#second of all: they're fucking USELESS

[iceeericeee]

Golf courses should not exist. You agree. Reblog

[variousqueerthings]

three just karate aikido-dropped three security guards and honestly id like to see some other doctors get into a fist fight occasionally, i wonder how they'd do

[i-dont-bite]

i've been cancelled for the 2nd time on twitter because i thought finn wolfhard going to starbucks was not such a big deal lol

[katnissgirlsmakedo]

actually you know something. i have got to stop watching media with people with british accents. i’ve had such an overload of british accents lately it’s absolutely ridiculous. i’m starting to think in the cadence of charlie hunnam’s voice in queer as folk it’s going to drive me to smash my head through a window. 

[noxtivagus]

oh my god it's 9 am

[anaalnathrakhs]

man why am i unable to reasonably talk out important stuff with my mom without us getting pissed at each other

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[actual-changeling]

technically hand-cuffing crowley and aziraphale together would be completely useless since they can just snap their fingers and be free.

however.

we are talking about the same idiots that drove to tadfield instead of flying or teleporting. aziraphale made the slow grandma scooter float. crowley drove his car all the way there and fucking. remained stuck in a traffic jam.

the same idiots that went through with the magic show instead of just walking away. that rode horses and hated it. that use their powers every single second of every day and have grown so used to them that they forget they are using them in the first place.

and then forget about them when they need them.

so yeah, technically they could miracle their way out of the hand cuffs. but they wouldn't. they'd whine and complain and forget they're capable of doing so.

then they'd make up and make out because that shit would work.

then, and ONLY then, does one of them snap their fingers so they can properly fuck nasty against a bookshelf and they both stare at each other, the cuffs on the floor, up at each other again, and think fucking hell i love that moron.

and then they fuck.

[shotmrmiller]

currently doing one of my most hated chores which is laundry and it got me thinking.

It's bloody laundry day again. You've got no extra clothes to really wear apart from a loose, grey, too thin pajama shirt and the shorts it came with.

Tragic, but not the end of the world. No one goes to wash their clothes looking like they're right off the runway. And it's also far too early for the laundromat to be packed.

You'll survive.

Slamming your trunk closed, you straighten and wipe the sweat that's beaded on your forehead. Damn muggy air. Even at this hour, the weather chooses violence.

Pulling the door open, you step inside and hiss out a breath through your teeth. In here it's not any better. And there's only one big fan on, out of the many that are in here.

God you hate laundry day.

At least it looks empty.

Tucking your hair away in a makeshift, sloppy bun, you drag your dirty clothes basket to a washer and throw them in.

Next is your detergent and when you pick up the fabric softener, it's almost empty.

God fucking damnit.

And the person that sells stuff isn't in behind the desk.

Slamming the lid closed, you kick your hamper into against the washer and walk toward the cursed fan that probably only circulates the hot ass air in here. But with the way your pathetic shirt is turning damp and sheer from the sweat, and short strands of hair that are starting to glue themselves to the back of your neck, worse is nothing.

And then you're standing in the corner of the laundromat, getting hot air weakly blown into your flushed face. "Goddamn it's hot. Useless fucking fan is just here for decor, i think."

"Ah think so too."

You choke back a scream and spin on the balls of your feet to the deep, accented voice behind you.

A muscular pretty boy with hair the color of damp soil and blue eyes that sparkle brightly, even under the dim light of the place sits with his back to a washer that's currently going.

Devastatingly handsome. And you've been throwing a hissy fit for the past half hour, only to appear in front of him resembling a drowned rat.

Flatlining right now would be great.

"Damned hot in here, alrigh'. Isnae tha' so, Simon?"

Who? Oh no.

How you missed that behemoth is beyond you, but he rises from the ground like a slumbering giant. Ash brown choppy hair and dark, sharp eyes with the rest of his face covered by a black cloth mask. 6'4 at least, and built like bloody fridge.

Someone kill you now.

"Johnny."

His piercing eyes cut to you before flicking back to the man on the floor.

"Get the detergent."

"Aye." Scottish, it sounds like.

You briskly walk away from them two, face burning with embarrassment, back to the washer you're using.

Today of all days, you come across these two. You could cry, honestly.

They're there for as long as you are, and you've long since gotten past your self-consciousness. If you have to melt in this stifling heat for one more second, you just might scream.

You grab your clothes from the dryer with haste, haphazardly throwing them in your basket and with a quick, 'Have a good day!', you're out the door.

As you're about to get in your car, the scot comes bustling out the front door of the laundromat.

"Lass! Ah think these're yers."

What he holds in his hands has tears springing into your eyes.

Undergarments. Why the hell is he-

You can see the tall brit leaning on a machine, with his arms crossed and he's looking right at you.

The walk of shame to the pretty one is almost unbearable. Your trembling hand reaches for your garment. "Thank you."

He chuckles under his breath. "Anytime. See ye around."

How mortifying.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

please tell us more about your mad theory about the tories getting rid of Sunak?

So the Tories currently have two (2) major problems.

Problem the first: they are about to lose power as soon as the GE rolls around, which it must do by January 2025 at the absolute latest. And the country is baying for one sooner.

This is very much preoccupying their minds at the minute. The rich and powerful will never willingly let you vote away their wealth and power, and to put this into perspective, the Tory party has ruled this country either jointly or alone for over a decade at this point. One of David Cameron's strategies as leader was to focus on recruitment of young and exciting diverse Tories into the party, which is how we got such stellar entries as Liz Truss and Priti Patel and Suella Braverman. These are MPs, therefore, who have never known political life outside of being on the winning side. They are seeing the end of the gravy train in sight, and they are taking it as well as you'd expect.

This is why the infighting is so rife (partly; bear with). The main thing they care about right now is making the party electable again, and fast.

But...

Problem the second: like all good fascist dictators, when Boris Johnson came to power, he fired everyone who said anything bad about him for disloyalty, and promoted all his personal friends. This is how we got such stellar entries as Nadine Dorries and Jacob Rees Mogg and Michael Fabricant. But THAT'S an issue because saying bad things about BJ is basically what intelligent people did, because the man was a useless blundering oaf who killed horrifying numbers of his own electorate via the world's second worst mismanagement of a global pandemic. So removing anyone who criticised him meant, in very real terms, removing the only Tories with half a brain who were even a fraction capable of doing joined up thinking required to run a country. Like, fuck every Tory with a cactus, obviously, but they did at least used to have competent, high calibre politicians, however evil and grotesque they were. David Cameron should die in a cesspit, but he was capable of remembering to put the bins out (before wage cutting the refuse collectors).

And therein lies the real problem: okay, BJ is gone, the party is in ruin, they're staring down the barrel of the most humiliating election defeat in history. They need someone competent that they all like who can take the reins and make people like them again.

But who's left?

There's no one. There's no one left. Not just because the remaining Tories are too low calibre to lead; they're too low calibre to even be able to pick someone without shrieking like cliquey little harridans on the playground about how the wrong in-group got in. Half of them are still BJ loyalists who hate anyone who criticise The Great Brexit Leader. The other half hate BJ for managing to make everyone hate the Tories so much that they're in this mess. Both halves are willing to sabotage the chosen leader of the other, locked in a battle of mutually assured destruction.

So how does Sunak fit into this?

He's unpopular in the party to a truly staggering degree, and not much better in the eyes of the public. He's tried to take a centrist stance on BJ, but that's actually just pissed off both sides. He did manage to stabilise the economy somewhat after the appalling mess Liz Truss threw it into, but he hasn't actually fixed it - we're still mid-cost of living crisis, we're still inexplicably not rich after Brexit like Boris prommied, inflation is still at an all time high as public services crash. The public hates him.

And he hasn't made the public stop hating the Tories. That petition calling for a GE is great, because it won't happen - BUT, it does force the issue to be debated in Parliament with opposition parties getting to stick the boot in, which means the humiliation continues. The Tories are starting to get desperate again.

And because this lot of Tories are, as mentioned, utterly terrible low-calibre political idiots, their response to this pressure has for the last four years been to oust the leader and get another.

And the first letters of no confidence have been sent into the 1922 Committee already. The devil moves fast, but knuckle dragging Tories with a fifth of a braincell each move faster.

And thanks to the absolute fucking state of them all... I cannot believe I'm saying these words, but genuinely the best person they have left who could possibly do the job is, of all fucking people, Michael Fucking Gove, and it won't even be him because he was mean to Boris once.

So yeah. I reckon Sunak may be out in six months. Fuck knows who we get instead. Probably Penny Mordaunt.

[uravitypng]

𝐢'𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

pairing: bakusquad x chubby reader (katsuki bakugo + hanta sero + mina ashido + eijiro kirishima + denki kaminari)

word count: 4.4k words

a/n: definitely haven't been working on this for months <33 this turned out more fluffy than intended for a free use fic asdfghj. basically they all need to be dating!!! none of the bakusquad have any contact with each other... yet... idk i might make a part two where they're not just taking turns but all together with the reader

content warnings: free use, unprotected vaginal sex, oral (f!recieving & m!recieving), vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, groping, biting, dumbification, slight breeding mention, somno, wlw, spanking, petnames - mdni (like my whole tumblr)

when becoming friends and roommates with the bakusquad you didn't realise what it would exactly entail. becoming friends with five successful pro heroes while you're a civilian is something you would never expect, not in your wildest dreams, so it's not a surprise to you that your feelings for them grew with each day and after a particular turn of events you let them use you however they wanted. if they want to take out their frustrations of a stressful day by roughly fucking you than you're more than willing to oblige to their request or if they want to tenderly make love to you after an emotional and exhausting day you're more than willing to oblige- you're their toy after all.

they'll use you anywhere and anywhen, it doesn't matter if you're in public or if you're sleeping, you've given them your full consent.

the first time it happened was with katsuki. he was angry and annoyed and you didn't know what to do, you've never truly seen him like this before and you haven't been friends with him as long as the others have been friends with him, you didn't want to make it worse. ideally you would ask the others what you should do but they were all busy working.

you later found out a journalist cornered him after a minor rescuing incident and asked him more intrusive questions than normal and that day it got to him more than normal too. for some reason the press always seems to ask him more personal questions than other heroes you know and you can't figure out why but you have a few ideas: to see his reaction, to get more information about his private life from him because he's one of the more secretive heroes, or to see his 'real' personality wondering if everything they see in public is all just an image.

"i'm sorry katsuki. is there anything i can do to make you feel a bit better?" you ask him and in less then ten seconds he's pinned you against the wall and is biting your bottom lip making you moan, giving him the opportunity to move his tongue into your mouth, intertwining your tongues and muffling any surprised noises that threaten to come out of you. you feel his large callus palms run all over your body as he pushes up your shirt and touches every single part of his skin he can get his hands on, leaving bruises and pretty marks to decorate your equally pretty body.

katsuki shoves his hand underneath your underwear, not bothering to take off your clothes and fingers you until you start screaming his name and your vision begins to go blurry.

"holy shit katsuki. feel's so good." he pumps two of his thick fingers inside of you and his ego soars as he not only feels how wet you are but hears it too as your cunt squelches and you clench around his fingers. he smirks as you come undone on his fingers chanting his name over and over again, your fists gripping onto his shirt tightly.

"this'll make me feel better," he grunts and tries to press his body closer to yours than it already was, your tits now completely pressed against him. "god shitty woman how oblivious can ya be? swear you're useless sometimes. a fucking dumbass." if you were someone else you might have taken offence to him calling you shitty woman or useless especially in the position you're currently in but you're use to him calling you names by now knowing he doesn't mean them negatively, if anything they're affectionate, most of the time he'll call people extras and you're glad he doesn't see you as an extra.

"oblivious?"

katsuki grits his teeth, "shut up," he grunts and you feel his hardened cock against your thigh, he slams his lips against yours again and starts kissing you even more furiously, if you didn't know better you'd say passionately but you don't think he'd ever kiss you passionately.

he sees your eyes glazed over with a daze on your face and smirks. his hand goes behind you to cups the curve of your ass then slaps with the sound echoing against the walls, making you whine. you feel the humidity that's resting on his palms and your whole body tingles imaging him using his quirk (controlled) on you.

"no one else has made ya feel this good have they sweetheart?" he asks gruffly already knowing the answer.

"no, no one else 'suki. no one has ever made me ever feel this good!" you reply honestly, tears starting to fill your waterline.

he knows you're being honest and if anything you're being more forgiving of your previous sexual encounters and talking more favourable about your past sexual partners than they deserve. "fuckin' criminal."

after what happened with katsuki you sat down with your friends and told them that you give them your consent to use you whenever. katsuki looked so much calmer after and his body looked more relaxed, less tension. you couldn't help but think that your other friends would be the same.

you were bashful the whole time while speaking, mumbling and looking away, your whole face felt like it were on fire but you were offering to help them all, you knew how stressful their work is and you wanted to help.

you want them, you wouldn't tell them that part though, neither did you ever have to think hard on your proposal.

all of them loved the idea, why wouldn't they? they're madly in love with you. over time all of them fell in love with you but none of them would ever make a move on you not willing to lose or jeopardise the friendship they have with you nor are they willing to make a move while knowing how the others feel about you either. you're sweet, and kind, and beautiful, and brilliant, and a hundred million more things that make you special in their eyes.

none of them thought they would ever get the chance to be with you in any such way, romantic or sexual, and they were more then content with being your friend, strictly platonic, but now they get to be your friend and they get to sleep with you, they're ecstatic.

hanta likes cockwarming with you, every single chance he gets he pulls you onto his lap and onto his cock without warning and puts on a movie to watch as he watches you squirm and try to keep still but it's so hard keeping still when the longest dick you've ever seen is inside of you and you feel it throbbing.

hanta sees you struggling and grins as you shift around and whimper quietly. you're biting your hand to try to keep silent but it's ineffective. "hush princesa, i'm trying to watch the film." he says teasingly, holding onto your plush waist to keep you from moving and lifts up your top, caressing your soft skin making you get goosebumps from the sensation of his cold rings touching you.

occasionally he'll lazily thrust up into you, making you squeak, he'll chuckle at the noises you make and get off on how needy you are for him. "you look so beautiful sitting on my lap mi amor," your heart flutters and your face heats up whenever he calls you affectionate names in his first language and especially when he calls you my love, "but aren't you suppose to be pleasing me? you seem very needy and demanding for someone who has offered their body to me." you shudder as he speaks, still with his hand caressing your body.

you look at him and pout, causing his grin to widen. "not my fault, you feel really good."

hanta's voice drops lower and becomes husky while he leans closer to you, "yeah?"

you nod your head and try to wrap your arms around him, admittedly unsuccessfully from the position you're currently in as you're facing away from him to 'watch' the movie with him, making hanta chuckle. "yeah," you reply.

hanta smirks as he looks down at you over your shoulder and tenderly strokes your arm, "beg me to move." with no hesitation you beg.

with everyone else they'll take what they want from you and get you to come as many times as they want (if they do want you to cum) without you having to beg but hanta is different, he'll make you cry and beg for him. no matter how horny he is he'll wait for you to become putty in his hands as you cry buried in the crook of his neck, trying to grind against him and wetting his shoulder with your tears, pleading for anything he gives you. he loves seeing you cry for him and plead for his cock.

you're always so pliant for him and he likes to make you even more pliant. as your reward for listening to him he grabs your wide hips and starts to move you up and down, harshly, making the ability to breathe leave your body momentarily at the sudden movement all while cooing at you, albeit condescendingly. "awe does that feel good princesa? you finding it hard to take it all?" he grins as you tip your head back and rests it on his shoulder, your moans getting louder, unable to respond and form a coherent sentence.

you feel like you feel him all the way in throat, a completely impossible thought of course but it's hard to think otherwise with each time he slams you back down and your pelvis meets his it's making you lose every braincell you have with how good you feel and how good he fills you up.

"open up," you compliantly open your mouth still in a daze and hanta spits in your mouth, grinning as he watches you swallow it without any prior audible command to do so already knowing from previous liaisons.

his pace changes, every so often becoming quicker with shallow thrusts than back to a regular pace with deeper thrusts just to tease you and make you light headed, not knowing what to expect next. his groans become more audible and he grips onto you tighter, his blunt nails making a crescent imprint on your hips. "s-shit hanta i can't, too much."

"i thought you were my good girl. you were begging for me only awhile ago." he smirks, starting to get close.

"i am! i am your good girl, promise! just 's a lot."

he chuckles at your obedience, you really are his good girl, made for him- and the others.

but he does wonder if you're that obedient with them as you are with him.

he purposefully slows down his pace and wraps one arm around your supple middle keeping you bouncing and tilts your chin up to look at him with his other hand before placing a gentle chaste kiss on your lips.

mina seizes every opportunity to lay lingering wet kisses down your neck all the way to your chest. you get goosebumps as you feel her breath against your skin and feel the sticky lipgloss left over from her lips.

mina never wears lipstick but she's nearly always seen wearing lipgloss and they're always flavoured ones, enjoying the look of how the sticky remnant remains on your skin after being transferred from her lips and how you seemingly unconsciously swipe your tongue out over your own lips afterwards to taste the flavour that remains.

whenever a man comes onto her apparently not understanding the word 'no' she comes straight to you afterwards so she can feel you up and touch your soft body and curves. you're so much better than anyone else and she's so glad that you let her touch you however and whenever she wants.

beforehand when someone was so persisted that it grossed her out she still would come to see you, you were roommates and very close friends after all. mina would complain about them and you would listen and bash them because how dare they keep being so disrespectful, unable to be take a hint or handle rejection.

the entire time when mina used to talk about them she'd think about how soft your lips looked, how good her hand would look wrapped around your throat and how she wants to go down on you so bad that you pull her hair and more importantly squeeze your thighs together in between her head.

"such a sweet little thing for me," she tells you and kisses your ankle. you whimper and she opens up your thighs wider for now, wanting to get a good look at your pretty pussy. mina flicks her tongue up against your pussy lips making a shiver run down your spine before her tongue enters into your soaking hole, moaning at your taste and your aroma, making her dizzy in the process. you can't help but squeal and shudder at the sensation as her eyes gleam with every new noise you make. she removes her tongue from inside of you, the sweet taste still lingering on her tongue. she flicks her tongue up again, curling two fingers back into you and starts sucking on your clit.

the pleasure builds up inside of you with every curl of her fingers, "that's a good girl, come for me," mina mumbles against your clit and you squeeze your thighs with mina's head between them, not being able to stop yourself as you're about to come again for the third time in an hour.

"oh fuck, min-" the last syllable of mina's name is silenced in an inaudible groan as the coil in your stomach snapped and you unravelled where she helped to ride out your orgasm still between your doughy thighs.

now she gets her wish whenever she wants as she's able to look up to see how your voluptuous body shakes. she gets to feel how soft and warm your thick thighs feel wrapped around her head.

as you calm down from another intense orgasm you move to look at mina, "what about you?" hinting that you desperately want to return the favour.

she can see the neediness in your eyes and giggles. "i can't right now sweet pea, i've got to go to work."

"already?"

mina giggles again, "i'll be back soon babes then we can carry on from where we left off, okay?" she smiles brightly and takes her leave feeling equalling as needy as you but who can blame her when she spent the last hour pleasuring you and feeling your plump body underneath hers and getting you see your gorgeous face scrunched up in pleasure. mina doesn't mind the needy feeling though as the look on your face is worth it as she leaves because she knows when she comes back home you'll make her feel just as good as she made you feel.

eijiro works nights a lot of the time which means typically you get woken up by him. this means most nights you sleep with only a nightie on or a baggy pyjama shirt foregoing underwear or pyjama bottoms so eijiro doesn't have to worry about fiddling with any layers and pulling them down. the only exemptions about the clothes are when it's particularly cold that night.

after work he'll want to feel your soft body squish in between his fingers as he presses down on your malleable skin, groping you wherever he can get his hands on and pumping his girthy cock in his other hand a couple times, wanting to be buried in that sweet cunt that he loves so much so it's no surprise to you to be woken up to his grunts and gentle thrusts.

whenever you do wake up he feels guilty. he knows you need, and like your sleep and he never intended to wake you up so he strokes the sides of your body and softly tells you to go back to bed while kissing your temple.

sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but no matter the outcome of trying to get you to go back to sleep your body always has the same reaction, mewls and moans leaving your body involuntarily and you becoming more and more wet with each thrust that it's dripping down to your thick thighs.

the times when you don't fall back to sleep you don't move much, very much a pillow princess in those moments but that's what eijiro prefers. he likes looking after you and treating you like the princess you are. he enjoys doing all the work so when you do wake up all you can do is rub your eyes sleepily and moan louder while he tries to shush you because no doubt someone has to be up in a few hours for patrol.

"p-please," you whine but you don't know what you're begging for. eijiro knows though as he pushes the remaining inches of his cock inside of you, you both hiss, and he slowly and deeply starts moving in you. you grab hold of his muscular forearms and whine about the pleasurable stretch.

you turn your head to the side so your neck is bare. he knows what you want more than your tired words can mumble out so he turns your neck further to the side than you did to keep you still and bites down, not hard enough to cause serious pain and break your skin but enough to hurt slightly and cause you to gasp, your mind momentarily going blank and your hips to jerk up.

before you started sleeping with eijiro you didn't know you liked the sensation of getting bitten so much until he bit you to keep himself quiet while at a very lively party. normally he wouldn't mind people hearing how good he makes you feel and vise versa but there was a minority of people at that party who were all trying to make a new hero commission and he didn't want to to draw attention to you or him with those people, knowing what the last commission did. even though you are just a civilian he wants to make sure they stay well away from you but still that wasn't enough to drag you into an empty room and fuck you until you couldn't stand after seeing how beautiful you looked that night.

ever since then biting became involved in your sex life. eijiro knew he liked biting people before you, he enjoys the surprised gasps and how bodies move but with you it's completely different, it's on a whole new level with how plump your body is, it's like heaven. no matter where he bites you there's always some part he can sink his teeth into making your body beautifully buck up uncontrollably. the whole experience and sensation making him groan and the noises you always make in bed are like no over- ethereal, just like the rest of you.

when he hears the slapping sound of your two bodies making contact get louder and louder and sees the creamy ring left over from each thrust he has to hold onto you tighter, gripping hold of your love handles, enough to leave bruises, and looking up at the ceiling not wanting to cum yet. he knows as soon as he looks down at your cute face or perfect body he'll immediately orgasm so to try and make himself last longer he'll look up.

that on top of the quicker pace and him touching your clit, just the way you like it, makes you come. you clench around him and moan words incomprehensibly causing him to come too as he feels you get tighter around him.

"gonna clean you up in a second baby just let me stay inside you for awhile." at this point you're both falling asleep, he wraps his muscular arms around you tighter and manhandles your chubby body so you're laying on top of him, your arm on his chest and your face in his neck, the whole time making sure his dick doesn't accidentally slip out of you. even though you're semi conscious you know that you're going to be sleeping like this all night, both of you are too tired to move, with your last moments of consciousness being your slow blinks that you use to gaze up at eijiro admiring how handsome he is, you like when his hair is down after showering because without it being styled to be spiky you can see his roots coming through, red mixing with his natural black, even now when he's half asleep and ready for bed he looks just as handsome as he does at any fancy hero event he attends. "you feel too good to get up and leave and anyway i've got to plug you full, breed you properly to make sure it sticks." he mumbles against your forehead half asleep, drifting off only a minute or so after.

out of everyone denki is the one to touch you the most, if no one else is kissing you he's taking the opportunity to kiss you and hold you all over. he's the most emotional and vulnerable when it comes to sex too. he feels safe around you, to let his carefree persona down and to be sensitive and vulnerable, just staying fully in the moment with you.

the first time you slept together, you kissed his chest all the way to his hips making his hips buck up. he had wanted you so bad for so long and now he finally had you.

originally, you had stroked his cock for the first time and you heard a string of moans and it immediately turned you on more than you already were. as he got closer to his release he said breathy, "please don't stop, this will probably be the only chance i ever get to touch you." it had shocked you not realising that he felt that way but you didn't stop, doing what you were told, and knowing you were going to talk to him after.

not long after, he came and you threw your arms around him, arms wrapped around his neck and clinging onto him. he was still catching his breath, "do you really think this was a one time thing denki? i told you all before that i want to do this." he blushed and squished your cheeks, a habit he had picked up on doing recently at the time, you swat his hands away and giggle, denki smiles.

denki is also the most possessive which surprised you, if you thought anyone would be possessive your guess would be katsuki but it's really denki. he gets jealous when you spend more time with the others than you do with him and will want your attention. it's even more noticeable when it comes to other people who aren't in the bakusquad.

if you ever smile too cheerfully at someone, laugh too loudly at someone's jokes or if someone flirts with you he gets extremely jealous, you never flirt back though, you have everything you need and sometimes you don't even realise they were flirting in the first place.

at times like that denki is the most vulnerable. as soon as you both get home he's kissing you tenderly and holding you like fragile treasured glass in his arms. most of the time he takes you to the bedroom and lays you on the bed but this time he pushes your head down gently and you fall to you knees carefully. "do you need a cushion babe?"

your heart warms at how considerate he is. you look up at him and shake your head, "i'm okay," you smile up at him and you don't miss the way his cheeks are dusted pink. unzipping his jeans and pulling them down, along with his boxers that already are wet with precum leaking from his cock, you kiss his thigh and stare at his .

denki holds onto your head as you part your lips and open your mouth, taking him in your mouth. you hollow your cheeks and grab a hold of his thighs. he keeps his hips still no matter how much he wants to rut inside your wonderful wet and warm mouth. when his hips do occasionally buck it makes you gag before he corrects himself and pushes back against the wall trying to control himself not to pound up into you, he wants you to control the pace. the moans that he makes as you take him further only spur you on as your pace gets quicker and your nose presses against his lean stomach momentarily before having to leave and gasp for air. denki may not be as thick as eijiro or as long as hanta but he's still big, more than people would assume, he's bigger than average (only if slightly.) denki's arm rests of his head while he takes deep breaths.

"fuck babe that was-" you cut him off as you take him in your mouth again and wrap your lips around him and you hollow your cheeks once again. his moans and groans become more frequent and you can tell that he's about to come.

his grip get's tighter while resting on your head and his groans get deeper. "gonna come, you swallow alright babe." you hum in confirmation, "shit, shit, shit," his eyebrows pinch together and his hot cum sprays in ropes at the back of your throat and you mourn not being able to properly fully taste him. denki lifts you up by your elbows and when you come face-to-face you kiss his cheek, he's not satisfied with that though and he passionately makes out with you not caring that he just came in your mouth and is holding onto your plush waist while grinning against your lips. "bedroom." he whispers in your ear making you shudder at the demanding tone he used, not often does he use it but whenever he does... well it makes your whole body tingle.

[vaspider]

Since I just turned off reblogs on another post that quickly went from "let's have fun" to "this is fucking awful, I'm taking away this toy," please read this BlueSky thread from rahaeli, who I don't think is on here.

Most of it I've c/p for ease of readability bc BSky's threading sucks.

Okay, it's time again to talk about what the experience of having a social media account with a bunch of followers (*) is like. (* "a bunch" of followers is platform dependent. I'm getting irritating shit at 2k on Bluesky I didn't get until 10k on Twitter.)

(Ugh, wait, nevermind, I hit 3k while I wasn't looking. Anyway.) Someone who has never had more than 100 followers literally cannot comprehend the sheer volume of the responses you get. Even if individual posts don't get a ton of replies, if you post with any frequency, it accumulates.

Once you hit the first degradation threshold, your experience gets a little bit shittier. It's overwhelming volume, but the people who are following you are mostly ideologically, socially, and culturally aligned to you. You have the same concept of social media manners.

You'll get a few duplicate comments, because nobody reads the comments before they reply, but they're mostly from cool people, so you just roll your eyes a little at the same joke five times. You still make friends. You still have fun and can wind up finding neat new people.

And then those neat new people retweet your stuff, and it starts reaching out to an audience of people who are less aligned with what you think of as social media manners. You start getting some replies you find obnoxious: they're in good faith, you can tell, but they just grate on you sometimes.

And then *those* people start reposting your more viral threads, and you get people following you who are three degrees of separation from the people you are most likely to vibe with. And three degrees of separation is the second degradation threshold.

The second degradation threshold is where you start getting the constant, low-grade sand-in-a-pearl annoyances. The person who wants to argue with everything. The 15 people making the identical shitty "joke" that's actually just doing the exact thing you're complaining about, "ironically".

The people who look at a post that contains no question marks and think "there is an implied question here and I will answer it!" and leap to offer the most basic advice that you already thought of because you have existed for more than three seconds and can, in fact, think of the obvious answers.

The people who are spoiling for a fight no matter what, because you used one word in the post that is their particular berserk button and they're going to scream at you for hating waffles because you said you like pancakes even though you never mentioned waffles.

It is constant. It is never-ending. You cannot escape it. Every time you post anything at all, opening the app means wading through twenty garbage replies for every reply from someone who is actually cool and you'd vibe with just fine if you chatted with them.

You want to bitch about a minor annoyance? There will be 40 people all giving you the same useless advice. You want to squee about something you're enjoying that's making you happy? There will be 40 people coming to scold you because that thing isn't morally pure enough.

Every post. Every day. About 75% of the time you compose a post, you will get halfway through writing it and think "I can't deal with the replies this will get today" and delete it. You stop talking about things you enjoy, because you're tired of people shitting on them.

You stop complaining about the tiny annoyances in your life that you want to bitch about, because weirdly enough you already HAVE tried the first fifteen obvious suggestions you're going to get, and you don't want to spend an hour explaining why they won't work to everyone who's "helping".

(But you can't just ignore the "helpful" posts and not engage with them, because then you start getting accusations of being "elitist" and "standoffish" and jesus, lady, we're just trying to help here, why do you have to be so fucking rude and stuck-up, you full of yourself bitch.)

If you are any less gracious to the 40th person than that person thinks they deserve, there is a very good chance they're going to call you a cunt and drag allot their friends in to dogpile you and make the site unusable for at least three days.

The third degradation threshold is when you start needing to regularly call your local police department and politely remind them there are people who get very mad at you online and will try very hard to have you murdered by armed agents of the state and you'd appreciate it if they didn't do that.

I first had that conversation with my local police department in 2003. It's gotten faster now, at least? You usually don't have to start by explaining what social media even is.

Bluesky has tighter thresholds than Twitter did. On Twitter it was nicely exponential: the breakpoints were around 1k, 10k, 100k. Bluesky is running faster. I'm getting Twitter 10k annoyances at a Bluesky 3k. I am trying very, very hard not to switch over into Twitter 10k defensive posting.

I want to leave the defensive posting back on Twitter. I really do. I want to be able to bitch about a thing without having to wade through 20 "go try [extremely obvious thing]". I want to post about a thing I enjoy without 20 people yelling at me I'm bad for enjoyjng it.

There's a difference between arguing about an idea (which I love) and the onslaught of constantly infuriating replies plucking at your last goddamn nerve. And the more "last goddamn nerve" replies you get, the crankier you are, and then people lose their shit at you because you snapped at them.

So maybe let's all start keeping a few principles in mind: 1) if there's more than one reply, check to see if your point has already been covered. If it has, you don't need to repeat it.

2) Even the funniest joke gets old after the 20th time you hear it in 3 hours.

3) "I'm going to jokingly do the exact thing you just were complaining about because ha ha the real joke is I would never do that asshole thing" is never funny, and it is indistinguishable from you actually doing the asshole thing.

4) If there is no question mark in the tweet, think twice about offering "helpful" advice unless you and the poster know each other *mutually*, not just parasocially, you know it's likely to be new info for them, and you ask "do you want to hear how I handle this?" first and get an affirmative.

5) If you are going to ignore 4, ask yourself "is this a suggestion that someone with a reasonable level of generalized adult knowledge would think of trying within the first 15 minutes of approaching the problem?" If so, do not suggest it.

6) Do you really need to nitpick that grammar, spelling, or word choice? Did you understand what they were trying to say before autocorrect mangled it or they blanked on the exact word they wanted and found a close one? If you understood the meaning, don't be their volunteer copyeditor.

7) Is someone excited about a thing you hate? Are they having fun with the thing? Is the thing a front for white supremacist recruiting or organizing the overthrow of the US government? If the answers are yes, yes, and no, respectively, shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things.

8) We are all occasionally That Commenter. If someone you have a pre-existing relationship with replies to you and lets you know you're being That Commenter, it's because they have a positive enough impression of you they don't want to go straight to block. Treat this like the warning sign it is.

9) It deserves repeating: remember the Law of Large Numbers. Even if you only commented once, you may be the hundredth irritating comment that person got that day. Bluesky's terrible threading makes this worse: people don't keep a single thread of mounting crankiness the way they did on Twitter.

9a) If someone's top tweet sounds really annoyed at something, maybe check their timeline or follow back their nested self-QTs to see what level of irritable they're at and over what so you don't step straight on the same rakes they've been dodging all day.

10) However, remember that BSky also doesn't show replies made by people the OP has blocked in a thread. If they post about a pattern that's making them cranky and you look and don't see anything, they probably already blocked the worst of it. They still saw it in their mentions in order to block.

I really cannot overstate how absolutely exhausting and soul-destroying the experience of having a large account can be. It's also somehow still rewarding, or we wouldn't do it. But especially if you're a woman or a person of color or a female POC, that balance is really, really close most days.

And of course, the ones who stay are the ones who do find it still rewarding enough to keep doing it despite the constant irritations.

From here, the thread moves into a conversation about stuff specific to BlueSky, but the majority of the thread is truly applicable to Tumblr as well.

You may be the first person to comment "op lives on a planet without music," or "op has never heard of [thing OP didn't mention for whatever reason]," but you're probably not, and at a certain point, it becomes like someone tapping a sunburn.

So yeah.

[writer-in-theory]

"It's a wonder Steve's survived this long, Jesus H. Christ," Eddie hissed.

Eddie hasn't stopped pacing the hospital waiting room ever since Steve was taken back for 'testing'. The doctors had listed out various scans but there were too many acronyms to keep track of. All Eddie knew was that Steve had been hiding his pain for at least a day, maybe longer, until he collapsed at work with Robin.

That was the second worst call Eddie had ever gotten in his life.

"Harrington?" the doctor called out then, holding onto a metal clipboard tightly and looking around the busy emergency room. In an instant Eddie was on his feet, practically sprinting to where the doctor was standing.

"How is he, doc? Get to keep all his fingers?" He wanted to joke, but the words fell flat in the sterility of the room. The last time he'd been here had been after...No. The Upside Down had long since been closed off from their world and Vecna was disintegrated into that weird otherworldly ash. It was over.

"Are you family?"

Nancy and Robin had prepped him for this one, too. In everything but the law, Eddie and Steve were husbands. They'd had a wedding with Robin and Dustin as their Best (Wo)Men and Wayne as their officiant, in the middle of the night where no one would notice but them. They'd celebrated their fifth anniversary two weeks ago, they were the loves of each others' lives. But to the government, to this doctor, they weren't anything but friends who shared a bed. Fuck the nineties.

"Yeah, he's my brother-in-law," Eddie answered, knowing when Nancy showed up they could pass this lie off decently. "How's Steve doing?"

The doctor gave him a long look, but otherwise nodded and rechecked his clipboard. "Mr. Harrington is getting prepped for emergency surgery, currently, as he's s—"

"Emergency surgery? What do you mean surgery?" Already Eddie could feel the tell-tale warning signs of panic as his heart began to race and his palms got sweaty. Surgery wasn't good. They weren't supposed to do this. No more hospitals, no more surgeries, no more 'wait and see's. They'd promised after last time, Steve promised.

"Sir," the doctor pushed, looking more irritated than concerned. "This is a routine procedure, we see it all the time. Mr. Harrington has a case of appendicitis, pretty bad by the looks of it. Has he been feeling any pain lately?"

"Yeah, yeah the bastard has," Eddie hissed, not sure if he was about to laugh or cry. Appendicitis. Fucking appendicitis. He'd had that as a kid, he still remembered all the popsicles and ice creams Uncle Wayne let him have in the days after, cooped up in the trailer watching boring TV shows while all his friends were at school. "Is he already in surgery? Can I see him?"

"He's being prepped, but you can see him. We gave him some medication to calm him down and ease his pain, so Mr. Harrington may be...out of it," the doctor warned as he led Eddie through the maze of hallways behind the front desk. "Next time, let your brother-in-law know he shouldn't ignore this kind of pain."

"Oh don't you worry, doc, I'll make sure to pass on the message," Eddie answered, practically glaring at the closed hospital room door. Fucking appendicitis and Steve had ignored it, passed it off as a pulled muscle after a run.

Seeing Steve in a hospital bed didn't get any easier, though it was hard to be angry or scared when the man's head lolled across the pillow to reveal a brilliant, out-of-it smile Eddie had never seen before. "Eddie!" Steve cooed, reaching his arms out for the other man.

Eddie couldn't help but laugh, crossing the distance quickly so he could press Steve's arms back to the bed. "Hey, c'mon now, Harrington, don't wanna pull that IV line out."

"Did they tell you they're stealing my organ? They're stealing it, Eds!"

"It's a pretty useless one anyway, you won't even miss it."

Steve's face scrunched up at that, like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "How dare you! Of course I'll notice one of my little guys got separated! What if he gets lonely?"

"You're..." Eddie tried not to laugh, if only because he's sure that'll make Steve fly off the handle even further. He scrubbed a hand across his tired face, sure his expression was full of nothing but fondness now for the man laying in the hospital bed. "You're afraid your appendix will get lonely?"

"I just...they're all meant to be together, you know? You can't separate one and expect it won't get lonely. Don't let them steal my organ, Eds."

"I," Eddie began, unable to help the smile that pulled on his lips. "Stevie, baby, it's not stealing if a doctor does it. They're taking it out because it's being a troublemaker. It doesn't belong there anymore, you can't keep trying to make it fit somewhere it doesn't."

"Never stopped me before," Steve answered with a little slur. "Maybe I like troublemakers." Then, leaning over with his hand by his mouth in a conspiratorial whisper, he said at full volume, "I mean you, Eddie."

There was no laugh like the one Steve was able to pull from him, of that Eddie had learned years before. He laughed until his chest hurt and tears gathered in his eyes, until even the nurse peeked their head in to check on the two of them.

"C'mon, Stevie. You go be a rockstar in there and I'll be right beside you when you wake up. We'll go get so much ice cream you forget about your stolen appendix," Eddie offered, pressing a kiss to Steve's non-IV lined hand.

"I'll be such a good rockstar you gotta put me in the band," Steve answered, blowing a kiss to Eddie as the surgical team came in to wheel him off. "Love you, Eds."

Warmth spread through his chest, warming him from the insides out until Eddie worried he might burn up from the intensity of Steve's love. "Love you too, Steve."

Eddie stands and watches as they wheel Steve out of the room, laughing as Steve yelled after him.

"I can't believe you're letting them steal my poor appendix, Munson! I won't forget this!"

[blarshwritezz]

Yanderr mafia boss x male reader prisoner, You are a rival of the mafia boss and your group was defeated by his group, thus becoming his prisoner.

Little did you know, he had lust for you and he decides that you will succumb to his desires whether you want to or not.

A new mafia boss coming right up! But no more new mafia bosses after this, guys. I know they're hot, but my masterlist will suffer also, changing it to leader to avoid confusion hope that's okay

Yandere Mafia Leader x Prisoner Reader

M yan x M reader

TW - general yandere behavior, NSFW, noncon

How long has it been? For how many days have you been held captive here? You couldn't keep track. There weren't any windows or other ways to tell time in your damp cell.

You had to wonder if your comrades were doing alright. You weren't too close to most of them, but you were still worried. You hoped whatever they were going through wasn't much worse than what you were.

The leader of this mafia kept a constant watch on you. There was a single camera in your cell, which really wasn't strange, but you could often hear him right outside your door. He'd often come in and watch you "sleeping".

That was one of the more difficult things to do here; fall asleep. You really didn't struggle this much usually, but between the environment and the whole being watched thing, it wasn't easy.

You hoped you might finally get some rest tonight. Or...whatever time of day it was when you closed your eyes.

Your dreams almost came true...until they were crushed by the fact that you felt something choking you. You opened your eyes, taking only a few seconds to realize what was happening.

The leader was in here again, fucking your mouth! You tried to pull away, but he only gripped your hair and forced himself deeper down your throat.

He groaned as you gagged around his dick. It was almost enough to make him cum.

Oh who was he kidding? He didn't want to hold back. Not this time. With a few more thrusts, his seed was flowing down your throat.

He took both of your wrists in his hand as he pulled out, holding them tightly above your head. His free hand mover to roughly spread your legs apart.

"You're my new fuck toy, got that?" Without warning or preparation, he plunged into your ass with a pleasured groan. "I'll stop torturing you, long as you please me."

You didn't have a choice.

He was fucking you anyway, no care for how rough he was being. In fact, he seemed to like seeing you slightly in pain.

You couldn't get away, his grip on you was too tight. He smirked as you struggled, even though it was useless.

"Stop struggling so much or I'll just have to kill you, and fucking a corpse doesn't sound nearly as appealing."

He leaned down and started biting your neck, licking the blood clean as he did. He made sure the marks would be visible. You were his, everyone should know.

Despite knowing you shouldn't enjoy this, you couldn't stop the moans you made. You couldn't stop your cock from growing hard, twitching as it came closer to climax.

Finally, he slowed down, making you whine pathetically. "You want to cum? Think you deserve it? You just have to tell me you'll be mine. That your body belongs to me." He growled in your ear.

You couldn't! You refused, shaking your head.

"If you say so." He chuckled, pounding into you harder than before. Only to stop right as you were on the edge again.

And that became a cycle. He fucked you hard and stopped over and over until you were a whimpering mess beneath him. And of course, he couldn't be fair. While he denied you the right to cum over and over, he repeatedly filled your asshole with his seed. Over and over again until your insides were painted fully white.

All until you begged him for release. Saying anything for him to let you cum. Even that you and your body belonged to him.

"There's a good boy..." His hands released your now bruised legs and wrists, one moving to your nipple as the other made its way to your ass. In one swift motion, he pulled out and replaced his cock with his fingers. They curled in you, hitting all the right spots.

As his hands worked wonders on you, he took your cock unto his mouth and sucked you off. Pathetic as it was, it didn't take very long before you came. He moaned, the sound vibrating around your cock as he swallowed your cum.

"There we go. Not so difficult, right? And you get to cum like that whenever I want for the rest of your life~"

I think that one was pretty decent! or at least, I really hope so

[pwinkprincess]

sweet talk ୨ৎ

choso's princess gets needy when they're shopping, of course he takes care of it. ୨ৎ

⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ SWEET TALK ⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆ ---> car sex, p in v, creampie, cowgirl position, shameless use of da word daddy, makin cho da dom of mi dreams lool

choso is naturally nurturing. he makes sure all of your needs are met and he doesn’t think twice when the time comes to provide for you. sometimes. he thinks he provides for you too much. like right now, the sound of your pussy sloppily going up and down on his hardened cock is like a repeated tune in his ears. and your whimpers, those pretty mewls you’re drawing out yourself because choso decided not to help you catch your orgasm.

“you’re a big girl, aren’t you?” he asked once you complained that you were growing tired from doing all of the work. 

you’re practically fucking yourself stupid, moaning and babbling out whatever. you’re not even sure if you’re speaking english at this point. you tried to rest your head tiredly on choso’s shoulder which made him grab your hair and pull your head back.

“needy girls don’t deserve to rest.” he says as he places his hands on your hips. your breath is knocked out of your lungs when he pulls his hips back only to ram his cock inside you a second later. a loud scream escapes from your throat as he does it repeatedly. 

choso briefly looks around, even though he parked in the supermarket's corner, far from most people, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to notice that the car is shaking. he decides that he needs to hurry and get you to cum around his dick before the two of you get caught.

“fuckin’. needy. girl.” with every word his sliding his cock through your fluttering walls. he could feel your arousal leaking down, dripping from his cock to his balls. he wishes he had more time so that he could make you clean up your mess. ”can’t even wait till we make it home.” he slaps the fat of your ass.

“‘m sorry, cho! jus’ wan’ it so bad.” you cried out. you could feel the impending orgasm brewing in the pit of your stomach. your xl square shaped nails dig into his shoulders the harder he fucks you.

 he suddenly stops. “plant your feet. ‘m not doin all of the work.” you don’t disobey him even though you were silently hoping he’d continue to reel you into your orgasm.

you let out huffs as you plant yourself. his cock is just so thick, you can’t do anything but whine as you build up a pace. the feeling of your ass slamming against his pelvis, and your pussy tightening, practically begging for his cum causes him to let out low groans of his own. he keeps his hands on your hips though they prove to be useless as he does nothing to guide you.

“mmmnnn! d-daddy.” you tremble. his cock is filling you so deliciously, your eyes are practically filled with hearts. your pussy is leaking so much and getting everywhere, some of it somehow managed to get on his leather seats. choso ignores the sticky feeling that’s attached to the back of his thighs, that’s a problem he’ll deal with once he gets home.

“talk t’daddy. tell me how ‘m makin you feel.” he orders. his tongue darts out and circles around your brown nipple. he lightly nibbles on it, only using enough force to bring a moan out of you. your spine shudders as your eyes roll back. you can’t think, you can’t talk. all that’s repeating is cho, cho, cho. 

“can’t.” you mumble.

he pops your hardened nipple out of his mouth. “gonna make you stop. no ungrateful thing is gonna ride my cock.” he threatens which instantly causes you to let out whines and pleads. 

“‘m sorry, daddy. ‘m sorry.” you repeat you slow down so that you could focus on your words. his cock is nestled between your glistening pussy that’s just dripping like a faucet <3. “daddy’s makin me feel so so good. soo good.”

“mmmhm.” his fingers dart to your clit where he presses down on it. your body trembles in response. “keep goin, princess. you’re so close, hm? give me it. i can feel it. you’re jus’ grippin my cock, mmmhm, wet your daddy’s cock.”

you look down at him, the two of you make eye contact. your mouth opens and before you could say anything a loud moan spills from behind your pretty mouth. your pussy clenches around his thick cock, cream and thin strands of your arousal coates his twitching cock. your toes curl and your thighs shake as your brain fully goes out.

“cho! cho! oh! ‘m cummin, d-daddy! right there!.” you babble mindlessly. cho has to whisper in your ear the word “breathe” so that you could fill your lungs with air. he kisses and sucks on your neck, whispering praises.

“good job. you did so well. can you take daddy’s cum now, pretty? oh, i know you can, you’re daddy’s big girl of course you can.” he becomes mindless as he thrusts up into your wetness. a loud squelching sound comes from your pussy which is music to choso’s ears. whimpers and moans break through as his balls ache to be released into your warm walls. he doesn’t deny himself, either. he pounds up, strands of your pussy just smearing any and everywhere.

“fuck, fuck, fuck.” he repeats as his cum shoots out from his sensitive tip and into your willing pussy. you let out mumbled words, you’re too worn out to actually attempt to encourage him. your arousals mix, creating an even stickier mess.

choso lets out heavy huffs, trying to clear his head. he slowly slides his dick out of your puffy, sensitive pussy. you both watch as his cum does the same, seeping out of you like a leak. you shudder and reach under your body, letting your index finger run through your hole.

“shit, princess.” he breathes. he sits you onto the side and reaches up to grab the baby wipes that he keeps in his glove compartment. when he got with you and realized you had sexual urges almost constantly, he found himself keeping wipes on him at all times.

“‘m tired, cho.” you whimper when the texture comes into contact with you while you feel so sensitive.

“i know, baby. gonna get you home nd get you right. jus’ hold on.” he presses a soft kiss against your forehead.

[astroboots]

EYEM #13

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You meet another version of the man you love and finally find out why the Universe is trying to kill you.

Word count: 5,800

Warning: violence, pain hurt and angst. Be prepared.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

Everything hurts. You don’t know where you are, you’re disorientated and queasy.

The first sight that greets you is the glow of scarlet eyes so piercing they cut through the blurriness of your vision.

They're familiar, but also different. Even though they’re identical to his, you know this is not your Miguel.

It takes you a while to make sense of your surroundings. Long moments for the nausea to dissipate enough that you can take in the dark moody blues of the space and recognize that you’re in the same sparse room as before.

Takes a few longer moments still before you register that your wrists and arms are restrained by strange threads made of an unknown material that glow up in an alarming neon red and you’re strung up and suspended in an intricate web from the ceiling.

You try to pull against your restraints, but it’s useless, your body won’t listen to you. You can’t even get your little finger to budge. You can’t fucking move.

“You’re alright,” The man who looks exactly like your Miguel says. “Try not to move. It’ll be better that way.”

You don’t listen to him, because why the hell would you. This is not your Miguel. You try again and pain sears through your muscles.

Shit! He bit you and now you’re paralyzed.

Panic races through your spine. You need to get out of this situation, now. Need to get out. Need to get to Miguel. Even if you can’t move, there has to be a solution somehow.

Lyla is meant to protect you right? She was built for that purpose. If you summon her then surely, “Ly–”

You can't get the second syllable out. Sharp pain stings inside your throat as you try to speak.

“Lyla’s not going to attack me," he says as if he can read your mind and knows what you were planning to do. "It’s a safety feature built in to make sure she doesn’t go rogue. The only time that gets overridden is if I’m a threat to your life."

Irritation crawls under your skin.

Fuck’s sake Lyla. Does this not count as a threat? Do fangs poised against your throat and taking a chomp out of you not qualify? The man bit and paralyzed you!

Despite two failed attempts, you try to move again, straining against the impossible heaviness of your numb limbs. Another jolt of pain shoots through your limbs as you do.

Miguel flinches at the sight of you as if there was an invisible thread connecting your body to his and he was able to feel every ounce of your pain.

His hand reaches up to cup your cheek to stop you.

“Don’t move,” he tells you again. “My toxins have paralyzed you and it will hurt you if you try to move. Stay still, nena. Please. You’re safe.”

If this was your Miguel, he would have been curt and snappy with you for being so stupid to move when it hurts. But this Miguel says it like a plea. Soft and gentle all at once.

His other hand comes to your collarbone, thumb gently wiping away the dried blood that’s pooled there. There’s an unreadable expression on his face as he stares at the dark stain of red on his fingers.

“This is the last time you’ll be hurt. You’re not going to die this time. I know how to fix this so you won’t die ever again."

Fix...it? What does he mean? Like make the universe stop trying to kill you for good?

You blink up at the man, unsure of what to make of his words. You don't trust this version of Miguel any further than you can throw him. The man knocked you out and tied you up...

But if he can fix it, even if the chance is small and far-fetched, what would be the harm in listening?

Your tongue is heavy and dry in your mouth and it feels like you’ve swallowed fistfuls of sand when you try to speak again. “Ho-how?”

“I just have to eliminate the root cause of why the Universe keeps trying to kill you.”

You prepare yourself for the pain that’s going to come again to ask him what he means. But luckily you don’t have to, this Miguel spares you of that.

“You’ve encountered another me in your dimension, right?” he asks.

You don’t answer him. But it doesn't seem to matter, because he already seems to have decided on the answer as he continues.

“It’s his fault,” he says with anger, his red eyes burn with an unnatural glow that sets your teeth on edge. “It’s his fault that this keeps happening to you. He’s the reason the universe keeps trying to kill you.”

No. No that’s not– You don’t know what he’s getting at. Don’t know what has happened to this version of Miguel that makes him believe this.

But you do know one thing. You don't need to listen to the rest of it to know. He is wrong.

Your Miguel has saved you. Protected you again and again. Put himself in harm’s way and nearly died to keep you safe. He would never hurt you.

“No,” you ignore the spasm of pain across your diaphragm as you speak. “He s-saved me.”

His mouth furls into a feral snarl, flashing the corner of his fangs. “You wouldn’t need to be saved if it wasn’t for him.”

“That’s not–”

“He’s an anomaly! Every Miguel O’Hara is!”

You blink up at him at loss for words. You don’t understand what he’s trying to tell you.

In front of you, this Miguel visibly grits his teeth, grinding down on his jaw, as he continues to speak in that low tone that simmers with fury.

“Humans are not meant to travel between dimensions. When I invented inter-dimensional travel, I violated that natural order without knowing it. Everyone I come across, everyone I saved, I’ve doomed, because that event was never supposed to take place.”

“You– you don’t know–”

He cuts you off before you can finish, “I’ve seen it!” he shouts. His hands curl into agitated fists at his sides. “After I lost you, I–I...”

He looks back at you and the words seem to die on his tongue.

As you hold his gaze you begin to see what you missed before. You were too focused on this Miguel’s anger to notice the grief pouring out of every inch of him.

“I lost myself,” he says, quieter now. “Lyla showed me a version of us in another dimension and it was the only thing that kept me going. We had a life together there. A daughter. You were happy there... Then that version of me died.”

He pauses again, lost in some memory that you are not a part of. Shame sinks into the hollowness of his sunken eyes and he looks away from you again.

“... And I replaced him. I thought it was harmless, that I was just replacing a version of me and the universe wouldn’t know any better. But I was wrong. He was never supposed to be in that dimension either. That whole universe collapsed because of me and our daughter and you died with it.”

Making a broad gesture through the empty air, amber light brightens up the space.

From behind him, a myriad of holographic screens flicker into existence, and you see images of yourself repeated and illuminated in all of them. You with pink hair. Another you with piercings. A you with tattoos and shaved cuts. Hundreds of variants of you wearing pieces of clothing that you’ve never owned. All of them, a different you, living their everyday life.

“Since then I’ve observed hundreds and thousands of versions of you in every dimension,” this Miguel tells you, as he gazes longingly at the screens that float above.

“All of them get to live full and healthy long lives. Do you know what every one of those versions of you have in common?”

He turns back towards you, closing the distance between you. “We never met. The reason you keep dying is because you meet me.”

His face is so close that a lock of his curl falls on your temple. Had this been your Miguel, you’d been tingling with warmth and excitement, now all you feel is a cold shiver.

“Every time we meet is because something I did inadvertently puts you in danger, and then I save you from it, starting the chain of events.”

Your mind flashes to that first moment you fell out of the Chrysler building. The blur of blue and red that came crashing into your life in pursuit of a villain and knocked you out of a skyscraper window.

“The universe is trying to erase your existence because of me. To try to correct the balance.”

Your face feels numb. Your mind is reeling from the revelation.

The question that you’ve had since this all began has finally been answered. Why this universe seemingly has it out for you. Why it has repeatedly tried to kill you. Why your world literally was about to end after you kissed him… It all makes a tragic sense now.

It’s because of Miguel.

You don’t know how long you remain frozen, crushed under the weight of the realization, before the sound of footfall joins the room, echoing in this empty space.

You hear him before you see him. Your Miguel. He calls your name and the familiar tone of it sends warm shivers through your spine.

Searching the space, your eyes land on his familiar silhouette in the dim light.

Miguel is struggling to walk, hunched over and limping forward despite his injuries. He looks so much smaller than what you are used to. There's blood dripping down his face and ugly red gashes ripping into his protective suit where one arm is clutching to the gaping raw wound.

Parting your mouth, you desperately try to warn him and scream that he needs to run. But the noise is garbled and choked. Nothing remotely close to a word comes out of your mouth. Even if it did, it wouldn’t have helped.

Miguel is too distracted by the sight of you. Too focused on reaching you that he barely registers the sight of his other self standing beside you, and then it’s too late.

It happens so fast, your eyes aren’t able to register it. One second his cosmic Doppelgänger is beside you. The next he is gone.

He leaps into the air with a ferocity that chills your bones. His claws slashes through the air and he pounces on Miguel with the entirety of his body weight.

Miguel doesn’t stand a chance. He’s already wounded and weakened. There’s been no time to heal. He’s still heavily bleeding from his abdomen and the bone-deep wounds where the damage meant for you had torn through him instead.

His body lands on the floor with a painful heavy thud. Even from this distance, you can hear the air rush out of his lungs with a pained and choked wheeze.

“Do you know what you have done?” His voice drips with venom as he fists his hand into Miguel’s hair, yanking his head upwards, level with his. “Why couldn’t you just have left her alone?”

Miguel snarls with an ugly grimace as he tries to wrangle himself free to no avail, pinned as he is on the ground. He meets the man’s stare without cowering even as he is unable to stand upright, wounded and bleeding out.

“The fuck are you on about?” Miguel spits out. He surges forward, ramming his forehead into the other man.

The blow of it sends the Doppelgänger reeling back. But it doesn’t last. He snarls in anger before he lunges forward, grabbing for Miguel’s head to slam it back down into the ground.

All you can do is helplessly watch the scene unfold before you.

“You still don’t get it do you?” he growls, raising his arm in the air to deliver another forceful blow.

There’s a nauseating bone-crushing sound that makes you sick to your stomach when his fist connects to Miguel’s jaw.

“You should never have gone to her world. You didn’t belong!”

He clasps around Miguel’s throat in a painfully hard hold, pinning him there against the ground.

Miguel’s tanned skin bleeds white around the dented imprints of that talon grip, cutting off blood circulation until you’re sure he can no longer breathe.

“She died because of you!”

The words make Miguel freeze. The whole of his back stiffening.

A fisted hand hammers down on Miguel’s face and you squeeze your eyes shut before you see it connect. All you hear behind your closed eyelids is a sickening crack that you know means something is broken.

Silence follows, and you barely dare to squint your eyes open, terrified of what you will see. Even though you’re bracing yourself, you’re still not prepared at the sight that greets you.

Miguel's body is slumped and motionless on the ground. The other him towers over his defeated form. There’s an eerie calm to his movements as he gets up and steps back.

On the ground, Miguel looks so much smaller than when he's lying in bed next to you under the covers and your heart beats painfully fast in your chest, unable to intervene.

The other man raises one leg above Miguel’s still form, poised like a sledge-hammer and holds there.

His foot comes down, delivering a shattering stomp that reverberates through the space. You swear you can feel the suspended webs holding you, shake and tremble against your skin from the after shock.

The air thins in your lungs. Hot, wet tears spill down your cheeks. For a long and dreadful second, you’re not sure if Miguel is still alive.

Then you hear a tiny, pained whimper, from the ground.

You don’t know what you feel anymore. Fear. Sadness. Anger. Relief. Everything inside you is drawn in a tight knot and aches at the pitiful sound of how much pain Miguel must be in. But there’s also the tiniest of hope, because as doomed as this all may seem, at the very least he’s still alive.

That's all you care about right now.

In front of you, his other self cocks his head to the side. He narrows his eyes as he looks down at the defenseless body on the ground with a disdain that you've never seen on those features before.

“You disrupted the canon when you jumped into her dimension. Do you understand?” he says with a quiet barely contained anger. “The universe keeps trying to kill her, because you, an anomaly, entered into the picture and altered the course of her life."

Something sharp protrudes from the back of his arms, as he speaks.

"But I can make it right," he says and you see the sharp long appendages extend from both sides of his upper arms.

You stare at them with a growing fear, as they grow sharp and menacing, into blades that glow ominously red.

No. Nononono.

This can't be happening. This can't be real.

You wrench against the restraints around your limbs and pain sears through every single cell of your body. But right now it doesn't matter. You have to move. Because you know what’s going to happen if you don’t.

"I can save her. If you die, she gets to live. All you need to do is stay down,” he says.

To your horror Miguel does. Miguel doesn’t move. Doesn’t resist. Doesn’t fight back. The tight tension in his muscles go slack, and his arms drop at his sides.

The most stubborn man in the universe has stopped fighting. He’s given up.

That man is going to kill Miguel. You can’t stay still and let it happen. You have to move. God, please please, you need to–

“I have to do this to keep her safe,” the Doppelgänger says, “You want that too. It’s all we ever wanted.”

Pain tears at the seams of your skin, sharp and fractured like broken shards and glass splitting through your skull until you’re sure you are going to vomit. You ignore it.

In front of you, he raises his arm above Miguel’s head until it looms over him like a reaper's scythe.

Ripping through the last of the hindrance holding you down, adrenaline and pain mix into a sickening concoction until you lose sense of your surroundings.

It's only a few feet away.

You can’t stop, even if it hurts. Can’t stop even though your vision flickers white with bright dotted spots. Can’t stop, because if you do– you’ll lose him.

You leap, throwing yourself in front of Miguel's slumped form on the floor.

Everything hurts. Pain sears through your insides, scraping every inch of our flesh. It burns and crackles in the marrow of your bones.

You spread your arms out in an attempt to make yourself bigger, trying to shield as much of your Miguel as you are physically capable of.

“Nena…” the man above stares down at you, wide-eyed and frozen.

He's stopped, the sharp blade protruding from his arm suspended inches from your face.

“Cielo! Move,” Miguel barks from under you.

“No!”

There’s no fear in this moment as you say the word. Even with the honed blade looming over your head. Even though all it’d take is one swift downward movement to end it all, you’ve never felt surer of your safety.

Because this close, you can see it now.

This other Miguel, different as he may be, is still Miguel. If there’s one thing you learnt in these last few months it's that more than anything, no matter how hard-headed and wrong he might go about it in his methods. This man will always choose your safety over everything else. Your survival. Your life.

That’s why Lyla still hasn’t overridden her safety protocol. Because your life is not in danger, not by his hands.

If he has to go through you to get to Miguel… He wouldn’t. You can tell that much.

And if your life is the only shield you have to offer the man you love, then you’d gladly lay it down under the guillotine.

“I won’t let you lay another finger on him,” you say as you stare up at the other Miguel defiantly. “Not as long as I’m alive.”

The man narrows his eyes, seething with an anger that radiates from every inch of his body as he spits out the syllables.

“He is killing you.”

His lips quiver, hands trembling as he looks down at you. You recognize that expression. It's the same one Miguel held when he was looming over you, vowing to eliminate the Avengers in order to protect you.

The same pain in his eyes, whenever he fears for your survival... because he's already lost you once.

That's what this is...

You see this for what it is now.

Despite the fact that he’s a stranger, in spite of all the differences, you see him for who he is. The anger, the blame on his own other self, on your Miguel. The haunting guilt he has towards himself.

When he says, ‘he,’ he's not just referring to the man behind you. He's talking about himself.

Kneeling upwards, you move towards this man, ignoring the burning pain that shudders through your trembling arms as you reach up to cup those all too familiar sharp cheeks. He flinches at the touch, as if he didn’t expect it.

“It’s not your fault. You didn’t know. You didn’t kill me,” you tell him.

His eyes widen and he turns his face the tiniest fraction into the palm of your hand, chasing after your touch.

“Maybe you and him are the reason the universe tries to kill me. But I’m still glad I was able to meet you."

At your words, you can see the determination in his eyes waver. The way something in him cracks open and falls apart at your words.

"I'm sorry," he says, and the words bleed with guilt. "I'm so sorry. It's all my fault."

“It's not your fault," you tell him again. "It’s okay, Miguel, I don't blame you. Even with all the near deaths and the end of the world, meeting you is the best thing that happened to me."

He’s not your Miguel. You know that. But despite everything that preceded this moment, your heart still hurts for this man.

All you know is that you want to make him feel better. You just want to make his hurt a little bit less painful.

“If it was my choice. If it were for me to decide. I would still want us to meet. I’m going to choose that every time. And I think that’s what she would’ve done too."

A glossy wetness shines over his scarlet eyes that threatens to spill and you ache for him.

Even if the man in front of you is not your Miguel. He’s still Miguel.

You will always recognize him, not in the identical physical features of his face. Not the stubborn angle of his ridiculously sharp jaw. Nor his obscenely large build.

No. It’s in the sadness of his eyes. The longing that he holds for you whenever he looks at you. The love you can plainly see there, no matter how hard he tries to hide it from you.

You are the woman he loves above all else. In every universe.

You can see that now.

“I think that’s what I’d always choose, Miguel. There are many versions of me but I know that every me will love every you in every universe if given the chance.”

His shoulders slump, the burning anger in him dims as his chest visibly deflates in front of you. Then he stands there, staring down at you with that aching defeat etched into the corners of his weary eyes.

“If I let you go,” he starts, voice so quiet it almost sounds like a whisper. “Where would you go from here?”

You stop to consider his question.

If you leave here with Miguel, your life as you know it is never going to be the same.

The comforts of your everyday life in New York will be lost. No more Netflix, or fancy lemony cupcakes, or the barista that knows your order before you open your mouth.

You will never know what your life will look like from one day to the next. What the world itself is going to be, jumping from one foreign universe to another. That should be terrifying to you.

But somehow it isn't.

What's scary is the thought of going back to the life you had without Miguel there. The life that was so painfully mundane and ordinary that you had no moments of importance worth remembering seconds before falling to your death. The life you spent that was trapped in the machinery of habit, without a speck of color and excitement in your life.

As confusing and downright scary every day has been since you met him, you’ve never felt more alive. Never felt safer than when Miguel is by your side. You wouldn't give it up for anything.

In your mind, there’s only one choice you want to make.

“I am going to leave my dimension with him,” you say. “The world won't have to end and we’d be together.”

He shakes his head, disbelieving. Those sad eyes, still pinned on yours.

“No matter where you run to, it would start up all over again," he says, biting down on his bottom lip with worry. "The universe will eventually try to erase you because it thinks you're an anomaly. That would be the rest of your life, running from dimension to dimension.”

He throws a look behind you where Miguel is lying on the ground, the disdain and anger coming to life again, before he continues. “If he dies, if I kill him, then that connection is severed, you could go back to your normal life.”

You turn behind to look at your Miguel. He has an expression on his face that mirrors his other self. One of defeat and sadness and disbelief.

“I don’t want that. I don’t want a life he’s not a part of.” You turn back to the other him, squarely meeting his eyes. “Please.”

Other Miguel looks like his world is ending as he looks at you. For the longest moment he doesn't say anything, and you aren't sure what his answer is going to be or what he is going to do. If he's going to hold you here against your will and kill Miguel despite your pleas.

Then he drops his gaze to the floor and you can see that he’s holding back tears.

“Go,” he whispers.

He steps back from you, retreating step by step to widen the physical distance between yourself and him, and turns away with his back towards you.

You immediately scramble towards your Miguel, arms reaching for him. It’s not graceful, your limbs still hurt and your movements are clumsy. But you try to ignore it so you can loop Miguel’s arm over your shoulder and try to haul him up on his feet.

Predictably, Miguel is already starting to protest and scold you, “Cielo, you can’t–”

“Not now, Miguel,” you cut him off, and for once he listens.

His mouth presses into a firm line as he strains to stand upright, trying not to lean on you for support to get up, but failing to do so, leg buckling under his own weight.

Your hand shoots out around his waist to hold him steady, the slick blood from his wounds painting your fingers a bright red. You swallow down the worry, prioritizing getting away above all else for now.

“Let’s go,” you tell him, and he gives you a curt, almost compliant nod as the two of you move together with clumsy steps and rely on each other for support.

Behind you, the other Miguel is still standing turned away from you. You stare at his wide back as you walk away.

With each step that broadness looks smaller and smaller in the distance. The lonely and grief-struck silhouette of another version of the man that you love, that so clearly loves you, disappears out of sight as you leave him behind.

Miguel is quiet. He won’t look you in the eye as both of you try to hobble your way to the corridor you had landed in when you first came to this dimension.

It takes you both an eternity. It's nothing short of a miracle Miguel is still alive and even though the toxin is wearing off in your system, you still feel sore. Every muscle in your body is cramping, worse than any time of the month you’ve had to endure so far in your life.

You gain an entirely new appreciation of what Wong must’ve gone through and if there is a way to send interdimensional gift baskets, you remind yourself you should get one for him as an apology.

“This should be safe enough,” Miguel tells you as you reach the secluded space.

You both slump down to the ground, catching your breath with your backs leaning against the wall behind to hold you upright.

“Are you okay?” you ask him, which is a silly question for a man that probably has at least half a dozen broken ribs, internal bleeding, and a fractured jaw from the looks of it.

Despite all those bodily injuries though, Miguel is acting unbothered.

“Yeah, give me a minute and I’ll get us out of here.”

He wastes no time as he reaches over for your wrist and fiddles with the dials on your watch,

A hologram appears above, but there’s no sighting of Lyla. He hasn’t summoned her and as far as you can see it’s all just gibberish coding that he’s inputting. You have no idea what he’s doing but if you had to take a guess, it looks like he’s manually inserting the programming of the next jump to ensure it’s the right location this time.

He’s quiet and concentrated like always, eyebrows furrowed, as he works. Then out of nowhere, without looking up from what he’s doing, he speaks.

“What do you want to do once you get out of here?”

"Sleep,” is your immediate answer and Miguel laughs quietly at that as you continue. “Recover, just... rest, for a while, I guess"

"Sounds nice.” He shuts down the illuminated screen, presumably already done.

Then he’s quiet for a long moment, just sitting there next to you.

“...and after that?” he asks, breaking the silence.

“I guess since I’m going to be traveling different dimensions now for the rest of my life, I’d want to go to all the cool places? Like one where there’s talking raccoons. Or a dimension where we all have sausages for fingers, or one where all life forms are rock based.”

He pays close attention to you, face resting in the palm of his hand, as you tell him of these made up otherworldly dimensions.

“If we happen to jump into another dimension that’s similar to my old one I wouldn’t turn down Beyoncé tickets, provided Lyla could get them or we could just have her hack into restaurant booking systems and get us into all the exclusive places.”

There’s a small smile on his face as you speak, and your chest feels warm at the sight of it. Somehow after the day you have had, barely escaping the end of the world, going through an assassination attempt by the Avengers, being ambushed by another version of Miguel, you both made it through.

That tiny smile of his feels like a prize at the finishing line.

You slide your fingers across the space between you, until you find his knuckles, interlacing his fingers with yours.

"Anything would be okay, really. As long as I get to be with you," you tell him.

His smile turns wistful, as he nods back at you, squeezing your fingers back between his. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

There’s a lingering moment that you share in the comfortable silence. It’s unlike him. The Miguel you know would have wanted to make the jump five minutes ago, but you figure he must be tired.

He’s been shot at, thrown off buildings and beaten half to death by his own Doppelgänger today. He’s more than earned a minute or two of rest.

His head tips up staring into the moody blue ceiling above. “I love you,” he says.

It’s sudden and a bit out of nowhere but your face tingles. Warmth fills your chest until there's so much of it you're not sure you can contain it inside you. Then he continues.

“If there was any doubt. I love you, this you. Even if I find you to be absolutely batshit insane sometimes.”

You can’t help the silly grin tugging at your lips. The dopey feeling that buzzes bright in your veins. You feel slightly lightheaded and you aren’t sure if it’s a side effect of the toxins or just his words.

“Miguel, I lov–” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I know,” he says, turning his gaze to you, as he squeezes your hand gently in his. “You don’t have to say anything. Let’s just stay here for a while. Just like this.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

The two of you stay like that in the moody darkness, his thumb smoothing over the front of your hand in soothing motions, as he looks down at you like he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you. It’s a while longer still, before finally Miguel seems ready. He takes your hand that he’s holding and brings it close.

“Lyla,” he summons. “Take us to the next location.”

At the command, there's a bright burst of strobed colored lights surrounding you. It’s blinding your vision as it throws you into motion even as you’re sitting still.

Then before you know it they fade into a bright sterile whiteness. You wait for your surroundings to reform. To see a skyline and buildings and city lights.

But there’s nothing.

“Wait, where are we?” you ask.

Everything is blank and white and endless here. Empty space as far as the eye can see. Dread seizes you. You’re in the void again.

Why are you here?

How… Is the watch broken? Did the two of you fail? But it worked before. You shouldn’t be here, how–fuck, your vision starts to flatten. The ground underneath you is unsteady. Everything blurs. You can’t breathe.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” Miguel says, taking your hand in his as he squeezes down. “I sent us here.”

He says it so casually, your brain doesn't quite register the meaning. What does he mean he sent you here? On purpose, why would he–

“What do you mean? I don’t understand, Miguel, why would you–”

He hushes you soothingly. One hand comes to cup the back of your head, stopping you mid-sentence. “You’re not going to stay here. We’re just doing a drop off.”

“Miguel, what–”

He leans down, forehead pressing intimately against yours, there’s a sad smile on his face as he meets your eyes. They’re soft and gentle, and your chest squeezes painfully tight just looking at him.

“I already told you, didn't I?” he tells you, both hands coming to cup your cheeks. “I’m not going to let you die.”

Without missing a beat, he’s already moving on before you even have a chance to retort.

“Lyla,” he calls, and you hear the ping from your wrist. Can feel the slight vibration as the hologram takes form. “Run the updated protocol."

There’s a bright glow that forms all around you. Bright light crackles at the edges of your vision and there’s a delayed reaction in your brain as you try to process everything that’s happening around you.

He lets you go, taking a step back. “I love you, Cielito. I will always love you.”

Shit! He wouldn’t. Why?

“Take her home for me,” he orders.

You step forward trying to grab hold of him but it’s already too late. Your fingers grasp for him, but it sinks into nothingness, Miguel is already gone and so are you.

You find yourself inside a small studio apartment.

There’s no one besides you.

There’s a sole window sill where the view of New York City is entirely obscured by the neighboring building and its ugly brick wall. Not an inch of the skyline is visible.

You’re surrounded by clutter and second hand furniture that is all too familiar. A cheap IKEA Ingatorp dining table. Laundry still piled up on the bed. Dirty dishes stacked up in a tower over the sink.

You know this place.

You’re home.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: To my favorite moose @thirstworldproblemss. Thank you as always for listen to my insane ramblings and machinations, even though you literally do not even go here.

To @guruan who I have been dying to share this chapter with for so long! Thank you for all the amazing art, thank you for your help looking through dialogues to make sure the Spanish used reads right. Thank you for crying about this man with me.

And last but not least big hug loves and smooches to @djarinsbeskar who gave this a second pair of eyes in the eleventh minute when I was freaking out about the copious use of Doppelganger, her advice was invaluable to me and without her I probably would've put this on ice over the weekend. Please send her all the loves! cause she is amazing and beautiful and gorgeous. Also do you know that she has her DEBUT NOVEL SENSUAL SUMMONING coming out soon? please check it out and sign up to her newsletter.

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