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yandere-daydreams · 7 months

Text

Title: Extra-dimensional.

Written for a very lovely anonymous commissioner.

Pairing: Yandere!Spot x Reader (Spider-verse).

Word Count: 6.0k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Semi-Public Sex, Tentacle-Adjacent Sex, Prolonged Stalking, Psychological Abuse, Themes of Grief, and Kidnapping.

You were starting to think that your apartment might’ve been haunted.

The science-focused part of your brain was forced to look at the evidence, to acknowledge how many well-accounted-for articles of clothing and minor keepsakes had gone missing over the past few weeks, to count how many times you’d caught shadowy figures flickering in the corner of your eye, to take stock of all possible causes and admit that, tragically, a temperamental spirit was the only remotely plausible explanation, even if you had to use the term ‘plausible’ more loosely than you’d like to. It made sense – or, it made as much sense as invoking supernatural entities could, anyway.

On the other hand, the part of your mind that paid rent every month and vacuumed twice a week really, really didn’t want your apartment to be haunted and vehemently denied that ghosts – unseen, untouchable, unsolvable ghosts – were something you’d have to deal with a down payment like yours.

Both parts of your brain could agree that leaving a fully in-tact, as-of-yet unopened bank vault would be a weird thing for a ghost to do, though.

Teeth grit, still dressed in the clothes you’d worn to the memorial, you stood with one foot planted on its overturned side and another lodged in your carpeting, the end of a crowbar you’d borrowed from your loudest downstairs neighbor lodged between the door and the wall where a badly beaten mechanism bound them together. You’d already called the cops, as little as you wanted to do with them or the quote-on-quote ‘heroes’ who’d failed to save him, but the operator had laughed you off of the line and despite the hours you’d spent buried in the deepest trenches of any search engine that would have you, the only report you could find of a bank robbery had taken place in London, on the other side of the world. You’d considered, briefly, that grief had driven you to hallucinations and this was just the first sign of an upcoming downward spiral, but that idea had been swiftly vetoed when you’d tripped over the damn thing and decided it was very much, very unfortunately real. The idea to pry it open had come a few minutes later, after deciding that you probably had a legal right to anything to investigate anything that spontaneously appeared in your living room – ghosts or no ghosts.

You heard something snap, felt the reverberation of a fracture underneath your palms, but the vault didn’t budge. The only thing that changed was your crowbar – the bent claw replaced with a jagged, broken-off tip when you managed to dislodge it from the vault. You winced, swallowing back in an agitated grown. Trial One: Crowbar vs. Spontaneously Generated Vault complete. So far, the vault reigned victorious.

You tried to take a deep breath, to count to ten and tell yourself that this was no different than a failed experiment, a half-baked test that just hadn’t gone your way, but you could still hear church bells ringing in the back of your mind, still picture two empty seats at the front of the chapel – one for Dr. Octavius and the other meant for the CEO of the Alchamax, neither brave enough to show their face. You weren’t even sure why you were so angry. It could’ve been the clipped speech delivered by a company representative who’d barely known him, the closed casket, the way your coworkers could barely bring themselves to meet your eyes despite your stunted attempts at making conversation through the knot lodged in your throat. It could’ve been everything. It could’ve been something else entirely. You didn’t know. You didn’t care. There were already tears streaming down your cheeks, dripping down your chin as you pulled the crowbar back and swung it into the vault’s door. The force of the collision rattled through your body, but you steeled yourself and did it again, then again, then again, until the smooth, black metal was dented beyond any hope of repair and your crowbar was warped and misshapen. Finally, when you were panting and breathless, when your hands threatened to cramp and your shoulders ached in their sockets, you drove the blunted crowbar into the vault’s door with what was left of your quickly draining strength. In the end, your aggression was rewarded with a metallic clang, the sound of something cracking open, and then, what was left of the vault door fell open – nearly taking out one of your feet before you stumbled out of the way.

You clenched your eyes shut, forcing out a ragged exhale and re-tallying your score. Trail II: Crowbar vs. Spontaneously Generated Vault complete. Although the vault put up a good fight, the crowbar’s endurance ultimately persevered. Interference from external factors and researcher’s bias will be considered later on with the assistance of a glass of wine and a mediocre romcom you’ll cry your eyes out to.

Once you’d managed to dampen the lingering heat of your grief-fueled anger, you turned your attention to the bank vault’s contents – the fruits of your labor, the results of your little experiment. You weren’t sure what you expected. Jewelry, maybe, artifacts or century-old paintings some underground dealer had to ditch in a stranger’s apartment for reasons you couldn’t begin to comprehend. Part of you, the part of you that remembered the number written across your last paycheck, couldn’t help but hope for something simple; a disorderly pile of unmarked bills that you’d count and stow away and pretend you weren’t dying to waste. That part of you wasn’t entirely wrong, either.

Neatly stacked in the overturned bank vault, only slightly disrupted by your attempts to pry it open, were stacks upon stacks of neatly organized dollar bills. Or, that wasn’t quite right, actually. They were bills, but they weren’t dollars.

You took one of the bundles in your hand. English pounds – sorted by color and bound together by paper bands toting a logo you didn’t recognize. Huh.

Maybe your next call should be an international one.

By the next month, you’d escalated from a vaguely haunted apartment to a full-blown spectral presence that you just couldn’t seem to shake.

Spectral presence. You still weren’t convinced it was a real term, but you’d picked it up after a conversation with one of your coworkers (former coworker, now, you had to remind yourself, one of your former coworkers) when you both stepped out of a quickly lulling group session and you’d off-handedly mentioned your little ghost problem. In the moment, you’d laughed and shrugged and promised to let them know if you ever called an exorcist, but the phrase had stuck, resurfaced the next time you couldn’t find the threadbare t-shirt you’d been wearing for the better part of a decade and cemented itself in the forefront of your consciousness when the aforementioned shirt reappeared on your balcony, a jagged tear running from the collar to the midriff and the hems eaten away to nothing. If that didn’t count as a presence, you weren’t sure what would.

That was the first time your little ghost problem had followed you out of the house, but it wouldn’t be the last. You could practically feel it, now; constantly looming over your shoulder, constantly watching, constantly leaving little trinkets in places it knew you would be. If you could even call them that. They were more like… oddities – rings made of a kind of metal you couldn’t recognize, puzzle boxes you couldn’t seem to figure out, things that should make sense but just didn’t when you looked into them. The only one you’d been able to make sense of so far was a pair of glasses, one of the lenses sporting a hair-line fracture. You’d spent the rest of that day huddled in your closet, the door shut and the lights off. You considered that you could have a stalker, someone or something who loved you enough or hated you enough to follow you around, leaving things you didn’t want to see in places it knows you’d find them, but you didn’t know how a stalker would even start to get their hands on something like that. You didn’t know how anything of his could’ve survived that explosion, but you weren’t in a place to ask those kinds of questions, anymore.

Currently, you weren’t in a place to do much of anything. You’d spent most of the night before sleepless and huddled into yourself, and now, you were glassy-eyes and exhausted, staring down an aisle’s worth of produce blankly as you tried to ignore the chill fanning over the nape of your neck. You kept your tongue caught in your teeth, counting out the micro-seconds between one breath and another with a precision refined by years of measuring the time between stimulus and reaction, holding yourself stiff enough to drown out the unsteadiness. It’d pass, soon enough. It had to pass, eventually. You just had to—

Something brushed against the small of your back and you straightened, snapping over your shoulder and finding, predictably, nothing. You tried to write it off as just another figment of your stress-induced paranoia, a symptom of so many late nights and so little external stimulation, but any hope of calming your racing heart was torn away with you by the feeling of something settling against the curve of your shoulder-blade, then dipping lower, following the curve of your spine before sliding to your hip. It was a phantom sensation – cold and weightless, hollow and so close to intangible – but you could feel it clearly enough to recognize that it was pressing against you directly, frozen tendrils sapping the warmth from your skin without clothes to buffer its awful touch. There was something else to it, too, a sort of buzzing that you couldn’t seem to compare to anything but static. It burnt. It didn’t feel like anything at all.

If you’d been braver, you might’ve glanced down, tried to see if the fabric of reality had opened to reveal some terrible, eldritch thing, but you weren’t and it was all you could do to clench your eyes shut, to cross your arms over your chest and pray that would be enough to protect you from the thin trail of frigid, searing static slowly creeping up your side, drifting to your navel, following the curve of your chest until it was resting just underneath the base of your throat. You weren’t sure what you were afraid of. That it would hurt you, maybe, that the thing that was haunting you for months would realize it could touch you and take the next logical step. You didn’t want to die in a grocery store. You didn’t want to die at all. You didn’t want to—

“Do you mind, dude?”

The static disappeared, dissolving into the open air, and your eyes shot open, immediately finding a strung-out teenager standing next to you, awkwardly attempting to reach for something you must’ve been standing in front of. More out of reflex than anything else, you stepped back, muttering an apology under your breath before retreating out of the store entirely. You decided, when you were a block away and just starting to catch your breath, that you’d never be going back. You decided you were never going to think about what’d just happened to you again.

And, later on, when you realized that you wouldn’t be any safer at home, you decided not to think about your little haunting at all.

~ It was creeping up your spine, again.

“You’ve got more than enough experience for the position we’re offering.”

Lingering at the nape of your neck, pausing, then circling to your chest to trace over your collarbones.

“And I saw your resume, too – very impressive stuff. We’d love to have someone with your qualifications on our staff.”

It usually waited until you were alone, locked in your apartment or curled up under your sheets. It hadn’t touched you again in public since your first physical encounter – something you were thankful for and horrified by in equal measures. You didn’t want to consider the possibility that it was a conscious entity. You didn’t want to think about what it would mean if it knew what it was doing to you.

“There’s just one question. You mentioned that you were formerly employed at,” A pause, a polite smile that meant ‘depending on your answer, you might not be in my office for much longer’, “Alchemax?”

You forced yourself to smile, too, shifting slightly in your uncomfortable leather seat and hoping that would be enough to dispel the trail of frost now gliding down your chest. “Unfortunately,” you started, and your specter dipped lower, past your stomach and into the space between your thighs. You clenched your legs shut, then thought better of it and crossed them, but that did little to stop the chill now washing over your lap, fanning over the inside of your thigh. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve called it groping. “I wasn’t in that department, if that’s what you’re wondering. Our work was supposed to be completely theoretical. None of us knew what was really going on until – well, until everything knew.”

Your total rejection of autonomy appeased the interviewer, who rewarded your sacrifice by nodding his head and shuffling the papers on his desk before launching into some lengthy monologue about benefits and turn-over rates that you couldn’t bring yourself to concentrate on. Your crossed legs offered little protection. The entity’s touch expanded, infecting everything it contacted with that awful static and turning your skin warm, hyper-sensitive. A strange, alien weight fell onto your clit, pressing down harshly enough to earn a sudden gasp, to make you jerk forward and wrap your arms around your stomach. The interview went silent, his expression turning to one of sympathy-tinged confusion. “Oh, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m just—” You tried to straighten your back, to brace yourself on the arm of your chair, but the entity dipped lower, two finger-like projections tracing down the length of your slit and you forced yourself to stand in spite of your unsteady legs. “It’s just been so humid, lately. I think I might need to step out and get something to drink—”

“Please, let me.” No, no, no. You needed to be somewhere else, to find a broom closet to hide in until this was over, but you couldn’t say that, couldn’t explain that all you wanted to do was get away from here and run farther than this entity would be able to follow you. You couldn’t say much of anything as you fell back into your seat, as your interview offered a curt apology and fled his own office before you could do the same. You might’ve thanked him, but you couldn’t be sure. It was impossible to hear anything over the sound of your own heart beating in your ears.

As you feared, the entity seemed to know that you were alone. Its formerly ginger touch turned aggressive, dull fingertips (because they were fingers, you couldn’t deny it any longer, couldn’t claim this thing was as far from human as you hoped it would be) burrowing into the inside of your thigh harshly enough to bruise before pulling back and turning their attention back to your cunt, your clit. It was more than just the ghost of sensation, now – the pad of a thumb pressing into the sensitive bundle of nerves and drawing loose, quick circles into your clit. Your body, senses dialed up by paranoia and defenses thinned by exhaustion, reacted instantly, an unfamiliar warmth pooling in your core as you dug your nails into the leather seat and tried to hold yourself still, tried to stop your stupid, stupid body from doing anything that’d suggest you wanted to be molested by a ghost.

You grit your teeth, to clench your thighs together, but your resistance only seemed to make it more aggressive. You felt a hand curl around your ankle and jerk your leg to the side, forcing your legs apart. It was quick to fill the empty space, three fingers pressing into your entrance as the heel of a palm continued to torture your clit. Whatever chill it carried, you were burning hot enough to balance it out, now, to leave you struggling to ignore the slick starting to dampen the inside of your thighs, the wet sounds that echoed off the blank office walls as two fingers slid into your pussy – only vaguely muffled by fabric still between you and it. Suddenly, the material of your dress-pants felt thin, transparent, and against your better judgement, you forced yourself to look toward the door. The interviewer had closed it on his way out, but it wasn’t locked. You doubted it was soundproof, either. If you were lucky, they’d be short-staffed, and no one would have a reason to pass this specific office though this specific hallway. And, if you weren’t…

You choked back a ragged groan as the fingers inside of you started to move, started to do more than just grope and tease and haunt. Rather than numb, rather than paralyze, the static seemed to tote a much, much worse side-effect. There was a sort of… buzzing vibration, a resonating tremor that made you want to lean back, go slack, and let the sensation wash over you. You couldn’t, though. Even if you forfeited the job, gave up on the idea of ever working in this industry, you knew you’d never be able to show your face in public again if someone walked in and you had to explain what was happening to you right now. That was, if you even could explain what was happening to you right now.

You caught the inside of your cheek in your teeth, biting down until you tasted blood. The digits quirked upward, rubbing against your pulsing walls before scissoring apart, stretching you open. There was no pattern to it, no method you could track and prepare yourself for. If you didn’t know better, you’d call it experimental. If you didn’t know better, you would’ve called it clumsy.

You could feel your face heating up, a knot of tension growing tighter in the pit of your stomach, but rather than sped up, push forward, force you further towards that inevitable ledge, the entity’s hand pulled back, rubbing one more careless pattern into your clit before falling away completely. You let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and disappointment, letting one last disgusted shudder run through you before straightening your back and—

And forcing a palm over your mouth just in time for a tongue, wet and thick and cold, to run over your cunt, hauling you back to the edge just as quickly as you’d pulled away from it. It was rough, the texture too savage to be human, and so wet, the slick you’d been trying to ignore was immediately replaced with thick, freezing saliva. Even the length seemed designed to torture you – long enough to lap over your entrance and your clit in the same slow, aching stroke; to thrust into you and fill the space its fingers had left empty. Memories of a course on specialized biology resurfaced in the fog of forced pleasure and helpless confusion, something about the evolution of a giraffe’s tongue and then, in another lecture, of the practice of masturbation among dolphins as a marker of their intelligence. You’d hated that fucking class. You hated that you were thinking about it now, instead of doing anything useful.

Its tongue was wider, more flexible than its fingers had been. It didn’t have to stretch you open, no, not when it was big enough to keep you full as its tapered end curled and probed against the walls of your cunt. Two fingers pressed into your clit, drawing loose patterns while its tongue split you open so gracelessly, so brutally, it almost circled back around to feeling good. You didn’t try to stop yourself from grinding into it, anymore, letting your legs twitch and your hips buck freely as it worked, as it tore you apart with all the care of a predator gnawing at slabs of raw meat. Every scrap of your limited energy was devoted to keeping yourself quiet, to stifling the needy whimpers and little whines that managed to escape despite your best efforts to silence them. That terrible buzzing seemed to grow stronger, now intense enough to send pulsing jolts of pure electricity from your pussy to your core, and you doubled over, blunt nails biting into your own skin as that thing finally shoved you over the side and brought your body to a trembling, blinding orgasm.

It nursed you through your climax, and as the euphoria faded and the aftershocks dulled into sharp, searing pangs, you managed to speak, your voice hushed and shaking for reasons that were entirely beyond your control. “Go away,” you forced out, praying that your interviewer had left the building, that there had never been a research center here at all and you were just sitting in a condemned building crying about nothing because grief had driven you insane weeks ago and you were just too lost in your own delusions to notice. “Please, go away.”

There was a second of hesitation, a lingering chill against the inside of your thigh, and the entity chose to show its first sign of mercy and finally, finally leave – its cold tongue lapping over your cunt one more time before disappearing completely. You had a second to pull yourself into a more dignified position, another to make sure you didn’t look like someone who’s just gotten finger-fucked by a ghost in the empty office of a higher-up who had to already think you were some mad-scientist reject before the door swung open, your interviewer stepping back in and smiling at you as if nothing in the world could’ve possibly been wrong.

His eyes flickered over your hollowed expression, your wide eyes, your unsteady posture as he handed you a lukewarm bottle of water. You could only wonder why it’d taken him so long to get. “Are you…” A pause, a slight wince. You tried to pretend you didn’t notice. “…feeling alright?”

“Just fine,” you said, your voice hoarse, barely audible. You managed to brace yourself on the arms of your chair, pulling yourself upward and leaving the bottle forgotten in your lap. You didn’t want to drink anything. Not until your hands stopped shaking, at least.

“I think we were talking about my qualifications?”

You got the job, despite everything. They asked you to start as soon as you could, but you’d made your excuses, cited a half-remembered clause that’d come with your suspension package and got whoever was in-change of that kind of thing to hold the position for another month. You couldn’t imagine willingly stepping back into that building again, not yet. You couldn’t imagine doing much of anything, not when he still hung over your life like the smoke of a funeral pyre.

It'd been a bad idea, looking back on it. You should’ve worked harder to get yourself out of your stifling apartment. You should’ve done more to keep up with the friends you’d pushed away after the incident, to make sure you didn’t leave yourself socially isolated and alone. You should’ve left town. You should’ve fled the country.

You should’ve done everything in your power to make sure you didn’t end up where you were now, facing down the thing that was currently standing in your bathroom doorway.

Your ghost, you figured – even if it’d been weeks since you genuinely thought you were only dealing with a run-of-the-mill haunting. It looked… blurry, for lack of a more creative descriptor; the white, chalky outline of a humanoid figure standing sharply out against the entirely black background. If it had a body, it was lost in the shadows of the hallway beyond, the shadows it’d created when it appeared out of nowhere and took every light bulb in your apartment out with a single pulse of extra-dimensional energy. Right now, the only source of light was the phone you were clutching in your right hand, your left similarly preoccupied, busy keeping your suddenly very, very thin towel wrapped around your torso. It probably didn’t matter. As far as you could tell, this thing didn’t have eyes, let alone genitalia.

That was what the rational, scientific part of your brain said, at least. The rest was replaying the memory of the way its hand had felt as groped at your thighs and couldn’t seem to comprehend much else.

You half-expected it to lunge at you, or rather, to creep at you, to disappear and reappear just outside of your peripheral, too far to see but close enough to sense. In the end, it only had to take a step forward, its movements slow and jerky, as if it wasn’t used to carrying its own weight just yet. Did it even weigh anything? Could you weigh something that clearly wasn’t supposed to exist? It didn’t really matter. You already knew it could touch you. You already knew it could kill you, if it wanted to.

Another step, then another. It closed the distance between you easily, coming to a stop less than arm’s length in front of you. You could see it more clearly, make out a smear of color in the void, like light catching on an oil spill. The white lines that bordered its form were moving in a way you hadn’t been able to make out from across the room, too; trembling and shaking, constantly shifting as if it was only ever a second away from falling apart entirely. If you weren’t so scared, you’d be tempted to reach out, see what happened when you made contact with it, rather than the other way around. If you weren’t so afraid, you might’ve been able to do anything.

It lifted a hand, reaching towards you with those same unnatural movements. Its fingertips brushed over your skin, painting a strip of frost across your cheek, and you felt your blood turn to ice. You couldn’t hear the buzzing, but then again, it might’ve just been a sign that you’d already gone deaf with fear.

You opened your mouth, but speech was hindered, your internal monologue limited to a never-ending mantra of ‘go away go away go away go away go away’. Eventually, you managed to spit something out, even if your voice was barely above a whisper by the time it reached your lips. “I don’t want you here.”

There was a second of stillness, of silence. You started to wonder if you’d made it angry, if it could be angry. You started to wonder if it could understand you at all.

Your makeshift flashlight wavered, sputtering a few times before giving out completely. You scrambled to turn it back on, to not be left alone in the dark with a monster, but your apartment flickered back to life and you found yourself standing alone, the entity having blinked out of reality in the time it took your eyes to adjust to the light. The only proof that it’d been there at all was your dead phone and how violently your hands were still shaking.

You considered leaving your apartment. You considered leaving the city – renting a car and driving as far as you were able to. You’d sleep in whatever shady, cheap motels would have you, start a new life across the country with only your meager savings and multiple PhDs to keep you afloat. You’d change your name. You’d get away from here, away from it. It wasn’t like you had much of a choice, now that the infestation had spread to your sanctuary, too.

You took a shuddering breath, then set your phone down and let your towel fall away. You didn’t bother getting dressed before climbing into bed and curling up underneath your sheets, hoping in-vain that your comforter would be enough to hide you from any unseen voyeurs.

Some part of you must’ve already known that it wouldn’t.

You couldn’t remember waking up.

You must’ve, at some point. But, if you had, you would’ve remembered being brought here, would’ve been able to recognize the feeling of countless hands wrapping around your wrists, your ankles; countless mangled tendrils tangling around your fingers and dripping down your arms, snaking up your legs until you were entirely at its mercy. The numbers didn’t add up. There were too many hands, too many moving parts, too many things for your confusion-addled mind to keep track of. You couldn’t seem to figure out if you were suspended mid-air or if the gravity was different, if you were genuinely as weightless as you felt. That, more than anything, fueled the growing nausea twisting in the pit of your stomach, the growing sense of wrongness that threatened to tear away what little stability you had left. What little sanity you had left.

You tried to look past the awful things wrapped around you, to ground yourself with something beyond shifting colors and distorted limbs, but whatever pocket dimension you’d been dragged into didn’t offer much comfort. An expanse of white stretched on as far as you could see, only interrupted by free-floating pools of pure darkness; drops of ink spilled across an otherwise blank canvas. Occasionally, the landscape would waver, leaving you in a pure void broken up by streaks of colorless flesh that’d burn themselves into your sight and linger as phantom visions for seconds after the false reality corrected itself. Even the feeling of its skin against yours was off-putting, unsettling, lacking the warmth that would’ve accompanied the touch of anything human. Where there should’ve been comfort, there was nothing, a total absence of life and familiarity to a degree you’d never experienced before. Where there should’ve been intimacy, there was strangeness, and you’d never taken well to strangeness.

A pang of pure ache ran from your cunt to your core, a sort of numbing electricity that made your legs twitch and your body seize. Right, you’d managed to forget. It was touching you, beyond just the hands shackled around your wrists and ankles and the amorphous tendrils laving over any part of you they could reach. Two fingers kept your pussy spread open and vulnerable while a thick, tapered tendril thrust into you at the kind of idle, languid pace that was simultaneously infinitely merciful and too agonizing to put words to. That was one of the only things you could feel – the agonizing stretch, the tight knot of tension sitting in the pit of your stomach. If you’d been able to move anything beyond your eyes, you might’ve gagged. If your body had been something tangible, something real, you might’ve felt sick.

The tendril curled inside of you, and every fiber of your being seemed to wither. Struggling was pointless, but you still had to try, thrashing against your restraints, digging your nails into that obsidian flesh and praying to whichever deity would listen that it wouldn’t think to fight back. Fortunately, your blunt nails and weak thrashing didn’t seem to faze it. You weren’t sure if it knew you were there beyond some unconscious tactile sense, like a freshly triggered venus flytrap closing around its victim. You weren’t sure which was more horrific – the idea that there was some sentient, self-aware being knowingly and decisively doing this to you, or the passing thought that you’d just been caught in the mouth of some mindless creature that happened to like the way you tasted.

You decided not to think about it. You decided not to think about anything. You decided that, if you kept your mind totally blank, if you refused to count how many times you’d caught a lingering shadow in the corner of your eye or felt a stray hand brush against the small of your back, if you refused to feel its disembodied tendril filling your cunt, then none of this was happening, then you weren’t trapped in an plane of endless nothingness and you weren’t being fucked by the monster that’d been haunting you for months, now. You clenched your eyes shut and promised yourself that you couldn’t feel its dulled tip rubbing against that sensitive, softened spot inside of you, that your hips didn’t buck as another hand appeared from a puddle of kaleidoscopic ink and pressed three fingers into your abused clit, that it didn’t matter if warmth was starting to pool in your core because it couldn’t matter.

Ignoring it wasn’t an option, though. It wouldn’t let you ignore it – its pace changing, speeding up, getting rougher as you failed to stifle your reactions, failed to swallow down the little gasps and moans that slipped past your parted lips. It was almost brutal in its unyieldingness, fucking into you with enough force to bruise as you writhed and scratched and screamed. There was no remorse, no care, just its forceful affection and your body’s response. Another tendril wrapped around your midriff, another hand falling to your chest, and you let out a long, wordless cry. The entity reacted immediately, the blunt head of a tendril forcing its way past your lips and lodging itself in your throat, forcing you to gag around its bulk. It smelled like ozone – fresh and thrilling and terrible all at once. It tasted organic.

This one, mercifully, didn’t seem to want to hurt you. It seemed content to explore you, to twist around your tongue and prod at every corner of your mouth. Still, tears formed in the corners of your eyes, dripping down your cheeks and pooling on your chest as you attempted not to choke, as you tried not to let the deformed mass fucking into your cunt tear you apart. Your vision was distorted, blurred and darkened around the edges, but you forced yourself to open your eyes, to stare blankly at the new well of ink forming some indescribable distance above you. It was bigger than the others, soon interrupted by a border of white appearing in the darkness, the shape wavering, sketchy, like chalk line drawn with an unsteady hand. Eventually, you made out a shape not unlike the one you’d seen in your apartment all those weeks ago, the ghostly entity that’d barely had to lift a finger to terrify you. This one was different, though – harsher, flitting and flashing in and out of existence faster than you could comprehend. If it’d been a breath away from falling apart the last time you saw it, reality was struggling to hold itself together around it, now.

A head emerged from the darkness, then a neck, then the entity’s broad shoulders. A hand materialized, extending from the pull of darkness and reaching towards you, towards the mess of dark matter and appendages that now all-but entirely encompassed your form. Its fingertips brushed against your jaw, then cupped your cheek, it’s touch careful, ginger, cautious. As if it was trying to be gentle with you. As if it was trying to be loving.

You’re not sure what part of your exhausted mind made the connection, which piece slid into place first. You let your head lull to the side, your jaw fall limp around the tendril in your mouth. You grunted, a premature attempt to speak that it could separate from all the other meaningless, ragged sounds that’d been forced out of you by its invasive touch, and the tendril pulled back, wrapping loosely around your neck. It still took you a moment to find your voice, but you managed to spit out something nearly coherent.

“…Jonathan?”

For a moment, the hands wrapped around your limbs loosened, the tendril attempting to split you in two faltering and before going still.

Then, there was a resounding, resonating purr that seemed to emanate from every corner of the micro-dimension. When the tendril started to move again, it thrusted into you with twice the force, twice the mania. This time, you didn’t have to pretend. You were floating on air, your thoughts blank and your mind empty – your body numb and unfeeling. This time, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get away.

This time, you didn’t even bother to try.

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operationslipperypuppet · 3 months

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a small, slightly strange, slightly devastating hardwon and moonshine treat for @stone-stars as part of @naddpodgifting.

Transcript:

This is a series of clips edited together, skipping some moments in certain episodes. Skips ahead will be marked with line breaks. The episodes used, in order, are C1E99, C1E100, C1E57, C1E99, C1E92, C3E41, C3E41, and C1E99. Used throughout are lines from "If We Were Vampires" by Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit. Those lyrics are in bold.

If we were vampires and death was a joke Moonshine (Emily): How long do half-elves live? We'd go out on the sidewalk and smoke Hardwon (Jake): And I wanna keep on living in that world. I wanna be a part of the Crick. I, I just wanna live next door to, to Ol' Cobb, I wanna learn from Maw Maw. [Emily gasps] Hardwon: And, hell, I wanna keep hanging out with you, so... Moonshine [overlapping]: It - Hardwon: If you'll find me a stump. -- Moonshine: Hardwon, I promise, you are gonna love our lazy afternoons and our rowdy evenings. [Caldwell laughs] Hardwon: I truly can't wait. Moonshine (/Emily): I give him a big hug. Hardwon (/Jake) [slightly choked up]: I hug her back. Laugh at all the lovers and their plans Jake (/Hardwon): I'm going to kiss Moonshine. [Murph gasps] -- Murph: Um - Hardwon: You're beautiful, is all I'm trying to say. [Emily laughs] -- Queen Ezra (Murph): Oh, you think you can save her. Hardwon: I think she can save herself. I wouldn't feel the need to hold your hand Hardwon: It doesn't matter how I feel about Moonshine, cause she's gonna do whatever the hell she wants anyway, and that's, that's one of the reasons why I fuckin' worship her. Maybe time running out is a gift Hardwon: Wait a second, no, hit me. Murph [overlapping at the beginning]: [points at] Moonshine, and is going to cast Power Word Kill -- Jake (/Hardwon): I just run over to Moonshine with the, with the book, and even if it doesn't do anything I'd at least like to kneel down there and, uh, sob quietly. [Caldwell laughs] Hardwon: You like these, right? [Caldwell laughs louder] Hardwon: Read this book. Read, read that. And wake up. -- Murph: Uh, you see her fungal form, uhhh, falls apart around her - Hardwon [overlapping for the rest of the statement]: No no no no no no Murph: - like a dead flower losing its petals Hardwon: no no, no no no. -- Hardwon: Bring her back, and I'll come. Bring her back. I'll work hard 'til the end of my shift Moonshine [over static]: So, I think, if, I don't know where you went to, but if, if you can come back? Things, things are bad. I, I think we've only got maybe another week. Oh, I, oh, I - I gotta go. Hardwon, please! And give you every second I can find Hardwon: Moonshine, I'm - I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I left, but that's - that's not important. I'm - I hear you. I'm coming, girl. -- Moonshine [over static]: Hardwon, it's damn good to hear your voice. And it'll be even better to see your face. Get here. And hope it isn't me who's left behind. Moonshine: I guess, if I'm being honest, I just don't know what it's gonna be like to know Bahumia without Hardwon Surefoot. [voice breaking] And there's a part of me that doesn't wanna find out what that feels like.

#naddpod #not another dnd podcast #bahumia #ba2mia #hardshine #hiiii han you made a passing comment about this song last time we were chatting and due to my insanity i decided to make this #it doesn't work completely and it's slightly incredibly tragic but i couldn't not do it once i had the idea #enjoy being insane about this podcast with you and happy hoglidays

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thee-great-enigma · 5 months

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not a request but... kaeya in a corset. kae in a nice fancy corset that's all delicate laces and tight silks, flush against his pretty form. I'm DEAD he's so hot auhhhh. that's all I can think about... just thought I'd put that image in ur head ❤️

ps I do a little dance when I see a notif w your username in my activity cuz ur comments n writings r so good auuu hope u have a great day/night💫💫

Oh my gosh tysm. Kaeya is way too damn pretty for his own good I swear. I'd like to thank you for this image, I'll keep it in my Kaeya filing cabinet forever. He's so pretty I can't even 😩 😩 😩 😩 😩 Also, you have no idea how awesome you just made me feel reading this. This is my first ask, plus I really really look up to you because you're writing is so good. Like I've read your mahogany series (mainly the Kaeya one) again and again. You're literally like the best 💙💙💙

Not a request but I'm gonna write for it anyway bc you deserve it ^μ^

Pairing: Kaeya Alberich x male reader

Summery: Kaeya wears a fancy lacey corset and reader gets a little too horny (there will be a part 2 for the smut, I've just gotta work out some stuff)

POV: 2nd person (you, yours, yourself)

Notes: Reader is male and referred to as (?), gonna do a part 2 for this of the actual smut, kind of rushed?

Warnings: •⚠️⚠️⚠️• uhhhhh horniness ×10, pretty Kae, simping behavior, ripped clothing, idk if this counts but corset horniness, male genitalia mentioned a little bit, uh Idrk, if I missed any let me know 😗

Leave the corset on.

You fiddled with one of the calla lilies in the bouquet. He was taking an awfully long time.

See, a few hours ago, you'd decided to actually go to the windblume festival this year with someone you really liked. Kaeya Alberich. You knew he probably had a bunch of people in Monstadt drooling over him, which is why you wanted to ask him as soon as possible. So you'd invited him out to Windrise and told him you needed to tell him something really important. He'd chuckled and given you a knowing look as if he could already guess what you wanted to ask. But you'd rushed off before he could do anything but nod.

"Sorry (?), I got a bit held up with the Acting Grand Master." Said the familiar, silky voice of Monstadt's Cavalry Captain, and Monstadt's most beautiful man. Monstadt's most beautiful man who'd clipped his little longer portion of hair into a high ponytail and combed his bangs back a bit to accentuate his face. His pretty little face. Which currently had a slight bit of shimmering highlighter on his defined cheekbones, a few beads of sweat on his forehead, and bright blue eyeliner forming a small wing at the corner of his narrow, bright eye.

"No troubles. Oh here, this is for you. Sorry I may have picked at the petals a bit." You said with a shy giggle, handing him the small bouquet of calla lilies. As he smiled and grabbed it, you noticed something. A corset. Kaeya already had a slim waist, he didn't need a corset, but he looked so good wearing one. It was navy blue and lacey, satin trim. It hugged his petite figure perfectly and made his chest look delicious delightful.

"—llo? Hello? World to (?). Anybody in there?" You hadn't even heard what Kaeya had said a few seconds prior. The only reason you noticed he was speaking was because he got close to your face and gently grabbed your chin, making you look at his face instead of his perfect little hips that looked like they'd fit wonderfully into the palms of your hands.

"Oh! Oh uh....yeah sorry. Guess I got distracted. What were you saying?" You questioned, giving a nervous chuckle and rubbing the back of your neck, trying to stand in a way that his the growing bulge in your pants. You couldn't fathom how horny you had to be to get hard just seeing Kaeya in a corset. You felt a little ashamed.

"I asked what you wanted to talk about. You didn't bring me here just to give me a bouquet did you? Not that I'd mind, since I got to see you even if for just a fleeting moment." Kaeya gave a sly chuckle, a hint of knowingness behind that fake innocence in his gaze.

He was teasing. And it was working.

"Oh—I uh...I just um..." Fuck fuck fuck. You'd rehearsed this in the mirror, written it down in a notebook a million times like a script, contemplated writing it on your hand, you'd even practiced it while walking to the big tree. So why couldn't you get it out now? "I just w– wanted to know if you'd like um...to go to the Windblume festival with me. I mean, I'd understand if you're already going with someone, or i– if you just didn't want to go or um—" "I'd love to."

It took you a second to register Kaeyas words, standing dumbfounded. "W– What?" "I'd love to go to the Windblume festival with you, (?)." You had to conceal every reaction that threatened to leak out of you right then and there. And that bastard was just smiling innocently, looking all polite and pretty. You played it off with a chuckle, holding both hands in front of the increasingly tightening tent in your pants, trying to hide it. You couldn't get the images out of your head, images of him—

"(?)? You look nervous. Is something wrong?"

"What? Uh n—" You wanted to say no. But something was very much wrong. The problem was that he wasn't sitting naked underneath you with a fucked out expression on his face, your cock buried deep inside him. That's what was wrong. "Actually. Yeah."

"Oh? Well I'd be happy to help with anything."

"Anything?"

"Of course, dear (?)."

"Then sit on that root, take off your clothes and spread your pretty little legs. Oh and uh....leave the corset on."

—————————————‡——————————————

Reader rn. Also thanks @silkval for this amazing idea. Like I truly look up to you man/girl/non-binary pal. I legit like did a happy little yell I'm so glad no body heard me, I sounded like a five year old who just found a bunch of candy

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ravengards-rogue · 16 days

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beta molly and the way she weeps when you pop your knot in her. withering gasps and sobs, pretty green eyes tinged red with a blush down her soft freckled chest….

✧ tags : omegaverse, alpha!reader, gn!reader, reader has a penis and knot, reader is in rut, betas have faint scents, lotsa pet names, knotting, 18+

✧ wc : 1.2k

✧ a/n : hnngjgjfsdhkjsdjnflksjdfkdlfsdkksdflkfsgvsjkdfdl. its fine

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

"You're alright, sugar. Just breathe."

Molly gasps as your cock swells inside of her. Her voice is soft, prickly against your ear and warm as she whimpers. The soft curves of her body melt against your as you're slotted together, the red-head snug and comfortable in your lap.

You feel her face press against your neck, nose nudging against your scent gland and you groan. You know it's not easy for her, no matter how much you stretch and prep her, to take you. She always insists on it.

You think it's something to do with the fact it's the one thing she doesn't have.

It's what Molly is always most insecure about. Not being an omega, that is. You can't blame her, not after Dutch all but tossed her aside. Makes her antsy. She's skilled at catching even the faintest hint of an omega on you. Weeps herself into a fit whenever it gets too strong and demands you stay next to her for a few days to wash it out of your scent.

You can feel it whenever you reach your ruts, her own desperation to prove her worth—prove that she can be good and take it.

She's a pretty sight when she insists to take your knot. Always. There's many times you nearly gave it to her. Green eyes and hands fisted in the front of your shirt and all determination and longing, as if she's not the most delicate little woman in the world. For the longest time, you let her down gently with a firm, but kind 'no'. You'd spent your ruts with her, fuck her to your hearts content, but knotting was always off-limits.

And then just a few days ago, you helped Karen get somewhere safe to ride out her heat. You may be a lot of things, but you're not so much of a scumbag to leave her to own devices. A scented coat across her back and a horse ride to nearby inn later. Didn't lay on her, of course - but you did wait it out with her for a while. You came back and reeked of nothing but sugary liqueur, nothing like the soft, light scent of strawberries and clove you usually do.

Molly's been less than happy with you about it. Not helped by your rut coming in only days later, jump started by a woman who ain't her. After some crying, she'd demanded of you again but with more more fervor than normal.

And you're not stronger than the woman you so adore weeping in your arms about it, so you promise it to her. But only after making her cum enough times to make her stupid with it.

Even after though, the fit is tight. You've stretched her open, made her cum so many times she was near limp in your lap - but she still insisted. And she is still so so tight.

You can feel the muscles in your abdomen strain as Molly's pussy pulses around you. You take a shallow heaving breath, hands on her hips as the base of your cock starts to swell.

Molly's insides are softy and sticky, silken against your length. You're too big for her. Her body isn't made for it. She can hardly take you as is on days you're not like this.

But you try to keep your composure anyways. Ignore the baser part of your instincts aching for her inconceivably. Aching to pop your knot and keep her full, make her head useless for anything but thinking of you.

"All ye damn alphas are so," She shudders, burying her face against your shoulder. Her words are clipped by a moan, subdued and wanting "Uselessly big,"

You laugh against her. "I'm sorry, baby. Real sorry,"

She knows you're not, probably just as much as you know her vitriol lacks teeth. It's hard to take her seriously when you pull away and look at her. Her expression perfectly debauched, wide green eyes red at the rings - weepy from stimulation and rogue-red lips smeared from stolen, needy kisses.

When you feel Molly sink all the way down to the base of your cock, knot tight - you gasp against her neck. Fangs prick with urgency, to mark her and claim her. Sink yourself so deep into her wet, willing cunt she couldn't run if you tried. You have to remind yourself to keep your instinct at bay.

"Don't hold back from me," She huffs, somehow sensing that you are. You stare at her love struck, eyes starting to glaze over and take in just how pretty she is. How pretty she will be even sooner with your knot stuck in her. "Don't you dare."

"You're playing a very dangerous game, sugar."

"I don't want to beg any more for what I want. You always say you wouldn't make me do that, not like Dutch," Her voice is attempting to be demanding, but falls flat on it. It only ends up sounding desperate and needy and so perfect for you to sink your teeth into. "Give it to me. I want it."

"You're so spoiled," You remind her with a breathless laugh. "A good girl like you doesn't know how to be anything else does she?"

She shakes her head and tucks wraps her arm around your shoulder. You grunt, almost pained as you feel her intentionally squeeze.

"Alright, alright—you made your point. It's gonna hurt."

"I want it, damn it."

"Okay," You close your eyes and hold her hips "Okay, sweet girl. Be easy, please?"

She nods, satisfied - most obedient she's been all evening and it makes you want her even more. You like when she acts that way, like a spoiled princess. You don't know what part of you that is. If it's the Alpha in you, all wrapped in biology and blood or just you. The you that desires her for all she is so hungrily it makes your chest ache.

"Fuck, baby." You shake and you grip her tight. You want her so bone-deep you can feel it in the back of your skull, in your gums. Your fangs protrude against your lower lip. Buzzing, all the muscles in your body go taut like a bowstring. You can feel yourself swell and twitch, just as you can feel Molly respond to it every time. "Feel what you do to me? That's,"

You pant, trying to keep your sense. "It's all yours baby."

Molly crumples against your lap like those are the words she's wanted to hear most, more than anything in the goddamn world. She whines helplessly for the first time. You push your knot into her in one hard thrust. Willing and eager, and that's what gets you. Strokes your ego enough to make the base of your cock swell and swell and swell, and you push until you can't be anywhere but inside. You can feel the way the air gets punched out of her lungs right after, a shaking shuddering breath making her whole face turn pink.

The strain of it is too much, but she takes it like she has everything in the world to prove. Big, water-rimmed eyes and shaky little moans but still insistent.

She whimpers soft and girlish as you ease your knot into her and make her take to you. She accommodates you so well, pussy so perfect like it was made just for you.

All yours, like everything else about her should be in a perfect world.

Your body works against your mind as you cum inside her, thick ropes shooting up with no where to move from. Your cock stays still like that, twitching and hard as you let out a deep and long breath trying to regain some composure.

"Gotta stay like this for a while sugar," You hum, uncharacteristically checked out.

She giggles contentedly, pleased - happy sighing as she remains draped around you, soaking in the attention. "I already know that, you know."

You nod, adrenaline making the blood rush to your ears as you hum. You let your big hands hold the back of her head, drowning her in your affections as you kiss her freckled shoulder. "Just makin' sure."

.𖥔 ݁ ˖˚☽˚｡⋆

#guild gossip #molly o'shea x reader #rdr2 x reader #molly o'shea smut #rdr2 smut #d.rogues love letters #omegaverse cw

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rusty-gloinks · 10 months

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MURDER DRONES EPISODE 5 : Random details and favorite parts of this episode

Will be putting major spoilers under cuts if anyone has NOT seen the new episode, or has yet to see it. CW/TW: Blood, body horror, murdery stuff! SPOILERS!! AHHH!!! You get the point. I am not responsible for your actions :3

(This post is a mix of different things btw, Md related tho)

None of this will be in order, and I might need to make a PART TWO!!! Since the total is 45 images. :’)

FIRST UP. I would like to take the time to appreciate doll so have some LOVELY LITTLE images of her I took.

She looks so fucking awesome???? Like holy shit. She slayed!!!!!

not to be fruity .but. yea

SHE. also Isn’t that the campsite? Or just a different location with the same appearance.

OKAY. Next up. BABYGIRL . I SQUEALED AT LIKE EVERY SCENE OF THEM SHES SO FUCKING CUTE. MAN😭

BLEEEEEH (I’m going to make this my icon soonthat was the purpose of the screenshot. Also because I love them)

World is mine by Hatsune mi- cyn. World is mine by cyn. The famous vocaloid /j (HSES 😭😭😭😭)

Noticing how her balance is SOOO Much better while holding someone?. Also MOOD .just like me .real 💔

i lov e you🥺EEEK /p. Shes melting

MY SIB AND I WERE FUCKIJG DYING OVER THE PUPPY EYES.LMAO. I love their humor

J* , and they locked her in the basement. I am so SAD about this information

PROTECTIVE BIG BRO MODE…babys

Okay, listen, i know these 2 got shipped before the release but OUCH this makes things so much weirder!!! eugh:( (mainly saw em as friends.tttotallt not becsuse I project my friendship with my silly mutual onto them.no. /sarc)

anyways forget them being friends as my headcanon. THEYRE FUCKING SIBLINGS EVEN BETTER!!! (prjdedcts me and my elder sib onto th— *gets killed /j*

GAY RIGHTS(After the 2nd watch i realized she was making them kiss each other and I started laughing so hard my sides hurt)

Okay glitch QUIT SHOWING OFF. god damn !!!!! Literally appreciating this scenery so hard. 10000/10. :3

YKNOW HW I WANTED TO SEE TEARS IN THE NEW EPISODE!! LOOK. KIND OF CLOSE!!

LOOK HES SOBBING!!!! ALMOST. I GOT WHAT I WANTED OMFG!!!!! YAYYA!!!! (Love it when ppl cry /j

Lovely little lad. Reading abt dogs:) so cute…

subtle hints of favoritism..👀(she obvs likes J more I think,)

I love how immediately i could tell this was drawn by Liam. Canonically J in the show but like his style is so adorable and bouncy!!!! AND LIKE yummyys:3 eated

Cute detail in Uzi’s room. SHE LIKES BABY COWS GUYS. ITS TIME TO MAKE FANART OF UZI WITH BABY COWS. /J

Blushys:)!

For those wondering what this is it’s basically a ripoff of YouTube. The caption is titled "Top 100 Doors ever!!11!" and then the views at the bottom 😭😭. KHAN AND HIS FUCKING DOORS GOD DAMNIT

This part scared the shit out of me i was literally about to cry. I THIUGHTT SHE KILLED HIM

I had to slow this down and repeat the same clip OVER AND OVER Just to get it right, apparently the solver can swap roles? (The order is supposed to be yellow then purple since Uzi takes over as an admin instead of CYN.) very cool.

STP FIGHTING D:

BOTH VRY SCARY :(

Better glimpse of her backpack. Cute little skullbat zipper!! Also batteries. 👍

Apparently DEAD BATTERIES, aka the logo on Uzi’s sweater could be a possible band? Or reference to a band I don’t know? Like how they have my chemical robots (or something like that) as a ref to the band MCR (romance).

Sigh., N was that you.

Conlang? Fictional language? Glyphs? I’m assuming it’s VERY important (since liam lovessss foreshadowing, i will further elaborate). Hoping there will be ways to "simplify" it to english!

Yknow how in episode 2 Uzi takes braidens sentience or sumn like dat. Yea 💀

Alright I’ve hit the limit, gonna rb again with part 2!!!!! Soon. Maybe

#murder drones #Murder drones spoilers #Spoilers #md spoilers #spoilers md #murder drones spoilers #Md spoiler #Murder drones episode 5 spoilers #Ask to tag #Md ep 5 spoilers #Murder drones ep 5 spoilers

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dreamingcloudie · 1 year

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❛❛ In which; Dottore as a streamer... ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ I'll have to admit, this character is quite... alluring.❜❜

Pairing(s): Streamer!Dottore x (kinda) Game-Character!GN!Reader (Mordern AU)

Genre/Format: N/A (headcanons)

Warning(s): wrote this at 6am without thinking straight so possible grammar mistakes and sentences that don't make sense

Notes: There really isn't much of x Reader here, sadly :( I might write more of this in the future but idk

I know i have requests to do but this idea came out of nowhere and it was too tempting to not write something for it— I've only written headcanon once so this is short. I have no idea if I'm doing this right 💀

Let's be real, this guy would probably stream live torture on the darkest part of the internet

BUT, let's just pretend in this AU he's not an evil doctor man <3

He is a tired university student who majors in biology and thrives to earn a position in the medical field

And that means becoming a coffee addict and endless nights of staying up late to study

Sleeping? What's that?

I can see him being so focused on his studies to the point where he doesn't interact with the internet much

If someone showed him a popular meme he wouldn't understand

Boomer

Due to how busy he is, he doesn't have the time to find a job

He lives off of the money his parents send him every month lol

That was until someone introduced him to the wonders of the internet…

One of his friends—Childe, told him something about a streaming platform and he should go check it out

And that night when he got home, he pulled his laptop out and searched for it

He also learnt that people can earn money streaming whatever

For instance, most of the people streams "let's plays"

He scrolled down a little and he found people streaming… questionable things, and he was baffled they get paid for it

So that means, he could stream anything he wants and he'd earn money from it, as long as he has a certain amount of viewers

Say less

And an account was made

This basically becomes his part-time job now

He usually streams to tutor struggling students and you best believe they were very thankful

He'll sometime do "study with me" streams too

As he takes his fifteen minutes breaks from studying, he'd talk to his viewers

And when I tell you this man has the driest humor ever—

That's what got his channel to grow

Viewers would clip his dry ass jokes and post them onto other social media platforms, which caused his view counts to blow up

As he got more and more popular, his viewers would beg him to do gaming streams

With how dry his humor is, they thought his commentary would be gold…

And they're absolutely correct, they get to see a different side of him too

Surgeon simulator is the very first game he was introduced to by his fans, to get him interested in gaming

Man's cursing every time when he accidentally drops something

"Now, we put this lung over— Shit."

Cue chat spamming the Kek emote

It's been months since he started to stream and things are going pretty well for him

He comes back home from his lectures today to find his Discord server is filled with loads of fans telling him to check a game out, mostly because of a certain character

The general chat is flooded with hundreds, and I mean hundreds of pictures of them

And Lo and Behold

It is you

The moment he first has his eyes on you, his jaw drops

God DAMN YOU LOOK FINE AS HELL

Not to mention that harness you have on you—

Ahem

Anyways

He doesn't even know who you are or what game you're from

But man he's head over heels for you already

The next time he starts his stream, the first thing he says is:

"Everyone was going crazy on Discord yesterday about a game character. And now my question is…

"Who are they and which game are they from?"

Babygirl took his first step into the world of simping <3

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin x yn #dottore #genshin impact #dottore x reader #dottore x y/n #dottore x you #genshin dottore #il dottore #fatui #fatui harbingers x reader #fatui harbingers

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holllandtrash · 1 year

Note

I really have a thing for secret relationships for some reason, so maybe Lewis’s relationship with some pop star or famous actress being outed?

Okay back on my blurb bullshit before i call it a night

this is on par with tonight's met gala butttt you're an actress, you've been dating lewis for almost a year now but you've been keeping busy and working on projects, HOWEVER you're in new york, you're attending the met gala and god damn do you look fucking good

now, you've def been seen at some races before and fans have speculated that you're dating a driver but you and lewis are so private that there's no trace of you two being together anywhere

so anyway you show up the met gala dressed to the fucking nines and who do you run into but danny fucking ricciardo and you know him, of course you know him. the drivers know you're dating lewis its not a secret from them, and there are so many celebs at the met gala its not weird that you would run into a lot that you know (danny being one of them)

so you don't think anything of it when you go up to him and give him a hug and catch up quickly on the carpet and some paparazzi's are like 'y/n!!! danny!! over here! smile!!' and what are you gonna do? say no?? danny's a friend, he's your boyfriends friend too so you pose together

and your first thought is oh god twitter is going to have a field day with these photos. everyone is going to assume you're dating.

and there's been rumours of you dating costars before but as you're smile you're already thinking of ways to put the danny rumours to rest that haven't even started yet, that's where your mind is, you're thinking ahead. you're not in the present.

which means your reaction time wasn't fast enough to stop daniel when he opened his mouth to ask "where's lewis tonight?"

he sees your face, the brief moment of panic and daniel knows he slipped up, he knows he shouldn't have asked that. you obviously don't answer that question because there's about 30 cameras on you, some with mic's and some that undoubtedly picked up on him asking you where the 8 7 time world champion lewis hamilton is.

so you just smile and step away from daniel. the best solution is to just say nothing. daniel nods, fixes his tie and you both go your separate ways.

but oh man does the internet work fast

it's not even two minutes later when your assistant, bless her soul, approaches you hesitantly and whispers in your ear that the specific clip of daniel asking where lewis is is now spreading like wildfire on twitter. and you ask if it's obvious what he's saying and sadly, it is. the audio isn't the best but there's no denying that lewis' name came out of daniel's mouth

this was not how you wanted to go public. in fact, you and lewis never really discussed how it would happen, but daniel ricciardo not thinking before he spoke was certainly never part of the plan.

of course you're panicking, you don't know how lewis is going to react, if he's been told what's going on. he is in miami, it's not like he's somewhere across the world already asleep, there's a chance he too has already seen the clip

when your assistant finds you again before she leaves you for the dinner portion of the evening, she doesn't look stressed, even though you feel stressed.

"what?" you ask, pulling her aside. "have you talked to lewis? is he mad at danny?"

she just shakes her head and opens up instagram. it takes way too long for the content to load but doesn't that always seem to happen in these dire moments where you feel disgustingly sick and have no patience?

finally, she opens up lewis' instagram stories. and right there, the only image he's shared today is one of you taken only minutes ago as you posed on the carpet alone, with what he would say an angelic smile and a devilish stare that could do more harm than good.

and it was impossible to miss the two heart emoji's he added

he heard seen the clip after all and decided to run with it. no sense in hiding the relationship anymore. if anything, lewis was probably thanking his lucky stars that daniel said something because he's been waiting for the perfect opportunity to show you off

the next time someone brings up lewis tonight, you don't shy away from answering

#driver scenarios with em

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writingseaslugs · 1 year

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Savanaclaw: Manicures with Them

Story time: When I was in beauty school we had to learn nails and in my freshmen class we had an odd number of students and I was too shy to get a partner. So we had to find one of the seniors and there was this student who’s birthday was that day and they sent him up. He was easily 6’6” (198.12 cm) tall and used to be a body builder. When I was doing the arm massage I couldn’t lift his arm so he had to hold up up for me, and when I massaged it I was like “Can you even feel this?” and he was like “Nope, but it’s fine, most of your clients won’t be bodybuilders.” ANYWAY part of Jack’s part was inspired by this experience.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series is aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please do a quick read of THIS post.

Manicures with Them

Leona Kingscholar

King when it comes to lazy nail care. His nails are naturally sharp so he has to keep them filed somehow. He has almost like a scratching post that he’ll lazy drag his nails over to keep them filed. Other than that, he doesn’t do much with them. He doesn’t feel a need to, and as long as they’re functional and still sharp, then why should he?

You’ll have to be very insistent on doing his nails for him to allow it. Once he does though, he is very clear on you not making them blunt or putting color on them. He might be fine with a simple black or brown nail polish though, but as him before doing anything. His cuticles could also use some work so do those as well. Normally he has someone else do them for him back home, and sometimes Ruggie will help out, but he doesn’t care for his nails and won’t ask…so they’re pretty bad.

He’s going to deny you for the longest time. It’ll take weeks of asking before he gets fed up and just does them. A true shocker is that he’s actually good at doing nails. He might be lazy, but he’s smart and knows how they used to do his nails before ceremonies back home. So he does a spectacular job and if you ask him why he just explains if he’s going to put in the effort to do it, he might as well get them right the first time so he doesn’t have to listen to you complain.

Ruggi Bucchi

Ruggie normally just clips his nails when he notices they’re getting a little too long. They’re also a bit sharper compared to other students, and even if he clips them normally they’ll grow back sharp within a day or two. Specialty products are out of his zone since that cost too much money and don't matter. He can function well without worrying about cuticle oil, so there’s no need to apply it. Why waste money on something like that?

He is more than willing to let you do his nails and use all those fancy and expensive products on him. He’ll be smiling like a sedated little cat with his tail lazily swaying behind him while you give him a pampering treatment. Putting some lotion on his dry hands and giving him a little massage. All he asks is that you don’t use polish since it’ll chip off within a day, but a clear top coat is fine by him. He doesn’t even care if it’s shiny.

This is one of the skills Ruggie learned to suck up to people when he needed to. He’s pretty damn good when it comes to doing the basics of someone else’s nail care. He sometimes has to do Leona’s and makes sure he does a good enough job that you could fall asleep with how relaxed you are. He totally doesn’t do this to others so he can go through their wallet once they’re passed out and take his own tip for his hard work.

Jack Howl

Jack keeps it simple and just used nail clippers when needed. He doesn’t ever bite his nails since he knows it’ll make hangnails worse, so he just clips them whenever he gets back to his dorm. He’s never applied nail polish before so he doesn’t know if he’ll like it. He doesn’t find any appeal to it but will admit it looks nice on other people. He’s just always using his hands and working on it, so he doesn’t see a point in his own nails being done.

He’ll let you take care of his nails if you ask. You do a better job at it anyway, and it makes you happy to be doing it. He’ll just ask that you don’t put any nail polish on it since it’ll chip and look horrible later on. He doesn’t go around flaunting his nails off, but if someone takes notice he just comments that you do his nails. When you do his nails, you can even offer an arm massage if you’d like and he’ll allow it. Just be careful because his arm is all muscle and if you’re kind of weak, he might not even feel it. He will thank you for it though and won’t say anything negative.

He can follow directions if you teach him how to do your nails. Show him a thing or two about how to file and paint and he’ll do his best. He might be a bit clumsy with the delicate process when making sure it doesn’t get all over your nails, but he’s trying and will spend time cleaning up afterward. He also gives amazing massages to your arms.

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST #TWST x Reader #TWST Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Disney #TWST Disney #Leona Kingscholar #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Leona x Reader #Ruggie Bucchi #Ruggie Bucchi x Reader #Ruggie x Reader #Jack Howl #Jack Howl x Reader #Jack x Reader

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mushtoons · 2 years

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I'm not a coward so I'm asking you my question,,, what's the 'immortal besties au' about?

I just saw some art of it and I haven't scrolled long enough soo

have a seat and buckle up it's a mess <3

DFGDFDFGD okay so!!! i wanna start off with dont think too hard about it else ur brain will start to hurt (speaking from experience lmaoo) ANYWAYS!!! it's basically ingo gets sent to hisui but when ingo asks arceus to be sent home, arceus is like "dang bro sorry i didnt bring you here so it's not my problem but ya know what i actually need someone to babysit this fucker i damned, so you can just babysit him for all eternity! fair? :)" then doesnt wait for his answer

so we got ingo and volo stuck with each other, like it or not, there's rough patches, arceus didnt even bother to help ingo with him amnesia so he's still cloudy on parts of his past life and you know how it is to be around someone for too long, anger fighting ect but dont worry they begrudgingly come to an understanding and are now just vibing until time itself ends :)

well they're in modern day now, it's volo's turn to pick how they live their pretend mortal lives, so he picks unova to chill at cuz he's heard it's advanced since the last time they visited, ingo finally gets to have some memories as a treat as he catches sight of his old self and emmet, volo even convinces him to battle them so they can semi formally meet emmet and they carry on with this life, well volo's turn ends and ingo takes them somewhere else for his turn

cut to a few years later the duo is back in unova ( cuz it's volo's turn again ) when volo catches wind that one of the subway bosses had gone missing and the search was finally called off due to lack of leads after 2 long years, volo feels bad, just because god labled him a bad egg doesnt mean he is, he just wanted to reset the world to make it better :( so since it was maybe, kinda, totally his fault ingo got yeeted he decided he could fuck arceus over, i mean what's he gonna do? kill him? that's be a blessing. damn him to live forever? kinda already did that bestie,,,

so he gets emmet and elesa to come to his hotel room tries to find a way to tell them that he knows where their ingo is without making himself look crazy,,,,ends up looking crazy cuz his ingo just HAD to have a newpaper clipping of the trio claiming it to be "as close as a family photo as he'll ever have" emmet clocks him while elesa tries to call the cops cuz this nutcase is totally a stalker freak--then ingo comes home. skipping over the meltdown everyone has, and straight into project eeby-deeby rescue. we got angst, bonding, and finally a happy reunion.

meanwhile we got the emmet from when ingo first got put in hisui with no closure, no brother, and for some reason he's?? not?? aging?? so yeaahhh he's convinced he's in hell mostly when any pokemon he goes to for help basically tells him "sorry broski under strict rules from the big man himself not to help u with jackshit" so he's not doing so hot :) ( well until ingo and volo finally catch up to the era he's in then he's not doing so hot but with his brother now! )

that's a WHOLE lot but ive been thinking about this like all the time and im still working stuff out!!!! fgdfdgdfg this au is my baby and i love it

(for people who dont wanna read all that bullshit here's a diagram i made in case i dont make any sense!! )

#whoops thats a shit ton #sorry #but i really like this au dfgddfgd #and i like talking about it gddfgfg #thank u for being brave/lh #lmaoo #immortal besties au #submas #emmet #volo #ingo #wood wide web

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hellcatinnc · 8 months

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Kamigami No Asobi - Loki Game Review

Spoilers Ahead...

Ok where do I begin. So I have been wanting to play this game for months ever since I saw the anime show. However there is nothing but translations and most aren't done online. I may not play it all because it is harder to do without all the translations or english game patches but 3 men i can not take any more not knowing their love story. That being Loki, Hades, & Baldr. I plan to review them as well. Anyways on to Loki Laevatein....

If I wasn't in love with this man from just the anime well it got worse he stole my heart a thousand times over. I do not regret putting him on my top list of anime men. So I played both love endings as well as both fated just so I got the full story. Oh lord I prefer the love ending of course the fate ending was too sad to me. I hated that if you don't get enough points by the end you can't choose to go to their world been trying yet sadly have yet to be able to get it or a walkthrough maybe one day I'm just happy I got him anyways. Great thing is I wasn't expecting it but I couldn't choose his world so he gave his up to be with me and be human which he hates. Oh lord before I go any further this man moved me in ways I didn't think possible. I will even share some of his dialog that made me swoon in this review. Also damn I thought his voice was sexy before but then when he says baby at one point I was floored I could listen to him say baby all day long.

This was a good story honestly you saw how connected he was to Baldr which I always loved as well as Thor. You don't see them fighting for your love because Baldr is ok being just your friend and wanting his best friend to be happy. I think with the show they just try to throw them all in love with you at the same time so there are more confrontations but even then he loved Baldr like a brother. They stayed true to Loki he joked around even in the beginning when he started having feelings I think it was more about playing you out to see if there was something there. IDK but Yui had her work cut out for her chasing him around and dealing with his antics but it was so worth the man he became. I was floored he gave up being a god to be a human just because he couldn't see life without her. This means he gave up long life, and powers just so he could grow old with her. I'm actually glad I saw that ending first because it made me realize how in love he really was. if anything it makes me love him more. I also have to mention something about I guess the moles beside his eye make him even hotter. I know I got it bad but loki is drool worthy to me.

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These are some of the most precious things said that makes me love Loki even more.

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LOKI: You’re completely defenseless. …If you keep making such a cute face, I might kiss you. LOKI: It’s alright… I’ll never let you go.

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LOKI: I’ve never had someone so special to me like this. He gently wiped away the tears on my cheek with his long fingers. LOKI: I don’t want to part with you. I don’t even want to graduate if it means we can’t be together.

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(voice clips below of his sexy voice I own no rights to the voice clips or pictures of course.)

LOKI: Baby, I love you. So much, I could eat you up. I want you.

LOKI: If my princess wills it, I, Loki, promise you eternal love. Let us make a vow…

LOKI: Darling!♪ I looooove you so much!☆ My cute girl.♪

LOKI: My darling is so shy!☆ Oh, darling, call me honey!♪

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LOKI: A stubborn girl who was always tried her hardest to move forward, never giving up. At some point, I just couldn’t take my eyes off you. LOKI: I must’ve fallen in love from the very beginning. It was some kind of fate…

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LOKI: I really want to give you more and more presents. So many, you tell me you don’t want them anymore. LOKI: There are lots of things we still haven’t done. I want to make you smile more, and make you happy.

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LOKI: …I don’t want to give up. I can’t imagine us being apart. I can’t live without you! LOKI: I want you to let me love you more. I don’t want any more regrets.

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LOKI: What’s your name? YUI: I’m Kusanagi Yui. LOKI: Yui… that’s a nice name. It has a pleasant ring to it. Just from hearing his gentle voice say my name, my chest felt tight. I might have lost some very important memories… LOKI: I don’t know anything about myself. Not even my name… But I don’t feel anxious at all. LOKI: After meeting you, I think the reason I’m here… is you, Yui. LOKI: So, could you be by my side until I remember everything? LOKI: In exchange, I’ll give you everything you wish for… LOKI: My heart, my body, everything… is yours.

If you haven't played the game you should honestly find a translation online and go through it if you can't read japanese because it is so worth it just his story alone I was happy if I never play another route. If they ever bring this to english I will buy it just so I own it, it has become one of my favorite games now. I will probably do Hades next not sure yet.

#otome #gaming #loki laevatein #kamigami no asobi #reviews #review #sexy red headed god #loki #fire god #loki fire god #sexy red headed anime men #i'm dead #this man just killed me #he stole my heart #he is so damn precious

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

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part three of the Vast!Jon AU that is taking over my life

Have some Martin.

Danny Stoker is part of this, now?

Yes, EVERYBODY HAS TO CRY. Shut up.

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Martin’s frilly, pink apron is almost too saturated on camera, but he knows that’s how the viewers love it. He’s even added a pop of lip gloss today, a shade between the apron and the hearts it bears.

“Now, you’ll know it’s done in two ways,” he says, donning his thick oven mitts - wildly orange, but the hearts on them match his apron exactly. “First, the smell. You’ll recognize it after you’ve baked this recipe about six times. There’s nothing quite as good as these orange-cranberry muffins when they reach this stage, and if you’re in a place where you can smell it, it’s incredible. Fortunately, there’s a more reliable, less woo-woo way, too.” He waggles his eyebrows and gives a brilliant smile.

It’s his on-camera smile.

And his applying-for-jobs smile.

And his meeting-new-people smile.

It is sweet, and hopeful, and his eyes aren’t quite closed, and his chin is raised, and it comes across as open and kind and not quite vulnerable enough to invite hurt.

Sure, some people try, but they're trolls, and he just blocks them.

“Behold: your secret weapon!” And he brandishes a toothpick.

Tim laughs off-camera.

Danny mutters something like, “Yeah, they’ve never seen that before.”

“Yeah, well, maybe they haven’t,” says Martin, turning to them for the briefest moment before smiling back at his livestream. “The toothpick is your greatest weapon - well. After learning how to fold instead of stir, anyway. Look, this little guy can tell you if it’s ready, better than a thermometer, or knocking on it, or whatever else you've been told. Let me show you. Now, I know from the smell that the muffins aren’t ready, so I get to show you what it looks like when they’re not.”

He does.

The muffins need a few more minutes, and that is perfect, because he shows the camera how batter clings to the toothpick.

“Time for an awkward cut,” he says, and then there is an awkward cut.

Because there’s nothing to do until the damn muffins are done.

Fortunately, everybody loves the wait for it animation: a tiny version of him with anime eyes, huge, red curly hair, a chef’s hat, and his ubiquitous apron, prancing back and forth from the counter to the stove in an unending loop.

“You’re nearly there,” says Tim, who gets it, who understands why Martin is fucking distracted today.

No one who didn’t personally know Martin would know.

Anyone who does know him could clearly see he is a mess.

“I,” says Martin, and doesn’t finish his sentence.

Jon’s plane went down. That is all anyone knows. That is all anybody can tell him.

Neither tears nor manipulation will bring more info, and so Martin must wait.

He is not okay.

“Ready?” says Danny, keeping them - as always - on schedule. “Three, two….”

“Look at this!” says Martin a moment later, drawing a clean toothpick from the middle muffin. “Now, we’re talking. Oh… everyone, I wish you could smell this.”

And he does one of his little moans.

Those moans are what made his channel.

Someone tried to make #BlackwoodMoan work for a while (like that movie with Samuel L. Jackson), but the fan base rose up and declared Martin too good, too pure to be associated in such a way.

#MartinMoan is the hashtag.

There are gifs.

It’s a high sound, sweet, freakily innocent, and it somehow brushes against every illicit desire any human has ever had for anything. He’s seen compilations of it, clipped together in a tapestry of embarrassment.

He doesn’t mind, exactly?

He did make the sound on purpose. He knew it was effective because it actually got Jon flushed and stammering, and damn near nothing else did.

Martin had merely underestimated just how effective it would be out in the great, wide world.

“They’re perfect,” he says, and takes the time to show the camera the light golden muffins, speckled with red - a perfect batch of orange cranberry baked good from scratch.

The stream ends with him opening one up, peeling the cap off with indescribable satisfaction, adding a tiny pat of butter, and indulging.

The eye-roll is a thing too, like a hungry shark, but that one doesn’t have a hashtag.

“Recipe in the description,” he mumbles, sounding like he’s been fucked within an inch of his life. “My team will answer any questions. You have got to make this. We’ve also included dairy and gluten free options. Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life.”

Bake well, my lovelies, and enjoy your life. He’s ended every single video with that since day one.

Since before Tim and Danny joined him.

Since before he had the courage to tell anyone he was doing this, even Jon.

As always, he means every word.

This time, however, when the camera light blinks off, he bursts into tears.

“He’s got to be okay,” says Tim, who knows Jon, thinks he’s funny, and appreciates how much Martin loves him. “We haven’t gotten a list of deaths, or anything, and they have to release that, as far as I know.”

“They do have to,” says Danny, who barely knows Jon, and doesn’t really like him, but certainly wants Martin to be happy.

“Only to next of kin,” Martin points out, and sniffles.

Tim and Danny both pause.

“He doesn’t have you listed?” says Tim.

“I’m his friend. We’re not anything. Of course he doesn’t,” Martin snaps, and feels bad for it immediately after.

Tim and Danny give one another that look.

“Right,” says Tim. “Not anything.”

Martin rubs his face.

Danny gives Martin a side-hug - too strong, like a mountain man, but well meant. “He’s going to be okay. Have faith.”

“The plane went down.” Martin’s voice is… cold. Almost mechanical. A tone he’d never use with anyone who didn’t know him well. “It hit a gods-damned mountain. What am I supposed to have faith in?”

“Love?” says Tim.

“Actually, yeah. Love,” says Danny.

Martin gives them a look.

They look back. Two brothers, good friends, who’ve been part of his show and part of his life and helped him navigate the mess with his mother and helped him work out his feelings for his childhood friend and now want to help him work through potential grief.

Or his potential… faith, maybe?

Martin can’t seem to fall either way - acceptance of Jon’s death, or hope for his survival. He’s left at a lurching, ugly crossroad with no name, the sign worn beyond legibility.

He sniffles.

“Gonna be late,” says Tim.

“Yeah,” Martin sighs, because somehow after everything, he still has to go to work.

Patreon helps. The baking show definitely makes things easier. But it’s not enough to support his mother. Full-time care facilities aren’t cheap.

Martin tries to smile. “Good thing I’m in the kitchen, right? Don’t think I’d do so well facing customers today.”

“You would, though,” says Tim, and pats him on the shoulder. “Never seen anybody fake it as well as you.”

“Gee, thanks?” Martin says, dry.

Tim ruffles his hair. “Come on. Let’s get the lead out, or… I dunno, something punny.”

Danny never tries to pun. He also has no sense of timing. “I’ve been thinking of taking another job,” he says out of nowhere.

“What, now?” says Tim with fond exasperation.

Martin latches onto the subject change like a leech as he hangs up his apron. “What? I thought you were getting promoted.”

“Yeah, but kayaks just aren’t doing it for me anymore,” Danny says, and ignores when Martin rolls his eyes, reaches into his wallet, and hands Tim a fiver. “I’ve been thinking a lot about supernatural stuff lately, you know? All the things we can’t explain, but every culture and every society has them, all the way through history. And you know, the chances of that are pretty slim, because it’s not like there were fax machines in the stone age, and - ”

“So what’s her name?” says Tim.

Danny looks constipated. “What do you mean, what’s her name?”

“It’s always some date who gets you into a new interest. Come on, Danny, it’s been like that since secondary.”

Danny shrugs. “Caught me. How about I let her explain? We can do dinner tonight.”

“I don’t…” Martin starts.

They both look at him.

“You are not backing out,” says Tim.

“I’m supposed to see my mum,” Martin mutters.

“And it’ll be done in about fifteen minutes when she can’t stand you anymore and throws you out,” says Danny, who really has never had Tim’s charm.

Tim smacks him.

“Hey!”

“No, he’s right,” says Martin. “I’ll come.”

“Good. You’d better, or I’m taking some of this one’s leftover mountaineering gear and hogtying you to the back of my bike,” says Tim.

That image actually gets Martin laughing, which he didn’t think he could do today.

The brothers leave first.

Martin’s flat is tiny. Uncomfortable. Distinctly not sound-proofed. He has one window, room for his lovely kitchen setup, and three folding chairs or a Murphy bed, but not at the same time.

Somehow, when the Stokers are there, it never feels crowded.

It doesn’t with Jon, either, but that’s different.

All kinds of different.

Martin locks up, sighs heavily. Somehow, he has to get his brain in gear to handle four-star sous-chef work tonight, and he’s really not sure he can do it. Antoine can be such an ass, even on the best of days, and he always seems to know -

“Excuse me,” comes a voice.

Martin yips and drips his satchel.

“Sorry about that,” says the man, sounding not remotely sorry. Sounding, in fact, deeply amused. “You are Martin Blackwood, aren’t you? Little different without all the getup,” he says, absolutely cheerfully.

He’s some sort of sea captain?

Outside his flat, which is scary as fuck. “Hi?” says Martin, attempting to pick up his bag without taking his eyes off the guy. “Um. Can I help you?”

“Actually, I can help you,” says the man.

Maybe a fan?

Maybe a sicko.

Martin is very still. “Right,” he says, noncommittal.

The man laughs.

It’s… it’s a really good laugh. The voice is good all around, honestly; so is the expression, and body language. This man isn’t aggressive; taller than Martin (which is unusual), he keeps his hands in his pockets, leaning slightly away, as though determined not to violate his space. “I can tell I’ve spooked you, which isn’t what I was trying to do.”

Martin can see no reason to be unnerved by this man.

Martin cannot escape the feeling that he should be, though. “Then why’d you track down where I live?” he says.

“I didn’t. I saw you by accident.” The man points. “Heading over there, to the Tube. But it works out, because I actually do want to talk to you.”

“Right,” says Martin.

The sea captain smiles. “Nice and cautious. Good! Let’s not drag this out, eh? You won’t have heard of me because I like it that way, but what I do is help out independent talent. People like you, in other words. Here.” He holds out a business card.

There’s a QR code on it.

Martin takes it, carefully avoiding contact. “Right,” he says.

“That’ll tell you all about it,” says the man. “I won’t scare you any longer - really am sorry about that.” He’s absolutely not sorry, and it shows.

Martin is damned good at reading people. It’s how he’s survived. The fact that he can’t get a bead on this guy is scaring him even more than the sudden appearance. “Sure.”

“Have a good day, Martin,” says the man. “I look forward to your email.” And off he walks.

Martin looks at the card. It says, Lukas Entertainment. That’s all.

It’s thick cardstock. Raised lettering. Definitely expensive.

Martin looks back up, but the man is gone.

Martin’s gut says there is no way he made it to the Tube that quickly.

Martin’s head says he’s being absurd, and just misjudged how long he stared at the card.So that was freaky, he thinks to himself, and is already texting Tim about it before he gets to work.

#tma #tma fic #fic in proress #martin blackwood #lonely!martin #vast!jon #wip #amwriting #tma au

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