#also was clear in the post that i was making a broad observation and not accusing a single person of anything specific

[thehigherseekerastro]

Astrology Observations: Non-chart Edition 💻

This is just a quick post, a short list of astrology opinions – my own –, about the world of astrology online itself, not the actual placements described, but that I think are worth noting to help better analyze and understand the astrology content found on the internet. Enjoy!

(♠) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️) (♠️)

Beware of "roasting placements" posts –

regardless if it's on Tumblr, X or TikTok. Those are VERY broad "descriptions" (if we can call it that). Anybody who understands how astrology works would never generalize to such a level that they think they can roast an entire placement, as if there was only one possible manifestation for that placement. There's an entire chart that is very unique to everyone. Your (and other people's) chart can be set up in a way that makes you behave the complete opposite of that stereotype, so people can't just be accusing others of things without knowing them lol.

Not to mention that they are usually plain rude and ignorant for no reason, just to be spiteful.

Astrology is not "Projection Land" –

so don't use it to, nor fall for someone else doing it. It's nobody's excuse to trash their ex, their mother, the friend they had a falling-out with, through you, making you feel horrible about yourself, just because they are projecting their own feelings onto a particular placement.

So, yes, there are patterns to signs, placements and even elements, but that needs to be handled with a lot of responsibility. It needs careful analysis, and the person needs to be able to separate their personal grievances from the actual information before they vomit their disdain on the internet where anyone can see. I always make sure to include a blend of positive and negative POSSIBLE manifestations of placements, and I make that clear, so that people know it's a MAYBE, and also not about everyone. It's not to insult others, more so to inform them of what you should be aware of IN CASE THEY ENCOUNTER IT.

So the people who are like "X-Y-Z placements are TRASH!!!! I dated so and so and it went horribly blah blah blah"...

Keep on scrolling. Move along. They're bitter and they're either trying to make you feel horrible too or antagonize you against someone else. Remember: misery loves company.

Don't use astrology to save face either –

so don't be hyping up your own toxic trait that is in fact present to excuse yourself.

"Oh, Tauruses are stubborn," (stereotype) "but that's because they are consistent and see things through."

NO, BABY. Tauruses are consistent AND they can be annoying as hell with their stubbornness and acting a fool, but still refusing to act right. The two things can coexist.

If you happen to manifest one of the more challenging stereotypes of a placement, it's not there for nothing. It's a lesson for you to work on and heal as soon as you're made aware of it. So don't be using astrology to justify staying in your troublesome habits just because there might be a quality attached to it. That's not maturing and growing. Growing is realizing all things work in balance, and there's downsides and potential to most things. So hone the positive aspects of that placement, but continue to try to heal the challenging ones.

Avoid astrology content creators who use their blog/profile as their little Burn Book –

just attacking people and placements right and left. "This sign is manipulative!", "that planet in such house is a jealous and bitter person!", "females with such rising are fake!".

They don't know shit. They just want to air out their anger. If you absorb it, that's on you. So, if you notice somebody only has negative things to say all the time and never praises anybody... RED FLAG.

And yes, I'm also talking about the people who exclusively make content like "How will your relationship end based on your 12H in Composite", "Synastry aspects that indicate you will be cheated on", "Signs of a narcissist in a birth chart", and just overall fear-mongering and negativity.

Avoid astrology content creators who use their blog/profile as a space to boast and compliment themselves –

because it also happens often, and it's usually a combo with the previous one I mentioned above. They shit on everyone else, but the placements they love and praise are ~ coincidentally ~ their own.

If you see a take that starts with defending or praising a placement a lot and it is followed by "because we are...", I'd immediately log off.

It's one thing to speak from experience and empathize. It's another to be like "Virgos aren't judgemental, because I'm a Virgo and I'm the best person on the planet, you're the problem if we don't like you!"

Again, people who cannot be self aware should not be sharing advice or opinions on other people. They're attention seekers. And surprisingly, it's often NOT the people with Leo placements.

CAUTION WITH THIS ONE, as I'm making a broad observation that is not describing everyone, just a pattern I see often, but my perspective could be limited here –

like I said, from most problematic posts I've seen, and I've seen quite a few, it's not from people with the stereotypical "egotistic and self obsessed" signs, like Leo, or even other fire signs.

I've seen it most often happen with people over-praising their personal EARTH placements, and then attacking everyone else.

Which to me makes sense, because when an Earth placement is great, they're GREAT! But when they're not... Good luck convincing them that they are just a human being and aren't better than everybody else and always right. You'd have to be constantly hammering the cold harsh reality on their face 24/7 to keep them humble. (A job only fire sign placements are up to, bc they don't give a shit if you're offended, and don't get tired of having to fight to death).

Earth signs being preceded by fire signs means their need for validation and praise is often hidden from plain sight, but it's deep within them. And being opposed by water signs can mean falling into delusions of how they actually impact the outside world, often overestimating their value.

So if you mix that with the Earth practicality and pragmatism, it becomes very hard for them to see that they will not feel more in control if they criticize everyone else around. It's them judging themselves, but not knowing how to deal with that self-hatred, so they project it onto others. Just because one got a lot to say doesn't mean they should, nor that what they have to say is correct. People CAN be loud and wrong, and these types of folks over here on these posts often are.

The top 5 most judgemental and lacking self-awareness I've seen here on Tumblr are:

Virgo

Capricorn

Aquarius

Sagittarius

Taurus

Apply it to (rising, sun, moon, Mercury and Mars).

PS: This is very specific within the context of astrology content creators. I'm not saying all of the people from those signs and element are like that, or attacking them personally.

Women are not perfect. Men are not inherently bad –

so also be cautious of people who trash any type of men, regardless of their sign, planet or houses, but claim only the women of that sign are good.

Yes, we know that, systemically, our society is patriarcal and men's toxic behaviors tend to be encouraged, so it's not uncommon to run into issues with masculinity. Regardless of that, men are human beings. And so are women. Everyone has potential for good and bad inside them.

"Cancers - all the men are cheaters and manipulators! But the women are the sweetest people you will ever meet!"

No. Cancer when it's expressed in its most toxic side is highly manipulative and fake. Which is historically a "skill" used by women to survive in this world. So if you run into a "good Cancer man", he will be a light in your life. If you run into a "bad Cancer woman", that'll be even worse, because she will be a horrible person, all the while projecting an image of innocence and acting like she has no idea what you're talking about and is just a sweet victim.

(just look at Ariana Grande, for example, and her history of cheating on her partners with other men who were ALSO in committed relationships at the time, ever since she was 21, but she always tells her stories as if she's the one getting unfairly bullied and that people are making stuff up about her.

I'm not making personal judgements about her, because I don't know her personally. I'm just using her as an example of the same cheater-manipulator dynamic people attribute to all Cancer men, applied to a Cancer woman).

Use your critical thinking skills. Again, that's a projection. Specially if someone goes as far as making an extreme comment like "ALL MEN of the zodiac are trash"... That's clearly a lot of bitterness, hurt, and bad PERSONAL experiences, that they are now vomiting onto the internet.

Men and women are equally beautiful creatures, each dealing with their own sets of potential and challenges. Astrology doesn't pick and choose, and certainly does not care about hookup culture or the dissolution of human relationships in the 21st century.

Just because someone is talking about spiritual practices does not mean they are evolved –

anybody can talk about anything. That means nothing. Does not mean evolution. Does not mean maturity. Does not mean understanding. Does not mean knowledge. Does not mean awareness.

So don't think that just because someone has an astrology blog or they say they're an astrologer that means they are some evolved soul, wise beyond their years and with only good intentions. Oftentimes, people will obsess over analysing others to avoid taking a long hard look at themselves.

As I've given many examples here, many people can be using astrology to live out the most childish and troubled parts of their personalities and character. And instead of identifying those challenges in their chart – since they claim to be such fans of astrology – and working on them, they prefer to hop online and start pointing fingers at other people and their lives.

Now, let's also exercise our own empathy here and understand that sometimes those people themselves don't even realize their struggle. They're a human, after all. So it's up to you to curate what you consume and how you consume it. Don't discredit people's experience, but also, do a background check on the info before you internalize it, because a lot of the times people will be hurting you without realizing they're just looking for company in their sadness. They'll convince themselves they're helping.

Be conscious in YOUR OWN spiritual journey and learning. Know who YOU are. And then other people become helpers along your path, not the commanders of your destiny.

That is it, my dears. I hope this was clear to understand and it was helpful. Hopefully, it will aid in your understanding of things when you come across astrology posts online, leaving you less confused as to what is and isn't pertinent. And I hope it sends you on a path towards good and love.

Be well! ❤️

MASTER LIST

[jessmalia]

Okay so apparently the only way a character can be autistic coded is if they're stated to be autistic in canon, and I, an autistic person, can't possibly make an observation that a character might have autism because I'm not a physiologist? Cool

[atrologynuances]

astrology observations pt 3

these are based on personal observations as well as acquired knowledge from books, websites, and other observation posts.

(some of these are brutally honest and some are very very general)

all signs included!!

⚜️ aries mercury are the type of people whose intelligence you don’t hear because their voice is too loud. oftentimes they’re described as hardheaded or bold when in reality they’re the reality check not everyone is ready to cash out. they’re also fairly messy, too many thoughts with no clear direction.

⚜️ aries men make for irresponsible fathers. the ones that are present but in reality they aren’t.

⚜️ libra placements can be very charming! however, this charm can become obnoxious and overstimulating very fast.

⚜️ I never hear anyone talk about how beautiful the eyes of scorpio risings are!! not only captivating and mysterious but they look like they hold the weight of the world in them and with that comes the secrets of manipulating you without you ever finding out. like an online library with an organized database and when they look for your name there, they know all your secrets.

⚜️ talking about scorpio risings, do any of you have weird experiences while you sleep? sleepwalking, sleep talking, people being scared of you when you’re sleeping?

⚜️ natives with north node in the 4th might have more conflicts at home when they find a full time job. it is hard to find a balance between the home and work life. this is more prominent if the north node is aspecting a malefic planet.

⚜️ a specific placement that will love their pet like a mother loves their baby is moon in the 6th!

⚜️ natives with pluto in the 10th house have to change jobs often because their coworkers subconsciously feel these people are overqualified for the job and envy them or envy how fast they were able to get promoted so they start hating on them. this creates a tense energy within the workplace making the pluto native to just quit the job and move onto the next. I find that there is nothing a pluto in the 10th house can’t master.

⚜️ natives with chiron in the 11th house attract friends with the same sun sign chiron is sitting on. this might be true with other chiron placements but it is especially true with chiron in the 11th. the sun sign person will bring challenges and leave the chiron native in the cold. the sun person also tends to belittle the chiron person a lot, thinking they are better than them.

⚜️ most taurus women have long torsos and short legs. I find that they’re also more prone to getting plastic surgery or cosmetic procedures. also, they have a very standardized beauty, like they don’t have a specific feature that sticks out, their face just blends together very prettily to the eye. i’ve also noticed they like gold or gold colored jewelry.

⚜️ gemini risings have gapped teeth. they also tend to have a bigger head than the rest of their body and be on the skinnier side. one thing i’ve noticed is that their energy feels light and familiar but also unknown. like a new friend whose vibes you like but you don’t really know much about them.

⚜️ unevolved gemini moons have a need to be liked by people; they want to feel and be included. in general, when you hear about them from other people they sound mean and intimidating, but when you get to know them they’re actually pretty cool to talk to. they also make for great listeners, and will have you saying things you wouldn’t have confessed to other people as easily or fast lol.

⚜️ sagittarius mercuries are story tellers! what I love about them is they know how to identify the interesting points with the ones that aren’t so their story is always fun to listen to. the thing with them is they’ll tell you the same story multiple times lol.

⚜️ I have personally noticed that cancer mars MEN are more likely to commit domestic violence. this is a very broad accusation I know. it is just an observation i’ve made with celebrities and men with this placement around me. they tend to act out on their current emotions. on the other hand, cancer mars women are veryyyy passive aggressive lol.

⚜️ venus in leo always attract people that get them better jobs, better deals on something or an upgrade of some sort lol. or they tend to be in good terms with a superior which later helps them get promoted.

⚜️ virgo mars are hard workers!!! I love love love this mars sign. they can come off as know it alls sometimes but sometimes they do know it all lol. a lot of actual life experience. they’re the ones you should call if you’re looking for a job, because they always know of a place that is hiring lol. if you ever need something done efficiently, call a virgo mars! not only are they willing to do it, keep if between you two, but they also do it well! three for one deal.

⚜️ a lot of capricorns make bad friends. they’re not the type to embarrass you in front of people type of bad friend, I find that brings embarrassment to them as well and they can’t have that. they are the type to belittle you throughout the friendship to check off their competition list though lol.

⚜️ aquariuses fall in love with their friends a lot! even when they are in a relationship, they still fall in love with other people. they’re very individualistic and if they think being with someone else will bring them happiness they will pursue that without caring about their current situation. that’s why they’re more prone to “sleep around” lol.

⚜️ pisces risings daydream a lot, sometimes they’re ashamed of how far they go when daydreaming. also, pisces risings might look like they’re on cloud nine, but nine times out of ten, they read the room before stepping a foot in it. i’ve also noticed that sometimes they act gullible just to see how others react to it. like you think you’re manipulating them but they’re the ones manipulating you by letting you think they’re actually getting manipulated lol.

guide

[veltana]

Riding into the night - Biker!Bucky/Reader

✦ Pairing: Biker!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader ✦ Word count: ~7,8k ✦ Rating: Explicit ✦ Warnings/tags: AU, kind of soft!dark!Bucky, smut, fluff, past asshole partners mentioned, squirting, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spanking, spitting, edging, dirty talk, praise, degradation if you squint, breeding kink if you squint, manhandling, vaginal sex, condom, cum shot, pet names (Fairy). ✦ Summary: One of the bikers caught your attention as they tumbled inside. Tall, broad, covered in tattoos, and wearing a leather vest. Essentially no different from the rest of the gang. But those blue eyes met yours and for a second the world stood still. It was only you and him. ✦ Note: I don't know how to play pool, just go with it! 😂 This is also posted on my AO3

Masterlist | AO3

It was Yelena's bachelorette party and after dinner and clubbing, she insisted you find a less respectable place to round out the night.

That’s how you end up in the sleazy bar at the edge of town that smells of sweat, stale beer, and badly fried food. The drinks are watered down but it doesn't tamper the mood of the party, because they have a few pool tables strewn about, and you never miss an opportunity to crush your friends with a few good games. The only problem is the group of bikers that rolled in fifteen minutes ago, filling up the rather empty bar with their loud voices.

As you're bending over the table to aim you can't shake the feeling of being watched. It throws off your concentration and you don’t hit the ball where you want, making you fail the shot. Righting yourself you sigh with irritation.

"That's not like you," Natasha points out as she gets ready for her turn. With a shrug you say, "Maybe I'd just had too much to drink." Yelena snorts, "I've seen you drunk enough to barely stand and still beat everyone." She waggles her eyebrows, "I think it's a pair of blue eyes that's distracting you."

You give her the finger, but you know exactly what she's talking about. One of the bikers caught your attention as they tumbled inside. Tall, broad, covered in tattoos, and wearing a leather vest. Essentially no different from the rest of the gang. But those blue eyes met yours and for a second the world stood still. It was only you and him. It felt as if diving into a clear blue lake on a hot summer day with not a problem in the world for you to care about. Then you realized you were staring and quickly looked away, breaking the small hypnosis.

Despite having had the most to drink all night, Yelena's observation skills never evade her. She saw what happened and she'd be damned if she let an opportunity to taunt you go to waste.

Quickly shooting a glance at the table, you find the man with the blue eyes. Unabashedly he's staring at you from where he sits. The others around him are talking, laughing, being rowdy, but not him. He takes a drink from his beer in silence, tattooed fingers holding the bottle, and never once does his gaze waver from you. His dark hair is in a ponytail but small strands have broken free to be tucked behind his ears.

You wouldn't say you have a type, but if you did, it wouldn't be him. You like nice guys. So far not anyone you've dated has had a single tattoo. On the other hand, you don't have to date him to fuck him. And that is something you're in desperate need of.

"And now she doesn't even realize it's her turn!" Carol breaks you from your musings and you look at the pool table. Shaking out your shoulders you try to dispel the feeling of eyes boring into your neck. Surveying what you have in front of you, a plan forms in your mind.

"Oh, I know that look!" Natasha shouts unnecessarily loud. She’s had the second most to drink through the night. You and Carol on the other hand are as close to sober as it gets.

Taking a breath, you get into position. In quick succession, you hit three shots dead on and they go right where they should, but when you move to the fourth, Carol is leaning against the edge. "You're in the way," you tell her. "I know!" she smiles. "Can you move?" "No, unfortunately not."

You try to push her off but she's solid muscles. Natasha and Yelena laugh at your failed attempts. "You know I'm going to win this anyway, right?" "I don't have to make it easy for you," she points out.

There is only one other option if you want to make the shot. So you climb up, sitting down on the edge to lean awkwardly past Carol. Just as you move the cue, she taps the edge, causing it to graze the top of the ball and then slide off. "Hey!" Hopping down, you poke her with the stick. "That's cheating!" "It's not like you to miss, are you feeling okay?" she grins. "You're such a sore loser, you know that?" "I have no idea what you're talking about." "My turn!" Natasha yells and shoves you to the side.

You take a few steps back and walk into something solid. Craning your neck to look up over your shoulder you freeze. It's him. The heat from his chest warms you and you're enveloped in his smell of fuel, beer, and cologne that is in no way unpleasant. "How about I buy you a drink as compensation for losing?” his smooth voice asks. That should make you mad because technically you didn't lose, Carol sabotaged you, but it's hard to conjure those feelings when your insides feel as if they’re liquefying. Instead, you nod dumbly before turning to your friends.

"Hey, is it okay-," you start but Yelena won't let you finish. She just waves her hand in a shooing motion and the others don't acknowledge your supposed question. "I'm just going to put this back," you gesture with your cue, but another, equally tall biker comes up beside the man with the blue eyes.

His hair is shorter and blond, cute, but not as drop-dead gorgeous as the other. "I'll take it, play your last rounds," he smiles and grabs the stick, before making his way to your friends.

With a grin, the man with the blue eyes nods his head towards the bar and you follow the short distance. When both of you have taken your places on the high chairs he asks, "What do you want?" "Just a beer's fine," you shrug. He orders from the bartender and then turns to you. "I'm Bucky," he says. After introducing yourself you ask, "Is that your real name or is it your ‘biker-name’?". He chuckles and puts a strand of long hair behind his ear. "It's actually a nickname I've had since I was a kid. And Steve," he gestures to the big guy who took your pool cue earlier, "Has always called me that. My legal name is James."

"But you prefer Bucky?" He shrugs, "I don't think anyone has called me James in a long time." "It's a pretty name, but Bucky sounds cooler. Way more biker!” you smile. That makes him laugh and you find yourself beaming. There is just something about him. He looks tough on the outside but you have a feeling he's a big teddy bear on the inside, and hearing him laugh makes you giddy.

The beer gets lower in your glass as you talk. He buys you another one but is still sipping on his first. "Not a fan of beer?" you ask. "I want to be able to get home in one piece later, and getting drunk is a recipe for crashing." "Have you ever crashed?" "Multiple times, but never anything severe." "What kind of bike do you have?" "I can show you." There is a glint in his eyes that makes your gut clench most pleasantly. "I would love to!"

When you hop off the stool, you lose your balance for a second. Yelena insisted that you all wear heels but you're not used to it in any way. Luckily, Bucky is quick with his arm, putting it around your waist and pulling you into his side to steady you. "Woah there, lightweight. I didn’t know anyone could get drunk off that beer." "I'm not drunk, it's these damn shoes! lost my balance!" "I better keep my arm around you, just to be safe." His smile is warm and playful and it’s as if his touch is burning your skin through your clothes. Your heart speeds up, fingertips tingle. "Yeah, just to be safe," you answer in a low voice.

His eyelids lower, blue eyes turning stormy. Electricity crackles between you and you wonder what he tastes like. But making out in the middle of a bar feels weird so instead you say, "About the bike?" "Yeah, the bike,” he murmurs and it takes a second or two for him to start moving again.

Before you leave, you stop by the pool table where the majority of the bikers have joined the small party. Someone has taken the tiara Yelena previously wore and put it on Steve's head. Another guy is wearing her sash. She's telling them about her wife-to-be, showing them all the cute pictures she's taken of Kate. As you pass Natasha you tell her, "We're just going to look at his bike." She eyes you up and down. "If that is some biker-slang for sex, just say that instead."

Bucky howls with laughter as you punch her in the arm, telling her to fuck off. She brushes her skin. "I think there are mosquitoes in here."

Before you can give her a piece of your mind Bucky drags you outside. It’s a warm evening and you’re glad because you only have a thin blouse on. "You're not a mosquito,” he comforts. “You’re too pretty for that, more like a fairy covered in all that glitter.” Your tummy loops when he calls you pretty and you look down at yourself. At some point, Carol had produced a can of glitter spray to drench all of you in. "I think there is a joke in there about sucking, but I can't find it right now,” you tell him instead, which makes him chuckle before stopping in front of a huge black bike. It's one of those chopper-esc things, not the sporty kind, and in the light from the streets, it looks menacing. "That's a monster," you point out. "It's not that bad." "It's standing still and I'm scared of it."

Bucky moves you from his side to the front of him, making you take a few steps closer. Then he grabs your wrist and puts your hand on the handlebar. "See, it's not so scary," his voice is low, right by your ear, making you shiver. "Yeah, it is," you mumble. "Promise I won't let anything happen to you if you hop on." You look up at him over your shoulder. "You underestimate how clumsy I am. What if it tips over?" "It won't," "Just, don't kill me when it happens, okay?"

What he says next is so faint you almost don't catch it. "There are other punishments I would rather use." Somehow your brain filters that into the purely sexual category and another shiver runs through you. Yeah, Bucky seems like the person who would administer sexual punishments. That is something you've never explored before but it still sends a tingle of excitement down your stomach.

Ignoring it for the moment you swing your leg over the saddle and settle on the seat. The tank in front of you has a huge red star on it and you trace it with your fingertips. "How does that feel?" he smiles down at you. The shadows make him look as menacing as his bike but he feels a lot less scary.

"Okay, I guess," you shrug and try to reach the handlebars but your arms are too short to properly grip them. "How do you even…?" "Scoot over and I'll show you." He gestures and you slide backward before he gets on like he's never done anything else in his life, gripping the handles without a problem.

"Should I start it up?" he asks over his shoulder. You shake your head vigorously, "Absolutely not!" He gets off the bike, just to straddle it the opposite way so he's turned towards you. First, he grabs your legs and puts them over his thighs, then pulls you closer with his hands on your waist. Your breathing gets shallow being so close to him. "Then how am I supposed to take you home, Fairy?" You grab a hold of his vest to steady yourself. "You wanna take me home?" "It's all I've been thinking about since I walked through the door tonight," he confesses.

"Oh," you just answer. His hands are warm through your blouse, the blue eyes piercing despite the low light. There is no denying you want him, you do, but going off with a stranger makes you weary. "Come on Fairy, tell me you don't feel the same?" "Yeah I do, it's just that I don't know you." You brush your hands inside his vest, letting them travel over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling him through his t-shirt.

For a moment you sit quietly and touch each other. Your brain is going a million miles per hour, weighing pros and cons. Bucky doesn’t seem like a psychopath who will rape and murder you. But on the other hand, he might as well be. "Then how about this," he suggests. "I go back in there and let your friends take a pic of me, leave my address and if you don't check in by midnight they can call the police." Your mouth hangs open. "You want to fuck me that bad?"

"I don't think you understand," he seems a little frustrated and his hands harden at your waist even though his voice stays soft. Leaning down, brushing his nose against yours, he explains, "Not only are you the sexiest thing I've seen in a long while. You're gorgeous. On top of that, I've learned in the last hour, that you’re funny and sweet too. So indulge me, let me take you home and show you just how good I can make you feel."

Your mouth is dry as a desert. No one has ever spoken to you like that before. No one has in such a short time made you feel so desired. Finally, you decide to go with your gut, hoping it’s not going to turn out to be a terrible mistake. "Okay, Bucky," you nod.

With a wicked smile, he gets off the bike and walks back to the bar. You take out your phone and quickly write in the group chat, telling them your location is on and sending them a picture of his bike with the red star showing.

It takes longer for Bucky to come back than you thought it would and when he emerges, you notice his vest is gone. "What happened?" "That red-headed friend of yours gave me a stern talking to, and made me leave the vest." "Why?" "She said it seemed important to me, and you're important to her, and if I do something to hurt you she's going to do unspeakable things to the vest and my reputation."

That makes you laugh. Natasha may antagonize you on a regular basis but she's also fiercely protective.

He snatches a helmet from the bike beside and turns to you. "Ever ridden one of these before?" "Not a motorcycle! I've ridden a regular bike." He huffs at that before listing off some do's and don'ts. "But the most important thing," he finishes. "Is that you hold on to me really tight." He smirks, before putting the helmet on your head, tightening the straps. It's a little big but you don't think it will come off.

Bucky gets on and the bike roars to life. Telling you to hold on to him was unnecessary because the moment the sound and feel of the bike hits you, your arms go around his waist and grab onto his clothes. Your heart is hammering and you feel a nervous sweat run down your neck. He never puts a helmet on and before you know it you're flying down the streets.

You have no idea how much time passes or where you are in the city since you’re devoting all of your concentration to hanging onto him. Finally, he slows down and drives into a parking garage attached to a high-rise building. Cars stand in neat rows and he parks in an unoccupied space before getting off.

With shaky fingers, you try to open the clasp to the helmet but fail three times before he notices and does it for you. "That bad huh?" he asks as he hangs the helmet on the handle. "I don't think I can stand," you confess.

As you get off, Bucky holds you to his chest until the ground stabilizes around you. You take the opportunity to study him. There are crow's feet at the edge of his eyes that tell you he smiles a lot. Above the cleft in his chin is his full lips that you've been eyeing for most of the evening. They look soft and delicious.

Your hands travel up and braid behind his neck. Experimentally you pull, seeing if he'll follow, and he does. "I think a kiss would also help," you hint. "Who am I to say no," he hums in response.

As he bends down, you rise up and your lips meet halfway. At first, it's slow but you're both a bit desperate and it quickly gets heavier. Your finger loosens the hair tie and tangles in his long strands, pulling lightly, drawing a pleased sound from his throat. In response, he cups your ass and lifts you off the ground to pull you closer. A surprised moan leaves you before you wrap your legs around his waist and he starts walking. He breaks away just so he can find the button for the elevator, then he is right back to your lips.

Inside, he presses you up against the wall hard enough to get his hands free. They slide up your sides, in under your blouse, making you sigh into his mouth from contentment, fisting the hair at the nape of his neck harder, pressing him closer. Too quickly, but also not quickly enough the elevator dings with the announcement of its arrival on the floor.

Once again Bucky carries you to the door where he fumbles with the keys before getting it open, never breaking from your mouth.

You don't see much of the inside of his apartment because as soon as the door shuts you start pulling at his clothes, wanting them off, to feel his warm skin. The sheets are blue and the bed soft you notice as he places you down on it. With pants and blouse off, the next thing that goes is your bra and he stops the feverish kissing long enough to take you in.

"Fairy," his voice is grovely. "Fuck!" Is all he says before he gently cups your tits, thumbing your nipples and drawing small pleased sounds from you. The fabric of your panties is soaked and every pass over your sensitive peaks shoots another bolt of desire through you.

"Bucky! Can you… please!" you try. It's hard to form words. In an alarmingly short period, he’s got you unbelievably horny and all you can think about is that you need to be touched, to come!

Still playing with your tits he asks, "What do you need Fairy? Tell me what I can do for you." "Take the rest of your damn clothes off and eat me out, or finger me, or something! I'm dying!" "We don't want that now do we?" he smirks and bends down enough to give each of your nipples a kiss. When the last of his clothes go, you suck in a breath because he looks fucking divine. Just like his arms and fingers, his chest and abdomen are covered in tattoos but it doesn't hide the powerful muscles underneath. “You are… wow…” you tell him and swallow roughly. Before you have time to inspect every swirl of ink, he climbs onto the bed and starts up where he left off. His mouth trailing down from your sternum, over your stomach, dragging his teeth tantalizingly over your hip bones, kissing your mound before carefully ridding you of your underwear.

He spreads you with his thumbs, moaning when he sees how wet you are. "Fairy, I think your cunt likes me," he teases. You're about to grip his head and shove his mouth to where you need it, telling him to shut up and get going, but luckily he doesn’t waste any more time.

The cry of pleasure that leaves your mouth is probably heard by the neighbors. Feeling him work you over sends your head spinning and your body twitching. With his tongue and his lips, he tries different pressures and speeds just to see what makes you moan the loudest. "Fingers, Bucky! I need your fingers!" you tell him and seconds later two thick digits start pumping in and out of you, crooking every now and then to find the right spot.

It builds inside you in no time, the dual sensation making it brilliant. But what you feel as you near the edge makes you put your hands against his forehead, pushing and saying, "Wait! Bucky, stop." Hastily he pulls away, fingers leaving you, eyes wide and confused as he sits up. "What is it? Did I hurt you?"

Panting heavily, trying to get your quivering body under control, you wave your hand. "No, no, it's fine! Don't worry!" Then he dares touch you again. His hands slide up and down your inner thighs in a soothing gesture. "Tell me what's wrong. Do you want to stop?" His voice is as soft as his gaze on you.

"God no, I don't want to stop! It's just, ehm…" you feel the embarrassment in your chest, heating you from the inside in an unpleasant way. "Please tell me, Fairy. We can do whatever you want." You try to explain in as roundabout terms as possible, "Sometimes… when it's really good… I can't control what my body does." If you had been smart you would have had this conversation before getting into bed with him, but you weren’t, so now you have to face the unpleasant consequences. "Fairy, what are you saying?" Burying your face in your hands you continue, "Sometimes it's only a little and sometimes it's a lot, but I don't know beforehand so it's better to stop and let me calm down a bit."

There is a beat of silence before his command cuts through it, "Look at me." Slowly you lower your hands. "Were you about to squirt?" he asks point blank. "I hate that word,” you mutter. "Tell me, Fairy," he commands again. "Yes, I'm sorry. I can't control it, it happens!” You’ve had this conversation before, usually after it was already too late and you know how it goes. Luckily you remembered to stop. You’re not sure you would have been able to live it down if it had happened with Bucky. But he does not look happy at all, his eyes near slits, and you reach out towards him, letting your palms graze along his arms to placate him. “I've calmed down now so we can keep going if you want. It rarely happens when I have sex so we can just do that!"

"No," his cold tone answers and your stomach drops. Before you can crawl off the bed to go home he says, "Turn over, ass up, head down." "Bucky, I can just…" You aim your thumb at the door but he doesn’t acknowledge the gesture, only telling you, "Do it, Fairy."

Confused but also curious you turn over on your stomach and bring your knees in under you, doing as you’re told. His hands start making slow steady circles over your ass, caressing and squeezing. "Have you ever been spanked before?" "What?" "You heard me. Have you?" "No… not really…" "So, because you robbed me of your fountain orgasm I'm going to spank you as a punishment. And then you're going to turn over again and I'm going to make you come until you've ruined the sheets. Are we clear, Fairy?" "But, I just thought-,” you begin but he interrupts you. "Whatever someone has said to you before to make you think that you don't deserve to come as hard as you can, makes me so fucking angry. I want all of your pleasure, Fairy, and you're going to give it to me. Understand?" Once again you’re surprised by his words and you give yourself the benefit of the doubt that he knows what he’s in for. With a soft voice, you tell him, "I understand Bucky," and arch your back, showing him that you're ready. "Fucking beautiful."

The sting to your ass is more pleasure than pain. With every impact from his hand, a jolt goes to your cunt. If you were wet before, you're dripping by the time he declares you're done. Each of your ass cheeks gets a kiss before he pushes at your hip and makes you lay on your back again, the sheets cool against your heated skin. He crawls up over you, giving you a long hard kiss. "How are you feeling?" "Very horny," you confess. "Ready to come for me?" "Absolutely, Bucky!"

In no time, he’s back between your legs and starts as he did before, licking and tasting you until you're begging for his fingers. The combination of your slick and his saliva have wetness running down your ass, making a puddle below you. Since you were already so close before you made him stop, it doesn't take long for the coil to wind tight in your lower belly. It’s the same feeling as earlier and you warn him before it happens. "Bucky, I'm going to come!" For a second he lets up to tell you, "Please do, Fairy, I want every last drop."

Maybe it's because of the unplanned edging together with the spanking or it's because Bucky knows exactly what to do with his hands and mouth, or everything combined, but when you arch off the bed with a mind-boggling orgasm, the sides of your vision go hazy and your legs spasm hard. You think you hear Bucky moan but the blood is rushing in your ears.

Panting worse than before you sink into the bed, body lax with the release and you look down to see the unmistakable sign of your climax. Not only are your thighs wet, but the sheets are a shade or two darker, and Bucky is wiping his smirking face with the edge of the cover.

Biting your lip you try to not feel too much shame, but it's hard after years of being told it's disgusting. Although he said he wanted it, maybe he didn't know what he signed up for. "Sorry," you finally say. "Don't ever say that to me again after coming, Fairy. That was fucking amazing!" "Everything is wet." "Everything can be washed," he reassures you. Then he gets off the bed to rummage through a drawer, pulling out a condom. When he turns to you he says, "Now be a good little Fairy and grab your legs for me so I can fuck that sweet cunt of yours."

You watch with anticipation as he rolls the condom on before you pull your legs up, holding behind your knees. As he gets on the bed again, he takes a second to swipe his cock-head through your slick, lubing himself up, but you're impatient, whining and wiggling to get him inside.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry, you'll get my cock," he’s trying to scold you but it gets lost when he can’t take his eyes away from the view of pressing inside you. The sensation being carried from your cunt throughout your body as he steadily fills you more and more makes your breathing labored and your hands clamping down on your legs harder. "God, that's a pretty fucking pussy taking all my cock," his voice is so low it travels through you like a baseline. Slowly he pulls out and presses in again, mesmerized by what he's seeing, but for you, it's just pure torture.

"Bucky, I need more!" you beg. His answer isn't to fuck you harder or faster like you want. Instead, he spits on your exposed cunt, making you gasp before he presses a thumb against your oversensitive clit. A loud moan rips from your throat and your legs shake. “You get so fucking tight when I touch your clit, feels amazing!”

He keeps the thumb still as he fucks you. Slow, deep thrusts that keep you right on the edge of coming. If he just moved his finger and sped up a little you'd be flying again. But he seems determined to drag this out, his groans and moans are telling you that he's enjoying it very much. Bucky's eyes keep shifting from your face to your chest, down to where you're connected, watching his cock spear you.

Suddenly he removes his hand, but before you can sound a word of protest he's leaned forward, using both his hands to grab the back of your neck. He bends your head down and lifts you from the bed a little until there is no mistake what he wants you to see. “Watch your pussy take all of my cock, Fairy. It belongs there. As if it was fucking made for me. Sucking me right back in every time I pull out.”

Briefly, he lets you have what you need, fucking you faster, slamming into you, making you feel him deep as you watch your body take him over and over again. You understand why he can’t stop watching. It’s filthy at the same time it turns you on more. In desperation, you reach down to touch yourself but he lets you go, making you bounce against the bed slightly before batting your hands away. Then he pulls out and you cry in protest. “No! Bucky! I wanna come! Fuck me!”

Sweat is glistening on his naked chest and his cock stands out from his body, the condom shiny with your slick, but he doesn't acknowledge your plea, only tells you. “On your stomach. Grab a pillow and put it under your hips.”

The pulse in your cunt is uncomfortable, almost unbearable, and you glare at him, having half a mind to just finish off yourself and get some god damned relief. Bucky raises an eyebrow in question as to why you're not doing as he says. With an irritated huff, you turn over, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it under your hips, folding your arms and laying your head on them with a pout, clearly showing him that you're not happy.

The swat to your ass makes you yelp since it's much harder than when he spanked you earlier. It earns him a glare over your shoulder. “Don't be bratty, Fairy,” he reprimands you before his knees push your legs wider and he presses into you swiftly again. He pulls your hands out from under your head, lacing your fingers together before laying down on top of you, kissing your shoulder.

“We were having such a good time,” he says as he starts fucking you again. The new angle makes his dick press right against your g-spot, forcing a whine out of you. Even though you don’t want to give him the satisfaction you can’t help to push your ass against him. With all his weight on top of you, it's hard to move, but your body craves him. “But now you're mad at me, Fairy. What can I do to make it better?” Rutting harder he sends white-hot pleasure through you. You've never been able to come from penetration alone, but the way your body feels makes you think that this might do the trick. “I want to come!” you almost sob.

“Yeah, I know Fairy. Don't forget that I can feel every little pulse of your cunt around me.” There is no comfort to be found in his tone. “Why are you being so mean?!” you cry. That makes him laugh into your neck. “Oh little Fairy. This is not me being mean. This is me wanting to give you the pleasure of your life.” He nips at your skin. “We could have been done a long while ago. You feel so good I could come any second. But I don't want that.” His hands squeeze yours. “I want you to always remember this. No matter what happens after, it'll be seared into your memories. Every time you're with someone else you'll wish it was me fucking you.”

The little show of possession makes your heart beat double and you're about to tell him you don't want to be with anyone else ever again, but that's crazy, so instead you respond with what you hope will get you what you need. “Then fuck me like you fucking mean it because right now your performance is mediocre at its best,” trying and failing to sound unaffected. This time his laugh is tinged with something cruel and you have a second to wonder what the hell you've let loose before he raises himself, pressing your joint hands into the bed to keep his weight on, and then starting to fuck you in earnest.

A sharp cry is forced from you by the brutal thrusts. The angle is much better and your body starts burning from the inside. Screams, moans, and pleas all tumble together from your lips.

Every time you think you might be close to coming he slows down, just enough to keep you from reaching any kind of high. That makes you livid and when you curse him out, he releases your hands, instead placing them between your shoulder blades, pressing you down hard into the mattress, before starting up again.

“I wish I had a vibrator to shove between your legs. Put it on the highest setting and force you to come over and over again. You'd be begging me to stop instead, trying to run away, crying. I bet you'd look real pretty sobbing.”

Your cunt clenches hard at the mental image he's presenting. You can't decide if that would be worse than this. Your body feels like a livewire, ready to release all the pent-up pleasure that has accumulated in your body. All it needs is the right touch at the right place.

One moment you’re on your front, and in the next, he’s flipped you over on your back again. You don’t even have the presence of mind to be surprised because he’s instantly inside you, your legs over his shoulders and his hands gripping your head, kissing you fiercely. It’s teeth and tongue and lips in a jumble. With his pelvis pressing against your clit it drives you fast towards the edge. “I need to see your face when you lose it on my cock,” he rests his forehead on yours. Despite his words, he slows down when it starts to climb inside you. You groan, almost in pain, the edging is making you feel crazy. Over and over again he refuses you the release you’re so desperately after.

A little too late you realize that maybe there is something you can do, instead of begging, that will get you what you want. “I wish you could come inside me,” you whisper, looking right into his eyes, clenching around him when you speak. When he groans you know you’ve hit the spot, but you press down the grin. “You want to fill me up with your cum, Bucky?” you ask before you give him a ruthless kiss. “Yeah fuck, Fairy!” He thrusts hard in response. “Better fuck me good then, and maybe I'll come back and let you do it.”

“Oh Fairy,” he growls and moves one hand to the headboard, gripping it, the other grasping the base of your skull. “You’ll come back. I'll have you outside my door, on your knees, begging for my cock.” The pace he sets has the bed creaking disconcertingly. “Maybe I'll even let you in, crawling on all fours.”

As his voice paints the picture of your submission, the climax mounts in you. Bucking up against him, you try to get more when he’s already giving you everything. All thoughts about teasing him are forgotten with the immediate pleasure. “Don't stop-don't stop-don't stop!” You chant. “Never, Fairy. Come on my dick. Let me see you.”

Your vision goes spotty when the orgasm hits, your throat screaming his name, body convulsing in a way you’ve never experienced before. Afterward, your body goes limp, twitching with aftershocks as Bucky seeks his own release. Maybe you can't have him come inside you, but you want something more. “Come on me,” you tell him in a hoarse voice. “Fuck! What?” He’s so beautiful above you with his hair hanging down in his face, sweat making his skin shine, the clear desperation and shock on his face. “Paint me with your cum, please Bucky,” you say once again. “God dammit, Fairy! Fuck!” He sits back and rips the condom off. A few swipes are all it takes and he's shooting ropes up your stomach and chest, blue eyes wide and staring as if he can't believe it, moaning your name loudly in his deep voice. It makes you grin like the Cheshire cat, knowing you can affect him just as much as he does you.

He sags down beside you, panting heavily. You never want to move but as the sweat and cum start to cool, your heart calms down, and you start feeling something else.

“Oh, I think I…” you mumble, looking down between your legs. “When I came I…” “You squirted?” Bucky chuckles at your unwillingness to say the word. “Yeah. That usually doesn't happen with sex.” “It did. You almost pushed my dick out when you came too.” He kisses your shoulder and up your neck. You turn your head to meet him in a soft kiss. “You also called me James,” he smiles against your lips.

You stare at him in horror as your mind catches up with what he’s saying and you realize you did in fact do that. “Oh god,” You wish you could sink through the bed and continue into the earth's core. “I don't know why I did that!” He kisses you again. “Don't worry, I liked it,” he reassures you.

After some more kissing, the various bodily fluids on your skin compel you to get up and head for the bathroom to clean yourself up. When you're done you study yourself for a moment in the mirror, thinking that you’ll see something different after you've just been fucked within an inch of your sanity, but you look just the same.

When you get back to the bedroom, Bucky has stripped the bed and is in the process of putting new sheets on. After you help him, you start looking for your clothes, thinking you'll take a cab home, but Bucky stops you by pulling you into a warm embrace. “You need to text your friends. I prefer my vest and my reputation untarnished.”

With a laugh you move to find your phone and when you do you notice you have a bunch of notifications. It's well past midnight.

It seems as if he doesn't want to be far away from you because as you’re writing a reply, he comes up behind you and hugs you close. Suddenly you have a better idea and stop what you’re doing, instead, you take a picture of the two of you, aiming it to just show your bare upper shoulders and your faces. The flash goes off in the dim room and when you see the picture you giggle. What you couldn't tell in the mirror, the picture clearly shows. Two fucked out people. You send it with just a short line about being alive.

When you're done you turn in Bucky's arms. “Satisfied?” “In more ways than one,” he smiles cheekily before kissing you. After a lazy make-out session standing naked in the middle of the room, you begin to pull away. “I need to-” “Stay,” Bucky finishes for you, tightening his arms. “Stay?” “Yeah, I'll make you breakfast tomorrow and then take you home.” “You don't have to,” you tell him. “Indulge me?” “Fine,” you sigh as if it’s a great burden. “I guess I could stay, but if you don't cuddle me, I'm leaving.” He pinches your ass in reprimand, making you jump. “You have no idea what you've signed up for, Fairy.”

True to his words Bucky hardly lets you out of bed, even in the morning when you need to use the bathroom. When you come back he holds up the cover and pats the mattress. As soon as you're beside him he pulls you in closer, putting his face in the crook of your neck and mouthing at your skin. A pleasurable sigh leaves you as you snuggle in closer to his warm body. Although the both of you were naked together the night before you never had time to explore his body, so now you let your hands roam everywhere they can reach.

Bucky lets his own hands travel over your skin, but those touches don’t stay innocent long and soon his erection is pressed into your stomach. Taking pity on him you spit in your palm and grab him, making him hiss at the contact before you lazily start pumping him. When he tries to reach between your legs you push his hand away. “No, let me take care of you,” you say sternly. “Whatever you say, Fairy,” he groans and thrusts into your palm.

There is no finesse to it all, just a quick morning hand job. He comes between your bodies, dirtying the sheets. When you see his eyelids starting to close again you poke him and they fly open. “You promised me breakfast!” “You just missed it,” he winks. In response, you roll your eyes before getting up. “Men!”

Instead of pulling on your jeans and the blouse drenched in glitter from the night before you snag the t-shirt he was wearing and find your discarded panties. The t-shirt barely covers your ass but at least you're semi-dressed as you go out into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Muttering under his breath about you being a stubborn woman he follows you in sweatpants and a fresh henly. Before you can find the coffee he hauls you up and puts you on the kitchen island, boxing you in with his arms on either side, lowering himself to glare at you. “Instead of opening every cupboard in the whole damn kitchen, tell me what you want and I'll make it.” “Coffee, with milk and sugar.” “And to eat?” “What do you usually make for the women you bring home?” you tease.

That makes him rise to his full height, looking down at you, and crossing his arms. “You think I have a habit of bringing women home and fucking them like I did you last night?” “You didn't get that good by theorizing,” you point out. “There hasn't been anyone, in a long time, Fairy,” his voice is suddenly soft as he cups your cheeks. You have another teasing comment on your lips but think better of it when you see his guarded look.

Instead, you put your arms around his waist and pull him in between your legs, resting your chin against his sternum to look up at him. “Then you make me whatever you want. But I don't like fish.” With a smile, he asks, “How about scones?” “Sounds perfect.”

When you’re done with breakfast he puts you on the table, insisting that he needs dessert and showing a much gentler side than the night before as he strums your body until you tell him you can't come anymore. Then he carries you to the couch and puts on a random channel. Together you watch reruns until you slide down his body to give him some of his own medicine. No matter how much he begs, you take your sweet time tasting him and when he comes it’s with a roar of your name. After some more cuddles and a nap, you convince him that you actually need to go home.

Just as you're about to head out there is a knock on the door and Bucky opens it to find Steve outside, holding his vest. Earlier he explained that Steve lives a few apartments down the hall. “I was told to give this to you.” Bucky takes it and inspects it quickly before hanging it up. To you, it seems untarnished.

“Hope Nat didn't give you too hard a time,” you smile. Assuming they'd stayed late at the bar and when she'd seen your text she'd given it to Steve. His eyes quickly flick away and there is a blush on his cheek. “No, no, it was fine.” You narrow your eyes and study him, noticing a small red bite mark on his neck. “Oh my god!” you exclaim and start laughing. Steve blushes even more. Bucky looks confused between the two of you. “What?” In a very loud whisper, you tell him, “I think Nat is at Steve's place.” Bucky's eyes glimmer with mirth and he looks at him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Steve waves and heads back down the hall. Just as he pulls the door open you yell. “Tell her I said hi!”

Fortunately, Bucky also has a car, and as he drives you home, he keeps his hand on your thigh the entire time. Outside your apartment, he turns to you. “I want to see you again,” he says. “Okay.” You want that too. So much! “When?” “Tomorrow ideally but if that doesn't work, how about a date on Friday?” You could do tomorrow but you feel yourself already falling for him. Some distance would do you good, so you say, “Friday sounds great! Give me your phone.” You type in your number and save it under the fairy emoji before sending yourself a text. Then you save him under a motorcycle emoji.

Before you can get out he pulls you in for a long, deep kiss. “Now go before I kidnap you and keep you warm in my bed all week.” “Don't tempt me with a good time,” you wink and give him one last peck before getting out. In an act of pure self-preservation, you don't look back.

After a long shower, and checking your phone a million times throughout the evening to see if he’s texted, you come to the realization that you will never make it to Friday. You: [If I told you that I’ve changed my mind and want to see you tomorrow, would that make me seem desperate?] The response is quick. Bucky: {No more than I feel right now. I’ll pick you up after work. When do you get off?} Refusing to let an opportunity like that go to waste, you reply. [Preferably quicker than last night. I’m not sure I’m a fan of edging ;)] {Fairy, don’t make me spank you again. Off of work.} [I’ve told you not to tempt me with a good time ;) I get off at four]

[tinydefector]

quietly whispers (for your consideration)

ratchet x human reader

sex pollen

Pheromones

Ratchet x human reader

Word count: 2k

Warning: smut, thigh fucking, sex pollen/ pheromone spray, #valveplug

Ratchet masterlist

Request and ask open, read pinned post

So what about, Cybertronians react to perfume in the way humans react to Sex pollen hehehe. I love the idea of human perfume mix with skin contact makes an almost intoxicating scent and sends Cybertronians feral when they get a hint of it. They love how it makes humans skin taste, and it over rides their interface systems.

So enjoy.

_____________

The human moves around Ratchet's medical lab looking at different vials and flasks their eyes flickering over the difference Liquids. " Hey ratchet what are all of these different vials?" They call out to the medic. Ratchet looked up from his work when he heard the human call out to him. He put down the datapad he was looking over and walked over to where the human was examining the various vials on the shelves.

"Those are different medical compounds and chemicals I use in treatments and repairs," Ratchet explained. "The colourful ones contain powerful medications and sedatives. The clear ones hold things like bonding agents or nanite solutions. Others are a mix of experimental solutions" 

He pointed to a vial with a swirling pink and purple liquid. "That one is a broad-spectrum energon healing compound I developed. It speeds cellular repair and regeneration, within Cybertronian functions." His optical ridges furrowed as he watched the human carefully look over each vial. 

"You know better than to touch anything in here, less you break something and contaminate yourself with something i can't fix" Ratchet said sternly. "Some of this equipment and chemicals could seriously harm an organic being like yourself." Despite his gruff tone, his words held more care than scolding. Biology was complex, and humans were so small and fragile compared to Cybertronians. He hoped his favourite little patient and helping hand was being careful not to endanger themselves.

"It's just fascinating is all, kinda reminds me of a mediaeval apothecary" they chuckle. "Do you ever just take samples for fun, like when you're out and about on planets?" They ask, they were always curious over what things ratchet tended to keep.

Ratchet huffed a small laugh at the comparison to a mediaeval apothecary. "Fascinating perhaps, but also dangerous if mishandled," he remarked.

He considered the human's question for a moment. While most of his samples were acquired for medical necessity, he couldn't deny a certain curiosity about other life forms and ecosystems. 

"On occasion I have collected specimens from planets we've visited, simply for observational study," Ratchet admitted.  He walked over to retrieve a data pad containing photos and analyses of plant samples from their recent away missions. "Here, let me show you some I recorded on our last stop." Ratchet enlarged the images for the human to easily see. "This radiation-resistant lichen seems to secrete a natural antifreeze. And these fungi act as natural air filters in their toxic environment." The medic's optics glinted with interest as he discussed his findings. Perhaps exploration held some appeal, even for a skeptic like himself.

They stand close to Ratchet looking over different specimens, “some of these plants look like they would make really nice perfumes'' they mumble while flicking through the different photos reading the small information bubbles around them. As the human stood near Ratchet examining the data on his specimens, something about their scent suddenly registered in his olfactory sensors. An overly sweet aroma was emanating strongly from their skin, but it was clearly not the normal scent of an unadulterated human.“perfume?forgive me, I'm not accustomed to what that is?” he asked with a raised optical ridge

Their eyes flicker to Ratchet. “It's like scented alcohol or oil we put on our skin, most times it alters our scent. We humans happen to have a big fascination with them, and have millions of different perfumes.” they explain before tilting their head in slight amusement. “I'm surprised Cybertronians don't have something similar” they reply. 

“once millennia's back cybertron did try making things like that, but due to our metallic body's it doesn't stay on us, or it tented to cause rust spots from the ones they did try and make” Ratchet explained, sensors flared as he analysed the unfamiliar composition, immediately detecting unusual chemical traces that seemed to send strange pulses through his neurocircuitry. The smell was strangely enticing yet worryingly off-kilter at the same time. He tried venting deeply to clear his nasal chamber but the scent only grew stronger. 

"What in the Allspark..." the medic muttered, not meaning for the human to hear. His optics dimmed slightly as redundant calibrations ran, trying to make sense of why the scent was affecting his processor. Ratchet crouched down and focused his sharp gaze on the human in concern. They smile up at him offering for him to examine. 

"By my scanner  it seems as if you've been contaminated with something. Are you positive these ‘perfumes’ are safe? I need to analyse your system for potential toxins." He asked while trying to figure out why the scent was having such an effect on him, it was as if his processor had thrown care to the wind. 

They let out a laugh as his optics try analysing, he moves closer taking another inhale of their scent "haha yes Ratchet, it isn't harmful, humans have been using it for hundreds of years" they state. “Ratchet are you alright?” They ask while cupping his face. 

Ratchet's sensors were in disarray as the potent scent overwhelmed his circuits. He vented heavily again, coolant failing to properly flush the heated energon now racing through his fuel lines. His optics flickered with minor instability as calibration errors cropped up across multiple systems.

Though lacking his usual gruffness. Ratchet leaned in closer, trying to pinpoint the source, but only succeeded in inhaling more of the intoxicating aroma. A rumble rose in his chassis against his better judgement. “ your scent...", he struggled to find words between fragmented logic protocols. "It's affecting my sensor net. Overloading my functions. I need to...run a full examination. Determine why this perfume is making your scent overwhelming..." 

His field pulsed with uncharacteristic confusion and static electricity. Ratchet knew he should contact someone for assistance, but found himself unable to call out in his muddled state. The human's safety was his top concern, yet he feared touching them in this condition. Some natural, impossible chemistry was at play here, and the medic had no control over his compromised systems.

As gently as his shaking grip allowed, Ratchet grasped the human in his large palm to properly scan them from close range. His detailed medical scanners searched every inch, They gasp as Ratchet glossa meets their throat, fingers shootout to grip the side of his faceplate. 

A throttled moan escaped his vocalizer against his will. That light touch from their hands nearly shorted out his already fritzing systems. vents plume in hot exhaust. His interface panel felt too hot and tight , barely clinging to integrity protocols as the pleasure centres of his processor went haywire. 

“your scent...overloading my sensory net...cannot...resist...” Ratchet calls out through groans,his grip unconsciously tightened around the small organic in his hand. His free hand scrambled for purchase on the table, denting the metal. Something primal and powerful part of him was unravelling his mental restraints, and no calibration or forced shutdown seemed able to stop it.

Their eyes go wide. "Ratchet! Are you alright do in need to get a Perceptor or first aid?" They ask as the medic leans down into their shoulder, denta nipping at the skin as his digits try removing their shirt as quickly as he physically can. They yelp as he pulls them back together with him, his lips work along their smaller frame desperate to taste the sweet flavour and scent that had taken to their skin. capturing them against his heaving chassis. His optics blazed with static and uncontrolled charge.

"No...don't leave," Ratchet growled through clenched denta. Every fibre of his being screamed for more. His panel snapping open with an echoing click, massively engorged cables twitching in the open. Coolant and lubricant poured from his interface array, drenching the human involuntarily as he grinding against them, bright glowing pink stains their pants and paints their skin in his transfluid. 

His hands trembled, barely able to restrain their desire to claim the tiny body before him. Rational thought was impossible under the onslaught of chemical signals frying his cognition. Ratchet bucked erratically against them, whole body illuminated by dancing electricity. 

"Need you... interface protocols are in-gauged, can't fight it...please,!" he pants to the human as his spike presses against their back. Blunt node swelled monstrously at its tip.

Their back arches into each grind of Ratchet's spike. “Ratchet!” They whine out. 

Their soft noises egg ratchet on, his servos move quickly, trying to discard the pants sticking to their form, he hisses out in annoyance before finally getting them off their legs, throwing them across the medical room. Twisting them around so he can see thier eyes. 

Ratchet growls eagerly spike swiftly sliding between their thighs and against their stomach. His spike is already dripping with lubricant. As he ruts against them. Each inhale of their scent has him spiralling more. 

"Is this what you want, sweetspark? My spike filling you up?" His voice is rough with lust. Gently spreading their legs wider. Watching the bright pink stick to their legs "Primus... I bet you feel amazing." 

He moves slowly pressing his spike against them, tormenting as he presses into them inch by inch. Needy moans leave their lips, hands clinging to him desperately as they roll their hips. “Ratchet!” They cry out. 

 Their stomach bulges from Ratchet's spike, the bright pink splatter across their skin nearly has ratchet overloading from the mere sensation, not to mention the intoxicating scent of their skin. Ratchet groans deeply at the sight of his spike bulging their abdomen, his engines rumbling with feral satisfaction. One hand strokes almost reverently over the taut swell.

"So stunning like this... stretched wide around me, primus so small and tight”

Slowly he draws his hips back, then thrusts forward, grinding deeply into them. setting a steady pace, rockin into the slick heat enveloping his spike. Ducking his head, he captures their shoulder between his denta, glossa flicking against the sensitive skin as he tries to lap the perfume from their skin.

Ratchet growls deeply, thrusting harder at the way they clench around his spike. The table creaks and trembles under the force of his movements but he can't bring himself to slow down. 

"Yes, just like that," he rasps. "Keep that sweet valve squeezing me. Feels so good..."

captures their cries in a heated kiss. "Want you to overload for me," Ratchet purrs. "Let me feel you come undone around my spike, sweetspark..."

His engines are roaring furiously now, spike swelling and throbbing powerfully inside their smaller body. Ratchet groans deeply as they clench around him again, the feeling of that slick heat clenching and rippling around his spike is incredible. 

"That's it love, overload for me... you feel exquisite. So good" 

The sensations quickly become too much for his own systems to bear,the feeling, scent and the pure primal heat running through his system hits hard. With a staticky shout of Julian's name, he buries himself to the hilt and overloads powerfully. His transfluid gushes hot and thick, pumping deep into their smaller form. 

His engines vent heavily as he leans over them, face pressed into their shoulder, a deep guttural moan leaves him, Shuddering with aftershocks. When he finally leans stack to take in their exhaust and truly used form their lungs desperately inhale and exhale drawing in air as if it was their life line. 

Bright pink transfluid pudding around them as Ratchet's systems finally subsided. His optics flicker on them. “ Are you alright?” he asked softly, his human companion replied with a soft whine and nod. “ Remind me not to wear my perfume out in public” the call out in shuttered words. It makes ratchet chuckle as he leans back down to them. “a wise decision” 

[thepascalofus]

Supply Run - Receipt (part one)

AO3

PART TWO

Pairing: Mando/Din Djarin x afab!Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: You’ve been Mando’s crew partner for a year now. Throughout that year Mando has warmed up to you and given you signs that your heart throbbing crush on him is reciprocated. There’s one thing making you hesitate. The condoms he bought on the most recent supply run.

Content Warnings: MDNI, 18+ only! Post season 2, the Crest lives, strangers to friends to lovers, soft!Mando, helmet loopholes, pining, idiots in love, jealous!reader, mentions of sex work (sex work is work!), eventual SMUT (making out, grinding, f!receiving fingering, f!receiving oral sex, p in v, PRAISE kink, dirty talk), FLUFF, cuddling, happy ending guaranteed!

The ramp of the Crest lowered, revealing the bright sun and arid atmosphere of the random planet Mando chose for a pitstop. In the distance were jagged mountains, the colors of orange, red, and brown coming together to paint streaks across the rocky range. Sparse populations of trees littered the distant landscape. Large–but tiny from a distance–birds flew from tree top to tree top, wings fanned outwards to catch the air currents beneath their wings.

To your left was Mando. His silver beskar armor glinted in the light as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. Broad shoulders blocked a sizable proportion of your peripheral vision. Observing the new planet, he stood like a statue.

Tall. Solid. Strong. Capable. Protective.

Biting your lip, your gaze traveled up and down Mando, head to toe. He certainly had an idea of how intimidating he looked. Yet, he had no idea how that intimidation made him look so good.

People always snuck glances at you and Mando when the pair of you were in public. Whispers could be picked up on as well. Rumors about his Creed. The state of the planet of Mandalore. How dangerous Mando was.

The danger he possessed only made your feelings for him deepen. You knew what he was capable of, but you also knew he would never use his capabilities on you. Not that you didn’t want him to…

Maybe he could lift you up. Carry you across the hull. Place you on the bed in his bunk. His large, gloveless hands smoothing up and down your sides. 

Mando could pin both of your hands above your head while he–.

Ok. Stop. That’s enough.

You cleared your throat, hoping to snap Mando out of his observational state, and you out of yours. “Alright, so we need five things: bacta, medkits, rations, a new flight suit, andddd soap?” You listed as you turned to him. Feet shifting, he turned his helmet to look at you. Shoulders that donned beskar pauldrons followed suit. The classic Mandalorian T shape of the visor burned into your pupils.

He paused, as if he was looking over his own checklist. “That should be it,” he confirmed with a nod. You returned his nod and added a small smile.

“Ok see ya!” You threw over your shoulder as you quickly bounded down the ramp of the Crest.

“Dank farrik, hold on, hold on,” Mando’s modulator gritted out as he clicked a button on his vambrace to close the Crest, running to get caught up to you. He rarely let you stray too far, especially when on new planets like this one. But, the Mandalorian read about the planet–and the quarry on it–before landing. 

“This planet is under the jurisdiction of the New Republic, so crime rates are low,” his modulated voice filled your ears once he caught up to you, “You’ll be on your own for this supply run.”

Stopping dead in your tracks, your shoes crunched against the brown substrate underneath them as you turned to face the man, “Really?” You asked, eyebrows shooting towards your hairline.

Mando responded with a hesitant nod. “I have some business to take care of, business that your presence isn’t required for,” the beskar pauldrons lifted and lowered in a shrug, “I figured you would enjoy having free range over the market.”

“Are you sure?” You replied.

He crossed his arms, the muscles in them appearing larger when pressed together. Mando’s helmet cocked to the side and his hip jutted out. The chin of his helmet lifted slightly as it motioned towards the market. “Go before I change my mind.”

Smile spread across your face, you did a hop of excitement in place and continued towards the market.

Trudging along to explore the unfamiliar marketplace, you recalled the previous supply run at a more populated planet.

—

Mando’s finger was perpetually hooked through one of your belt loops as he dragged you from stall to stall with him.

“Mando, I’m not a child,” you told him. Your eyes rolled as he tugged you along, your hips jerking along with the movement of his arm. Sometimes your hands wound up on Mando’s arm to maintain your balance. The muscles underneath your hands hardened and flexed as he maneuvered through the crowd.

“I never said you were,” he stated as his gaze remained focused on the crowd. His eyes constantly scanned the marketplace. Beings of different cultures and origins milled through the alleyway lined with stalls. The crowd of the market was average sized–no hustle and bustle but also no empty stalls. The occasional sound of credits clinking rang throughout the dry air as someone dug into their pocket to pay for their purchase.

You scanned the market just as Mando did, following his metal gaze to try and catch a glimpse at what he was seeing. “Are we in danger?” Your voice dropped to a whisper, uncertain about what’s going on inside that beskar helmet. 

Deadpanning you once again, he responded, “Not that I am aware of.” The T-shape constantly spun on an axis, and the grip of his finger tightened on the fabric of your belt loop.

Brows furrowing, you finally turned your head fully towards him, “Then why are you doing all this?” You gestured with one of your hands up and down his body. His hand jerked to tug you along, your hip following in response.

A large inhale and exhale made his beskar-plated chest rise and fall, “I want to make sure yo-,” he paused, then quickly continued, “Just want to make sure we’re safe.” He nods. The one he gives you when he's confirming something you said. Like his approval of the items you listed to get on a supply run.

Which brings you back to now. Receiving that same nod made a series of connections go off in you. For the past week you’ve been thinking about what he said. His finger tugged your hips with him, his verbal slip-up found its way onto the center stage of your thoughts every night cycle on the Crest.

“I want to make sure yo-.”

It felt like a confirmation.

—

You started as an assistant, helping Mando with whatever he needed. Marketplace runs? Check. Bounty information? Check. Small ship repairs? Check. But, calling someone an assistant sounded…weird to Mando. He didn’t enjoy the air of subordinacy the word possessed. The Mandalorian thought back to his days with his fellow Mandalorians. The covert worked as a team, with no hierarchy. Sure, some people were assigned roles, but no one was above anyone else. Everyone was part of one unit.

You worked on a small, galactically insignificant planet at a small-items repair shop. Mando entered one day with a scope for one of his blasters. Impressed with your knowledge and efficiency–the scope being repaired in less than ten minutes–the Mandalorian inquired about the chances of hiring you. “Partner,” he said with a nod, when he offered you the job, “You’ll be my partner.”

You both met at a cantina after your shift. Mando explained job responsibilities, pay, and the lifestyle that the job required. Sitting across from the man covered in beskar was intimidating. But near the end of your conversation you realized he was just soft spoken. He was also all business. Any conversation was focused on logistics of the job. He didn’t ask you weird personal questions. He respected your skills and your opinions. There were definitely worse bosses to have, you figured. Eager to explore the galaxy and leave behind the little planet, you loaded the Crest with your personal belongings the following week. 

Living in the Razor Crest with Mando was awkward at first. Mando would keep his interactions with you to a minimum. You noticed that he only left the cockpit when he knew you were occupied, asleep, or off of the ship. If he had to be in the same space as you, he would leave at least a meter of distance between your bodies. Like you were two magnets of the same polarity, refusing to go closer to the other.

All business.

But that didn’t stop you from being friendly. Whenever you did see Mando you would offer him a, “How are you?” Or a, “How was your day?” His responses were consistently short and to the point. 

“Fine.”

“Busy.”

“Awful.”

Dinner was when you typically saw him. He would come down to grab a ration pack and scurry back into the cockpit. You also saw him when he returned from hunts, dragging the bounty behind his beskar frame. His grunts echoed throughout the Crest’s hull as he pulled the quarry up and froze him into carbonite. You claimed a small section of the hull as your living quarters, so you had no choice but to watch.

Trying to break the tension, you asked, “How was your day?”

Mando huffed, his broad shoulders covered in beskar lifted and fell, “Nothing you want to hear about,” he deadpanned to you. If he did offer any emotion, it was cut out of his voice by his helmet’s modulator.

“Try me,” you crossed your arms and raised your eyebrows. Leaning back on the cold wall of the hull, your chest thrummed with nervous energy as you waited for his response. Was that too much? Were you just going to push him away?

“Quarry tried to escape and they ran. Would have been back four hours ago,” the modulator gritted out, “Not too fun.” His helmet tilted to the side and he squeezed his hands together that were clasped in front of him.

The Mandalorian’s wide frame took up the majority of the door frame that separates the carbonite room from the hull. Large gloved hands remained clasped together while he shifted in place, eventually settling on leaning against the frame.

You stood still in shock for a couple seconds. If you listened closely you could have heard the hearts beating in the hull. That was the most that Mando has ever said to you at once. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you started.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he brushed past you towards the ladder going up to the cockpit, “It’s my job.”

You turned towards him, which halted his ascent, “That doesn’t mean it sucks any less,” your eyes widened and you tried to backtrack, “sorry, I probably shouldn’t have said that your job sucks,” you blurted out in an attempt to save face.

Mando met your gaze with the T of his visor and replied, “My job does suck.”

Did he just try to be funny? A giggle bubbled out from your chest. His silver helmet shook slightly from side to side and he turned back to climb the ladder. But not before he also let out a small chuckle.

His attitude slowly and steadily transformed after that night. 

Mando lingered in the hull longer in the mornings and in the evenings. The mornings were when you asked, “What’re the plans for today?” And the evenings came with your, “How was your day?”

At one point he started making you a cup of caf every morning when he was awake first, and he usually was. He knew you favored the drink in the mornings so he began to regularly purchase it, and he built up a sizable stash in the Crest.

His preferred distance from you shrunk and shrunk. The broad Mandalorian opted to stand next to you in the mornings, helping you make breakfast as well as he could. Ever-so-subtle brushes as you passed each other on the Crest became more frequent. Sometimes he would touch a hand to your waist as he passed, or on the small of your back if you weren’t facing him.

The beskar warrior spoke more too. He taught you a few words in Mando’a, which consisted of a couple basic words and some insults. 

“Di’kutla,” he spat out as he struggled to repair a part on one of his blasters.

“What’s that one mean?” You asked over your shoulder, looking up from the article you were reading on your Holopad.

Mando huffed in frustration and gritted out, “worthless…stupid,” as he continued to try and force the part off of the blaster.

Chuckling, you repeated the word in your mind and watched as Mando continued to struggle. You stored all of the words he shared with you deep in your brain, not wanting to forget this special part of himself that Mando shared with you.

One of your evening chats came to an end and the broad beskar man was drifting back to this bunk. For the first time, he paused and looked at you. You knew his gaze underneath the helmet met yours. No proof, but you knew.

“Goodnight,” the word gently flowed through his helmet’s modulator. 

He’s said it every night he’s been on the ship since then. Sometimes his gaze lingered on yours too long. A couple times you swore you saw the center of his chest rise, as if he was about to say something, but it stopped mid-exhale and Mando retreated into his bunk.

You found yourself to be increasingly longing for the sound of the ramp descending, signaling his return from a hunt. He trudged up the ramp, quarry in tow. Freezing the person in carbonite was always fast. Usually small pleasantries were exchanged before he used the fresher to clean off. 

If your mind were to venture towards more perverse thoughts, your favorite part was after he used the fresher.

He always emerged in a pair of black pants, a black t-shirt, and of course, his helmet.

No armor. No gloves. Not even the usual long-sleeved layer underneath his t-shirt.

When he turned to toss his clothes into a small hamper, you swore small tufts of dark brown hair peaked out from beneath his helmet. Nevertheless, a combination of factors had you in awe. Watching as Mando hauled the quarry into carbonite like it was nothing. You saw the toned muscles in his arms, developed from decades of finely tuned combat. The broad expanse of his back, rippling underneath his t-shirt. His calloused, capable hands are composed of thick fingers. You were in awe at his physique, his presence, the things he did to provide for the both of you.

And it hit you like a cold, ocean wave just how unafraid of him you were.

As if your fondness towards the Mandalorian couldn’t grow any more, he started returning from supply runs with gifts for you. Although he rarely let you go on runs alone, he did have the decency to give you space during pit stops. You would wander near him while looking at all of the different crafts the stalls had to offer.

One day you were peering at a set of comfortable lounge pants. You managed to whittle your wardrobe down to one set after damaging pair after pair when repairing the Razor Crest. Shoulders slumped, you thought about how comfy the pants would be when sleeping in your makeshift bed on the floor of the Crest. You knew you didn’t have enough credits, so you moved along to purchase the items the pair of you actually needed.

Milling about the market weren’t many people, which was most likely why you were alone on this shopping trip. The brown sands of the marketplace intruded upon the surroundings, leaving dunes of sand curving up and into the stalls. Sun rays blared down from the cloudless sky. Heat already seeped through your airy shirt and throughout your skin, conjuring up a layer of sweat. After visiting four stalls you purchased all of the necessary items. 

Bacta. Soap. Rations. Spare parts. You confirmed each purchase on the receipts from the market. A step you always took to make sure nothing was forgotten.

You met Mando back at the Razor Crest and started unloading your bags. Item after item piled on the center of the ship's floor. Rations. Bacta. Medkits. Sweatpants. Ammo. Ra-.

Sweatpants?

The sweatpants were identical to the ones you stopped and looked at while shopping. Your hands reached for the sweatpants and marveled in their softness. Pausing, your gaze lifted to meet Mando’s T-shaped visor. “Did you buy sweatpants?” Confusion oozed from your voice.

His gaze remained on yours and he replied with a slight nod of his head, “Yes. They’re for you.” 

“Mando, you didn’t ha-”

“Take it. Please. I feel bad enough making you sleep on the floor,” he insisted. His gloved hand gestured to the sleeping pad, pillow, and blanket neatly stored in a corner of the hull. 

“Honestly it hasn’t been that bad. The sleeping pad you got is pretty comfy.” You shrugged and told him the truth. Sleeping on that plush pad was infinitely better than the hull’s cold, metal floor.

“You have to set it up every night. You at least deserve a permanent bed,” his modulator made his words sound like churning gravel.

You stared into the black T covering his face. His shoulders drooped, like he gave up on trying to convince you. The gesture was a silent plea to just accept the gift.

“Thank you,” you said to him softly, “it means a lot.” 

It was his turn to shrug, “That’s why I do it.”

—

Today marks a year since the two of you became “partners”.

For you, that marked a year since you’ve met the man you had a heart throbbing crush on. 

You knew Mando wasn’t much of the sentimental type. Everything he kept was for a purpose. Any sentimental things had extreme meaning to him. If you were reading the situation correctly, you had a burning suspicion that the beskar covered man liked you back. So suggesting you two get matching bracelets at the market wouldn’t be completely farfetched. Even if he didn’t like you back you could just play it off as a gag gift…right?

After trudging across the brown landscape for twenty minutes, Mando at your tail, you arrived at the market. 

“We meet at that stall,” you heard from over your shoulder. Your eyes followed Mando’s finger to a bright red food vendor stall, “in 2 hours. Understood?”

A smile plastered itself onto your face and you gave him a sarcastic salute, “Understood.”

A breathy chuckle passed through Mando’s modulator. He shook his head softly and motioned for you to get a move on. You turned on your heel and walked to your first destination.

—

Bacta? Check. Rations? Check. Soap? Check. Medkits? Check.

The only thing left was a new flight suit for Mando.

As you walked towards the clothing section of the market you stopped at a men’s clothing stall to purchase an extra large black flight suit. Once your transaction was completed you walked further into the alleyway lined with stalls selling dresses, flight gear, loungewear, jewelry, bracelets. Bracelets. 

Your eyes landed on a stall with various fabrics on display. The front tables of the vendor were packed with different colored bracelets. Bracelet materials ranged from metal, leather, twine, thick cord, beads, and some materials you’ve never seen before.

The stall became even more enchanting as you got closer. Signs displayed prices, sizes, and ongoing sales. Immediately your eyes landed on a vast array of multicolored bracelets. You were thinking of getting something green since Mando told you that Grogu is green. 

A couple months ago he told you about how he had to give Grogu to a Jedi to train, since Grogu could use the force. Your heart sank. Mando often turned the metal knob of the thruster–a silver ball–over and over in his hand. He only told you recently that it was Grogu’s favorite thing to steal from him.

Your eyes danced over the section of green bracelets. Some were too dark, some too vibrant, others were just ugly. Finally, your gaze landed on the bracelet.

A fine, light green thread, you assumed somewhat close to Grogu’s color, was intertwined with thicker silver and brown threads. Light green and silver streaked across the rough brown surface of the bracelet. It reminded you of light streaking across the windshield of the Crest while in hyperspace.

This was the one.

Sifting through the different sizes you picked out one in your size and one you guessed would fit Mando. The bracelets were adjustable and hopefully that would help if you got Mando the wrong size. Setting the bracelets down to sift through your pockets for credits, you looked up at a weathered sign displaying the prices.

PRICES

1 bracelet = 15 credits

2 = 30 credits

3 = 45 credits

4 = 60 credits

As you reached into your pockets and retrieved your last credits you realized you didn’t have enough. Only twenty five credits sat in your palm. Not in the mood to haggle with the vendor about the price, your shoulders dropped and you returned the bracelets to their original places.

You checked your watch. One hour left until you met back up with Mando. Making it from one end of the market to the other took forty five minutes, so you figured you could take the scenic route back to the meet up point. Getting to see the new sights could cheer you up after not being able to afford the gift you wanted to get for Mando.

Walking up on a familiar intersection, you opted to take a right this time instead of a left. The path on the right was much more…interesting…than the path on the left. One vendor sold exotic pets. The next sold potions that promised to give the consumer various effects. The next stall was not a stall, it was a large establishment.

The establishment stood tall amongst the surrounding stalls. Solid brick walls were painted a dull gray. A sign with old, faded letters was centered on the front wall between two windows. The tall windows of the building were heavily tinted. Shadows of different figures danced across the glass. Some bodies were indistinguishable from the ones they were next to. Music blared from inside, but it barely covered the sounds of moans and the slapping of skin on skin.

Looking up, front and center on the building reads: BROTHEL

Brothels weren’t a common occurrence on the supply runs you’ve been on, but you suppose the service was in demand. You shrugged and walked past the gray building. The moving bodies in the windows almost allowed your vision to gloss over him.

Tall. Broad. Covered in beskar. A black T shaped visor gazing down at a man.

At first you froze in shock. Was this the business Mando had to attend to? The one that, “didn’t require your presence”? You never pictured the Mandalorian to be a man that required services like these, but he is a man nonetheless.

A soft breeze sent goosebumps down your arms towards your fingertips. Realizing you’re out in the open, you ducked into an empty market stall. A gap in the wood planks making up the stall’s sides gave you a clear view of Mando’s encounter with the mystery man.

The man was in all black with a silver name tag on his chest. By Mando’s serious demeanor you could tell that the conversation was strictly business. The Mandalorian’s helmet tilted in question at the man and Mando pulled out a pen and pad to write on. From the man’s stance and close position to the building you could tell he was the bouncer, plus the presence of a name tag. 

The bouncer pulled out an identical pad and began to speak. You couldn’t hear a word they exchanged, but you could tell Mando was writing down a list. A finger on the bouncer’s hand came up everytime he stated something else from his list. Mando jotted down a few things, closed his pad, and returned it to a pocket in his suit.

Then he reached into a different pocket, pulled out a sizable amount of credits, and handed them to the bouncer.

Did he just buy a night at the brothel?

Your heart dropped to your stomach. Blood rushed towards your head and your vision slightly blurred. You felt stupid. You fell for a guy, pretty much your boss, you don’t even know what he looks like, and he didn’t like you back. You were even going to buy you and him matching bracelets. Breaths exited your mouth in stutters. The realization of how naive you were radiated throughout your being. Mando was just being nice to you. He managed to warm up to you. That’s it. 

But you were also so confused. What were the fleeting touches in the Crest? The gifts he gave you after trips to the market? The early morning and late evening conversations? Feelings bubbled up from your stomach and started to seep out of your body in the form of tears. 

You spent a year getting to know this man. Kriff, it took you a couple months before he started replying to you in full sentences. No one else has experienced Mando like this. You didn’t want anyone else to see his ungloved hands, the rolling muscles of his back in just a t-shirt, the way the helmet softly shook from side to side when he heard a bad joke. Those small, “Goodnight”s, are yours. The modulated chuckles are yours. The way he makes a cup of caf for you on most mornings. That’s yours.

Of course Mando wasn’t yours, but jealousy managed to seep into your bones regardless. 

Zoning back into the situation, you realized Mando started walking back in the direction towards the meet up point. Scrambling to get to your feet, you jumped over the wall of the empty stall and made your way back

—

Upon seeing the size of the bag you carried, Mando slipped it from your grasp and into his. He stuffed a small piece of paper, a receipt, into the bag before swinging it onto his shoulder. 

The walk back to the Razor Crest lacked conversation. Sounds of crunching ground underneath your shoes echoed in your ears. Mando followed your lead and kept the trek speechless.

The Razor Crest steadily became larger and larger on the horizon. Once orange, brown, and red mountain ranges were now painted in hues of pink and purple. Colors of the rocky formations reflected off of the Razor Crest.

You bounded up the ramp as soon as it was lowered. Mando followed suit and began to empty the bag of its contents. Each item fell onto the middle of the hull’s floor.

Bacta. Medkits. Flight suit. Soap. Rations.

The beskar man dug around in the bag for a second more and retrieved a handful of receipts. 

“Here,” he said as he handed them to you, “I know you like to look them over.”

Your stomach flipped at the thoughtfulness. Reaching your hand out, his gloveless fingers brushed yours in the handing off of the receipts. After they were straightened out you began to look through them.

First receipt, bacta and medkits.

Second receipt, rations and soap.

Third receipt, flight suit.

Fourth receipt.

Wait. Fourth receipt?

Your eyes scanned the lines of the flimsy paper. The date was from today, so it wasn’t old. But you didn’t visit the vendor listed on the receipt. Pupils skipping a few lines, you read the items purchased.

ITEMS PURCHASED (1)

CONDOM - 12 PACK

For the second time today you froze. Blood rushed up towards your head as your vision blurred. 

He really just bought a night with a worker at the brothel.

From the little details you had, you tried to make sense of the scene you stumbled across earlier in the night. Mando talked to the bouncer, probably asked who was working that night, wrote down the workers he was interested in, and paid for a night with one of them. I mean, what else could you possibly be talking with a brothel bouncer about? The weather?

Good thing you didn’t buy those bracelets.

PART TWO

[sundrop-writes]

hiya! Might be a bit broad of a request but could I get headcanons with jj x autistic female reader ?

Broad in the sense if I could get hcs of her reacting to reader with autism, how she helps reader with overstimulation and struggling with social cues and noise. If you wanna throw in smut hcs (jj being the dom) i’m also fine with that!

Basically anything with jj and autistic female reader, thanks!

I love this request so much!!! If you want smut/smutty hcs with JJ and autistic reader, definitely feel free to send in a separate request - I will come back for that in another post. For now, I hope you enjoy this!!

Requests are currently - OPEN.

Jennifer Jareau x Fem!Autistic!Reader (Headcanons)

(Warnings: typical CM themes, the reader is described as touch avoidant (with some exceptions); mentions of molestation and murder (related to a case, mentioned in passing); mentions of blood, mentions of someone being shot in the reader's presence. Idk, I don't think there's anything else. Not proofread.)

JJ was raised around everything (neuro)typical, so when she meets you, she doesn't quite get you. Not at first.

You are one of the smartest people on the team - that is why you're there. Your ability to pick up on patterns and bits of detail that others don't see is incredible, and your brain holds mass amounts of obscure information that she could never even dream of knowing.

But you are quirky. More than quirky.

You have difficulty making eye contact, you freak out if someone even motions toward touching you unexpectedly, you have very odd, specific little rituals with your snacks and meals (which JJ does come to find endearing over time) - you go from talking at incredibly fast speeds, blabbering out information to being silent and stoic for long periods of time.

When she finds out that you have autism, she is a bit surprised. She is one of those people who thinks that autism is a disorder related to school aged boys - but you explain to her how it affects your life. How it makes it difficult for you to relate to people, form close friendships, how it's difficult for you to focus on larger 'important' things when smaller details are bothering you.

(It's one of the reasons you're so good at your job - but it also makes it hard to focus on people's words if their shirt is wrinkled and it's distracting you.)

You act cold toward most people on the team, and it's one random day that JJ finally starts to figure you out. A day that you finally warm up to her.

You were helping Morgan escort a suspect out of the police station, to a squad car where he would be driven to jail to be processed. He had confessed to molesting and killing eight boys after being caught with a ninth, and when the father of one of the boys heard the BAU had arrested someone, he came to the police station with a gun.

When the suspect was shot, you were covered in his blood, and in horrible shock from hearing such a loud bang right beside your ear - from feeling the sudden dead weight drop in your arms.

You ran back into the station screaming, and JJ followed her instinct - followed you into the women's washroom, wanting to see if you had been hurt. She was surprised to see you pacing back and forth in front of the sinks, muttering something under your breath.

"L/N." She called out your name, trying to get your attention. "Y/N? Y/N? Hey? Are you hurt?"

You didn't look up, not for a second. But your muttering became louder. And it became more clear what you were saying.

"My pen, my pen, I dropped my pen..."

JJ had no clue why you were so concerned about a pen when you were covered in someone else's blood, your ears likely still ringing from the gunshot - but she knew that you had a pen-clicking habit. It was something that often annoyed Reid and Morgan - but from what she had observed, you did your best work when your thumb was twiddling, clicking the end of your pen insistently. It meant your brain was whirring hard, putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

JJ reached into the breast pocket of her blazer, and took out a pen that clicked on the end.

"Here." She offered it out to you. "You - you can borrow my pen." She said shyly, hoping it would help you calm down.

You extended out a shaking hand, and took the pen, and then began to click it harshly with your thumb. You gripped it so furiously, the skin around your knuckles so tight - but after a moment, you let out a tight breath. And then, for the first time since she had known you - you looked JJ in the eye.

"Thank you." You murmured, your voice ripe with tears.

"Keep the pen." JJ told you, feeling like it was a small consolation if it helped you calm down this much.

You reached up, petting a shaking hand over your face, and pulled back in disgust when you felt the sticky blood.

"Let me help you clean up." JJ said, grabbing some paper towels out of the dispenser and wetting them in the sink.

It was the first time you had ever let her touch you - you clicked the pen the whole time, and from then on, that sound became less of an annoyance and more of a comfort to her.

That was the day she realised one incredibly important thing:

To you, small things matter on such a big scale.

Coffee in your favourite mug instead of a random one she found in the back of the cupboard - that gets a smile out of you. Scones with blueberries instead of raisins - raisins get a shrug at best, blueberries get a giggle and a big 'thank you!'. Organising your files in alphabetical order instead of by date.

You and JJ became close after that day.

She wasn't a profiler, not in training, but she learned to read you like a book.

She knew that you bouncing your knee aggressively meant that you were becoming overstimulated - things in the room too loud, the florescents too bright, the day too overwhelming.

When this happened, she would take you outside for a break - often siting that she herself needed some air and she simply wanted your company. She knew you didn't like to be outwardly babied (who does?), but she also knew that you had a hard time self regulating. You had a hard time deciding when to take yourself out for a break, and if you didn't have one, then you would become irritable, have a hard time focusing, and hardly get any work done.

She also picked up on the fact that you just plain didn't get sarcasm.

Before, she thought you were being cool, or aloof. When someone said something sarcastic and you didn't understand, she thought that you were pretending not to get it in order to snub them or make a joke out of the whole thing.

But during one of your many conversations, you told her that you absolutely didn't understand sarcasm - you didn't get when someone was using a sarcastic tone, and you often took everything people said in its most literal interpretation.

So you and JJ developed a wonderful, silent system - if someone said something and you didn't understand if it was sarcasm right off the bat, you looked to her, and she would nod at you if they were being sarcastic, or shake her head if they were being literal. It was something people on the team picked up on, but nobody said anything about it - they just enjoyed the way you bonded with her, and how your quirky habits were spreading like a delightful little plague.

JJ knew that your life wasn't easy, living with autism, but she always tried to make it a bit easier. Because you were worth it.

Criminal Minds Masterlist

[peachsayshi]

actually going crazy over your last post like i wish i could use better words but it’s actually reduced me to soup for brains rn.

OK BUT imagine all that and include….. forced proximity.

like i have this hc ab having him asigned to you during his transition into the jj world, maybe bc ur technique counters his well somehow? (irrelevant to my horny brain, but i also like to imagine a technique similar to the avatar from atla very ambitious ik, which would include blood bending) and the elders want to be really sure he’s not a threat. so here you are the first few months (im ignoring everything bad going on in the manga lmao) with Choso following you around everywhere bc you’re not allowed to have him out of your sight. can you imagine the first few times he caught on to your “heat” and didn’t know what to do with himself? he can barely get away from you long enough to clear his head and it drives him crazy.

anyways, i could go on forever ESPECIALLY ab Choso, but yeah love your writing and i wanted to share what it made me think of <3

(cw: voyeurism; primal/prey (ish?) )

nonnie, please, let's talk about this some more. choso isn't leaving my head today and I feel like I'm about to go insane.

(ps. the details of your technique countering/balancing choso's is such an amazing idea!! I love that!!)

oh, our poor baby boy. he would be positively frazzled in the beginning - he'd struggle to cope, and look visibly distraught. at first you just think it's an inherent strangeness that he has because he's half cursed spirit. but then you start realizing that this reaction doesn't always happen because there are times when he's completely normal and not like he's been plagued with visceral discomfort.

you like choso. you think he's sweet, a little innocent and naive, but kind overall. he never gave you any reason to doubt that but even you can't deny the dark glimmer in his eye when he looks at you. it's a gaze that he shares with no one else. and the expression on his face, cheeks red with a friendly smile, simply counter the danger that swirls in his irises.

it's a look that makes you want to hide like a bunny scampering away from a lone predator.

of course, you have to tell yourself that you're being foolish. shrugging off your ridiculous nerves when you remind yourself that this is choso you're worrying about.

the man can barely hold it together when yuji shows him one of those adorable cat videos that he finds online. there's no reason for you to be so unnerved by him.

and yet, you're you're hyper aware of how small the space is whenever you're forced to share a room together while away on a mission. you notice that choso, is in fact, quite large and takes up plenty of the space. he's all broad shoulders and ripped muscle; obsidian details contrasting against his smooth, pale canvas. you can't turn without him being in your line of sight.

trapped in a cage of four walls.

it's when you're alone with him that you pay attention to how those eyes deepen, sinking further into the depths of peculiar mystery, revealing a puzzle that you can't seem to decipher. it's when you're alone with them where you realize that sometimes his attention will drop to your lips, or to your breasts. it's when you're alone with him when you feel the pulse of adrenaline reverberate across your skin, goosebumps rising with your heart beating wildly as you ponder whether or not to let your guard down.

he slips up once when you're both away. you swear you felt him breathe in the scent of your perfume against your neck, but choso reacted like nothing was out of the ordinary as you spun on your heel to confront him. his discipline strikes with a twitch of his jaw and a clench of his fist, and he simply fibs that he was looking over your shoulder to observe the mission documents on the table.

his cheeks are blushing furiously now, and it twists your stomach into knots.

he can't possibly...

you shake your head, refusing to reduce his behavior to something so simple as a silly crush.

yes, you both spend a lot of time together, but choso is a death painting womb. he isn't even human. there is no way that he could be feeling those kind of feelings. and especially not with you.

but the thought sits in your head until later that evening, when you're standing in the hotel bathroom. there's an ache in your chest that's spreading down between your legs. you've never actually thought about choso in this capacity, and you don't understand why it's making every nerve tingle.

it's bold of you to make the decision and open the shared bathroom door until it was ajar. to then step into the steamy shower, the silhouette of your enticing, captivating curves a print for the wolf to track. and you can't help but wonder as warm droplets trickle over your soft, delicate skin...if he's standing there right now, and observing you patiently from the shadows.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Broken Glass Chapter 11.1 💔🥂❤️‍🩹

Thank you so much for your patience as I got this up on different platforms due to unforeseen life crap! 💗 Okay, so Chapter 11 got a bit away from me length wise, so for sanity's sake (and so I can make some more revisions to some much-anticipated sexy times 🤭), I am posting part one of the chapter instead of making y'all wait any longer.

Some major, life-altering things went down in Chapter 10 and this chapter from Lori's perspective deals with a bit of the reality and consequences of that. (You can refresh your memory here if you need to!) We jump back in the next morning. She's got A LOT of feels going on in this chapter leading into some more twists and turns in 11.2, so the ending of this might feel a bit abrupt since it will all be part of the same chapter. Sorry!

Also, please excuse my alterations of some of the recording dates a bit to serve the story!

Anyway, as always. I can't wait to hear what you think! 💋

Loves and kisses, Madi xoxoxoxo 💗

TW: So many angsty feels, the Colonel, pregnancy and related symptoms, fear of miscarriage, Elvis and his endless PDA...smut to come in part 2 🤭

Broken Glass Chapter 11.1

“You’re what?!”

You wince at the way Tom Parker spits the words out, his shock and ire so palpable it feels like a slap to the face. The anxiousness skyrocketing through you, paired with the rapid beat of your heart knocking against your ribs, leaves you unable to look at the man, but you know he’s furious.

“We’re getting married. As soon as possible,” Elvis repeats firmly, grabbing your hand and squeezing. It seems unconscious the way he steps slightly in front of you, as if shielding you from the older man’s anger. You appreciate the gesture. No one, save for your mother, has ever protected you.

Elvis sounds so steadfast and sure about all of it. He’s a better actor than people give him credit for, but this performance is going above and beyond anything you’d assumed he was capable of.

Or maybe he means it.

Your heart flips, just the way it did last night when he asked you to marry him.

The last 24 hours have gone and changed everything so quickly that your head is still spinning. The moment when Elvis kneeled on the bathroom floor with you, wiped away your sick, and offered to fix everything, it felt so very real. There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in his eyes.  

And despite it being an arrangement born out of necessity and not love, it was nothing like Gianni’s horrific proposal.

Your stomach turns at the memory of that nightmare before Parker’s voice cuts through, bringing you back to the task at hand.

“What in God’s name has gotten into you, boy?” The beady-eyed man glares around Elvis’ broad shoulders at you. You resist the urge to shiver under his accusatory gaze. “Did you threaten to go to the press, young lady? Is this about money?”

“Hey, now, Colonel,” Elvis says, deceptively calm, but his voice is low with warning. “It’s not like that at all. And you best mind your tone.”

Parker’s eyes flicker to Elvis with an edge of surprise, taking in Elvis’ protective stance and words in silence. You get the impression Elvis hasn’t stood up to the man before, not like this, anyhow. The crackle of tension in the air has you all on edge.

The older man’s eyes narrow shrewdly, and you worry you won’t be able to pull this off. You’ve observed enough in the last month to understand the influence he has over Elvis, the slight manipulations he wields, pushing Elvis right where he wants him.

Parker looks at you with scrutiny. He takes you in from head to toe. Your breath catches in your throat and you want nothing more than to disappear and pretend the last day was a dream. But you cannot. Forcing yourself to hold his stare, you remind yourself of everything at stake here.  

There is no doubt in your mind he will throw you to the wolves the moment he senses anything amiss, the moment you threaten the image of his star client. So it has to be crystal clear you are here to stay, even though it makes you sick to lie.

But there are much worse things than white lies waiting for you out in the world. And as heartbroken and shocked as you are about this baby, you already know you’ll do anything to protect it.

You aren’t even conscious of the way your hand splays over your stomach, not until Parker’s eyes freeze there. His eyes snap up to yours and then to Elvis.

“Oh, you didn’t,” Parker groans. “Christ, I picked this one specifically because I thought she was smart enough not to fall into bed with you the minute you two were alone. Turns out she’s smarter than I gave her credit for—she managed to ensnare you and ensure she’d always be tied to Elvis Presley,” he spits.

Your cheeks flame hot with the accusation, and you can’t hold back your gasp at his insinuation, even though it shouldn’t be a surprise.

Elvis squeezes your hand tight and points at Parker, his eyes stormy and livid. “Don’t you dare blame her for this! On the train, you made it clear how she needed to improve her ‘attitude’ towards me and I told ya not to worry. Well, I took care of it,” he shrugs flippantly.

You try not to gape at his blasé attitude, wanting to trust Elvis to do what he needs to make this convincing.

“You damn well know I didn’t mean ‘get her pregnant’!” Parker hisses. “And we had this talk when you were just starting out! I know you know better than to—”

“I’m in love with her,” Elvis interrupts with such conviction your stomach swoops and you need to school your face to look like you aren’t amazed by how truthful his statement sounds. The earnestness on his handsome face takes your breath away.

Tom looks sorry for him. “Oh, son, we both know how easily you fall in love. But I don’t think you understand the gravity or responsibility of starting a family. What it’ll do to your image. Girls want you unattached and available, and they’re the ones buying the records."

From anyone else, it might be imbued with caring and concern, but coming from Parker, it is backhanded and insulting with the way he talks down to Elvis, as though he were still a 19-year-old kid instead of a 25-year-old man. But he does it with the finesse of a snake charmer.

You watch Elvis carefully as he recoils a bit, an innocence flashing over his features you’ve only seen in his most vulnerable moments making a quick appearance. For a second, you are terrified he’ll cave and you’ll have to pack your bags and head West after all. Thankfully, he blinks it away, steeling himself with the stubbornness which usually drives you crazy but just might work in your favor today.

“We’re in love. We’re gettin’ married, and that’s all there is to it.” It comes out as a growl and the sound reaches down to your toes.

Parker shakes his head, grasping at anything to control his client. There’s a carefully veiled desperation in his voice which barely conceals the threat he now lobs at Elvis: “This’ll ruin you, boy! What will your father do when the money is gone, hmm? Your cousins? Your friends? That big house you bought your mother? It’ll all be gone.”

Elvis looks as though he’s been slapped. But not you. Life has made you good at reading people, at seeing through men like this. Perhaps it is the fact you are running on adrenaline or because you have so much to lose, but you find yourself furious at Parker for speaking this way to Elvis.

 “And after everything I’ve done to ensure your success, you’d throw it all away for—”

“How?” You barely register you’ve spoken until Parker’s glare lands on you.

Elvis looks down at you with surprise. It wasn’t part of the plan for you to interject; Elvis thought he could handle Parker on his own.

“How exactly will getting married and having a family ‘ruin’ him? Last I checked, you weren’t a young woman. How do you know it won’t help him? His audience is growing up and getting married, so why can’t he?” you say, a fierceness you usually rely on at work slicing through your nervousness.

“Young lady, you best shut your mouth before you get yourself in more trouble than you’re already in,” Parker seethes.

“You don’t talk to her that way!” Elvis yells, stepping in front of her, pointing in the older man’s face.

Parker looks taken aback, and you wonder if Elvis has ever stood up for himself the way he’s standing up for you now.

Your heart beats in double time, but you gently put your hand on Elvis’ arm to bring it down. His eyes are blazing but they catch yours and you breathe in slowly, hoping he follows your lead. Once he doesn’t look like he’s going to launch himself at Parker, you speak.

“I was going to be around for the foreseeable future anyhow, isn’t that right? Perhaps much longer based on what the doctor said,” you say, miraculously keeping the tremble out of your voice. “It is easier—and more proper—to explain a wife being by his side than a long-term girlfriend living in his house, yes?”

Parker scoffs but doesn’t speak.

“And there’s nothing more young ladies like me want more than weddings and babies, even more so when the groom is the most handsome and charismatic man on the planet, one they want the best for. They will look at pictures of us and imagine themselves as me, I’d bet. And the men will be much less threatened by the family man who served his country and might come around, too,” you continue with fervor, surprised at how easy it is to be assertive when it’s Elvis you are fighting for.

“It doesn’t matter if he is married or has a thousand babies, Mr. Parker. As long as Elvis is alive and keeps doing what he was born to do, they will flock to him because he is an incredibly talented, gorgeous, and kind man. My being by his side won’t change that one little bit. In fact, a wedding will be free publicity for his comeback album, I’d imagine.”

A breath wooshes out of you now your speech is finished. Your fists squeeze to hide the tremor in your hands. Silence hangs heavy and you shift uncomfortably on your feet, but you force yourself to hold Parker’s eyes.

At first, he looks at you with something akin to shock, which quickly morphs into a smirk as he throws a cigar in his mouth, considering your words, perhaps. He holds the silence and your gaze much longer than he should, and you know it’s a show of dominance. You’ve seen a similar look on the men in la famiglia when they seek to intimidate.

It equally makes you want to stand your ground and shirk back into the woodwork. You don’t want him to win, but you also know you must play a role here, and a man like him will want any good idea to seem like his own. You lower your eyes in faux deference.

“Well, Elvis, we may be able to salvage this yet,” Parker purrs, gumming the end of the cigar.

Elvis’ eyes haven’t left you since your speech—you know because you feel them boring into you—but it’s not until you look back up at those depthless blues that you see the unabashed way he’s staring.

He looks at you like he’s smitten. Like you are everything he could ever need. And he’s blushing as if bashful about what you said. His movie star gaze pins you to the spot, with his bedroom eyes at half-mast and his full lips falling open like he’s going to say something.

You would love to be able to say it didn’t make your heart flip over and your knees a little weak to be looked at like this by him; in fact, you are going to chalk it up to your hormones because this is all part of the act, you are sure.

It’s almost painful, the way you tear your eyes away from him to look at your shoes. Suddenly you are winded and exhausted.

He’s just a patient. Maybe even a friend after everything you’ve been through together this past month. A better actor than anyone gives him credit for.

Madone, I will not swoon over a man just because he’s good at pretending he loves me.

Elvis may have acted like a spoiled, sullen child the days prior to arriving back at Graceland, but you’d never in your life seen had a man so entirely consumed with your wellbeing once he knew something was wrong with you. No man had ever treated you with such care.

A swell of emotion sits like a lump in your throat when you think about his proposal. What he’s giving up to save you. To save your baby.

And he’s been so earnest it makes it hard to compartmentalize the fact this arrangement is a quid pro quo and not some romantic folly. Your mind knows this, but your heart is having trouble keeping up. It doesn’t help when he is looking at you like you hung the moon. Like you are precious and beautiful. Like you matter.

You clear your throat and look away, feeling the blush spread across your cheeks. Then, a wave of overwhelm threatens to consume you. Everything in your world has been upended in the last 24 hours, and on top of that, you still have a job to do, yet your body is fighting you every step of the way.

Pregnant.

Your stomach lurches, but you swallow the toast you’d managed to eat earlier back down. Now is not a moment to appear weak by losing your breakfast all over the floor.

Parker is sizing up the both of you, chewing on the end of his cigar like a cow chewing on cud. It makes you want to squirm, yet you force yourself to remain still.

Elvis grips your hand reassuringly, sensing your discomfort. “It’s early, so that means we should do this as soon as possible, yeah?” He says it as if asking, as if the two of you hadn’t already decided it. You can’t quite tell if he’s asking for approval or if he’s smart enough to know it will go over better if the old man thinks it’s his decision. Either way, it seems to work.

“Mmm, yes. Though some are already going to assume the reason based on your impatience,” Parker counters, pointing at your belly.

“Let ‘em think what they want. But I want it public. I want everyone to know who I’m spendin’ the rest of my life with,” Elvis says definitively.

Parker looks at him and narrows his eyes. “Are you sure, my boy? It’s quite the gamble.”

“Didn’t get where we are by always playin’ safe, did we, Colonel?” Elvis counters.

“Hmm, I suppose not,” he replies after another long moment of scrutiny, “and I know you like to charge ahead without looking, but if we give them too much at once, they might be too ravenous. And we must control the narrative.”

Parker looks at your hand. “Get her a pretty ring, then go out and about and be seen. Tell your boys, your family, but no one else. Let them start talking.” His mind starts whirring, you can tell by the gleam in his eye. “We’ll sell an exclusive to the highest bidder, with terms to run the story along with the release of the album. We’ll push the release up, but that means you need to get up to Nashville in the next few days and finish cutting the record. With singles, RCA is going to need…” He pauses to do the math. “At least 11 or 12 more songs to have enough. You think you can do that, son? With everything going on?” The challenge is clear, but you are surprised to hear concern in his voice, too. Elvis is an ill man, after all, despite how gallant he is.

Elvis nods. “Yessir, I’ll get it done.” There isn’t a lick of doubt in his words.

You, however, are worried it’ll be too much for him. It’s a lot of pressure for anyone on a good day, but for Elvis, this could be dangerous. He’s already been pushing himself to the limit with his childish behavior in Florida. You want to say as much, but Elvis must know what you are thinking because he shoots you a stern look before you can get the words out of your mouth.

“Well, then, when you get back, we’ll have a small ceremony at Graceland. A church wedding is out of the question. Safety, timing, you understand,” Parker adds, shooting you a look like he’s sorry when you both know he is anything but.

You swallow and nod, but a snake of disappointment runs through you, nevertheless. You’d been raised to expect a Catholic ceremony but realize it wouldn’t be possible anyway. Elvis isn’t Catholic. In fact, you aren’t sure what religion Elvis is. The fact you don’t know sinks in your gut.

There is so much you don’t know about the man you’re about to marry.

But he’s not Gianni, you think. And he’s willing and able to give my baby the life it deserves.

And that is enough. It has got to be. Arranged marriages still happen every day—this is no different. A love match was never in the cards for you anyway. Not with your father and Gianni in the picture.

He may drive you crazy at times, but at least with Elvis, you and the baby will be safe and cared for.

You’ll just have to quell any expectations he will see you as more than his nurse. Or more than one of the many girls just passing through.

I shouldn’t have kissed him last night.

You blush at the memory. It was a moment of weakness, but you’d been so overcome with gratitude, shock and relief, you’d let your emotions get the best of you. It was too revealing, too vulnerable, considering your roller coaster of emotions recently regarding him.

It hadn’t helped he’d kissed you back with such commitment. Like he truly wanted you.

It scared you. But you’d backed away instantly after accepting his proposal, convincing yourself the look in his eyes was nothing more than friendly and then busied yourself with putting your clothes back into his—your—closet. Then you’d used your very real exhaustion as an excuse to go right to bed after that, ignoring the gnawing feeling of want in your heart.

Elvis would never love a woman like you. A woman who’s been chewed up and spit out by horrible men, a far cry from the actress and model beauties he is used to. He is a good man, helping a woman in need out of the kindness of his heart, out of a need of his own self-preservation, but you best keep reminding yourself that pity and helpfulness is not love.  

Lest you get too caught up in the fairytale you are spinning for the world, you remind yourself that once things settle down, arrangements will need to be made for him to get his other needs met.

It wouldn’t be the first or last time a powerful, famous man had dalliances, after all. They would just need to be discreet.

The thought makes your heart ache and tears prick at the back of your eyes, though you instantly try to push away the uncomfortable feeling. You don’t have time or energy to waste on such nonsense.

It takes a moment to realize the men have stopped talking and are looking at you as though waiting for a response.

“I’m sorry, what?” you say, shaking off your thoughts.

“I asked if you had any family or girlfriends that could assist you in preparations? You’ll need to get a dress and have any family travel in to be here after you get back from Nashville,” Parker says with a raised brow.

Your heart sinks. “Oh, no. There’s no one,” you say, trying not to sound as full of regret as you feel. The few friends from nursing school you had weren’t close enough to stand with you, and while you’d love to have your brothers come, there is no way to do so without alerting your father. And you feel absolutely sick at the idea of him being anywhere near you or Elvis.

Elvis looks at you with surprise. You hadn’t told him directly about the issues with Pop, but you assume he at least expected you to have friends. It’s pathetic, to be sure, but this was the reason you’d agreed to work for him in the first place. You are alone in the world.

Swallowing thickly, you hold your head high, even so.

Elvis, thankfully, takes your cue. “I’m sure Patsy would love to help,” he says with a gentle smile, pulling you into his side, his hand resting high on your waist. His double first cousin had been kind to you in the interactions you’ve had, so you suppose she will do.

You nod in response, hyperaware of the warmth of his hand radiating through your dress. It steadies you, tingling the skin beneath, and his closeness is a welcome anchor in this uncharted territory.

“Well, then, by this time next week, you’ll be newlyweds. I trust you’ll be able to continue to take care of Elvis despite your condition, Miss Cannava?” Parker asks under a veil of concern, but the accusation is palpable.

“I have no intention of shirking my duties, Mr. Parker. I want Elvis to be as healthy as possible.”

“Please, call me Colonel,” he says, an edge in his tone that lets you know your refusal to call him Colonel annoys him. But as much as you want to rub it in, you know you need him on your side.

“Of course, Colonel,” you respond, forcing a smile on your face. “And know I’ll continue to do whatever it takes to help Elvis keep doing what he wants to do.”

“I hope that’s true, young lady,” Parker says, “for everyone’s sake.”

You swallow down the threat, adding to your already churning stomach.

*

April 3rd, 1960

Nashville, TN

“Ready, Elvis?” the engineer up in the booth buzzes in over the com.

“Yeah,” he replies, shooting you a cheeky smile and a waggle of his eyebrows as he steps up to the mic.

You roll your eyes back at him, trying not to show just how much you are appreciating his presence. The secrets you two now share have matured him. You can’t help but worry about the dark circles rimming his eyes, though it is a bit unfair how it somehow only enhances his handsomeness.

Even so, he has been remarkably steadied and attentive these past few days, considering everything going on.

It is a godsend for you. Your nerves are fraying at the edges and more than ever, you want a cigarette, but you know Elvis won’t have it. Considering what he’s doing for you and this baby, you are happy to oblige him on this, despite your cravings.

With everything you’ve gone through in your life, you pride yourself on moving through adversity—for surviving as best you can—without falling apart. But since you returned from Florida, all bets have been off.

Along with putting on the performance of a lifetime in hiding your pregnancy, you’ve also needed to play the gleeful fiancée—a role that hardly feels natural for you, even if your relationship wasn’t a farce. A thousand other girls would be beside themselves to take your place, but for you it’s different. It’s like the ground is constantly moving underneath your feet and you are holding on for dear life, trying to stay upright.

It doesn’t help that your feelings for Elvis are rapidly slipping out of your control. While his poor behavior in Florida tempered them by the time you arrived back in Tennessee, his gallant actions since then, coupled with your exhaustion, have blurred the lines completely. Every touch, every knowing glance, every concerned look sends a cascade of tingles through your body.

You want to blame the pregnancy, you really do, but you aren’t sure you can at this point. Each sliver of attention and affection from him is peeling away the armor you’ve got around your heart, and you don’t have the mental or physical energy to keep rebuilding it.

It’s a recipe for getting your heart broken.

Your fingers twist nervously, still unused to the engagement ring now on your left hand. After telling him about Gianni’s gaudy monstrosity, you’d begged Elvis to keep it simple; he’d reminded you he has a standard to uphold. The compromise was a stunning ring with three large, round stones—a diamond in the middle, with blue sapphires on either side, surrounded by smaller baguette and single cut diamonds in a white gold setting.

You wanted to hate it, solely for its extravagance, but when he had shown you the piece ahead of the “surprise” proposal you both had planned for after dinner last night, you couldn’t drudge up an ounce of dislike. He’d looked so concerned about pleasing you, telling you over and over he could take it back if you didn’t like it, but frankly, it was one of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry you’d ever laid eyes on. It was elegant and sparkling, and the uniqueness of the sapphires set it apart. It didn’t take much acting to “ooh” and “ahh” when he’d gently placed it on your finger in front of his friends and family, cementing the reality of this strange situation. A flock of butterflies had erupted in your stomach as though he really had proposed, like the proud but blushing smile on his face was really because of his love for you and not an act.

Your ring catches your eye for the millionth time today and the sapphires suddenly remind you of Elvis’ eyes. How deep and endless they seem. There is no stopping the flipping of your heart.

Oh, Madone, it’s just a ring, you chide yourself. But it doesn’t stop you from twisting it around your finger again and again like a touchstone.

After a bit of back and forth, a heavy bass line and rhythmic snapping starts, jerking your attention to Elvis. The stripped-down jazzy sound is immediately recognizable—a Peggy Lee hit from a few years ago. Your brow quirks in surprise.

The slow grin spreading across Elvis’ face is sinful as he sinks into the music.

He wanted you in the studio from the start this time around, citing you as his “good luck charm.” Part of you balked at that. The other part was flattered. After the last two times you’d watched him come alive while performing, something deep inside you awakens right alongside the beat, scaring you in its intensity.

Never know how much I love you, never know how much I care…

He starts singing. It’s quiet and deceptively relaxed, but you know him well enough now to understand he’s a live wire under it all. And that makes it even more enticing when he locks his eyes on yours, singing the words directly to you.

You give me fever…

His voice skitters across your skin, lighting fires as it goes. After the beat drops, his limbs shiver with the drums and the movement feels directly connected to the shiver running down your spine.

And he’s just warming up.

Every line, coupled with the sultry timbre of his voice, drowns you further into the depths of his eyes. They don’t let you go for the entirety of the first take. Your face is flaming, your hands gripping the edge of your seat because it feels like he’s about to eat you alive.

Madre di Dio…you’d let him. Willingly.

He wakes out of the spell he’s seemingly cast partway through the second take. You watch him whistle and blink a few times, coming back to himself. He’s slightly more unsure through the third, but regains his original focus by the fourth, sliding into the take like he’s been singing the song his whole life.

You can’t help but feel this is an intimate moment you shouldn’t be privy to, when he homes in on you once again. You are barely breathing the entire last take, a throbbing pulse consuming your heart along with your belly, something liquid and warm heating the core of you.

When he grits out: When her daddy tried to kill him, she said ‘Daddy, oh don’t you dare’, you hold back a gasp, wanting desperately to squirm in your seat to relieve some of the pressure in your body you don’t have any idea what to do with.

Perhaps it is because the line hits so close to your own experience, but it is as if he’s channeling you. Or channeling into you. You aren’t sure anymore, other that you are combusting from the inside out by the end of the song.

What a lovely way to burn… he repeats again and again, and trails off, finally.

Indeed.

He comes out of his near-trancelike state, bringing you with him and you are suddenly not at all sure you’ll make it through the next few days of recording.

How did you forget what happened last time you were in this room with him? With everything that had happened since, you suppose it’s not that outlandish, but those feelings of want, of need, seep back into your bloodstream just like the last time he sang to you in Miami, and here in this very room just a few weeks ago.

Seems like a lifetime ago…

Forcing yourself to breathe, you think maybe you’ll have a reprieve with the next song, but the bluesy Like a Baby is so sultry it does absolutely nothing to quell the fire in your veins. It doesn’t help he looks positively proud of himself every time he drinks you in, gauging your reaction, with every word he sings to you.

The seductive quality of it all is so overwhelming you need to excuse yourself to the restroom the moment the final take is cut. You clutch your trembling hands, splashing cool water across your rosy cheeks.

Get it together, Lori. He’s just doing his job.

Letting out a shuddering breath, you feel an unusual slickness between your thighs that sends your heartrate skyrocketing.

Oh, God—the baby.

Frantically, you hoist your skirt, pull down your stockings, and examine your underwear for any sign of blood. Panic slices through you until you discover you aren’t bleeding or miscarrying—it’s only a clear, slick discharge you’ve not had before. Something hormonal, no doubt, due to the changes in your body.

Then you realize you are relieved.

Your heart stutters.

You’re not sure you should be relieved. If this pregnancy ended naturally, it would save all of you a heap of trouble. It would mean you might be able to put the memory of Gianni’s cruelty behind you. It would mean Elvis wouldn’t have to settle for you. You could break off the engagement easily enough at this point.

But the thought of losing the baby, of losing Elvis, makes your heart ache so much tears spring to your eyes.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

You can’t want to actually marry Elvis. You barely know him. God knows you don’t feel ready to start a family, especially out of such horrid circumstances.

Then why does the idea of losing it all break your heart?

Sniffling, you look in the mirror and hold back the tears starting to well in your eyes.

It’s just hormones. Your body is just protecting itself and the baby, nothing more, you say in your calm and collected nurse voice. Nothing more.

Because anything more means perhaps your feelings for Elvis have truly gone beyond what you can handle right now.

Scrunching your eyes shut, you pray to understand the purpose of any of this. Why Elvis feels more like home than anywhere else, despite his sometimes infuriating nature. Why he has to be so alluring and charismatic.

Why the thought of being without him is untenable at this point, and not just because of Gianni or the baby.

It’s just a crush—a silly little crush.

No.

He’s all I have, you realize.

Of course, you feel connected to him. Right now, he is consuming your life and drawing out a safe future for the both of you. He is the only one truly in your corner. You may not know him completely, but he has not deserted you or thrown you back to your father. He is deep in this with you.

He could’ve easily fired and discarded you and been right to do so.

But for some reason, he did not.

A shuttering breath makes your chest heave. You can’t bring yourself to examine why that might be and you push away the thing you are most loathe to admit. The thing that makes pretending with him so very difficult, yet so sweet at the same time.

Shaking your head, you wipe your eyes, and straighten your spine. You powder your nose and reapply your lipstick. You put yourself back together, locking up the feelings you are trying so hard to fight.

Looking in the mirror, you see a young woman ready to do what she needs to do to survive.

Ignoring the headache brewing behind your eyes, you paste on a cordial smile and venture back to the studio. The light is on because they are recording, so you sit outside until it flashes off. You stand, brush off your skirt, and reach for the doorknob but it whips open before you can grasp it.

Gasping, your heart leaps in surprise as Elvis fills the doorway, looking a tad frantic.

“Little Bird, are you okay?” he asks, brow furrowed. He grasps your shoulders gently, taking you in as though you might be hurt. He thumbs your chin and looks into your eyes. “You disappeared on me.”

You bite your lip, concealing the smile wanting to appear at the fact he noticed you were gone.

“I was feeling a bit queasy,” you murmur. It’s not a lie, but not the whole truth, either.

The pad of his thumb brushes over your cheek. Your heart thumps and you look down to avoid the intensity of his gaze, lest he see more than you want him to.

“Let’s get you back to the hotel then, darlin’.”

“I’m fine,” you brush him off, “And I won’t leave you. You look tired. How are you feeling?”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re tryin’ to change the subject, little one,” he muses. His hands find your waist, burning through your dress. “I am tired. Let’s call it quits for the night.”

Your mouth pops open and your eyes narrow with suspicion. “Has hell frozen over? Elvis, you’ve hardly cut three songs, and the Colonel said—”

“I heard the Colonel, but I’m tellin’ ya it’s time to go.” There’s an edge to his voice, warning you his mood is shifting. “And I’m doin’ what I promised by knowin’ my limits.”

“Okay, I’m just surprised is all. I’m used to you fighting me like a stubborn goat,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood. You can’t discern if he’s doing this for your sake or his, however. Perhaps it doesn’t matter if it gets the job done.

His cheeks are flushed, so you feel his forehead with the back of your hand. “I suppose you do feel a bit warm,” you concede. “Alright, let’s go get some rest, then.”

He nips at your hand playfully as you bring it down, pulling you closer. The flirtation has you blushing and you resist the urge to giggle, rolling your eyes instead. You can’t help but notice there is no one to perform for but remind yourself he’s just an overly affectionate guy. It means nothing.

“Hey, EP, you comin’?” Charlie yells from inside the room.

“Naw, we’re heading out. I’m tired,” Elvis says, giving you a wink.

Charlie sputters but recovers quickly, gathering the group as Elvis entwines his fingers with yours and heads out to the car.

He doesn’t let you go until you arrive back at the hotel, safe in the room you share.

Something is building between you two. You can feel it in the care of his touch, in the warmth filling your chest and your belly with each beat of your heart. It’s in his eyes as he sits on the edge of the bed, releasing the mask he wears for the rest of the world as you check his vitals.

He is tired and a little feverish. You are proud of him for following through on taking better care of himself, even if you think it is because he is looking out for you and not himself. You give him a quick little smile before turning to put away the blood pressure cuff.

“I wish you’d do that more.”

“Do what?” you ask.

“Smile. I don’t think you realize how beautiful you are when you do it,” he says, low and quiet.

It rumbles through you like thunder, your heart skipping a beat. You pay special attention to clasping your bag closed, unable to look at him but feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Elvis—” you whisper.

“I want you to be happy,” he interrupts.

You sigh with the weight of your circumstances pressing on your shoulders, still unable to meet his eyes.

“But I understand why that’s hard right now. I jus’…I-I w-want you to know I’ll do whatever I can to make things easier on ya. Because you deserve to have more of those pretty smiles.”

The clasp of your bag becomes blurry and your throat tight. You clench the leather and force a deep breath. Tilting your head up to blink back the tears, you clear your throat before you can attempt to look at him.

Why does he have to say things like that? It makes it harder to resist the pull you feel towards him. You are teetering on the very edge of being professional and he seems keen to push you over, whether he knows it or not.

“Thank you,” you finally manage out, though so many words linger unsaid on the tip of your tongue. You meet his eyes and fireworks erupt over your skin at the way he looks up at you so openly. The air is sucked out of the room, deathly still, like before a summer thunderstorm. It leaves you buzzing and dizzy.

He stands, slowly, as if not to startle you, and steps forward. With each inch closer he gets, the air shifts, beginning to crackle with electricity. Your heart gallops faster. If he touches you, you are done for, you just know it. The lightning burning bright inside of him has the power to wreak irrevocable havoc on you. And you cannot afford to let your feelings get in the way of your survival because when he breaks your heart, which you know he will, you will have nowhere to go.

You have the baby to think of now. It is easier to sit in the discomfort of your complicated feelings than in the pain of the inevitable heartbreak that will come when he realizes you’re just like any of his other women—you’re replaceable, at least romantically. And God knows you’ve had too much pain in your life related to the whims of men to add more.  

The air sizzles as he reaches for you, tempting you to burn with his touch. Part of you wants to burn—the deep heat swirling unbidden low in your belly dares you to let him—but you jump back out of instinct.

“I-I should get ready for bed,” you stutter, racing to your suitcase to grab your nightgown before hightailing it to the bathroom and slamming the door harder than you intended. You think you hear him chuckle as you lean back on the door to catch your breath.

Your body shakes but not out of fear of him. No, it’s like you’ve refused it something vital and it quakes with the need of release. Like the crack of lightning in him would bring the relief of rain, cutting the heat between you.

It doesn’t make sense. You’ve never felt this before, but you know it is dangerous. Lightning is beautiful but deadly, after all.

As you stumble your way through your bedtime routine, you realize in a few short days, the storm of a man out there will be your husband. And one more boundary between you you’ve relied on to keep you on solid ground will be gone.

And one look in the mirror at the exhaustion lining your features, you wonder if it is too late; perhaps the coming storm is inevitable and will tear you to pieces no matter what you do.

There are worse ways to perish than in the arms of Elvis Presley.

*

The swell of electricity doesn’t go away. It abates some, at times, but your body is hellbent and hyperaware of Elvis’ every move, of every breath he takes.

You desperately want to blame your job—you’re supposed to be observant of him, after all—or the changes in your body because of the baby, but the waves of rolling thunder build under your skin despite the physical space he is trying to give you.

The marathon of a session on Monday does not make things better. You’d hoped it would be a distraction. He needs to be completely focused to bang out at least nine more songs to finish the album. There will be no time for anything but music.

Except you somehow forget music fuels him and makes him glow from the inside out. Instead of dissipating, the storm just builds and builds, like wild thunderheads in the sky. He lives each song so completely, expertly maneuvering through mournful ballads and bouncing pop and raunchy blues like he was born to do. It’s mind-bending and alluring, and every time he draws you in, it feels like he’s singing directly to you, about you.

He's enjoying himself, despite the long hours. Completely in his element. And electricity zings though your body during the playful moans at the end of Such a Night. By the Thrill of Your Love, you think you might combust.

And he knows it, by the sparkle in his eyes and the pull of his defiant but tempting upper lip. He wasn’t offended by the boundary you set last night in the slightest, giving you the physical space you desperately needed unless needed to keep up the ruse of your engagement. But everything he does, every lyric he sings, every twitch of his body, makes you feel as though you are swirling out of control. The more he respects your need for physical space, the more you want him to box you in.

He's doing just that, just not with his body.

You are completely on edge when not absorbed in his performance and technique. God, what an idiot you were to think he wasn’t talented. His stint in Germany only served to strengthen his craft. The world isn’t ready for this new and improved Elvis. Girls will be beside themselves.

You just never thought you’d be one of them.

By the time he gets to the last song, he can’t stave off how tired he’s getting. The marathon session has taken all night and into the dawn. He lets everyone know he’s not entirely convinced he should even sing this Are You Lonesome Tonight? but the Colonel, along with Steve, the RCA rep, press him.

Worry for Elvis’ wellbeing has you voicing your concern, but the men look at you as if you are a silly little girl and not a professional. It takes a moment to remember the only one who really knows your role here is Parker, and despite nearly being asleep on your feet, you are ready to go toe to toe with him. Elvis concedes to his manager, however, before shooting you a look and running his hands down your arms to placate you. The long touch of him distracts you enough to lessen your annoyance for the moment.

This last song is the only time he kicks you out of the room, along with everyone except the musicians, but you manage to sneak into the booth to listen. You can’t see anything through the window because he’s ordered all the lights be turned off, but the result has goosebumps rising all over your body with the emotionally eerie but gentle lilt of his performance.

By the end, tears are streaming unbidden down your cheeks, though you aren’t entirely sure why. You race to wipe your cheeks before the lights pop back on, but he catches your eye through the window and swell of emotion rises again.

You know you are careening quickly towards something beyond your control. The pregnancy is one thing pushing you towards the edge, but this new arrangement with Elvis, the intimacy involved, has your heart racing with both curiosity and fear. It is all so far out of your experience but there is no real choice. It is whatever this new normal is or running for your life.

Being off kilter and filled with feelings you don’t understand is uncomfortable, but you’ll take it versus the alternative, though you can’t help the fear you’ve put Elvis in terrible danger crawling at the edges of your mind.

It’s this that keeps you alert as you all board the bus to head back to Memphis after a quick diner breakfast. Elvis is dying on the vine, the energy of performing all night taking its toll. The darkness around his eyes and the pallor of his skin tells you everything you need to know, but his limbs twitch restlessly all the way home, even when he doses, curled up into you with his head on your shoulder. It’s as if he can’t shut it off even when he is completely drained.

It’s too much for him. Your anxiety builds and builds in the hours it takes to return to Graceland. You are worrying your lips raw between your concern for him and the position you’ve put him in. Guilt swirls in your stomach, making your carsickness worse.

On top of it, your body is desperate to be close to him, as though his presence is a balm to your burdens, but those feelings just bring more confusion. You relish the tickle of his long, soft hair against your jaw and the way his fingers interweave with yours, even in sleep. Despite how ready you were to leave mere days ago, you aren’t quite sure you could do so now without damaging a part of yourself you didn’t know existed.

It frightens you, but the tingle that zings down your arms and into your palm lets you know it is exhilarating, too.

The bus is quiet of its usual boisterousness when it pulls through the gates of Graceland in the early afternoon. It is hard to believe how much everything has changed in a few short days, since the last time you arrived like this.

“Elvis,” you whisper, but he barely stirs. His eyes are closed, and his full lips are open slightly, giving him an air of innocence that tugs at your heart. “Elvis, sweetheart, we’re home.”

Sweetheart? Madone, where did that come from? You blush at your use of the endearment, not having used it since your brothers were little boys and certainly never with a man.

Elvis sputters and his long eyelashes flutter open as he stretches his long arms. “Mmm, ‘sweetheart,’ huh?” he murmurs, his lips turning up in a small, sleepy smile.

“I—you must have dreamed that,” you reply, flustered, but you know your pink cheeks and the way you twist your ring give you away.

He just grins. “You can call me sweetheart all day, Little Bird.” Then, he pulls you down for a sweet, chaste kiss, which surprises you. He tastes of sleep and coffee and chewing gum. The kiss is quick but sends a tremble through you all the same, especially since the bus is nearly empty.

When he pulls back and takes a look at you, his eyes fill with concern. He runs his thumb under your eye, as though he could wipe away the darkness you know is there. “Did you sleep at all, baby?”

You shake your head no, trying to brush him off by getting up to walk away, but he stands and grabs your arm. Pulling you back gently, he wraps his arms around your middle. You give up trying to wiggle away—he’s stronger than you. You’re surprised to find you don’t mind it. If it were any other man, you’d be panicking at the closeness, but it seems you’ve grown used to Elvis’ near constant displays of physical affection.

“I’m fine, Elvis. Let’s go inside.”

“Little one, the doc said you need sleep…”

His vacillation through pet names and endearments should annoy you, but they don’t. Not anymore. You sigh.

“…and you’re gettin’ married tomorrow. You need ta look your best for your husband,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

Rolling your eyes at his silliness, you try and mask the surprising buzz of excitement running through your limbs at the reality that in a day you will be married to this exasperatingly handsome and talented mess of a man. It’s overwhelming and a little exhilarating, but you can feel exhaustion pulling at you, knowing you’ll be knee deep in preparations in a few short hours.

You resist the urge to lay your head on his shoulder, but he senses your resignation in the way your body deflates. It’s hard, you realize, to let anyone else take care of you.

“How ‘bout I rest with you? Will you at least try to take a nap then?” If he’s conceding to more rest, you know you must look worse for the wear. But it does the trick.

“Alright, fine. I will rest if you do, too,” you concede.

Being back at Graceland—back home—helps you relax more. No one can get to you or Elvis here. You fear you won’t be able to sleep, but once your head hits the pillow, Elvis safe and resting inches away, you slide into the dreamless dark.

*

Taglist Pt 1

@eliseinmemphis@russian-soft-bitch@tattywood

@sassanoe@thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle@carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23

 @littlebitofgreen@paigevis@bugg06@xhannahbananax03@artlover8992

@18lkpeters@frozenhuntress67@girlblogger2002@kendralavon7@misspresley

@be-my-ally @whositmcwhatsit @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @thatbanditqueen @powerofelvis @from-memphis-with-love

 @precious-lil-scoundrel @stylespresleyhearted @prompted-wordsmith @crash-and-cure @elvisgf @lookingforrainbows @fic-over-cannon @godlypresley @ab4eva @whatstruthgottodowithit @elvisabutler @amydarcimarie@idontwanttoputanything @callieselvisobsessed @captainamerica1235-blog  @xenaspace3-blog 

@simplyamberj@claire-elvisgirl@everythingelvispresley@louisejoy86@deniseinmn @madelynpresley

[puckpocketed]

caps fan here!

as follower of pld (the few, the proud, the courageous!), i was wondering if you had any thoughts about how he might fit in with our team, assuming he's going to be 1C with Ovi on the left and one of Wilson or Mangiapane on the right, and basically taking the former Kuznetsov/Backstrom spot on the halfwall on PP1. my thinking is that he can easily return to being a 60 point player just by the increase in ice time alone this coming season, and maybe even flirt with 70 if he has a triggerman like big O on his wing.

as someone who knows a hell of a lot more about PLD than i do, is that just wishful thinking because i'm a caps fan? what do you think?

The PLD Post, Part 2: mask-OFF

Hii!! (we are SO brave and SO correct). i am so sorry this took ages to answer, i was trying to decide how serious to be. I will admit, I was hesitant about going mask-off and hitting up the microstats and revealing that i do seriously think he can be better than he was bc that shit is kinda lame ESPECIALLY when defending a clear failhorse. but at this point any rep i have as someone with good opinions must be gone considering how many media scapegoats i've attached myself to (i got a fucking. c.gauthier ask the other day aslkjdkljas) so. mask is coming off. we've hit somewhere between well-considered manifesto and vibe check so . um. enjoy!!

I remain optimistic going from everything I've heard and from what you're saying here! But, big big asterisk. He absolutely needs to take ownership of his lack of engagement. when he speaks in media availability I believe him when he says he wants to change. The will to change is there, idk if it’s possible that any player would be satisfied with their performance being the way his was. There’s a lot that needs to be unpacked about his lack of production, the Character Issues, and what his role might look like going forward. You and any other Caps fan who reads this will have to tell me if the fit is right. Hockey talk below the cut lol!!

So before I start I have to say I know dick all about the Caps except:

You're dragging that old man (Ovechkin) to Gretzky's lawn (record) to set it on fire (break it before he retires)

Everyone is pining away for your very very injured 1C who is also Ovechkin's boybestfriend/perfect set-up guy/work wife

There's. intricate pre-game rituals?

So I'm not sure I can speak to how he will fit with your (our? i AM picking the Caps up fr given every acquisition/draft pick they've made) team with any depth or specificity. also i don't think i'd call myself a PLD expert. like. i just got here !! I haven't been following him since he was drafted or anything!! I have, however, consumed TOO MANY Kings games this past season and I can give you a broad look at what actually happened with them and why I think it didn't work out. I will not be making any overtures about being unbiased. My biases WILL slip through because I think Dubois is a sweetheart and I find the mental exercise of defending him fun <3 I’ll give you stats and observations and I will build a story that runs counter to what the prevailing media narratives say. While I stand by my opinions, they're also just one of many available interpretations of what happened.

character concerns

Everyone will be bringing it up at the first speed bump of the season, the first bad game he has. Please be prepared to have a crisis of faith and also be deeply disappointed in him. god knows I am, like, all the time <3 But... I always want to dig deeper when it comes to dominant narratives, because in following multiple teams I’ve become acutely aware of just how miserably Bad media can be at reporting on teams that aren’t their own.

I hear “Locker room cancer” accusations bandied about and I’ve yet to see anyone produce a primary source for this — podcasters, journalists, even people on nhl broadcasts will throw these words around so casually, assuming they’re correct because everyone knows the story. Some confounding factors in the character narratives arise when you scratch the surface. People who've worked with him speak well enough of him. Todd McLellan called him “misunderstood”, and had nothing bad to say about his character.

Matt Roy, who also just got picked up by the Caps, has recently said he’s a great teammate. MORE proof if you want to hear it directly, Roy went on Dropping The Gloves and had this to say about Dubois (transcript by me):

[on what actually happened] Honestly, I don’t know. I mean if you asked him he would say he had a down year. But it’s nothing like — I feel like the media paints this picture of him, and to me it couldn’t be further from the truth, you know. He’s a great teammate, he’s a great locker room guy, he gets along with everybody. So, in terms of all that I don’t know where the media is getting all this stuff. If I hated the guy I probably wouldn’t have come to Washington. He’s one of my friends on the team and I really think he’s going to have a bounce back year. I think he’s really going to be good for the team.

Matt Roy signed with the Caps of his own free will as an RD, a contested free agent in a sparse market, knowing Dubois was already here. He could’ve gone to plenty of different places. Why the hell would Roy sign here long-term, clearly wanting to play and win, if Dubois was as disliked as some pundits would have us believe??? Credible reports (and not just speculation) point to PLD’s other teammates liking him!! 

And here’s some propaganda; I direct you to this extremely sweet video where he gets asked about assisting on Akil Thomas' first NHL goal (and a bunch of other first NHL goals). He is so, so genuinely happy for Akil, who battled through injuries that set back his development for years. Just LOOK at his smile!! He can’t hold it back. (Others have said this but it looks like a little v. Like :> !!!! HELLO !!)

How does all of this happen when, supposedly, he’s a low-character asshole and a “locker room cancer”? It doesn’t line up for me.

On the other hand, I have seen Dubois cruise. He really can’t seem to bounce back from a poor start, and if you were just looking from the outside in, the scoresheet this year reflects this. The critique is fair; I’ve turned this over in my head enough times. there are less physically gifted, less skilled players, who are working so hard to stay in this league, and Dubois’ poor showing does feel somewhat like, idk, something I’d be mad about usually.

Here comes the “but”. Call this next bit the narrative section, because I’m showing my ass here: I think Dubois gets a lot of scrutiny because of his infamous Shift, which went a specific kind of viral, under the exact right conditions, and it has just. defined his career. And okay… I am not denying that the shift happened, but plenty of guys in this league have taken shifts off. come on. the season is long and they're only human. I’m not excusing it either! It was bad and he deserved his benching. Ideally, he one day becomes a player who always puts effort in. Working hard is one of my favourite traits in any player, and usually this would be enough for me to dismiss him as not worth being invested in.

and yet…. the reactions to his floundering performance feel so much like they’re about expectations as seen through the lens of The Shift. They’re calibrated differently because he went 3rd overall, and he's got this big body, the speed, the skill — it's the fact that he's got the tools and seemingly squanders them. All of this is amplified by the contract he's sitting on and his run of short-term stays on teams. Does he get this much scrutiny if he went in the 2nd or 3rd round? Does he catch this much heat for his low energy performance if that one shift clip hadn’t done all that damage? We’ll never know obviously but . I do wonder.

Final word on the character stuff is that we don’t know what truly went on in those locker rooms and i don't want to give more air time to baseless speculation. What we can examine is the hockey. The hockey tells the truth <3

the 23-24 la kings

Assuming the plan is to give PLD a look at 1/2C while he’s on the Caps, I think he’s a complementary type of player. The way he is right now, I don't think he can drive his own line or pull people up. He works with the calibre of lineys he's got and will produce the expected outcome. That sounds so obvious, but what I’m saying is I don’t think he’s capable of miracles like the best playmakers in the league, he's not about to make your guys look 15 years younger. In this vein, I look at his many first NHL goal assists as a symptom of what kind of linemates he was being paired with all season, and how unstable the situation was. His drop in point production IS more complicated than "he's just a piece of shit". From this article, the best summary I've seen of the Situation PLD was in:

LA acquired a player who had been a top-six center (and at times, winger) his entire career playing with established NHL talent. Yet after investing multiple assets to acquire Dubois and sign him to a significant contract, the team decided to put him in a third-line role where his most common linemate was a first-year NHL player who wasn’t expected to be on the roster in Alex Laferriere. Those two had a revolving door of wingers throughout the season. Moreover, Dubois’ most common on-ice teammates after Laferriere at 5-on-5 this season were Matt Roy and Andreas Englund. Gee, I wonder why he didn’t produce?

Context about Roy and Englund: Roy is a quiet but capable d-man who is defensively geared with a bit of offensive upside (j'adore. does things the right way and is very responsible and good. will throw hits but doesn't chase them or headhunt. I think playing away from the Kings’ more passive system will unlock more of his offensive potential. Matt Roy you will be SO good for the Caps I truly believe mwah mwah); and Englund is a leg weight/goon who, going by every single stat I can pull out, makes his d-partners Worse (with affection <3). Point here is neither of them being on the ice was particularly conducive to a lot of scoring chances.

As I said in my previous post, I think Dubois absolutely needs finishers. At some point there was hype around his shot but I didn't see much of that at all on lak? Eye test says: he was unwilling to shoot, and when he did shoot it felt like there was low/no commitment, no power behind it. Comments on his shooting called him “too deferential” at different turns. That’s just an insulting way to say a guy likes to pass and I truly think it circles back to the expectations thing. Would there be anything wrong with him not being much of a shooter this past season if he was another player? (Can't we just say he passed a lot this season without bringing value judgement into it? leave my failhorse ALONE!!!! like must a man score goals ,can't he be very very sweet and happy for the rookies he assisted ? wailing about it forever.)

More fun stats from that same article:

#1 on lak for passes that led to high-danger scoring chances, and scoring chances in general <- again, not a miracle worker. did not have finishers who could capitalise on these chances. its so fucked up what they did to my failwife

one of the best on lak in actually carrying the puck into the o-zone. (another reason i quite liked watching him!! transition forwards my BELOVED) everything I've ever observed about him off the cuff holds true here: he draws penalties this way, because he's fast and when he's locked in he is pretty good for controlled zone entries <3

Dubois had a career high in even-strength assists per 60, this is all in spite of his weird linemate situation and his reduced TOI and the power play mess (more on this later). he might have been deferring, but I truly think the lack of stability + good finishers, and ice time held him back from being more productive.

jim hiller

Building off that last point: even worse on the stability front, which I did allude to in the initial PLD Post, was what happened when Jim Hiller took over. You must understand one of the first clues that we were working with a different animal of a head coach is he was NOT afraid to line shuffle, and shortly after he found short-term success with that, they started running 11 forwards and 7 defensemen (you can see where it started precisely if you scroll back in lak lb because you'll find ME yelling about it LMAO). This shortened forward bench resulted in mid-game line shuffling, as in it was uncertain as to who they would be playing with from shift to shift. Hiller is on record saying he thinks it was beneficial, per this article:

It’s all about getting his deep forward corps engaged in the game. That’s sometimes difficult if you’re running four full lines and there are penalty kill or power play opportunities that alter the flow of the lines. Especially for the group of forwards who don’t kill penalties – think Kevin Fiala, Viktor Arvidsson, Quinton Byfield, Pierre-Luc Dubois – it’s an opportunity to get them extra shifts and engage in the game. “Some of our other players who don’t penalty kill, you know they can lose the flow of the game, so they enjoy it more I know,” Hiller said of having 11 forwards in action. “We’ve talked about it a lot. We really just think for our team, the way it is right now, that gives us an advantage getting those players more ice time.”

(and ok sorry to go off about my gripes with how the kings are run but .They were doing this into playoffs. This article was written during playoffs. god. CARL GRUNDSTROM, WHO HAS NEVER NOT PLAYED HARD, PLAYED 25 SECONDS IN GAME 2. all this while they were trying to get people 'engaged'. Idk. Maybe it did work for some players. I wasn’t behind that bench. But sitting one of your most energetic and committed forwards during a series in which you’re trying to come back from being down several games was a CHOICE!!!! also like what if you didn't double-shift QB. what then. And we all know how that series ended. lak coaching/management i am beating you with a pillowcase stuffed with bricks . <3)

Much was made of the Hiller takeover. I liked it at the time. In his first couple of media availabilities post-TM, Hiller emphasised bringing back "fun" to the game for many of the players who were slumping — and a reportedly tense locker room during the big skid that lost McLellan his job. It was all very Ted Lasso of him. Hiller also introduced a new way to rate Dubois for his performance every night, separate from the scoresheet. I made jokes about PLD's very special star-chart, everyone who knew about it was making jokes about it. This merit system was tailored towards communicating with Dubois what he did and didn't do well, and while no one ever went into depth about it we do know a few things:

It measured things outside of +/-, goals and assists, and was likely a score out of 5 per metric.

One of the metrics was about hits/physicality, another one was likely ‘compete’ levels.

He alluded to being measured on penalties drawn?? Or something??

Anyway it sort of … worked?? The change in Dubois was pretty immediate, the moment he was given some clear direction to work in. He played some of his BEST games of the year in the wake of this change. He got involved physically, he was not losing steam, he was drawing tons of penalties because he’s huge and fast and has good hands and IF he puts his mind to it he can truly be a transition monster.

CUE THE LINE SHUFFLING… imo, much of the progress made seemed to be lost, and the rest is history.

NOT saying Dubois is free of fault here. Needing that extra motivation to get physically involved is kinda wild, and I understand why for some people it’s a bridge too far. EYE am here for the laffs though and it's really funny that the communication came in the form of super special individualised performance evaluations/a glorified sticker chart. This is why he’s my temperamental desert flower. Wilting violet. Soggy kitten. <3 and for the record I truly don’t think I’d care if he put up 40 points per szn for the rest of his career. I don’t care because he’s a sweetie and the Bit i do when defending him is too funny. I don’t think I’d care if everyone was right about him — I just don’t actually think they are.

the power play problem

So okay, as per part 1 (my last email <3) we know Dubois thrives net front. It’s where he scored a bunch of his goals on the Jets. Every stat and the eye test supports this. So how come Lak had him stationed on the half wall doing jackshit, if he was on the power play at all?? I will admit I drove myself half crazy studying power play structures and watching LA Kings games back before coming up with a garbled, half-formed idea about how LA runs their PP. I was going to attempt to explain it here — had to do with Kevin Fiala and Dubois being lefties and how that's just an awkward passing sitch — but it turns out more than one person has had this thought and MAN I love being validated by actual hockey people. I fully thought i was making shit up in my head for a good week or two, and was seriously considering scrapping this portion . but it’s SO important for contextualising the production drop, so here goes !!

As early as September 2023 there was a story published about PLD’s role on PP1 — a place where he certainly should’ve belonged as a top-6 guy with plenty of ppg’s under his belt. From this article, which explains the issue very very neatly, and much more eloquently than I could ever hope to:

The addition of Pierre-Luc Dubois was a big one this summer; at first glance, he should be a great addition to the power play. But when digging deeper, the Kings might struggle to fit him onto the top unit. Dubois played mostly as the net front player for the Winnipeg Jets last season, the role Gabriel Vilardi often played for the Kings last season. So, it’s an easy one-to-one switch in that spot, right? Not necessarily. Dubois has all the talents to be an effective net-front player. He has the size and strength to battle in front, with the skill to effectively pop down low and create chances. However, his handedness is a big problem for this role. The Kings run their power play primarily on the left side with Kevin Fiala — Anze Kopitar when Fiala is hurt — which necessitates a right shot down low. When a right shot player pops out on the left side, there’s an easy passing angle for the half-wall player and more options for the player down low. Quick passing is key for a successful power and a left-shot can’t move the puck quick enough down low. They would have to either move too far into the corner or take the extra second to step out from and open up their body to create an effective passing angle. Time that would slow the power play down too much and allow the opposition penalty kill to get back into position. There’s also minimal shot threat from a lefty down low. We saw both Vilardi and Viktor Arvidsson frequently take the pass down low and quickly turn it into a shooting opportunity, something a left shot wouldn’t be able to do.

It then goes on to suggest 2 solutions that aren’t appealing at all:

Flip the power play entirely to accommodate Dubois net front. Not great as they dont have the players for that, and if they tried it they’d be hamstringing Adrian Kempe’s one-timer.

PLD on the bumper position. This one’s hard to swallow because that displaces Kopitar to PP2, there’s his position as captain and the optics of moving him off his spot.

In this article it is once again suggested that LA MUST flip their power play and figure out how to get PLD net front. In this article they point out how useless he was playing on the wall down the stretch, and how the only reason he seemed to be able to produce something was because he’d taken Kopitar’s spot in his absence. This article calls to attention Dubois’ worlds performance, where team Canada utilised him net front.

Big picture, the Fit

Do we see the problem here yet? It’s not the flat narrative I was sold by the national media, random assholes on twitter, and podcasters who don’t actually watch Kings matches!!!! Do we see how weird and messy and complicated it is, beyond “hey he’s just a sack of shit who isn’t trying hard enough”. Rob Blake himself has come out and admitted that they didn’t put Dubois in a position to succeed. And absolutely there was effort required on his end — a different player might have sucked it up and adapted to circumstances, a different player might never have needed that extra bit of communication, a straight up better player might have dragged his less skilled lineys up to a higher level. But the problem has always been two-fold: LA was trying to coach and manage a completely different player to the one they had in front of them and expecting good results; and Dubois was unable to keep competing with all he had in the face of that. I think both parties are at fault here. And I think, given the chance and the right circumstances, Dubois can hit 60 points again.

Okay, circling back to the big question of Fit. Will he be able to work with Ovechkin? Hard to think he could fail with one of hockey’s best goal scorers on his wing, if he does get a look at 1C. People who know the Caps better than I do, does this sound workable? Is Dubois going to be too difficult of a nut to crack for your coach? Your locker room?

And, of course, the power play issue. Maybe Dubois learns to be better on the half wall! Idk!! Maybe it was a matter of coaching and he thrives in Washington running your PP1 from there. For my money… I like him better playing net front or bumper. Do the Caps have the bodies to accommodate this? I did ask someone familiar with the Caps PP to explain it to me so I could try and figure this out but ouuuugh. My head is spinning. Someone smarter than me please jump in. I am TIRED . We don’t know what it will look like, what they’re planning to do with Dubois on the power play. You guys probably have a better idea about what’s possible than I do <3

Conclusion?

PLD is fast, big, a passing threat and a formidable net front presence when he’s given the opportunity and playing his A-game. As far as I can tell, his B-game is garbage </3 His poor performance is more complicated than people think and I’m pretty sure only the LA Kings beat reporters + the 12 kings fans on twitter know this. Most of them still dislike PLD anyway bc his low motor. I don’t blame them, I’m just more inclined to be forgiving because I love redemption arcs and I think he’s a good person. i would love to be wrong about his low-effort B-game LMAO but im trying to be realistic here. I want him to fit in and be embraced by the Caps so bad <3 Your coach sounds like he wants to help PLD succeed and is up for the challenge. The vibes from my friends who follow the Caps are always good, I’ve read through various tags and it sounds like a place that will take him in whether he likes it or not. I might be stupid but I believe in him !!! and I’ve laid out all the hockey bullshit for you to the best of my ability. Given all of this… do you think he’ll do well?

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Greetings Kia!

To give a broad context, I have been a fan of UTMV since 2020. Even though I certainly have a certain level of difficulty in the English language, I will try to express myself in a cohesive and clear way.

As I previously expressed, I have been an active fan of the UTMV community since 2020 when the new Ink!Sans design was made available to the public. The design itself was simply wonderful in my eyes, whose unfamiliar with the original source, so I ventured into the community and simply loved the creativity contained here. So I decided to make my home on this place and have been present ever since

Therefore, something that caught my attention in the design of Ink!Sans was its clear inspiration from Japanese culture, and as a Japanese person with a Latin American nationality, I loved this detail that was so obvious to everyone's eyes (I say this due to the amount of comments in the original post recognizing Ink!Sans as one of Japanese origin). So I recognized this character as an Asian 'person' ever since, due to his *literal* East Asian origins (Although it might have been because of my self-identity, i still have concrete proofs to why he's such).

But recently I have observed a certain flow of people who refuse to recognize and draw Ink in this previously mentioned way, when I say about refusal' I really do mean it that way, one day I was meet with an 'I don't care' when explaining this matter to someone on this community. There are also 'redesigns' people made of his new design that completly erases this aspect to replace for 'French' ones.

I do understand that people can have their own headcanons and such, but going as far to erase that part of his character just really rubs me the wrong way.

Other than that, i've also witnessed cases of people who, after discovering that Ink has French nationality, try to argue that this rules out the fact that he's Asian, or worse, that he's*less* of an Asian because of that.

As an appreciator of cultures and human ethnic diversity, I'm extremly aware that having this line of thinking shows how stupid a person is since Asian people can live outside of Asia. But as a second generational immigrant of Japanese parents, this level of thinking really does affect my own self indentity, putting in mind how often Asian immigrants are considered outsiders because of their race (when they're living outside of Asia of course).

I'm sorry if this sounds stupid or rather too emotional for the matter, putting in mind how this is all about a silly skeleton boy. But this distorted vision on what makes someone 'more' and 'less' of an Asian really does affect me, since it already happened in real life. You don't need to answear my plea but i just wanted someone to talk too about problems in Fandom.

Take care!

i completely see and understand where you're coming from, anon!

it really is a bit of a problem, there's a lot of issues in the fandom when it comes to race and it really sucks to see erasure like this

thank you for telling me your thoughts abt this anon <:) i hear and see you.

it's so frustrating to have your representation be erased simply in favor of factors that don't make sense. you deserve to be seen even in little ways!

[cherrysoulth]

FINALLY ALONE

💕Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

✏️Genre/au: Complicated relationships, Yandere, Mafia AU

✏️Rating: PG 18+, explicit

📝Wordcount: 5511

⚠️Warnings: Explicit smut, cumplay (sort of), murder, death threats, obsession, yandere(?)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hii! Did you stumble across this work? Glad you're here 😊 Please, let me know your thoughts once you are finished. Feedback keeps me motivated to write 😁

This one-shot is inspired by a story that I'm writing, called: Sandman. There's another one, also inspired on Sandman, called: Staggering and Golden hour

I will post Sandman only for paid members once it's finished. (Memberships won't be available until I the story is completed)

Note that English is not my first language, so please if you find grammar mistakes, let me know. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jimin shifted over the grey satin sheets, under his velvety covers, as you scrolled through your phone and you looked at his beautiful features from your bed. The white moon in the sky sneaked inside the room through the translucent white curtains, illuminating his side, with its candour.

You could hear Seokjin at the other side of the hallway working on his computer while his father gave him some indications through the speaker mode of his smartphone. You made sure to not focus, on the dead silence that reigned in the house, but still got hints of quantities of packages entering the frontiers of South Korea through Busan, to test. Exactly what you didn't want to hear. 

Suddenly, you heard a hanger fall on your closet and you instinctively reached for the gun under your pillow. It then came to your mind, that you had put that multilayer dress in a plastic hanger because you needed to purchase new ones. You rolled your eyes to the spoiling Seokjin was doing to you, soon you would not be able to fit a needle in your closet, if he continued. You let go of the weapon and laid back from your ready position. Jimin was unbothered in his slumber and once more, you thought it just made sense that you were his guardian. 

You were asleep by the time Seokjin checked in the room and whispered a goodnight. Everything seemed fine although if he had detected the closet door cracked open,  and went to check it, he would have discovered the intruder. 

Taehyung waited for a bit after he heard Seokjin close the quarters' door to sneak out. The dress you had heard fall was left behind on its spot, to match the sound that was very likely heard from the outside. His knees silently landed at the side of your bed as he observed the same rays that previously enhanced Jimin's ethereal image, doing favours to yours. 

He would have touched you if he didn't know that was certainly going to wake you up. Instead, he just stayed there in that same position, watching you sleep for the next two hours; until slumber started to make his lids feel too heavy to keep them open. 

Just like that, he walked out of your room through the corridor, towards the other end. He opened another room and looked inside to another sleeping figure. His eyes displayed darkness, a silent death threat and his knuckles turned white over the clear wood structure. Making use of his skills he slid out of the house undetected, giving one last look to your window. 

                               . 

He lies in bed while tears stream down his temples. Just like they did as he knelt in front of your peaceful figure, your image engraved on his retina like a favourite movie. One that he will most likely never see again in broad daylight. Not while Seokjin breathed down his neck on every corner, on every shadow. 

You are the one and only thing they seem to have in common. The same obsession, the same desire. Yet it is Seokjin who chases at his heels and not the other way around. 

If he had only not scared you off in the tunnels that day. If he would have walked beside you past Seokjin as the eldest hid to smoke near the access, maybe you wouldn't have looked at him so much after. Maybe your heart wouldn't have been taken. Maybe you wouldn't have been yearning for the man's love to the point of accepting him when he had turned into someone undeserving of it. 

Maybe you would have started reading together with Jimin. Maybe he wouldn't have followed Seokjin and then The Hitman. Maybe he wouldn't have helped burn the school down. Maybe you wouldn't have set the first match that turned the place into hell for the caretakers tied inside. Maybe you wouldn't have carried the burden of four deaths with you at the age of ten. Maybe, you wouldn't have accepted the training and wouldn't have thought that was what you were meant to do. Maybe, he wouldn't have been so eager for his father to let him join. Maybe you and him wouldn't have your hands so stained with blood. 

If only he hadn't spooked you out. 

Those maybes could be certainties, and now, you would be lying at his side in his lonely room, with a ring on your finger that would prevent Seokjin from ever getting so close to you. 

The tears are followed by sobs. His wail can be heard from the outside of his room, where a guard sits on a bench against the wall and looks in his direction. Namjoon, the early bird of the house, also hears it and walks his way down the hallway to stand in front of the door. 

His brother’s broken heart dwells in his and a single tear falls from his left eye as he stands there; knowing he is unable to console the pain Taehyung is suffering. 

He doesn't knock since he will not accept a no, simply walking  inside finding his brother curled hugging himself as the torment of his soul keeps on escapes through his vocal cords and the wells of his eyes. 

"Have you gone to see her?" he asks calmly. Although a fury in him wants to slap his brother for risking his life, he is well aware that his brother is a prisoner of love and the recklessness that comes with it. 

Taehyung's only response is to sit down with pained eyes and continue his mourning by putting his forehead against Namjoon's chest. His hands hold feeble against his brother’s firm shoulders, making the hurricane he once was feel now like a breeze from a butterfly's wings. 

                               . 

"Good evening, Taehyung." says a calm voice behind him as he reads the manga book in his hand. His eyes bulge and he takes a second to start turning around, slowly in his garden chair. He leaves the closed book on the glass table in front of him. 

His brother stands next to Seokjin, the one whose voice it was impossible not to recognise. His gaze dances between Namjoon's apologetic eyes and the man who's kept him on the run for eleven months and now stands no more than six feet from him as if nothing had happened. The urge to look at you at his side, dressed in cream with transparent sleeves, it's almost unbearable but he lets himself take the full picture instead; discreetly getting your image translated to his brain. He can't dare to focus on you, not without knowing the conditions of this visit, not if it means he can lose you as a consequence. Not again. 

"Darling, why don't we go to my gallery, I have new pieces I would love to show you." Namjoon says, distracting you. 

You were indeed watching Taehyung, who has a new haircut and has finally taken the black as an option. He looks skinnier, that's what's kept your interest the few moments you have been allowed to observe and your heart blossoms with worry. You feel the need to nourish him, to take care of him, making sure he is ok. However, you know that's not a possibility right now, so you move at the second Namjoon speaks. 

Taehyung involuntarily responds to the movement and watches you walk next to his brother towards the house. Then immediately jumps back at Seokjin, who looks at him with a smirk, inclining his head in your direction and  asks, "She looks prettier by the day, doesn't she?" 

Taehyung, knows its best not to answer and keeps quiet. "Smart." mutters Seokjin before advancing. "I was thinking I maybe exceeded myself with the consequences of your actions. At the end of the day, I did invite you to our bed and maybe wasn't clear enough with what was expected." he says as he takes one of the chairs and sits down, then motions for Taehyung to join him. 

"I do not intend to share Amnon. Ever. Now, I think that much has been left clear." he says as if a death threat was no big deal and Taehyung can only nod with a very tense jaw. "What I need to know, and that is to let you walk free again, is if you can live up to that agreement?"

Taehyung doesn't respond immediately and that makes Seokjin raise a brow, "I'm not a subject of yours, I never was." he points out, acknowledging his status. "But as it is stated in the unspoken rules, no associate shall touch a partner's wife or girlfriend. I live up to those rules. Back in the day I just thought you consented to it." 

Seokjin chuckles, "-hm, yeah. I guess you do." he says calmly but then gets closer to Taehyung's face. "However, I know you have always wanted her. I'm not blind." 'Neither are the cameras in my house, little tiger.' "That, I hope, for your sake, has dropped while you were in excommunicado status. Maybe running around has kept you occupied enough—For the last ten months." 

Taehyung's jaw almost drops when he realises what the knowing look and the wrong month count means. He can only nod. Seokjin then smiles, although his eyes are the darkness that will keep Taehyung on his toes. Or so he thinks. 

                                 . 

"Sweetheart?" says Jimin as he opens the door of his two story house and your tear stained face shows in front of him. You immediately hug him and he holds you pulling you inside the house. "Is he dead?" he says, voice cracking with emotion. 

"I am." you pronounce, letting go of him, allowing your body to slide down his dark hardwood door. He squats in front of you. 

"You have broken up with him…" he says and his voice sounds just as strained as it did before. "I don't want to feel." you mutter, letting your head fall backwards and your pain exit your body in hopeless sobs. 

Next thing you know, he is dialling Jungkook asking for something to amuse you. He asks you to move the pity party to his comfortable living room. 

As you follow him in, your eyes take in the precious view of his decor. Moulded walls with tonal murals in the upper part extend throughout the hallways. While in most rooms, although maintaining the aesthetic, there are no paintings. In fact, the whole house is mostly decorated in neoclassical style with soft blues, cream and golds with really luxurious details like chandeliers that make the whole place look like a palace. The seating is simple, against the more rigidly decorated furniture, but it's comfortable, and soft to the touch. Jimin has fake fur blankets draped all around the house and is also a fan of cushions. The whole place is a dream. 

To add to it, and in contrast with the initial decoration, he has natural looking additions as if Mother nature was taking over his house; making the whole place look like it's out of a fairytale. The room you usually use, has a branch coming out of the wall, by the window seat, and purple crystal details hang from it. The rest of the room matches what is pictured in the whole house but each room is themed. 

Yours has wallpaper inside the upper panel with bits of a foggy forest in a hundred-eighty degree view. You started calling it "The Witches Room" and everyone does now. The four post bed's linen is normally grey and purple matching the crystals, and that's exactly what you expect whenever night comes today. 

                                . 

You aren't sure what Jungkook has mixed in the whiskey he served you, but you are definitely high. All of you are. 

You have taken residency over the carpet in front of  Jimin’s glass-closed fireplace and the tears fall as you roll in laughter. Truth be told, you are much higher than them but yet again they have snorted a bit, so it's just an illusion of sobriety. 

At some point, Jimin is on Jungkook’s lap and they are kissing. Their lips unite gently, soft skins moist with the liquidy nectar of their mouths and you can only watch it like you would a miracle. 'Bless this damn bisexual man.' you scream internally. 

Growing with them hasn't made you insensitive to their beauty and you used to fantasise about kissing them as a teenager. Maybe even situations like this in which the kiss would escalate between the three of you. It was all fantasy, of course. At the end of the day, the only guy you wanted to turn that into reality with, was Seokjin. 

The laugh turns into a sob and you roll to your side, silencing yourself to not disturb, looking at the flames. 

"What can we do for you, sweetheart?" mutters Jungkook when Jimin parts from the kiss and looks at you. He also moves from over him and both crawl to your side.

"Don't let-" Jungkook’s phone interrupts you and Jimin scowls at him. "I have to answer, it's him." he mutters and you roll back from looking at them to your foetal position. Jimin starts rubbing your arm affectionately as you try to disconnect. "Boss.-I-Yeah." He stands and walks outside, down the hallway. 

"He's going to tell him where I am. I have to leave." you say, standing with difficulty. 

"Amnon-" 

"I don't want to see him. I know what I want but he can sell glasses to a blind person. I fear I'll cave in this state." you explain, taking hold of your own weight against a chair. 

"You can't drive like this, let my chauffeur drive you." says Jimin, looking at one of his guards in the hallway. 

The man walks in and takes the order directly from Jimin's lips. You know they do listen to what you say but they simply have to act like they don't, out of respect. 

"He asked if she was here." says Jungkook approaching Jimin as he waves goodbye from the porch, with a cardigan over his grey silk pyjamas. Jungkook does the same and sighs,  but Jimin looks at him inquisitively. "You know how much of a bad idea it is to lie to him. Your brother does not listen to reason when it comes to her…" he replies as the car makes it to the main road off of the property. 

"I know," he mutters. "I'm glad she decided to get out of the house before he comes… that relationship has to end. It's not good for anyone." Jimin says with a really low tone, turning on the coffee machine as they enter the kitchen, putting in a capsule for Jungkook, after showing it to him. 

"One of them will end up dead if they keep it going, I'm sure of it." responds Jungkook and Jimin scowls at him. "They don't always think clearly being around each other… In this business-" 

"I- I know. That is what I'm telling you. It has to end. " Jimin mutters, looking at the hallway to the guards, as if he was of a controversial opinion. 

At the same time, you are driven to the city with no destination, like you have asked the driver. 

The lights, the people walking the streets, it feels like you are watching a movie through the windows of the car. Your head rests against the cold tinted glass as you observe them, imagining their lives; the old woman with her son, buying the last presents for their visiting family members, maybe for their in-laws, since he seems to wear a ring. The couple with matching winter clothing, with their bags full of decorations sticking out, smiling to each other make you sink down in your seat and lean back against the headrest, letting silent tears fall and how this break up took place comes to mind. 

                                 

You were decorating the house with Seokjin's assistant when it finally hit you. The feeling in your gut, that one stirring every now and then while being around Seokjin for the last couple of months finally making sense. 

You walked down the ladder, placed to reach the top of the tree to put the star, and sat over the biggest present box, looking at nothing specifically. Had it been how he treated Taehyung that afternoon, when he came to bring presents to add to the tree or that you were simply over it all? His overprotective and controlling attitude, although not forceful, had finally gotten to you. 

The simple thought of having to spend Christmas with him and his associates was making the floor move under your feet  and you felt like you were going to faint. It had to be over. Finally, with the calmness of decorating it came to you. The anger, the sorrowful feeling of being distrusted and thought unwise to make certain decisions, was finally bigger than your love for him. 

The whole argument after Taehyung had kissed your forehead and squeezed your arm the day before, was tiring beyond measure and you hadn't even fought back this time. You simply had fallen silent and stared at him blankly, and his discomforts fell silent too. 

You had left the room without a word, with a prudential time for him to speak again and before he left to take care of business, you only so briefly said goodbye to him. He had looked at you and noticed the dying feelings inside of you, but he was in a rush, couldn't stay to hunt down the truth. Bad luck. 

Just like that, you chugged down half a liquor bottle from the mini fridge between the seats and asked the driver to take you to Kim's Manor. Uncalled, without heads up, you were standing, slightly unsteady, in the main entrance without an escort, twenty minutes later. 

The housekeeper almost lost it when he saw you, his eyes bulged and he quickly moved away to help you get on a pair of slippers. Namjoon's over the top courtesy. No wonder his lovers had dreamy eyes whenever they were around; Princess treatment can feel really good. 

"I'll let the master know you are here," he said, with urgency. 

"No need, I haven't come to see Namjoon," you told him, making him gasp. 

There were only two masters in the house and it happened that being near you almost got one of them killed. Or at least, having to play hide and seek for a good while. 

"Missis, I-" he tried to speak but you could sense the internal fight between his own feelings of protecting his beloved master and the proper treatment of a family friend. 

"Do your duty but I'll show myself the way," you said as you walked in and up the right set of stairs, to Taehyung's bedroom. 

He wasn't sleeping, if you were honest, you didn't expect him to be and you wouldn't have come if you did. It was early for him. He was in bed, playing a game on his phone, wearing full silk pyjamas with a robe and soft Christmas socks. You were right of course, he raised his eyes from his phone first as the door opened, then left his phone aside when he saw you enter. You locked the door. With no particular plan, just for privacy. 

He sat criss-cross over the bed and you leaned on the door. "I have broken up with Seokjin. I was at Jimin's but he was coming over… I know I shouldn't be here," It all suddenly hits you, the consequences, how thoughtless you have been. It isn’t over, not until Seokjin said so, he was going to the house to mend things and you should have stayed to keep your ground. It wasn’t until you voiced it that you realised you had made the worst possible decision. Taehyung isn't just your childhood best friend but also Seokjin's nemesis, in his eyes. Your heart starts beating faster. 

"It's okay," Taehyung objects, paralysing all your thoughts. 

"No it's not," speaks the voice of  reason from inside you, through your vocal cords. You turn to try to unlock the door and seek Namjoon, before a misunderstanding can reach a fatal ending. 

You had forgotten how long Taehyung's legs are, until he has reached you and closed the inch-wide crack you have managed to open. "Don't leave now," he mutters. "Please," he begs, causing you to turn around in the few inches of space he has left for your body. 

"Taehyung, I-" you can’t say more. His lips are on yours, soft and gentle yet the way he breathes through his nose and how he lets his head fall on your left shoulder right after speaks love letters of contained passion. 

"I love you," he mutters, voice cracked and tears starting to dampen your clothed skin. 

The breath gets caught in your throat,  as if seeing your life pass before your eyes, every little moment of closeness you have had with Taehyung until that very moment that ruined everything, played backwards in your mind. Your heart jolted. Seokjin's fears were true. Your indulgence with Taehyung, the tenderness you felt for him, the need to care, the fact you allowed him in Seokjin's bed and were always advocating for him to be forgiven, all translated to one simple sentence, "I love you too." Not childlike love and not only friendship love, not even just that pure and genuine love of wanting the best for each other. Love that makes you grip his robe to keep his body close. You have always done that, never wanted him too far from you.

Always pulling the hugs a little bit longer, always wanting him to stay, always wanting him near. Always lingering on his beautiful features and lying to yourself with the thought that you wanted a good girl for him. Always looking away when he kissed someone else, on the pretext of giving him privacy, yet feeling a slight twinge in your chest and telling yourself it was normal. You didn't want your friend to be taken away from you. Unaware that because you never had been given reasons to be jealous with Seokjin or simply trusting him, that would have been the feeling it would awaken in his case too. Unaware that you didn't just enjoy the view of Adonis Seokjin fucking another man but that you also enjoyed the view of Taehyung being taken. That it was the view of both men thaw had you wet and touching yourself with passion, even to the memory of it. 

You quickly pulled him against you. The strange dizziness and clairvoyance of the drug mix making you feel slightly out of your mind. "Fuck me, Taehyung, I fucking love you how could I be so blind?" 

He kisses you and pulls you against his chest, "Don't blame yourself now," he mutters against your hairline. 

"Fuck me," you whisper, feeling his back and then groping his buttocks.  You move away to meet his eyes, palms against his abdomen, "I feel like I have missed a lifetime of having you inside of me," you say, landing an accepted kiss from an astonished Taehyung, hands running all over him. 

"Slow down baby, you are drunk," he says gently, grabbing your wrists and pulling away. 

"And high, but it doesn't make it less true." you say looking at him devilish and then biting your lower lip. 

"Oh wow, then I'm definitely not doing this," he says, letting go of your wrists and getting as further away from you as possible, reaching for the intercom  at his nightstand. "Wyatt, can you get a room ready for the lady please, she's unwell," you hear him say and he has to hang up at the moment he feels you kissing his manhood over the clothes. "Good lord," he groans to the ceiling, before doing the right thing and walking away again. "You have to stop," he urges, seeing you crawl in his direction and you act the brat by lying on your back with your arms crossed. Pout included.

"Tomorrow or past it, when you are sober and fresh, if you still feel like doing these exact same things, I'll surrender to your will. I will please you with any means necessary," he says, squatting next to you. 

You can only succumb to the capricious nature of the alcohol and drug. There over the floor, with its fluffiness you grumble and lie on your side, "I have just embarrassed myself, haven't I?" 

"Further from the truth," he says, "I'm happy if this is the true level of comfort you feel with me but I can’t be sure you're not uninhibited right now."

                               .

You wake up foreign to the bed you are in, panicking until you realise where you are. The room is modernly decorated and although it has a forest painted on the tall wall against the bed's headrest,  it looks nothing like Jimin's house. This one has hardwood floors and ceilings, keeping the warm aesthetic all the private areas of the house have. The top to bottom windows let in the light and the view of the gardens, but they also have blinds. The ones you forgot to draw last night. 

You turn on your other side with no use, because you are already too awake. The sound of the toilet being flushed startles you to look in that direction and Taehyung slides the door to the ensuite open a few seconds later, shirtless. "Sorry," his eyebrows raised in surprise. "Have I woken you?" 

"No-no, the sun did," you mutter confused, unable to remember last night, nor even how you ended up sleeping here. You wear nothing but a jumper and your panties, and apprehension takes over. If you have slept with him, you would like to remember it. You feel tension at the pit of your stomach, an awful dread of having experienced him but being unable to recover the events or what you felt, what it felt like. Your eyes redden with unfallen tears and your cracked voice says aloud, "Have we-?" 

"Oh nononono-" Taehyung waves his hands in front of his body, distracting you from the thought. "I had a bit of a time to make you understand you were too intoxicated, but I helped you get to sleep. Nothing more than that." It's in that last sentence that his tone betrays him. You have always known when he lies. It's as if you knew every chord of his melody and were able to spot a single tone moved in it. 

"Taehyung-" 

"I killed Seokjin." he says with a monotone, as if not accepting it has happened. Your eyes bulge and you feel your heart slow down, a tear falling from your left eye but unable to process the whole meaning of it; in a sudden void. You can’t find words to express anything because your mind goes blank, yet your mouth opens slightly as if you want to say something. 

"It was an accident." he finally speaks again in what has felt like time stopping, making you gasp as you snap out of your stupor. "That's why we are here. That's why we are not in my room. There was blood on the rug. On the bed too. Yes, also on the floor." the way his voice stays to a monotone while he looks to a spot on the floor, as he speaks, tells you he is in shock. "The service was cleaning it a few hours ago. I just-" he then looks at you. "I didn't dare to enter." He then seems to realise, "That's not important. I'm sorry. I-I didn't mean to kill him, he came at me with a gun, I had the shower on, he thought you were in it-That we had sex, then-then everything went so fast. I didn't even have time to think! I just reacted-Like we were trained-I didn't think! How could I not think!?" he frantically explains, starting to pull his hair forcefully in distress. 

You rush out of the bed, making sure to move his hands away to restrain him from damaging his scalp. "Taehyung, stop." you whisper, taking him in your arms. "It was self-defence… you just knew how to save yourself better. But, you were just surviving, nothing else." you shush him, although you are only pushing away whatever comes with his revelation, numb to the feeling. Not truly calm. Not fit for advice. 

Once again, lust answers at the nonsense and you kiss on his neck. "Amnon-" he whispers with a husk in his voice. 

"Please…" you whisper against his skin. 

He succumbs this time, grabbing your ass as you work with your mouth on his pulsepoint. He doesn't stop you, when your mouth slides down his torso and his breath falters beautifully at your advances.  This time he doesn’t know what to do with his hands when you kiss him over his trousers. He was half hard already but the gesture, when you don't move your lips away, makes you feel him grow to his full mast. 

His hands grip  your shoulders, pulling up and you oblige to stand, eyes trailing your features and the lines of your body as you do. They stop at your core for a second and his head falls backwards as he grunts. 

When he looks at you again his eyes are full of lust, "Are you sure about this?" he takes the caution not to mention Seokjin again, the one thing that can be an obstacle, for its obviousness. 

You respond physically first, sitting on the bed and letting your upper body fall, the jumper exposing a bit of tummy with the stretched movement. 

When he moves, he does slow but when his hands touch you everything seems to take a hurricanes pace. He kisses, he bites, your lips, your neck, your chest, your abdomen, your thighs, until you are a flooded pool of desire, vibrating with need for him. Although, it is when his mouth and tongue take possession of your nub that you feel like you are meant to be like this. When you cum, you feel like you are floating in the sky. 

The nakedness of his member makes you surround him with your legs, and you can already tell he is just as eager to be inside of you as you want him. It slides strongly against your walls as you press your chest against his, hugging him with your whole body as he enters you. 

There's no closeness enough now that he is with you like this. You feel like you want to fuse  with him, get inside of his body, in a different way that he is in yours, feel his blood flow in your veins. The next need is so over the top, the way you visualise your bodies melting together that you wonder if the drugs are still playing part in the experience. 

Breathing fast under his body with his abdomen against yours, you feel your ecstasy flow through your body like burning magma of joy. "Taehyuuung!" you scream as your hands reach to the bed to grab on the sheets underneath. He chuckles but doesn't stop moving, frenetic with sensations. Then he feels it  rushing, almost unexpected and pulls out spilling over your belly as he keeps stroking with his hand. You giggle, out of your mind. 

"Look at your pretty cum…" you mutter, touching the splurts that have reached your ribs, extending it. You do think what you said, it's white and has spilled in drops like painting, except for the accumulation in your belly button. "You had a lot in you, didn't you?" you ask, meeting his eyes. 

He looks astonished but pleased with his lips parted. "I'm sorry." he says and rushes to the bathroom with large steps, coming out with wet wipes to clean you. So careful, so sweet, you close your eyes and let him do it, even when he cleans on your slit, where a first spill had left dripping remnants. 

"You didn't need to apologise," you say as he throws the last wipe on the bin next to that side's nightstand. "I love you," You say, as he looks you in the eyes. "your seed too."

"I love you too…" he lets out a breath, walking to meet you on the bed, hugging you abruptly. "I would do anything for you. Anything…" he says in the same tone against your head. 

                                   .

You don't remember falling asleep but in your slumber, not wanting to wake up, you feel Taehyung's breath at the side of your face that doesn't touch the pillow you lie on. He is caressing your shoulder, sliding down through your arm and coming back, slowly, again and again. You almost smile and turn to hug him but you hear him whisper, "We are finally alone," in a way that makes your skin crawl. 

Then you remember, Seokjin didn’t come armed. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know your thoughts and reblog to let it spread 😊 See you soon! ~

Work beta read by @pars-ley and @abitjess 💜

© 2021-2022 Cherry Soulth, all rights reserved. reposting/modifying of any kind, translations, unsanctioned adaptations are not allowed.

[trans-koupen-chan]

listen. listen. I need everyone who sees this post to know that the Swedish study that partially looked at crime rates among cis vs. trans people is being WILDLY misinterpreted and used with absolutely zero critical thinking to paint transgender woman as a violent “other.”

the study’s own author has come out and said “The individual […] who is making claims about trans criminality, specifically rape likelihood, is misrepresenting the study findings.”

having looked at both the study and the author’s comments myself, the only similarity between cis men and trans women is the conviction rate by population size, and this similarity is only seen when looking at trans women who had sex reassignment surgery before 1989, when fewer opportunities and resources were available to trans people in Sweden. The study also did not control for socio-economic status which is commonly understood as a MAJOR contributing factor in criminality.

Here’s another quote from the study’s author;

“The difference we observed between the 1989 to 2003 cohort and the control [1973 to 1988] group is that the trans cohort group accessed more mental health care, which is appropriate given the level of ongoing discrimination the group faces. What the data tells us is things are getting measurably better and the issues we found affecting the 1973 to 1988 cohort group likely reflects a time when trans health and physiological care was less effective and social stigma was far worse.”

I will not deny that trans people, both trans women and trans men, sometimes commit or are convicted of crimes. That would be unfactual of me. But I feel as though it’s basic common sense that being convicted of a crime does not automatically make someone a bad or violent or dangerous person — for example, shoplifting food that you otherwise couldn’t afford, or the case of trans woman Tara Wolf, where the judge themself admitted that Wolf was provoked but convicted her of assault anyways. It’s also worth noting that the woman who Wolf had an altercation with approached Wolf and others attempting to film them without consent and admitted to grabbing and kicking Wolf’s partner, highlighting again that there are many cases where a conviction is not a cut-and-dry good/evil situation.

If you believe that the results of this study — or that any one isolated incident — prove that trans women are inherently more violent and criminal than cis woman, I am here to tell you that is incorrect. Even if this paper that looks as though it proves this, which it does not in the eyes of its own author, that would still be insufficient evidence to draw such a broad and sweeping conclusion about an entire demographic group.

Painting any demographic as inherently dangerous and violent is an “othering” tactic that has been used against stigmatized groups and minorities (including radical feminists!) for centuries now. It is not progressive, even if you cite papers and statistics to “prove” it. If you’ve made it this far in the post maybe you should reconsider your stance on this.

(obligatory inclusion: if you believe trans woman are men and trans men are women that is bioessentialist and also not progressive. just to round off the post and make sure we’re clear. limiting people’s choices and basing the way they are treated by society on a few body parts they are born with is inherently antifeminist. no I will not argue about this point.)

[mariacallous]

On Wednesday, members of the US Senate Intelligence Committee questioned senior national security officials on how they plan to respond to attacks on voting infrastructure and attempts to influence the election using deepfakes, generative AI, and misinformation. While everyone in the room appeared to agree on what the threats are, senators expressed concern about how exactly government agencies would respond.

In a wide-ranging session, director of national intelligence Avril Haines, Cybersecurity and Infrastructure Security Agency director Jen Easterly, and FBI executive assistant director Larissa Knapp focused especially on the wide availability of increasingly sophisticated AI tools that make it easier for more people to create convincing and deceptive fake videos and audio. Senators pressed them on what they would do if one of those AI-generated fakes went viral in the heat of a presidential election.

“I don't think I have a clearer understanding of who’s in charge and how we would respond,” said Marco Rubio, a senator from Florida and vice chair of the committee. “I don't want there to be any gray area.”

Haines pointed to a US government “notification framework” that provides guidance for making public disclosures while considering sensitive intelligence-collection methods used by the US government.

Building off of Rubio’s question, committee chair Mark Warner, a senator from Virginia, praised the response by the Trump administration after Iran-linked actors posed as the Proud Boys in an attempt to intimidate voters. In an unprecedented move at the time, senior law enforcement and intelligence officials publicly attributed the impersonation to Iran-linked actors within days.

Senator Angus King of Maine called the framework “a bureaucratic nightmare” and pushed for faster disclosure of influence efforts. “What I want to urge is disclosure of sources when you’re aware of it immediately,” King said.

Haines responded that the framework may “sound quite bureaucratic” but that the government has been able to expedite its decisionmaking process to happen in as quickly as two days.

Warner noted that it’s now easier than ever for other countries to attempt to interfere in elections. "The barriers to entry for foreign malign influence—including election influence—have become almost vanishingly small," Warner said. “The scale and sophistication of these sorts of attacks against our elections can be accelerated several-fold by what are now cutting-edge AI tools.”

He also criticized efforts to downplay the severity of election interference in 2016. “I think there has been some rewriting post-2016 that somehow some of the activities in Russia, or even in 2020 with Iran, that was kind of harmless trolling,” Warner said.

Haines agreed, pointing to Iran as an example of a foreign actor making serious attempts to sow discord among Americans. Iran is “increasingly aggressive in their efforts seeking to stoke this kind of discord and promote chaos and undermine confidence in the integrity of the process and they use social media platforms, really, to issue threats, [and] to disseminate disinformation,” she said.

And Iran’s not alone; the officials gave an overview of other countries seeking to influence the upcoming presidential election. Haines said that Russia “remains the most active foreign threat to our elections.”

In a report published last year, the Office of the Director of National Intelligence said that Russia’s influence efforts in 2022 targeted Democratic politicians, seeking to affect the United States’ support for Ukraine.

The ODNI report also said that, since 2016, the US government has not observed a “comprehensive, whole-of-government influence campaign” like the one carried out by Russia that year.

During the hearing, Haines noted that in the previous presidential election, China refrained from election influence efforts, primarily due to concerns of repercussions from the US government.

The ODNI report said that China tacitly approved information operations to support candidates perceived as more favorable to Chinese interests during the 2022 midterm elections. The Chinese government has been linked to some of the most prolific online information campaigns, but researchers have found that those efforts often reach few people or have virtually no impact.

The hearing covered domestic concerns as well. CISA director Easterly noted that threats to election workers have led to a “wave of resignations.” The FBI’s Knapp said during the hearing that “election workers are being harassed via robocalls, via white-powder letters, as well as swatting.”

Looming over the hearing were attacks by congressional Republicans who have criticized the FBI’s and CISA’s communications with social media platforms, alleging that sharing information on foreign influence operations resulted in censorship. As a result of that criticism and a lawsuit filed by the state of Missouri, government agencies have limited their communications with social media platforms. The shift has contributed to a sense of uncertainty about exactly how the government will respond to foreign influence campaigns.

In response, Warner has publicly pushed CISA to fill the gap and “[serve] as an interlocutor between private sector entities, the intelligence community and law enforcement, and state and local officials.” “Since 2022, we've seen a concerted litigation campaign that has sought to undermine the federal government's ability to share, on any kind of voluntary basis, vital threat information with social media platforms,” Warner said at Wednesday’s hearing.

Multiple members of the committee appeared to express concern about exactly how senior officials would respond in a crisis, but the hearing didn’t provide any new insight into what their plans are. The senators will have another opportunity to press for more information on responses to AI threats next month. Representatives from major social media platforms are expected to testify before the committee about election threats in June.

[pack-the-pack]

How does miscecanis work?

Such a broad question. A bit difficult to understand what exactly do you mean. I'll give a summed up version of what Miscecanis is from what I've gathered observing people in my midst in my omegaverse server to this day all the way to the time I came up with the term alongside @spaceyomega, in June 23rd, 2020. First things first: Here's the original Miscecanis post in case you're curious. Here's also the Miscecanis Pride flags that were created this year by yours truly: Miscecanis Pride Flag & Omega Pride Flag (this latter one gives you acess to the other 3). So looking at these two (or three) links side by side you see there's a bit of a shift in perspective in a way. There's a few keywords to be brought up here: Lifestyle vs Identity. When Miscecanis started I was adamant in separating it from gender identity or otherkin. Because let's make one thing clear here: No, I (and I'm speaking solely for myself here, no one else) do not believe we are all secretly wolf people for realsies, and we're something other than human. So to me, in the beggining it made more sense to just define Miscecanis as a lifestyle. Something you adhere to in order to better and benefit your own life. And this still holds water to this day for me, I don't denouce this way of thinking. On the other hand! The more I came in contact with people that were identifiying with my new term, there seemed to be some patterns. These people often seemed to mix in the miscecanis thing with their gender identify. Some even calling the dynamics their secondary gender outside of the fanfiction space (which I do not particularly like, more on that in a minute) or even their primary gender. Now do I find these people to be wrong? No. Not really. I came to understand that to many gender non-conforming people, identifying as an Omega, Alpha, Beta, or any other dynamics BEFORE or even alongside identifiying with a "human gender" granted them an immense amount of relief and comfort. In many cases even aliviating feelings of dysphoria or dismorphia. And funnily enough, I realized I was one of these poeple myself. I see myself as an Alpha first, and a human gender second. Almost like the dynamics is more important, like the human one bears less weight in my identiy and life than the miscecanis one. Now, do I like calling it a GENDER? No I do not. To me it's a construction with a whoooooole lot of weight and history behind it. Omegaverse, that is. I don't like conflating it directly with a gender. I like keeping the word DYNAMICS. And you'll never catch me using the term "secondary gender" when talking about the dynamics, unless is to talk about how other people view things and feel, be it about fictional verses or miscecanis culture itself. Obviously this is just my opinion, but I think the word Dynamics is much more serviceable. Because it's implies interaction between Omegaverse and your gender identy. Something apart that influences something you already possess. Close neighbours. two different colours: Gender is White and Alpha/Beta/Omega/Other dynamics is Red, and when you mix it, you get Pink, which then makes the whole of You.

This is all my perspective though. Y'all are free to disagree, or add on to it.

[givehimthemedicine]

Henry and one-way mirrors

(not really a theory or anything here, just some observations that perhaps a larger brained Henry theorist would care to chew on)

so I was thinking how gates sorta work like holes that are mirrors.

take Chrissy's gate: the UD kids and the RU kids both go to Eddie's trailer and look through the gate in the ceiling, and they see each other in the same room they themselves are in, just the other dimension's version of it.

(there aren't matching shots in one scene which is annoying but just to illustrate like you didn't already know:)

neither group is seeing the sky above the trailer, as they would be if that gate was a hole that worked how holes usually work.

if you go to the spot in either dimension where that hole would lead if it worked how holes work, it's not there.

when Eddie and Dustin go up to the roof to play Master of Puppets, we see the place where Chrissy's gate would come out, and there's nothing.

so gates are mirror-holes that can only be seen from one side of that surface but not the other. it's not a perfect analogy, but this makes me think of a one-way mirror.

which has been on my mind because baby El throws Henry through a one-way mirror where the first gate opens.

they could've had Henry get zapped against any of the walls of the rainbow room, in fact it would've been easier to film that I'm sure, but instead they went to the trouble of hurling his ass through a one-way mirror into an observation room, and set design isn't random and meaningless.

so I thought some more about one way mirrors. how do they work?

it's a sheet of sorta reflective glass, and to make it do the thing, one room has to be light and the other dark. in the brightly lit room, the subject will see their own reflection. but from the dark room, the observer will see straight through to the subject.

dark vs light is way too broad a theme on ST to begin listing examples, not that I need to, but this made me want to dig around with a focus on mirrors and light/dark mentions as it could maybe be applied to the mirror idea.

some observations in no particular order:

nodding. okay. Henry as the dark observer

of course, hiding in the light means focusing on happy memories and love and yatta yatta which is the way to defeat darkness which is what Henry uses to prey on people.

but in keeping with the mirror thing, does Max "hiding in the light" actually benefit her? because the brighter you are, in this analogy, the more clearly observable you are to the dark viewer.

just saying, this plan ultimately didn't work for her and he literally could not have emphasized the "I see you" thing more

Henry fed El this plan, I'm not sure whether he specified what to tell the orderly or if she came up with that on her own because of her recent concussion, but I lean towards Henry. the plan leads the two of them down to the lab's boiler room or whatever, the only dark place we've ever seen in the building.

I've lost track of whether light is good or bad in this post

idek what this is but intensely bright light emanates from Henry's body and disintegrates him into dark ash or whatever. also you can see the shards around El reflecting the observation room, because it's now the brighter one.

it's another one-way mirror that baby El throws Two against, cracking it all foreshadowingly.

and another one-way mirror that we observe El through as she's questioned by Lenora police.

have to go to season 1 for a clear view of a lab mirror as far as I can remember. Brenner watches El's experiments through one-way mirrors from observation rooms, although with lighting that allows them both to see each other.

one-way mirrors are so heavily featured in 4 when both of the likeliest viewers (Brenner and Henry) are usually in the room with the kids. who's watching 👀

Joyce and jancy detained in what I would swear is the same room but it's not. this isn't the point of this post but why. the mirror is narrower. did they scrap and then 99.9% recreate the same set? Nancy chooses to say "hey asshole" to the camera instead of the mirror, which I trust she's aware of.

Nancy why did you say this in the same episode where Henry talks about mirrors

oh btw, if the lighting is equalish on both sides of a one-way mirror, it just becomes a window, and both people see each other.

Victor saw himself, but Virginia saw Henry.

my melatonin is kicking in so somebody take this from here