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diamagneticcoordinationcomplex · 1 year

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hi hi its me u know that pink fan who dumped too many words in one comment instead of spreading it out by chapter like a normal person lmao

(psst it was to lure u into giving spoilers accidentally but damn it didnt work இ௰இ)

can i say im an og fan of yours??? i really really loved ur iwft series at first sight since im also more or less an emmet simp and at that time your iwft story was a sight for sore eyes! amidst all the angst and pain, a fun bamf emmet story was something i needed! and then you continued to pump out masterpieces one after another and as you can tell i've been ummmm verrry aware of you like keeping an eye out for something new from you aware-aware haha *refreshes subscription list like a maniac*

and oh i was not being anonymous at all as i thought haha (tbh i feel kinda honored you know me even as far back as my roxana phase the world needs more roxana tbh badass bitches rule my manhwa list btw have u also read the princess 's doll shop its my pfp i love her ヾ(≧▽≦*)o)

i dont usually comment in my favorite authors' stories (tho i should probably do it more often) but when i do its going to be more or less an avalanche of words

actually i do have more thoughts about wonderland simmering in my head but i didn't include it bc i was almost at ao3 character limit lmao so i'll just say it here

i wanted to include ghetsis in my speculations bc i feel like he had a hand in whatever issue the king was having and probably pushed the rift between nobori and kudari. we haven't heard from him yet so its a sneaking suspicion 🤔 i also wanted to include allusions to kyurem since i mentioned the forest of mirrors as a boundary between wonderland and the real world and guess who's the boundary pokemon idk bulbapedia said it was a husk pokemon idk who that is *wink wink nudge nudge* and since our resident amnesiac kudari was there maybe it means something? i also wanted to make some comparisons between kyurem and the king but i felt it was getting wayyy out of hand hehe

also also as you can probably tell i believe that wonderland is very much a real place but it is also a product of a dream since gen 5 had that dream world mechanic dunno how that's gonna fit in the story but its a nice thought

i also have thoughts on the memory hall and why the king restricted the place and why ingo got like conflicting memories but i am running out of words i need to soak my brain somewhere else first byeee have a nice day/night!!!

Hello, pink one! Good to hear/read from you again! I verrrry much appreciated the long comment in the latest Wonderland chapter! :D

(Heheh, gotta keep the secrets hidden~ It's kinda hard to reply to comments without accidentally revealing things lol)

I'm delighted to meet another Emmet simp! One of the big motivators behind 'I wish for truth' was for Emmet to not be a sad sad angsty depressed boy for once. Hence, him being a mysterious, powered up, bamf lol. I'm so very glad my story was able to provide that break from the *angst* that I myself was looking for.

I'm honoured to have someone so aware of my works! Communication on AO3 is relatively limited and I don't get much feedback aside from what's available on there (and social media ain't really my thing), so it's nice to know that there are people who notice and appreciate. The concept of having fans is still somewhat foreign to me cos all I'm doing is writing stuff... (that's all self-indulgent lolol). (btw, I still haven't shaken my habit of refreshing the Emmet tag on AO3 several times a day)

I will admit that my first moments of being a writer on AO3 were verrry... stalker-y? I'd just look at the profiles of anyone who kudo-ed or bookmarked my stuff, which is probably not that creepy? idk XD (I looove Roxana, she's so cool and gosh the art in that manwha is soooo pretty. Oh, I haven't heard of princess' doll shop! I'll definitely give it a look! Thank you for the rec~)

I don't usually comment on stuff much either (bc I'm kinda bad at doing that). So I'm honoured you decided to leave such a detailed, in-depth comment on my work! Thank youuuuu~♡

Oh, I was wondering if you were almost to the limit on AO3's commenting system. It was quite the essay! :D

Now onto Ingo in Wonderland:

Ohhh, speculations regarding gen5 stuff! Ghetsis and Kyurem and dreams hmm? Interesting thoughts you have there~

We'll just have to wait and see if the mysteries of Wonderland will ever come to light... (I have a lotta lore in my head but it doesn't always get onto the paper/document screen)

Oh, I'm excited to read your thoughts/speculations on the whole memory mess! I'll be waiting here (im)patiently~ (>w<)

Thank you for the ask! A good day to you too!

#answered asks #oh it's not anon this time!#spoilers #Ingo in Wonderland spoilers #spoilers ain’t from me it’s just the content of the ask #theories and speculations

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4dtk · 3 years

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hiii i love your work!! can i request ten with touching 4 and kisses 15? the rest is up to you! <3

thank you for your kind words anon! hope you like this ^^

kisses, 15: soothing kisses

touching, 4: caressing the other’s hand

“what tiktok did you see it from this time?” you raise an eyebrow as the cool ointment is spread across your boyfriend’s hand, feeling the muscles and nerves that wound up tight due to his practice in the dance studio.

“it looked really cool i swear!” ten immediately defends himself, slotting a hand out of your grasp to grab his phone. his excited expression causes you to smile as well that his eager movements wet hair sends water droplets flying. some land on your face, others on your forearm and hands below you.

you can remember the incident as clear as day. deciding to visit your boyfriend at dance practice, you brought the members’ favourite food along with some healthy drinks. in fast strides, you reach the practice room with ease and a pass around your neck, nicely provided by wayv’s manager who thought you would need it sooner or later.

“(y/n)! you’re here!” the swivel of the door hardly comes to a stop before some of the members crowd around you, happy to help you with the weight of the packaged food.

“babe, baby! watch this,” ten calls out to you from across the studio, getting the honour of having yang yang hype him up while he does the same to himself. with a skip in his step, he takes one, two steps forward before dipping down low for a flip. it goes sideways when he stumbles out his landing, breaking his fall too quickly with a hand that has him cringing in pain.

you only shake your head at the memory as the video on tiktok concludes, having not paying attention to the professional on the screen one bit.

“you’re not watching…” the other whines, not reacting one bit when you press down particularly on a taut muscle.

“i don’t need to watch it to know it’s a bad decision, baby,” you giggle, leaning into his space to give him a little kiss, “and put down your phone, you’re just going to strain it even more.”

“i forgot how worried you become when i hurt myself,” ten laughs, beckoning you closer with a tug on your shorts. you quickly screw back the cap on the ointment before slipping into the space beside him.

the quietness of the dorms felt odd, the other members fulfilling their schedules while ten was left home to recover. it wasn’t even that much of an injury, your boyfriend showing a bit a frown when he was told that his schedules would be withheld from him.

you were selfish enough to like it, however, having more of his time where he didn’t need to focus on filming vlogs or worry about dance sequences. ten admitted it wasn’t all that bad when he feels your familiar hand travelling up his nape to squeeze gently, prompting him over to his room.

“anything on your mind?” you whisper, noticing how the other’s eyes never leave your face.

“not really. just thinking about how much you care about the members, about me,” he blurts out, rubbing a hand over your arms. “can you hold my hands again?”

you smile, wordlessly taking his hands in yours as you mirror the scene just now, thumbs going over every crevice of his skin. it’s gentler this time, going over his wrist and fingers. it sends shivers up his spine, and you chuckle at the close contact that you have on his skin, into his eyes, on his body.

“i don’t want to sound weird, but when i get feet aches can you help me with those too?” ten proposes with a grin, a giggle dying to come out and you answer with a kiss on his lips, feeling his grin seep into the way your lips meet in the middle.

your nose picks up on the shampoo ten shares with you, your brain takes note of the smooth way he brings you closer and your lips stretch to accommodate a smile that matches your lover’s.

you hum softly, bringing your thumbs over his hand just like earlier. he sighs when you break away, feeling his body loosen up even more than he thought possible at your efficient hands. eyelids fall, words slur, smile lopsided, ten’s losing himself to slumber, but he makes sure that you know of his love before he succumbs.

“i love you (y/n). i love the way you care and the way you’re rubbing my palms.”

“alright, that’s a bit specific. i don’t think you can form coherent thoughts any more,” you shove him away lightly and jokingly, “and yes, i’ll help you with you aching feet one day.”

ten pumps a small fist and lets out a yes! before it snakes around your torso, immediately taking refuge in your chest. he’s careful not to jostle his sore hands too much, keeping it limp around your waist.

ten is already long gone in sleep when you struggle to think of something equally cheesy, only arriving at something when his breath is evened out. you say it anyway.

“i’ll heal you day by day whether it’s tangible or not. i don’t think i’ll ever run out of love, not for you.”

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oftenderweapons · 3 years

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Hi!! I need to not forget to leave this idea with a trusted author so I’ve chosen to slide into ur asks w this very nsfw thing: Joon using a dick pump and vixen using a pussy pump. Simultaneously. Then having sex. That is all! I just wanted to share this with someone that could find use of it 😭

Hello, it's officially Joonsday and we're big time celebrating (sorry for the ugly banner I'm on a road trip with the fam) lessgooooooo

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (Vixen)

Wordcount: 3.5k words

Genre: smut? Pwp? Established relationship? Yes.

Warning: 18+ y'all better be adults if you're going to read this.

Trigger warnings: clearly, swearing, dick pump, pussy pump, vibrating cockring (it's becoming quite the thing for these two???) cumplay (he cums on her chest), creampie, unprotected sex (use CONDOMS PLEASE), DDLG (daddy) kink, making out, touch deprivation (? Kinda?), experimenting, mentions of oral, mentions of exhibitionism/voyeurism.

Here's my masterlist and enjoy 💜✨

Beta read by the one and only super patient golden-hearted wife, @joheunsaram

******

It was past nine pm when Namjoon entered the apartment, his eyes immediately focusing on your frame curled up on the sofa, under your chunky knit blanket. He needed to get you a pet.

You loved Moni, but he couldn't have him at his place that often since he was more of his family's dog than his.

He should get you something fluffy. Something that matched your personality. Like a toy poodle. Or a corgi.

No, a corgi wasn't fluffy enough…

He was sure he would find something suitable in a shelter. Maybe a cat? Something to keep you company.

Tutting, he shook his head as his mind wandered, trying to distract him from the panic he had been going through only a couple minutes ago. He reminded himself his current anxiety was due to surprising you with an unexpected gift, so he realised that launching himself into planning another surprise — a permanent one — was maybe not the smartest move.

Kneeling beside you, he touched his lips to your temple. “Hello, Vixen,” he spoke gently, his private voice making your eyes open, your arm reaching out of the blanket to hold him to yourself.

“Hi, baby. Did you eat? Tell me they fed you.”

He smiled. “Yeah. I grabbed dinner with Yoongi in the studio.”

You nodded and nuzzled up closer, kissing his neck sensually. “Wake me up?”

He chuckled. “Needy, baby?”

You nodded and frowned. “I'm getting my period in two days. You know I get needy.”

His knowing smile shifted to a loving one. “I know.” He looked at your face for a couple seconds, just taking in every detail. The fullness of your lips and the slight blush on your cheeks, the way you looked puffy after sleep, so soft and delicate and all his.

Oh so his.

Not falling into your temptation was almost a crime. Especially as you stretched your neck, lips lingering just one millimeter away from his.

“Ask, love.” His voice was gravelly against your face.

You looked away and relaxed your shoulders, not realising you had arched up towards him. In return he chuckled and ran the tip of his nose against your cheek. “You don’t like asking, mh?” His lips were velvety against your cheekbone. “Poor little fox.” You turned just in time for his mouth to meet yours, letting him have your sweetest whimper as his hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you. “I have a question for you, babylove.”

You stopped and backed an inch, looking him in the eye. “What kind of question?”

He sat up straight. “It makes me a bit nervous because this is not how we do it normally and… I feel like I went someplace uncharted without you and I’m a bit disoriented.”

You sat up too, feeling the nerves in his tone as he started talking faster, stuttering over his words a little.

“I… We usually shop together but I wanted to try this and I thought… I mean, we don’t have to do this and we can do this alone, or together, or… Or not do this at all or you can use this while I’m away and you need—”

“Joon,” you interrupted him, a hand on his shoulder as you tried to calm him down. “Hold on a second, darling.”

He shut his mouth and took a deep breath through his nose.

“You were shopping, correct?” you asked, trying to find reason in madness. He nodded. “What did you get? Toys, I assume?”

“Yes,” he replied calmly.

“Okay. Show me and then we can talk this out if you’d like.” You knew Namjoon’s brain tended to go a thousand miles a second, so you tried to limit the damage.

He stood and came back with a large box and scissors, opening the package. “It’s kinda scary at the beginning but… I think the final result is not that bad.”

“If that’s a furry mask I’m gonna scream and not in a good way,” you joked, trying to ease away the tension.

“Come on, we discussed that already. Hard no. No shaming, though.”

“No shaming,” you repeated, watching him open the lid and take another box out. “Oh my god.”

He looked at you, trying to interpret your reaction. “Good? Bad? Maybe?”

“Why would you make it… bigger? How do you even think I can handle bigger?” You stared at the… the thing and tried to wrap your brain around that.

“It’s not about getting bigger, it’s about lasting more.”

“We have cockrings for that!” you exclaimed, almost outraged. If anything perplexed and worried. Was he trying to break you? Send you to the ER? Because you much preferred saving yourself the embarrassment. “You’re gonna break me.”

He nodded and put the box away. “Okay, sorry.” He wasn’t even disappointed. After all he did know you were a tight fit on him and no matter how much he would stretch you, there were high chances of you getting hurt, and he obviously didn’t want that.

“No, no hold on,” you said as you realised your first reaction had been fear. “We can do that. Just not… Let’s say we can use that but the final goal is not penetration.”

Namjoon nodded. “That’s what I was thinking too. Plus, we could use that ring for buffering.”

“Yes,” you agreed. “And that should make you feel like… Like I’m sucking all of you, right?”

Namjoon halted for a second. “I don’t know, but that wouldn’t be the point.” He still remembered that one time you had almost had a breakdown because you couldn’t take more than a couple inches of him in your mouth. Since then, he had set the lowest bar in your sex life: not making you cry because you couldn’t deepthroat him. Somehow he was still traumatised by the memory. “It’s just a matter of giving you multiples, Vixen. Just that, Or fucking you feral, however you prefer to put it.”

You nodded.

“Plus it’s more of a… joined fantasy, actually,” he confessed, blushing and looking down.

So there were more surprises in that box. “Define?”

He took one more box out of the larger one. “It looks scarier than it is. It’s also, sort of… convoluted.”

You stared at the second toy, arching an eyebrow at it. “I don’t like things that keep your hands off me.”

“I know,” he reassured you, immediately touching your knee as a way to comfort you. “I know it, babylove. But this doesn’t mean my hands won’t be touching your body.”

Absentmindedly you nodded. “You want to try those now?”

He tipped his head from side to side in a so-and-so motion. “Only if you want to. We can wait till you get more acquainted with the idea.”

You thought about it for a second. “Those… devices technically mean no foreplay.”

“Well, they do the foreplay while we…” He hadn’t thought that far.

“We’ll just make out,” you said, standing up and grabbing your half of the kit. “Let’s take them out and wash them.”

Namjoon grabbed the other half and followed you. In your bathroom, you took out the toys, quickly scanning the instructions while he threw himself at his new object of interest, grabbing the toy soap and lathering everything in foam. “No reading?”

“It’s pretty easy,” he replied, rubbing everything thoroughly before rinsing and drying the tube. “I’ll read while I wait for you.”

He let the toy dry on the ledge and undressed, by now barely shy about walking around naked as he entered the shower and scrubbed himself clean with quick, brief strokes. In a bunch of minutes, you were sitting on the bed, reading the instructions of his device before he rolled down beside you, a towel around his waist. You were lounging in your panties and one of his shirts, his face already skimming the side of your thigh. “Come down here, miss Fox. Studying won’t get you straight As in this one.”

You chuckled and grabbed some lube. “Will you allow me the honour?”

Namjoon licked his lip and undid his towel, arching an eyebrow as he realised he already had a semi.

“Is it for the toy or the ‘fucking the class’s best student’ fantasy?” you teased him, pouring some cold lubricant on him in revenge.

“It’s all about having the sexiest girlfriend in the universe,” he flattered you, his hand squeezing your ass as you straddled him and grabbed the toy.

“You know you’re crazy for this, right?”

He nodded. “That makes two of us since you’re playing along.”

“Suck your dick,” you replied, saccharine sweet as you placed his cock into the plastic tube of the penis pump.

“Not when you’re so much better at that,” he cooed back, hissing a little once you pressed the base against his pelvis excessively hard — call it revenge. You studied the mechanism for starting to increase the pressure inside the cylinder. “Okay, fuck, it’s hot. I love the lube. Slippery.”

You appreciated the feedback. “Tighter?”

“Nah, hold on. We can tighten it later.” He bit his lip. “It’s very good. But… A bit cold.”

You stretched to his face and pushed his hair back. “I’ll warm it up next time. Sorry baby.” You kissed his lips, pampering him a little. He had looked so stressed earlier. And so eager too. He had to be both worried and excited about this. “My big bear,” you murmured, watching him melt for you. After all he was nothing but a tough looking boy with a gooey heart. “You were so nervous about this, huh?”

He nodded and caught your hand, holding it in his. “I love you,” he said with his million dollar smile, his eyes dreamy, his dimple shining on his face.

“I love you too, Joonie bear,” you murmured at him, your affection causing him to slip into the most peaceful of states. Yes, he felt like his dick was being squeezed and sucked, but he mostly felt entirely enamoured with you.

“Please, can you wear the toy too?”

You smiled and nodded. “Would you like to help?”

He stretched to kiss you again. He wanted more kisses. It had been so long since the two of you just made out and he missed that sometimes, just the intimacy of laying side by side, making out without things necessarily heating up. Of course he also loved when you got on top of him mid-session and ground on his thigh until you crumbled against his shoulder.

He loved even more when your hand would graze his lower belly before tracing his erection through his trousers, cupping him and squeezing him until he needed your hand on his length.

But the idea of laying side by side and focusing solely on your face was something too inviting for that night.

He sat up, a bit uncomfortable at the thing between his legs. “This makes it kinda hard to move,” he realised before finding your pvc cup. “Get comfy, my love,” he murmured before kissing your knee, crawling lower. Your legs stayed closed as you placed your feet on his thighs before getting rid of your shirt, letting him stare at the hardened peaks of your breasts. “You're so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his hands tracing the outside of your thighs, his frame shifting and stretching until he could reach for your chest, his thumbs feeling your pebbled nipples.

That was before you put the sole of your foot around his neck, pushing him back a little.

He was mesmerised by the gesture, feeling his brain short circuit as arousal hit him.

Now that he was far enough, you lifted your legs and quickly got rid of your panties, Namjoon barely resisting the need to press his whole face against your folds.

“Feisty,” he murmured, placing the toy on you, checking for your reaction. “Does it fit right?”

You nodded. “I'm tiny, it takes a bit more than it should but that's okay as long as it doesn't come off.”

He started pumping some pressure, still looking at your face to spot any discomfort.

“I think that's tight enough for now.”

He nodded and laid down beside you. “You wanna watch porn?”

You thought about it for a second. “Nah.” You rolled to the side, only to feel the toy limit your comfort.

“Maybe a pillow will help?” he mused, passing it to you.

“It feels strange. Static. Dry… Aseptic.”

He nodded. “Not a great feeling.” He also placed a pillow between his knees before cupping the back of your head and scooting closer to you. “Hi,” he whispered, breaking into a large smile.

“Hi,” you whispered back, joining your lips.

You didn't know how long you kissed, only that his hands were everywhere, rubbing your back, on your ass, pulling you closer, then pushing you back a little as he tried to massage your breasts, next tightening the pressure on your pussy pump.

“This good?” he asked, his lips already kissing the sweet spot below your ear. It made you purr and try to throw your leg over his, realising a minute too late that you couldn’t grind on him.

You made a disappointed little sound, Namjoon’s hands cupping your face and smoothening the frown on your brow with his thumbs. “It’s okay, little fox. Focus on me, babylove.”

With the most vulnerable expression, you brushed your lips to his as the tip of your nose played with his, his face glowing with a sudden bright smile before he drew a line of tiny smooches from your forehead to your chin. “I know, baby.”

“I don’t like this,” you whined, hiding your face into his neck. “I can’t feel you.”

He held you closer. “Would you like to take it off?” His hands were skimming every inch of your naked skin, soothing you.

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” you mewled weakly, feeling ashamed of the statement.

“You’re not disappointing me, ____. We’re doing this to know if we like it, my angel.” He caressed your hair.

“I can do this, I just need to get used to the lack of touching.”

“I know it’s a delicate topic for you. You can take it off and grind on me if you want,” he reassured you.

You found his pump mechanism and asked, “Do you want it tighter?”

He hummed and nodded.

You didn’t last much longer after that, mostly because Namjoon knew he was tiptoeing around a soft limit of yours and he could feel you were already vulnerable. He knew a couple tears would come after your orgasm, your body too emotionally challenged for you not to release all the tension in crying.

“Let’s take this off,” he whispered into your ear, the pressure on him too tight, almost unbearable after fifteen minutes with the pump on, three of which on the highest setting. He would make a mess of you. He knew it already. “I'm gonna cum a lot,” he said with a half-embarrassed chuckle.

“Is that an issue?” you mused, blocking his hand as he tried to remove your pump. “I… I want you to cum on me.” It was easier to say after all this time. He was almost used to it. The following request however was unusual. “On my chest.”

He nodded. “Are you sure?”

“I want you to distract me. I want to keep the toy, just distract me from it.” You bat your lashes at him. “Please.”

In his mind, he had opposed your idea for maybe half a second. “Okay. But I want you to use your safeword if need be.”

After he ascertained you remembered it, he waited for your approval on him straddling your waist, your hands immediately touching him, starting from the base and pulling to the tip, a thick blob of precum helping you as both your palms started massaging him.

“You’re so damn good at this,” he praised you. “You’re such a good girl to me.”

You glowed at the compliment, starting to stroke him more powerfully. “Thank you, daddy.”

“You’re welcome, little one,” he replied sweetly before a grunt left his lips, his body waving a little before he propped himself up with one hand. “If you keep it up, I’ll be covering your tits in cum in seconds, Vixen.”

“Isn’t that our goal?” you asked with faux naivety, noticing the way he was starting to swell.

While you angled his cock downwards, to your stomach, he placed a hand under your jaw. He wouldn’t want your face to get accidentally dirty. That was the last conscious act he did before he felt his balls tighten a bit more than earlier, a strong spurt of his semen landing on your neck, the second one between your breasts, and then a third on your left breast, your nipple peaked and glazed in his cum as he slowly came down from an unstoppable high.

“Thank you, daddy,” you said again, truly thankful for the vision of him braced over you, completely ecstatic, head thrown back as he roared in pleasure, his throat beautifully exposed.

Too bad you couldn’t put your mouth on it.

It took him a full minute to come back to reality, and when he did, he inevitably noticed that he was still hard and you were still unbelievably horny right below him.

“Joon?” you called.

“Yes, Vixen?”

“Do you think you can slip your cock inside me and make me cum with a vibrator on my clit?” Your request was posed curtly, efficiently, almost as if you were asking him how a telescope works.

He rose from his half slumber at that. “Sure about the vibrator?”

You nodded. “The mild one, you know. The one from your ring.”

He thought about it for a millisecond before kissing your forehead. “You’re a blessing”. He thought it even more as a cascade of chuckles left your mouth. He took off your pump, a tiny bit distracted by the need to suck on your wet nipple, to draw a hickey where your neck had been stained by his orgasm. Next he slipped in, slowly, whimpering at the way your cunt was soaked and puffy and full. “You feel so fucking incredible?”

“Different from usual?” you wondered, a tiny gasp leaving your mouth as he settled.

“Just very sensitive. Like round three at six in the morning,” he explained, you humming in understanding.

“It feels a bit like that actually, now that I think of it.” You laid back while he pressed the tip of the vibrator to your chest, collecting some slickness before bringing the toy to your clit and switching it on.

Your reaction was immediate. “I am sensitive,” you exclaimed before squealing, your inner walls contracting and Namjoon shifting a little. It was the combo of fullness and clitoral stimulation that made you come apart in three minutes. And then again, five minutes later.

Namjoon was shocked. After the second orgasm, he just pulled out and wore the ring, fucking you in earnest. Your usually difficult third high rolled around like nothing, Namjoon reaching his climax together with you.

He thought he was done but apparently not yet, his back on the mattress while you ground on him, taking a pause from the vibrations before placing them on the highest setting and riding him, sliding back and forth. You knew he preferred it when you bounced, but his hands led you on a rolling motion until you collapsed forward, too exhausted to cry out, just shivering in his arms, trembling as your muscles succumbed in fatigue.

“Goodness,” you exhaled once all toys were out of the picture, your body laying on top of Namjoon’s while you slipped his cock back inside you, enjoying the easy connection coming from the gesture.

“What a night,” he agreed. You were both sticky and needed a shower, but first he needed to make sure you were okay emotionally. And cockwarming was specifically what you both needed. “How are you?”

“Tired,” you replied straight away. “Very fucking in love with you.”

“Language,” he reminded you before holding you closer. The shivering wasn’t stopping.

“Let’s take a bath, mh? You’re shivering. You need to relax.” He rubbed your back energetically before massaging your thighs. “You did amazing, babylove.” He cuddled you some more, staying quiet for a minute before asking, “Do you still not like the toys?”

You shrugged. “Can we talk about that later? I’m not ready yet,” you replied, still too biased about the experience to give judgement.

He nodded. “Sure thing, little fox. Come on, to the bathroom.”

“To the bathroom,” you agreed with a yawn.

Namjoon smiled. He loved aftercare baths. But he loved you more.

#kim namjoon x reader #Namjoon smut #Namjoon pwp #Namjoon fluff #Namjoon x vixen #bangtansorciere #houseofddaeng #thebtswritersclub #52hertz #thetruthuntoldnnet #Kim Namjoon fanfiction #kim namjoon scenario #Namjoon x Vixen

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rosaliepostsstuff · 3 years

Text

Safe - G.W.

A follow-up to Familiar Sheets

Pairing: George Weasley x reader

Summary: George and the reader reunite, catch up after not seeing each other for so long, then figure out their future together

word count: 2951

warnings: cursing, smutty smut smut, 18+, oral (female receiving), slight dom George, praise kink, no mention of protection before sex (but I blame it on being wizards)

That being said, since there’s a little bit more story to this one if you want to avoid the graphic stuff and nudity, I divided it off with a line:

×××××××××××××××××××××××××

Feedback encouraged! 💖

You had arrived at Hogwarts and have been waiting in the Room of Requirement. You felt incredibly weird, being in such a familiar place, surrounded by all those people you knew, everything so distracting and you were trying to keep focused.

And then the portrait of Ariana swung open again, and He walked in with a larger group. It felt like your heart was going to stop and you froze in the spot.

They started greeting each other, George looked around the room and saw you quickly, initial shock and relief on his face got fast replaced with the biggest, happiest smile.

They started going through the plan of action, Harry was talking and you didn’t interrupt, it was important. But you weren’t really listening, you couldn’t hear what he was saying.

Then they were waiting again. Lightheaded, you walked up to George and he reached his arms out to you, not sure if it was reality. You wrapped your arms around his neck and practically fell into his arms, he picked you up in the tightest embrace.

It was all overwhelming, the emotions, the sounds, you wanted to bury yourself in him and just stay like that.

He placed you back on the ground, still holding you tight against him.

You looked at his face, dazed and said “Hi” then chuckled.

He laughed with you before replying “Hi”, and kissed you with all the passion and love accumulated over so many months. Your brain had a short-circuit and you grasped onto his shoulders for support as he poured his soul into you.

After pulling away, you rested your foreheads against each other and stayed like that for a moment.

“It’s not over yet, baby,” you whispered to him, a bit desperately. “We’ve still got a bit to do.”

“I know, love.”

“I’m gonna need you to focus Georgie. Promise me you won’t think about me when the fight breaks out. Please… just stay safe. Just a bit more.” You tried your best to not let your voice break.

“I know, Princess…you be careful too. Just a bit more.”

It was early morning now, the Death Eaters had turned back and Voldemort was waiting for Harry in the forest.

George was pacing the Great Hall, all around him dead bodies or wounded witches and wizards being tended to. No Fred or Y/N in sight. He tried not to worry about you too much, he’d expect you to be helping out Harry, along with Ron and Hermione – but he got split up with Fred and hadn’t seen him since. Fred would come back.

After a few more moments that felt like hours, Fred stepped through the great entrance, supporting his weight on your shoulder. Carrying someone his size was a task, so Bill and Charlie helped you out as they were right by the door. Then you disappeared again, still having more to do.

George collapsed on a bench, relieved, and Fred was soon sat next to him.

“Thanks…” Fred said to his older brothers, who just nodded, then turned to his twin. “I’d be a goner without her, you know.”

George didn’t know how to reply, but he was only slightly surprised you’d saved Fred.

“I was unconscious and she dragged me away to revive me…” Fred recounted, still a bit shook, then they were silent for a bit.

He put a hand on George’s shoulder and with his most serious expression said, “You have to marry her now. If you split up with her after that, I’m going to have to kill you.”

George gave him a tired chuckle, “I know, Freddie. I know…”

The day after that your parents held a small dinner party, to celebrate the start of a new era and honour the ones who had fallen in the war.

Having spent the previous day mostly sleeping off, this was your first proper chance to see your boyfriend. You felt a bit giddy all throughout dinner and frankly, you couldn’t wait for everyone to leave so you could snatch George upstairs to your room.

“You’re staying after dinner, right..?” you whispered to him at the table.

“Yeah, of course,” he said matter-of-factly and squeezed your hand lightly.

“…and you’re staying the night, aren’t you?” you asked, even quieter, leaning a bit closer to him.

He tried to hold back a smirk, “Well, if I’m invited…”

After walking into your bedroom, you stepped into the middle of the room and turned around to face George. You reached to wrap your arms around his neck, his own found your waist and you stayed like that for a moment, with your eyes closed and foreheads touching.

Then he brought his hands up to cup your cheeks and kissed you tenderly, but with passion.

“I don’t know if I’d rather spend hours talking to you to make up for all this time,” he started and gave you another soft kiss on the lips, before continuing in a whisper, “or tear all of your clothes off and throw you on the bed.”

×××××××××××××××××××××××××

All these months apart weren’t easy, not just emotionally. In the conditions you were in, throughout all this time you never had the chance to touch yourself, not that you were ever in the mood with everything going on. But now, being with George again, feeling him close, his body touching yours – his warmth, his natural smell – it was like an awakening. Kissing him and now hearing those words, you could feel the warmth and pulsing between your legs, then the wetness starting to spill onto your panties.

“Or we could talk when we’re not able to move anymore..?” you said breathily, one of your hands making its way to play with his hair, the other slipping underneath the back of his shirt.

A familiar, mischievous grin appeared on his face as he leaned further down to kiss your neck, “Good point,” he said, grabbing you just below your ass and lifting you, “as always, babe”.

He put you down on your bed and his lips found yours again, then both of you started tearing off your own and each other’s clothes, only breaking the kiss when it was necessary.

Once you were left in your underwear, George positioned himself above you, he intertwined your fingers beside your head and started kissing your body – starting behind your ears, sending tingles throughout your body. He pressed small, soft kisses all over your neck, then down between your breasts. As he travelled down, so did his hands, sliding down your skin, cupping your breasts through your bra as he kissed his way down your stomach, then both of your thighs. Your hands were moving along his shoulders and messing up his hair. Luckily for you, he liked that.

He spread your legs a bit further and his lips began to travel up the insides of your thighs as you tried your best not to squirm, the good girl you were for him. Your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over the fabric of your panties. He paused there for a second and his hot breath was driving you crazy.

He took a moment to study your face, his eyes filled with lust. “You’re already so wet for me, Princess. And you’re being so good, aren’t you, baby girl?”

You whimpered, “mhm… Y-yes.” nodding eagerly.

“Good,” he said and placed another kiss right where your clit was underneath your panties, now so swollen it almost hurt.

He got back up and kissed your lips, swiftly removing your bra in the meantime. As soon as it was off, he wasted no time, he licked and sucked on your nipples. He used one of his hands to massage one of your breasts that didn’t currently have his mouth on it, and with his other hand, he stroked your pussy through your now soaked underwear.

“Georgie, please… I need you now,” you begged.

He looked up at you, “I was really enjoying myself.” He got up to his knees, “But since you’re behaving so well and asked nicely,” he continued while pulling your panties down.

You felt relief as he brought his lips to your pussy. He wasn’t in for teasing anymore, he licked and sucked to bring pleasure, thanks to all the build-up it felt so sweet you were a moaning mess right away, grabbing at his hair and shoulders to ground yourself. It didn’t take long before you started getting close. Unable to speak up you tug at his hair and squeeze his shoulder a little tighter. George brings up two fingers to massage your entrance then pushes them in. It took a few pumps to push you over the edge, you shut your eyes tight as your vision turned black for a moment and dug your feet into the mattress, a tide of pleasure washing over your body.

You opened your eyes to him caressing your cheek with the tips of his fingers.

“How do you feel, baby?” he asked with care, a small smile on his lips.

“Good. That was intense, but good.” He kissed your forehead. “I’m ready for more now,” you told him with a mischievous glint in your eye and a smirk made its way back onto his lips.

George brought both his hands to your hips, “That’s my girl,” he whispered in your ear, before turning you over so you were laying on your stomach and anticipation started to build up between your legs again. He lifted your hips so that you propped yourself on your knees, then ran his hands over your ass and squeezed.

He placed a kiss on your bum and before pulling his lips away, spanked you, making you moan out a curse into a pillow.

He took off his boxers and you saw precum glistening on the tip of his cock before he positioned himself behind you.

George pushed in slowly halfway in, his grip tight on your hips and your jaw dropped in pleasure, then pulled out and pushed in again, all the way in with a low growl. “Fuck, baby… you feel so good on me.” He gave you a moment to adjust to his length, kissing and caressing your body.

He started to move, the first few thrusts slow but then he built up a quick pace.

George was being rough, not being able to control himself once he was finally inside you after so long. He didn’t hold back any of the sounds he was making either – and you loved it, all the moans, groaning and cursing.

“Look at you, Princess, taking me so well. Merlin- I missed fucking you senseless so much, you have no idea”

“I- I missed it… just as much,” you managed to get out in between moans as he pounded into that sweet spot. Soon you were clenching around him as you came and he did too, his warm cum inside of you adding to your pleasure.

It wasn’t your finishing note, though. As soon as George was hard again, you were underneath him, tangled in a tight embrace as he was pushing into you, at a slow pace this time, making sure you felt all of him as he made love to you physically and verbally.

When you finished, your body was so tired, but you felt blissful, ecstatic. After you’ve caught your breath George carried you to the bathroom.

You leaned against the sink as he turned the water on and was making sure it was the right temperature. It gave you a chance to get a proper look at his body when you weren’t in the heat of the moment. He looked just like before you left.

“Like what you see so much?” you hadn’t noticed he turned to you with a shit-eating grin.

You gasped lightly, feigning shock. “George, I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually. I like you, you know. I think we could be more than friends…” you played, strolling over to him.

“Mhm, if you’re nice I can take you out for a coffee.” He said pulling you into the shower cabin. “But – I don’t kiss on the first date, just so you know.”

You snorted, “We’ll see, Weasley” you winked at him and you both laughed.

George washed your body and you felt a huge weight off your shoulders as the worries of the last months or maybe even years melted away and you leaned into his touch more.

“It’s finally over, huh?” you started as he was rubbing your shoulders.

“Hm?”

“The war. The worrying. The threat.” you listed, only now starting to believe it.

“Oh, yeah… We’re free now.” He said and paused his movements for a moment, deep in thought. Then he kissed the top of your head but didn’t say anything. You didn’t ask, still in a bit of a trance.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××

“It still seems so surreal” you spoke, snuggled into George’s side underneath the bed covers. “Being here. At home, safe.” You pressed your face to his neck and he held you a little tighter in his arms. “With you… and it’s gonna stay that way,” you mumbled against his skin.

“It does a bit, doesn’t it?” he said, “And life’s gonna get back to normal… What’re you gonna do now?”

Frankly, you didn’t know. Ever since the war came along your plan consisted of staying alive and protecting your loved ones. When you left to help Harry you couldn’t be sure you would get back. You were prepared to die if it meant saving others. Getting back to George was all you wanted before and your thoughts had never made it further.

“Dunno… Take my time, rest a bit, get used to being back at home… I’ll have time to spend with you, too – you’re not going back to work right away, are you?” you lifted your head to look at him.

He chuckled sleepily, “No, maybe not right away. We’ll take some time off, we’ll see.”

“You better…” you said, fighting a yawn that escaped your lips anyway.

Over the next couple of weeks, you somehow got back to normal – or found a new normal. You stayed at home with your family, still getting back used to the safety of home, you tried to go out with your friends, but also figure out what it was that you wanted to do with your life now.

George and Fred opened the shop back up and got back to their usual routine. It was a Saturday with everyone at the Burrow, and the twins had managed to catch Hermione off guard, on her own – with no one around to listen.

“Hermione, I need a favour,” George said simply, leaning back on the counter as she was getting a glass for herself.

She looked at him with slightly furrowed eyebrows, “A favour?” She looked between the two and they nodded with serious expressions on their faces.

Hermione got slightly worried, they weren’t at Hogwarts anymore, they wouldn’t need help with homework.

“Well, what is it?” she asked a bit impatiently.

“First of all, I turned to you because I trust that you value your true friend, my wonderful girlfriend Y/N,” he started and her worries went away, as he wouldn’t be making that kind of speech in an emergency.

So she grabbed her glass of pumpkin juice and sat down at the table and nodded, ready to listen.

“I trust that you value her dearly and therefore I trust that you’ll be able to keep a secret, to ensure a surprise for her isn’t ruined – we know she likes a good surprise, don’t we?” she nodded again and waved her hand to speed him up.

“You see, I want to propose.”

Hermione’s eyes nearly popped out as she choked slightly on her juice, but he continued,

“I’ve got the ring, I think I know what she likes, but I wanted to make sure with you. Maybe you know better when it comes to that, maybe she said something…” he said pulling a box out of his pocket, as Hermione was coming to terms with the fact that he was indeed being serious.

“Like that she would really prefer to elope with me,” added Fred, but George ignored him.

He came up to Hermione and showed her the ring, which she admired for a moment.

“I think it’s beautiful, it’ll be perfect for her,” she stated simply, getting a bit emotional thinking about her friend being proposed to.

“Great… awesome…” he mumbled, a bit more to himself and put the box safely away.

As if on cue, when he started pacing, you turned the corner and came into the kitchen. You heard Fred say something you couldn’t quite decipher then everyone went quiet and looked at you when they noticed.

You chuckled a bit awkwardly, “What are you three up to, talking about me behind my back?” you joked. George swallowed, his mind blank, Hermione murmured something, trying to come up with a good excuse. “Merlin’s beard you were!” you opened your mouth in shock and slight amusement. Fred snorted and George laughed, “Don’t be silly love, we were just talking.”

“Yeah, the three of you never talk on your own.” you pointed your finger between them.

“I was just asking about the shop. Their last inventions were pretty great so I wondered if maybe they’re working on something new” Hermione picked up George’s attempts and Fred wiggled his eyebrows smugly.

“If you say so, gits.” you waved off, not really caring even if they were talking about you as the concept of them planning something for you, let alone a proposal, hasn’t crossed your mind.

The surprise has not been ruined.

#george weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley imagine #george weasley smut

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my-fanfic-library · 4 years

Text

Something Different {BBC Dracula x Reader} [30]

Masterlist

~^*^~

Slowly, as if completely hesitant to, you opened your eyes. Renfield was centimetres away from you, looking left, down to the end of the alley where he stood. The look on his face was unmatched. He was standing with his hands in fists, head a little lowered with his eyes peering up. He looked animalistic.

“Dracula.” Renfied stated quietly.

“How many more times are we going to have to go through this? You can’t have her.”

Suddenly, Renfield’s hands were on your throat, cutting off your oxygen almost immediately. You gagged at the feeling, hating the way suffocation began to override your mind. At the movement, Dracula moved forward. He couldn’t afford to hurt you and he knew that Renfield wasn’t going to give you up without a fight. Your heart was pounding wildly and both vampires could hear it. It was making one hungrier than before, and the other angrier. You didn’t want to die like this. Your eyes darted to Dracula and he froze up at the look in your eyes.

“Dracula...” your voice was so small and weak, it matched how you looked forced up against the wall with his hands around your neck. Tears were streaming down your face. This needed to end.

“Hold on darling,” he whispered and pulled his phone from his pocket. Both you and Renfield watched in confusion, “I’ve got her.” He spoke into the phone, “I’ll meet you back in my apartment in about five minutes. This won’t take long.”

“What makes you think she’s going with you, Count Dracula?” Renfield called. Dracula lazily places his phone to the ground.

“Because there’s two vampires here, one wants to eat her and one doesn’t. [First], you aren’t ready to become someone’s supper quite yet, are you?” You shook your head as best you could given that his hands were wrapped around your neck, “see?” He gestured to you.

“It doesn’t matter if she’s ready.” Renfield narrowed his eyes, “she’s mine.”

“How amusing.” Dracula took another step closer, “you don’t truly believe that, do you?”

“It is the truth!” Renfield hissed.

“Alright,” Dracula began softly, “shall we conduct an experiment?”

“What kind of experiment...?”

“We put her between us, and see who she chooses.”

“I’m not a damn dog, Dracula!” You interjected.

“Let’s see, shall we?” Dracula ignored you.

“Okay.” Renfield stepped back, pulling you with him. He leaned forward, “you take one step towards him and he’ll watch my teeth take your head right off your body.” He warned quietly.

You gulped and nodded. He pushed you forwards and you stumbled a few steps. You were now between the two men, but noticeably closer to Renfield.

Your eyes locked with Dracula’s. God, you were so angry at him, but you wanted to run to him.

“Go on, call her.” Renfield challenged.

“[First], darling,” Dracula complied, stretching his arm out for you, “come to me.”

You turned your head, looking at Renfield. His eyes were daring you to disobey him; to find out what would happen if you moved towards Dracula. You couldn’t move. You were frozen in terror and then you were looking at Dracula, unable to make your way towards him. Your brain was screaming at you.

“[First],” he said, a little firmer, “come here.”

“...I... I can’t...” you whispered.

“Yes you can, sweetheart, come to me.”

He was growing impatient. Why wouldn’t you just move towards him, away from Renfield?

“I can’t,” you whispered again. You were trying to convey that if you moved, you would most certainly meet your doom. At last, the realisation dawned on his face.

“It’s okay, darling.” He softened the look in his eyes. He needed to get you out of here. Renfield was closing in on you again, “stay right there.” He warned, “don’t go any nearer to her.” Now, Dracula was moving forward.

Renfield’s hand wrapped around your wrist, and you whimpered at the contact.

“Drac-“ you cut yourself off, not knowing what to do now.

“You lawyers are all the same, aren’t you? Never listen. You all believe that you are right, that you are doing what’s just and honourable - the truth is that you are all just as corrupt as the rest of us, if not more. You make me sick. Now remove your hand before I do it for you.” You watched as Dracula rolled his sleeves up a little higher past his elbows.

Oh god.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“Please,” you whispered, mostly to Renfield, “let me go.”

“Only when your blood is drained.”

You knew that there was only one way out of this. Only you could break free - literally - from this situation. Renfield’s nails were digging in to you. Dracula was prowling forwards. You sent him a look, a look of utter desperation, your courage trying to push through. He could melt. You were seconds away from death, yet you were trying to be strong.

Mustering up your courage, you suddenly sprinted forwards, pulling yourself free for a moment. Only a moment. Because his nails tore through the flesh on your arm, breaking the skin, making blood suddenly gush out. Even Dracula almost lunged for you as the scent of your blood exploded into the air.

Renfield had you within an instant, pulling you into him, throwing you over his shoulder and rushing deeper into the alley. Your thrashed under his grip, but similarly to Dracula, his grip was deathly.

“Drac!” You screamed, stretching both your arms out for him.

Dear God, please please PLEASE let him get to you!

Dracula wasted not one second, racing after Renfield, who was pushing trash cans and other debris in his wake. However, the taller of the two was easily jumping them, gaining quickly. You continued to kick your legs, feeling your blood trickle down to your finger tips. Your arms ached as you reached for Dracula. His entire face was etched in panic and worry. You’d never seen such emotion on his face.

He wasn’t going to let this scumbag take you away from him.

“PUT HER DOWN!” Roared Dracula, pumping his limbs. You were sobbing and he was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t get you.

Renfield, in an attempt to get away with you, began scrambling up the wall. His sudden lack of grip caused you to begin to slip and you screamed out. You heard a strangled “no” from Dracula as Renfield pulled you higher up and you began to slip from his grasp. You were looking down at the ground as you were hauled up. You could feel yourself slowly beginning to dip down, body weighing over his shoulder. He stopped halfway up the building, looking down.

“Afraid of heights, Count Dracula?” He called, pulling you back over his shoulder and starting his ascent once more.

Dracula was looking up, then around. He began to scale the building opposite and you didn’t know what his plan was. He was a faster climber than Renfield (most likely due to his many years of practise) and was easily reaching the same altitude.

He was constantly looking up at you, worried you were going to fall. You were mortal. If Renfield let go of you now, you would plummet to your death. But, his plan kind of... teased that fate...

You were sobbing, panic making your heart thunder. It was hard to draw in a breath, and you tried to focus on Dracula who was doing his hardest to get to you.

Then he called for you.

“JUMP!”

It was the adrenaline - there was no other explanation. You did exactly as he said, using your legs to vault you off of the side of the building. Your stomach dropped with the sudden realisation that you were falling and building a lot of momentum. You heard Renfield scream out, and you were nearing Dracula. Then... you were still falling. He’d missed you.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Shit.

He jumped himself, manuvering his body mid-air into a diving position. You were screaming for him. Just a little closer... a little more...

His arms wrapped around you and he pulled himself into you. You were still falling for a few seconds after he initially got you, and then his hand quite literally forced its way through the wall and you were hanging. His other arm held onto you. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck as you sobbed into his chest.

“I’ve got you, darling.” He breathed, “I’ve got you.” He looked up at Renfield, who was looking down in shock, “I told you she’d come to me!” He called up. And then he dropped.

You landed and he was running. As he did, he scooped up his where he left it. You clung onto him, unwilling to move a muscle. Renfield would most definitle be back. Dracula hated the sound of your crying. He hated that he could smell your blood, so fresh, and it was then that he realised you were soaking his shirt with your blood. He made it a few blocks away from where he had found you. He pulled you into another dark space and set you down on the floor. He kneeled before you, taking your face in his hands.

“Darling?” His voice was so soft, a little hoarse as if he’d been crying.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your lips into a line. Tears were still streaming down your face. Your wrist was throbbing with pain. His thumbs gently wiped away your tears.

“Are you alright?”

Nodding your head, you tried to focus on breathing. Dracula removed just hands, taking your wounded wrist. You were bleeding.

“Listen, [First], I’ve got to... get rid of this.” He told you gently, “or Renfield will find you easily. Do you trust me?”

When you didn’t answer, he used his free hand to make you look at him.

“Give me express consent to clean you up. You need to trust me with this.”

“I-...” he had just risked everything to come and get you before Renfield could harm you. He had bitten you only once, and had never physically hurt you since, “I trust you.”

“Good girl.”

He bowed his head, inhaling the aroma of your blood. Nothing compared to the smell, and the taste... he had never forgotten it. The first lick against your skin and he was gone. His grip tightened just a little, and he had to create a mantra in his head to will himself not to hurt you. Your blood kindled on his tongue. Specs of your memories burst in his mind and with every, long, slow stripe of his tongue against the deep gash, he found himself sinking into the ecstasy that your blood gave him. It was sweet, it was goodness, just like you. No ounce of hatred, or of malice like most peoples. And maybe because it was yours, it tasted even better.

His groan wasn’t suppressed and when he looked up after licking you clean, he found your head rolled back, as if it wasn’t your arm he was licking. He chuckled.

Your body had gone limp with a sudden exhaustion. After the events of the day, you wanted to sleep. Dracula pulled you up into him, carrying you bridal style back to his apartment. Upon bringing you in, Jack was at Dracula’s side, placing a hand on your forehead to make sure you hadn’t suddenly got sick due to such an influx of stress.

In all honesty, Jack had prepared himself for Dracula to come back an announce your death. He didn’t know how the vampire had managed to grasp onto you, but he was so fucking thankful.

“I’m going to put her to bed.” Dracula spike, testing to see if Jack would prevent him from doing so.

“Yeah, she’s had a long day.”

No complaint. No defence. Nothing. Had it been under different circumstances, Dracula would have smirked in his triumph. But you had gone limp in his arms and he could feel your body burning up. He really hoped that Renfield hadn’t managed to somehow turn you with the deep gash - the Count didn’t feel like tearing another being up for a while.

You crumpled into a ball the moment Dracula placed you on the mattress. He didn’t stay with you long, opting to find Jack waiting for him in the living room. He took his phone once more and sat down next to the young male.

“What are you doing?” Jack inquired.

“I’m going to be taking [First] away for a while. I’ll bring her back for the holiday season.”

“You can’t just take her-“ Dracula looked how from his phone, the blue light illuminating the underside of his face, giving him a sinister glow.

“Would you prefer for Renfield to show up again and succeed in drinking her blood?”

“I... no.”

“Well then. Leave it to me, I’ll find somewhere nice for her. I’m not going to drag her to some deserted village in the middle of nowhere.”

~^*^~

Jack left after another half an hour. He told the vampire to keep an eye on you, as your body had a tendency to shut down in the aftermath of intense stress. It was nice to know this information, but how would the vampire know if it was simple shock of if you were turning? Jack didn’t have an answer to that. Dracula was glad for him to leave. He wanted to spend some time to recollect himself. It had been a whirlwind few months and tonight had pushed him over the edge.

His feet carried him back to the bedroom. You hadn’t moved an inch from where he had left you, and you didn’t stir at all when the bed dipped and Dracula lay beside you. There was a terrible heat radiating from your body. He sighed, wrapping his arms around you. Normally, your warmth would comfort him, but you were like a furnace. It was too much. But Dracul held you close. It had been too long since you’d been in his arms.

Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, he took in your beautiful scent. Soon, you’d be out of here, and maybe you could be safe for a while.

~^taglist^~

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#something different #dracula #bbc dracula #netflix dracula #dracula x reader #bbc dracula x reader #netflix dracula x reader #claes bang #claes bang x reader

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neworoldnews · 3 years

Text

If your attention was ever caught by a fascinating theme, you know the feeling of being sucked into a mental dialogue.

Your inner voice, usually wandering on its aimless distractions, suddenly clicks! Dropping through a vortex of questions that curiosity begs to scratch.

This synchronised state of mind is rarely triggered during our daily tasks. So when it kicks, you are pumped with a focus strong enough to keep you wondering for hours. The Perception-high.

You mostly navigate in a pre-digested world, seeing what you would expect to see. Conditioned by predispositions, past experiences or hurried backup-conclusions.

Imagine perception as a color. The full rainbow representing the Object and each color a possible Perspective:

This is the perfect metaphor. Just like color is a brain’s hack to help you navigate, and not a property of the object itself, so your conditionings keep you moving in an otherwise overwhelming environment.

This eases decision making and enables action in an otherwise infinity of ponderation.

The mind reinforces the lessons you’ve gathered and the natural tendencies you have. It then paints the world according to your position at the rainbow.

When you look at something, you are actually throwing your colours at it and gazing back at the reflection. Imprisoned by a bubble of your own echo, moulded by imperfect barriers that guide your way into practicality.

Often, not aware of this colourful spectrum, we keep confusing our simplistic representations with the things in itself. The world stretches through our eyes so widely that is hard to notice our frontiers within it.

Just like someone before Newton wouldn’t see gravity in a fallen apple, who has never fallen in love will be blind to the colours of Romeo & Juliet:

The book is open, the apple cracks against the ground. Yet the observer will place the respective color in front of the object, collecting no more than a monochromatic representation. “God wanted the apple to fall”, colorises the priest; “what a teenage angst thing to do, Romeo”, scribbles the unlovable.

Think about the most practical and material-oriented person you know. Now picture her/him starting to drive. Imagine them becoming aware of the noises in the engine. Is it possible that this thought crossed their mind?

“The little noises it makes, it’s telling me what to do. For my whole life those were just random noises, but turned out to be instructions all along!”

Observation highs vary hugely in degree. They can be subtle, adding a little nuance to an existing colour. Or drastic, adding a whole new pigment to the palette.

You’ve been excited about becoming aware of something you were previously blind to before. Now compare that feeling with a man getting his mind blown by seeing colors for the first time [here’s a video].

Now compare that with the moment Einstein saw Time as another dimension, changing the colour spectrum for humanity.

Sure, most of us will never dream of such an intense revelation. But no matter the gradient of these perceptions, pleasure and admiration will always be aroused.

It’s about freedom. Novelty! To escape the circle of seeing what you would expect to see is to stand above a new landscape. To contemplate old sights with a renewed eye. It’s being a tourists to everything.

If you want to better master observation, and fix a dose of that sweet Perception High, you must realize how much your conditionings affect the impressions you gather.

Understand your mind-mold

The framework in which your mind operates is a complex interplay of psychological representations and social conditionings. These are the things that compose your colour.

To become aware of your mindset its helpful to play with some questions first. Let’s start small, with an experiment:

Think about riding a bicycle to work tomorrow. Allow yourself to reflect on the way you reason while answering these questions:

Check my emotional pulse. Have I intuitively made up my mind before pondering?

How did I tackled it, “why not” or “why would I”? How can that be a byproduct of my education?

Can I attach a fear to my decision-making? What fear would that be?

Is my analysis based on hopes or dislikes? Can those hopes be achieved or those dislikes avoided by my present self?

Is there any stereotype or belief on my thought process? What is it?

This is important because it put you in a original position. Like stretching for your eyes, preparing you to see.

Henrique Pousão was a naturalistic painter who deeply understood the power of learning how to see. To patiently allow the eye to catch up with every side, to delay judgment and isolate the different impulses that suggest a conclusion.

For him observation was in itself an act of Creation.

TAKE A GOOD LOOK AT HIS PAINTING:

This young boy, joyfully staring at us with mellow eyes, resting from the stillness of posing, may be one of the most iconic, yet ignored, symbols regarding Observation-Creation.

It’s amazing how natural the pictured moment is.

The scene couldn’t be less pretentious, the studio is perfectly ordinary, the kid sits in a relaxed and childish way, even the working environment is somewhat mild.

It looks like you just walked in the middle of the action. Your presence caused an Interruption, so you are caught by a delightful smile and two proud eyes staring for approval.

In fact, this painting is all about Interruptions.

The boy stops posing to show you his own version of himself, drawn on a little piece of paper. Behind him, on the canvas, is the painter’s sketch for the child’s picture.

So, how many painting are here, and what can they teach us about Observation?

1 — The Child’s Sketch

The boy shows no respect for the ritual of painting.

Turning his back on the canvas while breaking his pose, the child interrupts the painter to show a rippled piece of paper. He doesn’t do it out of malice nor ignorance, but out of a light-hearted disregard for convention.

Why show reverence to something just because it’s drawn in a proper canvas? Why not be proud of a piece of paper if it’s saturated with the same matter as the masterpieces: Pure Creativity.

The Child doesn’t aspire to rebel against anything, there is no duty in his creation. But the force he is driven by shows no mercy to authority, it is empowered by the value of curiosity and excitement in itself.

All principles are new and noble, all approaches worth considering. “Truth” is but a toy to be played with, open to amusing construction, while ideas are molded, tossed, mixed and joint like pieces of LEGO.

Nothing is too absurd, nothing is too serious, nothing is too evident!

It there was not a child in our way to Perception High, then Galileo Galilei would never have dropped balls from the Leaning Tower of Pisa, disclaming the solemn Aristotelian theory of gravity.

Never would Hennig Brand boild his own piss to discover phosphorus, or would anyone conceive the idea of a cat being both alive and dead at the same time.

It’s all about the freedom, the innocence, to level all that was thought and seen to a common ground where new values and concepts can flourish.

Interrupting authority, fuelled by Pure Creativity.

2 — The Canvas Draft

The draft presents a perfected version of the boy, nobler and more beautiful.

His wide potato nose is portrayed as small and delicate. The hat on top of his ragged clothes even seem aristocratic. His meditative head rests upon a steady hand. There is an overall feeling of idealisation

Somewhere, right now, there’s some small group of people working in a garage, dreaming about, if every single thing goes smoothly, changing the world.

Some eventually will. If Apple, Google or Microsoft had never dreamed of the most positive possible scenario, then how could they have aspired to be what they’ve become?

While playing with an idea, feel free to extend it into it’s most extreme scenario. Elaborate a whole mental experiment, or invent completely new laws and models.

The painter interrupts the boundaries of reality to go beyond the limits of his physical theme.

This is when you don’t think about how things are, but question about how things could be.

That thought functions as an arrow, pointing to a distant bright destiny that you ought to follow. At the dawn of agriculture, a man envisioning a golden field of wheat. A revolting slave dreaming of equality. A deaf scientist wishing to hear…

Though the complete opposite is also relevant.To warning us about just how bad something can become.

These are the so-called Utopias and Dystopias, and they are both a great compass and magnifying glass, when operated by Idealization.

3 — Henrique Pousão’s Painting

There was a moment when Pousão understood he would not be satisfied with what he was portraying.

That he would be missing something if he kept on painting the initial, sketched, version of the child’s portrait. So he Interrupted it.

Seeking the noble beauty he had first envisioned would cost him authenticity. By pursuing the classic canon, the stylised portrait that is set to elevate Art from the mundane (with its picturesque backgrounds and romanticised beauty) Pousão would then be blind to the real boy.

Blind to a shy smile concealed by proud eyes. He would never notice the elegance with which the child’s ragged, old, shoes touch the ground like a ballerina. And the chance to capture a manner so subtle, so enriched with truth, would be lost.

Roar back at the loud command of expectations. Both your own and all others. Understand that you also take part in shaping the concepts that are so often taken as truth.

Doing so widens possibility. Look beyond present conventions and morals. Shape this structure, because it will eventually also change your own views in a loop. Society is an ever mutable cycle of transformation. Check any history book.

The ability to sacrifice one’s present vision and opinion is the great virtue of adaptability. To be always permeable, taking pride in once being wrong and honouring not being sure of anything.

Embracing reality in its full scope, even when contradictory or hurtful, is to be synchronised with its complexity.

Facing ugliness with a wholesome disposition is what got us using Viruses, infectious agents responsible for taking countless lives, to Cure such diseases as cancer.

4 — Your Observation as a Painter

Though the paint didn’t move, the painting has changed. It’s no longer the one you’ve first seen. It has been painted over.

For every new observation a pigment has been added. colours been deepened and shapes widen.

In any sport, game or activity, enjoyment consists in taking part, is being committed to imprint your individuality, feeling and being engaged.

You stood, facing the canvas, in the position of a Painter. Ready to pick up the brush Pousão so thoughtfully left within your reach at the left of the canvas. Reminding that it up to you to give colour to any observation.

Facing the fact that we are painters of our impressions is as empowering as liberating. It offers the world as a palette to explore, strengthening our ties with everything and setting observation as an act of creation.

In a strange way the freedom granted for painters, to enthusiastically and with imagination depict their views, don’t set them apart from reality.

Quite the contrary, it allows them a stronger connection and sensibility with it, as it promotes inquiry and critical sense. The absolute contrary of Apathy, the great responsible for neglecting one’s relation to knowledge.

If you weren’t a painter, then Pousão’s masterpiece would have a painting less: Yours, an ever-changing piece.

There is no such thing as empty things or people. Just elements filled with something you haven’t yet learned to see.

By keeping in check Pousão’s lessons things appear less solid and more like an interplay of invisible fabrics. A tissue of colours filled with nuance, waiting to be experienced from every angle.

If everyone is looked at as a painter, then discussions are more fluid, people more tolerant, observation more engaging, and things just a lot more interesting to look at.

Do you remember becoming aware of something you were blind to? What?

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northernwinedregs · 4 years

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Truth Or Dare

Date night. You grab a bite to eat together and head to one of your favourite bars, some subterranean dive with red brick walls and comfy leather booths. The kind of place that even in the early evening pulses music so you can barely talk and be heard; they want you to talk less, drink more, parting with your money and inhibitions. Before long the homemade halloumi fries and mozzarella dippers start looking good, and your bank account's a tenner lighter and your stomach's greasier.

You both like this place because it's pretty and unpopulated at this time. There's no queueing at the bar, you have your choice of booths. Later, when the door is guarded and the place fills up, the heat and noise coats everything, like a film of sweat on the walls. When low conversation turns to raucous shouts, when the speakers gargle bass like a heart palpitation, when every minute is a summer Friday night. But for now, it's a place for people who want to take photos of their food, who want to chat idly over a few games of pool, who want that rarest of things – a discreet corner table. The bar staff have the relaxed luxury to make cocktails well now.

You get the door and head in, down the industrial staircase. A thought occurs to you.

“Truth or dare?” you ask her.

She looks at you for a minute, weighing up not the question but the possibilities it entails. It's a game, a menu for the evening. Previous dates have taught you her competitive streak: the way she thrashed you at bowling, the ungracious card game victories, the pub carpet lap of honour after hitting a bullseye. She had to be – and was, inevitably – the best even at throwing cashew nuts up and catching them in the mouth. An arched eyebrow tells you enough, that she's playing to win.

“Dare,” she says.

“When we order at the bar, I dare you to put on a fake accent.”

“Pfft, easy.”

So you reach the bottom of the staircase, cross the deserted expanse of hard wood floor, the sound of heels muted by a throbbing bass line from the speaker, and approach the bar.

“Well howdy,” she says to the barman, in a thick and entirely unconvincing Southern drawl, not quite sure of its origins. In two words she manages to straddle the border between Texas and Louisiana, settling down in neither state. “Gee, this place sure looks swell,” she adds, re-locating decidedly northward, and spinning back in time to a sterilised trans-Atlantic voice.

The barman blinks in surprise and decides not to question it. You can't help but smile, at her willingness and gumption, if not accuracy. Not that you could do any better; your own voice is a soft mud of glottal stops and incapable of anything else. “What can I get you?” he asks.

“I'll have a Guinness,” she says brightly, accent taking a trip back across the ocean to Dublin. And then, glancing over the cocktail specials chalked on the board behind the bar, she says, “I dare you to try that.” Her well-travelled accent, having moved from the north-east to the south goes west to California, and she's pointing at a cocktail called the Barroom Blitz.

A dare's a dare, so you order the Barroom Blitz, and double down on the decision even after the barman questions the time and its strength. “Okay,” he says like a warning. “I'd stick to one of them though.”

He busies himself with the cocktail. She gets her Guiness and sips it, while you chat and her pseudo-American accent travels from state to state, never quite finding a home. “Well, shucks,” she says at one point and cocks her head to the side when you laugh. She's taking the game seriously, even if her accent is an unconvincing nomad.

Your drink is ready and only when it's presented on the bar that she laughs. An oversized martini glass holds a sloshing neon green, with a fluorescent umbrella and a bright straw. Like nothing occuring in nature. A sci-fi sort of drink, the kind of thing that'd get dispensed from a machine called an Inenbriator3000. The insides of a cartoon alien. You thank the barman for this luminescent monstrosity, pay, and find a corner booth at the back of the bar away from prying eyes and the intrusive music.

She takes off her leather jacket and sits in the corner so as to watch the rest of the bar. You take off yours and sit across from her, with only her and the corner to look at. Not that you'd want to look at anything else: without even a sip of the bright green Blitz you are already intoxicated, the shadows welling around her, the brightness of her lips in the darkness, the white of her eyes in the semi-gloom.

“Go on, try it,” she says with a smile, accent now moved back home for good. You do, and it's strong and unbearably sweet, like a romantic bodybuilder or a sledgehammer made of gummy bears. Like a lime on steroids with the attitude to match. Like a psychedelic apple from a liberal-minded orchard. You ask if she wants to try it – not a dare, just want to share – and she does, leaving a lipstick impression on the rim, and in one pulpitating moment you are so jealous of the glass.

“How's the Guinness?” She takes another sip, as if needing a reminder and shrugs.

“Good. Tastes like Guinness.”

“That's all right then.”

She leans forward on the table, arms crossed under her. Expectant, keen, anticipatory.

“Your turn then.” And, at a quizzical look, “truth or dare, your turn to ask.”

“Oh right.”

And so it begins in earnest, back and forth. The punishment if you refuse to answer, or fail in the dare is you have to finish your drink in one: a task for her, to chug a pint of what is essentially ale soup, heavy on the stomach; a task for you to glug something so sickly sweet as a viscous pick n'mix.

Truth: most embarrassing moment, the time she passed out at a party and woke to a hundred photos online of her inebriated corpse grafittied with pen. Truth: your biggest regret, the way you crashed out of university with very little to show for yourself. Dare: she slinks across the bar and asks a distantly neighbouring table if she can try one of their fries (she can, and they're pretty good). Dare: another round, another Ballroom Blitz, and this time she joins you. Dare: she goes to the bar and asks if they can change the music to classical (they could, but won't, and don't). Truth: the worst fight you've been in, when you got glassed in the face and ended up breaking a rib in the ensuing scrum. Truth: favourite childhood toy, her plush rabbit named Sludge which she once left on a school trip and cried so much they drove back an hour to retrieve it. Dare: you buy a neighbouring table a drink and wave coyly when they look over, puzzled. Truth: a pet-name she's gone by, and she is mortified to admit that during an adolescent emo phase she went by Kitten. Dare: a third round, a shot each of what the bar calls a Skullcrusher. You knock them back in unison and feel your brain compress like a grape protesting a steamroller convention.

The drinks start to float through your bloodstream, making your thoughts stretch and elongate like hot rubber, your limbs elastic, and her face is flush red with tipsiness. And so too are you drunk on the sight of her bright face, the pixelating mouth. Your mind wanders to the warmth of her lips, her smoky eyes, the dark sea of her hair.

“Okay,” you say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Have you got any party tricks?”

“Yes. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Have you?”

“Yes. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“I dare you to show me your party trick.”

She looks around conspiratorially. Something about the way she glances, not nervously, but instead just to see you aren't being watched – and you're not, from the sheltered nook in the corner – makes the room dispappear, as though the periphery dissolves and closes in around you. There is no bar, no song playing. Only her, in front of you, with a tipsy mischief written on her face.

So she slides her arms under her t-shirt and starts to rummage beneath her clothes. You watch, suddenly breathless, and catch a tantalising glimpse of delicious collarbone; just as suddenly, all you want in this life is to sink your teeth into that collarbone. As you watch, you are being watched, a private moment between the two of you, eyes locked. This moment, perfomed for you, only pushes all awareness further away from your mind; the rest of the bar shrinks away to a dull haze of dim sound, a mere pulse in the bacgkround. And, with one final movement, she pulls her bra from underneath her t-shirt like a magic trick and throws it onto the table between you, as disdainfully as she would a used napkin.

She looks at you throughout this party trick, and it is her straightforward desire that moves you so much: that there exists a moment when someone is looking at you and that is all they are doing; they are looking in order to look at you; it is a smile for your benefit alone; an eyebrow arches suggestively purely for your reaction. You feel transfixed, bolted to the booth's leather by her gaze intended only for you, and all you can do is stare back, your heart racing, your skin prickling with excitement at the sharp turn in the game's narrative.

“Truth or dare,” she says and her voice is suddenly so much softer, and forms a sound for you alone.

You reach out, suddenly aware of your body again, its pumping blood, its moveable limbs, and pick up her discarded clothing to tuck it inside your jacket.

“Hey-” she begins, “-I'll be needing that-” but you shake your head and say, “no, you won't. Truth or dare?”

“It's my turn,” she says assertively, but you no longer care for protocol. It's not that she's so exposed right now – her t-shirt covers everything but her arms, and she has her jacket on the back of her chair – but it's the knowledge that someone is just a little more vulnerable. You don't want the bar to fade away in her consciousness, you realise, and instead you want her exposed, knowing that she's surrounded by people and voices and eyes and sounds.

“Nope, it's my turn again,” you decide. “Truth or dare?”

She eyes you suspiciously, not with any malice, but a calculating trust. She may have assumed her last dare was to assert a level of power over the competition, but you're now determined not to let her dictate the flow of the evening.

“Where are you going with this? Okay, dare.”

You lean forward and smile.

“I dare you to do the same party trick again.”

Her eyebrow arches again, this time in confusion, not pre-meditation.

“But, you've already got...” she says, before trailing off. “Oh, okay. I see how it is.”

She glances around a second time, now with a more pronounced concern. Deciding no eyes are upon you, she wriggles in the booth, keeping her eyes locked on you, a dare of her own. You stare back, not wanting to submit dominance. She smiles sweetly, as though she was simply rummaging for her phone, before guiding her hands under her skirt and sliding off her underwear. Unlike the previous time, when she carelessly threw the trophy on the table with the smug contempt of a victory, instead she reaches under the table and covertly passes you a fistful of scrunched fabric. She sits back, smooths her skirt and looks at you intently. You, almost lazily, add the latest item to the inside of your jacket pocket. Her arched, suggestive eyebrow raises once more.

“Happy?” she asks. “What's next?”

“A truth, I think.”

“So I don't even get to pick now?”

“No. Truth: does it turn you on, feeling so exposed now? What if someone – let's say the guy at the bar – was watching? How would you feel, him knowing how you were dressed? What's it like being someone who takes off their clothes in public? Go on, spread your legs under the table and tell me how it feels.” You say this in a low murmur, refusing to break eye contact. You're leaning in closer, so to her there is just your face and the sound of your voice.

She finally looks away, glances around the room once more. Certainly carefully. Almost nervously. She licks her lips and you watch her tongue like a predator.

“You tell me a truth first,” she says. “Does it turn you on, exposing me like this? Do you like the idea of me getting undressed in public? For you. Because of you. Do you want me to tell you how wet I am? Go on, say it. Tell me you want to hear how wet my pussy is, sat here all exposed, waiting for your next command.” Even this, she says as a dare. Like you're being goaded into relinquishing what small power you have over her. Like a predator is feigning weakness before its prey. She's introduced a new register to the vocabulary, as a test of her own.

“That's not how it works,” you tell her. “If you won't answer my truth, you can have a dare instead. I dare you to touch yourself. Touch yourself for me.”

She hesitates, if only for a fraction of a second, and that's all the weakness in her armour you need.

“What, going to lose this game so easily, are we? You won't answer the truth, you won't do the dare I set. Sounds like you're giving up and that means I win. Oh well.”

She bites her lip, not seductively as before, but in hesitation. In anticipation. She glances around, nervously now. You can see the calculation, her stubbornness that you adore so much.

“You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with,” you reminder her, but she shakes her head.

“It's not that. Fuck.”

She's flustered, and it's the first time you've ever seen her like this. Everything before now has been cool, calm, collected. Effortlessly so. Commanding, almost. It's the loosening of control as much as not winning. She who is so triumphant in every victory, she who gloats so completely when she gets two strikes in a row, or gets the question right on the television quizzes first, or is quicker to hand over her card when the waiter's produced the bill. Seeing this dissolution of her hierachy makes you adore her more, wanting to soften and immediately capitulate and kiss her. But you keep your resolve, let her squirm, and relish in it.

She offers the bar once final glance, then locks eyes with you. She touches herself. That first soft moan is so delicate, so almost inaudible, and yet is the only sound you can hear. The only sound you've ever wanted to hear. For such a tiny, quivering exhale, it extinguishes all noise from the bar and once again your focus dissolves to her in front of you. There are only her eyes, burrowing into your soul. There is only her voice, faint and breathless. There is only her skin, her face, her neck. And as she exhales, so too do you find yourself breathless, your head swimming as you watch her. The universe, in that moment, exists only to watch her, watching you. Everything else is background radiation, distant starlight.

“Hi, can I get you any more drinks?”

The voice is a sudden intrusion, and snaps you both out of this private moment. Your booth is shadowed by a friendly staff member, busying herself amongst the tables. She smiles, and it feels as though all the blood in your body has rushed to your face.

“Erm, we're good, I think,” you say, and your voice is a stranger's voice, weirdly booming and distant, like you are not wholly present but instead are some audio recording coming out of the speaker.

“No worries,” the barmaid says cheerfully, moving away from the table as swiftly as she had materialised beside you. You look across the table and see a face, whether from the drinks or the embarrassment, is glowing red as a beacon. You both begin to laugh, nervous and giddy, somehow like children almost discovered for having stolen sweets.

“One last dare,” she laughs. “I dare you to take me home.”

And you do, and the game continues. If not posed in point-for-point questions, the game certainly continues its list of demands and admissions. Breathlessly and deliriously, you trade truths and dares. I dare you to kiss this. Bite that. Suck on that. Nibble and gorge and eat and caress and stroke and enter. Dares as mere verbs; dares only as intentions. And truths are spilled out in the hallway, on the bedroom floor, on the bed itself, on your knees, against the wall. Truth as aching, shuddering, declarations. Truths as names and cries and moans and shivers and animal noises. Truths as adverbs: harder and faster and deeper. Truths as confessions, as close as we get to religion. Truths as invocations. Truths as pain and pleasure and teasing and torture. Truth in blood. Truth in flesh. Truth in sweat and hair and breath and hands and names.

It is only in the morning, when the game is neither lost nor won, but forgotten, when you lie there together in the warm, optimistic yolk of the window-strained sun, when you listen to the flightless birds and hum of reluctant traffic and shouts and cries of an innocent morning, that she raises her head from your chest and smiles to offer her latest demand.

“I dare you to go get breakfast.”

#short story #writing #creative writing #spilledink #twc

12 notes · View notes

halitophobia · 5 years

Text

Blind Eye - Two

Parings ⟶ OC x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (TEMPORARILY) , RK800! Connor x Hank’s Daughter! Reader (EVENTUALLY)

A/N ⟶ Thank you so, so much for the notes from the first chapter ! Btw, I’m really sorry this is a little late. I’m hoping for late weekly chapters? Every 10ish days or so...(I’ve gotten super busy, but I’m trying my best!)

Disclaimer ⟶ still don't own any characters from DBH

Warnings ⟶ swearing, violence, mentions of death, stubborn reader, stubborn Hank, spoilers...?, slow burn, sLoW bUrN, SLOW BURN, alcohol abuse (Hankster), angst, toxic relationship, eventual....fluff, happiness, cute stuff, flustered Connor, flustered Reader, all the gushy-ness, and ?????smut?????

Word Count ⟶ 3023

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

----

NOV 6th, 2038

AM 12:41:04

"Why'd you kill him?"

"What happened before you took that knife?"

Pursing your lips and narrowing your eyes, you watch the HK400 through the one-way glass. Your arms are crossed, face still as marble except for the bouncing of your right leg.

"Anderson. Are you cold or having a muscle spasm."

You blink, glancing down at the one and only Gavin Reed's hands leant on the desk, but as quickly as you do, your eyes are glued back to the window.

"Let's make a bet. Like the good ol' days, yeah?" that same sandpaper voice sounds again, making you frown.

"I say," he pauses, "they had a bromance. Carlos and Andy over here." he gestures to the android. "Carlos brings home this smokin' hot 'robette' babe wanting a steamy, squeaky threesome. Attic boy gets mad and," his right arm comes up, and he stabs the air while pulsing to a beat of 'nn-s, nn-s, nn-s...', "...kills'em." So many things I didn't miss about working here...

That fowl scent of sweat, old leather, and cheese also known as Gavin wafts your way, and you do your best not to gag. I mean, does this hobo shower? Wash his hands after shitting? A loud bang draws your attention to Hank, who's clearly gotten frustrated.

"Fuck it. I'm outta here." he grumbles, entering the observation room seconds later.

You slowly clap watching him scowl at you.

"I'm impressed, Pops. You really stated your ground in there." you nod, earning a chuckle from Gavin. "My turn." you smile, and scurry out of the room. You hear Hank's voice yelling at you to come back, but you're already halfway through the door to the interrogation room.

The droid doesn't move an inch as you shut the door behind you. You grin, feeling a wave of déjà vu wash over you. You've done this plenty of times before. How hard can a life-sized moving Barbie doll be?

"Alright, you piece o' shit." you can physically sense your father slapping his face behind the glass.

"I'm gonna jump right into it, okay? Okay." you drop yourself into the chair across from it, leaning back and crossing your arms and legs. "I don't know how it works in your...command center up there, but you gotta tell us what happened."

You watch it avoid your gaze. A painful silence dances around you, only to make your skin crawl with frustration. You swing your leg back over and let it drop below you. Your arms come onto the table and you lean down, to get into its view.

"Pssst. I'm not leaving until you spill." you whisper, staring into its eyes even though it doesn't return the contact. You push back abruptly and revert to a normal volume, "So we can just skip all this," you motion between the both of you, "and you can obey, like a good little bot."

Immediately, you see the change of energy from the suspect. Your brows lift, amused at the reaction. "Oh? Not into the whole submissive thing? I can see you got mad there. If that's even possible."

It shifts again, seeming to get more worked up. This is perfect, you just need to push it around. No better way to let off some steam.

"You wrote 'I AM ALIVE' on the wall, like a jewelled crown atop Ortiz's lifeless head. That's what he said to make you upset, right? You were quoting him? Because, well...I mean, how on earth could you think of that? You aren't capable of...thinking for yourself." you wait, and decide to amp it up. "For all we know, that man was innocent. Just enjoying his life, wanting...a friend? And you come along? To do what? To stab him."

There's a warning knock from the other side of the glass. You brush it off and examine the android. Chest heaving, hands clenched and jaw rippling. The lips on its face quiver, words just waiting to break the dam. And without looking back, you chimmy-changa your way across the line.

"Twenty. Eight. Times."

You hear the tapping once again, more urgent, but still, you ignore it. Can you shut up? You're a millisecond away from confession and they choose to cut you know? Your old man probably wants to slip in and take credit.

You're brought back to your senses as you watch the scene in front of you. The battered automaton is now writhing under the chords which bolt is slowly lifting off the table. "Hey, hey, hey. No need to cause a scene. Suck it up, and tell me wh-" your vision goes black. Well fuck me...

The second your sight leaves, it's back but doubled. Your forehead throbs, as if a pump were behind your eyes. That motherfucking thing head-butted you. You can't help the weight sloshing around your brain, making your head pound harder. You move to stand, but stumble into the wall behind you. Get. Up.

You feel arms hook under yours, and start to get dragged towards the door. "Get off of me!" you snap.

Your view seeps back into HD and you ignore the sting in your head. "I'm fine! Let me finish this!" your voice is a harsh growl, and you lash around in the person's grasp.

Who is this anyway?

Then you smell it. Oh. Reed tightens his grip, practically lifting you from your waist, and before you know it, your dropped into a computer chair facing the interrogation room. Just as you start to collect yourself, another smack is planted on your skull.

Okay what the fuck.

"Ow."

An ice pack falls off your shoulder and into your lap. Wow, do I get a massage too?

"Nice going, Y/N." Hank spits.

You roll your eyes, pressing them into the ice pack. With your voice muffled, you reply with 'thank you'.

"No, I really mean it. You just jeopardized this whole cross-examination. You brought that thing near to self-destruction!"

Your brain is hoola-hooping within your skull and this ancient dick lecturing you is just hollering encouragement.

"Y/N, take this seriously. You really fucked up." Gavin chimes in.

Oh give me a break.

You groan loudly, hoping it'll make them stop. You really don't need this. You just need five quiet minutes, and you can go back in and get that confession. Easy-peasy.

"Earth to Y/N. You may have been bumped in there, but I know damn-well you can hear me." Hank aggressively taps your shoulder and the water in the pot just boils away.

"Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

You're fully turned around, eyes ablaze with fire. You're cooking both men alive from your eyes and the pain from your head disappears for a moment. A silent breath escapes your parted lips, and you almost whisper.

"Will you, shut up."

The air is thick as fog. Your sight clogged with angry-exhaustion, their's with vigilance, for they now tread on very thin ice.

"My name is Conner, what about you. What's your name?"

You're. KIDDING.

Spinning your chair right around, you're faced with an image of pure disaster. Sir Smiley-Bot is seated across from the HK400.

"You let the fucking android interrogate the fucking android!"

It hasn't even been twenty minutes and for the second time, you're blood is racing around your body like a jet. Running circuits in and out of your shrinking heart. Does no one have common sense in this fucking facility?

"What do we have to lose, Y/N. You've already ruined a proper examination, what's so different in sending in the thing?"

Hank's voice destroys every sense of calm in your veins. You're going fucking bonkers now. It's like they worship this brown-haired robot. Prancing around its steel feet, praying to the android gods above. You've come to a conclusion; you are officially the only sane human in this police division. Everyone's brains are being melted by the second and they'll all just become slaves for the androids. Yup, I’ve solved the case.

"Shh, shh, shut up. Listen." Gavin lays his hand on your right shoulder, which you quickly brush off.

"I was fucking breathing."

He replies with a grimy finger to his lips, staring forward. You sulk in the chair, intertwining your fingers atop the desk. The ice pack is balanced on your head and you stare forward. King-Droid seems to be calming the defendant down. Seriously?

"I could have easily calmed the thing down, this isn't all that fantastic." you scoff, adjusting the cooling pack.

Hank flicks your head in response. It sure shuts you up. I am getting favoured over a bottle cap. I leave for one year and all of Detroit's been fucked in the ass by Alexa, Google Home, and Cortana at the same time. This is absolute bullshit. Choosing these things? Over trusted humans? This is surely humanity's last stra-

"No!"

...come again?

"No, please don't do that!"

All three of you are now leant toward the glass, your nose virtually pressed on it. All that stupid popcan had to do was threaten to probe its memory ooooh spooky!

"What..."

A beautifully awkward sound of leather, wood, and the chair squeal in harmony as your trio incline forward again. If it weren't for the one-way glass, there would be three sources of breath in their own designated spots.

"What are they going to do to me?"

Baby bye, bye, bye, BYE BYE.

"They're going to destroy me, aren't they?" its voice is in a panicked hiss.

Ding ding ding! We have a winner!

"They're going to disassemble you to look for problems in your biocomponents. They have no choice if they want to understand what happened."

This goes on for a little while, the honoured golem teetering between comfort and warning. You just watch soundlessly, intrigued for the outcome. Cold droplets trickle down your neckline, for the pack on your head had started to melt. You can't resist the urge to shiver, swiftly wiping away the excess water.

Your attention is slowly dispersing and you're starting to lose interest. You notice your stomach grumble - right, you'd forgotten to eat before all of this. Come to think of it, you're starving. Your gut agrees and wails to you again.

"Shh!" Gavin jeers.

Oh please.

You start to lift onto your feet, wanting to grab a snack, but are interrupted by a voice that has been heard to the very minimal. Seriously though, vending machine cashews would kill right about now...

"He tortured me everyday..."

Your ass is stapled back into the chair, holding your tongue as its mouth finally starts to move. You listen intently, watching the emotions.

You're amazed at how...real these androids look. This...suspect. Its..his eyes were saying something. His face held...pain. The way he says he was scared makes your breath falter. For a moment, you could really believe they're humans...with their own lives...own problems.

But your eyes move to the annoying one and the funky lighted circle gives it away.

Connor no, that hurt to say... asks more questions. And that's when you feel shivers crawl up your spine, vertebrae by vertebrae. The dark-skinned bot falls into a trance, speaking of ra9. Claiming it will save them all...that they'll no longer be slaves. You swallow hard, feeling regretful...and alarmed. You blink. You never know what these two could be doing in there.

"What if they're secretly communicating to each other? Through their...biocompo-nents...? you ask under your breath.

"As if. They can't mind...speak." the brunette scoffs behind you.

"Yeah? And how would you know." you bark back.

You're interrupted by Hank, smacking both of you.

The RK800 turns its head toward the mirror; harsh and precise. "I'm done."

You jolt up. Goosebumps on your skin, hairs on your arms standing tall and attentive. That interrogation gave me the creeps...

All three of you flood out the main door, heading to the one just a foot away. Officer Chris Miller tags along who you literally hadn’t noticed until he cleared his throat, preparing to move the aberrant. No...that's just weird to say. Suddenly, the room feels a lot smaller. Six of you is six too many.

"Chris, lock it up." Gavin commands gruffly. You notice how he eyes the RK800, the model obviously ignoring his warning.

Officer Miller detatches it from the table, but it jerks from his grasp. Your eyes narrow and you lean against the door, feeling drowned from the new energy in the space. Like defusing a ticking bomb.

Gavin interjects aggressively, hassling Chris to move it. You watch awkwardly as they struggle, both of them pulling completely opposite ways. You push off from the wall, starting to get impatient.

"You're making this harder than it has to be." you state, trying to get its attention.

Gavin yells once again, only to get the same in return. Your childish ass chimes in, telling Reed to back down, and now it's just a trio of toddlers crying for their candy. You're telling the cheese-smelling douche to hold his temper, while he's bitching about being tired. Chris yells at both of you two shut up when you notice the thing across you grab the officer's gun.

Fuck.

In less than a second, blue...blood has coloured the ceiling. The HK400 is crumpled on the floor, gun laying loosely amoung its fingertips. Nothing stirs in all six of you. Your lungs have paused, muscles and eyes too. Your gaze is cemented on the one now pressed to the ground. The eyes still and wide like any other human lying dead. It stares off into another realm, mouth frozen in time, halfway through an inhale.

This is what you forgot about. This part of the job. This raw, ferocious beast that gnaws at your gut. Chewing, ripping, tearing your meat agonizingly slow. Always hungry, always eating away at you.

"Holy shit."

You whip your head at your father, revolted that the same words escaped his mouth...at the same time.

----

AM 1:34:48

Gulping down two pills of ibuprofen, you stare at Hank talking with his plastic buddy. You're leant against his desk, fiddling around with his pens and sticky notes. You sigh as you feel someone slide up next to you.

"How've you been, fucker. You looked like shit walking into the building cuffed. 'Thought you were the one being arrested."

The grey-eyed dickwad chuckles at his comment, anticipating your snarky retort.

"Reed, I'm not in the mood." you grumble, wiping your eyes with the underside of your fingers.

You can sense his frown and disappointment. There's a small pause, but sure enough, he doesn't leave you alone.

"Another fight with Ben?"

Your stomach inverts and you feel the need to throw up. "Excuse me?"

He raises his hands defensively. "Woah, woah. Just asking. You just always seem to be having problems with that guy."

"Where did you get this from, huh?" you threaten.

"Last time I saw you, you were whinging about him on the phone. You weren't being discrete."

Sure...you weren't, but that doesn't mean he had the right to listen. He's a nosy, intrusive, grumpy old prick and you have never felt so disgusted in his presence.

"Stay out of my life, Reed. You have no right to ask me that. You have no right to assume things about me, and you have no right to be a...fucking asshole!"

"That last one isn't even-"

You slapped him.

There's a sliver of regret, but your choler has clouded your mind. Do I have anger issues?

Next thing you know, Hank is lecturing you about having manners, controlling your actions, thinking before you do, blah blah blah. You've heard this all before, it's like you're thirteen again, getting pestered at for feeding the dog your lasagna. Or cutting off that stupid girl's ponytail. She was a wicked shrew...

Behind Hank, you catch Gavin start to snicker. Absolutely not. You push past the bearded man and start to pummel the brunette's chest. And I mean pummel. Beat. Punch. Slam. Not one giggle leaves his toxic mouth. Poppa tries to pry you off, but he gets an elbow to the nose. Respect your elders, am I right? All this anger...is barely even from Gavin's stupid words. This is the rage from the past two hours. Tonight has been hell. Trudging through disaster after disaster. It's all too much. Your gums start to ache due to the tightness of your jaw. Your hands begin to shake, each blow somehow impacting you. It's like you're just beating up yourself.

A pair of arms wrap around your sore body, ripping you from your poor...punching bag. Gavin's face is already swelling. Black and blue covering his skin. Blood as the cherry on top. He's dead quiet now, breathing heavily as he lays on the ground. But then...you notice Hank on the ground too, blood spilling from his nose. If Hank's on the ground...then that means...

You look down and see grey sleeves, detailed with black and silver. No, no, no, no...

"LET ME GO YOU CLUSTER OF RUSTY NAILS."

"I'm sorry, Detective Anderson, but you need to calm down before I can let you go."

I hate his voice, I hate his voice, I hate his voice...

"I'm calm." your voice like honey flowing over chocolate mousse.

You drop every emotion in your face. All of your tensed muscles fall and you seep into its chest. Its arms fall from your torso. You wait a beat, then completely turn around.

You punch it square in the face.

You watch in delight as its face snaps back. It stumbles, just once, which truly is enough for you. There's a burst of relieve and triumph, followed by a sting and numbness between your knuckles

Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, fuck. Fucking fuck. Okay, so worth it, though...

----

#connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh #detroit connor #dbh x reader #detroit become human #detroit connor x reader #connor #rk800 #dbh connor #hank anderson #hank x connor #hank's daughter #bryan dechart

149 notes · View notes

kumeko · 4 years

Photo

A/N: For the Furuba zine. This is uh, a little old, and I’m not sure how I feel about it anymore, but I love writing these three together. And I want them to all live together post-series, even if only for a little bit.

…

“Arrrrgghhhhh,” Uotani moaned, pillowing her head in her arms. She leaned on the low wooden table, shoving the textbooks aside to make room. Pressing her skin to the cool surface, she asked, “It’s summer, isn’t it? The time when we’re supposed to be at the beach or in a pool or outside?”

“I think so,” Tohru confirmed eagerly. Uotani could almost hear the cogs in her head churning, a mental checklist run through. Something like: it was sunny, check. It was hot, check. The skies were clear, check. Her head turned every which way, from the window to the door to Uotani to their clothes. Finished, she announced triumphantly with a fist pump, “It’s definitely summer!”

Hopefully somewhere on that list was a fan. Uotani was practically dying, her shirt drenched with sweat, because a certain, stupid red-head had broken the AC. As fun as it was watching Kyo and Yuki go at it, she wished it didn’t have any consequences for her. She was a bystander! Let her bystand in peace!

“I am feeling some heat,” Hanajima concurred demurely, her voice soft and low.

At that, Uotani peeked out her interlaced arms. Dressed in a pitch-black dress with a pitch black shawl, Hanajima looked like the embodiment of winter, rather than summer. No, to be frank, she looked like the embodiment of death. As usual. Her delicate fingernails, coated in black nail polish, gently nudged Tohru’s face to one side so she could finish her latest masterpiece. Half of Tohru’s hair was a series mini braids and Uotani wasn’t sure what the end result would be. Dryly, she asked, “Really?”

“Really,” Hanajima confirmed, not a trace of irony in her voice. Her left hand tugged the shawl slightly, baring her neck. She fanned it lightly. “Truly, it is summer.”

“I have no idea how you do that. Or can even say that with a straight face.” Not sure if she should be awed or worried, Uotani shrugged. It wasn’t worth debating over. She had long ago learned there was no point in questioning Hanajima and her ways. The supernatural was the easiest explanation and she stuck with it. Unfolding an arm, she rested her cheek on the other one as she eyed the table. Two textbooks were open, math diagrams taking up the majority of the pages. Several papers were scattered on the table. She gingerly picked up her work sheet, pinching it between two fingers as she stared at it disdainfully. A whole morning of homework and all she’d really got accomplished was a doodle of a bowl of ramen. God she was hungry. “We need to shred these. Or maybe we can have a dog eat it. There’s one here, right?”

“N-n-n-no,” Tohru shook her head so fast, it looked like it would spin off her head. “No dogs. Not a single one. No animals either. Nope. Not at all.”

“Burn them,” Hanajima suggested, her lips curving up into a slight smile.

“The animals?” Tohru yelped fearfully, her hands covering her cheeks. “Y-you can’t do that!”

“I thought there were no animals?” Uotani rolled her eyes. It was like this every time they came for a visit. She wasn’t exactly sure what secret the Sohmas’ were keeping, but it seemed to involve owning an illegal menagerie. Or maybe Tohru was; she was soft-hearted like that. Maybe she was hiding stray pets in her closet, feeding them when no one was looking.

“That’s right!” Tohru slammed her fist into her open hand, looking like she’d just realized something. “There are no animals. So you can’t burn them.”

“Not the cat, dog, or rat,” Hanajima smiled sweetly, ignoring Tohru’s quiet gasp at each word on the list. “Burn our homework.” Her eyes and voice remained at a deadpan, making it hard to tell how serious she was. “You can start with mine.”

Knowing laziness, she was probably dead serious. Horrified, Tohru tried to turn to Hanajima, stuttering, “F-f-fire?”

Hanajima sternly wrapped her hands around her face, turning her back to the front. “I’m not done,” she admonished, selecting the next strands to weave into a braid.

This did little to assuage Tohru’s concern and she stared at Uotani fearfully. “Uo-chan?”

“It sounds like a good idea.” Curious, Uotani picked up Hanajima’s sheet. Her name was written beautifully on the top, elegant strokes to make the kanji of her name. The rest of the sheet was left a pristine white, not a single pencil mark on a single question. Not even the easy ones, the ones that Uotani herself managed to scrounge up an answer for. “You didn’t even try.”

“It makes it easier to burn.” Hanajima smiled serenely. “And I didn’t waste a single pencil.”

“I’m not sure that’s something to be proud of.” Uotani sighed, glancing at her friend. How she made it into high school was a mystery. Did she study the precise minimal amount required? Use her waves to sense the right answer? Or something else entirely? Still, a fire sounded fun. “Maybe we can have smores later, use this to make a big bonfire.”

“We c-c-can’t burn it!” Flustered, Tohru waved her hands rapidly in front of her. Her eyes darted around the room in a panic, her face flushed red. “We have to do our homework! The teacher’ll be sad!”

Breaking into a laugh, Uotani dropped the paper. Sometimes it was too easy to tease Tohru. Cradling her chin her hands, she grinned mischievously at her friend. “Don’t worry, I promise to leave yours alone.”

“That’s good…” Tohru sighed with relief for a moment before realizing the implication. In a moment of desperation, she tumbled out of her seat, yanking her hair out of Hanajima’s hands. Crawling quickly to Uotani, she grabbed the paper out of her hand. “No, you can’t burn yours either!”

Uotani covered her mouth as she snorted. Maybe she was a little too mean. “Alright, alright, we won’t do that either.”

“Promise?” Tohru asked doubtfully, no longer trusting her.

Hands up, Uotani nodded her defeat. “Promise.”

Tohru’s eyes narrowed. Scrutinizing her friend for a long minute, she sank to her knees with a smile. “Phew. That’s good.”

As Tohru started organizing the papers, gathering them into one large pile, Hanajima got up. “I didn’t make a promise.”

The papers fell out of Tohru’s hands. Slack-jawed, she stared at her. “What?”

“But I won’t burn it as well.” Hanajima sat down next to Tohru, folding her legs neatly beneath her. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, she added, “Not this time.”

“Oh. Good.” Worn out, Tohru’s shoulders slumped and she rested her head on Hanajima’s shoulders. She closed her eyes, leaning into Hanajima’s touch as she tenderly patted Tohru’s head. “I’ll help you.”

“…I think you missed an important line there.” Uotani raised a brow at Tohru’s content face, not sure how she missed the not this time part. Rolling her eyes, she moved on. What homework did they have left to finish? The closest sheet was math and Uotani scowled as she scanned it. “This is so frickin’ useless. I’m never going to need this.”

“Maybe in university?” Tohru suggested, sitting straight now. Picking up a different homework assignment, she stared determinedly at the sheet. Uotani could make out a few chemistry symbols on the back—H20 was water, right? “I think Yuki said that it would be useful there.”

“With my brains?” Uotani snorted at the idea, at the improbability of it all. She could just picture it, a yankee girl in a room full of straight-laced honour students. Maybe she’d make it in, but lasting longer than that? “Not gonna happen. Can you just imagine it? I’d get thrown out after a day.”

“You can’t think that way, Uo-chan!” Tohru refuted, her expression cross. She glared at Uotani, her fingers crinkling the paper. “You’d last more than a day! A week even!”

Uotani blinked. Processing it, she shook her head wryly. “So I’ll get kicked out either way?” Taking the paper out of Tohru’s grip, she smoothened it out on the table. “All that staring is just going to burn a hole in the thing.”

“If I look long enough, the answers might appear,” Tohru suggested hopefully, her hands clasped in front of her chest as though she were praying to a science god. Or maybe just a homework god. Uotani would take a math god, if she could.

“You’ve been spending too much time with the Sohmas’. At least, the idiotic ones.” Uotani flopped on the ground, staring at the ceiling. Man, she couldn’t wait to graduate. At least then there’d be no homework. Lowering her eyes to Tohru, she asked, “You’re going to university?”

For a moment, Tohru sat straight, her hand pumped up and ready for whatever speech she was about to give. Her mouth dropped open, she took a deep breath, and then she sighed and slumped forward. “I’ll just get a job.”

Uotani winced. Yep. That sounded about right. “Gotcha. We’re a trio of idiots. Maybe we can find a job together.”

“Oh, that sounds great!” Tohru perked up, her eyes shining at the thought. “We can work together and have lunch together.” She started counting on her fingers, excited. “And walk home together and—”

“We can do almost everything together,” Hanajima agreed, grasping Tohru’s hands gently. She squeezed once before dropping them. “Except for the work part. I will go to university.”

If Uotani had a drink, she would have choked. Actually, even breathing air, she choked. Hanajima. In university. No matter what angle she looked at it, it was impossible. “You’re going to university? What would you even do there?”

“Get my M.R.S.” Crossing her arms, Hanajima nodded seriously. “While it would be ideal to be Kyo’s mother, I want to check my options.”

“Kyo’s m-m-mother?” Tohru’s jaw dropped, her eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Step-mother,” Hanajima corrected.

“You, stop that.” Reaching over, Uotani chopped Hanajima on the head. “Save it for when Kyo’s around.” The joke was less funny when he wasn’t there to react. At least, she hoped it was a joke. “You can barely study for a test, how’ll you pass the entrance exams?”

“That’s easy.” Hanajima picked up a pencil, one with the letters ‘A’, ‘B’, ‘C’, and ‘D’ at the end, and rolled it. “I just have to choose the right multiple choice answers.”

“There’s more to tests than multiple choice answers!” Uotani growled, facepalming. Still, either way, she wasn’t really too concerned about Hanajima’s future. No matter what she ended up doing, she’d probably be fine. That just left her and Tohru and whatever workplace would take in a delinquent and a saint.

“Do you think I could do that?” Tohru asked seriously, gripping the pencil tightly.

Uotani stared at her blankly. There were a few times when she wondered if she was the only one that had any common sense. “That wasn’t even a real thing.”

There was no point to her advice. Not listening, Tohru rolled the pencil herself. It rolled over the table, falling off to the side, and landing on the plush carpet. The ‘B’ landed up and she stared at it for a long minute before looking at Hanajima helplessly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“No one does,” Hanajima sympathised, patting her on the back.

“Guys! Seriously!” Uotani resisted the urge to bang her head on the wall. Judging by the clumsy plaster marks on it, someone else had already beat her to it. And to breaking the doors and windows. Actually, now that she thought about it, there were a lot of patches in the building. Sure, Kyo and Yuki fought a lot, but clearly they were worse at home than she thought. Was that a hole on the roof too? Maybe she shouldn’t let Tohru stay here after all.

“They’re like wild animals,” Hanajima muttered, reading her mind. Probably reading her mind. Uotani had never really gotten a clear answer on that one.

Tohru froze at the words. Stiffly, she stammered, “W-w-what do you mean?”

“The Sohma family.” Hanajima sighed, pointing at the patches. “They fight like wild animals.”

“Oh.” Tohru blinked once. Twice. Third time, she smiled with relief and patted her chest with an open hand. “Kyo isn’t good at fixing—you should see Yuki’s. I can barely tell there was a hole sometimes.”

“And the roof doesn’t like when it rains or anything like that?” Uotani asked, incredulous. No matter how skilled the Sohma boys were, they were still teenagers. And how the hell did a pair of teenagers break a roof? Even in her days in the gangs, she’d never heard of such a thing.

“After the first week, my room was declared a safe zone.” Tohru smiled proudly, pointing up. “They’ve always broken somewhere else.” After a moment’s thought, she stared at her door worriedly. “You don’t think they’re getting leaks?”

“A safe zone…are you in a war?” Uotani was 80% certain that this was because it was Tohru’s room, more than anything else. 20% was the fact that they were terrified Hanajima would curse them if Tohru even mentioned it once. “Nah, they’ll be fine. But…you know…since it is worrying, maybe we should just live with you.”

“Huh?” Tohru stared owlishly at her, not comprehending this sudden twist.

“If we’re going to do everything together anyways—” Uotani explained, brightening at the thought.

“I’m going to university,” Hanajima reminded, returning to Tohru’s hair.

“If we’re going to do everything together anyways,” Uotani continued as though she hadn’t heard a thing. “Why not just live together too?”

“It’d be economical,” Hanajima pointed out, perhaps her only good idea of the day.

“Ohhhh!” Stars filled Tohru’s eyes and she clapped her hands together at the thought. “All of us. Living together.”

“There’s enough space here for all of us.” Uotani counted on her fingers the number of rooms she’d seen. The living room. The four bedrooms. The kitchen. The building definitely had a few rooms that weren’t used, it was fricking big. With a little bit of cleaning, they could make them livable. “We could get the boys to help clean. Kyo has to be useful at something.”

“He’s really good at moving things!” Tohru chirped, almost vibrating in her seat with excitement.

“If he complains, I’ll pummel him,” Utonai grinned. “And that perverted author would definitely be happy to have more girls here.”

“He’s very nice!” Tohru defended, though she didn’t argue about the ‘perverted’ part. “I’m sure he’ll let you stay.”

“Right. If you say so.” Uotani was pretty sure Tohru didn’t have a firm grasp on the reality of her housemates. She probably saw their fighting as nothing more than a petty squabble either. “Anyways, it’d be nice. Remember that time I stayed with you and Kyoko for a week? It’d be like that times a hundred.”

“Oh that was great!” Clapping her hands together, Tohru nodded eagerly. “You and Mom made…” Tohru’s eyes darkened, and she lowered her lids. Her hands clutched her skirt tightly. Her voice softened. “Do you think she’d be happy?”

“Happy?” Uotani asked, straining to hear her friend. She leaned closer. Already Hanajima was hugging her from behind, her arms loosely folded around Tohru’s neck as she rested her head on Tohru’s shoulder.

“That I’m not going to university?” Tohru bit her lip. Her fingers started to dig to dig into her thighs. “That I’m getting a job like her.”

“Tohru…” Not wasting a minute, Uotani grabbed Tohru’s hands and squeezed them tight. Leaning forward, she pressed her forehead against Tohru’s. “She’s definitely happy. Like, the most fricking happy mom there is. You’re graduating high school! She didn’t even get to do that.”

“I know she’s smiling at you,” Hanajima comforted her. There was something reassuring about her saying it, as though she was looking at her ghost right now and translating from the other side. “She’s proud.”

“Really?” Tohru looked up now, staring at Uotani. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.” Uotani chuckled, remembering the crazy, ex-gang-member-turned-doting-mother. There was not a single parent who loved their child like Kyoko loved Tohru. Hell, there was not a person alive who loved anyone as much as Kyoko loved Tohru. “As long as you’re happy, she’d be happy.”

“I am. I am really, really happy.” Tohru turned her hands over, clasping Uotani back.

“And I’m happy and even Hanajima is happy, if not somehow surviving a heat stroke.” Uotani grinned, before slowly untangling herself from Tohru. Reaching back to the table, she grabbed the math sheet once more. “Though we ain’t graduating without actually finishing this.”

“Right…” Tohru’s smiled dropped as she stared at the paper. “I don’t know how to do that.”

Releasing Tohru after a last squeeze, Hanajima flopped backwards onto the ground. She stared at the ceiling blankly. “We could just take an extra year to graduate. Your mom would understand.”

“No, we…” Tohru stared at the paper once more, biting her lip. Reluctantly, she looked away and mumbled, “It still counts, right? A delayed graduation is still graduating.”

“Guys, no. We’re not letting that orange-haired bastard graduate before us,” Uotani vehemently bit out, already picturing Kyo’s smirk. Reaching down, she yanked Hanajima back up into a sitting position. “We just need a little help. And what better help than the resident prince?”

“Yuki!” Tohru brightened immediately and sprang to her feet. “He’s downstairs.”

“Good.” Uotani paused, realizing that they hadn’t heard any earthquakes, mass destruction, or even plain old arguing for the past hour. Mount Kyo-Yuki was set to explode. They’d get nothing done if that happened. “Don’t invite Kyo.”

“Huh?” Already skipping to the door, Tohru immediately halted. Her head cocked one way and then the other before she finally turned around and looked at Uotani in confusion. “Why?”

“Yuki. Kyo. In a room,” Uotani explained slowly, enunciating each word clearly. When it was clear Tohru didn’t get it, she spelled it out. “They’ll fight and we’ll fail a year.” Not to mention. Tohru’s room would probably get destroyed. Cursed by Hanajima or not, Tohru’s room or not, there was no way the pair would be able to handle tutoring each other for a few hours. Not with Kyo’s pride—he’d take offense at the smallest thing.

“Kyo could fail too!” Apparently the only word Tohru heard was failure and she ran out of the room in a panic. “Shigure! Kyo! Yuki!”

“Wait that wasn’t—” It was too late, Uotani could hear Tohru’s shouts as she raced downstairs. Well. There went any hope of a peaceful study session. Uotani glanced at the table once more, at their pile of papers. To be honest, they weren’t getting anything done today anyways. They’d been studying in this room for at least two hours and the only thing they had to show for it was Tohru’s new hairstyle.

“He’ll fail with us,” Hanajima consoled, with such certainty it felt more like a prophecy.

“I don’t know if I should be happy about that or not.” Uotani winced as she heard an angry stomping up the stairs. Turning to Hanajima, she raised a brow. “It’s not too late to burn them all, is it?”

#fruits basket #furuba #tohru honda #saki hanajima #arisa uotani #fanfic

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littlemangsofwar · 6 years

Text

Tales of Slug Valley - Betrayal in the Ratways

++++++++ House Escher Correspondence +++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++ From: Valeria Sly, authorized household factor, grade minoris +++

+++++++++ Archive Code: 111A8AB4-Epsilon ++++++++++++++++++++++++

++++++++ Subject: Shootout in the Ratways ++++++++++++++++++++++++

+++++++ Security Grade: Internal access only, gamma minoris ++++++++++

My dearest sisters,

It has been a while since I’ve been in contact, and for that I can only beg your forgiveness. Old Valeria Sly had to keep her head down for a while, as things got a little too hot in the valley over the last couple of months. But, big cred needs to be made, and people need to be paid, and there is only so much hustle that you can do in the shadows before some scrag decides to do it in the open and undercut you. So I decided it was time to show the flag for House Escher, let the other houses know that we haven’t been driven out or humbled.

So picture the scene, VS front and centre standing at a moot with a bunch of my neighboring sump dogs in a pre-arrange spot in the Ratways that run the length of ol’ Slug Valley. Since we ended up keeping our heads down during the last round of scrapping I figured now would be the time to make our move on some killer turf in the valley itself, rather than slinging chems on the periphery to the scum that lives down here and letting the other filth fight amongst themselves, but the glory of the house, the Queen’s honour, et-cetera, ad infinitum. So we gotta front to make a name and be seen, let the rival houses know that we can hold our ground in the valley.

The crew that arranged the moot was a new outfit, a pack of Orlocks that call themselves the Hive Hunters led by some mouthy feth head named Vincent. He wants to arrange a moot, work out an understanding before things get kinetic, I tells him, ‘Okay fine, sure. I’ll come.’

I figure he’ll talk some kak, nothing will be agreed on, and we’ll end up either shooting it out or leaving on bad terms. Then I shows up to the moot and there are a pack of Delaque already there. The Crystal Adder Syndicate, I learned later on. Some new outfit and recent arrival from uphive. So this was complication one that got me seein red. Still, when I showed up they were talkin, or rather, Vincent was talkin. Me and the rest of mine closed in, and I slid into the moot like a rat up a pipe. I swear, the kak head didn’t miss a beat as I sized them up, he just gave me a nod, didn’t stop mouthin off something about respect to his Delaque buddy.

Speaking of him, Copperhead, the man looked like a stone cold killer. Just standing there, Bolter slung on his shoulder, armed crossed, eyes completely unreadable behind those dark visors that his people always wear. Can’t trust a Delaque when you can’t read them, and since that is mostly all the time safe to assume never to. Anyway, he fixes me, looks right at me like he is sizing up the hole he’d need to dig to bury me in the ash wastes. That is the point I decided that I had enough of this kak.

So VS just stands there and waits for her opening, and then it came. The talk isn’t going anywhere, which is fine for me, but things are getting heated between Vincent and Copperhead. The two are going at it, the Orlock with his posture and bluster. The Delaque with sharp comebacks and barbed tongue. Practically designed to wound the oversized egos of your average gang capo. Me, well they have their eyes on each other and I’ve been keeping quiet, this was the time to make my move.

The shadows were two paces back, which worked for me. Like a dance for the house nobility, two paces back, turn, drop down, pirouette. Except the last move was to unsling my piece and click off the safety on the Needler. I raised my weapon, lined it up, only then did my interlocutors realised what I was about to do. I put a needle in the Copperhead’s thigh and he went down, but not for long. Apparently Vincent saw a chance to make a move and went wild with his Bolter on Copperhead, things got a little confusing around this point, I think he went down, but I didn’t catch it all, I had problems of my own to deal with.

So, you’d think with the noise my ladies would’ve figured out what is up, but no. I took a couple of shots from an Orlock, coming at me around a nearby corner, which forced me down. All the while Phobe and Rhi are looking on agape like they’d traded their brains for slag. Turns out most of the crew were caught flat footed, even when Orlocks and Delaque are shooting each other right in front of them. Maybe they thought it was between the two of them and were were bystanders, but it turns out they thought that this was only a simple meet and were taking the time to get high on their own chem synths. Either way I took it out of their hides later, especially Phobe and Rhi, who watched me get shot up right in front of them. That skag didn’t last for long, I pulped him with a volley of Bolter fire.

Danika also got jumped early on, she spent most of the fight wrassling with an Orlock juvie and almost got taken down by him. The juvie got the worst of it in the end, she managed to press the barrel of her Stubber up against his chest and hit him with a full burst, cut him up and sent him flying, it did burn through the last of Danika’s ammo though, which wasn’t great all things considered the way the fight was playing out. A short distance away Morganna took a bad hit early on. She was about to help pry that juvie off Danika she took a slug in the back from a flanking Orlock. She managed to get up again and pump out a few more rounds, knocking down a Delaque fighter across the way, until a stray shot knocked her out of the fight.

Reylissa took a bad hit early on, and possibly due to the Emperor’s own luck lived to tell the tale. Turns out she ran round a corner to hide from a Delaque fighter covering the hallway with his Autogun. Rather than getting to safety, she ran face first into an Orlock doing his private business in a quiet corner. So they stare at each other for a bit, then light up on one another. Reylissa with her Auto, sprayed the man in a panic, missed every fethed shot. The Orlock on the other hand, pants still around his ankles raised and grenade launcher and starts firing like a madman. Suffice to say, she takes a first hit, and lives. A little shakey, but just a scratch, the man was firing Krak you see. Anyway, he fires again and knocks her out, it apparently rebounded off her skull and then detonated in the ceiling. If that fuse had been a second quicker, she’d be in the loving embrace of the God-Emperor of mankind right now, but she was blessed that day and that is her out of the fight, but alive.

Carli, the bad girl with the tank of poison did a lot of good work today. The Orlock fire didn’t seem to touch her, instead she got behind their lines and spritzed them up good with her supply of chems. It didn’t kill them outright, but forced a bunch of them to back off from our right flank. Shame she didn’t kill any, but that industrial grade mixture of muscle relaxants and neurotoxin did a number on the Orlocks. If they survive the poisoning, they’re really gonna feel the effects next morning. Worst hangover those men have every experienced in their lives, to be sure.

At the other end of the meet Vassiah and Avalina got jumped by the Delaque. Vass went down early, but Avalina remained up. Anyway, the Delaque were moving to finish her off when one of the Orlock enforcers came round the corner and unleashed the frakking fury with his combat shotgun. He knocked everyone down before he bottled out, Avalina used that chance to run out and stick a blade between the ribs of a couple of the wounded Delaque before she bolted, that juvie girl has come a long way. I’m proud of her.

Anyway, Rhi and Phoboe, finally figuring out what is up, made their moves. Rhi ran to the aid of Danika to deal with this Orlock kak kicker that is bearing down on her. She takes aim and puts a slug into him and he went down. Phobe yelled out for Raquel while this is going on. And a second later Raquel stumbled around a corner, spaced out but coming down as fast as her stim mix would allow. She then got stuck in, knocking down a Delaque across the way with a decent Lasgun shot.

From start to finish though, the real fight was between the Orlock and the Delaque. The two had their people intermingled during the moot, which made their bloodletting all the more chaotic. I’m a bit hazy as to what happened, but from what I can tell. While most of my people were caught flat footed, they escaped the worst of the opening salvo. The Orlock’s heavy bolter played hell early on, knocking down several Delaque while letting us be, mostly due to my girls being out of the way. Turns out the Delaque had a trick up their sleeve though, late in the piece as I was about to break cover I caught sight of the Orlock with the heavy weapon catch a face full of promethium from one of the Delaque killers. Gotta respect that, dousing a man loaded with ammunition in fire at point blank range. It takes guts.

Around this time my girl, Carli, was moving up to finish off the Orlock boss, who had took a couple of bad hits in the fight, that is when they decided to bolt, dragging their wounded behind them, of which there were many. Likewise the Delaque decided they had enough. With their leader down and a good chunk of them under heavy fire from Orlock shotguns they retreated deeper into the tunnels. This mutual retreat left old VS and the Nightshade Crew the last ones standing, and hey, winning by default is still winning.

Funny thing is word got round after the moot that no one died during that firefight. There were injuries on all sides, including my own, but none were fatal and nothing a quick trip to the doc, and half a bottle of cheap stillbrew couldn’t fix. The lesson here, is first of all, recreational chems and face time with rival gangs don’t mix, and if you do you, better be ready to face the righteous justice of your capo. Second, recognise a good chance to stick the knife in, and when you do, do it without a second thought. That is how you get ahead down here. Anyway, that is all I have to say for now. This lady has a date with an ounce of bliss and a bottle of cheap amasec.

Yours truly,

Valeria Sly

<3 XXX OOO <3

++++++++++ End Correspondence ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

#games workshop #necromunda

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staple-soap-blog · 6 years

Text

Jiangshi - V

Jiangshi Masterlist |

Genre: Drama/Noir | Mafia!AU

Word Count: 2633

The atmosphere of the makeshift office was impending and tense, despite the good news that had been brought. With this line of work, dread and death always seemed to linger no matter how positive any outcomes were. Darkness encapsulated the two men, stood on opposite sides of an old mahogany desk, the only light from a streetlamp outside, shining through the bamboo blinds and casting uniform white streaks over the two mysterious faces.

Tao dumped his handgun onto the desk before pulling up a chair and sitting. A sigh escaped his lungs as he relaxed into the cushion beneath him, closing his eyes. Suho narrowed his eyes and stared Tao disapprovingly before taking his own seat in his large red velvet chaise, much grander than the dingy stool Tao sat upon.

“You could’ve at least cleaned up before you came,” muttered Suho, pulling a handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiping down the area around the gun Tao had set down, absorbing the droplets of blood mixed with gunpowder that had dripped off the handle. After, he tossed the stained fabric at Tao, who then began to wipe down his face, clearing away the evidence of his most recent job.

“I thought you might have wanted a souvenir,” replied Tao with a smirk, tossing the handkerchief back at Suho who caught the item in one swift movement.

“I might’ve wanted one if you’d stuck to the plan,” Suho growled, voice becoming stern as he sat himself down in his seat. “I told you not to engage them during the arms deal. Now we’ve possibly involved another gang in the battle, a reckless one too!”

Tao scoffed. “Those crackheads are as unorganised as they are stupid, they’re not a problem.”

Suho’s fists clenched, knuckles turning white, yet his face remained perfectly unchanged and seemingly calm, save for the bumbling rage flaring up in his eyes. “We’re supposed to be eliminating our enemies, not adding to them.”

Tao rose an eyebrow and gestured to the bloodied gun on the desk. “I’m fairly sure they’ve been eliminated.” Suho’s lips pursed together into a thin line, and he was ready to berate the younger, snarky man until Tao interjected with a chuckle.

“Don’t worry old man,” he laughed, causing Suho’s eyebrows to narrow at the nickname. “I stayed outside the warehouse and managed to get one of those crackheads into thinking I was from the other guys. I threatened him and he fired the first shot. They all basically did the work for me.”

“And the Caporegime?”

“He managed to get out of the shooting in a car but, a car’s never stopped me.”

“And the other clan.”

“All dead. Cypher will think that the druggies shot first for now, which will buy us time to take out everyone else in their clan before they realise that their Capo was taken out by someone with more…skill.” Tao’s lips curled upwards in self-praise at the end of his sentence.

Suho processed the information Tao had played out, the light streaming through the blinds landing over the wrinkles on his forehead as he frowned in concentration. He impatiently tapped his fingers on his desk before his face finally unravelled. He leaned back in his chair and placed an elbow on the velvet armrest, propping his head app with his palm while staring at Tao with an unreadable expression.

“You’re welcome,” gloated Tao. “My plan was better. And if that’s all I’ll leave now.” Tao rocked himself out of his chair and stood, straightening his bloodstained blazer before heading towards the door.

“Those “crackheads” you call, they’ll know they never shot first. And if anyone starts believing them then we’ll have a problem. This is why I don’t pay you to make the plans,” grumbled Suho, causing Tao to stop in the middle of the room.

“No. You pay me to do my job. And I’ve done it.”

“Still,” began Suho in a cryptic tone. “The job was rushed.” Suho paused before continuing, and only now did Tao realise, that he had been observing and inspecting him ever since he left the room. Suho's eyes had never left his body.

“Is there something else you have to do?” asked Suho. “Something else that requires your attention?”

“Of course not,” replied Tao nonchalantly.

“Then why so eager to leave?”

Tao felt himself freeze up for the first time. Somehow, something in his brain had subconsciously deemed something more important than his work. The tension only lasted less than half a second, but still, Tao’s head began to buzz at the feeling. A feeling he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Is that a problem?” asked Tao, the smallest hint of defensiveness in his tone. However, it was enough to prompt Suho to circle out from behind his desk and slowly make his way towards Tao’s taller figure.

His head was tilted ever so slightly to one side, as if he was moving the blood to one side of his brain, allowing the analytical half to think. His eyes scanned over Tao, but his face remained unchanged. Despite Suho’s seemingly non-threatening good looks and polite mannerisms, he was still incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be.

Suho’s eyes met Tao’s, forcing the younger into an unbreakable gaze. “Remember, Jiangshi, this job, this life, isn’t an honourable one. People get hurt, and even if you try to run it will always find you. You can’t have anything to lose, or it will destroy both it and you.”

Tao’s ears rang at those words, and slithers of dread and content began to slowly trickle into his chest. He twitched at the unfamiliar feeling and played it off as an itch. “You talk too much,” he deadpanned, his cat-like eyes shooting daggers of contempt. “There’s nothing for you to worry about.”

Suso stepped closer to Tao, causing Tao’s defensive instincts to kick in. One of his feet moved behind the other, ready to spring into a fighting stance at any moment. “I may not be as good of a hitman as you are, Jiangshi,” began Suho, voice harmless yet threatening, “but I’m just as good a liar.”

Tao’s eyes narrowed and examined Suho’s posture. He wasn’t in any position to attack, so he straightened up and walked away from his boss. His half red hand found the door handle and twisted it open. “Goodbye old man,” he called from over his shoulder, not bothering to look directly at him. He was halfway through the doorway before Suho spoke again.

“Goodbye, Tao.”

Tao felt like a shard of ice had been shoved into his back, piercing through his lungs as they deflated with one large gasp. His eyes widened, and his hand gripped the door handle so tightly he could feel the flimsy metal beginning to dent under his strong grip.

No one but himself knew his true name, the exception being his parents, who were both dead, and…

Tao spun around with a great force, his eyes landing on what he finally began to properly realise, was the most powerful man in all of East Asia. He may not be the richest, have the most men or connections. But Suho was smart, cunning and unpredictable. It was the reason as to why he rose to power so quickly.

And now, Suho had secured his obedience.

Said man looked no different, his expression unchanged. Tao however, felt his anger beginning to break through his shock. He could’ve killed Suho now and he’d never be caught, but he knew better. He knew how messy Mafia wars could get, and he wasn’t invincible. Besides, Suho was paying his bills, and Tao still held some respect for him.

Tao shot Suho one last look of disdain before swiftly stepping through the doorway and slamming the door shut, the echo rumbling through his eardrums.

***

A loud banging awoke you from your slumber. Your eyes reluctantly opened as you rolled to the side to inspect the time displayed in your alarm clock through your blurred vision. It was almost 2am. Another round of hasty thumping sounded, causing you to groan and kick the sheets of your body before standing and making your way towards your front door.

Who could possibly be here at this time of night? You were used to getting emergency calls, but no one had ever shown up at your door. Cautiously, you checked the peephole and gasped at the sight. Although he was dressed in a plain black sweatshirt with the hood pulled up instead of his usual suit and tie, it was still undeniably Tao. He had his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie, and you could see the outline of his hands, clutching something thick and L shaped.

You swallowed and considered not answering, but you had encountered him enough now to feel less afraid around him. You unlocked the door and inched it open until his face came into view.

All of a sudden, his body was pushing yours backwards. The only thing stopping you from falling backwards were his strong arms which had wrapped around you tightly, pressing you against his chest.

“Thank God you’re okay,” he mumbled.

You stood there with your heart racing, hands clenched at your sides as you felt his gun pressing up against your stomach through his sweatshirt pocket, sending goosebumps through your skin. ‘What…what do you mean?” you stammered.

He leaned away from you and gripped your stiffened arms with his hands. “You need to leave. You’re in danger.”

You had trouble comprehending his statement, but the blood that was smeared on his cheek and the determination in his eyes were enough to send a wave of fear through your muscles. “What? Why?”

He released you and shut the door, locking it and pulling the chain across the doorway. Then, he removed his gun - black and shiny - from his pocket and pressed his back against the door, gaze falling on the window of your living room.

You squealed at the sight of the weapon. “Tao! What the hell are you doing?!”

“Someone knows who you are. Someone dangerous. They know you’re tied to me,” he answered in a hushed but icy voice.

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. “But…but I’m not a threat to anyone! I work at the hospital for godssake!” You were borderline hysterical. The threat upon your life had sent adrenaline pumping through your veins, and you weren’t thinking when you ran up to Tao, gripping his shoulders and demanding for an explanation.

“What did you do?! Why does someone want to hurt me?!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know how he found out and I don’t know what he’s going to do.”

“Who is he?”

He breathed, ready to answer. But he stopped himself. “I can’t tell you that,” he said apologetically. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“I want to know if someone’s trying to kill me!” You squeezed his biceps, eyes full of terror and worry.

“No one’s going to kill you!” he cried, arms returning to your shoulders. His loud outburst shocked you out of your hysteria, and you instead froze. “That’s why you have to leave. Come on, I’ll help you pack.” He let you go and ventured further into your apartment until he found your bedroom.

The buzz of uneasiness that was flowing through you seemed to settle slightly in the few minutes you were glued to the same spot by your door. Eventually, you found the will to walk back into your bedroom. You were met with the sight of one of your suitcases open on the floor, a ton of clothing with the hangers still attached spilling from the edges. Tao walked up to you and returned his hands to your shoulders, coaxing you to look back up at him.

“I can get you a new passport, birth certificate, anything you need to start a new life. But you have to go now.”

“But…I have nowhere to go,” you retorted, realising that your life was here, in this town, in this apartment. “I can’t leave.”

“You have to.”

“I can’t Tao!” you replied. “I have to stay here, at the hospital. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do and…I can’t start over again. I worked too hard to get here.” Tao’s jaw tightened at your words, his grip on your shoulders strengthening. “Just tell me who wants me dead.”

“He doesn’t want you dead I don’t think,” admitted Tao. “He just knows that you’re important to me.”

You blinked in slight confusion. “I’m important to you?”

Tao didn’t answer for a while. Instead, he licked his lips and sighed, looking down at the ground before returning his gaze to you. “It’s my fault,” he muttered, disheartened. “I never use the same doctor twice.”

Your mind flashed back to the many times you’d treated Tao at the hospital. “So, why am I different?”

“Because I like y-“ He stopped suddenly, cutting himself off. “What I mean is, you’re a good doctor. You genuinely cared about me. Most of the black market type doctors do a terrible job, and I know that going to proper hospitals was a risk but…I trust you.”

You nodded slowly, acknowledging his words. Your eyes flickered around the room as you processed the statement, a small smile spreading across your lips. “I’m a good doctor?”

He smirked. “The best.”

Some time passed in silence before Tao spoke up again.

“Alright, I get if you don’t want to leave, but that means I’ll have to protect you.”

‘What do you mean by that?”

“It means that I’m not leaving until I know no one’s coming tonight.”

“Oh.” You shuffled your feet as an awkward silence fell between the two of you. “Like, as in you won’t leave my room? Or this house? Or-“

“I could leave your room,” he stated, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice. “But then someone could climb through the window and pull out a gun and-“

“Okay! Okay, you can stay here,” you interjected, scoffing at the cheeky smile that had appeared on Tao’s face. He strolled over to your desk and pulled the chair out until it was up against a wall between your window and your door. He sat himself down with his gun in his hand.

“Sorry for waking you up by the way. You can go back to sleep if you want,” he mumbled.

You took timid steps towards your bed and pulled away the covers. “It’s not like I can sleep now when someone wants me dead.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here.”

It was then you wondered, why was Tao doing this for you? Yes, he said you were a good doctor, but there were a thousand better ones that could tend to him. Tao, a hitman with the most terrifying reputation, was sat in your bedroom, protecting you simply because he trusted you enough to patch him up when he was injured. Even if he was responsible for the threat upon your life, he was taking responsibility for it. Somehow, it warmed your heart. Maybe he wasn’t as heartless as his job made him out to be.

You found yourself tiptoeing back towards Tao and leaning down, your arms coming around his torso to embrace him. “Thank you,” you whispered. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest as his empty hand reached around you to mimic the gesture. You backed away and pressed a kiss to his jaw, expressing your gratitude, and you swore you felt him tense a little at your action.

Despite the danger that was seemingly resent, having Tao by your side, protecting you, was enough to calm your nerves, sending you into a peaceful slumber.

A/N: THIS WAS LITERALLY DONE AND SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR LIKE A MONTH I AM SO SORRY

#exowritersnet #exo scenario #tao scenario #exo fanfiction #tao fanfiction #exo noir #exo suspense #tao noir #tao angst #tao fluff #exo angst #exo fluff #exo mafia au #tao mafia au #exo hitman au #tao hitman au #hitman tao

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itispossibleihaveissues · 6 years

Text

Stranger Than Known Chapter 3

TITLE: Stranger Than Known

AUTHOR: Mikimoo

RECIPIENT: biirdiie

PAIRING: JayDick

RATING: Explicit

WARNINGS: sex pollen, dubcon, puns

SUMMARY: Slade’s easy job as a bodyguard is about to get complicated when his employer finally achieves his goal of capturing a Bat (or two).

Warnings this chapter: Some non-consensual situations and nasty talk from nasty people. Also murder, lots of murder.

Thank you to my awesome beta Chianti Rioja!

Chapter 1, 2

Slade could admit that watching the boys get lost in sensation and each other was arousing, far more than if they had been mindlessly rutting on Ivy's straight up spores. The crowd clearly agreed and bids were hotting up. Slade reluctantly tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him; Grayson was still moving in that sinuous, sensual way and Todd was almost whimpering – the top button of his pants had come undone and his top was riding up to show a strip of pale skin.

It was time Slade paid attention to who was going to win the night with them, which would be the deciding factor on how his own job went today. It was annoyingly hard to tear his eyes away, but he was nothing if not a professional.

The bidding was down to the last six; a collection of villains and perverts, about evenly mixed. Most of the people after the Red Hood were those he had personally wronged – something that would no doubt be very unpleasant for him when they finally laid hands on him. Grayson's lot were more of a mixed bunch; a few straight up perverts and body collectors, mixed in with a handful of people whose operations he had busted. There was one stand out, who Slade had tipped to win on the basis that his pockets were almost as deep as Wayne’s. He was both a sexual sadist and had been arrested due to Nightwing’s investigation. He was of course out on a million dollar bail, and primed to take his revenge.

“And now!” McVitie squealed to the crowd, “Now for the winners to claim their prizes!”

Slade couldn’t help turning back to the boys, to see their response. Both had stopped moving, flushed and tense. Alert to the point of fear.

“The winners of the Red Hood, with a shared bid – numbers 55 and 91!”

55 was a small, angry looking woman called Este Bankoff. She had recently escaped from jail where she had been serving 155 years for human trafficking, murder and tax evasion. There was pure hell in her eyes as she stared up at Todd's image on the screen. No doubt he had been the one to put her behind bars, he seemed to really enjoy taking down traffickers. Number 91 was Hector Jones, drug runner and a big player in both the US and South America. He was a large man with an ugly scar bisecting his nose – from the Red Hood’s knife. The night was going to be a painful one for Todd it seemed.

Slade had been correct about the winner for Dick’s bid. Stefan Sokolov, an illegitimate, American born son of a Russian billionaire. As his father’s only child he had inherited his fortune young, after Mr. Sokolov the elder had fallen to his death from a faulty ski lift while holidaying with his fifteen year old son. There were whispers of course, but nothing could be proved. Young Stefan took to his new found wealth with ease and spent large portions of it buying off the various prostitutes he tortured in his penthouse. Nightwing had made a case against him with enough evidence to stick, despite all the money he had thrown at it.

Now it looked like Stefan was going to double up on the things he loved most – revenge and torture. He looked hungry as he stared up at the projected image. Slade couldn’t blame him, but he didn’t like it.

“And now the prizes will be prepared for the winners, so relax and enjoy the party!” McVitie said, as the screen flicked off. Champagne was served along with delicious looking canapés , and cocaine in long lines on silver trays.It was all served by scantily clad waitstaff, something for every taste apparently.

McVitie was so excited, scampering from guest to guest, talking and nodding in that unbearably annoying way he had. Slade turned away in distaste. He watched the boys have a quiet but frantic conversation in the box, and saw the moment of panic as knock out gas was pumped into the glass cage to incapacitate them for transportation.

Slade felt he was doing a lot of irritated sighing during the course of this mission. That in itself was annoying. It was closing in on the time he would have to make some decisions but he didn’t want to play his hand too soon, there might still be a way to work things out.

“Deathstroke!” McVitie said happily, “Come with me, we can watch the proceedings from my private chambers.”

They walked to McVitie’s rooms in blessed silence, which gave Slade a little more time to ponder his choices. Inside there was a set up of giant screens, showing various rooms and people. The two main sets were off – no doubt to be used for dramatic effect.

McVitie sat on his fancy, tasteless chair with satisfaction oozing out of every pore. “Not long now until the fun stuff!” he said.

“Do you have a further itinerary for your guests of honour? Or will these first bidders also be the last?”

“No, no, there will be another day or so for Nightwing – I have a kill request on the second day that is frankly too good to pass up. Although, now I know who he is, I might have to, and see how best to use that.” He pondered for a moment, rubbing at his chin with a bony finger. “The Red Hood is solidly booked. I have a request from Black Mask for the final day.”

Presumably that would also be the final day of the Red Hood. “Will these bidders honour that do you think?” he asked.

“Yes, or I will have them killed. They know that.” McVitie said dismissively. “Shall we see how they’re doing?” He flicked on one of the big screens.

The first showed Todd, still bound as before, except now with his legs rather inefficiently roped together. He was situated on the rug of the couple’s suite with the woman straddling his thighs as he squirmed beneath her. They had removed the blindfold, and even over the cameras the look in his eyes was pure murder. It was unclear if she was attempting to hurt him, sexually assault him or hold him down for her partner.

It was a lot less fun to watch than when he was bickering with Grayson earlier. Slade was unsurprised to see that he seemed to be loosening his bindings, and was only a few kicks short of dislodging Bankhoff and freeing himself from the necktie wrapped around his ankles. The kid had some strong legs on him. Slade had been kicked in the face more than once by the Red Hood, (and indeed, by a gangly foul mouthed Robin who hadn’t quite grown into his limbs yet) and a necktie was not going to cut it.

Slade felt a horrifying trickle of nostalgia remembering Todd calling him a ‘dumbfuck Cyclops with more wrinkles than brains,’ just before launching a poorly executed, but wonderfully powerful, flying kick. Slade had almost toppled off the building he was on after he allowed it to land, but it was worth it as he caught the offending foot and tossed Robin off the roof instead. It was amusing to see how many times the kid tumbled ass over elbow before remembering he had a zip line and firing it. And he never stopped cussing the whole way down either – a remarkably inventive kid when it came to language. Despite his smarts and his growing physical skills, Slade had dismissed him as Not As Good As Grayson, and therefore of little interest other than as a passing amusement. But puberty, a brain injury and assorted trauma seemed to have done wonders for the kid. He was almost sorry he hadn’t pursued him in the same way he had Grayson, especially as Dick suffered from an almost terminal case of suffocating morality. Todd had turned out much more flexible on that score, although probably not flexible enough. Slade bit back yet another a sigh.

On the screen the man was more or less sitting on Todd's head in an effort to keep him still, as he cut off the fake uniform top with a small razor blade. He wasn’t being particularly careful and there were bloody cuts across his exposed skin. Todd’s thrashing and cussing were not helping matters either.

Slade turned away to fine McVitie looking at him with a calculating expression on his face. Slade's instincts kicked into gear, there was something happening here, a test of some sort? Despite his moment of reminiscing, Slade had kept his face black and professional. Whatever reaction McVitie was aiming for, he hadn’t got it.

McVitie gave him an insincere smile. “Shall we see what the other one is up to?” He switched on the other screen to reveal Grayson, face down on the bed of an ornate guest suite. He was still bound and blindfolded, but clearly working on that despite the pain he was in. Stefan was straddling his hips, rubbing against him threateningly. Beside him on the bedside table there were an array of objects laid out that ranged from oversized sex toys to implements better suited to a medieval torture chamber.

It wasn’t those that got under Slade's skin though, it was the words Stefan was whispering into Dick’s ear as he dry humped him. “I’m going to fuck you wide open, Nightwing, scar you from the inside out. Every time you wake you’ll have to think of me , every time you take a shit, you’ll think of me , every damn moment of your short life will be about me and what I’ve done to you. I don’t get to kill you, but you’ll wish I had, even as your last thoughts are of me.”

Slade hated that. Someone else claiming a part of Grayson. It wasn’t that he believed that Dick belonged to him in any real way, it was just he definitely did not belong to this upstart pervert. There was also little doubt that Stefan spoke a level of truth, if he was allowed to go all out on his victim, he was capable of breaking him. Very capable. Grayson was just a man, after all, no matter his training.

He just couldn’t let it happen.

Stefan leaned back and smacked at Grayson’s behind with the flat of his palm. “First, maybe I’ll break your legs,” he mused. “Break them so even if you're rescued, you’ll never walk again. Not without pain, not without help. You’ll never fight again, never fly.”

Beneath him, Dick shivered. As though the threat of that was somehow worse than death. Stefan grinned, catching the involuntary shudder.

“How do you feel about that?” Stefan asked, like he was genuinely curious to hear the answer.

“Go fuck yourself.” Dick grunted.

“I’d rather fuck you, Nightwing.” Stefan gloated. He had yet to take off the blindfold, but no doubt he would soon, to make Grayson watch.

On the screen Dick didn’t dignify that with an answer, twisting his limbs in his bonds, looking for a tiny bit of give he could exploit.

“So,” McVitie said, interrupting his thoughts in a very casual tone. “It’s Grayson you have a history with. I did wonder.”

Slade realised he must have given something away with his expression or body language. Very bad form on his part, just another sour note to add to this clusterfuck of a mission.

“And?” he asked, not bothering to deny it.

“Will you betray me for him?” McVitie asked, without the fear such a question should be spoken with.

“That depends. Are you going to betray me ?” Slade asked, mildly. He was, that much was now a given. But McVitie had to make a drama out of it, even his face looked dramatic, theatrical in its over excited expression. The little creep really did love the melodrama of a good betrayal.

As if on cue, the door opened and a tall muscular woman stepped in. Slade recognised her, although they had never met. Shard, an assassin, mercenary and bodyguard. She had a good rep and possibly some meta ability, or the sort of enhancements Slade himself had. He could take her in a fight, but it wouldn’t be easy, and he wasn’t sure Grayson had the time for him to indulge in a long, drawn out battle.

“This all feels very familiar,” Slade drawled. “Except last time I was the man hired to kill my predecessor. It seems this is a short term job, Cecil.”

“Lucrative though,” Shard said, amiably.

“Indeed. Although McVitie seems to have forgotten one thing.”

“Your prowess? “ McVite sneered, apparently thrilled to be able to talk some more instead of running away like a smart man would. “Shard’s better. I always get the best of everything.”

Slade slowly drew his blade, Shard did the same with a wicked looking katana and they sized one another up for a moment. “No, not my prowess. It is considerable, but I concede that Shard is good enough to make the fight an interesting one. But no, the thing you have forgotten is that mercs like Shard and myself don’t need to fight to prove ourselves and we don’t fight for honour. We fight for money.” Before he had even fully finished speaking, Slade reversed the blade, struck out to the side and slammed it home into McVitie’s gut, McVitie made a noise like a startled pig and Slade twisted the blade as he withdrew it. “If there’s no employer there’s no money, and if there’s no money, there’s no fight.”

“Aw, shit,” Shard said, a sad downturn to her mouth. “He was good for almost two mil.”

“He was selling you short, my first job for him was double that.”

“Still, easy money.”

“Well, it will take him a little while to bleed out, but not enough time to get him any sort of help. Money’s gone.”

Shard looked at her blade, a little petulantly, but then sighed. “You’re a bastard, Deathstroke, but it was fair play I guess.”

Slade inclined his head.

Shard clicked her tongue and glanced at the ornate nonsense in the room. “What about the goods? They got any resale value? Only seems fair I get to make back a bit of my loss.”

Slade rolled his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Sure. But they’re mine. He has plenty of other shit around, take whatever else you want, then leave to fight another day.”

She gave him a shrewd and speculative look. “Must be worth a hell of a lot if you would only take them, and just give the rest to me.”

“They’re getting less valuable by the second. I don’t have time to fight. But yes, they are worth a lot, to the right people. But besides me, there is also a high price to dealing with them. They will bring down a crap of trouble on any buyer or broker. Bat trouble.”

“Shit, Gotham type Bats? I fucking hate Gotham.”

“Bleghhhh,” McVitie said from the floor, snivelling and choking on his own blood.

Slade ignored him. “Gotham and Bat trouble are both acquired tastes, but one of these boys and I have history. Having him indebted to me is worth the aggravation from the Big Bad Bat.”

“Ha, well rather you than me. Take them, I’ll be raiding the old pig’s files and cellar, I’m sure there’s enough crap in here to pay double what he offered me.” She picked up a gaudy, gold and diamond encrusted paper weight in the shape of a fat dog and examined it critically. “Shame money can’t buy taste.”

“Urrrgle!” McVitie objected. His eyes were beginning to roll. It wouldn’t be long now until he took his poor sense of aesthetics with him to the afterlife. Couldn’t come soon enough really.

Shard pocketed the paper weight with a philosophical shrug. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

“Same.” Slade watched her leave then shoved McVitie over with the toe of his boot and wiped his sword clean on the back of his pants. Only then did he turn his attention back to the main screens.

Stefan was still talking and although Dick was bleeding from the nose and had a fat lip, he was still clothed and appeared unhurt. Stefan seemed to be making a performance of it, or perhaps he just loved the sound of his own voice. He might well spend all night listening to himself talk at this rate.

On the other screen, Todd had his legs free and seemed to have kicked Bankoff in the face, she was on her knees, dazed and bleeding. The man was shouting and waving a hammer.

Although he could more or less take or leave Todd, years of exposure to Grayson suggested that they would be going nowhere without him as well. And if Todd's legs were broken or he was unconscious with a claw-hammer to the skull, getting the three of them clear of McVitie’s mansion would be far more difficult and more importantly, far more aggravating.

So he decided to go get Todd first.

Slade didn’t bother knocking, just kicked the door down with enough force to knock it clear off its hinges. This also had the beneficial effect of taking out Bankhoff, who seemed to have propped herself against it in order to get over being kicked in the skull.

Jones was gaping stupidly at him, hammer raised, while Todd scooted across the floor on his butt, hands still bound behind him. Slade took two smooth steps forward and smashed his sword hilt into Jones’ face, knocking him down. Then he cut the bindings on Todd's arms.

“Deathstroke? The fuck you doing here?” Todd panted. The pain from the drugs was probably reduced from the amount of adrenaline in his system, but he was clearly still feeling it. Or maybe that was the few blows from the hammer that had landed, at least it seemed to have missed anything vital.

“You’re welcome,” Slade said.

“Nightwing?” Todd asked, getting to his feet, a little shakily.

“We’ll pick him up next.”

“Okay, lemme just get a shirt,” Todd said, eyeing up Jones who was blubbering and crawling, blinded by the blow or the blood running into his eyes. Todd grabbed him, yanking his black button-up out of his pants and over his head while Jones whimpered and begged. Todd said nothing as he placed the slightly blooded shirt on the side table and picked the razor blade that had cut lines into his chest. “I’ve been a pretty good boy recently, sticking to the rules when I’m in Gotham.” he said.

“Please!” Jones said, plaintively. “I’m sorry, Please!”

Todd ignored him. “But we aren’t in Gotham, and sometimes folks just piss me off enough for me to make an exception.”

Jones tried to scrabble away, but Todd grabbed him by the hair, pulling his head back and slitting his throat with a practised motion, clean and with no hesitation. Slade watched as the arterial spray hit the far wall, he really had missed an opportunity with this one. Blinded by Grayson’s natural brilliance he had missed the potential in his replacement. Still, too late now.

Unruffled by the arch of blood, Todd had put on the shirt and was looking at Bankoff, he seemed more reluctant to deal her a final blow, possibly because it was unsportsmanlike to kill an unconscious opponent. Slade had no such limiting compunctions and he stabbed her in the chest as he passed, the crunch of her ribs was satisfying. This job was a shit show, but at least he was getting to take his frustrations out on something.

“Come along, Todd,” he called over his shoulder.

Todd paused long enough to pick up the hammer he had been threatened with, and then a long thin bladed knife, before following him out of the door. Slade had to admit to being a little impressed with how steady Todd's hand was on the blade, seeing as he was shuddering and sweating with pain. Despite that, he kept pace, clearly as itchy to reach Grayson as Slade was.

They burst into the room in much the same way Slade had burst into Todd's. The room appeared empty and quiet at first glance, but it was that kind of quiet that seemed to follow frenzied activity that had been quickly cut off.

“Dickie?” Todd called, completely breaking every protocol the Bat had ever beat into his thick skull.

Grayson's head popped up from the other side of the bed. His hair was sticking up like he had been tugged through a bush backwards and he was slightly wild eyed.

His gaze fell on Todd first, relief clear on his face, then his eyes flicked back further. “Slade?” He blinked at them for moment, then a stupid grin spread across his face. “Are you rescuing me? I didn’t know you cared!”

“I don’t, but this would have been an embarrassing way for you to die, and my employer would have betrayed me anyway. Not to mention the fact now you are both in my debt.”

“I didn’t need your help, I’m nearly out, see?” he pushed himself up on the bed, in the same position he had been on the vid screen. Both his shoulders were dislocated and although his arms were still bound, he was working his way free of the bindings.

“Oh, gross,” Todd said. “Stop fucking wiggling like that.” He strode over and used his sharp little knife to cut the ropes the rest of the way off. Then he did a double take, looking down at Dick’s body. “Did he do anything?” He asked, voice suddenly very dangerous as he helped Dick to his feet and eyed up what Slade assumed was Stefan, unconscious and hidden down the side of the bed.

“No, I’m okay,” Dick said, going a little pink at the ears. “He just got a little enthusiastic with his knife.”

“If you say so. Wilson, can you help him get all his limbs back in order while I find some pants?”

While Slade objected very strongly to being ordered about by a Batling, he did want to give Grayson a once over just in case. Dick also looked like he was about to object, but Slade stepped forward and grabbed him by the arm, making him gasp and stagger slightly. His skin was fever hot even though the intact top half of the fake uniform. Before he had a chance to protest, Slade jerked the right shoulder back in place with a sharp movement.

“Oi!” Dick said when Slade manhandled him around to do the other, and it was quite obvious what had upset Todd when he got a look at Dick’s backside, literally. Stefan had cut the back of his tights open and he wasn’t wearing briefs. Slade jerked the other shoulder in place and then fended off a smack from Dick’s right arm, as he scowled and turned himself around again.

“Trying out a new look?” Slade asked mildly. Dick, as predicted, latched on to making a joke out of what was obviously an uncomfortable and perhaps upsetting situation.

“It’s a bit draughty for my tastes, actually,” he grinned, but his eyes were tight. As with Todd it was clear he was still in pain.

Behind him Todd was surreptitiously wiping blood off his knife, Stefan’s stolen pants draped over one arm. He gave Slade a little nod, confirming Stefan’s quiet demise tucked behind the bed.

“Put the pants on, Grayson, then lets hit the road before you two have to start humping again,” Slade said.

Todd flushed even redder than he already was and Dick grimaced. “Well we should probably tie Stefan up and...”

“No, we can track him down when you’re not on drugs and we aren’t in danger of being caught.” Although it would probably be mildly amusing to watch the two of them fight over killing people, they were on an increasingly tight schedule, because of the drugs and the possibility someone might notice the mess they had made.

“Fine,” Grayson agreed with surprisingly little fight. Perhaps due to the pain intensifying again now the adrenaline had worn off.

“Follow,” Slade said, and took off down the corridor. Behind him, both of them were muttering about following orders from a merc. But they were both doing what he asked, so he let them bitch and moan about it.

“Where are we going?” Grayson panted. He was sweating again and his steps were stumbling.

“One of McVitie’s other buildings. It has the tech I need to sort out this mess and rooms set up for you two to use however you decide.”

“How'd you mean?” Todd asked, suspiciously.

Slade sighed “Well, you have somewhere between three and eight hours left for the drug to work out of your systems. There is no antidote. So you have a choice, ride it out or continue where you left off earlier. Of course, I can also offer myself to help you out, if you prefer.

Grayson opened his mouth to speak, but Todd cut him off. “Oh hell no, no fucking way.”

Grayson's grinned, pained but still somewhat rueful. “Guess that’s a no.”

“Lets just get to this safe house,” Todd muttered.

Slade smirked to himself. This was going to be very entertaining, he could just tell.

#jaydick #Jason Todd #dick grayson #Slade Wilson #mik trys to write stuff #My fic #My writing #stranger

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