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tiredassmage · 22 days

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something something, back to the beginning with 7.5, something something spend nearly half your life doing something, something memories, something totally probably not at all actually related to the plot of the patch, but something something excuse for me to write cheesy flirt lines-- self-indulgent as hell little brainworm of an exchange that may or may not actually happen but i sure as hell had fun putting tyr through it xD loosely inspired by the premise of returning to hutta for 7.5 and name-dropping one of the new characters, so technically some kind of spoilers but. obvs we don't know much and this is just. deeply, deeply self-indulgent fun on my part for now, lol. [but that kind of stuff is under the cut, if that is important to your reading choices <3]

“We have been to Hutta before,” Vector recalls. They step up to the agent’s shoulder as Tyr leans into the doorway, cocking one foot over the other.

Tyr grunts, “Somehow.., I’m inclined to doubt much has changed in…” A grimace starts to pull the agent’s features tighter around his eyes, as if counting the years might make the aches settle deeper. “Oh, twenty years, almost.., isn’t it?”

Vector hums thoughtfully. “Much has changed, agent,” they remind gently, “But… not so much, all the same, we concur.” They watch the agent’s eyes scan the distant swamp for a moment, noting the restless toy of his hands along the fit sleeves of the overcoat he wears.

They recall a saying on the ways of old habits…

“We suppose not all things can improve with age.”

A sharp, loud huff leaves their companion. Vector begins to smile. It’s enough to still Tyr’s hands - they instead fold together across his waist, supporting the agent’s lean. Out of the corner of their eyes, Tyr’s own narrow as they turn on him, mockingly accusatory.

“Vector Hyllus… I’m going to assume good faith.”

“Of course, agent,” they reply. Their smile widens under the mounting suspicion. “We have known plenty to admire a fine vintage.”

Tyr doesn’t quite manage to choke back a bark of laughter beneath a hand flying up to his mouth, nor does it entirely conceal his smile and the brush of color that enters his cheeks. Vector mercifully turns their eyes back out to the smog-hugged buildings awaiting them. Shortly, Tyr clears his throat. “You know I prefer Kaasi brandy myself.”

“Of course. You’ve always had a most enlightening taste, agent.”

Tyr coughs lightly and shakes his head. “Ah… right. So.”

“So,” Vector allows. “We… are not familiar with this… ‘Yusinduu,’ agent. It will be our first time in the district.”

“Right.” And just like that, a familiar lighting bolt clarity clears Tyr’s eyes. He pushes off from the doorway and waves Vector down the ramp with him, sweeping his jacket over the holsters at his hips. “Stay close, for now. If Hutts are reliable for anything, it’s an eye for profitable motives-”

Even that brief smile was well worth the diversion. They follow after the Commander, tucking their hands into their pockets.

“Do you think there is any relation, agent?”

Tyr begins to frown - a familiar brush of durasteel and the first gasp of rain-heavy air from the horizon. “I wouldn’t be surprised in the least,” he says.

His eyes skim the edges of the streets over Vector’s shoulders. “You know, I think you owe me a drink-” A cover for the agent’s sentiment to find a place to observe the local hum.

He claps a hand to Vector’s shoulder with a grin, eyes clear of the aged rhythms thrumming in battle-tested veins, no doubt. His fingers squeeze carefully around their shoulder and his voice drops for only a moment, “If I know anything about Hutta, it’s that we’re all good for someone… for the right price.” Stay close. Stay vigilant.

Tyr’s eyes face forward again, easily slipping through unfamiliar streets - enough heaviness in forward steps to keep their path clear and draw only the barest of curious glances. New faces on Hutt-controlled streets aren't uncommon. Nine wants them just under the radar. For now.

“Let’s see who we should be today, hm?”

#tyr deckard is an approximately 46 year old man and i am going to GET HIM #dot words #swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction #sorry not sorry i. it popped into my brain and it was so abnoxiously adorable i. i couldn't resist #ch: tyr #imperial agent #vector hyllus #i'm still doomed the day they give me more than a passing flirt option bc these two never talked about it but oops. oops #god. i love them. i love this. this was so much fun #thank you random bolt of evening inspiration for silly silly words #the plot is really just vibes as backdrop for the silly words tbh

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miniscule-meow · 5 months

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How would your characters react to Isabelle and lark being swapped? Like Isabelle goes to larks story and lark goes to Isabelles story?

Ooh this is a good one. Sorry it took me all day, I couldn't just answer this, so I wrote out the scenes! It's kind of long so it's under the cut. Enjoy!

~*~

Isabell wakes up to the dim light of early morning filtering in through the window of a dark room. There is a prickling sense of wrongness that jitters down her spine. This is not where she fell asleep. She's in the center of a large pillow, the plush surface beneath her would make rough terrain for any kind of quick movement, if she needed to escape or- no. She doesn't need to worry about that anymore. It's hard, trying to rewire her own brain, to undo every instinct her life has instilled in her. These humans are her friends. She won't need to worry about her movement being slowed down, she won't need to escape.

"Zeke?" She whispers into the vast room, turning her attention beyond the pillow, blinking into the murky darkness of the room. The daylight is not quite illuminating the space just yet. The few rays of hazy morning sun really only succeeding in lighting the room to a muted gray. Her eyes settle on the bed, more specifically, on the giant occupying the bed. The figure is bundled into the blankets, she can't make out any of their features. "Uh, Marcus?" Her voice trembles, but she tries not to panic. There has to be a reasonable explanation for this. Maybe she fell asleep on the couch and one of them moved her into their room. That seems like something Marcus would do. Though, she's been in Marcus' room before. It didn't look like this.

Her mind spins. All at once trying to rationalize what's going on and trying to figure out how to get out of this situation, but before she can think of a plan, the dark figure in the bed shifts. Massive limbs stretch out from the blanket, the shadowy figure looking more monstrous by the second as it's form is obscured by darkness and the spiraling panic that has begun clawing it's way into the back of Isabell's mind.

In one swift motion the blanket is tossed aside and the being swings it's legs over the edge of the bed, stretching up with a groan and rubbing it's face with the palm of their hand. It's eyes glint as it settles it's gaze on her form.

"Oh good, you're awake," the voice is low and entirely unfamiliar. If alarm bells weren't going off in her mind before, they are ringing at full volume now. Any intention of trying to stay calm has flown out of the window. One objective shoves it's way to the forefront of her consciousness.

Run.

She fumbles over the plush ground, her injured leg is stiff and only slows her down further as it feels like her own limbs are betraying her by protesting this movement. She fights her way towards the edge of the pillow. Once she's on solid ground she can figure out a plan.

There's a scraping sound, and suddenly a warm light floods the room as the giant strikes a match, lighting a lantern by his bedside.

"Hey, careful princess, you're getting close to-"

She ignores his voice as she slides off the edge of the pillow, ready to feel solid ground beneath her feet. Her heart lurches as her foot instead touches down right on the edge of the dresser. She was in too much of a hurry to get off the pillow she didn't consider that there might not be any ground to escape to. She scrambles to catch her balance to no avail, her momentum drags her backwards, and just like that, she's falling. She barely registers the flash of movement as the strange giant swears under his breath, lurching forwards to catch her.

She only has time to let out a short shriek before the wind is knocked from her lungs. She lands prone, on her back in the center of this stranger's waiting palm. His fingers are curled over her protectively. Time seems to slow down as both of them struggle to catch their breath and slow their runaway heartbeats.

"Shit. Princess are you-" the fingers unfurl, revealing the handsome face of her captor. Handsome... where did that word come from? It might be the adrenaline from almost dying for maybe the third time this week, but it's hard not to notice someone's features when their face eclipses your entire sky. And whoever this human is, it's hard to ignore the fact that he has very nice features. Her cheeks warm. And of course, here she is flinging herself off of furniture.

She has got to stop meeting humans like this.

Dark curls fall into his eyes, his lip pulling into a pout of confusion "What- who? Uh," his large brown eyes blink down at her. His eyelashes are so long. No. Focus, Isabell. Stranger danger. "Sorry, you're not ... You're not Lark."

"Uh, I'm- no. Um. I," she sits up in his palm struggling to find her voice. Though, she's unsure if it's because of the immense size difference, the fact that she has no idea where she is or where her friends are, the fact that she almost just died, or the fact that she was rescued by this giant who is entirely too handsome. "Isabell. Is- uh is my name. Sorry. Uh. My name is Isabell. I don't- I don't know how I got here." She pulls her uninjured knee into her chest, letting her other leg stretch out in front of her.

His eyes scan over her. He sucks in a sharp breath when he sees the stitches in her leg, "My stars. What happened there?"

"I fell out of a cabinet?" Her face burns, her graceful track record has been getting more and more tarnishrd lately. "Um two humans have been helping me. Zeke and Marcus? Do you know them?"

"You think I would know them because we're all humans? Do you know every fairy in the world?" He asks, a playful glint catching in his eyes as one corner of his mouth pulls into a lopsided grin.

"No, no I just thought. I mean how else did I get here I- wait. Fairy? What's a fairy?" She looks up at him curiously.

"Arent you-" he looks her over again, more quizzically this time. With a tilt of his head his eye flick to her back. "I guess not," he notes her lack of wings. "anyway um. I'm Deckard. I don't know your friends... And ... I also don't know how you got here."

He explains to her what a fairy is, and how he was recently helping one out. It seems as though they've switched places somehow. When he went to bed, he had a fairy on his dresser. Now, he has... Isabell. Curious.

"Okay. Well, Isabell was it? Don't you worry. You can stick with me until we get all of this figured out." That same crooked grin graces his face, and in that instant she knows that this boy might just be more dangerous than any other human she's ever met before.

~*~

Somewhere across the universe, in a time beyond princesses and kingdoms, a fairy awakens in an apartment.

She knows instantly that she is very far from home. Did Deckard sell her off? Again. What a stupid, lying, snake. She can't believe she fell for it a second time.

Deckard.

Resident heartthrob.

All the girls love him, he only loves money.

She should have known better than to trust him again. With a sigh, she sits up, taking in her surroundings and seeing what mess she's stuck in this time.

The first thing she notices in the room is a large rectangle spilling out unnatural light. Pictures and colors dance across the screen as chatter pours out from this strange device. Her wings twitch as she is transfixed by the sight. What type of enchantment was cast to achieve such a feat? She must have been given to a very strong sorcerer. Spell components. He's sold her for parts. A deep shard of dread lodges in her gut.

She tears her eyes away from the magical rectangle, wondering bitterly how many times Deckard plans to sell her off just so he can steal her back.

What a lucrative business model he's created.

That is, if he intends on stealing her back again. She chases the thought away, not daring to even think about that. Of course he'd come back for her. He wouldn't-

She freezes, her wings going rigid at the sound of movement behind her, saving her from her own thoughts. Though "saving" might be too generous of a term. She whirls around to see a human stretched out on the large piece of furniture behind her. Instantly, she's on her feet. Is this the person that is responsible for the enchantment on the rectangle? The sorcerer.

"Oh. I didn't mean to fall asleep out here," the giant mumbles, sitting up. "Did you sleep alri-" the words die on his lips as he looks down at her. His brow twitches together, seemingly as confused as she is. Certainly one doesn't forget purchasing a fairy. Just what is she dealing with here? She takes him in, acutely aware that he is doing the same to her.

His clothes are odd. The construction of them is unlike any of the styles she's seen before. He has markings all along his arm, and two rings of metal protruding from his lip. A glint of metal cuts through his eyebrow as well. Is this what human sorcerers look like? His dark hair is pushed back away from his face, still appearing well put together though he obviously just rose from sleep.

They stare at each other tersely before the human speaks up.

"Where's Isabell?" His brow twitches together, his lips part as though he has more questions, but whatever words wants to say find no purchase in his voice. His mouth flattens into a line, he looks pensive.

"I don't know who that is," she raises her chin, refusing to be intimidated by this human's piercing gaze. "What did Deckard charge you? If I'm lining his pockets, I want to know what I'm worth." Her hands ball into fist by her sides, her wings twitch with frustration. The human's eyes flick to her wings, tracing over them before he takes the rest of her in again. He takes his time, apparently in no hurry to respond. "What? Are you surprised that it can talk?" A mocking sneer fills her voice. The human's brow twitches once more. Her insulting tone seemingly having no effect against him, he looks at her like he's trying to solve a puzzle.

"I apologize if this is rude but... what are you?" He frowns as if the words are sour on his tongue.

"What kind of sorcerer is unfamiliar with the fae?" She scoffs, "obviously, I'm a fairy." She turns to flutter her wings, looking up at him incredulously.

"I'm not- " he does that thing again. He looks like he wants to speak, before thinking better of it and pressing his mouth flat. "You haven't said a single thing that makes sense," he says finally after a heavy pause.

She stares up at this human, unsure of what to say. If Deckard didn't sell her off, then how did she get here? Besides, who's this Isabell person? And why would a human have such a tiny couch? Glancing down the the coffee table she's on, there are actually quite a few objects that are scaled to a being of her size. What is going on? Every new thing she discovers only arouses more questions in her mind. Keeping the human in the corner of her eye, she takes in the rest of the room. The walls are a sleek off-white. Daylight filters in through the windows, muted through drawn curtains.

"You can fly?" The question comes from nowhere, she turns back to the human.

"Are you seriously asking me that?"

The human hums dispondantly in response, electing to fidget with the piercing in his lip in lieu of giving her a real answer.

"I'm a fairy," she enunciates each word slowly, "the wings aren't just for decoration," her wings twitch irritably. "What kingdom do you belong to? I don't recognize this architecture. Nor do I recognize the cut of your jib. Certainly you are not from the Aesteriun Planes?" She looks him over, everything about him is foreign.

"I really need you to just say one thing that makes sense," the way he blinks down at her as he speaks tells her that she is just as foreign to him.

"How did I get here?" She asks in the simplist terms she can.

"I don't know," he replies with an easy shrug of his shoulders.

"You didn't buy me from Deckard?"

"I am morally opposed to the concept of people as merchandise," his words have a sudden venom. He takes a short breath, "This Deckard person were you ... Did he hurt you?"

She laughs bitterly. " I don't know where the hurting stops and the helping begins with him."

"That's not... Are you okay?" Worry tinges at the corners of his eyes.

"Obviously not! I don't know where I am, or who you are! And you are no help whatsoever."

He looks at her for a long moment. "Uh Marcus?" He turns his attention to the hallway. Hopefully this 'Marcus' character will be more helpful. "Are you up? uh. We have a," he looks back at her once more, trying to finish his thought, "situation."

A situation.

"I will have you know," she flies up to be eye level with him, he reers back, quickly putting distance between them. "I am not a situation. I am a princess. If you would be so kind as to return me to Deckard, I would much appreciate the help."

He's all too predictable. There he goes again, opening and closing his mouth searching for words, but finding none. She scoffs, settling back down on the coffee table and crossing her arms. He speaks up, having finally decided on what to say,"You want to go back to the guy trying to sell you," it's a question, but he says it as though its a statement.

"Yes that's exactly what I want! Why are you making this so complicated!"

"Marcus?" Zeke calls again, a little louder this time.

#thanks anon!#this was fun #i guess this is a drabble? i dont know the word count #isabell and the lads #deckard and lark #LISTEN Deckard is a very pretty boy #crossover episode

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stormhunt95 · 1 year

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My current obsession is Luke Hobbs and Deckard Shaw and honestly I’m not mad about it

#shobbs #luke hobbs #deckard shaw #Hobbs and Shaw #obsession isn’t even a strong enough word

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secondsonaym · 1 year

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[next]

(Part 1 of 2)

#usurper au #ch4 #shamura #starwatcher berserk #narinder #deckard berserk #leshy #THEY SAID IT THEY SAID THE U WORD YOOOOOO TITLE DROOOOOOOOP

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emma-d-klutz · 2 years

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Was there any official word on why Bee x Deckard was retconned out?

#bee x deckard #bee and puppycat #netflix bee and puppycat #word of god #miss natasha allegri what's the word here?#i can accept this but I demand an explanation first

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suzylwade · 2 years

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Do A Runner Sean Young's ‘Blade Runner’ polaroids capture a literal snapshot of life on set. ‘Blade Runner’ was director Ridley Scott's follow-up to ‘Alien’ and was based on the novel ‘Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' by Philip K. Dick. The story takes in place in the (then distant) future of 2019, where Harrison Ford's Blade Runner is tasked with taking down androids dubbed Replicants. Despite being a box-office disappointment upon release, the movie is now considered a landmark sci-fi film, thanks to its themes on what it means to the human, its great performances and stunning visuals. ‘Blade Runner’s' reputation would only grow in the years following its 1982 release, especially when Ridley Scott released a director's cut that removed Ford's pained voiceover and the jarring happy ending been forced on the movie by the studio. The movie eventually received a sequel in the form of ‘Blade Runner 2049’. This follow-up finds Replicant K (Ryan Gosling) tasked with tracking down Harrison Ford's Deckard, who vanished decades prior. ‘Blade Runner 2049’ was another visually stunning sci-fi epic that played more like an art movie than a blockbuster. But is anything as good as Young’s ‘Polaroids’? #neonurchin #neonurchinblog #dedicatedtothethingswelove #suzyurchin #ollyurchin #art #music #photography #fashion #film #design #words #pictures #sciencefiction #cultclassic #replicants #androids #rachel #deckard #behindthescenes #polaroids #movie #bladerunner #ridleyscott #harrisonford #seanyoung https://www.instagram.com/p/CfTVG8ZoJWl/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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multific · 1 year

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More Than

Deckard Shaw x Reader

Warning: PinV sex

Summary: You had a tendency of avoiding your problems, but what if the problems come after you?

Deckard and you had good chemistry.

Both on and off missions.

But you didn't let yourself fall into the delusion that he would possibly want more from you than sex.

Deckard after all was a handsome man, rich and good at his job, he could get anyone, so why would he want you?

You were sent on the same mission as him and Hobbs.

Needing to go undercover, Shaw and you decided to play the part of the rich couple.

You desperately needed info from a computer which was of course in an office where they are holding a gala tonight.

What a coincidence!

So you had to play dress up with Shaw and play the part of the wife.

Of course, this was all Luke's idea because why wouldn't it be.

But you weren't going to lie, the dress that hugged your curves, the high slit which showed off your leg, it all felt a bit too much.

"Stunning." was all Shaw said when he saw you which did give you a little boost of confidence.

The way his arm held you close to his side, the way he smirked at everyone who asked about you, he looked like a proud husband.

"I got the USB let's go." you said as you were ready to dip, but then a man made a comment. The man clearly had enough champagne for that night.

Deckard immediately turned around after hearing the comment.

"What did you just say?" he let go of you as he walked towards the man.

"I said, your wife is nothing but a gold digger. A whore." the man said with probably way too much confidence.

"That's my fucking wife, no one will disrespect her!" Deckard looked mad. As if he really was your husband.

When he threw the first punch you let out a sigh. You just leaned back and waited until you heard the man's jaw and nose break and the security threw both of you out.

"Dickhead." said Deckard as he walked to his car opening the door for you.

"He was drunk." you said as you both got into the car and he started to drive.

"Yeah, now he had a broken jaw and nose on top of that."

"You know I don't care what he said right? I'm not a gold digger or a whore so..."

"He still had no right to say those things."

"Thank you for standing up for me though." you placed your hand on his shoulder as you saw him get calmer.

Mission accomplished.

The World was saved yet again.

Deckard offered to drive you home, which you agreed to.

"Thank you for driving me." you said as you turned to get out of the car but his hand on your forearm stopped you.

"Y/N... I am not good with words," he let out a groan.

"Don't do this please, we both know you don't want anything from me but sex. I feel the tension, yes, but I told you before, I'm done fooling around." his eyes locked with yours as you finally looked at him.

"I'm not-That't not-I don't just want sex from you, Y/N. I want more so much more." you looked at him but didn't say a word. "You don't believe me do you?"

"I'm sorry, Shaw."

"You have no clue how much I need you. Please just give me one chance. I can't keep going on like this. All I can see is you. Whenever I'm with someone, all I can think about is you, Y/N."

"Deckard..."

"I'm serious, I'm not saying this so I could get into your bed." you opened the door as he let go of your arm.

"I-I don't know." you said honestly before getting out of the car and you ran to your home.

You honestly didn't know what to say. He looked sincere, but you had your doubts.

No matter how you felt towards him, no matter how much you liked him, you knew his kind. You ran into this many times in your life before.

You fell for a man who never wanted you as a whole. They just wanted you for one thing and once they had enough of that, they moved on.

And you were done with that.

But if he was like your exes, why did he look so sincere?

---

Deckard punched the wheel, watching the door close behind you, he knew he fucked it up.

He should have been more honest with you. Why was he so bad with words?!

All he could do is curse himself, now he made things awkward on top of the tension.

Great.

---

Later that night, you were on your couch, thinking. Still, trying to figure out whether you should believe Deckard and jump into something that you might get hurt from?

Strangely enough, you could see yourself and Deckard having a happy life.

A knock came from your door and you stood up, finally, your food was here.

Nope.

Of course, it was Deckard.

"Look, I just-"

"Order for Y/N Y/L/N?" both of you turned and saw the guy with pizza in his hand.

"Yes. Thank you. Keep the change." you said as you got the pizza and headed inside. "Come in," you said, turning to Deckard who headed into your home.

He looked around as you went to the kitchen. Your home was very you, with a bunch of collectables on your shelves. He leaned against your doorframe as he watched you prepare your pizza.

"I didn't lie. I have feelings for you that I cannot describe. But I know they are real." you tried to decide what to do. Should you reject him? Or accept his confession and risk getting hurt again? Your eyes looked everywhere but him.

"I don't want to get hurt. I have been, way too many times in the past."

"I know that. And I can't promise that I will never but I can promise you that I won't give up on you. I would burn the world for you."

"The fact that I find your accent extremely sexy doesn't help my situation. The way you protected me when that asshole called me all those names... You make me believe in more than you should."

"You don't believe that I would burn the world for you?" he took a step towards you.

"You don't want you to. I just want you to be by my side. To help me and to be there for me."

"I can do that too. I can watch sappy movies and cuddle on the couch."

"But do you want to? I don't want you to change for me. I don't want you to realize you became someone you didn't want to be because I forced you to."

"You didn't force me. I wouldn't offer if I wasn't sure about it. Sure watching some Disney wouldn't be my first choice but it would do me good to take a step back from action." he watched as you took small steps towards him, you were still unsure but he was confident in what he wanted.

He wanted you.

In more ways than one.

So, when you finally arrived in front of him, his arms moved around you as he pulled you into a kiss, something both of you craved for a long time now.

---

Maybe, possibly, having sex as the first thing you do wasn't the best way for him to prove it to you that he was serious.

But you weren't complaining and neither was he.

You tasted so sweet on his tongue and you kept moaning as his mouth worked his magic on you.

And the fact that he had no hair which you could pull on didn't help. One of his hands was holding your thigh while the other had two fingers moving in and out of you, spreading your wetness as he now focused on your clit.

Your hand found his as you squeezed his fingers.

His name fell from your lips like a mantra.

"I'm going to make you cum with my mouth, twice, then I will pound you into your bed and after I will slowly fuck you like you deserve." his voice and promise rang in your head over and over as you kept inching closer to yet another orgasm.

Your legs shook a little as you came, he guided you through it nicely.

"Up on your knees." he said as if it was soo easy. You just had an orgasm you could barely breathe.

So, he helped you up, ass in the air, head in your pillow as his cock soon found his way into your tight hole.

"Fuck, how are you this tight?!" you heard him behind you but you were far too gone. When he started to move his hips your eyes rolled to the back and you just kept moaning.

You heard how wet you were, you heard how the bedframe kept banging against the wall and you heard his soft moans and groans as he sped up.

You felt like some kind of doll which he was using for his pleasure and you loved it. He grabbed your hair and pulled on it slightly as he moved his lips down your spine, sometimes stopping to bite on your skin.

His pace never once changed or slowed down. He kept on going and he knew exactly what he was doing.

"You good, Doll?" he asked and you could only nod. "Look at you, being so afraid I would use you for sex and now... you can't even speak. Does it feel good?" you nodded again and he smirked snapping his hips and making you gasp. "Good Girl, you feel so fucking good." at his praise you started to move back to meet his thrust. "Good girl." he growled into your hear and you felt another orgasm coming. "You are getting tighter, are you gonna come?"

"Yes." you breathed out and so he leaned back again, moving, watching his cock disappear in you.

With a loud cry, you came as he slowly fucked you through it, praising you the entire time.

At that time, all you could think about is that if he is giving it to you this good, you were okay with being used by him all the time.

"I'm still not done." he said and you nearly forgot.

He moved you to lay on your side as he moved behind you, his cock never left you as he started to move again, holding your leg up a little for better access. He really kept his promise as he was now a lot slower and softer than before.

"You feel so fucking good." he said as he sucked the tenth hickey into your neck.

"Can you come in me?" you asked in your daze, forgetting completely about the condom he put on earlier. But he decided to play along.

"You want me to breed you, Baby? Come deep inside and watch it ooze out of your fucked little hole?"

"Yes." you said and it was as if a switch got turned on in him.

He let go, his composure changed drastically as he now let himself get lost in the feeling. Moving so deliciously in and out of you he kept moaning and groaning, biting and kissing your skin.

He felt like he was melting, as if you two became one and he fucking loved this feeling.

"I'm close." he whispered and you grabbed his hand, giving him some form of leverage as he kept fucking you slowly and deep.

"Deckard, please, I'm close."

And so, both of you came at the same time. Everything slowed down for just a second.

But soon, both of you were taking deep breaths as you tried to calm yourselves.

You could barely stand but he carried you to the tub and let it be filled with nice warm water.

"Maybe, tomorrow we could go for dinner." he said as you run your fingers over his chest, he had you close to his body as the warm water surrounded you two.

"I'd like that. You think my pizza is cold now?"

"Definitely, are you hungry? Or would you rather sleep?"

"Eat, then sleep. We can reheat the pizza and eat it." he nodded.

He held you closer to his chest as he let out a sigh of relief. He certainly didn't expect for this night to end like this.

This was all he ever wanted.

Taglist: @fleursirvart @greenarrowhead @thisismysecrethappyplace @sincerelyfan @theoneanna @aestheticsandmarvel @rororo06 @castellandiangelo @destynelseclipsa @spilledinkindumpster @capsiclesdoll @puknow @alwayshave-faith @alex12948 @lxdyred @imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl @anonymoussherlockandmarvelgeek @praline357 @trshngyn @avengers-r-us @violet-19999 @top1bbgloak @manduse @jacalineiscomingforyou @mandoloriancookie

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

DO NOT STEAL, REPOST OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS

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drivinmeinsane · 5 months

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Hot Chocolate ※ 12 Days of Goosemas

Day One ※ Officer K / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

※ Summary: It has taken months of trading and seeking but you finally have all the ingredients for a special surprise just in time for the winter holiday.

※ Rating: No mature content.

※ Content/Tags: K survives, Fluff, Established Relationship, Generic Winter Holiday

※ Word count: 1480

※ Status: Oneshot/Complete

Gnawing on your lip, you examine the careful line up of ingredients on the counter in front of you. Cocoa powder, honey from K’s bees, salt, milk, vanilla extract, and marshmallows. All real, not fabricated, and painstakingly collected. You’re all too aware of the cost of the items. Everything has to be perfect and it has to rely on your faded memories of a paper recipe card from your childhood. It, along with the rest of the recipe cards in your family’s possession, had eventually been used as tinder for a fire. You sigh, more of a growl than a quiet exhalation of air.

“I told you not to fuss,” K says from the other room, his voice gradually getting louder as he comes to stand in the doorway. He leans on the frame, finger marking his place in the paperback he’s holding.

You look over at him and are about to lean to block his line of sight to your kitchen project when you realize that his eyes are solely focused on you. Warmth bubbles up in your chest. “And I asked you to stay on the couch.”

He shrugs, unbothered. You approach him, knowing that he will be a silent observer until he gets a scrap of attention. K never asks for it directly. You’re barely to him before the replicant extends his arms and pulls you to his broad chest. You encircle his waist and find comfort in his warmth. Heat is a rarity this time of year. Central heat belongs only to the wealthy. He allows you to turn the two of you so his back is to the kitchen and to the surprise that you’re so worried about. Thankful for his patience, you press a kiss against his collarbone where the neck of his shirt has loosened up enough with age to expose it. K shivers and his arms tighten around your body, but one of his hands comes up to cradle the side of your face. His fingertips gently trace the shell of your ear.

“What are you working on, sweetheart?”

“It’s a surprise,” you say, closing your eyes contentedly.

K is all but petting you. His fingers leave trails of heat in their wake as they course new paths over your skin. The weight of his gaze bores into you, equally heated. He always looks at you like he cannot believe you’re present, tangible, able to to be touched. Filled with regret, you extract yourself from his embrace. His hand lingers, sliding across your jaw as you take a step back to gain much needed distance. If you weren’t careful, you would spend the rest of the holiday in his arms. Not a bad thing, but you want to give him even a small token of your affection in the form of a new experience. You’ve spent many hours discussing the flavors of different foods with him. He had been limited to the tasteless, synthetically produced excuse for food from his inception date to the time Deckard gathered his body off the stairs outside Satelline Labs.

Catching his free hand as it falls from your face, you give it a firm squeeze that he returns, careful to not crush your considerably more fragile bones in his grasp. His eyes are darting, examining every facet of your features. You bring his hand to your lips and give it a soft kiss across the scarred knuckles before letting it go.

“I won’t be long, honey. Put something festive on?”

He nods, relieved to have a task. You retreat back to the kitchen while he starts to flip through the collection of records that you and K have slowly been building together since he came into your life all those months ago. As with most of the objects in your shared home, they were scavenged from defunct buildings or traded for.

Turning on the burner, you place a pan with milk on the slowly heating element. You let the milk reach a near simmer before turning it off and slowly add the cocoa powder and salt to the liquid. You whisk it thoroughly, breaking up any clumps, and stir in the vanilla extract and then a reasonable dollop of honey. You scoop up a little bit into a spoon, blow on it, and sample. You add another pinch of cocoa powder before gathering up a second shallow spoonful and having checking it again. It tastes good, real.

From the other room, you hear music start to play. It sounds like the opening notes to Jingle Bells. You smile. Of course he chose the Frank Sinatra album.

You move the pan to a potholder on the counter and take a mug down from the cupboard. You’re careful when pouring the hot chocolate into it, not wanting to waste a single drop. It is just enough to fill the mug with a finger’s width of space left for the marshmallows. You pick up the pillowy shapes with your fingers and gently deposit them on the surface. They float on top of the concoction like the seabirds you and K saw over the edge of the sea wall during a calm morning not so long ago.

Before making your way to the living room, you pick up the mug. Its chipped porcelain is warm against your knuckles when they brush against the side of it. K is sitting on the couch, drumming his fingers on his knee. He’s watching the record leisurely spin.

“Honey,” you say, coming to a stop in front of him.

He looks up at you with a crooked smile. “Darling.”

“Happy Holiday,” you say, offering him the still steaming mug, “Here. Be careful. It’s hot.”

The replicant takes it from you with a steady hand. He peers curiously into the vessel and pokes at one of the marshmallows with an exploratory finger. “What did you make?”

“Hot chocolate,” you tell him.

K brings the mug to his face, inhaling the scent deeply. He presses his lips to the edge of the cup and takes a pull. He doesn’t swallow right away and insteads lets the hot chocolate sit in his mouth for a brief moment, savoring the flavor. His eyes slip closed when he swallows but when he opens them, he looks dazzled. He rushes to take another drink of it.

“Thank you,” he says once he has swallowed the second sip.

“Anything for you.”

The former LAPD officer reaches out with the hand not holding the mug and draws you to him, not standing. You come to rest on your knees between his spread legs. He leans forward and tips your head up with a still calloused hand, once from a firearm, now from farming a few select crops and tending to bees. You meet his gaze and hook your arms around the outsides of his thighs. You’re waiting for him to make the next move and he doesn’t disappoint.

He leans over further and presses a kiss to your mouth. His lips are hot against your own, and he tastes of sugar and chocolate. You can’t help but brush your tongue against the seam of his lips, swiping your tongue against his when he willingly opens for you. You’re fighting to not pant into his mouth and instead force yourself to withdraw, consoling yourself by sucking on his bottom lip. His grip on your chin tights slightly, just on the edge of too tight. He pulls away. You rise onto your knees to chase after him but he sits up just enough that you can’t capture his mouth in another kiss

His blue eyes scan your face, tenderness etched onto his features. His lips are kiss-swollen and glossy. “What can I do for you?”

“Read to me?” You ask. You get to your feet, using his sturdy legs as an aid. You take a seat on the couch next to him.

“Such a simple request, sweetheart,” he says softly, picking up the book he was holding when he sought you out earlier. He shows the cover to you and you nod your approval before shifting so that you’re pressed against his side. You are all but curled up in his lap.

K puts one arm around you, holding you close. His body temperature runs slightly higher than yours and you sigh into the warmth of him. He parts the pages of the book with his free hand. The book is splayed open on his knee. He seeks out the first page and upon finding it, he begins to speak.

“‘And still I dream he treads the lawn, Walking ghostly in the dew, Pierced by my glad singing through,’” K reads steadily. The soft tones of the album playing on the restored record intertwine with his voice. He reads long after the needle reaches the end, long after you’ve dozed off against him.

#12 Days of Goosemas #Blade Runner 2049 #br2049 #Officer K #officer kd6 3.7 #Officer K x Reader #Ryan Gosling #Ryan Gosling fanfic #blade runner #blade runner 2049 fanfiction #.my work #.my posts

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ficmesideways · 7 months

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Request for Anonymous Gif Source: Deckard

Imagine being Deckard's techie s/o and going on a ramble about the new tech you've made for him only to be interrupted by him kissing you.

------- Imagine -------

You had been going on and on about some gadget or other that you had made for him, but it was the way you were talking that had Deckard unable to take his eyes off of you. Your eyes were alight with excitement, your voice was fast and enthusiastic as your breathing tried to keep up with the speed of your words. And your hands, your hand were moving with such enthusiasm as you explained the tech to him that you had almost hit him…twice. It was on one of the rare times that you had to stop your words for air that Deckard finally let out an amused chuckle as he took in your red face, before leaning in to kiss you.

#my imagines #gifs not mine #female reader #deckard shaw #fast and furious imagine #fast and the furious franchise #kiss

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munchboxart · 2 months

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I watched Bee and Puppycat Lazy in Space last night since I heard that they re-animated the first few eps. I did watch the originals and seasons 1-2 back when it came out. I'm kind of mixed, Bee and Puppycat has always had awkward pacing issues but to me it was kind of endearing, but uhm, good lord it was more obvious in the re-animated episodes. I do like that they added more context to Bee/Puppycat's history, I love it a lot, I was hoping to see more of it in the later episodes 😭

I am kind of sad that a couple of the episodes were mega shortened to just short mentions, like Bee's Birthday job at Cloud World or whatever. I think the part I was a little more sad about was the "What's your favorite color?" part, it felt a little more rushed, I guess it was just trying to fit in Bee's Dad bit and them going to the Glitch Gorge scene, rather than just ending it there like in the original and having the scenes of Cardamons Mom and Deckard.

The rest of the episodes were just all of the "season 2" one's, which are pretty good. To be fair, I did skip a good chunk of it after learning it was just Season 2 again so if they added new scenes, I might have not known about it.

Other than that, uhmmm Moully is still one of my favorite characters (Wesley, Crispin, Puppycat, etc. too). For soundtrack, I am so upset that the Funny Lying OST where Space Outlaw and Violet are shown for the first time together to candy hunt are not in the album, it make's me so mad, that is one of my favorite OSTs and it's not in ANY OF THE ALBUMS RAHHHHHHHHHHH

Anyways I do recommend watching it if you want a slice of life thing, though maybe watch the first original season over the one on Netflix, but do note that it is a little longer than the one on Netflix, as it's all been condensed down to 3 episodes rather than it's original 10(?)

Edit: one last thing that I just remembered, I didn't like (or I guess I feel mixed) about the episode of Deckard going to the culinary school. I thought it went by a little too fast and Bee already knowing what letter it was without reading it (assumingly, and also the recycling bin should be way too dark for her to read in there 💀 unless she has night vision. What I DO like is that they made her being a robot more obvious and "accepted" (for a lack of better words) and just calling her a weird old young woman or something 😭 It makes the scenes of her thinking about how much time she has in the world settle a little longer, which I like

#i love bee and puppycat. i watched it as a kid when it first came out #im rlly happy to see it evolve so much. unfort i think im gonna be 35 when it gets another season #etc

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pookiebearmick · 22 days

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galladrabbles - thank you

@twinklyylights has the cutest prompt for @galladrabbles this week and it's got me feeling inspired! a little shout out to @whatthebodygraspsnot also for writing a cute little ficlet about mickey going to the gym so he can lift ian - i got some inspiration from this, as well! this is my first time doing a drabble, and i'm definitely not a writer, BUT i do love fluff and cuddly husbands, and i'd like to share some cute shit with y'all. anyways, please be kind <3

“Uh-uh, too tired to move to the bed, Mickey,” Ian complained, eyes closed and voice full of sleep.

“Neck’s gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning, man,” Mickey said, trying to convince Ian to get up. “Come on.”

Ian seemed to only settle into the couch more as Mickey was grumbling at him. Mickey looked down at his sleepy husband, who looked perfectly content to sleep with his neck all crooked.

He got up and wiggled his arms under his giant husband, scooping him up and walking him to the bedroom.

Ian smiled sweetly against his neck. “Thanks, Mick.”

#galladrables #gallavich #gallavich fic #ficlet #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #deckard's words

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tiredassmage · 18 days

Note

I can’t NOT send in ❛ you’re a weapon, and weapons don’t weep. ❜ for agent feels perhaps 👀

FINALLY. I FINISH IT! Perhaps a day late for Star Wars day(s) celebrations, but you know how Alucren is about talking about his feelings. Once again, them having issues actually talking about anything didn't end up using this word for word, but the shape of it's there. And... frankly a lot of indulgent intimacy, hehe. :3

Shoutout to the namedrop of my friend's blorbo, Taizi. Let's get these agents the idea of therapy and some supportive poly relationships, amiright?

[hit 'em where it hurts // sentence starts]

Deckard sighs soft and warm as Alucren presses his lips against his throat, dragging fingertips through the short hair of his nape.

Here, Nine is at a special, intoxicating kind of ease - one hand formed against Ellery’s hip and the other cradling the back of his head, encouraging Alucren’s introduction of teeth and rewarding the move by tilting his head back into nails digging gently into skin. By now, he knows Nine’s smiling without looking for it.

He smooths his hand along Nine’s spine, fingertips following the curve of skin down towards subtle implants. Nine sighs into the gentle pressure, content enough, it seems, to remain placated by Eleven’s lips over his pulse.

Ellery frowns as his fingers splay carefully over the implants, tracing the faint hints of scars he knows remains, no matter how masterful the work of droids in removing them. The texture’s rougher than the tanned skin around it, than the brush of Nine’s hand against his over his waist where he’s anchored his fellow Cipher back against his chest.

Dark emerald eyes fall away from the steady rise and fall of Nine’s chest to the murky, soft shadows cast in the cloak of Odessen’s night across the room. In this, he’s come to see that the skeletal fingers of Imperial Intelligence still whisper around their throats - the common tattered, lace thread tying them together that Deckard tugs on between the half-familiar dance of briefings and deployments, in the half-held breath of hallways and half-clouded eyes meeting silently over a desk.

He was an idealistic bastard at the best of times, their Nine… Always so concerned with not letting another choke on the decaying dust and rot that he prefers to line his own throat with it than remain idle.

Alucren swallows and tucks his chin into the crook of Tyr’s neck, tracing the outlines of those implants. It’s not the first time he’s seen them. Nine has bared plenty more than flesh to him, dragging him this far out into unknown and - to them - unmapped regions of the galaxy.

Sometimes, what Nine never wrapped words around said more than that which he did. Alucren wonders almost idly if it’s one of the reasons he was a better agent. Even a latecomer transfer as the war had reignited like himself had heard some of the whispers, the stories… Even a stubborn bastard like him had at least once seen the few extra lines across Keeper’s fair features.

And yet all the younger man had for him tonight was patience. Surely, some days it was shorter than others, but…

“Deckard…”

Tyr hums softly in acknowledgement. Alucren closes his eyes as Nine tilts his head slightly, just enough to brush his chin against his temple.

“What was it like?”

The draw of Tyr’s fingers against his knuckles slows to a stop. “Mm. ‘Fraid you’re gonna have to specify a bit more, darling.”

Alucren’s hand stills against his back as he turns to brush his lips briefly along Nine’s jaw. A moment later, he’s passing under Nine’s steady, watchful eyes. The urge to flinch nearly rushes up his spine.

Nine’s good at that - seeing all of him. Tracing fully down from the furrow of his brow, the aging lines Taizi tells him to stop fussing about, and not missing a single note in the depths of his eyes. It’s been damned infuriating at times. Alucren has yet to figure out how to swallow being so utterly disarmed.

Tyr’s eyes fall after only a few moments. It could’ve been hours, for all he takes from it. “You know I live with it,” he says quietly.

“Part of the job description,” Ellery supplies.

“Sure,” he says.

“Sure.”

Alucren’s chin settles against his shoulder again. Tyr pulls the hand from his hip away, draws it in front of him so he can watch as he traces over their fingers.

Living. It isn’t so simple as that. Taizi had told him… on Marr’s fleet to abandon his side, to go, flee, to live. Too much smoke had been in his lungs to discern the sting in his throat from the mauling of his chest.

In five long, lonely years that were as restless as the tempests over Dromund Kaas, Alucren Ellery had learned he’d never quite learned what living really was.

“Hell of a thing to live with…”

Tyr nods slowly as a frown begins to pull quietly across his lips. He turns Alucren’s hand over carefully in his and traces fingertips carefully along his palm, then up along each finger in slow succession. Alucren’s gaze falls to watch.

“They don’t talk about that much in Academy.”

“Did they send you?” Tyr asks.

Alucren’s head shakes faintly against his shoulder. “Not really. No time for it, with the war and all. Just some… accelerated program.” He weaves his fingers with Deckard’s and squeezes carefully. Nine lets him. “Suppose you gave them a run for their credits.”

A faint whisper of a sharper exhale clears Nine’s lungs. One corner of his lips barely flickers up for a fraction of a second - so slim Alucren’s half-content to believe it the blink of his own eyes at the edge of his vision.

“I think you’re skilled enough at that yourself, Eleven.”

He doesn’t imagine much, if anything, in that training explored the intricacies of the political fallout when an agent has to stand against the very head of their sphere, the very entity supposedly in control of their orders. There’s plenty in the handbooks for Minders about internal security. There’s regulations for these things between agents. From the most wet-eared recruits to the Minister of Intelligence, they all shared a duty to report security risks.

There was a time, Ellery imagines… There was a time he might’ve held a blaster to this man’s temple.

There was a time he might have - would have, likely - pulled the trigger himself on their infamous Cipher Nine.

He closes his eyes and tightens his arm around Nine. One hand against skin and metal and their linked ones over that heart of his.

Tyr’s chin nestles against the top of his head. He can feel the unspoken inquiry in the draw of Nine’s thumb once more against his knuckles.

Nine could talk a lot about Imperial Intelligence. Eleven usually balks on the matter.

He’s not sure he could’ve done what Nine did. He’s fairly certain he can’t do what Nine does now.

“How?” It’s hot and muffled against Deckard’s skin. It’s easier to hide than find the words for the hollowness in his chest, for the shape of the tremble in his arms, racing through his blood. “How did you..?”

Tyr inhales slow and carefully and releases the breath as a weary exhale. Their hands tighten around one another again. He’s not looking, but he’s sure his knuckles must be paling, constricting around Nine’s calloused, warm hands.

“Ellery…” Softer.

He turns away, not yet willing to cede the stinging in his eyes even if dodging it won’t obscure it.

“All I had were orders, Nine. A weapon, preferably in both hands.” His next breath shudders through him. “And no use for tears for what's given in the line of duty.”

“So they tell us, hm?” Tyr murmurs.

Quiet falls between them again for a few moments before Tyr presses his thumb a bit further into his skin. “Think I can have my hand back, love?”

Alucren inhales sharply, eyes turning from hiding behind his shoulder back to him only to find a soft, gently amused smile draping easily across his lips. Alucren’s knuckles are indeed pale around Tyr’s hand still in his grasp. He clears his throat and flexes out his hand.

Only for Tyr to reach out and take his chin before he can turn away again, pressing his lips carefully to Eleven’s temple.

“You’re here now, Ellery,” he says. “It’s alright. I promise.”

Alucren ducks under the arm he opens, pressing into the crook of Nine’s neck as he turns to face him. Now it’s Nine’s fingers at the nape of his neck, gently drawing lines up and down through short hair.

Living was very different from surviving, he’s learning. And even Ciphers have plenty of uses for tears.

#swtor #swtor fanfic #swtor fanfiction #dot words #still agonizing over this frankly god they're SO. so. indescribable sometimes but so so important to me #ch: tyr #ch: alucren #imperial agent #two of them even!!!#it's okay. you're here. i see you. ouuugghhhghghg #tyr deckard the man that you are #answered

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ryanspinkfuzzyblanket · 4 months

Text

No Artificial Colours or Flavours

Blade Runner 2049 Fanfic - Officer K

Summary:

K is on the run with Deckard and Ana. He doesn’t feel real, Of course he doesn’t, he’s a replicant. But there are some days where he feels more real than others

The one where K tries chocolate for the first time

Warnings: Brief mention of blood and stab wound, the word ‘ass’ is said once by Deckard, some form of existentialism from K (?)

A/N: this fanfic was originally written back in september and was inspired by an ao3 fanfic. i unfortunately don’t remember the author’s name but credits to them. this is my first post on here so it’s a tad bit scary haha. i’d like to thank two blogs for giving me the confidence to in the first place @hollandstrophyhusband and @ken-dom you guys are such talented writers and i love reading your fics!

Wordcount: 1,387

There was a warm glow coming from the kitchen light that illuminated the small space. It was almost comforting in a sense.

Almost.

But something felt off. It always did. K couldn’t remember a time where he had simply been able to sit in comfort and feel. Even when he had Joi, he was never truly comforted. Everything felt artificial; never real.

The kitchen was mostly silent apart from the slight hum of the fridge that didn’t actually have much stored in it. The only contents within the metal box were gas station sandwiches. (Fridges were actually mostly made from plastic but that's besides the point). Only two remained out of the five they had stocked up on a few days ago. Most food supplies were stored outside of the fridge. This mainly included non-perishable items such as the cans of beans Deckard so graciously loaded up on. The assorted range of legumes didn’t need the colder temperatures that the fridge provided.

K noticed he had been staring a hole into the metal, no; plastic, box whilst he sat with his thoughts and quickly refocused his attention back to the area in front of him. There, just a few feet away from the replicant, Deckard stood with his back facing towards him. The older man rummaged through cans of beans in search of something.

“I’m not sure any more pills should go into your system, kid.” Deckard had told K as the two walked into the kitchen together moments ago.

There was a gruff edge to his voice as if his mind momentarily strayed elsewhere when speaking the words.

There was a pause before he continued. “But I've got something for you to try.”

Though it had been well over a week since K was stabbed by Luv, he found himself still sickly which was odd since a: he never got sick and b: when he did, he would heal up within a day or two depending on the illness.

“Yeah, I don’t blame you for still being ill.” K had been told by Deckard after mentioning he should’ve been better by now, “It’s almost like you were stabbed in the artery and were bleeding out in the snow.”

There had been a sarcastic bite to the man’s tone but the way the corners of his mouth twitched betrayed an underlying playfulness.

The sickness K felt caused him to consume more pills than usually needed. The usual amount being zero. He observed Ana’s face scrunch up in worry that evening before bed when he had popped his fifth of the day. He hoped the drugs would cause him to sleep through the entire night but when he found himself fitfully resting and eventually waking up altogether, he got up to find more. The action was odd. Usually, he would simply lay there silently awake, looking over the cracks in the ceiling and scanning his eyes over the impurities. Then again, the fact that he was sick in the first place was odd too.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

K whipped his head around to where the voice had come from, hands still in the drawer looking for pills.

He paused, finding his words, “Yeah.”

“Come on, follow me.”

That’s how K now found himself sitting at a dirty kitchen bench, dust mostly caking the surface apart from fingerprints from him, Deckard, and Ana. He looked on curiously as a soft bang was heard. The noise was soon followed by a grumbled string of expletives from Deckard. More sounds of the cans being reorganized was heard before a triumphant exclamation.

“Ah hah!”

K furrowed his eyebrows as he saw the older man pull his hand out from the bottom kitchen cabinet, holding a bar wrapped in purple plastic. Fancy gold lettering decorated the bar as it read ‘Magnifique’.

“This, kid,” Deckard spoke, opening the purple wrapping, “is way better than those pills.”

As the man unwrapped the plastic, it revealed a shining silver on the underside. K remained silent, listening to the way the wrapper crinkled and watched as Deckard's fingers pulled out a brown bar.

“Chocolate.” Deckard said simply, breaking off half of the bar and walking towards the dusty bench.

He reached out to hand the brown bar to K, who hesitated to take it. Deckard waved it in front of K, beckoning him to grab it.

“Where did you get this?” K asked as he took the half, “Isn’t it expensive?”

Walking past the wealthier suburbs of Los Angeles, K had encountered children eating the brown substance before. He remembered overhearing an elderly woman once, sharing a story to her friend about how her mother had told her there had been a time where chocolate and other sweets were cheap and easy to come by. K never took much notice of the treats. He was perfectly fine with his synthetic meat and noodles. Afterall, he wasn’t real so what use were human pleasures.

Deckard shrugged, “Traded the gas station owner for it. The guy apparently found a couple of bars and was willing to give it out in exchange for something.”

K eyed the chocolate before looking at Deckard. He had begun to feel it melting under the heat of his fingers.

“Well, are you gonna try it or not, kid?”

K looked at the bar. He supposed eating it would be a good way to rid his fingers of the uncomfortable stickiness he encountered with the melting substance. Taking a bite, K’s tongue was surprised at the flavour. He wasn’t expecting something so creamy and sweet, though, creamy wasn’t exactly the perfect word to use but it melted and went down easily. When his mouthful had gone, he took another bite and then another. Soon, the half bar was gone and he was left with chocolate on his fingers which he licked off before wiping them onto his sweatpants.

Deckard looked pleased, “Better than those pills?”

K nodded, “Yeah.”

There was a quiet moment between the two of them before Deckard spoke up again.

“You should go back to sleep, kid.” K gave a nod, “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“The chocolate will help.” The replicant spoke.

Deckard chuckled before turning back around to tidy the cans of beans back to how they were before he had gone rummaging, “Yeah, I guess it will. Goodnight, son.”

K felt himself freeze at the word.

Son

He was surprised everytime Deckard said it. Son.

A son was somebody real. Only somebody real could be a son and K was not.

“Goodnight, Deckard.” K said to the older man.

The latter sighed and turned around.

“How many times do I have to tell you to just call me Rick?” He asked. There wasn’t any scorn in his voice, “You helped me reunite with my daughter and I saved your ass from bleeding out in the snow. I’m sure we’re on a first name basis.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize, son.”

There it was again. Son.

This time it caught K less off-guard but still made him feel something strange on the inside. He felt warm? Just like how the chocolate got warm under his touch.

“Goodnight, Rick.” There was a brief pause between the two words as K internally reminded himself to call the older man by his first name.

“Goodnight, K. Go get some rest.”

K moved off his seat and turned around, moving back to where his sleeping bag was in the other room. As he got on the floor and into the material he felt his abdomen strain slightly where he had been stabbed. Maybe one day, if they had a more permanent place to stay, they would invest in beds. K chose not to zip up the sleeping bag but instead draped the material over his chest. He glanced over to where Ana was sleeping peacefully, chest rising and falling steadily. He felt a sudden pang of warmth similar to how he felt before when Deckard, Rick, called him son.

K turned his head back towards the ceiling and looked at the cracks. Soon, he shut his eyes and darkness flooded him. Though he did initially struggle to find rest, this was far from his sleepless nights back in his apartment in LA. It was new and it made him feel more real.

#officer k #ryan gosling #officer k fanfic #officer k fanfiction #blade runner 2049 #blade runner 2049 fanfic #blade runner 2049 fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfiction #ryan gosling fanfic #officer KD9-3.7 fanfiction #rick deckard fanfiction #dr ana stelline fanfiction #harrison ford fanfiction

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miniscule-meow · 24 days

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Something Unexpected (24)

Masterpost Wordcount: ~2.7k Warnings: Mentions of non-con touch? First Part | Last Part| Next Part (Soon)

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Tucked inside Deckard’s pocket, Lark is sheltered from the majority of the action happening at the docks. There are more humans here than she’s ever experienced before, and she can tell that just based on the sound alone. Even compared to the lavish ball in the castle, where everybody who was anybody was in attendance. Even compared to the lively hall of the tavern, where anybody who was nobody gathered that very same night. Overwhelming would be an understatement. Just beyond one wall of fabric, the whole world.

That’s the sort of thing that makes a person feel awfully small.

There’s a whole wide world out there, more people than you can fathom, more places than you could dream up, and then there’s you. Huddled in the bottom of some bastard’s pocket, like a handful of spare change.

The wide world outside her little pity-party is bustling. People are shouting, calling out to one another across the docks, living their lives to the fullest. As Deckard’s confident footfalls carry him forward, she’s able to hear snippets of passing conversations. Two ladies complimenting one another on their fashionable choice of hat. An awkward first date that might not be going so well, they pass by before she can really tell. A patron haggling with a seller over the price of the catch of the day, claiming that, by the smell of it, it might have been the catch of last week.

Despite herself, a smile blooms across her lips. Just judging by these bits and pieces of conversation, one might think that humans and fairies aren’t all that different after all. Ladies gossip about the latest trends. Young love takes its first, albeit shaky steps. Thrifty, or perhaps, frugal shoppers try to get the best deals. Such conversations she’s hearing now could easily be heard while walking through the markets back home.

Home.

The thought brings a sharp twinge of sadness to her. It reduces any mirth she finds here into something more bittersweet. She hasn’t felt a wave of wanting home this strongly in some time now. Or maybe it’s just that the constant want became overly familiar to her. The pain simply bled into the background, varnishing every situation that she’s found herself in since she left with a thin layer of homesickness. Like a fabric that’s off-white, but so close that you can’t truly discern the difference, until a closer match is placed by its side, she’s been feeling off, but couldn’t put her finger on it until this moment. That’s how she’s felt then, tea-stained. Steeped in misery.

Ugh, she’s waxing poetically again.

Flowery metaphor aside, she feels a fresh spike of loss thinking of home once more. It’s such an unfortunate thing, to be homesick for a place you can never return to.

Even if she could return, it would never be the same. She wouldn’t have the child-like innocence, or perhaps the better word would be naivety, that she possessed before. Never again would she be able to fly through the forest and race up to be the first to reach the highest branch. Even something as mundane as sharing laughter with her friends, that’s gone. All she’s left with are the people who’ve sent her to the wolves- no, it’s worse – they’ve sent her to the humans. Her entire kingdom has turned their backs on her. But ask any one of them, they’ll probably tell you that she turned her back on the entire kingdom. Upon her return, the court would simply send her right back to the humans. She has a duty to fulfil after all. That’s the best-case scenario. The worst-case scenario would be… probably execution, if she had to guess. She has to be wanted for at least two different counts of treason at this point. Abandoning her people, toppling the treaty they’ve worked so hard for generations to establish, making an utter fool of herself, and of her kingdom. Her list of failures is starting to become more impressive than her list of accolades.

No, Ilek, the Fae Kingdom, that’s not her home anymore. It never will be her home again. She's grown to accept that.

And yet, she still aches.

The word home has almost lost meaning to her now. It’s supposed to be a respite. A place of warmth. Somewhere where you are surrounded by people who love you, and who care about you. Home is where the heart is, that’s what they say isn’t it? So, where then is her heart?

She doesn’t know.

She supposes her heart is… well, just right there in her chest. So, for now, home will have to be what she makes of it. That would be the optimistic approach anyway. Though it makes her wonder, is optimism supposed to leave this hollow sting in your chest like that?

She shouldn’t get all introspective like this. It never leads to anything good anyway. But when you’re stuck in a blasted pocket, it will give you plenty of time to think, and to think, and to overthink. And with that, there might come a little bit of introspection.

Lark sighs, and even stifled in the pocket, she can catch a hint of salt on the air. They must be getting close to the ocean. She shifts, desperately wishing she could see it for herself. There will be plenty of time for her to experience the ocean when they’re on a boat in the middle of it. She’s never seen the ocean before, and she’s never been on a boat before, but she imagines she’s about to be well acquainted with both of those things very soon now. When she asked Deckard about it, he talked about the salt in the air, and how the water reaches out to touch the sky, and how being on a boat can be one of the most terrifying and one of the most freeing feelings you could ever experience, all at the same time. Maybe for someone who can’t fly it is, but for her, the thought of being caught out in the middle of that much water just makes her grimace.

A gentle pressure forms around her from the outside of the pocket, pulling her in and making the cramped space even tighter. Her repositioning must have reminded Deckard that she’s there, causing him to place a hand over her.

“Almost there,” he murmurs. Likely due to her position in the inside pocket of his coat, his gentle voice cuts through the noise of the docks and vibrates straight through her. This feels weirdly intimate to her, practically snuggled against his chest. She knows that to him, it's nothing. The difference between placing a hand over her, and searching idly for his pocket watch would be virtually indistinguishable. There is no warmth in this gesture to him. She’s just another article littering his pockets. It’s dizzying to think that something could be so substantial to her, and be nothing more than a passing thought to him.

That’s the sort of thing that makes a person feel awfully small. Wait, she’s thought that before.

Well, maybe it’s just that when you are ‘awfully small’ it doesn’t take a lot for you to feel like it.

Deckard’s hand falls away, returning her containment from claustrophobic territory, back down into merely stifling.

“Oi, there he is then! Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” A deep voice calls out.

“More like a sore in the eye, I’d say,” a woman’s voice laughs in return.

Lark’s about to go back to playing her game, imagining the lives of these strangers from the one sentence she hears from them in passing, when the rhythm of Deckard’s steady footfalls comes to a halt.

“Hey! Behave. Don’t you know you’re in the presence of a genuine member of the royal court here?” the first voice responds, barely containing his own amusement.

“Hm, I don’t know if court jester really counts as being a member of the court,” The two of them dissolve fully, and Deckard joins in, his chest rumbling with laughter. Lark finds herself tossed around and squished against the solid wall of Deckard’s chest as the three humans hug greetings to one another.

This simply punctuates the fact that though she is inside his pocket, she exists entirely outside this conversation. Whoever these two are, they seem awfully happy to see Deckard.

“So, what brings you crawling back to us?” the deep voice asks teasingly. “Did the royals finally get tired of you and throw you out?”

“How much did you bet on that? I'm not answering unless i get a cut,” Deckard retorts with another laugh. “Really though, it’s the sort of story I’d like to tell after settling in, and getting a stiff drink.”

“Understood. Well, come on then,” the feminine voice chimes, and with that the three of them are off. Well, the three of them plus one stow-away fairy.

---

The steady sway of motion doesn’t cease once they leave the dock. At first, she thought it was just Deckard, but come to find out, this is just what being on a boat is like. An endless pushing and pulling, movement beyond your control. It’s interesting. She thought that there was no way a human could experience anything remotely similar to the loss of control that comes with being held in a pair of hands, but it seems as though this could be close. Close. It’s not like the ocean has a mind of its own, or dexterous fingers that could pinch and prod and manipulate and ravish you. Though, when on a boat you are subjected to the whims of the currents nonetheless.

It seems as though humans have a sense of awe for this sort of thing. Perhaps, it’s their hubris. They think there is some possibility of them feasibly taming the beast, the ocean. They think they could harness its power and wield it as their own. To that, she says, humans are thick, foolhardy creatures. She’s never seen it, but she can already tell, a human has as much of a chance at taming the ocean as she does at taming a human. It’s a truly laughable thought. And yet, humans seem to rejoice and to fear it altogether. Maybe they have a respect for its power. Maybe they find a way to work together. Maybe they set out into the middle of an uncaring void of wind and waves, and their little ships are crushed to bits, and dragged to the bottom of the ocean, and they’re never heard from again. Then, other humans see that and think, wow I can’t wait for my turn to try that. It’ll be different for me.

No, she does not think she likes the ocean. Not one bit.

She just wishes she could have reached that conclusion before being smuggled onto a ship.

“Alright so,” Deckard hesitates. “Well, you probably won’t believe me unless I just show you so… We’ll start here I guess.”

Her world shifts as he pulls at his coat, his fingers dip into the pocket, pulling it open enough for her to clamber up and fly out. Except she stays put. As much as she would relish in being out of this sweaty prison and into some fresh air… there are humans on the outside of this pocket. Her trust or mistrust of Deckard aside, being kept close to his heart is a good way to ensure her protection. One thing she can be certain of is that he’ll do what he can to save his own skin. Pulling her out in the open is another story entirely. If things went south, would he really do anything to help her?

At her hesitation, Deckard looks down, peering into the pocket. She looks up at him with wide eyes, seeing only a sliver of his face. A whisp of dark hair, a portion of a green eye, a furrowed brow.

“Come on,” he mumbles to her, before looking back at his friends, “Sorry, hold on.” The silence from across the table is palpable. She imagines what this must look like to someone on the outside. The picture of Deckard muttering into his pocket, he must look rather strange. “You’re fine, come on,” he says quietly, talking to her again. She shakes her head fervently. She can’t see much of him, but she would swear that he just rolled his eyes.

“Deck, did you hit your head on something recently?” The woman’s voice questions skeptically.

“No,” he huffs, “She’s being,” he starts to explain to his friends before turning the statement down to her, “You’re being dramatic.” After a pause, once it becomes apparent that she has no intention of leaving this pocket of her own accord, Deckard heaves a sigh and plunges his hand in after her. She sinks down, pressing herself against the bottom seam of the pocket as quickly as she can. She wishes desperately that she would have thought of ripping a hole in the bottom, something that would have given her a backup plan for escape. Instead, she’s quickly left with nowhere to go. His gargantuan fingertips brush against her, and once they found their quarry, she’s scooped up into their grasp. His fingers fumble around her, situating their grip on her, and she’s pulled from the safety of Deckard’s pocket, and placed out in the center of the table.

The ale in their mugs vibrate, indicating the motion of the ship. Lark keeps her wings tucked tight against her back, turning in a slow circle to observe these humans as much as they are observing her. Three human faces stare down at her. The girl, with a round freckled face and sandy blonde hair tossed up in a messy bun looks slack jawed. A man, with a deep skin tone and broad shoulders sits with his arms crossed against the table, he regards her with a look that’s some kind of mix of curiosity and apprehension. Then there’s Deckard, the smug bastard, showing off his little trinket to his friends. She doesn’t dare make eye contact with him.

Her hands grasp the fabric of her skirt, she doesn’t care if Deckard knows this as one of her ‘tells,’ she needs something to keep her grounded right now, or she might just combust. The mugs of ale, the idle chatter around the room, the humans looming above her. It was only yesterday she was somewhere nearly identical to where she stands now, and it was a nightmare. It was worse than a nightmare. Even in her dreams she hadn’t considered the vile depths of a human’s cruelty.

She can still feel the ghosts of their touch. Her body, pinched between calloused fingers, arms pinioned, limbs manipulated. Her skirts torn so they could ‘get a better look,’ If it wasn’t for Deckard stepping in, she could have been entirely disrobed in a matter of minutes. That is, if she didn’t drown in the pint of ale she was plunged into first.

Her heart hammers in her chest. Looking up at these humans, the line between memory and her current reality is blurred just enough for doubt and panic to jump electrically through her.

Deckard wouldn’t let something like that happen to her again, right?

He said he would keep her safe, didn’t he?

“Oh shit,” the blonde finally breathes, “you caught a pixie?”

A pixie?

“Excuse me?” Lark’s attention snaps to the woman, with that one word, her fear is discarded and replaced with a hot flash of anger. Her wings flare before she can think, and in a second, she’s hovering right in front of her face. The woman jerks back, surprise gracing her features. “I am not a pixie. I am obviously a fairy.” Larks feels her face growing warm. “Either you are horribly misinformed, or you are intentionally trying to slight me, and I simply will not stand for that.”

“Sorry. I- I didn’t think there was a difference?” the woman stammers, questioningly. Her eyes dart between Lark’s form and Deckard behind her.

“You—” she gives the woman an incredulous look, “Of course there’s a difference!”

“Oh. Didn’t know,” she raises her hands in surrender, “I Didn’t know,” she repeats.

“Alright. Let’s rein it in,” Deckard says, “At least let’s get some introductions behind us before we start trying to stab anyone’s eyes out.”

#g/t community #g/t writing #g/t #g/t stories #something unexpected #my writing #fairies #it's back #after nearly a full year it's back #maybe the something unexpected is the fact that i actually updated this story hah! i'm not funny it's fine

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chubbyheadquarters · 2 years

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If it’s fine by you, this is gonna be kinda of a weird request but I thought it’d be interesting! (I can send you a link to a website that lets you watch season 2!) I wanna request lmk mk,red son ,(macaque and wukong if you can-sorry-) with a S/O who’s like bee from bee and puppycat, plus if you want, their reaction to finding out their S/O is part cyborg like deckard did in the last episode in season 1 of the show, I hope that’s alright!

I'll do my best!

Genre: Romantic

Pronouns: Gender-Neutral

TW/CW: None

Character(s): MK, Red Son, Liu Er Mihou-Macaque and Sun Wukong-Monkey King

🐵MK🐵

I feel like both of your energies would bounce off of each other, Always ready to go do something together, cheery and go get em attitude. Very supportive and always willing to help one another. He appreciates that your always willing to lend an ear, and he tries to do the same for you.

When he's on break or has a day off, you're both going to the arcade, playing all the games you can before heading home and stuffing your faces with food. You essentially live in his room with him and it is messier because of that.

You're both impulsive and always ready to jump into a fight, though at times, you understand how dire a situation can be and pull him from that. He's also kinda glad that like him, you don't get a lot of the complex and complicated words and plans that his friends talk about. Pigsy definitely worries about you two.

When LBD and MK were facing off, you had used your arm to defend him, causing it to bend in an inhuman way. Of course, it scared him, and even when you tell him the truth about being a cyborg, he’s still scared. Just because you're a cyborg or whatever doesn't mean you should use your self as a shield! You'll both have a talk about it when you can.

🔥RED SON🔥

Why you're so chill about a lot of things, he doesn't get, but he's met weirder. Your cherry attitude about a lot of things also confuses him, but he let's it be since you like it. He appreciates that you get serious when the situation calls for it... But it does worry him when you rush into battle without a plan. Poor boy's gonna have a heart attack one day 😔

He definitely pushes you to do stuff, and refuses to let you procrastinate, especially if it's something that can easily be done. If it's something more serious/emotional, then he'll be more supportive and he'll do it with you if it helps ease your mind.

If he EVER finds out the state of your home, he's gonna stay with you and make sure you keep it clean. After a month of staying, he decides to go back home. You promise to take care of it better and keep your word. He does inspections everytime he visits with you always talking about how you missed him. Cue blush.

He finds out about your robotic nature after you come home, all bruised up and arm close to falling off. It freaks him out, and it doesn’t help how nonchalant you are about it. He does his best to fix it, and you’re telling him everything. He’s still a bit upset that you didn't tell him earlier, but accepts it none the less. He fell for you. All of you, and nothing’s gonna change that for him.

🌙MACAQUE🌙

He found you a bit weird at first. Your kind nature, random bursts of energy and your quick witted sassiness. It made him curious, so he decided to stick around, teasing you and picking harmless fights whenever he has free time. And then uh oh he falls in love and is in panic mode. He confesses later on don't worry-

He doesn't mind that you're not that smart, and if anything, kinda likes that you need him to explain things to you. It makes him feel needed. He also likes how you never push him about where he's been or what he's been doing. You just ask if he's okay and comfort him should he need it.

He notices that you're oddly good at calming him down. From talking him down from a panic attack, to letting him vent and scream. You'll even offer him a ride on your motorcycle, letting the cool, night air calm the both of you. It scared him at first, knowing that you could clam him to such a degree, but began to lean into it. Your presence made him feel...safe.

When he finds out, it’ll most likely be when the two of you are training. He’ll be pushing a little harder that day, and he'll swing a bit harder, denting your leg. Obviously, he's freaking out a bit, but you explain your cyborg nature. He'll ask why you never said anything, to which you expressed fear of him pushing you away. Maybe it could be the first time you see him without his glamor.👀

☀️SUN WUKONG☀️

He appreciates how you'll laze with him, especially when you let him rest on your plush thighs and run your hands through his hair. How you'll both snack on his food and watch random shows, snuggling together and enjoying each other's presence.

He's so glad that there's someone else who doesn't like water like him. Granted, he doesn't know the reason, but it's whatever to him. You have your reason, he has has. Safe to say, there are no beach dates.

The two of you train together from time to time, and he's always curious about your strength. You don't really have answer and shrug it off, saying that you've always been pretty strong. He's definitely used his gold vision when he first saw your display of strength, but he never found anything suspicious, so he let it go pretty quickly.

When he finds out about about your true nature, he’s a bit stunned. At least it explains how and why you’re so strong. He'll ask why you didn't tell him, so when you tell him that you were scared of his reaction, he'll be a bit surprised. “Sweetheart, I’m an immortal monkey. I’m not exactly normal by any means.”

Sorry for any spelling/grammar errors!

#chubby reader #lmk x chubby reader #lmk x reader #lmk x y/n #x chubby reader #lego monkie kid #lmk #red son x chubby reader #red son x reader #macaque x chubby reader #macaque x reader #sun wukong x chubby reader #sun wukong x reader #wukong x chubby reader #wukong x reader #mk x reader #mk x chubby reader

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