#I figured I should answer here (as a continuation of the tags in the post) rather than as a separate ask

[wonder-worker]

I received an anon asking me to clarify what I meant about Eleanor Talbot in my tags. Since Eleanor as an individual is largely excluded from the discussion of her own alleged pre-contract, I figured I should elaborate a bit.

A small argument that keeps occasionally popping up among Ricardian/Yorkist (they're one and the same, honestly) circles is that Eleanor Talbot supposedly considered herself married to Edward IV. Their "evidence" is that Eleanor chose to deed some land to her sister Elizabeth Talbot during her lifetime (4th June 1468) rather than leave it to her in her will. The conclusion they've arrived at is that the only reason Eleanor could have chosen to do this because she considered herself married to the King and thus, as a women woman, could not bequeath real property by will without the permission of her husband.

(This isn't a new theory. It was initiated and popularized by John Ashdown-Hill (ie: the one who believed Elizabeth Woodville was a witch and serial assassin who murdered anyone who crossed her). But I often see it used by diehard Ricardians/Yorkists as a sort of "gotcha!" point, and I must say, it's an abysmally poor argument. Not least because it relies on taking John Ashdown-Hill of all people seriously as a historian.)

The glaring problem with this argument? A married woman also could not deed property without the permission of her husband. As Susan Higginbotham points out, "this was no arcane point of medieval law; it was a fact of everyday life which anyone in the landowning classes would have been acutely aware. If Eleanor believed that she had a valid marriage to Edward IV that prevented her from making a will, she would have been equally unable to make a valid deed without her ‘husband’ joining in." (italics by me). And mind you, this was 4 years after Edward's marriage to Elizabeth Woodville.

What does this mean? Simply put, Eleanor Talbot's actions indicate that she did not consider herself married to anyone in 1468.

I think this is especially important to recognize because even though Eleanor was dead in 1483 and was thus unable to validate/invalidate the claim of an alleged pre-contract (making Richard's use of her infinitely more convenient and suspect...), her actions and decisions during her life nevertheless do indicate what she thought of her own marital status - or, in this case, lack of one - after 1464. They tell us, point blank, that Eleanor did not consider herself married to Edward IV at all. What Eleanor's actions prove is, literally, the exact OPPOSITE of what Ricardians claim.

Ricardians really have a habit of shooting themselves in the foot, huh?

Here’s the thing I need people to understand:

Even if we believe that the (entirely unproven and far too politically convenient) pre-contract story between Edward IV and Eleanor Talbot was true, it doesn’t actually matter. Even if it was hypothetically true, there was still no reason why Edward V – who was already King at that point and was referred to as such – couldn’t have been able to succeed his father regardless.

David Horspool (Richard's own historian) summarizes it better than I could, so I’m just quoting him here:

"[Richard also made] no allowance for any potential solution to the problem that might have re-legitimized Edward V and his siblings. These included securing a retrospective canonical or papal judgement of the invalidity of the pre-contract; an Act of Parliament legitimizing the children of Edward and Elizabeth Woodville’s marriage, as happened to Henry VIII’s variously tainted offspring; or even ignoring the issue and proceeding to the coronation of Edward V, which would legitimize him by making him the Lord’s anointed, and render allegations of his bastardy as newer versions of the old tittle-tattle about his father."

In short, even if Edward IV truly had a pre-contract with Eleanor Talbot, and even if all of his children with Elizabeth Woodville were supposedly illegitimate, it should by no means prevent Edward V from succeeding his father to the throne. If Richard truly wanted to support his nephew, he had a variety of useful and entirely workeable options to choose from. Instead, he officially declared his nieces and nephews (including a literal 3-year-old) illegitimate, kept Edward V and his even younger brother confined in the Tower of London, and declared himself King.

Why didn't Richard take these actions, all of which he would have been well aware of? As Horspool says simply: "that Richard took none of these courses was because he had no interest in doing so."

The ONLY conclusion we can come to based on Richard's actions is summarized most succinctly by A.J Pollard:

"The truth of the matter is that Richard III did not want Edward V to be legitimate because he did not want him to be king."

[tojikai]

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand. 

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you. 

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead. 

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—” You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!” 

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup. 

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do. 

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did. 

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag. 

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child. 

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about. 

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you. 

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that. 

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would. 

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

------------------------------

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her. 

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen. 

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared. 

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter. 

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too. 

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family. 

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

NEXT

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Triumvirate 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, abuse by parental figure, kidnap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Based on this.

Summary: Three men take you away from an unhappy life.

Characters: destroyer Chris, Captain Syverson, Curtis Everett.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t

The tearing in your roots makes you whine. Your mom twists until your scalp feels ready to split, dragging you down the hall as she snarls. He pushes open the screen door and hurls you out with every ounce of spite. You stumble down the crooked steps and land in the dirt. 

“You no good fucking bitch,” she spits beside you. “How many times I gotta tell you to get out!” 

You turn over and look up at her. She snarls and puffs like a rabid beast. Her glare scalds. She hates you so much. She always has. 

She slams the screen door, then the inside one. You sit up and fix the backless sneakers on your feet. You check the scrapes on your knees and sigh. It’s not the first time, it won’t be the last time. 

How could you know she had someone over? You didn’t hear them. You thought she’d be happy to see the dishes done but that chore only riled her. She broke three plates before she latched onto you. Scratches blaze on your head. 

You get up and look across the street. Leah watches from her front porch, shaking her head as she puffs on a menthol. No one does anything. They only judge. Around here, it’s not exactly unusual. 

Your purse is inside, your phone too. Shoot. You’ll have to wait her out. Whoever she’s got in her room probably gave her some pills. She’ll be out of it soon. 

You’re not proud of that thought. You should be concerned. You used to be. Now you just accept what she is. You rely on it. Her addiction keeps her weak; keeps her from hurting you worse. 

You turn and trod along the street. You could go down to the corner shop and ask Darren to spot you a gatorade. He’s usually pretty understanding. He knows your mom and that you always come to pay for whatever she wanders out with. 

Twenty-one years. It doesn’t feel that long, yet it’s still an eternity. Things never change, they only get worse. Your mom’s hair turns gray and the lines in her face get deeper and her speech more slurred. You only get weaker, more tired, more passive. It’s just the way is. Why fight? Fighting only gets you hurt. 

A truck rolls by and the tires dust up dirt. You cough at the tan paint above the silver bumper. You watch the exhaust chuff out down the street and veer around the corner, just past the corner shop. 

You approach the Penny Mart and shield your eyes against the sun. The truck idles further down the street. You shrug and continue inside. 

Darren pop gum between his teeth. You wave and head for the fridges. You take out a red gatorade and come back to the counter. 

“Can I come back later?” You ask. “Mom locked me out again.” 

He gnaws on the gum and shakes his head, “uh uh.” 

“Oh?” The door chimes as another customer enters. “You know I’m good for it.” 

“Manny says no,” he shrugs. “Your mom threw a box of cereal at him.” 

“She... did?” You’re overly aware of the man behind. He clears his throat. “Alright then, guess I’ll put this back.” 

“Well, you know... I could bend the rules,” he smirks and winks. “Come in the back...” 

You grimace. “I’ll put it back.” 

You turn and march away, skin crawling at his suggestion. It’s not the first time but for him to do it in front of someone else, that’s humiliating. You open the fridge as the man steps up to the counter. 

“I’ll take a pack of lites and twenty on the pump. Throw in a red gatorade,” he says. 

You shut the door and drag your feet across the unmopped tile. This place matches the neighbourhood. You’re sure the prices help distract from the expiry dates, too. 

Footsteps circle around the shelves. The fridge opens. A whistle keeps you from leaving. “Girl, come get your drink.” 

You stop and turn to face the man. His head is shaved close but he sports a thick goatee. He wears a sleeveless flannel, the peek of a chain shimmering around his neck. 

“Um, me?” 

“Come on,” he beckons you. “Hot day out.” 

You hesitate and cross the store. People aren’t all rotten around here. Mrs. Haggin fed you more times than you can count and Ted let you hang around his garage on the hotter days. Still, strangers aren’t common and aren’t often friendly. 

“Thanks, uh, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“Two bucks,” he clucks. 

“Right.” 

Two bucks you don’t have. Pathetic. He holds the door open and you retrieve the same bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks again,” you say. 

“Never know. One day, someone might help me out,” he sniffs. 

He lets the door fall shut. You turn and walk away. He follows. You have a bad feeling as he stays close. He pushes the door open above your shoulder before you can. 

Stupid. He probably expects the same thing Darren wanted. You step out and to the side. 

“I can’t pay you back,” you offer the bottle. 

“Keep it,” he waves you off and drops off the pavement ledge onto the tarmac. “Have a good one.” 

“Oh, uh...” 

He walks away. Not a look back at you. You watch him approach the truck by the pumps. Tan with a silver bumper. They must’ve needed the top-up. 

You kick off the curb and drag your feet away. You’ll go down to the park and find a table in the shade. It’s swelter. The sun beats down on you mercilessly. 

You peel away the wrapper and twist the nozzle on the bottle. You drink thirstily as you step on the cracks in the pavement. ‘Step on a crack, break your mother’s back...’ 

The truck rumbles back at the shop and you hear it rolling toward you. It passes slowly and you pretend to examine the label of the bottle. As nice as it was, you’re not stupid. It’s pity. Everyone feels bad for you, but they don’t really care. 

You follow the trail through the tall grasses behind the condemned donut shop down to Smith’s Park. It’s not much of one. Mosquitoes buzz over a pond not much bigger than a puddle, tadpoles swirling in the shallows, and the trees sway over splintering benches and rotting picnic tables. 

You sit and suck on the bottle. Couple of hours and you can go home. Home... not really where you belong, just always where you’ve been. 

The brush rustles but you don’t pay any mind to it. There are coyotes around here but they’re skittish. Squirrels too but you don’t have much for them to steal. 

You put your elbows on the table and peel off the label on the bottle as the condensation soaks through. You lay it out flat on the wood. The dingy smell of the neglected boards clings in the air. 

A twig snaps. You look up as a shadow passes between the bushes. Some kids will come down to catch tadpoles. You did when you were young. Your mom dumped the toads down the toilet once they grew.  

Another crack. You twitch and look over your shoulder. You grip the bottle and turn straight. Your voice catches as you’re face with an unexpected best. A man in a ski mask. 

It’s so absurd, you think it’s a joke. Some of the hunters like to mess around but this isn’t the area for them. It’s not thick enough. They go up north. 

He’s big. The epitome of burly. He wears a grey tee shirt damp with sweat and cargo pants. He stares at you through the slits of his mask. 

“Um,” you stand. “Sorry, I was just...” 

You step over the bench and turn to head back down the trail. There’s another man. He’s in all black. He must be melting in this heat. You reel back. 

“Oh...” the back of your knees hit the bench. “I think...” you sidle along. “I’ll just...” 

You turn and run towards the thicket of wiry bushes. Before you can reach them, another man in another mask pops out. He wears a sleeveless flannel... 

You throw the gatorade at him and spin back. You’re caught by the other two men. 

“Shhh,” the one behind you hushes. 

You struggle with them, kicking the dirty, writhing as they twist your arms behind you. The man at your back secures your wrists together as the peel of duct tape tears through the hum of insects. 

“Please, who are you? Stop!” You whine. This can’t be happening. What the hell is this? 

The man in black keeps hold of your upper arm and signals with his other hand. A cloth covers your eyes. You whimper as it’s knotted behind your head. Another is shoved into your mouth. You gag. You’re shushed again. 

“It’s alright, darlin’,” you think the bigger man says. It comes from his direction as the man behind you pets your hair. “We ain’t gonna hurt you.” 

“Quiet,” another warns. “Get her legs.” 

You fight to evade their grasp blindly. You kick out and your ankles are seized and forced together. The duct tape winds around your ankles. 

Your eyes water behind the cloth. It’s more than fear, it’s realisation. You’re not going to go home, but worse, you don’t think anyone will care. They won’t even notice. 

You babble around the fabric in your mouth. You choke as you’re taken off your feet, carried between two men like luggage. You’re just a thing. Why is this happening to you? 

You squirm and shake, trying to break away from the arms hooked around your torso and legs. A hinge creaks, a car door, then another metallic whine. No, it’s not a car.  

You’re loaded into the truck bed and strapped down to the ridge metal. You blink as your eyes burn. You quiver in horror as you sense a deep darkness cast over you and the truck lurches. The door of the bed snaps shut and closes you in. 

Weight shifts in the axel as the muffled noise of the doors opening seep through. You whimper as the engine rumbles to life. You try to roll one way or the other. You can’t. 

The way they worked, so methodical, it assures you that there is no escape. There’s no loophole for you to find. You’re stuck. That suffocating realisation constricts in your chest. No, no, no. It can’t be real. 

You shudder and replay the scene in your head. It happened so fast yet as you relive it, it feels like slow motion. The large man, the man in black, the third one in his...sleeveless flannel. 

The cloying flavour of sugary electrolytes stick to your tongue. You shudder. The man in the store. He followed you? Why? 

Think about it. What did he see? A woman with no money. A woman alone. A woman wandering off into the shadows. 

How stupid. You would never expect it. Never think that anyone would bother. You always just stay out of the way and no one bothers you. Only Darren and his gross leers. Only Rob next door when his wife’s not talking to him. 

The truck bounces over the road. You can hear the other cars around you as they head into the city. Right through the mid-afternoon rush. How many people are driving by completely unaware of you hidden in the back. 

The pit in your stomach deepens and you whine. You try to scream. You can’t. You try to kick. You can’t. 

These men are taking you who knows where to do things you can’t imagine and there’s no one coming to save you. Just like no one ever came to save you from your mom. 

[bearhaironthechair]

Every movie date night, they have to set aside two hours to get to the theatre that's a fifteen minute walk away. Notes (contains mostly personal sentiments, so feel free to ignore if you so desire): A doctor's appointment I had today that was initially really anxiety-inducing in the lead up actually went quite well, so I figured I'd make something dumb and harmless to help calm my brain down once I got home. It's crazy to think I've been posting for over a month now, and I've already met a few really fun and kind comrades in content that I wish only the best to! I've also gotten many a moment of levity and laughter engaging with comments, answering asks, and even just having a chuckle over the odd but wonderfully humorous reblog tag here and there. I know a person should make the content they personally want to see first and foremost, and no one is ever obligated to like my pieces, but I very much appreciate the active kindness people have shown in response to my nonsense, and it makes me want to be a kinder person in turn. I hope anyone who sees this continues to find and/or create the kind of content online that makes them happy!

[bitchlessdino]

I have this in mind, maybe svt member x reader where they are classmates from college, they are close but not THAT close lol. Until one day they started talking about house prices and how the rent is so expensive, but still with the desire of living alone, so he (maybe hoshi or woozi) proposed that they should find a place together to split rent. It started as a joke, but then they found a really good place and decided to try to live together for at least one semester.

so yeah at first everything is great since both of them are always busy, so they dont really see each other that often around the house.

until it could be that they are sexually frustrated and start a friends with benefits relationship (but in secret, so their circle of friends dont know about it). However, reader always had a big crush on him, but never said anything. idk what else to say

Pairing: college roommate!soonyoung x afab!reader Genre: smut Word count: 5.9k tags: pwithplot, established friendship, roommate au, friends to fwb, pining, pervert!reader, pervert!soonyoung, mentions of alcohol, mutual masturbation, blowjobs, missionary, doggy, praise kink Summary: When it comes to the economy and needing a roof to live under, having a roommate is your best option, especially as any desperate college student. When arrangements are made with Soonyoung, a friend you admittedly have a visceral lust for, things take a turn one messy night. Making this arrangement more of an edible arrangement. author note: so i may have run wild since hoshi posted those thirst trap photos haha. im very proud of the header i made for this. this was something i planned on posting before my unprepared hiatus, and hopefully i'm still in spirits on continuing this. please anticipate more of me and remember that writers love interaction, criticism or not <333

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @wonuhour @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun

“That’s funny, Soonyoung’s looking for a place too.”

You looked over at the man in question to see him mid-feast on a sandwich bigger than his face as it puffed his cheeks full like a common squirrel. “Why are you looking for a place? I thought you made plans with Seokmin?”

The man struggled to swallow down the larger-than-life bite, barely managing to do without scratching the back of his throat before answering. “His parents convinced him against it. I should’ve known he’d back out when he didn’t know how to do his own laundry.”

“Do you know how to do your own laundry?”

“I know there are colors and whites, detergent and softener—I’d figure it out.”

“I’m hearing a no…”

“Youtube exists. How hard could it be? But yeah, I’m looking for a place.” He set his sandwich aside to lean in closer, washing down any remnants with a swig of his Jihoon’s stolen Coke Zero, who at the moment couldn’t be more distracted with Physics paper. “It’s not easy that’s for sure. A single bedroom is way too much on its own and anything bigger I can barely cover half of.”

“Here’s an idea,” Mingyu suggested like it wasn’t on his mind for the fifteen minutes you’ve been complaining about being essentially homeless, “Why don’t you guys figure something out together?”

“Really? Me and Soonyoung?”

Your counterpart couldn’t help the offense washing over his face. “What’s wrong with me?”

��I don’t know if you’d be a good roommate.”

“What makes you roommate of the year?”

You rolled your eyes. “We’ve known each for what, a semester and a half, and I don’t know what your living habits are. I’ve basically lived alone all my life with my parents working all the time. How do I know you won’t push all the housework on me?”

Scoffing, his lips twisted up in a cocky smile. “You’re looking at the flail youngest of two who did almost a decade of housework for a hundred dollar allowance for a week. I don’t waste Pinesol, I hand wash dishes, and I keep my 50 pairs of shoes neatly out of the doorway and in pristine condition.”

“You can do all that and not operate a washing machine?”

“The buttons and colors confuse me.”

“So,” Mingyu interrupted again, “How about it? Sounds like you guys a both a little desperate. The housing market isn’t getting any lower.”

“I guess you don’t sound all to bad to live with then,” You replied with a tinge of a tease.

“What do you bring to the table?” Soonyoung interjected.

“Discounts for food at my work, a Netflix account, a pack of scrub daddies, and a decent amount of disposable income for half an average month's rent and fun stuff if we ever get bored. Down?”

Soonyoung stroked his chin as if to think, but his head, the deal sounded as good as it can get. If he was being honest, he was desperate, but after the berating, he couldn’t let you know that. “Add in some salon-quality shampoos and conditioners and we have a deal.”

You groaned. “Fine, for a semester for now, but you’re getting laundry stuff and learning how to use the machines.”

You hadn’t expected to be apartment shopping with Soonyoung looking like a pair of newlyweds, but here you were doing exactly that. There wasn’t anything particular about him that bothered you, (except maybe the harboring attraction you had for him since freshman orientation that you blanketed over with over argumentative banter and an aloof attitude when he was around).

But as far as you knew, you were morning and night.  Sure, you’ve gotten along in social situations, but you knew how drastically different your lives were. When you aren’t working, you were a homebody and he’d bring bodies home. He lived differently than you did to put it plainly.

And perhaps the idea of waking up with him every morning possibly shirtless and/or naked frankly made you both terrified and aroused all at once.

The moment you shook his hand to agree, you were already feeling some regret, but hey, maybe that’ll actually do you some good. Maybe you’ll finally get over this school crush on this unattainably hot guy after seeing how disgusting he is leaving his underwear and socks in every corner of the place. It’s inevitable things can only go down from here, right? Right?

“A few ground rules should be in order.”

Soonyoung nodded, putting away the remainder of the edible arrangement gifted to you by your collective friends in the fridge. “Like what?”

“Chores should be switched off every week so we know how to handle all types at all times, but we do our own laundry. No exceptions. Dinner is a group effort. If we get takeout, always tell the other at least an hour in advance and costs are split. Groceries are bought biweekly with a set budget.”

“Strict, but ok. I’ll do my best to follow them. Anything else?”

You were reluctant to bring up this last one. You cleared you through, taking a second to properly form the words before letting them out. “If we have someone that we’re getting involved with, it’s either done at their place or in an empty apartment with plenty of notice.”

Soonyoung can’t help but bust out a wide and perfect grin, crossing his arms seeing the timid expression on your face. “Fine. I’ll make sure when I have sex with someone, it’s under those guidelines.”

“Ha, thanks,” You awkwardly respond, “I’ll abide the same.”

His eye narrowed at you dubiously. “Wait, you’ll actually get around?”

“Why are you doubting me?”

He chuckled, shrugging smooth broad shoulders through his black sleeveless tee. “You just don’t really seem about that. There’s nothing wrong with it, but—“

“You don’t know every detail of my intimate life so butt out.”

His arms rose up in defense, nodding along. “Alright, okay. If that’s all, I have a few rules of my own.”

“Okay. Have at it.”

He mused to himself for a few seconds. “Bathroom schedule: first come first serve.”

You nodded, easy enough.

“At a few hours of the day, the living room becomes an at-home gym when needed.”

Okay, that one had a little kick to it. “Alright.”

“And we have a safe word.”

You blinked back at him, heart pounding a little louder than it should, legs clenching as if they were being pried apart, and sweat burning the temple of your forehead with the unnecessarily dirty thoughts running through your mind. “A w-what?”

“A safe word,” he repeated as a matter of fact, “a word we can use when there’s conflict and something wrong and we just completely stop what we’re doing.” He grinned a little. “It’s not just for sex you know.”

You shoved him, earning his chuckle. “I know that, jerk. But fine, what do you suggest?”

“…Tiger.”

“How did I know that’s what you’d say?”

“Because we’re good friends.”

“How about ‘hamster’?”

He frowned. “No.”

“But look how effective that was.”

For the most part, things went smoothly. It helped that things got busy and tasks barely needed to get done with the exception of laundry. You saw each other more in your friend group gatherings than at home in your shared arrangement, and despite everyone knowing you live together, neither of you made it a point to make a big deal about it, even if everyone else does.

The countless times you had to fight Seokmin, Jeonghan, or Jihyo about the possibility of something developing between you and your new roommate romantically pained you with their inaccuracy. It seemed left and right that’s all everyone could talk about since it was arranged. It seemed as if there was nothing better up for discussion. Soonyoung dealt with it all the same, being constantly asked what kind of nefarious doings are being done behind closed doors that no one knows about. It always came as a disappointment when it was broken towards them that nothing was happening and that nothing ever will.

Even to you. Surprising enough.

If you learned anything from living with Soonyoung, it was harder than you expected it to be, especially with a still festering crush that is only developing into something almost tangibly heart-wrenching and stomach churning. It seemed to have taken a turn for the worse when Soonyoung started to take advantage of the home gym more due to the massive heatwave in town. 

The damn pull up bar.

You’ve only realized the time you’ve wasted after hearing the kettle whistle you put out apparently ten minutes ago. Your mind was too clouded by the flex of his biceps lifting his body in the air. Or the contracting and releasing of his shoulders that were lightly misted by perspiration. Or were too preoccupied with wanting to lick off the veins of the poor man’s lower abdomen. Or thinking about what those arms could do flinging you upside a—

“Oh, early class?”

“Uh, yeah. There’s a lot more traffic today, so I'm getting there earlier than usual.” 

His feet landed on the ground with a thud and he grabbed a towel to wipe over the sweat that was making his body glisten like glaze on a smooth buff donut. “I’m guessing you have no time for breakfast then?”

“Unfortunately,” you respond, quickly pouring your tea into your thermos before getting to your shoes, “I was gonna grab something at the Starbucks on campus after.”

“Here.” He tossed something from a box behind him and watched as you flimsily caught it from the front door.

“Oh.” A protein bar, a good one from your experience of raiding his side of the pantry. “Thanks.”

“And cancel all previous engagements. Dinner’s on me tonight.”

You squinted at him, “Why?”

“We’ll have something nice for once tonight,” he grinned, “be home at 8 tonight.”

Soonyoung’s plan for dinner was a free courtesy of Mingyu who found a nice little gig as a sous chef in a trendy place uptown. The whole circle celebrated together and you only got around to knowing after Soonyoung kept you updated on news knowing you’d be too busy to look at the giant groups chat you’re in. You should’ve been appreciative. That should’ve been your first instinct, not…entitlement. Not envious of him making eyes and flirting with the waitres. Not embarrassment for expecting something more from his brazen invite to dinner with you.

So, by then you’ve had a bit to drink. Okay, a lot to drink. Just enough to drink to have you stumbling on the center dance floor that garnered the attention of prying eyes. At that moment, nothing really mattered. You knew where lines lie, but lines eventually blur.

One second, you’re alone swaying to Britney Spears’ “toxic”, another second, Seungcheol’s crotch is up against your ass. It was a nice sentiment since you were definitely craving a bit of attention tonight, although you weren’t sure if you could look your friend in the eye again after that. Fortunately for you, it only got so far until a shapeless, but familiar, body pulled you away from the scene, forcibly putting you away in a bright yellow car. With your many failed protests, they managed to reach the footsteps of your building and finally reached for keys in their front pockets to open up your apartment.

“Hold still. Please…God, I am not sober enough for this.”

“Soonyoung….” You whined like a lost child.

He gripped you tighter by the arm to lock you in place, preventing you from falling. He was used to being taken care for and the grass was not greener on the other side. He has a lot of people he needs to apologize to. “Almost…okay, okay. I’m in. Go. Go shower and sober yourself up.”

You tugged him at the wrist, pulling him towards you. “Shower with me…”

He scoffed, a smug smile forming on his face. “You have no idea what you’re saying. Go before I make you, and I really don’t wanna have to make you.”

“Fineee…”

Logic flew out the window tonight. Not paying it a second thought, you began stripping yourself of your clothes in the middle of the living room, from socks to immediately your shirt. Soonyoung’s eyes nearly shot out of his skull as he scrambled to cover you in your abandoned shirt before it almost hit the ground.

“Undress in the bathroom please.” Even in your intoxicated state, you could feel the tension of his muscles brush against your back, causing the heat to creep up on your skin.

You let yourself melt into him giggling, turning your head back to meet his cautious eyes. “Maybe you’d like to help with that.”

You can see the bit of shock in his eyes, fluttering back to something more composed once he internally reminded himself this was the ramblings of a drunk person. “You really don’t know what you're saying.” He then pushed you inside the restroom, holding the door by its knob, “Shower and brush your teeth. I’m not letting you out until I’m sure you’re done.”

“Soonyoung…”

“Please, just do it.”

Eventually, he finally convinced you to do as he asked and he hears the shower running, but a mere second later a thud follows. You busted out in a fit of pain, slipping on the already wet floor and immediately your roommate comes running in concerned. “What happened?”

He turned his head the second he processed your fallen body on the ground was bare naked. Shower water poured down on your head, drenching you from head to toe, and glistening your body like a wet dream. Your eyes lit up at him in a timid demure, barely covering your intimate parts with your arms and hands. He coughed dramatically, pinching himself to find restraint, and repeated his quarry of concern with avoidant eyes before you pointed out the obvious, “I fell.”

“Hold on to the rails, that’s what they’re for,” he groaned.

“Sorry.”

He sighed, slightly glancing. “Do you need help?”

You shook your head even when he wasn’t looking. “No, I think I’m good.”

“Good. Just be careful and tell me when you’re done.”

And you’re alone again.

You pulled yourself up from your pathetic state and then the warm water run through your features, letting out a loud sigh. You finished up the best you could, ridding yourself of a night full of grime. Grabbing a towel on the rack, you wrapped it around your damp nude before letting Soonyoung know from the other side of the door. He finally let you free from his handmade prison before watching you go scurry to your bedroom in a concoction of drunken embarrassment.

You muttered to yourself scoldings for letting something like that happen, clenching your legs together in bed the moment you hear his round of shower hit the tiles through the thin walls. A groan unexpectedly sounds off abundantly clear, and your shameless thoughts take action while he’s preoccupied. 

Still naked, you let the towel fall to the ground and you crawl under the sheets of your bed, not caring in the slightest about your hair getting your pillows wet. Your hands slowly trail down to your chest, ghosting over your skin until the pads of your fingers finally found what’s between your legs. You moaned at your self-discovery. Filming your fingers with your filthy arousal, a smile derived from self-indulgence shaped on your face. There you let your fingers slide between your folds and you shudder.

Meanwhile, Soonyoung couldn’t get your image out of his head. The glimpse alone was enough to make him think of you in compromising positions. Lips around his angry stiff cock, your tongue sliding against the veins of his shaft. He’d then hear the wet suction, the vibrations of your mouth humming around his skin, moaning his name like the perfect dessert you were. He groaned again to himself, pressing his length against his abdomen, not thinking you’d hear.

But you do. In fact, it’s so coherent, it makes you wet enough seep past your thighs, trailing down your legs. Your fingers plunged in you deeper while the palm of your hand rubbed against the shape of your clit. Your hips heave up from the mattress, pressing deeper into your palm as the image of Soonyoung’s face stayed a constant in your intoxicated head.

Soonyoung could hear your moans through it all, even if you didn’t think they did, and you only further fed his imagination. He braced against the wall behind him, thrusting into his fist with gritted teeth. The squeeze he had on his girth was merciless and all he had to rid of his overwhelming sin. In his head, you batted your pretty eyes back him, trailing your hands over his body, mouth gaping that looked ready to be filled one way or another. He threw his head back, whispering your name softly. “Oh, baby…you look so good swallowing my cock.”

You felt tears soak your eyes, swallowing a desperate breath.“Mmh, fuck…just like that please…”

“Gonna fuck your pretty pussy…” His thrusts roughly pulled himself at his base, clenching the life around it.

“You’re so deep, fuck, you feel so good—“

“You’re gonna make me cum—“

“Shit, I’m gonna cum—“

“Shit—“

“Shit—“

Simultaneously, you both were freed of your tension, a sudden release of breath escaping your lungs. The spilled cum fell at Soonyoung’s feet, melting in the heat of the water before it followed down the drain, while you fell slumped in bed in your own filth. You lazily reached out for your towel to clean the rest of the mess, tore away your dirty sheets, and settled into a tired slumber.

Soonyoung, overwashed with shame, hung his head down as he quietly cursed to himself. He shut off the shower head and reached for his towel. He finally concludes this evening, having taken a load off. There wasn’t much left on his mind that night, only teh thought of wanting it to be over.

The morning comes sooner than you realize and you find yourself at the mercy of a shirtless Soonyoung like most mornings, except this time he wasn’t doing pull-ups. Instead, he walked to you, a vigor to his stride and he decidedly met your eyes, while you were still focused on his body.

“You’re not very good at hiding things,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Soonyoung—“

“Should I just give you what you want? Should I fuck the shit out of you until all I can hear is my name?”

An answer was caught in the tightness of your throat when he lifted you off the ground and instinctively made you wrap your legs around his bare torso. The heat of his body is all you could focus on until he planted you flat on your kitchen counter, parting your legs to reveal the sudden bareness beneath your oversized t-shirt.

He licked his lip, tensing up his abdomen excitedly before he found home between your thighs. Your fingers threaded through his hair, crying out in soft breaths, and pulling his head back to meet his pretty eyes glossed over with lust. 

He mumbled into your skin, specifically one thing. And he said it over again and over again. Unable to make out what he says, you asked him to repeat it more clearly. It was then he rose up to the surface, a sticky sweet sheen of your arousal in his lips before he drew them close to your ear. His breath fanned your skin, shivers running down your spine, and finally what he says makes sense.

“Wake up.”

Your eyes ripped open like the ground beneath you should’ve. You ran a hand over your face, groaning at your own dismay. “What the actual fuck…”

It took a minute for you to pull yourself out of bed, groggy and with a raging headache to blow over throughout the day, only to be met with nearly an identical circumstance you met in your dream. Your roommate’s bare back stared back at you as brightly as the morning sun. You shrunk back at the reminder of your dream, walking on eggshells towards him to reach the fridge. “Morning.”

Soonyoung coughed on his water recognizing your presence, timidly greeting you back.

“Plans today?” You asked.

He nodded, “Yeah, classes in the afternoon.”

The silence couldn’t be more deafening.

“You.”

“Yeah, me too. Will be back at home at 9 after work.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

And soon you parted, embarrassed that encountered ever happened.

The rest of the day, there was much of seeing each other like most days, but this particular instance felt there was more of a reason to it. Even when it came around to your mutually available time at lunch, you made the extra effort not to run into him. How could you?

After making a pass on him and making the half-conscious decision of touching yourself to him while he was in the shower?

You’d be insane to go about things as if they were normal. They weren’t. 

When you came home that night, he was home like he always was, yet nowhere in sight. You knew he was home when you noticed his bike locked up where it normally was and shoes placed at the front of the door. You were tempted to call out his name but refrained when you reminded yourself you were yet ready for that confrontation yet.

Unfortunately for you, you didn’t have a choice in the matter as  Soonyoung seemed to be already walking out of his room, shocked to see you actually home despite it being the time you said you’d be home by. “Hey…”

“Hey.” You let your stuff down before heading to the kitchen. “Did you eat yet?”

“Uh, yeah. I got pizza with a few Chan and Seungkwan.”

“Cool. I’m just gonna make myself something real quick.”

“Alright.”

“Did you need something?”

“Hmm?”

You pointed to his door. “You came out of your room.”

“Right,” he quickly scanned the floor before claiming nearly finished bottle of water on the couch's corner table. “W-water. I got thirsty.”

Obviously, it was an excuse, but you weren’t going to point it out with your lack of backbone. “Okay, well, I’m out here if you need anything.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Before he retreated back to the room, a halt was squeezed out of your throat, catching him in his eager steps. He turned to you with unfocused eyes, hard swallowing in an attempt to calm himself down. “What is it?”

“I need to get this off my chest. Yesterday…I’m really sorry for everything yesterday.”

He sighed. That’s what all that was? “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Also. Shit, um. I don’t know why I’m saying this because it's not like it matters. Well, it does a little bit. It could totally come off wr—“

“Hey,” he interrupted, “I doubt it’s as big a deal as your making it out to be, and I’m okay with not knowing.”

“But you should know actually.” You steadily approached him, letting out an exaggerated exhale. “Yesterday, you were showering and I don’t know what got over me. Well, I was drunk, so I guess there was that bit. Anyway, I heard you, you know, and I guess I—“

“Touched yourself when I was in the shower?”

You shut your eyes, preparing yourself for the worst. “Okay, we’re getting right into it, but yeah. It just felt weird not telling you, I just—“

“You knew I was masturbating?”

“Well, yeah? It was obvious if I’m being honest. Not the point. I invaded your privacy and indulged in it. I don’t know, maybe it’s been a while since…I just want to apologize.”

“For what, overhearing me whack myself off,” he took a step closer, eyes a lot like your dream meeting yours, “or for cumming to the thought of me?”

You breathed out through your nose. In and out. Your eyes for the life of you could not stay steady. “B-both?”

“If we’re being honest here, I should come clean too, shouldn’t I?”

Your hand steadied on the couch, almost letting the force of gravity pull you down along with your sanity, but tried maintaining eye contact as if that would change the dynamic even a little bit. “About what?”

Soonyoung finally found the humor in the situation to smile, one that caused the stagger in your step. “About how your face would come up when I touched myself in the shower.”

“Soonyoung—“

“You can be mad at me, but I won't be mad at you for doing the same thing I did. I don’t regret it because that was the best orgasm I’ve had in mon—“

You silenced his lips with your own, launching you into him until all you felt was the heat of his furnace of a body. His hands claimed the small of your back before pressing your curves into his hollows. He received your lips feverishly, moving against you as if in heated debate, and crashed your body into the furniture closest to you. 

“Didn’t know you were this eager,” he mumbled, “you should've told me.”

Your hand gripped his hair, your teeth taking his bottom lip between and pulling, emitting illicit whines that filled your stomach with warmth. Your leg propped to his side, embracing him hungrily there wasn’t even space to breathe. His hips knocked back into you, his bulge grinding against your clothed heat as he arched you over the back of the couch.

“You’re a bit mean. I like that.” He giggled.

“Shut up,” you mumbled.

“May I remind you, you kissed me.”

“And I can back out right this second.”

“Oh, but we can’t have that,” he utilized his upper strength to lift you off the ground looped tightly around his torso, a gasp leaving your lips. You reunite with his eyes that are now leveled with yours. You’ve looked into them before but it shocked you with how dark they are, how earnest they look. “You see it, don't you? How much I want you? I see it in your eyes too.”

“T-this a tactic you use on all people you sleep with?”

He shook his head. “Just you, and only because I really want you.”

Your hand planted against his cheek, the curve of your palm hugging his jaw. His breath hitches from the mere tenderness in your eyes. His body has ever only told him he wanted you carnally and raw, but that gaze. If he could just bottle that gaze and show off like a trophy.

Your hand crawled over to the nape of his neck, there your digits ran up his hair, pushing him innately close to you, and you whispered cautiously, “We can never tell the others.”

“I’ll take this to my grave if it’s what you want.”

You nodded. “Good boy.”

He transported you to his room, dropping you on his mattress with him to follow. Your lips stay glued together a perfect mold, tongue clashing in a union that you’ve only even dreamt of having. Soonyoung only briefly pulled away to reveal his torso. He was firm, flushed to the touch, and heaving under the heat of your palm.

You gasped as he pressed his body against your touch, smiling against your skin as he asked if you liked what you were seeing. All you could do was nod, somehow lost in the trance that you never wanted to escape. His mouth took your neck, roaming starved as his hands undressed you down to your underwear.

“God, you’re gorgeous.” He slipped you out from your sleeves and made skin contact. Chest to chest, waist to waist, hips to hips. You sense his want through touch alone and for once being wrong felt so incredibly right. What a relief to know, he felt what you did. “I never wanted someone this badly before.”

“Soonyoung…”

He nipped your neck, teeth scratching against your skin. “You say my name like that, I’ll have no choice but to ruin you. Be careful around me. Or don’t. I’d show you a good time either way.”

“You’re—mmp—such a…ah—s-sweet talker.” You could hardly talk back. He made love to your skin as if he’d done it before, touching every pressure of your body like a skilled lover, both attentively yet without remorse.

“I’m only saying what I’ve been thinking. Like how desperate I am to feel myself between your thighs.” He tugged down your underwear to your feet and let the fall to the ground, allowing your legs to hook around him. “Or how your lips taste like caramel coffee, the candy you eat every time you need a ‘pick me up.’”

“You pay attention to that?” You asked, fiddling over the button of his pants.

“I don’t make an effort to, I just do.” He found your hands, aiding you in your efforts, soon you heard the sound of fabric hitting the floor. He held your gaze still, guiding your hand over his hard cock, taking from the base up to the shaft. You swallowed memorizing his shape, his length, his weight. There was so much you wanted to be able to share with this part of him alone. “Now it’s your turn to pay attention to me.”

Your lips stretched over your cheeks. “What makes you think I don’t?” 

You trace over something particular with your other hand, something that bulges at you even with his pants on. You lifted yourself to sit up, folding your calves behind your thighs. Stroking his length with one hand, you admire your veins leading down his lap with the other. “I’ll have you know, my patience is admirable. It took a lot within me to blatantly ignore these pretty veins you have on your stomach.”

“Someone’s never called them that before,” he chuckled, “no one’s even acknowledged them before.”

“I guess no one’s been privileged enough to see them as often as I do. Lucky me.” You thumbed over the blue, scrapping over its stroke as you lowered your head and your lips wrapped around the head. You covered his underside, tugging  your lips around him, and watching his jaw drop lower when you began covering more of his length.

“I’m the lucky one,” he acknowledged, his hand dropping to the crown of your head before caressing the length of your hair. “You should see how good you look sucking my dick right now. I’m never gonna see this image without wanting to cum on the spot.”

You steadied yourself at his hips, tongue gliding over the underside, and you hugged your cheeks tighter around his girth. Eyes fluttered back at him, and you wretched to take more of him, already felt him hit the back of your throat. When you heard him moan, it fed you more encouragement, giving your best efforts to fit all of him. You coughed at the tightness in your throat but remained resilient. The vicious substance of your saliva coated him from tip to base as your hand stroked him repeatedly, pushing him deeper into you until your vision grew weary. 

Soonyoung told you to take it slow, stroking the back of your head with a gentle hand. You inhaled him for as long as you could, the sounds of your efforts growing dim the deeper he made it past your mouth. Ultimately, tears ran down your cheeks, oxygen cut from your airways, and you felt no choice but to pull him out, resting his cock between your fingertips as you gasped for breath.

That breath was quickly stolen when Soonyoung dived in to claim it, his body caging yours. His weight against yours was comforting, enticing, addicting. He moaned your name sweetly like a song, and it filled your stomach with embers of desire. “You’re so hot…I’d make you do that again if I wasn’t worried about killing you.”

You pathetically scoffed in an attempt to cover up discomfort. “That? Pff, I’m fine.”

He grinned, kissing you long and deep. “You’re so cute when you lie. I’ll make sure to return the favor now.”

Pulling at your thighs, he dragged them towards him, barely touched your eager heat, and his twitch urging you to pull him close. He leaned over somewhere behind you to tear open a condom, rolling it over himself. As he drew closer, so did you, feeling the inviting head of his cock glide over your wet cunt, you trembled in thought. Soonyoung, just—

“Put it in me.”

“Now, now. I’m not going anywhere,” he smiled cheekily.

“Soonyoung,” You whined.

Your impatience is rewarded when he plunged himself in slowly, but completely, embracing the stretch of your walls as he filled you out. “So…needy...”

His initial thrust is deep, strong, and then he landed another, quickly adjusting to the plush of your pussy. You held your thighs back to your chest, and spread your legs wide for him. Your pretty lips weren’t shy with praising him, asking him for more of his pretty cock, and earning just as you ask. “You’re mind-numbing, shit…what a good fucking pussy…”

“Your cock’s so g-good in me…you feel so good inside me, Soonyoung…”

“Fuck, say my name like that again.”

He flipped you on your stomach, pressing his fingers into your as he found his pace from behind you, ramming into you until your cunt has tasted every inch of his cock. You gasped as his hand maneuvered you to push back against him, like a toy to be played with he used every bit of you, your energy, your sexuality, and he embraced it. You felt amazing. 

“Soonyoung, I’m—ah—I’m gonna cum.”

“You’re gonna cum around my cock? Hmm? Is that it? My cock fucking you that good?”

You bit into your lips nodding, the urge to respond before the wave of arousal crashed into you. You were clenching your stomach as his name came in tidal waves, grinding towards him to prologue the high. Loudly, you cursed, balling the sheets underneath you into fists. 

Soonyoung nodded proudly, the shaky view of your body trembling beneath him fuels his ego and it’s not long before he orgasms, filling the condom until it nearly burst. He pulled out of you finally, quickly discarding the trash before he joined you in bed, hugging your fatigued body to his side and there was silence. Only silence.

And breathing. Mainly Soonyoung’s. And that went on for a good fifteen minutes until someone spoke again.

“I’m glad I waited for that.”

You looked up at your roommate curiously, the smile on his face felt warmer every time you saw it. “What was that?”

He met your gaze, hand softly moving over your hair. “I feel like I’ve gotten closer to you. I always wanted that.”

“Really?”

He nodded, planting a chaste kiss on your forehead. “Who knew sex would make us closer friends?”

Your body ran cold, in the distance you could hear the shattering of glass far off from reality. You stayed frozen under his touch as he embraced you closer to his naked body, hooking his chin over your neck. “We should do this again. I wouldn’t mind getting used to this.”

That’s what you were scared of. Getting used to this. To this arrangement. To the sensation of his cock inside you. To the sense that it’d never be more than you hoped it would be. You’d never have Soonyoung be yours, but you knew somehow you’d always be his.

[vingtetunmars]

Unlisted

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Summary: After the encounter with another bounty hunter, Din finally confronted the truth he’d been avoiding—he didn’t want to turn her in.

Part 1 / Part 3

Tags: Enemies to Lovers-ish?, smut(18+) in later part, Grogu plays matchmaker, set after season 3, slow burn, pre-relationship, protective Din Djarin, they're a family they just don't know it yet, star wars content that may or may not be canon. No mentions of Y/N.

A/N: Here's the next part! If you have any requests, suggestions, or thoughts, feel free to send me a message. Reblogs are appreciated. Please do not steal or cross-post it on another platform without asking. Thank you.

Word Count: 3k

masterlist

The cockpit was still bathed in the cool, flickering light of hyperspace.

Mando pressed a few quiet commands into the Crest’s comms panel. No official channels. No traceable frequency. Just a backdoor Teva had given him for "off the record" updates — the kind that didn’t go through New Republic ears.

The transmission crackled. Then it connected.

Teva’s voice came through, low and a bit groggy. “Mandalorian?”

“It’s me.”

“Didn’t expect to hear from you until drop-off. Something wrong with the ship?”

“No.”

A pause. “The target?”

Another pause. “She’s on board.”

“Well, that’s good news. I was worried she’d out-tech even you. What’s going on?”

Mando hesitated. His gloved thumb hovered over the edge of the console, then curled into a fist.

“You didn’t say why they wanted her.”

Teva exhaled. “That’s because I don’t know. I pulled the job from a high-priority channel. No crime list. No warrants logged in the central system, not even under her name — just a location ping, a bounty order, and a warning that she’s dangerous.”

“She is,” Mando said. “But not in the way they think.”

“She tell you something?”

Mando didn’t answer.

“Look,” Teva continued, his voice more serious now, “I trust your instincts. Always have. But if she’s lying, she’s doing a damn good job of it. And if she’s not…” he trailed off. “Then she’s neck-deep in something the higher-ups don’t want traced.”

Silence again, save for the hum of the ship.

“Are you asking me if you should let her go?”

“No,” Mando said, too quickly. Then, quieter: “Not yet.”

Teva didn’t press. “You’ve got time before drop. Figure out what you believe. But Mando—if it’s something big, something real—don’t bring it to me. Not through official channels.”

“You think they’d silence you too?”

“I think you already know the answer.”

The line went quiet. Then a soft click — transmission ended.

Mando leaned back in the pilot’s chair.

Still alone.

Still no closer to a choice.

And somewhere beneath him, in the hold, the woman who was supposed to be his prisoner slept beside the child who trusted her.

He didn’t like what that meant.

He didn’t like that he hadn’t already made up his mind.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

You weren’t sure how long it had been. Days, maybe.

The hold of the Razor Crest didn’t have windows. The only clue time passed at all was when the lighting dimmed at night, or when Grogu curled up beside your boots and snored in his odd little way.

You’d expected to be handed over by now. Processed. Frozen, maybe. You’d braced yourself for it.

But the ship kept going.

Not to a New Republic outpost. Not to Adelphi. Not to anything that looked like official business.

Just… somewhere else.

You watched from the hold — from the edge of the ladder, wrists still free, though your cuffs hung within reach of Mando’s belt whenever he passed — as he picked up two side bounties on backwater planets.

One was a merc with a drinking problem and a broken leg. The other was a petty thief who ran the moment Mando stepped into the bar.

Both jobs were easy. Too easy for someone like him. Barely worth the time.

And both felt like delays.

You didn’t ask. Not out loud. Just kept your hood up and your mouth shut, feeding Grogu bits of dried fruit when Mando wasn’t looking.

He didn’t say much to you, either. When he did speak, it was usually short.

“Sit.”

“Don’t touch that.”

“Watch your hands.”

But sometimes he’d say, “Eat this,” and slide you a ration pack across the floor.

You wondered if he was waiting for something. A signal. A clearer order. Or maybe…

Maybe he was doubting it. All of it.

Your eyes would flick to the cockpit ladder sometimes, when he was up there too long. Just listening. Wondering if he was calling someone. Asking what to do about you.

The kid liked you. You knew that.

Mando didn’t.

But he didn’t hate you either.

And that was something.

You reached down to scratch Grogu behind the ear as he dozed beside you. He chirped, rolled closer, his tiny clawed hand gripping the hem of your cloak.

You smiled faintly, but it didn’t last.

Because you didn’t know how long this would last. Or what happened when he finally decided to stop stalling.

You were still cargo. Just not delivered yet.

Days eventually got more blurry.

You weren’t sure when it started to feel normal.

Maybe it was the second week. Or maybe the third. Time blurred in space, especially when the same three walls wrapped around your life.

But routine settled in.

Every morning, you’d wake to Grogu climbing on your chest, chirping expectantly. You’d groan, he’d giggle, and Mando would grunt from nearby. “He likes breakfast early.”

You started sharing meals.

Not face to face — you knew better. He always faced the wall, and you learned to knock first, wait, sit opposite. Backs turned, knees close. No questions asked. You never tried to catch a glimpse. And that, somehow, made him trust you more.

He cleaned weapons. You organized the medkits. He piloted. You repaired a frayed wiring cluster that made the engine whine. He didn’t thank you for that. But he didn’t undo it, either.

He taught Grogu how to catch and hold little tracking fobs.

You taught Grogu how to take apart a commlink and put it back together — with only minor explosions.

Every so often, the Mandalorian would say something. A few words. Then more.

What started as instructions — “Don’t touch that,” or “Stay in the ship” — turned into, “That planet’s outer rim. Mining colony. Bad ground for soft landings.”

Then later: “I used to work with someone from there. She could shoot the wings off a Mynock.”

You started asking him questions. Not probing ones. Not yet. Just little things.

“What’s in that cabinet?”

“Rations and an old holoprojector.”

“Does Grogu always snore like that?”

“Ever since I found him.”

He never said no when you asked to help.

He let you fly the Crest once. Only briefly. He stood behind you the whole time, arms crossed — but he let you.

Sometimes you’d both be working in silence, Grogu between you on the floor, stacking small power cells like blocks, when something would pass between you. A glance. A comment. A chuckle neither of you meant to let slip.

You even started knocking before entering the cockpit — just in case he’d removed his helmet. He never told you to. He never thanked you either.

But one time, when you passed him his reassembled pulse rifle, he said, “You’re good with your hands.”

You blinked. “Thanks.”

That was the first time he complimented you. It was also the first time you saw his shoulders relax.

It wasn’t friendship. Not quite.

But it was something.

And Grogu?

He thrived.

He’d nap curled in your lap. He’d sit between you both during hyperspace jumps, arms outstretched like he was flying. He’d fuss if you ever got too far from Mando or vice versa, like keeping the two of you near made him feel balanced.

You weren’t sure when the walls started to lower.

But somewhere along the line, you stopped feeling like a bounty.

And started feeling like a crew.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

The market smelled like dust and old fruit.

You weren’t far from the Crest, just gathering supplies while the Mandalorian bartered for fuel lines. Grogu sat in your sling—one you’d made from an old cargo strap—and peeked out with wide eyes, curious and content.

Until he tensed.

You felt it too. That pull in your chest. The same one from weeks ago, the one you’d felt right before you knew you were being hunted.

You turned just in time to see the Twi’lek push through the crowd, blaster already halfway up, and a beeping fob clenched in her other hand.

You moved.

A warning shout left your mouth just as she fired.

The bolt missed you by inches, striking a stall and sending fruit flying. The crowd scattered in panic. You dropped behind a crate, shielding Grogu with your body as best you could.

A second bolt whizzed past. You popped up long enough to aim your compact shock device—one of your last good gadgets—and fired.

It hit her shoulder. She stumbled, cursed, but didn’t drop her blaster.

Before you could recharge it, a Twi’lek closed the distance. She was fast.

Too fast.

She slammed into you, sending you sprawling. You twisted at the last second to take the fall on your side, sparing Grogu, but pain lanced through your arm. You skidded across the dirt, shielding the kid with your cloak.

She raised her weapon again.

But this time—

He was there.

The Mandalorian struck her mid-step, knocking her back with the full force of his armored body. Her blaster clattered away. She drew a knife—Mando caught her wrist, twisted, shoved her against the stall wall.

They exchanged blows, fast and brutal.

She fought dirty, claws and kicks.

He fought like a wall.

You didn’t stay down. Your hand fumbled for the compact dart launcher in your boot. It wasn’t much—but when she broke free long enough to try and run, you shot her in the leg.

The tranquilizer worked slow, but enough. She staggered, snarled, then crumpled to the ground.

Silence returned to the market—except for your ragged breathing and Grogu’s tiny, worried whine.

You rolled over, clutching your arm. “I’m fine,” you muttered.

Mando was already there, kneeling beside you. “You’re bleeding, mesh'la.”

“It’s not—serious,” you lied, wincing as you tried to sit up.

Grogu whined again and curled against your side.

You exhaled shakily and muttered, “Well, that was bound to happen.”

Mando looked at you. You looked back.

No helmet. No expression. But still—you felt it.

The shift. The concern.

The anger that she found you. And the fear that someone else might.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet. But something had changed.

You weren’t just a bounty anymore.

The Razor Crest doors sealed behind them with a hiss.

You sat on the edge of the cot in the hold, arm newly bandaged, blood still dried on your sleeve. Grogu nestled in your lap, sound asleep now, his little chest rising and falling like nothing had happened.

But you were still shaking.

And Mando was pacing.

Silently.

Deliberately.

Like a storm waiting to break.

“Why don’t you just turn me in?”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them. Quiet. Raw.

He didn’t answer. Just pulled out a field kit and started patching you up with quick, practiced hands. His touch wasn’t gentle, but it was careful.

You stared at his visor, jaw clenched. “You’ve had chances. We’ve landed on systems with New Republic outposts. You took side jobs. You stalled.”

Still nothing.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” you snapped, louder now. “I’m not stupid.”

He took a step closer. “You were almost killed today.”

“No kidding.”

“Because of me.”

You scoffed, shifting Grogu gently off your lap and onto the cot beside you. “No. Because of me. I’m the bounty, remember? You knew what I was when you took the job. So what is this?” You motioned around the ship. “Some kind of long goodbye before the carbonite?”

His hands curled into fists at his sides. “You think I’m doing this for fun?”

“I think you’re avoiding something.” You stood, wincing at the pain in your side. “And if you keep me here, keep protecting me—stalling—you’re putting him in danger.” You pointed toward Grogu, sleeping peacefully. “That hunter nearly shot us both. Next time, she might not miss.”

Silence stretched thick between you.

You breathed hard. He didn’t.

Then—

“…I know.”

His voice was low. Rougher than usual.

He looked at Grogu, then back at you.

“I know.”

You waited.

He didn’t offer more.

And for a moment, you hated that helmet — because you couldn’t see what was going on behind it. The lines in his brow. The twitch in his jaw. Whatever he might’ve been trying to hold in.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you said finally, softer. “I was surviving. You were doing a job. That’s how it should’ve ended.”

“But it didn’t.”

He said it so simply. Like it was fact.

You stared at him.

And in the silence that followed, Grogu stirred — and reached for both of you in his sleep, as if sensing the storm between the words.

In the cockpit, Mando sat alone, helmet tipped forward slightly, hands resting on the controls but not moving.

Outside, stars crawled past in long, streaking lines. Hyperspace—quiet and endless.

But inside, everything churned.

He replayed the fight. The blast. The blood on your sleeve. The way Grogu had whined, clinging to your chest. The way your voice had cracked when you said he was putting the kid in danger.

He’d made a choice the moment he saw you on that floor.

And now it was time to follow through.

With a tap to the comms, he patched into a secured channel.

Static crackled, then resolved into a voice.

“Teva here. Go ahead.”

“It’s me.”

“Got something for me?”

There was a pause.

“I’m not turning her in.”

Teva sighed, a long breath over the line. “I figured. You’ve had her this long—I assumed either you were dead or playing sabacc with your conscience.”

“I need a favor.”

“…That’s big talk for someone ignoring my pings.”

“She’s not a criminal. Not like they say.”

“You sure about that?”

“I’ve seen enough.”

Teva hesitated. “…You know this isn’t as simple as pushing a button.”

“I know.”

“I’ll need evidence. Documentation. Something to show that whatever she found—whatever she knows—justifies wiping her record.”

“I’ll get it.”

“You realize helping her makes you complicit. The New Republic won’t like it. Neither will the bounty guild.”

“I don’t care what they like.”

Another long pause.

“Alright. Send me what you have when you can. And Mando?”

“What.”

“I hope she’s worth the headache.”

The transmission clicked off.

Mando didn’t move right away. He sat there a while, visor tilted toward the dark.

Then he stood, steady and sure, and climbed down the ladder.

You were still sitting on the cot when the ladder creaked.

Grogu was curled up beside you, his head resting on your thigh, but his ears perked up first. Then your eyes followed.

Mando stepped down from the cockpit, slow, deliberate. You expected him to say nothing — to give you space like you’d both silently agreed to.

But instead, he walked over and stopped in front of you.

You glanced up at him, guarded. “Need something?”

“I have a contact,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“Captain Teva. New Republic. He’s... reliable.”

You stared, uncertain. “You mean the guy who gave you my bounty?”

“He didn’t know what you were charged with. Just that you were flagged.”

“And you think he can... help?”

“If we give him proof,” Mando said. “Whatever it is you found, whatever got you marked — if we can show it was real, show why they came after you—he can scrub your name. Wipe you clean from the system.”

You exhaled slowly, your fingers unconsciously brushing Grogu’s ear. “That’s a big if.”

“You still have it?”

You hesitated. Then, “Lothal.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“There’s an old Imperial outpost there. They painted over it, turned it into a New Republic data cache. I worked there—before. Everything’s backed up on their internal drives. If I can get in, I can find the files that prove what they buried.”

Mando nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going.”

You blinked again, surprised by how fast he agreed. “It’s not exactly a friendly place.”

He shrugged. “Neither am I.”

That almost made you smile.

Almost.

There was silence again. Not tense this time. Just weighty.

He shifted his helmet slightly. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“I’ve been stalling.”

You looked away, suddenly feeling too exposed. “I figured.”

“I wanted to be sure. Now I am.”

He took a small step forward, visor fixed on you. And just before turning away, he said it.

“Get some rest, Mesh’la. We leave in a few hours.”

You froze.

“…What did you just call me?”

He didn’t answer.

Just climbed the ladder back up to the cockpit without another word.

You stared after him, lips parting slightly.

Mesh’la.

You didn’t know the meaning.

But the way he said it — low and careful — sent heat curling through your chest.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

You stood beside him in the cockpit, arms crossed tight over your chest, eyes trained on the terrain of Lothal growing larger in the viewport. The land was still familiar—flat stretches of wild grass, broken up by angular cliffs and windswept plateaus. Somewhere below, nestled against a ridge like a parasite, was the outpost you once worked in.

Mando kept one hand steady on the controls as he began the slow descent.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low through the vocoder.

You exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Just… weird being back.”

He glanced at you briefly, but didn’t push.

“I used to come in on shuttles just like this,” you said quietly. “Flew in twice a cycle. I wasn’t allowed near the command wing, but I had clearance to audit data paths. Numbers, shipping manifests, resource allocation, stuff they didn’t think twice about. I was just a name behind a datapad.”

A pause stretched between you.

“They liked me because I was good with numbers. Organized. Kept my head down. I thought if I just worked, kept quiet… they wouldn’t notice me.”, you said bitterly. “I did my job, looked the other way… until one day I didn’t.”

Mando adjusted the throttle, letting the ship level as it glided low across the canyons.

“I flagged a misrouted supply chain. It should’ve been food relief for recovering systems. Instead, it was being siphoned to private cargo bays. And that led me to encrypted payroll logs—Imperial names, still getting paid. Even had old clearance levels. That’s when they decided I knew too much.”

“And that’s when you ran.”

You nodded slowly. “I didn’t even get to pack a bag. They put a bounty on me, claimed I was a criminal.”

Mando said nothing, but his gloved hand tightened over the control yoke.

The ridge loomed ahead now. The “New Republic” outpost sat quiet under the shroud of night, its faux legitimacy painted over a corrupted frame. You couldn’t help but scoff under your breath.

“They always called this place a repurposed supply station. Funny. I remember the basement levels. Nothing but cold durasteel and locked doors. It was Imperial then. Still is.”

Mando didn’t look at you, but he said one thing, just before the Razor Crest touched down.

“We’ll bring it into the light.”

The outpost didn’t look like much from the outside. Built into a carved-out ridge in the Lothal highlands, it wore the face of New Republic logistics—blue emblems freshly painted, uniforms clean. But you knew better. Underneath the pretty paint and polished protocol was a rotting skeleton of Imperial command.

Mando landed the Razor Crest far enough to avoid radar, hiding the ship behind jagged rocks. The wind kicked up dry dust as you stepped down the ramp, the cool night stinging your cheeks. You adjusted your hood tighter.

“You’re sure this is the one?” Mando asked, voice low under the weight of his helmet.

“I used to audit these systems, Mando.” you replied. “That’s an old imperial data server. They tried to hide it behind New Republic hardware, but I recognize the encryption signature. And if I’m right, the file we need will be buried in its deep archive drive.”

He gave a short nod. “Then we go in quiet. No blasters unless we have to.”

You both descended into the canyon under cover of dark, Grogu safely left aboard the Crest. Reaching the perimeter fence, you knelt beside a relay box, flipping open a hatch. Mando stood over you like a shadow, watching.

“Give me a second…” you muttered, fingers dancing over the exposed wires, bypassing the power signal just long enough to force a glitch in the internal sensor. A short spark, then the light on the box blinked red.

“They’ll think it’s a weather error,” you said, then grinned over your shoulder. “We’re in.”

Inside, it was even more obvious. Steel walls, old vertical terminals, stormtrooper armory racks long emptied and repurposed. But the stench of authoritarian design was unmistakable. Mando took point, rifle up and scanning, while you trailed behind with a data spike and slicer module holstered at your hip.

You reached the server room, thick blast doors already halfway open. No guards inside.

“Too easy,” Mando muttered.

You didn’t disagree. It smelled like bait—but the file was here.

You slid into the console seat, pulling out the spike and jacking it into the port. The screen flickered with the old Imperial seal before it was overwritten by a New Republic command overlay.

“It’s here,” you whispered. “Buried, but not deleted.”

“Get it fast.”

Your fingers flew over the keys. Lines of corrupted data flashed by. Then—text logs. Holos. Payment trails. Ship manifests. Names. You decrypted as quickly as you could, organizing them into a file packet.

And then—

WHEEP WHEEP WHEEP.

The red alarm lights flared instantly. The console screamed.

“Kriff!” you hissed.

“I’ve got the door!” Mando snapped, stepping in front of you as boots pounded down the hall.

The first soldier turned the corner—New Republic uniform, but the weapon was an E-11 blaster rifle, not regulation issue. Mando fired first, slamming a pulse into the man’s chest and sending him tumbling back.

You yanked the data spike free. “Got the files!”

“Run!” Mando barked, grabbing your wrist.

The hallway burst into fire. You ducked behind Mando as three more troops rounded the far end, firing like they didn’t care who you were—New Republic, ex-Imp, civilian. Mando’s vambraces absorbed the first few shots while he returned fire, blasting one enemy down with clean, practiced precision.

“Back staircase!” you shouted. “This way!”

He followed you as you sprinted toward a maintenance corridor. A guard leapt out from a side door, and you elbowed him in the throat before blasting his leg. He hit the ground hard, and Mando finished him with a knee to the head.

More footsteps echoed. Too many.

“We’re not making it out through the front!” you said, panting as you shoved open a rusted side hatch.

“Hold on to me.”

“What?!”

“Now!”

You latched onto his torso just as he activated the jetpack. Pulling you both skyward, slamming against the rock wall, dust crumbling beneath your boots as blaster bolts whizzed by. You screamed through clenched teeth but held tight.

The ridge top loomed and Mando vaulted over, dragging you with him. He shoved you down behind a boulder.

“Stay here—”

“No way—!”

He darted out, using his jetpack to blast two pursuing guards off the cliff with a sweep of his rifle. You used the distraction to throw a flash detonator you swiped on the way out. It blinded the final pair of troops, long enough for Mando to finish them off.

Silence.

Both of you gasped for air.

You collapsed back against the rock, chest heaving, blood pounding in your ears. Mando turned toward you, limping slightly. You saw a burn across his side.

“You’re hit!”

“It’s nothing,” he grunted.

“Your version of ‘nothing’ always means ‘you’re bleeding under all that beskar.’”

“We got what we came for,” he said, ignoring the pain. “Let’s get back to the Crest.”

You didn’t argue this time. Not with the stolen data drive clutched in your fist—and the price you’d just paid to get it.

But you still glanced back once as you retreated. Toward the old outpost, the painted lies of the New Republic smoldering against the night sky.

Part 3

—comment if you want to be added to this fic taglist

taglist: @started-with-f-ends-with-uck @swissy23 @escapefromrealitylol @foxin5billion

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

Hi! Firstly, thank you for creating this blog and helping all of us out! Secondly, and sorry if this is such a silly question, but how do you write an engaging summary?

I find my own fic summaries are so… lackluster… and not even I’m interested in reading it — so how I can I expect others to be? Even if I like my story, when I write the summary in the start of my fic/in my masterlist, I’m like “Wow… this is not even remotely interesting! 😭”

So yeah, I was wondering if you had any tips/advice for that? 😭 Totally fine if not, I just figured I’d ask. Thanks and have a great day/night! 😘

HOW TO WRITE AN ENGAGING FIC SUMMARY THAT WILL DRAW IN AUDIENCES

Summaries are the bane of many writers’ existences, including my own. It’s already hard enough to get the words down on paper for the actual story, and now people want you to convince them to read it with something more than “I WORKED REALLY HARD ON IT PLEASE IT’S GOOD I PROMISE!!!!”

Squishing a ton of context into a small blurb seems impossible, but I promise it can be done!

Obviously everyone goes about things differently, and a lot of these tips may not work for everyone, but nevertheless, here are some tricks on how to write an engaging summary!

Here’s a simple template I like to use, which will be the focus of this post:

Hook (Draw the reader in!)

Context (What are the core elements of your story?)

Cliffhanger (Introduce a question/scenario that the reader will want to click to know more about!)

1. Start With a Hook

Just like with the first sentence of a story, the first sentence of your summary should immediately spark the reader’s interest.

A bold statement! A good (short) quote from your fic! A shocking discovery! A cool word definition/the definition of your title!

I always like to put the hook of the story on its own line/paragraph, just to emphasize it.

Examples of a hook (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "It all started when Character A puked on their Uber driver." - "War was inevitable." - "Character A would be dead by sunrise. That’s what Character B vowed." - "By the time they got to the city, it was too late."

Your hook is probably the most important part of your summary; someone will know within milliseconds whether or not they will continue reading.

Once you’re past that initial hump, it’ll be easier to convince a potential reader to skim the rest of the summary. Giving something that jumps out at them will set your story apart from others and ensure it gets that click you deserve!

2. Give Some Context

For shorter one-shots, sometimes a single hook is enough! But if your fic is longer, with a bit more moving parts, you might want to choose a few highlights. Get the essence of your story on paper.

This can be super hard, so don’t feel discouraged if you feel like you’re not getting it. I’d suggest keeping your context to about 1-3 sentences depending on the length of your story, so make sure they count.

Buzzwords are a key factor in getting the main points across. Use ones that relate to your main plot to your advantage! 

For example, if I were to make a short summary of Game of Thrones for someone who has never watched it before, I would definitely include some of these buzzwords: - Dragons - Conquest - Succession - Revenge - Slaughter - Betrayal

Using powerful words (i.e. slaughtered instead of killed) can help draw in your audience!

I can't dictate exactly how you should write your context, since every fic is different and shouldn't be brought under an umbrella of the same rules, so it might help to find inspiration from other people’s summaries.

3. Pose a Question the Reader Will Want the Answer To

The biggest point of a summary is the “so what?” factor. You have all of these tags, but how does the fic make use of them?

A summary shouldn’t be giving all of the answers, but it should still leave crumbs for the reader’s imagination! This doesn’t mean that you literally need to put a question in the summary, but rather pose an unresolved scenario/problem that the reader will want to click to know the solution to.

Here are some example sentence templates that pose an indirect question, often put at the end of a summary to spark interest (Note, these are rushed and off the top of my head. Just meant to give a general idea, not be literary masterpieces): - "Everything changes the moment Character A makes a choice they can't take back." (What is that choice? How does it affect the other characters?) - "As the truth comes to light, nothing will ever be the same." (What is the truth? How does it change things?) - "A dangerous game begins, and only one can emerge unscathed." (Who will be that person?) - “It’s the first time they meet, but it won’t be the last” (What will be these next instances? How do their worlds collide?)

4. Some General Advice

If you don't think the above format works well with your fic, here's just some general advice that can help you out!

DON'T MAKE IT TOO LONG

The biggest mistake I see writers making when posting their work is having a giant four-paragraph summary for their story that takes up half of the feed.

Unfortunately, in an age of fast swiping and instant gratification, a reader may skip over a super long summary simply because they don’t feel like reading all of it.

(The reason why long summaries work for books is because people are more patient when they intend on paying to read something; they’ll take more time considering investments than they would with a free read, since they want to make sure it's worth their money. It’s not fair, but that’s kind of how it goes.)

In my opinion, a fic summary should be no more than one short paragraph, two or three sentences max for a one-shot and maybe five sentences for a long fic.

This isn't exact. It really depends on the length and complexity of the sentence, because no matter the how many you use, if there are enough words to make folks comprehend it as a big block of text, then they’re going to be more likely to skip it.

People looking for long fics will be more patient (since they’re making an investment with their time, rather than money) but if you want to appeal to a wider audience that may be casually browsing and stumble across your fic, definitely consider a more brief route.

PROOFREADING MATTERS!

Because summaries are often an afterthought, many writers don’t put as much effort into it as they would the rest of their story.

I wouldn’t recommend this; people are basing their ENTIRE initial opinion of your fic on this small blurb.

If you rush it and make spelling or grammar errors, people will assume that the rest of your fic is also riddled with errors and scroll past!

Make sure to proofread!

Hope this helped, and happy writing!

[berry-potchy]

Indulge Me

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x f!reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only please) Word Count: 7,072 Summary: You're a Spiderwoman who has ended up pinned underneath Miguel O'Hara in his lab one too many times. You're not sure what you are to him or what to call your relationship. And that would've been fine until your neediness kicked in and made you catch feelings. Surely, Miguel taking you to his room for the first time means something right? In which your lack of understanding of Spanish and denial of the hints Miguel drops are keeping you from realizing you already have what you want. Tags/warnings: pwp, p in v sex, rough sex, praise + light degradation, multiple orgasms and overstimulation, face sitting/riding, breeding kink, soft dom!Miguel, needy reader, recording, mirror sex adjacent, implied chubby reader, undefined relationship but soft feelings sprinkled in there as a treat, no use of y/n so lots of Spanish nicknames to make up for it, reader does not understand Spanish, brief sexy use of spider webs A/N: this is quite literally just a self-indulgent fic with most of my favorite Miguel x reader flavors. Not beta read but I hope you still enjoy it! (Translations are the end!)

Also on AO3

Edit: turns out some parts got messed up while I was posting here on Tumblr D: it's fine on AO3 though which is weird because I copied from this post instead of my doc because this has the correct spacing. Everything should be fixed now.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Miguel has you standing in front of him between his parted legs as he sits on the edge of his bed. Even in this position, you were barely any much taller than him, only needing to tilt your head a bit to meet his red eyes. He looks at you from your face, down to the swell of your breast where his eyes are joined by a taloned finger on its journey downwards. You can’t help but let out a soft sigh as the sharp talon cuts through your spandex suit, fully exposing your soft chest to the cold air of his quarters. He would argue that the stretchy translucent mesh with a spiderweb lace design on your chest area didn’t do shit to cover the fullness of your tits anyway so he didn't understand why you even bothered with it. It was for style obviously but riling up Miguel O’Hara was a great bonus. You let out a shaky breath as he continued further down until he stopped right below your navel.

“Que linda,” he says in that low sexy voice of his, very different from the usual grumpy tone he uses to chastise you. He snakes his arms around your hips, bringing you closer to him and his hands find your plush bottom, giving them a rough squeeze. You are getting so worked up by how much attention you are getting from your usually sulky boss. Your heaving chest is right in front of Miguel’s face and his lustful gaze almost feels like it is burning you. The heat spreads from your chest downwards until it pools in the pit of your stomach and between your legs.

“You ruined my suit,” you pout, not really that upset about it. You think it was hot honestly but you just want to tease him “Am I supposed to go on missions with my whole chest out now? Walk around the HQ flashing everyone?”

“Of course not,” he says, rolling his eyes. He continues to take in your figure, hands gently kneading soft flesh on your sides “I’m making you a new suit. Should be done very soon. It'll be the same design but it will offer far more protection than this flimsy thing.”

“Making me a suit just like yours? What so you can control it hm? Deactivate it whenever you want to fuck me?” You laugh, wiping the imaginary tear in your eye until you realize Miguel is silent and looks like he’s been caught red-handed. You lightly slap him on his arm, flustered. “You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Instead of answering you, he brings his head forward to close his lips on a clothed nipple, his tongue flicking the sensitive erect bud. Your mouth opens as you let out a soft gasp at the sensation and you can feel the corner of Miguel’s lips twitch into a slight smirk. He teases your nipple alternating between flicking it with the tip of his tongue and giving it an audible suck. He pulls away for a split second only to give the same attention to your other nipple. You weave your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer to your tits. Your other hand is holding onto his shoulder for support as you urge him to keep going with your whimpers. His hands haven’t stopped exploring your body. His wide hands warm against your hips, ass, thighs, everywhere he can touch, squeezing your softness, committing every curve to memory.

“Migueeeel,” you whine, rubbing your thighs together to try to relieve the ache between your legs. You appreciate the attention to your nipples but your cunt was throbbing with need. You are so close to ripping the rest of your suit and panties off because the way the fabric is sticking to your wet pussy is becoming too uncomfortable.

“Miguel what, muñeca?” He pulls away, licking his lips. Those red eyes are now looking straight into yours and you feel yourself shiver. You try to look away but Miguel grabs your chin to keep you facing him. “Eyes on me. What do you want? Use your words.”

“Please,” your cheeks burn in embarrassment but Miguel just raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “Stop teasing please.”

“Ah I see okay,” he says, taking his hands off you before standing up and walking to his closet.

“W-wait what are you doing?” you almost trip on your feet, knees feeling weak, as you chase after him. You grab his arm, tugging at it to get his attention as you pathetically look up at him.

“You said stop teasing so I’m getting you a shirt so you can go back to your world and get some rest,” he says as he looks through the neatly folded shirts in his closet. He’s stalling, pretending he was trying to choose one but he’s messing with you. There is no way he would let you go home tonight without getting at least a couple of orgasms wrung out of you. You aren’t leaving until he made sure you were stuffed full and dripping with his cum. You aren’t leaving tonight. Period. He knew you were too far gone with lust to figure that out yourself.

“Miggy, that’s not what I meant please,” you sob, pressing your body against him. Just the thought of being left unsatisfied was painful. “Please, Miggy, I need your mouth. And your cock please”

He finally looks at you and pulls you closer to him by your waist. You run your hands along his still clothed chest, feeling his heart beating with yours. You look up at him with glassy eyes, begging him to finish what he started. He coos at how desperate you were for release.

“You want my mouth and my cock?” he hums, still teasing. He easily lifts you up with one arm supporting your ass to carry you back to his bed. He’s carried you multiple times before but it never ceases to amaze you how he does it so effortlessly. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, hips bucking trying to get some friction against your still unfortunately clothed cunt. “Where do you want them, muñeca? You have to be more specific. Which one do you want first?”

“On my pussy, please. I need your mouth on my pussy. Miggy, I wanna cum on your face” you sobbed against his neck “And then- and then I want you to fuck me. I want you to fill me up with your cock. Only you can fill me up so good, Miggy. I need it.”

“Good girl,” he whispers right next to your ear, making you shudder “Now, was that so hard to do? Was it hard to tell me what you wanted?”

“Yes!” you bite his shoulder and you feel satisfaction when you hear him break character and snort. He shakes his head, smiling fondly while he sets you down on the bed.

"Qué voy a hacer contigo?" he brings his lips to your temple to whisper more softly "Qué haría sin ti?"

Your heart skips a beat at the gentleness of his tone. You’re not sure what he said but the genuine affection is evident. Intimate moments like this with Miguel are slowly becoming more and more frequent and you decide that you don’t mind it. You even crave it now. A satisfied sigh leaves your lips as you lean further toward him.

He pulls away but the fond look on his face doesn’t waver. He slaps your thigh, making the soft fat jiggle just how he likes it, as he moves to get settled in his bed.

“Put those lovely hips and thighs to use and ride my face, conejita.” He lies down, anticipating, patting his chest to encourage you to sit down.

You didn't need to be told twice. You rip off the rest of your suit, your heated skin meeting the cold air of his room making your nipples pebble painfully. You quickly take off your panties and toss them aside with your ruined suit. You squeal as you scramble to get on top of him. You position yourself on top of his waiting mouth, straddling his face but just hovering over his face, hands on the headboard to keep yourself steady. The smell of your arousal is almost too much for Miguel to bear at this proximity. The urge to lock you in his room for the next few days and not let you out until you’re thoroughly fucked and bred is getting hard to ignore. His fangs extend as his animalistic urges surface, yearning to bite you and mark you as his.

“Are you trying to tease me now? How can you ride my face if you don’t sit?” Miguel’s tone is deeper than it was just a second ago. There’s a certain roughness to it, a growl in his voice that makes your hole clench around nothing. He grips your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh, waiting for you to sit down or he’ll make you. He’s trying to be patient, turning his head a little to mouth at the fat of your inner thigh. He licks a stray trail of your slick up your thigh, stopping just a breath away from where you both want his mouth to be. You feel him sigh, savoring your taste like he just drank the finest nectar, a promise of what’s to come.

“But Miguel–” you yelp when he suddenly pulls you down by your thighs and you immediately feel his tongue lapping at your aching cunt, his nose bumping deliciously against your swollen clit. He wasn’t going to hear your excuses. The only things he wants to hear coming out of your pretty lips are your moans and whines for more. The way Miguel is sucking and devouring your wetness so eagerly makes your head spin and your grip on the headboard tighten to steady yourself for a moment. He teases your hole, licking around the small opening before plunging in as far as he can, feeling you clench around his tongue. He grows impatient at your lack of movement and starts rocking you back and forth on his face by himself. He flattens his tongue for you to grind your pretty folds onto.

“Miggy, feels so good,” you whine, bending over to look at him from under you. He’s so pretty like this, forehead scrunched up from how focused he is eating you out, and when you get a peak of his nose and his cheeks, they’re shiny from being soaked by a combination of your wetness and his own spit. You take one of your shaking hands off the headboard to brush the hair away from Miguel’s forehead only for him to guide your hand into a fist, grabbing his hair, urging you to use it as leverage to ride his face harder. And who are you to say no to that?

You move your hips to try to match the pace he set for you, your thighs burn but you pay it no mind. Not when you feel that familiar delicious knot forming in your core. Your head lolls to the side and your eyes screwed shut as you immerse in the pleasure, grinding your cunt harder on Miguel’s tongue, nose, chin, anywhere you can get some friction, getting desperate to reach your orgasm.

“‘M gonna cum, Miggy. Gonn’ cum on your face” you whimper. You take your hand off the headboard and bring it to your tits, squeezing them, pinching at rubbing circles on your pebbled nipples. Miguel doesn’t stop lapping hungrily at your pussy, shaking his head from side to side as much as your grip on his hair allows. He groans as he watches in awe as you chase your own pleasure.

So close.

You’re so close you swear you can almost taste it.

Miguel could tell from how your hips stuttered and your pace growing frantic, rougher. He gives your clit another suck and that finally pushes you over the edge.

You feel the sweet release consume you like wildfire, your body tensing, back arching, toes curling. You can’t even hear yourself scream Miguel’s name, curling into yourself as he continues to suck on your oversensitive, pulsating clit. His hands held your shaking thighs steady, not letting you close them. It’s all too much.

“Miggyyy,” you sob pathetically, pawing at his head and his grip on you. You finally manage to pry an eye open only to see him watching you intently “Too much. I can’t-”

He doesn’t stop. He continues to lick stripes at your puffy folds and flick the sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue albeit slower this time. He takes one of his hands away from your thigh and plunges two of his thick fingers knuckle deep inside your needy hole. He manages to find your sweet cushiony spot and puts enough pressure on it to make you see stars. That burning hot coil is back just mere seconds after your climax and if you could think at that moment, you’d think it’s unfair how he seems to know your body too well, knows just where to touch to make you unravel.

He adds another finger into your cunt, stretching you out for his cock, curling them inside you, and hitting your sweet spot over and over again. You know that it’s not enough, that it’s nothing compared to what’s coming for you. No matter how much prep you do it's going to be a tight fit and you can’t wait to be stretched to your limits once more. You stop fighting him, needing to chase after your orgasm, grinding your clit again on his tongue as he pumps his fingers in and out of your slutty hole.

Soon enough, you feel your second orgasm wash over you. You spill over his face, making a mess on his pillows and bedsheets. Your limbs go numb and this time you can’t even form words, just sobbing, babbling nonsense as your body shakes on top of Miguel. You would’ve fallen over if it wasn't for Miguel supporting your back with his free hand. You frantically tap his hand as you hiccup a pathetic “no more.”

Miguel relents and lets you catch your breath for a second. He kisses your puffy cunt one more time before moving you to lie on your back on the bed. He lifts your head to turn over the soiled pillow and fluff it up before getting you settled comfortably. You watch as he catches the dripping wetness from his chin with his equally soaked fingers and sticks them into his mouth, eyes rolling back and moaning at your sweet taste. You feel your cunt throb at the lewd action and you can’t help but let out a needy whimper from the back of your throat. It’s so unfair how much he affects you.

“Ay, pobrecita,” he coos at your flushed face with fat tears running down your cheeks as he nudges your legs apart with his knee and settles between your parted legs. “too much for mi conejita to handle? I know you can take more. Your pussy is so slutty, isn’t she? So needy. I doubt two orgasms is enough.”

He cups your face with one hand, thumb wiping away a tear on your cheek, his other hand brushing your hair away from your face, knowing how much you hate the feeling of it sticking to your skin. Your lower lip is jutting out in an adorable pout that he can’t help but kiss, catching your lip between his teeth. You scrunch up your nose and push his face away as you try to steady your breath.

You can see his naked chest rise and fall faster than usual, his mouth open to catch his own breath. You didn’t even notice when he disabled his suit but your eyes are thankful as you drink in the sight of his warm brown skin, stretching across the expanse of his unfairly defined body. He looks like he was sculpted by the gods themselves, taking extra care to give him the most perfect proportions. How lucky are you to see this masterpiece up close? It would be a sin to not enjoy the view.

Your eyes trail down from his strong broad shoulders to his massive tits, and even further down to see his cock standing up proudly against his navel, the head dripping beads of precum and smearing it against his abs. Pride blooms in your chest as you realize that he’s just as affected as you are.

Your throat suddenly feels so empty. You lick your lips as you tear your eyes off his cock to look up at his face only to find his hungry gaze meeting yours. His eyes glint with danger as he takes in the sight of you in your post-orgasm haze, seemingly plotting his next move.

You didn’t have to wait long because, of course, he can’t keep his hands away from you.

He moves closer, making you spread your legs further. His hands grab at the back of your thighs to push them towards your torso, your knees almost touching your chest. Your dripping cunt twitches as it’s exposed to the cold air. Your hole clenching on nothing, begging to be filled.

“Que rico. Podría acostumbrarme a esto,” he says, his voice deep and rough with lust as his hands rub up and down your thighs, squeezing, feeling you. He drinks up the sight of you, so bare and exposed, all for him to take. “I could watch you like this all day. Maybe take a video of you right now so I can watch your pretty cunt pulsing, crying for me, anytime I want. Or…”

He takes his cock in one hand, running his thumb on the swollen tip to spread the beads of precum around, pumping his shaft with a few languid strokes. You yelp when he slaps his thick, heavy cock against your puffy folds.

“I could tie you up like this and keep you here for my own pleasure.” He starts moving his hips at a torturously slow pace, sliding his length along your wet folds, getting it lubricated by your own slick. He brings his hands back to your thighs and pushes them even further until you’re practically folded in half. “Keep you here to breed. Fill you up with so much cum and you’ll stay like this so it will surely take, yeah?”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, Miggy” you hiss as the tip of his cock keeps bumping into your throbbing clit “What’s stopping you from doing so huh? You have your web and your little surveillance bots. Put them to good use.”

“Of course, you’d love that, my pretty little slut,” he chuckles, shaking his head as he lines up the tip of his cock with your hole. Your eyelids flutter as you hold your breath in anticipation, waiting for that delicious stretch of being filled by his massive cock.

“Eyes on me, cariño,” he commands and you obey, looking up at him from under your lashes “That’s it, good girl.”

He starts to slowly press his cock into your greedy hole. Inch by inch, he sinks in, knocking the air out of your lungs. Midway, maybe, you can’t tell, there’s just so much of him, you start to feel a little faint, your shoulders tense and your mouth stuck hanging open. You feel so full of him, almost like he’s going to split you apart.

“Breathe for me,” he coos as he slowly presses more of him into you, filling you up more than what should be possible. He drapes your legs over his shoulders, his chest pressing against the back of your thighs as he uses his now free hands to cradle your face. You suck in a breath as he instructed and try to even out your breathing. “There you go. Keep breathing. Relax for me. Thaaat’s it. My sweet girl. So good for me.”

You preen at his words, warmth flooding your chest and going straight down to your pussy. His hands stay on your cheeks, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin as he pushes the last few inches in. You put your hands on top of his as you lean into his touch. He starts to grind his hips slowly, gently, getting you used to his size. The coarse dark curls at the base of his cock tickle your sensitive clit and the head of his cock softly probing at your cervix makes you roll your eyes back and whimper from the fullness.

“Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces, cariño,” he leans in to capture your lips into a deep kiss. Soft and gentle until both of you wanted more. One of his hands finds the back of your neck to tilt your head as he pleases as he tries to devour you. His tongue licks into your mouth and his fangs graze your lips with every movement. You hum against his lips as you feel him start to pull his hips back, letting his dick slide halfway out before snapping his hips forward to plunge himself back inside, his balls lewdly smacking against your ass. And he keeps doing it over, and over again making you moan oh so wantonly.

“Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor,” he whispers against your lips. The breathlessness and the hint of desperation for release in his voice make you shiver. His pace picks up, thrusts growing rougher with it. The wet sounds of him sliding in and out of you and skin slapping against skin echo around his room. The only other sounds you can hear are your combined sounds of pleasure, calling out each other’s names.

You pull on the hand that Miguel has on your cheek to lace your fingers together, his large hand easily dwarfing yours, his talons folded back to not hurt you. Your other hand slips between your bodies, travelling downwards to feel where you two are connected. There’s a deep rumble coming from Miguel’s chest and he presses your sweaty foreheads together, looking at you through half-lidded eyes. Your tight heat is milking his cock so perfectly and at this rate, he’s not going to last long.

“Miggy,” you whine, keeping your eyes on his. His irises seem a little more brown as he looks at you so tenderly, making you feel like you are going to melt into a puddle of goo. He brings your joined hands to his lips to kiss your knuckles and you think you really just might turn into goo.

His thrusts get messier and more frantic You feel the familiar coil building up in your stomach. You lift your hand from between your legs to press firmly against the area below your navel and the sensation is electrifying. You can feel his cock pistoning in and out of you from where you are touching. You can feel him rearranging your insides, molding your pussy to accommodate him and only him, ruining you for anyone else.

“Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía.” he moans into your ear, almost whiney and you know he’s near the edge. He starts peppering kisses on your neck, licking, sucking, grazing the sensitive skin with his fangs but not sinking them in yet. He takes the hand you aren’t holding to rest on your hand on your lower stomach. His thumb reaches further down to stroke your clit earning him a shaky whine from you.

“Cum for me again, hermosa,” he lifts his head to look at your flushed face. You’re sure you look like a mess but to him, you’re more beautiful than the brightest twinkling stars on a clear night sky. “Let me see your pretty face when you cum.”

And with that, you’re gone, pushed over the edge, screaming his name, squirting clear liquid up to his chest. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, your hold on his hand tightens, and your legs on his shoulders shake and flail from another intense orgasm. There’s ringing in your ears but you faintly hear him cooing at you, whispering sweet words you can’t quite understand.

Miguel is still fucking into you with messy, frantic thrusts and ragged breaths but it doesn’t take long for him to follow, not when your velvety walls are pulsing, contracting on his dick. He puts a large hand on the space beside your head for support, his claws tearing through the pillowcase, as he drives his hips into yours a few more times before spilling inside you with a deep growl. He paints your insides with his cum as he rides his high with a few more shallow thrusts. You clench around him trying to squeeze as much cum out of him with your tight hole and he whimpers your name.

Both of you pant in unison, trying to catch your breath after that life-altering orgasm together. You turn your head to the side to kiss the inside of Miguel's wrist next to your head. Miguel doesn’t want to move. Everything is too perfect at that moment. You’re perfect.

But he has more plans for you tonight.

He takes your legs off his shoulders to wrap around his waist as he adjusts the both of you so he can lay down comfortably on top of you, putting most of his weight on his elbows on the bed. His dick still plugged in your hole, keeping his seed inside and refusing to part with your tight heat.

“Miggy,” you softly call him, looking at his relaxed face resting on your shoulder, eyes closed.

“Hm?”

“... pull out.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“Fine, but only because I want to,” he grumbles, clearly not wanting to pull out. He gets on his knees again so he can at least watch your sloppy hole fluttering as he slowly pulls out. A thick milky ring of your combined fluid sits at the base of his cock. His eyes darken as he sees your cunt trying to clench at air and his cum starts to drip out of you. He can’t have that. He collects the trail of cum with his fingers so he can stuff them back inside of you.

“Miggy, come back here,” you pull at his hand and when he doesn’t budge, you add “You can just cum inside me more later. I need cuddles.”

That gets him to leave your fucked out hole alone. For now. Miguel kisses your stomach up to the valley between your breasts to your neck and lingers on your lips. He goes back to his earlier position on top of you. You drape your arms around his neck as you hum in contentment against the kiss. He smiles and moves to mouth at your sensitive neck, planting soft kisses, licking and sucking as he moans and pants in your ear.

“Miggy, I’m sleepy now,” you turn to look at him. You know what he’s doing. You know that he’s trying to turn you on again. And it’s working.

“You can do one more, mami. One more for me,” he says. He’s almost pouting, almost begging “You said I can cum in you again.”

“I didn’t mean right away. I just came three times already” you whined wrapping your arms around his broad chest. you want to feel him close.

“Mmm, you can cum four times. Maybe more because you’re such a needy little whore,” he murmurs into your neck, not stopping his ministrations. “My cum slut who loves being bred. We’re not going to end the night without your tummy full of cum I promise you that, cariño.”

You roll your eyes at him but you don't push him away and instead start playing with the short curly hairs at the back of his neck, ignoring the way your pussy shivered at his perverted words. You find comfort in his warmth and weight on top of you. You inhale his familiar deep masculine scent and it almost lulls you to sleep until you feel something wet and hard poking at your thigh.

“How are you hard again?” you say in disbelief as you look down and sure enough, Miguel’s dick is erect and ready to go for another round.

“It’s been a while since we had sex and my hand could only do so much to make up for your absence, cariño,” he huffs as gets up on his knees to turn you over and slap your ass. The sound of his palm meeting the sticky wet skin of your ass is undeniably lewd. “And what about needing to get you pregnant does not make sense to you? Get on your hands and knees for me. That baby is not gonna make itself.”

You plant your knees on the mattress and present your ass to him but you don't bother to lift your upper body from the bed. You keep your face down against the softness of his pillows. You didn't want him to see the giddy smile on your face from hearing that he hasn't slept with anyone else. His cum starts dripping out of your hole, coating your clit with creamy white and Miguel almost cums again on the spot.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” His large hands grab at your ass, kneading them. His thumbs spread your puffy lips apart so he can watch your cunt try to keep his cum inside. You groan as you force your arms to lift you up. “There’s my good girl.”

He smacks your ass which earned him a yelp from you. His lips curl up as he watches the flesh of your ass jiggle from the impact.

“Get on with it,” you whine, wiggling your ass to entice him to move faster. For someone who wanted to stop at the third round, you sure are impatient to be filled again.

“You are going to be the death of me,” he chuckles as he guides his cock back inside your wet heat. “There you go, mami. Back where it belongs.”

You moan loudly as you feel him grinding his hips, driving his dick as deep as he can reach inside you. Your eyes flutter close, as you savor the stretch of your hole around his fat cock once more. You couldn’t agree more with his words.

You hear Miguel from behind you input a command on a device. It beeps obnoxiously like it’s mocking you. It’s the last thing you want to hear while he is balls deep inside you, his girthy cock stretching you deliciously and filling you up so good. You think to yourself what was so important that Miguel can't put his gizmo down and enjoy the feeling of your warm, tight pussy on his dick? Right after insisting you can go for one more round?

You are about to snap at him for being ungrateful until a hologram appears in front of you. It shows a live video feed of his very own bed and a clear view of your fully naked self on your hands and knees getting ur insides rearranged by your boss. Your hair is a mess and your makeup is all smudged from how he made you cry from all the begging and overstimulation earlier. And he looks so big compared to you, having to bend low to align his hips with yours. You didn't even notice the recording devices planted around the room until now from how your brain was so fogged by lust. There seem to be at least three around the room from different angles. Well, it turns out he wasn’t just bluffing when he said he could record you earlier.

You wonder if he always had those set up. You haven’t really been to his room before. The few “encounters” you had with Miguel happened in his laboratory on his silly little platform, both of you too consumed by lust to think about moving to a more private area. It’s rather unlikely that they’re for actual safety reasons when they all just record the same area. You entertain the idea that him taking you to his room tonight is not just a spur-of-the-moment thing, that he might have all of this set up for tonight for when he has you writhing in pleasure on his bed. How thoughtful, you think. It makes you clench around his dick.

"You really are a pervert," you quip to annoy him. Clearly, the urge to mess with him hasn’t been thoroughly fucked out of you yet. You didn't even get to laugh at your own childish remark when Miguel abruptly starts thrusting his hips without warning, harder this time, dragging out a surprised whimper from you. His tip is bullying your cervix, testing the line between pleasure and pain but you love it. Your eyes meet Miguel's intense red glare on the screen.

"You're still talking," he tuts, his head shaking like he's some kind of pet owner trying to reprimand a disobedient pet "Let me fix that, cariño.”

He brings his large calloused hands back on you – where they belong, you think to yourself, echoing Miguel’s words. His left hand is firm on the flesh of your waist, you are sure they are going to bruise once he’s done with you. His other hand fondles your breasts, the sharp talons on his fingertips lightly grazing your soft skin. You know that when you look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow morning you’d look like you barely got away from being mauled by a feral beast, evidence of how Miguel O'Hara had his way with you and how you enjoyed every single second of it.

You cry out his name, chanting it like a prayer. He’s so deep inside you that you can almost feel him in your chest, his thrusts fucking the air out of your lungs.

“Miggy, Mi…. Mig– ah, ah Mi– haaaa –guel ahhh”

Your eyes roll back at the continuous assault on your sweet spot and your cervix with every deep thrust. High-pitched whines come out of your throat as your arms give out from under you, making you fall face-first on the soft mattress. It all feels so good but overwhelming. You think you’re going to pass out.

“Que rico, mami,” he pulls your hair so you can face the screens. “Look at yourself. Beautiful. Taking my cock so well. Don’t worry. I have this all recorded if you’re too cock drunk to watch yourself now, cariño.”

You can't say anything back. You try really hard to come up with something but the only word that comes out of your mouth is “please” over and over again becoming progressively needier each time. He wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, his chest flushed against your back, allowing him to rock you back against his forceful thrusts.

“Gonn’ make sure I put a baby in you tonight, cariño,” he growls in your ear. “I can’t wait to see your tummy swell in a few months. You’ll look divine, I won't be able to take my hands off you even more.”

His eyes are back to a glowing red as they meet yours that are glazed over by tears and lust. His hand tightens his hold on your hair making you tilt your head further, exposing more of your neck for him to suck bruises on. Your tits are bouncing freely at his aggressive pace. Coupled with the high-pitched moans coming out of your mouth, it’s all so pornographic. It makes you feel like liquid fire is running through your veins and pooling into your stomach.

“You’re gonna cum for me? Let go. Come on. cum for me, mami,”Miguel grunts in your ear, his hand on your hair letting go so he can greedily grab at your tits. “I wanna feel your cunt pulsing on my cock. Can you do that for me? Of course, you can. Going to milk me dry.”

And just like that, you throw your head back on his shoulder, eyes screwing shut as another wave of orgasm crashes down on you. Miguel follows closely, filling you up with more cum that drips down your thighs and on the bedsheets. Your body slumps back against his, too tired to keep yourself upright. You don’t even have the energy to open your eyes, content with feeling Miguel’s warm body against yours.

“I got you,” he says, wrapping his arms around you and moving you to lie down on the bed. You hum in contentment, letting him care for your tired body. He bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead before he pulls away. You miss his touch already.

A beeping sound lets you know that he turned off the monitors. You feel him taking the soiled bedsheets, getting up from the bed to get fresh ones. You have half the mind to reach out to him and tell him he can clean up later so you can cuddle now. Your mouth, however, doesn’t want to move so instead you groan as you blindly reach your hands out.

Miguel chuckles at your antics, walking back with fresh sheets and a damp towel to wipe off the sticky mess from your body. He sits next to you on the bed and brings the towel to your tear-stained cheeks, gently dabbing the area around your eyes to get rid of the messed up traces of mascara and eyeliner. You take your hand to rest on your chest trying to calm your wildly beating heart.

The comfortable silence, unfortunately, doesn’t last long. You hear the unmistakable voice of Lyla cut through the air.

“Heeeey, bossman! Heeeey, girlie!” she drawls and your eyes snap open as you snatch the sheet from Miguel’s hands to cover yourself.

“Ay, coño! I thought I said no alerts tonight,” Miguel looks pissed, rubbing his face in frustration before moving to turn off his watch. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

“Wait, wait! Sorry to interrupt the big night, Miguel, but it’s an emergency. Trust me you’ll want to fix this now,” Lyla raises her hands in surrender before Miguel presses a button. She turns to you, looking apologetic and asking for help “Then you can go back to babymaking, right, dollface?”

“I–” you flush, choking on your own words. You begrudgingly turn to Miguel, your lower lip caught in between your teeth. You lower your eyes as an ugly feeling crawls up your chest.

“It sounds important. You should go,” you whisper, not trusting your voice to speak up any louder. “I’d say I can be back up but I can hardly move so you’re on your own, big guy.”

Miguel sighs and gets up, telling Lyla to send him the information and that it better be worth his time.

You are already sexually satisfied and tired – that’s what four orgasms could do to you – but you are a little upset and sulky that Miguel has to be called in for work right now. Stupid anomaly or whatever it is. It’s probably important and a universe out there might be in grave danger. But you can't help feeling like shit about it though.

You like how soft Miguel gets when he cleans you up after sex. You like it when he picks up your tired form and whispers soft words to you in Spanish. Plus, you were looking forward to cuddles. What’s the use of having sex in his room on his bed if not to cuddle afterward and wake up next to each other the next day? And then, suddenly, in the early morning light, realize that you’ve been madly in love with each other all along. Okay, you are more than just a little upset.

Miguel notices you pouting and your eyes getting glassy with tears as you try to roll off the bed. He shoots his glowing red web at you, trapping you where you are before going back to readjusting his watch.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, walking back to the bed as he makes sure his suit is all good and ready for the mission. He kneels on the bed to drag you to lie on your back.

“What are you doing? I'm going to take a shower,” you sniffle trying to avoid his eyes “I’ll take care of myself. you should go”

He hums as he takes both your wrists in one hand and forces them above your head to secure them together with his webs.

“Miggy?” you look at him and there’s a spark of mischief in his eyes. He darts his tongue across his lower lip and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

He doesn’t respond. He only keeps looking at you like he’s going to devour you once more. He brings your legs up to the position he had in before, knees to your chest, cunt fully exposed to him. You blush and your heart starts pounding in your chest. He shoots out more of his web, making sure you’re comfortable and your legs are securely tied in that position.

“Good?” he whispers and you nod in response “Words, cariño.”

“Perfect,” you moan, your chest heaving with need. He smiles at you fondly, caressing your cheek with a curled finger, and plants chaste kisses on your temple, your nose, and the corner of your mouth until he reaches your lips. He hums in contentment as he savors the feel of your lips against his. Then, he pulls away reluctantly and puts on his mask. He sets his watch to the right coordinates opening up a portal to wherever the universe needs saving.

“I’ll be back as fast as I can. I’ll make sure that anomaly regrets ever being made for interrupting my plans for our night,” he grumbles and gives you one last kiss through his mask for good luck. “And then it’s going to be all about you for the rest of the night, hm? I promise.”

He walks into the portal backwards so he can look at you until it closes and takes him away. Your heart flutters in your chest, anticipating what’s to come as you feel the webs digging deliciously into your soft flesh.

•🕷️────✧˖°˖🕸️˖°˖✧────🕷️•

Translations:

Que linda - how pretty

muñeca - doll

cariño - dear/darling

Qué voy a hacer contigo? - What am I going to do with you?

Qué haría sin ti? - What am I going to do without you?

conejita - little rabbit

pobrecita - poor thing

que rico - “[you] look good” (literal: tastes good)

Podría acostumbrarme a esto - I could get used to this

Eres tan hermosa. No sabes lo que me haces - You're so beautiful. You don't know what you do to me

Estás tan rica. Estás hecha para mí, mi amor - You feel so good. You were made for me, my love

Mi niña hermosa, mi niña linda. Mía. Toda mía. - My beautiful girl, my sweet girl. Mine. All mine.

mami - mommy (as an endearment for a partner)

coño - pussy

A/N: so many thanks to my friend who helped me with translating and giving me tips on some better Spanish terms to use 🙏

[sparklykat-hideoutenthusiast]

I've seen people doing an intro post so I suppose I should do the same right? I have no idea how to do this, I'm just winging it :3

INTRO POST TIME WOOO!!

[last updated: sat dec 7th at 7:18 PM 2024]

(I update this often, a reread of it every now and then would be greatly appreciated!)

Maybe every week/month depending on your time scale? ↑

Follow my other blog where I reblog a bunch of stuff and things for the full experience of my personality and interests! @eckos-reblogs :3

@everytime-i-reach-the-postlimit ←Exactly as the name entails

@nature-is-mystical ←is my other random blog that you can follow as well if you want.

that blog is just for reblogging nature stuff and posting nature stuff. (Occasionally rhymes come with it ig)

side blog for fanart!: @sonar-fanart-hall

I'm always working on making reference sheets for OCs ^^

Chill dude side blog: @cool-dudes-official

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

I will continue to edit this, probably for the rest of time to get it right since I'm a slight perfectionist lol

Hello! I've been an artist for around 5 to 6 years, and I still kinda suck at it! I do traditional art normally but I've been branching out to digital art as well. I mostly draw animals, anthropomorphic creatures, creatures in general, whatever beautifully ugly faces I can come up with, and sometimes human faces!

I classify as a furry but do not reblog a ton of furry stuff nor do I have a fursuit. I just like drawing and seeing anthropomorphic animals :3

Furries, Therians, anyone of lgbtq+ community (including ace people cuz apparently there's a debate about that), weirdos (but NOT in the gross way), and more are welcome on my blog! :3 ❤️ (you're kinda automatically welcome if you're kind anyway lol but whatevs :3)

Tags and stuff! To help you find stuff in my blog better through search :)

#Ecko draws -exactly as is obvious, it will be for when I make art, digital or traditional.

#Echo Rambles -For posts of mine that include mainly me talking about random stuff

#Echo rants - for when I rant. Similar to #Echo rambles but different..

#Echo answers - For when I answer asks!! :D

#The Clowder seeks - For when you guys ask me stuff!

#Mama Change - For when I mention my mom. (Her name is change..or it's more of a nickname but no one calls her by her actual name except for professional/job people like a dentist or something)

#Echo asks - For when I ask questions :3 lol

#Eckos moots <3 - for interactions with moots, obviously 🙄 (I love y'all sm)

#Ecko irl - me irl

My main Media for traditional art is, pens, pencil, gel pens, paint markers (posca) and normal markers! I hope to soon branch out to ink! (Maybe one day you'll get to see some watercolor stuff from me. It's not that good of watercolor art and I don't enjoy painting too much tbh)

Anatomy You say? Don't know her 😔

If you are interested, I do art requests! It's not guaranteed to be good or to be done quickly but I will try my very best every time. You can even request multiple times if you'd like! Like a ton of times! I really don't mind!

You can also request art of fandoms I'm not in but make sure to give me a good reference or the drawing will look off :3

Art requests open until further notice.

If there's something I don't mention here that you're wondering if I can draw or not, give me an ask in my inbox and I'll let you know! (Pls, I'm friendly I swear)

You can also dm me if you'd like but I'd prefer the askbox instead (⁠´⁠-⁠﹏⁠-⁠`⁠；⁠)

I can't draw/don't want to draw: items, anatomy, bodies (unless you want the equivalent of a boxy stick figure), rendering, lighting, dragons (without a reference), romance/NSFW (no, just no.), hands, human legs (for the life of me 😭), +more

I can draw/like to draw: faces, animals (mostly cat related ones but you can request any animal and I'll at least try to draw it.), different hair styles (only with a reference), eye bags (I think they're pretty lol), dragons (only with a good reference), gore (not the best at it but I'll will try my best to make something nice and bloody for ya!), +more!

My name is Ecko and it's my preferred name but you can refer to me as Melleona (my OC) or by a nickname as well if you'd like! (just please ask me first if you want to use a nickname as I'm bad with setting boundaries.)

My pronouns are She/Her but feel free to refer to me as it/it's! :3

Speaking of which! This is my OC, Melleona:

She is 14 years old, she is introverted and blunt but also shy and insecure. She has anxiety, dealt with a bit of depression, and she's very casual as well as lazy (like me lol)

She's half Cat, she has greyish blue eyes (not visible in the drawing), slightly blueish black hair that's long enough to reach her ankles, she has a mushroom themed party hat, and some wicked whiskers!

If there's anything you'd like to ask me about her or ask her, go ahead and ask away! I love anons and normal asks! ❤️❤️❤️ (There is a slight filter on the drawing. I'll edit this later and put her color palette below ❤️)

I'm a minor! Mind your words, don't send me gross/weird asks or messages. (I've already had a few people message me asking for my age, a picture of me, and my sexuality. No, I will not be sharing my real appearance on here. my age? Minor, that's all you need to know. My sexuality? I don't know and you don't need to know either, respectfully ^^❤️)

IDC if I post something slightly suggestive or that says I know about 18+ themes. I posted it, not someone saying something to me of those themes. Sure, I understand the stuff but It really doesn't matter now does it? It just means I understand enough to know you shouldn't be saying that stuff to me. (Boundaries ✨)

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I do half-curse in posts from time to time. I do censor it a bit tho, like "f7ck" for example. Hope ya don't mind (⁠；⁠^⁠ω⁠^⁠）

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I'd appreciate it if people reblogged my art!

I don't appreciate reposting it however.

Just in case you don't know what the difference between reposting rather than reblogging: it's when you (typically) take a screenshot of the art, and then repost it on either Tumblr or a different app rather than hitting the reblog button!

While this has never happened to me personally, I do feel like it's worth mentioning.

Oh, and, don't under a circumstance feed my art to AI. I can forgive reposting my art. I put out there for people to see not to get fame from it but under no circumstances EVER will I allow feeding my art to AI. It is not human. It does not make art.

AI artists don't exist unless it's used ONLY to assist with a process that is still mostly YOUR OWN SKILLS THAT YOU'VE CULTIVATED OVER TIME. AI is NOT art but it can HELP with art.

ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ-ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ-ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ-ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ-ミ⁠●⁠﹏⁠☉⁠ミ

don't dm asking me to commission from you. like said before, I don't have money bc I'm a minor + I don't like being pestered for me commission you. talk to me like a person, not an ATM.

If I want to commission someone, I will dm them and even then, I'm most likely to commission art from a friend to support them.

I support the lgbtq+ community! And I don't discriminate against race. I really shouldn't have to say this. (˘⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠˘)

I will respond to money asks with "!!" And that's it. I don't have money and even if I did I don't got any money to spare. I'm broke and struggling too. Not to mention, I'm a minor and can't just go out and get the stuff. I hope you understand and I wish you all the best!❤️❤️❤️

Some games and shows and stuff I like:

Shows and stuff: Rick and Morty, adventure time, lost in space, bsd (never watched it but I've seen enough of it on the Internet to know a bit about it. Very interesting :3), Some of the Life Minecraft series, httyd, doctor who, and more!

Games/fandoms: Yonder(Yonder Cloud Catcher Chronicles.), Minecraft, the Stanley parable, tiny bit of South Park, cotl, MLP(childish I know but I don't care. I love them), creepypasta, SCPs, Trevor Henderson's creatures (mostly cartoon cat), plants vs zombies, fran bow, little misfortune, and more!

Stuff and things (hobbies?): Art, apparently I make rhymes now too??, rollerblading, climbing, Hiking (iffy), sleeping, being annoying+lazy, doom scrolling, interacting with people, and more!

(I'm not really in any fandoms really..kinda like on the edge of being in each and every fandom I come across..)

General facts about me! Yippee!

I think eye bags and wrinkles are pretty (odd, I know lol), I live in a bus (not decked out like you see on social media though. We just live in a bus lol), I live with my ma (my dad is my step dad and he and my mom just broke up psooo ye), I blank out a lot and just stare at people for no reason (which freaks them out), I have greyish blue eyes (a long with some, I'm pretty sure permanent eye bags lol), I get energy right before nighttime mostly (and then it disappears as soon as it reaches around 11 pm to 12 am), My favorite color is maroon (and any type of blue along with orange and yellow and forest green..mostly just comfy vibe colors tbh but maroon is a fixed piece), my favorite animal is a cat (although I have a dog. Muffin doesn't count as a dog, she's practically human. Apart of the family.), and more!

(I'll update this as I go)

[I will block as I see fit]

Do not interact with my blog if: You're racist, you only or mostly have sexual themes on your own blog (I apologize but it makes me uncomfortable. Have some other interests and it might make me less uncomfortable ^^), if you in general just enjoy hating on people for no reason (I like to make my area a safe space for people) if you're a Zoophile (No explanation really needed but animals can't consent.) (more will be added later when I think of what to add)

Don't dm me unless you're a moot or you say your intentions within the first 1-3 messages. (moots that I've interacted with can send me a dm unprompted with stated intentions anytime they'd like. Special privileges ✨)

(Added a specific part of that bc a moot felt they were making me uncomfortable by having such themes on their blog. I didn't really realize at first but yes that does make slightly uncomfortable but I don't really care as long as you have other interests. If s3x is your only interest, it weirds me out to have those types of people interact with me. Just know you're all good moot, you're not the type of person I was aiming it at. There are other people that just don't think about anything else but $ex and relationships that creep me out and you are not one of them. ^^❤️)

Things about me, (random stuff): I am cringe from time to time, my fav colors are maroon and any kind of blue, orange is nice too though,

I appreciate any and all constructive criticism. IDC if it sounds rude and might hurt my feelings, TELL ME so I can help better myself and my blog! I'm dum and will most likely not notice I'm doing something weird or anything :P <3

•Send me asks! Wanna to hug one of my OCs, Want to slap the sh1t out of one of em, Want to introduce me to a new (or old) fandom I don't know of but you think I might be interested in, Want to say hi, Want to give a music suggestion, send an ask!

I LOVE interaction and if possible, I want to be busy with asks at all times so send a ton!

•Moots:

@theachskid @voidsweirdthoughts @burningbutter @rafrfr @rateater2000

@footlongdingledong @ender-the-insomniac @thistlebriar @rspoetry @virtualcroissantflapcolor

@jawdoesstuff @storythesilly @yourfavoritecuntist @chamber-of-voices @i-draw-things

@2oo7xddd @catsreblogging @silli-billy15 @totally-not-a-commie @khloethecatsworld

@1nd13gh0st @cur1os1tyk1lledme @nonbinaryriverclan @ilove-fanart-and-lore405 @hermitchild

@my-mom-named-me-duck @hermitchild

@williamsart12345 @lilytheaxoltollover @twobraincellsremaining @nn-the-doodle @emmajasonartz

@bugba-bugbee @railway323 @xho-the-scribble @asqadia-banthen @nasthesilly @ceaselessbackflips

@the-anxious-acrobat @justuravghazbin @callmekiyo24 @maybeyoullfindthissomeday

@sensehumor ♥️

+any future moots/one's I might have forgotten (I hope I wouldn't forget anyone 🥲)

If you don't like being tagged in tag games, let me know and I'll move your name over here cuz I copy paste the ones above for tagging in stuff: (nothing here yet!)

Moot side blogs: @thistlebriar-tags @my-dad-named-me-goose @mysterious-other-being @

Btw, moot/friend privileges: tagging me in whatever the heck you want, sending nonstop and possibly annoying asks, dming me and having a convo at random, +more! I love all y'all and am more than happy to interact ❤️

My art ↑

Yippee!! That's all for now folks! ❤️

I'll update this whole thing as I go, any questions, just send an ask and I'll update this with the answer as well as you know- replying in general lol :3

I seem incredibly childish in this intro post and my general posts but do know, I am over 12 years of age lmao 🤣

I'mma keep some notes here as well... mostly for tone stuffs cuz I can't remember these 😭

/lh = lighthearted

/j = joking

/hj = half joking

[most-tragic-character-tournament]

So,

What a wild ride, everybody.

This tournament went live on July 13th, 3023, and concluded January 1st, 2024. For a long time before, I’d been wondering if I should try my hand at running one of these tournaments, and then I realized we hadn’t had a general tumblr-wide one for tragic characters. I knew that I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I decided to bite the bullet and take the URL. The rest is history.

I didn’t have a set plan, but I figured I could take 128 entries. And then in less than a week and a half, I had ~122. And honestly, I wasn’t happy continuing with just those I’d gotten so far, and thought it’d be unfair if it closed that quickly without warning, so I decided to up it to 256 with a max 2 characters per canon after preliminaries. Only after that did I go on a mad search to find brackets that were big enough for that, and I’d almost given up before I finally found these:

Those are all the characters that made it past prelims and into the competition. Some quite unexpected results came out of these matchups, round after round, and honestly I’d consider the first round to have had the most brutal competitions, because I had tried to do the best I could to match levels of popularity with each other, as far as I could tell. (Yeah, that’s why we had c!Tommy v Jon Sims and Primrose v Jinx.). But even eclipsing all of those, as the weeks went on, we were eventually met with Antigone versus Lloyd Garmadon. Ah, those crazy kids.

At some points it was stressful, in the early rounds when I had dozens of posts, each with edited images and alt text, to prepare for every round, but I never regretted starting this. As of posting, this blog has 2,020 followers and has made over 1,000 posts. This will be the last post on this blog—any future asks I receive I will answer privately back to the asker, or cannot be answered if they are anon—but it will always remain here for posterity. The link below is to the similarly-preserved google sheet compiling every word of every submission this tournament ever received.

I’d like to take this chance to say thank you to everyone who submitted characters, supplied photos, sent in propaganda, reblogged the polls, indoctrinated their teachers into greeklitsweep, and everyone who kept good sportsmanship when their blorbos proved so tragic they couldn’t even win. Thank you to the small group of URLs whom I’ve consistently recognized in my inbox from submissions all the way to finals, thank you for letting me know when a name was messed up, and thank you for your patience in-between rounds. (Shoutout to @elemom as well for having their tiktok on the original antigone/lloyd poll blow up.)

If you’ve stumbled upon this blog weeks, months, or even years after this was posted, I would direct your attention to the tag map in the pinned post to sift through the tumblr history you’ve just uncovered. And I would also be tempted to point at the big sign next to it reciting the nuclear zone warning poem. Lastly, if anyone here or there wishes to talk to me about anything regarding the tournament, you’re welcome to DM @twilight-skies.

There were times when I said to myself this was a one-and-done thing—I was NOT dealing with this again, but….keep a look on the horizon, ya never know.

But until next time, it’s been amazing.

Sayonara you weeaboo shits.

[yunieful]

midnight stealth (ver 1.1)

synopsis: Saph certainly couldn't let her charge have to be the one to find the brooch. As her guardian, she had a responsibility, a duty. Considering how Sylus has treated them, though, she plans to have some fun with it.

tags: saph did not wanna behave, tho she's kind of a wild card, when u remember past selves sometimes that self just APPEARS, and u spin the wheel of bs suddenly, mechanical limbs mentioned, suggestive if u squint, we do not shake mephisto like a maraca in this, saph knows how to do...things, the self-indulgence continues, only some small angst, shenanigans ensuing, sylus is caught off-guard like One time, very rare for him, luke & kieran obligatory appearance, sylus may just be slightly ooc again, u think i can always read men good??, also he's an angy boy at the start we know that pairing: sylus/original characters, sylus/non-mc character words: 4k

a/n: oh look what we have here i'm just gonna post the smallest bit of lore so this makes a bit more sense LMAO. that's it tho. i needed this thing out of my drafts because i'm beginning to obsess over it. i need to try and post more fics without PANICKING...but too late i post this and flee-

The water is still running, but she doesn’t think it’s for much longer. Her hands dare to peruse through the cabinets, but she doesn’t find anything.

Figured as much.

She’s suspected for a long time already that the brooch has to be on him. Where else would it be? He wouldn’t hide it separated from him. Maybe it’d be among his clothes, she muses, when she strokes the fabrics with her only arm (not made of metal), but she knows better.

He seems to think they don’t know better.

Caw, caw.

Her eyes trail over to the familiar mechanical crow.

“You wouldn’t happen to tell me out of the goodness of your heart?” Mephisto lifts his head up high, turning away. She chuckles softly, smiling. “I understand. It’s probably best you don’t. A pretty bird shouldn’t worry himself with these deals.” Gently, she places a gloved hand under his chin, giving it a few scratches. Mephisto makes noises that sound pleased. “I doubt compliments would sway you, but I still mean it.”

A noise is heard in the shower, and her hand quickly leaves the crow’s chin. She hides with the same speed. Typically, it’d be as a creature, but based on what’s happened the other three times—she’s running out of choices.

Sylus steps out of the shower, and she can’t deny she’ll take a peak, letting her eyes wander.

She knows some part of her, deep down, finds it strange. Strange that he isn’t covered in scales, no tail, no wings, or horns on his head. He likely got good at hiding it, like Saph and the others have with their own. Though not all of us have all that.

Some water droplets trickle along his skin, and her view makes an emphasis on the bit of chest she saw, trailing down to his abs. He’s still incredibly fit. What she’d give to trail the last of her claws she has down his chest—the predator in her needs to calm down.

No dawdling. She breathes deeply and blinks rapidly, as if it’ll fully push those fantasies away. I should just leave now and come back later. I can’t do much right now.

The phone rings, and she stiffens.

By the shadow…

Of course she turns to watch Sylus answer the phone, curious as to who is even calling him at this hour.

“Mr. Sylus, we found a list of all the attendees from that night at The Nest,” some man says on the other line.

Her brows rise, while Sylus hums.

“About that night…”

It might be best to try to listen in. As a guardian, she needs to find out if this has anything to do with her charge.

Her steps fight to be as quiet as they can be, when these mechanical limbs aren’t exactly easy to try and sneak with. 

Clink.

She sighs heavily. That particular step was too loud.

A catched breath, and she quickly turns her head to find Sylus looking down at her—very amused by her presence. He’s smirking.

Of course he is.

“Mr. Sylus?” The person on the other end asks.

Sylus’s response is quick, not looking away from her for one second. “It’s nothing. Just a stray cat who happened to barge in.”

“A cat?”

She’s lifted into the air as the familiar black and red mist wraps around her wrists too.

“Tying people up has always been a kink of yours, hasn’t it?” She makes sure to practically purr this from her lips. While she may be the one tied up, she can still have some amusement of her own.

“Uh.” The person over the line sputters. “I-I’ll leave you alone now…!”

Sylus scoffs, but he doesn’t say anything while setting her down.

Saph merely shrugs.

“This is the fourth time we met since last night, kitten.”

That’s the nickname he’s taken to calling her, it seems. Nova took it very poorly (for good reason), and then Sylus had mentioned off-handedly during one of the few friendly discussions they had that a particular client he worked with took it even worse than Nova did.

She could guess easily on who that was.

Didn’t stop him from trying it on someone else, though, clearly.

“I’m surprised it’s still you,” he also mentions while perusing his vinyl records.

“You set a time limit for finding the brooch, but you didn’t say how or who needed to find it.” Her next words are sure, confident. “I doubt I’m breaking any rules.”

“Do I need to remind you about your so-called ‘methods’ from before?”

No, he didn’t have to.

The first attempt had been, of course, in her cat form. A form she had been proud to learn through her grandmother’s teachings. Being able to excel at least in this form of magic, if nothing else, proved useful. A cat had been a more difficult form to achieve when she was young, in comparison to becoming a mouse (or rat), or even her most notable—the white raven.

She’d been able to look through a few cabinets and under places until he caught her. Dragged her out and placed her outside his room. (She’s sure he debated throwing her out.)

The other form had been a mouse, and she couldn’t help but peruse his books and records out of curiosity, till he found her in the middle of cleaning. She sat atop of his feather duster, and he shook his head while trying to fight a smile, setting her down outside.

And the very last time had been as the white raven.

That had just been for fun. She figured already he’d keep the brooch on his person somewhere. She got to make a noise and spook him ever so slightly.

Somewhere along the way the brooch hadn’t been the only goal. Besides wanting to keep Nova safe and away from him (for now), she couldn’t help but be curious with some things he has or does in this life now. He really loves music, for one thing, and a part of her wonders if that has anything to do with a certain person or two. Another thing is discovering a boxing book or two among his belongings. Making her wonder if there can ever be a time he and Nova spar at one point.

If he stops acting like this.

She can easily guess why he is.

“Have I underestimated your determination or overestimated your intellect.”

That isn’t even a question, especially with the clipped tone he’s using.

“You’re the one who struck a deal.” Her head tilts at him, eyes narrowed. “You haven’t been enjoying my little visits? I swore the very last one had you tickled.”

His own eyes narrow back. “Ravens are not the same as crows.”

“No, but they’re still a corvid.” Her eyes fixate on a part of his chest. Nope, stop it. Concentrate. “Both very smart.”

“And yet not always smart enough to find certain trinkets.”

Saph chuckles lowly at that. “I’ll find it when I want to.” Just a bit longer like this, and perhaps she can—

The feeling is always like ice trailing up her arm, seeping through her veins. After a sharp breath, she struggles with the mist enough that it breaks apart, when willing it to loosen.

Sylus’ eyes widen, and she stands to her feet.

“This raven will find this crow’s treasure soon.” Her lips form a bright smirk. “Best be prepared for it.” While turning on her heel, she says, “Don’t worry, I can see myself out.”

Saph doesn’t give him any opportunity to respond. Her face loses any form of amusement when she turns away, breath slightly shaky when she closes the doors to his room.

That was a very rare opportunity, she thinks, while looking down at her hands. They tremble slightly, while the mechanical one twitches a little.

Just breathe, she tries to remind herself. Black wisps rise from the mechanical arm, but she’s quick to breathe again and have that dissipate.

She is truly running out of choices. Spreading herself thin from these encounters.

Glancing over at the closed doors, her right hand tightens and forms a fist against her chest.

The next time she goes in there, that will be it. She will get that brooch, no matter what.

“Whoa, are you okay?”

Saph blinks while sharpening her sword. They had come in earlier, but for what she had no idea. She didn’t mind the company anyway. A small pang would form in her chest when thinking of what they remind her of, but she never lets it go any farther than that.

Kieran makes a gesture to her face. “Your eyes…”

Her right hand rises to brush against her cheek. When she brings it down, she sees a familiar black goop.

Such a delayed response this time….

She smiles, and she tries not to think too hard on how unsettling this must look. “Of course. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing a handkerchief from her pocket, she dabs at her eyes before sniffing. The black liquid creates such a massive stain on the cloth, as per usual. Yet she just sighs quietly and places the dirtied handkerchief back in her pocket.

This is another warning that it is truly her last chance to get the brooch from Sylus. Nova needs to attend that auction. Saph doesn’t care to go. Not even for the core that exists in her own eye.

“Are you planning to kill him for your next attempt?” Luke jokes, because it’s clear Saph will not elaborate on why her eyes are doing this based on her breezy response. And she would straight up ignore any questions if there is anything else going on with her eyes. Best to change the topic.

She snorts, pushing back some long white hair strands back over her shoulder. “Not this time.”

Out of her peripheral, the twins look at each other. Despite the masks, she can easily guess they’re scheming something diabolical over there.

“If you want to do something else then,” Kieran starts, and she looks back up with a raised brow, “maybe we can help you.”

Saph fully stops her sharpening, flipping the blade about before placing it back in its sheath at her side. “Do tell.”

“If you want to conquer our boss’s heart, you’ll have to use a different approach.” Luke leans back in his seat, then he pulls out a book. Saph’s brow rises even higher when he opens it to a certain page. “‘For some people, they get bored once they have everything. So only those who dare to challenge their authority can catch their interest.’”

Well, that won’t be hard.

She walks over, her metal clinks loud within the room.

“‘When you’re dealing with such a person, you bow down and submit or take them out in one go. In other words—’”

Humanity & Conquest. Where do they get this stuff?

Where did they even get such a book? How did it catch their eye?

Before she can think further, a noise on the table catches her attention. Looking down, there’s a pair of handcuffs and a gun that’s splashed with light blue, pink, and black for colors. Immediately, she grabs hold for the gun, and she tries to hold in her laughter when she turns it back and forth.

Then she looks at the boys, especially when Luke is posing with his hands to look scary or like he’s about to pounce.

“Strike when they’re off guard!” They say at the same time.

They go back to their normal poses, and Saph can’t help but shake her head with a small smile on her face.

“Boss is the least guarded when he’s sleeping,” Kieran says.

Luke holds a finger up in emphasis. “You only have one shot. Don’t waste this chance.” Then he forms a fist in encouragement. “Just do it!”

Three hours later seemed like a better time than any to enact her plan.

He’s only ever waited a lifetime, I’m sure.

He could wait a little longer, if needed.

She took both the gun and the handcuffs from the boys. They certainly whipped up an interesting story, but she knew they weren’t true. Cuffs that suppressed your Evol for an hour or two to render you helpless? Please. Even just touching them, she knew they were just ordinary everyday handcuffs.

I’ll think of something.

As for the gun, well, maybe there’d be a use for it. She’s not a hundred percent sure yet.

Opening the doors as slowly and quietly as she can, she moves through and shuts them behind her.

Sylus seems to be asleep, but if he is—it looks so uncomfortable.

There’s no pillows he’s lying against. His neck will absolutely get sore like this (if it isn’t already).

And yet, when she calls for his name, he doesn’t react. He just breathes and keeps his eyes shut. The expression on his face is so serene, not a worry in the world.

As if he hasn’t spent the past few days being difficult with them both.

“He has no clue we remember,” she says quietly. “Even if we didn’t, it gives him no right to act like this.” She swiftly climbs over the bed, straddling him between her legs. Her hands pull the handcuffs back out, practically from nowhere, but there’s black tendrils following before they appear normally. It’s a risk, but she’s willing to do what she must to at least guarantee Nova gets to the auction. With some whispered words, almost kissing the handcuffs as she says them, they have the black, smokey tendrils wrap about them before returning to normal.

She feels a little cold, a little winded, but there’s no point in thinking that right now. If there isn’t that black liquid practically oozing from her eyes and nose—and she’s still conscious—she’s fine.

Fearing what he’ll do isn’t something she ever considers. As much as she doesn’t like he’s acting this way, she certainly understands. So she doesn’t cuff both of his wrists, only just one to the headboard of his bed. Once there’s a small click, she narrows her eyes at his black and red robe.

The second her fingers trail along the lining of his robe, her wrist is quickly snatched.

“Showing up uninvited at this hour…. Want me to tell you a bedtime story?”

Sylus lets go of her wrist. It’s so unexpected, she just lets it fall.

“Obviously, I’m…”

Saph trails off, then she remembers again why she’s here. A smirk slowly forms on her face, and her right hand presses against the headboard right next to him. Her left hand follows on the other side. Almost like a predator locking in their prey, rendering them helpless.

But she knows better.

Sylus was never helpless and never will be.

He can easily handle himself, but she never wanted to be responsible for keeping him truly captive in some way.

She just has to play her role, and then Nova should have her opportunity. That’s when she knows she’ll have succeeded.

Whatever it takes.

She tries not to imagine her late grandmother rolling her eyes at her. (“Don’t give up everything for your charge unless absolutely necessary.”)

Well, this is a bit necessary. They have an Aether Core to locate.

“You should be the one to figure out what’s going on here.” Her mind flashes back to a different time, a different place. Just for a second. The imagery of two dragons, one black and one white, finding solace in each other when the world hated them. Sometimes the white dragon had the upper hand; other times, it was the black dragon. But they enjoyed it, finding it fun when they were together, along with others that were also cherished.

Moments like that remind her why she is not so surprised in reality, when he merely stares at her, not the least bit alarmed or scared. A part of her dares to wonder if he’s even relaxed, remembering a different time and different life, just as she is.

The jingle of the cuffs completely snaps her out of it. “Cuffs are stunting your Evol, in case you’ve been wondering why you haven’t been able to use your mist against me.”

He spares a glance at them, still not looking panicked, before turning back to her. “Really? What do you plan to do since I’ve become your prey?”

“Find the brooch for Nova, of course,” she answers easily, already having one hand trail along his shoulder, which is where his eyes flit to. “But I know you won’t just hand it over, no matter how nicely I ask.” With a mocking smirk, she tilts her head. “May I?”

He mirrors her smirk, but it’s far more amused than mocking. He gestures to himself with his free hand. “Help yourself.”

Now her other hand is away from the headboard. “Why thank you. You’re so kind.”

Something deep within already suspects she knows where it is, but there was nothing wrong with a little teetering along the edge. Playfully nipping, so to speak, in the way of conversation.

“From the beginning, you trapped us here, forced me to resonate with you once you discovered Nova couldn’t do it, and even said we’re ‘the same’.” Ironic, since she’s not the one with half his soul. Her right hand runs along his side, the left one now just resting on the bed when finding nothing on that side. “One wouldn’t treat a stranger like that, so…”

Her gaze is directly at him. “You must hate us. Hate her. Hate me.”

Hate Nova for cursing Sylus with immortality. Hate the both of them for showing up, looking like they don’t remember a thing. Hate Saph for acting overly familiar, toying with him so freely and not being the slightest bit intimidated by him. Hate them both for showing, after all this time, his efforts were for nothing. Just a waste of time.

When that is anything but the truth.

Sylus doesn’t say anything for a second, and nothing in his expression really changes, but it doesn’t discourage her. “Astonishing misunderstanding,” he says.

That makes her deeply chuckle. “Certainly. In fact—”

Once she’s planning to trail his other shoulder with her hand, a choked sound escapes her. A pang resonates in her chest, feeling like a sharp piece of ice is digging its way in. She breathes deeply, grinding her teeth together while turning to the side.

“Cat got your tongue?”

He’s still making jokes, even when she’s like this, but all it does is make her laugh, which inevitably brings up a cough. The enchantment hasn’t even been going on for that long. Yet she has to take out her handkerchief again to cough into it, because she felt the sludge rising again. She checks her nose and even her eyes, but thankfully there doesn’t seem to be anymore of the black liquid oozing out other orifices.

Saph catches her breath eventually, placing the handkerchief away and turning to face Sylus again.

She swears, for just a second—just a split second—he looks concerned.

But then it’s gone, replaced by what she guesses just to be indifference at this point.

With a wave of her hand, the cuff unlocks, and black mist rises from it before dissipating.

She expected Sylus to grab her by now with his Evol, but instead his hand falls, and he stares at her questionably.

“You’re letting me go?”

Saph nods. “Why, yes, because I just realized something.”

If a treasure is important enough, it would be kept close.

“I don’t need to restrain you,” she continues.

Very close.

Her hands trail delicately around his chest. Sharp claws once trailed there, admiring draconic beauty. Still beautiful, no matter what he is. “I know exactly where you’d keep it now.” Her fingers slide across to his robe, with her lips moving against his ear. Her voice is low, smooth, sultry. Hoping to have it sound like silk against his skin. “Somewhere close,” she searches under the lining, “to your heart.”

The brooch is grabbed, depicting a crow on the border with a red gem as the main piece.

“Huh,” she takes a moment to admire it once she pulls back enough, twisting it back and forth. “Red. Like,” she dares to spare a quick glance, “rubies, I see.” And she makes sure to look right into his eyes when she says that.

It barely takes a second for realization to cross his face.

Then another to grab her wrist and flip them around, with her under him instead.

Her breath only hitches slightly, but she’s staring resolutely, knowing full well what she just said to him. What it meant.

“You remember?”

The hope that dares to twinkle in his eyes. It’s small, but she can spot it. No more resentment against her, no anger, no irritation.

Oh, but they can’t do this. Not now.

I’m not ready.

She feigns confusion. “Remember what?”

She ignores the pang in her chest.

He narrows his eyes, irritation returning in its familiarity. “You—”

It’s that moment, when Saph decides to do at least one more thing that she hopes won’t send her coughing (or worse). She reaches into the shadows, finding the gun she put away, and makes sure to place it right into her free hand.

Aiming next to Sylus head, she pulls the trigger.

LOVE.

In such a lovely shade of pink, shaped into a heart.

How sweet.

She giggles, just finding it absolutely amusing how Sylus seems to have been caught off guard for a second. He’s right back to glaring at her, though, and she just shrugs and glances at her right hand. The brooch is held tight, with Sylus’s hand practically eclipsing hers.

“Well, aren’t you gonna put it on me?”

A part of her can’t deny it is fun. To act playful with him, like she would in another time, making sure to gently tease and bite, because laying bare the entire truth? No, it’d just make things worse. Hurt them both.

She has a duty to fulfill, and she can’t abandon it.

When did that duty include locking your heart away?

The thought is quickly snuffed from her mind. Her right hand opens fully, and Sylus grabs the brooch, releasing a sound between scoffing and laughing under his breath. She’s not sure if he’s annoyed at all or not, but she dares to hope he enjoyed it. Just a little.

“I thought you said this was for Nova,” he starts placing it on her anyway.

“It’ll be easier to carry. I only have one actual hand, you know.”

A poor excuse, in actuality.

But she thinks saying she just wants his hands on her would be taking this way too far.

And, no, she will not question how true that is for her or not.

“So, does this count as passing your test?” She continues after he puts it on. Now she’s able to sit up while he sits some ways from her, not completely above her anymore. “One of us achieved the goal, after all. I say it counts.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, but there’s a ghost of a smile on his face. “Barely. The auction is about to start, but what will happen after that…”

“Nova will be ready for whatever is going on down there.” She will never underestimate her charge. “Just don’t give me a reason to shift into human form during.” Because it’s already a given that she will be there, just not as a human.

“Deal.” Without turning to her, his eyes glance down to the brooch. “Don’t lose this brooch. It proves you’re allowed to come and go in the N109 Zone as you please.”

“Me?” She frowns. “Nova’s the one going with you.”

He raises a brow. “Are you actually saying you won’t be there?”

Oh, he’s definitely teasing her this time.

Saph rises from the bed and clicks her tongue. “I believe a crow needs a raven on his trail. But, first, we must send for the dove.” She turns and walks out, relieved that she’d finally been able to get that brooch. Now Nova could attend the auction, and they could continue with the mission.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

compos mentis 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, chronic health issues, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: After a long court case, your mother stays attached to her lawyer, bringing even more contention into your life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: hello again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Andy comes up the stairs and you back up. Your adrenaline continues to pound in your skull. You inhale sharply and cough. He slows as he gets to the top. 

“How are you doing?” He asks cautiously. 

You nod and gulp, “fine. I’m... fine.” 

He closes his eyes and nods. When he opens them again, the intensity behind his blue irises makes you wince. “I’m sorry if I scared you.” 

“It’s okay,” you grasp the handle of the oxygen tank with both hands, keeping it in front of you like a shield. 

“It’s not okay. Your mom is wrong, you know that, right?” 

Your eyes dart back and forth, “she’s--” 

“I know she’s your mom and you love her, because you’re a good girl, but I don’t want to hear excuses for her.” 

You frown and flicks away a shell of tears with your lashes. “Sorry, Andy.” 

“Don’t apologise to me, okay?” He sighs and pushes his head back as he grips his hips. “Look,” he looks down the hallway. “We’re gonna figure this out, together. Alright, sweetheart?” 

You lower your gaze. You still can’t accept that your mom is just gone. That you’re here with just Andy. 

“She won’t stay mad--” 

“You can’t be serious? You can’t go back to her. Sweetheart, you’re sick and she’s not making it any better.” 

“It wasn’t that hard,” you murmur. 

His face flashes with concern and hurt, “that doesn’t matter.” His jaw ticks, “let me see your arm.” 

“What?” 

“Where she hit you, let me see it.” 

You pull your arm back and put it behind you, “it’s not--” 

He shakes his head, “I know it hurts. Even if you don’t show me, it doesn’t undo what she did or what I saw.” He sniffs and rubs his nose, “besides, I’m a lawyer, I kind of have to report that sort of thing.” 

“Report? Oh,” you whimper. “Please, don’t.” 

“Sweetheart,” he exhales. 

“Please, Andy. I won’t go back but I don’t her to be in trouble.” 

You look at him, the irritation stitched into his forehead. He purses his lips and drops his hand form his hip. He lets out a resigned breath. 

“Alright, for now. We’ll just do one thing at a time,” he girds. “Let’s go pick up that mess.” 

He steps past you and heads down the hall. You follow him, the wheels on the tank squeaking. He enters the guest room and kneels to gather the mess spilled from the belt bag. You near and bend to help. He glances up. 

“Sweetie, please, you should sit down,” he says. 

“I can help,” you insist as you grab your lip balm. At the same time, he reaches for it and clutches your hand by accident. You flinch away and recoil.  

He doesn’t say a word as he continues to gather everything. He checks a pill bottle before he tucks it away. You peek at his face and notice the red blemish deepening on his cheekbone. The slap was loud, it sounded painful. 

“Are you okay?” You ask. 

“I’m not mad at you,” he assures as he keeps his head down. 

“No, uh, that,” you point at his cheek. "Does it hurt?"

He stops, cradling the belt bag in one hand as he touches his cheek with the other. “Not really,” he says. 

You reach out, “here, I’ll take it.” 

He hands over the bag and you snap it around your waist, careful to keep it from tangling with your oxygen tube. He stands and clears his throat. 

“This room works for you?” He asks. 

You peer around then back at him. 

“You’ll be here for a while so... I could grab you more blankets. A fan?” 

You shake your head, “this is fine.” 

He clicks his tongue and looks past you to the window, “I’m going to make some calls.” 

“To the police? You said--” 

“Not right now,” he shows his palms. “I’m just... I got work, still, and a few other things. Sweetheart,” he steps closer, “you just relax, okay? It’s been a long morning. And if you need anything, my office door will be open, alright?” 

You scrunch up your lips and nod. It’s all you can do. You teeter around and sit on the side of the bed. You brace the oxygen tank to keep yourself upright. 

“You sure you’re okay?” 

“This is... normal for me,” you croak. “My mom’s right. I’m a burden. I’m too sick...” 

“She’s not right,” he insists. “Lay down, sweetheart. Take it easy. I’ll be about an hour and then we can chat a bit more. There’s a lot to go through.” 

You stay as you are. You wait. He lingers before he finally strides out of the room. He leaves the door open as you sniffle at your lap. What does he mean? A lot to go through? 

Oh, this is bad. You’re so lost. What do you do? You’re not Andy’s responsibility. If you do go back to your mom, she’s going to be so mad. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You wipe your nose and gulp. Why do you have to be so worthless? 

🩶

You can’t remember when you slumped onto your side. It doesn’t really matter. Most days you spend like that; dizzy, tired, and sick to your stomach. That day is worse.  

You want to be home. Not with your mother, just in your room, with your figurines and your books. With the familiar. You stare at the wall as you listen to the airiness of the strange house. Cars pass with soft swishing noises and a few voices come from the suburban scene outside. 

Andy’s footsteps precede him up the stairs. You see his shadow as he approaches the guest room and you make yourself sit up. What you don’t expect, is the other set of steps or another figure. You bounce slightly, expecting your mother, but finding only a stranger. A man. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Andy asks. 

You stare at the man then grimace at Andy. He stands just inside the door as the other man lingers at his shoulder. 

“You said you wouldn’t call the cops,” you squeak. 

“Oh,” Andy looks at the other man who gives a grin. “He’s not--” 

“Hi,” the man says your name. “I’m Dr. Kemp. A friend of Andy’s.” 

Your eyes flick between them. “It’s just a bruise.” You cover your forearm where the tenderness thrums. 

“A bruise?” He repeats. “I can look at that too, but I’m just here for a check-up.” 

“A check-up? I have a doctor. I have doctors,” you argue. 

“He’s just making sure everything is normal, sweetheart,” Andy says. 

“I could’ve called Dr. Hawes.” 

“You could but I don’t think he’d be able to see you at short notice, this is just a precaution.” Andy explains. 

“I’ll be quick, okay?” Dr. Kemp says as he nears and puts his leather bag next to you. “We’ll do the standard run through, alright?” 

You pout and shrug, “okay. I’m sorry, sir.” 

“It’s okay.” He assures you, “now, I don’t have your records so just a few questions.” 

You nod and your eyes drift to the wall. Questions. There's always questions. You answer the same ones over and over. It’s just like when you had to sit in court. 

“So, I see you’re on oxygen,” he begins, “is that something you need all the time or is it just now and then?” 

“Always,” you answer. 

“Alright, and have you been diagnosed with a specific condition that requires it?” 

“Several. Cystic fibrosis, asthma, other things...” 

“Hm, okay, you’re doing good. I know the questions can get annoying,” he says. “Do you have dizziness?” You nod. “Nausea?” Another nod. “Muscle spasms? Chest pains?” Yes and yes. 

“Even with the tank?” He prompts. 

“Yes, sir,” you reply bluntly. 

“Right, let’s listen to your heart.” 

He unzips the bag and takes out a stethoscope. You stand up stiffly as he comes closer. He points to the bottom of your shirt. “You mind?” You shake your head and he tugs it up, slipping his arm beneath. You blanch as your eyes meet Andy. You almost forgot about him. 

Kemp puts the cold stethoscope on your chest. He moves it around. Across the top, then beneath, closer to your lungs. He listens intently. He hums and removes it, fixing your shirt for you. 

He then starts with the other tests; temperature, blood pressure, eye response. He gives a thoughtful look then crosses his arms. He considers you for a moment. 

“I want you to try something for me, okay?” 

You nod once more. 

“I need you to take off your oxygen.” 

“What?” You yelp. 

“Just for a few minutes, alright? I’m a doctor, right? You’ll be okay.” 

You bat your lashes and glance at Andy again. He dips his chin. He watches intently. You look at the floor and unhook the tub from around your ears. You drag it off your nose and let it hang. 

“Alright, how are you feeling?” Kemp asks. 

You shrug. He just stands there. You do too. You sway slightly, confused. 

“You having any issues?” He intones. 

You shake your head. 

“Alright, just a small test. Hold your breath for me,” he bends his arm and looks at his wrist watch, “we’re going to see how long you can do it. Tell me when you stop.” He pinches the small golden face, “three, two, one.” 

You hold your breath as your eyes widen. Your lungs are full but not horribly so. You search the room in a panic. What if you pass out? Your panic rises and makes you itch but you keep your breath in. He waits and waits and waits. 

You let it out suddenly, “I can’t--” you gasp. “See, I can’t.” 

“A minute forty-seven,” he taps his watch, “pretty standard. Definitely pretty good for someone with bad lungs.” 

“A minute... no, it wasn’t that long. Was it?” 

Andy shifts as his jaw squares. His brows furrow. He looks angry. Kemp peeks back at him and turns back to you. 

“I’m going to review your records. I’ll put a call in to Hawes.” 

“Why?” You ask. 

“Just to make sure I’m getting a full picture. Right now, you’re doing just fine. I’d say you’re doing rather well,” he squeezes your shoulder. “What I want you to do is to take it easy on this.” He touches the oxygen tube. “If you feel out of breath, by all means, put it on, five to ten minutes, but not 24/7.” 

“But I need it,” you whimper. 

“I know you feel like you do, but I’m the doctor, right? I understand you have a lot going on but your lungs aren’t bad enough to warrant constant oxygen. I’ll be back tomorrow once I get the chart,” he says. “Andy has my number.” 

Your lip quivers. You don’t understand. You need the air. That’s what mom says. And when you forget to put it back on, she gets so mad. 

“You having trouble right now?” He asks. 

You stare at him and take a breath, and another, and another. “No,” you answer. 

“There ya go. You got Andy. He'll keep an eye on you,” he packs away his bag. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Andy says as he holds out his hand. 

“We’re even,” Kemp shakes his hand then looks back at you, “see ya tomorrow.” 

“Oh, okay, sir,” you eke out. 

He leaves and Andy gives you a nod before he follows. You listen as they go downstairs. You sit on the bed and clasp your oxygen tube in your hands. You look at the tank and frown. 

It doesn’t make sense. You don’t feel like you’re struggling. You feel like you’re breathing better, actually. It’s strange. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. 

Andy returns and you push your shoulders back. He enters tentatively, “well?” 

“I won’t...” you reach over and turn the dial to cut the supply. “It’s off.” 

“Maybe he can help. More than the other doctors,” Andy says. “Er, you know, you don’t have to hide up here. I’m done for the day so I’m free and uh, if you’re hungry, we can order?” 

“Not right now,” you say and hang your head. 

“Yeah, I know. It’s a lot,” he says. “You got time, sweetheart. Whenever you need me, I’ll be here, okay?” 

[willowser]

one thousand lonely stars, hiding in the cold—

android!shouto x reader

wc: 2k+

tags: angst, cyberpunk dystopian setting, financial vulnerability, explicit language, minor mention of sex work + sex workers, reader has strong/conflicting feelings about their situation, and — as always — the question of true humanity.

notes: what a great opportunity this was for me to continue exploring this idea !! tysm to @shoto-brainrot for not only giving me the chance, but also for being such a support and helping me to figure out all this commission jazz !! i so appreciate you, and i hope you enjoy it ! 🩷

original post

You’ve yet to find out what caused the damage to Shouto’s faceplate.

By the time you discovered him outside the credit exchange, he had been busted open and left for—whatever the equivalent of dead is for an android. A gaping hole in the left side of his disturbingly human face exposed his inner circuitry to the rain and you think that should have finished him off, truly, but—he's still kicking. 

Technology in the lower district is distinct. The most careful hands could have crafted him down in the best underground salvage yard and he still wouldn't have lasted half an hour with his face submerged in a shallow mud puddle like that. Wiring would have been shot, fuses blown.

Even if the Todoroki Corporation symbol on his wrist wasn't glowing, a blinking light in time with his would-be heart, you'd know what he is. You'd know he didn't belong down here, beneath the smog, in the industrial bones of your dying city.

And yet—

The left side of Shouto's face took the brunt of whatever blow he'd been dealt, and the scarring—if it's even called that?—has extended down over his cheekbone and backward, so violently that his ear had only barely been hanging on. Without the bandage you've wrapped him up in, he's quite a sight: half a tangled mess of wires and pins, a dull cyan light glowing in his orbital socket. With the wrapping, however, he’s almost exactly as he was meant to be: seamless.

The fate of his detached ear had been unknown. Until this morning.

It still works, much to your surprise, learning so only after wondering aloud the whereabouts of your data docket and hearing Shouto answer from across the apartment. Whoever put him together, you realize, took great care to make him durable, adamantine; the carbon nanotubes and polymer arrays that make up his cochlea were hardly affected by the assault.

Someone—or something—meant to harm him, and you know that for certain, now. Such wreckage couldn’t have happened naturally, not to a Skin-Puppet like him.

(When you look at him, you can’t help but consider his creator. How far he is from them and why. If the hands that made him and the hands that ruined him are the same, if he meant to leave or if he was cast out. You haven’t asked, but it’s odd that a machine could keep such information to himself—itself.)

(Given the brutality behind his mutilation, perhaps it’s best you don’t know the answers.)

Working tech from the richer district—KōkyōLuxuria, above the smog, built high into the clouds—could not only earn you enough to eat this week, but also to pay off all your debts to the League. Maybe even finance a decent apartment a few stories up.

And that’s why you’re here: racing through the slums in the rain, doing your damndest to make this sale before time runs out and you’re forced to find another buyer. Coming across a Hack with 1,640,254 credits in their docket is rare; who knows when you’ll find someone from the Trade in Musutafu sector again? You’re likely to sooner perish—either from your empty stomach or that broker that demanded payment two days ago.

Shouto, however, doesn’t see the urgency.

“Hello, handsome! Awful cold out tonight…care to warm me up?”

“Oh, hello.”

At the even, all-too-friendly lilt in his voice, you halt your sprint again, and spin around with a hiss. “Shouto!” You snap—but it comes too late; the Entertainers have struck like lightning, already scrambling his code. 

Out of habit, you’d pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head before leaving the apartment, and now the material separates his image from view—though you can easily imagine the pleasant expression showing on his face, illuminated in pink under the NanotechNymph advertisement.

At his easily captured interest, two women strut from the open doors of the low-lit den, all allure and swaying hips, mirage flickering beneath the heavy rain. They only meet him halfway—too far from the emanator deep within the club—and you dash forward to stop him from wordlessly accepting their offer. You can’t afford to owe anyone any more than you already do.

“Shouto,” you say again, mouth twisting when he looks at you simply. Despite the hood, his bandage grows dark from the rain and—despite his framework, worry fluxes in your stomach at the thought of him getting too wet. “We have to go.”

“Aww,” an Entertainer says to you, girlish pout pulling down her full lips. “You don’t want to come inside and play with us?”

“No,” you try not to look at them any longer, just in case that racks up a charge, too. Rock solid as he is, Shouto allows himself to be steered away, much to your relief. “Buzz off, holo-ham.”

“I’d like to play.” Shouto pipes up, peeking behind his shoulder when the girls squeal in excitement. “Can we come back once we’ve finished?”

“Not for that kind of play.” You put a hand on the back of his head and swivel it, all while shoving him down the sidewalk. You almost remark on how man-like he’s acting, before chasing the thought away.

“What other types of play are there?”

“Just—hush.” 

And he does, finally, when you loop your arm through his: a presumably innocent gesture that draws his attention fully back to you, as physical touch seems to do, with him. Beneath the material of the jacket, he feels natural, all muscle and bone, even leaning into you as if the weather has made him cold. You can feel him tracing your face with his one-eyed gaze—scanning you—and you pretend not to notice.

“Your heart rate has gone up. Have I made you angry?”

“Yes,” you tell him, though he hasn’t, really. “You and your curiosity are gonna make me late, and then we’ll be in some serious shit.”

He looks away then, down to the soaked pavement, a mimicry of disappointment. From the corner of your eye, you can see his manufactured Adam’s apple bob, and the muscle beneath your hand shifts.

“They seemed nice, the holograms.” He says, and you can’t help the soft snort such a comment merits. 

“Yeah, they’re nice, alright, until you can’t pay them.”

Shouto looks at you once again, stride threatening to falter until you tug him along. “Do you know them?”

You already know where he’s going with his question, and the corner of his lips quirk up when you cast him a filthy look. “Well, no, but—”

“Then how do you know—”

“I just do, alright?” You frown at him and he accepts it in full, studying once more. Whatever he finds in your expression amuses enough that he’s placated for the moment, though you know it won’t be long before he’s piping up again.

He does it often—studies you: body language, physiological changes, speech patterns, vocal cues. Human behavior he catalogs and streams to someone back at the Corporation headquarters, finding the miniscule details he can use against you, some day. Whatever the reason behind his damage, he is still a product of his evil overlords, made for reasons you can only imagine. 

This is what you tell yourself. 

As his fingers shift until their smooth pads are brushing the delicate veins in your wrists, as he tightens his arm around yours when another stranger on the streets knocks your shoulder, as he leans into the warmth of your humanness: this is what you tell yourself.

You’re overcome with a sense of loss and you don’t know why, and you clear the strange lump hardening in your throat. “Life lesson number six, Todoroki,” you murmur it closely to him, nearly into the fabric at his shoulder, though he doesn’t react to the name. “Everybody wants something from someone, holo-hams included.”

Shouto seems to process your words, for a moment, and his face is expressionless when you steal a peek up at him. Technicolor rains down on your both, swathing him in a wild array as advertisements dance on the buildings that tower above you, and again you think of his creator. The careful hands that crafted his smooth cheeks, the sharp line of his nose, the leanness of his body. You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious.

Nearly all of the residents relegated to the lower districts owe the Todoroki Corporation in some way. Be it through credit loans or applied interest rates on subsidized housing or hidden costs and high premiums on mandatory, shit insurance—Enji Todoroki sits in the lap of KōkyōLuxuria, has probably never even stepped down from his pedestal. 

There’s no good reason a product of his could have found its way to you: this is what you tell yourself.

“And you want my ear.” Shouto says, looking back down at you as your shoulders tense. There isn’t a byte of hostility in his voice, but he must understand the sharpness to what he’s saying.

“Yes,” you admit with a nod, and some underlying, rogue streak of guilt has you pressing into him, as if your proximity could make up for your selfishness. “The sensors in your ear are gonna pay for our dinner tonight, handsome.”

His stride falters once more, and despite the time clock ticking in the back of your mind—you let him stop you. Maybe you want him to. Nothing ever goes unnoticed by him and you know that and maybe it’s cruel of you to say such a thing, to offer a comfort you can’t admit to, but Shouto looks down at you in all his ruination and—

Before he can say anything, a fat drop of water hits the tip of his perfectly manufactured nose. It makes him flinch, delayed, and the surprise he wears and the scrunch of his brow seem so—human, there before you. Shouto tilts his face to the dark, smoggy sky, and again that worry bites you, about too much water trickling into his core.

“We’re going to be late,” you repeat, though it’s much weaker than it was earlier. This is one those moments in which he overrides all your defenses, uploads something warm and hopeful and frightening into your chest cavity; you can’t tell if you want to run because you have to, for the sale—or if it’s a result of watching him now, haloed in neon.

He’s not one to ignore you, but he doesn’t respond, instead retracting his arm from your grip in order to push the hood back off his head. Raindrops soak into his bandage and the excess pools, dripping down over the line of his jaw and the column of his throat. So close to him, you can see the goosebumps that break out across his skin.

(You wonder if he’s ever been deemed precious. You wonder if he meant to leave, or if he was cast out. You wonder if he was created for continued corruption—or if someone out there wanted him to experience life, no matter how rusty.)

(You wonder if he feels as human as he looks. If he can blush, or if the soft skin below his ear can bruise.)

A small sound bubbles out of him, like a light laugh of disbelief. 

You found him face down in the rain; you’re not sure why it could cause such a reaction now, but he turns to eye the commercial playing behind him, before watching the path of a man walking by the two of you. Rain collects in his perfect cupid’s bow until he licks it away, and his hair slicks to the side when he pushes it out of his face. 

Shouto turns his attention back to you rather plainly, though the edges of his smile pull up a little higher than they usually do, enough that the apples of his cheeks round. He asks you, “What’s going to be for our dinner?” and the question is oddly worded, but each one is intentional. 

Maybe it’s not the rain that amuses him—and maybe it is. Maybe it really is that simple, that innocent. Maybe it’s the microtremors in your voice and your increased heart rate, all the little details that could never go unnoticed. 

There isn’t a way that this could end well: this is what you tell yourself.

You nod once and turn to face back the way you came, resigned, before looping your arm through his again. You trace the delicate veins on the inside of his wrist, careful not to cover the slow-blinking symbol embedded there, and you decide it doesn’t matter what his creator did or didn’t want. Because he has wants of his own, just like anyone.

“Okay,” you sigh, and when you slosh through the puddles collecting on the sidewalk, Shouto seems happy to follow along, this time. “I can probably sweet talk Toyomitsu into buying us some takoyaki, but you’re gonna have to play it cool.”

“Is this the kind of play you were talking about?”

That lilt has returned to his voice, even and friendly and amused.

“No,” you swat at him to hear his little huff of laughter, “now stop asking about that.”

Of course he doesn’t.

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Chetknox Julius Caesar fic idea I have a month to write and if I don’t, at least I can reblog this on the day

So I was talking bout it in the tags on another post but I figured I would make my own post as I’ve worked out some more details and this works as an outline of the whole story, it’s an ides of march inspired fic

Chet used to go to Welton, but he had to drop out sophomore year, so he went to public school nearby. Chet and Knox have a bit of history (haha puns), but they were never really close or friends friends, like at best, acquaintances who didn’t talk except when forced to hang out by their parents, but could hold a conversation if they wanted to. Their parents were good friends though so sometimes throughout the years Chet, Ginny, and Knox had dinner at each others houses, but in terms of welton and such, overall they didn’t interact a lot, most was they just had to stand around as their parents talked at the beginning of the year. There was this one time in middle school when Knox and Chet went up to Chet’s room after dinner and they had kissed but neither every talk about it with the other after, but still they were on good terms but they were never really friends.

So like the movie, Knox goes to the danburry’s for dinner. Chris answers the door and Knox is kind of stunned because this is not who usually answers the door, this person is none of the danburrys he knows, so stupidly he says the only thing he can think to say ‘Mrs. Danburry?’ The girl didn’t realize he was double checking that the danburrys did in fact still live here, but rather thought he was asking if she was Mrs. Danburry. As she giggles and says no, Mrs. Danburry coming up behind her to greet him, finally confirming that they do in fact still reside in the same *sarcastic tone* humble abode. Chet calls for this girl, Chris, and she goes back to the kitchen. He is let in, where he is led to the living room. Ginny is there, and Knox sits down awkwardly. It’s been years since he’s seen Ginny, but before either of them say anything, Chris comes out to the living room, sitting down beside Ginny on the floor. Chet comes in after her.

This is the first time he’s seen Chet since Chet left welton. He now formally meets Chris, Chet’s girlfriend who he started dating earlier in this school year. Chet plays football, and he seems to have grown more into himself since leaving welton, both physically, as he doesn’t seem to be as much the awkward gangle of limbs as before, and personality wise, he doesn’t seem as lost or unhappy as he was in Welton, or even before Welton, and Knox clocks both right away. One conversation with Chet and you could tell he was doing much better now-a-days.

Dinner goes well enough. Knox’s parents didn’t go, so he had to fill in for them in the small talk department with Mr. Danburry about what’s been going on in the Overstreet lives. They talk about school, Knox talks about welton and Mr. Keating and about other gossip the danburrys might be interested in. They talk about Ginny and Chet’s schooling, Chet’s football and Chris’s cheerleading, and how the two are nominated for homecoming king and queen. They talk about how Ginny signed up for a local play, Midsummer Nights Dream, and how Knox should come see it when it comes out.

Knox notices throughout the night he can’t help but stare at Chet and Chris. He finds himself feeling flushed and embarrassed, and a twinge of jealousy, every time he catches himself staring at the two. Miserable seeing the two together, he resolves he must be in love with Chris.

That night, he goes back to welton, and the poets ask how dinner was. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he hadn’t spent so much of it focusing on those two, dinner itself was actually enjoyable. He tells the boys how he thinks he is in love with Chet’s girlfriend.

The story continues, and he calls up Chris. She seemed both surprised and pleased that he called, because it was the perfect opportunity to invite him to a party Chet was having this weekend while his parents are away. Knox, egged on by the poets, is convinced he needed to be with Chris because that is the only way to understand these feelings, these sudden intense emotions. He tells the boys he is going to sneak out to that party.

A matter of days before the party, he has worked out most of the kinks of how he will go. The party is all that’s been on his mind, that and Chris and Chet. He realized every time he thinks of Chris, he always thinks of the two of them together, isn’t it weird how Chet was always there too, perhaps just that Knox knows he is an obstacle that must be overcome to finally get what he desires. He’s reading before bed, Keating is having them read Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare.

That night he has a dream, he’s in Julius Caesar. He’s Brutus. Chris is Calphurnia. Neil, who just got the part of Puck in the local production of Midsummer, is Cassius because he knows how to act in Shakespeare best, the other poets are the members of the conspiracy to kill Caesar. Chet is Caesar. Chet is about to become (homecoming) king in the dream and Neil convinces Knox that they can’t let that happen, he has to stop that otherwise he will never get Chris. Knox goes through with the plan to kill Chet, despite being his close friend and ally, and he immediately regrets what he’s done. He and the poets run, as an army of football players go after them. Neil, like Cassius, dies. And while Knox is grieving Chet, knowing he must kill himself soon as per the end of the play, he talks to Chris. She asks him why he did it, and he says, “if he is with you, then what of me? If he has everything, if he is happy, and he does it all without me- how can he live so happily without me?” And Chris sitting with him, asks if it was ever really about her, and Knox sits in silence before speaking, “I do not know you. But him, he was mine before he was yours, before he was Rome. How could I want him to give himself to the empire? As Caesar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him.” Chris looks at him, “is ambition such a wicked thing?” Knox replied, “it took him from me, how could I not have seen it as wicked.” Chris, looking over, points out he is not with Chet now. Knox says, “because of my own ambitions, he is gone. What a wicked twist of fate. What fool am I to try to control the fates, for they spit in my face, leave the blood still soaking my hands as I mourn him.” Knox pauses for a moment, then asks “do you think he hates me?” Chris looks over at him, “I don’t think so. Not yet.” And then Knox wakes up.

Knox is reeling from the dream, not knowing what to make of it. He goes to class, where they are having a discussion about the book. Keating asks the boys, “what purpose would a man have to kill his friend” and Knox, without thinking, speaks up, “Love. Brutus claims he loves Rome more than Caesar. But, um, perhaps it was also jealousy” Keating shushes the boys and tells Knox to go on. “Well, Brutus knew Caesar before everything, before Caesar was Rome’s, he was Brutus’, and Caesar trusted Brutus, so much so he calls him specifically out, so perhaps Brutus figured the only way for Caesar not to leave him behind, the only way for Caesar to stay his, was to make sure Caesar didn’t become the ruler of Rome.” Keating nods, “interesting, most would have stated that Brutus as a senator would be jealous of Caesar for where he is politically, but to say he is jealous of Rome for taking Caesar from him is an interesting interpretation.” Knox thinks of Chet and his dream for a split second before pushing it out. He turns bright red and doesn’t speak up for the rest of class.

He sneaks out of welton for the party, utterly unsure of what his feelings are anymore. He rings the doorbell, only to once again be met by Chris. She greets him and tells him beer is in the kitchen and most people are downstairs. As he shuffles to the kitchen, he realizes he is far overdressed for this. He gets handed a beer and some loud boys are screaming at him about some man he doesn’t know. He guzzles it with them as they pour him another one. He makes his way downstairs, tripping over some people making out on the floor. He sits on the couch only for a drunk Chris to pass out on the couch, slumping over onto him. He has no idea what to do so he just lets her stay there as he sips on the drink and curses silently to himself.

At some point, Chet makes it over to them, and he asks Knox about Chris. He tells her she is passed out, and Chet asks him to help bring her upstairs. They head into Chet’s room and lie her on the bed. The room, although familiar, is much different from the last time he was in there. He feels like the room is spinning, so he sits on the floor. Chet sits down next to him and asks if he is ok. Knox mutters something in Latin as he lies his head on Chet’s shoulder, and Chet lets him. They go quiet as they sit there like that.

Chris starts moving around, turning over to see Chet and Knox like that. “Not a word” he tells her, blushing. “Hmm I’m just surprised you aren’t downstairs making out with the left tackle.” “Maybe i would be if someone wasn’t downstairs passed out on the couch.” “And how did you two end up back in the place of the crime?” She makes kissy noises as she came over and sat next to him, “he helped bring you up” she looks over at Knox and laughs, “I don’t think he could help much with anything in his current state. I think you just have a soft spot for him and wanted to bring him back to the place of your first kiss.” “Shut up, you know he’s probably straight.” “Hmm you could always ask. I’m going to go find Ginny.” “Good luck, busy down there.” “You know most boyfriends don’t wish their girlfriends luck at scoring with their sister,” she teased. “And most girlfriends don’t leave their boyfriends alone with the guy they’ve been pining over for a week straight,” he retorted. “Oh there was nothing straight about that week, love.” She pecks him on the cheek then goes to find Ginny.

And after Chris leaves, Chet turns back to Knox. Knox mumbles out, “you told her about the kiss?” “Oh, I didn’t know you were awake.” “Mhmm.” He still doesn’t open his eyes though. “So Chris and Ginny?” “Yeah, we figured if we pretend to date, she could see Ginny without any of our parents knowing.” “Oh that’s good.” Chet snorts, “and why is that?” “Cause I didn’t wanna share you with Rome.” “Wow you are drunk, I thought I was drunk but you are like drunk drunk.” “If I pretend to date Ginny could I be with you?” “You want to?” “Of course. Buy a big house, the four of us, and we could live together.” “I’d like that. Now you should probably sleep off all that liquor.” Chet brings him to the bed and lies him down. He sits back on the floor, leaning his head against the bed. Knox looks around Chet’s bedroom and points random stuff out that’s different. Chet humors him until Knox falls asleep.

Knox wakes up the next morning rushing to leave, and Chet, who reluctantly lied on the bed too when Knox argued with him about not sleeping on the floor, wakes up during Knox’s franticness. “Wha- what’s going on?” “I shouldn’t have gone to sleep, I was supposed to be back at Welton by now” and Knox is going to rush out the door to a confused Chet, then Knox runs back in and kisses Chet’s forehead before running out again, leaving Chet even more confused. Knox cycles back to Welton when it all hits him.

None of the administration noticed he was out, and after a little bit of bribing his roommate, he figured they wouldn’t find out. But the poets had definitely noticed he was out all night and are pressing for details. Knox keeps insisting nothing happened, which is technically the truth, but he later pulls Neil aside to talk. Neil felt like the safest option, as he seemed most likely to be accepting. Him being in theater (with Ginny), and he’s pretty sure something has been going on with Neil and Todd since the beginning of the school year but he never bothered to ask. Don’t ask, don’t tell. Neil listens for a bit without saying anything, and then tells Knox he should go for it if it’s what he wants.

Then Knox decides he needs to do something, so he cycles to the stadium where they are hosting a football game. He runs into Chris before he does Chet, and Chris pulls him aside. “What are you doing here?” “I wanted to see Chet.” “If the Danburry see you, you’ll be in trouble.” “I don’t care.” “Look Knox, Chet is my best friend, don’t make his life hard, especially if this isn’t serious to you.” “It is Chris, it is” “then wait to talk to Chet until after, ok.” “Ok.” So Knox watches the game, how the crowd cheers wildly for the team. During the game, he realizes this is Chet’s Rome. And if Knox doesn’t handle this right, he will bring down Julius Caesar. Knox is Brutus, but maybe this time it doesn’t have to be a tragedy. Maybe if Knox is careful, history can be rewritten. Maybe their story can be different.

As the game is ending, people start filing out. Knox sticks around in the stands longer, staring out onto the empty field. Chet comes to the entrance of the stands, scanning the small clumps of people still left before his eyes land on Knox. He sits besides Knox, “couldn’t find you out there, had thought maybe you left” “you were good out there” “oh. Thanks” Knox lets his pinky veer overtop Chet’s pinky, interlocking them, and when he glances, Chet’s face is red as he stares at their hands.

“Do you think Brutus was afraid Caesar would leave him behind when he became ruler of Rome?” Chet looked at him, confused as to where this suddenly came from, “I don’t know why he would be, no one talks about Caesar without bringing up Brutus, I think their lives were so interwoven it wouldn’t have been feasible for Caesar to be without Brutus, and vise versa. And I don’t think Caesar would have wanted to have Rome without Brutus with him.” Knox stares back over the empty field. Caesar wouldn’t want Rome without Brutus. “Hey Knox” “yeah” “did you mean what you said at the party?” “What did I say?” “Nevermind.” Knox grabs his hand, but doesn’t say anything. They both stare at one another. Chet is the first to say anything, “do you want to date?” Knox glances around, the stadium has since fully cleared out. He kisses Chet before nodding his head. Chet now fully blushes at this, leaning his face into Knox’s shoulder to hide it. “It’s not fair, this is the second time you’ve caught me off guard.” “Well then I guess I need to kiss you a lot more so you can be prepared,” Knox teased. “I’m not opposed,” Chet replies.

[viperwhispered]

Okay here's the official prompt for the "Anything Goes" event: Jamil trying to keep his relationship private while Najma goes full Sherlock Holmes trying to figure out which poor soul is dating her brother (its the reader).

Feel free to tackle this after you've cleaned up the rest of my nonsense.

Ty for the prompt lex! Still can't believe you got to it so quick.

The 'Anything Goes' Story, part 1

The story where I write whatever you tell me to. You can find more info and the masterlist here.

Najma was certain there was a special someone in Jamil's life. Of course, he would not admit such a thing, but it was obvious from the way he'd smile while looking at his phone sometimes.

No way would her brother smile like that just for memes.

Jamil may have played at being a brick wall, but he wasn’t as hard to read as he tried to be. And Najma was sure she’d be able to poke and prod until she’d get her answer.

First step: Jamil’s social media accounts. Sure, Jamil wasn’t one to post a lot, and Najma suspected that a fair bit of his posts were private, or at least locked away from Najma’s prying eyes. But she could still see some of the friends Jamil had added, the posts they had tagged Jamil in.

Najma turned to Jamil, sitting next to her on the couch, and showed him a picture she’d found in her search.

“So, who’s this?” she asked, brimming with false innocence.

Edit: next part is here.

And now it’s the turn for you all to give me the next prompt to see how we continue this story. Character(s), scenario, tone / genre, or whatever y'all think would be fun to see and throw my way, sensible or not.

Whoever is the first to reblog / reply with their idea will get their prompt done for the next part. However, you can't have your prompt picked twice in a row (so the next prompt should be from someone else than lex).

Tag list:

@colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist

@lex752 @perilous-pasta @twstgo

If y’all would rather not get tagged for future installments for this particular thing, let me know.

And, likewise, if you’re someone who would like to be tagged for this thing (or my writing in general), just gimme a shout.

[strangerthingsfanworkrecs]

1lostsoul0fishbowl writes an amazing rare pair of Gareth and Eleven. It's such a sweet AU. And they're just a wonderful member of the fandom regardless. Always excited to see them on the dash and they deserve all of the love.

Introducing @1lostsoul0fishbowl!

We're highlighting losty for her written found-family fics! All recs tagged #1lostsoul0fishbowl will be for her work, both fics and moodboards. She answered some questions about her process below

What's a fandom interaction that made you really happy?

It’s so special to get comments on my Gareth/El fics, because they’re a SUPER-rare rarepair and I love it when people are willing to give them a chance and then find themselves truly enjoying the story. One of my favorite comments was from a reader who told me “I don’t know how I’m gonna find another Gareth and El story like this. I will probably be in a retirement home one day, reminiscing on this fic.”

What's your favorite character or aspect of Stranger Things to create for?

My favorite character started out as Eddie (as it did for so many others!). I’d watched and loved Stranger Things since it first started airing, but none of the characters had ever grabbed my heart and made me actually want to write the way Eddie did. Something about him reminded me that I could reject the ending the Duffers gave him, and write him a life that I liked much better. But in my exploration of Eddie and his friendships with the other characters, I started really connecting with El. I realized I have a lot in common with her— not powers of course, just in terms of an isolated and strange childhood that resulted in me always being a little out of step with the people and the world around me. And I got hooked on the idea of El coming into her own as she grows up, and learning to be truly happy despite being a weirdo. One of the constants in my work is the happy ending. I love to build on the friendships the characters had in canon, making them continue to grow and get stronger, and for everyone to have the help they need to deal with the hurts and trauma of the past, and keep moving toward a life filled with joy.

What's your writing process like? Any tools you favor?

I’ve always been more of a plotter than a pantser in my writing process. I like to create fairly detailed outlines, because I’m afraid I’ll run out of steam halfway through a story and not be able to figure out the ending. 😂 One thing I learned as I wrote more and more, though, was that outlines can and should be flexible! My original outline for Next Time I Fall had the romance being an even slower burn, but I got to a point where El didn’t want to wait any longer to be with Gareth and I didn’t see any reason to make her. 😊 Another thing I’ve grown to love is creating mood boards. I could spend hours scrolling through pinterest searching for just the right photo to capture the vibe I want for a particular fic. I started posting a picture or two along with every “new chapter!” update post on tumblr and really had fun with it. Here’s the one for Next Time I Fall This also led me to using an awesome image generator (found here: https://penguin.jos.ht/ ) to create Penguin-style book covers for some of my fics. Choosing the right picture for each of those was a challenge! I’m particularly fond of the image I found to represent little Eddie and uncle Wayne for the cover of Gone Away.

What was it like to work on Tattoos and Trash Talk?

I got the idea for Tattoos and Trash Talk from seeing this artwork:

I’d originally seen the artwork on instagram, so I had no idea it was based on another fic. I started thinking about how Eddie might’ve been the first person El had ever seen with tattoos he liked and was proud to show off. And I thought about how Eddie especially would understand that El’s 011 tattoo didn’t represent the person she was, and she should have the chance to replace it with something she liked and got to choose herself. That idea blossomed a little bit into Eddie giving El a boost of self-confidence toward dealing with bullies in general. He taught her that she didn’t have to follow “rules” and be polite when bullies asked nosy questions about her 011 tattoo. We’d seen in the show that Eddie looked out for his “little sheepies” and I could so easily imagine him extending that protection and friendship to El too. She deserved to have a friend like him! After seeing the artwork I wrote Tattoos and Trash Talk in a single afternoon. I could picture the scene so vividly in my head! I don’t think I even did much editing, just wrote it down and immediately posted. Nowadays I’d probably edit it fifteen times and have it beta read, but I think it turned out well anyway. 😊

What was it like to work on Next Time I Fall?

Before I started writing Next Time I Fall, I never imagined I’d write a story solely focused on a rarepair that I’d made up myself. I created the pairing when I was writing my long genfic, With a Little Help From My Friends, and it started as just a little private joke with my own self. I thought, wouldn’t it be funny if El had a crush on one of Eddie’s bandmates? So I wrote a little drabble about her telling Eddie she liked Gareth (and Eddie basically freaking out and saying “I’m not qualified to handle this” 😂). But one of my readers commented that they liked the idea, so I decided to explore it further. Every Gareth/El chapter that I posted in Little Help got such great responses from the readers that I started thinking about writing more for them one day. I still wasn’t entirely convinced that a T-rated fluff fic based on a rarepair (with a brand new ship tag I created myself!) would be worth posting. I thought nobody would want to read it. But my bestie convinced me that Next Time I Fall was an idea worth sharing, so I started to write… and once I started, I couldn’t stop. I had so much fun watching those two adorable little nerds fall in love. I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written. I love the story itself, but I think I also improved as a writer while I was working on it. I tried to keep each chapter to 5k words or less, so I learned how to edit better and write a bit more concisely. And I learned that sometimes sticking to an outline works, but sometimes the story and the characters want to evolve in a different direction, and it’s best to let them go where they want. An outline can be tweaked much more easily than trying to bend a whole chapter in a direction it doesn’t really need to go. And the response shocked me!!! I thought maybe five or six people would read it, but I had a ton of readers! People commented like crazy, loving and sympathizing with both El and Gareth and rooting for them to get together. The chapter where they finally kissed has more comments than almost anything else I’ve ever posted! Readers were so happy for them, and it truly filled me with joy that I’d created something that really resonated with people. I think it was the first time the advice to “write for yourself” really made sense to me. I’d written the story exactly the way I wanted it, and people loved it exactly the way it was.