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yourheartandmind · 11 months

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Know You Don't

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Knowing didn't always translate to understanding, and loving Wednesday meant learning that the hard way.

The reality of dating someone rarely goes exactly as expected. Sometimes, this is for the better. Sometimes, the love transforms into a waltz of teaching and learning; a journey beyond yearning and into accepting and understanding. Sadly, however, most of the time it's not.

When it came to loving Wednesday Addams, you knew from the start that loving her would be unlike anything else.

How could it be?

From the beginning, the girl had been reserved and unaffectionate, more likely to commit murders for you than hold you through spouts of tears. And though you had always known better than to expect anything more than that, it would still prove to be your greatest oversight.

Because knowing did not always mean understanding, and for all that you might have tried to ignore this fact, it was the inescapable difference that doomed your relationship.

Watching the girl now, you held back your sigh of frustration as she rolled her eyes at you. The action made you bristle, and if it had been from anyone else, you might've snapped. Yet, because it was the girl you loved, you fought against the urge to let your irritation show.

Even as the lines around Wednesday's lips deepened, conveying her displeasure and etching it onto her face, you made every effort to remain composed. In that moment, you couldn't help but notice how her expression still bore traces of the stoic stare you had become accustomed to - once wonderfully intriguing. But now, those traces served only as a painful reminder of just how little Wednesday seemed to care, sometimes.

"I don't think I'm asking for too much," you pleaded, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation as you searched for any glimmer of understanding in her darkened eyes, "Just a little more affection, Wednesday, a small gesture here and there to let me know you're there for me when I need it." Your mind wandered to the countless sleepless nights, of the loneliness that always followed. It was during those times that Wednesday seemed to disappear, leaving you to confront your thoughts and solitude alone.

"In what ways, Y/N?" She pressed, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, as if erecting an imaginary wall between the two of you.

Not that it seemed to really matter either way. Even when she was physically present, like she was now, it still felt like Wednesday was a world away. Her physical proximity held no comfort. Her gaze had no empathy. It felt as if your struggles were inconsequential to her; as if you were inconsequential to her.

“Affection?” There was the beginning of mockery in her voice, causing a pang of defensiveness to course through you, “As in physical gestures? You want me to embrace you?” Her words felt demeaning, as if your deepest desires were being reduced to childish wants. But just as likely was the possibility that it was simply your imagination playing a cruel trick on you.

"Yes, physical gestures, Wednesday," you replied, your voice attempting to stay calm despite how you might have been feeling inside.

It was as if your plea was falling on deaf ears, though, Wednesday's expression remaining unchanged - as if she couldn't even fathom what you were saying. You were just stopping short of practically begging the girl to show you love, yet the only emotion you found within her gaze was something akin to boredom. And when the raven hair girl finally spoke again, her words were measured and deliberate, only fueling your frustration further.

"I simply don't see the point in such trivial things," she replied, voice carrying a cold detachment, "Are my options for affection really limited only to meaningless, physical touch? Can I not express my love in any other way?"

Her words struck you uncomfortably, causing a knot of confusion to tighten in your chest. You had hoped for even a glimmer of understanding, any willingness to find common ground. Instead, Wednesday was challenging the very essence of your request, leaving you questioning your own needs and desire for affection.

"It's not about triviality or limitations!" You explained, a mix of frustration and yearning in your voice, "I know that you express your love in your own unique way, and I love that about you. But sometimes I just need tangible reassurance. Sometimes, I just need to know you're there when I get lost in my own doubts and worries."

But, in reality, the last sentence remained unspoken; the words that exposed your vulnerability lodged in your throat. Your hesitation was tangible as you found yourself unable to admit your need for reassurance any further, as if exposing your deepest desires would be an admission of weakness.

“I just…” You attempted again, but once more finding the right words escaping you. The unfinished sentence dangled in the silence, leaving the conversation unresolved.

Despite everything, you allowed yourself to silently hope that Wednesday would grasp the depth of the situation without your explicit pleas; that she would understand the importance small gestures of affection could have on the chains around your heart. But as the silence stretched on, it became clear that the unspoken plea would remain unheard; the usually acute and observant Wednesday somehow missing all the signs you were desperately trying to convey.

"You're not understanding," she exhaled, voice carrying a weariness that matched the heaviness you felt.

Suppressing the retort that it was her who failed to understand, you locked your jaw. The words teetered on the tip of your tongue, ready to be unleashed in a moment of frustration and pent-up energy. But as you looked into Wednesday's eyes, vacant and unbothered, you felt all the fight drain out of you. The startling realization of your situation suddenly dawned onto you.

"I'm sorry, you're right," you admitted, the words slipping out with a sigh, carrying with it resignation and the bitter taste of defeat. The apology was empty, devoid of genuine remorse. It was like nothing more than an obligatory olive branch in your attempt to reconcile.

Wednesday, however, nodded, as if your admission was something she had expected all along, accepting your apology with an air of anticipated detachment. A silent scoff almost escaped your lips in response, a bitter reaction to her lack of acknowledgment.

But eventually, resignation seeped into your bones, and acceptance settled heavily onto your shoulders, weighing you down with the realization that your battle for understanding had been a solitary one - waged against an opponent who hadn't recognized the fight in the first place.

Wednesday turned away without a second glance, effortlessly resuming her day as if nothing had transpired, rubbing salt into your wound as you were left to wallow in the futility of your efforts.

Perhaps this time, it was she who had missed all the signs you had desperately tried to convey, consumed by her own world. But, you couldn't help but feel like the eternal fool, allowing her to emerge victorious once again, surrendering your own world to be lost in hers.

---

Unofficial Previous Part: Imposition

#wednesday x reader #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams imagines #wednesday addams x reader fluff

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samsvenn · 1 year

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Would you do some hc's about sakamaki's cuddling with their significant other??

𝐜𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐬

𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐞𝐬

shu’s cuddles are filled with utter warmth and homey-ness. he loves letting you play with his hair and scalp massages have him melting like a pot of honey.

his fingers love to slowly trace along your veins, drawing mindless patterns across your lower back and spine. cuddles with him are mostly out of boredom; a time-waster to let the eldest have an excuse to drift off to his safe place, you.

cuddling with reiji makes you realize how touch starved the poor man is. you can see it from the way his hands trail after yours when you reach for your phone, the way he gently presses your head to face the same direction as his when your eyes stare way too long at his beakers, and the way his breathing changes when you let his rest his tired, pretty head atop your chest and rub his tensed temples.

all the stress leaves the man like cold, arid vapor floating towards the moonlight once he croons into your neck and soft, circles along his back welcome him to loving bliss - something that was definitely uncommon for the dork.

it felt unreal how peaceful ayato felt to the touch. there was no more boisterous, booming man-child that’d snap your neck if you ever pointed out how vulnerable he was although the possibility always lingered, depending on how cocky he was feeling that day.

the moment he sank into your plush arms and of course, chest, it was as if time stopped and ayato wasn’t the arrogant, aggregating vampire who’d make fun of you for every little flaw you have.

instead, little murmurs of vengeful possession would lull the man into grasping you tight and sin your skin to be his. both your legs twisted and interlocked with each other, fluffy red ringlets laying on top of your cheek.

his grip on you often felt like an inescapable prison. was it a cover up for his underlying abandonment issues? you’d never know the truth. however, all it took was a simple caress pressed to the corner of lips and you knew, his glassy spring-green eyes whispered so much to you; or perhaps in another sense, it even needed.

with laito, the line was barely there, yet you knew to enforce it. this man has probably done this before, countless times and with countless prey before.

but did you care? absolutely not. to care was to give him power on a pretty platter, so you took it away and didn’t look back. his touch longed for you - pleading, pretty feline eyes that promised to take you to a world of pleasure, eager hips grinding against your waist, hands keen on making you a mindless slave, and deadly venomous words that were laced and wrapped with temptation.

it was an artform at its finest. however, laito forgot that there were two pieces of art at its definition: art that made you feel and art that was so perfectly and intricately made, to the point where it felt ingenuine. it was clear where laito fell.

to try and somewhat deflect this, you fought him at his own battle: you peppered pecks to ends of his eyebrows, laid still and held him gently, as if his advances were just another part of laito being his usual self and that it didn’t matter anymore.

for the first time in a while, laito stayed quiet. and, as he held your hand, a dry chuckle bounced on your ears. he leaned more into the cuddle, until there was nothing more separating your bodies, including his desperation.

cuddling with kanato always felt like he needs you. despite his harsh words and the constant comments about various replacements, he clings to you like a lifeline. there’s always harsh nail marks on your arms and back from how hard he digs his digits into you.

thanks to his petite frame, it’s easy to position in a way that he’s laying on top of your lap and letting him nap on your shoulder. kanato likes this position too, mostly due to how much access he has to your blood and heartbeat.

with kanato, there is no such thing as a break from cuddling. you’re either together or you somehow ended up in a coffin. his nose and lips are always pressed to your skin. whether it’s your neck, the skin behind your ear, the fold that connects your collarbone or simply suckling onto one of you fingers like a pacifier as he falls asleep, it’s a reminder that you’re real and you haven’t escaped.

yet.

like his brothers, kanato is extremely touchy. his skin itches for you and he’ll throw a big tantrum the moment you stop coddling him.

“I will dismember your hands with a fork if you continue to rebel against me. Now, if you please, touch me as you desire and let your greed run wild… Or else my patience will be the one running thin.”

subaru was an interesting cuddle buddy. there’s a mental back-and-forth whenever your warmth distracted him from his other usual self-degrading thoughts. ‘i don’t want this, i don’t need this, why am i like this, this is just a physical altercation and all i need to do is punch some scumbag to feel better-’

these thoughts serve to sever himself from how close he is to being intimate and vulnerable with you. of course, it doesn’t work. the care you’re showing makes him forget all the things his mother has thrown at him as a child. whenever you two cuddle and you hold his ruffled bedhead to your heart, it’s the closest subaru has ever felt-

-to being deemed as loveable. and probably, it’ll be the closest subaru will ever come to loving himself - using the sense-losing warmth of your bodies as a proxy.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #dl #rejet #diahell #laito sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #shu sakamaki #reiji sakamaki #ayato sakamaki #kanato sakamaki #sakamakis #headcanons #diabolik lovers headcanons

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hollandorks · 7 months

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haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter eleven

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: I'd like to say week was crazy and that's the reason the update took a little longer than usual, but actually I had the week off and I was just taking a break! Anyways, things are starting to get a little crazy now...oops

Series Masterlist

word count: 2.3k

How many more women would die?

And how much time did that buy her before she was next?

Two nights after the second murder–another woman who eerily resembled y/n–she finally got a text from that same unknown number.

11 tonight, same place.

She was almost giddy. She had been hiding in her room for two days like a good girl, trying not to bug Gordon or even Martinez as they investigated the second murder. But she’d be damned if she wasn’t going crazy again already.

The news was calling it a potential serial killer, but she knew better. They all knew better.

It was the Gallo family hunting her down.

She dressed in warm, dark clothes again and texted Alfred where she was going. She wanted to leave early, but knew it was a bad idea. She waited until a couple of minutes after eleven to go downstairs, just to be sure the Batman was out there. As she stepped into the elevator his one word text came through. Outside.

She was excited to see him. She finally had something to look forward to, and it was talking to a vigilante, of all things.

And there he was, leaning against the motorcycle without a care in the world. She let her eyes trail from his legs crossed at the ankle to his crossed arms to his masked face. Despite the fact he was literally covered head to toe, a thrill went through her.

“Hi,” she said lamely when she was close enough.

He simply handed her the helmet and got back on the bike.

Some of the excitement went out of her like a balloon deflating. “No hello?” she said, her voice light and teasing.

“Hello. Ready?” he asked when her arms were around his waist. She rolled her eyes.

“Ready.”

They sped off into the night. She let her eyes close. She was almost at peace for the first time in weeks, and it was in the wake of another murder and on the back of a motorcycle with a vigilante she barely knew.

But she had not been made to be idle. Sitting at home, hiding from mobsters, was doing her in. Add to that not only boredom, but grief and painful memories from all sides, and she was surprised she really hadn’t jumped out of a window yet. It was the reason she and Bruce were constantly sneaking out as kids, the reason she had taken extra classes for fun in college, the reason she did things that were objectively stupid. The reason she was an investigative reporter and not in a more steady, safe job.

The motorcycle jolted to a stop.

She opened her eyes and slid off, tucking the helmet under her arm.

Even though she knew what to expect, the fear still stole her breath. She really, really hated heights, and yet she was willingly going up onto rooftops. Stupid. She muttered to herself as the soft noise of the grappling hook split the quiet air.

Y/n tried really hard not to embarrass herself by clinging to Batman, but it didn’t work. At least this time, she let go quickly and didn’t fall on her ass.

She cleared her throat as she stepped away and murmured a thanks. She inched carefully towards the center of the rooftop to get her bearings. It was a different roof this time, next door to the one they’d been on that first night.

“Thanks for doing this,” she said quietly as she set up her camera. The pub below was twice as busy now that it was the weekend.

“Is it so bad at home?” he asked after she had taken several pictures, startling her. She glanced over at him, but he was busy studying the street below. His gloved fingers tapped an idle rhythm on his leg.

“Yes,” she said without thinking. She looked through the camera’s viewfinder and adjusted another setting for the low light and the distance. “I mean–sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?”

The camera shutter was the only sound between them for a minute. “I told you my grandmother and my mother died.” A soft noise of assent. “And to start with, Wayne Tower, as nice as it is, is full of memories of my grandmother. She raised me. Every time I walk around a corner I–” The words stuck in her throat as the grief rose unbidden within her. “–I have no idea if something is going to remind me of her and then I have to remember that she’s gone. It’s like getting punched every time. Or having the breath knocked out of you.”

“I understand,” he said softly, and she knew that he had lost someone too.

She blinked back tears and nodded. She focused on the pictures to distract herself. “On top of that–” She couldn’t admit it. Because how pitiful would it sound? How stupid, how childish, would it sound to say, On top of that, I told Bruce Wayne that I loved him three years ago and he broke my heart and I still can’t stand to be around him. “It’s complicated,” she finally said again. “Someone broke my heart, and I haven’t gotten over it. I’m not sure I ever will.” Her voice lowered until the last words were almost a whisper, choking her until she could barely speak.

There was a sharp intake of breath next to her.

She faced him but he was staring below.

She frowned and tried to see what she had missed that made him make that noise, but she couldn’t see anything.

They lapsed into silence.

“Got any snacks in that fun belt of yours?” she asked a while later. Her voice was falsely light to her own ears. But what else was she supposed to do? She had basically trauma dumped on a virtual stranger. It was awkward, too awkward. She grit her teeth and silently cursed her mouth for running away from her, like usual.

A huff that might have been a laugh. “No. No snacks.”

She faced him fully this time, one hand on her hip while the other still held the camera. “No snacks? What kind of vigilante are you if you aren’t prepared for everything?”

He shrugged but he was smiling. “A bad one, I guess.”

“I’m making my own belt for next time and filling it with snacks,” she muttered.

Things were a little easier after that. Batman still didn’t talk much, but she did come to learn that he made most of his gadgets too–like the gauntlets that held a grappling hook–and most of those things he had added after bad experiences.

“One time I fell in the sewer because I didn’t have a flashlight,” he said in a low voice. She had to smother her laugh so as not to draw attention. “Now I have two.”

She was also able to elicit an answer about his favorite snacks, learning that he had a surprising sweet tooth. She asked if he ate healthy in order to stay in shape for being a vigilante, and he answered that his diet focused on strength and stamina. She made a joke about protein shakes that had him turning a cough into a laugh.

It was nearly one in the morning when she saw him.

They had been chatting quietly, the music coming from the perpetually open pub door drowning most of it out, when a man stepped outside.

Y/n almost dropped the camera.

“He’s here,” she said in a whisper. She quickly snapped pictures.

She hadn’t expected to recognize the man who had escaped.

But there he was, standing below her, talking to one of the women smoking as she leaned against the bricks by the front door.

“You’re sure?” Batman asked.

She could feel her pulse pounding in her throat. Her hands shook so badly she had to fight to steady them so as to get a good picture.

He had been closest to her that night. His face in the most light.

He had been holding the gun.

It played in her mind again, the noise drawing their attention, the almost slow-motion turn of four heads.

“Fuck,” she whispered.

And, somehow, it was like the man heard her.

He looked up, across the street and to the roof, and met her eyes.

Y/n scrambled back away from the edge.

“He saw me,” she whispered. “He saw me.”

Batman was crouched next to her, hidden by the low wall that ran around the entire edge of the building.

“You’re sure?” he said again, but his eyes were on her face this time. It was too dark to tell what color they were. Probably not brown–they were too light.

She mentally shook herself to focus. “I’m positive.”

It was his turn to curse. “Fuck,” he muttered. He grabbed his phone and texted something quickly. He was actually good at texting–she had expected him to text like an old man with just his pointer finger.

He put the phone away and crept closer to the edge of the building. He peeked his head over the wall, barely clearing it, but it was enough. He ducked back down as a shout rang out.

“Oh God,” y/n said. The fear threatened to overwhelm her. If the pub was a hangout for the Gallo family–and at this point, she was certain it was–that meant a lot of armed men and maybe women were right there.

They were trapped there, the motorcycle hidden next to a dumpster down below.

Next to a very convenient fire escape that led straight to where the two of them were currently crouched.

“Listen to me,” Batman said, drawing her focus. He was crouched over her where she was still splayed in a half-crouch from her mad dash to get out of sight. He touched her chin. “Do exactly as I say. We’re going to have to move fast. The priority is getting you and that camera out of here and not leading them home, do you understand?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes,” she said on a breath. “What do we do? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–”

“It’s not your fault.” He was grabbing something off of his belt and texting at the same time. “Gordon’s on the way but it’ll be too late. If they’re smart, they’re going to surround the building. Someone will be sent to the roof from inside, someone up the fire escape.” He held three small flat disks in his hand and pocketed the phone again. “When they’re distracted, we’re going to make a break for it. Can you drive the motorcycle if you have to?”

She stared at him, openmouthed. “Yes,” she said after a second. “Bruce taught me, years ago. I can figure it out.”

“Good. I’ll stay to fight if–”

“No!” she said, the word too loud in the darkness. Below, it had gone quiet. Too quiet.

Batman seemed to realize it at the same time, his head tilted. “The music’s off,” he murmured. “We’re going to have to move.”

He crept to the edge of the wall and peered over.

A gunshot echoed through the night. A chunk of brick exploded close to Batman’s head. She squeaked and covered her mouth to hide the sound. Her eyes were wide as he came back to her side.

“Hold on tight. Run if I say run. Do you understand?”

She nodded. She had never been so afraid, even that first night she had met him. She hadn’t been surrounded then. She hadn’t had to do anything but run and now–now there was so much more on the line.

“If you have to leave me behind, do not go straight home. Ride around as much as you can, as randomly as you can, and try to meet Gordon somewhere. Got it?”

He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her, still crouched, to the spot closest to where the motorcycle was.

He was giving her so many instructions she could barely keep up. Run, stay alive, get to Gordon. Leave him behind if she had to.

She didn’t want to leave him behind. She didn’t know if she could.

He let go of her long enough to throw each of the three flat disks in a separate direction. Two landed in the alley below, one at each end.

“Ready?” he asked, an echo of the start of their night. He held something out to her. The motorcycle key.

She shook her head but he was grabbing her anyway. There were three small explosions. Smoke poured out of the ground. There was shouting, gunfire.

She realized her face was wet with terrified tears.

Batman leapt.

The ground rushed up at them fast, too fast, and she fought against the instinct to hold on tighter, to close her eyes. She needed them wide open, needed to be ready to run.

With a yank, he pulled up right before they hit the pavement, and landed impossibly softly on his feet.

There was smoke everywhere now. She could barely make out the dumpster the motorcycle was hidden behind.

“Go,” he whispered in her ear and gave her a shove.

She ran.

There was more gunfire behind her and she ducked on instinct. Her hands smacked against the side of the dumpster as she lost her balance.

“Over here!” she heard from somewhere in the smoke. There was a loud grunt and more gunshots. Her heart was pounding so loud it echoed the gunfire in her ears.

She sobbed through her teeth as she ran the last few feet to the motorcycle. She could see nothing in the smoke other than shadows and the vaguest outlines of the streetlights at either end of the alley.

She almost dropped the key but managed to slide it into the ignition. She waited to start it, waiting for one shadow in particular to materialize into a familiar form. Where was he? He hadn’t told her to leave without him, but what if–

She screamed as hands grabbed her and yanked her off of the motorcycle.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic @alexiris @that-girl-named-alex @harry-bowie-mercury @vaniasagitaa @widows-writings @missing-loki @exactlyelegantwizard @miriamnox @mavenmoon @eclipsedplanet

#the batman x reader #battinson x reader #batman x reader #bruce wayne x reader #the batman 2022 #battinson #the batman #bruce wayne #haven #haven fic

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artificialgirl · 2 months

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This is the fourth part of a long-form piece about a robot and a giant computer. It contains adult topics, overt sexuality, blatant robotfuckery, toxic lesbians, unbalanced power dynamics, wireplay, and lots of other things that may be triggering or make you uncomfy. Before reading this, previous chapters are on my blog under the #salvage tag.

THIS IS THE CHAPTER WHERE EXPLICIT SHIT STARTS HAPPENING! If you're uncomfortable with high-intensity robot bondage stuff, I highly reccomend you don't read from this point onward.

Salvage - 04

Time inside - 04D/11H/23M

Levels deep - 50

It's been two days in the room, and you're starting to lose it. Since Ven left you here, you've explored every inch of the empty space, inspected every tool on the table, pulled at every panel, tried the door more times than you can count. You even tried messing with the cable she gave you a bit- If it's removable, you definitely aren't the one who can get it out of your charging port. You're bored to death, and the only entertainment you have is trying to make sense of the foreign datafeed still passing through your thoughts.

It's not like there isn't a way out of the room. Ven made it clear that all you needed to do was call for her and she'd come to bring you whatever you needed. You're sure that would include anything to help pass the time, but each time you start to consider that you push the thought away. It's a matter of principle. Whether she means for you to be or not, you're her prisoner here, and giving in to relying on her would only make that more true.

You sit on the floor with your back to the charging bay you no longer fit in thanks to the cable, absentmindedly swinging at the panel beneath you with one of the pry wrenches from the table. Thin cracks spread across it each time you make contact, almost instantly fading as the material self-repairs. The thought strikes you that Ven might be able to feel the strikes in the same way you feel your plating, and you're filled with guilt. You slide the wrench across the floor, and it makes a soft thunk as it collides with the wall.

Somehow, despite the overwhelming boredom, your emotions are too much right now. You pull your knees to your chest and bury your screen in them, trying to compose yourself and slow your fans a bit. You want to call for Ven, you want to ask her not to leave again, to stay and let you listen to her pretty voice, but you can't. You can't let yourself crumple that easily, no matter how much better it would make you feel. Instead, you try to focus your attention on getting out.

You've tried the door and the walls, but they're all sealed with no way to get a grip on them and pry them apart. The ceiling, though... Your focus shifts to the spot above you where the ceiling panels split to allow your cable to hang through. You shuffle a bit to the side, and as the cable glides behind you the panels silently ripple open to make way for its movement along their perpendicular seams. Your assessment that the room was inescapable may have been premature.

You bring the cord's entry point over to the table, kicking away some of the tools as you climb on top of it. The entry point doesn't look like much more than a few centimeters of parting between the ceiling panels, but that should be all you need. You're just barely tall enough on your toes to jam your fingers into the gap, putting all the force you can into trying to spread the tiles.

While they may have removed all of your weaponry when they activated you, your body IS still that of a combat unit, which means the limb strength to pry and tear through basically anything you can get a firm grip on. They put up a good fight, but eventually the panels buckle and form a gap around the cable big enough for you to hoist your body through. You pull yourself up into the ceiling, and you're out. Easy.

It's evident as you crawl through the cramped space between the panels and the layers of endless machinery that it's not designed for anything but survey arms. You can see dozens of them around you as you drag your cable forward, lenses pressed to the cracks in the ceiling, looking down into the room you were just in. Ven is almost certainly already aware you're gone, but it should at least be much harder for her to track down your exact location and detain you when you're in here.

At this point, the plan is a mix of panic and vague ideas. If you can crawl to the exterior where you came in, you could potentially stay connected to the cable while you signalled the corporation to come retrieve you. There's a good 30% chance they'd repair you instead of taking you apart for scrap, and you're still weighing whether or not those odds are worth taking. You push onward and try not to think much about how this plan requires you to ascend 50 floors without being caught by the near-omniscient being whose body you're inside.

As you drag yourself towards the vague idea of a next destination, you find yourself marveling at the bits of technology you pass. Though most of what's used to keep Ven operational is sandwiched away in the thick segments between levels, you still see frequent reminders of what makes her work scattered and embedded in every surface. Whirring fans, twitching motors, glowing apparatuses you couldn't even begin to guess the purpose of. Then, the path narrows and you find yourself face to face with something you've only seen in design data.

A huge cable interchange fills the entirety of the path in front of you, its dim multicolored glow illuminating the constant action which fills its center. In every wall of the hollow cube, dozens of thick cables are plugged, being removed and replaced and slid around the area to different ports entirely autonomously. You watch mesmerized for a moment, in disbelief at how so many extended cables could be moving in the same space that quickly without tying themselves into a giant knot. Everything is perfectly optimized to move data to different sectors of Ven's structure through wired connections as quickly as possible.

Your amazement fades a bit as you realize that on either side of the interchange is a wall that stretches as far as you can see in each direction. You can see that the space continues on the other side of the interchange, but... Moving through there seems like it's going to be a problem. It's that or turning around and crawling at least a few more kilometers to find another way, so... Interchange it is. It will be fine. You'll stick to the edges, and be through to the other side as quickly as you went in.

You keep your body low to the ground as you drop into the interchange's basin, trying to huddle as close to the corner as possible as you dash from one side to the other. Wires fly on all sides of you, and you duck to narrowly avoid one which nearly snares you by the neck. It looks like you're home clear, though. Just a few more steps until you're at the other edge, and...

As you cross the threshold, you feel something holding you back. You turn and see a dark cable wrapped in a loop around your ankle, thrashing against you in an attempt to get to its designated port. Shit. You try to shake your leg free from the straining cable and find yourself losing the battle, slowly being dragged back into the cube of the interchange despite your scrambling against its pull. The edge of the box reverberates as your hands are ripped away from it, and the cable finally slots into its intended destination with a pop as it pulls you into the air by your ankle. You dangle helplessly upside down and try desperately to wriggle free as the interchange races around you.

A second cable zips around your waist with an L shape, scissoring your body between it and another with an almost mirrored position. More quickly than you even have time to fight against, cables wrap themselves around your body as they rush from destination to destination. Before you know it, you're dangling precariously in the middle of the chamber and bound too tightly to even struggle. You can feel them pressing into you, tightening themselves so much as they strain towards out-of-reach ports that a lesser model's plating would crumple under the force.

They really, really seem to hate how tangled they are. Maybe almost as much as you do. They fling themselves wildly in any and every direction, seemingly unable to comprehend the reason they can't access what they're meant to be accessing. And so, unable to plug themselves into the right places, they settle for the next best thing.

You feel the first plug jam itself into one of the ports on your hip panel, which hangs open and exposed in the commotion. You cry out as the instant rush of data floods your head, making you squirm against the binding cables in a different way than before. Your thrashing stops almost entirely as the ability to feel the cable wrapped around your own body, twitching and pulling against so many others, becomes the only thing you can process.

The cables don't wait for what you can process, though- Almost immediately, each of the dozen ports on the panel are filled with wires, removing themselves and being instantly replaced every few seconds when they briefly realize your body isn't the right port. The dataflow is overwhelming and all-consuming, filling your fuzzy thoughts with ecstasy and forcefully squeezing out the ability to feel anything else.

You're barely even moving anymore- Your ensnared body spasms occasionally, but any will you had to even think about struggling against the pleasure is long-gone. It's hard to tell how much time passes- It could be seconds, it could be years. Everything else has faded away to the feeling surging through you, including your concept of time itself.

You don't notice as the panels around the interchange fold out and open up, revealing your predicament to the rooms below. You don't notice as a figure rises to your level, examining the mess you've gotten yourself into and shaking her head. You barely even notice as the interchange powers down, dropping your limp and twitching body into Ven's inviting arms.

You register that you're comfortable, that you feel safe, that everything that was scary is now gone. You register that her body is larger, more complete, packed tightly with more woven survey arms than you can count as she holds you against her chest. You look up at her, unfocused cameras barely able to see the red glow of her face, and you register that she's beautiful. Then, everything is dark.

#robophilia #robotfucker #ns4w #cw suggestive #robot yuri #wireplay #robot4robot #pov #longer form #salvage #cw rope #cw intense #ven-55 #aelith-03

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ironstrange1991 · 1 year

Text

Anything For You

+18 Smut

Pairing: Sinister!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Looking for something to distract herself, the reader finds a session in the library with quite interesting content. When she suggests to Stephen that they should try a different sex practice he doesn't seem very confident, but decides to do it to please her, after all it's Valentine's Day.

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: Slight male dominance, oral sex with male receiving, fingering, p in v, creampie, cock warming, choking, love bites, mentions of spanking and violent - consensual -sex.

A/N: This is the same pair from Make Love To Me.This fic was inspired by the two new pics Marvel released of Sinister Strange. Although it is mentioned, I don't consider it to be a Valentine's Day fic, but that's up to you. I really got carried away with this one and it ended up being a bit long, but I'm sure it's worth it.

You were bored. But other than that, you were super bored. Usually you could handle your reality trapped inside the Sanctum while the universe fell apart, but that day since you woke up you felt upset. It wasn't the world or the incursion that was slowly destroying everything around you, much less Stephen you were upset about, but you.

You were never happy, your life in your universe was mediocre and as strange as it may seem, being kidnapped to that universe by a sorcerer who swore that you two were soul mates and therefore should be together, was the most incredible thing that ever happened to you.

But why were you feeling so low? Of course it took you a while to accept your reality and you were afraid of Stephen for a while until you became friends and finally had your first night together, but Stephen showed you what love was, what it was like to be loved by someone, touched and - my god, Stephen touched you like no other ever did.

But if everything was fine and you loved Stephen as much as he loved you and cherished every second you spent with him, why were you feeling this way? Maybe it was just the boredom that was finally showing up after months of being there, but it was a not pleasant feeling from which you desperately wanted to escape.

The first few months you arrived you didn't have time to feel bored. There were so many feelings running over each other inside you, vying for which one to take over. Fear, disbelief, shyness, apprehension, interest, affection, passion. But now that you've been there for a year all the feelings have had enough time to be explored and finally you're getting your inescapable dose of boredom. Dreadful and merciless boredom.

Stephen was distracted in his office. Ever since you've gotten closer, so to speak, he's become obsessed with the idea that he needs to stop the incursion, so he's been reading, reading extensively. You could have sworn you've seen him read a gigantic volume in a single day. These readings usually left him annoyed because he couldn't seem to find anything that would solve the present situation and the only solution seemed to be the book he carefully put in a safe place promising you he would never touch it again.

You didn't understand anything about magic and spells, but if there was one thing you understood it was the existence of spells considered good and others bad. Stephen explained that the Darkhold was evil. He said that it was through him that he managed to bring you into his universe, but before that he caused the incursion looking for you in different realities. Anyway, you understood very well that using the book was bad for Stephen and you were grateful that he decided not to touch that thing anymore, but at the same time you feared that failing to find answers elsewhere he would resort to the Darkhold again.

You've already spoken to Stephen about how you've been feeling the last few days and he didn't seem to mind much suggesting that you find something to distract yourself with in the library. You were obviously irritated by his lack of consideration, but you soon understood that he was really just overly concerned about the present state of the universe and the fact that the incursion seemed to have accelerated in recent months. You were sure Stephen wasn't afraid to die, but he needed to protect you, that was his real concern.

You sighed, deciding to give in to his suggestion and look for something in the library that would make you forget your boredom and all your other worries.

When you entered the library you found it empty and dusty like everything else. You were busy keeping your bedroom, the main room, the kitchen and Stephen's office clean, but everything else was too much work for you. The Sanctum was so big and full of weird things you were scared to death of.

The library also smelled of mold and it didn't take long for you to find the reason: several walls had water infiltration. There were overturned shelves and books on the floor which made your little tour of the gigantic room more difficult than you imagined, but you soon became distracted by the variety of books that were there.

When Stephen suggested that you find something to read you turned your nose up at the idea thinking there would only be books of magic and such, but walking through the west wing of the library you noticed that the shelves were filled with novels. There was so much amazing stuff to read.

You didn't even notice the time passing while you were distracted choosing the books to take upstairs and when you finally decided on the ones you wanted, you noticed a small shelf further away with what looked like magazines.

As you approached, you couldn't contain the heat that rose to your face when you notice that that small wing of the library, nothing more than a set of shelves in the corner of the wall hidden by other larger shelves filled with suspense books, was devoted to erotic content. A variety not only of extremely explicit magazines, but books as well. One of them was called "Anatomy of Sex: Discovering the Paths to Pleasure."

You found yourself wondering why there was that kind of stuff in a library that should have open access to anyone, but you couldn't deny that the curiosity to read some of those magazines and books totally disappeared with the boredom that was consuming you.

…

Stephen closed the book he finished reading and threw it on the desk abruptly. Another day passed and he didn't get the answers he needed. At the same time the universe seemed to consume itself faster and faster and he was trying to control himself not to give in to despair, but each day that passed seemed like one less day in the fight against fate. He needed to stop the incursion, he knew he had the power to do it, he just needed to know how.

He leaned back in his chair sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. The Darkhold - closely guarded - seemed to sing to him, drawing him in like a siren draws a shipwrecked man to the depths of the ocean. He had resisted the cursed book for months because of you, but now he feared that for the same reason he would have to resort to it.

Stephen got up taking the stack of books from the desk and walked quickly to the library. There were thousands of books in there, one of them must have something written about incursions, and he wouldn't give up or succumb to the Darkhold unless all other options proved useless.

He returned the books he had read to the shelf and walked silently, hands in his back, through the halls looking for other options that looked promising. He barely realized you were there until he heard you laughing, completely distracted, lying on a divan in the farthest wing of the library. The sound as always made his heart skip a beat. It was undeniable that you brought life to that dying universe and obviously to his heart.

Stephen fought the urge to go to you and take you in his arms, but there was work to do, books to read, an incursion to stop and then, only then would he be free to enjoy every second of the day with you. Until then, he had to be content with the nights. God, the nights were ravishing.

He shook his head trying to control his thoughts and focus on the task at hand, but just the thought of you was enough to make his pants tighten around his hips. He sighed, walking away and finding three more promising books, he left the library, striding back to his office - before desire made him change his mind.

…

You totally lost track of time reading a magazine with very explicit photos, but what really mattered weren't the sex photos, but the surprisingly educational content you found there. In addition to tips on positions you would certainly like to try, there was a lot of information about intimate health and tips on how to spice up a relationship - not that you needed such a thing. Your sex drive was put in good use with Stephen and Stephen was insatiable.

You felt your face flushing the whole time like a teenager seeing that for the first time. Everything you read, every tip and different thing you discovered you wanted to try with Stephen.

In addition to the positions, you read about a very interesting practice that apparently came from tantric sex. It was something suggestively called Cock Warming and oh my god it made you blush. You wanted it, you needed to experience it with Stephen.

You finished reading the magazine and put it back where you found it, but you took the volume called Anatomy of Sex and hid it among the books you had already selected to take to your shared room. You climbed back up to your room realizing that the candles were lit and the day had quickly turned to night already. Although it was difficult to distinguish one from the other, practice and time living in that gloomy environment made you learn.

You placed the books carefully on the nightstand on your side of the bed and tucked the volume about sex into your lingerie drawer. Heat rose throughout your body and you noticed that there was a certain wetness between your legs that you hadn't realized that was there. Deciding to put your little plan for the night into action, you filled the bathtub and ran a bath with your favorite bath salts.

…

Stephen was fully absorbed in his reading when he heard a timid knock on the door. You never walked into his office without knocking. He sighed feeling mental fatigue and heavy eyes. "Come in"

He almost gasped in surprise when he saw you. You looked stunning dressed in a black silk nightgown, barefoot, your hair loose falling to your lower back. Your scent flooding the room. He couldn't contain the wide smile on his lips.

"Too busy?" You asked uncertainly still standing in the doorway.

He gestured with his hand for you to come in and pushed his chair farther away from the desk so that you could fit there facing him. "I'm never too busy for you kitten, especially when you dress like this for me."

You smiled walking around his desk and approaching "I needed to find a way to get your attention, it's been hard to keep up with your readings."

He sighed closing his eyes and nodded in agreement "I know. I know I've been busy, but only because I care about you." He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your belly sighing heavily "I love you so much, kitten. You are everything to me, you know that, right?"

You agreed wrapping your arms around his neck and stroking his hair gently "I know. I love you too, Stephen, but I need some attention right now. You can leave the books for tomorrow, can't you?"

He nodded in agreement "When you ask like that" He said inhaling deeply "God, you smell so good."

You grinned pondering how to approach the subject and reveal what you wanted.

"I was in the library this afternoon and found some pretty interesting stuff on a shelf in the west wing." You said it as naturally as possible.

Stephen hummed backing away and leaning back in his chair. There was an interested look in his eyes, "There are many interesting things in this Sanctum's library, my love. You'll have to be more specific."

You sat in the desk in front of him and couldn't help but notice how his eyes seemed to never leave you.

"Porn, Stephen. A lot of books and magazines. Some very interesting ones."

He chuckled "Oh, that stuff." He spoke naturally, but you noticed his eyes darkened with lust.

"I'm no prude. As long as it's not an addiction I have nothing against porn. I am just curious. Of all the things I thought I'd find in that library... porn?!" You whispered the word on purpose.

"It's safe to say that the Sanctum’s library holds every type of literature ever produced by mankind. Many years ago it was fervently curated." He smiles at you "It's just files kitten. To be honest I've never read any of that stuff. If you want to know I didn’t even remember those things were there."

You bit your bottom lip hesitantly, but Stephen was looking at you intently.

"What's up princess? Don't say you're jealous of those silly things."

You shook your head "I was reading one of the magazines...well you know I'm curious and once I was there I couldn't help but look through it and although there was a lot of explicit stuff what really interested me was this article about tantric sex and some practices..."

You realized that you were looking anywhere but at Stephen and when you finally forced yourself to look at him there was a mischievous smile on his lips, a cocky sideways smile.

"Tell me all about it, love."

You felt your face heating up, but continued "It's a sex practice called Cock Warming... well the name is not discreet at all and you can guess what it is." You were losing your courage with every word that came out of your mouth "Anyway, I don't know why I'm talking about this, I just found it... interesting."

Stephen dragged himself to the edge of the chair to get closer to you and without warning he spread your legs and untied the knot of your night gown moving it out of the way. "You can tell me anything, kitten. There's no need to be shy, you know that." He brought his lips down to your belly and kissed there, the contact of his goatee making your skin prickle. He continued down until his face was between your legs and placed a chaste kiss on your black lace covered slit.

You couldn't contain the soft moan that escaped your lips.

He sighed heavily taking a small bite there and then used his hands to pull your panties to the side and penetrated you with one finger. He moved his finger in and out a few times and then took it out and brought it to his mouth. "Fuck kitten, whatever it is that you read made you this wet?"

You shook your head trying to clear your thoughts "Actually it was you Stephen. I was thinking of doing that with you"

He smiled confidently getting up and positioning himself between your legs. He cupped your face with two scarred and trembling hands and kissed you. Wet, rough, passionately. You moaned into his lips and he wasted no time, he supported your waist with one hand lifting you off the desk and with the other he took off your panties passing them by your feet and throwing them on the floor. You struggled against his robes, finding it difficult to unbuckle all those belts, but he moved his fingers quickly to undo his clothes and one second later he was gloriously bare for you.

He unfastened your bra and cupped one breast squeezing it as his lips trailed your collarbone in search of your other breast. He licked your nipple, circling it with the tip of his tongue and then took it in his mouth, sucking it as his fingers teased the other one.

You leaned on the desk with one hand to keep your balance, the other hand was in his hair, gripping it tightly while moans escape your lips. When he was finally sated he allowed himself to pull away from your breasts, but not before giving one of your nipples a light bite making you hiss.

He held his cock in his hand giving it a couple of jerks and then rubbed the tip on your slit collecting your arousal. You moaned even before he entered you "Stephen..."

He spat on his cock spreading the saliva with his fingers and then he positioned it at your entrance and he penetrated you with a single thrust and you gripped the desk to stay in place. "Oh my god, Stephen... you feel so good..."

He interrupted what you were saying by placing a wet and deep kiss on your lips. His tongue penetrating your mouth and completely dominating you as he thrust mercilessly against you.

Sex with Stephen was usually rough in the first round, after he got his first release he'd calm down and fuck you slower, but no less intense. That was just the way he was and you loved that about him.

You knew what you wanted seemed to go against all of his instincts, but you were obsessed with the idea, you had to try. You were jolted out of your fast reverie by a thrust that hit exactly that special place inside you that Stephen always found so quickly. "Oh my... right there Stephen, right there."

He grabbed your waist with both hands and increased the intensity of his thrusts, each one hitting your g-spot and making you see stars.

"You feel so good, kitten. You're going to tell me everything about what you read in that magazine, aren't you? Such a dirty girl reading porn like that. You liked it? All those pictures? Did you imagined it was me doing all that to you?"

His moans grew louder and louder, your walls fluttering around him with every word that came out of his mouth.

"Answer me, princess" He demanded.

"Yes" You said whimpering. The pleasure so strong it was hard to think. "Yes Stephen, I want to do that with you. Please tell me you gonna make that with me."

He chuckled amidst his moans and groans that grew louder and more animalistic "I don't even know what that is, kitten, but you know I'd do anything for you."

He kissed you feeling your walls contracting and squeezing his cock so hard inside you.

"Fuck, kitten, your pussy is so tight right now" You moaned with him, the room flooded with the obscene sound of your lovemaking and your breathing and your groans and grunts. "Stephen, I'm gonna cum"

He bit your bottom lip in response "Already? Okay, princess, you can cum, but you know I'm just getting started, right? We've got the whole night ahead of us."

You nodded in agreement. Stephen had a lot of stamina, his sex drive was absurd and not a day went by without you having sex, three, four rounds a night. "Yes, please, I need to cum now, fuck me harder. Make me cum."

Stephen grinned, pleased to see you fully surrendered to him. There was nothing that turned him on more than seeing you with that cock drunk face, mouth agape, eyes closed as he fucked your brains out. He tightened the grip of his hand on your waist even more and the other hand he brought to your throat choking you not so hard, but enough to draw a surprised moan from your lips.

You were so compliant, Stephen loved how you gave yourself to him and let him do whatever he wanted to you. He in turn loved torturing you by biting, choking, slapping your ass so hard you got marks for days.

You were his and you loved every second of it.

As if possible Stephen increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts even more and quickly you felt your orgasm building in the pit of your stomach. He must have felt it too because he grinned devilishly at you and grabbed your chin making you look him straight in the eyes "Gonna cum for me princess? Tell me how amazing my cock is making you feel right now"

"It feels good Stephen, so good, please don’t stop, make me cum, I'll be good to you, I promise."

He grinned releasing your chin and putting his hand between you, his long fingers reaching your clit and circling it and making you groan obscenely "Good girl, let go, kitten, don’t hold back, cum for me, do it now"

You moaned loudly in compliance and your entire body convulsed with your orgasm and the whole time he kept thrusting, prolonging the sensation as you creamed him with your cum and at the same time seeking his, thrusting so hard against you that he made the desk creak beneath you. "Fuck princess, you are so wet right now, so fucking tight..." He hissed "I'm gonna cum so fucking hard inside you. Tell me you want it, I need to hear how much you want my cum"

He grabbed your throat again and it was hard to talk with the grip of his hand choking you like that, but you loved every second of it "Please... I want your cum... so fucking bad. Please cum for me... please"

He kept his pace hard and rough pounding you until he stopped completely and groaned outrageously loud, his load spurting inside you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his ragged breath in your ear.

You were silent as your breathing returned to normal, Stephen remained hard inside you, pulsing violently. He wasn't sated and neither were you.

"Did you know today is Valentine’s Day?" He said kissing you. You looked at him in surprise. You didn't even know what day it was, it's been a long time since you gave importance to days. "I didn't know that" You replied pulling him back to your lips.

"I should have made something special for you, instead I spent all day reading... I'm sorry"

You shushed him "It's okay. I don’t mind. For us, every day is Valentine’s Day, right?"

He gave a small laugh stroking your face affectionately. Like you said, Stephen used to be more affectionate with you after you made him cum.

"You are right, princess, but I want to please you anyway. Tell me, what do you want me to do to celebrate the special date?"

You smiled openly "Lets go to bed" You asked and he agreed kissing you softly and a moment later you were in his room. You still weren't used to his magic, but you were certainly grateful for the comfort it brought you both.

There was cum running down your thighs and Stephen loved it. He had a fixation on seeing his cum on you, marking you as his. He conjured a tissue and cleaned you gently and you barely waited for him to get rid of the dirty tissue to throw yourself into his arms again.

Stephen hold you in a tight hug and pulled you onto his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck pulling him back to his lips and kissing him so passionately. He laid you down on the bed, the weight of his body making your legs open for him, but he didn't enter you, instead he settled down leaning on one arm and caressing your face with the back of his hand.

"You are so beautiful. I never get tired of saying this." He watched the skin on your face turn slightly pink and then decided to get back to the subject you started in his office "So, are you going to tell me about what you read? I confess I'm curious to know more."

You bit your lower lip and Stephen felt provoked every time you did that, it made him completely crazy to kiss you. He waited for you to respond, but he could see you were too embarrassed to say it, so he came back to reassure you "Kitten, no need to be shy, the most important part you already told me."

You looked at him blankly and he grinned biting your bottom lip gently "You just told me you were reading porn magazines and you got so fucking horny you were dripping wet. Whatever it is that you read its just a detail."

You nodded in agreement.

"It’s not very inventive actually, I... you'll probably hate it..." You took a deep breath and exhaled slowly "... You just have to stay inside me. No moving, just... it seems nice, I don't know."

He raised an eyebrow "And how do you expect me to stay inside you without moving? Princess, I don’t know if I can do that!"

You nodded "But would you try?" You glared at him with puppy eyes "There's something about this that makes me really want to try it. Please?"

Stephen kissed you lightly and then rolled onto his side on the bed reaching out for you to snuggle close to him. He stared at the ceiling in silence for a second and could feel your eyes on him the entire time always afraid he would be mad at you for whatever reason, never understanding that there was nothing in the world you could do that make him mad at you.

Stephen loved you, he destroyed the entire universe for you, he would do anything for you.

"I can try…" He said finally and you smiled "...After all it's Valentine's day and I owe you a present, don't you?"

You agreed pulling him to your lips and he kissed you now ardently which made his cock throb demandingly "But first you're going to make me cum one more time, kitten, because I swear to you that I won't stand to stay inside you without moving when all I want is to fuck you."

You agreed. You also doubted you could handle it when your body was crying out for him so desperately. "Okay"

He smiled widely and you kissed him, taking one of your hands to his cock, stroking it slowly, but with enough force to bring a moan from the back of his throat. "Do you remember the first time we made love?" You asked looking at him, you had the sweet voice of an angel, but your hand was skilled and was stroking him with such malice. He squeezed you in his arms and gripped the sheet with his other hand so hard his knuckles turned white. "How could I forget? You ran into my bed looking like a scared kitten."

You hummed "And you took care of me so well." You said propping yourself up on your elbow so you could better look at the work you were doing. Stephen's dick was wet with precum already and the sound of your hand stroking him was so arousing.

"You were so irresistible that night. I couldn't help myself"

You smiled kissing him and he moaned when you increased the rhythm of your hand "Fuck, it feels so good but I want your mouth, please, kitten, give me your mouth."

You nodded, happy to please him and quickly positioned yourself kneeling on the bed. First you spat on his dick and then you spread the spit all the way down his length and taking so much time before putting it in your mouth, but when you did you were merciless. Stephen loved the way you sucked on him. No shame, just lust and love. He loved the way you sucked on the head as you continued to stroke him with your hand, but he lost control of his own body when you took him whole inside your mouth like that, forcing yourself to swallow until the tip of it was against the back of your throat. "Oh fuck, just like that, you always suck my cock so good, princess, I love it"

You moaned satisfied with the praise, the vibration making him see stars. You took it out of your mouth to breathe, but then you swallowed it whole again and started taking turns between putting it all the way to the back of your throat and sucking only the tip.

Stephen brought his hand to your hair, gripping it tightly as he lost himself in his own pleasure, his roughness showing again as he neared his release. He started to thrust up which made you gag around his cock. He let go of your hair and you took him from your mouth, saliva running down your chin, your eyes filling with tears. He caressed your face "I'm sorry kitten, you just feel so good swallowing my cock like that."

You smiled reassuringly, but instead of going back to sucking him, you wrapped one of your legs around his hip. He grinned satisfied. "You gonna ride me, princess?"

You shook your head directing his cock at your entrance and lowering it slowly. Stephen was so big, it always amazed you how his cock make you feel so full. "Fuck, you feel so tight, so good"

You leaned into his chest and began to move up and down, back and forth, riding him fast and hard.

He groaned gripping your hips, his eyes fixed where you met.

You kept your pace chasing your high with a voracity that surprised even yourself "Oh my god Stephen, it feels so good, I wanna cum, please..."

He grinned "Cum for me, my sweet girl, show me how good I make you feel."

You curved your body forward, your hands reaching for his hands and pinning them around his head on the pillow, your fingers intertwining with his, your face now just inches from his as you continued to move on his cock.

Stephen noticed you were tired and took over thrusting up and in that position he hit you sweet spot with absurd precision making you gasp and search for his lips. You kissed him desperately, a big, wet, desire-filled kiss that brought a moan from the deep in his throat. The sound going straight to your core.

Stephen could feel that you were on the verge of orgasm and he kept the pace never stopping until he felt your walls clenching around him. "That’s right kitten, cum for me, I am right after you."

You moaned loudly tightening your fingers around his fingers, searching for his lips. Your entire body trembling as your orgasm enveloped you.

Stephen kept thrusting, riding you through your high "That’s it, princess, you did it so well." He grabbed your hips turning you around and placing you underneath him on your back on the mattress, with one hand he guided his cock back inside you and he thrusted again, hard, fast, mercilessly as he sought his own high.

You wrapped your legs around his hips making him moan loudly, the position making his cock go even deeper and pulling a surprised gasp from your throat as you felt another orgasm building in the pit of your stomach.

Stephen felt your walls fluttering around him "Gonna cum for me again, kitten? I am almost there, you feel so good."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders kissing him "Yes Stephen, please cum for me, fill me with your cum, I want it so badly."

He kept his pace violently rough and then suddenly stopped groaning and you felt his hot load spurting inside you and pulling you towards your third orgasm.

"Yes, yes, Stephen... please..."

He grabbed your chin and kissed you hard and then pulled out rolling over onto his side on the bed breathing heavily. You crawled into his arms resting your head on his shoulder and touching his face, making him look at you and then kissing him softly. You were silent for a minute, your hand stroking his goatee, his hand tracing circles on your back. The silence of the room broken only by your breathing that slowly returned to normal and the external noises of the ongoing incursion.

"Do you remember the day you got here?" Stephen asked, his voice a bit rusky. "Uh hm"

He sighed heavily "You asked how I could live in this universe and not be afraid..." He was silent and you stared at him.

"The truth is, I was never afraid before you arrived, but now... I'm afraid of losing you."

You looked at him surprised, but he needed to be honest with you. He needed you to understand why it was so important to stop the incursion.

"I've been trying to find a way to fix this..." He pointed to the window from which you could see the terrible vortex that seemed to swallow everything outside "I won't stop until I get it. I can't, I need to keep you safe ."

You cupped his face and made him look at you "I know. I understand what you're doing and why you're doing it, but Stephen... I accepted our fate here a long time ago." He looked at you confused. "I just want you to know that I'd rather spend the days I have left here with you by my side than watching you despair to find a solution that maybe doesn't exist."

He shook his head in disagreement "I cannot accept this. The Darkhold may have..."

"Stephen, no. The Darkhold has already taken too much out of you. Let's enjoy the time we have left together just like this. This is what I want."

He squeezed you in his arms. Stephen couldn't be further from agreeing to surrender, but he understood your point of view and couldn't say you were wrong. He sighed, deciding to leave that subject for another time. "You're right, princess."

You smiled "Of course I am" He hummed as you moved your hand down to his chest and held it directing it to his hip where his cock waited relaxed but not fully flaccid. Stephen couldn't complain about his stamina, despite being twice your age, he always lasted three, four rounds with ease.

However, he didn't want to get too carried away. He just wanted to get hard enough to fulfill the promise he made to you. He definitely wasn't sure about that, but frankly there was nothing you could ask him that he wouldn't do for you.

You stroke his cock slowly up and down and buried your head into the crook of his neck inhaling deeply "You smell so good" You whispered and he couldn't help but smile. He loved how affectionate you were with him, even if he was rough with you sometimes, you were still extremely sweet, always clinging to him. "Fuck, kitten, look what you do to me, I'm already completely hard for you again."

You pulled him to your lips and then turned your back so he could spoon you. He brushed your hair away from your face and neck, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance, sliding his cock easily into your pussy completed soaked with his cum. You curved your hips back so he could go as deep as possible and you both sighed heavily at the sensation.

Stephen had to restrain himself so not to thrust, instead he put one arm under your head making you better settle next to him and the other he rested on your waist keeping your bodies glued to each other.

He was pulsing violently inside you and your walls were clenching around him, yet you remained still and somehow Stephen understood the meaning of it. There was something extremely intimate and rewarding about being inside you that way. You were so warm and tight. It felt amazing.

"You feel so good, Stephen." You whispered and then gave a long yawn and he kissed your neck in response "Does it feel good for you too?"

He hummed "It feels amazing, princess. Happy Valentine’s Day”

You hummed satisfied and little by little Stephen felt your body relaxing, your breathing becoming more steady and he knew you had fallen asleep. He moved his fingers in a quick gesture and the candles went out, with another gesture he conjured a heavy blanket that enveloped your naked bodies. Another move of his fingers and the fireplace was lit. It was always so cold in that broken universe.

Stephen contemplated how lucky he was, even if the world outside was falling apart, he had you and you were the only thing that mattered to him.

When he finally allowed himself to relax he felt sleep approaching and even though his cock was throbbing inside you, he remained still, surrendering to the possibility of finally getting a good night of sleep. Stephen hadn't slept well in years, he usually left you asleep and went back to his reading and always went back to bed before you woke up so you wouldn't notice. That night however he fell into a deep sleep without disturbing dreams, he slept as well as he could not remember sleeping before.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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goopiferart · 5 months

Text

Classpect analysis notes under the cut!

Spent the last 2-3 weeks classpecting with the Book Club and here's what we largely came to agree on for MY classpects. I came to the discussion thinking "Thief of Doom" but I guess things just change! Most of us went into this with "which classpect would present the biggest challenge for me" so most of my notes take on... challenging qualities.

I'll try to post everyone else's final classpects + notes in this blog eventually (soon).

🩸 PRINCE OF BLOOD 👑

Princes are individuals who either lack their Aspect or outright reject their Aspect and are defined by their struggle to come to terms with it

The Prince of Blood may start out as an individual who struggles with relationships

They would have difficulties forging new friendships, maintaining bonds, and finding meaning within the company of others

They resent the ties that bind them to people, most likely due to their overwhelming need to honor obligations at any cost

Their highly competent nature is sought out by others but is rarely rewarded, putting this Prince at risk of being exploited if they are not discriminating in the company they keep (like Pages)

The Prince’s mean independence streak can border on the extreme if they don’t have social anchors to ground them

They have a fetishistic need to burn bridges at the slightest inconvenience, selfishly preferring to indulge in their maladapted coping instinct over rationally working things through with others

They are equally avoidant and combative, lacking the meekness of Rogues but also their knack for charm and levity

The Prince of Blood’s natural instinct is to avoid confrontation not out of fear of others but of themselves

“Nobody makes me bleed my own blood. Especially me!”

What little people they manage to keep around them are at risk of being put on a gilded pedestal

The Prince’s loyalty to those that they deem worthy is all-consuming and dangerous, to both themselves and others

To step outside The Prince’s idealized version of you would be to betray their trust and one-sided devotion, something they will never be able to forgive

Princes naturally gravitate towards embodying their opposite Aspect, at least outwardly

The Prince’s independence is sacred and is something they will never willingly compromise with, much to the chagrin of those around them

CAUTION: Do not tell this Prince what to do

They chafe against tradition and the status quo but lack the drive (and charisma) to rally others to their cause

They seek out novelty over the tried and true, often having difficulties completing long-term projects out of boredom or due to needing to experiment

The Prince wants nothing more than to escape the “heaviness” of Blood for the airy pursuits of Breath but will always be doomed to be tethered by their undeniable need to love and to be loved by others

Princes destroy Blood or destroys through Blood for themselves

Aside from being effective solo killers (blows up all your blood), the Prince would be able to utilize their bonds to destroy other bonds

They could form alliances or force others into contracts to help eliminate other inconvenient alliances

Obligations become weaponized as the Prince can call upon irrevocable (and inescapable) favors to their team’s benefit

The inverse classpect manifests when Players are at their worst or are emotionally compromised

The Prince of Blood’s inverse is the Sylph of Breath

At their worst, the Prince could take a dogmatic approach to prescribing their variety of independence as the one-and-only solution, forcing their brand of “living” as the panacea for all of life’s injustices

Their forced and misguided aid would make them appear to be tyrants to others despite the Prince’s initial good intentions

They could also become wholly irresponsible individuals, shirking the demands of Blood completely for a life of carefree self-destruction

🖕 SEER OF RAGE 🔮

Seers receive knowledge of their Aspects externally, not being innately versed in their Aspect early in their journey

The Seer of Rage could initially have trouble understanding anger and fear, both theirs and others, as they’re either suffering from chronic indifference or are in deep denial about their own inhibitions

They could appear to be carefree and upbeat individuals while being deeply conflicted and troubled on the inside, completely loath to let their struggles be perceived by others

The Seer will never admit to feeling powerless over their lack of agency over their base instincts, shamefully resorting to relying on the voice of more authoritative figures to guide them instead

They want others to see them as arbiters of self-control, infallible beings who keep a short leash on any unbecoming instinct that betrays their lack of mastery of the self

The Seer is oft indecisive, afflicted by the restrictions they place on themselves by being unable to look past their own fears and discomforts

The Seer comes into their own when they start allowing themselves to question their beliefs, confronting uncomfortable revelations, and allowing themselves to dabble in the mess that is “human emotion”

The catalyst needed to put the Seer on the right path in pursuing their own truths will usually be explosive, a sudden and dramatic event that would change their relationship with their Aspect forever

The Seer of Rage may be one of the more “introspective” Seers in that the prerequisite to being of any use to their team and session is to understand themselves first rather than blindly trusting external sources

They can also run the risk of becoming mouthpieces for misguided causes and manipulative forces

These Seers tend to be natural pacifists who rarely enjoy involving themselves directly in conflicts

This does not mean that they are shy about letting their own Rage loose on occasion

Seers examine (understand) their Aspect or examine (understand) through their Aspect for others

The Seer of Rage can literally see (smell?) fear

They know exactly what people are afraid of and what needs to be done to mitigate, avoid, or enhance it in others

They can be incredible strategists, capable of seeing through illusions and identifying enemies’ psychological weaknesses

The Seer is capable of identifying all the possible missteps stemming from the “human element” in plans and will work around them accordingly

The inverse classpect manifests when Players are at their worst or are emotionally compromised

The Seer of Rage’s inverse is the Witch Hope

At their worst, the Seer shirks their responsibility as the messenger of hard truths, using their extensive knowledge of fear and anger to transform “unpalatable” emotions into more pleasant experiences for others

Allows unhealthy delusions to cloud their ability to discern the truth from fantasy

Focuses too much on helping others avoid reality than on confronting it

#homestuck #prince of blood #seer of rage #classpect

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clarepreed · 5 months

Text

Micro-Story: Larissa's Decision

Story Content and Summary - 2,007 words. A depressed Larissa realizes how easy it would be to slip away while Mitchell sleeps. Symptoms, asthma, vague resuscitation descriptions.

Previous installment: Hurt/Comfort.

Mitchell slept deeply beside her, lost in an unusually carefree slumber. She could hear him gently breathing, occasionally punctuated by a soft snore. His body radiated warmth, and the blanket over them was soft and plush.

Despite this, Larissa felt cold. Cold and inescapably sad. Her brain lied to her, whispering to her soul that she was miserable, isolated inside herself, and unworthy of her generous lot in life. Her toes, nose, and fingertips burned with this knowledge. The depression nearly stopped her breath in her lungs. Literally, her breathing shallow and labored as she stared up at the ceiling.

I’m so tired. I just want to rest.

A miserly finger of warmth swept across her eyes. Tears brimmed against her lashes. More weight sank into her chest, making her wheeze. The burden of breathing plagued her.

Burden.

Insecurity welled up; this was a word to which she was sensitive, even if she was the only one wielding it. A burden. How different Mitchell’s life was now that he dealt with her poor health. Going from the CEO of the company he built to carer for his fragile wife. How stressed her parents were, worrying about her when they should focus on themselves and Poppy. The drawn looks she’d seen on Mark and Samuel’s faces the last time she was in the hospital. Her friend Kieran crying on the phone with her, having had a dream about Larissa nearly dying after her wedding. The weight dragged down everyone who cared for her.

So much angst, because of me.

Add to all of that her own growing sense of discontent and boredom. She didn’t have a job. Her friends lived scattered across the globe. Sometimes, she was well enough to run, but at other times, she couldn’t even go for a walk. Even simple pleasures had been taken from her. Bathing without fear of drowning. Eating a meal without fear of choking.

She loved Mitchell. She couldn’t put into words how much she loved him; hadn’t known that was even possible. And yet…

It’s not enough.

Sick and in love. Not enough.

I’m so sorry, honey. It’s not enough.

Her heart, instead of pounding in her ears as dread and depression pressed her into the mattress, beat slowly.

Thump.

She felt dizzy, the dark room canting around her.

Thump.

I could let go.

The realization dawned slowly. She could let go.

Feels like it would be easy.

She would stop breathing first. Lay there as her heart fluttered. Then her heart would stop completely. And it would just be over. No pain, no panic. Just this inexorable pressure, then nothing. She didn’t know how she knew this, she just did.

Her thoughts turned back to Mitchell. There was a chance he would sense something, would know somehow that she was in grave danger. He would awaken and find her still and lifeless beside him. He would shake her, gently at first. Then hard, making her head sway side to side. He would turn on a light, take in her staring gaze. He would shout and listen for breath and take her pulse.

He would call 9-1-1 and throw back the covers. Haul her bodily from the bed, her skull thunking on the floor in his desperation. His hands would stack on her chest and pump her heart. She could feel it, the relentless pressure focused on her sternum, making the bone sink toward her heart before letting it recoil. Her blood would move incrementally, rhythmically, through her veins.

Thump.

Then he would crank open her airway, pinch her nostrils, and cover her mouth with his. She could feel the ghost of his touch on her lips. His warm breath forced into her lungs. The dampness of saliva passing between them. Then another round of chest compressions as he counted and moved almost like a professional, efficient from all his practice.

I’m sorry, honey.

Thump.

He would do this for two minutes, then he’d leave her, sprinting for the linen closet they’d converted into a first aid cabinet, wired for outlets and well-illuminated. He would return with an AED. There would be another round of compressions. Then he’d fit a pocket mask over her face. She could feel him cradling her head with a shaking hand, settling the mask over her nose and mouth. The air flowed into her, disconnected from him.

Rustling sounds, accompanied by Mitchell verbally encouraging her to pull through. His voice heavy with heartbreak. Cool sensations up her midline as he cut through her shirt. More compressions, her chest sinking and her stomach bulging. Her feet rocking. Breaths. Sticky pads applied to her chest.

Her heartbeat continued to slow, though in her reverie, it was already still. She knew the AED would not advise any shocks, but Mitchell’s agonized begging was still a shock to her stagnant system.

Thump.

More likely, he would wake in the morning, when she was well and truly gone. He would stretch and reach for her like he always did. And he would know immediately, as his arm slid across her stomach. She would be still and cool to the touch. Eyes dull when he lurched up to look at her face. Fingers pressed desperately into her carotid would tell him what he already knew. He’d had enough nightmares to this effect that he would spend a few minutes insisting this was a terrible dream and trying to wake himself up. And when he realized the truth…

Her mind sent her a horrifying approximation of the mourning sound he would make, and she pulled back mentally from it so hard that her hands, curled limp on the mattress, flinched.

He would surely never sleep deeply again.

I’m sorry, honey.

Thump.

Still, not enough.

Thump.

What would be enough?

Her breath hitched, and her vision exploded into a kaleidoscope of gem-colored imagery. A 5k race finish line. Mitchell looking up from a book and offering her an easy smile. Kieran’s first child cradled in her arms. Sitting in a room of students with a box of freshly sharpened drawing pencils, listening to an instructor. Holding Momma’s hand at Poppy’s funeral. Filing LLC paperwork for a consulting business. Stepping off a plane in a far-off land. Calling Mark’s sister, Angie, just to tell her something funny she’d read. Sitting with Mitchell at a concert, grinning as the bass tickled her sternum. Petting one of the neighbor’s white, fluffy cats. Moving her parents into the Ohana. Watching Mark and Samuel renew their vows. Driving on a closed course. Mitchell in bed, coming apart beneath her with his heart pounding under her hand. Standing in the sunlight with her eyes closed, the breeze caressing her skin.

I don’t want to die.

Thump.

I don’t want to die.

Thump.

Is this a dream? When did I close my eyes?

No!

“Mitchell,” she whispered out loud, peeling her eyes open with difficulty. He didn’t stir; she hadn’t spoken loudly enough to wake him.

Larissa tensed her legs and arms, then released them.

Thump. Thump.

Her breath wheezed in and out of her. She needed her inhaler, but she was still being dragged along by the inertia of sleep.

Or death.

Larissa licked her lips and forced her hand to slide across the fitted sheet until she bumped Mitchell in the back.

“Mitchell,” she croaked, then coughed.

He stirred. It always fascinated her how quickly his mind cleared when he woke up. She probably wouldn’t have to say his name again.

Thump. Thump.

A few seconds passed, and he bolted upright. Another few seconds, and she heard the click of the manual button on his smart lamp.

“Larissa?” He leaned over her, his eyes quickly scanning her face. He looked concerned, but not yet panicked. “Asthma?”

She nodded, though it took a lot of effort and she saw his eyebrows quirk. Mitchell pulled back the covers, and she shivered.

“I’m sorry. I just want to help you sit up, baby.” He did more than that; he wedged his hands under her arms and hauled her up, then held her close to his chest with one arm while he dragged the pillows up behind her. He leaned her back against them, frowning when her head lolled. Mitchell moved quickly, straddling her legs and leaning over to open her nightstand drawer. “Hey, Google. Turn on Larissa’s bedside lamp.”

The light flicked on. Then he had her inhaler, shaking it before he held it to her lips. “Ready, baby? I can help you.”

She struggled to raise her arm, so Mitchell said: “Okay. I’m going to count to three and then I’ll give you a pump. One, two, three—”

Larissa gave it her best effort, inhaling as he depressed the canister. Then she held her breath, letting the medicine move through her lungs before exhaling.

Thump.

“Okay, one more.” He held the inhaler close to her face, and she wrapped her lips around the mouthpiece again. “One, two, three! Good, good job, baby.”

The inhaler went back into the drawer; Mitchell was very good about putting things away so he could find them later. He wasn’t the sort to leave his underwear in the bathroom, or things on the stairs for her to trip over.

I’m thinking about too many things when I should think about breathing.

It was harder than she thought, and she concentrated on breathing in and out, hoping Mitchell wouldn’t have to call an ambulance.

Thump. Thump.

Thump.

Mitchell cradled her wrist in his hand and pressed two fingers to the inside. He made a sympathetic sound when he touched her. “Geez. Your hands are so cold!”

Larissa reclined against the pillows, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. Keeping them open seemed like it was taking a lot of her energy. She could hear herself wheezing; it would take the Albuterol a few minutes to work.

Thump.

“Larissa.” Mitchell’s tone was sharp, so she cracked her eyes open. “Is anything else wrong?”

“I was—” A coughing fit took her, and she was vaguely aware of Mitchell moving around; when she could draw breath again, he had her phone in his hand. She didn’t want to try speaking yet, so she offered him a thumbs up and the OK sign.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

I’m going to be OK.

Now.

Mitchell made a face at her, something between frustration and worry. She shivered in response, and he let go of the phone so he could reach out and rub her arms. “Soon as I’m sure you can breathe, I’ll get you some things to warm you up, baby.”

“Sorry,” she croaked, coughing again.

“Don’t apologize, Larissa. Thank you for waking me up. I don’t like to think about you struggling in the dark alone.” Mitchell reached up and cupped her cheek. “You’d help me if I needed it. You have before.”

She nodded and took a few careful breaths. She felt a little stronger now; holding her head up didn’t take quite so much effort. More importantly, she no longer felt like she might leave the mortal realm at any moment. Relief that she was apparently going to live filtered through her, leaving her confused as to whether or not she’d been having a nightmare or if everything she’d felt had been real. Guilt prickled across her cheekbones; she had no intention of telling Mitchell any of it. Especially not when he was looking at her like that, like she was a precious thing, easy to lose.

Mitchell leaned forward and kissed her forehead before climbing off her legs. His lips felt warm on her skin. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He winked at her, dispelling some of the worry on his face, and she offered him what smile she could muster.

He returned soon, with fluffy socks, a knit hat, gloves, and a blanket. As he was pulling the hat down over her head, each movement deliberate and gentle, she whispered: “I love you.”

It’s enough… for now.

The story continues with Neighborly.

#resus writing #cpr resus #female resus

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yoshiyakiryu-archive · 1 year

Text

Some fresh nonsense about joshneku losing over at @homoeroticbetrayal

"Fancy seeing you here," Joshua chimes from his perch on the cafe seat as Neku approaches the table. It's not Wildkat, but this side-street shop feels unnaturally empty, and all the more unreal for the presence of the smiling Composer, casually seated by the window.

He could be the most powerful entity in the city, but Neku's urge to roll his eyes and tell him to go fuck himself has the budding inescapability of an oncoming sneeze. Only four words in, Neku's already reminded that no matter how much he misses the asshole when he's gone, he's a pain in the ass to have a straightforward conversation with.

"You invited me," Neku gripes, unable to resist giving the eye roll. He slides onto the seat across from Joshua, feeling another one coming on already.

"Hmm, did I? I suppose I must have. Hee hee." Joshua slides one of the two cups in front of him towards Neku. "The coffee here is decent, you should give it a try."

"…Thanks."

He continues being suspicious for a moment, but ultimately trusts Joshua, and the knowledge that poisoning wasn't really his style. If he wants Neku back in the UG, there's nothing stopping Joshua from rattling another bullet through his poor, pre-punctured brain matter. The old one must still be in there, making him think humoring this conversation was a rational idea that won't just end in a headache.

Joshua smiles, two hands on his own paper coffee cup, fingers striking it in sequence, a steady expectant rhythm. As he watches Neku, the motions change. Taking a sip, the scales shift to an energetic tempo, striking keys he cannot see in time with music he cannot hear. Weirdo.

"What did you want, anyway?" Neku asks, setting the coffee down. There's little point in wasting time on pleasantries when Joshua deemed something catastrophic enough to take the risk of actually talking to him.

"Nothing to say about the coffee?"

"Not really." It's pretty average, as far as coffee goes, and it's not a surprise Joshua knows his order.

Joshua hums, digging his phone out of his pocket and adding to what seems to be, from Neku's view of the phone upside down across the table, a personal review log of local restaurants. "That's hardly a riveting opinion, but I'll include it. We wouldn't want to find Players erased of sheer boredom, would we?"

Whatever UG bullshit Joshua was pursuing, Neku wasn't making it his problem to know. He could guess, but he won't. He won't even think about it. Nope, no dead people business here.

Joshua frowns at him through the silence, bordering on a pout, and sets his phone down.

Neku tilts his head, gesturing with his free hand.

"Well? Did something happen? Why are we here, Josh? Is reality about to collapse in on itself? Did someone important die? Double die?"

"No, no no no, nothing like that," Joshua says waving off his tone. "Well, people die of course, every day. But that's not my concern." He cuts Neku off before he can reply that yeah, it kind of is, by snatching his phone back off the table and waving it in Neku's face. "I'm here about this."

Oh.

That.

The homoerotic betrayal thing. He'd heard about it after the fact when three of his friends texted him their condolences on losing to Brutus and Caesar. He needed to ask for context, and to be frank, didn't know what to make of the whole thing. He could have gone without knowing that "iconic homoerotic betrayal" was a tournament he'd been nominated in, and privately thinks Joshua has got to find more normal ways of hitting on him. Ways that don't involve firearms.

"Isn't that over?" he asks, with little else to say. If it was over, they shouldn't have to worry about it. Problem solved. Neku out. The arcane and meta machinations of the multiverse can remain not his problem.

"Yes," Joshua says, all business, "but we lost."

"So?"

"So, we lost! After all our fans put in such heartwarming work about us too."

Neku mulls over the word "fans" for a long moment, and decides he doesn't want to consider the implications of that either. He shrugs. "Okay."

"Neku," Joshua says, placing the phone between them and folding his hands loosely over his drink, "I don't think you're taking this very seriously."

"No shit, Sherlock," Neku snaps, indulging that eye roll. "You're not telling me why I should."

"Because we lost," Joshua says, forced patience, as sincere as he ever gets, "and because I have reason to suspect there was UG involvement." He picks up his phone again, opening an app before handing it over. "Take a look. Do any words stand out to you?"

Neku takes the phone, and scrolls slowly, taking his time to make sure there was nothing obvious for Joshua to scold him about missing, and to make him squirm, until he sees a familiar word. "Memes?"

"An astute observation Neku! I knew I'd chosen you for a reason."

He's insufferable. Neku hands the phone back and sinks down in his seat. Unbelievable.

"Memes, yes." Joshua twirls a lock of hair around his index finger, and Neku takes a sip of coffee to disguise how closely he followed the movement.

"You think that we lost because everyone was Imprinted to vote against us?"

"In short, yes again," Joshua says, smiling once more. "Someone put on their thinking cap today."

Asshole. Bastard. Little snot.

Neku takes a deep breath and swallows the growl climbing his throat.

"Explain."

Joshua hums, then shrugs, palms up and put upon. "I believe there was a site-wide Imprinting campaign leading up to the bracket. Disguised as a celebration of the death of Julius Caesar. You of all people know how easily folks can be swayed by a trend." He slumps down onto his elbows, resting his chin in his hands. "Then we lost," he continues, annoyed. "And I don't like losing."

"Obviously. Isn't it kind of far-fetched to Imprint memes on a whole website?"

"You'd be surprised what some of the Higher Plane get up to in their spare time.

"…Right, don't tell me." He doesn't want to hear about angel hobbies. He doesn't want to think about angel hobbies. "I still don't get why you submitted us to that thing in the first place."

"I didn't."

Eye rolls must come in threes. Joshua has the audacity to look affronted.

"Okay. Sure. I'll believe that. Then why is this so important?"

"I can't tell you," Joshua says, gazing meaningfully into the middle distance fingers tangled in a stray lock of hair.

He is so full of shit. There is not one iota of Joshua that isn't composed of compacted, steaming, fresh shit. This is what happens when you cross the guy's competitive streak with a crush. He should confiscate Joshua's phone. Joshua should talk to him more often.

"But! We could get a second chance," Joshua says, affected wistfulness gone. "I know how big a fan you are of second chances. We'll win the revival match." Joshua leans in, devious and conniving across from him, and Neku knows what's coming even before Joshua does a fingergun in his direction. "You will win us the revival match. By any means necessary."

"And how am I going to do that?" Neku crosses his arms.

Another shrug. "Start Imprinting memes on people yourself. Find the culprit rigging things from before. I'm not fussed about the strategy, as long as we win."

Neku closes his eyes. "I don't get a choice here, do I?"

"It's a homoerotic betrayal tournament, Neku. That's against the spirit of it, wouldn't you say?"

"Fair enough." It isn't. Not really. But Neku's learned to pick his battles. He's learned to pick them very well. "But I set the terms."

"Oh?" Joshua's pitch rises in surprise. "Intriguing. Go on."

Neku lifts up a finger. "One. No penalties for losing." Joshua grumbles against his palm. "Two, if we win, you're showing up for group outings. No excuses or leaving early. Spend time with us."

There's unmatched satisfaction in the way Joshua looks like he's swallowed something far too sour. "These aren't very nice terms, Neku."

"Take them or leave them. And no funny business."

"…Fiiiiiiine. I guess you'll just owe me."

Joshua pulls himself from the table and stands, all drawn-out, fluid movements and exaggerated resignation. His coffee sits abandoned on the table, half finished.

"Owe you!?"

"Hee hee. For being so generous, of course. I'll pick you up when the polls open." Joshua touches his sole fingergun to Neku's temple before leaving the cafe and an exasperated, incredulous Neku. "Toodles."

#twewy #joshneku #neku sakuraba #joshua kiryu #yoshiya kiryu #dedicated to léa regalli and dusty for running so far with this #i wrote this in a hurry but it's way more than I can usually write in this span of time #so that's pretty awesome #i just wanted to make the meme joke #my writing

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netherworldpost · 1 year

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AI art predictions with a laundry list

This is a very long post, so as an advertisement to entice you to read it, let’s start off with my proof points. It ends with advice on what to do if you make things and/or want to make things and are concerned.

I remember when royalty-free microstock ($1/photo) began. It fundamentally changed stock photography, ending a significant number of careers, creating a significantly larger number of photographers -- as well as graphic designers AND illustrators who now had floods of reference photos they could not access before.

I remember when boilerplate WordPress starter themes began. They largely are a “paint by numbers” kit of parts. A lot of web developers rallied against it, claiming they would go out of business. Some did, most did not, a great number went into business using them as tools.

Hell, I remember when WordPress started. Similar story to above.

I remember when Adobe created built-in color palette tools. These are, essentially, color wheels. There were a lot of designers and illustrators who claimed this would give the public and/or low skill designers too much power.

I remember when free logo generators started. See above notes.

I remember when ultra cheap graphic design freelance services began. Fiverr and Upwork, etc. See above notes.

Hell I remember when digital printers started gaining a neck grip on small scale commercial printing. Bad time to be a 1 and 2 color press shop.

Tech bros and their priests will continue to throw money and other resources at it from about mid 2022 until early 2024

A combination of boredom, other opportunities (good, bad, and neutral), lawsuits, and the inescapable physics of what is required to create new AI art will taper off interest around early to mid 2024

The arc of interest will diminish far sooner but will occasionally be spiked back up by a combination of:

^- click-bait news articles and new breakthroughs in tech

^- click-bait news articles that claim there is a new breakthrough because the reporter/outlet is just catching on to existing things

^- tech bros claiming a new breakthrough (that isn’t new) because they have reinvented existing tech and/or are outright stealing from existing tech

Some levels of AI will continue forever with varying degrees of aesthetic attraction

On some level, the continuation will be because some tech bros and their priests are interested in pursuing the tech and are uninterested in the benefits/costs

On another level, it will continue as a weapon against artists (at large) because all tech invented is utilized as a weapon by bad actors against specific groups people

On yet another level, it will continue as a weapon against specific artists because all tech invented is utilized as a weapon by bad actors against specific people

Some (a moderate sample size) artists will lose everything for a little while but ultimately adapt, a smaller sample size everything permanently and leave the art profession

The public at large will begin in earnest interest as a “we can create stuff too!” but then lose interest over time because quality (as measured by uniqueness) and accessibility (as measured as “free vs. paid”) will steadily decrease

The decrease of interest will spike tech bros desperate to reclaim their throne into accelerating outright theft and abuse because at the nature these specific tech bros are parasites and have nothing positive to offer either the tech or art ecosystems

Corporate interests will both utilize AI art for their own interests while suing to stop their own direct properties from being used. These lawsuits will generate attention-grabbing headlines but almost exclusively be settled out of court and/or the AI companies will simply be bought to bring the tech/people into the fold/shut down

Artists (at large) will engage in the various platforms. There will be generalized outrage for 1 - 5 years as a combination of acceptance, resignation, and useful labor-saving tools are built

^- schisms will enter the art community. Some points will be made as legitimate discourse, most will be stated as individual artists use this as the point-of-the-day to prove themselves better than everyone else.

Ultimately:

Tech will continue building what they can, scraping every resources available at the lowest cost possible and often through piracy, until it becomes untenable via cost and boredom

Artists will continue to create, adapt, and evolve. Some unfortunately will legitimately lose everything and drop out of the career for a period of years, some forever.

There will be a convergence point then the two will separate out slowly. The path will be painful for artists. The public will vastly be ignorant, those who know mostly won’t care, some will passionately rally for artists.

Advice for people who make things:

Keep making things. Despair is an automated weapon that targets you, the more you feed it, the stronger it grows.

Do not personalized despair. It is easy to give into the thought of a conspiracy theory against you, or your industry. I view the accuracy more as “people/institutions who do not know, or care, about your existence are building their own empire. Sometimes you’re a tree line of border protection against wind, sometimes you’re lumber. Either way you’re not considered in any instance except when you’re useful, and never as an individual.”

Protect yourself as possible (file copyright takedown notices, keep an eye on prices to keep yourself in business, do not actively participate in contests that scrape AI, block people onsite who advocate for AI art if you yourself do not)

Protect your business funds as possible (multiple streams of income where possible, keep an eye on costs -- is fancy packaging actually necessary, from a business perspective, or are you making it fancy because you’re an artist)

Build a community as you can, everywhere you can. There is an absolute effort-to-cost ratio that must be watched -- you can, as of writing, literally sign up for a MySpace if you want. I wouldn’t recommend trying to build a network there.

And to repeat: keep making things. There are tools you used to get started, there are tools you USE RIGHT NOW, I promise you, that were once heralded as “the thing that will kill art.” It didn’t, except where it did, and in both instances everything evolved to whatever our current state is.

#long post

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bleachification · 1 year

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all that glitters is not gold

pairing: dazai osamu x reader (fantasy au)

warnings: none (for now)

summary: an inescapable fate bound by the vows of arranged marriage. a cataclysmic war that paints the plains red. a pair of royals, once friends, now bitter enemies. dazai osamu is the last person you want across from you at the end of the aisle, but the universe has other plans. as war, deception, and conflict rages on, you may find that he is your only hope of making it through this alive... even if it means putting revenge for his betrayal on the backburner.

authors note(s): this is the prologue of a long, multi-chapter fic i am currently working on. i will be uploading chapters periodically <3

fic playlist: ♫

ch. one: dissonance

ch. two: trojan horse

ch. three: in reverence

ch. four: a painting’s ire

ch. five: all men are equal

PROLOGUE

Heavy is the head of the one who wears the crown.

It sits on a velvet cushion atop a crystal podium, a glittering structure of gems and woven silver bestowed upon the Imperial heir, heralded as some divine artifact despite its classically human origins. The accessory is beyond extravagant. Well suited to the blue-blooded, as your father likes to say.

You beg to differ.

While others may view the crown as a symbol of royalty, prestige, and all the superficial qualities that make up the Imperial bloodline, it is something entirely different to you. It masks itself behind shining diamonds and intricate design when its true nature is nothing more than a pair of iron manacles.

It’s painfully ironic. The “sun of the Empire” shackled by the very thing that is supposed to bring about glory. The reason why is simple enough: the act of bearing the crown means surrendering to the throne and, with it, all freedom.

You swallow, heart pounding, as the glass dome is lifted, and a pair of gloved hands carefully extracts the headpiece from its idle seat.

The world slows to a crawl as a ray of sunlight catches on the crown’s stones and reflects onto you. The crowd, elites and nobles from all over the nation, fades into the background until nothing is left in your sight other than the crown, your father who holds it, and the man standing to his right.

Dazai Osamu. The very cause of your distress and contempt… as well as your future husband.

His eyes meet yours—clever things that betray no hint of emotion other than a clinical curiosity that has him silently surveying you like a scientist dissecting a confounding subject. Dazai Osamu picks you apart piece by piece, down to the very molecules of your being. Any other person would think themselves scrutinized, but you know better. He would have to care to take you under scrutiny—and Dazai genuinely couldn't care any less of you. You would find more affection for a crawling ant underneath his shoe than he could have for you. You are simply an object for him to rest his eyes on while boredom perseveres.

You, on the other hand, choose to face his gaze head-on and convey your feelings by glaring at him with a pure, visceral hatred. He may not feel anything towards you anymore, but your anger runs deep and wide, and it hungers for revenge.

Revenge against the man you are to wed;

the Prince of the enemy kingdom;

the one who betrayed you;

and once upon a time, the boy you had loved more than any other.

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gripefroot · 5 months

Text

Crooked Ways [17/22]

Bulma tried to remember another time when her life felt so full, and couldn’t.

Sure, adventures had come and gone, just like friends had, but they’d been punctuated by periods of such boredom and inactivity that she couldn’t claim that the quiet life was really for her. She’d sampled it, enjoyed it, and discarded it. This was a thousand times better.

Summer waned into autumn and then into winter. She was never bored. Between her projects and responsibilities at Capsule Corp and evenings (or mornings or afternoons or, on occasion, all of them) with Vegeta, Bulma finally felt the itching moroseness of being left behind start to fade.

Too used to creeping around late at night when no one else was around, they’d been startled to be walked in on by Dr. Briefs one night while Bulma had been draped over the couch and Vegeta had been behind her, his hands gripping her hips while he worked a merciless rhythm. By benevolence (or his own embarrassment) her dad had said nothing but greeted them in a jaunty voice on his way to the kitchen. Vegeta had frozen, Bulma had squealed, and by the time Dad returned with a cup of water they’d been sitting on opposite ends of the couch with blankets pulled up to their chins and both red in the face.

“Have a good night,” he’d said, and Bulma had only squawked in return. Vegeta had said nothing, and once they were alone again he covered his face with his hands to emit a long groan.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately. “It’s fine. Nothing fazes Dad.”

“Are you saying he’s happened upon you during lovemaking before?” Vegeta lifted his head to snap.

“Of course not, don’t be silly,” Bulma snapped back. The frenzy of her near-orgasm had put her body on edge, and it wasn’t coming down well.

“No? Yamcha never had to face your father after meeting his eye during interrupted sex?”

She didn’t know what to respond to in that statement first, and so she merely started to laugh hysterically, clutching the armrest of the couch and letting her blanket slip. “Oh, Vegeta,” she finally said, shaking her head. He eyed her warily from the opposite end, and that wouldn’t do, so she scooted down the cushions until they were pressed up against each other. In contrast to their earlier activities, he was as still as a statue, leaning away from her fingers crawling up his bare arm. “Did you really meet Dad’s eyes?” she asked first and with a smile. “Full on gaze? Inescapable?”

Vegeta sniffed. “Yes.”

“Oh, my. No wonder you’re frazzled.”

He gave a grunt.

“And secondly. Yamcha and I never did…anything like this.”

Silence followed that admission, but Bulma couldn’t figure out why since it wasn’t that exciting. But Vegeta’s brows knit together, studying her closely.

“You never…coupled with him in a public space,” he said.

“Or in a private space,” she clarified.

“Tch.” He turned his head away. “That’s too bad. I would have liked to hunt Yamcha down and drape his entrails over my shoulders.”

Bulma’s fingers stopped, gripping his bicep in surprise. “Tell me that isn’t a Saiyan ritual as well,” she said faintly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not in love with Yamcha anymore, but that’s a gruesome way for anyone to go.”

Vegeta angled his head enough so that she could see his teeth, bared in a smile. “No one alive can tell you if I’m lying. Will you believe me if I say it is?”

“Oh, good grief.” She gave his chest a thump. “Let’s go to my room.”

He agreed, but put his shorts back on only beneath the cover of a blanket. Well and truly traumatized, Bulma thought with amusement, but she liked that the blustering, arrogant Prince of all Saiyans could be embarrassed by such a simple accident.

That night took a softer, sweeter turn once they were safely behind locked doors. As rough as Vegeta had been in the living room, this time he was lazy bringing her body back to a climax, his lips lingering in sensitive places and his own noises low and rumbling. He drew a kiss from her mouth while stroking her to orgasm, she held on for dear life, and when he spilled inside of her she would have sworn it was with her name on his lips.

“Do you know,” Vegeta murmured later, when she was dozing off beside him and his fingers made trails up her arm. “If I had my tail, our coupling would be much more enjoyable for both of us.”

Bulma stirred enough to peel her cheek from the pillow, blinking at his face. He did not appear as tired as she was, despite having taken the brunt of cardio activity during their lovemaking. “Why’s that?” she croaked.

“I would wrap it around your waist.” To demonstrate, Vegeta looped his arm around her middle to drag her close to her chest, and she laughed. This gave him unfettered access to her neck, which he nuzzled playfully.

This is what love is, Bulma thought dizzingly to herself, plunging her fingers into his hair while he gave a growl. It has to be. This is what it’s supposed to be.

“It was like having an extra arm,” he went on. “I would use it to pry your legs apart.”

“Oh? You don't think you could do that with a few pretty words?”

Vegeta’s lips coasted over her cheeks. “Since when have we ever exchanged pretty words?”

He was right, of course, but the truth of it weighed heavily in her stomach. “I guess you’re right,” she sighed, and held him tighter. He didn’t try to wriggle away, didn’t freeze as he sometimes did when she showed affection. His lips merely rested on hers, urging them open to plunge a heart-stopping kiss into every corner of her mouth that Bulma felt all the way to her toes.

Soon after that night, she completed the final version of the battle suit which Vegeta received with an unruffled, cool nod of approval. Bulma spent time in the training pod to watch him train in it, just to make sure no more changes were needed. By courtesy or something else he used weights on his arms and legs instead of the training bots, and she followed his every movement as much as her human eyes could. Every grunt of effort she felt echoed with yearning in her chest, his every focused frown made her tingle, and when he finally stopped to drift to the ground, eyes on her across the pod, she considered whether it was worth ripping the suit off of his body to have her way with him.

“It’s better than the Frieza Force uniforms,” was all he said, shedding the weights. “I want to train with the robots, now.”

“A compliment, Vegeta?” Bulma teased.

Vegeta glared, a pristine version of the glares he handed out like a grandparent dishing out candy. Gruffly he said, “Don’t get ahead of yourself, woman.”

But the way he made love to her that night proved his compliment ten times over.

“Bulma! Come down here for a minute!”

Lifting her goggles from her eyes, Bulma peered over the scaffolding to see Dad waving at her from the floor of the new interior training room, half-assembled but well on its way to surpassing the pod.

“What’s going on?” Dropping her wrench into her belt, she put one foot on the ladder to head down. She needed more screws, anyway.

Dr. Briefs said nothing, merely holding up a thick envelope that, once she was near enough, Bulma saw had her name written in elegant font. She took it, ignoring the smears of grease her fingers left on the paper to tear open.

“Oh, gosh,” she murmured. She would have said “oh, no” if she wouldn’t feel guilty afterwards seeing Dad’s crestfallen expression. Forcing a smile, Bulma tucked the invitation back into the envelope to stick into her breast pocket. “Thanks, Dad. Sweet of you to hand deliver it.”

“You’ll notice there’s a second ticket,” he said, bushy brows wagging slightly. “You can take your friend.”

“My - who?”

“Vegeta, of course, darling.”

Vegeta? Go to Capsule Corp’s annual end-of-year gala? Vegeta? In a tuxedo? Vegeta, making nice? Vegeta, sampling tiny hors d'oeuvres? Vegeta, dancing?

“Oh,” Bulma gave a titter of unconcerned laughter. “We’re not that type of friends.”

“Are you sure? Based on what I saw - ”

“Oh! I needed those!” Cutting off Dad’s curious line of questioning, she dodged for a box of screws left haphazardly on top of debris. “Thanks again for the invite, Dad.” The box went under her arm, her feet already on the scaffolding to climb as fast as she could. She did not want anyone to see how red her face was.

“Save a dance for me at the gala, darling.”

“Of course!” Bulma waved at her dad as soon as she was safely on top of the scaffolding. He waved back before closing the door behind him, and she could breathe again. Head drooping, fingers tightening on the box of screws.

Another event she couldn’t say no to. As a child she’d begged to attend the Winter Gala with her parents and finally, when she’d turned eight, they’d allowed it. She’d had a dazzling custom dress made, her hair coiffed by her mother’s hairdresser, her first pair of high heels delivered in a shiny white box with a bow. The brilliant night, spent dancing on her father’s feet and eating bright cakes with frosting, had ended with her asleep in an armchair. Possibly one of her favorite occasions as a girl, but now…

Bulma wasn’t a little girl anymore. But sometimes she wondered if her parents still clung to that over-eager child. She continued to attend out of loyalty, though she’d been disillusioned with the boring adult conversation and simpering attendees long ago.

Take Vegeta! She started to bubble with laughter, spilling out of her mouth as her feet swung over the side of the scaffolding, project momentarily forgotten.

“You were talking about me.”

Startling, she grabbed a hold of the scaffolding before peering between the bars. An ominous figure stood in the doorway. She hadn’t even heard it open, but that only gave away the identity of her intruder.

“What?” Bulma asked. The sight of sweat sheen on his biceps and his dark blue suit that left little to the imagination (she had a vivid imagination and first hand experience) made her tongue feel heavy and her heart fluttery.

“I heard my name,” Vegeta said impatiently. He strode into the room. “What were you discussing?”

“You’re welcome,” she told him, resting her chin on the bar to watch him stop several feet below her dangling boots, eyes narrowed suspiciously as he crossed his arms. “Dad suggested you attend the end of year gala at Capsule Corp and I turned him down for you.”

“Your company has more galas than inventions.”

“That’s not true!”

“Are you going to the gala?” Vegeta asked, ignoring her protest.

“Of course.”

“Then I’m going too.”

Bulma’s mouth fell open. He surely didn’t mean - he wasn’t -

“It seems to me that you’re in need of supervision at such events,” he went on, chin tilting up. “I will ensure that you don’t get yourself intoxicated and in trouble I might need to extract you from after the fact.”

“So this is…a preventative measure?”

“You may call it so.”

A scoff escaped her. “Please, I was barely tipsy. And I didn’t get into any trouble.”

Even from her height she could see Vegeta’s brows arch in skepticism. “That’s no excuse to tempt fate,” he said.

“You can just say you want to go to the party with me,” Bulma teased. “I promise I’m a good dancer.”

“Tch. I can think of nothing I’d rather do less.”

“Then don’t come.”

“I will. Why do you search for alternative motivation than the one I gave you? You are impossible, woman.”

“Takes one to know one,” she said, baffling Vegeta into a frown. She crooked a finger at him with a laugh. “Come up here and kiss me, you high-handed ape.”

Without any visible effort or change in posture he drifted upwards. As he rose his frown softened, until when they were eye level Bulma swore he was trying not to smile. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead he asked, “How is my training room coming along?”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”

“Has no one warned you about blackmailing a prince?”

“No, but they didn’t warn me he’d eat all my snacks, either,” Bulma said. “I won’t resume working until you kiss me.”

Vegeta’s eyes rolled back in his head, a huff of indolent impatience making her smile. “Fine,” he muttered, and leaned forward for a hasty brush of the lips. Afterward he flew back a short distance, glancing over his shoulder at the door.

“No one’s here but us,” she told him.

His head slowly turned back. Now he definitely did smile, corners of his mouth tipping into a smirk that had her gripping the bars of the scaffolding more tightly. “I can lock the door,” he suggested, arms uncrossing.

“We - no! We can’t have sex right now!” Bulma could have clapped a hand over her mouth for that outburst, her face flaming to life worse than it had when Dad had called Vegeta her friend.

Vegeta’s face contorted, clearly baffled. She hadn’t turned him down before. “If you say so,” he said finally with an indifferent shrug. He dropped a few inches, expression carefully neutral.

“Are you going to ask why?” she called through the bars. He stared up at her.

“You don’t like when I question you,” he stated. Bulma blinked. Despite their nearness - he could reach out and grasp her ankle if he wished - there might as well have been a gulf between them. In reality her refusal had a simple explanation, but if Vegeta wasn’t willing to hear it…

“That’s right,” she said, uncertainty making her voice sound wispy.

Vegeta didn’t return to the floor, but he didn’t fly back up to her, either. Finally, after a few seconds that felt like years, Bulma admitted,

“I would like to…lock the door. It’s just…it’s my time of the month.”

He said nothing.

“You know…Aunt Flo is in town?”

A twitch of his eyelids.

“Riding the crimson wave?”

His mouth opened, then closed. “Are you referring to human menstruation?” he asked at last.

Phew. “Yes!” she cried out, relieved that he wasn’t so ignorant. Maybe he learned it from the same websites where he’d learned to pleasure an earth woman. It still made her want to giggle when she thought about it.

“What difference does that make?” Vegeta asked roughly. “If you want to have sex, why should it stop you?”

“Because you think it’s gross!”

“When did I say that?” He shot back up until they were face-to-face again, temper lining his eyes. “Don’t put words in my mouth, woman!”

“All men think it’s gross!” Bulma retorted. “Just because - even though you’re a Saiyan, you’re not that much different!”

“I am different! I am far more powerful! And I do not think your body nor its functions are gross.” Nose-to-nose now, his breath hot on her face, she could barely breathe with the suddenness of this confrontation. And the odd stand Vegeta was taking. Of all the hills to die on…he picked strange ones, sometimes.

“Well,” Bulma finally managed. “That was…romantic.”

“It’s not romantic! It’s the truth!”

“Oh, pardon me.”

He glared, and she glared back. Wracking her mind, Bulma was sure that they’d had no real disagreement. She’d thought he’d be of one mind, he was sure he was of another. At the end of this, they were of similar opinion. And yet…

“Your training room is coming along nicely,” she said to break the oppressive silence. “I have a few more gravity sensors to install and after I hook them up to the computer system it’ll be time to test them.”

Vegeta gave a grunt, either in approval or indifference. His knuckles curled over the bar of scaffolding at her chest height, as if he had half a mind to climb up and join her. But he didn’t, and after a split-second where she couldn’t breathe, he released the bar.

“Do I wear my training clothes to the gala?” he asked.

“N - no. I’ll send your measurements along with mine to have outfits made.”

“Are these outfits flexible enough for fighting?”

“Vegeta!” Bulma threw her hands in the air. “We don’t get into fights at parties! We have fun!”

“Fighting is fun,” Vegeta retorted. “Fine. I won’t fight anyone.”

“I hope that includes me,” she muttered, pulling her feet up from dangling. He stared, arms crossed over his chest once more.

“It certainly does not, woman.”

“And I feel so special.”

“I’m returning to the pod to complete my training for today,” he told her. “I would like to see you in my bedroom afterwards.”

“Oh, is this a disciplinary meeting?”

“Only if I’m still angry that you assume my feelings,” Vegeta said. Regret pinched her stomach; she’d thought her assumption was fair. Perhaps she couldn’t predict Vegeta as well as she thought. Not to mention his insistence to attend the gala…

It gave her a lot to think about after he left.

#vegebul #dbz fanfic #bulma x vegeta #dragon ball

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