few seconds of Kara studying her, Lena finally raises her eyebrows in question.

“Sorry,” Kara shakes her head. “Anyway. We went to the bar and had a couple more drinks. And then—this is where things get kind of fuzzy.” Kara blushes. “Alex left with Maggie, I think.”

“Alex left you at the bar alone? While you were clearly not sober?” Lena’s face screws into a glare of disapproval. “That doesn’t sound like Agent Danvers.”

Kara barks a laugh at the formal form of address. “No, it definitely doesn’t,” she concedes. “I don’t think she actually left me though… I remember being in a cab. And then… um. Not in a cab.”

“Did the taxi drop you off at home?”

“No?” Kara wracks her brain. “I don’t think so. I remember wandering around a park somewhere and realizing I was lost. I know the city so well from above but down here I… get a little turned around sometimes.”

Kara’s cheeks flush at the admission but Lena’s fingers flex around her hand encouragingly and she relaxes.

“Anyway, when I realized I was lost I figured it would be best if I just flew myself home.”

The logic of the moment comes rushing back all at once and Kara feels the tips of her ears go from pink to red to redder. Lena, genius that she is, puts it together rather quickly.

“But you didn’t have your suit.”

“Yeah…” Kara affirms through a dry mouth.

“So you…” Lena begins, encouraging Kara to finish. She’s too embarrassed to even try. After several moments of nothing, Lena rips off the bandaid. “So you undressed to avoid being recognized?”

There’s an inferno blazing somewhere in this room, Kara swears it. She nods, not daring to meet Lena’s eyes.

A minuscule giggle reaches her ears and she breaks.

“I—I didn’t have a choice!” Kara whines. “It was late, I was lost, and my phone was dead and I, I… didn’t know what else to do!”

“Oh dear. Good thing you’re invulnerable.” Lena chuckles. “It's okay, darling.”

“It’s not!” Kara glares over at the TV. “I thought I was being clever. I even folded my shirt and my jeans and hid them in a bush, out of sight and everything! I figured no one would recognize me if I was quick about getting home so I took off but then…”

Lena looks at her expectantly, every bit the generous friend trying to keep her laughter trapped behind her pursed lips.

“Flying felt so good.” Kara admits, contrite. “I’m always wearing that gosh-darned suit with the long sleeves and the tights and just—the warm air felt so nice on my skin. Like the night sky was hugging me hello.”

She’s pouting up a storm now. “I really didn’t expect it. And, well, I guess I was just having a really nice time and my flight home accidentally turned into….” She gestures half-heartedly to the TV. “That.”

“Oh honey.” Lena extends one arm and Kara doesn’t hesitate to dive under it, hiding her face in the comfort of Lena’s shoulder. “It’ll be alright. It’s just a minor PR snafu. You didn’t do anything wrong.

“Alex is gonna be so mad,” Kara grouses, burrowing towards the enticingly familiar scent emanating from Lena’s skin, just a few inches away.

“Perhaps,” Lena allows, rubbing up and down Kara’s arm. It helps soothe the panic that comes with the knowledge of her elder sister’s impending fury. “But you didn’t hurt anyone. And the risk to your identity seems exceedingly low. Who else knows what I gave you for Secret Santa last year?”

Kara thinks back to the holiday, to the warm glow in her apartment and the people she loves gathered to share smiles and stories and gifts. “Just the people that were there that day,” she answers. “Alex, my mom, James, and Winn. And you.”

The memory of Lena glowing alongside her family makes Kara hum happily and nuzzle a little closer. Lena’s arm tightens around Kara’s shoulders.

“And is there any risk of them putting the pieces together from this video?”

“Well, that’s not really a problem,” Kara sighs. “My family has always known. James knew before I even met him because he’s friends with Superman. And Winn is the only other person I’ve ever told.”

She freezes, nervous that the reminder of being kept in the dark might cause Lena to put some distance between them. It’s the last thing Kara wants, to hurt her best friend. Besides, she’d quite like to stay right where she is, a scant inch away from the soft skin of Lena’s collarbone.

“There you have it,” Lena soothes, mercifully unfazed by the news of others that knew before her. “This hiccup should wash away with the next news cycle.” Lena pauses, tenses a bit. “Unless…”

Kara wriggles, prompting her to continue. “Unless what?”

“Have you…” the CEO clears her throat and from this distance Kara can hear her swallow uncomfortably. “Have you shown anyone else?”

“Shown anyone what?”

“This, uh, particular outfit of yours?”

“Pshh, no.” Kara scoffs and shakes her head. The movement brings the cold tip of her nose into contact with the heavenly warmth of Lena’s skin. Kara attributes the slight shiver that runs through her friend’s body to the shock of temperature difference. “Why would I show anyone my underwear?”

When Lena grimaces, the muscles in her neck tighten and Kara instinctively tucks her head closer to smooth the tension away.

“Well,” Lena begins, sounding a bit strangled. Her voice is lower, somewhat shy, and Kara is distracted by the way it vibrates against her forehead when Lena speaks. “If you… perhaps… brought someone home with you.”

“When I invite guests over I don’t include my underwear drawer in the tour of the apartment, Lena. That’s silly.”

“No—that’s not what I—hmph.” Exasperated, Lena finally makes herself clear. “I’m asking if you’ve slept with anyone, Kara.”

The superhero jolts upright, squeaking in surprise. “What?”

Lena clenches her jaw and releases it, taking a fortifying breath. “Have you been intimate with anyone recently that might’ve seen this set of underwear?” Kara gapes like a fish out of water and Lena rolls her eyes as she spells it out, seeming oddly pained. “Could they possibly make the connection between Supergirl’s appearance tonight and your identity as Kara Danvers?”

“Oh,” Kara breathes, struggling to sit still under Lena’s scrutiny. She peels at the fraying edges of her throw pillow. “Um. No.”

“Okay.” It may be Kara’s imagination, but it almost looks like Lena heaves a sigh of relief. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I…” the corner of her mouth twitches. “There hasn’t been anyone. Not since Mon-El.”

Kara considers the nights she’s spent with people she loves instead, the extra time that not having a love interest has afforded her with Lena and feels quite at peace with this reality. She smiles. “So I guess we’re safe on that front.”

Lena smiles back, closed-mouthed but still dimpled, and Kara feels like a lava cake again.

“See? You have nothing to worry about,” the CEO assures.

“Except—can anyone trace the purchase back to you?” Kara asks suddenly. “You said it was a custom order, won’t… won’t people think that you’re Supergirl?!”

Lena bursts into laughter at the suggestion. She howls for seconds while Kara dissolves into a panic at the idea of people going after Lena, mistaking her for the drunk Kryptonian.

“Lena, this is serious,” Kara admonishes. Lena just keeps on laughing. “You could be seriously targeted! I need—I need to protect you. Someone could try to hurt you if they thought…” her wild ideas get the best of her, spiraling out of control at the mere suggestion of increased attempts on Lena’s life.

Kara spaces out, flicking rapidly from scenario to scenario about how best to protect her best friend from this type of exposure. Maybe Lena should move in with her, so Kara can keep her safe all the time. If they share a bed, Kara will know she’s protected even while unconscious. Lena maintains an office at Catco, so the workday is covered. What about bathroom breaks, would those be—

A warm palm smooths over Kara’s forearm and squeezes until her tailspin slows to a halt. “Kara, darling. Come back.”

Kara blinks forcefully once, twice, three times, and then she’s planted firmly in her living room, staring once more at the overwhelming wealth of fondness in light green eyes. Those eyes crinkle around a smile as soon as Kara fully returns to her surroundings.

“You needn’t worry about me,” Lena assures slowly. Kara wrinkles her brow and Lena explains. “I went to a store in person to place the order and made my purchases with cash. The payment isn’t traceable to my name and no one recognized me, I’m certain of it.”

Face pinched into a frown, Kara shakes her head. “Are you sure? I won’t take that risk with you, Lena.”

“I’m sure,” the CEO smiles again and it’s nearly dazzling enough to distract Kara from her panic-fueled worry storm. “I appreciate the concern, but I doubt anyone would believe that a Luthor even knows what a baseball cap is, let alone wears one.” Lena tilts her head thoughtfully. “For that matter, I doubt anyone would believe that a Luthor could secretly be Kryptonian, all things considered.”

Kara scowls at the indirect mention of Lex, but considers Lena’s logic. She’s right in the end—short of a credit card receipt with Lena’s name on it or video footage showing her obtaining the exact same garments Supergirl is wearing, it’d be nigh impossible to make the connection.

“Okay,” she finally relents. “Okay. So now all I have to worry about is Alex’s wrath.”

The thought brings another grimace to her face and she buries it into her throw pillow. Alex is going to be so mad.

“I think Alex will be fine once we talk it through with her,” Lena offers. The ‘we’ wraps around Kara like a blanket before Lena’s arms encircle her with a comfort that Kara’s powerless to resist. She drops the pillow in favor of scooting back into her previous position, nestled into the juncture of Lena’s neck and shoulder.

They sit in silence for a few minutes as Kara recovers from her shame. The lateness of the hour and the steady drum of Lena’s heart lull Kara into a dreamy, half-conscious state and before she’s fully aware of herself she asks, “Lena?”

“Hm?”

The low hum of Lena’s voice in the apartment shrouds Kara in calm and she instinctively adjusts so she can press her nose and mouth the source of that heavenly vibration. Lena gulps and Kara is too sleepy to think anything of it.

“You aren’t mad?”

“Mad?” Lena repeats. “Why?”

“You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you my secret?”

“No, darling, I’m not mad,” Lena mutters softly and places a gentle hand on the side of Kara’s head. “It’s your secret to tell. What matters to me is that you’re safe. That’s all.”

The Kryptonian smiles and snuggles close. “Well, I’m really glad that you know now. And that you still like me. There’s so much I wanna tell you.” She pouts. “No more secrets for us.”

“Of course I still like you.” Then, most miraculous of all, Lena drops a soft kiss to Kara’s forehead. “You’re lovely, Kara. Being Supergirl doesn’t change that.”

Kara hums contentedly and drowsily returns the kiss wherever she can reach. Which happens to be the exposed jut of Lena’s collarbone. She notices a shift immediately—Lena’s muscles sing with tautness and her heart rate skyrockets.

“Lena?”

“Mm?” Her response is slightly high-pitched this time, even if the rumble of it still rolls through Kara like thunder.

“Why is your heartbeat so fast?”

“What—how can you even—oh. Superhearing. Of course.”

“Mhm,” Kara smiles, wondering languidly if Lena can feel her grin even if she can’t see it, ‘cause of the way Kara’s mouth is smooshed against her neck. Lena smells really, really good.

“You smell really, really good.” Again, Lena’s heartbeat ratchets up a notch. Kara frowns.

“Lena, you need to calm down.” Kara speaks right up against the source of the hammering in her ears, feeling the corresponding pulse pound on her lips. “‘S very loud. That can’t be good for you.”

“I’m fine, Kara,” Lena squeaks. Kara has her doubts but forgets them immediately when Lena says, “Besides, I’m with Supergirl. I’m as safe as can be.”

“That’s right.” Kara grins then places another sleepy kiss directly over that drumbeat, aiming to soothe it. “Shhh, i zhao,” Kara murmurs at Lena’s pulse point. “Settle down. You’re safe. It’s sleep time now.”

The next thing she hears after a hitch in Lena’s breath is the rich sound of Lena’s chuckle. “Did you just speak Kryptonian to my heartbeat, Kara?”

“Mm, yeah.” She’s beyond sleepy, half her cognizance has already yielded to unconsciousness. “I can never sleep when it’s loud like that.”

“What do you mean never?”

“I always check on you, Lena,” Kara nuzzles. “If your heartbeat’s too loud, I get worried.”

“You… you listen for me?”

Kara frowns again. Somehow this is only making things louder. Won’t stop her from telling the truth though.

“‘Course I listen. You’re my person,” she declares with a huff and drapes an arm over Lena’s midriff. “I dunno what’s bothering you right now though. You said it yourself, you’re safe with me.”

Lena sucks in a breath and holds it. Kara knows because she can feel the rise of Lena’s chest under her cheek and the way Lena’s throat works beneath her mouth. Kara noses against her neck, willing Lena to keep breathing and relax. Eventually she does.

Lena’s sigh comes out slow and measured and finally, her heartbeat begins to slow. She leans her head overtop of Kara’s. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Mhm,” Kara agrees. “Quiet now though, ‘s time for bed.” Lena nods above her and Kara doesn’t even deign to consider that they’re both still half upright on the couch. She does, however, remember a passing comment from earlier in the night.

“Lena?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me your secret, too?”

In the ensuing pause, Kara hears the slowing beat do a stutter step in Lena’s chest. She nuzzles into it and Lena sighs once more.

Then Kara feels the warmth of lips pressed to her temple and suddenly her own heart is mirroring the pattern of Lena’s, clamoring for more of that soft sweetness against her skin.

“I think you might already know,” Lena whispers into her hair.

With the scent of Lena in her lungs and the softness of her friend in her arms and around her, Kara thinks she does, too.

(Morning finds them in the same position hours later, curled against one another on the couch. Necks stiff and backs crooked, they startle awake to a pounding on the door and an unmistakably familiar grumbling on the other side.

“Kara, you’d better be in there! What the fuck happened last night?!”)

#silly little ficlet #crack fic #i am not planning on doing the full month #i just found this in my drafts and it had the prompt so here we are #take all the potential angst and pretend it doesn’t exist #supercorp #supercorptober2023 #ficlet

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leviaana · 1 year

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Miraculous Movie Review (Rating: 4/10)

I watched the preview of the Awakening movie yesterday and really want to share my honest review. There’s going to be several things that I’ll criticize. So be warned!

Also: Spoilers!! DON’T read it if you haven’t seen it yet. This is my personal opinion. So please stay excited for it!! 🐞🪄

First of all, my overall rating for this movie is a 4/10. Just yesterday I was ready to give it a 5/10, but quickly noticed it had much more things that upset me than I initially realized when walking out of the movie.

I know it’s a pretty low rating coming from such a huge fan like myself, but that’s probably the main issue. I’m a big fan of the show, so changes in lore and characterization will be more apparent to me. For better or for worse, in this case, mostly for worse.

On the first glimpse the movie seems like a retelling - a soft reboot, if you will - of show’s origin story. The plot goes much further than that however, as it also provides a conclusion in form of a final battle with Hawkmoth as well as an identity reveal of our two main heroes.

In order to ensure the entire premise fits into a 90 minute movie, a lot of things regarding the shows lore were simplified. I say that as a neutral statement seeing as a simplification can be either a good thing or a bad thing, depending on your opinion of the source material.

Personally, it left me rather unsatisfied but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s start with the good things!

One of the things I really enjoyed was the animation! Seeing miraculous with such a high production value certainly felt like a cool summer breeze. While I do prefer the original character models style wise, it was still just nice to see them in this cutesie pretty style! The locals were gagging!

Ladybug and Cat Noir were especially gorgeous!

I also really enjoyed the singing. I watched the German dub and it was very neat!

Sad to say that was pretty much how long my enjoyment lasted. Everything apart from what I’ve mentioned above was… interestingly handled… to say the least. Let me elaborate.

1. The dialogue was awful!

Truly not the biggest fan of musicals but I couldn’t wait for them to start singing just in order for them to STOP TALKING 😩!

The dialogue was so awkward and stiff. All of the characters were interacting very weirdly with each other. At times it would sound like several lines of dialogue were cut from the final version, as the characters barely acknowledged each other verbally. They didn’t talk with each other, but past each other.

Moreover, every second phrase was a very cheesy one liner. “Believe in yourself.”, “Listen to your heart.”, “stronger together”. Super overdone.

The movie wanted to be inspirational so bad, it forgot to be genuine.

Some examples that I recall from memory:

“Mom, I don’t have any friends and I’m scared to go I school.”

“Just believe in yourself, Marinette.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Or.

“Tikki, I’m in love with Adrien.”

“Listen to your heart, Marinette.”

“My heart……Adrien.”

2. How did they manage to make Ladynoir banter … weird and uncomfortable to watch?

Don’t let these pretty movie shots fool you because Movie!ladynoir spent their time in a constant roasting competition that they were somehow both losing!

Not once did they manage to establish that flirty and charming atmosphere around them. No, they were draaaagging each other through filth. And maybe it could have been somewhat fun, god knows I love couples that can roast each other. If only the dialogue was better and didn’t reek of “we have no idea how young people interact”.

In a desperate attempt to make jokes, they let Chat call LB a sidekick or watermelon in every. single. scene. To say that it got annoying when the jokes didn’t land the first 10 times they were made is an understatement. No Milady, no Bugginette, no little wink or a kiss on the hand. Only watermelon and sidekick. Them talking in weird cut off phrases. With careless whisper playing in the background.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some beautiful moments. But their beauty can only ever do so much when met with weird pacing, dialogue and characterization. I’ll talk about that last part in a minute.

3. Everything was so on-the-nose.

The characters would constantly say how they feel and what they think aloud. Jeremy didn’t trust us with even an ounce of media literacy. Classic case of always telling, never showing. Not to mention the constant inspirational quoting in a desperate attempt to convey some deep message. Is this a movie script or my moms facebook page? I guess we‘ll never know.

4. Characterization: Marinette

Having Marinette be somewhat scatterbrained but overall still respected by her peers is not inspirational enough! Make her your average teenage outcast and a total loser. Dad, you’re embarrassing me in front of the cool kids!

If you enjoy that kind of characterization that’s okay! Personally, I thought it was very cliche. It just.. didn’t do anything for her as a character. Having her start off at a much „lower” point in life, with almost no support system, only makes her coming of age journey to eventually become a self accepting confident heroine take longer. Seeing as the movie is only 90 minutes, the moment we see her “shine” is when it’s all almost over.

5. Ladybug …?

Did I mention Ladybug doesn’t use her lucky charm? Not. once. No crazy plans to show that she’s smart and creative. Just a pretty girl swinging around.

6. Adrien

I have a bit more to criticize about the characterization of Movie!Adrien.

The longer I think about it, the more it becomes apparent that they really didn’t know how to write Adrien. His personality appears inconsistent, almost like they were trying to fit him in too many roles at once. He is either extremely closed off and mysterious (even towards his friends), a comic relief character, bathing in self pity or just outright cocky. Those hoping to see his politeness and selflessness will be disappointed. This character only is ever shown to be self centered. A perfect example is how he *didn’t do anything* to be called worthy of the Black Cat Miraculous. He was just one of the „chosen ones“. When the Adrien from the series sacrificed his own freedom to help Master Fu.

Another example is how this Adrien doesn’t really see anything in Marinette. He called her strange in their first interaction and never really lost a single thought on her throughout the rest of the series. No common praises, no support, just awkwardness and not the wholesome kind. In fact, I would argue Marinette and Adrien aren’t even friends in the movie, the only interaction to suggest otherwise was slammed as a 5 second scene in a 2 minute montage.

Even if you were to suggest their bond was formed off screen. We don’t really see it ever take root. He even turned down her gift and invitation to go to the ball with her. Yes, you guessed correctly. It was because he was busy bathing in self pity over being rejected by Ladybug. Yikes.

To sum it up, this Adrien really doesn’t care about anyone but himself. Ever. They massacred my boy.

7. Chat Noir

His charming smugness as Chat Noir crossed the fine line that turned to arrogance.

Considering how Adrien was characterized, that comes as no surprise.

As mentioned in my criticism towards the dialogue and the Ladynoir dynamic, this Cat is often seen discrediting LB with unfunny jokes. The moment you see him actually appreciate Ladybug, open up to her and Woo her, it’s all overshadowed by his entitlement to her affection.

Some may argue that we see traces of such attitude in the show as well. However, in a series, Chat Noir has many redeeming qualities as well as time to grow, change and move past these flaws. And boy, move past these flaws he did. In the movie, it’s all you get. Take it or leave it.

In one scene, he even lets her think he was hurt by an Akuma in order to catch her worrying about him. It was just a short scene and most people would look past it, but I think it’s these small details that really show how these movie characters tick in comparison to the series.

8. Akumas/Hawkmoth

Just a small detail that kind of ended up taking away the enjoyment of all action scenes is how the Akumas in the movie do not have a motive. There’s just some random people that you don’t care about before their akumatization and that you won’t care about after.

Hawkmoth doesn’t make a deal with them, ask for ladybug and chat noirs miraculous in exchange for his powers, none of that.

He just makes them evil and they do evil things for shits and giggles. The movies premise doesn’t even suggest he needs the miraculous. He just needs to get close enough to Ladybug and Chat Noir to steal Tikki and Plagg.

9. The Ending

I just wanted to dip into that ending real quick. In the movie, Gabriel is redeemed when he finds out about Chat Noir being Adrien. He apologizes to him and they make up. The scene surely will make people emotional, but from my perspective it was all rather predictable.

Whether or not Gabe was worthy of a redemption in the movie is a topic to discuss on its own. Personally, I was okay with it.

What I found more interesting however was…

10. The reveal

This is the moment most people have been waiting and yearning for. And I may sound a bit smug when I say that the movie served a good purpose to show us that a fast reveal would have never ever been satisfying!

It was super underwhelming because - of course it was!

Marinette and Adrien barely had a connection! For all we know they could have been total strangers and their reaction to each other’s identity wouldn’t have been any different than what we saw in the movie.

We never saw Marichat or Ladrien interact either. So that certainly lead to a less explored dynamics. Cue unsatisfying reveal.

They really tried to make it this big emotional final moment, but really? We just saw Ladybug and Chat Noir lean in for a kiss without their masks. Like in a new fit. Nothing really groundbreaking came out of it.

Any fake reveal in the show was better than that and I mean it with every fiber of my being.

And don’t even get me started on how Adrien only ever noticed Marinette when she revealed to be Ladybug. It’s just not it.

Final thoughts.

There’s sooo many more things that I could elaborate on but I think for now I’ve said enough to support my rather poor rating of the movie.

In my opinion, the movie relies too much on people enjoying the source material while trying to be its own thing. It risks leaving everyone unsatisfied.

Those who watch the movie as a stand-alone are met with weird dialogue as well as plot, characters and dynamics that aren’t at all fleshed out.

Meanwhile those who watch the movie because they like the show will be inevitably comparing the movie to its far superior source material.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #miraculous #ladybug #adrien agreste #chat noir #cat noir #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous the movie #awakening #mlb awakening #mlb movie #ladybug and cat noir the movie

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nburkhardt · 11 months

Text

Wrote most of this while high, so it’s a silly thing! 🥰

Face flushed and mind on pause, heart beating fast. Eddie’s eyes are a little wide, watches as Steve smiles before falling back on his side of the couch. There’s giggling as he brings his hand to his mouth to muffle it, it’s a losing battle though.

It’s like all the sound around him is gone and only Steve’s giggle is all he can hear as his mind finally reboots, Eddie shakes his head before focusing his eyes back on the other boy. Steve’s still giggling, hand finally away from his mouth and there’s a twinkle in his eyes.

“Did you- did you really just say boop and proceeded to boop my nose?” Eddie finally finds his voice again, finger touching his nose.

Steve nods, giggle starting to fade and all that’s left is a smile. “Yeah, what about it?”

Opening his mouth and then closing it, Eddie just shakes his head, leaning back on the couch. He just looks at Steve.

Maybe it’s the weed, maybe high-Steve is a silly giggly type. Has a thought and immediately does it, kind of person. It’s gotta be that, but he still asks; “Why?”

Steve shifts to sit up, smile still in place. His hand moves and wraps around Eddie’s wrist.

“Got a cute nose, it needed to be booped”

Eddie’s gaze snaps up to meet Steve’s and finds the twinkle. This time, it brings a flush to his face. “Yeah?”

Steve nods, looking way to serious for this, “I really wanted to do that, like, all day.”

He hums, looking back at Steve’s hand on his wrist before shaking the hand and moving it to hold hands with Steve. “Wanna do anything else?”

“Maybe, will you freak out?”

Eddie shakes his head, “if what I’m thinking is right, I don’t think I will”

It’s quiet as Steve nods and moves closer to his face, it’s slow and Eddie can barely breathe as Steve brings his free hand to his face and Eddie’s eyes close.

It’s a little quick thing and Eddie’s already obsessed. Yet, all Steve did was a simple kiss; a chaste kiss. But the thing that makes him obsessed, makes him want more is the after.

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie’s and when Eddie opens his eyes again, Steve’s are closed and there’s a content smile.

“Stevie, think we can do that more?”

The smile on his face grows, and immediately shifts to press his lips against Eddie’s again. It’s simple, it’s easy, it’s filled with something more that shouldn’t be spoken just yet.

I’m gonna end it there because if not I’m gonna go on forever. I saw a thing saying “booping noses & giggling” and while high decided “that’s STEVE!!” So this came to be! Hope everyone enjoys it 🥰

Also, just so you know, I could not for the life of me type out “chaste” it was in my head just swirling around but my hands and mouth refused to work it out. I ended up finding the word in a fic and copying it. Does that happen to anyone else?? Like the word is there in your head, but you cannot get it out?

Permanent tag list: (if you would like to be added OR removed, let me know!)

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1 @cartercaptainofthemoon @strangersteddierthings

#steddie #steve x eddie #first kiss #nburkhardt writes #steve harrington x eddie munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie fic #ficlet #steve is a sweetheart #eddie is so in love #eventually in their life Eddie calls Steve ‘Lovebug’#and steve will always respond by kissing Eddie’s nose

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ya-zz · 2 months

Note

Could I have some Ramattra with memory loss? Like something happened making him forget Zen and the reader?

I want some angst I am DESPERATE.

Just like a human, all it would take was a hit to the head for something to occur within their body. Concussion, memory loss, bleeding or worse.

When Ramattra finally rebooted, his optics adjusting from the black screen he had been staring at to the blurry white room, his system runs through every diagnostic possible. There was the odd error of internal heating issues and some minor damage to his head, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

You had spent the last two days repairing him, so seeing his lights flash blue and then red, brought some relief to your body.

"Ramattra? How are you feeling?"

You watch as the omnic laying on the table sits up, his fans speeding up to let cool air in after being trapped between his chassis and the table.

"Brother?" Zenyatta perks up from his meditative state. Having not left the workshop at all since he was brought in, the panic finally settles in his own system.

Ramattra looks at you and then to Zenyatta. His optics shift, his head tilts to the side.

You scoot back in the chair, the wheels rolling against the floor. Something was off. "Ramattra?"

He looks back at you. "Yes?"

A shaky breath escapes you before it gets stuck in your throat.

"Do I know you?" The larger omnics voice makes your heart stop.

Your eyes widen. "What-?"

Zenyatta stands next to you, optics meeting Ramattra's. "Brother, you do not remember [y/n]?"

"I do not remember either of you."

You could feel Zenyatta's hand tighten on your shoulder.

"What do you remember?" The lump in you throat only grew as you fought back tears. The one omnic you had grown to love... no longer remembers you.

His processors start running through the memory logs; muffled talking, sobbing and clanking fill up the last two days. Before that, he recalls walking down the hallway, boxes in hand as he was beginning to move quarters before he slips. The sudden thud and then black follows.

"You were going to move into [y/n]'s room." Zenyatta speaks up. "We had meditation in the garden afterwards."

"I remember, though I cannot place your face's." Ramattra tilts his head to the side, a feeling of guilt passing through him that only gets worse when he sees your tears.

"It's okay," you sniffle. "We have time."

Zenyatta chuckles, though he can sense your pain. "I suppose we can get to know each other all over again."

You nod, liking the sound of the smaller monks idea.

Ramattra nods once, a familiar burn coursing through his wires. He wants to remember. Seeing you crying tugs at his mechanical heart. Your voice and sobs... they are familiar.

"I would like that. Perhaps, we can retrace my steps first?"

#overwatch #ramattra #zenyatta #ramattra x reader #zenyatta x reader #zenyatta tekhartha #ramattra drabble #zenyatta drabble #yazzfics

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animelovelover123 · 3 months

Text

Devil May Cry Boys x Pornstar/Webcam Model

Parings: Dante, Reboot Dante, Vergil, Reboot Vergil, Nero, V, & Sparda x Reader

Synopsis: How the DMC boys would react, deal with, and treat you if you were a porn star and/or a webcam model (aka camgirls and camboys). Note that your insert has willingly chosen and enjoys this career path.

Disclaimer: I do mention your insert possibly smacking a guy for a very inappropriate comment as a joke. Do not do this in real life. Your feelings are valid but violence is usually not the answer

Trigger Warnings: Brief references to some of the negative aspects of the entertainment industry like stalking, drugs, STDs, and assault.

Dante

Dante is, by far, the most relaxed and supportive of you when you tell him. To him, it's just another form of work. A bit of a dirty kind of job but as a demon hunter he also does dirty work. As long as you are doing this because you want to and not because you are being pressured or forced in any way then he supports you and your career. Perhaps he supports it a bit too much though because once he finds out he is adamant about helping you.

He wants to fuck you on camera so bad. It would be so hot. Plus, what amazing jerk-off material that would be, not that he doesn't find your videos and jerks off to them anyway once you tell him your stage name. You can put his body and face on camera all you want, he doesn’t mind.

He is quite a versatile co-star, ready and willing to do pretty much anything. It also helps that he is stronger, faster, and heals quicker than most so if you or your audience wants to see you be fucked while suspended by his muscular arms or some BDSM, he is down for it. He says he is up for acting out scenarios, but he is quite hokey with it.

If you team up with other stars or go to events with them also attending, you will find that he knows quite a few of them. And I don’t mean that he simply recognizes them from their work. He has met them, had conversations, been hired to help protect them when being hunted by lust-based demons and obsessed fans, and maybe slept with one or two.

As a sexual entertainment star, having people ask you for sex was common. But having people asking for sex with your boyfriend is definitely a new experience.

This also means that he won't be trying to use you to meet other porn stars that he is a fan of. Although... if you can get Dominique Tereshkova to sign his poster of her, that would be sweet.

If you are required to fuck someone for your job, he is fine with that. He understands it's just work and doesn’t take it personally. Though he will playfully pout and whine a bit.

"Why didn’t you ask me to be your co-star baby?" He asked with a hand dramatically clutching his chest over his heart. His other hand sneaks around your hips and pulls you against his chest so he can whisper into your ear. "You know there's no one that can please you like I can." After that he lets you go, off to do your job with the seed of longing planted for when you reunite.

For anyone who doesn’t know, Dominique Tereshkova is a model in the DMC universe. Her most prominent appearance is in the opening cutscene of the first game. Dante grabs his sword from the wall which is covering the boobs of a model on a poster. Dominique Tereshkova is that model.

Reboot Dante

When you tell Dante he has the bright idea to make the joke “That’s fine, I’ve fucked plenty of sluts before.” He is surprisingly understanding if you choose to smack him for this and/or give him the cold shoulder for a while. Alternatively, he likes you a bit more if you laugh.

In general he does not mind you being a sexual entertainer. Though, because of his lifestyle, he will assume that you are doing this because the world is shit and you don’t have a choice. When you tell him that you chose this career he thinks you’re smart. “Getting paid to fuck? Sounds great, assuming you don’t get a potluck of STDs.”

In general Dante knows a bit more about the sex industry, the positives and negatives. How it can be full of free things, parties, drugs, and assaults.

Despite acting casual, he worries about you and puts up no complaints if you want to visit the doctor every few weeks, use him as a bodyguard, or call him at odd hours to ask if he can pick you up and escort you places.

If you are a camgirl/boy, he is not as well-versed in that subsection of the industry and will ask you about it.

Either way, he will joke about the hundreds of “fat ugly fucks getting their rocks off to you”.

He will definitely ask you to introduce him to top stars which he will casually make perverted jokes at, but no matter what he will be going home with you. Even if he gets to meet the hottest and most desirable actress/actor in the country, he would not go behind your back to sleep with them. Although, if you are interested in a three-way then he is down with it.

He personally isn’t interested in being part of your work. No real reason, just not into it. But if you really beg him, you can convince him.

He will brag to everyone that he is dating a pornstar/camgirl/boy. It’s a boost to masculine pride that his woman/man is drooled over by hundreds of people.

Once he finds out your stage name he does look up one or two of your past works out of curiosity. Then he proceeds to tease you about some of the things you had to do for the camera.

There is one particular thing he notices though that, after some testing to make sure his suspicion is correct, he gets a jolt of pride from.

That face you do and the sounds you make in your videos/livestreams when you cum… that’s fake, acted. It has to be because when he fucks you your orgasms are a lot more intense.

Seeing as the reboot is more realistic with the depiction of the world and how it treats people, I thought this was a good spot to address some of the dangers without going too deep into it because we are just trying to have fun here. Feel free to do your own research if you are curious.

Vergil

Upon finding out that you are working in the sex industry, Vergil questions what the world is trying to tell him as destiny has made his second love another sexual entertainer.

Although he makes a vow to himself that he will not run away this time. He is not the same teenager who acts cold and distant out of fear of making connections because of the trauma he experienced with losing his family and everything he cared about in the past.

After all he has been through, he…doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

You, even after finding out about his past and the catastrophic mistakes he has made from a blind pursuit of power, still wanting to be with him, to give him a chance, that means more to him than you will ever know.

He wants to do right by you, give you all of him, but it is not that easy. He still has a cold outward demeanor, speaking frankly and keeping his feelings to himself for the most part, and can come off as rude or uncaring at times.

For example; if you ask him if he is really okay with your job and what it entails, he gives you a serious expression, which looks like a glare, and tells you “As I have said before, your choice of career is of no concern to me”.

He is doing his best to express himself, give him time.

He, knowing the danger that wo/men of the night go through from his past lover, insists on watching over you during shoots or live streams. He will sit there, out of the way, staring intently at all that interact with you like an overprotective knight.

Vergil, by now, knows what you enjoy in bed and what you don’t. So, when your co-star does something or the director or a fan requests you to do something he knows you do not enjoy, he will intervene. He has gotten into arguments with people for not putting your pleasure first and making you uncomfortable. Vergil does not understand, or like, that when you work for someone else or rely on others gifting you money, you sometimes have to do things you don’t quite like.

This, along with his instinctual desires to control, protect, and dominate, leads him to work towards easing your financial burdens and providing for you. If, through being a demon hunter and procurer of artifacts to sell, he can make enough money to support you both then you will not have to work, correct?

His intent is to make your life easier and have you rely on him like no one has done since he was a child, with a hint of wanting you to only look at him for sexual satisfaction. However, sometimes he can come off as being overbearing and possibly a bit too traditional in his views of “stronger man must be the one providing for the family”. He does not intend to insult or minimize your desire for independence.

He will not stop you from pursuing your career though if that is what you truly want. He honestly respects you for standing up for yourself and taking your life into your own hands, even if when you tell him this you get to see one of his rare pouts.

He has no intention of participating in your work. He is not a trusting or open person so doing something so explicit and being so valuable in front of others is a horrifying idea. However, in his pursuit of protecting you from co-stars, directors, and fans who pressure you to do things that will not bring you pleasure, he has occasionally given little demonstrations on how to treat you right.

He acts calm about you having to be intimate with, and in front of, others as it is what your job entails. On the inside though his possessive demon side burns with frustration whenever he sees you with someone else, especially when he sees you being subject to acts that he knows you do not particularly enjoy.

His answer to this, to settle his own feelings and aid in lifting yours, is to whisk you away after your work so he can give you all the pleasure and satisfaction you were wrongly deprived of.

A good chunk of this is influenced by the fan theory that Vergil did love Nero’s mother and the fact that, in the novel, Nero is picked on by others who claim he is the son of a “prostitute”, though whether she was actually a sex worker is unconfirmed. I thought, with you in this situation being a sexual entertainer, it would be interesting to bring in Vergil’s possible past with sexual entertainers.

Reboot Vergil

Vergil does not have an interest in the sexual entertainment field as he is much too busy with The Order and its goals. And it is this focus on his goal that led to you two meeting.

Porn has always been another way the demons have controlled the human masses, and this new age has widened their reach through sexual webcam modelling. All the top stars are part of big sexual model industries that are run by demons and as such they are a target for The Order. You, though, despite being one of the top people in the industry, are an independent entertainer so not under the control of demons. You are able to get in touch with all the top demon scum but do not have loyalty to them, and it is this unique circumstance that leads to you being conscripted into The Order as a spy.

It starts with a “random fan”, spending the money to get some private time with you. But when you meet them, whether in person or through a video chat, instead of 15 minutes of playing to some person’s fantasy, you are instead met with the masked man from all the news stories telling you the frightening truth of the world.

After becoming a spy for The Order, your relationship with Vergil grew as you spent time together discussing plans and you explaining to him how the industry worked and what you could do for info without being seen as suspicious or, worse, blacklisted.

To be frank, he thought you were lesser than him when first meeting, though that was more because you were human and not Nephilim. But still, he had the assumption that you gave in to the pressures of this demon-run world that claims the only thing gorgeous people like you are good for is doing sexual entertainment.

He is fascinated when you reveal that, despite having other opportunities, you actually chose this career and enjoy it. As you explain to him how you got to this point, the freedom and hard work it takes to be an independent creator, his respect for you grows, along with his affection.

You start dating with him being fully aware of what you do. He understands if you are required to have sex with other people for your job, as he too has had to do some unsavoury things for the sake of his mission. However, he also insists that once his plan is complete you can quit your job, instead living in comfort and luxury with him. He is adamant about this, even if you tell him you would prefer to keep working as an entertainer.

Being that you are both public figures, it is not uncommon for one or both of you to be recognized when out together and within a couple of weeks your relationship has become headline tabloid news. For the most part, people are shocked and question why Vergil, the (as far as the public knows) innocent man orphaned at a young age, adopted by a kind rich family, and so gifted in codding that he had made millions and built his own company before being legally allowed to drink, was hanging around someone like you. Words ‘whore’, ‘prostitute’, ‘slut’, and if you were lucky ‘arm candy’, were the things usually used to describe you.

Vergil, even at the risk of his squeaky clean façade, defended you, and almost all wo/men in the sexual entertainment industry, at every opportunity.

“Singers sell their voice, models sell their face and figure, and scientists sell their minds. What is so wrong about a person selling their body? Besides, straight men are celebrated for their sexuality and praised for their sexual prowess, yet men of any other sexuality and women are vilified for being confident in themselves and doing the same. It is hypocritical and I, for one, will not stand for it.”

This gamble ends up paying off in that it gains respect from much of the younger population and angers much of the older and conservative population enough to start complaining, which leads to fights and mockery. It is the usual perpetual circle that comes with the difference in morals between generations. In short, it gets eyes off of you two for the most part, though you do get a spike in fans because of the fiasco.

You also get people asking if you could convince Vergil to participate in your work with you, which he refuses. He respects your job but personally, he is not comfortable with showing his body off to people he does not fully trust. This is a man who wears a long-sleeved shirt and pants under a full-length coat with gloves in every season. This is just who he is and what he is comfortable with, and he hopes you can respect his feelings as he respects yours.

He does not watch any of your work unless he is there to monitor when you are acting as a spy and trying to get information out of people. Again, this is nothing against you or your work, but things like porn or even live displays like strip shows were never that entertaining to him.

Besides, why long for you from the other side of the screen when he has you at his beck and call?

This might sound odd, but with Vergil working to gather information and destroy the society Mundus created, I could see him shmoozing women in high society for information.

Nero

Nero, due to the conservative hold The Order of the Sword had over Fortuna and the mockery he got for his mother, supposedly, being a sex worker, Nero’s views of sex work and sexual entertainment are not the best. Still, he has always been curious, and craved, things outside of the suffocating religion, and once he got out of Fortuna his world opened up, so he tries to be open-minded when you tell him about your chosen career.

It will take him a bit to get used to the idea and settle his protectiveness and jealousy over you showing your body off to other people.

Honestly, he finds it kind of hot that you are so confident in, and comfortable with, yourself to do that sort of thing.

The first time you have to have sex with someone else after getting together though, he gets legitimately upset. It isn’t that he thinks you are cheating on him or being dirty. It is more so his insecurities and desperation to be number one in your heart that makes him insist you call it off.

He tentatively admits that he wants to be part of some of your work.

This starts with him using his engineering skills to build you various pleasurable devices that you can use in your videos. It is admittedly very satisfying to see you on screen being fucked by some mechanism he created. It was a little secret between just the two of you, almost like he was vicariously fucking you on camera. And yet… that was not satisfying enough.

Honestly, fucking you to an audience is kind of a tantalizing idea. It itches the proud side of him that likes to show off how beautiful and sexy and perfect his lover is.

However he could not bear to have people he knows come across the video or livestream and recognize him, ESPECIALLY not his adoptive or newly rediscovered blood family.

When the idea of doing POV porn or just generally being a faceless man while the camera focuses on you, never showing his face, comes up it sounds like a good compromise. The only problem is his damn arm.

No one has a demon arm or mechanical arm quite like him so it is easily recognizable and would give him away. There is the option, after losing his arm, of just having his stub since there were thousands of amputees in the world. However, the moment he notices negative comments about it he nixes that out of fear of making you lose your audience and livelihood.

In the end he just has to learn to resist the urge to talk or grab you with his right hand when filming together. This is fine with POV shots or when he works the camera as his right arm is occupied. It is a big struggle when he does not have anything else to do with his hands though. It also doesn’t help that he is a talker.

In most videos and/or livestreams he breaks this self-imposed rule. He can’t help it. You make him feel so damn good. And seeing you splayed out, hearing your loud moans and cries, he can’t resist the urge to mark you with his teeth and grab you with both hands so he can slam into you harder.

I will take every chance I get to bring up Nero’s engineering skills because it does not get enough attention for my liking. Also Nero’s lack of self-control but that’s just because I find it hot.

You know that the moment that practically any of the DMC crew finds out that Nero is in pornographic videos, he is never going to hear the end of it. Poor Nero, lol.

V does not bat an eye when you tell him what you do for a living as he is a man of art and little shame.

He has read and seen countless works of art depicting the natural and euphoric act of embracing another in the most intimate way. And, in a way, V sees your work as art in its own right, meant to make viewers feel not just emotions but physical sensations through just observing. It’s impressive the extent to which your fans worship you and your body despite having never met you in person and most not having spoken to you.

He also has no qualms about other people seeing your naked form. First and foremost, it is your body and who and to what extent you show it to others is not his choice to make, even as your love. Again, he has seen and read many works of art depicting people with little to no coverings. He has also experienced being naked in public in the first couple months of his life he was homeless, left to bathe in bodies of water and steal his clothes, so claiming it is wrong for you to show your body would be hypocritical in his eyes.

He will not use you to meet other sexual entertainers both because he does not really watch porn, but also because he is more interested in people’s minds rather than their bodies and he doubts he can get any of them to sit down and have a serious discussion with him.

He does not mind if you have to have do someone else for your art because, as he puts it in his silky smooth deep voice, “they can have sex with you, but only I can make love to you.”

However if you mention how good a co-star was at something or how you found a new sexual interest through having to do it for work, V will suddenly start incorporating that more into your own intimate moments, doing his best to go above and beyond to please you.

Even with this, he is not all that interested in participating in your work, but if you were to ask him to, he would gladly do it to make you happy. He does not mind others seeing you two making love, though he does have trouble resisting his natural urges, like whispering sweet nothings into your ear and drawing out the pleasure by slowly grinding against and into you, to please the audience.

However, all this would be different if your form of sexual entertainment was, instead, audio-based. If you created stories of lust and voice acted them out, which was a form of sexual entertainment growing in popularity lately, then V would be a lot more invested. He would want to learn all about it, help you write scripts, and even voice act and narrative with you.

Together you two would weave epic tails filled with love, drama, and boundless lust. You end up becoming an extremely popular duo and even peek your head into the mainstream.

One side effect of this is that V becomes very good at getting you riled up with just his voice. The amount of times you will get random calls from V who, sometimes as himself and sometimes playing a character, whisks your imagination away to pleasures untold only to stop just before the peak with a suggestion that you finish this “in person”, is unbearable.

I am an enjoyer of the auditory sexual entertainment field. Right now I am listening to YSF Audio, Yagami Yato, Leon Kennedy ASMR (this is their YouTube and Patreon name), and Seikyuu VA but I have listened to many more. I love it and think V’s voice would be perfect for it. If I had the money to hire Brian Hanford, oh lordy loo, I would be drowning in the best auditory experience of my life! ^///^!

Sparda

Sparda is not up to date with human technology and culture so when you tell him you are a porn star or webcam module he does not know what that means. If you tell him you are a sexual entertainer though he responds with “I see, so you work at a brothel then?” You’ll need to educate him.

When he does finally understand he doesn’t bat an eye. He sees nothing wrong, questionable, or even strange about your choice of career. Honestly, he is more fascinated by the technology humans have to capture and transmit video and the economy built around it.

Sparda is a demon. He comes from a world where murder, assault, breeding, kidnapping, and all manner of things seen as horrible by most humans are more common than politely meeting each other. So the idea that you display your body and let yourself be recorded doing sexual acts as a job does not phase him. If anything, he is happy to know that you get compensated for this rather than it being forced upon you like it is often done in the demon world.

He does, however, have a problem with you having sex with other people deep down, especially if you bring that person into your shared home. The animalistic side of his nature flairs up at the scent of other people on you and in the home. At his core, he is still a demon who desires to dominate and protect what he cares for.

He is reformed through, having woken up to justice and chosen to live, learn from, and protect humans. So he tries to stay calm and gentlemanly, doing things like greeting you when you come back from a shoot or finish a livestream as if you have just come home from your job at the local grocery store. “Welcome home dear, how was work? Anything exciting happen?”

You can tell when he is particularly bothered when he becomes more touchy, insisting that he hold you, you sit in his lap, or generally wanting to nuzzle against you so he can replace the scent of a stranger on you with his own.

And, to the surprise of many, one of your icons, one could even call it a type of beauty mark, that starts defining your performance persona is the fanged bite marks that always seem to be present somewhere on your person.

Literally, the starting point for Sparda being in this one is because I wanted to make the brothel joke.

#devil may cry imagine #devil may cry x reader #v x reader #nero x reader #devil may cry #v devil may cry #v dmc #dante x reader #reboot dante x reader #reboot vergil x reader #vergil x reader #sparda x reader #devil may cry sparda #dante dmc #dmc dante #devil may cry vergil #dmc vergil

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defectivevillain · 3 months

Text

every tomb, every sea (spit the blood from your teeth)

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary:

Your head throbs and you bring a hand up to your temple, frowning when your hand comes back spotted with blood. Your ears are still ringing and a dull ache travels through your cheekbones and across your jaw. ALERT: This PDA (Personal Digital Assistant) has now rebooted in emergency mode with one directive: to keep you alive on an alien world.

The reader's race and gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

word count: 7.5k | ao3 version

author's notes: This was supposed to be Hannibal-focused, but Subnautica quickly took hold of my brain and didn’t let go. Sorry not sorry. This is super self-indulgent and I am not ashamed.

This will not be canon compliant, because I haven’t finished the game yet. (Please please please don’t spoil it for me, I will cry.) PDA messages (except for the last one) are taken directly from the game! And to maintain biblical accuracy (haha), I wrote the beginning from the game’s opening scene.

warnings: mentions of cannibalism; blood/violence, ocean exploration (swimming, strange creatures); prolonged isolation; derealization, depression, hopelessness, survivor’s guilt, and contemplating life and death; panic attacks, hyperventilation, dry heaving; and some spoilers for Subnautica. Just… the trauma of crashing on an alien planet…! Being alone for so long..! It’s so crazy!111!

During your time on the Aurora, you never expected it to malfunction. And maybe that was optimistic of you but… hell, it’s a brand new-ship! As an employee of Alterra, you were privy to the majority of the ship’s construction process. The organization was unusually methodical with this particular ship’s development, ensuring that everything was up to regulation before dispatching the vehicle. You suppose you can understand that—after all, there were about 150 passengers designated to the ship. Even a commercial giant like Alterra can understand the potential fallout of losing that many lives—especially ones tied to the company’s inner workings.

Safe to say, when you first heard the alarm sound off, you thought it was a drill. That notion was quickly dispelled, however, when you noticed how your companions scrambled about to ensure their safety. It seemed that this was no drill. A voice coming from the comms urged you to abandon ship, striking fear into your heart and forcing you into motion. You raced down the hall and towards the nearest escape pod, climbing down the ladder and finding the nearby seat before pressing the button to launch the pod. Restraints immediately swept down over your shoulders, anchoring you to the seat. Immediately, you felt the pod shake as it separated from the Aurora; when you glanced up, you could catch a glimpse of the ship through the hatch in the ceiling. For an awful moment, everything seemed to fall to a horrible silence. Frozen, you watched through the hatch as the sky was suddenly overtaken with a rusty crimson—loud booming sounds confirming your fears that the Aurora was exploding. You grasped at the restraints with sweaty hands as the pod continued to tremble and shake around you. The fire extinguisher wrenched its way off of the wall and the cover for the control panel flew off, bouncing around the space as the pod hurtled down through the sky with increased speed. Alarms blared and red lights flashed menacingly. You could hardly take a breath before the metal lid of the control panel suddenly rushed towards you, sending a harsh pain through your head and submerging your vision in an overwhelming darkness.

The first sensation you register when you wake is an uncomfortable heat stinging your skin. As you blink your dry eyes open, you realize that you’re still strapped into your seat—restrained as fire roars along the pod. You frantically press at the button to release you, and it takes a few moments before the device finally lifts from your shoulders and leaves you to get off of the seat. Smoke has already settled in the air, and the flames have overtaken nearly half of the pod already. You don’t think you have much time. Coughing, you make a grab for the fire extinguisher—which lies precariously near the fire—and attempt to extinguish the flames. Within a minute, the flames have died down—leaving you to take in the tarnished lifepod around you. The control panel is shooting sparks and the smoke is slowly fading from the air. Taking a deep breath, you pull out your Personal Digital Assistant (PDA) and tap on the screen with a shaking finger. Immediately, the screen turns blue and displays a message:

[BOOTING IN EMERGENCY MODE]

[LOADING…]

100%

PDA ALERT: You have suffered minor head trauma. This is considered an optimal outcome.

You blink dazedly and grab at the ladder in the middle of the pod, needing to regain your balance. You’re not sure how long you stand there, the far too calm programmed voice of the PDA droning in your ears. Moments later, when spots stop dancing before your eyes, you regard the PDA in your hand and read the alert.

PDA ALERT: This PDA has now rebooted in emergency mode with one directive: to keep you alive on an alien world.

Back on the Aurora, you mainly used the PDA to monitor your health—while occasionally glancing at the Databank feature to do research on your intended destination. You never explored the device at length, because you didn’t think you would need to. Of course, you regret that now—as you’re scrolling through the device’s interfaces and attempting to learn how to use it. As the alert mentioned, it appears that you’re stranded on an alien planet. Dread coiling in your chest, you finally glance up at the hatch on the ceiling of the pod. You spot a flash of movement—likely a bird of some sort—but it is quickly lost in the overwhelming canvas of blue sky.

PDA ALERT: Please refer to the databank for detailed survival advice. Good luck.

You huff a wry laugh. You’re going to need all the luck you can get. Shaking your head, you swallow hard and start climbing up the ladder. While you’d like to hide in your pod forever, you know that you’ll need to survey your surroundings for resources. The pod has a radio that is definitely damaged; one fabricator for crafting raw materials into items and another for medical kits; and a limited amount of rations—with only two bottles of water and two nutrient blocks. It’s abundantly clear to you, in that moment, that the pod isn’t meant for long-term habitation. Taking a deep breath, you ascend up the ladder and stand on the ceiling of your pod, only to find vivid turquoise waters all around you. You look around frantically, only to realize that there’s no land in sight. The only disruption from the crystal waves of the ocean… is the fiery, crumbling wreckage of the Aurora. Smoke billows from several areas of the ship, and flames race across the surface. You feel something tighten in your throat and you choke on a breath, tears falling down your cheeks as you try to come to terms with the horrible reality you’re faced with.

PDA ALERT: The Aurora suffered orbital hull failure. Cause: unknown. Zero human life signs detected.

Zero signs of life. You fall down to your knees and grasp at the wet railing at the top of the ladder, fighting for breath. Your chest feels tight, your eyes burn, and you’re overcome with emotion. One thought cuts through all the static in your mind: you have no fucking idea what you’re doing. You can hardly survive in optimal conditions! How in the hell are you going to survive in the middle of the ocean, with no food or clean water in sight?

You desperately scan the horizon for other escape pods, but all you can see is the ocean. There’s no sign of any human life, except for you. The thought is nauseating enough to make you dry heave. You cough and hack until you regain your breath, then get to your feet once more and attempt to push away your spiraling thoughts. Sitting around and moping won’t do you any good. You suppress the urge to curl into a ball and descend down the ladder of your pod to survey its condition. Besides the broken control panel and radio, everything appears to be functioning properly. You decide to look through your PDA again, paying special attention to the section titled “Survival Package.” You read through the attached “Survival Checklist” and attempt to remain calm, despite everything in you screaming that you aren’t ready for this.

It’s a good thing first aid is listed as the first item on the list—you had entirely forgotten about your head wound. You take a first aid kit from the medical fabricator and apply it, successfully getting rid of the pulsating feeling that was concentrated in your temple. The steps after that are fairly self-explanatory, but it’s nice to have a formal list to hold yourself accountable. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, you take a deep breath and look around the pod. There are a few existing blueprints on your PDA—one of which is a repair tool that will supposedly fix the radio. The radio is probably your priority right now, although you have a gnawing feeling deep in your chest that a rescue party won’t arrive. Unsurprisingly, you need several materials to make the repair tool—titanium, silicone rubber, and cave sulfur. You don’t have the faintest idea how to get any of those items, but you suspect they must be contained in the seemingly unending ocean you landed in.

Heart racing, you climb down the side of the pod and take a deep breath, before submerging yourself under water. Thankfully, it looks like your pod landed in a relatively safe and shallow area. There are sand banks that rise and fall in peaks and cliffs, with brightly colored coral scattered about their surfaces. You spot a grey-brown rock nearby and swim up to it, surprised to find that it yields copper ore when you strike at it. The moment you receive the copper ore, your PDA scares the life out of you by providing commentary.

PDA ALERT: Copper is an essential component of all powered equipment. Your probability of survival has just increased to unlikely, but plausible.

You shake your head in disbelief, gritting your teeth and swimming back up for air. Thankfully, you were provided a standard oxygen tank. Unfortunately, it doesn’t last very long—forcing you to return to the surface rather frequently to regain your breath. Now that you have copper, you just need titanium—which is supposedly a common resource here—and silicone rubber. The silicone rubber can be crafted from creepvine seeds from the nearby plants, and you manage to swim over and grab some without disturbing the scary creature that resembles a crocodile. Along the way, you find scraps of metal that can be converted into titanium. By the time you’re back in your pod, the sun has set and you have all the materials you need to make the repair tool. It takes you a few minutes to craft everything correctly, but soon enough, you have a repair tool.

The device is rather cool, you have to admit. It stitches things back together at an atomic level, which is pretty fascinating to watch. You don’t have much time to devote to admiring its power, however, as you focus your efforts on sending a distress message through the newly-repaired radio. Once that’s done, you eat a bit of one of the nutrient blocks and sip on some water. Soon, food and water are going to be your biggest problems. While you remember the Aurora having a rather large cafeteria, the food was likely destroyed in the fires.

You’re soon torn out of your thoughts by a blinking red light on your radio. Hope brewing in your chest, you jump and immediately press the button to play the message you just received.

RADIO: This is Aurora. Distress signal received. Rescue operation will be dispatched to your location in 9….9….9….9…9 hours.

You stare ahead at the radio in disbelief. A helpless, disbelieving laugh wrenches its way out of your throat. Surely that must’ve been a glitch. There’s- there’s no way help will take that long to arrive. Right? You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste blood, before deciding that you’ll save that problem for the morning (whenever that is). From what you can tell, the planet has periods resembling day and night. Admittedly, you’re exhausted. And, if a small part of you hopes that this is all just a dream, and you’ll wake up in your bed on the Aurora…

You dispel the thought and take a seat, before breathing in through your nose and closing your eyes. Despite everything that has happened—and the practically unquestionable fact that your chances at survival are horrifyingly low—you fall asleep.

In the days following your landing, it’s easy to lose track of time. You have no idea how many days you’ve spent on this planet… and you find that you don’t really care to keep track. You’ve been forced to focus on your own survival, especially as you slowly but surely make your way out of the biome you landed in and explore nearby. Once you craft a Scanner, you’re able to get blueprints from fragments of technology you find on the sea floor—in addition to scanning flora and fauna to learn more about them. The Scanner is very helpful, as you’re able to learn what plants and fish are edible without testing them yourself.

You’ve crafted some other useful items with the help of the fabricator in your pod, including a rebreather to conserve oxygen, fins, and a radiation suit; a flashlight; and a waterproof locker for increased storage. Ultimately, you haven’t had much time to focus on crafting items—you’ve been busy ensuring you have enough food and water. Not to mention, since you repaired your radio, you’ve received a few transmissions from other life pods—which has led you to explore the waters as you search for survivors.

The first lifepod you come across is Lifepod 3. They shared their coordinates through the radio, expressing the desire for someone to rescue them. Fortunately, their pod isn’t far from your own—and you swim over to the area with the guidance of your PDA, only to realize that Lifepod 3 is completely underwater. It rests innocuously on the edge of a small cliff. As you swim down, wary of the Stalkers that explore the waters nearby, you feel inexplicably apprehensive. It isn’t until you’re at the pod’s level that you discover the source of your apprehension. Lifepod 3 appears fine from above, but one side of the pod has been torn apart. There is no one inside—absolutely no sign that anyone even inhabited it, aside from the abandoned PDA resting on the ground and the metal scraps scattered throughout the sand. Needing air, you grab the PDA and swim up to the surface. Breathless, you tread water and look through the abandoned PDA, only to find a voice log from the two inhabitants. They were discussing a Seaglide—one of the forms of transport that you only have half of the blueprints for. There was a clear sense of fear in their voices, even as they evidently attempted to remain calm.

You don’t know how to handle this revelation: the utter absence of any survivors (or even their remains)… the giant hole in the Lifepod, as if it had been swiftly ripped apart by some large creature… You feel sick to your stomach. Somehow, you manage to make it back to your pod. Honestly, you don’t remember swimming back from Lifepod 3. The wreckage is burned into your mind’s eye. Every time you blink, you see the pod getting attacked by a Leviathan—a class of organism you recently learned about after seeing the Reefback Leviathan in all its massive glory. Thankfully, the Reefback Leviathan—a positively humongous creature reminiscent of a squid—only feeds on plankton. You have an awful feeling whatever attacked Lifepod 3 had a much more voracious appetite.

Against all odds, you manage to keep moving forward in the wake of what you saw. It certainly isn’t easy, and you’re sure that the feelings you’re compartmentalizing will come rushing back eventually. But you have no choice. Survival on this planet takes up nearly all of your energy. You don’t have time to think about all of the death and destruction. You can’t slow down, can’t stop even for a moment. Otherwise… you fear you’ll lose yourself in the tragedy of it all.

And just as you think things can’t get worse… they do. You’re forced to watch from afar as the Aurora experiences quantum detonation, sending the reactor into a critical state and releasing radiation into the nearby area. Soon you’re crafting a radiation suit and proceeding as if things are normal. According to your PDA, the radioactive fallout from the ship will have irreversible effects on the ecosystem. Even worse, there’s nothing you can do right now. You would need a hundred fire extinguishers to quench all of the flames on the ship. Not to mention, when you do attempt to get close to the Aurora, you’re intercepted by a Leviathan organism. You have no idea what it is—all you know is that it’s extremely long with four pincers, deep, soulless black eyes, and sharpened teeth. You just barely manage to escape the thing’s grasp by swimming along the surface of the water… but you take some damage in the process. The creature bites your arm before you can swim out of range. Even after you’re safely concealed in your pod, your heart is positively pounding out of your chest.

You’re beginning to find that you’re very lucky, for a variety of reasons: your pod’s landing at the surface, first of all; not to mention, you sustained minimal injuries in the crash. The other survivors weren’t nearly as fortunate, you slowly learn. With each new radio transmission, you adventure out to the depths and find another Lifepod utterly wrecked and torn apart. You have yet to find a single living person. Instead, you’re forced to chase after ghosts—scavenging the wreckage and collecting the abandoned PDAs.

At some point, you have to wonder: is any of this worth it? Is all of this effort really worth your survival? Moreover, why are you the one who has survived so long? What supernatural force decided that you get to live, while all of the other passengers you’re finding are banished to increasingly cruel fates? The survivor’s guilt you feel only increases with each empty Lifepod you find. The names begin to blur together. You can’t even count how many pods you’ve come across at this point—the thought is just too soul-crushing. And try as you might to avenge each person in your continued fight for survival… sometimes you just feel as if it’s all pointless and hopeless.

That guilt is only exacerbated by a rescue party’s arrival into the atmosphere. You reach a nearby island where they’re supposed to land, only for alien technology to attack the ship upon its entry into the atmosphere. You’re forced to watch once more as a ship of innocent people explodes before your very eyes.

Ultimately, you find yourself getting trapped in a never-ending routine. First, you find a clue that points to something that could help your chances at survival: a blueprint for some device or weapon, another Lifepod, a promise of rescue. Then, you investigate—only to realize that the device isn’t as useful as you thought, that the Lifepod is just a tattered shell, that rescue isn’t coming. Then grief wins. Eventually, something in you fights off the sadness and pushes you to keep going. You find hope in something new… and the brutal cycle continues.

Somewhere along the way, though, you start to lose the feeling of hope altogether. After all, there are only so many times you can hope for something that will never happen. It’s a devastating blow to your psyche to constantly have the promise of survival ripped away from you. To protect yourself, you stop hoping for the best and start expecting the worst. This leads you to become some sort of husk of your former self.

Even the prospect of a new island isn’t enough to trigger any positive feelings in you. You just feel… empty. The beautiful scenery doesn’t provoke any sentiment in you. You don’t feel anything as you trudge up the hill that almost appears to have a worn footpath. You don’t feel anything as you enter a base and find an empty desk, an indoor growth bed, and a fabricator. You don’t feel anything as you search through the abandoned PDA and listen to the voice logs of more people who likely died in the time since the recording.

Then a shadow passes across the floor at your feet, and the void of emotion in your chest is swiftly replaced with bone-deep fear. You tried to be cautious as you explored this island—looking around at the nearby wildlife to ensure there wasn’t anything that could hurt you. Was there an unseen predator lurking in the shadows? Your PDA did say that there were subtle signs of life here, but you had dismissed the message. Your heart thundering in your chest, you slowly turn around—only to find a shadowed figure in the doorway of the base.

You flinch hard, hitting the wall behind you as you instinctively backpedal. When the figure takes another step closer, you immediately brandish your survival knife and hold it up threateningly. In the first few days since the crash, you wouldn’t have seen a need for the survival knife past retrieving samples from coral and creepvines. However, it’s been a long time since then—and you aren’t so foolish as to think that this alien planet will welcome you with open arms. You don’t belong here and you never have. Each day in this world, in these crystal waters, is an act of defiance against the aliens that reside here and the creatures that roam the dark depths.

The figure takes another step forward and the light from the base illuminates their face, revealing… another human. The two of you stare at one another in shock and disbelief. The man stares at you, eyes roaming up your body before finally settling on your face. You scrutinize him in the same regard, taking note of his unruffled appearance. He’s wearing a dive suit just like yours, but his hair is perfectly coiffed—as if he hasn’t gone underwater in several days. His eyes are a warm brown, with flecks of crimson. There’s something in his expression that you can’t quite pin down—and it unsettles you enough to hold your knife out in an attempt to keep the distance between you. “Don’t come any closer,” you warn him.

PDA ALERT: Your vitals are rising past normal levels, despite your stationary position. Take caution and move to distance yourself from the stressor.

Curse your PDA and its unfortunate timing. The stranger only seems amused by the commentary, as he holds his hands up in mock-surrender before posing a question. “How did you get here?” He asks, eyes flitting about the base as if looking for signs of your forced entrance. It takes you a few moments to realize that he’s asking about your arrival to the island in general—not necessarily his base.

“I swam,” you respond sarcastically. Very little of your frustration is pointed at him, but venting about your situation to another living, breathing human takes some of the pressure off. You take a deep breath and try to summon some better manners. He’s the only human you’ve come across so far—and he may be the only one you ever find. You need to make a decent impression if you want to collaborate with him. “From my pod.” You explain.

“You landed in the ocean,” he states, his brows climbing up his face in evident disbelief.

“The flotation device was activated, so I landed on the surface.” You answer. You’re not sure why you’re telling him so much, especially when you don’t exactly have a reason to trust him yet. Of course, you want nothing more than to have another human to work with—but this is a matter of life and death. And hell, you haven’t met the aliens of this planet yet. Maybe they have shapeshifting abilities. The thought sounds rather ridiculous, you have to admit.

“Are you from the Aurora too?” The man questions, confirming your suspicions that he was stranded due to the ship’s crash—just like you.

“Yes,” you admit. Really, the crash is the only logical explanation for a human’s presence here on this planet.

“I’ve never seen you before,” the man continues, staring at you intently. He seems surprised that the two of you didn’t cross paths on the Aurora. But there were more than 150 people on it, after all. You tell him as much and he seems to accept that explanation. Although, secretly, you’re wondering the same thing.

The man’s gaze flits down to your knife, nonverbally questioning if you still need to be pointing the weapon at him. You shrug, not making a move to lower it. Instead, you gesture at him expectantly. “What’s your name?”

“Hannibal Lecter,” the man answers. Somehow, that name seems to fit him. “And yours?”

You tell him your name and he hums, staring at you as if trying to fit your face to your name. Eventually, you grow tired of his staring and continue walking through the base. Surprisingly, within a few moments, you hear Hannibal following behind you. You try to ignore him, but it grows increasingly more difficult.

“Might I ask what you’re looking for?” Hannibal asks calmly. At least, you think he’s trying to sound calm—but there’s an air of annoyance veiled within his tone. You continue surveying the space, looking for anything that could be useful. You’re not going to take anything from him—you just want to ensure that you’re gaining all of the necessary resources from this island.

“Anything, really,” you remember to respond, after you turn around and nearly crash into him. You quickly take a step back, beginning to suspect that Hannibal enjoys these small displays of intimidation. You really can’t be bothered by your own pride, so you decide to let him have them. “Is this your base? I saw others…” You trail off, crossing your arms over your chest. Something about this conversation is making you feel more vulnerable than normal. You attribute it to a lack of human contact.

“This one is mine,” Hannibal replies. You can sense he’s nearing the end of his patience, so you eye the door and plan to walk out of the base. Hannibal doesn’t move from his position in the doorway of the multipurpose room, forcing you to brush past him as you walk by. With your back turned to him, you roll your eyes and walk back outside.

But again, he’s following you. At first, you pretend that you don’t notice. But your patience is quickly worn thin, and you turn on your heel to level him with a wary glare. “Why are you following me?”

Hannibal remains silent, but somehow, you can sense what he’s thinking from the minute signs written across his form: the furrow of his brow, the pull of his lips.

“This isn’t your island,” you feel the need to assert. “None of this is yours. We’re not meant to be here—you should know that.” So stop following me around, you think to yourself. But even this harsh dismissal is not enough to dissuade Hannibal, as he instead smiles an infuriatingly patient smile and continues to follow behind you.

Eventually, you give up on trying to get him to go away—and the two of you manage to strike up a conversation (albeit an awkwardly stilted and tense one). You both recount your descents from the Aurora, your crash landings on this planet, and the ensuing efforts at survival. Hannibal had landed near the island that the two of you are standing on now, which provided him with a safe haven from the sea monsters that lurked nearby. You trade blueprints and stories with him, finding his presence to be comforting. It’s been so long since you’ve had someone to talk to. And even if Hannibal seems a little off for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint—even if he is kind of a smug bastard—he’s still someone to talk to. Plus, he seems to warm up to you once you’re done exploring the bases on the island. The two of you even catch a few fish and cook them up for dinner.

“You should stay,” he suggests after your shared meal, “It’s late.” His eyes flit to the water and you immediately understand what he’s trying to say. You don’t want to test the creatures that roam the night. You take a shuddering breath in, pushing past the inexplicable stab of fear that strikes at you, and decide to take him up on the offer. Hannibal seems strangely relieved after you agree, as if he was genuinely concerned that you wouldn’t survive the night. That’s an entirely fair concern to have, of course. You’re just surprised that he’s worried about you in the first place. You didn’t exactly get the impression that he liked you.

Since you decide that you’re spending the night, you create a simple outfit using the fabricator in his base and remove your dive suit. Despite its efficiency in the water, the suit is incredibly uncomfortable to sleep in. With that in mind, you’re quick to change into your new clothes: a simple tank top and sweatpants. Hannibal returns moments later, only to stare at you silently for several moments. Growing self-conscious, you ask him what’s wrong.

The man is still quiet. Then, suddenly, he lurches forwards—breaking the distance between you and looking you up and down. The thought sends a shiver down your spine, until you realize that he’s cataloging the scars littered across your arms. Hannibal seems to take particular interest in the bite mark on your shoulder—from the Leviathan creature that you later learned to be aptly named a Reaper.

“How did you get this?” He breathes, his hand coming to grasp your shoulder. You barely resist the urge to flinch. You’ve grown to forget casual human contact in the wake of the crash. Physical touch since then could only be categorized as harmful: fish biting at you with sharp teeth, serpentine creatures brushing past you…

“A Reaper Leviathan,” you respond after a second. His eyes are fixed on the mark with worrying intensity. “I was trying to get close to the ship.” At his silence, you continue. “...It’s kind of ugly, I know.” You grimace.

Hannibal’s thumb brushes along the mark and his eyes meet yours. “It’s beautiful,” he murmurs, before turning his attention to the scar once more. “A mark of your continued survival.” You’re not sure why he seems so fascinated by it. Maybe he hasn’t seen a Reaper before? You can’t be sure. You suppose you’re just fortunate that he didn’t seem disgusted by the scar.

“If you say so,” you choke out, lost for words. A prolonged silence settles over the space.

“I don’t have a spare bed, I apologize,” Hannibal then says, his eyes falling to the room down the hall. It must be his bedroom, you think. This notion is confirmed when he motions for you to follow after him, as he leads you into the room. It’s a fairly nondescript room, with a desk off to one side and a bed in the corner. You must’ve missed this room when you were exploring before.

“It’s fine,” you say, when you remember the conversation. “I can sleep on the floor.” That’s really the last thing you want to do, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Nonsense,” he says with a shake of his head. “You can sleep here.” He says, moving to sit on the right side of the bed and leaving the left half for you.

You stare at the space he’s left for you for a long moment. Eventually, your fatigue wins against your apprehension. “...Okay.” You acquiesce, moving to sit next to him and tugging the covers over you. For a moment, the air falls silent. As you’re closing your eyes, you’re struck with the urge to maintain some semblance of mundanity. “Goodnight.”

“Pleasant dreams.” He responds, his voice sounding weirdly thick. You’re not so deluded to think that the emotion in his voice is because of you. But, regardless, you think you understand the sentiment: the confirmation that you aren’t completely alone in this world is reassuring and overwhelming in equal measure.

Despite these thoughts and countless more musings, you manage to drift off in no time. When you open your eyes that morning, you find Hannibal staring at you. You freeze and stare at him back, unsure of what to do. After a moment, you inch backwards slightly and he lurches forward, his jaw suddenly snapping open to reveal rows of impossibly sharp teeth. You scramble backwards with a scream caught in your throat…

…and fall to the ground, jolting awake. Your mind still can’t tell the difference between the waking world and a nightmare, and you feel yourself backing up to the corner of the dark room—holding your hands in front of you in a futile attempt at protecting yourself. Your chest is rising and falling with frightening speed, making your vision blur around the edges. You blink and suddenly Hannibal is kneeling before you, slowly inching his way closer until he’s wrapping his arms around you. You desperately want to resist the gesture, but your pride and dignity went out the window the moment you crashed on this planet. Relenting, you tilt your head down and close your eyes; Hannibal’s hand comes to bracket the back of your head as he presses you to his chest. You’re clutching at him, desperate for the sole reminder of your humanity.

You’re not sure how long Hannibal remains on the floor with you. All you know is that, at some point, your back starts to hurt. You murmur that the two of you should probably get up, and Hannibal tentatively backs away and pushes himself up to his feet—before offering you a hand. After he pulls you up, the two of you head back to the bed. You’re briefly hit with embarrassment, but the feeling fades when Hannibal reassures you that it’s alright. You have no choice but to believe him as you close your eyes and fall asleep once more.

Despite the events of that first day, your time with Hannibal on the island is rather uneventful. You’re lured into a false sense of security by the lush plant life, the calm breeze flowing through the trees, the sparkling waters, and his glittering eyes. You start to think that maybe, just maybe, things will be alright. You find yourself spending more time on the island and less time at your pod (although you do return whenever you need resources)... But it isn’t all good. There’s still one glaring problem: you can’t sleep well.

You were sleeping just fine back on your pod and at your base, but here, you spend hours lying awake as Hannibal sleeps next to you. There’s something in you that just doesn’t want to let your guard down in front of him—some irrational part of you that sees him as another predator, just the same as the ones in the ocean. And at least those monsters are straightforward—they have sharp teeth, so you know to avoid them. But humans are entirely different. They’re all appearances. Hannibal looks non-threatening, but you just can’t shake away that initial wariness. It’s cruel of you to doubt him, after he went out of his way to comfort you that first night. But you can’t quite suppress your skepticism—especially considering it’s a survival mechanism that has gotten you this far.

Wariness, coupled with a restless energy, leads you to step out of his bedroom late one night. You don’t really have an endgame—you just want a breath of fresh air and a break from the shared darkness that always seems to be watching you. Outside, the air does feel nicer. A blanket of stars covers the sky and the waves gently lap at the shore. You rub a hand over your face, turning on your flashlight and navigating down the admittedly treacherous and unstable hillside. You’re not sure where you’re going; you just want to keep moving. Being stationary is dangerous on this planet. To survive, you have to be moving constantly—whether that’s swimming through the water or prioritizing the tools and devices you need to make with the fabricator. If you’re not making progress, then you’re convenient prey.

You soon find yourself near the main base of the island and, after a moment’s hesitation, you decide to explore the multi-purpose room. Back when you first arrived, Hannibal kept a very close eye on you as you investigated. With him breathing down your neck, it was hard to concentrate. Now that you’re alone, you find that you can really take everything in. As you look around, you remember the abandoned PDA you first found on the island, which contained a voice log from the Degasi Crash. The three survivors built the bases around the island (including the one you’re exploring right now). You weren’t able to glean anything else from the voice log, as it mainly contained recordings of the three of them bickering. You would’ve found that humorous in a different situation.

Regardless, that’s the extent of your knowledge regarding the island. But as you remember how Hannibal ushered you through the bases with puzzling rapidity, you have to wonder why he was so eager to get you out of them. Did he think you would stumble upon something incriminating? You contemplate the thought as you look around the space, eyes catching on an abandoned PDA near the far wall. You download the data and listen to the attached voice log, which only makes your heart thud against your ribs quickly.

[DATABANK]

Degasi Voice Log #5 - An Unwelcome Guest

PAUL: There was a new arrival to the island yesterday. He says his name is Hannibal Lecter.

BART: He says he came from the crash. He’s a little…

MARGUERIT: Suspicious. He’s very suspicious.

PAUL: Eccentric is probably a better word.

MARGUERIT: No, he seems dangerous.

BART: How do you know?

MARGUERIT: Trust me, kid.

BART: I’m not a fucking kid!

PAUL: Settle down, you two.

PAUL: We’ll take him in. He could have valuable information.

MARGUERIT: I don’t like this.

PAUL: Frankly, I don’t either. But we don’t have much of a choice, do we?

MARGUERIT: Are you fuckin’ kidding? Of course we have a choice! We can just march down there and take him on! Three on one, no way he’s winning.

PAUL: (sighs)

The transmission clicks off. You stare at the wall in front of you in disbelief, your stomach stewing with anxiety. That gut feeling that something was off… You think you know what it is now. After all, the voice log posits that Paul, Marguerit, and Bart were the first ones on the island. Hannibal arrived after them. That timing is extremely significant. Assuming the three didn’t leave the island, there is only one explanation: Hannibal did something to the three survivors. After all, you haven’t caught even a glimpse or trace of any of them in your time on the island.

Despite your misgivings, you decide to give Hannibal the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the three survivors went off on a sea expedition and encountered a Leviathan or a predator. That is certainly possible—although you think they would’ve mentioned a departure on the voice log if they truly planned to leave. You contemplate the thought as you explore the remainder of the main base. When you turn the corner into a new hall, your eyes catch on a murky crimson-brown stain splattered across the wall… and all of your excuses fade into obscurity. You’re forced to accept the truth: Hannibal killed the three survivors from the Degasi Crash. And judging by the utter lack of remains, he either buried them, threw their corpses into the ocean, or… ate them.

You contemplate running away—heading for your escape pod, taking your Seamoth and moving as fast as you can. But you know you won’t be able to escape Hannibal. The two of you have the same blueprints and nearly the same resources. He has a Seamoth too—and it wouldn't take him long to notice your absence. Plus, there are countless organisms throughout the seas that could kill you in the blink of an eye. The ocean isn’t exactly any safer than this island—and that’s truly a terrifying thought.

And there’s a notion that’s even more frightening: do you even want to escape him? Hannibal is the only other human you’ve come across in your time since the crash—and you’ve discovered countless pods scattered across the sea floor, in varying states of disarray. The chances of finding another survivor are astronomically low. You’re sure you would be able to get by on your own—you survived before him, and you can survive after him. But would that be good for you? There’s only so long a person can go without social interaction.

“What are you doing?” You nearly have an out-of-body experience at the sudden noise. Heart racing, you freeze in place and keep your back turned to Hannibal—attempting to hide the abandoned PDA you’re holding from his view. “It’s late.” He says.

You study the expression on his face and decide you’re too tired for mind games—too exhausted to attempt to conceal your knowledge from him. Perhaps that’s a stupid decision, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. If he kills you, he kills you. You don’t have much to lose—or live for—at this point. Knowing that, you turn around and meet his gaze head-on. “You killed them.” You say, your voice eerily calm. “Are you going to kill me too?”

Hannibal tilts his head curiously. Despite the fact that he’s blocking the doorway, he doesn’t seem to be holding any weapons. There is no outright violence in his posture—only defensiveness. “No,” he promises. There’s nothing but sincerity in his expression, but you still can’t trust it. Besides, he completely ignored your accusation—which is essentially a confirmation that he did murder the Degasi survivors who found this island before him.

“How can I trust you?” You decide to voice your thoughts.

His brows furrow. The muscles work in his jaw as he contemplates the question. “I find myself craving your companionship,” Hannibal eventually answers. Judging from the way he’s looking at you, he desires more than your companionship. But, in an alien world with no realistic promise of rescue, that’s the least of your concerns.

“And because of that, you won’t kill me?” You ask, not bothering to hide your doubt.

“I have only my word,” Hannibal says regretfully. He takes a few steps forwards, effectively breaking the distance between you. In the blink of an eye, he’s pressing a survival knife into your hand before pulling your hand—and the knife—to rest against his neck. “But, should I go back on it… you may end my life.”

You can feel Hannibal’s pulse—steady and unyielding, even when faced with the truth. His posture is open and honest; there is no trace of deception anywhere to be found. Somehow, that is just as frightening as his lies of omission. Your heart thunders in your chest as you come to terms with what he’s offering you. It’s not what you want. You don’t want to kill him. After managing to shake off his grip, you return your hand to your side and level him with a cautious look.

“I’m not going to kill you.” You say. Your voice sounds foreign. And your word is binding—you don’t plan to kill Hannibal (even if it would be karmic). You need him and he needs you: a symbiotic relationship like that of the Reefback Leviathan and the plants living on its back. The thought is distressing. You don’t want to have to rely on anyone else—don’t want to have to let down your mental defenses, only for your trust to be swiftly broken.

It would be extremely stupid of you to kill one another, and you both seem to know that. That recognition sinks into the air between you, clinging to your clothes and sending a prickling feeling across your limbs.

As if coming to an unspoken agreement, Hannibal nods and turns on his heel, evidently retreating back to his bedroom. Somehow, you can sense the intended meaning behind the gesture: he trusts you enough to let you explore on your own. You poke around the base for a bit longer, but at some point, you have to accept the inevitable and return to Hannibal’s bedroom.

When you return, you find Hannibal’s eyes are closed as he lets out calm breaths. Swallowing hard, you try to be as quiet as possible as you move to take the left side of the mattress. After a few moments dominated by indecision, you pull the covers over you and recline back against your pillow. Left to the rushing waves and your racing thoughts, the loneliness you’ve been fighting off suddenly comes rushing back, leaving you to feel terribly alone as you lie next to the only other human on the planet.

endnotes: Oh, you thought that being stranded on an alien planet meant you were safe from cliche tropes like sharing a bed? Mwahahhaha… never!!!

I know clothes aren’t a thing in Subnautica, but just let me have it… I just wanted unresolved tension and scars and intimacy… don’t look at me like that.

Sorry not sorry for the somewhat uncertain ending. I tried writing a happier one, but it just felt off. On the off chance that I do write another chapter (no promises), I wanted this to be realistic. I felt it wouldn’t be right if the reader just brushed off the fact that he killed three people. That’s a big deal! They need time to process that.

thanks for reading! <3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

general taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @kingkoku @the-ultimate-librarian @gayaristocrat

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

#defectivevillain #can you tell im completely obsessed with Subnautica rn #I even talked about it at work #and I never talk about my interests at work #that's when you know it's bad #anyways #gn reader #male reader #transmasc reader #nb reader #subnautica x reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal x reader #Hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #you get the idea

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majesty-madness · 4 months

Text

No More Denial - TriStamp!Vash x reader (sfw)

Summary: In a moment of desperation, Y/N reveals a secret that transforms the now uncertain future.

Word Count: 1900+

Warnings: angst, Vash being kidnapped, reader and co. trying to rescue him, female reader, mentions of pregnancy, injuries, blood, acts of violence, attempted murder (because it’s Knives), comfort, reassurance, crying from stress and joy, good ending

a/n: Not proofread. I just watched the 98’ Trigun series, the movie and then the reboot “Trigun Stampede” and I was pleasantly surprised how much I enjoyed it. I usually don’t watch new shows, but Trigun has been something I’ve been meaning to get into ever since I first started watching anime back in 2014. And here we are…

Main Masterlist

The moment his eyes laid on her his heart stopped. “No! No, get out of here! You shouldn’t be here!”

Y/N almost scoffed at his words as she approached him with haste. “You think I’m really just gonna turn around and leave you?” She attempted to unlock the chains bound around his wrists, and managed to get a few off.

“If he realizes you’re here, he’ll kill you! You know that!”

“You would do it for me!” Y/N shouted back at him, her eyes brimming with the slightest of tears.

Before Vash could come with any kind of response, Y/N was ripped away from his side that had her letting out a scream. She felt a white hot pain in her calf, the sharp edges of Knives’ abilities digging deep into her flesh when she looked down.

The coil of blades tightened around her calf causing her to shriek in pain.

“Nai, stop it! Please!” Vash begged, as he tugged helplessly against the only chain keeping him bolted to the wall.

“This pathetic human tried to set you free, but I’ll take care of this soon enough.” Knives sneered, forcing Y/N to a standing position she couldn’t fully maintain from her injury.

The metallic coils came out from his back, slowly inching closer and closer to her body. She gulped hard, giving one last look to Vash before spouting out the only thing that came to mind.

“I’m pregnant.”

Knives smirked, expression almost amused by her desperate ploy. “Did you really think that would matter to me?”

She gulped as a cold sweat dripped down the back of her neck. “It would if it was Vash’s baby.”

If she had been paying attention, Y/N would’ve heard the slightest of gasps leave Vash’s mouth but she was too busy maintaining eye contact with the man that held her hostage in his grip; a grip that grew tighter once she uttered those words.

“That’s not possible.” He growled back to her.

This time she smirked as the urge to taunt him pushed her rationale to the back of her mind, “How are you so sure? You and Vash are the only independents in the world, and I don’t think that you’ve tested the theory yourself.”

His grip tightened around her leg, causing her smirk to die on her lips while the heat of her own blood dripped into a puddle on the floor. “It’s not possible; plants are perfect in every way, bringing life to this broken world and humans are disgustingly flawed, spreading like the pathetic parasites you all are!”

“It is possible!” Y/N shouted back to him, surprised to hear the desperation cause her voice to waver. “A plant and human hybrid; the only one of its kind. A new species, a new life. Would you really destroy one of your own?”

In a blink, Knives whipped the pointed edge of one of his blades a mere inch from her eye threatening to gouge it out; the anger within him reaching its boiling point. “You are not one of my own!”

Y/N took the smallest of breaths, fearing that any sudden movement would cause her to lose an eye. “But Vash is.”

Knives’ eyes narrowed but otherwise made no other movements as he took in her words.

“And if you care about your brother, you wouldn’t murder the one thing he loves.”

Suddenly, the fluorescent lights blacked out causing an immediate red night to replace it as a loud whirring sound crashed somewhere in the building.

“What is this?” Knives muttered out loud as he became distracted by the sound and lights.

Before he could do anything the sound of bullets whizzing toward causing him to duck away, loosening his grip on Y/N completely. He made quick movements backward, using his bladed coils as a shield from the spray of bullets being fired at him.

Then while bullets still rained from beyond the darkness of the hallway facing him, a cacophony of multiple metallic objects clinking against the floor echoed throughout the gigantic room. Knives could make out several cynical objects hit the floor before they doused the room in smoke, a large plume of fog blocking his view of anything.

Vash stared in shock for a moment then snapped back to reality when he saw the familiar figure approaching him, “Meryl? What are you doing here?”

“Hush now! We’re here to save you!” Meryl quickly retorted while still a lockpick into the only cuff keeping Vash chained up. Once she unlocked it, she grabbed his hand and b-lined for the exit.

“Wait! What about Y/N? I have to go get her!” Vash pleaded, pulling back from Meryl a bit as they ran.

“Don’t worry, Wolfwood and Roberto got her! Now let’s go!” She shouted over the gunfire.

Vash, though scared, trusted her word and followed her without resistance.

It took a while because as it turned out, Wolfwood had thrown a few more smoke bombs as they ran into the hallway to cover their tracks but eventually Vash and Meryl managed to meet up with Wolfwood and Roberto further down.

When Vash saw Y/N, bleeding and being held up by Roberto he ran to her. “Y/N, are you okay? You’re bleeding so much.”

Y/N shook her head in a whimper, in too much pain to offer any kind of reply.

“Of course, she’s not okay. She’s got cuts all over her leg and she’s bleeding all over the place.” Roberto quipped with Y/N’s arm still over his shoulder while he kept her standing.

“Hate to break up the reunion, but if we don’t get out of here soon a bleeding leg is gonna be the least of our worries.” Wolfwood cut in, keeping a sharp eye on the hallway they just escaped from.

“But Y/N can’t run, how are we gonna get outta here before Knives finds us?” Meryl asked with urgency, her own panic rising to the surface.

“Give her to me.” Vash said, walking over in front of Y/N and crouching down. “Get on my back and I’ll carry you.”

Without a word, Y/N slipped her arm from around Roberto’s shoulder and precariously leaned down to wrap her arms around Vash’s neck and legs around his waist. He reached back to grip the underside of her thighs and propped her up as he stood.

She made a muffled hiss as the pressure of moving her leg at all caused pain to shoot up through her body.

“Ready?” Vash asked her, glancing over his shoulder at her. She gave a pained nod before tucking her face into the back of his neck.

“Okay, let’s blow this joint.” Wolfwood huffed, turning to face them.

Everyone began running as fast as they could out of the building and just when they’d turned their backs to the hall, several bladed whips propelled out from the smoke screen towards their direction.

“Watch out!” Wolfwood shouted, stopping briefly to point his cross shaped gun towards the blades and fired. He aimed with precision, each bullet bouncing off the whips as it made each one change trajectories.

“Wolfwood!” Vash exclaimed and too, stopped briefly to wait.

“Keep running, Needle-noggin! I got this!”

Vash hesitantly kept running, and glanced over his shoulder again in time to see Wolfwood making a quick getaway with them after shooting a couple more times.

Luckily, the team managed to escape the maze-like building and to the outside. They ran and ran and ran until they were outside the city; their truck waiting for them not too far from the main entrance. In a flash, they hurried inside and Meryl punched the gas without even bothering with her seatbelt; leaving puffs of sand in their wake.

She floored it a good fifteen minutes before Vash told her to stop. Once stopped Vash administered some first aid to Y/N’s leg, giving them a moment to talk.

Vash had finished cleaning all the cuts in her once bloodied limb when he spoke. “Is it true? That you’re pregnant?”

He knew that while Y/N had said such a thing in the heat of the moment so Knives would spare her, he couldn’t deny the sincerity of her words. She sounded so scared, so afraid for not just her own life but possibly her baby’s as well.

Y/N took a moment to prepare her words and she timidly nodded. “I think so.”

“How long have you suspected?” Vash spoke softly, keeping his voice low as if speaking at normal volume would cause her to shatter.

“A couple of we-EKS!” She hissed when Vash began applying the bandages to the open wounds which made him utter out a quick apology, though continued to wrap her leg.

Vash said nothing, his brain thinking a million miles a minute. He honestly didn’t know what to think; he was a plant and Y/N was a human, could plants and humans even procreate? Or was it something else, something life threatening? He did notice in the last few weeks that Y/N hadn’t been acting like herself but he thought perhaps it was the heat getting to her, or maybe they had been stuck inside the car for too long or even that time of the month but the idea of her carrying his child never crossed his mind. He assumed that because he and Y/N were two different species, there was no way.

“Vash?” Y/N called to him, bringing him out of his thoughts and back to reality.

He looked up at her, worry and fear etched in her face. “Sorry, love.”

“It’s okay. I understand that it’s probably a lot to take in.”

Vash shook his head, “I was just lost in thought.”

“Are you upset?” Y/N nervously asked, making Vash raise his hand to gently cup her cheek as a tender smile graced his lips.

“Of course I’m not upset, I’m only worried about you since I’m not completely sure if it’s possible for plants and humans to have children together.” He carefully explained watching Y/N tilt her cheek to rest fully into his palm.

Y/N sighed, “I’m not sure either but all the symptoms are there. And even though I don’t know much about plants, I can’t imagine what else it could be.”

Vash sat up on his knees, retracting his hand from her face but soon leaned forward to hug her from her spot from the truck. She happily reciprocated when she wrapped her arms around his midsection, face buried in his shoulder.

“We should go see Luida.” He suggested kissing her temple and stroking her back comfortingly.

He felt her nod against him. “She can fix up your leg and she probably knows more about plants than I do or something along those lines that might help figure this whole thing out.”

“Okay.” Y/N simply said, going silent and enjoying the presence of Vash holding her.

Vash didn’t say anything else either and like Y/N, opted to enjoy the warmth of her against him.

He thought back to only minutes earlier, when Y/N had attempted to save him and Knives quickly finding her, hurting her and the screams she let out.

Never in his life did he ever want to hear those sounds again.

From here on out, Vash vowed to himself he would do everything in his power to keep her safe, and with the new information of Y/N’s possible condition, he‘d protect his child all the same.

#vash #vash the stampede #trigun #trigun stampede #vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash x y/n #vash the stampede x y/n #vash the stampede x you #trigun x reader #vash imagines #vash fanfic #vash angst #vash fluff #trigun fanfiction #trigun imagines #trigun angst #trigun fluff

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