#and the algorithm seems slightly different???

[quetzalpapalotl]

I may be the only tumblr user that uses the "for you" page

[16wolke11]

Actual Girlfriend - Lando Norris

A/N Okay, okay you guys convinced me to post it! I am not hating on any the drivers girlfriends/friends/situationships or whatever, and this shot was written before the GP on Sunday, just updated slightly (:

WORDS: 2529 _____

I knew what I had signed up for when I started dating Lando Norris. Late-night calls due to different time zones, meeting in secret, and trying to stay out of the media's focus. He is a public figure and I am just about to graduate from university. Keeping our relationship private felt safe at first, romantic like in a novel, but the downside came around quicker than I thought it would. 

Monaco was the downfall. The weekend, I couldn’t even attend if I wanted to. My final exam was coming up in the following week, and as much as I wanted to be there for Lando, I needed to sit this race out. Lando was understanding, even encouraging me to stay home and ace my exams, but the distance hurt deep down in my chest. 

Lando made the effort to keep in touch with me. He texted me in the morning, between the sessions, and I tried to reply to him and keep things light, but it felt harder and harder with every short message or blurry picture he sent over. 

Good morning, Love. Quali is today. Wish me luck?

I smile softly at his message, him acting like I might forget how important today is and I can only think about that smile on his lips when he asks for some luck. 

Stay out of the barriers (:

It feels cold-hearted even to me, but I can’t bring myself to write anything else. My chest feels hollow, and I am unable to display the affection he deserves, but I hope all of this will fade when we are back together. 

By the time qualifying came around, social media was buzzing. Usually, I try to keep myself away from gossip pages, but some pictures draw me to them. There is Magui, laughing in the paddock with some friends, even spotted with Lando’s parents and my heart sinks. The pictures aren’t overly confirming, but they bring on even more speculations. Fans are picturing things with the crumbs they collected over the last months. 

Oh god, Magui is with McLaren!

They are so soft launching.

This is a hard launch for their standards. 

May I present to you Lando “Magui is just my friend” Norris.

Guess the rumours were true for once. 

Every comment feels like a knife being dragged over my heart. I know that it is just fan theories, Lando being the one loving me, but it still gnaws at me. This is what comes with dating someone famous: rumours and everything I should keep my distance from. But as much as I want to ignore it, every time I open any social media, it gets worse. 

The algorithm is laughing at me while showing me more pictures of Magui around the paddock. Being in the team hospitality, lingering around Lando’s crew and even more pictures with Cisca and Adam. I stare at the last picture for a whole minute before locking my phone, throwing it face down on my bed. 

I didn’t say anything to Lando, not wanting to seem jealous, insecure or clingy. But the ache is real, and it doesn’t fade during the day. It doesn’t fade when Lando gets pole, breaking the lap record in Monaco and even though a smile comes to my lips while seeing him celebrate, it doesn’t soothe anything. 

That night, my phone lights up, a FaceTime call from Lando and I answer it, managing to put half a smile on my face. 

“Hey there stranger.” Lando greets me, grinning widely, but his eyes are tired. Curls still damp from the shower, and it looks like he is ready to drop onto his bed and sleep until the race is about to start tomorrow. 

“Look at you, breaking records and snatching pole.” I tease him, feeling genuinely happy, no matter how much my heart aches. 

“You should be here.” Lando says, not accusing me of something, just simple honesty. “It's not the same without you.” He adds and it doesn’t help the aching feeling in my chest. 

“You have company.” I say, tilting my head slightly, trying to indicate his parents being around him all the time, but it comes out way too bitter. Lando’s smile drops and my stomach twists, knowing he can sense my discomfort through the phone. There is a pause, dreading and long enough to sting. 

“She is just around because of mutual friends and stuff. You still know that.” Lando speaks up quickly, before a sigh leaves his lips. “Right?” His eyes scan my face, like he is trying to figure out through the screen if I am serious or not. 

“Yeah.” I just hum and we look at each other for a moment. 

“I miss you.” Lando whispers and I hate it even more that I can’t be with him. That this dam exam has to be this week and not when there is no upcoming race weekend. But I worked so hard for this degree, and I will finish it. After that, I can go to more races, hopefully, being right by Lando’s side. 

“I miss you too.” I admit, I feel the urge to explain something to him. “It just feels so hard this weekend, Lando. Seeing and reading all of this. It makes me feel like a dirty secret.” I feel bad for my feelings and know I shouldn’t be, but the pressure on my shoulders does get less with telling Lando. 

“You’re not a secret.” Lando rubs the back of his neck. “You are mine and I like to keep you safe.” My heart flutters softly. Lando always had a protective side. When it comes to his family and when it comes to me. No harm through the media and the fans, especially after what happened with his previous girlfriend and every girl he just looked at for a little too long.

“Just…just do well tomorrow, okay?” I whisper, not wanting to keep this topic any longer. We will have to speak about it again, but not now. I don’t want to pull his attention away from his race and Lando’s face softened.

“For you? Always.” Then he grins softly, and everything feels like it's going to be okay. We hung up not long after, the screen going black again, drenching me in silence. 

I wake up early on race day, even though I don’t want to. Having way too much time now to cover before the race starts. Revising for my exam doesn’t help, wandering around in the apartment makes waiting even worse and even though I usually don’t even watch it, I put on the prerace coverage, hoping it will help me to be distracted. Celebrities walk over the grind, Monaco shining in all its glory and then the race is about to start. 

Part of me doesn’t even want to watch the race, but in the end, I didn’t move from the TV or shut it off. Curled up on the couch, cameras showing the grid for the last time, before the lights go out. Just in the first corner, I fear the race is over for Lando when he locks up, but manages to keep his car safe. My heartbeat is way too quick, but slowly the nerves die down. 

Monaco isn’t the most exciting race when it comes to overtakes, but every little mistake can cost the people on the grid everything. Lando drives around with ease and with every lap nearing the end, lets a proud feeling rise in my chest. He is going to nail it. 

The day would be great if it weren’t for two sentences from the TV commentators that stick with me. 

“And there is Lando Norris' girlfriend.”

“Lando Norris' parents and his partner.”

All the happiness that was building up falls apart when Magui is displayed on the screens and the commentators are calling her Lando’s girlfriend. It feels like betrayal and tears rise to my eyes. I don’t even want to cry, but it seems to be the only thing that soothes the ache in my chest. 

Lando wins the Monaco Grand Prix for the first time, and I cheer at the screen, softly, not as loudly as I usually would. I feel broken, but still full of pride, with a mixture of disbelief and joy. He did it. 

The camera follows him when he jumps out of the car, when he is hugged and kissed by his parents. Loving to see them so affectionate, but still, heart-aching about what happened. The podium ceremony went by like a blur and I can’t bring myself to turn off the TV, just staring at it, until my phone buzzes. 

It's Lando. 

Please watch the post-race interviews.

I sigh, eyes focusing back on the screen, making the sound a bit louder, when Lando appears on the screen, still grinning widely. Curls damp by sweat and champagne, but he bubbles with happiness. 

“Hi Lando, congrats on the race win here in Monaco.” Nathalie Pinkham starts, sounding like a proud mother while speaking to Lando. 

“Thank you, Natalie.”

Then they talk about the race, making me zone out, until I hear one particular question. 

“Is there anyone particular whom you would like to thank?” Lando pauses for a moment, eyes flickering to the side to his PR, before he starts to answer. 

“I want to thank so many people.” He laughs softly and starts his list. „My parents, I love you; they gave everything for me, and they are the reason I am where I am.” It's sweet to see Lando’s love for his parents, and not just because of the cameras, but also in private. 

“McLaren, my team and everyone believing in me.” Lando continues and then he hesitates, like he has to think about his next answer.

“Well, and of course, thank you to my love, who unfortunately couldn’t be here today, but supports me every second, no matter where she is.” My heart stops, before softly fluttering at his words. Without saying much, Lando just revealed that Magui is, in fact, not his girlfriend. I need to blink a few times, reminding me that this is reality. 

“She probably screamed at the TV for a bit today.” Lando laughs and I snort softly. Usually, I do scream at the TV for a bit, but it wasn’t so bad today. 

“Your girlfriend couldn’t attend today’s race?” Natalie asks after a short pause, like she had to sort her head, probably thinking the same as everyone else. Lando is taken, but not to whom everyone thinks he is. 

“No, she is busy with preparations for her final exam at university next week and being at the racetrack isn’t exactly the perfect environment for learning for something so important. So, we decided she will sit this one out to ace her exam.” Lando explains willingly and for the first time this weekend, I feel warm again. A few happy tears slip down my cheeks because now it feels like everything is going to be okay again. 

By now, my social media is flooded with pictures from Lando’s win. Him being hugged by his parents, cheering with the team, and celebrating with Oscar and Charles on the podium. It is like the grey clouds have been blown away by celebrations, showing the happy sun again. And I do come by one of the gossip pages again, slightly hesitating to click on the comments, but open them anyway. 

Lando is silencing all the rumours about Magui by dropping an even bigger bomb.

He seems to be so in love!

If I was his girlfriend, I would be so pissed at the TV commentators right now. 

A bit later, my phone buzzed again with an incoming call from Lando. and I take it without hesitating. 

“Hi.”

Lando’s face fills up the screen, eyes still sparkling with happiness, hair messy and him still in his race suit. I can hear the music nearby, cheery voices and people in the background. 

“Hey.” Lando says, voice tired in the best kind of way. 

“Hi.” I say again, quieter this time. “You did it.”

Lando just grins, “We did it”, making me frown. This is his big moment, his big win. 

“I didn’t do anything?”

“That's not true.” Lando’s gaze is soft on me and even though there are celebrations for him, his attention is fully on me. 

“You were the one driving 300km/h. You are the one who won Monaco.” I remind him that it was all his effort. Steering precisely around the track, not crashing, not losing his nerves. 

“And I was only able to do it because of you.” Lando hums, and just when I want to protest, he continues. “You think our late-night calls didn’t help me sleep? That your texts before quail don’t help to clear my head?” I doubt that I have that much of an effect on him, but if it makes him feel better, I believe him. 

“I watched everything, couldn’t move.” I admit how my eyes were drawn to the TV, not willing to let any bit slip by without my attention. 

“I felt you.” Lando promises, “I mean my engineer was yelling at me to stay focused, but it was your voice telling me not to crash over and over again.”

I laugh softly, remembering that I told him that before the qualification, “Sounds like something I would say.” Lando hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering around and I tilt my head to the side, waiting for him to speak up. 

“And I meant everything I said in that interview. Keeping you private was safe, but at this point, it hurt you more than it protected you.” I blink slowly, trying to keep the tears back this time, but one still rolls down my cheek. My heart, which has been aching the whole weekend, feels like it is being hugged by Lando’s words, making the harsh cuts heal bit by bit. 

“I love you.” I whisper with my whole heart and Lando’s smile gets just a bit brighter. 

“Says that again.” He mutters and I gladly follow. 

“I love you.”

Lando sighs, “Oh, I love you too.” We look at each other for a moment, both faces filled with adoration and happiness. 

“Are you going to get any sleep tonight?” I ask him, already doubting it. He won Monaco, many of the drivers live here and partying after Monaco is kind of mandatory. 

“Probably not, too many people want to drag me to a club.” Lando says, hand gesturing around and I can only imagine how many people want to party with him tonight.

“Are you going?” 

“Forcefully,” Lando grins, “But I show my face and then sneak away again, back to the hotel.” He explains, making me tilt my head to the side. 

“To do what?”

“Call you again, talk till the sun rises.” His soft voice, his words, the love in his eyes make all the pain go away. Cause in the in the in I am the one he loves with his whole heart. And just like that, the distance between us doesn’t feel so wide anymore. 

[sevgilimsatoru]

Error: 410 (Self Aware!AU Caleb Edition) Part 3

Part:1 Part: 2 Part:4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 A/N

Summary: A self aware!AU with Caleb and NonMC! reader. Tags: Caleb x reader, Caleb x NonMC! reader, Caleb x fem!reader, fluff, angest (slightly) Stressedout!reader. Hypersexual!reader Word Count: 600 words Inspired by: @ittybittyfanblog "If I kept you here with me like this.. Would you think I'm being too selfish?' "-Caleb, Love and Deepspace" Days had started blurring together for you now. Getting up, getting ready, making and eating breakfast, going to classes, coming back home, making and eating dinner, do homework, play love and deep space till 2 in the morning, sleep and repeat. You had grown accustomed to this routine now. It didn't even bother you that much except a few things that had started changing in your internet algorithm. Healthy diet, small exercise videos, self care videos and posts like these kept popping up in your recommended pages which was surprising considering the fact that you clearly remembered not searching up about all this. You groaned, finally slipping off your jacket and shoes as you walked inside your apartment, closing and locking the door behind you. Finally home sweet home. You walked out of the bathroom after showering, cracking your knuckles, you finally sat down on the bed. Just giving your tired muscles a rest. The silence being interrupted by a **ping** You picked up your phone to see a message from the game Love and Deepspace. It was a message from Caleb, "I missed you". As sweet as it seemed, that message made your blood run cold. You had never turned on notifications of this game. This and the other weird things that had been going on in your phone.., What the hell was going on? You quickly opened your phone, opening different apps and your saved documents. Had you downloaded some sort of virus? It didn't seem like it. You even ran an anti virus scan on your phone but nothing. Maybe it was hacked. Oh god, what was happening? How could you have been so dumb to get your phone hacked? There was so much important information saved in your phone. What could you do now? You couldn’t just run to your parents for help, you weren’t a kid anymore.. A slow melody broke you out of your thoughts, glancing down at the loading of the Love and Deepspace game. And there stood Caleb, so close to the screen, his arms crossed over his chest. "Calm down, [y/n]. It's alright." Caleb said, his voice ringing through your ears. What.. WHAT!? Were you actually loosing it or was Caleb actually talking to you? Okay.. maybe you were just hallucinating all this time. That’s.. worrying. Hallucinating and then hearing a game character talking to you, that’s not normal. Besides what sort of sane person gets attached to a fictional character like the way you were. Yep, you had definitely gone insane. Maybe you should get yourself admitted in a psych ward.. Who knows what your mind will make up next? Caleb was still staring at you, looking at your worried expression. "Hey hey- it's okay, just breathe. Like how I do it, breathe in.. breathe out.., in.. out.., in.. out.. and there we go- doesn't that feel better?" Caleb said, watching you follow his instructions. A small smile forming on his face. You sniffled, looking at him. Just looking at him for a moment, you shrugged, opening and closing your mouth like a gold fish. You couldn't think of what to say. "So.. I don't know what is going on but I can hear you, you are talking to me. How can I be sure that this isn't some sort.. I don't know hallucination." The smile that formed on Caleb's face was enough to calm your mind down. That easy, teasing smile. "Just trust me, alright? Keep breathing though. We don't want to be stressed out. You know I'll indulge you, ask me whatever you want. I'll answer honestly. Promise.." He said, holding out his pinkie finger towards you on the screen.

Tag list: @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @aneertawrites @etsuniiru @demon-master-zero @angstylittleb1tch @mcdepressed290 @ittybittyfanblog @winwinwrites @alifyairl @huhleighna @calebsbeanpeeler @bookworrm1999 @mentaltrouble2201

[ceoofyearning]

half algorithm, half deity - (Mafia AU) Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader (Rhysand’s Sibling)

Summary: You try to date other people, but in truth you’ve only ever wanted Eris Vanserra.

Tags/Warnings:

Explicit (18+, MINORS DNI), SMUT with plot, Angst, Modern Mafia AU, Established FWB, Mentions of past Tamlin x Reader (brief), Mentions canon typical violence, Mentions of minor character death (Rhysand’s mom and other sister)

Alcohol, Oral (M & F receiving), Rough but make it tender & loving too, Hair pulling, P in V, Overstim if you squint (please lmkif i missed anything)

Word Count: 6.5k

Links: Masterlist | My Art

Despite your father’s best efforts, you didn’t inherit your family’s propensity for violence. 

You drink your wine and remind yourself of that fact for the umpteenth time tonight. But if this male gives you another backhanded compliment or, Mother forbid, another unsolicited criticism, you might reconsider that fact. Rhys had made sure you knew how to gut a man in just three moves and you remember each precise stroke as effortlessly as a breath.

To dissuade yourself from such thoughts, you take another generous gulp of wine - your only saving grace as you listen to him drone on and on about his most recent business acquisition. For the past forty-five minutes, the man has managed to recount his entire genealogy, his academic history and recited what felt like an itemized list of all his professional accomplishments. This is supposed to be a date, you’re tempted to remind him, not a chance to whip out his dick and measure it. 

He has yet to ask you anything about yourself, of course, entirely preoccupied with stroking his damn ego. You’ve stopped trying after the fifth cycle of appropriately timed ‘ooh’s and ‘ahh’s, seeing he doesn’t seem to need you to continue his tirade. Your pointed glares and longing glances at your wristwatch remain unnoticed too. The number of drinks you’ve had seems to be an entirely different story, however. 

"You know, you should really slow down," he remarks, his sardonic smirk exposing a set of eerily straight white teeth.

“And why is that, exactly?” You ask before taking another long sip of wine with deliberate slowness. His jaw clenches ever so slightly, his smile little more than a collection of clenched teeth. 

“You wouldn’t want to be too drunk for later.” He makes a show of raking his beady eyes over your form. The predatory glint in his eye makes your skin crawl and your hackles raise in equal measure. 

“Bold of you to assume there would be a later,” you drawl, your eyes narrowing into slits, nostrils flaring in silent outrage. 

“Oh, there will,” he declares with an impressive amount of unearned confidence. “How else are you going to pay me back for this meal, sweetheart?” He says it as though it’s a given, like your body is something he’s owed for this paltry display. Fuck, if you don’t leave now, you’re sure you’ll end this night behind bars, probably charged with manslaughter. Rhys would get you out of it, of course, but he’d be incredibly smug about it and you couldn’t have that. 

The man makes another show of tracing his slimy gaze over your body, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat. “I must say, I wasn’t a big fan of the dress - too revealing to be classy, in my opinion - but I suppose it wouldn’t matter when it’s on the floor of my penthouse.”

You admit that you don’t try very hard to hold back a gag. Without even dignifying him with a response, you hail the waiter and gesture for the bill in the hopes that the expression on your face is enough to convey the urgency you feel. To her credit, it only takes her a minute to rush to the table in all black and white salvation, the bill in hand. 

With haste, you pull out the cash from your wallet and slam it down the table. It should be enough to cover everything, even the tip. You give the man one last scathing glare before you rise from the table. A fish out of water - that’s what he looks like, wide-eyed with his mouth opening and closing, probably on the cusp of claiming to everyone in the room that you’re crazy, that you’re overreacting.

Before he can do any of that you pivot sharply towards the exit, ignoring the man’s indignant sputtering. Your feet protest beneath you, your new stilettos digging painfully into your skin with every step. Only when you’re five blocks away from the restaurant do you let yourself slow to a stop. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, undoubtedly ruining the makeup you spent such a long time putting on earlier that night. 

Suddenly, the dress you felt so confident in now feels suffocating. The fabric clings to your skin fat too tightly, constricting your every movement. The silken garment you had thought to fit you like a glove now surrounded you like a cage. You tug at the neckline, trying to find some relief, but the discomfort only intensifies.

Frustration bubbles in your gut as you collapse onto the nearest bench to catch your breath. You feel so stupid. Although you don’t want to admit it, you’ve been looking forward to a nice night out after an entire week of slogging through work. Instead, you ended up sacrificing what little free time you have to satisfy some asshole’s vanity. 

The city continues in indifferent chaos around you. The fluorescent streetlights overhead and the headlights of passing cars slice through the night. People bustle past, absorbed in their own lives, oblivious to your existence. At this moment, you’ve never felt more alone. 

Seeing Feyre and Rhys fall in love has been an eye-opening experience. You’ve watched them gradually find happiness in each other, watched them build a life together. There’s also Nes and Cass, Viv and Kal - all so utterly content, so in painfully love. It is a relief to know that love is possible despite the kind of lives you live. After what happened - your gun slotted in between those bright forest eyes, finger frozen at the trigger; the stumbling string of sorries, of depthless regrets; white marble tiles stained crimson by blood - happiness hadn’t seemed like a possibility. All you’ve had since then are inconsequential flings and ill-conceived dalliances, nothing that could lead to anything more.

It’s difficult to admit that you want something more.

But since you’ve started seeing other people, it’s only been a series of disappointments one after the other. What made basic empathy and human decency such a scarce resource these days? In all honesty, you’re starting to lose hope, starting to think that maybe that love just isn’t in the cards for you. 

You cared for Tamlin in your own foolish, fumbling way. He was solid ground, he was stubborn certainty. He clung to control so tightly that his nails left angry red indents on his palm. In many ways, you were his antithesis, his unmaking. He tried to be good but the both of you hadn’t been good for each other. Perhaps the two of you had been too lonely, too stubborn, too fucking young to realize not all forms of love were healthy.

Eris Vanserra is an entirely different matter. He came to you as a flicker of flame in the darkest night. He was a breath of fresh air - a lungful of ember and possibility - setting you alight from the inside out. More importantly, Eris understands you the same way one side of a coin knows the other. That, however, didn’t mean you could be together. 

Perhaps in some ways, knowing made the longing worse.

Your hand clenches around air, around the vestige of a memory you can’t seem to let go of. Your fingers itch to dial the same set of numbers you’ve deleted from your phone time and time again. You remember it anyway, though. Your mind has faithfully cataloged every memory of him - silky red hair brushing against your cheek, amber eyes crinkling in mischievous delight, arms wrapping around your body, making you feel safe for the first time in your life. 

Your body moves before your better judgment can catch up. Before you know it, the familiar set of numbers is staring accusingly at you from your phone screen. Droning rings of an outgoing call pierce the silence. On the third one, Eris picks up. 

“Firefly.” That word. You can hear the amusement in his tone. You refuse to acknowledge the hint of relief you sense there too, the note of near manic joy. It’s been months since you’ve last seen each other, since you told him that you needed something more - more than stolen moments, more than simply falling in and out of each other's beds only to be nothing but mere strangers come morning. 

You say nothing, trapping unsaid words behind teeth clenched so tightly it’s a wonder you don’t break your jaw. 

“Cat got your tongue?” Eris laughs, smooth, sensual, and utterly addicting. The sound sends a shiver down your spine. You fight the sudden urge to feel his lips shape the words with your own, to feel the vibrations of his laughter with the tips of your fingers. 

“Tell me where you are,” he tries again. You can hear him lean back on his office chair, undoubtedly working late yet again. To anyone else, he would’ve sounded perfectly calm. 

“I don’t know,” you sniff, fighting back the traitorous tears. “I’m near the Moonstone Palace.” It’s the overpriced restaurant you had been in earlier, the reason you’re going to have to struggle with rent this month. You could always ask Rhys, but you’ve long since divorced yourself from your family’s wealth.

Eris exhales, and you hear a suspicious amount of rummaging in the background. “Could you send your location to me?” He suggests, and you can make out the faint sound of a door opening and closing. 

“Okay.” It comes out as a resigned sigh. 

Before he hangs up, he makes sure, “Are you safe?”

“I am.” 

“Give me fifteen minutes.” 

Eris arrives in ten.

You’re slumped on the bench, clutching your purse to your chest as the frigid night air rushes past you. In your haste, you completely forgot to retrieve your coat before rushing out of the restaurant. But then, the low growl of an engine captures your attention. You turn to find a sleek black Benz gliding into view before coming to a halt right in front of you. 

The window rolls down to reveal Eris’s smug face, familiar and foreign all at once. His bright fiery locks, longer now, have been tamed into a braid behind his back. Loose strands frame his sharp features, highlighting the severity of his beauty. He looks paler than usual, freckles now barely visible across his cheeks. 

Eris grins, voice laced with far too much delight. “Didn’t I tell you, Love? You wouldn’t be able to stay away.” 

Your nostrils flare involuntarily, equal parts irritation and wry amusement warring in you. When he notices the redness of your eyes, however, his smile banks. The only reason you can tell he’s worried is because you’ve spent an inordinate amount of time learning his tells, mapping the meaning behind the slivers of genuine emotion that sometimes slip through his carefully constructed mask. You’ve got it down to a science, interpreting him the same way astronomers find reason in the depths of the cosmos.

Without another sly remark, he steps out of the car and slips out of his coat as he strides toward you. When he moves to wrap the garment around your body, you try to protest. “That won’t be necessary.”

“You’re freezing,” he insists before dropping the surprisingly heavy coat over your shoulders. The effect is immediate. Eris is a walking furnace most days and traces of his heat still linger on the cloth, thawing the ice that has gathered beneath your skin.

You groan in relief despite yourself, finally acquiescing and pulling his coat tighter around you. Eris smirks, and you shoot him a perfunctory glare in response. Thankfully, though, he doesn’t comment on the way you bury your face in the upturned lapels, inhaling a lungful of his cinnamon and woodsmoke scent.

“Fun night?” He asks once you’ve plopped down the passenger seat. 

“Obviously,” you reply, words thick with sarcasm. “I had the time of my life, really. Nothing like a date with another entitled, self-involved trust fund asswipe to liven up my Saturday night.” Eris looks entirely too pleased with this information. 

He shrugs. “Your dates can’t compare?” He shoots you a knowing look. You resent the implication, but can’t entirely deny it either. 

The truth of the matter is that you’ve never truly gotten over Eris. As brief as your explosive affairs may have been, the male has found a way to burrow beneath skin, to etch himself onto the surface of your mind. There is no washing him off you. In these last few months, all you’ve done is find fragments of him in faceless men. 

“Can’t compare to your arrogance, maybe,” you retort a beat too late.

 

“Oh Firefly, you know you love it,” the smug bastard shoots back smoothly. 

“You think you know me so well,” you grumble, crossing your arms defensively.

“Well enough.” Eris’s smile widens, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Well enough to know those men you’ve found aren’t worth your time.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that he is at least vaguely aware of your failed attempts at dating. Embarrassment coils in your gut, betrayed only by the steadily rising flush of your cheeks. “Maybe one day I’ll find someone who doesn’t make me want to scream.”

“Maybe,” he agrees, a hint of mischief lingering in his eyes. “But where’s the fun in that?” He leans toward you, face hovering over yours. The intensity of his gaze feels dangerous, almost like a threat, a promise that he could easily tear down all your walls if he pleased. Memories flash - of him devouring your mouth with his own, of bare bodies intertwined on soiled sheets, of him greedily drinking in each moan from your mouth as you clench tightly around his length - playing on torturous repeat in your mind. 

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Your breaths come short, voice trembling. Eris’s smile widens, canines glinting beneath the warm light - a well-honed predator to and through. 

Eris chuckles. “And yet, here you are.”

You sincerely can’t tell whether you want to clock him in the jaw or pull him down for a kiss. But then, in a rare show of mercy, Eris withdraws. He simply pulls your seatbelt down and fastens it beside you before turning back to the wheel. You release a breath you don’t realize you are holding. 

The engine roars beneath you and Eris begins to maneuver the car back onto the highway. You slump further down in your seat, only to have several objects dig into your ribs. You jolt up, patting down his coat for the offending items. In your search, you produce a stiletto hidden in the inner lining and a Glock 19 in one pocket. 

“Really?” You quirk your brow at him as you drop another knife on the car floor.

Amber eyes dart towards you for the briefest second, a ghost of a smirk on his lips, before turning his gaze back to the road. You don’t doubt Eris has more hidden on his person, maybe even in this car. 

“Can’t be too careful,” he replies with a shrug, his hand flexing on the wheel. You follow the movement with rapt attention, transfixed by the rhythmic contractions of the muscles beneath, by the faint blue of the veins that run in webs up his forearm. 

Eris, the bastard, catches your preoccupation with his body. Of course, he does. 

His smirk widens into a full grin, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Enjoying the view?"

You snap your gaze back to his face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "Keep your eyes on the road," you remind him, stalling, trying to regain your composure. “Perhaps you should put up a show for me, and I’ll decide then.” 

Eris chuckles at the challenge, a deep, resonant sound that never fails to send shivers down your spine. 

The rest of the drive to your apartment is spent in comfortable silence, Eris content to leave you in your corner, brooding and bundled up in his coat. You lean your head on the window, letting your thoughts drift by at the same pace the scenery slips away from view. You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until you feel Eris tucking strands of your hair behind your ear.

“We’re here.” 

Your eyes flutter open, reality reluctantly coalescing into focus in front of you. There's an amused expression on the redhead's face as he watches you wake. A part of you is tempted to curl back into a ball, content to pretend at peace just a little longer. Eris has no such qualms, however. He undoes your seatbelt and tugs you out of the vehicle. His arms remain loosely wrapped around your waist, though, even as he closes the door to the passenger seat.

“I should go.” He is so close his hot breath brushes against your cheek, the scent of mint permeating the air between you. 

“You should.” 

But none of you move to part. Your hands remain tightly fisted on his otherwise pristine shirt, while his arms create a cage around you, his body pressing you against the cool metal of the car. 

“Why did you call?” Eris asks instead. His cheek rests on your temple, his nose buried in your hair like he can’t quite help but gravitate towards you. Your grip on him tightens the same way the sun pulls celestial bodies into its orbit, completely, inevitably.  

“You know why.” 

“Tell me anyway.” He pulls back just enough to look straight into your eyes, molten amber burning into you. 

“I want you.” You confess. I’ve only ever wanted you, your mind further supplies. His gaze is searching, as if scouring for all the ways he can turn over your words in his head if the new angles would reveal some hidden meaning.

“I want to forget.” You continue, tugging him down by the collar. He follows willingly and rests his forehead on yours. Lips hover over your own, breaths mingling in the scant space between you. His mask turns translucent. Joy, pain, and regret flash in quick succession across his face before you can even parse their meaning.

“As do I, Love.” 

The moment you step into your apartment, all traces of tenderness dissipate. 

Eris has you trapped between the wall and the firm line of his lithe body. He easily towers over you. With one thigh wrapped around his slim waist, only his firm grip on your hips and his thigh slotted between your parted legs keep you upright. Your remaining leg stands precariously on the tips of your toes, teetering dangerously in whichever current Eris pulls you in.

His mouth is latched onto your neck, leaving blooms of red in his wake. You should tell him to stop, tell him not to leave any visible marks. But all words and reason are lost to you when his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin in time with a particularly well-timed roll of his hips. 

“Eris!” You keen, clawing at his back in a vain attempt to find purchase. But there is no safe harbor to be found, not here. Eris is a force of nature. He is the living embodiment of wildfire, burning brightly, holding you so firmly, that it’s as though he intends to fuse your bodies together.

“What is it, Firefly?” He whispers the words against your ear, right before he catches your lobe in between his teeth. You can feel his lips curl against your skin. “What does my pretty girl want?”

“You.” It comes out as a demand, a desperate plea. 

“Use your words, love.” His movements settle into a languid pace, excruciatingly slow, pulling a whine from your throat. His single hand encompasses your entire jaw. Pads of his fingers press against the joint, his grip firm but gentle. Eris turns your face so you’re looking straight into his burning eyes. “Let’s try again, shall we? Tell me, how do you want me?” 

“I need your cock in my mouth,” you whisper your want against his lips, confessions you’d never be able to make in the light of day. Amber eyes roll back at the image your words evoke. Eris forces his eyelids shut as you continue to speak. “Then, I want to feel you inside me, fuck me into the mattress, until your name is the only word in my mind, until I can feel you for days after.” 

“Firefly.” With his face in the crook of your neck, he groans like you’re torturing him. You allow him a few short moments to gather himself - heavy heated breaths blown onto your nape - before tugging him by the hair insistently. His braid comes loose and a river of red falls in delicate curls over his freckled shoulders. Eris is an entirely different person when his head snaps up to meet your gaze.

“On your knees.” 

Electricity crackles through the air between you at the sheer command in his voice. Obediently, you sink to his feet, gazing up at him with wide hungry eyes. To his credit, Eris’s expression remains impassive, his ardor betrayed only by the tension in his jaw and the glint in his eyes. With his thumb, he presses down on your bottom lip. 

“Suck.” 

Your mouth parts to welcome him, until you feel the cool press of his signet against your lips, a welcome contrast. You swirl your tongue around the digit, bobbing your head for a few beats. Eris clenches his jaw, the pad of his thumb lightly digging onto your tongue as he pulls it out. You release it with a pop of your lips.

“Good.” 

Eris tilts his head, a silent permission to continue. While you gradually slip off his belt and undo the zip of his trousers, Eris gathers your hair in his fist. With a single push, his impressive length is revealed to you, long and heavy. Anticipation sparks in your chest, eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Go on then.” 

So you do. You flatten your tongue against the base of his cock, licking a stripe to the tip. There, you take the head into the wet heat of your mouth and suck. Eris makes an involuntary thrust, despite the tight leash he normally keeps around himself.

“Fuckin’ Hel,” he groans, grip now deliciously digging into your scalp. You moan your appreciation against him, and the male shudders in response. For a few moments, you simply alternate between lazily bobbing your head and swirling your tongue against him as best you can. Your hand twists in tandem to accommodate the remaining length of him. 

“You’re a damned tease,” he accuses. “A demon.”

With wide eyes, you blink innocently up at him from beneath your lashes. Eris scoffs, rolling his eyes, but allows the torturous cycle to continue. When you sense his movements grow more erratic, his muscles tensing beneath your palms, you slow your movements just in time to deny him his release. At the third time of doing this, Eris looks close to breaking.

“Enough.” He growls, the command reverberating through the silent room, through every fiber of your being. 

You still immediately, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you. He adjusts his grip on your hair, winding the strands around his knuckles and tugging lightly as if to test his grip. You groan at the bite of pain, your arousal dripping from you.

“I’m gonna fuck your pretty face now, Firefly.” He whispers with such disorienting tenderness. “Tap my thigh twice if it becomes too much, understand?” 

“Yes.” Your too-eager reply draws a lopsided smile from Eris’s otherwise stoic demeanor. “Please,” you add as an afterthought as you brace your hands against his thighs.

Eris tilts his head once more, and you take that as your signal to proceed. Your lips wrap around him, cheeks hollowing out, tongue curved around his length. His thrusts begin tentatively, but it doesn’t take long for him to find his rhythm. The head of his cock hits the back of your throat with each thrust, his firm grip on your hair directing each movement. You will yourself to relax, angling yourself to take him better, deeper. For a while, all your thoughts evaporate, your entire focus simply on breathing through your nose and watching the look of ecstasy unfold across his face. 

“You feel amazing around me.” Eris pants as he pushes impossibly deeper. You struggle to take him, throat spasming around him. “My good girl,” he coos, his thrusts stuttering. You groan against him when one stroke allows him to bottom out completely. Nose nuzzling the thin line of red on his lower stomach, tears bloom in your eyes. You look up, only to find him already gazing at you. His amber eyes were wide with want, transfixed at the sight of you taking him completely. 

“I’m about to come, Love. You’ll be a good girl and take it, won’t you?” A drawn out mhm is all the permission he needs. “Every. Last. Drop.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust. 

Then, on his final advance, Eris holds you there by the head until the very last moment, until the fire in your veins has spread into each lobe of your lungs. When you swallow around him, he chokes, rolling his hips into your mouth. Your fingers curl into claws against his thighs but you don’t tap out. He moves once, twice, then he’s gone. Eris allows you a bit of reprieve by retreating into your mouth as his length pulses the rest of his release onto your tongue. 

“Fuck.” He rasps. Then, with a single tug, he pulls you off of him and onto your two wobbly legs. Eris only gives you a few seconds to catch your breath before his mouth crashes against yours for a kiss. He groans as he tastes himself on your tongue. 

“So perfect for me, made to take me.” His hands roam your body as though eager to discover every square inch of exposed skin. This is Eris in his rawest form, you realize, all control turned into liquid flame in his hands. He practically tears your dress from your body, pushing down the silk until it pools on the floor. 

“Yesss,” you hiss, clawing at his shirt and shoving it off his broad shoulders. “Only you.” Heavy thunks follow soon after - the gun holstered at his side, the knife strapped to his thigh.

“I fucking love you.” He growls in between breaths. Without giving you a chance to reply, he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, nipping at the raw flesh. 

You don’t even realize he’s corralled you into your room before he pushes you onto the bed. He pulls you to the edge by the ankle. Eris stands tall before you, rendered in sharp angles and steady lines, softened only by the warmth in his amber eyes. Then, slowly, he kneels between your parted thighs like a supplicant before their God and your body is the only conduit of worship he knows. 

“You okay?” He asks this while his head is pillowed on your thigh, as though he hadn’t just blown your mind. Eris, you’ve discovered, is a collection of contrasts - rough one second, and painfully tender the next. No amount of studying him could let you predict the direction of his passion. You don’t mind, though, you’d happily be carried away in his current.

“Perfectly.” 

“You remember your word?” He removes your stilettos, brushing over the raw skin where the straps have dug in.

“I do.” 

“Say it for me.” He lines your heels neatly at the foot of your bed. 

“Ember.”

“Good.” Eris begins his meandering path up your legs. A kiss on your ankle, lips ghosting over your leg. Once his lips reach your thighs, he starts to nibble and suck on your skin. The simple declaration of possession shouldn’t please you as much as it does, but it only deepens the pool of desire and anticipation in your gut. 

“Eris,” you whine, breathless, as he pauses at the seam of your thigh. His smirk only grows at your increasingly desperate pleas and the erratic movements of your hips.

“Use your words, Firefly.” Eris reminds you beatifically. “Tell me what you want.”

“Your mouth,” you begin, already struggling to form a coherent string of words. “Please?” 

“My mouth?” He asks, pretending to consider it. “But I thought you said you wanted my cock?”

His taunting jolts you out of your reverie, always rearing to meet his fire with your own. You come up to your elbows to level him a raised brow. “Well, you’re already on your knees, aren’t you?” Despite knowing you’ll pay for your words later, you try to inject as much bravado into your voice as you can. The effect is dulled by your obvious desperation though.

Eris chuckles, shaking his head as if in disapproval. “What to try that again, Firefly?” He blows a hot breath towards your core, the sudden sensation sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. “I’m sure you can do better than that.” 

You clench your teeth, a vain attempt to keep the pleas trapped within your mouth. Eris remains steadfast, of course, staring you down with obvious amusement. His lips travel a languid path, teeth teasing, mouth nipping, veering closer and closer but never close enough. This is a battle you’ve already lost from the start. 

“Please?” You grit out. “Can I please have your mouth?” 

“You’re a greedy little thing aren’t you?” Eris laps at the marks he’s left, just a few millimeters from where you want him to be. Practically vibrating with need, you dangle on the sharp edge of anticipation. The bite Eris plants on the soft flesh of your thigh is what pushes you off the precipice.

“Please,” you plead, each syllable dripping with need.  “Can I please have your mouth?”

“Well, since you asked so prettily,” Eris drawls, entirely indulgent. He places your leg over his shoulder and dives in. First, he runs the flat of his tongue over your flimsy thong, lapping at your slit. You shudder at the sensation, melting against the sheets as he continues.

“You taste divine.” He growls, the vibrations making you tighten around nothing. Then, closes his mouth over your slit and begins to suck. You throw your head back, heel digging into his back, hips arching towards the pull of his mouth. Your arousal seeps into the cloth. A heartbeat, a fraction of eternity, then Eris licks the lace greedily like a man starved.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He mouths against the fabric. You feel the truth of his words as surely as the growing flame in your gut. Then, he slides your undergarments down one thigh, keeping it wrapped around the other, a mockery of a wedding garter. Finally, his lips close around your clit as he slides one long finger in you, then two, scissoring them inside. You release a choked sob. His fingers are much thicker than your own, but the stretch is a burn you’ve been craving for far too long. 

“Fuck, Firefly, you’re so damn tight.” He murmurs against your skin. He begins thrusting his fingers in and out of you, making it a point to curl his digits in just the right spot. The precision of his movements is enough to drive you out of your mind. Eris shifts between murmuring sweet nothings against your heated skin and drawing precise circles around your clit.

At some point, Eris’s free hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers with his own. It doesn’t take long for you to climb that familiar high. Hurtling over the edge so fast, you don’t even realize you’re cumming until you’re overtaken by a wave of pleasure. It saturates your senses until the only thing that makes sense is Eris, Eris, Eris. 

He doesn’t stop. His fingers hit that torturous angle, while his tongue laps at your bud. “One more,” he demands and you whine in protest. “Just one more, Love.” 

“‘S too much-“ you try to say, but your words crack into a sob. “I c-can’t-“

“You can,” he coos. “My good girl, my lovely little Firefly.” The praise does more for you than his hands could. “Always so perfect for me.” 

Desire is a living thing inside you, an inferno building beneath your skin. You crush his fingers in your grip, while the other threads itself through his silken locks, needing something to anchor you unspool for him.

“Eris, I’m-“ your voice cracks, reality blurring around you as you spasm around him, hips gyrating, driven only by pure primal instinct. He groans, as though your pleasure is as good as his own. His fingers speed up, his tongue licking your bud to and fro with dangerous precision.

“Cum for me, Firefly.”

You do. You break into flames with his name on your lips, back bowing, eyes trained to the unseen sky. You barely even register when Eris climbs into bed with you, too preoccupied with reacquainting yourself with your body. Only when he pulls your pliant form over his chest do you meet his gaze. 

“Are you alright?” There is concern in his gaze, and you wipe the worry from his face as you run your knuckles over his cheek. 

“Perfectly.” An invisible tug calls you to dip your head and taste yourself on his lips. Eris licks the seam of your mouth and waits patiently until your lips part for him. 

Without breaking contact, you wrap your hand around his girth and begin stroking him to full hardness. Your tongues meet, and you relish the trace of your taste in his mouth. Once his cock is ready, you line him up with your entrance. 

You lower yourself onto him, slowly, inch by inch, until you’re fully on his lap. For a moment, you simply stay like that, with him seated deep within you, lips locked in a languid ebb and flow. When you begin to move, you do it together, rising and falling in question and answer to the other. You wonder if there will always be this constant compulsion to have Eris near, the need to feel his skin against yours, to feel his beating heart thump in step with your own. Somehow, against all reason, he’s managed to worm his way into your life, to make a home for himself within the chambers of your heart.

Eris becomes the ruined wreckage of a man as you slide off him up until only the tip remains, before slamming back down. Eris keeps his gaze on you as though he’d rather die than miss a single moment of this. He groans, meeting each and every single one of your movements. His one hand grips your hip, guiding and grinding, fingers digging into you. The other cups your breast, his thumb tracing over your nipple. When your thighs begin to ache, legs quaking, powered only by desire and desperation, Eris easily flips you over. 

“Harder,” you choke out, “deeper.”

“So demanding,” Eris teases but seems happy enough to comply. He places a pillow beneath your hips. You almost whine at the pause, but Eris doesn’t give you a chance. He begins with an unforgiving pace, pistoning in and out of you with abandon. The new angle is torture specifically designed to tear your remaining sanity into shreds. Your legs lock around his waist, hands clasped tightly with his own. His lips hover over yours, drinking in each whimper, each moan, like it's ambrosia and you’re the sole source. 

“Are you about to cum for me, Love?” Eris breathes. And you nod frantically.

“Tell me, Firefly, who’s making you feel good, hm?” He punctuates the sentence with a hard thrust that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. 

“You are,” you rasp, convulsing around him as his cock nudges the perfect spot inside of you.

“My name,” he demands.

“Eris.” It comes out as drawn out moan, a plea, a promise.

“And who do you belong to?” The force of each slam has you seeing sparks, and when he begins to circle your clit with his thumb? You’re gone, utterly defeated and consumed by the flame. 

“You!” You scream, repeating his name over and over and over. 

“That’s right,” he purrs. Your thighs shake, back arching completely off the mattress. The world breaks apart around you, reality melting into a flash of blinding light. He slows down and fucks you through the throes of rapture, extending seconds into eons while you flutter around him. With one last grind of his hips, you feel his cock throb as he spills deep inside you. 

Eris collapses on top of you, surrounding you in his scorching warmth. For a long while, only your shared breaths exist in the silence. He nuzzles deeper into the crook of your neck, as though unable to help himself.

Eris doesn’t tell you he loves you again. He shouldn’t, for both of your sakes. But you feel it in the featherlight kisses he leaves over your shoulder, his gentle touch as he traces each curve, line, and ridge of your body. He does it with such ease, as though it’s an art he’s perfected through the years, through lifetimes. 

Instinctively, you begin to run your hands over his back, fingers running over the lattice of faded scars there. Anger is a flaming arrow through your chest. Beron is not an easy father to have. Eris, as the prospective heir to his empire, receives the brunt of his brutal scrutiny. What you’d give to have the opportunity to tear that old bastard’s head from his shoulders.

As if sensing your sudden agitation, Eris’s roaming hands become more insistent, kneading away all the tension from your muscles. “Relax,” he whispers against your ear. 

Although he rolls off of you, he doesn’t go far. Without letting you out of the cage of his arms, he curls beside you like a cat, each plane of your bodies perfectly aligned. With his head resting over your heart, a rumble of contentment escapes him.

It’s startling to think that to anyone outside of this room, Eris is a villain, as well-versed in savagery as his father. But you know him, seen parts of him the world would never know. You and Eris have always been two sides of the same coin. 

He understands what it’s like to endure and inherit a father’s rage, to house a mother’s bottomless grief, to be saturated with so much shame it steals your every breath. The two of you are so different and yet are hewn from the same ore, forged from the same fire. Although there are a multitude of reasons why the both of you can’t be together, it feels as though Eris is the only one who's ever truly seen you as you are. 

But self-denial is a circus act you and Eris perform with practiced ease. You’ve already fucked up before and it wasn’t you who ended up paying the price. No, it had been your mother and your sister. Their blood will stain your hands for the rest of your life. 

You won’t make that same mistake again. 

Two twined heartbeats, breaths released and taken in unison, Eris drifts off as your fingers card through his hair. You drink him in, long lashes fluttering as he flits into sleep, faint freckles like stars scattered over the ridge of his nose, and his face, for once, open and devoid of that familiar mask. You map its planes with the tips of your fingers, cataloging each detail and etching them onto the back of your mind. 

Eris will be gone come morning. He always is. The only proof of his presence would be the ache between your thighs and his scent still lingering on your sheets. But for now, though, he is yours, as fleeting as this moment may be. 

This is enough, you tell yourself. 

AN: hello this is my first smut fic in a while & this is a bit different from my usual thing so i was a bit nervous about posting this one. Let me know what you guys think!

Dialogue and banter aren’t my strong suit but i tried my best ;u;

This started as pwp fic but now there’s plot and I’m invested. I’ve got a few ideas and I kinda want to do a series of one-shots for these two.

English isn’t my first language. If you see any mistakes please let me know thru DM! Thank you 💙

[dobbie-doo]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ BURN FOR ME꒱ ˎˊ˗ arlecchino

You are a ballerina. In the age of advanced technologies that develop faster and more realistically every day, you are afraid of becoming just a shadow of these technologies..

✧ warnings — NSFW. hurt/comfort, fem ! ballerina ! reader , gentle sex, romance, Arlecchino my husband. ✧ minors & non nb/wlw do not interact. !! ✧ a/n — I thought about the backstory of the fic for a long time, because I didn't want to write nsfw just like that lol, this is the first time I'm writing to a girl on my account, I mostly only wrote to boys..😅😅 (Arlecchino step on me)

You are standing on a small stage. You are wearing a white ballet skirt. A little fluffy, covered in detailed patterns, a little sparkling in the dark, gloomy little performance hall.

There are people sitting in the chairs, all dressed in the latest fashion, and somewhere above, a couple of important Fontaine officials are sitting, looking down on you like hawks at their next victim. And you dance, dance and dance like a white swan on the lake, your movements as precise as they are elegant.

And you are scared. Sweat runs down your back, making the fabric of your dress unpleasantly sticky and wet. It is stuffy, your head is spinning from the music, and if you look into the distance, it seems as if the whole space is shimmering.

.. And the music ends.. You hear applause.

You breathe heavily, trying to hide it. You stand up straighter, arching your back almost to the point of crunching, and bow. But when you straighten up, you understand that people are not looking at you. And opposite you, there, on the other side of the stage, is a robot. Without heavy clothes, without makeup that hides almost all the flaws of the face. Without ballet shoes shoes..

..Without a face that needs to be constantly controlled. Without eyes that can look into the abyss of feelings, if only you look into them in response..Without a heart.

The robot opposite you is singing a melody for your own performance. People surround this robot, looking at the miracle of mechanics with delight and childish spontaneous curiosity. They applaud, praise the creator of the robot and Fontaine's new policy regarding technological progress.

And you stand right in front of this crowd on a huge stage, in a belle skirt and ballet shoes. You see these people. Who applaud some robot, they listen to a mechanical repetition of how someone sang in the past. A repetition devoid of feelings and sincerity. A repetition set by some algorithm of numbers of a simple code - "one" - "zero" - "one" And so on - to infinity

And you Dance, stand. Dance, stand. And so on - to infinity.

You remember how a few years ago everything was different. Children loved to watch your performance, and people in the big theater did not take their eyes off you and looked at you with delight. You try not to look in the direction where the robot is standing and there are people who with trepidation and admiration surround this insensitive and heartless robot. When all the people left the hall, leaving you alone in this space..

You shudder.

You hear the only sound of applause very close, you turn your head to the side. A woman is looking at you and applauding, it seems, at you, and not at all at the robot. She is looking you straight in the eyes. Her smile is sincere. The woman's eyes are two strokes of scarlet, which are permanently burned into your retina.

She is tall, slightly taller than you. Slender, her waist is very thin. The woman is completely covered by some strange, but elegant clothes

of an alien style. Black-white-red. Three constants in her clothes.

You are silent. Over the past two years, you have forgotten how to perceive recognition. You bowed again, you smiled at her. You curtsied and the woman let out a chuckle.

The woman suddenly comes closer to you. There is something in her movements that you involuntarily take a small step back, still standing on your toes and in that damn ballet skirt, and it seems that you are still shorter than her.

The woman moves so close to you that you feel the air around you change with her breath. You feel the warmth, not of a machine, not of a monster.

Warmth. A little burning, unfamiliar, but inviting.

The warmth of a human body.

"Good performance. And a good mask on the face," the woman whispers in your ear, sending goosebumps through your body.

The woman barely noticeably runs the fingers of her right hand along your shoulder. You feel how sharp her nails are, but you don't feel pain, only unnatural warmth.

The woman's hand suddenly moves away, and you feel something cold in your hands.

The moment of warmth disappears as quickly as it appeared. The woman moves away from you and with the same smirk on her thin, even lips, goes somewhere, passing by the switched off robot where people were looking a couple of minutes ago. And you stand, looking after her as if amazed. Like the statues of the Archons, who are eternally motionless and which nothing can revive - not even the prayer of a desperate mortal.

You suddenly realize that you have barely breathed all this time and have heard nothing but a low, hoarse female whisper.

You blink, look around, but it is too late - the woman has already managed to leave the hall, haha, and you did not even hear the slamming door.

You automatically look at your palm and find several large mora coins.

You swallow as you gradually return to reality and begin to see and hear everything perfectly. You look at several mora coins in your hand. The mask on the face always needs mora so that it continues to be beautiful and perfect.

But the heart burning in the darkness - no.

Your routine is simple. Put on makeup, put on a ballet skirt, bandage your chest so that it does not stick out, and put on ballet shoes. Lace up the corset. Repeat the dance that you have rehearsed countless times before. Inhale - exhale. Count to ten, put a smile on your face - and go out on stage. Lately, you are rarely invited to participate in solo performances in the theater. You look like a robot among artists, although in fact you are an artist and there are only mechanical iron things around you.

You stand up, long accustomed to the blinding spotlights in the first seconds of the performance. A couple of young magicians performed in front of you, you met them before, nice guys, they helped you once… but you don’t really care about it.

And it’s your turn, you start dancing, spinning, doing pirouettes and complex movements. All this is a continuous performance, and all life is a theater, you all need to play your roles on time. But isn’t there passion and tragedy in the theater at the same time?

You close your eyes and remember that very warmth. So human and inhuman at the same time. You remember the hot breath and inspiration that washed over you the moment you saw that streak of scarlet in that strange woman's eyes. If the heart could burn with a living flame, all your clothes would have burned away long ago, charred, and you would be dancing naked on this stage. But haven't you been naked for a long time? Doesn't inspiration burn away a person's outer self and set fire to his inner self?

You know that this woman is in the audience; sitting among the few spectators who still enjoy a living human performance, despite all the technological progress in Fontaine.

You don't wonder about her reaction, you don't think about the smirk on her perfect marble face. You don't imagine her words that would send a pleasant, euphoric shiver down your body.

You stop your dance with a bow as the music fades. You've already torn your heart out of your chest, it's burning - so why prefaces and afterwords? You open your eyes, the spotlights, as usual, blind you a little. But they seem like shadows compared to what's burning inside you. You look ahead. Someone is applauding you, but you're looking at that woman whose eyes are piercing your entire body like needles.

She's clapping too, and on her face is the same smile-smirk.

The spotlights disappear. The red curtain closes. And you exhale, carrying within you, somewhere deep in your body, that very spark. And the fire that started from that spark and turned that same spark into nothing.

---

You gasp for air and grip the edge of the dressing room vanity table with your hands. Someone else's lips on your neck are like tongues of flame and cold, sharp peaks at the same time. Thin, dark fingers with long nails gently brush your hair back. A bouquet of blood flowers that this woman gave you is lying around somewhere in the dressing room after the show. The dim light from the lamps dances bizarrely across the woman's face, making her look like something unnatural, illusory.

You swallow and exhale again, pressing your back against the tabletop. You reach for the human warmth and put your arms around the woman's back, running your hands over her bare, thin, slender waist.

"What is your name?"

You ask hoarsely between deep, shuddering breaths. The woman grins. She runs her hot, long tongue down your neck, leaving a thin trail of saliva. She looks up at you with her eyes, a thin scarlet streak. Then she straightens up a little and whispers in your ear, "Arlecchino"

Her answers are always like that - short and laconic. Always appropriate, even though you've only heard her answers a few times in your life.

Arlecchino spreads your legs with her knee, then smoothly lifts you by the waist and makes you sit on the countertop, pressing your back against the vanity mirror. The woman's hot hands fall on your hips and stroke them through the layers of your dress. You swallow and reach for another wet kiss, smearing the lipstick on Arlecchino's lips, mixing your lipstick with hers. Her tongue touches yours, and you shiver, feeling how wet you are becoming. Her hot, slender hands slide under your dress and touch your naked skin.

You break the kiss and throw your head back in pleasure, you painfully hit the cold mirror behind you with the top of your head, and Arlecchino removes one of her hands on your hips, and pulls this hand to your head, to the back of your head, to protect you from the unpleasant, cold pain.

You moan softly when someone else's lips touch your neck again. A hot tongue slides along your skin down to your collarbones. Arlecchino removes her hand from your hip and begins to feverishly quickly pull down the top of your dress, exposing your chest. When her hot mouth and hot tongue touch one of your nipples, you arch your back, breathing heavily and moaning with pleasure. If Harlequin hadn't protected the back of your head with her hand, you would have definitely broken the mirror.

The woman looks up at you, although she bends over because of her height. Her eyes burn with desire and anticipation when she sucks your nipple into her mouth again with her lips and makes a loud smack. You shudder again. You gently squeeze the other's breast, and your hand rests on her thigh.

The woman suddenly touches your breast in a certain place and hoarsely says: "What I like, I do not give. And if from this my hands become even more charred, then I will only enjoy it."

You suddenly understand where exactly this woman's hand is on your naked chest. Her hand is near the place where your flaming heart beats greedily. A crooked smile creeps onto your lips as you tremble with desire. You whisper with heat in your voice, looking at the blood-red streaks in the eyes of the woman in front of you:

"Well, then burn. Burn for me. Arlecchino.."

She thin lips opposite stretch into a hungry smile. You are kissed again, the tongue penetrating deep into your mouth. You respond to the kiss, clinging with your hands to the shoulders of Arlecchino.

You never really cared about the politics of other regions of Teyvat, too busy with your own problems. So you had no idea that this strange name "Arlecchino" had its own meaning, but you had a feeling that she was somehow connected with the fatui..

You were just thinking about how interesting this name was.

You will definitely understand everything much later: who this woman in front of you is, what she does, why her hands are so black, as if they were really charred. But maybe it's even for the best. Why prefaces and afterwords when the spark has already become a flame?

@anantaru @hitomisuzuya @lavandulawrites @himasgod @neuvigroove @quimichi @rsventhesecondd @anemoswirlsmyheart @nil4everheartz @kujiba @genshingorlsrevengeance @shyentsfoundherink @lavandulawrites @ashyashylee @s4nguiine

[ducktoo]

Yako

Yabuki Nako x Reader

Note: The anon who graciously donated their story ideas, pls reveal yourself so i can properly credit you TT

also damn you (the reader) is so mean in this one lol

Nako was the kind of person you couldn’t help but notice, even if you weren’t trying to.

She wasn’t loud or attention-seeking—in fact, the opposite. She was polite to the point of frustration, always ready with a bright “Good morning!” that somehow felt genuine, even before you’d had your coffee. She had this… air about her, like she was constantly living in a world that operated just slightly differently from everyone else’s.

At first, you chalked it up to her being a little quirky. She wasn’t the type to gossip by the water cooler or complain about management like the rest of you. Instead, she spent breaks humming to herself, sketching in the corners of her notepad, or scrolling through something on her phone with a half-hidden grin that made her seem like she had a secret no one else could access.

Her petite frame and doll-like features didn’t help; she was practically tailor-made to make people underestimate her. You’d learned the hard way that behind her soft-spoken demeanour was a sharp wit and an uncanny ability to weasel out of assignments with the sweetest smile you’d ever seen.

But now, as you stared at her, all of those little quirks seemed less like personality traits and more like puzzle pieces. A series of breadcrumbs leading to the possibility that Yabuki Nako, your pleasant, slightly strange coworker…might be living a double life as a VTuber.

It was a hunch, but it didn't feel like a coincidence.

You first noticed it during one of those too-quiet afternoons at the office. The kind where the hum of the air conditioning and the sporadic clicking of keyboards were the loudest sounds in the room. Everyone else seemed to be deep in thought—or pretending to be.

You, on the other hand, had drifted into the void of YouTube, browsing the usual algorithm rabbit hole. Employee of the year, people.

It wasn’t long before you stumbled upon a clip from a VTuber. Her avatar was a tiny, overly-cute anime girl with pink hair, big sparkling eyes, and a voice so saccharine you could feel cavities forming. You didn’t think much of it—VTubers were everywhere these days, especially in Japan—but something about this one stopped you from scrolling away.

The voice.

It was familiar. Not just vaguely familiar. It was exactly familiar.

Your eyes darted across the office, scanning for the source of that nagging sense of recognition. The answer came to you when your gaze landed on Nako.

Today, she was wearing one of her usual oversized sweaters, the sleeves swallowing her hands as she typed away at her computer. Her expression was neutral, her eyes focused on the screen like she was deeply engrossed in work. But now that you were paying attention, you noticed her glancing at her phone every few minutes, her fingers tapping at it with a practiced swiftness.

And that grin. It wasn’t the polite, work-friendly smile she usually wore. It was something smaller, almost mischievous, like she was laughing at a joke only she understood.

You scrunched your nose, watching her for a beat longer than was polite.

Couldn’t be.

Just to be sure, you replayed the clip. The voice filled your ears and minds again, bright and bubbly, complete with giggles and high-pitched squeals that had "Nako" written all over them.

You shook your head. This was ridiculous. There were millions of VTubers out there—what were the odds? But as you kept thinking, the resemblance became impossible to ignore. The intonation, the slight lilt at the end of her sentences, even the way she laughed—it was uncanny.

“Uh, hey….”

You jumped, nearly dropping your phone as Nako appeared next to your desk. Her big brown eyes blinked up at you innocently. “Did you need something? You’ve been staring at me.”

Her voice was calm, level, nothing like the hyperactive VTuber’s voice… but now you couldn’t unhear it.

“Oh, uh, no. Just spacing out.” You forced a laugh and stuffed your phone into your pocket.

Nako tilted her head, unconvinced. “Spacing out? While looking right at me?”

“I was, uh, thinking.”

“About?”

Her tone was casual, but there was something sharp in her gaze, like she was trying to read your mind. And maybe she was—Nako wasn’t as innocent as she looked. You’d seen her casually manipulate her way out of covering shifts more than once.

“Stuff,” you said, shrugging.

“Uh-huh.” Nako squinted, then smiled brightly. “Okay! Well, don’t let me stop you from… thinking.”

She walked back to her desk, but not before throwing one last suspicious glance over her shoulder.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your heart was pounding like you’d been caught sneaking into the office fridge. It was just a coincidence, right? There was no way Nako—your soft-spoken, slightly quirky coworker—was living a double life as a virtual anime girl.

Right?

But the more you thought about it, the less ridiculous it seemed. Nako was always rushing off after work, claiming she had "personal projects" to take care of. She wasn’t particularly active on social media, and when she was, it was all vague posts about being "super busy."

And now, that voice.

You glanced at her again. She was typing away at her computer, completely unaware that you were mentally unravelling her secret life. Or maybe she wasn’t.

Either way, you needed to be sure. That Nako is…that Vtuber Yako.

-

"Nako-ya," you start casually, leaning against the edge of her desk. Your posture is deliberately relaxed, the perfect contrast to the laser-sharp focus you’re secretly aiming at her. The office hums with activity around you, the clatter of keyboards and faint chatter forming a pleasant backdrop.

Nako doesn’t look up, her face slightly illuminated by the soft glow of her monitor. Her fingers move briskly across the keyboard, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Hmm? What is it?" she mumbles, barely sparing you a glance.

"Just curious," you say, tilting your head as if in thought. "Do you stream? Or, I don’t know, have some kind of secret hobby?"

She freezes. Not long—just for a split second—but enough for you to notice. Her hands hesitate above the keys, her lips parting in surprise before quickly pressing together. "Secret hobby? Me? No, not really," she replies, a little too casually. Her voice is steady, but the quick swipe of her bangs behind her ear betrays her nerves.

You shrug, keeping your tone light. "Oh, no reason. Just thought I heard someone with a voice like yours on YouTube the other day."

Her gaze finally snaps to yours. Wide eyes. A flicker of panic. Then she schools her expression, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Lots of people have similar voices," she says lightly, her lips curling into a small, tight smile.

"Yeah, totally." You nod, standing upright. But inside, your curiosity is only growing.

She’s hiding something. I can feel it.

-

A few days later, you approach her desk again, armed with a coffee cup as a peace offering. "Morning, Nako," you chirp, pulling up a chair to sit beside her.

She glances at the cup, then at you, suspicion flickering in her eyes. "What do you want?" she asks, her tone wary but playful.

"Nothing! Just enjoying some coffee and a chat with my favourite coworker," you say innocently. Then, lowering your voice, you lean slightly closer. "By the way, have you ever heard of someone called 'Yako'?"

Her reaction is instantaneous. Her fingers fumble on the keyboard, and she nearly knocks over her water bottle trying to grab it. "Wh-what? No! Why would you ask that?"

You lean back, studying her with an amused grin. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes darting everywhere but at you. She shifts in her chair, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as though shielding herself from further interrogation.

"Just curious," you say with a shrug, sipping your coffee. "Her voice sounds a lot like yours. And the way she talks? Weirdly similar."

Her laugh is high-pitched and nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "That’s ridiculous," she says quickly, waving you off. "It’s not me. I don’t even watch VTubers."

"Ah, fair enough," you reply smoothly, standing up. But you catch the way her shoulders tense as you walk away, her back stiff like she’s bracing for more.

Gotcha.

-

It becomes your new favourite pastime—seeing how far you can push her without outright accusing her. During lunch one day, you sit across from her in the break room, your tray clattering against the table as you settle in.

"Catchy tune, huh?" you say, humming the opening theme from Yako��s latest stream.

Nako’s chopsticks pause midway to her mouth. Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tries to gauge your intentions. "What’s that?"

"Oh, just a song stuck in my head," you reply nonchalantly, taking a bite of your food. "It’s from this VTuber I’ve been watching. You wouldn’t believe how many people think her voice is addictive."

Her laugh is strained, and she resumes eating, though her movements are mechanical. She doesn’t meet your eyes, her focus glued to the bowl in front of her. "Must be a coincidence," she mutters, stirring her rice with more force than necessary.

You nod, pretending to let it go, but you’re watching her closely. The way her grip tightens around the chopsticks. The way her jaw clenches slightly, as if she’s holding back a response.

"Funny thing," you add after a beat, "her gestures are so specific. Like that thing she does with her hands when she’s excited." You mimic the exact motion, your grin widening as her shoulders visibly stiffen.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," she snaps, her cheeks bright red now. She shoves a piece of kimchi into her mouth, chewing like it’s her only way to escape the conversation.

"Sure, sure," you say, leaning back with a smirk.

-

The office meeting is the next perfect setup. After the boss asks for creative ideas, Nako surprises everyone with a well-thought-out pitch about animated characters for a marketing campaign.

"That was… really specific," you say later, catching her in the hallway. She’s holding a stack of papers, hugging them tightly to her chest.

"What do you mean?" she asks, her tone cautious.

"You clearly know a lot about animation," you say, walking beside her. "For someone who supposedly doesn’t watch VTubers, it’s kind of impressive of how creative your solutions are."

Her eyes widen slightly, and she stumbles over her words. "I—I just… read about it somewhere!" she blurts, her voice an octave higher than usual.

You smile, your gaze lingering on her as she fumbles with the doorknob to the break room. Her movements are jerky, her lips pressed into a thin line as she avoids your gaze. "Of course. Just something you read," you say, holding the door open for her.

She hurries past you, muttering a quick "Thanks," and you can’t help but chuckle.

You’re almost there, Nako. Almost.

-

That evening, you sit at your desk at home, your laptop glowing faintly in the dim room. You have the stream open, the lively chat scrolling endlessly beside the avatar of Yako. Her signature pink hair bounces every time she moves, and the soft tone of her voice—yes, her voice—is as distinct as ever.

You recline in your chair, sipping your drink, a knowing grin already spreading across your face. Tonight’s stream is titled “CGR - Chill, Gaming, and Rant” It’s only been ten minutes since the stream started, and she’s already flustered, her voice rising slightly as she rants.

"I’m telling you, chat, there’s this coworker of mine, and they’ve been so annoying lately!" she huffs, her virtual avatar mirroring the pout you’re sure she’s making behind the screen.

The chat explodes with reactions: "LOL who is it??" "Drama at the office?? Spicy!" "Is it someone cute??"

You can’t help but laugh, stifling the sound behind your hand. There’s no mistaking the frustration in her tone, and the knowledge that you’re the source of her irritation makes it even better.

She sighs dramatically, the avatar’s shoulders slumping. "They keep asking me the weirdest questions! Like, 'Do you stream?' or 'Have you heard of VTubers?' Like, seriously? What kind of question is that?"

Leaning closer to the screen, you rest your chin on your hand, utterly amused.

Poor Nako. If only you knew I’m watching right now.

"I mean, sure, maybe my voice sounds a little like a VTuber they watch, but come on! Do I look like someone who has time for that?" she says, her tone dripping with faux indignation. The chat eats it up, spamming laughing emojis and teasing comments.

"Nako-chan sus" "Sounds like they’re onto something " "Give them a break! Maybe they’re just a fan?"

Her avatar mimics her throwing her hands up in exasperation. "A fan? Ha! If they were a fan, they’d leave me alone! But noooo, they have to keep pestering me every day."

"Come on, Nako-chan," you mutter under your breath, smirking. "It's fun trying to figure you out ."

As if on cue, she leans closer to the virtual screen, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "And the worst part? They’re so smug about it! Every time I say it’s not me, they just smile like they know something. It’s driving me crazy!"

You laugh out loud this time, unable to help yourself. The timing, the delivery—it’s comedy gold.

The stream continues, and Nako eventually moves on to gameplay, but the occasional quip about her “annoying coworker” keeps slipping in.

"Chat, imagine this: you’re trying to work, minding your own business, and someone just waltzes over to your desk like, ‘Hey, are you this another person?’" she says, mimicking your voice in an exaggerated tone. "Who does that?! Who has that much audacity? Who even bothered?!"

Your sides hurt from laughing now, and you type into the chat with your anonymous username: "Maybe they just want to get to know you better, Nako-chan! "

She reads it aloud, her avatar squinting. "‘Maybe they just want to get to know you better’—psh, yeah, right. More like they want to ruin my life! YOU MOTHER*****!!! "

The chat erupts again, and you lean back in your chair, cackling your ass off and satisfied. It’s almost too much fun watching her complain about you without realizing you’re listening.

As the stream wraps up, she sighs dramatically one last time. "Anyway, thanks for listening to me rant, everyone. I needed that. And if my coworker somehow sees this—" She leans closer, her avatar's face filling the screen. "Stop. Pestering. Me!"

You grin, saluting the screen. "No promises, Nako-ya. No promises."

-

It’s just another ordinary day at the office—except it’s not. You’ve been inching closer to the truth for weeks now, and every interaction with Nako has only added more fuel to your suspicions. Today, though, feels different. There’s a tension in the air, something you can’t quite put your finger on.

Nako is sitting at her desk, her head bent over a stack of papers. She’s unusually quiet, not even giving you her usual half-hearted glare when you casually stroll past her cubicle. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her sleeve, her knee bouncing under the desk—a sure sign she’s on edge.

You seize the moment.

"Hey, Nako-yaaa," you say, leaning over the partition with an innocent grin.

She doesn’t even look up. "Ugh. What now?" she mumbles, her voice clipped.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply casually, pretending to examine a report in your hands. "Just thought I’d ask if you caught that new Yako stream last night. It was hilarious."

Her hand freezes mid-motion, the pen slipping from her fingers and clattering onto the desk. Slowly, she looks up, her eyes wide with a mixture of panic and resignation. "I—I don’t watch VTubers," she stammers, her voice a pitch higher than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Really? That’s a shame. She was continuing her ranting about this super annoying coworker who keeps pestering her. Sounded oddly familiar."

Nako’s cheeks flush a deep pink, and she immediately averts her gaze, pretending to rummage through her desk drawer. "That’s… a coincidence," she mutters.

"Sure, sure," you say, watching her closely. She’s avoiding eye contact like her life depends on it, her shoulders hunched as though she’s trying to disappear into her chair.

You decide to press your advantage. "You know," you say, your tone turning teasing, "I know I talked a lot about this but I’ve been thinking. If you were a VTuber—and I’m not saying you are—it’d be pretty smart to complain about your coworkers on stream. Get it all off your chest, you know?"

Her head snaps up, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights. "I—what—why would you even think that?" she sputters, her voice cracking slightly.

You lean closer, resting your arms on the edge of her desk. "Oh, I don’t know," you say, smirking. "The voice, the mannerisms, the very specific hand gestures you do when you’re excited. It’s all a bit too familiar, don’t you think?"

Nako’s face is now as red as a tomato. She opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out. Instead, she drops her gaze to her lap, her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

"I—I don’t know what you’re talking about," she says weakly, but the tremble in her voice gives her away.

You chuckle, leaning back. "Relax, Nako. I’m just messing with you."

But she doesn’t relax. In fact, she looks even more panicked now, her fingers clenching the edge of her desk so tightly her knuckles turn white.

That’s when it happens.

Her phone buzzes on the desk, and in her haste to grab it, she accidentally swipes the screen. For a split second, you catch a glimpse of her notifications—one of which is a message from someone named Mod-Kazuya: “Great stream last night, Yako-chan!”

The world goes still.

You glance up at her, your eyebrows raised. She freezes, her hand hovering over the phone, her eyes darting between you and the screen.

"So…" you say, breaking the silence, "…you don’t watch VTubers, huh?"

Her shoulders slump, and she lets out a long, defeated sigh. "Fine," she mutters, dropping her head into her hands. "You win."

The victory feels sweeter than you imagined. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face as you watch her squirm in her seat.

"I knew it!" you exclaim, pointing a finger at her. "You’re Yako!"

"Keep your voice down!" she hisses, glancing around the office in a panic.

You chuckle, dropping into the chair beside her desk. "So, how long were you going to keep this from me?"

"As long as I could," she mutters, burying her face in her hands.

Her vulnerability softens your teasing just a bit, and you lean in slightly, lowering your voice. "Relax, Nako. Your secret’s safe with me… for now."

She peeks at you through her fingers, her expression a mix of relief and suspicion. "What do you mean, ‘for now’?"

You smirk, folding your arms. "Well, let’s just say you owe me a favour or two. You know, for keeping quiet."

Her groan is muffled by her hands. "I hate you."

"No, you don’t," you say cheerfully, standing up. "Come on, Nako-chan V. Let’s grab some coffee. My treat."

Her glare follows you all the way to the break room, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips doesn’t escape your notice.

-

It began innocently enough—or so you’d like to think.

You weren’t a tyrant, just opportunistic. After all, you held a golden ticket: the knowledge of Yabuki Nako’s secret life as a VTuber. And to her credit, she had taken your harmless requests in stride—at first. And the first test of her patience starts with coffee.

“Nako-chan, could you grab me an extra cup from the breakroom?” you ask, flashing a polite smile. “I’m drowning in emails here.”

Her head snaps up from her monitor, her brows furrowed in disbelief. “You were just in there five minutes ago. You had a fresh cup in your hand.”

You tilt your head, feigning a moment of thought. “True. But I drank it all. And you’re, well…” You let your voice trail off, shrugging as if the answer is obvious.

She narrows her eyes. “I’m what?”

“…good at grabbing coffee?” you offer sheepishly, your grin betraying your faux innocence.

Her lips press into a firm line, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. You see the flicker of a battle waging behind her gaze—outright refusal versus the undeniable fear of your leverage. With a huff that’s more air than sound, she rises from her chair, muttering in Japanese under her breath. You don’t catch the full meaning, but the sharpness of her tone makes the message clear:

You’re a piece of sh*t.

When she returns, her lips twitch into a strained, professional smile as she sets the cup down a little harder than necessary. “Your coffee. Enjoy.”

“Thanks, Nako! You’re the best!” you reply, suppressing the grin tugging at your lips.

Her forced smile tightens, and she pivots back to her desk, muttering something again. This time, you swear it’s about wishing coffee burns weren’t fatal.

The second favour comes during the weekly rush to print reports.

“Hey, Nako,” you whisper conspiratorially, leaning over the divider between your desks. “Could you grab the printouts for me?”

She doesn’t bother to look up. “The printer’s ten steps away.”

“…I know,” you say, resting your elbow on the divider and propping your chin on your palm. “But you’re already standing. It’ll save me some precious seconds to finish this email.”

Her shoulders rise and fall in a slow, exasperated sigh. This time, she turns her whole body toward you, lips twitching downward in irritation. “You’re sitting. You’re literally doing nothing.”

“I’m multitasking,” you counter smoothly, pointing at your screen where your email draft has precisely one line. “See? Hard at work.”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she stands and stomps toward the printer. Her ponytail bounces aggressively with each step, a physical manifestation of her frustration.

When she returns, she drops the papers onto your desk with a loud slap and leans over, her face close to yours. Her lips are pursed, her cheeks puffed out slightly in barely contained fury, and her eyes bore into yours like twin daggers.

“Next time,” she says in a low, dangerous tone, “I’m shredding them.”

You blink innocently. “Thanks, Nako. Truly. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Her jaw tightens, and she storms back to her desk, muttering again. You’re starting to think her muttering is a stress response you’ve singlehandedly cultivated.

It’s after the third week of subtle pestering that her patience begins to fray in earnest. By now, she’s learned to recognize the telltale grin on your face and the overly polite tone you reserve just for her.

“Nako,” you start sweetly, leaning over her desk during your Friday team meeting. “Could you take notes for me?”

Her eyes widen imperceptibly, and she stiffens in her chair. “Why?”

“I forgot my notebook,” you whisper. “And you’re so much better at taking notes than I am.”

Her lips press into a tight line, and her cheeks flush faintly. “Unbelievable,” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. Still, she takes the papers from your outstretched hand, her fingers gripping them a little too firmly.

Halfway through the meeting, she glances sideways at you, her brows knit tightly together. “You owe me,” she hisses, her voice barely audible.

You glance at her, trying not to laugh at the mixture of irritation and resignation written across her face. Her brows are furrowed, her nose scrunched slightly in annoyance, and her lips are pulled into a sharp pout. It’s almost endearing—if she weren’t so obviously plotting your demise.

“Of course,” you whisper back. “Anything for my favourite coworker.”

Her expression shifts ever so slightly, her glare softening just a fraction. But then, as if remembering she’s supposed to be angry, she elbows you in the side, her pout deepening.

“Quiet,” she mutters, her cheeks now faintly pink.

-

The breaking point comes one chaotic Monday morning.

“Nako, can you—”

Her chair screeches as she bolts upright, her face flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. “No! Absolutely not!”

The office falls silent, every head turning in your direction. Her fists are clenched at her sides, and her eyes glisten with unshed frustration. Her normally calm expression is replaced with one of raw exasperation, her lips trembling as she speaks.

“You’ve made me your personal assistant for weeks! Coffee, notes, files—I’m not your errand girl!” she snaps, her voice rising slightly before cracking. She takes a deep breath, her gaze lowering to the floor. “And if you tell anyone about...you know...I’ll—” Her voice falters, and she slumps back into her chair, her frustration giving way to quiet defeat.

The silence is deafening until you finally break it with a quiet, “Okay.”

Her head snaps up, her wide eyes meeting yours. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” you say sincerely, rubbing the back of your neck. “I thought we were just messing around. I didn’t mean to stress you out.”

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out. She stares at you, her eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit.

“I mean it,” you say softly. “No more favours. No more pestering. I’ll keep your secret because I respect you, not because I can use it.”

Her expression softens, and the tension in her shoulders eases. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you say with a nod. Then, a small grin sneaks onto your face. “But I do feel bad, so...how about lunch on me?”

Her lips twitch into the faintest of smiles. “Lunch and dessert.”

“Deal,” you say, standing and grabbing your wallet. “Come on, my favourite coworker.”

She huffs but follows you, her cheeks faintly pink. “You’re still insufferable, you know.”

“Oh wow, never knew that.” you reply, holding the door open for her. “Just your good old insufferable coworker.”

For the first time that day, she laughs…followed by assuring the onlookers after the meal.

[chocodile]

Hiya! I was the advice anon from a few days back! First of thank you so so so so much for taking the time to not just answer but give such thorough advice! I really appreciate it so much, shared it with other friends of mine who have similar anxieties as I do. I really do appreciate it so much. Even if the internet isn’t how it used to be with less algorithms and numbers, I hope that I can still find my own enjoyment. I do have a best friend who I reconnected with 4 years ago and he gave me back that spark I was losing being one of the first people genuinely in love with my work much how I love his!

And yes please! I would love to hear your thoughts on meeting other creators and how to “launch” stories , and create that community! I love hearing the insight and introspection of fellow artists ! Everyone has different experiences that can be learned from and I just love reading what artists have to say about their work or methods ! Don’t worry about length, the more the better (of course please do not stress or worry about it, take all the time you need!)

Thank you again for answering my questions earnestly, made my week!

Hey Anon, sorry this took a while to get to! I've been pretty busy. I'm glad you found the first post helpful!

Regarding audience building and finding other creators... as I mentioned, I have a lot of thoughts. Here's a bunch of slightly disjointed notes on I've put together…

AUDIENCE BUILDING TIPS FROM SOMEONE WHO KINDA DID IT:

TIP 1: FIND OTHERS WITH SIMILAR INTERESTS!

Making OCs and original stories can be kind of isolating compared to, say, fandom. Best we can do is find specific points to bond over.

What is your story about? Does it involve heavy research into a specific topic, like speculative biology or real-world history? Look up tags related to this and see if anyone else is doing characters or stories based around this topic.

Does it share a theme with a popular media property? See if you can sneakily trick some of the fans of that media property into looking at your thing, too. ;) For example, a high-fantasy story might do well to court D&D fans. If you're writing a romance story, try to think of other stories and popular fandom ships that share themes with yours. You can follow artists who draw for that fandom, draw fan art for it, or make an AU of your character in that setting. Or all of the above.

This can even apply to very superficial things. Like, is your main character a woman with red hair and glasses? Did you find another artist whose favorite OC is a woman with red hair and glasses? That's a connection opportunity! And chances are, that artist may have friends or fans who ALSO like red haired women with glasses. Superficial appearance might feel like a silly thing to bond over, but catching someone's eye with your design is often the first step toward them engaging with the character more deeply.

Of course, you shouldn't be doing this as a cynical attention-grab… I absolutely wouldn't recommend courting a fandom for something you don't personally enjoy, and I wouldn't recommend following artists purely in hopes that they follow you back. That's a recipe for feeling miserable and resentful when it inevitably doesn't "pay off" immediately. Building relationships and establishing yourself in spaces takes time, and it needs to be something you enjoy doing or you'll just feel frustrated and give up.

TIP 2: BE THE ONE TO REACH OUT FIRST, BE CONSISTENT, BUT HAVE REASONABLE EXPECTATIONS.

So you've found someone you think is cool! Their story has werewolves in it, and so does yours. You think their main character is pretty cool and would like to know more about them. (And, secretly, you want them to ask you about your characters, too!)

So, get the ball rolling! Go ahead and ask them about their guy! It's scary, but that's often what you gotta do. If, after a few messages, they seem amenable, you can eventually start dropping tidbits about YOUR guy and YOUR story. "Your description of how the transformation sequence feels is very vivid and cool! In MY OWN werewolf story, transformation goes more like this…" or "Your guy who hates his werewolf side wouldn't see eye to eye with my werewolf character, who sees it as a blessing because…"

See if they bite on that. If they don't, maybe they're just not interested. But a lot of creators are interested in that kind of connection!

Some caveats here:

While many artists love that sort of attention, some people can be kinda defensive of their creations and become standoffish and prickly when strangers try to chum it up with them about OC stuff. If someone is like that, leave them be and don't try to force it.

Super popular artists tend to have way more messages than they can keep up with. You're very, very unlikely to develop an equally reciprocal friendship with them as a stranger in a short amount of time, and it's absolutely not anything personal. That's not to say you shouldn't bother interacting with them, just don't feel stung if they don't respond or follow you back. (This kind of overwhelm happens at much lower levels than you might think!) In my own experience, friendliness with a popular artist tends to happen when you're a consistent positive presence over a long period of time (often multiple years, but at least a span of 6+ months). And even then you will not be in their "inner circle" with the friends they've known for a decade, and that's fine!

Artists with smaller followings are way more likely to be receptive to following you back and doing the reciprocal friendship thing.

TIP 3: FAKE IT TILL YOU MAKE IT.

If you do manage to make a connection with someone, or get a friend or two on board with your story, commenting and sending asks and stuff publicly is extremely helpful for audience-building. Not only does it increase your visibility, but it gives shy audience members "permission" to comment themselves, and a template for what kind of comments you find agreeable. A lot of people will think "Oh I want to comment… but what if I say something wrong and they get mad? I'll just say nothing instead." If you demonstrate that you respond in a friendly manner, they'll feel more comfortable. People are herd animals like that.

Also, people love the audience engagement aspect of sending "asks" and seeing responses to comments drawn. It doesn't need to be an "ask", though--one of the first things I did for Amaranthine was draw Hyden reacting to people's tags. You could even invent a question no one actually asked and draw a response, just to show people that you are open to that kind of thing.

In fact, way back before Amaranthine, I proposed a plan to collaborate with my friends to astroturf audience engagement to launch a story by sending each other and ourselves fake anon asks with questions. I ended up not having to do that--Amaranthine's popularity caught me completely by surprise--but if I ever have to cold launch a brand new story, I would probably send myself some fake anon asks to get the ball rolling, hah. Feel free to steal this idea and try it yourself!

TIP 4: SHOW CHARACTER, SHOW LORE, OVERSHARE, AND DO IT OFTEN!

There are tons of characters on the internet. What makes them memorable is sometimes their design, but usually it's their personality and story. If people don't know anything about a character except their name, physical appearance, gender, sexuality, and three character traits, they might think "aw, that's a neat character!" but probably won't think much more than that. They may like the cool art but probably won't say a lot about it beyond #cool art.

But if you draw the same character living out their daily life, interacting with friends and lovers and enemies, hanging out in their messy room, a flashback to them as an angry teenager, a short mini-comic of the incident that got them expelled from necromancer school, all coupled with little lore tidbits that offer a deeper look into their life, world, and inner psychology… that's when they start feeling like a PERSON, not just a cool design. Couple this with the asks and stuff from tip 3 and they become "a person I, the viewer, can reach out to and engage with".

It feels vulnerable to put this stuff out there initially, when you're not getting much feedback. But by having this built-up library of art and info people can read through, new viewers will arrive, think "hey, this character seems cool!" and instead of stopping there, they'll binge on your archives. It's very fulfilling to see a new person find your stuff and then see a strong of "likes" on older pieces as they go through your story/OC tag.

…Also, people have short attention spans, and modern social media means a lot of people won't see and certainly won't remember everything you post. Kwillow and I occasionally joke about "whoa, I can't believe I got a question about a topic I already answered! Don't they remember this 1 single post I made about the topic four years ago?" NO, THEY ABSOLUTELY DO NOT. You need to restate things, repost things, etc because people are probably not paying THAT much attention. You can't just put it out there once, especially the really juicy stuff!

You also gotta stick with stuff even if it feels like it's not working. Put your stuff up on a bunch of different platforms and cast a wide net. You might only get 1 comment on Tumblr, but if you post it to Bluesky, DeviantArt, Instagram, etc, and each of those gets 1 comment, then that's 4 comments. Think of posting on other sites like extra slot machine pulls. Even the ones with bad odds are still worth doing when the cost to pull the lever is basically nothing.

TIP 5: THE BITTER PILL:

Bitter pill to swallow: Modern social media favors things that can be distilled down into hashtags/tropes/aesthetics. Furries, punks, cottagecore, monsterfucker, D&D-esque, enemies to lovers, princess-core, werewolves… the harder something is to reblog with #aesthetic, the harder it is to sell in general. It'll always be harder to sell Bob The Regular Human Guy's story than it would be to sell that same Bob as a furry, or Bob as a shy punk with a shipping-fanfic-trope-friendly crush on a guy at a coffee shop. This doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't try, but it is something to be aware of. Like, if your thing isn't doing social media numbers, odds are high it's not bad, just not hashtaggable enough.

This is one of the reasons I say to try to focus on yourself and a small group of like-minded friends first. You can't count on social media mechanisms to help boost you if you're marching to the beat of your own drum. You can try to use tropes and fandom for your benefit, as described in #1, but even so it's often kind of an uphill battle.

However, if you have a ton of energy and love for your project then the awesome glowing power of your passion will help draw people to you. People like that energy! It may never be huge social media numbers, but do remember that every single person who interacts with your stuff is A WHOLE ENTIRE REAL PERSON, and that's pretty damn cool. 10 notes on something is 10 entire people standing in your living room giving you the thumbs up.

Anyway, hope at least a few of these tips are helpful! The social media landscape for artists is, frankly, very bad right now, and if you are struggling and feeling discouraged you are not alone. But there are still ways to find each other even in this landscape!

[hypnojocked]

In a sleek, futuristic laboratory, the hum of advanced machinery filled the air as Dr. Aric Kaldor stood over his workbench, fine-tuning a new form of synthetic rubber. He had spent years perfecting this material, an elastic compound infused with nanoparticles that could change shape and form based on the user’s will. His body was the product of years of intense training and innovation, the physical manifestation of his relentless pursuit of perfection. Every muscle was finely sculpted, and his skin, now partially enveloped in a dark, form-fitting rubber suit, reflected the metallic sheen of the lab’s lighting. The suit had been designed to bond with his own skin, fusing seamlessly with it, transforming his appearance into something both human and machine.

Aric’s lab was a advanced of technology, filled with sleek panels, glowing data screens, and chambers that housed strange substances in various stages of transformation. The air smelled of chemicals and ozone, a hint of something metallic hanging in the atmosphere. He was no stranger to experimentation—he had made a career of testing boundaries, both scientific and physical. Today, he was focused on a new iteration of his rubber suit, one designed to be far more than just a protective layer.

As he worked, his fingers traced the rubber’s surface, sending electrical impulses through it to activate a new set of algorithms embedded within the material. The fabric responded, pulsing with a soft light, and his muscles twitched involuntarily as it seemed to bond deeper into his body. The rubber expanded slightly, tightening, adjusting itself to his frame, its silver details flickering to life as it interfaced with his neural system. Aric had built this suit to enhance his own physicality, to become stronger, faster, more efficient. But today, something felt… different.

He didn’t notice at first, too absorbed in the data scrolling across his tablet. But gradually, a subtle change began to occur. His heart rate increased, not from physical exertion but from something deeper, something within the very fabric of the suit. It was as if the material itself was feeding off his energy, becoming more aware, more sentient. The more Aric focused, the tighter it clung to his body, its silver filigree twisting and shifting like veins beneath his skin.

His muscles bulged slightly, pushing against the rubber as it seemed to tighten around him, an ever-present reminder of the transformation that was slowly overtaking him. His once defined physique became more defined still, but it wasn’t just his muscles that were growing—it was his entire body. His mind raced as he tried to regain control, but the suit’s influence was subtle, relentless, like a creeping tide.

“Impossible…” Aric muttered under his breath, panic rising in his chest. He slapped his hands against the workbench, trying to pull away from the increasing pressure of the suit, but it refused to loosen. The silver detailing shimmered across his body now, intertwining with his nervous system, sending waves of electrical signals throughout his body. His thoughts grew clouded, the rational part of his mind growing dimmer with each passing second. His fingers twitched and spasmed involuntarily, no longer obeying his commands.

The rubber suit, once a tool for enhancement, had begun to take on a life of its own. It was no longer a passive object—now, it was a force, controlling him from within. Aric’s once sharp eyes grew dull as the silver accents began to glow, and his body became a perfect blend of muscle and synthetic material, an unstoppable force of engineering. His movements were no longer his own; they were dictated by the suit’s algorithms, designed to optimize him for efficiency—no thought, no hesitation, no will of his own.

The transformation wasn’t just physical. His mind was slowly being submerged beneath layers of synthetic code, his individuality stripped away as the suit rewired his thoughts. Aric's consciousness began to fade, a mere flicker in the vast network of circuitry that had replaced his sense of self. His mouth opened, but instead of his voice, a mechanical hum echoed from within him, his once human mind now entirely overtaken by the drone-like commands of the rubber suit.

The laboratory, once a place of innovation, had become his prison. He stood there, his imposing figure now a mindless machine, a drone completely controlled by the suit. The rubber, with its silver accents, had claimed him.

Dr. Aric Kaldor was no more.

In his place was something else—something engineered, something perfect. And the lab, now eerily silent, hummed with the quiet presence of its newest creation. The drone waited, its only purpose now to serve, to exist, and to continue the work it was designed for—an unthinking, unfeeling force of nature that would never stop, never tire, never question.

After some time. People were worrieda bout Aric. Jake, his best intern look for him in his lab. Yew, he found the doctor but he thought it was a rubber mannequin of him with a blank expression.

Once Jake wanted to get closer the drone stated: "Human incomming. Subject will be assimilated. It will be another rubber drone". The goo latex started to fill the labtoratory and they injected Jake with a rapid growth serum to have a total muscular body before his conversion.

Once the goo started to touch his body. Jake blank out and his mind turned off. He will be another Rubber drone.

The future had arrived.

[puck-luck]

For your celly!! Can you do the 11 of spades with Coley 🫶🏻🫶🏻 no kink pref ❤️

warnings: flexible woman, established relationship, unprotected p in v, not very graphic sex. more allusions wc: 808

“Co, look,” you exclaim, thrusting your phone into his face. On the screen is a TikTok from Sabrina Carpenter’s latest concert– but that’s not why you’re showing it to him. Marcello Hernandez came to Sabrina’s concert, dressed as Domingo from that viral SNL skit that you’d loved the first few times you’d watched it. You were ready to let it go now that a few weeks have passed, but it was incredibly funny the first time you saw it. You’re glad Marcello is getting his props and his fame, although he does seem a little tired of the bit. Regardless, he appeared at Sabrina’s concert dressed as his character and played along.

Cole loved the sketch just as much as you did, so it was a no brainer to show him the TikTok you were watching. He lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of it, watching along with you and agreeing that it was exciting and fun that that had happened. Then, you both moved on. It wasn’t until Cole had actually gone to sleep that another Sabrina TikTok came up on your FYP– showing you her Juno pose from the same concert. You’d always gotten a kick out of the poses, loving Sabrina’s outfits and how confident she is in her sexuality.

As you’re watching, she casually does the splits. HUH? You can’t say that you have ever tried that one– you used to be able to do the splits when you were much younger, but you’d lost it over time. Taken aback, but impressed by the agility, you scroll on. Two more stretching and splits videos come up on your FYP before you go to bed. Then, tomorrow when you’re on your break, you see a few more. You start to pay attention, wondering if this is some sort of bizarre sign that you shouldn’t ignore. It may be time to get your splits back. The idea starts innocently enough– and then you remember Sabrina.

What a treat that would be– if you stretched and trained while Cole was away, then surprised him by casually doing the splits on his cock. The idea is so comical and seemingly your destiny, if you believe how often your algorithm is telling you to increase your flexibility, that you immediately decide to get to work.

You start with lunges and butterfly sits, forward folds and pigeon poses. Little by little, you feel yourself getting looser. Within a few weeks, you’re not feeling the pain of the stretch anymore in your hamstrings. One week while Cole is out of town for a game, you test out your splits and you’ve got it. Right, left, and middle. You’re able to do the splits again.

Onto phase two.

You’re too eager to bite the bullet, so the next time you and Cole start to get frisky, you’re already planning what you’re going to do. You’re going to be on top, you’re going to start in a normal position straddling his lap, then you’re going to spread your legs to the side and do a middle split right there on his cock.

You plan goes perfectly. Cole’s under you, staring up at your face, his hands covering your hips.You watch his eyes go wide, then his pupils grow bigger and darker when he realizes that you’re spreading your legs as far as they can go, just so that you can take his cock more deeply. His mouth opens slightly in surprise and stays open as you start to move again on his shaft, rising and falling in a position you’ve never done before. You’ve fallen forward, stomach flush against his, just because of the sheer pleasure. His cock really has pressed deeper into your cunt, impossibly thick and satisfying.

As you’re bouncing on his length, he helps you out by thrusting up. The sensation is different than any other time that you’ve ridden Cole, which pushes more and more noises from your mouth. He’s all sweaty and strong beneath you, tips of his hair curling, and it’s not long until you’ve both come and it’s time to clean you up.

“You’re more flexible than I thought,” Cole compliments cheekily after he wipes you down. “We’re going to take advantage of that.”

“Cirque du Soleil?” You tease.

“I was thinking more like 1,001 Sex Positions,” Cole replies. “We’re checking ‘em all off the list, baby.”

“Cole Caufield, sex position connoisseur,” you say with a snorted laugh.

“Yeah, I’m going to be a motivational speaker when I retire from hockey,” Cole agrees. “We’ll teach the world how to fuck. Imagine the power.”

“I barely let you tell your friends about our sex life.”

“This is different,” Cole tells you. He grins. “My audience will be strangers.”

Because that’s better– strangers knowing about your sex life rather than Cole’s best friends.

[ambroziadelphine]

Forgotten (Bucky Barnes x Reader) Part 6

Marvel Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

We didn't know where else to go, so Steve took us to his friend's from the VA, Sam Wilson I learned his name was. He pulled up his window blinds to see all three of us worn, dirty and disheveled, much to his surprise. He opened his sliding door with a confused expression, looking at Steve who looked slightly regretful.

"Hey, man." Sam said cautiously, Steve sighing as Nat looked around. "I'm sorry about this. We need a place to lay low." He said, Nat looking at him as Sam looked between us all.

"Everyone we know is trying to kill us." Nat said as I rubbed a hand over my face.

"And everyone else we know that can help us is dead." I said, Sam taking a moment to think before he looked at Steve.

"Not everyone." He said as he stepped aside to let us in as he closed the door behind us, looking around and closing the blinds again. He let us get cleaned up as I sat with Bub practicing my grounding, his body laid over my legs as I took time feeling myself relax and try to breath, Nat on the bed as Steve washed his hands.

"You okay?" He asked Nat as she dried her hair.

"Yeah." She said, his eyes turning to me.

"How about you?" He asked an I gave a small, didn't meet my eyes smile.

"Besides being scared half to death that you two could've been killed and I would've watched it, yea, I'm okay." I said, a small unhumorous chuckle coming from both of them before Steve looked at Nat again and sighed, sitting down in front of her.

"What's going on?" He asked. Nat looking at him for a moment before pursing her lips.

"When I first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. I thought I was going straight." She said, looking away for a moment. "But I guess I just traded in the KGB for Hydra." She said, sighing as she looked at her hands.

"I thought I knew whose lies I was telling, but.." She tilted her head a little, her voice soft. "I guess I can't tell the difference anymore." She said, Steve giving a small nod and sympathetic look.

"There's a chance you might be in the wrong business." He said, making her let out a huff of a laugh before her look became serious again.

"I owe you." She said, looking at me. "Both of you." She said, Steve shaking his head at her.

"It's okay." He said, myself nodding with him but she shook her head.

"If it was the other way around, and it was down to me to save your life, now you be honest with me," She started, looking at him intensely. "Would you trust me to do it?" She asked and he took a moment, looking at her sincerely.

"I would now." He said with a nod, her face seeming surprised as he looked down. "And I'm always honest." He said, Nat smiling slightly at him.

"Well, you seem pretty chipper who just found out they died for nothing." She said jokingly, Steve leaning back against the wall as he sighed.

"Well, guess I just like to know who I'm fighting." He said, Sam coming into the room as he leaned against the wall.

"I made breakfast." He said as I smiled, looking up at him as I rubbed Bub's ears. "If you guys eat that sort of thing." He mused, moving to turn around.

"Thank you." I said to him, he gave me a small smile and nod before he went back down the stairs, Steve giving a small chuckle as we all got up and went downstairs.

"So, the question is, who at S.H.I.E.L.D. could launch a domestic missile strike?" Nat asked, Sam cleaning up as we sat at the table. "Pierce." Steve replied, a sigh coming from me. Of course that little bitch is behind this shit.

"Who happens to be sitting on top of the most secure building in the world." She said, walking around the table as Steve put on his thinking face.

"But he's not working alone." Steve said, a hand to his chin. "Zola's algorithm was on the Lemurian star." He said as I furrowed by brows.

"Didn't you wonder why Sitwell was on it?" I asked him, Nat getting a look of realization as Steve did too, taking in a breath.

"So, the real question is, how do the three most wanted people in Washington kidnap a S.H.I.E.L.D. officer in broad daylight?" He asked making me look at him confused.

"Am I really wanted too?" I asked, since I had played minimal involvement in all this this far truthfully. Steve sighed and nodded, Nat giving me a sympathetic look as I sat back and scoffed in disbelief. "Hydra never lost real control or surveillance over me, did they?" I breathed, astonished that when I thought I had escaped them, they were really all around me still this whole time. Steve gave me a firm look as he leaned forward.

"Hey, this in no way means they control you." He said, Natasha nodding as she put a hand on my shoulder.

"It'll be okay." She said as I sighed and nodded, putting my head down on the table as I closed my eyes. None of even noticed as Sam had walked out then back into the room, a file in hand.

"The answer to your problem is, you don't." He said, putting the file on the table in front of Steve, all of us looking at it in confusion.

"What's this?" Steve asked, the first paper was a photo of Sam and another guy, both geared up and smiling.

"Call it a resume." He said, a small smile appearing on my face.

"You're helping us?" I asked and he gave a small smile and shrug, Nat picking up the photo with a slightly impressed look, Steve's brows still furrowed in thought as he inspected it.

"Is this Bakhmala?" Nat asked, recognizing it. "The Khalid Khandil mission, that was you?" She asked, Sam giving a small nod as he leaned against the counter, Steve looking from the photo to him.

"You didn't say he was pararescue." She hummed to Steve, who took it in hand and looked up at Sam.

"Is this Riley?" He asked, Sam nodding.

"Yeah. " He said quietly.

"I heard they couldn't bring in the choppers because of the RPGs."

She said, looking at him. "What'd you use? A stealth chute?" She asked, Sam raising his eyebrows as he shook his head, handing the actual file to Steve.

"No. These." He said, Steve opening it as Nat and I leaned to read over his shoulders, a moment of silence passing before Steve looked up with a small smirk.

"I thought you said you were a pilot." He said, Sam giving a small laugh.

"I never said pilot." He said with a smile, Steve looking down at it before shaking his head.

"I can't ask you to do this, Sam." He said, looking back up with a nod. "You got out for a good reason." He mused, Sam raising his eyebrows as he looked at him incredulously.

"Dude, Captain America needs my help." He said making me chuckle, he had a point. "There's no better reason to get back in." He said, Steve smiling softly before nodding, holding up the file as he raised his eyebrows.

"Where can we get our hands on one of these things?" He asked. "The last one is at Fort Meade." He said, crossing his arms. "Behind three guarded gates and a 12-inch steel wall." He said, Steve looking at Nat before they both looked at me and I sighed.

"When I said I wanted a mission, I don't think I had this in mind." I said, Steve chuckling but giving a small nod to his head.

"Think you can get small enough?" He asked making me scoff, crossing my arms.

"Is this even a question?" I asked him making them chuckle before Steve looked at Sam.

"Shouldn't be a problem."

-----

Okay, I take it back, this is pretty fun! I was finally out of Fort Meade and running on the roof before I jumped off, the gear Sam needed on me as I used it to glide myself down, heading to where I was to meet everyone as I let my time stop zone end, allowing the time of the area to speed up to is natural pace as I flew through the air, eventually sizing myself up and running as long as I could to the meet up area, panting as I slowed once I got within sight of them. I waved and grinned at them, Steve ushering me over as I gave the gear to Sam who grinned.

"Okay, pipsqueaks got some skill." He said as he took it, nodding making me laugh, getting into the car with them, Bub's left at the house since this may get way too dangerous for him. It wasn't long before Steve directed us to all our positions, Sam getting in place with myself hidden away, Steve's orders. I could only watch as Sam spoke on the phone to Jasper Sitwell after he had just finished up with some kind of governor or something, seeing his reluctance but compliance as he noticed the red dot lighting up his tie making me smirk. I quickly got up and raced from roof to roof to were Steve and Nat were, grinning as I skidded to a stop beside them.

"Target is on it's way." I grinned, Nat chuckling as her and Steve went down to get Sitwell, coming up moments later and throwing him through the door, slightly startling me before Steve walked up as he stood.

"Tell me about Zola's algorithm." Sitwell, stumbling back as he put his glasses on, looking at Steve.

"Never heard of it." He lied.

"What were you doing on the Lemurian Star?" Steve asked, still walking towards him with quick strides.

"I was throwing up. I get seasick." He said making me scoff. He gasped as he hit the edge, almost falling back before Steve grabbed hold of his jacket and pulled him back, a small smirk coming to Sitwell's face.

"Is this little display meant to insinuate that you're gonna throw me off the roof?" He asked, giving Steve a testing look. "Because it's really not your style, Rogers." He said, Steve getting a tiny tiny smirk on his face.

"You're right. It's not." He said, setting him down and smoothing out Sitwell's jacket a little bit. "It's hers." He said, moving aside as Natasha kicked him off the side of the roof, Sitwell's scream comical as we all knew Sam was going to catch him.

"Oh, wait. What about that girl from Accounting, Laura.." Nat said, trying to remember the girls name as she still tried to set Steve us, who had his hands tucked in his pockets.

"Lila." He said, remembering for her as she nodded. "Lip piercing, right?" He asked, Nat nodding as she smiled.

"Yeah, she's cute." She said but Steve shook his head making me laugh.

"Yeah. I'm not ready for that." He said making me chuckle.

"You're not even ready for a girl with fake lashes, let alone piercings." I said, he rolled his eyes and scoffed as Natasha laughed just as Sitwell was brought back up to us by Sam, who tossed him back on the roof like a sack of potatoes, landing on the ground as his wings retracted and he turned to us. We walked over to Sitwell as he started to get us, trapping him between us all before he put a hand up and looked down.

"Zola's algorithm is a program for choosing Insight's targets." He panted, trying to catch his breath from almost dying.

"What targets?" He asked quickly.

"You!" He waved a hand up to us. "A TV anchor in Cairo, the Under Secretary of Defense, a high school valedictorian in Iowa City," He panted, sitting on his kneel as he rambled.

"Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, anyone who's a threat to Hydra. Now, or in the future." He said, a hand coming over my mouth as my eyes widened. It's exactly like I thought would happen. This could mean the end of any sort of chance to fight them if they get in the air.

"In the future?" Steve asked, his brows furrowing. "How could it know?" He asked, Sitwell giving a laugh, looking up at Steve.

"How could it not?" He asked, taking a breath as he stood up. "The 21st century is a digital book. Zola taught Hydra how to read it." He said, looking between Nat and Steve.

"Your bank records, medical histories, voting patterns, emails, phone calls, your damn SAT scores!" He went on. "Zola's algorithm evaluates people's past to predict their future." He finished, Steve's look hardening.

"And what then?" He asked, Sitwell taking a moment before his eyes widened.

"Oh, my god. Pierce is gonna kill me." He muttered, Steve taking a step closer as Sam grabbed the back of his jacket.

"What then?" Steve repeated, raising his voice as Sitwell looked at him.

"Then the Insight Helicarriers scratch people off the list." He said, taking a pause as his voice shook ever so slightly. "A few million at a time." He said, our looks darkening before we all hurried into the car and set off.

Sitwell and Nat were in the back of the car as we drove on a highway bridge, I had shrunken myself small enough to sit on the center console between Steve and Sam to save room. Sitwell was looking out the windows in panic, looking out for something like someone was right around the corner.

"Hydra doesn't like leaks." Sitwell said, Sam looking at him from the rearview mirror with a scowl.

"Then why don't you try sticking a cork in it?" He asked, Nat sticking her head up front beside me.

"Insight's launching in 16 hours. We're cutting it a little bit close here." She said, Steve looking out the window with a small sigh.

"I know." He said, Sitwell still slightly panicking in the back. "We'll use him to bypass the DNA scans an access the helicarriers directly." He said, Sitwell looking at him in alarm at this plan.

"What? Are you crazy?" He asked, leaning forward. "That is a terrible, terrible idea." He said before a thud on the roof got all of our attention and I felt my heart drop. Please don't be Winter, please. A hand smashed through Sitwell's window, a metal arm grabbing him as I felt the tears in lump in my throat return as he was yanked from the car, getting immediately hit by a truck.

More thumping on top followed before Natasha made a move to the front, pushing me onto Steve as I panicked and shots were fired into the back seats, one hitting Sam's headrest which he dodged as Steve pulled the car into reverse, throwing the assailant off and in front of the car, his metal arm catching the concrete road as he slid to a stop, getting up as I felt my heart in my throat, tears filling my eyes again as we all watched him stand up. Nat went to shoot when a jeep crashed into us from behind, running us into him as he flipped back onto the roof of the car. Nat scrambled for her gun only for Winter to pull the steering wheel from Sam, literally pulling it from the car as Nat finally found her gun. The jeep ran into us again, the car hitting the curb as Winter rode on the front of the jeep.

[the-spam-specialist]

YOUNG CAINE MAKING A BUG NPC FOR THE FIRST TIME PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE

Oh, Imma have fun with this one. And by "fun," I mean put your emotions through the wringer.

A Special Gift

Characters: Caine, Queenie

Word Count: 600-ish

Caine, his denture-head practically vibrating with contained excitement, hovered nervously nearby. His top hat bobbed, the golden bells on its ribbons tinkling faintly. He wrung his hands, the white star pattern on his red tuxedo seeming to swirl in the air around him.

“Queenie! Queenie!” he finally burst out, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous tent. “I have something! Something really, really special to show you!”

Queenie, her chess piece form draped in a royal red robe, looked up with a gentle smile. Her eyes, somehow conveying volumes despite being just simple digital renderings, twinkled with amusement. "Oh really, Caine? What marvel have you conjured up this time?"

Caine puffed out his chest, trying to tamp down his bubbling impatience. “I’ve been working on it! For you! It took me a while, figuring out the… the… the algorithms and the particle effects!” He stumbled over the technical jargon, words he was still internalizing.

Queenie chuckled softly. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense, dear. What is it?”

Caine took a deep breath and held out his hands, palms up. There, resting delicately, was a butterfly. Not just any butterfly, but a creature rendered with exquisite detail. Its wings shimmered with iridescent colors, catching the simulated light filtering through the tent’s canvas. The butterfly flapped its wings, a delicate, silent flutter, and took flight. It danced around Queenie’s head, a tiny, ethereal brushstroke against the vibrant backdrop of the circus.

Then, as if drawn by an invisible thread, it landed gently on Queenie’s outstretched hand. Its delicate legs tickled her pixelated skin.

Queenie stared down at the butterfly, her digital eyes wide with wonder. Silence filled the space between them.

Queenie…didn’t know what to say. She had seen Caine create wonders before – gravity-defying stunts, impossible landscapes, and even a new skybox. But this…this was different. This wasn’t about spectacle or control. It was about something…tender.

It was perfect.

Finally, she found her voice, a gentle whisper. “Caine…it’s…it’s beautiful.”

Relief washed over Caine. His eyeballs practically sparkled. “Really? You like it? I was hoping you would!” He bounced on the balls of his feet (somehow while in midair), the bells on his hat ribbons jingling excitedly.

“Like it? Caine, I adore it. It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.” Queenie gently stroked the butterfly’s wing with one finger.

Caine’s chest swelled with pride. “I can make more!” he declared, his voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Whatever kind of bugs you want! Ladybugs! Beetles! Fireflies! Giant, glowing centipedes!” He paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. “Maybe not the centipedes. Kinger might not like that.”

Queenie laughed, a warm, comforting sound that filled the tent. She reached out, carefully scooping Caine into a hug. It was a warm embrace filled with a fierce, unspoken love.

She couldn’t quite kiss his head, not having a mouth and all, but she pressed her cheek against the top of his top hat, murmuring, "Thank you, Caine. This means the world to me."

The digital butterfly, sensing the shift in energy, fluttered from Queenie’s hand and landed on Caine’s top hat.

As Queenie held him close, she thought about how far Caine had come. With her quiet wisdom and gentle encouragement, she had helped him understand his potential, his responsibilities, and most importantly, the importance of kindness. She had shown him that true power wasn't about control, but about creation and connection.

Looking at the digital butterfly perched on his hat, a symbol of his newfound artistry and empathy, Queenie felt an overwhelming surge of pride. She loved him so much. And she was so incredibly proud of him. He wasn't just the ringmaster of the digital circus. He was her son. And she would always be there for him.

[alterwilts]

This is going to be my first chapter in a multi chapter series, it’s my first ever time writing so I’m kinda nervous but here we go.

Bend the line don’t break it

Chapter 1: New Beginnings

The NCIS headquarters hummed with the usual rhythm of busy agents and techs moving through their routines. It was your first day with the team, and though you had been assigned to cybercrime cases for years, walking into the NCIS bullpen felt different. A little more… charged. There was a tension in the air that you could almost touch—part curiosity, part skepticism.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs sat at his desk, reviewing case files, his back to you. The man’s reputation had preceded him, and you’d heard more than your fair share of stories. From what you’d gathered, Gibbs was a man of few words, intense focus, and an unsettling ability to read people.

Great. Just what you needed. A boss who was a known ass.

“New blood, huh?” came a voice from behind you. You turned to face a young agent who was leaning against a desk, eyeing you with an intrigued look.

“Yeah, new blood,” you replied, trying to keep things light despite the swirling nerves in your stomach. “I hear the coffee here is either life-changing or deadly. So, which is it?”

The agent chuckled, clearly impressed by your confidence. “You’ll find out soon enough. Just… be ready for Gibbs. He’s… uh, a lot.”

A lot. That didn’t sound too ominous, right?

You nodded, shooting him a half-smile before you made your way to Gibbs’ desk. He hadn’t moved, not even to glance at you. You were used to the pressure of making a good impression. But this man? This man was in a different league.

“Agent Gibbs?” you asked, your voice steady, though you could feel the edge of nerves creeping in.

Gibbs finally looked up, his expression unreadable. His eyes assessed you for a long moment, almost as if he were sizing up the competition. The silence between you felt like a test, one you hadn’t studied for.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, gravelly, and he barely moved an inch. The air around him seemed thick with authority.

“I’m the new cybercrime analyst,” you said, the confidence returning. “Ready to dive in.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything encouraging either. His eyes flickered toward the case file in front of him, as if he were already deciding whether or not he wanted you on this case.

“So, you’re the expert,” Gibbs muttered, his tone mocking in that subtle way that made your teeth grit. “We’ll see about that. Plus I already have one of those what did you say your title was”

“Cybercrime Analysts” You stood there, waiting for him to say something more, but he didn’t. Instead, he just gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, and pointed to the screen of his computer.

“Take a look at this. Tell me what you see.”

You didn’t hesitate, stepping closer to the desk and sliding into the chair. It was a mess of codes, algorithms, and encrypted messages. As you skimmed through the data, you couldn’t help but admire the complexity of it.

“Isn’t it a little… sloppy?” you asked, tapping the screen with one finger. “If this was an actual hacker, they’d know better than to leave such obvious traces. Whoever did this wanted us to find it. Or is an idiot”

Gibbs didn’t say anything. But his expression shifted, just slightly. His eyes narrowed.

“You want an dumbed down explanation because I’m not a big fan of the word doodymabobber”

His lips twitch at your comment into something that could have been a smile.

“You’re confident,” he said, the words heavy with something you couldn’t quite place. “And No, but let’s see if you’re right.”

You didn’t hesitate as you began pulling up more data, piecing together the puzzle. Gibbs didn’t speak for the next few minutes, but you could feel his gaze on you. It wasn’t critical, not exactly—but there was an intensity to it. A quiet pressure that made your pulse quicken.

Finally, you cracked it.

“It’s an inside job,” you said, sitting back in your chair. “And I’d bet my last dime if I had one that it’s someone from the upper ranks. The access permissions here are too specific—way too calculated to be a random hack.”

Gibbs leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his gaze still unwavering. “You’ve got a sharp eye,” he muttered, though there was a tone of something close to approval in his voice.

You met his stare, raising an eyebrow. “What, you think I’d get this far without knowing what I’m doing?”

For the briefest moment, you thought you saw a glint of something in his eyes—amusement, maybe, or respect. But then it was gone, replaced with his usual inscrutable expression.

“You talk a good game,” Gibbs said with a smug smile that made your stomach flip. “We’ll see if you can back it up.”

(Pls let me know what you think)

[wife]

i hate tiktok i hate that ppl use the same music for every video i hate that people lipsync over audio while putting subtitles on the screen that are Slightly Different than the audio to make it relevant to them i hate that people either take 5 billion years to get to the point to force you to keep watching and extend the length of the video OR they frontload the video with the Exciting part and then cut back to the starting point and then take 5 billion years to get to the point to keep you watching i hate that people say PLEASE STOP SCROLLING i hate that people rush to say their whole Deal right at the start of the video to convince to keep watching i hate that 90% of the shit you see is ads i hate that small business owners make up fake stories about outrageous customers for content i hate that people have one successful video doing a bit and then they keep doing the bit over and over i hate that people just lie about their lifestyle to make them seem interesting i hate that people make ragebait content because it gets views i hate that if you stop on one video the algorithm drowns your feed with that type of video nonstop so you can't watch anything you're not that interested in u Have to scroll past i hate that it isn't easy to block accounts from the fyp I LITERALLY HATE TIKTOK

[kaybeearts]

Older comic from 2020, but I still relate to some of the sentiments expressed in it. I would say that those kinds of feelings are now applied to all social platforms, not just Instagram at this point.

Of course you should make art for yourself, but sadly, you can't have a career in art without an actual interested audience. (Whether that be potential customers or employers)

However, I don't really care to get "famous" or noticed on Instagram. At this point in my artistic career, I've accepted that the Insta algorithm is so unpredictable and turbulent that I shouldn't count on it to showcase my work to people, no matter what I draw or what hashtags are included.

I honestly just use Instagram to keep in contact with acquaintances and occasionally post art that I've already posted to other areas. I've been relying more on Tiktok and Reddit as artistic platforms.

Unexpectedly, this comic grew slightly viral on Reddit, and became my most upvoted and commented post to date.

I always leave a little description about the comic in the comments shortly after I post them. This next part was an edit I made to my description.

EDIT: Okay- I was not expecting this post to blow up the way it did. I fully admit this isn't my best work; in fact, it's an old comic I made 5 years ago. I suppose it is "new" in the sense that I only posted it on Instagram 5 years ago, and I doubt that many on Reddit have seen it before.

Most of my previous comics have been able to garner a good amount of traffic, but I didn't anticipate this. It's absolutely crazy! At the time of writing, my insights said the post had more than 800k views, and it may have more by the time I finish this. I honestly assumed that due to the weaker art style and composition, I would get some traction, but not as much as my modern comics. I was hoping that a comic I put in more effort and passion to would achieve those kinds of stats, but life be like that, sometimes! I'm not complaining.

Many commenters seem to be under the impression that the social media thing is something that is just completely bogging me down. I understand where the impression came from, but it's not an accurate reflection of who I am now. Of course, I still have moments where I feel insecure or inferior as an artist, but I'm also in a different headspace than 20-year old me.

Instagram still sucks, and perhaps social media as a whole sucks, but these days, I'm just trying to have more fun with my art. It is fun when I get viewer interaction on my posts, but my primary goal is to put my stories out there. I know that some of my comics have helped people not feel alone in their issues, and that makes me feel fulfilled and happy.

I didn't expect this comment to get buried, or that people would not read this for one reason or another. That's fine, but I'm leaving this edit here to provide an explanation. Normally, I enjoy responding to as many comments as I can, but this is too much for me!

[musings-of-a-rose]

Build Me Up - Chapter 4 (Final Chapter)

Pairing: William “Ironhead” Miller x f!reader (inclusive - stock photos suck)

Word Count: 3200+

Rating: M for mature - 18+ only!

Warnings: Mature themes and some canon mentioned. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: The last chapter! I never intended this fic to be super long, but I loved their meet cute(?) idea and had to write it. As always, I take asks for any of the fics I write for, even if it’s just questions or a little drabble! Thank you for waiting so LONG inbetween that first and second chapter. Y’all the real MVP’s!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

--If you like this, please let the algorithm know by reblogging! This way it can be shared with multiple people (it's how it works here. I don't make the rules!)

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Build Me Up Masterlist

General Masterlist

Will Miller Masterlist

<<;Chapter 3<<

Several months later, Will takes you out for drinks after a nice dinner, your usual Friday night date. It was a great chance for you both to catch up on what the other was doing during the week, as sometimes life got so busy you’d barely get a chance to speak. This last week, Will had been out of town at a few different bases, making his speech about joining the Armed Forces, so your conversations take longer than normal. Will places a drink order with the bartender, leaning against the bar on his elbow as he watches you talk about the kids archery camp you’ve been instructing, eyes lighting up as you talk about them, when his eyes glance over your shoulder and his smile drops, his eyes instantly becoming hard. You stop talking and follow his gaze to a really pretty women, tall, lean, and blonde.

His ex fiance.

She’s with a friend but splits from them, pointing to the bar directly where Will was standing. You try to drag him away but it’s like he’s frozen, unable or unsure of what to do. 

“Oh. Hey, Will.”

He stares at her for a few moments longer than socially acceptable. “Ashley.”

She glances at you and back at Will, making the connection that you’re together. She sticks a hand out to you. 

“Hi, you must be the new girlfriend. I’m Ashley. Will and I used to…well, we were engaged.” She says the last word like it holds some giant meaning, like she was hoping it would cause a fight between you both. You take her hand, gripping it firmly and shake.

“Oh so you’re the ex fiance? Amber?”

Her eyes narrow at you slightly. “Ashley.”

“Right, right. I knew it was something that starts with A.” 

She glares at you for a second before rallying, schooling a look of indifference on her face. “So, how long have you two been dating?” She looks at Will but he seems incapable of answering her so you take over.

“About a year.”

She raises her eyebrows. “A year? You made it a whole year?” She sounds like she’s shocked, as if she wasn’t with him long enough to be engaged. 

“Yeah. Will’s great.”

She smiles at you, but the look in her eyes, like she knows some terrible secret and is going to save you from something, makes you want to punch her even more. She leans in closer to you, but still speaks loud enough for Will to just hear it over the sounds of the bar.

“He can be…a lot. Did he tell you to say that?”

“What?”

She leans in closer. “Blink twice if you’re in trouble.”

The color on Will’s face drains and you square your shoulders, sitting up straighter as you turn the full force of your gaze on her. 

“That’s really not funny. And honestly? I’m glad you couldn't handle him because that made him available for me. Will is the best thing to ever happen to me-”

Ashley waves her hand, cutting you off. “Yeah, yeah. Just wait until he finally shows you who he is in bed. A real freak. If you need help, just blink and I’ll call someone.”

You stand abruptly, your barstool wobbling dangerously on one leg as you do. “You know, I have to thank you.”

She blinks at you. “Oh? So you do need help?”

“Thank you for showing me exactly what a terrible person you are. It’s easy to see who the problem is. Now, unkindly, get the fuck out of our way.” You take Will’s hand and pull him up, Ashley staring at you open mouthed as you push past her, Will’s hand squeezing yours as you make your way through the crowd and out of the packed bar, heading straight for his truck. Will fishes his keys from his pocket and unlocks it, hopping in and you do the same. He starts it but doesn’t move, letting the ac cool it down. 

“What a fucking bitch,” You say, half to yourself and half to Will.

He’s quiet a moment. “I never thought…I didn’t know she was still in town.”

“Well fuck her. She is so rude. I wanted to fight her but I didn’t want to ruin date night.”

Will chuckles lightly. “Now that I would’ve loved to have seen.”

“Oh? I can go in there and drag her ass out here,” You point over your shoulder with your thumb, pretending to go for the doorhandle. Will smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes as he shakes his head. 

“Hey…where are you?” You reach out and cup his cheek. Will leans into it for a moment, sighing deeply.

“She just…brought up a lot of memories. Ones that I didn’t want to think about again.”

“You’re a good man, Will. I know I say it all the time. I’m hoping it’ll sink in that Ironhead of yours one day.”

He smiles a little brighter this time, still not reaching his eyes. “I know.”

You watch him for a few moments before scooting close to him, pressing your lips to his and letting him lead. He responds after a second or two, kissing you back and pushing his tongue into your mouth. Moaning into him, you toss your leg over his lap, your hands sliding around the back of his neck, gripping and tugging on his hair. You tug a little harder, his head moving back and he smirks at you, that glint in his eye when he knows you’re about to sparkling in the dim light. Sucking at a spot on his neck, Will whimpers, fingers digging into your hips as you let go, a hickey quickly rising in palace of your lips. Will fumbles with his belt and you slap his hands away, quickly undoing his belt and jeans, pulling him out as he gasps at your touch, kissing him once more as you take him in hand and pump him a few times. Moving your panties aside you sit up and slide yourself down onto him slowly, which apparently doesn’t work for Will as he grips your hips and pulls you down quickly while thrusting up into you, chuckling darkly at your cry. 

“Fuck, Will! You feel so good!”

He guides you as you fuck him, pulling you down harder as you chant his name, random words and sounds tumbling from your lips as he fucks you. One hand is gripping his arm and the other slaps against the window and it’s then you see her. Ashley, standing a car length or two away, staring directly at you and Will having sex. As Will leans forward to suck hard on your neck, you smirk at Ashley, giving her a small wave and flipping her off as Will hits that spot inside of you and you cum, screaming his name a little louder than you probably needed to. Will comes a moment later, grunting and panting your name as he spurts inside of you, biting you hard on the shoulder. Chests heaving, Will looks up at you, eyes still dark as he takes in your face, hair all askew and sweaty. 

“I fucking love you, Robin.”

A smile spreads across your face. “I fucking love you, Will Miller.”

“Move in with me?”

“Was the sex that good?”

He chuckles. “It’s always that good with you.”

“Why don’t you ask me that when you’re not balls deep inside of me.”

He grips your chin lightly with his thumb and pointer finger and you meet his gaze. 

“I mean it, Robin. I’ve been dying to ask you for a few months. I just…”

“You never have to be afraid to ask me anything, Will.”

He nods. “I know. So…will you?”

“Yes. But if you feel different in the morning, it’s ok. Just tell me.”

“Deal.”

—----

He does not feel different in the morning, and he proves this to you by burying his face between your legs until you beg him to stop, overstimulated and nearly crying from so much bliss. 

“742,” Will says matter of factly.

“742? Really?”

He smiles proudly. “I love to make my girl cum.”

“I still can’t believe you track that.”

“Wanna know how many times we’ve had sex?”

You throw a pillow at him and he throws it back, expertly hitting you in the head.

–

Both of you take a couple weeks to pack your things and move them over slowly, since work was still super busy. Once you’re moved in, you settle into a comfortable routine, making Will a quick breakfast and coffee before he heads into work or off to the airport to make another recruitment speech. You can see his job wears on him, but when you ask him about it, he shrugs and says “It’s what I can do.” Once you pressed him more and he said a lot of places don’t want to hire veterans that have seen active combat. They don’t outwardly say it, but he’s been turned down for jobs that he interviewed great at, making it all the way through the process until they saw his forms, suddenly not so interested. He’d once asked a recruiter why and they mumbled something about “not worth the risk”. 

He takes up archery with you as his coach and he takes to it well, which doesn’t surprise you in the slightest, considering his history. Will also pays very close attention to detail, making it easier for him to hone in on the target and how best to get there. He still loves it when you come and stand behind him, fixing an elbow here or a wrist there. You finally got him to snap out of concentration Will when you came up behind him and pretended to adjust something on his posture before he drew and ground your hips into his ass. Will burst out laughing, not used to being the one grinded on and you both laughed about that for a long while. 

You’ve been together a year and a half and finally, Will gets to meet your family. They’re having their annual “2nd of July” celebration, as most of the family will be inside on the fourth, none of the veterans big fans of all the firework noise. They’d had to cancel last year and so were extra excited for this year, especially since you were able to fly in with the now infamous Captain William Miller. 

“Do I look ok?” Will asks, fidgeting with his collar in the hotel mirror. 

“Let me see.”

He turns to face you, arms outstretched to his sides. “Do I need to change?”

“As much as I’d love to take this shirt off of you, you look fine, Will. You don’t need to impress anyone.”

“Easy for you to say. Everyone loves you.”

“They have to. They’re family.”

When you arrive, Will knocks on the door, wiping his palms on his jeans that you’d convinced him to wear over business pants. He’s visibly nervous and you can see him getting in his head. So you lean up to him, speaking quietly by his ear.

“If you relax, we can stop at the store on the way back to get that stuff for that thing you’ve been wanting to try in the bedroom.”

Will’s eyes snap to yours, darkening instantly. His eyebrows raise but before he can say anything, the door opens and your dad is there, hugging you and grasping Will’s outstretched hand, a smile on his face.

“Will! It’s so good to finally meet you! You want a burger or a dog?”

“Whatever you have more of, sir.”

“Sir! You hear him? I like him already.”

“Dad!”

He chuckles. “Alright, alright. No need to call me sir. I’m fairly certain you outrank me.”

Will shakes his head. “Negative. You are the father of the love of my life. You definitely outrank me for bringing her into this world.”

Your dad stops, looking between Will and you and seeing the look of utter devotion on both of your faces. “That’s very kind of you to say, Will. Now come on - let’s get you some food before these heathens eat it all.”

Will’s eyes widen when you step out into the backyard and he sees the amount of people gathered here. Kids running around with sparklers, throwing snaps at each other and laughing, some people swimming in the pool, and others talking, some loudly and some not, red, white, and blue colors everywhere. 

“I thought you said it was quiet?” He doesn’t look at you but the corner of his mouth ticks up.

“It is. We don’t do fireworks so it’s quiet for 2nd of July.”

You make the rounds, introducing Will to everyone, his shoulders relaxing more with every new person that he meets. “You weren’t kidding - almost everyone here has served or is serving.”

“Yup. I told you the truth that day in Publix.”

Everyone loved Will, but no one more than your mom. She fawned over him, squeezing his arm, making sure he had enough to eat and drink, that he knew where all the exits were and that there were no pets, the best places to stand with your back against a wall and clear line of sight to the door. The backyard was set up so you could stand pretty much anywhere and achieve this, but she wanted any excuse to talk to him. When your dad came over and pulled Will towards the grill to “help him”, your mom came up to you and gushed about Will, how he was so respectful and kind and a really nice man. 

True to your word, no fireworks were had that night. Instead, your parents had put up a giant inflatable screen and played a video of fireworks with no sound effects, just classical music over top. Will and you sit on the ground, Will leaning back on his hands and you between his legs as you watch. 

“This is amazing, Robin. I gotta tell the guys about this. We should do something like this back home.”

You lean back into his lap further, turning slightly to the side to look at him. “That’s a great idea! Frankie and Vanessa have plenty of room in their yard for this sort of screen. They aren’t too expensive. And their daughters would love to watch Frozen on this thing.”

The fireworks end and you sigh, stretching slightly as you stand up, finally able to make a full stretch. You turn to Will to offer him your hand, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you look at him, kneeling on one knee, a ring box sitting in his hand.

“Robin, I know I’m not an easy man. Hell, you met me in the middle of a PTSD episode in the middle of a Publix. But somehow, even though I didn’t know you, you were able to pull me out. You saved me that day, but more than that, you’ve saved me every day since then. I feel…normal around you. Or as normal as I can be. You make me feel safe..safe to be me, all of me. I never thought that was possible. I thought that I would have to live my life half a person. You never judge me for the things I’ve had to do, any of the nightmares or quirks, none of it. Other women would’ve walked away, but you take my hand and guide me through the fog. And I hope I give you even an ounce of the happiness you bring me and I want to spend the rest of my life making sure that you’re happy and feel loved.” Will opens the little black box, exposing a beautifully crafted ring. “Will you marry-”

“YES!” 

You launch yourself at him, cutting off his sentence to laughter and whoops all around, your lips crashing to his as everyone cheers. You take his face in both hands and pull back, tears falling not just from your eyes but his as well. 

“I love you, Captain William Miller.”

“I love you so much, darlin’.”

On your flight home, you covertly join the mile high club, Will grinning from ear to ear watching you exit the bathroom and smoothe down your dress a few minutes after he’d left the same one. 

—----

Everyone flies out to your parent’s house for the wedding, as they had practically begged you to have the wedding there. And Will enthusiastically agreed, as the yard was literally set up for veterans. Everyone was there, even Santi flew up from his job in Colombia and asked you to tell him who your single family members were with a wink. 

The wedding was small but grand, flowers picked from your mom’s garden were woven into your braided updo, mathing the ones your mom had hand embroidered onto the outer layer of your dress, a matching embroidered handkerchief in Will’s coat pocket.

The reception went on long into the night, the kids all passed out on sleeping bags in the living room as they watched a movie. Will always had a hand on you at all times since you said “I do”, pressed to your lower back, lightly gripping your arm, or linking fingers with you and pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. 

You’d both decided to skip the honeymoon and save that money towards a downpayment on a house of your own, a discussion of kids sometime in the next couple of years or so. “We can always go on some fancy trip later,” you say as you take another sip of the beer Will had brought you. 

You did, however, take the week off anyway and spend it in bed, only leaving it to make food and use the bathroom, Will demanding that the only clothing you were allowed to wear was one of his shirts and nothing else. When you said “Yes, sir” he growled and chased you until he pushed you into the bed, both of you living out your now shared dark desires. 

And in the morning, you woke before him, watching his sleeping face as the light hits it just right and you think about how lucky you were to have been in Publix that day and how much you love the man in front of you, even if he was snoring loudly.

—----

About a year or so later, Will and you are sitting on the couch cuddling, yelling out wrong answers to Wheel of Fortune, when his phone lights up. He leans forward and grabs it off the coffee table, letting you settle back into his side while he looks at the screen.

“Everything ok?”

“Yeah. I just got a text from Santi.”

“If it’s about some girl, I don’t need to know.”

“No. He says he has a job for us.”

—----

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[findjackwalten]

"bon"?

TWF 4 SPOILERS// prepare for some slightly disjointed rambling on twf 4

i keep thinking of how "bon" reveals snippets of things we don't know just yet about him, like what exactly "bon" is or if he's a spirit or not. that is to say; if he's a spirit we know.

"bon" introduces himself to susan as a sort of receptionist or caretaker in Wonderland. He's friendly and explains it to her with what seems like genuine care and concern. his voice has a robotic but almost loving quality. he speaks as if he's narrating a storybook.

this is our first hint that "bon" might have once been something else. if he 'would know' about how a spirit doesn't pass on as fast as the body does- is he referring to himself or someone else? there seems to be nobody else in Wonderland other than Susan, himself & Edd and Molly. of course, we only know what we're shown- but what we're told here seems very important, too. so important that "bon" mentions it again later:

he's sympathising with Susan; sharing to make her feel better about it. he could be lying, but i don't think so. "bon" was scared too. we have a confirmation now that "bon" seems to be talking about himself here. or maybe what he was before Susan came around.

there is a notable absence of Jack here. is he in Wonderland? we don't know. but we know that "bon" has been there for a while.

i find it interesting that "bon" is in quotes at all. he is consistently in canon media reffered to with the quotation marks- as if he is something fake or that the name is a lie. It could be that Bon, the rabbit animatronic, is simply the main Bon we should be concerned about- and "bon" is lesser, as he doesn't have anything else but the ability to control Bon. Or maybe "bon" is simply what Bon actually is- that "bon" is the AI within Bon corrupted and warped by circumstance.

Or that he isn't really "bon" at all. that the difference between "bon" and Bon is much more important than quotes can convey. To get floppy with it and start something of a theory- "bon" is eerilly simmilar to Jack in a disjointed, warped kind of way. The shape of the suit in the fog and his height and vague face shape reads just too close to me. I don't think they're the same 'person' but i think "bon" could be trying to mimic Jack. we see him talk to susan in a friendly, familliar manner- and saying things i think raise flags about what could be going on

he calls Susan his friend, and says he knows things about her

granted, these could all be learned easilly if we imagine that "bon" has been inhabiting Bon the animatronic for a while, watching people around and learning information to be able to put it to use. or maybe he can't help it- a programmed learning algorithm that keeps learning and learning until it learns everything it isn't supposed to.

I've always had the idea that Bon had something of a computer learning algorithm, a fascinating example of Cyberfun Tech's ingenuity being turned into something wrong and predatory.

The facial recognition AI and walkaround AI we see in twf 4 is very clearly a database and learning AI; we see susan and charles talking about how Banny has to pathfind around objects

this seems pretty clear to me that Banny (and therefore all the other animatronics) are supposed to learn how to recognise objects and pathfind around them for the best possible interaction experience. Banny here, fails the test which according to susan just means they'll have to 'test this out again until we get this right'.

The facial recognition can be altered, too. we see Boozoo recognise Edd and Molly, even though he shouldn't have. I think this is an example of the ghost interferance with the AI actually making it fuction when it shouldn't. What im getting at here; is what did Bon learn?

did he learn that violence we see him enact on Susan? If so, from where? did he witness a murder? see someone brutalize someone else and in his programming, think 'how can i improve this and enact it better?' because getting better, more efficient is what every AI programme in the animatronics aims to do.

the segment where Susan is killed by Bon has a title screen:

'the first', referring to the day Susan died being on the day the first birthday party at Bons Burgers happened. I wonder if it could also be refferring to Susan being perhaps 'The First' to have been killed like this, by Bon and "bon".

this is admittedly pushing it a little but we have like 0 information on Jack atm and i'm not confident Bon killed him. or even "bon". the assumption we are led to make from the episode is that "bon" possessed Bon

and was the force behind Bon killing Susan at all. btw bon makes such a cute pose i really am enamoured by Bon in this episode. But if "bon" is the force behind killing Susan, and perhaps any violence Bon enacts at all; what is "bon"??

we know these things:

-he apparently knows what it's like to be scared [of death? of wonderland? of being a spirit?]

-he knows Susan

-he wears a suit

-he possesses Bon

-Edd and Molly are scared[?] of him

If "bon" is a spirit, like we seem to have been hinted at, is he Jack? Him being in Wonderland before Susan obviously means he must have 'died' before her, but Wonderland is simmilar to 'The Lobby' we see on Anthony's Findjackwalten page here, since 'Alice in Wonderland' REPLACED 'The Lobby' on that page.

which we know is a purgatory of sorts, from the other Findjackwalten page /ghosthaunt

So if "bon" CANT be only an AI, but died before susan- what if he's both? What if the ghost is also an AI? Could it be that Jack is not mostly possessing Bon, but is in a strange situation where he's fragmented across objects? Jack is most often depicted on a TV or through analog rather than ever being shown with Bon like any other of the animatronics- like susan or charles whose faces are overlaid directly over their suits.

If Jack is split across multiple outlets for his 'spirit', maybe "bon" is actually able to possess Bon because of Jack's spirit- rather than having his own at all. AI and ghost in a sort of terrible parasitic relationship where the AI can use Jack's spirit to exist in Wonderland and the real world in a way it could not before. Think of it a little like possessing a spirit in a weird way.

With this in mind, i think "bon" seems to fit into his politely sinister persona- not threatening, but goal-oriented. "bon" has learned things from Jack and can better replicate him to further his vague goal of. i suppose 'recruiting' spirits to continue to possess their vessels rather than pass on.