#*cries in yellow/orange*

[mandy-malady]

[marenwithanm]

And here's my designs for the other four fallen humans in the undertale yellow style! It's a super fun style to draw in, although I definitely struggle with figuring out how to do the shading 🤣

First four

[nonbinary-candy]

OMGGG

[virmillion]

local idiot reads book titled 'icarus,' is shocked when it contains references to falling and the sun, more at eleven

[thatfriendlyanon]

this season’s almost over  / this chapter’s nearly done / see the curtain is closing / the story’s just begun

one month left of living in a home of two years / one month left of learning how to say goodbye / one month left of trying to say it well

[kraviolis]

its always about the colors and the hands. always always always

[etavirp]

note to self: finish theme and pages and find new psd for icons

[zaczenemiji]

I really wanted to ask if you could do like a GN! It can be fem too it doesn’t really matter—

The Reader where like Ultraman can transform bigger too but they're more inspired by Mothra (like a mothra suit). I think it would've been like so cute to see Emi go all awe and clingy to the reader because how bright and heavenly they look💕

Kenji gets all jealous seeing his kajju daughter prefer the reader over him a lil bit. tall parents raising baby monster

Emi’s Favorite

Kenji Sato x Reader

Word Count: 1,546

Genre/Warning: Established Relationship, Family Dynamics, Jealousy (very slight)

Author’s Note: Loved this idea so much, thank you for this first request! Emi with a moth mommy ⋆˚ʚɞ

MASTERLIST

Something about your boyfriend changed the night after Gigantron’s “attack” on Tokyo Dome. That night, you were supposed to help him fend the kaiju off but he insisted he’d do it on his own.

For some reason, you were glad you did not join in because (1) their fight became a pursuit in the sky, and (2) you could not zoom in the air the same way Ultraman does. The only reason you’re able to fly is because of your wings—moth wings on your suit, which would put you at a disadvantage in the case of an air chase.

You were supposed to come over to his place that night to check on him because you were sure that the skirmish had caused more damage to his already injured shoulder. However, your calls were left answered by Mina, telling you that Kenji had already fallen asleep.

Deciding not to disturb him, you simply let him be. But in the days that followed, something surely wasn’t right. He couldn’t focus on his games, he looked so fatigued and restless all the time, and oh good gracious, there were now dark circles under his eyes.

He just looks so stressed and you were so upset with the fact that he didn’t want to tell you what’s going on with him. The time he got into a fight with the other players was the end of the line for you.

You barged into his house, finding him by his bathtub, in front of a TV, watching the news about him. The usually peaceful atmosphere in his house was now charged with tension as you made your way towards him. At that moment, Kenji was praying so hard the kaiju in his basement would keep still.

He still wouldn’t tell you what’s wrong. “It’s not about us. It’s about…” he said, “…something bigger. Something I’m not ready to share yet.”

Your eyes softened at his response, though the ache in your chest remained. You made him promise to talk to you when he’s ready and he agreed. You can’t stand seeing the love of your life like that but at the same time, you didn’t want to force him to do anything against his will. Taking up Ultraman was already enough of that.

Almost two months, after the incident, he seemed back to his old shape. Better, even. And thank heavens, finally, he could now tell you about what happened.

“There’s a what below?!” You asked in disbelief. The two of you were standing in front of the elevator and for a moment, you think your ears are playing tricks on you.

“A baby kaiju,” he replied and went on to explain everything. Still in disbelief, you took in everything with a nod. He placed his hand on the small of your back as he guided you into the elevator.

The moment you saw the big pink baby, you gasped. Emi made happy noises as you approached. However, upon noticing you, she suddenly began to cry.

Kenji was tapping on the glass containment in an attempt to shush her. But to no avail, Emi just cried harder.

“I’m sorry, she doesn’t know you yet,” Kenji apologized. “But I assure you, she’s a sweet big baby.”

Remembering how, at first, Emi only recognized Kenji when he was Ultraman, you decided to try something.

“(Y/n), what are you—“ Before Kenji finished, a soft glow enveloped you, and moments later, you emerged in your giant form. Your wings spread wide, shimmering with black patterns and warm tones of yellow and orange.

Emi’s cries slowed, her curiosity piqued by the sudden change. She opened her eyes, sobs turning to soft hiccups as she stared up at you in wonder. Her claws tapped the glass as she reached out, trying to grasp your wings.

Kenji watched in awe as Emi’s distress melted away. “I think it’s working,” he whispered.

“May I?” You asked, gesturing to the lid of the containment unit. Kenji gave a nod of approval. Carefully, you turned it before lifting it off.

You lowered yourself closer to Emi, your wings fluttering softly as she climbed up her containment. The gentle breeze they created seemed to soothe her further.

Emi let out a delighted squeal, her earlier tears forgotten. She toddled closer to you, her claws gently touching the edge of your wing. She let out a happy chirp, eyes sparkling with joy.

Kenji stepped closer, a relieved smile spreading across his face. “Wow, she loves you in this form,” he said.

You smiled down at him. “She’s just like her dad,” you replied. “She knows a good thing when she sees it.”

Kenji chuckled before he himself transformed into Ultraman. He sat beside you with Emi in between the two of you.

Your wings gently enveloped Emi in a comforting embrace. She was now calm and happy as she traced the pattern of your wings with her claw.

“Gentle, baby,” Kenji said as he rubbed her head.

She continued walking around you and playing with your wings until she tired herself out. She walked in front of you and climbed on your lap, nestling her head on your stomach.

“Awww, baby,” you cooed. You gently picked her up into your arms and gently swayed.

Kenji moved close to you, wrapping an arm around you. You nestled into his arm, head resting on the junction of his neck and shoulders. The three of you slept like that for the night.

The next morning when Emi awoke, she immediately looked for you. Realizing that the moth lady was missing, she cried. Mina was quick to assist her, playing videos of cartoons and Kenji to calm her. To Mina’s surprise, none of them worked.

“Who’s making my baby cry?” Kenji asked as he approached. He expected her crying to cease once she saw him. However, that is not the case.

“Huh?” He questioned. Emi always calms when she sees him. “Mina, try showing her pictures of (y/n).”

Mina did as told and as miraculously as yesterday, Emi stopped crying. “It seems like she got herself a new mother,” Mina commented.

With Emi’s growing fondness of you, you found yourself frequenting at Kenji’s house more than ever. She was just so cute; like a live plushie when you’re in your giant form.

“Hi babyyyy,” you cooed as you transformed into your giant form. You scooped her up, her head nuzzling against you. Her earlier play was abandoned in favor of your presence.

You walked in on Kenji and Emi playing baseball together. And you didn’t mean to interrupt but when you saw her walking towards you, you knew you had to transform.

Kenji smiled at the scene. “She really loves you, you know,” he said.

You smiled back, feeling a warm glow inside. “I love her too,” you replied. “She’s such a sweetheart.”

Emi chirped happily as she climbed up your torso and onto your shoulder where she could watch and touch your wings.

Kenji watched the interaction, his smile fading slightly as a twinge of jealousy crept in. His baby kaiju shows a different kind of joy when you’re around.

He loved Emi dearly, but lately, it seemed like she preferred your company over his. He couldn’t help but feel a bit sidelined.

“She really lights up when you’re here,” Kenji said, trying to keep his tone light.

You glanced at him, noticing the slight edge in his voice. “She lights up when you’re here too, Kenji,” you replied. “She loves you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, but… it feels like she’s more excited to see you than me sometimes.”

You tapped the space on the floor beside you, gesturing for him to switch to Ultraman. Thankfully, he did not resist.

You moved close to him as he sat beside you, his hand finding its way to your thigh. Your head automatically rested on his shoulder.

“You’re her dad, Kenji,” you said. “She loves you so much. Maybe she’s just fascinated by my wings right now.”

You felt Kenji nod, although the jealousy still lingered within him. “Yeah, maybe,” he replied. “I just want to be enough for her.”

You leaned back to look at him. Your other hand which was not holding Emi on your shoulder, moved up to hold his face. “You are enough. You’re everything to her,” you said. “And to me.”

Emi squirmed out of your hand, gently jumping off your shoulder and landing on your lap. She toddled over to Kenji. He looked down at her, his heart melting as she reached up, wanting to be held. He picked her up, and she nuzzled against his chest, purring softly.

“See?” You asked with a smile. “She adores you.”

Kenji hugged Emi close, his jealousy fading into thin air. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess you’re right.”

You spent the rest of the day playing with Emi, taking turns holding her and making her laugh. By the time evening rolled around, she was content and sleepy in Kenji’s arms.

Before reverting to your original form, you kissed Emi’s head and then leaned in to kiss Kenji. “I’ll be back soon,” you said. “Take care of our little one.”

Kenji smiled, his earlier worries forgotten. “We’ll be here, waiting.”

Taglist is open! Comment if u wanna be tagged on future Kenji oneshots

@scribble0rat

[swtnjk]

helloooo can u pls do kuroo x reader where both of them decided to try again for a baby after years mayb 2 of failed pregs? thank uuu (mayb it worked this time)

i loved LOVED! writing this. i lowkey blended this with bf things kuroo… sooo lmk if you want dad kuroo things

the soft hum of your dryer was the only sound in you and kuroo’s quiet apartment. warm laundry in your lap and the hard ache in your chest.

two whole years of trying. two years of a heartbreak. every negative test felt like a punch in the gut. was it karma? maybe it’s the universe telling you that you’re gonna be a bad mom.

but kuroo never stopped holding your hand. he came in the living room with a lazy grin and his silly bed head. “hey,” he said, sitting beside you. “foldin’ clothes without me? bold.”

you smiled softly, not really looking up. “you were napping.”

he snorted, nudging your shoulder. “so… i was thinking—“

“careful.”

“rude,” he laughed. then his voice quiets down, “i wanna try again… if you’re okay with it. i know it’s been hard, baby. but i don’t wanna give up on this.”

you finally look up at him. his tired but hopefully glint in his eyes, the way his hand is already reaching for you like muscle memory.

your throat tightened, “… yeah. we-we can try again.”

kuroo runs into the room after your loud scream. you stared at the test in your shaking hands. positive.

two lines. two!

“did you just scream or was that imagination?” he says. you looked at him, holding up the test. he holds your wrist to keep the shaking still.

he blinked, “what— that’s— holy! you’re—?!” he was speechless. you nodded, tears falling down.

kuroo dropped to his knees in front of you, hands on your belly like it was made of glass. “are you real? is this happening?”

you laughed and cried at the same time. “i think it is.”

he kissed your stomach, then your lips, then hugged you so tight you could barely breathe. “we’re really doing it. finally.”

you couldn’t stop staring at the ultrasound photo. a tiny blur, a heartbeat barely the size of a nut but it was real. after all the tears, the whispered reassurances that felt more like prayers, it was finally happening.

kuroo had printed six copies of the scan, just in case. one for the fridge, one for his wallet, one for his office, and the rest “emergency backups,” he said with a proud grin.

“you’re going to wear that smile into the ground,” you teased one morning, catching him staring at you while brushing his teeth.

he turned, toothbrush dangling from his mouth. “can’t help it. you’ve never looked more glowy.” you gave him a look. “i’m in your old volleyball hoodie and socks that don’t match.”

“exactly,” he spit into the sink. “volleyball hoodie? that’s peak fertility fashion, babe.” you snorted so hard you nearly choked on your orange juice.

kuroo threw himself into building the nursery like it was a final project and you were the judge. he measured everything twice, made spreadsheets for crib safety ratings, and debated paint swatches.

“i think we should go with the pastel yellow,” he said one night, holding up two nearly identical samples. “it’s cheerful. gender-neutral. and doesn’t look like a banana threw up.”

you rolled your eyes, “you know i trust you, right?”

kuroo paused. his gaze softened, “yeah. but i want you to love it. i want everything to be perfect for you. for them.”

you kiss his cheek, “it already is.”

kuroo held your baby girl like he was holding the universe. he was.

you watched through exhausted, teary eyes as he rocked them slowly, whispering something only they could hear.

then he looked at you, eyes glistening. “you did it,” he said hoarsely. “we did it. she’s here.”

he leaned down, kissed your forehead, then kissed the baby’s. and in that moment, with thunder rumbling in the distance and your family finally whole, you knew..

it was all worth it.

[marenwithanm]

So, How did all of the humans, especially Quaver react to Clover sooner or later admitting that he gave up his soul for the Monsters?

I actually wrote a mini fic for that scene a while back! I know I'm usually doing art in here, but today you get some writing! It basically went down like this:

You come to slowly. Your surroundings are vaguely uncomfortable. It's cold, not overly so but just enough to nag. There's a faint static grating ever so slightly against your nerves. It raises and lowers in pitch and volume, like messing with an old radio to try and find the right channel. Eventually, the metaphorical fingers twist the metaphorical dial just right and words start to make themselves known amongst the white noise.

“-oks li-e yel--w is ---rting to ---- -n.”

“Oh, oh, wh--s that one s--osed to b-?”

“I beli--e that one w-s emble-atic of j-stice. An over-ll intol-rance for anyt-ing unfair.”

The voices are on the higher side, like children; although some sound younger than others. You notice your fingers are pressed down against some kind of surface. Now that you're thinking about it, your whole body is lying atop this surface. At first it's smooth like marble, but the longer you think about it the more it shifts from solid to something more like water. The impression of an idea easily molded but hard to hold together upon prodding.

You open your eyes. It takes a few tries. Your body feels weird, altogether too light and too heavy and a little bit like the weird solid-liquid floor beneath you. Once you finally manage to pry your eyes open, a blur of rainbow colors greet you. They come into focus, and you find yourself staring at 5 brightly colored children in a variety of ages.

“You awake?” A teenager tinted a shade of green asks, demeanor overall aloof.

Before you can answer, a kid painted in shades of orange jumps forward. “Who’re you? I like your hat! Look, we’re bandana buddies! Mine’s on my head though, and it's got abs on it so I think mine’s better. Whe-”.

The barrage of questions is cut off by the green teen shoving the orange kid back. “Cool your jets, Jabberjaw. Give em a minute.”

You sit up slowly, feeling a bit like a baby calf attempting to stand for the first time. “Wha-”

A purple kid sits up straighter, adjusting the glasses on their face. “We’re in between realities right now, a shared mindscape between souls. A sort of wishful thinking, if you will.” You blink at them, trying to process any of what was just said and coming up blank.

“You’re dead.” A girl in shades of blue says bluntly. “We all are.”

You stiffen at that, suddenly remembering. Ceroba had revealed her plan and attacked. But that wasn’t what got you in the end, no, it was… You just… You clutch at your chest, recalling the sensation of sharp cold that had spread throughout your whole body at the removal of your soul. It had hurt so badly that it started going numb. Your vision had blurred and your ears had started ringing. You remember a voice, probably Flowey’s, but you have no idea what he was saying.

“Classy.” The purple kid deadpans at the blue girl. You shake your head, trying to refocus in the moment.

“If… If we’re dead, how are we here? And does that mean you five are… The other kids who fell down here before?”

“Like I said-”

“Who cares, it’s magic!” The kid in orange interrupted Purple’s sentence, waving a hand dismissively. Purple stares the kid down for a few seconds before turning back to you.

“Whatever, sure, it's basically magic. To answer your second question, yes. Yes we are.”

You look down at your hands, fisted in the fabric of your scarf. You know there’s nothing you could’ve possibly done. Most had died before you were even born. And yet… “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Purple asks, raising their eyebrows. “There’s nothing you could’ve done about it.”

“I know, I just…” You hesitate, digging into your pocket. You know it wouldn’t be there, but still. Somehow, paper brushes against your fingers, and you pull out the missing persons poster you lost at the very start of your adventure. This particular poster only has one person on it, the face of one girl, but you’ve seen the others in newspaper clippings from the library. “I came here because I wanted to… It didn’t seem fair that everyone gave up. That nobody tried looking for you guys. I wanted to save you. I wanted to help. But that didn’t really… work out.”

“You fell into the underground… for us?” Blue asks, eyes wide. The others have similarly shocked expressions.

“Man that’s so cool! You’re like a real sherif, coming to bring justice!” Orange says, swinging their arms up. It's then that you notice they're holding hands with another kid in shades of cyan. They’re like a silent little shadow, hair falling over their eyes as they let the orange kid move their connected hands around spastically.

“Even if it didn’t work, we appreciate the effort, right guys?” Purple says, nudging Blue. She nods quietly, seeming to need time to process the information. Green just stares, a conflicted expression on his face.

“Tell us a story!” Orange says, bouncing in place. “What was it like? Did you get into lotsa fights? I bet it was pretty epic.” They shadowbox the air, faded pink gardening gloves on their balled up fists.

You’re not used to telling stories to an older audience, you think, glancing at Green and Blue, but you have plenty of practice helping the younger kids to sleep. So you tell your tale, starting with jumping and ending with your fight with Ceroba. Blue’s expression hardens at the mention of Dalv and Axis, but you ignore that, too busy trying to engage the little cyan child. You hesitate at the end. “I… I realized something. The monsters being trapped… it's not fair. They didn’t even start the war in the first place, and.. And they don’t deserve this. So I… I gave myself up.”

“WHAT?” exclamations of shock echo around the circle the group has formed.

“You mean you just.. Walked up to the king and surrendered?” Purple asks, mouth agape.

“No, I mean, not quite. I gave Ceroba my soul, and she and Marlet and Starlo took it to him. I assume?”

Silence, for just a few moments, and then a scoff. “Why would you DO that?” Blue says, standing up and towering over the kneeling group. “It's bad enough you made nice with the monsters. It's WORSE you let that.. That THING go. But to give yourself up, voluntarily? To the same creature that was trying to take it by force just moments before? You can’t be serious.”

You feel your posture tense, shoulders climbing upwards the more she yells. When she seems done, panting from the effort of chewing you out, you stand up as well, uncomfortable with her height advantage. It doesn’t really help, she’s still a little taller than you, but at least you’re not kneeling anymore. You can’t think of what to say for a bit, simply frowning up at her. But then, your mind catches on something. “What ‘thing’ are you talking about?”

“The robot.” She says, seething.

“Don’t… Don’t talk about Axis that way.” You mutter, glancing down at your shoes. You’ve never been good in a confrontation, preferring to run interference. But after everything you went through, after everyone you met, you just can’t listen to this. You’re still not brave enough to look her in the eyes though.

After a moment, the taller girl sucks in a breath. She gets right in your face and screams. “That thing blew my head off!”

“...What?” It takes you a minute to process what she said. “Wait you mean Axis…”

“Killed. Me.”

Your hand reaches up to fiddle with the brim of your hat. You’ve heard this story, or part of it at least. From the other side. Facing the reality of both sides of the situation is worse, somehow. “..Why’d you attack Dalv?”

Blue stands there, mouth opening and closing a few times. “You… The vampire?”

“He was just minding his business, hanging out with Kanako. Your attack scared him so bad he moved to live in the ruins until I came! Why would you do that?”

“You’re not serious. You can’t be serious. I just told you what your awful ‘friend’ did, and you’re more concerned about the MONSTER? What is wrong with you?! Were you just pretending to care about us? Because you’re too busy playing with your monster friends to do ANYTHING for us. I hate you!” Green stands up at that, and he’s even taller. Your stance shifts, ready to escape at the first sign of trouble. He just puts his hand on her shoulder, turning her around. She starts to walk away, but stops, glancing over her shoulder at the other kids, still seated in a now broken circle. “C’mon guys, lets go. Justice has forsaken us.”

The others stand up hesitantly, not meeting your eyes. Orange tugs Cyan behind them, following behind. The smaller kid looks over their shoulder, the only one to meet your gaze as the group stalks away to another corner of the mostly white void. You look away first, sitting back down and pulling your knees up to your chest. You did the right thing, you know you did. Monsterkind deserves to be free. They’re better than humans in every way imaginable. You’re glad you helped further that goal. But still, it hurts to be rejected so thoroughly. And it hurts because you can’t help everyone. In doing what's best for one group, you’ve hurt the other. You wish things were simpler. You wish that war had never happened in the first place. You wish someone else was in your place... No, you don’t really. You’re glad to be the one to have to give up your soul. But you wish you were smarter, more confident. You wish you were better…

You wish you could go home. No, not to the surface. You long for the soft cushion of Dalv’s kitchen chairs. You long for the feel of wood grain under your hands and the rush of water under your boat. You long for the little old couch in the Feisty Five’s house, even if it was cramped. You long for the feeling of your friends arms wrapped around you, all feather and fur and woolen poncho. You wish you’d asked them to stay. You wish your death didn’t have to be so lonely.

In a group of five standing just a few yards away, a little girl looks over her shoulder at a figure colored in shades of yellow. She glances at the faces of her friends, all frowny mouths and angry eyebrows. She huffs, pulling her hand out of the hold of her sister. "This is stupid." She thinks as she walks back towards the lonely yellow kid, leave unnoticed by the tense group. "I wonder if that gun really works."

(end)

So yeah. For Quaver, I think it's less that Clover gave up their soul, although that is certainly a factor. It's more that Clover is dismissing the harm done to her in order to stay on their monster friends' side. Clover came down here to bring justice for the humans, but over the course of the resets, they gradually switched to bringing justice to the monsters. (To be clear, Clover doesn't remember resets, just reloads. But Clover still changes significantly over the course of the resets because the resets stick somewhere in their subconscious). So that's Quaver's side of things, she feels hurt by Clover not seeming to care about the terrible things she went through. She doesn't really hate them, but she's definitely mad. The others are mostly just following her because they've known her longer and she's the second oldest. Dashi is probably the one that agrees with Quaver the most. Dashi never quite bonded with the monsters in a meaningful way, and is really really mad that not only did they kill her, they also killed Kit who's like a little sister to her after all these years being dead. Cris has pretty mixed feelings about monsters. Being the oldest, he understands that monster kind as a whole aren't bad, but that doesn't make him any less mad at the ones who had a hand in his death. He's not all that mad at clover though. He's mostly just worried about Quaver. Kit and Reid are the most sympathetic with monsters, both having spent a period of time living amongst monsters in the underground, not just running from them. Kit doesn't care what the others think, she goes and hangs out with Clover anyways. Reid is a bit more nervous to go against the norms, but when Kit does it, they find the courage to join the Clover Corner™. Kit thinks Clover is cool and likes to watch them shoot things. So yeah it's not like they all dislike/are mad at Clover. It just kinda complicated, as feelings are.

Also an art to go along with this

[pasukiyo]

A MILLION WAYS TO BREAK

anakin skywalker/darth vader x f!reader word count: 6k warnings: smut! some violence in the beginning, blindfold, chains, inappropriate usage of the force! dub-con i think? synopsis: after being betrayed and outed by an asshole of a business partner, she wakes up chained and blinded in an imperial ship. she's unsure of the fate her imperial captors have in mind for her, but she's determined to find a way to escape, to be unbreaking and defiant. this doesn't bode very well with her imperial captor with seemingly peculiar supernatural abilities...

read on ao3

 She awakes to blackness. Panic seeps into the marrow of her bones as she tries to move, only to find she is incapable of it. She’s been stripped of the will to move her own body, given to the mercy of someone unknown. She still tries, feeling her hands, restrained above her head lurch forward, only to be held in place. Her ankles, too, are in shackles. She hears the sound of metal, chains, and knows she has been imprisoned. 

 She huffs and annoyance prods at her temples as she tries to recall her last memories, how they could’ve led to her being chained to some unknown force in some unknown room. The ache in her head makes it difficult and it only frustrates her further, her wrists struggling against their chains as an outlet for her anger. She growls through gritted teeth and listens as it echoes throughout the room, bouncing back into her eardrums like a sound of high frequency that does nothing but worsen her headache. 

 She lets herself fall limp against her restraints, feeling a cold sweat begin to bead at her forehead. She makes another attempt to make some sense of her situation, to recollect the events leading up to her capture. The blackness before her flickers and she sees mirages of red lights, blaster shots, she gathers as their rays of light explode and whine. The image begins to clear and she sees a sandstone ceiling with flickering, dim-orange lights. She feels the weight of her weapon in her dominant hand, her forefinger curled around the trigger of her blaster. 

 She’s suddenly no longer in her prison but rather in some shithole in Jakku, dodging rays of red light, blasting wounds into the chests of stormtroopers. She ducks beneath the bar and peers across the way where Cirgabek, the Klatooinian outlaw she’d foolishly trusted, sat, tucked away as much as he could underneath the bar top. 

 “You said this place was clear of Imperials!” Her voice calls over the carnage and she pushes herself up, her blaster at the ready, firing into the chest of another stormtrooper. He groans and stumbles to the ground, and she kneels and tucks herself back beneath the bar for shelter as a round of blaster shots blaze past where her head had been mere seconds prior. 

 Cirgabek’s orange face rises with the curling of his lips, large, yellow teeth smiling, mocking her. Her brows knit together as she watches him rise, blaster shots exploding around him, avoiding him altogether. A realization seeps through her skin and settles into her bones, dread weighing heavy like a boulder on the pit of her belly. 

 “Sometimes telling the truth can be a bit…” Cirgabek clicks his tongue, as if searching for the right word. “…well, bad for business.”

 He raises his blaster, aims it straight for her and she leaps from where she kneels, turning to break past her fallen comrades. The whine of a blaster shot sounds from behind her and before she can leap for safety, she is too late, a searing pain sinking into the back of her calf. She cries out and drops to her knees, landing awkwardly on the shoulder of one of her fallen companions. 

 Another blaster shot sounds behind her and she falls flat on her chest with a yelp, feeling another burning pain in the back of her shoulder. It feels degrading, being shot down like this, at the mercy of the likes of Cirgabek of all damn people. 

 The sound of chaos begins to dwindle until all that can be heard is the sizzling of metal, smoke rising to the ceiling. 

 “Is this her?” She hears a voice that sounds painstakingly like a stormtrooper behind her and Cirgabek grunts in a reply. She hears her blaster skid across the floor and she yelps, trying to push herself off of the ground. Alas, her shoulder screams and begs for her to stop, her calf aching, refusing to allow her to stand. She wants to defy her own body, to rise from the ground that’s become a cemetery in mere minutes but before she has the chance to act on this mustered courage, she feels a hand weave through the hair at the back of her skull. She yells into the chaos-stricken cantina as she is pulled into an upright position by her scalp, forced onto her knees. 

 She feels the hot end of a blaster against her temple and Cirgabek grins his yellow-toothed grin ahead of her, a glimmer of mischief in his dark eyes. “You’ve never looked worse, my friend,” he chortles and she curls her lip in a snarl back. Cirgabek tosses his head back in deep, rumbling laughter as the stormtrooper holding her by the roots of her hair converses with another. 

 She scowls at Cirgabek regardless. “Piss off,” she spits, struggling against the stormtrooper. 

 “We’ve been ordered to keep her alive,” she hears the one to her right tell the one holding her and she grimaces, reaching backwards, ignoring her screaming shoulder as she latches onto the stormtrooper’s wrist. She tries to pry his grip free but it is no use— she’s losing a lot of blood, and she’s growing weaker by the second. 

 “And the Klatooianian?” The stormtrooper behind her asks. Cirgabek wears a smirk, smugness laxing his features. The corner of her lip twitches upwards. The idiot thinks he’s making it out of here alive. 

 “Get rid of him,” the other stormtrooper nods to another and oh, how she relishes the way Cirgabek’s face drops, reaching for the blaster he has since foolishly tucked away into its holster. 

 “No, wait!” Cirgabek pleads, raising his free hand in peace as the stormtrooper tugs her onto her feet and snaps binds onto her wrists but her smirk does not drop even as she winces At the ache in her calf. “I helped you! We had a deal!”

 As the stormtrooper pulls her away towards the exit, she can’t help but laugh as she passes Cirgabek. He stares back, a mixture of anger and pleading on his face. 

 “Guess you’re bad for business, you piece of shit,” she spits before she is dragged away and she hears the firing of blasters behind her and one large thump that can only be the sound of Cirgabek’s deceased body hitting the ground. Good riddance, she thinks. 

 Her eyes narrow against the blinding sun of Jakku, sand in the wind biting her cheeks as she is dragged down a line of armed troopers, leading towards the bridge of a ship, big, dark, and gray, and ominous. Frightened scavengers, outlaws, and bounty hunters alike kneel in the sand, blasters pressed to the back of their skulls and she is able to blink the dots away from her vision enough to make out the shape— small shape— of a human child. The girl’s, who could be no more than ten, bottom lip trembles and she peers back, a puzzled, pleading look in her eyes. Her mother is beside her, not daring to move but prayers and assurances spill past her lips. Tears fall in rivers down the girl’s face and she finds her resolve again, her face twisting in anger. 

 She plants her feet firmly into the sand, ignoring the pain in her calf and she tugs at the restraints on her wrists despite the sizzling ache in her shoulder. “Maker, you Imperial scum are more sadistic than I gave you credit for,” she hisses. 

 “Keep moving!” The stormtrooper behind her barks, nudging the end of his blaster against the back of her neck in warning. She glares a dagger behind her at the stormtrooper’s helmet, turning back to face the little girl. The girl presses her lips together and watches with her little eyebrows knit in confusion. 

 “Why don’t you let her go?” She barks her question at the stormtrooper with the blaster pressed to the back of the child’s skull. 

 “I’m warning you!” The trooper with a finger all too happily sliding over the trigger behind her shouts but still, she does not move. She hears what they said. She is to be kept alive. It gives her a bit of an ego, an immortality she’s never had before and she decides she’ll use it to her advantage. Whatever or whoever the hell wanted to see her on that ship she’s being dragged towards can wait. 

 “She’s just a child!” She raises her voice as the stormtrooper grabs a hold of her upper arm, tugging her towards the bridge. She resists, hoping she will be granted the assurance that no harm will come to the girl. “Let her go!”

 “Weapons at the ready!” She can hear a stormtrooper command and the little girl whimpers as the rest of the captives cry, trembling, awaiting certain fate. 

 “No!” She screams, trying to twist away from the stormtrooper’s grip. “Let her go! She has nothing to do with this! She’s just a—“

 She hears the sound of something slamming against the side of her skull and what may very likely be a crack before things go completely black. 

 Oh yes. That’s it. 

 Her incompetence was what led to her being bound to the ceiling, something tied around her eyes so that she may only see black. She wonders if her incompetence had been foolish— did the child lose her life because of her? Was she hurt? Perhaps her outburst only made things worse— the pounding in her head intensifies and she groans, dropping her head so that it dangles between her shoulders. 

 She tries to account for what she does know— she doesn’t feel pain in her shoulder nor her calf any longer. Perhaps her Imperial captors had shown her some semblance of mercy. It was certainly easier to be chained to the ceiling without the annoying ache of blaster wounds wearing her down. 

 Even so, she’s growing restless. She cannot stay here, this much she knows is true. She has to find a way out of here— but how? 

 She decides it’s best to start with her blindfold— escaping will be much easier with her vision restored. 

 She raises her eyebrows up and down and up and down, over and over and over again, hoping over time, the blindfold will begin to slip and fall down her face. It’s a game of patience— and she realizes quickly it’s a test she’s destined to fail. 

 The blindfold is tied too tightly around her head and attempting to loosen it only worsens her headache and she yells into the seemingly emptiness of the room. She struggles against her restraints during her outburst, thrashing the chains against the durasteel walls. It is official: she was going to go insane before she would even be put on official trial. 

 During her outburst, she failed to hear the sliding of the door to her prison open and it is only when she hears a sound that’s suspiciously reminiscent of breathing does she silence herself. 

 “Hello?” She calls after a moment of complete nothingness, the only sound permeating the room the breath of whoever it was standing before her. 

 Silence again. 

 She thinks they must be toying with her and she seethes through her teeth, tugging once again against her restraints. “Maker, if this is your idea of an interrogation then I’d rather call myself guilty and slit my own throat,” she titters humorlessly. 

 “Where would be the pleasure in that?” Her interrogator finally replies and it’s— his— voice makes the hair on the back of her neck stand erect, ice slithering like frozen vines around her bones. She wonders if she’s heard this voice before but it cannot be, because she would remember a voice as distinct as this, as… strange and somewhat daunting as this. She isn’t sure why she suddenly gets the sense she should be afraid— perhaps it is because she is bound to the ceiling, or maybe it’s because she can feel the power this person has. Somehow, she can feel what he is capable of. 

 Nevertheless, she cannot let herself be ridden with fear now. Her life very well depends on her actions now. 

 She clears her throat, staring into the blackness and trying to picture what this person must look like. His voice doesn’t sound human but it doesn’t sound authentic either, like it’s synthesized, perhaps behind some kind of apparatus. She swallows, carefully sifting through her mind for the words she should speak next. If today was the day she died, she wouldn’t be going down without a fight, that was for certain. Yet, she knew she must watch her tongue— she got the feeling this person, whomever they were, wasn’t the type to mess around with. 

 “Well, I suppose being strung by the ceiling and beheaded is a little unceremonious,” she replies a little dryly. “Please, by all means, feel free to kick me around and do whatever Imperial voodoo bullshit you like on me. It would seem my evening has been opened up for a little psychological and physical torture.”

 It was less an attempt at humor than an attempt to calm her rising nerves. Nevertheless, her interrogator doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even sniff. Tough crowd, she supposes. 

 “I don’t suppose you find the smuggling of illegal weaponry humorous?” The person asks and she hears footsteps against the steel floor, pacing, she gathers. 

 She inhales. “Not as much as the fact that you and your Empire have stripped us of the liberty of protecting ourselves,” she snips, venom etched into her tone. The footsteps cease and for a moment, all she can hear is her heart beating just a smidge irregularly in her chest, until she hears the synthetic breathing again. His footsteps are heavier now and they sound like they’re coming closer and it isn’t long before that strange breathing is near her ear. She blinks into the blackness, painfully aware of how close her captor is, of how vulnerable a state she‘s truly in.

 “Why? To destroy the order in which we have spent years rebuilding for the sake of a greater Empire?” He hisses and it sends rays of energy down her spine, exploding at the small of her back and rendering her body motionless. “Because you believe you have the right to disrupt the peace the Empire has mercilessly given this cesspool of a galaxy?”

 She finds it within herself to laugh. She wishes she could see, for she wished she could look into her captor’s eyes now. 

 “‘Peace?’ You call this ‘peace?’” She can hardly believe what she is hearing, she has no other choice but to laugh. “You call living in fear of simply stepping outside your home ‘peace?’ You call working like slaves for barely a credit and having to return home to your family apologizing because you cannot provide a simple meal to the table ‘peace?’ You call being captured and killed in the streets merely trying to find a means to survive ‘peace?’ You call killing innocent children ‘peace?’ You think this is mercy?”

 She is unsure what happens next, all she knows is that there is a tight, deathly grip around her throat, her breath stolen from her chest. Her wrists tug at her chain, subconsciously moving to attempt to pry the hand away but it serves as a reminder of just how stuck and defenseless she is. 

 “Foolish girl. You think you are a rebel,” the voice says gravely but it sounds far, too far for it to be possible for one of his hands to be wrapped around her throat. 

 Nevertheless, she can still feel it there, an iron grip on her windpipe, squeezing every few seconds as if to tease her life it holds at its mercy. Panic and dread seep through to her bones and one question materializes in her mind although she is incapable of speaking it: how is he doing this? There cannot be another person in the room: she didn’t hear any other sets of footsteps and she just has a feeling this force on her throat is by the will of her interrogator, despite how impossible it sounds. 

 “You think you are capable of creating rebellions, of destroying entire empires,” the voice continues to taunt, the hand around her throat tightening its hold. She chokes, gasping for air she cannot reach. “But you fail to realize one thing: you are nothing.”

 She hates him. She hates this situation she’s in. She hates that she’d been caught. She hates that Cirgabek ratted her out. She hates that she is here, blindfolded, chained, defenseless, vulnerable. She hates that her interrogator thinks of democracy as nothing more than rebellion. A crime. 

 And what she hates most of all? She hates the flame that kindles at the pit of her belly when he, or whatever it was holding her at its mercy, tightens the grip on her throat. She hates that that small flame in the depths of her stomach falls like an ember down to her center, that heat pools between her legs, making her legs tremble. She hates how disgusting she feels: being turned on in a situation far from preferable. 

 She is better than this. She knows she is. She knows what she’s worth— maybe, hopefully. She tries to ignore the ache throbbing at her center, hissing through her teeth as she tries to catch her breath, at least enough air to allow her to say one thing:

 “I… am not…” she struggles against the hand again as it tightens, but still, she manages to squeeze one last word out: “…nothing.”

 She hears a breath through that synthesizer that sounds a little out of the normal, some form of a laugh perhaps, she thinks. The iron-tight grip around her throat loosens until the force falls away altogether and she gasps, breathing in lungfuls of air. Although it does nothing to quell the aching at her core, at the very least she can breathe. She may very well live to see another hour. 

 “If you are not nothing, then surely you have people who depend on you. Who are waiting on you,” the voice says, a little closer than before but still far. “Tell me. Where do your operations reside?”

 She scoffs, snickering through her gasping. “Like I’d ever tell you.”

 The man hums, a low, rumbling sound that certainly does not help her situation below. She grits her teeth and curses herself mentally: how degrading was this? Her own body was working against her. 

 “I wouldn’t be so quick,” he says, his footsteps drawing near again. “Perhaps there is a deal that can be struck, should you give me the information I need.”

 She scoffs again, a sharp, sarcastic sound. “Oh yeah, like the one you made with Cirgabek?” She quips, shaking her head. 

 “You will learn that I am forgiving to those only who are deserving,” he replies, sounding close again, like he could be mere inches away. “I haven’t any use for brain-dead lowlifes. But you…” he trails off and she feels the whisper of something against her temple— a hand perhaps, only it didn’t feel like skin. Perhaps a glove, for it felt a little like leather. Nevertheless, she shivers, gooseflesh creeping down her limbs. “…yes. I may still have use for you yet.” 

 She presses her lips together, trembling against her restraints but still unwilling to fall into submission. He is right about one thing: there are people counting on her. Many lives would be at stake, should he learn of the whereabouts of her operations. So she decided there and then that she would stop at no cost to ensure her people, her friends are safe. She would not let her body betray her, even if the fire between her legs was beginning to blaze. 

 Her lips fall open and her breath shudders. Then, “I’m not telling you shit.”

 Her interrogator makes a sound reminiscent of a hum and for a moment, all is silent. It makes her skin crawl with anticipation, her mind swarming like a tempest: this is it. She would die here. She would die here without a sliver of honor— and a throbbing center. 

 And then, “there are other ways to take what I want.”

 And then she feels something, an invisible fingertip against her mind and her gaze hardens against the blackness, her lips falling agape. Her heart pounds against her chest as she tries to fend off the intrusion but it persists, dragging a long finger against the walls of her mind. 

 “What the hell is—“ she cannot even finish her thought because the finger is prodding against the wall and she grits her teeth, groaning as she wills her walls to harden. She doesn't know how he is doing this, how it is even possible, all she knows is that she cannot allow that finger to slip past her defenses. She’d have to turn her walls into steel, because even stone could crumble— it would not suffice. 

 “Your mind will open to me,” he says, but there’s an air of uncertainty to his voice, like he’s confused. Perhaps he thinks he would’ve had access to her mind by now and she uses this to her advantage, strengthening her mind’s defenses, keeping her imaginary palms firm and steady on that malignant finger. She dares not try and speak, lest she loses her focus. She will not let him win this battle, she knows the only outcome that will suffice is one where she is victorious. 

 “You will show me where your operations reside,” he repeats, again, unsure. The finger becomes a hand and it presses its palm onto her walls, the sheer amount of pressure on her mind making liquid of her insides, making her head spin. Still, she does not lose her focus, she continues pressing on, further into the hand, disallowing it to win. She can hardly hear him through the pressure, but she still manages to catch: “You will show me where you’ve been hiding these—“

 The voice comes to a stop and her head feels so fuzzy she hardly registers when he relents, the pressure so loud in her ears gone, the hand, while still there, but a whisper of what it once was against her mind. 

 “What is this?” He asks, seemingly more to himself than her. She shivers as she feels a knuckle drag along the outside of her mind again, a quake splitting her right down the middle, rattling her bones and making her core throb once more. And there, she realizes, is where she gives herself away. 

 Her breath hitches at the base of her throat and she waits with restless anticipation, feeling like breathing would be a betrayal to her own honor. 

 “Your mind’s defenses are remarkable, for even I cannot seep through them,” he notes. “But your emotion gives you away. You feel… warm. You are… excited.”

 She gulps down the dry lump at the base of her throat and shakes her head, her lips trembling against one another. “No,” she croaks. “I’m not… you’re just— you’re full of shit.”

 It’s a feeble attempt at convincing him he is wrong. Even if she had a sliver of confidence in her speech, she and he both knew she’d be lying. He felt it. He knows. 

 “Naughty girl,” he snickers, that invisible finger brushing against her mind pulling away to caress the line of her jaw. “You enjoy being at my mercy, don’t you, filthy little thing.”

 Shame burns her cheeks and she does not speak because she does not trust her own tongue, for it is sure to betray her. The truth is, the flame at her core has blossomed into a raging wildfire. Her want is driving her mad, for touch, for some friction. She hates feeling this way, especially for an Imperial, a man who seeks nothing but his own gain. A man who will slaughter and take as much as he needs. A man she cannot even see. A man whom she doesn’t even know is a man at all. 

 Want is want. She craves that supernatural force that was wrapped around her throat moments ago, friction to quell the ache between her legs. She cannot win like this forever, but she can use this against him. He already seems intrigued enough by her need— it’s a degrading advantage, but an advantage all the same. 

 Her silence suffices for her interrogator and that invisible finger tracing the line of her jaw lowers, striking like a match down the column of her throat, down the neckline of her top. 

 “You will not speak,” he says, voice lower, breathier against the synthesizer. It’s painfully quiet, save for the sound of his breathing and she can hear her own trembling breath, pressing her lips together in an attempt to silence herself. “But I can make you scream.”

 Her lips fall agape for a gasp to pass as the finger curls below her belly, dangerously close to her center. She tugs at her restraints, discomfort circling her limbs. Her core throbs at the tease and it aches for more but she doesn’t dare speak. Alas, she doesn’t need to. Her gasp sufficed for her captor. 

 “You can try to keep me out of your mind,” he continues, that finger brushing its nail just above her clit and it sobs, pulsing with need. She presses her lips together, firm, adamant to not make even the slightest of sounds. She breathes heavily through her nostrils however, and perspiration begins to bead at the crown of her head. “You can try and resist me. But how long, I wonder, until it is too much?”

 She hears clicking and the sound of air hissing. She trembles in anticipation, feeling a mixture of eagerness and dread as she waits for her captor’s next moves. She realizes she no longer hears the sound of synthesized breathing and her brow dips behind her blindfold as the noise of something heavy falling to the ground permeates the room. 

 And then she feels smoke— no, breath— against her cheek, rolling like ash over her skin. She trembles in its wake. 

 “How long before you break?”

 The voice no longer sounds the same but it sounds human and it definitely sounds male. The voice is deep as well as it is rich, enthralling in the way it slips through her ears with ease, like silk against skin. It rumbles in her chest like the sound of the earth shaking and it splits through to her center and she is suddenly alive, erupting with spurts of hot magma. There is no longer any denying the blossoming arousal between her legs and she curses because honestly, this was not the way she thought things would end. Of all her near death experiences, she never once thought that an Imperial man’s voice would be her demise. 

 Oh, how she hopes the Maker is not watching. 

 “Fuck you,” she spits at her captor as his breath caresses her cheeks, his invisible finger tracing circles into her skin just above her arousal. She hears a breath, meant to be a laugh. 

 “You don’t even have the chance,” he whispers and his voice coils around her ears, twisting like vines with sharp thorns, piercing her skin. “But you, on the other hand…” 

 It happens so suddenly she has no choice but to yelp.

 The invisible finger dips lower until it flicks against the underside of her clit and she pulses, aching at the merest of touches. Her heart stutters against her chest and it rises and falls with her unsteady breathing. She may not have a face to match to this voice but she can only imagine the grin her captor must be grinning, watching her become so broken at the slightest of touches. 

 “So it is true,” he says, the pad of the invisible finger brushing over her clit once more, applying the lightest of pressure against it as it circles over it. “You like being at someone’s mercy. My mercy.”

 She seethes. “Oh, you really wish, don’t you, you perverted fuck?” She manages through her tightly gritted teeth. 

 A deep, dark chuckle. And then, “then your body betrays you.” 

 The finger rubs over her swollen, sobbing clit over and over and over again, steadily applying more pressure. Her head is spinning and she hates how much control this enigma of a man has over her already. She hates how much she’s enjoying this and she wonders then, if it is him or her who is the so-called “perverted fuck.” Both, she thinks. It could very well be both. 

 “Your people think you’ve abandoned them,” her captor whispers somewhere near her ear, another invisible finger joining its friend in working at her clit. She yelps again, screwing her lids shut behind her blindfold. “Your idiocy leaves them all alone to fend for themselves. They must’ve all turned on you by now.”

 She knows what game he is trying to play and no matter what her body tells her, how much it will try to betray her, there wasn’t a chance in hell she was going to lose. A game, after all, is fruitless if it is merely one-sided. He may break her physically but she has proven herself capable mentally of keeping even him away from the precious stronghold of her mind. Her mind is her own and it is her fortress. She would not jeopardize that for anything. 

 “Still not… telling you… any—!” Her head tilts back in ecstasy and a moan manages to escape past her lips as a third invisible finger is added to the mix, and together, the three digits circle her clit, teasing down the lines of her folds to her sopping entrance. She pants as she tugs again at her restraints, grinding her teeth in focus. 

 “Why not give in?” He asks, persisting on. A fingertip dares to dip into her heat and she whimpers, her body trembling in her shackles. She hears the chains above her head and on the floor at her feet clang against the metal ground when she moves. “They all hate you. They will never welcome you back. Who can think of a better mercy than to give yourself to me?”

 “I can think of a million other mercies far better than that,” she snips, groaning as another finger delves past her folds, entering her sopping heat. She no longer sees complete blackness— for with each pump of the invisible fingers, every delicious scrape against her walls makes her begin to see white. She’s dangerously close to an edge she knows she shouldn’t want to be on, but her body betrays her again and even her mind begins to believe it too. 

 “Is that so?” He asks and she presses her lips together in a firm, thin line, trying to ignore how good his fingers— or his invisible fingers?— feel pumping inside of her. She can still feel his breath against her cheek and when he speaks again, she feels flesh, lips, against her ear. “Let me strike you a bargain. You tell me of the origins of your operations, and I will allow you to release.”

 Her breath hitches and suddenly what blinding white light in front of her seems far away, mere wishful thinking. A boulder-sized lump forms at the base of her throat and she tries to clear it away, but it’s hard when the pad of a thumb begins rubbing circles onto her clit on top of the two fingers practically digging her orgasm out of her center. 

 She decides she hates him again. He is cruel and he is frustratingly, devastatingly good with his hands— or his imaginary hands, or whatever (to be frank, she’s tired of trying to discern whether these fingers inside of her are real or sheer sorcery, it only worsens the ache in her head)— and she hates it. She wishes she could have her cake and eat it too— have her release whilst simultaneously maintaining the secrecy that her people’s lives depend on. 

 Those lips against the shell of her ear curve into a grin and she whimpers, feeling herself teetering dangerously over a line she knows she cannot cross. She’s losing his game— and she swore she wouldn’t. 

 Get yourself together! She curses herself mentally, frustration piercing through to her skull like an arrow. Damn him! Damn him, damn him, damn him, damn him!

 “Perhaps, if I made it easier for you, you will be more inclined to give in to your temptation,” he whispers and it curls warmly around her ear and her body shivers before it jolts, as if struck by lightning when she feels the sleeves of her top sliding down the line of her arms. 

 Her heart lurches against her chest and before she can object or even properly form a thought, she feels hands— ghostly hands, not really there but still— kneading her breasts, now exposed to her Imperial stranger. Fuck, she thinks and whimpers when ghostly palms slide over her nipples, her knees trembling, head tossing backwards. 

 “I know how badly you want it,” her captor whispers, still beside her ear. Then she feels another hand, one she is almost certain is real, brush its leather-clad fingers over her cheek as it swipes loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Think of how good you will feel, submitting to me. I can make you my pet, my wife. You’ll know a life of nobility, fit for a queen. And you will feel like this…” the fingers inside of her curl and her toes follow suit. Tears sting the outskirts of her eyes at how good it feels. “…all the time. I can show you a world of pleasure beyond anything you could dream of, even in your wildest of fantasies. All you have to do is submit yourself to me.”

 It’s a tempting offer, she will give him that. The ghostly hands inside her throbbing heat and kneading her sensitive breasts are almost enough to make her forget why she’s here, who she is supposed to be fighting for. His voice, his words, even, although she is ashamed to admit it, are almost enough to make her comply. 

 To spend everyday like this, dizzy from pleasure at the hands, or even the imaginary hands, of this enigma of a man who is her captor is certainly not at the top of her objection list. It’s a shame, however, that she cannot have both this and the freedom she and her people have spent years striving for. 

 It pains her to muster these words on her tongue, while the fingers inside of her are pumping and curling so deliciously well, she begins to see stars. When she’s so close to falling into the blinding white of her orgasm. When his lips are so close to hers, she can nearly taste them. 

 She swallows and clears the lump in her throat. “You certainly know how to strike a bargain,” she begins, a dull jab at humor. Her tongue darts between her lips. “But I already told you: I’m not telling you shit.”

 For a moment, the fingers do not still inside of her and she thinks, maybe, foolishly, that perhaps he will allow her to come anyway. She’s already so close, maybe he wants her to release just as much as she does. Maybe, just maybe, he will spare her at least this mercy. 

 A sigh. “Shame,” he murmurs against her lips. “But, heed my warning…” he trails off and she feels his breath, his mouth against the shell of her ear again. Her entire body shakes and she gasps, feeling his lips move against her skin. “…there are other ways you can be broken.”

 This final warning feels like a mark, a branding. Her fate is sealed on the lips of her captor and he will use this power on her, in time.

 The fingers inside of her and the hands on her breast pull away and she feels the sleeves of her top being pulled back over her shoulders, covering her chest. But she hears footsteps and the sound of something scraping against the ground, being picked up, perhaps. She hears the door slide open and closed and she knows she is alone, once again, in her prison. She shudders from the loss of the fingers inside of her and the chains of her shackles rattle as a curse slips quietly past her lips. 

 She is safe, for now. But the burning that remains between her legs and this curiosity to know more about her captor blooming in her chest makes her unsure she will be as confident next time. She shivers, feeling the weight of her isolation on her weary bones. 

a/n; so i said i would post this last month and totally forgot to... SORRY ABOUT THAT! life honestly just got in the way and i've been working on my novel but ENOUGH ABOUT THAT, I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOYED THIS ONE! i wrote this a couple months ago and thought this was one of my favorite fics i've written, so i hope you all like this one!

💫 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! your feedback is always appreciated 🫶

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[whatisamildopinion]

was talking last night with @actual-sleeping-beauty about my headcanon for tiefling culture about how it's very common to decorate your horns with jewelry, especially gifts from friends and family. and I do think Fig would be like one of those people that wears ten million homemade bracelets but like. for her horns. explanation of the specific horn bracelets she has under the cut

Gorthalax: he's actually the first person to gift Fig a horn bracelet, because he's the one who knows about the tradition. he gifts her what is actually an old horn bracelet of his that doesn't fit anymore, as part of a sentimental family kind of thing. it's very traditional hell, heat-proof gold and rubies and its one of her fancier ones

Kristen: she's the second to get in on this, in the more traditional sense, because best believe that Kristen Applebees knows how to make friendship bracelets. she's made so many. she makes the first one for fig in freshman year and makes it very bright oranges and reds to be supportive of her rocker friend. (she also makes some veryyy corn yellow ones, because it's the type of string she has the most of)

Riz: he's next on the friendship bracelet train because Penny taught him how to make every kind of complicated friendship bracelet pattern under the sun. he is scarily good at it. (rogue dexterity makes for absurd textile skills apparently.) he gifts Fig like twenty different super complicated patterned ones and she adores them all, but this one is the one she uses the most

Adaine: she makes a more subdued, woven bracelet after Riz and Kristen show her how in their attempts to Give Adaine Childhood Experiences. nevermind that Riz and Kristen are not exactly experts on this. Adaine is not naturally gifted at this so she makes a bunch of fucked-up bracelets that she's very embarrassed of but fig is like "NO I LOVE THEM YOU CAN'T THROW THEM AWAY." she uses the later, more refined bracelets more but she stubbornly keeps all of Adaine's bracelets, even the ugly ones. you can pry them out of her cold dead hands

Gorgug: enlists his parents to help embed some fake pearls into a little nickel backing and make it heat resistant, to make her a nice little pearly one for her birthday. he's so so nervous about it because it's a little more formal but when fig opens the gift she loves it so much she cries. her name is engraved along the inside with a little flower

Fabian: my boy uses his proficiency in glass blowing to make some beautiful little glass beads and string them up on a chain to make her most rattly horn bracelet. she adores it and plays with it all the time. it's like a fidget toy for her. he also used fancy, super expensive enchanted glass to enchant it to so that it can never fall off her horn on accident, which she also loves

Sandra Lynn (and Gilear): this is a moonar yulenear gift that fig gets in freshman year, after the other bad kids have started gifting fig bracelets, and Sandra Lynn is trying to show more support for fig, albeit stumblingly. she gets her a very nice matching set of horn bracelets with a chain between, and kind of tacks Gilear's name onto the gift. freshman year fig is So Mad still that she doesn't wear it until after Family in Flames, but she does break it out for the Prompocalypse, and after that it's a semi-permanent jewelry piece for her

[imheretoreadafic]

Headcannon that Bruce keeps a mental record of everyone, he loves' favorite color and takes it very seriously.

Tim? Red. That one is pretty obvious. He also takes favorite colors fairly seriously and will stab someone over getting the red color in Connect Four. Bruce makes sure he gets as many red pens and markers as he craves and always grabs a red option if there is one. He also makes sure to stay within the red range he likes because he doesn't like firetruck red but more of a crimson or cherry red.

Dick? Blue - again, pretty obvious with his suit. But because he's the oldest sibling, he's pretty used to letting the others take the blue things. Bruce tries to make sure he can have blue, too, whenever he can.

Duke? One would assume yellow, but he's actually more of a yellow-orange guy (Yes, there's a different fight me). Bruce makes sure to grab things in that color if it's an option - expect for furniture. Duke thinks that a yellow-orange desk chair/shelf/door/wall, etc, is tacky. He DOES love yellow-orange stickers, though.

Jason likes black... and baby blue. Bruce is one of the only ones who knows about him liking baby blue, and he only knows because he noticed Jason gravitating towards it when he was in a space where he wouldn't be teased for not being super edgy all the time. Bruce thinks it's silly he's embarrassed about liking baby blue - especially because he's just fine dressing in bright pink but he thinks it might have to do with the gentle and childlike association with the color rather than masculinity. Bruce buys him a big, fluffy, and very well-made baby blue blanket for his first Christmas back at the manor and Jason damn near cries.

Damian? Damian was tough to figure out because he thought the idea of favorite colors was silly and childish. So, Bruce originally went with green because of his preference for it in decor and fashion. However, he slowly realized it was indigo. So he bought him brushes with indigo handles and a dog bed for Titus that was indigo and generally just a bunch of small items in indigo over time to not make him seem suspicious. (Damian realized what he was doing despite his best efforts and painted Bruce with his indigo brushes, indigo paint pallet, sitting on an indigo stool because Bruce is shit at being subtle).

Steph? Another fairly obvious one - purple. She loves EVERYTHING in purple, and while Bruce internally gags, he tries to match her energy. Every single gift he gives her is purple if he can help it and is in purple wrapping paper.

Babs likes a golden orange (different from yellow-orange, and once again, I will throw hands over this). He buys (and helps her put them on because its a lot harder than it looks) wheelchair spooks covers in that color for her.

Cass doesn't really have a favorite color per se, but she definitely liked cool tones, pastels and iridescents. She finds bright and neon colors to be a bit overwhelming, but she also doesn't like constant gray scale. For a while, her life felt like a gray scale, and it still does sometimes, but that just isn't who she is. She is thousands of colors, pooling and swirling and constantly changing. And if she wants to repaint something for the seventh time? Goddammit, Bruce is going to help her.

(Do they have Canon fave colors? Idk and idc. Assigning them colors is fun for me and im gonna keep it up)

[pinkkpjobx]

can you do an imagine where jj is obsessed with reader but he’s also very shy around her like he’s always confident and his flirty self with everyone else but with reader he just gets flustered everytime he’s around her. maybe him asking her out or confessing his love for her or something idk

I gotchu babes

warnings: none really, just fluff! not proofread.

notes: yall....i had like all of it written, then Tumblr decided it hates me and deleted all of it, so i had to rewrite it (it did it twice 😭) ...i actually cried.

°♡°

it all began in freshman year, when jj started flirting with every girl to distract himself.

every girl but you. every time he tried, he would stumble over his rehearsed pick-up lines and walk away a blushing mess. he didn't understand it.

he didn't understand you.

until junior year, when he finally realized he liked you. which didn't make a whole lot of sense because the only interaction he had with you (other than the failed attempts at wooing you) were small smiles across the classroom and friendly waves when he just so happened to go surfing at the exact same time as you.

he would be so entranced by the way you balanced on your board as you rode the waves that he would fall off of his. you would look over curiously, unaware of the previous staring. on the rare occasion that he was able to stay up, he would show off and hope that you were looking.

and you were. every time he caught a wave, you were watching him as he did some over the top trick, giggling to yourself as he messed up half the time.

now, you weren't stupid. you knew he liked you, but you wouldn't act on it. not unless he initiated it.

so you started going to the same parties him and hanging out with the pouges in hopes to get closer to jj.

as soon as he would see you at a party, he would find some random girl to hook up with, just so he could leave the party with a reasonable excuse.

as for the pouge hangouts. he would always manage to sit on the opposite side of the room, twinkie, bonfire, you name it.

you were completely fine with it, knowing he needed time. however, the other pouges were not. namely sarah and kie, the other two were dragged into it.

so one surf trip, while you, pope, and jj were in the water, the others were building a fire and ploting. they came up with a plan to get you and jj to sit next to each other and hopefully spark a conversation. then they'd get up and pray that jj would build enough courage to ask you out.

pope, done for the day, swam back to shore, leaving you and jj to ride the next waves.

well, leaving you to ride the waves and jj to watch as he failed to stay up for even one.

after a few more waves (and a couple wipe outs on jj's part), the two of you returned to shore as well.

"some sick waves today." kie said as you sat down next to pope, leaving the last open spot the one on your left.

"best i've seen in a while." pope, responded. the group fell into another comfortable silence as everyone waited for jj to return from the twinkie.

"beer, weed, and marshmallows. or what i like to call, a good time." jj announced his return as he tossed the bag of marshmallows at john b. once he passed out beers, he looked at he empty spot next to you. "uh, yeah! i'll just...i'll just sit here." he sat down next to you, careful not to let his knee or elbow graze you accidentally.

kie and sarah smirked at each other, while pope and john b looked at each other with weary expressions, not quite sure how this would pan out.

"tough waves today, jj? couldn't seem to stay up." kie teased.

he looked down, thankful for the fire infront of him for masking the blush on his cheeks with orange and yellow hues. "not my day, i guess."

"says the best surfer on the island." you complimented.

"that's rich coming from you." he responded, internally patting himself on the back for managing a sentence without stuttering or stumbling over any words.

"i've had off days before." you said, wanting to keep the conversation going.

"y-yeah, but your off days are on the same level as my good days." he looked at you briefly, catching your eyes, before looking back to the fire.

you smile at the compliment. "thank you."

as the conversation continued, he grew more confident in his words. he even started fishing for opportunities. suggesting surf trips, parties, even offering to walk you home that night.

he was so concentrated on not making a fool of himself that he didn't even notice the other pouges leaving.

over by the twinkie, sarah smirked at pope and john b. "told you it would work."

pope smiled over at jj while john b just shook his head. "i shouldn't have doubted you."

'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'*'

"if you could travel anywhere in the world, anywhere, where would you go?" jj asked. he was walking you home, your path only illuminated by a flickering street lamp.

"hmm, I've always wanted to go to greece." you replied.

he nodded, taking a mental note of that.

"what about you?"

"south africa." he said.

"why?"

"apparently, the waves there are top tier."

you hummed at that. "maybe i'll tag along....if that's okay with you?"

"yes!" he cleared his throat. "i-i mean..yeah, pfft, sure. why not?"

he smiled too. "great, um. do you-do you wanna go to lunch? or, or surfing? or both...we could do both, if you wanted-"

your house came into view and he took a deep breath, wanting to ask you before the night was over. "actually, i, um, i wanna ask you that. well, not that specifically, but, something close...kinda-"

"jj." you stopped his nervous rambling. "calm down."

he nodded. "right. right, yeah. um, i wanted to ask, if um, if your free tomorrow?"

you smiled. "i am. i am free."

"yes."

he paused. "what?"

"yes, jj. i would love to go out with you."

his face broke out into a smile, brighter than that coming from your porch light. "okay. okay, great, i'll-i'll come by at noon?"

you nodded, your own smile stuck on your face. "perfect." you looked up at your house. "thank you for walking me." then you did something he would remember forever.

you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

"n-no problem."

"i'm gonna go inside now." you said, giggling.

"yeah! yeah, that's- that's good. i'll uh, i'll pick you up at noon."

you nodded and walked up the stairs to your house, closing the door with one last glance at jj.

he stayed there for a few minutes, bathing in the feeling of bliss that came from spending time with you.

when he finally started to walk back to the chateau, he couldn't stop himself from doing a small victory dance.

you watched from the window of your room, smiling at the idiot who stole your heart.

°♡°

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: tkdb boys that love your scrunchie

COMMENTS: my second recycled twst prompt...i am STILL COPING!!!

Jin really does not care what anyone else thinks about the soft blue scrunchie on his wrist. You had crammed it over his hand earlier that morning, smiling like a fool as you did so. He allowed it—after all, your silly whims and beautiful smile always melted his heart, and he did so love matching with you. If this was your way of marking him as your own, who was he to refuse? Besides, if anything said anything, he could just cut them down.

Kaito nearly cries when you gently pull his arm towards you, stretching the elastic of the scrunchie to fit it over his hand. His heart nearly bursts in his chest as the scrunchie snaps against his wrist, and in that moment he vows to never take it off. It’s a precious gift from you, a sign that you really truly love him (and only him!) He would be a fool to take it off! Oh, but if the scent of your shampoo wears off, he may shyly shuffle over to you and ask you to wear it for him again.

Alan is so stone faced even as he wears your scrunchie, but don’t let that fool you. He is hyper aware of everything he does with it on his wrist—oh, heaven forbid he gets dirt or dust or even blood on it, he will be so upset. You can tell him it’s not a big deal, but the yellow fabric is precious to him because you gave it to him. It’s a gift from you, even if he’s only borrowing it for a little while. He needs to keep it safe—and by extension, you.

Haru only wears it on his very very very rare days off. He doesn’t want to ruin it!! He would be so sad if the bright orange fabric got stained by one of the animals...or if one of them ate it thinking it was food...ripped it because they were gnawing a little too hard...Haru would be devastated. He treasures everything you give him so deeply, even if it's only a silly hair tie to others.

Taiga does not particularly care that his hair is too short, thank you very much. Actually, who are you again? Just kidding, kitten, you don’t have to pout at him like that. You’d think he likes stealing your scrunchie just to annoy the hell out of you, but he really does do it because he likes it. Well...both your pouting and the hair tie itself, really. Hey, you knew what you were getting into with him!

Subaru does not want to offend you. In fact, that is the very last thing he wants to do ever. And so, when you leave your scrunchie for him after one of your visits to Hotarubi, he returns it as soon as possible while apologizing profusely. What do you mean you left it on purpose? It’s so pretty, the shade of purple matches his uniform and—oh, you want him to wear it? Well, how can he say no to you when you look at him like that?

Lyca often wonders about the stretchy fabric you use to tie back your hair. It’s a deep purple, much like his uniform (which he likes more than he’d care to admit), but he doesn’t truly understand the appeal until you give it to him. It smells sweet, just like you. It never leaves his wrist. He doesn’t care that people are looking at him weird for sniffing it whenever he misses you—it's none of their business anyway.

Yuri wakes up at his work desk as usual, bleary eyed and mildly nauseous. It takes him reaching up to rub his eyes to realize that you left a gift around his wrist—a light blue scrunchie, soft and smelling of your shampoo. His cheeks turn a fiery pink and he freezes, hand twitching like the scrunchie is giving him an allergic reaction or something. He is short circuiting, staring wide eyed at the hair tie that has held your hair up, it has touched you and you have touched it, day after day after day and ohhh how is he supposed to deal with this!?

[fuji-sen]

the 'evil imposter' just wants to be a baker!

Prologue: The Foodie turned Imposter?!

Part 1: Sunsettias.

[ masterlist ] || [ part 2 ]

🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯

⌞Forest of Color: ⌝

⌞A salad made from fresh fruit and vegetables. Blanch the Grainfruit, chop the other ingredients, drizzle over the sauce, then stir until evenly mixed. Extremely simple to make, but even more importantly, it's so healthy that no matter how much you eat, you won't feel stressed!⌝

You stared at the in-game meal right in front of you, it was a late friday night and you were wasting the hours away curiously reading and looking through the official page that contained all of the food and drinks that could be found in your comfort game, Genshin Impact.

As a student in the culinary course and a rather enthusiastic foodie, one of the factors you always looked for when playing or finding a certain game or watching a particular show was their cuisine!

Just staring at the delicious looking, not-real, food always got your appetite running. Part of your little hobby was trying to even recreate certain dishes like those foodtubers did in youtube! Right now while mentally eating the pixelated dish in your mind, you were also picking the next food you'd try to recreate.

'Perhaps I should pick from star rail, none of the food here has picked my fancy. .' you thought to yourself while leaning back on your chair and making a point to stroke your chin with a thoughtful expression. 'Ah! how about the Mondstadt hash browns, I could even try to make Razor's variant dish!'

Snapping your fingers you immediately went to the kitchens, mentally patting yourself on the back for going grocery shopping the day before. So like usual, in the comfort of your own apartment, you began to cook, then eat and clean up, before retiring to your bedroom, dozing off with a full stomach and a lazy smile.

Z z z. . .

"Huh?" You swat at your face before sneezing, immediately standing up as you felt something tickling your face, what fell from your face and onto your lap was a pristine white feather.

Immediately standing up, finding yourself out of bed, no, out of your own room and seemingly not even in your fucking city as you started at the environment before you. Lush, verdant grass that swayed with the winds. Birds chirping as they flew high and above your form, some scattering the same feathers that made you sneeze.

A wave of fear and confusion washed over you, you were afraid as you began to realize this wasn't a dream when you ran, and ran, and tripped. Part of your pajama pants had been ruined and vaguely you can feel the blood dripped down on your leg from your fresh injury.

Wincing you stand up, not bothering to look as it as you cried out, wondering, where the hell were you?

. . .

It probably took you a few hours to get your bearings, sitting by a tree as you hugged your knees and contemplated your existence, did you screw with some God or Rich Asshole and they decided to kidnap you and dump you in the middle of nowhere as revenge?

Nah, you were antisocial, so screwing with some rich guy was highly unlike with your lack of a social life. You bit your nails, was it God? "At least give me a sign of where I am!" you shout frustrated as you pulled at your locks.

"Ouch!" Wincing, you rubbed the top part of your head as something fell on it, the perpetrator was round, yellow and orange in color. Your eyes widened, silently grabbing it as you ignored the now dulling pain in your head. .

It was plump, fragrant. .

you bit it.

It tasted sweet.

you ignored the juice that dribbled down you chin as you nodded, yes, this was how you imagined Sunsettia's would taste like base on it's description.

you blinked, jaw dropping.

Sunsettias. .

fuck you were in Teyvat, basically Genshin Impact.

A part of you felt like you were screwed, considering how all of your worldly possessions were gone, and you were here in nothing but your pockets. One hand went to pat the pockets of your pajamas. .

Eyes lighting up as you felt something, pulling that item out, you were speechless as your hand simply held an old expired coupon for some ramen. . .

screwed it is then.

🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯🥖🍞🥐🥨🥪🥯

I need to find a banner to use for the series, also also although I put in Baker, the reader will also make dishes, both from in-game and in real lifeee so if you want a particular dish featured in a future chapter, add the recommended dish in my ASKS so it can be a surprise for other readers! Please also add information about that dish since I may most likely not be familiar with themm