#maybe posting about it will encourage me to actually write a fic with it

[yonpote]

mechanic au stuff

i think in this au dan straight up goes by lara, cuz fuck it. lara had transitioned from a young age, im thinking like 16-17? so she still has a lot of like, all boys high school trauma n shit, mainly because this is all self projection okay its fic i am allowed to do that. she basically figured out she was trans at the start of a single-sex secondary school and it was a nightmare (again i am self-projecting <33)

also phil goes by phil still, i think maybe early on she did ask her mom what she would have been called and tried calling herself fiona for a bit, but decided shes just so phil! and i'd like to think she hadnt actually seen the 2013 movie called philomena starring judi dench until after she decided that would be the full version of phil lol, honestly she was prob just on a baby name website like the rest of us o7

as soon as lara could get a job and buy her own clothes and get put on the evil fucking nhs waiting list, she was set on moving as far away from home as possible. she still went to manc uni and still dropped out and never became mia fey TT_TT luckily at uni, she ended up becoming friends with a little queer circle of pals, a staple for a healthy time in school (and ofc theres the one cishet dude that hangs around cuz theres always gotta be the one) but once they all graduated from uni and moved back home, lara was the only one left in manchester.

phil doesnt start transitioning or even realize shes trans until she turned 27, so shes almost a baby trans compared to lara. shes very easily accepted by her local lesbian community, she always got along better with them than any of the cis gay guys tbh (in terms of friendship and romance. sexually speaking, she had very much enjoyed her time with cis gay men...) and as much as she loves the butches and genderqueers in her life who fully accept her as a woman despite continuing to appear masculine, she still ends up feeling isolated due to the lack of trans women in her hometown, or at least at her local gay pub. eventually she makes enough money working at the mechanic to move to manchester. she still hadnt come out as trans at the new car shop she works at, but she views her car mechanic life to be separate from her trans queer life. at least, at first she does, until a young woman walks in with a dented bumper and a smashed headlight.

[seaslimes]

Every time I see those posts about the AO3 F/F to M/M ratios, all I can think is:

Okay, excellent point. But what if you just wrote it?

Like. Yeah, man, I'm sure it's discouraging to see raw numbers talking about how your ship doesn't get the rep it needs. But when you get down to numbers... sometimes the difference within fandoms is less than 500 more M/M works than F/F works. That's actionable. You can fill that gap with a fraction of the people liking / reblogging posts about F/F erasure.

Sometimes the gap is bigger. It's like, 1000 more works are tagged M/M. 2000, or more. Yeah, that's a big gap, but you could make it one less. If every person liking or reblogging a post about the disparity of ship fics on AO3, that number would shrink drastically, or outright disappear.

IDK. I write F/F. I write M/M too, as well as M/F. But I write F/F, and when I see that sorta post. It doesn't feel like a call to action. It feels like somehow, in some way, I'm not doing enough when I post up fanfiction for free about stuff I like.

It makes me feel like I should stop sharing my F/F work, that it doesn't matter, that people don't recognize the effort or love or time that goes into it. Even beyond that, I feel discouraged about the work I have put out, because thousands of words written all about an F/F pairing are only seen in that raw stat format.

"There's X M/M fics and Y F/F fics." Yes, I know, and that has to suck. But look at how many people wrote F/F fics! Have you commented on each of those F/F fics? Have you given kudos? Did you feel inspired to write or draw because of those F/F fics? That's what fandom is for. That's why we create. If that's not inspiring you to "close the gap" on those stats, I don't know what to say.

[plantenjoyer]

I SWEAR I KEEP TRYING TO DO ART BUT THEN SOMETHING GETS IN THE WAY AND THEN I PROCRASTINATE AND THEN SIX MONTHS PASS

[nettlestingsoup]

the urge to slow down on all my fic projects and focus more on the mess of ideas i have for original works vs the deep love of fanfic as a creative medium and the desire to be making it at all times

[naamah-beherit]

I'm begging y'all, put at least minimum care into how you present your fics to the public.

"idk man you name it im tired" as a title tells me you didn't care.

"This is STUPID" in the tags. Okay, I won't read it then.

"I don't know how to do tags" tells me you didn't bother taking one look at any page in the archive to see how others tag and use it as reference. Or, you know, you could have asked, too.

"idk if this is trash, bc I worte this in the middle of the night bc idrk" in the summary doesn't really encourage me to open the story.

3 lines of tags on a 4k monitor, none of which are actual searchable tags but a stream of consciousness about the author's sleeping habits and music preferences, tell me you don't know what your story is about if you can't give us 2-4 main tropes and themes. Also, this isn't tumblr, come on mate.

"I hate myself for this fic" okay? Why did you write it then if it brought you discomfort? Moreover, why did you post it???

"Why Did I Write This?" well, hobbies are about joy and fun, if writing doesn't make you happy then maybe it's time to look for something else to do in your free time? No point in making yourself miserable.

"The Author Regrets Everything" paired with more self-deprecating tags suggest I better not bother opening the fic because it clearly made the author miserable and why would I be miserable as well?

"killing myself rn" please get help.

0 additional tags is better than that. Writing and sharing fics should be an act of care, not anguish.

[that-sarcastic-writer]

A Ballad of Lost Souls

Eric Draven (2024) X f!reader

Summary: what happens when two lost souls find each other? Cling to each other? Love could be a very dangerous drug indeed. You and Eric meet during rehab.

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, brief handjob, hair pulling, choking, size difference, size kink if you squint, bit of inexperienced!reader, Eric is actually a sweetheart, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of substance abuse, addiction, mentions of suicidal thoughts, this movie is dark what do you want me to say

Reader has tattoos, but has no further specifications, y’all get to be tattooed girlies today, you’re welcome

WC: 5.7K I’m sorry

Inspo creds @kingkat12, she also posted an Eric fic with the same concept and some of the elements of this story like some of the dialogue bits were inspired after reading hers. Please give her some love! She’s a great writer

A/N: NOBODY LOOK AT ME. idc, I love Eric okay, stfu. I just had to write him. He just needs love man. That’s all. I want to give him love. So here you go. I might make a part two if there’s enough interest. When I tell you the Eric fic supply is LOW, I’ve never seen one so LACKING. So I just had to yk? Enjoy and don’t cancel me alright.

You didn’t often dwell on the past. You had a live in the moment kind of mindset. You didn’t know where you’d be tomorrow so you made the best of the moment. But sometimes, you wondered just where your bad decisions were taking you. You didn’t mean to end up here, in this awful bubblegum pink sweater and sweatpants, surrounded by people who didn’t care why you were here, or if you got better or not. The disappointed words of your mother played in your head, and the angry words of your father hammered in the back of your head. You were a fucking disappointment, and that’s why you were here. 

You thought about ending it. This mess your life had become. It wouldn’t be too hard to find a razor around here if you truly tried. Who would miss you anyway? What even was the point of it all? By day two you couldn’t take this shit anymore. And then you saw him in the yard. You were almost entranced by him. He was so tall, he towered over everyone he walked past, you couldn’t imagine how ridiculous you would look standing next to him. You could see his ink cover his hands and fingers, and you wondered just how far the ink traveled. You were intrigued by him, he was quiet, morbidly so, he didn’t say a word to anyone, no matter how much they pressed or tossed him around, he just stared. Whether it was the doctors, the counselors, the guards. He always chose silence. And he always had this look of defiance, of apathy, he took everything with a locked jaw and deadpan eyes. And that intrigued you.

Should you try to entertain anyone in this facility, let alone the loner covered in tattoos? No, absolutely not. But lord, something about him drew you in. 

You caught glimpses of him for a few days, in the cafeteria when you walked past him to your table, maybe he thought you didn’t notice, but you caught him turning his head to watch you walk by. One time, your eyes met, they were a pretty shade of green. It was brief though, as soon as he realized you caught him, his eyes were in front of his plate, but not before you managed to flash him a tiny smile. Welcoming, playful. 

Eric remembered that. 

The next time you saw him was out in the yard. They encouraged exercise in this place, for some dumb reason. The most people did around here was stand in a corner, feeling completely miserable under the scorching sun. But much to your surprise, after some time walking around the yard you found Eric, lingering by the gym equipment. It wasn’t much, just a pull up bar and that was barely tall enough to accommodate him. No weights, of course, because someone could hurt themselves, or someone else with them. It wasn’t much, but you couldn’t help but watch as he pulled his sweatshirt over his head, revealing even more tattoos going up both of his arms. You stood in a corner like a fucking weirdo, watching as he did pull up’s, as best as he could having to bend his long legs to accommodate the short bar. Why were you just staring at this man you’ve never even spoken to? Of that you had no clue. But you couldn’t take your eyes away. He had his back to you, but even under the material of his white t-shirt you could see the muscles in his shoulders tense, his arms flexing with each pull. And you could only I magine the true sight of him. Sweat dripping down his forehead, lips pulled between his teeth as he did each pull. God, you felt like such a pervert. You shouldn’t be eye fucking him like this, but you couldn’t help it, something about him twisted the most secluded corners of your mind.

Ultimately your trance was cut short, since it didn’t take long for a group of guys to take interest in whatever Eric was doing and went straight to push him around some more. You frowned, almost upset by the sight of him getting tossed around and hazed like this. You couldn’t hear what was happening, but Eric had his head down, chest heavy as he clenched his fists at his sides, but he otherwise did nothing. You didn’t care, any fucks you still had to give were gone the moment your parents and your ex-boyfriend conspired to send you here. You were about to walk over there, not caring about what weird opposite sex rules this place had. But when you started walking, Eric did too, getting shoulder checked as he pushed his way past the group of guys. You felt awful, you wanted to say something to him, but you were frozen when he walked past you, his green eyes shooting a quick glance at you, a bit of curiosity laced in them. But you were more focused on how his shirt was clinging to his sweaty chest. And just like that he was gone.

The next time you saw him was during a group meeting that afternoon. You were almost disappointed at first when he didn’t show. You sulked into your seat for the first minute or two, upset you wouldn’t get to see him today again. And then you saw him. His expression as apathetic as ever, like he would rather get beat up than sit through this bullshit. His hair was soaking wet, small droplets of water still falling from the tips of his raven hair. Great, now the image of him in the shower was ingrained into your brain. As if you didn’t feel filthy enough.

You bit your lip softly, sitting up as he sat across from you, his expression blank with disinterest as his tattooed fingers played with the hem of his pink sweater. You weren’t paying attention either, you were more entertained by the way his long legs spread open as he slouched on his chair, taking as much space as possible. You thought about how nice it would be to sit on his lap. You glanced at his hands, they were huge. How easily he could grab a hold of your ass, or hold you still by your neck. How his long fingers would feel so deep inside you. You thought about how easily he was doing those pull ups, and you thought just how easily he could hold you down, throw you around to as he pleased with you. Truly, you would happily let him use you. You could feel heat rush to your face as you crossed your legs, trying your best to ignore the heat pooling between your legs. Why were you lusting so hard over him? You didn’t even know his name. 

Almost as if he could hear your pounding heart, Eric looked up to find your eyes lingering on him, one leg crossed over the other tightly. He tilted his head with curiosity, and his fingers twitched around his sweatshirt as your eyes met. He didn’t feel like looking away this time. The longer his hooded eyes were on you, the more nervous you became. You could feel your breath hitch in your chest as his eyes burned you. You only looked away when the counselor said your name, followed by stares. 

Shit, were you supposed to say something? 

You opened your mouth, immediately closing it as you had nothing to say. You didn’t even hear the question. You pursed your lips and shook your head lightly. The counselor sighed softly and looked to the girl beside you instead. It was common for most people here to refrain from speaking so he didn’t think too much about it. But when your eyes found Eric again, there was a small hint of amusement in his eyes, a ghost of a grin tugging at his plush lips. For the first time since you’ve been here, you saw something other than disinterest on his face. 

Perhaps he was just as drawn to you as you were to him. 

~~~

You pulled your lips into a disappointed pout as you searched around the cafeteria for his black mullet, not being able to find him. And here you thought today would be the day you finally spoke to him. You were about to sit at the nearest empty table when you found him. Even sitting down he stood out. You smiled to yourself, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. You looked around for guards, none were paying particular attention to you so you did it. 

He lifted his head slightly to glance at you, a quick second before his eyes were back on his plate. You saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. You smiled to yourself.

“I like your ink.” Were the first words out of your mouth. You said them in one breath, afraid he would get up and leave. His eyes lifted from his hands to meet yours, his eyes then fell to your own hands, one of them covered in distinct patterns and colors from your wrist up to your fingers. He wondered what else you were hiding under your sweater, like him.

“Hm.” He gave you a small nod, his plush lips pulled between his teeth in a way that had you clenching your thighs. “I like yours.” 

You smiled, the first genuine one since you’ve gotten here.

“I have more.” You whispered, leaning close to him, like it was some secret only for his ears to hear. His eyes flickered with amusement and he gave you another hum, his eyes now looking everywhere they could in hope of finding said secrets. 

“Me too.” His lips curved up the slightest bit as he lifted one of his sleeves up enough to reveal more tattoos going up his arm. Your eyes lit up as you excitedly leaned down closer with the excuse of getting a closer look. Your proximity was certainly way too close for this facility.

Leaning impossibly close to him without actually touching him, you looked up at him and with a playful smile you pulled down the collar of your sweatshirt to reveal more designs along your collarbone, the rest of the design hidden by your sweater as the colors continued down your shoulder. 

“But don’t tell anyone.” You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to hide your smile. He gave you what sounded like a chuckle and he shrugged.

“Who would I tell?” Though his face remained expressionless, his eyes had a glint that mimicked your eagerness, he welcomed your proximity. “Here he comes.”

You were confused by his words and you opened your mouth to question him as he sat back, his head lifting in the direction behind your head. 

“Males and females can’t sit together!” One of the guards, one you had noticed had a particular thing with Eric shouted, roughly grabbing the back of his chair to force him up on his feet.

“Huh? Wait, why are you taking him?” You talked back to the guard. “Hey, he didn’t do anything! I was the one that sat here. I—I’ll move. Don’t be such an asshole! Leave him alone!” You tried to help, even going as far as standing up but the guard was already taking the new owner of all of your attention away. Your heart sank as you watched the guard shout at him as he dragged him away.

He had managed to turn his head back for a second, and when your eyes met, he half smiled at you. He was almost proud of the fact that you tried to stand up for him. “I’m Eric!”

You smiled. 

~~~~~~

“Found you.” You skipped into Eric’s room, finally seeing his door open.

You hadn’t seen him since you got him in trouble at their cafeteria the day before. You got in some trouble too. You had a one on one meeting with a counselor about your choice of words and your “temper” but it was nothing more than just a slap on the wrist. Truly, you felt worse about getting Eric in trouble more than anything. You didn’t mean to, you just wanted to talk to him. He must have gotten punished because you didn’t see him during gym hour. You leaned against the doorframe as he turned around to find you. Curiosity filled his otherwise empty eyes, and a glint of amusement replaced the usual apathy in his gaze.

“I never left.” He answered with a shrug as he shuffled through the mess that was made of his artwork. Sketch papers were scattered all over his room, torn off the walls. Perhaps after getting in trouble during lunch they used that as an excuse to go through his room. 

“I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.” You expressed with genuine regret, shooting back a glance to the hallway before inviting yourself into his room. Much to the protest of the rational voice in your mind. You looked at the floor as you almost stepped on a piece of paper, you happily picked it up, admiring the black charcoal coating the page before you set it on his bed.

“Is that why you’re here? To apologize?” Eric asked almost cynically as he glanced over at you, not moving from where he stood.

“Well yeah. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.” You said sheepishly, a bit intimidated under his intense gaze. There was always a look of defiance in his green eyes, determination even. He gave you a sarcastic hum, which made you roll your eyes.

“Why did you yell at the guard? You got in trouble too, didn’t you?” He asked lowly, his head slightly tilted as he searched for that little thing you did around him, when you clenched your hands at your sides, or your thighs on your seat. His eyes irked with amusement when your fingers twitched at your sides and your lips parted open.

“‘Cause… You didn’t do anything wrong. You never do anything, or say anything. And everyone around here always pushes you around. It’s fucked up.” You answered quietly, daring to meet his eyes. He pulled his lips into a small pout and nodded slowly. His silence was always so nerve wracking to you.

“Yeah, so?”

You scrunched up your face, sighing heavily at his questioning. What did he what you to say? You didn’t know why you cared. You shrugged, picking up another piece of paper by your feet. You half glanced at it as you spoke.

“I dunno.. I just.. Oh my—” You cut yourself off as you gave the drawing in your hand a proper look. You narrowed your eyes, giving the drawing a closer look, and your jaw fell open. It looked like you, your hair falling over your face, dark scribbles covering your body symbolizing the unknown designs on your body, the only intelligible one being the patterns on your collarbone, the same one you had shown Eric. But what truly caught your eye was that you were in fact, completely nude. Truly, his imagination surprised you, he had imagined every curve of your body well, despite not having seen any part of it.

Based on your flustered expression, Eric could only assume which drawing you had picked up. He swallowed, his cheeks flushing pink being caught red handed. But he didn’t look apologetic, at all.

“This what you do in your spare time? Draw naked girls?” You asked with big eyes, the still working rational part of your mind screaming alarms, but a part of you also filled with excitement at his perverted mind. Almost as if you were on his mind as much as he was on yours.

He shook his head. “Just one.” He answered with a shrug, a challenging look in his eyes. 

Either you walked out right then and there, and that would be that, or you would go all in. He was trying to figure out which one it would be.

“You are very talented, this is—” You dragged your tongue over your lip as you walked closer to him, catching glances at his other artwork. Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached him, his gaze making you shudder. He said nothing as you stooped in front of him, now having to tilt his head down to meet your gaze. God this man was so goddamn tall. “You could totally sell this for some money.”

“But,” you continued, swallowing hard as you looked up at him, and the way his green eyes looked at you made your mind all fuzzy. God, you haven't felt this euphoric since you got here. This rush of adrenaline made you dizzy, but you pushed through it. “I see one flaw in your creativity.”

“Oh?” He bit down on his plush lip, head tilted with curiosity. You hummed and nodded, daring to bring your fingers up his chest. His breath hitched in his chest, but he said nothing.

“I fear you don’t have the full picture. My tattoos are more than just a scribble of ink.” You stated matter of factly, making him breathe out a small laugh.

“Sorry. I work with what I have.” He shrugged his shoulders, trying to ignore the feeling of your hands itching up his chest.

“Maybe I should give you more to work with?” Your hands found the back of his neck and you instinctively stood on the ends of your toes, itching to get closer to him.

Eric glanced down at you, his eyes lingering on your own for a split second before glancing at your parted lips, soft breaths escaping you as you anxiously waited. He didn’t have to think about it, he didn’t want to. His mouth was on yours so hard you whined. His large hand found your hair, tilting your head back to meet your lips better. 

You weren’t sure when you ended up against the nearest wall, your legs wrapped around Eric’s slim waist as he held you up. You were right, he could hold you up like you were nothing. Truly, the oversized clothes you were forced to wear didn’t do him any justice. You wondered what he was hiding under his sweatshirt.

His lips were messy on yours, his heavy breaths joining your soft whimpers. You were so caught up in the delicious feeling of his mouth claiming yours and his hands touching everywhere he could, you didn’t hear the loud voices of guards calling your name and patient number. Reality dawned on you when you heard shouting down the hall for everyone to get out of their rooms. You patted Eric’s shoulder, forcing your lips away from his. 

“Eric—Eric.” You said his name with urgency, making him look at you, eyes filled with greed as he chased your lips. “I have to go. I don’t want to get you in trouble again.” 

He nodded after a second, setting you down on your feet after pressing one last kiss to your lips. You had a stupid smile on your face as you successfully sneaked out his room, the guards being distracted as they probably ransacked some poor bastard's room like they had done Eric’s. You glanced behind you as you hurried down the hall, catching a glimpse of Eric peeking his head through his door. He smiled. And it made your heart race.

You could not wait to see him again.

~~~~~~

“Eric!—” You slapped your hand over your mouth, attempting to quiet the desperate sounds leaving your mouth. But the way his tongue lapped at your sensitive clit and his long fingers rubbed against that one spot within your walls that had you squirming.

You didn’t mean to end up in this position, ass naked on top of one of the washing machines in the laundry room, with Eric on his knees and his face between your thighs. Truly you didn’t, you knew you would be in a lot of fucking trouble if you got caught. But the way his lips claimed yours, his tongue lacing with yours, his large hands grabbing at every part of your body like he didn’t know which one he craved to touch more. He just wanted you so fucking bad, your kisses and little rubbing here and there for the past few days wasn’t enough for him, or for you.

“I wanted to taste you so fucking bad.” He muttered against your clit, a groan rumbling in his throat when you pulled at the hairs on the back of his head, inadvertently holding his face closer against you. Not that he minded, he would stay here, with his fingers scissoring you open until you dripped on the surface underneath you. 

“Please—fuck. That feels so good.” You didn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good. Not that you had much experience in this area, but this sure felt right.

Eric wrapped his free hand under your thigh, pulling you to the edge, closer to his mouth. He lapped at your pussy like he needed it, like it was the air in his lungs. The sounds leaving his mouth as your juices seeped around his fingers were almost as filthy as yours. 

You felt like such a slut, chasing his mouth with your hips, heaving like a bitch in heat, and quietly begging him to grant you your release, as quiet as you could be with his fingers so deep and his tongue drawing delicious circles around your clit. 

“Just like that baby… Just like that.” Eric mumbled, his fingers slipping and crooking against that perfect spot. 

Your release was so sudden, and it hit you so hard you were shaking, sobbing violently into your hand. Your head was thrown back, eyes rolled into the back of your head. Eric dug his fingers into your thigh, his tongue slipping into your hole when his fingers left you. 

“Shit—Eric—” You gasped, your thighs shaking as you weakly reached to grab his face. 

With a grunt he peeled himself from the warmth of your thighs, he stood to his full height before leaning down to capture your lips. The taste of yourself lingering on his tongue made you moan. Disoriented, you reached down to rub where his cock was straining against his sweatpants. He groaned into your mouth, his large hand flew to catch your wrist.

“It’s okay.” He gave your lips a soft kiss as he pulled your hand away. You gave him an adorable frown, your mind still spinning from your orgasm. 

“But you—” He pressed another kiss to your lips, shutting you up. He moved his lips to your neck, latching on to that one spot that had you whining. Neither of you cared if everyone saw the mark he left. 

“We’ll have time for that.” He mumbled against your skin. The way he slurred the words made your breath hitch. “Right?”

He pulled back to meet your eyes, blinking slowly as he waited for your response. You licked your lips softly, breath soft as you thought, how could he still question it. You were past the lusting. This was something else. You needed more of him, and it wasn't just sex you were craving. You wanted every part of him, even the parts of himself he didn’t want.

“Of course.. This isn’t.. Can’t you tell? What you do to me. I’ve never..” You couldn’t even form the right words, your mind still fuzzy with all these feelings you had no name for. You didn’t need to explain. Whatever it was, Eric felt the same. And he smiled, he genuinely smiled. And what a pretty sight that was.

“We should go.” He pressed his lips to the side of your head, smoothing down your hair and fixing your sweater. “Can you stand?”

You half nodded, gasping when he set you down on your feet and you instantly leaned on him for support. The sly smile on his face made you want to slap him. But deep down, you wanted to smile too.

~~~~~

The next time you saw Eric, he was walking down the hallway, his tall frame towering over the majority of people he walked past. He wasn’t hard to find. You bit your lip, unable to contain your excitement as you hurried after him. Your fingers brushed his, and almost as if he knew your touch by heart, he wasn’t startled, he didn’t flinch either. When he turned his head, his eyes grew big at the sight of you, the corners of his lips curving into a tiny smile. You flashed him a whole smile, unapologetic about how happy it made you to see him. Your obsession with him over the past two weeks wasn’t something you could explain, you knew it probably wasn’t healthy. But when were you ever known for having healthy coping mechanisms? You found something that filled you and you clung to it.

“Where are you going?” You asked him quietly as you walked beside him. He walked slower, but didn’t look at you much, as not to bring unwanted attention to yourselves.

“Laundry room.” He said quietly, his eyes dropping to meet yours. And you shared that knowing and malicious look. You couldn’t hide the smile on your lips. This time of day usually meant you could sneak off for a little while since most patients were having their once a week visitor, or phone call, which meant less guards were in every corner.

“I’m supposed to be out in two weeks.” You told Eric in between kisses, his lips trailed your jaw as his hands grabbed at your ass. 

“I’m out in four.” He answered as he pressed you against the nearest wall. He grabbed your face between his large hands, pulling you to meet his eager mouth. You whined, fists clenched around the front of his sweatshirt. You couldn’t go two weeks without seeing him, you would go fucking mad.

“I don’t want to wait a month to be with you.” You breathed out, your chest heavy as the words left your mouth. “I’m supposed to go back to my parents when I get out. They agreed to take me in to follow my treatment, but I don’t want to go. They’re the ones that put me here.” 

“I don’t have anywhere to go.” You barely heard him as he spoke, almost as if the words pained him, broke something deep inside him. It broke something in you, too.

“You can come with me. I have a little place and some money saved. It’s not much but.. If you want.. We could.. We could try something for real?” You trailed off, afraid he would reject you. It was one thing to mess around in here, where neither of you had anything else, anyone else to cling to, but this being anything other than a desperate bond by two lost souls was a different story. Outside of these walls, he could find anyone else, he didn’t have to keep the broken girl he fingered in a shitty laundry room.

“I would like that. I would like something real, with you.” His words were soft, as were his hands holding your face as he pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed out a laugh of relief. “Fuck this place. We’ll do it tomorrow, during shift change. There’s a vent up here that leads to the yard.”

You pulled him down by his sweatshirt, your lips crashing against his. He laced his fingers in your hair as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. You welcomed it, lips parting as you locked your arms around his neck. 

“Eric.” You said his name softly in a quiet plea. He opened his eyes to find your desperate gaze. He told himself he wanted to be better, he knew you deserved better, but when you said his name like that, when you looked at him like that. He was no better. “I don’t think I can wait anymore. Please, I… I need…”

“Need what?” His words were coated with arousal, he knew fucking well what you meant. But he wanted to hear you say it.

“Fuck—” You kissed his lips roughly, any sanity and restraint you might’ve once had, completely. You can’t trust an addict to have good self-control, now could you? “Take me. I’m yours, just take me.”

“Fuck.” Now it was his turn to lose his sanity. He gave your lips one last kiss as he squeezed your cheeks between his fingers, licking your lips before he spun you around to face the wall. “You’re a sweet girl, don’t forget that. I swear I will fuck you properly on a bed, with flowers and shit.” 

His words were rough in your ear as he pressed his lips to your jaw, his hands making quick work of pulling down your sweatpants and panties. They pooled around your ankles as he kicked your legs open as far as they went.

“I like carnations.” You gasped as the cool air hit your exposed cunt. You heard him chuckle beside your ear.

“Those are pretty. They’re pretty like you.” He hummed as he brought two fingers up to your lips. You happily took them in your mouth. Eric almost moaned at the sight. One of these days he needed to have you sucking his cock. One of these days. 

Eric pulled his fingers from your lips and with a kiss to the back of your head, he sunk his coated fingers into your hole. Your mouth fell open, your forehead falling against the wall. You were instantly chasing his fingers, soft whimpers leaving your lips as you happily rode them. You didn’t know how he did it, how he could have you dripping around his fingers in a matter of a minute or two. You were clawing at the wall, silent moans spilling from you when he pulled his fingers from you. He watched almost proudly as your slick coated your thighs. 

“Can I take this off?” He asked quietly, tugging at the hem of your sweater. You made a humming sound, as best as you could. As if he needed to ask. Eric was happy to rid you of your sweater, more happy to find more hidden tattoos going all over both of your arms. He craved to find every single one of your tattoos, and kiss every one. But he knew it would be best to be quick.

His own sweatshirt met the same fate, and with a kiss to your cheek, he grabbed one of your hips as he pulled down his sweats enough to free his cock. A groan left his lips as he dragged his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick. You gasped, not being able to see him, but already knowing he was big. 

“Let me know if it hurts, hm? I’ll take it easy, I promise.” He pressed his lips to your jaw, inhaling your sweet scent as he slowly sank himself into you. Only his tip was in and you could already feel the sting of his cock stretching you wide open.

“Fuck. Fuck, oh my god—” You squeezed your eyes shut, fingers clenching around nothing as he slowly filled your further, inch by inch.

“It’s okay. You want me to stop?” He asked, shushing you softly as he sat still, allowing you to adjust to the burning feeling of his size. Fuck, you should have known someone as tall as him would be this big. Somehow, it didn’t occur to you.

“No. ‘m okay. Keep going.” You reached behind you to touch him, your fingers gracing over the side of his face. He nodded into your neck, one of his hands sneaking to the front of you to play with your clit to ease you as he sank into you until his hips rutted against your ass. He sat still, speaking filthy words into your ear until you were whimpering, needing to feel more. “Eric, please.”

You didn’t need to tell him twice. His pace was slow at first, slow strokes that allowed you to revel in the feeling of his cock in and out of your walls. But as you both began to grow desperate, pathetic sounds leaving your lips and groans of pleasure leaving him, his pace picked up. It was grueling, how he fucked you against that wall. You braced yourself with one hand, the other holding his face behind you as he leaned his head to capture your parted lips into a messy kiss. He swallowed your sweet sounds as the sting of his cock had you squeezing the life out of him.

“Fuck, I have been dreaming about this since I saw you. You always looked so pretty when you looked at me.” He whispered in your ear, his hand wrapping around your hair as he forced your head back, exposing your neck. You cried out, his roughness making you clench around him. He cursed, covering your mouth with his large hand. “I need you to keep it down for me, baby. You don’t want us to get caught, do you?” 

You shook your head, doing your best to contain the sounds he was pulling from you. His hand slowly left your mouth, trusting you could keep your sounds to a minimum. You bit down on your lip, eyes squeezed shut as his cock split you open. You swore you had never been this utterly fucked out, so cock drunk before. You had never needed anyone so badly. You had never felt so strongly about anyone. You had always found something to cling to, pain, tattoos, in your more miserable and recent years—drugs, and now him. But him? This feeling he gave you, it was like nothing you had ever felt before. You wanted to hold on to him until your final breath of air left your lungs.

“I wanted this—you—so fucking bad. I needed to have you.” Eric grunted, lips latching on to that spot on your neck where the previous hickey he had left was starting to fade. “I’m so crazy about you, no amount of rehab could fix me.” 

You moaned at his words, letting them sink in. He was down so bad for you, probably as much as you were. Two addicts, seeking refuge in each other, craving this adrenaline, it was a kick you had never felt before. It was a kick only lust and passion could bring. And he ignited that deep within your soul. 

“Me too.” You panted, lips parting in ecstasy as one of his tattooed hands loosely wrapped around your throat. Fuck, the way his whole hand covered your entire neck made you gush all over his cock. “I’ve never wanted anyone this bad. You—ah!—I need you all the fucking time.”

“Then you can have me,” His fingers squeezed your throat tighter, his thick cock so deep you swore you could feel him in your fucking cervix. “All the fucking time. Forever.” 

Tears filled your ears as you could feel your release near, your thighs shuddering as you felt your legs start to give out. Eric was quick to press you further against the wall, his back flush against your chest, sweaty forehead pressed against your cheek as his cock rutted against you, over and over, until you were chanting a string of uh-uh-uh’s, your mind too overcome with the pleasure he was giving you to even speak. 

“I want you to come on my cock so fucking bad. I need it.” Groans fell freely from his chest as he once again slipped a hand to your swollen clit. The pressure of his rough fingers made you gasp, your throat closing under his grip. Your release hit you so hard you were sobbing, though mostly muffled by his tight grip. Tears fell down your cheek as your orgasm left you a shaking mess. You had never felt this way before—so overcome with pleasure you cried.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. Good girl.” The hand on your throat left to wipe at your tears, soothing you as you came crashing down. 

Eric fucked you through your release, frantically chasing his own. His name left your lips with praise, sobs of your remnant pleasure as he pushed you to the point of overstimulation. But it wasn’t until he felt his own release near that he pulled out of you. Without saying a word, he grabbed one of your hands and wrapped it around his thick cock, his own hand guiding yours up and down his slick length, sweet praises leaving his lips until he was spilling himself. 

Heavy breaths and pants of exhaustion filled the small laundry room, the air smelled like sex, and the remnants of your forbidden times were left as evidence. Eric eventually spun you around to face him, a soft smile on his lips. You had only ever seen it once, after he ate you out days ago. It was rare to see Eric smile, but you made it a vow to yourself that you would always make him smile like this.

“How fucked up are we? Finding comfort in each other like this. Did it ever cross your mind?” You said softly as Eric helped you dress. He was bending down to grab your sweater and he stood up to his full height, towering over you, and his eyes were laced with an indescribable feeling.

“When I first saw you, I didn’t know what it was, but I was so drawn to you, I looked for you everyday, and I thought I would go mad if I didn’t have you. And right now, I can tell you it’s not just lust. I’m entranced by you, I need you all the time. And if there’s one thing I learned from this fucking place is that you have to latch on to something, otherwise you’ll drown.” 

You were speechless, nothing but your soft breaths could be heard. A smile fell on your lips and you leaned into his chest. Eric sighed softly, wrapping his arms around you, holding you close to his chest, he’d be damn if he ever let you go anywhere but here.

“Addicts will be addicts, no matter how much they try to fix us. But it’s not always to drugs we’re addicted to.” You sighed softly, closing your eyes as you sank into the feeling of his arms. “This feeling? I never want it to stop.”

“It doesn’t have to.” He mumbled into your hair, in his head reminding himself of your limited time, but he refused to let you go just yet. “Forever, right?”

“Yeah, forever.”

[scary-grace]

hands-off, hands-on - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

This was inspired by this art and a comment left on it about the risks of trying to jerk off with a quirk like Decay. It was also inspired by @obsessedtomone and @scarlettcryptid, who encouraged me to write it and then to post it. The pun in the title was my idea and not their fault.

Shigaraki's quirk makes life difficult in a lot of ways, but there's only one he can't find a way around, and since you joined the League of Villains, it's gotten even worse. When the truth comes out at last, he's expecting it to be a disaster and nothing else. He definitely isn't expecting you to offer to help. (cross-posted to Ao3) Canonverse, one-shot, smut.

Shigaraki Tomura’s quirk is everything to him. It’s how he found himself alone in the world as a five-year-old, even if he can’t remember the details. It’s why Sensei took an interest in him, why Sensei took him in, why Sensei chose him to carry on his work. It’s the perfect tool for someone like Shigaraki, who hates everything, who wants nothing more than to destroy everything he doesn’t like. Decay is the best thing that’s ever happened to Shigaraki. And at the same time, it absolutely, categorically sucks.

Shigaraki might hate everything, but he doesn’t hate it all the time, and the times when he doesn’t hate it are times when he’d love to be able to just have whatever it is without being one wrong move away from ruining it. Name a thing he likes, and his quirk is ready and waiting to fuck it up – gaming, eating, sleeping, even reading the fucking newspaper. He can do all those things four-fingered, if he stays focused. It’s the stuff he can’t stay focused on that’s impossible.

He can’t stay focused when he’s horny, at least not enough to keep from potentially Decaying his dick off. Shigaraki doesn’t actually know if his quirk works on himself, and he’s not interested in finding out. And that means that no matter how horny Shigaraki gets or how many poorly timed boners he pops, jerking off is permanently off the table.

That’s not to say Shigaraki’s never finished. He has. He’s spent so much time humping pillows that he had to learn to do his own laundry. But there’s something really pathetic about being twenty years old with two working hands and still be stuck grinding on a pillow to make himself come, and it always takes so stupidly long. Now that Shigaraki’s got the League of Villains, now that he’s got plans to make and Sensei’s legacy to fulfill, he doesn’t have that kind of time. When he wakes up with the world’s worst morning wood after a dream he doesn’t remember clearly, there’s nothing he can do but wait for it to go away.

It fades – enough – but the feeling doesn’t, and eventually Shigaraki doesn’t have a choice but to drag himself out of bed. He slinks from his room to the bar, hoping it’ll be empty, with the rest of the League out and about preparing for the mission and Kurogiri somewhere nearby if Shigaraki needs him but not actually right there to ask him what’s bothering him. Shigaraki can pour his own drinks. Maybe he can get out of this if he gives himself whiskey dick on purpose. Kurogiri’s not in the bar, just like he was hoping, but it’s not empty, either. You’re there, sprawled out over the bar with a sweating glass of water on a coaster in front of you.

Shigaraki’s jaw clenches at the sight. “What are you doing here?” he demands, and you look up. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“I did it already.” You yawn. “Using my quirk tires me out.”

“Really?” Shigaraki can’t keep the irritation out of his voice. “Making people stupid is that exhausting?”

Your quirk is a weird one. It lets you increase or decrease a target’s ability to plan, reason, problem-solve, remember things, and learn – in other words, their intelligence. “From this distance, for as many people as you need me to hit?” You yawn again and drop your head back down to the bar. “Yeah. Remember, I have to keep them all being stupid the same way, right up until it’s too late. Or your plan won’t work.”

Shigaraki had the pieces of the plan before he made you use your quirk on him, but once you used the quirk on him, he did some fine-tuning on the strategy, and he came up with the idea of using your quirk the opposite way, too. While the rest of the League is planning to make the attack on UA’s summer training camp a success, you’re using your quirk every day on the heroes in charge of planning the camp itself. Shigaraki’s not actually going to know if it works until after the attack, and that pisses him off. “Go nap somewhere else, then.”

“I’m not going to bother you,” you say. “Where else am I supposed to go, anyway? Your room?”

Shigaraki’s this close to saying yes, just to get you to leave, before he remembers what his room looks like – and remembers that he spent a while trying to see if grinding one out would work this time. He can’t kick you out of the hideout. You look like shit, and you’ll attract a lot of attention. “Fine. Shut up.”

“Yep.” You fold your arms on the bar and rest your head on them, shutting your eyes.

Even when you aren’t looking at him or talking, your presence bothers Shigaraki. It’s bothered him since the beginning – as much as he’s bothered by the others, in a different way than he’s bothered by the others. While the others can at least manage to avoid pissing Shigaraki off, there’s nothing you do that doesn’t cause some kind of problem. If you’re talking to him too much, he’s annoyed because he doesn’t know why you’re talking to him. If you’re not talking to him, he’s pissed about that, too. If you’re not around, he’s mad that you’re avoiding him, and if you are around, he wishes you weren’t. The fact that you’re here was a big problem for him even before he started having the dreams.

Shigaraki can’t remember the details of last night’s dream, but he knows you were in it. He pours himself a drink, takes the bottle with him, and sits down at the far end of the bar from you. You don’t look up again, and Shigaraki finishes his first drink, then half of his second, with no improvement on the situation. He shifts on the barstool, trying to get more comfortable. He needs to find something else to do. Something that will distract him from how stupidly horny he is.

You’re right there, and being irritated with you for doing anything at all is as good a distraction as anything else. “If all you’re doing is making a couple of heroes slightly dumber, you’re not really pulling your weight, are you?”

You don’t stir, but Shigaraki sees your shoulders stiffen. “What else should I be doing?”

“More,” Shigaraki says. You lift your head to look at him dead on, and Shigaraki hates that so much that he loses his train of thought for a second. “I don’t want them slightly dumber. I want them so stupid they can’t walk in a straight line. You have to get closer to them for that? So get closer. Get out of here and –”

“If I make them that stupid, the heroes will know that something’s wrong,” you interrupt. “My quirk’s in the government databases. If I do anything too obvious, they’ll know I’m working with you, and they’ll change their plans. Or they’ll change who they’re using to execute those plans. For my quirk to work on someone, I need to know who they are.”

Shigaraki knows how your quirk works. He’s not stupid. “I could do what you want me to do, but it would ruin your plans,” you say. “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I wanted to take a nap,” you say. You sit up straight on your stool, get to your feet and start towards Shigaraki. “Now I want to know what I did to piss you off.”

You’re coming closer. Shigaraki feels a surge of panic. “Get away from me.”

“No.” You sit down one barstool away from Shigaraki, but still way too close for comfort. Shigaraki’s skin feels hot, and in spite of the fact that he left his room wearing sweatpants, they’re getting tight. “You let me join the League, but ever since I got here, I can’t do anything right. You’re mad at me all the time, and today you’re even madder than usual.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” you say. You keep staring. Shigaraki looks away, and you say the first thing he’s ever heard you say that makes you sound like a villain. “Either you can tell me the truth, or I’ll use my quirk on myself and figure it out.”

Shigaraki’s stomach lurches. “I thought you were too tired to use your quirk.”

“Not on myself,” you say. Shigaraki glances back at you. You’re almost smiling. He’s seen you smile before, talking to Toga or Magne, but not like that. “You can tell me, or I’ll find out on my own. Your choice.”

You’re not screwing around. Shigaraki thinks fast. He could Decay you, but – Shigaraki writes off the thought before he can even complete it. He has to tell you something, and it has to be convincing. But he doesn’t have to tell you everything to keep you from using your quirk. It’s going to be humiliating, but nowhere close to as humiliating as the whole truth, and he opens his mouth and spits it out. “I’m horny.”

You blink. “So jerk off.”

“I can’t.” Shigaraki sees your eyebrows lift, skeptical as hell, and loses patience, even as his face heats up. “My quirk. Anything I touch with five fingers –”

“And you can’t jerk off without –” You break off mid-question, looking just as uncomfortable as Shigaraki feels. “So you’ve never –”

“No, I have, I just –” This is way more information than you need to know. Shigaraki grits his teeth. “You wanted an answer. There’s your answer. Leave me alone.”

You don’t leave Shigaraki alone. You actually move over onto the stool next to his. “So you’re just going to be a dick to me any time you’re horny.”

It’s your fault Shigaraki’s horny. Before you showed up, he could deal with things on his own, but now instead of videos and games to fixate on he has fantasies – because he can imagine about what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, what you’d feel like. All of which are the worst possible things for Shigaraki to be thinking about right now. He’s completely hard, again. Maybe you can tell, or maybe you’re using your quirk on him after all, because you’re making a really weird face. “If you’re going to be a dick any time you’re horny –”

You break off. Shigaraki thinks, fleetingly, about Decaying you. At this point he’d rather Decay himself, because if even he kills you, he’ll still have to remember that this happened. You take a deep breath, let it go. “Do you want help?”

Shigaraki’s mind blue-screens for a second. “What?”

“If this is why you’re like this, then it’s easy to fix,” you repeat. Your hands are clenched into fists on your thighs, and you slowly uncurl them. “Do you want me to help?”

“Help with what?”

“Jerking off,” you say. You make an awkward gesture, and every muscle in Shigaraki’s body goes tense as he imagines your hands around his cock. You have to be messing with him. There’s no way you’re actually offering – that. “Yes or no?”

“Yes.” Shigaraki finishes his drink and stands up before he can think any more about it. He grimaces as his cock strains against the fabric of his pants, and feels a surge of embarrassment when he realizes you’re looking at it – but it’ll be over soon. In the face of getting some, and getting it from you, nothing else matters. “Let’s go.”

Shigaraki’s nerves kick in on the walk back to his room. Not enough to make the hard-on he’s coping with fade even slightly, but enough to remind him that this is probably a bad idea. But you’re following him, and you haven’t changed your mind. Shigaraki’s not chickening out first. The nerves get worse when he opens the door to his room and realizes what a mess it is. “Uh –”

“Where do you usually sit?” You don’t look impressed – or disgusted, now that Shigaraki thinks about it. “On the bed?”

Shigaraki sits down on the bed – which he didn’t make, because he never makes it – and you sit down next to him. You don’t do anything. “I thought you were going to help me.”

“Show me what you do,” you say. Shigaraki stares at you. His heart is racing, his pulse hammering so hard that he feels it everywhere. “Go as far as you can, and then I’ll keep doing what you do.”

That makes sense, probably. Shigaraki’s mind is startling to scramble. He decides to think about it later and catches the hem of his shirt, hiking it up and out of the way. He knows from experience that it’ll slide back, so he pins it between his teeth and reaches down to his waistband, shoving at it until his pants are down around his thighs and his cock is free.

His hard-on looks like it feels. Uncomfortable, leaking, hot to the touch when he wraps three fingers and his thumb around his shaft. Shigaraki tries a few of the same insufficient strokes as always and feels the muscles in his abdomen and thighs clench. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. A frustrated sound edges out around the fabric in Shigaraki’s mouth. Aren’t you supposed to help him? He looks at you. You’re looking away.

“Hey,” Shigaraki says, the hem of the shirt falling from his mouth, and you look at him. “You wanted to help. Pay attention.”

Your face is flushed. You nod, and you reach out – but only so you can grasp the hem of Shigaraki’s shirt and pull it out of the way again, your knuckles brushing over his abdomen in a way that makes him twitch. You’re sitting closer to him now than you were before, close enough that he can almost feel the heat of your body, and imagine how it would feel to have you pressed against him. One of your hands is holding his shirt up. The other comes to rest on his lower abdomen, fingertips brushing through his hair, centimeters away from the base of his cock.

Shigaraki squirms involuntarily, trying to move your hand lower and jeopardizing his own strokes at the same time. Even when he lifts his hips to meet his own hand, he can’t lose control the way he wants to, can’t chase the feeling he needs. He needs it. He needs it and he’s never come even close to having it, until now. Shigaraki tries to focus. You’re only going to help once he’s gone as far as he can, so he’d better get there as fast as possible.

He shouldn’t have told you to pay attention. Now you’re watching everything, your face still flushed and your eyes glued to Shigaraki’s every move, taking everything in. Do you like this? Do you like watching Shigaraki’s pathetic attempts to get himself off? Whether you like it or not, you’re still touching him when you don’t have to. Shigaraki’s fingers tighten involuntarily around his cock, his fourth finger almost coming down, and he loosens up in a hurry. But that’s no good, either. He tries again.

It’s the same as always. Shigaraki makes it one or two strokes before it gets dangerous, enough to show him what he could have and not enough to get him there. He’s sweaty and his heart is beating too hard and the same frustrated tears as always are stinging his eyes. He curses, lets go – and a warm hand slides between his legs to replace his.

Shigaraki almost comes on the spot. It takes every ounce of willpower he has, and he almost blows it again as he watches you adjust your hold on him, shaping your hand more closely around his cock. You’re slow about it, but you sure as hell aren’t hesitant. Shigaraki can’t look for longer than a few strokes. It’s too humiliating to see the intensity of his own reaction, precum oozing from the tip of his cock and his hips jerking upwards into your hand. He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes.

“Hey. Pay attention.” Are you making fun of him? Shigaraki opens his eyes and finds you looking at him. “I need to know if I’m doing it right.”

“What do you think?” Shigaraki forces the words out through gritted teeth. “Do you need me to tell you you’re doing a good job or something?”

“That might be nice,” you muse. Your hold on him loosens slightly – not enough to complain about, more than enough to read as a threat. “Since I can’t do anything else right around here, I at least want to be good at getting you off.”

Your grip tightens again, and you run your thumb lightly over the tip of Shigaraki’s cock at the end of the next stroke. Shigaraki couldn’t pull a move like that if his fucking life depended on it, which it would. He was going to tell you not to ask stupid questions, like if you’re good at getting him off when he’s two seconds away from blowing his load all over himself, but instead he moans, so loudly that people can probably hear it two streets away. You replay the same stroke, slower this time, pulling Shigaraki’s back into an arch to match the upward motion of your hand, and then you spend a few seconds just toying with his tip, barely touching him at all.

Are you trying to make him squirm? Shigaraki hates that it’s working, hates that you won’t just give him what he needs – but then you’re back to stroking his cock again, and Shigaraki relaxes, as much as it’s possible to relax. It feels good, even better than he thought it would. And even better than that, because he doesn’t have to do anything. All he has to do is sit back and enjoy it.

“Hold your shirt up,” you say, and Shigaraki grabs it clumsily. Your now-free hand traces quickly down Shigaraki’s chest, along his stomach, skidding sideways over his hip before sliding between his legs. There’s not room for both of your hands. Shigaraki spreads his legs without thinking twice.

You make a weird sound – maybe a gasp. “Stop that,” you say, but now you’re cradling his balls in addition to stroking his cock, so Shigaraki’s not interested in stopping much of anything. “It’s working.”

No shit it’s working. Shigaraki’s entire body is wound tight, so much that he can’t even twitch or thrust or squirm – all he can do is strain, agonizingly tense, every atom of his body focused on the motion of your hands. Shigaraki squeezes his eyes shut. His shirt crumbles away as he claws at it, the sheets on his bed going the same way a second later as he fights to ground himself. He needs more. Shigaraki needs to come right now, before he grabs onto something he can’t replace.

The word struggles out of his mouth sideways, twisted and strained just like the rest of him. “Please –”

You don’t answer him, but Shigaraki feels you shift closer to him. He opens his eyes and you’re right there, close enough that he can feel your breath against his skin. You’re watching him, head tilted, lips parted, so close. Shigaraki’s so close, and he needs more from you. He seizes the front of your shirt to pull you down to him, only for it to Decay when you’re halfway there. But Shigaraki gets lucky. You lean in the rest of the way and press your lips against his.

It’s not because of that. Shigaraki’s coming hard enough to see stars, hard enough that he blacks out for a second, but it’s not because you’re kissing him. His cum spills everywhere, onto his sweatpants and his stomach and over your fingers, and you keep stroking him with slick hands. You don’t pull away until Shigaraki’s whining against your mouth and you’ve drawn out every drop of cum he has to give.

And then you sit back, and let go, and look away. “I need a new shirt.”

You’re sitting next to him, on his bed, in just your bra. The sight would get Shigaraki hard again in an instant if you hadn’t just made him come hard enough to disconnect his spine. He raises a shaky hand and points to his hoodie, slung over the back of his computer chair, but you don’t go for it. Instead you get up and head to the bathroom to wash your hands.

Shigaraki needs to wash everything. His sweatpants, himself – the stupid mattress, since he was dumb enough to Decay the sheets off it right before he blew what feels like the biggest load in history. What else was he supposed to do, though? No way was he going to be able to control himself while you worked him over. No way is he going to be able to think about anything else the next time he sees you do anything with your hands. Or with your mouth.

It occurs to Shigaraki vaguely that while he’s solved the initial problem of being too horny to function, he’s set himself up for something even worse – more dreams, made all the more vivid because he’s got experience to back them up. He might be good to go for now. Probably for the rest of the day, since it’ll be a miracle if he can do anything other than clean up and take a nap. But he’ll be right back where he started the next time he wakes up from another dream about you.

The water from the sink shuts off, and a moment later you come back out, snagging Shigaraki’s hoodie off the chair and pulling it on over your bra. Shigaraki feels a faint twinge of foreboding at the sight, but it fades fast. Sure, he could wake up tomorrow morning with the boner from hell and it’ll be all your fault. But now he’s got a way out of it, and the way out of it is so good that what it takes to get there barely even matters. And he’s in a good enough mood to admit to himself that you do things right a lot more than you do things wrong.

Which reminds him – “Hey,” Shigaraki says, still humiliatingly breathless, and you pause in the act of pulling the hood up. “You did a good job.”

He might still be out of breath, but your face is still flushed. “Good,” you say, and you turn to leave. Shigaraki doesn’t hear you speak again until you’re already out the door. “Next time I’ll do better.”

Better might kill him. Next time. Shigaraki pulls up his sweatpants so his dick isn’t hanging out, makes no other effort at cleaning up, and falls asleep with something that feels like a smile on his face.

[steviewashere]

I want to write something sort of meta, hear me out on it. Sorry, if this hits too close to home. The idea came to me and I needed to get it out of my system. And...would you look at that, another half-written fic.

Steve ends up getting really into Star Wars after Dustin shows him to it. Like, so much that he gets himself involved with conventions, cosplay, collecting anything and everything he can. He's involved in a fandom space. Learns the world of fan fiction. And let's say that maybe, during his time figuring out where he wants to go with life, he picks up writing fanfic as a hobby.

It encourages him to get an English degree. Encourages him to lean more into that hobby, but then expanding upon it to write original short stories and small novels that go published. But he holds strong to Star Wars and fandom and finding his spot cemented in it. He's been a fan for...nearly forty years at this point (set in 2024, ugh I know).

And maybe he dabbles in online spaces here and there. He ignores the insufferable adults in the Star Wars fandom (the "um, actually..." guys, btw). Indulges the effort of typing out his handwritten fan fiction, ones he used to bring and pass around at conventions, ones he'd let Eddie read with a shy look in his eyes. And he posts them online, has a Tumblr account, maybe does a few short things on Twitter, definitely is on AO3 (albeit newer, having never attempted online fan work before).

But then...then he gets his first little bit of hate. Vicious, gross comments on his work. Sometimes in private messages. Even publicly, once, on Twitter. It irks him. He holds strong, he does. But then it gets worse and worse and somehow, worse. Younger people claiming he's too old, others claiming that he can't write for certain characters because they're out of his age range, that he can't ship certain people, he can't say that a character would do this or that, that Star Wars is media for a younger audience (despite being somebody who saw it "back in the day"). But that he...That he's not supposed to be there.

And that last little comment sticks with him for a long time. It makes his effort and his attention and his love for writing fanworks falter. He stops. Thinks about the characters he loves, of Leia and Han or even Luke and Han or Lando and Han (listen he loves writing Han). But then he wonders if it's even worth it, to indulge this interest anymore. Yeah, maybe he's older than the source material. Sure, maybe he was introduced to it a little later than most, but that doesn't mean he doesn't love it. Yet, his attention towards Star Wars completely falls away.

He stops watching it. His DVDs going dusty and unused. Starts putting away all his action figures, because what if he posts a photo one day and somebody sees them and claims that that's not for him and—

Then, he goes completely offline from fandom. Even if he still gets the emails from users who actually enjoy his stuff, ignoring them completely. Focuses on using the internet for work. For his novels, for the little stories he actually gets paid to write. But his work just isn't the same. The passion, despite being an original story and original source material, is completely dwindled.

His hobby has been stripped from him. His interest has been knocked straight out of his hands. And he just...moves on.

Even if it hurts to go down into the basement of he and Eddie's home, eyes catching on the see-through bins of original action figures, Lego sets, comic books. Even if it makes something strangle in his chest when he opens up the browser on his phone and it immediately opens to a new ship he'd been getting into: Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker—because he finally picked up The Mandalorian, because he was finally talked into watching it when he had the free time.

And then it all bursts over when Eddie finally approaches him about it, when they're enjoying a night-in, sitting around lazily on their sofa.

"There's a convention coming into town," he comments, "supposedly, Hayden Christensen is going to be there. We should go, try and meet him."

Steve just grunts in response.

"Oh-kay...or we could just stay home and watch the movie?" Eddie suggests. "Been a while since I've seen Darth on screen, telling Luke about"—

"I don't want to," Steve cuts in quietly, "isn't really my thing anymore."

Silence then follows. For a beat. Then two. A third.

"Not your thing?" Eddie asks him incredulously. "Not too long ago you were raving all about that new show that's coming out! That you saw they were doing lightsaber whips and you were excited to see how they worked! What do you mean it's 'not your thing'?"

Steve shrugs. "Grew out of it or whatever. Got more important things to focus on now." He sniffs, trying to keep himself held together, grumpy and firm in his decision.

Eddie's stare drills into the side of his face. Scalding, just like that lava was in Revenge of The Sith. "Baby," he speaks softly, "did something happen? You haven't even...you don't read your beautiful little stories to me anymore. In fact, now that I think about it, I haven't even seen your lightsabers around here. What's goin' on?"

He fiddles with the hem of his shirt. A ratty plain white t-shirt that he wears now when he's lounging around the house. It used to be one with the Millennium Falcon on it, but that's tucked down far in his dresser. Not for him anymore.

"Steve," Eddie presses, "did something happen?"

His stare stays down at his lap, still fiddling with his shirt. Fingers flexing unfamiliarly in the strings, unlike the loose ones on his Star Wars shirts. "I just"—Steve heaves a deep sigh—"it's time I grow up. It's...not for me anymore. Too old for it now, I guess."

"You guess or you know? Because nobody's too old for anything. Unless, y'know, you're like eighty-nine and in terrible health and trying to hike Everest, then..."

Despite everything, Steve finds himself chuckling. A giddy little sound here and gone in a breath. He shrugs again, albeit smaller this time. Crumbling within himself. Quietly, honestly, he admits, "People were being mean to me about it online. About my writing. That I'm doing it wrong, that I—that I'm too old for it. That I don't belong because of my age." He finally brings himself to look at Eddie, blearily because his eyes are aching and wet. "I got to thinking and I...maybe I've just been too caught up in my own bliss to realize that those people are right. They're right and I shouldn't be into kids stuff anymore."

Eddie makes a soft, sad cooing noise in the back of his throat. "Oh, baby," he breathes. "Baby, those people don't know a single damn thing about your love. But...but I do. I know that you've seen every single Star Wars movie more times than I've probably eaten in my entire life. And what about all those Halloween costumes over the years? I didn't dress up like Leia for nothing, Mr. Solo."

Steve scoffs wetly. Goes to protest, but—

"And...and that handshake! The one with Dustin? You guys have had that for nearly forty fucking years! So, why bother indulging any of these...these hardasses on the internet? Did they sit next to you on the sofa as you fucking curled yourself like a shrimp and wrote every little intricate detail of a kiss between Luke and Han? Have they read your work while you blushed all shy, while you tucked your hair behind your ear and asked for the most earnest of feedback, to make sure you spelt things correctly or put a comma in the right place? These people, did they get to see you blossom and grow like a fucking bushel of roses over your hobby?

"Because I know I did. And even though you were nervous about your words on the paper, you still came to me. You still wrote and wrote and wrote until I had to bully you into breaks, just so you wouldn't ruin your poor wrists. If they had even an ounce of the passion that you do, they could write their own stories. They can make their own endings and make the characters the way they imagine them.

"They choose, instead, to—what—make fun of you because you have a space to express yourself? Because you found passion and turned it into something so beautiful, even I—a dungeon master, someone supposed to be amazing at storytelling—can't put into words? You found a way to do that, Steve. And you do that with kindness. You do it for free, mind you. If their only passion sits within sending you vitriol over people who aren't even remotely close to real, then they're the ones who don't belong.

"If I've learned anything, fandom is a space to share and bounce off each other's words. It's community and it's belonging and it's sharing what you love because you just love it. Fandom isn't bullying. Bullying is just bullying, Steve.

"And everything you've ever done in your life, in regards to fandom and outside of it, is so much better than hate. You may be a nerd or...or a little bit overzealous or whatever, but at least you aren't hateful. I think being hateful, that's worse—don't you think?"

Steve can only stare in response, fast tears down his cheeks, hands shaking in his shirt. Mind reeling. Because, yes, Eddie's right. And he maybe should've talked about it initially, but the hurt festered and festered and tangled and grew until he was nothing but an unhealed scab. And Eddie, he's the antiseptic to his uncovered cuts—the ones deep on his heart, where all his love is—even for things considered mundane, like movies, like TV shows.

"Steve," Eddie carefully murmurs, wrapping Steve's hands with his own, "you don't have to do something right to love it. You don't have to be a certain way to be happy. If Star Wars made you happy, then why give it up?"

He sniffles and chokes back on a sob. Because, again—damnit—Eddie's right. "I miss it," he admits quietly, "all I've done is miss it."

Eddie gives him a small smile. Something achingly soft that reaches deep within Steve. "Then open your arms and welcome it back, baby," he whispers, "even if you can't be online anymore, do it for yourself."

"I...I want to try it again, I'm just...scared. What if people hate it all over again? What if they're just nasty to me and shut me down and push me to the side and"—

"But what if they love it? What if your readers have missed you just as much?"

"You think?" he meekly asks.

Eddie's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead. "I know, actually. Your emails keep coming in on the computer's desktop because I keep forgetting to log you out. And, baby, you would not believe how many people have been eager for updates, for your return." His thumbs work into the backs of Steve's hands, warm and sure. "And, if it helps, maybe I can moderate your comments before you look at 'em? I'll read them to myself and if they're mean, I'll delete them."

Steve blows out a breathy little chuckle. "You'll just get mad at them," he gently teases. "But that doesn't sound too bad. Maybe I should try again. Not yet, though. I'm not ready."

"That's okay," Eddie assures, "take things slow. Maybe we start with watching the movies again? Getting your lightsabers back on display?"

"Can we go to the convention, too?"

"We can do whatever you want, Stevie."

For the first time in a long while, Steve finds himself smiling. "I love you," he whispers.

"I know."

[sassydefendorflower]

I want to talk about something. I want to talk about ableism in fandom. And sexism in fandom. Oh, and racism in fandom.

Mostly though, I wanna talk about how the discussion about these things often gets derailed because people don't understand what trends and typical behaviors actually are.

Whenever a Person of Color, a woman, someone disabled, someone queer (or an intersection of any of these groups) points out that certain fandom trends are bigoted in some shape or form, half the replies seem to be "but they are my comfort character! Maybe people just like them better because they are more interesting!" or even "people are allowed to have headcanons!" - the very daft even go for a "don't bring politics into fandom" which is a personal favorite because nothing exists in a vacuum and nothing is truly apolitical. But alas~

What most of these replies seemingly fail to understand is something very, very simple: it's not about you.

You, as an individual, are just one datapoint in a fandom. You are not the trend. You do not necessarily depict the typical behavior.

When someone points out that there is racism in fandom, that doesn't mean every fan is racist or perpetuating racist ideas*. By constantly mentioning your own lack of racism, quite often, you are actively derailing the conversation away from the problems at hand.

When someone names and describes a trend, they don't mean your headcanon specifically - they mean the accumulated number of headcanons perpetuating a harmful or outdated idea.

I am not saying this to forbid anyone from writing fics about their favorite characters or to keep anyone from having fun headcanons and sharing their theories and thoughts - quite the opposite actually. A critique of a general trend is not a critique of you as an individual - and you're going to have a much better, and more productive, time online if you can internalize that. If you stop growing defensive and instead allow yourself to actually digest the message of what was pointed out.

I am saying this to encourage some critical thinking.

Allow me to offer up some examples:

Case 1: A DC blogger made the daring statement that maybe Tim and Jason were such a popular fanfic focus because they are the only two undeniably white batboys. Immediately someone replied saying "no, it's all the fun traumatic situations we can put them in!". Which is an insane statement to make, considering the same can be said for literally ANY OTHER DC Batman and Batfam character.

The original post wasn't anything groundbreaking, they didn't accuse anyone, didn't name any names... but immediately there was a justification, immediately there was a reason why people might like these characters more. No one stopped to take a second and reflect on the current trends in fanfiction, no one considered that maybe this wasn't a declaration against people who like these characters but a thesis depicting the OVERALL trend of fandom once again focusing on undeniably white (and male) characters.

(don't get me started on the racebending of white characters in media that has a big Cast of Color and the implications of that)

Case 2: A meta posted on Ao3 about ableism in the Criminal Minds fandom caught my attention. A wonderful piece, very thoughtful, analyzing certain characterization choices within the fandom through the lens of an actually autistic person. The conclusion they reached: the writing of Spencer Reid as an autistic character, while often charming and comforting, tended to be incredibly infantilizing and at worst downright ableist. They came to that conclusion while CLEARLY stating that the individual fanfic wasn't the problem, but the general fandom trend in depicting this character.

Once again, looking at the replies seemed to be a mistake: while many comments furthered the discussion, there were quite a few which completely missed the point. Some were downright hostile. Because how dare this author imply that THEY are ableist when they write their favorite character using that specific characterization.

It didn't matter that the author allowed room for personal interpretation. It didn't matter that they noted something concerning about the entire fandom - people still thought they were attacking singular people.

Case 3: I wrote a fic about abortion in the FMA(b) fandom (actually I've written a weird amount of fics about abortion in a lot of fandoms, but alas) and I got hate comments for it. Because of that I addressed the bias in fandom against pro-choice depictions of pregnancies. I pointed out that the utter lack of abortion in many omegaverse stories or even mpreg or het romances, painted the picture of an unconscious bias that hurt people for whom abortion was the only option, the best possible ending. The response on the post itself was mostly positive, but I got anon hate.

(which I can unfortunately not show you since I deleted it in the months since)

And I'm not overly broken up about it, but it also underlines my point: by pointing at a general problem, a typical behavior, a larger trend... people feel personally attacked.

This inability to discuss sexism, ableism, racism, transphobia, etc in fandom without people turning defensive and hurt... well, it damages our ability to have these conversations at all.

Earlier I said YOU are not the problem - well, i think part of this discussion is acknowledging that: sometimes YOU are in fact part of the problem. And that's not the end of the world. But you can only recognize yourself as a cog in the machine, if you can examine your own actions, your own biases, your own preferences critically and without becoming defensive.

And, again, this is not to keep you from finding comfort in your favorite characters and headcanons. This is also not to say that I am free of biases and internalized bigotries - I am also very much a part of the system. A part of the problem.

This is so you can comfortably ask yourself "but why is there no abortion in this universe?" or "why are my favorite black characters always the top in my slash ships?" or "why do I write this disabled character as childish and in need of help?" - and sometimes the answer is "because I am disabled and I want comfort", and that's fine too.

There is no one shoe fits all in fiction. There is not a single trope that captures all members of a group. There is no single stereotype that isn't also someone's comfort. No group is a monolith, no experienced all-encompasing (or entirely unique).

There is never a simple answer.

But that doesn't mean you should stop questioning your own biases, your own ideals.

Especially, if you grow defensive if someone points out that a certain trend you engage in might be racist. Or sexist. Or queerphobic. Or fucking ableist.

*this does not mean negate the general anti-blackness perpetuated by most cultures as a result of colonialism and slavery

[rubylovessharks]

Their reaction to a sweet fic you made about them ♡

twst characters x gn!reader fluff (ortho not datebale)

reader is not MC/Yuu

ok this is hc stuff with twst characters but im trying to mix into it some actual scenes :3

some are written before an established romantic relationship and others are written in an established romantic relationship. :)

these are all different scenarios im trying to keep it interesting :D

might be ooc for some of them cuz im not fully capable of writing some characters :( ALSOOOO gotta give a bit of credit to @yourfavepookiebear cuz she helped me out a lil with ideas for some chars :p love u pook <3

Heartslabyul

Riddle Rosehearts:

conflicted feelings.

cuz he feels both weirded out and flattered.

what do you mean you've been writing sweet romantic stories about you and him?! that's super weird! but also really cute

he really likes them and wants more now-

You and your boyfriend were having a study date in his room and have decided to take a break. During said break you have been writing in your phone which left Riddle curious. Not long into the break you have accidently left your phone open before you left to the bathroom, which gave Riddle a chance to see what you've been writing. Of course he doesn't want to invade your privacy, yet his curiosity was stronger. What does he see? '-holding his hand as we sat on our picnic blanket ' and it cuts off. You weren't finished yet. When you come back from the bathroom you see that your boyfriend has become a blushing mess! What happened while you were gone, you wonder. You are about to hear from him exactly what he thinks <3

Trey Clover:

probably had a feeling you wrote fics about him but didn't expect that it'd be something romantic. especially about the two of you!

he may be a lil weirded out, but he's mostly just living with that knowledge.

he feels like a guy who'd actually enjoy reading through these imaginary dates of yours

maybe even take inspo for later!

You have no idea how this guy understood that the guy from your romantic stories was him. You didn't even use his name! Sure you posted these fics online but who could've actually understood you've been writing about Trey?! At first you just panicked. Trey literally liked your stories that you've been posting, so you were afraid that he's onto you. AND YOU WERE RIGHT. Cuz the very next day he asks you out to a baking date! At least he isn't angry :) Also now some anonyms person has been asking for more fics about this "mysterious" guy you've been writing about..

Cater Diamond:

he likes it :3

and already knows about it- you know he knows

definitely wants to take you out on dates like the ones you have wrote!

liked, shared, and makes sure to take you out on a date!

he's so into it in fact that he encourages it!

You randomly got a text from your boyfriend saying he wants to go out on a date that is similar to the one you posted in your last fic. Makes sense, he rebloged it, liked it, and talked to his besties about it in the last few hours. So now you and Cater were out on a date and it's even better then what you wrote! And that's gonna happen every time you write a fic about the two of you. You will write something sweet, and Cater will not shut up about it, and then you two are out on this specific date!

Ace Trapolla:

he says that he finds it silly but deep down he likes it

he also claims that it's a little bit weird, and even tho he does feel like that (just a wee bit) he still likes it.

he teases you though-

This guy knows your password, and you have given him permission to snoop around in your phone, so it's no surprise that when he looks into your notes he sees more then one weirdly titled notes. One that says 'Cheering him on' another that says 'Baking him a pie' and many many more. So what does he do? Look into it. Now you hear him cackling at something, but you have no idea what. So you ask him and he tells you about his findings. "Ya know I didn't know you had so many romantic ideas" he tells you and you turn red. Now you will never hear the end of it..

Deuce Spade:

i just know that the moment he finds those fics he turns red and just stands there-

he doesn't know what to say

but he's really happy :)

At first he wanted to be a supportive boyfriend, going online and finding your page to like your stuff and encourage you to write more! But the more he read the more this guy in your fic seems familiar... the way he talks, the things he likes, even his physical description seems to match himself. The moment this realization hits him he goes completely red. Just stands there until someone snaps him out of it. For a short while he'll be very blushy and all around you, but soon enough he'll tell you he really likes those fics and ask you to write more.

Savanaclaw

Leona Kingscholar:

he finds it a bit amusing.

and kind of cute

he'll tease you about it but he definitely reads that stuff and enjoys every second of it as if he didn't just call your fantasies stupid

Your boyfriend was laying in bed, but instead of his usual thing that is sleeping, he is using a phone.

wait...is that your phone?!

"Hey are you using my phone babe?" you call him out on his actions but he doesn't even move his head towards your direction. "Yeah and?"

"That's an invasion of privacy!" you tell him "what you write is an invasion of privacy." he answers.

Did you hear this right? Leona is snooping in your personal notes!?

"Don't worry I'll keep this private.. no reason to show this silly stuff to the world." he smirks to himself, and you notice that his cheeks are a little bit red.

Ruggie Bucci:

you're weird.

that's what he thinks

the thought of selling your stuff crossed his mind- cuz at first he didn't think it's about him..

but then it hit him

no thoughts about that now.. it's all for him now ♡

He's a snoopy guy so of course the moment he finds a notebook of yours he'll look into it! Sure he might be your boyfriend but he still doesn't mind selling stuff that is yours, not super important stuff of course but stuff.

Skipping through the pages he reads your stuff, not getting too into it but enough to understand what is written in a nutshell. As Ruggie reads through the pages thinking to himself what a good catch he has considering the fact that you are pretty skilled, he notices something he didn't notice before..

His name.

And with the genre that you write reading his own name is a shocker. Sure you two are in romantic relationship but he was not expecting this!

"This is weird.." he says out loud. "But this is kinda cute.." Ruggie smiles to himself, closes the notebook and puts it back in it's place.

He'll make sure to treat to you something tasty <3

Jack Howl:

wagging his tail but keeping a straight face

other than the pink tinting his cheeks-

he likes your stuff, not that he won't admit it tho.

he will say he likes it, but not as much as he actually feels.

Jack is reading through the fics you've been posting online, well more like forced to read because you just came over to him and asked him to read this new fics you just posted. He isn't someone who'd read stuff online but considering the fact that you asked him to, and it's a fic about your relationship in disguise of some fan service for others, he is willing to read it and give you his opinion.

Like many times you have shown him your fics Jack's face is getting pink and his tail is wagging a bit. "It's not bad." he tells you but the hesitation in his voice tells you he has much more to say, and it's true because al his thoughts right now are just thoughts about sweet this is.

"I'm glad you like it!" you tell him with a smile and he smiles back.

Octavinelle

Azul Ashengrotto:

super conflicted.

at first he thought it was dirt you got on him to blackmail him in the future but then he read your stuff and just turned red.

like super red.

now he's gonna have a talk with you ;)

Azul has had a crush on you for a while, but he's in total denial about it. So when Floyd told him that you write weird, sickenly sweet stories about romancing him he thought it was blackmail, for one reason or another..

So of course he starts reading your fics. And when he does slowly but surely he understands that this is no blackmail- it can't be because of how your writing shows so much love for him.

"Aahaha Azul your face is super red!" Floyd teases his boss who looks at him with no amusement in his eyes. "I have no idea what you are talking about." Azul says "now, I want you to go to (name) and tell them I request their presence."

Jade Leech:

giggles like a school girl

oh? you wrote silly fanfics about the two of you? together on a romantic date? several dates?

how fun!

get ready cuz this guy is about to scare the shit out of you and then immediately becomes a gentleman :)

"I heard you like to write in your spare time." that's the first thing he says to you. For no reason, just says that and smiles at you waiting for you to say something.

"Uhh yeah. I guess?"

"How nice." he beams "I'd like to read some of your works, if that's alright."

"I dunno... it's kinda private.." you can't show him your silly fic! They are all about dates with him!

He's face immediately shows disappointment "well that's unfortunate..." but that is not all he had to ask. "Onto another question. How would you like to go out with me? I could show you some of the stuff we do at my club."

something you don't notice is that that's literally the first date fic you ever wrote about this guy..

Floyd Leech:

oh so you are super silly!

he knew you were silly, but super silly? damn he's so glad you two are together!

after being super happy with this he immediately becomes upset and cranky cuz, why didn't you tell him you wrote such cute lil' things?!

Not understanding why, but out of nowhere your boyfriend comes and squeezes hugs you so hard you can't breathe. Not that it's unusual for him to do that, but right now it's actually super duper tight, more that normal.

He's kissing your face, and spins you two around and totally not biting you- so you have to calm him down.

"Floyd what's this all about?" you ask as your lover spins you round and around. "Ahaha I'm just soooo happy that I've got such a cutie as my partner!!" he practically yells-

"oof but-" he stops completely everything he was doing just now "you never told you wrote such sweet fics!" you can see he's facial expression change to something totally different than what it was two seconds ago.. "How dare you! Keepin your lil' stories all to yourself.. that's just ruuude" he frowns.

"Wait what-" "yeah I read your little fics about us!" yet again his tone changes to a more sing songy one "but now your gonna have to make it up to me~" and your face changes from total embarrassment to a 'I know where this is going' one. "What do you want me to do?"

"You are going to take me on eeeevery kind of date you wrote about in your stories, mmk?"

Scarabia

Kalim al Asim:

he's sooooooo happy!!!

finds all of your writings to be amazing!

so amazing in fact that he shares them with Jamil- without asking your consent-

but don't be mad! he was just so happy he couldn't help it!!

"Jamil! Jamil! Look at what (name) wrote this time!" Kalim practically jumps at his friendatleastinhisopinion and they both fall to the ground. "Kalim I only told you that these fics have an uncanny resemblance to you." Jamil says as he tries to get Kalim off of him "you don't need to show me every single thing they write!" "ohh but they write such cute things! You have to read this new one!" Kalim shoves his phone in Jamil's face as he's forced to read your fics about the guy he hates. "Isn't it amazing?!" Kalim's face is pretty much glowing "it's even better than the last!" "uhh yeah sure.."

Jamil Viper:

another one who's weirded out by this..

but he's a little bit weird too, so he doesn't mind too much :)

slowly finds it cute the more he reads.

but if anyone ever finds out about these fics other than him, and they ask how he feels about them he'll say that it's stupid but doesn't mind.

still totally loves these fics :)

Not long ago you gave your lover a notebook and told him that you've been wanting him to read the stuff that's in there. Of course Jamil is a very busy guy so it takes him a while to actually read what's in there.

So when he sits down to read whatever it is you wrote in there he was not expecting these to be romantic stories about him and you!

"I'm dating a total weirdo.." he moves his hand to his forehead and keeps it there as he reads more. The more he reads the weirder he feels this is, but he's enjoying these stories. The more he resds the wider his smile gets and from time to time he chuckles a little.

Of course being Jamil and having the fate to be stuck with Kalim he gets a call from he's most hated person and has to end his break. But he'll come back to this later and will praise you for your work as a good boyfriend should.

Pomefiore

Vil Schoenheit:

aren't you an amusing little thing?

of course you write silly fics where the two of you, aka THE Vil and you, are going on silly dates, or others where you two slowly fall inlove ♡

how can you not?

he'll fulfill your wish and go out with you.

(he's been waiting for a good opening for a while now :3 )

Classes were done for the day and you were invited by Vil to walk together. As you see Vil standing at your meeting point you notice that his face was much more series than usual. And the moment he spots you you feel as if you have committed a crime with the way his beautiful eyes look at you. Of course he is not mad, Not at all actually, he just needs to keep up with his 'perfect' self, and acting like a really in love high school girl who is giggling and kicking her feet would be far from it.. "Darling." he says, not an unusual nickname. He has been using it for a while "I have found something you've been keeping from me and I feel a little bit hurt by that.." you cannot figure out what he's talking about but the next thing he'll say will shock you. "I had no idea you had such a strong desire to go out with me, and yet still not ask me out. I must say I'm a little disappointed in your lack of confidence but we can work on it, on our date." You can't believe he just said that- a date with Vil? THE Vil!? But the date you two will go to will be very much real.

Rook Hunt:

don't think you are the only one with such fanfics..

he wrote so many things about you

cute date fics, poems about he's love for you

he even draws you!

so he's really happy to know you too write stuff about him!

Today was stressful.. not for school reasons, and not social reasons either.. it's because your personal notebook is nowhere to be found! You were about to take it this morning with you but could not find it, so now you are at the end of the day waiting for the bell to ring to go find it. Who knows where it could be! Maybe it was stolen? but who would steel a random notebook.. especially with a lock on it.. Perhaps you misplaced it somewhere that is not in your room? but that wouldn't make sense cuz last night you were writing in it! Maybe a dormmate accidently took it mistaking it as theirs? and just then the bell rings. Already the first one out you find yourself bumping into a familiar face, or should I say chest- "Oh my apologies!" you can hear the voice of the hunter you currently have a crush on. "I should be the one saying sorry- I was so caught up in my head I didn't even notice the world around me.." "non! It only makes sense that you would be so focused on your thoughts when a precious item is lost." he does a thing with his hands being.. well.. Rook. And as you are about to agree with him you immediately notice that his line is fishy... "Rook don't tell me..." he smiles at you as you get hit with the realization of your notebook's whereabouts "YOU STOLE IT DIDN'T YOU" it's not even a question, it's a statement. "You are correct! Although you wound me by keeping these stories for yourself.. I find them to be quite exquisite!" then he goes into his bag and pulls out a notebook, your notebook, and folder. a folder..? "As an apology for my actions I have made you a gift, and of course will give you your notebook back." he hands you your notebook and the huge folder "I hope you will forgive me, and will come meet me tonight in my room." Rook gives you a smile as he's about to leave, yet you still don't know what's in the folder he gave you, so the moment you are back in your room you open it only to see a bunch of poems, fics of his ownaboutyou, drawingsofyou and in the end of it there's a note that says 'there's more ;)'.

Epel Felmier:

at first he was scared that you wrote him as a 'cute wittle boy' who isn't manly at all

but then when he finished one fic he was almost crying(exaggerating here) cuz your wrote him so well!

really likes it :)

You told him you've got an account where you write stuff online and he decided to check it out. And the first thing he sees is the author's notes and it says 'this is inspired by my irl bf ........'

So you get inspo from being with him? How does that work..?

He starts to read the story and the first mention of 'his character', or at least the character that represents him, he's fears of being misunderstood get bigger and bigger. But the way you've written 'him' is right on point!

As he reads your fic Epel understands that this an idea for a date because you've never had this experience before. He now knows where he'll ask you out to ;)

Ignihyde

Idia Shroud:

HUH?!

you write WHAT???

and these are really sweet-

he is going to lock himself in his room and isnt coming out unless REALLY necessary.

ortho can get him something to eat after his food and energy drinks run out..

cuz what if he sees you? he will probably pass out cuz all he can think about is the cute little date fics you've been writing.

'Heyy love~' you send your introverted boyfriend a text 'Ive got something I want you to read!' you send another text. 'busy' he quickly sends a short text and doesn't even bother to stop his game. 'ohh but I worked real hard on this' you add a ':(' and he gives in. Pausing his game Idia looks at the messages you sent him and starts to read whatever it is you just sent him. As he does you send him a few more messages and then leave the chat. 'dont forget to tell me what you think!' Unfortunately for you the moment Idia reads the first line he will never (a few hours) come out of his room. He does finish it though! And he enjoys it as well. How can he not when you wrote him a romance story about you and him??? He feels so lucky to have you! In a few hours Ortho comes in just to check that his bro is alright and healthy, but the moment he comes in he sees Idia in his bed with the blanket around his shoulders and phone in his hands. This guy has been reading this fic for the last few hours- now Ortho is bringing you into Idia's room. Guess it's a date then?

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia:

finds it fascinating.

so thats what you want? sure.

now you two are on the EXSACT date you have written.

like everything matches everything.

from the way the place looks, to how Malleus acts.

He just wants you to enjoy his presence, even if it's a little odd.. one day Malleus just asked you on a date and now here you are, sitting together on a picnic blanket with different kinds of food that seems oddly similar to the foods you mentioned in your most recent fic. And the location follows that too... the way Malleus sees your story is you trying to put in topics you wish people would ask, so that's his next move. "How have you been lately?" he asks and you tell him about recent things that have happened to you lately, then he asks you about more things that you are sure are too familiar. "what makes you ask that?" you question him and he freezes at that. "Do you not wish for me to ask such a thing?" he feels as if he messed up, as if his perfect courting plan has failed and that you won't wish to be with him. Of course Malleus is totally wrong, you just want him to be himself freely "I mean sure I do, but there's no reason for you to even know that about me." and you start to connect the dots. "Malleus did you read through my notebook!?" "You have left it open and my curiosity got the better of me. I'm sorry.." he quickly apologizes for his lack of keeping privacy but you quickly tell him it's alright, just odd. But you are no better considering the fact you write romance about a real person.. "Just don't try to follow my story and be free to do what you actually want."

Lilia Vanrouge:

also fascinated.

will also take you out to the place you wrote about

but instead of recreating it like Mal he just teases you-

Here you are with your beloved boyfriend at an aquarium looking at fishies and such. Lilia told you that he has read what you posted online and understood you've been wanting this for a while, so now the two of you are on a date just like you had wanted. But you should've been ready for his teasing.. "

Silver:

finds it sweet :)

when he doesn't have anything to do he'll read your stuff

defiantly dreams those fics :3

Walking into Silver's room you see him asleep on his bed like many times before. This time he fell asleep with his phone in his hand, and you won't know what he was doing before this with it. You decide to lay with him for a while until he wakes up, and as you open your phone you see a new notification. And from who? your beloved boyfriend. You smile to yourself since now you know what he's been doing with that phone of his, reading through your fictional stories about the two of you. You know Silver is smart, so you are sure he knows you write about him.

Sebek Zigvolt:

loud.

like always..

he's face is pink (i like to think that's as far as blush color can go) and he's yelling at you

good luck :(

he totally likes it tho-

You were just chilling in Diasomnia's lounge waiting for your friend and crush, Sebek. You two were going to meet up just for fun, but before this you have 'accidentally' left him a little surprise. Not long ago you put your notebook in his desk after so he'll take it with him. You are sure he noticed that it isn't his and that there is a big chance he won't open it. But you really want him to..

When you see him going towards your direction, his face with a pink tint over his cheeks, you know he definitely did read through at least a small chunk of what you have written.

And you definitely were ready for him to loudly scolding you.

"HOW DARE YOU LEAVE SUCH A PREPOSTEROUS NOTEBOOK ON MY DESK." Sebek pulls out your notebook and shoves it over to you "and to think I read through it!"

"Did you like it?" you smile at him "WHA- I-" his face is now completely pink at your response.

"yes..."

not romantic:

(this section is just a cute thing with no romantic intentions!!! you and ortho see eachother as good friends and/or family WITH NO ROMANTIC FEELINGS.)

Ortho Shroud:

he finds it sweet that you see him as a family member

it's nice to know the feelings are mutual :D

praises your writing as well :3

"This one is better than the last! You are getting pretty good at this (name)!" Ortho tells you after finishing reading through your notebook. "I'm also glad to know that the family feelings are mutual." if you could see his mouth you'd see that he's smiling. "I'm glad you like it" you sheepishly respond "maybe we could go to a similar place like this in real life." Ortho's eyes immediately sparkle "maybe we can take Idia too!" "I don't know if he'd like to go outside though" you think about how hard it will be to try to het him out of his room without him protesting. "But he's in your story too, that means you want him there as well! Right?" Ortho knows it'll be hard to get his brother out as well, but he's willing to try for a fun outing! "Oh alriiight. I'll send him a text." "How about you send him the fic as well?"

[slut4fangs]

🍒 double cherry pie 🍒

pairing: female reader x eddie munson

summary: you and eddie have been friends for years, until one day you decide to ask him what the handcuffs on his wall are for *wink wink*

warnings: 18+, smut, slight innocence kink but reader is playing dumb (strategically), come eating lolz, possessive eddie, bestfriend!eddie makes his return, not proofread i was really excited to post this one haha, and the rest is a surprise

author’s note: this idea came to my head and there are so many eddie fics it’s possible some version of this exists somewhere else, but anyhow my brain wouldn’t shut up about this idea until i wrote it down haha. please reblog and comment i love to hear your feedback it keeps me encouraged to write! okay ilysm enjoy babes

not proofread be nice - xoxo, slater

Eddie Munson was good at getting what he wanted needed out of you, he needed you more than he needed air to breathe. Not that you noticed though, you two had been friends for as long as you could remember and Eddie had always been inching closer and closer to having you all to himself. In your time as friends, Eddie had decided he would be your first everything. I’m talking all of the bases, first base aka kissing, second base aka touching above the waist, third base aka touching below the waist. And lastly, he planned on a home run, because in his mind no one else deserved to have you like that but him. He had been a guard dog of sorts, protecting you from any heartbreak, which meant scaring off anyone who tried to get their hands on you. It wasn’t easy, some were persistent, leaving notes in your locker, walking you to class, nothing or no one got between Eddie and his favorite girl. His girl.

“What are these for,” you feigned innocence at the handcuffs that adorned Eddie’s poster cluttered walls. You knew exactly what they were meant for, you just wanted to hear him say it. The confused look on your face nearly took Eddie’s breath away, now was his chance.

“For bad girls,” Eddie chuckled at his own ridiculous behavior. God, you were driving him crazy without even laying a finger on him.

“Oh?” Your voice rant with curiosity and interest, maybe you could be bad. Just this one time, maybe. Eddie was shirtless in his tight black jeans and he really couldn't have looked more delectable than he did at this very moment. The temptation was there for the taking.

“Mmmhm,” Eddie sat on his bed, hands placed behind him to prop him up.

“Mmmhm isn’t much of an answer, Munson,” your heart raced, you really couldn’t help toying with him a bit. He thought you were none the wiser, but you had a hunch for what all of his odd behavior meant lately. You were just unaware of how much he actually liked you. It was bordering on obsession and Eddie couldn’t help it, he adored you, always had. The tension the last few weeks were palpable to say the least.

“Well I could show you better than I can tell you…” Eddie smirked knowingly at you, sitting up to rest his hands on his thighs.

“And what is that supposed to mean,” you blushed sweetly. Eddie loved when he made you blush, if he only knew how many times you had blushed and turned away so he couldn’t see turn red. It happened more often than you liked to admit.

“You’re a hands on learner aren’t you,” Eddie trailed off hopefully.

Say yes, say yes, say yes Eddie thought to himself.

“How’d you know,” you smiled at him, of course he knew that he’s known you forever. He just hoped you’d say yes, and he was halfway to getting that yes.

“Hand em’ over then,” Eddie held out his hand and you took the handcuffs off the wall careful not to scuff the paint, not that Eddie would care. He worshiped the ground you walked on, after all.

“Okay…,” you say handing them to Eddie, and to your delight he pats his lap as if to say ‘take a seat.’

Straddling his lap you try your best to stay calm and cool about the whole situation, but it was a long time coming and you could’ve screamed if you weren’t so nervous.

“Now,” Eddie begins, holding the handcuffs out to you, “hands.” You place your hands in front of you waiting on further instruction, giddy as a kid in a candy shop.

Eddie cuffs your wrists and snaps the clasps shut sounds so final, heart pounding you smile and say “now what.”

“Now…you’re stuck with me,” Eddie places your cuffed hands around his neck and presses your body to his, you can feel how hard you’ve made him and you audibly gasp. Eddie’s hands are palming your ass, “nice skirt,” his hands are under your skirt now, fingers skimming the lace detail of your panties. “Cute,” Eddie comments, a small groan escaping his pretty mouth.

“Ditto,” you wanted nothing more but to kiss him in this moment, but good things were worth waiting for.

“Ditto? Are you calling me cute?” Eddie looked a mix between amused and confused. No one has called him cute since he was a little kid, it wasn’t a compliment he was used to. The frequented compliments came from the punk girl who worked the gas station near his house, and one of the older waitresses at his work. Sarah always complimented his hair and jacket, and Mabel always told him how handsome he looked with his hair pushed back as he worked. She had said he looked more and more handsome every time she saw him, she felt like she watched him grow up in the blink of an eye. And Sarah thought he was cool, but she liked women only, Eddie just happened to be the prettiest boy in town. Plenty of girls liked Eddie, but he was taboo, town gossip ensured his dating life was much more complicated than it should ever be for someone in their early twenties.

“Yes,” you sigh, a little dreamy sigh that had slipped out before you could stop it. “You’re cute, but you’re also hot.”

“Hot?” Eddie raised his eyebrows in shock, you’ve never really commented on his looks, you thought he already knew how good looking and charming he was. But you were getting the memo that he didn’t actually know, and you thought someone should let him know, you’d be damned if it was anyone else but you.

“As hot as the trailer gets in the summer when the window AC unit goes out and you hit it and cuss it out until it works,” you say making Eddie’s mouth drop. Were you really admitting you had feelings for him by making a reference to his shitty AC?

“Oh my god,” is all Eddie can say, “how long have you been in love with me?” And just like that his smartass attitude had returned with a vengeance, he knew you liked him now so all bets were off, no more tiptoeing around the truth.

“Quit it, are you going to show me what these handcuffs are for or not, Eddie Munson?”

“I could have you cuffed to this bed and screaming my name, but I don’t think you’re ready for that yet,” Eddie says and you scoff. “Don’t get an attitude with me,” Eddie smirks at the brat straddling him, “patience is a virtue, Princess.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes and wish you could cross your arms in protest. How did he know what you were and weren’t ready for? What was his fucking deal? “Whose the tease now,” you remark, not able to hold that one back when you should’ve been feigning innocence and keeping face.

“Oh, so you were doing that on purpose? Aw my little tease, how cute,” Eddie boops the tip of your nose with his finger.

“Shut up,” you retort.

“Be careful, remember I’m the one with the key.”

“What are you trying to say?” Your attitude was palpable at this point and Eddie was getting fed up. Before you knew what was happening Eddie had you flipped you onto the bed and a hand holding your cuffed wrists to the mattress above your head.

“I’m trying to say I’d be careful if I were you, I might keep you here like this forever,” his other hand held your cheek so gently like you might break.

“Is that a threat?” You’re the one smirking now, staying here under him didn’t seem like a bad fate after all.

“You’re going to kill me,” Eddie whispered, thinking of how to hold himself back when you were here, waiting for him to touch you, wanting him almost as much as he wanted you. Eddie knew he wanted to take his time with you, first base was the end goal but god the home run was right in front of his face, begging him to go further than he thought you were ready for.

Before he did anything else he had to know for sure, because it looked as though you could’ve already had your first kiss. Not that it would change his mind about you, he just wanted to be your everything, that was all. “Has anyone ever kissed you? Honest answer please.”

“No! Oh my god, I’ve been waiting for you,” you whined and writhed beneath him, he could feel his dick brush against you and he hissed at the feeling.

“You have no idea how what that means to me,” Eddie said reaching over you to his nightstand for the key.

“I think I have an idea,” you nodded your head towards his crotch and he laughed unlocking the cuffs.

Tossing the handcuffs to the side Eddie laughed and brought you back up to his lap in an instant, for a lanky guy he really had the potential to toss you around and that made your mind run wild with the possibilities.

“Kiss me already, what are you waiting for?” You ask impatiently squeezing Eddie’s arms.

“Waitin’ for that beautiful mouth of yours to quit moving,” Eddie brushed his thumb along your bottom lip teasingly and you nodded, closing your mouth, eyes big and glassy. He melted at the sight of you. “That’s more like it,” Eddie held your face and your hands held onto his arms in vice like grips. Eddie and you met half way, lips brushing slightly, “close your eyes,” Eddie directed making you laugh. Your laugh was cut short by him pressing his mouth to yours, he quite literally took your breath away. The kiss was soft and warm, gentle at first, Eddie ran his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him. The two of you melted together nicely, a sweet kiss turned pornographic and animalistic the way you two had both waited for this moment forever. Eddie moaned in your mouth and you pressed yourself against him, he was still sensitive but didn’t break the kiss even though it hurt. He thought it hurt too good to stop. His hands raked down your hips and then back up, you would’ve gasped when he groped your breasts but you were too busy devouring him to break the kiss. Too busy to question his hand under your skirt, feeling how wet you were for him. You could feel him smile as he ran his finger through your folds, two fingers stretching you out deliciously you couldn't fight the urge to rock back and fourth on his fingers, and that's when you pushed against him until his back hit the mattress. You broke the kiss and stared down at him, he cheeks were flushed and he looked breathtaking.

"Hmm," you sat up and fiddled with his handcuff belt buckle, he was looking at you with awe and curiosity. What were you planning to do next? He decided that would be your choice. Much to his surprise you started unbuckling his belt and undoing his jeans.

"Are you sure about this," Eddie held the waistband of his jeans, waiting on that yes again.

"I've never been more sure of anything, Eddie. I want you, I want this," you said and that's all it took for Eddie to peel his jeans off while you took your shirt off. Not feeling shy, not feeling anything but how right this all felt. Eddie's fingers slid along the waistband of your panties and slipped them off with ease, when you sat on top of him with no barrier in between the two of you he sighed with relief. Rubbing yourself on him was making his head spin, he let out a string of curses when you licked up his neck, kissing and sucking until he had you flipped over on your back again, giggling up at him, you knew just how to drive him wild.

"You're trouble," Eddie pumped two fingers in and out of you torturously slow, curling his fingers in a come hither motion over and over again until your legs felt like jelly and the sounds coming from you sounded rated R. You whined with his tongue on your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin until there was sure to be a big hickey in the shape of Eddie's mouth. But you didn't care what people would think, nothing could ruin this.

"You're sinful," slipped out of your mouth and you surprised yourself at the sheer smoothness of your words, something about him made you comfortable enough to say these dirty things.

"Mm, maybe my mouth is," Eddie's tongue circled your breast, sucking on your breast staring up at you, you knew Eddie's mouth wasn't the most sinful thing about him with his cock pressed to your tummy. You run your hands through his hair and whine, tears rolling down your cheeks from the overstimulation. "Feel good, Princess?" Eddie kissed your lips and smiled devilishly down at you.

"Mhm," you nodded.

"Mhm isn't much of an answer, baby. Need to hear you say it," Eddie parted your thighs further apart for him, angling himself closer to you and rubbing his cock up and down your folds, almost pushing himself in but not yet, not until you said it.

"Need to feel you inside me, please, Eddie," you held his face and swept his hair out of the way, your hands running through his hair were quickly becoming one of his biggest weaknesses. He couldn't deny you of what you wanted any longer, when the only thing you wanted was for him to be closer.

"Fuck," Eddie cursed burying himself into you halfway, "I don't know if I'll fit, relax for me. Ok, baby? How does that feel?" He kissed your cheek and wiped a tear away.

"More, please," you dig your fingernails into Eddie's back and he laughs, relieved he wasn't hurting you. "Feels good, Eddie, need more," you scratch down his back, cherry red nails gripping onto his waist, your hips moving against his, giving you everything you asked for and more. You really weren't expecting him to be this big.

Your kiss marks all over his chest and neck he tells you "you're making a mess of me, trying to ruin me for everyone else?"

"Isn't that what you're doing too?" You smirk up at him knowingly.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Yes," you cry out, your orgasm finally hitting you in waves.

"Oh my god, Cherry," Eddie said using that cute nickname only he could call you, no one else. Keeping the same pace he held you close and soothed you through the intensity, kissing you everywhere. "Let me see your tongue," you stick your tongue out and let him spit on it and makeout until you feel him release inside of you.

Then Eddie does something you never could've seen coming, he isn't done with you yet. He finds a comfortable place for his head between your thighs, biting and sucking at the plush flesh inside your thighs, there he kisses you pussy and sucks at your clit making you shake. Licking you clean, and lapping his come out of your pussy, you watch in amazement as he winks at you while his tongue fucks your pussy, the most sinful thing you've ever seen and felt.

You wondered just how long he planned to do this, if you only really knew how long he'd thought about having you like this. The hickeys on your neck were enough to scare anyone away from his Cherry pie.

[spockandawe]

Double edit: actually, that's enough of that.

Edit: I was expecting maybe thirty notes tops. This is a surprise, and one that doesn't delight me. If I hear about any harassment stemming from this post, I'll be more pissed at the harasser than the person this is about.

God. Dammit.

I hate this, let's just out that out there! I'm unhappy that I'm talking about any of this, I'm unhappy there's an issue that's come up at the intersection of media preservation, respecting authors, and one of my favorite book series. And I'm unhappy that I've censored the names in the screenshots I'm about ti post! I'm not happy that I'm helping to slide consequences away from someone who thought this was an acceptable thing to do to a modern working author. But I'm even less happy this is something that happened in the first place, and I'm VERY unhappy the original post has been deleted without a whisper of accountability or apology.

And here's a partial screenshot of the IA page, which has since been removed. I get the excitement to share something you love with a new audience. This isn't the right way to go about it.

First, if Martha Wells' patreon is still in place, I encourage everyone in the strongest possible terms to go sign up for it. It'll charge you one dollar. I've been a member since probably 2018, and I mistakenly believed it was locked to new members (it's labeled 'Currently Closed To New Patrons') until I had reason to look it up last night, when I tripped across this reddit post from earlier this year.

Now. I was looking it up because of this sudden patreon message:

Even if the patreon goes away, I still recommend that people sign up. Explore the stories! They're very fun! Even though the patreon has been dormant for years, I've loved having that repository in place.

In fact, in the interest of full disclosure, what kept me from immediately reblogging last night is that I've felt the same archival urges! I bound a hard copy of these stories earlier this year, and let me quote my own words from that post:

I live in a state of perpetual low key stress over the impermanence of digital media and that goes extra for sites that aren’t designed to work well as archives. I hope, desperately, that someday Martha Wells publishes more raksura, maybe even including these stories! I will buy it immediately. No thoughts, wallet empty. I own all her other raksura books in literally three formats, fingers crossed that by printing this, I can actualize a formal official printing of these stories by the author 😂

So. Archiving, yes. But especially with a living, working author, I would never DREAM of posting a public free-for-all with IA and mediafire links. My most charitable interpretation is that OP thought it was fine since the stories were "free," even though the writeups acknowledge that access costs a dollar. Ao3 is also free. Reposting someone else's fic is still understood to be a dick move.

Last night i was left kind of stunned, and I was hoping to see some kind of response from op this morning taking responsibility, and was... disappointed to see that the post was just deleted. The IA listing was deleted too, and I hadn't actually looked up the mediafire post yet but I'm guessing it's also been nuked. Out of curiosity, I wanted to see if there was anything more in the comments, so I found a surviving reblog. And there was!

So I'm writing this post because I'm... frustrated. Taking down the files is a good step. Posting them publicly was a worse step, but hey. I still more than understand if Martha Wells still deletes her patreon. I don't understand what sending her files of her own stories is meant to accomplish, but whatever. Ascribing a profit-driven motive is driving me up a wall, though. She's financially stable. I read her email, and what i see is frustration that even though it only cost a dollar to access 62k of her work through her own chosen location, control of her writing is being forcibly removed from her. I'm sure that seeing copies sold by third parties wouldn't help, but I don't think that's the root issue.

This is a fandom-heavy website, I'm sure most of us have seen posts about not reposting art when you can share directly from the artist's blog. I've seen posts about stop copying your ao3 faves over to wattpad just because you like reading there better. At a fundamental level, I read the message from Martha Wells as a deep frustration at having no way to share her creative work without someone removing control of it from her hands. And I don't know if there's any way to really take back that damage.

[dixons-sunshine]

espinosa!reader established relationship with daryl and carol treats her like a sister she always protects

Something To Prove | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Espinosa!Reader

Summary: Ever since meeting you, Carol has felt an overwhelming urge to protect you at all costs. You were like a sister to her and she would go to great lengths to ensure your safety and your happiness. Now, after you went to her after an argument you had with Daryl, she made good on her promise and decided to give her best friend a piece of her mind.

Additional pairings: Carol Peletier x Fem!Espinosa!Reader (platonic)

Genre: Fluff, some angst

Era: Alexandria/Sanctuary, post Saviour war, pre the building of the bridge

Warnings: Swearing, arguing

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: Thank you so much for the request! I didn't know exactly what to write but I hope you like where I went with this. There's not a lot of Daryl x Reader in this, but it was so fun to write about Carol and reader's platonic relationship. I love Carol with my whole heart.

As always, my requests are open for any TWD requests. AND NOW THEY'RE ALSO OPEN FOR ANY SCUD FROHMEYER REQUESTS! It's actually criminal how little fics about him there are, so send in any thoughts, headcannons or requests about him, along with some about our wonderful Daryl Dixon.

—

“Woah, woah, woah. Wait a second. He said that?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “I understand he doesn't want me to be in danger, but I can tell how much he hates it here. I don't want him to be alone, but he keeps pushing me away. I don't know what to do, Carol. He won't even talk to me about it without starting up an argument.”

Carol pulled you into her embrace, gently rubbing your back as you quietly cried into her shoulder. She slightly rocked you side to side, whispering reassuring things into your ear as she tried to calm you down. She held you tightly, refusing to let up until you felt better.

After a couple of minutes of just being held, you pulled back and wiped the remaining tears from your eyes. You gave her a weak smile and stood up, wiping your hands on your jeans.

“Sorry about all that,” you apologized sheepishly. “I don't know why I broke down like that.”

“Don't apologize,” she reassured you, waving you off. “It's good to let your emotions out every once in a while. Bottling them up doesn't help, believe me.”

“Maybe you should try telling that to Daryl,” you scoffed, folding your arms over your chest. “He's done nothing but bottle up his feelings lately. I understand that he's not the most open person when it comes to things like feelings, but he always talked to me whenever something was bothering him. Now he's becoming more like the Daryl I knew when we first met back at Terminus. Reserved and closed off.”

Carol nodded, intently listening to you. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

You shook your head. “No,” you began, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don't want him to get pissed at you either. I'll be fine.”

Carol pursed her lips and hesitantly agreed. “Okay, if you're sure.”

“I am,” you nodded, before hearing the walkie-talkie go off in your pocket, your sister on the other line.

“There's a problem. One of these pendejos caused a fight to break out and I can't find Daryl anywhere.”

“Mierda,” you cursed under your breath. You looked at Carol apologetically. “Sorry, I have to go.”

“It's okay,” she reassured you, getting up to give you a quick hug. “Be safe out there, alright?”

“Always am,” you quipped before rushing out of the room, talking to Rosita on the walkie-talkie. “I'm on my way. Keep them from killing each other.”

With that, you were gone. Carol looked at where you disappeared into and sighed, a million thoughts plaguing her mind, but she was sure about one thing—she had to confront Daryl about the way he was treating you. Carol was the one who had encouraged Daryl to pursue a romantic relationship with you in the first place, and she'd be damned if he threw it all away because of his stubborn nature.

With determination, she got up and walked out of the door, one destination clear in her mind. She knew exactly where Daryl would be at that moment, and it was as good a time as any to try and knock some sense into the archer.

—

“Figured I'd find you here.”

Daryl looked up at the approaching woman, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He grunted in acknowledgement at Carol, turning his gaze away from her and back to the ground.

Carol sat down next to the archer. She stared ahead and sighed, catching Daryl's attention. “I know I've said this a lot, but I really think Y/n is the one for you, you know?”

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, not sure why the Peletier would bring you up as the topic of conversation. “Yeah,” he started, nodding slightly. “I think so too.”

“Really?” Carol asked. When Daryl nodded, she continued. “Then why the hell are you pushing her away? Do you have something you wanna prove?”

“I ain't pushin' her away,” he replied, more confused now. He took a final drag from his cigarette before putting it out, flicking it away from him.

“Then why the hell would she feel the need to come to me for advice on what to do? In tears, might I add.”

Daryl's frown deepened. “Wha'?” he asked, suddenly feeling small under Carol's scrutinizing stare. “She came to ya cryin'?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, pursing her lips. “She came to me about the argument you had with her this morning. From what she told me, you said some pretty nasty stuff. What's that all about?”

Daryl sighed, realisation dawning on him. Memories of the argument he had with you flashed through his mind and he grimaced. He immensely regretted everything he had said to you in that argument, but he didn't know how to fix it. You and Daryl had been arguing a lot more since he started supervising over the Sanctuary. He didn't trust any of the former Saviours and he knew some of them had it out for him, so having you there with him made him scared. Scared that the Saviours would take their anger out on you. Scared that he couldn't protect you against all of them. He felt so scared for you.

Admittedly, having you there did make him feel better. To have your presence beside him and to be able to hold you at night while you talked about your day made this hellhole a lot better for him, but it also made him anxious. He didn't want any of the backlash meant for him to get you hurt. He couldn't watch get hurt. He'd never be able to forgive himself.

“Daryl?” Carol voiced, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked over at her and frowned.

“She tell ya everythin'?” he asked, continuing when she nodded. “Then I dun' have anythin' to say.”

“You do!” she exclaimed in frustration. “Why are you treating her like that? She's your partner, Daryl! That woman would do anything for you!”

“Tha's wha' scares me!” he bit back loudly. When he saw Carol go quiet, he lowered his voice. “She has proven tha' she would do anythin' fer me by bein' here at this shit hole. I can see tha' bein' here is takin' a toll on her. And these assholes ain't makin' her life any easier. I jus' want her to be safe.”

“Daryl,” Carol started, putting a comforting hand on the archer's shoulder. “You know she can handle herself. And even if she couldn't, no place would ever be really safe. There are Saviours everywhere now. At Alexandria, Hilltop and the Kingdom. It doesn't matter whether she's here or there. If she's here, at least you'll be able to keep her safe.”

Daryl pondered over Carol's words. After a few minutes of silence, he finally spoke up. “I messed up, didn't I?”

“Big time,” Carol nodded, chuckling softly. “But it's okay. Just go talk to her, and I mean really talk to her. No arguments.”

Daryl nodded and got up, turning and heading back into the Sanctuary. He only had one goal in mind; find you and beg for your forgiveness if he had to.

“Go get her, tiger!” Carol laughed from behind him, pleased that she was able to get through to him. She just hoped that his stubbornness wouldn't mess it up.

—

“Hey. Ya got a moment to talk?”

You looked up from the papers you were reading, locking eyes with Daryl. You could see him fidgeting with his hands, his body language radiating nervousness.

You nodded at him. “Yeah.”

Daryl inhaled sharply and stepped forward. You watched him anxiously, not knowing what to expect. The longer he took to speak, the more your mind started to wander—did he do something wrong? Was he bit? Was he leaving you for someone else?

“'M sorry 'bout this mornin',” he finally said, taking you by surprise. “I shouldn't have said wha' I said. I know yer jus' tryin' to look out fer me and I appreciate it. I jus' got scared tha' somethin' would happen to ya if ya stayed here with me. Most of these assholes dun' exactly like me and will do anythin' to hurt me. I jus' dun' want them to hurt ya to get back at me.”

You stepped forward and embraced Daryl in a tight hug, catching him off guard. However, he hugged you back tightly in a couple of seconds, burying his face into your shoulder. He breathed in your clean scent and instantly relaxed, his body sagging slightly.

“You should've told me how you felt, Dar. It would've saved us so many arguments,” you whispered, sighing in relief.

Daryl scoffed lightheartedly. “I doubt tha'. We woulda jus' argued 'bout whether ya should stay here or not.”

“I'm not leaving,” you said with a sense of finality in your voice. “I know how much you hate it here, Daryl. That's why I decided to stay. I stayed so that you didn't have to feel alone in this place.”

Daryl pulled back from the hug to look at you, keeping you in his arms. His heart fluttered at your revelation, and he gave you a small smile. “Ya stayed fer me?”

You nodded. “Of course I did. I love you, Daryl. I'd do anything for you.”

Daryl ducked his head down to press his lips against yours, catching them in a sweet kiss. The kiss lasted for a couple of seconds before he pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. “I love ya more.”

“I love you the most,” you retorted playfully, giving him a teasing smile.

“Ain't possible,” he replied, scoffing lightly.

“Agree to disagree,” you said playfully.

Daryl rolled his eyes affectionately before kissing you again, this time more feverishly than before. It didn't take long for Daryl to push you back against the table, hoisting you up by your thighs to sit on it.

You giggled against his lips. “Eager much?”

“Shut up,” he mumbled before attacking your neck with kisses, nibbling on your sweet spot beneath your ear. You moaned quietly and leaned your head back, giving him more access to your neck.

However, the moment was short-lived. The crackling of static from the radio startled the two of you, Eugene's voice coming through.

“Daryl, Y/n, we need you down by the trucks pronto, ASAP.”

Daryl groaned and lowered his head to rest on your shoulder, eliciting a laugh from you. You gently pushed him away from you and jumped off the table, grabbing his hand and interlocking your fingers.

“Come on, they need us. We can finish this later.”

“Gonna hold ya to tha',” he responded, giving you a heated stare.

You smiled at him. “C'mon, pretty boy. Let's go.”

[tamelee]

pls bottom naruto is disgusting stop drawing this ooc cringe

Eh? And it hadn't even been a full day.

Anyway, do you know what this means?:

It means… that I don’t give a damn about your whiny gibberish about this top/bottom bullshit, because it sounds incredibly silly. (And wrong because I draw both?)

It’s fine to have a preference, good for you (I have one too!), but if all you care about between a character-dynamic is the single notion which establishes a rule within a fandom that demands only this particular dick in only that particular booty and nothing else, while dividing yourselves between "us and them" while seeing the people who like the same exact characters as your "enemy" and treating them as such— well, 

I have nothing to say to you, I couldn’t care less what you think about me and I don’t know you. 

But for the sake of other creators who are often a target also, some which I know quit because of this… there is a little something I'd like to say about these servers:

You don’t think I (we) know what is said in there and by who? 👀 That your rules of "what is said on here stays here" with a bunch of people online that you don't know, is actually respected? Why do you think I never join any. And bet your ass that I'm not the only one. This constant fighting between NS/SN is such an embarrassment for this fandom, seriously. I hope you realize that.

Because, instead of encouraging a (new) creator to share something about the characters you claim to love (for fucking free) you go off chastise them for not “doing it right”/“your way”, pretending it's some unspoken commission no one knew of or was paid for. Instead of being happy there’s still so much creative contribution for characters from a story that ended years ago, you go complain under fanfics and dishearten writers, often grinning away with your little server-“friends” and make fun of work someone poured their heart in. Or, you huff, puff and breathe fire as you make plans to cancel them out of pure bitterness, to the point (especially new) creators are too scared and dispirited to ever share anything again. It's easy to do anonymously, aye? And if you think that doesn’t affect their lives and sends them right back into a crestfallen pit of dark hell because it prevents them to do/share the single thing in life that gave them a bit of joy, then...

Congratulations; you’re a heartless bastard.

And you, as a fan, did yourself dirty too.

Do you know how many people don’t want to share anything at all for this fandom because you people leave comments, tags, asks, tweets constantly complaining about an incorrect portrayal of the (in your opinion) only acceptable dynamic, like a bunch a brats? Do you? Because I’ve talked to quite a few of these discouraged creators, they have to hope for the best and pray they’re spared from your scrutiny. I receive it from both sides every now and then.

Again, congratulations: you’re the reason there’s less chance of you getting what you want in the first place. 

Do you... really not realize?

The more you squabble with "your enemy" (lol) the more it affects the "us" you care about while the rest of us just bask in the glory that is SNS/NSN and couldn't care less about what you think/have to say. So, keep everyone else out of it and go mope elsewhere.

But, between you and me? There are better ways to share what you think is right. Make something yourself, because what's stopping you?

You’re perfectly capable, it doesn’t have to be art or a fic, maybe there’s just something in the story that you really enjoyed— write about it. Make a meta. Post the panel, show the moment that determined your undying love for this single dynamic and why— whatever.  Because, wouldn't it be nice having someone encourage you to create something you like? 😬 Especially because you and your server feel so strongly about it? And then you don't have to depend on others either?

Wouldn't it be nice?

Well?

Hm!?

Try it, ffs.

[iamthatonefangirl]

harvey specter headcanons pt. 3

i'm running out of ideas maybe it's time for me to write an actual fic. i love hiding behind my little one-liners or individual paragraphs i'm too insecure to post real fics. it's okay tho i am loving getting back into writing

part one

part two

~~~

harvey specter, who is subconsciously obsessed with always resting his hand on your back. who does it without even noticing he’s doing it—whether you’re taking a stroll, or he’s holding a door open and ushering you in, or sitting in his lap having sex—he’s always got his hand on the small of your back. 

harvey specter, who never misses an opportunity when he sees it. if you’re bending over or preoccupied with a task, he’s always going to take the chance to smack your ass.

harvey specter, who sees red when he sees you shaking hands with travis tanner in the lobby. who keeps his cool as he walks up to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and questioning tanner, what are you doing here? 

harvey specter, who finally gets the chance to see you in action at work. when confronted by another employee, you stand your ground and don’t take any shit from him. who has never been more proud or turned on by it. 

harvey specter, who joins you in the shower to wash your hair for you after a long day at work, or (and) after an intense gym session. who you return the favor to by massaging his back after his own exhausting days or workouts. 

harvey specter, who finally opens up to you about his issues with his mother. who pulls you closer when you tell him that you agree with him on the matter, that he did the best he could with the cards he was dealt. who sheds a few tears when you tell him it’s not your fault, baby. 

harvey specter, who will forever wish you would have been able to meet his father. who is glad that you get to have the relationship with your mother that he never had with his own. who hopes your father isn’t completely appalled that his daughter’s boyfriend is closer to his age than yours. 

harvey specter, who finally agrees to a vacation. who takes you to all the places you’ve always wanted to travel to but never had the opportunity to go. who lets you pick all the destinations and outings you’ll have, while he makes sure the first class seats and five-star hotels and high-end restaurant dinners are booked far in advance. who would only ever let you travel with such luxury. 

harvey specter, who supports all of your dreams. who knows that not now, but in the next few years, you may be looking for a career change. who is ready to sacrifice whatever is necessary to support you through the schooling you may have to go through to make such a change. 

harvey specter, who knows that you’re not ready to get married. who knows that you’re far too young to get married. but who knows that he’s not getting any younger, and doesn’t know how to respect your youth while planning for his future. who worries that while you might be his happy ending, to you, he might be a stepping stone to where you’ll be in ten years. who thinks that you might pass him by, and who knows he has no choice but to support you if life takes you away from him. who knows he’ll never move on, even if you do. 

harvey specter, who knows that you both work too much. who knows that you spend all your free time and weekends together. between his love of his work, his friendships with his colleagues, and his relationship with you, he is satisfied. but he knows you are far more social than he is, and he will encourage you to go to spa nights and girls trips with friends. who is proud that you have a life that you love, and he will always be there to supplement whatever you need to keep it that way. 

nsfw ones:

harvey specter, who would put your pleasure above his every time. who is happy to service you. who can’t get off until he knows he’s pleased you to your satisfaction. 

harvey specter, who knows that you’re more game to try things out than his other partners. call it a benefit of your youth, if he might. 

harvey specter, who takes off his button-down shirt and dresses you in it. who binds your wrists together with his necktie and teases you for what feels like forever, before fitting his index and middle fingers into your mouth. who finally slips those two fingers into your underwear and ever so faintly begins to touch, whispering into your ear: does that feel good? hmm? just relax… i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart.

[xpao-bearx]

"Like A Virgin"

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader/Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader/Marc Spector x Fem!Reader

Read Part 1 HERE

Read Part 3 HERE

Read Part 4 HERE

NOTES: Y'ALL the way my jaw literally DROPPED when not even H A L F a minute after I posted the first part, you guys were already exploding my notifs which I wasn't expecting AT ALL I swear Oscar Isaac's really got us sluts in a chokehold O_o

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOUUU!!! 😭❤️❤️❤️ This is truly wonderful and encourages me a lot, especially since this is my first ever Moon Knight fic AND the first time a story of mine blew up this much! This is also great cuz I've been terribly sick, but of course ✨️priorities✨️ I gotta shower our Moon Boys with some much deserved lovin' and it's just so fucking nice to see that it's paying off! \(^o^)/ I was so happy and inspired that I couldn't resist and just HAD to write this second part ASAP!

Dissociative identity disorder is also briefly mentioned here and if I made any mistakes, then I apologize and please kindly correct me. And I feel like the ending may be a bit rushed, but it's the best my tiny brain could think of!

I'll shut up now and I'm very proud and excited to present... PART 2!!! 🥳 And if you'd like to be tagged for any of the next parts, feel free to tell me!

Also Marc does something very asshole-y here oop

TAGS: @autismsupermusicalassassin @ungracefularchimedes @pimosworld @ababynova @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @anapnovo-blog @am-3-thyst @harrys-tittie @zukoisbabee @wiltedwonderland

Part 2: You made me feel I've nothing to hide

After work, instead of heading home, you rushed straight to the nearest boutique to buy yourself a new dress for tomorrow night. The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults and you felt as if you could spontaneously burst into song like in those cheesy musicals your former college roommate was so obsessed with.

You knew the employees were all looking at you oddly as you constantly giggled to yourself like some lovesick schoolgirl while you perused through endless racks of the latest fashion. Of course you knew you were acting ridiculous--crazy--but wasn't that what attraction or, dare you say, love did to you?

Besides, you wanted tomorrow to go perfectly. In your eyes, Steven Grant was already perfect--perfectly imperfect or imperfectly perfect, you didn't know or care which was which. You just knew that you liked him. A lot.

And it relieved and pleased you to the moon and back that he actually felt the same! So, who cares what anyone else thought?

You just hoped that after tomorrow, Steven would like you enough to go on another date. And another. Then another...

Maybe you were looking--wishing--too far into the future, but you swore you could almost hear wedding bells chiming in the distance.

God, is this what happens after being a total virgin for twenty-something years? There was absolutely nothing wrong with being a virgin, but your insecurity bugged you. What if you weren't at all what Steven expected?

But another part of you, a positive ray of sunshine, clobbered all your doubts. For once, you were going to be brave! You were going to take a leap of faith! You were going to control your life!

Because, in the end...it was worth it. Steven was worth it. Sure, you've experienced various crushes throughout your life, but not like this. Not with Steven. This felt more...serious. Adult.

It felt as if right from the get-go crossing fates with "Steven with a V", your life was about to change--for the better.

Of course you were afraid, and yet you've also never been more sure of something in your entire existence. You've been waiting this long and you're glad you did, and now you were ready to jump head first (and head over heels) into whatever adventure was in store for you--with Steven.

You then squealed excitedly when you spotted the perfect dress, ignoring the judgmental stares other customers shot you as you hurriedly grabbed it like a child in a toy store.

Yes, tomorrow was going to be a dream come true.

♡•••🌙•••♡

You arrived at the restaurant thirty minutes early. It was totally embarrassing how eager you were, but you couldn't help yourself. Though at least with how early you were, you snagged a good table overlooking the restaurant's beautiful back garden strung with fairy lights and you can have some time to calm down before Steven came.

And you looked stunning. Your hair tumbled down in elegant waves, light makeup adoring your face and donning the contact lenses you rarely used. And the dress you bought fit like a glove; it was the shortest dress you now owned, stopping around your thighs. It was baby blue and had an off-the-shoulder style with some frills, and it hugged your figure just right.

You felt very self-conscious. You've always fancied clothes like this, but never actually had the guts to wear them--until now. Did it really suit you? But you couldn't deny that you were happy and, truly, isn't that all that mattered?

"Shall I get you started, ma'am?" A waitress snapped you back to reality and you shook your head.

"Not yet, thank you. I'm still waiting for my...date." The word made you blush furiously, as if sharing a dirty little secret.

The waitress smiled and nodded, leaving you by yourself once more as you sighed wistfully.

You took out your phone from your purse, checking the time. 6:45 p.m. Alright, not too long now. And you double checked that the address you texted Steven was correct, which it is.

You settled back in your chair, peering over the garden and giggling softly.

"I'm right here for you, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

"It's about time, innit?" Steven murmured, glancing over anxiously at his wristwatch for the umpteenth time. It was already eight p.m., a whole hour past your meeting time (not to mention he arrived embarrassingly early). And he was just informed by one of the servers that the restaurant was closing in thirty minutes, to which a pitiful look was also casted to him.

"It's not 'about time', Steven. It's late." Marc gruffly pointed out, Steven seeing Marc's reflection glaring back at him from the shiny silver flower vase set in the middle of the table. "Face it: she's NOT coming."

"Don't you dare say that." Steven's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was a certain edge to it that one would normally not hear from the soft man. "Y/N would never do that. Not her. She's just running late, I'm sure. Traffic and all."

"Oh, please, we both know that even the traffic here doesn't take this long." Marc scoffed. "Stop kidding yourself, Steven. She's. NOT. Coming."

Steven frowned, and with a shaky hand he pulled out his phone. He should've called you since way earlier. It was the logical thing to do, after all. But he was...scared. Scared that, maybe, a terrifying maybe, Marc was right.

He found your number and called you, pressing his phone to his ear as it began to ring. He didn't realize he was holding his breath until you finally picked up, voice groggy.

"Hello..?"

"Y/N..." Steven heaved a relieved exhale. "Hey, uh, I'm at the restaurant. Guess you got stuck in traffic?" He chuckled halfheartedly.

A long, dreadful pause. And then:

"Fucking EXCUSE me?"

Steven's eyes widened, having never heard you swear before. He was just about to ask what was wrong when you continued without skipping a beat.

"Are you playing with me, Steven? Is this what it is?!" You definitely sounded angry, but he didn't miss the faint sniffles coming from you. Shit, were you crying? What the hell was happening?

"How can you be such a...such a DICK?!" You shouted, causing him to jerk his phone a few inches away from his ear. "I fucking waited for you like a total idiot until closing time, you prick! You never showed and you never answered my calls! What the fuck can you POSSIBLY gain from toying with me, huh?!"

"W-Wait, I don't understand!" Steven was nearly hyperventilating, all the colour draining from his face and his mind running a mile a minute. "I-I'm here! Right now! D-Didn't we agree? Friday night, seven p.m.?"

You were dead silent. Steven was going to check if the call was still connected when you beat him to it.

"Steven... It's Sunday."

Steven froze. Then his eyes landed on Marc's reflection, refusing to meet his gaze and it clicked.

"Y/N." Steven said slowly, steadily, despite feeling like crying himself. His eyes were still on Marc, cold and pissed. "Please. I promise I have an explanation. I just... God, can we meet? Y/N, please, I'll come to you."

"No need." Tears threatened to spill from Steven's despondent eyes at your flat response, before you suddenly added: "I'll come to you. You said you were at the restaurant, right? Stay there."

You ended the call, and Steven flared at Marc--no longer caring if other people perceived him as a lunatic fighting with himself.

"Why the fuck would you do that, Marc?"

"Steven..." Marc struggled to find the right words, and the asshole actually had the audacity to look ashamed. "Listen, she's nothing but a distraction--"

"You always think you know better, yeah?" Steven laughed humourlessly. "A distraction? YOU stop kidding yourself, Marc. This is not just your life, but mine. And it's about fucking time you stop being such a selfish bastard!"

"Um, sir?" Steven winced, greeted by a baffled waiter. "We'll be closing soon, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave if you're not ordering anything."

Humiliated and repeatedly babbling apologies, Steven abruptly sprang out of his chair and dashed outside. He sighed deeply and collapsed listlessly on the ground, finally allowing the tears to fall.

He vaguely heard footsteps approaching until he saw a pair of worn bunny slippers in front of him. His eyes heavily dragged upwards, finding you staring back at him with an unreadable expression and breaths coming out in ragged pants.

"Y/N!" Steven jumped up, surprised you actually came despite the way he--the way Marc--treated you. Your bloodshot eyes and the dried tears on your cheeks only made him feel even shittier, much more fucked up than any beating he suffers on a mission.

Because at least with those, he can be confident that he and the boys would win no matter the challenge. But with you?

He had everything to lose.

Your hair was a total mess; glasses slightly crooked and you were in your pyjamas, a matching set of a purple tank top and shorts with stars and moons. The only thing you had covering you was a purple silk robe, drawing it closer to your chilly body as your eyes narrowed at Steven.

You should be mad at him, and you were. Still, despite everything, you hopped on to the first bus you saw and scrambled the rest of the way here as fast as you could.

But now that you were here...what in Khonshu's name were you going to do? You could scream at him with all the pain you haven't had the pleasure to release like you did on the phone, but you'd just be wasting your breath. Then again, he wasn't lying. He really is here. And it confused you more than anything.

And seeing him like this, looking so...sad. Well, it made you sad. Him miserably clenching onto a heart shaped chocolate box, fat globs of tears cascading down his cheeks as he gawked at you with his pretty doe brown eyes.

You raised your hand, and Steven shut his eyes as he braced himself for the slap he very much deserved--only to be met with your soft palm, wiping away his tears tenderly.

"Explain to me, Steven."

♡•••🌙•••♡

The travel to Steven's apartment was spent in deafening silence, but it brought upon a strange sort of comfort. Unconsciously, you hugged Steven's black jacket that he had offered you earlier even closer to your much smaller frame. It soothed your nerves, being completely enveloped in his smell; fresh soap with a hint of musky cologne.

Once you reached his unit, you couldn't help but smile. It was just so...Steven. It was a bit messy, but a good kind of messy. You didn't really know how to describe it, but it warmed your heart especially when you saw a giant fish tank with only one goldfish.

"Cuppa tea?" Steven asked to which you shook your head, facing him fully.

"No. I'm a 'get over it' kinda girl so whatever your explanation is, I'd rather we just nip it in the bud." You huffed before you halted, biting your lip. "Oh, uh, sorry... Of course, if you wanna have tea, you can. It's your home, after all."

Steven laughed, his first real laugh that entire day. "Are you always this nice to blokes you should be mad at?"

"Only if they are really into Egyptology and have beautiful brown eyes and gorgeous curls." You rolled your eyes though you couldn't suppress your grin before you cleared your throat, getting a hold of your stupid giddy self. "Now, explain."

Steven's demeanour instantly shifted, serious now and quite uneasy. But he nodded and gestured towards the couch. You walked over and plopped down, Steven sitting next to you and keeping a respectful couple inches between the two of you.

He looked down at the ground, carefully considering his words before meeting your gaze solemnly. "Have you ever heard of dissociative identity disorder?" You nodded, previously learning about it in Psychology class and researching about it due to personal interest. "That's...what I have. I'm an alter within a system, and there are two others--Marc Spector and Jake Lockley."

"Am I correct to assume that when you asked me out...it wasn't actually you?"

Steven blinked, rather startled that you were taking this so well. "Yes. Jake was the one who asked you out."

"Was he also the one who didn't show up for the date?"

"No, that would be Marc." He grumbled. "And listen, I'm truly sorry about him. He's a right twit. It may not have been me who didn't show up, but that absolutely doesn't excuse the hurt it caused you. I am so, so sorry, Y/N."

Your brows furrowed, mulling over this new revelation. But...you believed him, especially when it explained all those times you secretly caught Steven muttering incoherently to himself or staring at his reflection and quietly reacting to something. You were curious about more, of course, but Steven didn't have any reason to lie about such a serious matter. And if he was lying, there were plenty of other things he could say. But the way he acted, and just the look in his eyes--he knew the risks of opening up to you, but he did it anyway.

You clasped his hands in yours, sighing. "I know I look calm right now, but trust me, I'm freaking the fuck out." You chuckled, and Steven felt safe enough to join you. "But... I trust you, Steven. And I believe you. Tell me one thing, though. Are you...into me? Like, at all?"

"Of course I am!" He replied in a flash, making you both pause before erupting into easy laughter. "Why would you even have to ask that, love?"

"It's just... Well, if Jake was the one who asked me out, it made me wonder if you really did like me." You mumbled, looking away.

Steven gently grasped your chin, tipping your face back towards him. "I've liked you since the day we met, Y/N. In your pink skirt and the cute little pigtails you had." He smiled, eyes so amorous and gleaming with sincerity. "Truth is, I've wanted to ask you out since forever. I'm just not as...forward as Jake is."

"And that's fine. But hey, we gotta thank him 'cause Lord knows I'd just spiral into a panic attack if I ever made the first move." You chuckled. But it gradually died down as Steven continued to stare at you, and you never thought you would ever have someone look at you the way Steven did; as if you were precious treasure hidden within a sacred tomb.

Slowly, ever so slowly, your body started moving of its own accord. You were leaning closer, closer, closer--a mere breath away from his lips before he piped up.

"I'm also Khonshu's Avatar!"

"Say what?"

"Um, well, you see--" He stammered, mentally slapping himself.

'Don't say anything, Steven.' Marc warned, and it took all of Marc's willpower not to seize control and actually slap Steven.

But it was too late now. Steven already said too much, but he wanted to be honest with you. Utterly so. And since you wanted to nip this in the bud, now was the best time more than anything.

"Erm... You've seen the news, yeah?" He didn't grant you the chance to respond as he rambled. "Masked vigilantes... Moon Knight and Mr. Knight? They're actually...Marc and I."

"Steven, this is--"

"I'll show you, Y/N. I'll summon the suit."

"Summon the soup? What is happening--"

Steven stood up, and a split second later there was a whirl of white. And sure enough, there was none other than one half of the mysterious heroes you've been seeing a lot on the news recently; his glowing white eyes locked with yours, crisp ivory suit and batons clutched tightly in his hands.

"Look, I know this is a lot to take in--"

"Handsome..." You blurted out before you can restrain yourself.

"Huh?" Steven blushed underneath the mask, and you were the same as your cheeks tinted crimson. Then you rose from the couch, closing the gap between you two and removing his mask.

His curls stuck every which way and his eyes were as wide as the full moon, making you giggle. "You're so handsome, Steven. And yeah, this is a fucking lot to take in. To be honest, a part of me is still wondering if this is all just a dream." You reached up, caressing the side of his face sweetly and smiling. "But...thank you. Thank you for being honest with me."

His batons dropped to the floor, trembling hands hesitantly settling on your hips. You noticed his Adam's apple bob as he looked down at you, tears once again glistening in his eyes. Happiness, relief, adoration--how can so many exhilarating emotions crash over him all at once?

"Can I be more honest?" He whispered, resting his forehead against yours as he gazed deeply into your eyes. "I...want you to stay with me."

Your cheeks hurt from how impossibly wide your smile has stretched, wrapping your arms around his neck and nuzzling his nose with yours.

"I'm staying whether you like it or not, Steven with a V."