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sinsatmidnight · 3 months

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30 Years Later

Pairing – Kim Minji (JiU) x Male Reader

Words - 3101

Sins – Smut, oral, sumata, shower sex

So...it's been a while. I have not been keeping up with what goes on Tumblr, I have to admit, and nor have I read any (most? I may have read a couple during this period) of the many stories that people have started after I stopped. I'm inevitably rusty, but I had this draft I started a long while back that I somehow got into the mood to finish, so I figured I may as well post it, just for fun. Maybe someone will enjoy it. Hopefully you like it if you read it! And no, I don't expect a significant uptick in activity from me, but I may pay more attention to some of the other stories being written. Working on this was not quite the healthiest thing (because uh, I may have overused a certain part of my body the last couple of days) and let's just say one of the reasons I'm posting this is because it already had a significant bit written. But I kinda wanna subject myself to more of this...abuse(?) now. Ugh I'm rambling, but anyways, hope everyone has a good day (or night)!

(2130 hours, 20 September 2220, Eternity)

It started out muffled. The droning sound breaking into your consciousness, jolting it to life. You have no idea what it is. Or where you are, for that matter. Your eyes are closed. But your ears are sharper now that your mind is actively concentrating on listening.

A voice. Female. You can’t make out words but she sounds calm. And then your eyes slowly open, almost as though forced open by an outside force. That’s when you remember.

“Condition is stable, consciousness gained, cryo pods are opening.” That calm, droning female voice comes through clear to you now. There is a soft hiss as the transparent door of your cryo pod slides to the side. The light outside your pod is quite soft, and yet at the moment to your eyes, it is blinding. Disoriented by your awakening, you lay in the gel bed as you try to get your bearings.

“Eden? Status update…oh, and what is the current date and time?”

The ship’s AI, Eden, responds in the electronically generated calm tone that all shipboard Ais use. “Welcome back, Commander. All of the Eternity’s systems are currently running optimally. All crew members are in good health. It is currently 2130 hours, 20 September 2220.”

Your mind does the math easily despite just coming back from the induced cryo-sleep. Thirty years. Well, that would be right. Crew members were supposed to be woken up after thirty years to run manual checks on the ship’s condition and look over all data collected automatically by ship sensors and the AI. They stay up for two weeks and then go back into cryo-sleep. And after the first thirty years, this is repeated every five years.

Your mind remembers that crew members aren’t woken up alone, they’re normally woken up in pairs as an additional safety measure. One person who can handle technical or mechanical issues on the ship, which in this case is you, and one more person who is medically trained to check on the sleeping crew and in case of medical emergency.

Your gel bed is softening; rapidly melting as you defrost and becoming less of a gel and more of a slime. A marvel of human technological ingenuity; the clear gel froze quickly, was non-toxic in case of accidental ingestion, while also serving as a shock-absorbent and anti-bacterial bed for cryo-sleep.

You need to get out and check who else was awakened with you. As your hands reach and hold on to the sides of the pod, you realise that you have an erection. Your mind immediately jumps back thirty years prior, to the minutes right before the crew enter cryo-sleep. It might have been from thirty years ago, but those are your last waking memories and they feel like just minutes ago instead.

You remember undressing before you enter your cryo pod; cryo-sleep has to be done naked and trying to unpeel clothing frozen to a person for years is painful. And that was when your eyes caught sight of the occupant of the pod opposite you.

With long dark hair and incredibly kissable lips, combat medic Kim Minji drew attention wherever she went. She was tall, gorgeous and had a body that drew a reaction from your own. As you watched her unzip her white bodysuit and slip out of it, stripping off her underwear and getting naked, you felt the blood rush to your penis and you were glad that she was too preoccupied with her own cryo-sleep preparations to look over at you. You ended up getting frozen before your erection could soften.

Back in the present, another female voice that definitely wasn’t Eden’s cuts into your thoughts. “You’ve had that for thirty years, Commander?’

As you stumble out of the pod, the melting gel dripping all over the floor, your eyes immediately catch sight of Kim Minji’s naked body standing outside her pod, the clear slime dripping off her body and giving it a shimmering sheen under the soft white lights of the cryo chamber. You quickly realise two things: that Kim Minji is your medically trained partner that you’re going to be alone with for the next two weeks and that your erection won’t be going down anytime soon despite your embarrassment at getting caught. You technically outrank her, but that doesn’t matter when there’s just two people awake on the ship.

Minji’s gaze is fixed upon your groin and very obvious erection and a smirk plays on her red lips. “Oh, Minji, I-“

Before you can think of an excuse, Minji cuts in. “Thanks for the compliment, I guess. I’ve never had a guy have a boner for me for that long.”

You smile sheepishly and try to change the subject. “Let’s go wash up before we start work.” At the far end of the cryo chamber was the doorway to another smaller room. A shower chamber with a row of showerheads which to wash off the slime with warm water before you got dressed. There were no partitions, they didn’t bother with them, given that everyone is naked in the cryo chamber anyway. And anyone outside the showers can see into them, given that the walls and doors are made of transparent shatter-proof glass.

You drip clear slime onto the silvery metallic floor beneath your bare feet and the metal doesn’t feel cool to your touch, but given that you were completely frozen minutes ago, that’s understandable. The two of you make your way towards the shower chamber, walking past the other cryo pods which stand up at 45-degree angles, glancing at the naked bodies of other crew members stored in cryo-sleep within them. The water from the shower feels warm to you, a nice comfortable temperature. Minji is next to you, the water flowing over her naked and fit body. It's not helping your erection. Her voice cuts into your thoughts. "I can feel some slime on my back still, could you help me scrub it off?" You hesitate for a moment but then your hand reaches forward and runs over her smooth back, swiping the slime off. You feel Minji's body shiver at your touch, and she lets out a soft moan.

You are sure that your erection is pointing straight up now. Not that it wasn't before, but this situation is just prolonging it.

"Oh, that's nice. Can you do it a little lower, please?" She asks, and your hands move further down. Your hands are caressing her pert ass now, the soap lather coating it and making it feel smooth. Minji is letting out soft moans and you are enjoying touching her. As you wash her ass, your fingers stray between her legs, rubbing against her dripping vaginal folds. She is wet and it is not the water causing this.

"You're doing a great job, Commander. But there's a lot more I need you to wash for me." You turn her around so that she is facing you. You look into her eyes and she is biting her lower lip. Minji has a perfect pair of breasts, firm but soft and a nice handful. They are covered with soap lather now and you find your hands moving forward to massage her tits. You pinch her pink nipples, feeling her tremble as you touch her. Minji leans into you, her wet body pressing against yours. She feels hot to the touch, as though her temperature has gone up.

"Look, I really feel like I should help you with that boner of yours." Minji whispers breathily. "Can I do that for you, Commander?" She has already reached down and taken your hard length in her hand, her thumb rubbing the head of your cock, spreading the precum that had gathered. She gives your cock a gentle tug, and it takes all of your willpower to not cum on her right then and there.

"Fuck, Minji, that's- that's fine." You let out an odd mix of strangled gasp that ends in a muttered assurance, as her soft hand continues to firmly stroke your erection.

"Thanks, Commander. I appreciate it." Minji presses those incredibly kissable red lips up against yours, and her tongue hungrily comes out to play. You reciprocate, even as your hands are busy continuing to explore her body. Her hands, on the other hand, are one of the most pleasurable experiences you’ve ever had as your wet cock is deftly and smoothly pumped and stroked.

With a wink, Minji drops to her knees, the water from the showerhead splashing her face and wetting her long hair. She presses her tits together and wraps them around your throbbing shaft.

It feels good and your body instinctively thrusts forward, your hips rocking back and forth, fucking her breasts. Your balls are tensing up, and you can tell you aren't going to last long. It is smooth and slick between her breasts and the tip of your cock is rubbing up against her lips with her tongue comes out to tease the tip. Your eyes stare at her as she looks back at you and with a smirk, Minji parts her lips, taking the head of your cock into her mouth.

The tip of her tongue swirls around the sensitive head, licking up the precum that continues to leak. Then, she starts bobbing her head forward and back, taking more and more of your shaft into her mouth, eventually releasing your cock from between her tits. Minji hums contentedly as she sucks and swallows your cock, and her hand is wrapped around the base, pumping you in time with the movements of her head. Minji’s other hand has drifted between her legs, and she starts to furiously masturbate as she blows you. Her slender fingers plunge in and out of her leaking vagina as she keeps her thumb vigorously rubbing her engorged clit.

As you lock eyes with the gorgeous medic on her knees in front of you, she gives you a sultry look, her lustful eyes peering into yours as she sucks you off. Minji’s expert tongue swirling around your shaft and the vibrations of her moans as she takes your dick deep into her throat very quickly becomes too much for you. Your hands need to grab something, to get control.

Your fingers run through her long hair and roughly grab hold of her head, pulling her towards you as you thrust into her mouth hard. You hear her gag a little, but she doesn’t stop with her movement. You feel the pressure building up, and your hips are moving of their own accord. Your cock is hitting the back of her throat, and your balls are tightening.

With a moan, you cum in her mouth. Thick spurts of cum erupt from your dick and fill her throat. She swallows it all, and stands up, licking those red lips. "That was tasty. It’s not every day you get to taste cum stored up for thirty years."

You barely register her words, breathing heavily. That was the most intense orgasm of your life. Your cock is still hard, but Minji is seemingly satisfied. For now.

Or maybe not. She steps away from you, and turns around, bending over. Her shapely ass is facing you, and her pussy is glistening. She looks back at you and wiggles her hips. "Can you help me clean down here too, please?"

You can't refuse Minji’s request. You have to return the favour, after all. You move towards her and rub her pussy. It is dripping wet, and her juices are flowing freely. You stick a finger inside her and feel her walls clench around it. She lets out a gasp, and pushes her hips back, as if wanting more.

"Oh, I really need it, Commander." She pants, as you continue to finger her. You pull out, and she lets out a groan. "Why did you stop?"

"Just making sure you're ready for me." You reply as you give her pert ass a quick spank, drawing a low moan from the medic. You position your cock at her entrance and push inside her.

She gasps and whimpers as you enter, and you feel her pussy walls tighten around your shaft. You start to thrust into Minji’s soaked pussy, and she groans while pushing her hips back to meet your thrusts. You grab her hips and pull her closer, helping her out in an attempt to get ever deeper inside her. She cries out in pleasure, as you fuck her as hard and fast as you.

It doesn’t take long before you are getting close to climax, and she is too. You can feel her walls tightening around your shaft, and her breathing is getting faster. You grip her hips tightly and pound her harder.

"Commander!" She moans, as she orgasms. Her juices flow over your cock, and you can't hold back any longer. You pull out of her and explode all over her ass and back, creating a sticky mess there. And then you plop down on the ground, all this exertion so soon after coming out of cryo-sleep has taken a lot out of you.

You both pant, catching your breath. Minji crawls over and kisses you deeply. "Thanks, Commander. I can't wait to work with you for the next two weeks." You can only nod breathlessly in response, your tongue wrestling with hers. Minji breaks the kiss and stands up, with her back to you. “Well, going to need your help with this mess here. Your fault, so you clean it up, sir.” Your gaze goes over her cum-glazed skin and you stand up to grab a sponge from the side of the room, lathering it up with some body wash from a dispenser. You start to work on cleaning her up, using the sponge to get your semen off her skin. But Minji is inherently distracting. It is clear whenever you touch her that she is affected by it. You hear some sighs of pleasure, even the occasional whine when your hands leave her.

This inevitably affects you and you are somehow hardening again down below. You make a split-second decision and suddenly press Minji's wet body up against the wall. You swiftly follow that up by sliding your semi-erect dick in between her soaked creamy thighs. You start to thrust in between her thighs, making sure that you brush against her pussy fold throughout.

"Oh, you're naughty, sir." Minji pants lustfully. You can feel the warmth of her vagina radiating through your thrusting member. You are quickly erect once more. This feels even better than her sucking and giving you a titfuck. "How is this, Minji?" You whisper into her ear.

"Fuck, Commander. That's… that's really good. Really, really good." She whimpers breathily, her body pushed up against the transparent wall, tits first. Your cock continues to slide between her thighs, teasing her pussy. You are both covered in soapy suds, the water from the shower spraying and splashing on the both of you. Her skin feels silky smooth and slippery to the touch. With each thrust, her ass and thighs clap loudly. You reach forward and fondle her tits, her nipples hardening and her breathing quickening. You keep thrusting, enjoying the feeling of her soapy thighs wrapped around your shaft. Minji is moaning and gasping with each thrust, and her breathing is getting faster.

Her legs are trembling, and her juices are flowing freely, mixing with the soap suds and water. Your balls slap against her clit, and she cries out in pleasure, her whole body shaking. You reach forward and grab her wrists, pinning her to the glass wall. She lets out a moan and arches her back. You kiss her neck and shoulders and continue to fuck her soapy thighs. She is whimpering and moaning with every thrust, and her juices are flowing freely, making her inner thighs and your cock very slick and slippery.

Your thrusting becomes faster and more urgent. Minji is definitely close to climaxing; you hear her moans and whimpers are getting less coherent and more urgent; you’re sure you catch some lust fuelled whining and babbling about wanting your cum and something about being fucked hard. Your cock is slamming against her pussy, and her walls are clenching around it, her juices leaking out. She is breathing heavily, and her legs are trembling.

You release one of her hands and guide it down to her clit, prompting her to start rubbing it furiously. Her fingers are a blur, and her moans become louder and more urgent. You continue to fuck those soaped-up milky thighs of hers, and she is practically screaming in pleasure, her voice echoing off the walls of the shower room. Not that you had to care about anyone hearing you. You did have an odd sort of audience in the rest of the crew outside in cryo-sleep, just beyond the transparent wall you have pressed Minji against.

Your cock is twitching and pulsating, and you can feel the pressure building up. You are both close to that final edge, and the only sounds are your heavy breathing, the splashing water, and the loud clapping sound of her ass and thighs slapping against your cock and balls.

You thrust forcefully into her thighs a few more times, and then you erupt. Your thick, creamy load sprays onto her thighs and the transparent wall, coating them in your semen. Her body shudders, and she cries out, reaching her own climax. Her juices flow over your shaft, and she slumps down, exhausted. You follow suit and collapse next to her. You both lie there for a while, trying to catch your breath. You do catch out of the corner of your eye, that Minji takes a few licks of your cum from the wall.

The two of you eventually manage to finish your shower and dry up, with you eyeing Minji the whole time as she puts that white bodysuit back and zips it back up. She catches your eye, bites her lip, and then smirks naughtily. You’re both relieved and regretful that your cock is worn out and needs rest. That would have brought it back up. You and Minji are both very well aware that you don't actually have much to do over the next couple of weeks, other than the occasional diagnostic check of the ship’s systems and such. The ship’s AI, Eden was there to handle the heavy lifting. And so, you're very much looking forward to the next couple of weeks alone with Minji.

#male reader #reader insert #dreamcatcher jiu smut

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tirions · 27 days

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sakamaki boys and their ideal lover

warnings for mentions of sadistic/toxic behaviours. fem pronouns used, not proofread.

a/n: i love the posts people make of this concept so decided to do my own!!

shu:

despite his moaning and groaning, his undead heart always skips a beat when a girl is stubborn

not stubborn in the rude sense, but stubbornly kind. girls that dig their heels in and just refuse to leave his side, even though he’s warned and derided them on countless occasions

wants a girl who puts an effort into sharing all his joys in life with him. cuddling up for a late afternoon nap underneath the golden sun, humming haltingly to a tune he showed you that’s hundreds of years old. he’ll tease you the whole time, but he’s grateful that you actually are interested in everything that makes him who he is

admires someone with a soft spot for life, who looks at the world around her as if each thing was intricately woven to be drank in with such awe. all the while, he’ll be looking at you. he’s long lost that spark, but you haven’t… it makes him feel a pang of unfamiliar fondness.

in the end, he hungers for warmth, for surety. there’s a security in such tenderness, and it winds him sometimes, how even the smallest of acts can make him feel at ease. or rather, how you make him feel at ease.

reiji:

this man has a manual called being the perfect partner 101, i swear🙄

okay, but jokes aside… at first he has these expectations for his lover. the pristine appearance of a porcelain teacup but with the inner strength of steel. but soon he realises, nobody can live up to these expectations.

his ideal lover would be somebody who tries. he knows he’s unreasonable with his expectations deep down, that his lover is just a human and not so easy to mould without chipping away at her. but the fact that you are willing to let him sculpt you? the fact you get up after each whipping and try and try? it fascinates him.

feels a certain twist at his heart when a girl can recognise all his little habits and quirks. for someone so meticulous, he’s never been given that kind of attention himself. he also prides himself on his ability to not let emotions slip and show on his exterior. when you point out the tenseness of his shoulders, or the subtle yet telltale eye twitch that he’s at limit, he’s completely disarmed by it.

loves attentiveness. not in embraces or longing glances only, but in taking care of him. he’s so used to taking care of the household, making sure his brothers don’t cause too much trouble, that by the end of the day he’s weary. learning to brew his favourite teas, lessening the load by cleaning his lab equipment when he seems more stressed than usual… quiet actions that speak louder than honeyed words or kisses ever could.

it all comes down to all of your subtle attention to him and his needs, something he’s so unused to that he doesn’t know what to do with it all. it breaks down his walls ever so slowly, allowing a boy so desperate for love to seep through its cracks, to allow him to loosen the reigns, just a little.

ayato:

if you’re not worshipping the ground he walks on, who even are you?

just kidding!! although i do think he loves it when a girl looks at him with admiration, that little twinkle of amazement in your eyes when he does something. it inflates his ego, yes, but it also makes him feel strangely giddy.

girls who are easy to prank and tease. he thinks it’s adorable when you let out a squeal even though it’s the third time he’s shoved you into an iron maiden. loves the scrunched up face of anger and the annoyed way you say his name.

on the flip side, he would definitely love someone equally as mischievous as him. a balance of the two would be heavenly.

something softens in him when he isn’t made to feel pressured or stupid. when he can talk freely without worrying about being the best or the smartest. a kind and patient listener who hangs onto each and every word when he is being serious.

all in all, i think he wants someone who makes him feel like he’s the best, even if deep down he knows he may never be. somebody attentive, kind and slightly naive.

kanato:

his very own, real-life dress up games for girls 😭😭💀

he wants a real life doll, a docile little thing to wrap in the prettiest silks and tulle.

a girl who will only speak to him in dulcet tones, every fibre of your being sweet and gentle when you address him.

a girl who spoils him! cake upon cake baked just for him, homemade chocolates and flaky pastries. if you appease his tastes enough, maybe he’ll let you have a bite, or take a bite of you as thanks.

you shouldn’t be fussy either. his soulmate should sit still and be grateful for his attention, even if his fangs hurt or if he’s twisting your hair into braids too tightly. you should be happy he’s even giving you the time of day.

a girl with eyes only for him. the kind of sparkling, heart eyes that scream honesty and innocence.

overall, he wants you to be as doll-like as possible. you should have the attitude of melting sugar, and should only have eyes for him. only then would you be his true love.

laito:

entertainment

laito has no idea what the meaning of true love is. he finds the concept of soulmates laughable and so it’s not what he’s looking for in a partner.

what he is looking for is a marionette, one that tugs against the strings he manipulates just enough to offer a fresh challenge, but not enough to infuriate him. you’re dancing on a tightrope with him, after all, and any slip up could cause you to go off-kilter. to know the perfect balance is key.

he likes earnest girls the most though, no matter how much he attempts to break you. your unshakable principles would get his pulse racing. there’s a certain naivety in you that he’s never experienced, and it fascinates him.

loves innocent looks but steely interiors, a disjointed aspect to you that reels him in. a doe-eyed look paired with a string of carefully chosen, cold words…

the world is a stage for him and he’s chosen you as the heroine. put on a good show for him and he’ll think of you with some twisted kind of fondness.

if you do break past his walls though and teach him what the meaning of love is though, he’d want someone who offers a quiet kind of comfort. someone who doesn’t pry, but is always there nonetheless. a shoulder to cry on, a tender-hearted listener.

but there’s a slim possibility for that. the present is all that matters to him

subaru:

underneath all those black clothes and angst, there’s a vulnerability about him, so he wants somebody who can be tender with his heart. you have to be able to cradle it in your hands gently.

although the wants a girl who is kind, he also wants somebody who can hold their own. this doesn’t negate their sweet nature, but he’s seen what frailty and gentleness mixed together can do and how much it can hurt.

patience is key! his wrath is unavoidable, like a bomb waiting to fizzle and burst, so you have to be able to handle his outbursts with maturity and grace.

like shu, he would love a girl who looks at the world as if it were precious. looking at a single rose as if it encompasses the whole world… to treat something so mundane with love is an admirable quality to him and it makes his cheeks and ears burn bright red.

someone who’s naturally joyful and warm! he’s so caught up in himself and his loneliness, so the only way you can nudge him out of his shell is through a sweet smile and a heart made of pure gold.

he just wants a lover who will treat him with care. he’s seen so much cruelty in his lifetime and it’s made him wary of others, but you? you’re like the opening rays of dawn after a long, dead-silent night.

#this made me realise they all just need a century of therapy💀#diabolik lovers #dialovers #dl #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #laito sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #diabolik lovers headcanons

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withoutyouimsaskia · 1 month

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Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 4)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

GIF: Originally posted by @teenwolf-theoriginals

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dubious/non consent. Groping. Language. Kissing. Nudity. First time. AFAB receiving oral/manual sex. Fingering. Mentions of overstimulation.

Word Count: 3.3k

A/N: Hello there my lovelies! I come bearing a new chapter and this time it is pure smut. It's probably the darkest, filthiest thing I have ever written so brace yourselves. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated. In other news, I watched All of Us Strangers on Friday and it broke me in half. Hope you are all doing well. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The first thing that registers upon returning to your physical body is the touch of Morpheus' hands and mouth.

Warmth blooms at every point of contact and counteracts the biting winter weather.

Both hands have gone under the hem of your shirt to explore the skin of your back. The top three buttons have been undone to give access to your throat. Morpheus nuzzles there, pressing possessive kisses to the sensitive skin.

Navigating through the lingering brain fog, you realise that this was the source of the ghostly grazes you had felt during your meeting with the Fates.

Even when your mind was disembodied from your physical form, he was still able to affect you.

The connection between your souls is strong.

His sense of curiosity is strong too as he creeps a hand round and upwards to cup the flesh of your left breast. Your mind fully snaps back into your body and you make a squeaking noise, overcome with the intimacy.

He removes the exploring hand and pulls back from the crook of your neck, speaking your name eagerly.

Gentle fingertips stroke from your temple to your jaw bone. The world undulates when you try to open your eyes, and you sway on the spot.

He takes the weight of your body until your strength returns. Your eyelids flutter as you try to blink away the excess moisture that has accumulated there.

"That's it, come back to me," he murmurs.

You see the ocean blue of his eyes first, and then pan out to take in his whole face. Once again, you are wonderstruck by his exquisite beauty. Have you ever seen a bone structure combination as exemplary? No. Absolutely not. No one ever has.

The angles are balanced perfectly with his pouty lips, all pink and swollen from use; the sight of them urge you to replicate the same activity with each passing second.

There is no chance allowed for Morpheus disrupts your objectification. "Did you gain some clarity on the situation?"

You pull your coat closer to protect your décolleté from the weather, and take time to thoroughly contemplate his inquiry. There was much to unpack and while you had no inclination to do so standing out in the winter-washed street, you believe that for now Morpheus at least deserves an abridged version.

"Yes. And no. I may have more questions than before I spoke to them..."

"I see." He swallows visibly, hinting at trepidation. "You need not tell me of the specifics of which you conversed. All I need to know is that they have not changed their minds. That you are still mine."

You are smiling reassuringly before he has even finished the sentence. Your intuition tells you it was agony for him the entire time you were gone and you cannot leave him in lingering in that state any longer.

"I am yours," you say ardently as a blissful, expanding feeling blossoms in your chest. "My soulmate."

You brush your knuckles over his cheekbone and cup his face with the gentlest of touches. "My Morpheus."

Saying his name in front of him for the first time has a considerable affect on him. His pupils dilate, lending him a feline air and he groans lowly and quietly in the back of his throat. Hips then roll forwards to give further evidence to his arousal.

You reflect this lustfulness by putting both hands on the back of his neck to pull his face down to yours. He goes willingly, of course, laying claim to your lips like he is an addict and you his vice.

The previous kisses you had shared had been led by Morpheus. You had participated with enthusiasm but he was clearly the one conducting the order of events. Now it was a duet.

Your confidence is shown in your touches. The placement of your hands on his nape and the small of his back, gripping tightly to maintain his closeness. Peppering in open-mouthed kisses in an attempt to get him to open his mouth in return. You want to taste inside him with your own tongue.

He lets you.

You both moan as you trace the inside of his upper lip with your tongue. The taste is just like before; a heady and delicious mixture that blinkers and exposes you in equal parts. You open your mouth further, intending to go deeper when he suddenly delves into your mouth too.

You kiss and kiss and kiss, all the while becoming aware of a trembling heat just above your sternum that carves a path straight and true down to your core.

The hands that were at your sides disappear and the wind begins to pick up. There are gritty specks hitting your bare skin, but you are too overcome with pleasure to wonder why. Morpheus takes hold of your hands and squeezes tightly.

Your head begins to swirl. Is it due to a lack of oxygen? You breathe in through your nose. The adrift feeling persists. The grip Morpheus has on your hands is causing them to go numb.

There's a pressure in your ears similar to that created by the ascent of an aircraft. You feel it straining against your eardrums and spreading across your sinuses. All sound then disappears, as does the floor beneath your feet. Your heartbeat thuds frantically in the back of your throat, pulsating with red flashes behind your closed eyelids. You don't stop kissing him though. He is the only thing that has sense and stability in the disorientation.

The spinning ceases and the pressure fades as your feet find solid ground again. The chill factor has reduced to an ambient temperature. Morpheus extricates himself from your mouth slowly and unwillingly.

There's a sleepy dust-like substance in your eyelashes; you dislodge and wipe it away and open your eyes.

Your location has changed.

The puddle strewn pavements are now white marble. The stinging light emanating from the lamp post replaced by a peaceful mixture of moonlight and starlight through vast windows.

It is extremely familiar. You are trying to figure out why when your focus falls on the statues.

The niggling thought that you put on the back burner is suddenly set free from its cage.

The King of Dreams and Nightmares. That was what the Fates had called him.

You had visited this gallery as you slept and touched yourself in front of a ethereal man.

You vocalise the end of your train of thought as mortification clenches in your gut.

"You were in my dream last night."

"Yes." There's a tiny movement of his lips that suggests pride at your comprehension. "I've been in your dreams for many nights now."

"In the crowds, and that room?"

"Yes."

It all made sense now. It was him you had been waiting for in the blank room and after then, he was the one you had been able to feel watching you from afar. That was why he seemed so familiar. He'd been with you for weeks.

"I can't believe I did that in front of you."

The predatory gaze is back as he surveys your flustered form.

"Hmm," he purrs, "You were quite the spectacle."

"Did you make me do it?"

"I set up the parameters of the dream. Your actions within it were your own."

"I don't remember choosing," you comment in a small voice.

You feel his hands about your waist. "Perhaps you were guided by instinct, rather than conscious thought."

It sounds very plausible for instinct had undoubtably been in the driver's seat since he touched you for the first time.

You decide to change the subject from your exhibitionism. "So this is your realm?"

"We are at the heart of it, within the palace. Few are able to come here when they sleep. Even fewer are permitted to see it with a cognisant mind."

You look down as a bashful blush stains your cheeks. It is truly moving that he let you into his inner most sanctum, even before he had divulged your connection.

A strong thumb and forefinger find purchase on your chin and tilt your head up so he can assess your countenance. "What are you thinking of?"

"I'm just... all of this. What's happened tonight, it's beyond anything I could -"

"Dream?" He offers with a quirked eyebrow.

You laugh. "I was going to say imagine, but dream works just as well."

He brings you in for another passionate kiss, one that goes from lips to earlobe to neck, designed to make your head loll back and knees go weak, and you do both with a sigh.

"I would like to take you to my chambers now," he whispers against your pulse point.

That delicious vibration in your sternum shifts up a gear and you let loose a faint groan in lieu of a reply.

He speaks your name.

The inflection of his voice as he says it is so beguiling that you would probably do anything he suggested.

You are nodding, hazily repeating the word yes a few times even though Morpheus hasn't technically asked you a question.

The pressure you felt before in your ears returns for the briefest of moments and in the time it takes for you to blink, your surroundings have changed once more.

The first thing you notice is the bed, the lone piece of furniture in the room. The frame is an ornately carved pale stone, it twists and turns with gorgeous fluidity. The silk sheets upon it are a stark contrast; black with an iridescent quality that looks like the wings of a corvid. Its presence carries a raft of expectations with it and sets forth a barrage of nervous energy. You ignore the bed for now and look to your soulmate who has moved a few steps away from you.

He looks correct here, you note with intrigue. It's not as if he was out of place outside the function hall, for he has a humanoid form, but the grandeur of this private place is casting him in a different light. Here, with the omniscient gaze, assured tilt of his chin, graceful poise; he looks like the King he is.

And through a funny quirk of fate, he is all yours.

Your chest begins to ache, you raise a hand to it and frown in confusion. It's like your soul is pining, calling out for help.

Morpheus is by your side in an instant.

"I need to touch your bare skin again."

You waste no time in permitting this, shrugging out of your coat and letting it fall onto the black marble floor. Next to be shed are your heeled boots and socks. The height difference between you is lengthened by a couple of inches as you relax the tendons in your feet. You're left in your underwear after you take off your button-up blouse and trousers.

Morpheus' lips part as he observes your body. His eyes dart up and down and you can see the hunger within the darkening irises. His long fingers skim liberally and indiscriminately across your skin, diligently taking away the pain and cataloguing the sensitivity of your body at the same time.

The fingers of his right hand then twitch and his all-black ensemble dissolves into nothing, leaving him completely naked.

Your flush must be fuchsia as you notice his size, and twitches that traverse the length. You look to your own pile of clothes that took you several minutes to remove, hoping that a change of focus will steady your stomach's ever burgeoning butterflies. "That was efficient."

"Once you are dressing in garments created in the Dreaming, I will be able to disrobe you just the same."

You're not entirely sure how you feel about that. It's risky yet also kind of sexy.

"As long as you don't ever do it in front of people by accident," you assert playfully.

"You need not worry, I would never do such a thing to taint your honour."

You nod and close the gap between you.

To say you are astounded by his nude form would be an understatement. Whispers of sinew cord through slender limbs and across his torso, and for each angular peak proffered by bone there is a counteracting swathe of soft, flawless skin that covers it.

You yearn to touch him.

Morpheus' stares are intense as you place your palm over his heart. He hums out a sound of pleasure at the warmth this new skin-on-skin contact has created.

He draws you closer and suddenly lifts you off the ground, knocking the breath out of your lungs. You feel safe in the strength he possesses yet you cling to him with all four limbs regardless, pressing against his bare chest. Having so much of his skin against yours is creating a heat that is close to burning in the most wonderful way.

He lays you onto the bed and watches you with unwavering focus.

"Are you going to perform for me again, or would you like me to take control?"

The notion of that kind of pleasure being administered by him causes your reply to be breathless, "Touch me again, please."

The mattress dips slowly as he gracefully joins you on the bed, straddling himself on top of you.

He starts with your face, caressing you with adoration. Next, pressing kisses to your neck and shoulders before reaching down your body. One hand fondles your breasts while the other cups between your legs. You sigh, relishing in the warmth and how slowly he is taking things.

Deft fingers then dip below the waistband of your underwear.

You jolt and moan, simultaneously thrilled and taken off guard.

"Good," he says with dark delight. "You respond well to me."

He teases at your entrance and you are all at once very overwhelmed.

"I look forward to seeing how you react when I push inside you."

It truly does sound like something you want him to do - you've longed for a physical relationship for years however there's a detail that you know your soulmate should be privy to before you try. How it will be received, you cannot begin to guess, but you need to be upfront.

"I've never been with anyone in that way," your words sounding even more vulnerable than you feel.

Morpheus stops his attentions immediately and for a handful of heartbeats, you are admonishing yourself for the bluntness of your admission.

He moves back up your body and his eyes find yours. His expression is gentle and devoid of judgement, the following sentence backing up what your optic nerves are perceiving.

"Then I will teach you."

He presses a single chaste kiss to your lips; an act that seals his promise. Your apprehension melts away. You run your hands through his hair as you bask in the sweetness of the moment. The Fates were right: Morpheus really is perfect for you.

"I am going to worship you now."

He's ridding you of your bra and underwear immediately after you consent. The second he sees you fully bared, his eyes turn black.

You wonder what you've just agreed to.

He kneels on the floor at the foot of the bed, grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him until your legs hang off the edge.

You've seen depictions of oral sex in media however you have always reasoned that they are likely to be unrealistic; fantasies created in controlled environments and you would be naïve to hope that it could be like that for you, when it happened. Until now. Morpheus is the expert in dreams after all. Maybe you are allowed to get your hopes up.

His lips tease your inner thighs as he settles himself closer and closer to your throbbing, wet core until you feel the tickling of his breath.

He observes for a moment, part your folds with a single finger, grasps your hips and then goes down on you like you are an enticing, delectable treat that must be devoured.

Your lips falls open as his own closes around your clit. The heat that is brought from this touch is an inferno. You moan, and look at him, at this otherworldly being smothering you so adeptly, and how his intense eyes dance with pleasure of their own. He is enjoying this. It makes you gush.

Morpheus, taking advantage of this, very quickly collects the slick on both his index fingers and reaches up to lubricate your hardened nipples with it.

You groan from this additional stimulation and throw your head back with abandon, getting a good view of the vaulted ceiling above you and the seemingly literal constellations that float glimmering and glowing in the rafters.

Soon you are writhing on the cool silk of the sheets and he is forced to resume holding your hips to keep you still.

He then switches to a two-fronted approach. Two fingers sink into your cunt, the thumb of the same hand curling up to press on your clit. It's quite the step - letting another person inside your most intimate place and his reverent groans at feeling your tightness envelop his digits shows that he acknowledges this too. All it takes is a few deep, well angled pumps and then you are granted a mind-shattering orgasm.

His hand presses into the softness of your lower abdomen and the ecstasy becomes ten fold. You repeatedly moan his name as vibrant colours explode behind your eyelids, like the green and purple phosphenes that form if you rub your eyes too hard.

"Was that to your satisfaction?" He asks once your body has gone limp.

You look at Morpheus through the pulsing haze of aftershocks; his cheek resting against your inner thigh as his skin gleams with the same divinely beautiful quality as the stars above you.

"It was more than that," you declare emotionally.

What he's just given you is beyond your highest hopes of what intimacy could be. You had let another person see you at your most vulnerable, and reaped the rewards of that trust. Now, you must show your devotion to him.

"Your turn."

He stands and shakes his head. "No."

You are crestfallen but catch on when he begins to spread pre-cum over the length of his erection.

"Oh, um, Morpheus, I'm sorry. I don't think I can take you right now."

The notion of any kind of touching so soon after climaxing would be the guarantor of pain.

He ignores you, his movements calculated as he adjusts your position; arranging you in the centre of the mattress and splaying your trembling legs.

"Morpheus. I appreciate that I'm inexperienced but I know my body. I can't -"

His tone is dangerous as he interrupts you, "You are my soulmate. You have been made for me and as such, you will be able to take me."

You sit up. "I want to do things for you too."

He climbs on top of you, takes your wrists in his long-fingered hands and leverages you back towards horizontal.

You still don't concede. "Morpheus, tell me what you want."

His voice rumbles with authority, "I want to fuck you without delay. Pour myself into you. Possess you. Merge with you and have us become one."

He ups the persuasive tactics, leaning in close so all you can see are dark eyelashes framing even darker eyes. The heat under your skin is stifling.

"This is the final stage in your awakening. Don't you want to know what will happen when it's done? Allow me to guide you there. Be your first and only, make you feel exquisite with my touch."

He places a palm onto your chest and smiles a twisted smile when a luscious shuddering in that spot above your sternum makes you whimper and squirm.

"Submit to fate," he whispers. "Let me tie our souls together."

He is so eloquent and compelling and he delivers the killer blow as he lines his thick, long cock up at your entrance.

"Will you surrender yourself to me, Y/N?"

-------------------------------------

Tag list: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt @littleblackcatinwonderland @1950schick @lollipopsandlandmines

"In the middle of the night in my dreams, you should see the things we do. In the middle of the night in my dreams, I know I'm going to be with you so I take my time. Are you ready for it?"

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icallhimjoey · 1 year

Note

Midnight kiss with Joseph on New Years

ok babe, so @mybffjoe and i had one of those conversations where we just added onto a fantasy until it quite literally became a full fic and it kind of fit this request, so EVEN THOUGH its not in time for NYE, i hope you enjoy! Wordcount: 2K

---

So Unlike Yesterday

part one - part two

"Move in everyone, get in here with me," you called out over the music, held out your arm and saw people move to get their faces into your selfie. You stuck your tongue out, closed your eyes and held the shutter button down to take fifteen pictures in one second.

"Cute!" you called out before you'd even seen the pic.

But it was cute. You in the forefront, pretty, glass of your own weird mixture of alcohol in hand and a gaggle of your girlfriends behind you, all dressed in shimmery sleek outfits.

It was a picture you would absolutely post onto Instagram, but the reason you'd taken it was to send over to your family, your friends - your entire contact list if you were honest. You threw a NYE filter over top, wrote a generic 'happy new year' message underneath and, at 11:40pm, pressed send.

You instantly got replies. Especially your family members were quick to respond.

You also received a pic from a friend who was in the room with you, and it was a pic of you, on your phone. You laughed and gave her the finger. Downed your drink. Threw yourself into the singing that was happening to ABBA's Dancing Queen, until you saw your phone light up again.

Your new boss.

You opened the text and were met by a picture of... people you absolutely didn't know. And they'd absolutely mimicked the picture you'd sent; a guy holding his phone, arm outstretched, tongue out, eyes closed, drink in his other hand. And in the background, other guys, all posed in the same ways your friends had posed, facial expressions and all.

Then three flickering dots.

"Happy new year! Who is this?"

Wrong number.

You'd put your new boss' phone number in manually the day before, for the job you were going to start on Monday, and either your boss was very cool and had great humour, or you'd messed up the number. Probably the latter, as you didn't recognise any of the people in the photo, but you weren't going to risk it.

"did I not just text the coolest boss in the world ever? who will definitely not fire me before I've even started?"

It took a second, and you waited in panic, breath held, palms sweating, which one of your friends noticed.

"What's up?" she asked.

"Wait!" you said, held a finger up as another three flickering dots appeared in your text thread that held a name above it that you hoped so hard didn't match the phone number you had just received a photo from.

Another photo popped up.

The same guy who'd done your pose in the other picture, now just his face up close, nose scrunched up, one eye closed, mouth pulled up into a thin smile.

You sighed, let your shoulders drop, so very relieved. You definitely had just typed in the number wrong and had now texted a random person a photo of you and your friends at a New Years Eve party.

"omg so sorry, wrong number! but cheers!" you replied, and then, turned your phone to let your friend see.

"Shit, that's hilarious!" she said, taking the phone from your hand and showing someone else, zooming in on the pic of the guys, then swiping to have a look at yours.

"Look at this!" your phone got passed around.

You needed another drink, you realised you mouth was dry after that very brief high-stakes scary situation.

"Send back the same pic!" someone suggested when they'd swiped onto the close up selfie of the guy, and before you could even think of doing so, your friend who held your phone exclaimed, "He's typing! He's typing!"

Another pic of the same guy, his phone at a bit of a distance and holding his drink up too close to the camera to have it in focus. He was very clearly drunk. The pic had text attached, "Cheers! What's your poison?"

"Who is he?" someone asked.

"I don't know!" you made a face at your phone as you opened your camera and sent back a pic of your empty glass.

This was fun. You'd had enough to drink to indulge yourself in this weird back and forth for a bit.

Three flickering dots.

"what was in that"

You took a second to look around the room, spotted a friend who still had her glass full and walked over. You held her wrist, got your camera to focus on it and behind it, she ducked her face down into frame and smiled.

Perfect shot. You sent it back, and wrote "apple pie cocktail".

"shit" is all you got in return, and it made you giggle.

You scooped up your empty glass and took it to the kitchen. You really did want another, and the clock was ticking down. It was going to be champagne flutes in a bit, but ten minutes felt too long to be without a drink and having smelled the one your friend was still nursing, you really did fancy another.

Your phone buzzed in your hand before you even got to place your glass down on the kitchen counter.

"looks good, whats in that"

Could you just... Facetime him? Call him and show him? A friend joined you in the kitchen, opened the fridge to fix herself a drink too. "He wants to know what's in an apple pie cocktail," you said, and because she wasn't a mindreader, she started listing all the ingredients.

No, that's not what you meant.

"wait ill show you" you replied in a text and then, because you weren't a total creep, waited half a minute before you Facetimed the person that was listed under your new boss' name in your phone.

He answered immediately.

The room he was in was just as loud as the party you had going, and where you had your camera flipped so he wasn't able to see your face, his face was VERY close to the screen.

"Okay, so," you got straight to business, speaking loudly into your phone to make yourself audible over the music. That's not how technology worked - you could've spoken at a normal volume into the mic and the stranger would've heard you just fine, but you'd been drinking, and this was a weird situation you had found yourself in.

"Glass," you showed your empty glass on the counter.

"Glass!" he repeated after you, and you chuckled. He heard, smiled in return.

"Apple cider." you used your free hand to slide a bottle of Magners into frame.

"Apple cider!"

"Vanilla vodka."

"Vanilla vodka!" he repeated again.

You saw how someone else had joined him, recognised the face as one of the guys who'd imitated one of your friends in the group photo he'd sent. Both their faces were only half in shot, far too close to the phone, very obviously just watching you and not caring about what they looked like to you, what image of themselves they were sending out into the ether.

"What's going on?" the other guy asked.

"She's mixing a drink." you could barely hear them over the music playing at both parties.

"She the one from the photo?"

"Yea, she's hot,"

You pretended you didn't hear that.

"Fireball whisky."

"Fireball whisky!" they repeated in unison now, and made you laugh once more.

"And ice!" you finished, opening the freezer, doing your best to keep it all in frame for them to see as you got an ice tray out.

To actually make the drink, you decided to flip the camera and show yourself. You placed the phone down against the backsplash and showed them how you put the drink together. You'd tapped your own little screen to switch them so you could see what you were doing, to make sure you got it all in frame for them. A friend joined you, bent down to get into frame as she sipped her drink, stared real close at your phone for a second before asking, "Are you live?"

"I'm Facetiming... these, random guys?" you laughed. This was so weird, very random.

"Joe!" he'd heard you.

"I'm Facetiming Joe, making an apple pie - you want one?"

It was all chaotic, you were mixing drinks for you and a friend, talking through it, had people come in and out of the kitchen who started collecting champagne flutes from cabinets because midnight was getting real close now. Joe asked where you were, and you each explained you were at friend's parties, somewhere in London, and you joked, oh my God what if you were at the same one? You saw Joe rush into the kitchen at his party, and you laughed. Or what if you were real close to each other? You were seriously both in London? What a weird coincidence! On Joe's end he was talking to other people too, looking down at his phone, it was mostly the top half of his face and the ceiling that you got to see, but he would laugh, move around a lot and have sips of his drink.

"Ok that's it! Bye!" you said suddenly, finishing the drink, grabbing the phone and bringing your own face more into view.

"Wait!" Joe said before you could hang up on him.

"Taste test!" he requested, and, you weren't lame, so you brought your glass up to your mouth and took a sip as you brought the camera in close.

You could see Joe move in even closer to his phone screen too.

"S'that good?"

You copied him, but moved your phone so close, it was just your mouth showing now.

"Yea it's fucking good."

"Countdown!!" you heard someone yell at Joe's party, and nearly at the same time, you were called into the living room by your friends for the countdown too.

You didn't hang up.

Just took Joe with you as you joined your friends. You saw Joe do the same.

It was all linked arms, or arms draped over each other's shoulders and more people had their phones out, filming, taking pictures and Facetiming the people that hadn't been able to make it. You blended in just fine with Joe. It was just a funny stranger on your phone instead of your mum. Surrounded by your favourite people, buzzed from all the drinks you already had and unable to stop your giddy giggles, this really felt like the best way to ring in the new year.

You started the count down, and you were both shouting numbers into your phones. The friend next to you laughed when she saw what was happening, thought it was so funny too that this random dude was now part of your circle in this moment.

Then, when the clock struck midnight, you both saw how Joe leant in to kiss his phone. You laughed, turned your phone more to show your friend who scrunched up her face, but then reached and pushed your hand that was holding your phone to your face.

You kissed your phone too.

Joe only just managed to catch it as he moved back before you did, and couldn't hold back his own giggles.

"Happy new year!"

Someone handed you a flute of champagne, and you cheersed your glass to your phone before flipping the camera and making your way onto the balcony with everyone else to watch the fireworks.

Joe did the same, except he was out on the street, holding his phone up towards the sky, and in some weird romantic turn of the strangest events that lead up to this moment, you watched fireworks together. Said things like, "Ooh those ones are my favourite," when you saw the specific ones that sparkled after exploding up high in the air, and Joe could've sworn, could have absolutely sworn, just for those specific sparkly fireworks, that you'd both seen the same ones.

You had to be close.

Had to be.

The new year had only just started literal minutes ago, and already, it seemed like the best fucking year yet. Nothing like the year before. So unlike yesterday. Yes, this year was going to be better, Joe thought, as he listened to your marvels through the phone.

Happy fucking new year indeed.

---

read part two here!

---

The Taglisted:

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @kiwisa @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @alana4610 @emmamooney @xomunson @sadbitchfangirl @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @eddiemunsonfuxks @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoee @harrys-tittie @chaoticgood-munson @jenisnotlost @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @xeddiesbattattsx @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @thefemininemystiquee @hauntingbastille @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-joey @alizztor @thelostmoonofpooosh @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff - (tag list currently full)

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn x reader #joe quinn x you #joseph quinn x you #joe quinn fanfic #joself quinn fanfic #joe quinn imagine #joseph quinn imagine #fanfiction #one shot #requested

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felinedetached · 1 year

Text

The April/May 2023 MCSR Cheating Scandal Saga

(or, as much of it that I can explain as of May 3rd, considering we keep getting new info)

So, it all starts back in April of 2019 — 27 April 2019 exactly, when NikocraftHD posted his 3:59 Set Seed Glitchless Peaceful (SSGP) pre-1.9 WR. At 11 million views, it’s one of the most well known speedruns ever, and unquestionably the most well known run of its type. And four years later, on 30 April 2023, Eliotex dropped a video: NikocraftHD spliced his speedruns and nobody noticed.

Two of NikocraftHD’s runs were cheated: the 3:59, and a later 2:49 (26 March 2022). Both had evidence of a cheating method called ‘splicing’, or cutting videos of two attempts together. In this case, he additionally used a recreated world file and a NBT Editor to manually copy the previous world “level.dat” values for getting good End Towers.

The 2:49′s evidence is, in retrospect, relatively obvious: Nikocraft had placed blocks during his run that should have been visible from spawn, but when he loaded back into spawn after going through the end portal, those blocks weren’t there anymore.

The 3:59 was harder to prove — until Crafterdark noticed something odd about Nikocraft’s hunger bar. If you’ve ever played Minecraft in peaceful, you’ll know that your hunger bar will never deplete. However, there’s two aspects of the hunger bar: the food level, and the saturation level. In peaceful, your saturation level does decrease, and when it reaches 0, your hunger bar starts to ‘bounce’ or ‘jitter’ every 3-ish seconds. Saturation level persists even between dimensions, meaning even when you load into a new dimension, if you have zero saturation, your hunger bar will continue to make that constant movement.

When Nikocraft enters the end at 2:54, his hunger bar doesn’t start moving again until 3:30. That’s over 30 seconds without the periodical 3-second jitters. In the 2:49, after he enters the end at 1:50, his hunger bar doesn’t start moving again until 2:14 — roughly 23 seconds without movement. That second run, with a 23 second section without movement — the chance of that happening legitimately is 3.9E-34. That’s 0.00000000000000000000000000000000039.

Sources for this section: Eliotex’s video | Cheating Doc | NikocraftHD’s runs (3:59) (2:49)

Cool. So NikocraftHD cheated, twice, but you may be wondering: all of this was uncovered on April 30th. Why is this the April-May cheating scandal?

That would be because ten hours later, at 8am on May 1st for me, a runner who was incredibly popular and well liked at the time, Lide — who is a huge part of MCSR history — admitted to cheating his world records.

Lide got so many people into running. He was the first to use tower strats in a world record, he worked with so many of the legendary runners of that era. I need to emphasise: that this runner cheated, and sees it as a joke, has been heartbreaking for the community. I think Cscuile explained it best:

Sources for this section: Falco’s tweet | Cscuile’s tweet

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the end of it: around the same time, Loth realised something interesting about a 4:41 pre-1.9 SSGP run by bruono1st — who would have had world record if not for NikocraftHD’s cheated 3:59. bruonost’s run also showed evidence of a splice — the hunger bar once again stopped moving after he entered the end. Unfortunately, upon being called out bruono1st privated his run, and we can no longer watch it, but here are the tweets about it: eliotex tweet | poisonousskely tweet

As of May 3rd, this is all that’s come out in total, but I hope this was an understandable and informative explanation of what’s going on for those curious!

#mcsr #mcsr history #the queen's commands #its been a wild ride for sure

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testingthewatersss · 4 months

Text

I never lost him Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, torture, etc. Just unapologetic cuddling and comfort ft. Steve Rodgers. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Chapter 6 3500 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Post TWS Steve realises that he's not the only one looking for Sargent Barnes. Reader is Tony’s sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who recently resurfaced.

“Does… Does she have to call me that?” Bucky murmurs, looking awfully shy.

“No” Y/N chuckles, “No, handsome- She’ll call you whatever you want.”

“Can… Can you call me Bucky, please?” he asks, eyes looking up towards the ceiling again, “Sargent Barnes, doesn’t— uh, it doesn’t feel right, right now”

“Sure I can, Bucky— are you happy to accept the family-access I outlined earlier?”

“Oh so that’s why you decided to offer your assurances, huh?” Y/N sniggers, resuming their path up the stairs, “Here I thought you were just bein’ sweet”

“I don’t know what you mean, Ms Stark”

Y/N laughs again, and Bucky finds himself unable to control his curiosity.

“What do you mean, doll?”

“She’s getting impatient with us” she tells him calmly, “She wants you to tell her if you’re happy with the security allowances of if she’ll have to re-negotiate the parameters— that’s why she chimed in, she was trying to rush us along”

The AI doesn’t deny her statement.

“She can do that?”

“Sure” Y/N says, guiding him towards a corridor, now, “She can do whatever she wants”

“Within reason” FRIDAY alters, “but, to bring us back to the topic at hand—“

“Okay” Y/N chuckles, “I hear you—Buck, are you okay with family access? it’s the same as me and Tony, it’s basically a free pass”

“But…” he says, coming to an abrupt stop, “But what if.. what if somethin’ happens and you need… and you need to stop me—”

“Hey” Y/N says, tone firm, “That’s not going to happen.”

“But if it did” Bucky counters, “If I have access like that then I’d— I’d be a threat and I—”

“Excuse my interruption, Bucky” FRIDAY inserts, “But in the very unlikely event of a ‘Code White’ we would recognise the need to alter the parameters and temporarily implement control measures until the situation was managed.”

“A code white?” he asks, blinking between the roof and Y/N, “What-“

“Yes, FRIDAY” Y/N bristles, “What is a ‘code white?’”

“It’s your brothers protocol” the AI replies, “for if there is a problem involving ‘The Winter Solider' “

“Right” she says, “and what exactly does the protocol entail?”

“Mainly it’s the withdrawal of Bucky’s access to the internal operating systems within the building, though it also triggers an alert to make sure that you, your brother, and Captain Rogers are aware of the possible threat.”

“Is that all it does?” she asks, anger she’d felt towards her brother for setting this up behind her back starting to ease, “It doesn’t initiate any hostile actions?”

“No, boss— Mr Stark was very clear in his coding— Sargent Barnes is not to be treated as a threat, and if we become concerned about his condition, no offensive measures are to be taken— all actions would be geared around securing him until somebody with authority arrives to manually intercept.”

“No exceptions?”

“No, boss.”

She nods at that, and makes a mental note to buy Tony dinner one of these days.

“So” Bucky says, catching up— “If I… if something did happen, I- I’d lose access and you- you’d be told to come and get me from wherever I was?”

“Looks like it” Y/N agrees, “I’ll go over everything properly later but it looks like T has it all figured out”

“Then I accept” Bucky says, “But only as long as you promise me, Doll— Promise me that you’ll keep the ‘code white’ stuff in place, no matter what.”

“Bucky” she tries to reason, “It’s not necessary- I keep tellin’ you, it doesn’t work that way, you’re not some kind of time-bomb—”

“It makes me feel better” he tells her honestly, “Knowing that if somethin’ did happen, somethin’ I can’t control then you’d still be safe, I— I’m always so worried ‘bout that, doll, you know I am, and this, this might be a way I can relax a little”

She understands, even if she thinks it’s awfully sad.

“Alright” she sighs, “Alright, sweetheart, we’ll keep the ‘code-white’— but I’m not promising I won’t tweak it a little, I don’t know what he’s set as a ‘trigger’ for it yet.”

“Deal” Bucky accepts, shifting uncomfortably on his feet, “I… I accept the- the access.”

“Thank you” FRIDAY says, “and, I have uploaded a comprehensive list of ‘code-white action points’ to your tablets, boss— you can review or alter them at your convenience, your brother transferred control of the protocol to you last week.”

“Last week?” She echos, genuinely surprised, “When exactly did he start working on this little project?”

“Two weeks after you moved into the safe house, boss— He finalised it a month ago, but I assume he was waiting for you to make your relationship public before giving you access”

“We weren’t public last week” she counters, “What changed?”

“I’m not sure” FRIDAY replies, “but I would suspect it was something to do with the mission you returned from, as he reviewed the details shortly after you first returned.”

“Son of a bitch” she mumbles, “He heard me, on the quinn jet.”

“What?” Bucky asks, “wh-“

“Tony” she sighs, frustrated, “He must’ve heard me talkin’ to the others on the way back from that base— I keep forgettin’ his Russian isn’t terrible anymore…”

“So he… he knew?” Bucky checks, “He knew about—“

“If he had this thing set up a month ago I’d wager he’s known for awhile, I bet he heard me tellin’ Steve and figured that if I was doin’ that then it must’ve meant I was close to tellin’ everyone else.”

“but, he… he didn’t try and stop you from seeing me?”

“Why would he do that?” Y/N asks, genuinely confused, as she tries to urge him back into walking.

“Because I…” Bucky begins, obliging and taking a few more steps towards a door at the end of the hallway “..He… he-”

“I keep tellin’ you, sweetheart” she says, “I know he was angry when you first met, but was more hurt by Steve for not just being honest with him. You just happened to be there when it all blew up.”

“But I-”

“-You” she cuts in, “didn’t do anything, Bucky- Tony has a temper, but he’s smart, he understands- Sure, I didn’t want to rub this whole thing in his face but I never tried to hide it from him either, not like I did with Rodgers so he’s had plenty of time to adjust to the whole idea of us bein’ a couple.”

“But why has he gone to so much trouble?” Bucky asks now, “He didn’t have to do any of this, doll, not- not helpin’ keep Rogers away today, not tellin’ FRIDAY I was comin’—”

“He probably feels bad” Y/N shrugs, hand reaching out for the handle, “He’s not good at apologies, grand gestures have always been more his style.”

“Why would he feel bad?” he presses, genuinely not understanding, “It’s me who-”

“He lashed out, love, he hit you in the face” she reminds him, “more than once.”

The door to the suite they’re going to share opens silently.

Y/N beams, nodding at him as he peers over the threshold.

“I had it coming“ he mumbles, not being able to stay silent, “I deserved everything he did and more—”

“Looks like he disagrees”

“What?—”

His question dies in his throat as he steps into the room. His eyes widen as he takes in expanse of the space;

It’s beautiful. Soft, beige carpets, with deep burgundy walls, and dark, old wood.

It’s calm and welcoming and, layed out across leather arm chair that is to the left of the seemingly real fire, there is a huge pile of clothes.

Mens clothes. Large mens clothes.

Thick cable knit sweaters, sweat pants, jeans, and lots, and lots of t-shirts, all lying there, with a single red bow on the top of the pile.

Y/N steps towards it, and peels off a note, smiling as she hands it to her lover, who blinks at it, like it might burst into flames.

Welcome Home — T. Stark

p.s used Cap’ for the sizing. Y/N can show you how to exchange if needed.

“I think it’ll fit” she coos, holding up a dark blue jumper, “You’re not far off Steve, are ya’ love?”

He’s so overwhelmed by the gesture that he really doesn’t know what to say.

This is all more than he could ever have expected, and he doesn’t deserve any of it.

Not one single piece.

“8” he says, looking at her urgently, “8, Y/N, please this… this is all too much”

“Okay” she murmurs, discarding the sweater back on the pile, “It’s okay, you’re alright.”

“This” he huffs, looking around, “it’s too much, it— it’s too- it’s too nice, I— I can’t, I can’t take it, I— I can’t”

“You” she purrs, “are going to have to get used to niceness, Bucky. You haven’t had nearly enough of it lately.”

“I can’t take it” he repeats, imploring her to understand, “not after everything I’ve done —”

“You haven’t done anything” she counters calmly, “I know you disagree, I know it feels like it was all your fault, but it wasn’t— it really, really wasn’t”

He’s starring at her, wide eyed and anxious, one hand in hers as the other slips up, to fuss with his dog tag again.

Suddenly, Y/N finds herself remembering all the times she’s seen him reaching up to paw at his neck, before.

She’d written it off as a quirk, as something he just did when he was anxious, but now, the action makes a lot more sense.

“Baby” she sighs, softening her expression and taking a step closer towards him, “I know it’s not easy, I know none of this feels right”

“It… It’s too much” he repeats, “It… It’s just, it’s too much”

“I hear you” she tells him, knowing that he’s used to not being allowed to speak, let alone being listened to, “I know it’s a lot.”

“I can’t…” he says weakly, “Y/N/N, I don’t deserve any of this”

“C’mere” she says instantly, guiding him into a hug, “You… god, Buck— You deserve the world.”

He’s clinging to her back now, chain around his neck long forgotten.

His face is buried against her shoulder and all he can think about is how he doesn’t want anything other than her.

“We can put the clothes in the closet?” she suggests, “You don’t have to process all that today, not unless you want to.”

“I… I don’t think I can” he admits, “I- I can’t take things from him, doll, not- not after everything’-”

“Alright” she agrees, “Okay, we’ll put them away, and you can look at them when you’re more settled in”

That still involves accepting them, so she takes the small nod he offers as a major victory.

“For right now” she coos softly, “Why don’t you take a look around, huh? find somewhere to unload your bag.”

“Will you come with me?” he asks, voice muffled by the position he’s in, “Please?”

“Sure” Y/N agrees, smiling as she takes hold of his hand again, “Where do you want to start?”

They start in the entry way, because it’s where they’re standing.

Once Bucky has saciated his need to examine the door they’d come through, they head towards the mantel. He asks her if the fire is real, and she laughs, asking what he means by ‘real’-

“It’s a self-maintaining energy source that produces heat, without the flammability of conventional flames”

He stares at her, brow furrowed in confusion;

“When it’s turned on the imagery mimics a wood burning fire” she explains, “and it releases heat molecules to warm the room up, but because it’s man made it doesn’t catch like regular fire. It doesn’t spread or burn unless we tell it too, so we can leave it goin’ for longer and not worry ‘bout any accidents.”

“You, you made that?” he asks, awe slipping into his tone as he crouches, to stare directly at the glowing embers.

“Yeah” she chuckles, “I had a spare weekend, and it bothered me, y’know? having’ to keep lighting actual ones every time I wanted one going…”

“It even sounds real” he murmurs, listening to the muted crackling, “and the logs, they’re… they look so solid”

“Well” she says, almost flushing with pride, “No point in doin’ somethin’ if you’re not goin’ to do it right”

He laughs at that, turning to face her with a genuine grin on his face.

He’s amazed and it shows.

Y/N doesn’t think he could look any more beautiful if he tried.

“C’mon” she beams, “I’ll show you how to work it.”

There’s a hidden panel on the side of the ornate mantle. FRIDAY helpfully lets him know that controlling the systems are part of his security privileges, and by the time he’s finished fiddling with the buttons, he’s decided that having the sound effects 1% lower, whilst raising the heat by 12% is the way he likes it best. Y/N sets it as their new default, but reminds him that he can change it anytime he likes.

Next, they head into their little kitchenette. It’s quaint, and easy to navigate. After living in the safe house he’s familiar with microwaves and coffee machines and other than the small refrigerator unit and stove top there doesn’t seem to be anything else he’d need to master using.

Until the woman he’s with holds her hands over a panel on one of the counter top and a holographic book appears in the air. She chuckles at his intrigue and explains that she and Tony had been acquiring recipes for years— from restaurants and friends, from family and private chefs— so at some point the pair had decided to scan them all in and create their own cook-book. She flips through a couple of pages, demonstrating how easy it is to navigate, and reminds him that FRIDAY can find or translate anything he wants.

“You can have her add groceries to the list, too” she says offhandedly, “Delivery day is usually Tuesday but we can usually make stuff appear a little sooner if we need it.”

It’s mind blowing.

They go up a set of three small steps and open one oak door before reaching the ‘bed room’ portion of the suit.

It’s different to how he’d pictured it.

Really, the whole thing is different.

He’s seen a lot of fancy houses in the magazines that had gathered in the safe house. He’s seen a lot of marble, and sleek black furniture that, when paired with sparse surfaces seemed to be called ‘modernism’ and that is more what he’d envisioned whenever he’d pictured the home of the woman he loves.

Now he’s seen the reality, he can’t justify why he’d pictured her living somewhere that barren. This, is much more her, which is a welcome relief. Not one part of living in a place as sterile as the ones he’s seen pictured had appealed to him, really, even though he’d have done so happily for her.

The walls in this area are cream, but the built in storage is wood that’s been painted with a deep, dark navy that’s chipping off in places. The bed frame itself is the same dark wood that had accented the adjoining space, and there is clutter everywhere.

He sees a small arrangement of bronze trinkets, and a collection of books on one of the bedside tables, the other, however is bare aside from one vintage picture frame, which, he notices houses a picture of them. It’s of them from a couple of months back, when she’d gifted him a polaroid camera that he still carries everywhere he goes.

It’s on the right, because that’s the side of the bed he sleeps on. Because that’s where he has the best view of the door, and where he used to stand the best chance of escaping from, before someone came to hurt him.

Bucky realises that he’s been silent for a long time when he feels her thumb brushing over his knuckles.

He clings to her hand and tries to take it all in.

“The bathrooms through there” she says, nodding towards the only other door in the space, “Bath, shower, toilet and all that good stuff”

He nods, mouth suddenly very dry.

“How about I go get those clothes for the closet?” Y/N offers, “You can take a bit of time to get settled? Poke around a little.”

She sees him getting ready to object, so she decides to cut him off, kissing him before whispering out an “It’s your home too now, Buck” that seems to hit him awfully hard.

With a nod, and a final squeeze of her palm, he lets go, pawing at his eyes to try and force back the tears that are suddenly stinging behind them.

He’s in the bathroom when she comes back with his presents. She hides them in the side of the dresser she’s kept empty for him, only leaving out a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeve t-shirt that she thinks he might want to wear before bed. She lays those across the end of the bed and tops them with a pair of wool socks that she bought a few days before her last mission.

By the time she’s done, he’s back out in the main room, having slipped out whilst she was too preoccupied to notice.

She does however notice the pair of boots that have been placed by the entrance to the bathroom.

Her heart swells in her chest, and when she almost trips over his backpack, which has been left by the end of the bed, she almost starts crying herself.

He’s by the fire again, hovering by the worn leather couch— she’s about to call out a greeting but he turns to face her with an expression so captivated that she can’t quite get the words out;

“What’s this, doll?”

He’s asking about the large wicker basket that’s stuffed full of blankets. It’s by the armchair, close enough to both that, and the fire to make it easily accessible by everyone who might want to grab a quilt from inside.

“That?” she checks, closing the distance towards him, “That’s a basket full of blankets.”

Bucky hears himself gasp at her answer. A thick, teal cover slipping through his metal fingers as they continue to dip into it’s contents.

“Why?” is all he can think to ask,

“Because” Y/N answers calmly, “I wanted to make sure that nobody was ever going to be cold in here.”

“D-do I really get to stay here?”

Her head tilts. The waiver in his voice hitting her like a hard punch to the throat.

“Sweetheart” she whispers, seeing the emotion in his face, “Sweetheart of course you do.”

Before she can take another breath he’s in her arms. He’s throwing himself against her chest with enough urgency to wind her as she moves to hold him, too.

“Hey” she gasps, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re alright.”

Bucky forces himself to nod, because it’s all he can think to do.

“This is your home now” she tells him, “Yours, and mine, okay? nobodies goin’ to make you leave.”

and then, he’s crying.

Grateful, relieved, painful little sobs wracking up from his chest because he just can’t fathom trying to swallow them down.

This is so much more than he’d expected. This whole thing has hit him so much harder than he’d thought it would.

And he’s safe, and he’s finally, really, really safe, and he’s with Y/N, and she doesn’t have to go anywhere, because she’s already there, and he gets to stay. He gets to stay with her, he gets to have a home again, but this time, he gets to share it with the woman he loves, and that is all he’s wanted, since he remembers wanting anything at all.

and it’s real. It’s real and he’s crying because he just can’t stop.

“Bucky” she soothes, “Bucky, sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

“N-nothin” he gasps, “I- I’m… I just… I-”

Understanding floods her at once, and then, she’s smiling, pressing a kiss against the top of his head as she lets him come apart against her shoulder. As she lets him settle himself in the privacy her body can offer him.

“I love you too” she swears, waiting until he finally pulls away to dry his cheeks with her fingers, “I know comin’ here took a lot, and I know that it isn’t goin’ to magically make the past 80 years ago away, but I really do think that with time, when you’ve really settled in you’re goin’ to feel better”

“I already do” he tells her quietly, “This… this is already better”

“Good” she beams, “now, do you want to try out the shower? I’m sure you can figure out how it works without me-”

“If” he sniffs bravely, “If I say I can’t, does that mean you’ll show me?”

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | x | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

#bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barns x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier x you #fluff #x reader #drabble #series #BBneverlosthim

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shy-urban-hobbit · 1 month

Text

Smut under the cut!

C/W for consensual biting and blood.

For as long as Lambert had known him, Aiden had always taken great pains to keep his nails short, filing them down habitually (the Mutagens making them too tough to cut). His first thought was that it was a vanity of the others. It made sense to look after their hands afterall, but the only people Lambert had ever known to be that meticulous about nail care specifically were nobles who’d never done a days manual labour in their lives and acted like it was the end of the world if one broke.

It was only when they became better acquainted and Lambert gained a passing knowledge of the nature of Cat Mutagens ( or at least, the ones which applied to Aiden’s class) he’d realised that his Kitten had claws in the very literal sense and this routine was borne of a desire of Aiden’s not only to erase another reminder of his ‘otherness’ , but to not create anymore holes in his belongings or leave himself or anyone he got close to covered in scratches (they didn’t talk about the time he lost his file and had to substitute tree trunks. Lambert had found himself face down in the mud after one too many scratching post jabs and had bought him a new one as an apology).

“I don’t know why you don’t just leave them alone. So you’ve got sharper than average nails, big deal.” Lambert muttered from where he was on his bedroll after checking through their supplies – the next town over had a pretty decent apothecary who wasn’t prejudice towards Witchers so it was the perfect opportunity to stock up on any potion ingredients.

“I’ve lost count of the number of times we’ve had this conversation so I’ll shorten the answer to one word. Convenience.” Aiden answered as he slid the orange glass file from Lambert back into his pack (the look on Lambert’s face when Aiden had asked if he’d got that particular colour to remind Aiden of his eyes had been priceless).

“Why does it bother you anyway, you want to feel the full effect of my claws?”

Lambert was powerless to stop the unexpected flash of arousal which followed the question - all he could do was pray it had passed too quickly for Aiden to notice.

“Oh.” No such luck if the wide grin the Cat threw him was any indication as he slithered into Lambert’s lap, straddling his thighs and looping his arms round his neck, “You do!”

Lambert remained stubbornly silent as Aiden’s expression turned appraising.

“Alright Pup, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you want you want.” He lightly scraped currently blunted nails over the back of Lambert’s neck, causing a small shudder, before moving to gently coax Lambert’s mouth open and lightly run a finger over his fangs – no longer than Aiden’s own, but wider and tougher. Perfect for tearing and crushing, “If you let me feel these. Right here.” He tilted his head and tapping just above his collarbone. Lambert felt an entirely different chill run up his spine.

“Are you fucking insane? One wrong move and I could rip your throat out.”

“And I could bleed you dry with a swipe of my finger but that doesn’t seem to be much of a deterrent now, does it?”

Lambert gave a huff. His stupid fucking Cat...had a point. Damn him.

“So.” Aiden prompted, giving Lambert’s chin a pointed nip to bring his attention back, “Do we have a deal?”

Lambert let his gaze wander to Aiden’s throat, feeling a possessive something at the thought of that skin bearing a mark nobody would think to look twice at when worn by a Witcher. A claim hidden in plain sight.

“Deal. Now, if you’re staying at least shift so we can both get comfortable.”

Aiden tipped him backwards onto his bedroll in response.

The two weeks Aiden had determined would be needed were the longest of Lambert’s life. The more time that passed, the more of a tease Aiden became, deliberately dropping his gaze to Lambert’s mouth whenever he showed his fangs and tapping his steadily growing nails against any part of Lambert’s bare skin, the pinprick sensation both a promise and a question.

Still want this?

Lambert gave as good as he got, nipping at Aiden in a way anyone else would have called playful and smirking in that way which showed just the tips of his fangs and drove his Cat crazy.

Between the adrenaline of their latest contract still coursing through their veins, alongside various potions and the heated looks they kept throwing one another it was a small miracle that they had the wherewithal to stumble to the nearby river to bathe by unspoken agreement. Lambert had barely sloughed the blood and surface dirt off his skin before Aiden pounced, his own fangs nicking Lambert’s lip as he attacked his mouth, claw tips digging into the meat of Lambert’s shoulders. The Wolf groaned as he bought the lithe body to his chest in a crushing grip.

“Lambert, please.” Aiden whimpered, licking at the blood which still welled up on Lambert’s lip, “I need -I-“

“Me too.” Lambert panted, backing Aiden towards the river bank closest to their camp as he continued to press kisses anywhere he could reach.

They moved together seamlessly, bodies slick with a mix of sweat and river water – neither of them having had the patience to dry off before they were unfurling one of the bedrolls (whose was unimportant) and tackling one another to the ground. Aiden was loud in his pleasure as they rutted against one another, Lambert’s arms caging him in as he hovered over him, eyes fixed on the currently flawless column of Aiden’s throat, letting out his own bitten off curses as Aiden’s claws digging that little bit deeper into his back – a hairsbreadth from drawing blood - caused his rhythm to falter as he arched into the sensation.

“Aiden..I’m – fuck – I’m close. You still want?” He leaned in and opened his mouth against Aiden’s neck, hoping the other would catch on.

Aiden moaned and tilted his head to give him better access, “Fuck yes. Want your mark. You?” he asked, running his claws over the others back as his hips picked up the pace, crying out when Lambert reached between them and took them both in hand.

“Fuck yeah.” He breathed out against the others neck, “Mark me up, Kitten.”

He waited for the telltale hitch in the others breathing before he bit down. Hard. His own orgasm following swiftly in the heels of Aiden’s shriek of pained pleasure, his own sounds muffled given that his mouth was currently occupied. His eyes rolled to the back of his head at the white hot pleasure combined with the fire of multiple knives dragging deeply across his flesh, the sensation of something a tiny corner of his brain rationalised must be blood coating his back.

When the world stopped spinning, the first thing he was aware of was the scent and taste of blood, the second was that he still had his teeth embedded in Aiden’s neck, the third was that the other had unlatched his claws at least and was currently skimming his hands over his back whilst fretting about having gone too deep. He gave a small noise of warning before slowly unlocking his jaw, causing Aiden to hiss at the sensation of teeth sliding out, Lambert kissed the wound in apology as it started to bleed again, “S’fine.” He slurred as he sat up. Returning the favour by checking over the damage he’d left behind. It was deep beneath the blood but neat, no tears beyond the puncture marks left behind and perfectly oval. It looked good.

“Alright?” He asked, “Was...that alright?”

“Fan–fucking-tastic.” Aiden giggled, sounding a little punch drunk, “You? It doesn’t hurt too badly?”

Lambert shrugged as best as he could, relishing the twinge as the wounds pulled, “Stings a bit, but had worse.”

He took in the view underneath them before giving a dry chuckle, “Think it’s safe to say the bedroll’s fucked.”

“It’s fine, we can try and salvage it back at the river – don’t look at me like that, we’re both going to need another bath after that. First things first though.”

He pulled Lambert around and manoeuvred them so they were spooning, Aiden's chest to Lambert's back and their legs tangled together, “I want to admire my handiwork for a bit.”

#the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #aiden/lambert #aiden x lambert #lambert/aiden #lambert x aiden #lambden #witcher aiden #witcher lambert #lambert #the witcher smut

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vibrantbirdy · 11 months

Note

Hey lovely!! Could you do a Cassian Andor x (f) reader? I’m a sucker for enemies to lovers. I like the whole “you annoy me and piss me off” relationship that ends up in a situation where they are stuck together for something and end up in a fight where they suddenly realize they have feelings! I love allowing creators to have their own space to create, so if you wanna do something else entirely, please feel free too!!

❤️ take care of yourself

Thank you SO much, this is a great request! I am a sucker for enemies to lovers too. I hope you don't mind, but I had a similar Cassian request from Anon at the same time about Cassian x Reader having to go undercover to Canto Bight as a couple which I thought would work well with yours so I merged them. (Anon, I also hope you don't mind the merging and that you can find this ok as I don't know if/how I can reply to two asks in the same post?)

Also, I want to thank everyone who has interacted with my writing so far.

Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first. Keep 'em coming.

-Birdy

Title: Charade Fandom: Star Wars Setting: Between Andor and Rogue One Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Enemies to lovers; Action/adventure; Fluff Warnings: Moderate sexuality; moderate swearing; mild violence/peril; brief mentions of loss of family/friends by Reader. Pairing: Cassian Andor x Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: approx 10k (oops)

Summary: You and Captain Cassian Andor have to negotiate your personal differences and difficult history when you are both assigned to go on an undercover operation to the Galaxy's playground for the super-rich, Canto Bight, as a married couple.

Prologue

Your first mission as a spy for the Rebel Alliance has taken you to Carida. The objective; to infiltrate and sabotage the Imperial Naval Yard there then get out as quickly and quietly as possible.

As it turns out, the mission is doomed from the outset. An Imperial mole who somehow dug their way into the very heart of Rebel Command on Yavin 4 has alerted the Empire to your plans.

Your team of six hardly made it five kilometers from the rust-bucket of a ship Rebel Leadership had assigned to you when you were intercepted by an Imperial patrol.

The firefight was brief. The Stormtroopers were green, even more so than you. You wondered with a pang of unexpected sympathy whether they'd come fresh from the Imperial Academy which was also based on Carida. There were far more seasoned combatants amongst your own unit and the fight was over before it had really began.

Still, that's when you'd lost poor Lily to a Trooper's blaster bolt. You're not even sure he was aiming at her. She'd fallen against you and you'd twisted your ankle as you'd spun to the ground following a futile attempt to hold her upright as if that would negate the fatal injury she'd just sustained.

Now, as you limp up the ridge of the hill you feel a swell of relief as you see that you are almost back to the clearing where the ship is stowed. But as you catch a glimpse of the hunk of old metal, you realise with horror that you are not out of the woods yet.

The Empire uses decrepit shuttles just like this one for for training cadets at the Academy. That's why High Command had insisted you take it - to blend in. You'd nicknamed it Tenacity because the old girl just wouldn't die and the name had stuck.

The ancient vessel doesn't do anything quickly until it's up in the air. Then she's sharp as a razor. But she has a complicated manual override for emergency take-offs whereby the crew need pump fuel round the engines a few times using an externally stowed generator.

Good for training Imperial cadets for problem solving and how to make the best of old tech. Not so good for spies who need a quick exit.

You're the engineer, it should have been you who hooked the ship up to the generator. But with your injury you are too slow and so the others went on ahead to start without you. You are sure you gave correct and clear instructions, but in his panic, it looks like Rogdul has connected the ports up all wrong. Dangerously so.

Overhead, you hear the scream of Imperial TIE fighters and you launch yourself into the nearby undergrowth. You count them. Four. They are searching the valley for you. They pass, but they'll be back in less than a minute. It's impossible that they haven't spotted the ship in the forest clearing.

From your hiding place you hear the ship's engines burst into life. Inside, you imagine Rogdul and Anya carrying out hurried pre-flight checks. Baslin is probably taking up position in the gunner's hatch, hoping to see some action.

No, you think. Not like this.

But you can reach the ship and fix the problem. You know you can. The whole thing will blow if you don't and that's not an option.

You dart out towards the Tenacity, but someone intercepts you, slamming into you with a body tackle and dragging you roughly back to cover through the mud. Soon, you're seated up against them, your back pressed into their chest, their arms and legs wrapped around you like a vice.

It's Captain Cassian Andor, you realise, your superior officer and the lead operative on this mission. You'd completely forgotten that he was even further behind the hasty retreat than you, taking up the rear and keeping watch for more Imperial patrols on your tail.

You don't care who it is. You struggle and writhe furiously against him, desperate to get away and stop the impending disaster you can see unfolding before your eyes. But Andor holds you fast against him as if you were a child having a tantrum.

"Let me go, I can fix it!" you scream over the howl of the returning TIEs.

"You can't, it's too late!" Andor shouts back into your ear.

As if on cue, the generator connected to the side of the ship starts to spark wildly, just as you knew it would. You watch helplessly as the fuel cells hidden within the Tenacity ignite with a deafening bang and whoosh of flame as the ship goes up in a hellish fireball.

A second later, the TIEs make their second pass. There's no need for them to bother firing their weapons. The devastation from the explosion is catastrophic.

They do it anyway.

Two years later

You are on approach to Canto Bight, Cantonica's capital city - the Galaxy's playground for the wealthy.

Captain Cassian Andor is in the pilot's seat, following instructions from the flight control tower. You'll sit down in a moment, but right now, you are desperately trying to sort the sticking-up collar of his cream shirt which is made of expensive looking silk.

Irritated, he tries to bat your hand away, but you are persistent.

"Kriff's sake, Andor, just let me do it," you mutter.

"I'm not a child," he says petulantly, but he relents.

There. Now he looks the part in his fine clothes. He's tidied his short beard and moustache so that the stubble is cropped neatly to the sharp contours of his chiselled face. His dark brown hair is neatly parted at the side, although it's perhaps still a little long...

You don't look too shabby either, bedecked in a knee-length silk day dress of sky blue, accompanied by a cloak of dusky purple which is draped elegantly across your shoulders. The Rebellion went to great lengths to fund this operation and they certainly didn't skimp on the provision of suitable attire. It's essential that you fit in.

"I look fine, you look fine, stop fussing," Andor says dismissively, noticing as you smooth out a couple of annoying wrinkles in your dress and swish out the skirt to make sure the fabric is lying properly.

"I think you look lovely," K-2SO, Andor's droid and almost constant companion, pipes up from the co-pilot's chair, "and that Cassian looks like he's swallowed an Endor fire hornet."

"You don't think," Andor retorts, "That's just circuits misfiring randomly in your head..."

K-2 turns to you with a mechanical whirr, and if he had the ability to conjure expressions, this one would read:

See? I told you.

You stifle a laugh and drop down into the passenger seat behind the droid.

The first time you'd met the hulking re-programmed Imperial security droid had been that fateful day on Carida. You and Andor had shivered miserably in silence for hours by the wreckage of the Tenacity as the rain lashed down, making little difference to the fearsome fuel-accelerated flames which devoured the ship. The Empire, in their arrogance, didn't bother to send out a patrol to check the site.

Then, late into the night, K-2 had finally arrived in Cassian's own ship under cover of darkness. With your injured ankle having swollen to twice its usual size, the gargantuan droid had lumbered over, scooped you up, and carried you with surprising gentleness into the vessel. Ever since, you've always enjoyed his company and his sardonic wit.

Your relationship with Andor, on the other hand, has been tumultuous since its inception. He's always been frosty and stand-offish with you. You sometimes wonder if your presence reminds him of the disaster on Carida the way his does to you.

Whatever his reasoning, his uncompromising demeanour has always brought out your worst qualities when you're around him, especially your stubbornness and your dislike of being told what to do. You've never gone so far as insubordination under his command, but when you disagree with him, you have a unique knack for finding your own way to interpret his orders. This always has the infinitely satisfying effect of winding him up.

Anyway, this time won't be like Carida. And despite your personal differences, you and Andor have worked together successfully - though admittedly never harmoniously - many times since.

Your objective is simple enough. You're looking for a business man, Dreylan Balgo. He's not yet thirty, but he's the biggest supplier of Imperial weapons in the Galaxy. You need to obtain his biometric signature and transmit it back to Alliance High Command. They'll then use it to access the designs and blueprints of the weapons his company is designing for the Empire and eventually send agents in as factory workers to sabotage various key elements.

As Andor and K-2 make the final approach to Canto Bight you look out the window. Below you, the dark sea glitters and ahead, the shining spires of the beautiful city glow golden in the evening sun.

You close your eyes as a flash of a childhood memory dances across your brain. You came here with your parents once when you were nine or ten. That's partly why you've been chosen for this mission. You used to move in these circles.

K-2 drops the shuttle neatly on to the landing pad which juts out over the water.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," the droid quips as you exit.

It's winter on Cantonica. As you step out onto the platform, the breeze is chilly but pleasantly fresh and you can hear the steady crash of waves against the cliffs below you.

At the entrance to the structure, you pause a minute to take in the monolithic doors, ornately carved and inlaid with beautiful coloured glass which catches the light of the setting sun with dazzling beauty. The doors open and you and Andor step into the elaborate marble halls of Canto Bight's most luxurious resort as newlyweds Mr and Mrs Race Pax.

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

The suite you are staying in is as lavish as the rest of the place, but it is small. The coiffeurs of the Rebel Alliance do have their limits.

"What are you doing?" You ask, suddenly stopping your own unpacking to observe Andor throwing an assortment of pillows and blankets onto the ground.

"I'm taking the floor like a gentleman."

"Don't be stupid," you snort, "What if the maid comes in and sees this..." you gesture to the collection of blankets on the floor, searching for a fitting description "...gentleman's pillow fort?"

The most important thing on this mission is that your cover needs to be believable. And, perhaps tantamount to that, if Andor is tired, he'll be even grumpier than usual and you don't think you could deal with that.

He straightens and sighs, repeatedly slapping the cushion he has been plumping with unnecessary force.

One thing you and Andor have never been around each other is shy. Having spent weeks at a time together in miserable, hastily erected camps, cramped transports, and underground bunkers in the service of the Alliance, the necessity of living in close quarters with him stamped that out quick. You've learned to move in each other's personal space with ease and usually without any awkwardness, so you can't fathom why he's making a meal of it now.

He looks at you defiantly for a moment longer before accepting defeat.

"Fine," he says, as he starts to pick up the elements of his makeshift camp bed and throwing them back on the bed, "Fine, but if you snore, I won't hesitate to kick you out."

"If I snore?!"

That was rich.

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

You and Andor are attending one of Canto Bight's seemingly infinite evening soirees for the rich and powerful. A colourful sea of people in lavish dress are engaged in polite conversation and enjoying expensive beverages in one of the grandest ballrooms you've ever seen.

Dreylan Balgo is here, somewhere. Tonight is a chance to observe his behaviour, get to know his habits and make an initial introduction if possible. Anything that could help you create an opportunity to obtain his biometrics over the next few days.

You are wearing a teal halter-neck gown, a drink in one hand while the other rests elegantly on top of Andor's arm. The silk of his plush evening jacket is smooth under your fingertips and you absent-mindedly fuss with it as you scan the crowd for your target.

Someone says your name. Your real name.

Andor stiffens next to you.

Trying to keep your composure you turn and relief floods through you as you realise it's one of your mother's oldest friends, Lady Sen Prya. It's been years since you've seen her and she must be in her eighties by now, but she hasn't changed one bit. She is adorned in the most grandiose yellow satin gown you've ever seen, complete with matching gloves. Her long white hair falls, twisted in an elaborate braid, all the way down to her waist.

Quickly, you take her gloved hand and squeeze it gently, a subtle message you hope she can read.

"Oh I'm sorry you must be mistaken," you say politely and introduce yourself as Mrs Pax.

Understanding flickers across Prya's face. She always was sharp as a knife and time doesn't seem to have dulled that characteristic one jot.

"Ah of course, child. Forgive me," she says tactfully with all the grace and ease you remember from your childhood, "You look very like a dear old friend of mine. It's nice to meet you. I am Lady Sen Prya."

She reaches a hand up and touches your cheek affectionately with a twinkle in her golden eyes. Then, she reaches out to Andor who brings her hand up to his mouth and kisses it gently.

"Race Pax, it's a pleasure," he says, and there is a genuine warmth in his voice.

He appears to have relaxed somewhat and you are sure it's because he probably recognises Prya's name. She has been funding various elements of the Rebellion for years.

"Now, is there anyone you need an introduction to, before I retire to bed like the old woman I am?"

Prya stresses introduction as if its a code word. And it is.

You look up at Andor questioningly. You hate to ask his permission for anything, but he is the senior operative here. He nods once in ascent.

"Dreylan Balgo," you say.

Lady Prya's eyes light up and you can tell that she is delighted to learn who your indented mark is.

"Well then, follow me, young lovers."

Andor gives that rare smile of his, the one you see so infrequently which reaches all the way up to his eyes where they crinkle at the corners. He likes Prya. Everyone does. That's what makes her so dangerous for the Empire.

You wind through the crowd, following Prya as if she is golden star leading you to your destination. You're suddenly nervous and although you'd never admit it, there is something comforting about how Andor's large hand entwines with your own as he follows your lead through the busy party.

"Dreylan! My boy!" Prya's voice is clear as crystal and cuts through the party hubbub with ease.

Balgo turns from a conversation he is having with several other men. He is a handsome man, dressed in an evening suit of black velvet. He is tall and elegant with piercing blue eyes and a mop of sandy blonde curls.

"Ah! Lady Prya! What a delight to see you," he says gregariously, stooping low to kiss the older woman's cheek.

"And you, my lad," she replies with gracious ease, "Now, I want you to meet a couple of newly weds, Mr and Mrs Pax. I'm certain young Pax here would be interested in discussing business with you boys, although I, for one, find it all very dull."

There is a ripple of smug, amused laughter from the circle of men, and you join in only because you know Prya could negotiate most of these idiots out of any of business asset of theirs she chose to.

Balgo turns his attention to you first, appraising you thoroughly before taking your hand and kissing it with an elaborate flourish. You let out a silly little laugh, ensuring your voice carries an appropriate blend of affluence and air headedness.

Less than a minute you've been in this man's company and you can already read him like a holo novel.

He then greets Andor with boisterous joviality.

"Congratulations, Pax, what a stunning creature you have caught in your net."

Andor chuckles amiably, shaking Balgo's hand.

"It's good to meet you," he says warmly.

This time, his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes and you notice that his hand, which has been sitting lightly round your waist, shifts down to just under your hip.

Lady Prya retires to bed soon after, flashing you a wink and a dazzling smile as she sweeps from the room, an ageless vision in yellow.

The conversation and drinks flow. All night, you sense Balgo's eyes on you. Alliance High Command don't officially approve of so-called "honey-traps," and neither do you, but you see no harm in cultivating Balgo's delusion if it opens another window of opportunity. You don't discourage him, directly meeting the furtive glances he casts your way when he thinks Andor isn't looking.

Throughout the evening Andor proves why he is so good at his job. His ability to observe and imitate behaviour is uncanny. He adopts with ease that careless, raucous affectation that only young, wealthy men seem to possess. He hasn't taken more than a few sips of his wine, but he mirrors Balgo's increasingly boisterous body language and bawdy humour expertly.

By the end of the night the two are stomping around the dwindling party with their arms slung around each other's shoulders, swaying and laughing and singing like idiots.

The night has been a success. You've created a rapport with Balgo.

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

"Prya was a friend of your family's?" Andor's voice comes unexpectedly from the darkness, "What happened to them?"

It's very late - or early, depending on how your look at it - and you and Andor have just fallen, exhausted, into bed.

You are resting on your left side, as always, and you hear him roll over beside you, so that he is looking at your back.

You are surprised by how accurately Andor has read into the situation with so little information. You don't see any harm in telling him.

"My father owned an agricultural engineering works. One day the Empire came to his factory and asked him to design and build components for some machine they were building, probably a weapon. He refused. They executed him on the spot and took the factory anyway. I did my best, but we struggled and my mother died a few years after of a broken heart. That's when I left to join the Rebellion."

Andor shuffles, the bed shifting beneath you both and you can tell that he's propped himself up on his elbow. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head.

"You've never told me that before."

"You never bothered to ask," you reply defensively, "I know what you think, what you all think. That I'm a rich brat who ran off to join the Rebellion just to piss off her wealthy parents."

There's a silence.

"Turns out you're only half right..." you finish with a rather bitter self-deprecating chuckle.

To your surprise, Andor puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. You hesitate for a moment, before you reach across your body to place your hand on top of his, just for a second.

"Goodnight, Cassian," you say.

You rarely use his first name and it feels odd, but not unnatural on your tongue.

"Goodnight."

He rolls back over and is soon snoring softly. You don't fall asleep for a long while, not until you hear the birds begin their morning chorus and the light of dawn starts to creep through the open window with the sea breeze.

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

You and Andor spend the next morning trying to locate Balgo but he's nowhere to be found. You suspect he is probably in his bed nursing a very sore head.

The last place you try is the Fathier racetrack, although you know there are no races on today. You are glad. You can't stand to see these magnificent animals forced to run like that.

Even so, you are unable to refrain from grabbing Andor's hand in excitement and dragging him over to the nearest pen where a mother and foal are resting in a patch of sunshine.

"A baby," you find yourself saying, stupidly.

Andor laughs quietly at the ridiculous, breathless joy in your voice. You wonder if he's making fun of you, but when you turn to him his eyes are sparkling with a mischievous light.

He gestures to a nearby handler, adopting Pax's air of arrogant entitlement with frightening ease.

"My wife would like to see the animal."

"Of course, sir."

The handler coaxes the foal over and it's tall enough already to reach other the fence. You pat the creature on its nose and between its ridiculously long ears and it nuzzles sweetly into your hand.

"Mr Pax?" You say as you turn to Andor and realise he's hovering a few feet back from the fence.

You gesticulate to him to come over. When else will he get the opportunity to interact with such an animal?

"Oh no, I can see fine from here," he replies with a shake of his head.

Surely not, you think, and you feel your mouth twist into a devilish smirk.

"Are you scared?" You tease.

You sidle up to him and entwine your arm in his before stretching up to whisper into his ear so that only he can hear you.

"Captain Andor?"

Unable to resist your direct challenge he offers you his hand with a resigned, slightly nervous grin. You take it, leading him back to the fence. You guide his palm up to the baby Fathier's nose and the creature sniffs it curiously. You then press it gently against the animal's long forehead. When you let go, Andor continues to stroke the animal softly, his face lit up with an expression of childish wonder.

"Thank you, husband," you say when you both turn to leave.

He gives you a subtle wink and you feel a sudden rush of something close to fondness for him.

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

That afternoon is spent sneaking around the resort's service corridors. You are right at the top of the building and the corridors are narrow and low. It's ridiculously hot and you feel stupid carrying out serious espionage in yet another one of the seemingly endless supply of dresses you've been provided. This one is a horrible pink colour that clings all over and you hate it which is why you've chosen it for this dirty, sweaty work. You know you need to wear something suitable for Canto Bight's grand halls in case anyone sees you on your way to or from the job, but it just feels so unnatural.

Hopefully this shouldn't take too long. All you need to do is wire in a small signal booster to the resort's communications lines. Then, when you obtain Balgo's biometric signature, the data pad can send a transmission to a commandeered, disused Republic satellite to confirm that the sample has been collected successfully.

Actually transmitting the scrambled data to the Rebel base on Yavin 4 needs considerably more power which means, at some point, you and Andor are going to have to hike out to Cantonica's main transmitter mast and send the signal manually from there.

You'd flown past the huge pylon on your way in to land at the resort. It's a monumental thing and you feel a rush of nausea at the very thought of having to climb it...but that's a problem for another day, you decide.

Your head is buried in a control panel, and you're trying to explain to Andor why you need to use a slightly different width of cable than originally planned but he interrupts you mid-flow.

"Can you do it, or can't you?"

"I can do it," you snap back.

"Then just do it, I don't care how."

Charming as ever, the morning's hard won truce between you apparently forgotten. He's nervous and so are you, so you try not to hold it against him. He just wants to get out of here quickly.

There's a sound, and with horror, you realise it's the service elevator doors hissing open. A stern male voice follows soon after.

"Lars, If you're up here slouching again, I'm going to dock your pay."

You and Andor both freeze, staring at each other like Loth cats caught in the headlights of a speeder. Then, without warning he grabs you at the back of your knee, hitching your leg up to rest on his hip, his hand travelling further up the underside of your thigh and underneath your dress as he shoves you against the wall and pushes his body firmly against yours. The other hand flies up to your face, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone.

Your gasp of surprise is muffled as he crashes his lips hard against yours. It takes you only a millisecond to understand what he's doing and you kiss him back, twisting your fingers tightly through the locks of dark hair at the back of his head.

At this, a soft groan resonates in his throat and you are almost certain this is unintended. You feel a flash of satisfaction that you've managed to affect him in such a way, then scold yourself for being unable to refrain from point scoring with him, even now.

"Get out of here," Andor growls at the hapless employee, pretending he has only just noticed the man's presence.

His voice is low and husky. As he speaks, you feel his fingertips press into the flesh your thigh. Suddenly, the combination of his proximity and his heady, masculine, familiar scent is overwhelming, and you feel something hot and fierce coil in the pit of your abdomen.

Andor - Pax - has broken away from your lips to berate the man, but he hardly deigns to turn his head to look at the unfortunate employee. You take a moment to study the fine details of his face up close. His pupils are dilated, making his dark eyes gleam like midnight. His nostrils flare slightly with heightened breathing. An uncharacteristic blush is travelling up his neck into his cheeks. You can feel his heart slamming against his chest and your own.

"Oh, uhh... yes...of course," the poor employee sounds terribly embarrassed and all the previous managerial authority has vanished entirely from his voice.

"My apologies sir..."

The man actually stands on his tiptoes and cranes his neck to see your face through the tousled mess you've made of Andor's hair before addressing you directly with a courteous nod of his head.

"Madam."

You raise your eyebrows at him politely and give him a ridiculous little wave with your free hand, the one that's not woven through Andor's hair.

You hear the employee blundering off back to the service elevator and the machinery clunks as the doors close and he disappears.

Andor's forehead is gracing your own and neither you nor he move for a moment. It's just long enough to catch the slow glint of recognition in each other's eyes that something new has passed between you and you both know it.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he finally breaks away, running a hand through his hair as if to sweep away the feel of your fingers there, "I didn't have time to ask nicely."

"It's fine," you say, smoothing your stupid dress down and clearing your throat, "Good thinking."

He leans against the opposite wall, arms crossed, as you return to your work in silence.

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

Evening has fallen and Andor and Balgo are talking animatedly at the bar. The resort is hosting another of its grand parties. You sit with Lady Prya at a nearby table. You don't talk about your new life and she doesn't ask, but the conversation is easy and comfortable and you feel a rush of gratitude that your paths have crossed again.

Once Balgo has left to mingle with other guests, you give Prya an apologetic smile and cross over to the bar where you drape yourself around Andor's shoulders. You lean in to kiss him on the cheek. To anyone else, these merely look to be the actions of a young couple.

In reality, you are providing cover as Andor works quickly with Balgo's empty glass. Earlier, he'd lined the outside of the receptacle with a special gel that picks up biometric data. Once settled on a surface, it is almost imperceptible to the touch.

Andor attaches, then tears away the transfer strip from the glass and quickly places it down on the data pad's receiver. A rather sad and weary boop from the device confirms that it hasn't picked up Balgo's fingerprints.

"Kriff," Andor curses quietly in frustration, a muscle working in his jaw.

"Give it to me."

"What?"

"Give it," you hiss.

Uncertainly, Andor passes the various components of the device to you. You snatch them from his hand, shoving the bits and bobs into your pockets and stride away before he can stop you. The satin of your dress swishes a melody to the click of your heels. You hear Andor swear under his breath.

As you walk, your eyes scan the room, searching for your target. There. A flash of golden hair at the other side of the room. You stalk Balgo through the crowd, waiting for the right moment.

You make your approach, taking out a small mirror from your pocket and quickly squeezing a blob of the clear transfer gel onto your finger before making a performance of patting the strange substance on your mouth like lipstick. You snap the mirror closed and move in for the kill.

"Oh Mr Balgo, I am so sorry!" you exclaim, feigning embarrassment as you collide with his shoulder, jolting him arm so that he spills red wine all down the front of his pristine, white suit jacket.

"Please, Mrs Pax, it's no matter, really," he says as he stays your pawing hands and swoops down to greet you with a peck you on the cheek.

"I really am sorry, Dreylan, I will pay for the damage."

"Nonsense," he scoffs amicably, his chest visibly puffing out as you address him familiarly by his first name, "Now, where has your husband of yours got to? The fool surely hasn't let you out of his sight in that dress?"

Balgo is right, it is a nice dress. Your favourite so far in fact. It is tailored in beautiful crimson satin with a full skirt, off the shoulder sleeves, and a plunging neckline.

"Oh, he's around somewhere, I'm sure."

You lean in and whisper in his ear.

"But he's not here."

He smirks back at you and you see his icy blue eyes light up.

"Shall we get some air on the balcony?" He suggests.

Well, what an unexpected turn of events, you think sarcastically as you accept the proposal with an external show of flirtatious grace.

Out on the ballroom's grandiose veranda with Balgo, you look across Cantonica's seemingly endless, dark waters. The sea breeze is cold, and the businessman drapes his jacket round your shoulders. You laugh at the right times, interject an asinine comment here and there as Balgo talks about business, and allow him to explain things to you that you already know without complaint.

When the timing feels apt, and the balcony is otherwise deserted, you reach up and plant a kiss on his lips. He returns it, placing his hands on your hips. Balgo is attractive enough, there's no doubt about that, and the kiss is far from unpleasant... but it's only a means to an end. There's no passion to it, and you can't help but compare it against the ardent fervour of Andor's embrace. The heat of it.

As you pull back from Balgo with a suitably flushed smile, the gossamer curtains behind him shift in the breeze and over his shoulder you catch a glimpse of Andor across the cavernous ballroom.

He's so far away, but you see him clear as day. His eyes are searing holes in Balgo's back before meeting yours with a look of disdain. He downs his drink and slams the glass on the bar's marble counter-top, stalking off towards the elevator.

You suddenly feel a pang of irrational guilt which makes you furious with him. You're doing your job. The one he failed to do.

Balgo's self-satisfied look of victory does nothing for your vexed and flustered disposition. He offers to go and source a drink for you both. Keeping your composure - you are a spy after all - you smile sweetly at him and agree.

When he is gone, you make sure no one else is around before you take out the transfer paper from your pocket and subtly dab it on your lips. Surreptitiously, you whip the data pad out of your other pocket - thank the stars you'd insisted on dresses with pockets - and press the paper against the reader.

You wait, visualising what the signal might look like if it was something tangible and visible. A little bolt of lightning, perhaps, arcing to the closest service hatch, climbing its way up wires and cables, escaping out into the cold night and up into orbit and the decrepit Republic satellite.

Finally, the device gives you a cheerful bleep and lights up green.

Success.

You'd like to see Balgo's smug face fall when he returns to find you've disappeared, but you don't want this to go any further than necessary. You've got what you need and your sudden absence can easily be explained away as a young wife's crisis of conscience. You leave his jacket on a nearby chair and make your way up to your suite.

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

When you get back to the room, you can practically feel the heat radiating off Andor as he rips his shirt over his head dramatically in the process of undressing for bed.

Trying to ignore his silent seething, you turn away from him and lift your hair away from the nape of your neck. He automatically moves behind you to help you unzip your dress and, despite his clear agitation, his hands are gentle. The red gown drops to the floor, leaving you standing in your flimsy under-slip.

You turn back to look at Andor, taking in the familiar outline of his body. He's not a huge man, but the muscles are strong and taut in his torso, back and arms. Littered here and there are scars, testament to a hard life lived dangerously. The moonlight streaming through the bedroom window gives his tan skin an ethereal glow and illuminates the sharp, handsome features of his face.

It's not that you don't find each other attractive. You both know that there's always been some unspoken tension between you. But the tempestuousness of your personal and working relationship has always prevented you from falling into anything that might be a mistake.

You are suddenly keenly aware of the obviousness your own form as your underdress clings to the curves and planes of your body. You can sense Andor's eyes roaming across it in a way you're sure they never have before.

You think - maybe - something changed with that kiss you shared this afternoon. An embrace which began as a charade and ended as something else.

"That was a stupid, reckless, dangerous thing to do!" he finally explodes, interrupting your reverie and bringing you back down to reality with a thud.

"It was a calculated risk," you retort, furious with him and internally embarrassed by your silly romantic notions.

"And," you stretch across to the nearby dresser to pick up the data pad where Balgo's biometric data is safely stored to brandish it under Andor's nose, "And it worked."

"In case you'd forgotten, Balgo thinks you're here with your husband..."

"That's why it worked!" You exclaim, "By the Force, men know so little about their own species..."

"You could have blown our cover, the whole operation!"

That riles you. Why can't he just congratulate you on a job well done? You've just saved this damn operation. You have what you need now. All you need to do is transmit the data and you can both get out of here.

"I know what this is," you say, your voice rising in chorus with your anger.

"Oh please, please enlighten me."

"You're jealous."

There's a heavy silence.

"Jealous?!" Andor scoffs finally, but the strength of his conviction has faded from his voice, "Of what?"

"You can't stand that I kissed him."

Andor steps towards you, brows furrowed, eyes alight with something that's not quite anger.

"He's welcome to you," he seethes, "The last thing I need is some highly strung rich girl playing at being a spy."

The words sting, especially after you opened up to him about your parents the other night. Even as the vague idea of restraint flashes through your mind, impulsion compels you to raise a hand to strike him across the face.

He catches you by the wrist as you lash out, pulling you even closer to him so that his sharp nose is almost touching yours.

"And so what if I am?" He continues and the change in direction is so unexpected that you are rendered speechless.

His tone is low and dangerous and his deep, brown eyes are wild, roaming your face desperately for an answer that never comes.

"What if I am jealous? What if I don't want his filthy, Imperial hands all over you? So what?"

Andor's face suddenly softens, his eyebrows knitting together in an expression of genuine turmoil. It's a display of vulnerability you've never seen from him before. His grip on your wrist loosens slightly but he doesn't let go.

When he speaks again, his voice is barely a whisper.

"What difference does it make to you? Ever since Carida... You despise me."

It's not true, you suddenly realise. It's never been true. Not really.

You want to tell him you've never blamed him for what happened on Carida. The actions of the mole? Not his fault. The failure of that sorry excuse for a ship? Not him either. Somewhere along the way, your perception of him became warped and refracted through the prism of your own feelings of guilt.

You know he saved your life that day. He must have gone through hell in the aftermath too, dragged up in front of various different elements of High Command to explain why only two of his six operatives made it back alive over and over and over again.

More than this, you want to explain that while you were kissing Balgo tonight, you were thinking only of him. You want to say how when you took a shower earlier and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror you'd seen the faint, red imprints of his fingertips still lingering like little tattoos on your skin and that you hope they never fade.

But you're just so angry with him for always having to be such a stubborn, patronising, hard-nosed bastard. So you say none of these things.

You know how much it must have taken for him to admit feelings for you, no matter how clumsy and ill-timed the execution. This man who always holds his cards so close to his chest has shown you his hand. He's given you ammunition and all you can think of in this moment is shooting him down with it.

"That's right," you say, leaning in close and whispering spitefully into his ear, "I despise you Cassian Andor."

You regret it immediately. Andor drops your wrist as if he's been burned. As he steps away from you, he looks completely lost. His eyes are cast down at the floor, full of humiliation and hurt. By the time they return to your face, they have darkened like storm clouds.

"Then, I'm glad we understand each other."

You open your mouth to say something, to take back your words and undo the damage you've wrought with your temper. Nothing comes out.

As Andor turns away, you reach out for him, try to catch him by the elbow. He shrugs you off angrily and storms out of the room.

He doesn't come back until late. You pretend to be asleep as he quietly slips into the bed beside you.

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

When dusk falls the next evening, and with Balgo's biometric stored safely on the data pad in your pocket, you and Andor set out for Cantonica's main transmitter.

You want to use the journey time to explain yourself, to apologise to him and admit your own feelings. But you are so ashamed of your careless words the night before that you don't even know how to begin.

Continuing the trend of the day, you walk the ten kilometers together in almost complete silence, trudging in single file along the rocky coastline.

Even so, being out in nature and away from the city feels almost healing to you. Most tourists only see the rugged countryside of Cantonica from the confines of a shuttle. It has a wild, mountainous, windswept type of beauty that you find exhilarating. After days stuck inside the gilded cage of Canto Bight, it is wonderful to be out in the elements, even if it is rather cold and damp.

Night has decsended by the time you reach the transmitter. It is set precariously on the cliff edge, so close to the tumultuous waters below, it seems like a freak wave could wash it away at any moment.

It looks even more imposing than you remember. A huge durasteel spike with a narrow, fragile looking caged ladder stretching up into the sky leading to a high metal gangway which looks just as ancient.

You go first, and as you climb higher, your hands and feet start to feel fuzzy and your breathing becomes rapid, escaping through your lips in short, sharp pants. You've never been good with heights.

The icy wind starts to whip unpleasantly around you and you grip the ladder fiercely with each laboured step. The damp air has made the metal slick and you gasp as your boot slips on one of the rungs.

You catch yourself before you fall, but even so, you are relieved when Andor comes up behind you and positions himself so that his solid chest presses reassuringly against your back as you take a moment to steady yourself.

"Take your time," he says and his tone is gentle, "You're ok."

You nod and exhale deeply. Steeling yourself, you continue your ascent. You can do this.

You finally reach the top of the ladder and crawl up onto the round platform which encircles the pylon of the transmitter to provide access to where the mechanics of the structure are stored.

You think for a moment that this experience is going to be marginally better than the climb up the rickety ladder. That foolish hope is soon proven mistaken. The durasteel grating beneath your feet feels precarious. There are rusted gaps in the metal here and there and your stomach flips every time you look down. The wind is stronger up here, wild and blustery, and you feel horrendously vulnerable. You just want to get the job done and get down from this death trap as soon as possible.

Andor helps you lift the heavy panel off the front of the control box. You sigh with relief. It's a standard set up, one you've seen hundreds of times before and it's easy to bypass. You set to work infiltrating the system and once you're done, you wait in suspense as the data pad blinks text at you.

TRANSMITTING, TRANSMITTING, TRANSMITTING....

TRANSMISSION SENT.

"It's gone!"

Instinctively, you turn to flash a smile of triumph towards Andor, and you are relieved when one corner of his mouth twitches upwards ever so slightly in return. You wonder if, on the way back to the city, you might find the courage to try and make amends for your rough words the previous night.

Your hopeful thoughts are rudely interrupted when, without warning, the gangway you are standing on shifts violently under your feet. The whole structure lets out an ominous and eerie metallic groan and you realise with dread that the platform is tearing itself away from the pylon.

You have no doubt that you and Andor are the first people up here in years, and that your presence has disturbed the structure from its hibernation and reminded it of its decrepit, fragile state.

You grab at one of the rungs affixed to the main pylon intended for servicing the internal mechanisms, but Andor is too far away to reach. As the walkway peels away, he falls with it. The huge hunk of metal stops suddenly at a right angle to the structure, and the now horizontal guard railings catch Andor as he slams into them with a sickening clang.

There's a brief moment of relief when you think the worst is over, but then the structure jerks violently again as another metal bolt fails, and it tilts just enough to send Andor somersaulting over the top of the railing.

Desperately, he scrambles for something to purchase, and he manages to grasp at the guard rail with the fingertips of one hand as he rolls over it, leaving him dangling helplessly over the roaring water below.

Closing your eyes, you let yourself drop down towards him and your body hits the metal railings agonisingly hard. You ignore the pain and, praying that the railings will hold you, you scrabble to grab at Andor, your hands clutching at a handful of material at the front of his shirt just as his own grip fails.

Unexpectedly finding himself suspended in the air, Andor looks up at you in abject surprise. He assesses the situation and his eyes lock on to yours in alarm as he understands what you've done.

Your shoulders feel like they are slowly pulling themselves out of their sockets and your fingers, numb and white, are twisted up painfully in the material of Andor's shirt. You can't breathe properly, the air in your lungs being crushed out of you as you are pressed into the railings by the pull of Andor's bodyweight below you.

You are terrified that at any moment the guardrail will collapse and you'll both plummet together into the angry sea which seems to wait with open maw like a predator beneath you. But you don't know what else to do, and you refuse to let him fall, so you cling on to him in utter desperation.

"Let go!" Andor shouts up at you, and you can tell it's an order.

"No!" You yell back.

Suddenly, the front of his shirt rips and he drops away so that he is now hanging, almost literally, by a thread. The abrupt and unexpected motion causes you to lose balance and you have to let go of him with one hand to steady yourself on the railings and stop yourself from almost flipping over them to join him.

Andor's eyes are wild and fraught now, flicking between the failing structure and your overwrought face.

"Damn you," he growls with renewed urgency, "let go!"

Your whole body is screaming at you to do as he says, but you won't. Tears sting your eyes, whether from pain or fear, you're not sure. You clench your jaw and shake your head at him.

Andor snarls with effort as he reaches behind him and into his back pocket, pulling out his flip knife. He wrenches it open with his teeth.

"Don't you dare, you stupid bastard!" you scream down at him as you realise with what he intends to do.

He looks at you for one final moment and the world seems to stop. His expression is completely open and readable to you, perhaps for the very first time. His dark eyes glint with a fear that you suddenly realise is as much for you as it is for himself.

Then, he sets his face into a mask of grim determination and with one swift motion, he severs the flimsy cord of fabric tying you together and cuts himself loose.

"Cassian!" The vague outline of his name is torn ragged from your throat in an incomprehensible shriek of despair.

Helpless, you watch as he falls, limbs flailing, down, down, down, until he hits the water below with a sickening crash and disappears into the black, unforgiving waves.

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

Unbeknownst to you, the Rebel Alliance have successfully received Dreylan Balgo's biometric signature and K-2SO is already on his way to extract you and Cassian from Canto Bight.

By his calculations, K-2 should reach Cantonica in twelve hours, twenty-nine minutes and seven seconds. Plenty of time to mull over the conversation he'd had with Murdo the flight technician before he'd left the hanger.

"Maybe this time, eh K-2?" Murdo had quipped as he unhooked the re-fuelling nozzle from Cassian's ship.

"Maybe this time, what?"

"Maybe this time they'll finally have admitted their feelings for each other."

"That is a ridiculous observation," K-2 had said confidently, "They dislike each other immensely."

Murdo had laughed and made a comment about the droid having a lot to learn about human relationships which K-2 had thought was quite rude.

But as he barrels through the hyperspace lanes in Cassian's ship towards the Outer Rim and Cantonica, K-2 has time to mull things over.

He thinks about how on missions when the unit has to set up camp on some remote world, Cassian always leaves your meat rations on the fire just a little longer than everyone else's because he knows you like them so crispy that they're almost burnt.

Then he thinks about how whenever he and Cassian return from a mission you're not assigned to, yours is always the first face the droid spots in the hanger when they arrive back, and that once your eyes land on Cassian, you always walk away without a word, seemingly satisfied.

Now that K-2 really uses his circuits to process it, Murdo's conclusion doesn't seem quite so ridiculous after all.

"Humans," the droid muses to himself with an exasperated shake of his mechanical head.

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

Somehow, you manage to descend the transmitter, climbing and clambering down the structure in a daze. You don't bother even trying to mask your shouts of distress and frustration as your feet and hands slip on the blasted, kriffing, cursed metal all the way down.

You stagger the ten kilometers back to Canto Bight in something resembling a fugue state. When you reach the resort, you sneak through the back entry port you and Andor left through and wind your way through the maze of service passages and elevators back to your suite.

You are as bedraggled looking as you are distraught and you are glad that the corridors are as deserted as they were when you departed. You don't feel you could negotiate your way out of anything right now, despite all your training.

Once you've climbed out of your damp and dirty clothes you fall into bed. Andor's absence beside you is a stark, raw reminder of what's just happened and you finally allow yourself to cry. Somehow, at some point, as you wallow in your anguish, fatigue takes over and you fall into a torrid sleep.

When you awake, it's still dark and you have the distinct impression that you're being watched. There's someone else in the room with you. You bolt upright and almost cry out as your eyes take in the silhouette of a person in the moonlight.

The ghost of Cassian Andor is standing at the foot of the bed.

Except he's not a spectre, you realise. His outline, though swaying, is solid. He's flesh and blood. He's alive.

Once you've recover from the initial shock, you don't think you've ever felt relief like it in your whole life. You leap up out of the bed and fly to him, just as he starts to crumple to the floor. You grab for him, but too weak to moderate his own movements, he drops like a stone and his momentum pulls you crashing down on top of him.

He's all sand and salt and seawater and he is shivering violently. His eyes are heavy, like he's struggling to keep them open. You touch his face and his skin ice cold. His clothes are wet through and you're suddenly struck by the urgency of the situation. You need to get him warm. Now.

With great effort, you manage to half drag, half shove Andor towards the shower room. He's so exhausted and disoriented that even this appears to be an insurmountable task for him.

When you finally get him there, you bundle him into the shower, fully clothed. He slumps against the wall as you turn the warm water on. You start peeling off the sodden, freezing layers of his clothing.

He hisses through his teeth as you remove what remains of his shredded shirt and you see that the skin on his torso and back is blossoming here and there in vibrant shades of black and blue. You're not surprised, a fall from that height, these are probably bruises from hitting the water hard. You try to be more gentle.

Once he's free of all his clothing, you slide down behind him so that you are against the wall, and he's sat between your legs with his back pressed against your torso. You guide him to bring his knees up to his chest and he wraps his arms around himself pliantly, curling into a tight ball. He's still shaking uncontrollably.

You ignore your own discomfort as the warm water plasters your nightdress to your body like a second skin.

Trying desperately to aid the shower in its work of returning some of his body heat to him, you rub his back, his arms, and his chest vigorously. Every so often he rests his head on the bridge he's created with his forearms across his knees and you have to coax him gently to sit up.

"Stay awake," you plead, "You need to stay awake for me."

Finally, his shivering subsides and you sit in exhausted silence as the warm water continues to pour over both of you. Your chin is resting on his shoulder.

"Cassian," you finally say into his ear, tucking a stray lock behind it as if that will allow him to heed your words better.

He leans back into you, tilting his head up towards your face, to show he is listening.

"I don't....I don't despise you, I don't..." you trail off, silent tears suddenly mingling with the spray from the shower as they start to fall from your eyes.

Slowly, Cassian turns to you. He rolls on to his knees, and sits upright on his heels. You mirror his movements so that you are face to face and your foreheads come to rest against each other's.

"I know," he whispers, bringing a hand to your cheek, his expression soft and full of tenderness, "I know that."

He trails a series of soft kisses down your face, touching his lips to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, and finally down until they reach your own. You melt into him.

This kiss is not like the first you shared, hasty and hurried and fuelled by external forces. This is deep and languid and deliberate, as if you are the only two in existence and you have all the time in the Galaxy to spend in this moment.

One of Andor's hands tangles up in your wet hair, the other presses against the small of your back as if willing you closer to him. You can feel his urgency increasing now. His movements are definite and purposeful as he caresses and kisses your skin.

Selfishly, you want him to continue, need him to never stop. But you also know this might not be the wisest way for him to recover.

"Cassian..."

"You told me I need to stay awake," he argues as if he already knows what you're about to say, now tracing kisses along your collarbone, "I'm awake."

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind..." you protest weakly, but the breathy desire in your own voice betrays you.

"Liar," he mumbles as he nuzzles into your neck and you feel him grin against your skin.

The movement of his lips makes his short beard tickle your flesh and the feeling forces a raucous laugh from your chest. It's a loud, unrestrained, joyful sound.

Cassian pulls away to look at you, wearing an expression of wonder. You realise he's probably never heard you laugh like that before. In fact, you can't remember the last time you heard it yourself.

His eyes crease at the corners and dimples appear in his cheeks as he smiles widely at you. That smile, the one you realise you've adored all along. And this one is only for you.

"You're infuriating," you scold, but your voice is light and full of heady exhilaration.

You wrap yourself around him and kiss him hard, realising, finally, that it is impossible to deny yourself the joy of him any longer.

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

You and Andor step off the landing platform of the resort and up into his ship. K-2 wastes no time in piloting the vessel up and away from the city.

Compared to the sumptuous surroundings of Canto Bight, the interior of the ship looks admittedly a little dreary by comparison, but you won't miss life within those opulent walls. Not when you now know just how many of its inhabitants are within the insidious clutches of the Empire.

"Well, I hope you two behaved yourselves," K-2 greets you as you both enter the cockpit.

You and Cassian exchange a glance. He winks at you and you actually giggle, the internal glow of happiness you feel manifesting itself in an embarrassing little laugh.

"I'm taking that as a no," K-2 says, "Murdo will be pleased."

"Who the hell is Murdo?" Cassian asks and he drops into the pilot's chair beside his faithful droid.

#cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x female reader #star wars fanfiction #star wars fanfic #cassian andor fanfiction

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adam-sadmon · 5 months

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So to supplement by last post wherein I made an Armored Core AC based around Makoto (and might do some more for the Thieves) it's alternatively funny to instead imagine AC's not built by design aesthetics or combat styles/characteristics of the Thieves but literally made BY the Thieves, so here's how I imagine each Thief would build their AC if sat down in front of Armored Core 6:

Ryuji: Easy. Tank legs, dual miniguns and dual missile launchers on the shoulders. He hasn't optimised it whatsoever and with a build like that honestly he doesn't need to, he's Tokyo drifting at mach 10 turning the atmosphere into 90% lead. He will absolutely drive Futaba insane over how stupid his build is and how terrifyingly effective it is, especially when he turns her fully optimised meta build into a tin can.

Futaba: Futaba is a Gamer TM, and a toxic meta-slave at that, so she's running dual Zimmermans and Songbirds, at least when she's playing online. She likes to challenge herself in the campaign (which she's played though about 10 times now) and loves to flex on the rest of the Thieves in the Arena, usually by only equipping a single bazooka and turning on manual aiming to practise her Quake/TF2 rockets. OH, and she has in fact bugged Yusuke into making some waifu decals for her which she stickerbombs her AC with.

Yusuke: At first Yusuke was literally just using the first AC you play as during the first mission of the game since he spent a 100% of his time creating decals and re-colouring his AC, until eventually he started changing the AC parts to compliment his decals and aesthetic, and finally he actually went into the test range to fight... So he could spend 110% of his time in photo mode.

Makoto: Makoto, much to the fear and surprise of Futaba, is ruthlessly efficient when it comes to her AC build and approaches weapon and part stats the way she would an exam, going out of her way to build an energy-weapon based medium-weight AC, having ran the numbers on the various energy generators and the sheer DPS on quad-pulse guns, and much to her surprise has even beat Futaba on multiple occasions, even against her meta-slave build. Though nobody knows and she wouldn't hasten to tell anybody Makoto has secretly spent an inordinate amount of time away from studying to make Buchimaru decals for when she plays alone in the campaign.

Ann: Having little frame of reference as far as mecha go Ann failed upwards, instead trying to emulate herself in the metaverse by running with dual Ludlow SMG's and even adding the whip-like plasma thrower to her build and, inspired by the sleek femme-fatale villainesses of her childhood shows, built herself especially light with reverse-joint legs, not for the added jump distance or decrease in weight but because they look like high heels. She has accidentally outed Makoto's dark secret by telling Mako-Chan that she and her should hang out and make some more Buchi emblems and makes Futaba question her existence when she victory dances after turning her AC into Swiss cheese.

Haru: As bloodthirsty in AC6 as she is in the Metaverse Haru gets noticeably too into Arena fights especially when landing a fully revved chainsaw or by going wide eyed and shallow-breathed when flying 300 metres up in the air on hovering tetrapod legs while raining down 40 missiles at once, usually on Ryuji who can't reach her with his stubby little tank legs and who refuses to change his AC. She's attempted to make a lighter weight, more aesthetically pleasing and eloquent AC's but says fuck it when she realises she can't equip the chainsaw without being overburdened.

Morgana: Morgana doesn't have thumbs, however when hanging around Futaba he backseats and has gotten her to make a gentlemanly, lightweight AC with quad-handguns painted all black and white to emulate his stylish masculinity, which he then got to see melted by Sulla. He hasn't even got to Balteus yet.

#Persona #Persona 5 #P5 #Haru Okumura #Ryuji Sakamoto #Futaba Sakura #Yusuke Kitagawa #Makoto Niijima #Ann Takamaki #Morgana #Mona #Armored Core #Armored Core 6 #AC6

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imminentinertia · 14 days

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Get To Know Me Tag Game

@telomeke tagged me, and I enjoyed your post <3

do you make your bed?

In the morning, I fluff my pillow and turn down the duvet to air the mattress. Fitted sheet doesn't move much around.

what's your favourite number?

21 (if you know, you know)

what is your job?

I'm a [redacted] at [redacted], mostly working with [redacted] and [redacted], and my going to Vienna a lot has nothing to do with Vienna up until recent years being the spy capital of the world.

if you could go back to school, would you?

Depends. I will maim anyone trying to send me back to primary or lower secondary, but if I could bring all I know now, I'd be back in upper secondary before you could say "the dawn of the slut era". I had a lot of fun those years, and I loved so many of my teachers and subjects.

can you parallel park?

I don't have a driver's licence, and parallel parking isn't part of my limited knowledge of driving a car.

a job you had that would surprise people?

I'm pretty certain people who know me and know how much I hate talking to random strangers think being a salesperson is wildly out of character for me, but I was honestly good at it. It helped a lot that I was selling something people need (insurance).

do you think aliens are real?

I find it difficult to believe that we *gesticulates wildly* are the only sentient beings in the universe. Come the fuck on.

can you drive a manual car?

No. Not a non-manual car either.

what's your guilty pleasure?

It's taken me years to get there, but I no longer feel guilty about anything I enjoy. I regret it when I scarf down an entire bag of Olw Cheez Ballz, but that has mostly to do with being uncomfortably full.

tattoos?

I don't have any, I've been dithering about that my entire adult life, but I'm interested in the cultural history and expression of tattoos and I love rather a lot of tattoo styles.

favorite color?

Dark teals, silver, light sage green tones.

favorite type of music?

Ahaha. Well. Anything that makes my brain buzz? What I've come to realise is that I need something from music that resists me a bit, something jagged, sinister, haunting or filthy. Something that's not a dime a dozen. Something a bit spiky. Like this new song from Beth Gibbons.

youtube

do you like puzzles?

YES I DO INDEED. Any sort. This is where almost all of my possibilities for addiction live.

any phobias?

All out phobias, I don't really know. I have phobic reactions to some insects and body fluids and any sort of injury to eyes and nails (ridiculously specific, this).

favorite childhood sport?

Ew no. Ballet kid in rabid handball/football territory, I developed allergies to sports in general. Okay, I played and enjoyed badminton, to be fair.

do you talk to yourself?

Oh yes. Sometimes out loud. In several languages.

what movies do you adore?

Can I do a separate post on this? To name a few: The Fall, Gosford Park, The Handmaiden, Some Like It Hot, Thelma, Immortel, Pojkarna, Das Leben der Anderen

coffee or tea?

Ooooh depends. I love so many hot and iced coffee drinks, and iced matcha with oat milk, and black strong tea, and tisanes omg, and and and I think I need another lungo with a splash of milk. Coffee maybe wins?

first thing you wanted to be growing up?

An archaeologist. I blame reading several books by Thor Heyerdahl as a child.

As usual, if you've read this far I pronounce you tagged (please tag me if you do the post, I'm curious).

#tag game #i note from others' posts that 'school' apparently means higher education too but then the question would have to be would i go back to uni #school is where kids and teens go #anyway. back to uni? yes and no because i'm very fond of getting a salary but i love learning more than most things

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amuseoffyre · 1 year

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For the past fortnight, work has been getting in the way of me doing fandom related stuff, but it’s also given me a lot more time to turn over “working class northern Izzy Hands” in my brain.

There have been some fab posts going around with the analysis of Izzy in the context of the social history and what it meant for him and the more I thought about them, the more I recognised him in my dad’s side of the family.

I’ll foreword this with a note that this is entirely based on my lived experience around northern blokes of a certain generation. I have no idea what things are like now, but back when I was a wee bit of a thing, this seemed to be the norm.

A big thing about the north of England is that it’s where a lot of industry was based: glassworks, steelworks, collieries, mines of all kinds, shipbuilding. Whole cities sprang up there based around manual labour and manufacture and trade. There was a history of graft and everyone was expected to do their share and pull their weight. (“Your lots days of sitting around doing fuck all are over”)

There was also a certain pride in that work. Yes, it was hard and yes it could probably kill you, but by god you were good at it. And even moreso if you’d managed to make your way up to be in a position that earned you some modicum of respect and authority. Or even just survived that long. (“My name is First Mate Hands or God as far as you’re concerned”)

There was also a very definite pecking order, whether in social circles or work circles. You couldn’t just swan in and expect to be accepted and respected. You had to earn any respect you got and demanding it was a guarantee you wouldn’t get it. (“Pirates my arse”)

I’ve mentioned before on the post I linked further up about literacy and education. For the longest time, literacy in the north was very low because the majority of people left school early because they had to work. It wasn’t an option to stay on and get an education. If you had stayed in school, then you weren’t working and if you weren’t working, your family may not be eating.

There used to be a vibe of Proper Jobs (ie. manual labour of some kind) versus Soft Jobs (clerking, secretary etc). There were careers such as doctor and lawyer that did get considered Proper Jobs, but for the pencil pushers and the paperwork monkeys scurrying around and making notes, they were doing Soft Jobs.

All of these factors are very clearly in play in the scenes between Izzy and Lucius in episode 5. Here’s a lazy and disrespectful younger man whose entire job on the ship is a Soft Job. He gets to fanny about, writing things down, while everyone else has to do manual labour, and then he disrespects someone who is accustomed to a certain level of authority and respect, someone who has clawed his way up through the ranks.

He’s absolutely dead centre in a ven diagram of Things That Will Annoy Izzy Hands. Even more so since Izzy can’t do anything to Stede for fear of crossing Blackbeard, but this guy? Oh, this guy he can take out his frustrations on.

It explains why Izzy’s ire is focused on him, even though Wee John was having a nap and Black Pete was slacking off just as much. Both of those characters are manual workers (to a given degree, “bottom of the barrel”, after all) but the boy writing the journal, who clearly thinks he’s better than Izzy? Well, there’s someone who needs to learn his place.

(I still have Thoughts on the ‘ooooh daddy’ moment, but I have little brain left to articulate them just now)

And while I was going down that road, my brain took a sharp turn into the realisation of why Izzy dresses the way he does as well. Like the rest of Blackbeard’s crew, he’s in the black/leather combination but unlike them, he is covered from collar to cuffs, neck to toe. Some of it’s worn and repaired, but it’s an outfit that would be seen as Respectable even beyond the pirate world: a full shirt with cravat and a waistcoat on top.

Why would he choose to be so formally dressed? Because “I was honoured to work for the legendary Blackbeard”. It comes back to the pride in his work. He’s First Mate. He’s the second-in-command on the Queen Anne’s Revenge. He has worked bloody hard and survived many things to reach this point. He is representing something both to himself and to the world.

It’s about status: he stands out among the crew, so there’s no question that he’s in charge with his formal clothing. But he also stands out when we see him around other pirates. The only other pirates we see who dress to impress to this degree are Stede and Spanish Jackie. “Make people feel underdressed and suddenly you’re the one in charge” can be applied to all three of them. And it cracks me up knowing how much Izzy would hate that.

All of this is also the reason I’m pretty sure there will be an arc in the coming season when Stede does actually earn some little grudging respect from Izzy. Stede earning his place, doing the work and proving himself feels like it will be a vital cog in the story. Izzy will still deplore him, because he’s a creature of habit and routine, but I feel like there will be at least a grudging “...fine. You’re not a totally useless fucker”, which is high praise indeed.

Now, though, it’s midnight and I’m listing sideways. I shall no doubt have more thoughts, but for now, this will do.

#ofmd #ofmd thinkie thoughts #ofmd meta

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ayeforscotland · 10 months

Note

Wow I didn't realise so much of your viewership on twitch came directly from tumblr. Are you able to create a link to a search for your name on twitch? So that people could still click a link on here that opens twitch to a page where you are clearly visible for them to just click one more time?

Or do you just need everyone to either follow you and set notifications on so they can click in from notifs, or go to twitch.tv and search for you every time they see on here that you've gone live?

bs that they worked with tumblr on the embed and then decided it doesn't count

Tumblr is where I have the biggest audience so lots of people click through from here. Twitch also counts clicks from my go-live posts on Discord as external views which is just so frustrating. Because searching for a name on Twitch takes you to the person's channel where they are already live I could only send people to the home screen with the then added frustration for them of finding me. It's all really manual and shit! If people follow me and click the notification then Twitch will love that. Similarly if they see that I'm live and then go separately to Twitch and click on me from their follow list. If this sounds like Twitch being obnoxious as shit, it's because it is. I've never made so many posts about the 'Twitch meta' before because it always felt like gaming the system but the system is rigged.

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lesboygamzee · 1 month

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i hsve too many thoughts in my head all at once and its like im always internally talking over myself and i feel like i have to organize them into My Thoughts ( thoughts that feel like mine and feel like they are relevant to me , most of my thoughts but not all of them ( doesnt include thoughts relevant to my life but for simplicities sake i include these too . its weird ) ) and Thoughts Worth Thinking ( i think about everything i can think of and most of it sucks ) . and then i try and organize them into a post . i think this is something everyone does like thats how fucking posting works . but if im tired or not feeling great for any other reason it feels really involved and methodical and sluggish . i do everything manually and thinking about doung it just adds to it all and i dont even get it right half the time . which is why you get me embarassing myself and deleting jt once i realised i fucked up and posted somehing that doesnt realy need to exist . ill probably do the same for this

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p3ski · 4 months

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Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 3.9K

Gavin didn't take his garbage out nearly as often as he should. His apartment was on the fourth floor, and the communal trash cans were on the opposite end of the building - down several flights of stairs. It never really occurred to him how much junk had amassed until he was literally wading through it, unable to see his floors.

It was odd how his sudden compulsion to clean coincided perfectly with Nines' visit. After all, the android was already acquainted with his usual living standards. He had hardly concerned himself with making a good impression before. After securing the ties on two weighty trash bags, he surveyed his progress, feeling satisfied. That was until he heard a gentle rapping at his door.

" Fuck. " Cursing under his breath, his watch informed him that it was 8 pm exactly. He should have known Nines would be the punctual sort. Attempting to slip the trash bags inconspicuously onto his fire escape, the bottom of one started to rip. He cursed again, louder this time, as the persistent rapping continued.

Abandoning the bags in the centre of his kitchen, Gavin wiped his grubby hands on the front of his jeans. Once they were sufficiently clean, he navigated the cramped walkway through the living room, and went to answer the door:

"Give me a second, Jesus Christ - " Swinging it open, he readied himself to continue his tirade when his words caught in his throat.

Nines stood on the mat, so broad and tall that it was partially obscured by the doorway. Its hair had been rinsed of its usual product, giving it an uncharacteristically soft and bouncy appearance. Its CyberLife attire was absent, replaced by a grey turtleneck sweater and straight-leg black pants. The style and colour complemented its features, and Gavin couldn't help but notice just how well everything seemed to fit.

"Good evening, Detective."

He had completely zoned out, staring vacantly without sense or purpose. Upon realising this, he forced himself to look away, thoroughly unnerved. "Come on in'', he said reluctantly, trying to swallow the traitorous lump that had formed in his throat.

Passing the threshold in silence, the android studied the living space, eyes darting between the uncharacteristically clear floors and surfaces. "I had not expected you to clean on my behalf."

"It needed it anyway", he quickly excused, "Was getting out of control."

"The gesture is appreciated."

"I'm gonna finish - that", Gavin gestured vaguely to the kitchen and the abandoned bags on the floor. "Make yourself home, or whatever. Tiff is in the bathtub, don't know how much luck you'll have in coaxing her out."

Returning to the kitchen and creating a comfortable distance between them, Gavin attempted to tie off the damage he had done to the split bag. This only worsened matters, as the tear nearly doubled in size. Admitting defeat, he went to his cupboard and retrieved a second bag, slipping it over the first and manually gathering the loose remnants. Upon exiting the room, his houseguest was nowhere to be seen. Presumably, it had gone to the bathroom, searching for Tiffany. He seized the opportunity to drag his overstuffed bags out of the apartment, heading in the direction of the stairs.

On the way down, he cursed himself for not sticking to his earlier convictions. Inviting Nines over had been a terrible idea. One that he was already coming to regret. The only person he had allowed to stay in his current apartment had been Tina - a tenuous arrangement in itself, given her vendetta with Tiffany. Hosting Nines felt…different. It couldn't be so easily categorised. They weren't friends, nor were there any romantic or sexual pretences. It was the sort of dissonance that could only be quelled by a drink. Or six.

Making his way back up his stairs, he reasoned he should be upfront, telling Nines that he'd changed his mind. Writing the experience off as a lapse in judgement would be much easier than enduring an evening of painful awkwardness. This changed, however, when he made his way back into the apartment and saw it standing in the living room. Cradling Tiffany in its arms.

The usually fractious cat was surprisingly calm, purring appreciatively as the android scratched behind her ear. "She seems more affectionate than usual." As if on cue, the cat's head lolled back, tucking into the crook of its elbow. "I suspect it is due to the change in her hormones."

Gavin had never seen his pet look so peaceful nor his partner so content. There was no way he could ask it to leave now, he was trapped.

Having made a swift break for his kitchen - and, more specifically, the beers in his fridge - the bottles clinked together as he rustled to grab one. "I, uh, don't have anything you can drink," he loudly excused, pulling out a beer and using the magnetised bottle opener on his fridge to crack the lid. "Sorry."

"No need to apologise. Although I wouldn't think it the most opportune time to be consuming alcohol," The disembodied voice was calm and distant, but with the subtle air of judgement. "When did you last eat?"

Gavin pursed his lips as he stared haplessly into his fridge. It was devoid of contents save for the remaining bottles and a half-eaten yoghurt. "I'll order something later."

"I really would advise against drinking until you have compensated for -"

Slamming the fridge door shut, he returned to the living room, annoyed. "Can you stop making me feel like I'm on trial?" he snapped, pointing forcefully to his couch. "Sit down. I told you to make yourself at home."

"I rarely sit down when I am home", Nines reasoned, combing its fingers through the expanse of Tiffany's back, "I prefer to stand."

"Well, I'd prefer it if you didn't. It's fucking creepy."

His companion stirred at the insult but quickly grounded itself, shrugging dismissively, "If it makes you feel more at ease, Detective, then I suppose I can sit."

"Do it then - and stop calling me ‘Detective'. We're off duty; Gavin is fine."

"Alright then…Gavin." The words sounded stiff as it tested the name on its tongue. As requested, it sat itself onto the couch, shifting Tiffany into its lap. The cat remained docile during this, never once stirring.

Gavin busied himself with his television. The set was a relic - early 2010s, with limited functionality, save actually switching on. The remote had to be smacked several times before it would even respond. Still, it was one of the rare models to have a DVD player built into the screen, which paired nicely with his expansive collection.

"It's still early. Thought we could watch something." Running a finger across the boxes, he wondered what, if anything, would be the best choice for entertaining an android houseguest. "So dipshit…what's your favourite scary movie?"

The reference flew directly over Nines' head. It looked back at him with a blank stare before shrugging its shoulders. "I am unfamiliar with the horror genre. I do not believe I have seen any films that fit the criteria."

"We'll be starting with the classics then." After some deliberation, he selected two DVDs from his collection and held them up to his partner. "Take your pick: A or B."

Its eyes narrowed, carefully scrutinising the box art of both choices. Its LED whirred yellow briefly before it let out a gentle hum. "I find the synopsis of A more compelling. It would be my preferred option."

Realising what it had done, Gavin allowed his arms to fall limply to his sides. "I told you to pick a movie, not read the Wikipedia."

"Should I not inform myself of the plot of a film before I watch it?"

"It's more fun if you go in blind." He popped the disc into the side of the TV, and the old mechanism whirred to life. Remote in hand, he slumped himself into the space on the left side of the couch.

Once the menu had booted up and the movie started, Gavin tried to get comfortable, picking up his beer and sinking further into the cushions. Nines sat in silence, intently focused on the scene playing in front of it. As ominous music played, a young girl walked alone through a boiler room. This continued for quite some time until she was loudly accosted by a deformed-looking man in a striped sweater.

Much to Gavin's delight, Nines reeled back at this, visibly startled. Tiffany, who had been stirred from her nap, yowled and scampered away - but only made it as far as their feet before settling down again.

"Don't tell me that actually got you?" Gavin snorted before breaking out into a fit of cackles. "Big scary Robocop can't handle a jumpscare."

"I wasn't scared. It was an involuntary reaction to what my central processor perceived as a threat."

"Sure, I believe you," his laughter tapered off as he took a generous swig of his drink, "Want me to hold your hand in case there's another one?"

"That won't be necessary", The android fired back. It clearly did not appreciate the mockery, jaw hardening defensively. "I know what to expect now, and I shall be more prepared next time."

Nothing more was said for a while. Gavin finished his beer, setting the empty bottle in front of him. He was about to fetch another when his stomach let out a thunderous growl. This did not go unnoticed by his guest, whose attention snapped from the movie over to the source of the noise.

"You are hungry," It said matter of factly. "It is getting late, you should consider acquiring food."

Gavin tensed, resenting the fact that the machine was calling him out. He honestly couldn't afford to order another takeout despite his previous assertion. Perhaps some beans would be enough to quell the lingering pain in his gut, as well as to keep the android off his case.

"You are partial to pizza, correct? I recall several empty boxes the last time I visited."

"You mean the last time you tried to break in?" There had been little point deflecting the question. Nines was frustratingly astute with details, and there was no convincing it to drop something once it had committed. "I'm not feeling pizza tonight. Might just see what I've got in."

"That is unfortunate, given the fact I have already placed an order."

Gavin shot up, thrown by the statement, "Are you being serious? When did you -" He cut himself short, catching sight of the LED that spun on his partner's forehead. He held his breath, exhaling deeply before he continued. "You're not supposed to buy me dinner. I'm the damn host."

"I do not need to eat, and you do - As you could not be trusted to make arrangements, I took it upon myself to do so."

Ignoring the backhanded nature of Nines' remark, he pushed himself up from his seat, muttering under his breath. "You better not have got me trash. Any olives or pineapple, and I'll fucking end you."

"I made an order based on your established preferences."

It had been a while since someone had thought to buy him dinner - and even longer without an ulterior motive. The conflict of emotions it left him with made his stomach twist. He grabbed two bottles from the fridge, one for enjoyment and the other for assurance, before pocketing the bottle opener.

Gavin returned just in time to catch one of his favourite scenes. Upon witnessing the comedic extension of the killer's arms, his shoulders shook with involuntary giggles. "Good old Stretch Armstrong. Just wait until he starts running at her. It's fucking hilarious."

Nines seemed perplexed by this statement, "I thought the intention of this film was to frighten, not to amuse?"

"Ehh, it's a bit of both with this franchise." He opened one of his beers before sitting back on the couch. Propping his elbow onto the armrest, he leant his head on his hand as he gently sipped the foam. "The later movies get really stupid. Freddy's Dead is a straight-up comedy."

"For a series you hold in such high regard, you seem rather critical of it."

"Nah, that's the beauty of these old movies. Sure, the effects are goofy and outdated, but that's part of what makes them fun."

Nines looked away, tuning in to a series of loud, pained screams emanating from the television. "...I can see how you might find it entertaining, although the logistics of this scene are rather questionable."

"That's because it's a dream, dumbass", he chided, rolling his eyes. "Dream rules means no rules. Get used to it."

It wasn't long until a knock could be heard on the door, disturbing what was building into a suspensefully quiet scene. Before Gavin had a chance to stand up, Nines had already done so and was answering the door with a polite greeting. A few muttered words were exchanged, after which the android returned with a large paper bag, handing it to its partner. "Here you go."

Tiffany, who had been curled up asleep on the floor, abruptly stirred at the new sounds and smells. Her head peered up at the bag, nose upturned curiously. She let out a small yowl as her owner pulled it open.

"No. Not for you. Fuck off", he said, firmly waving her away. "You've got food in the kitchen that you've barely touched."

Retrieving the pizza box from the bag, he scrutinised the label. "Double pepperoni with stuffed crust. Very nice." Digging further into the bag, he noticed an unlabelled polystyrene container sandwiched at the bottom. Opening the container, he was hit with an abrupt wave of disappointment and confusion. "Did you order a fucking side salad?"

"Given your affinity for calorie-dense, processed foods, I felt some nutrients would not go amiss."

"I'm not eating the salad."

"You may find it agreeable", it argued, the corner of its lips pulling upwards. "Surely I don't have to feed you?"

Gavin pulled a face, smacking his hand open and closed to mock the nagging tone. Setting the unwelcome salad down at the table's edge, he cleared space for the pizza. Not long after he'd pried the box open, he dug into the food like a hungry animal. Slurping at the cheese and tomato shamelessly, licking up remnants from his fingertips. Tiffany was still skulking around their feet, groaning and growling, to which the Nines picked her up and settled her back into its lap.

"I must admit, I am enjoying this more than I anticipated", it said. "Lieutenant Anderson and RK800's taste in films leaves much to be desired."

"Oh yeah? What sort of garbage have they got you watching?"

"The Lieutenant is partial to action films, whereas RK800 leans more towards romantic comedies."

Gavin set down a half-eaten slice of pizza, pointing to his throat in a gagging gesture. "Figures Connor would be into chick flicks. Remind me never to come round on movie night."

"Fortunately, they are both equally partial to animals, so we find some compromise there. I must say, though, I found the last film we watched to be…distressing."

"What was so distressing about it?"

Nines looked on, a little forlornly, "It is about a couple who adopt a Labrador, and it follows their life as the dog grows up. Towards the end of the film -"

Oh no. The detective cursed his curiosity as a wave of unpleasant memories swiftly assaulted him. "Let me guess. Marley and Me? "

"I take it you've seen it before."

"Once, when I was six. That movie was why I wasn't allowed pets growing up. It took me a week to emotionally recover."

"I imagine that came as a disappointment," it said with a look of solidarity. "You seem very fond of animals."

"I made up for it as an adult." Gavin went to take a sip of his drink before realising it was empty. Picking up the bottle opener, he retrieved his third beer of the evening and gently pried off the cap. "Got my first dog straight out of college. Great Dane, called 'im Scoob. Was great until I realised what a fucking ball ache he was to take care of. After that, I got Dipshit, a rescue tabby. Been a cat man ever since."

"When did you purchase Tiffany?"

"I didn't. She was a gift from - " Gavin stopped himself, realising he didn't want to go there. At least not now. "Not important. I've had her for about four years."

They returned their attention to the movie just in time to witness one of the more iconic scenes. Nines tilted his head to the side, evidently struggling to process what was happening. The killer pulled a man into his bed before a geyser of blood erupted from the mattress. "Is this another instance of dream rules? Because there's far too much blood to realistically be contained in a single person."

"With this scene, I've got no fuckin' clue. I think they just wanted it to look cool."

"I find it surprising that as a child, you were so deeply traumatised by a fictional dog when this level of violence did not faze you."

Pausing for a moment, Gavin wondered how honestly he ought to respond. "That's not completely true", he confessed. "When I was little, my dad would stay up late watching movies every single night, but he never let me join 'im. I was a stubborn shit and kept sneaking peeks around the corner, so eventually, he sat me down to watch Child's Play . I was shitting my pants the entire time. Gave me all kinds of nightmares."

"If the films frightened you so much, why did you continue to watch them?"

Gavin knocked back his bottle, swilling the liquid around his mouth before swallowing heavily. "After my parents split up, I only ever saw my dad on weekends. I wasn't about to waste any of the time we had."

Nines said nothing but listened closely, its lips pursed tightly in thought.

"When he got sick, he couldn't do much of anything. Except watch his movies. We’d worked through his whole collection in months, and I was desperate to find something new we could watch together." He started to laugh. "One time, I convinced him to take me to see some shitty slasher movie, and I decided I'd make myself look older. In case the workers got funny about it. I wasn't very convincing, drew on stubble with my mom's eyebrow pencil."

"I'm sure your father found that amusing."

"Sure did, it was great. You should have seen his face" The laughter he had forced throughout the story promptly stopped. His chest felt heavy from the exertion, and he struggled to breathe. "It's weird. He's been gone for 23 years, but it still feels like yesterday that I was at his funeral. Grief like that never goes away; you just learn to live with it."

"...Gavin." He wasn't sure when Nines had moved, but the distance between them haf decreased massively. A hand slid out towards him, stopping just shy of grazing his fingers. "I know you may not appreciate me saying this, but I am genuinely sorry for your loss. I can't imagine the pain you must feel."

The detective bit his lip as his increasingly inebriated state threatened to breach his resolve. "You ever lose something, Nines? Something that tears you up until you feel like there's nothing left?"

Nines stilled, its LED shifting to red instantaneously. It opened its mouth, emitting a crackle of static. "Yes."

"Then you get it. To be honest, I think you get a lot more than I've given you credit for."

It raised a quizzical eyebrow as the corner of its mouth pulled into a faint half-smile. "If you didn't detest me, I might hesitate to call that a compliment."

"Don't get used to it. I won't be doing it again any time soon."

"A shame, really." Having turned its body away from the television, it was now staring directly at Gavin. "I would consider it a great honour to see more of this sincerity from you."

With only a dull light to guide him, Gavin struggled to make out the other’s expression. In his efforts, however, he picked up on something that had previously escaped his notice. He had always assumed Nines' skin formed part of its 'perfect' design - being smooth and entirely free of blemishes. However, on closer inspection, he noticed a faint dusting of freckles across its cheeks and nose. It leant its unusually stern face some much-needed softness.

His lips felt dry, and he subtly tried to wet them.

Why did they have to make him so fucking attractive?

The rogue thought slipped its way through, emboldened by the alcohol. As it began to sink in, Gavin felt overwhelmed by an abrupt sense of panic. Pulling back, he scurried to his feet.

"I need a piss."

Nines, confused by the abruptness of the statement, also inched back. Its mouth gaped open, but it was unable to say anything as Gavin made a hurried exit for the bathroom. Once inside, he took himself directly to the sink, running the tap until it was cold and splashing the water into his face. He tried to calm himself down as his mind worked over itself in a frenzied internal debate:

I mean, yeah. Objectively speaking, it’s hot. A lot of the androids are -

Exactly. It's an android. Have you lost your mind? What the hell is wrong with you?

Tina was right. His current dry spell had gone on for too long, and it was time to do something about it. He resolved to call her tomorrow. Right now, however, he faced a more pressing issue.

He had locked himself in his bathroom, with the machine he had made accidental eye sex with sitting feet away behind the door. Gavin knew he had to face it eventually, and after taking a long, steeling breath, he prepared himself to do so.

Inevitably, Nines was waiting for him as soon as he emerged. It followed his movements closely, face marred with a look of concern. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, all good", Gavin said smoothly, doing his best to avoid eye contact. "I'm really tired, think I'm gonna head to bed."

"Did you not want to finish the film? I imagine we are close to the end."

"Nah, it's fine. The ending kind of sucks, and I've seen it a million times."

The android was clearly unsatisfied with this response but relented in arguing back. Its concerned expression morphed into something more detached and neutral. "I understand. That was the purpose of my visit, after all. To ensure you got a good night's sleep."

"Right." There was little else Gavin could think to say as he made his way to his bedroom. Before disappearing into the room completely, he spared his partner a quick backward glance. "See you tomorrow."

Nines watched after him, a little too intently, before letting out a gentle sigh. "Goodnight, Gavin. Sleep well."

#dbh #reed900 #dbh fanfiction #dbh gavin #dbh nines #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #detroit become human #gavin reed x rk900 #gavin900 #g9 #gavin x rk900

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