#bonus panel coming soon :)
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Latecomers
But still full of enthusiasm 🎃
#halloween#fnaf#foxy#chica#bonnie#fnaf foxy#fnaf chica#fnaf bonnie#anthro#fnaf anthro#anthro au#babies#small beans#late for halloween#but with the best intentions#bonus panel coming soon :)#Bonnie's name with this costume is canonically Boonnie fight me#bonnie and chica were inspired by TPRR game on Roblox#bonnie is actually wearing a random sheet that he found in his home#foxy will always be foxy in every single au#foxy will be YARR#my art#child of sarior#child of sardior art
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Taunt
obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!
summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.
pairing: michael gavey x reader
warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!
word count: 10.5k (dear lord)
a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)
PRAISE | Taunt Part 2
MAKING AMENDS | Bonus
likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!
🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟
“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.”
A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page.
“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”
“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”
“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces.
He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas.
You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more.
It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another.
His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.
You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering.
“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board.
“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”
“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”
Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips.
“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”
“And how would you go about doing that?”
“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging.
“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile.
“Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned.
Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again.
“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.
Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”
Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead.
“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.”
“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat.
“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks.
Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them.
As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?”
“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”
“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade.
“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.
“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner.
You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”
“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.”
“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.
“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”
You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder.
Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”
“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”
“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”
“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men.
“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers.
The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses.
“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.
“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.”
The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”
“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter.
“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.
“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.
“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware.
His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”
You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”
Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.”
You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.
“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”
The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him.
“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.
He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy.
You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering.
But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.
“But I’m bus–”
“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck.
“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain.
Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves.
Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.
“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck.
You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.
“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder.
“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt.
“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach.
Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”
“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”
“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.”
You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister.
“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase.
“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail.
“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”
You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.
Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.
Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”
“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place.
“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”
“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush.
The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”
You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?
“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice.
He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window.
“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.”
His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”
“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”
“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute.
Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”
“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?”
You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act.
Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?”
He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth.
See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.
It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem.
“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook.
“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?”
“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?”
You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low.
“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket.
“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.”
“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request.
He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”
“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you.
He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.”
You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?”
He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?”
“Do you?”
“Fine, yes.”
“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables.
You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes.
You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone.
A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together.
“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles.
“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes.
“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”
“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?”
You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”
“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing.
“You.” It comes out as a breath.
He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark.
Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.”
He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.”
“None?”
“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.”
“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck.
“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair.
Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his.
He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,” he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.”
You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger.
“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”
“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands.
“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling.
You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine.
“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.”
You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading.
“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump.
“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly.
He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.
Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk.
“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.”
You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.
You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric.
“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”
You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip.
You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath.
You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat.
“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”
You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit.
“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you.
His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand.
Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need.
You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit.
Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?”
“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl.
“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table.
You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally.
“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses.
“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”
“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric,
“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”
“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”
“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”
“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”
You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child.
“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”
You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.
“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you.
You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud.
You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit.
“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers.
“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”
At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open.
He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”
The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment.
“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?”
You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance.
Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length.
“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.”
Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down.
He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.”
His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock.
“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?”
“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock.
“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately.
“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release.
“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.
“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.
He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”
“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”
“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.
Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release.
The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair.
You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.
“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin.
You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things.
You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”
You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.
He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.”
You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down.
“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”
“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”
“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”
“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”
Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat.
“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.
“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”
His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air.
Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.
tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot
(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)
#michael gavey#michael gavey fic#michael gavey smut#michael gavey x reader#michael gavey x you#michael gavey fanfiction#michael gavey oneshot#saltburn#saltburn fic#saltburn smut#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn oneshot#ewan mitchell#ewan nation#ewanverse#ewan mitchell fic#ewan mitchell smut#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#my writing
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Chapter 94: Detective Twilight
This was a fun chapter! Detective Conan fans are probably happy with it, right? And we still learned a few things along the way.
Well, we know the kind of dad Twilight is (the kind who yields as soon as he sees his kid cry 😆)...
And we also know what kind of mom is Yor: A mama bear! Honestly, Anya couldn't be in safer hands.
By the way, let me say that Twilight and Yor looked gorgeous throughout the whole chapter, especially in this panel 💕
We got the classic fanfiction "there's only one room left at the hotel" trope 😀
For a second, I thought we were getting the "there's only one bed" trope! But then this happened...
Even though they didn't end up sharing the bed, this was still my favorite panel in the chapter. Why?
First of all, it's very obvious now that Yor has feelings for her husband. She didn't say something like: "I've never shared a room with a man." She was very specific and got all flustered about sharing a room with Loid.
However, what I liked the most about that panel was Twilight's attitude. Look at his face. It's basically this one 😏 But the point of this panel is that it's only the two of them and his words and facial expression say one thing: "I know you."
That's the kind of stuff that makes him a good husband. He pays attention to his wife, what she likes and the things that make her uncomfortable. In that panel, he lightly teases her, but he's also being considerate of her without making a big deal out of it.
Also, I know everyone wants Twilight and Yor to share a bed (me too!!) but I think when it finally happens the waiting will pay off.
Hear me out:
It will probably happen right after they both realize they have feelings for each other but before they confess (for maximum tension😆). Can you imagine the amount of longing? Knowing that the person they're in love with is right there within reach, next to them, sharing a bed, side by side trying not to touch but wanting to touch so badly and both Twilight and Yor dying to kiss (and do other stuff) Come on, you can't beat that!
My advice: patience. It's going to happen at the perfect time in the relationship and in the story. Plus, it has to be a very forced situation AND there has to be no other way (no couch either!).
In the meantime, let's see how Twilight not only blindly trusted Yor, even though, as a spy, he should trust no one and he had reasons to suspect her (because she wasn't in the room AND she's an actual assassin). Even Yor wasn't sure it wasn't her 😂(Probably?)
On top of everything he was incredibly protective of his wife. He didn't even let that man come near her, let alone touch her. YES! That's what we like to see, Twilight 😊
Bonus: Did you notice that as soon as they found the first victim, Twilight's first thought was to protect his daughter? Nice dad instinct, Mr. Spy-dad 😏
#spy x family#twiyor#spy x family manga#spy x family analysis#loid forger#yor forger#anya forger#loidyor#sxf#loid x yor#spy x family meta#spy x family chapter 94
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this was originally a response to another post but it seems OP blocked me for it so idk if people can still see/interact with said response but heck it i spent a fair while collecting the panels/typing it up so i'm just transferring it over to a new post for anyone else who might be interested in readin'
"Neteyam has to act like a full grown adult [and we should feel bad for him because of this]"
No. Neteyam acts mature because that's his personality, not because it's been forced on him. He chooses to. The idea that he is forced against his will to "act grown-up" and is miserable about it is fanon, not canon.
James Cameron on Neteyam (from the WoW bonus features): "Jamie Flatters plays Neteyam, he's the older brother. He's kind of the guy who most wants to be Jake. He wants to be that warrior."
Jamie Flatters in that same clip:"He just pretty much wants to walk in the footsteps of his father. He's constantly seeking approval [from Jake]"
Note that neither of these, nor anything from the movie or comics, mention anything about external "expectations" or "pressure". Any "pressure" Neteyam experiences to live up to Jake's legacy comes from himself, not from external expectations that have been forced on him. Neteyam WANTS to be a warrior. He WANTS to be like his father and do brave mature grown-up things.
And for the most part, he's pretty good at it too. He's the "golden child" who "excels in all things", the youngest Omatikaya warrior to ever make a clean kill on a sturmbeest. He's strong, smart, brave, noble, and highly skilled for his age.
He knows this, and he wants to do more. Neteyam seeks out more responsibility, especially where fighting is concerned, and it's actually Jake who is hesitant to give it to him, because naturally he fears for his son's life (a very fair and well-founded fear, all things considered :P).
In fact, on the rare occasion that Neteyam does disobey orders, it's in this context of wanting to be part of these adult matters.
"he's too busy training and patrolling instead of acting his age" He is acting his age. His age is "cusp of adulthood". He's not quite there just yet, no, but he's getting close and is eager to get there. He trains and patrols with his parents because HE WANTS TO. He begs to participate in warrior's work.
And if by "act his age" you meant "do teenager things like tease his brother, snicker about immature things, hang out and goof off," etc., guess what he does that too
[originally had a list of relevant GIFs here but tumblr decided it was allergic to them apparently; anyways you can find them all here]
As for looking after his siblings, as a certified Oldest Sibling™ myself, I can assure you that parents expecting you to help look out for and set a good example for your younger siblings is very normal and nowhere near the mountain the fandom seems to make of this molehill.
There are valid reasons to feel sorry for Neteyam—he, like the rest of his family, had to leave his home and start over in a new unfamiliar place among a new clan of strangers with unfamiliar customs. He—not unlike Lo'ak!—desperately wants a chance to prove himself to Jake, and is frustrated when his dad doesn't want to let him participate in battle. And, of course, the big one—his life was tragically taken far too soon.
But "overworked little sadboi who just wants to Be A Kid™ but can't because his meanie parents force him to act like a Grownup™ because he's under Pressure™ to be the perfect future olo'eyktan" is not one of those reasons. That's pure fanfiction and a fundamental misunderstanding of his character. Neteyam is not "wannabe-carefree kid trapped under the crushing weight of expectations forced upon him against his will"—rather, he is "talented noble young warrior who wants to live up to his legendary father of his own volition and strives to do so".
#very sorry that movie neteyam and fanfic neteyam are different idk what else to tell ya ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#avatar#avatar 2#neteyam#sully family#[edit] ok good removing the gifs worked it's properly showing up on my dash now#why are u like this tumblr -_-
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Fandom Trumps Hate 2024!
Looking for a scene drawn for your story? A piece to help inspire you to write a fic? A new icon? How about covers for your story with full print-ready Graphic Design service? Maybe a pinup, or some trading cards (up to 10)?? Maybe a gift for someone, or just your vision of a character(s) (up to 3 character sheets) for your AU?
Well, that’s just some of the stuff I’m willing to offer for this year’s @fandomtrumpshate Charity Event! FTH is a WONDERFUL community project that supports amazing non-profits through donations for fanworks via this wonderful annual event!
I am participating for my fifth year by offering 2 fanarts for y’all in either the BBC Sherlock or Good Omens fandoms, starting at 20$ for the non-profit of your choice!
Here are some past FTH pieces I’ve done, if you’re interested in seeing the scope of the work you would be getting from me:
2020:
GO - :FTH 2020 – Lagniappe for Big_Edies_Sun_Hat:
GO - :FTH 2020 BONUS – Réveillon for Big_Edies_Sun_Hat:
2021
SH - :This Year: (FTH #1 for @discordantwords)
SH - :Burlesque Johnlock: (FTH #2 for @ohlooktheresabee)
2022
SH – :A Quiet Moment: (FTH #1 for @totallysilvergirl)
SH – :Against the Wall: (FTH #2 for @anarfea)
2023
SH – :Let Me Come to You: (FTH #1 for ShakespearelovedLadyMacbeth)
SH – :Couch Cuddle: (FTH #2 for @discordantwords)
SH – :More Every Minute: (FTH #3 for @totallysilvergirl)
And of course, you can browse all my art to see my range:
@stephdrawsjohnlock
stephdrawsfanart on Instagram
@stephratte (Primary Multifandom Art Blog)
stephratte on deviantART
I will draw any ship from any of the above fandoms. All my work is done as a hi-res 3000x3000 print-ready piece in Procreate. Traditional media (markers, India ink, and pencils) is also available if you prefer, done on illustration or marker paper at the paper’s size, with the option of acquiring the original if you choose. I will also do it at a requested size if you have a preferred format for something specific (like a book cover or a comic panel). Feel free to DM me if you have any questions.
The browsing begins on Feb. 26, and the bidding opens on March 1! I hope I once again get a chance to do a couple fantastic pieces for y’all!! I love doing this so much, so keep an eye out for my info post soon once it’s official!
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Sooooo, how ya doin'? Surviving work? Surviving being a comic parent? How's the gang, we haven't seen an update abt them in a month.
Sorry guy's, the next update is so close to being done. But I got a deadline for work so that takes priority.
Like I've said before I want to get a more consistent schedule going for BATFI, but work is currently kicking my buns. And I just got over a nasty cold so that doesn't help haha.
But good news is that I should be done with my current work project by tomorrow! So that means I'll have more time for the comic! So hopefully here in the next week you guys will finally see some updates. Along with a better update schedule, because I need structure in my life lol.
But as a little bonus, Because you all are very patient and I appreciate the lot of you. Here's one of the panels I had the most fun drawing in the next update.
Also here are an extra few bonus sketches of thing's I've never posted.
Made this months ago, And originally I was going to make one for each of the main cast. But decided against it.
And here's a little sneak peak of some silhouettes from some future character's. ;)
But that's the end of my spiel haha. Again, I appreciate you guys so much and I cannot wait to post more! Update coming soon- Unless my freelance work kills me in the next 2 days. But hopefully that wont happen . . . right?
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Taking a break from beating my head against my google docs to say that I think single mommy Sentinel Prime would probably stop after the third bitlet. It’s the perfect number, after all! The have siblings to play and squabble with, but not so many that he can’t lovingly dedicate himself to them completely the way a good mommy should. And this is probably fine, what with him being on reduced hours and cumming his brains out on the regular—until his youngest is old enough to go to daycare. Then he’d go back to his old, irritable, irritating self pretty quickly. His coworkers would quickly get together, scheming behind his back and coming up with a plan to get that mech pregnant again and KEEP him that way.
I imagine there’d be some kind of government sponsored fertility campaign after the loss of the Allspark… Maybe even benefits for carrying. And I imagine there’s probably some baby fever thrown into the mix, after having Sentinel running around pregnant and with bitlets nursing off of his tits. The office would agree on who would knock him up first, the lucky mech ‘hesitantly’ asking if Sentinel would maybe consider being a surrogate carrier. And Sentinel, missing being pregnant and probably gloating internally about how everybot must know what a perfect carrier he is, would agree.
It wouldn’t even be difficult to get Sentinel Prime pregnant again. He’s dripping at the mere thought of being round with another bitlet, and his slutty, fertile spark would split one off in no time. The applicator, of course, would be necessary for home-use. They aren’t in a relationship, after all. But it’s simple enough to load cartridges for that. In the office, however, all his coworkers are pleased to note the return of the soft, pretty carrier who begs so sweetly for spike. Of course that valve belongs to the sire and whatever partner(s) they may or may not have for the duration of this pregnancy, but hey! Free show. Mommy Sentinel needs transfluid and he is GOING to get it, panel opening enticingly to let him waggle his dripping valve at the sire when and wherever. Begging for another load as he drools onto his desk, clutching at the edge as that spike fills him just right. Constantly simmering with charge, desperately aroused at the idea that other mechs think he’s so good a mommy that they want him to carry for them. Overloading hard when the sire cups his belly or pinches his swollen, sensitive nipples.
And when this pregnancy is over, his coworkers will be drawing lots to be the next lucky bastard to pump their spike into that plush, needy valve. Anything to keep Mommy pregnant, since Sentinel gets unbearable otherwise. His days of doing field work are well and truly over, but he can’t be too mad about it. He’s too charged up all the time to really even notice.
mhmm Bots are falling all over each in a race to impregnate Sentinel. It's not just the financial bonus for adding to the population - the thing is, a pregnant Sentinel is a happy Sentinel, and not happy in that annoying, gloating way, but really happy. In the way where he’s mellow and mostly focused on rubbing his pregnant belly and topping up on transfluid. They need to keep him pregnant to make him bearable. Sentinel definitely misses being pregnant, so when bots approach him asking him if he would like to be a surrogate, he’s more than happy to smugly announce that yes, of course, he’s got a very good gestation chamber, as can be seen by his three beautiful, well-behaved sparklings (I think they would be such menaces, but Sentinel wouldn’t admit that to himself)
Soon enough, all is right in the world once again - Sentinel is at his desk, his pussy squelching around the applicator as he dutifully does his job without bothering anyone. He's easily distracted by a spike now, meaning that if he mouths off, the sire just has to whip it out and pound his valve until he's dazed and rubbing his baby-bump constantly, staring at his work dumbly <33
When he goes home he takes care of his kids like a good, attentive mommy and then later at night, he makes sure to top up on a little more transfluid....
#i'm starting to get obsessed with this scenario again#valveplug#pregnancy mention#single mommy sentinel#texty
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HEART WARMING FINALE TO THE ‘GUESS WHO’S COMIN’ OVER’ MINI-ARC COMING THIS FRIDAY!
<<FIND ALL THE COMICS HERE!>>
Think I’ve finally managed to workout a sustainable production cycle! so hopefully I can start delivering full updates ever 2 to 3 weeks again soon! ^w^
Anyway here’s a bunch of bonus doodles, concept art, scrapped panels, and ONE teaser panel for the Guess Who’s Comin’ Over Finale coming this Friday! ^W^
Hazbin Hotel belongs to Vivziepop.
#hazbin hotel#Hazbin Hotel: The Forgery#baxter#Crymini#niffty#Molly#dominic#BossxMolly#lucina#surfing
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Honestly the start of this year sucks for me, but this comic was an excellent distraction as usual.
Spoilers for The Man Who Stopped Laughing #4 below, as well as, if you can believe it, mpreg!
Joker's escape from the hospital is aborted when the cops arrive to respond to the bomb threat that was only meant to get him medical care. Whoopsie! He retreats back inside and finds a room to hide in.
Joker's already killed the doctor who helped him, so I’m not gonna lie, I’m a tad concerned about where this is going.
But let's take a brief moment for Jason deciding this cop car will make the ideal distraction.
I really need to read more with Jason.
Anyway, my concerns about the kids soften when Joker is just disturbingly endearing toward them:
The kids, who all have terminal illnesses, are all too young to recognize Joker, or maybe it's more that the adults around them are unlikely to bring him up.
Their reaction to his humor is, uh, mixed.
But he does good shadow puppets!
And then there's a wallbreak moment, where Joker references the different backer stories that we've seen so far (including this issue's).
Except that's not what the kids are reading.
Makes me wonder if this is just getting back to classic Joker breaking the fourth wall, or if the backer stories all come from Joker’s mind...
Anyway, the kids like him enough that they don't snitch when a cop shows up.
And unlike the poor doctor last issue, Joker leaves the kids as safe as he found them, with bonus advice!
I mean, he kills a cop soon after for a disguise, but it's more interesting when Joker isn't, you know, indiscriminately murdering absolutely everyone he comes across, because he's just that cRaZy to think murder’s all jokes, oh ho ho.
Anyway, finally, Joker can escape!
This made me lol
Joker does the "put down your gun or I'll kill the hostages" thing so he can lock everyone in a closet, during which he establishes that he believes he's the original Joker (BUT IS HE, ROSENBERG?).
And calls Jason out for stealing his old moniker. lol But once again, Joker does not kill people he could easily kill.
I'm not going to linger on if Joker actually has a plan for Jason. I'm going to linger on what happens right before Joker escapes. He ducks into the room of an old woman.
And he keeps talking to her like this for a few more panels. You're waiting for some kind of joke. Then the police break in and we see:
She's dead, but there's an unexpected implication that before he escaped, Joker helped her pass on, even giving her the photo of her and her late husband. There's a lot to unpack there!
And then we have the B-story. You know. So far in this run I feel like I get what the B-stories are getting at. This one... less so!
Joker is in a confrontation with Zatanna, another setup where he's trying to woo the female lead and she is just not having it.
This made me laugh because I know how I interpret "rail" for Joker. Heyooooo
I enjoyed the third palindrome here too.
Zatanna is not interested in a family, and puts this spell on Joker.
"No one else will ever have your baby!"
And since this is the wacky story, the magic interprets that as Joker being the only one to have his baby.
Joker finally sees a DC doctor, Doctor Phosphorus, and there's another gag about distinguishing between DC characters when we find that Joker apparently swallowed way too much mud during the fight.
Joker asks for someone to kill the mudbaby. I'm not sure if it's supposed to actually be Clayface or just like Clayface, but again I think the main story meta moment is referring to this.
But then he changes his mind when the mudbaby turns into a little clone of himself, which he then brings back to Zatanna.
(This is giving me flashbacks to a terrifying Stephen Colbert magazine picture.)
And so... yeah, I am not sure how to interpret this one, especially given how Joker even in this story itself is not fond of clones, though we did just see him as kind of kid-neutral in the main story. He's always been narcissistic, though, and that follows through here. Hmmm... Maybe future stories will shed more light on this one for me.
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My visit of the “Dining Café Iserlohn Fortress”
First of all, know that it is on the first floor in a small building nestled between two larger ones whose stairs are hidden on the side, I had difficulty finding it. I noticed that it was often like that in Japan, all the restaurants are piled up on the floors, you have to look closely at the signs and posters on the panels to find them, haha.
It is by reservation and at the entrance you are asked to prove your identity. This was a bit weird because when you book on the website you can only put your name in hiragana. So I showed my passport to the lady with my name in Latin alphabet and hey, it was okay!
As soon as you enter, you are greeted very politely by the staff shouting “welcome!”, you are assigned a table and then given the entire welcome protocol. You are congratulated on your enlistment (like in the army) and asked if you want a coin from the Galactic Empire or a coin from the Free Planets Alliance. If I understood correctly, every time you come to the dining café, you get a coin, and these coins can be exchanged for special services or dishes.
The waitress explains the menu to you then offers you a coaster, the same: you must choose between the Empire and the Alliance. When you order a drink or a dish, it entitles you to a random coaster, I got Julian. Same principle for the loyalty card at the end, you choose one side or the other, and the more you come, the more you go up in rank like the characters, to reach the rank of high/fleet admiral. I chose the Empire for everything because Reinhard has my life in his hands... I ordered: the “Kircheis” drink and the “Annerose cake”! (Note that there are non-alcoholic versions of almost every drink.)
Oh and: they tell you all this in Japanese. Good luck. I managed to understand with my little basics but the waitress really beat me for five minutes in keigo, it was funny thinking back to it. But in the end, she did bring me a menu in English at least, so that's that.
You have two hours to eat and enjoy the settings to take your photos, the settings in the dining room are mainly from the original OVAs with some few DnT, however where there are the standees etc., it’s mostly DnT. I was sitting right under the Reinhard panel below, and there is also a TV that shows some particular scenes of the original OVAs. Guess what was being shown when I was eating? Kircheis’s death scene… Yeah, right in front of my salad, or in this case, cake.
I am sad that there was no longer Reinhard’s seat that you could sit in next to Kircheis’s standee (photo below not mine):
But I had 4 standees of Reinhard, Kircheis, Yang and Dusty so I am not complaining:
At the entrance of the dining café, there is a merchandising corner, I dropped 95 bucks there, it was expensive ngl but where else could I have gotten all these goodies? I regret nothing, especially the tea.
The fun fact is that I am pretty sure I was the only person under (at least) 30 years old when I was there, haha.
Anyway, I had a really good time even by myself, the food was on the higher side of fine for what I could taste. There were not many vegetarian or fish options though so that is why I just got myself a dessert.
I am definitely planning to come back one day, with friends I hope, it would be more fun!
Bonus picture:
#legend of the galactic heroes#logh#ginga eiyuu densetsu#gineiden#dining cafe iserlohn fortress#mine#all pictures are mine except the reinhard chair one (original linked)
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excuse the horrible art but im tired n schools been alot :')
day 12: traditional art (days 8,9,10,11 coming soon)
inspired by that one fic where danny forgets to turn human n goes to nasty burger as phantom
Panel 1) Danny is listening to monster high's intro in his own lil world while a lazily drawn kid in the background points at him
Panel 2) Kid: "Sis look it's Phantom!"
Sister: "Yeah, it is. Don't bother him, k?"
Kid: "okay!"
Panel 2.5) Danny: "what?? phantom??"
Panel 3) Arrow pointing to Danny, 'he forgot he wad phantom'
(i apologise that its sideways)
Bonus: 'Phantom having an existential crisis 6 minutes 57 seconds'
'Amongus potion 10k veiws'
'Joker vs Danny real? 69 veiws'
'Travelling to ~~~~~ (scribbles) 420K'
Masterpost
#dannymay2023#danny phandom#danny phantom#danny phantom art#dannymay#danny phantom fanart#phan art#phanart#phart#danny fenton#dannymay day 12
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Mission Jealousy (1/2)
Pairing: Cassian Andor x Reader
Warnings: Angst, implied violence, injury, jealousy.
Summary: You and Cassian return from a difficult mission and emotions bubble to the surface.
Part 1 | Part 2 (coming soon)
You followed Cassian into the hull of his U-Wing and noticed how heavy his footsteps were. But marked it exhaustion as you were just as tired from the last gruelling few days to accomplish the Rebellion’s latest mission.
Pressing a palm against the panel on the wall, you activated the ships door to close. The last you needed was to be caught or overheard. Reaching to your sides, you began unloading the weapons that you had carried in.
“I’ll contact home base to let them know the mission was a success.” You told Cassian while setting the metal items onto the bench.
“I’m sure you were satisfied.” He muttered.
He thought he was discreet but you caught the bitter remark loud and clear and stilled to look up at him. He was fixated on taking off his second glove and tossed it onto the freight box in the corner. He started to unzip his jacket silently, offering no explanation to his comment and you couldn’t let it stand.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Where was this change in attitude coming from when everything was firm up until their return to the ship?
Cassian turned to you with a light scoff and beamed a fake smile.
“Nothing. We retrieved the intel. Mission accomplished.” He replied, sliding out of the outer layer and roughly tossing it to join the gloves. Cassian folded his arms against his chest and stared back. You frowned at him. There was a smile on his face but his eyes… they were telling a different story. It was more than obvious that something had happened to make him mad.
“We went into that cantina. We found our guy and got the intel faster than we originally planned. And as an added bonus, no one died. If everything was good, why are you acting like this?”
Cassian shrugged. “Like what?”
Stars, this man could be so infuriating. You should really listen to K2 when the droid lists all of their captains behaviours.
“This.” You repeated. “Silence on the journey back and when you do speak it’s to question my character?”
He scoffed again. Shaking his head, Cassian stepped back. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
As he attempted to leave, you crossed the floor and grabbed his arm to keep him rooted. When Cassian looked at you, his smile was gone. It should have been enough for you to let him go but you refused to back down.
“No, we’re going to clear the air right now.”
A few beats of silence passed until Cassian turned his body towards you. “What do you want from me?”
“Recap the day from when we left the ship.” You instructed.
Fixing his stance so his feet were planted firm against the metal of the ship, Cassian looked like he was ready for a fight.
“Fine.” He said coldly. “We left the ship and went into that cantina. I found the description of the man who had the intel. He was heavily armed and I left to survey the area. When I came back, you were gone. I searched everywhere for you and when I found you…” Cassian paused. The images of what he had seen flashing before his eyes once again and making his stomach churn. “You were kissing him.”
A stupid kiss, that’s what he was upset about?
“It was a kiss, Cassian. We went to retrieve that intel no matter what it took. You know that better than anyone.”
Cassian shook his head. “No he had you up against a wall for several minutes. It’s a miracle that no one else saw it.”
As he spoke, it hit you like a bantha. Cassian was struck with a bout of jealousy. You didn’t understand why but you could tell that it would be an intense fire to put out. Right now, you weren’t sure how to do that but you did know how to clear a misconception of what he saw.
You stripped yourself of the warm layers as the heat from the ships engine started to seep into the hull.
“What are you doing?” Cassian asked genuinely baffled.
“He kissed me for a second. Then he pushed me against the wall while his fingers were busy leaving these.” You lifted the shirt to expose your midriff.
There were small bruisings that resembled fingertips littered across your skin.
Cassian felt his breath hitch - this explains why you were holding onto the target so tightly - not out of pleasure but pain.
You lowered the fabric to cover up once again and glared at him. “I did what I had to. Not what I wanted.”
The expression on Cassian’s face was surprise mingled with regret and something else. He stepped forward but you didn’t plan to continue the conversation at the moment and walked around him to where K2 was preparing to fly the ship.
Part 1 | Part 2 (coming soon)
Masterlist here
#theladyofmanyfandoms#theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction#gif is not mine#cassian andor x reader#cassian andor imagine#cassian imagine#cassian x reader#star wars imagine#star wars x reader
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Thanks to some suggestions from the fine folks on cohost and @tinfoilsnow gently walking me thru the process of installing a modloader, I have shaders again!!! Here's some shots of smaller builds I've made in the meanwhile, more shots under the cut! The buoys have a lil secret--
I'm actually really proud of them; I took inspiration from this video but ended up fiddling with my own design in order to do some SHENANIGANS:
There's a waterlogged sculk sensor with amethyst hidden inside, so when you boat past, you get a STARTLINGLY NAUTICAL "ding ding!" noise from the amethyst resonating! IM SO ABSURDLY PROUD OF THIS DISCOVERY LMAO i made everyone come over to boat past my buoys
Here's another pic of the map room where you can really get the full Lobby vibes:
I built this under the spawn house, which I'd been using as a launch point for some exploring, and needed a place to put my maps that wasn't just Taping Them To A Dirt Wall lmao. It might get expanded (I had vague thoughts about a hallway leading to a REALLY BIG MAP display), but there's already a Big Map Room over in town that we're all collaborating on that includes linked copies of the maps I'd started, so this is just an lil bonus display now. I MIGHT STILL EXPAND IT LATER JUST FOR FUN....
The lava basement is under my house! It was built for ore storage and smelting and also I wanted a place to collect lava for smelting fuel. The autosmelter is small but IM SO PLEASED to have managed to build one! Here's what it looks like in complementary shaders, where you can actually see what's going on:
The Lava Control Panel over there in the corner is mostly aesthetic but I DID learn enough redstone to make it so that if you hit the buttons, a light behind those level indicator banners lights up! (mostly because Boo keeps pushing all my aesthetic buttons when he visits so I thought it would be funny if these ones did something)
Anyway, of course the rethinking voxels shader can't be normal about a room lit by lava so GOTTA INCLUDE SOME COOL DARK SHOTS:
i still can't play the game with shaders on but they run a LOT nicer on the setup mochi helped me with; very excited for more pretty shots.... i gotta get some more pics of lake progress soon!!
#block game liveblogging#complementary shaders#rethinking voxels#mineblr#minecraft#minecraft build#minecraft aesthetic#the jack o lantern is not there normally but tis the season#maf has been running around leaving spooky decorations everywhere its the best
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Network Effect, Chapter 18
(Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Murderbot Diaries, read this one!)
In which I would punch the air if I hadn't previously read the book.
Murderbot 1.0
Status: Not so great
Forced Shutdown: Restart
What happened?
Forced Shutdown: Restart: Failure Retry
Forced Shutdown: Restart: Failure Retry
Restart
Yeah, I’m definitely in trouble here.(1)
Murderbot hurts everywhere, and has no outside inputs for a bit, until it finally starts to get systems back online. It's hanging upside down by four cables in a large, dark, open space, and its environmental suit has been removed, though it still has its shirt, pants, and boots.
The air is thin, but it's not worried about itself… just the humans that it was protecting. It doesn't hear any sounds, and there aren't any human shapes in its field of vision.(2) Nor are there any power sources within its scan range, or feeds available. It is next to a large machine with variously sized arms which might be an assembler. Despite the name, they can be used to dismantle as well.
Fear gives way to anger as MB wonders why they haven't torn it apart yet, if that's their intention.(3) If they try while it's conscious, they'll live to regret it.
Still, it can't use its arm energy weapons to free itself, because the angle is wrong. It has to do this the hard way: turn down the pain sensors, and dislocate the right joints to let its hands slip through the bindings. Oh no, wait, that's what something more human might do. Instead, Murderbot detaches its right hand(4) to free its right arm, reattaches it, and then breaks the clamp on its left arm, and then its feet. In the process, it makes a note that whoever hung it up this way doesn't understand SecUnits at all, as they don't seem to have tried to relieve it of its energy weapons and thought that upside-down would hurt like it does humans.
Once free, it hangs from one of the cables, but on purpose this time, and looks around upright. It seems like an old mine shaft, now used for storage. It sees some warning colours, red and orange and yellow, so climbs down another nearby cable to make its way toward them. It learns on the downward climb that its left knee is in particularly bad shape.
It finally gets to the warning paint, which is very outdated, but it's close enough to the popup feed paint that MB recognizes that it gives its message: a contamination warning. Its organic bits go cold, realizing this is the original alien remnant contamination site. It doesn't know if it's contaminated yet, but it does know it has to get out.
MB climbs up toward the tiny light it noticed earlier, and finds that it's attached to some scaffolding. Nothing nearby looks like a door that's been used recently. Still, eventually it finds one panel that moves a little when MB pries at it. Soon it gets enough leverage to get it open, and finds a stone foyer with better airflow.
It goes inside, and sits on the floor to have emotions while also having lots of pain. Three of its biggest fears are happening all at once, and its only comfort is the hope that the humans made it to Art alive, even though none of them have any reason to believe MB is still alive to come back for.
While it's wallowing, it realizes there's an active feed in this space, so it connects… and is promptly assaulted by MB2.0 yelling in its ear to ask if it's itself. At first it wonders if it's a ghost, but it's real, and really calling itself by their private shared name. 2 says advisory that it's a private name wasn't in its instructions, and tells MB to read a record of what it's done so far.
Right. Okay. Right. Things weren’t nearly as bad as they seemed. The explorer was permanently out of play and ART’s last three crew members were retrieved, plus some bonus Barish-Estranza survivors. But note to self: the next time you create sentient killware based on yourself, set some damn restrictions.(5) (It had downloaded one of my private archives to that SecUnit. I mean, my new friend SecUnit 3 who if I actually get out of this alive, I’ll have to do something with, like civilize or educate it or whatever. Like what the humans originally wanted to do with me, except we all gave up on that.)(6)
MB asks if 2 knows where its humans are, but 2 says the priority is neutralizing targetContact. MB says that's not its directive, but 2 says it wrote its own new directive.(7) Instead of expressing its feelings about killware that can think for itself like that, MB says it doesn't feel well. 2 immediately tries to hop up in MB's diagnostics, but MB says there's no time.
After establishing that 2 doesn't have any schematics or camera feeds, because MB didn't give it mapping code, it tells MB that there are feed and comm channels here, mostly not controlled by TCS, it's just accessing through a back channel. But, there's another section that's sending a distress signal. "Assistance needed" at ten second intervals, indicating that this is someone begging for help from anyone who could hear.
2 suggests contacting the distress signal sender. MB pings it, and the advisory stops for thirty seconds, then resumes, pointed right at MB. 2 observes that the system heard it. MB is just glad to have a direction. On the way, it gives 2 a corner of the processing in its brain. It can't really sacrifice that right now, but even less can it afford for its killware child to forget who its ally is and turn on MB.
Passing through corridors and hangars, MB realizes this is the pre-CR installation for sure. And, 2 observes that they weren't aliens. MB starts to argue they already knew they weren't aliens, but decides against arguing with itself. The tech doesn't look like pre-CR historical dramas, though.(8) And, they find a body wrapped in white crystalline growths that must be alien remnant related. As they near it, the "assistance needed" message changes to a "hazardous material" warning, so the system knows where they are.
2 cautiously suggests MB adjust its filters, and rescan the area to include more channels than its standard range. When it does so, 2 makes a diagram before MB can even fully process the results.
This wasn’t so much an oh shit moment as it was a spike of brain-numbing terror. I was expecting a room full of active connections, from the components to the screens and then through the walls to the rest of the installation, even if some or most of those connections were sending or receiving from damaged or dead nodes.
Instead, the diagram showed the connections, but they came from the dead human body, and formed a weblike mass. It was interwoven with the central system, then stretched out to the walls, following the old connection pathways.
I bumped into the hatch, which was when I realized I had been backing up.
2.0 whispered, That’s targetControlSystem.
=====
(1) Yeah, unable to reboot sucks, but our Murderbot is still alive to HAVE that problem, which is worth celebrating after the forced shutdown, restart unavailable a couple chapters ago.
(2) Even though we know all the humans really DID escape, and MB's actions DID work, that was still a tense passage for me.
(3) I think the later discovery that this is a storage room emphasizes the theory that they did not intend to dismantle MB, that was just the best place to hang it up. I'm confident that they wouldn't care if it was conscious before starting, if they wanted to.
(4) EWW Ms Wells did you have to do THIS MUCH body horror just to subvert the expected trope? LOL
(5) Always be precise about what you mean if the results might, in any small way, be meaningfully annoying to you if you don't.
(6) So, I have two thoughts here. One, "civilize" and "educate" are two things SecUnits don't really need so much. Well, educate maybe, because their modules can be very limited, but not in the way "civilize or educate" implies to me. Two, I think the humans gave up because they recognized that you were better off without trying to impose some other personality type onto you, MB. Like, there's a whole essay somewhere in here, about the anthropological consequences of SecUnit independence and how they might be encouraged to their own individuality.
(7) You can't give a script sentience, or more properly sapience, without expecting that it will defy the rules you assigned it. This is the whole fear of AI. I love how it's being played with in this series so much, and this book in particular, with 2.
(8) Just in case you forgot who was narrating.
(9) Eep! So close, TOO CLOSE! At least, if they don't have something with which to destroy it. No wonder it felt human.
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Fullmetal Alchemist Chapter 14
Let me open by saying Ed and Al once again avoided the specter of death, and I'm not talking about what happened at Lab 5.
Hughes makes a call to Roy and would rather talk about his family rather than tell Roy anything important. He brings up Roy potentially transferring to Central soon. The secretary mentions the military can listen in on calls from their private line.
The entire non-sequitur joke about Alex Louis Armstrong hugging Ed so aggressively that Ed ends up in a full-body cast makes me wonder what Arakawa's storyboarding process was like through this series. I wonder if she either added that bit to extend the chapter slightly, if there were more jokes and this is one that survived the editing process, or if nothing special happened. And I wonder if some of the bonus material in the volumes is jokes she wasn't able to fit into the main series.
Winry's lucky Pinako didn't come with her. Pinako would have smacked Winry on the head for hiding her screwup and then trying to charge Ed for the repairs that are ultimately her fault.
And we get to see Ed act like the bratty, stubborn teenager he is cause he refuses to drink his milk.
The joke about Hughes making Sheska work overtime so he could take the day off isn't as funny now that I'm an adult.
Now onto the real meat of the chapter: Elicia's birthday party. I spent a lot of time just staring at the characters throughout the chapter cause I just enjoyed seeing their consistent appearance through the scene. The boy with black hair and blush stickers was my favorite. I wonder what he did to get picked up by the big dad.
This one particular two-panel shot was my favorite moment just because of the conservation of relative space between characters.
That kid is standing next to Hughes and in the next panel, the angle shifts and he's still standing in the same place relative to Hughes.
Hughes's explanation for why Ed and Al don't tell Winry anything is probably true and it's not good that Ed and Al are thinking that way. They won't say anything about what's going on because they don't want to worry anyone, but keeping quiet doesn't work.
One day, Winry's parents left and never came home. Now Ed and Al will leave and just come back horribly beat up and then leave again. Despite their reunion in chapter 9 being comical, imagine what went through Winry's head when she sees Ed returning having his arm completely destroyed and Al is in literal pieces.
And in this chapter, Winry remarks how it's only been two weeks and Ed's arm is covered is scratches and he's suffering several injuries.
Keeping quiet about things is not keeping her from worrying. It makes things worse cause she sees the aftermath of what's going on and has no context for anything. And them keeping quiet likely makes Winry feel like they don't trust her.
And this chapter ends with that whole issue of them never talking coming to a boiling point cause Ed and Al haven't wanted to talk about their concerns and now Al is erupting into a fury over it.
Also, pizza exists in this world.
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Wanted to clear up a little bit of lore with this comic. My headcanon has always been "Aggie is a poltergeist, therefore others can see her." But I feel like I never explained the concept before, so here it is. The last batch of comics I made were all up tying up loose ends, paying off plot points and worldbuilding. After such a long hiatus, I figured it was important.
With the publication of this comic, we're officially done with Season Nine! But don't worry, there's more coming soon. Me and my brother are working on a Halloween arc we think you guys are gonna love!
Bonus panel
#Paranorman#My Art#Fanart#Norman Babcock#Agatha Prenderghast#Courtney Babcock#Perry Babcock#Salma Ramsay#Sandra Babcock#Razputin Aquato#Mystery Kids
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