#btw this is not a post about any one 'fix-it fic'

[ihearthayden]

HOLO-HOOKUP

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

MDNI SMUT 18+

PAIRING: master!anakin x padawan!reader

WC: 2.9k

SUMMARY: you and anakin are in a secret relationship, since it’s against the jedi code. you couldn’t go on a mission today with your master and his team, because you got the fever. he decides to call you during a break, just for a quick check up—but the conversation will last longer than he expected.

CW: phone/hologram sex, masturbation [ f and m ], improper use of lightsaber/lightsaber play, degradation, dom!anakin, age gap, dirty talk, master kink, semi public, slight edging, name calling/pet names

A/N: hey guys! this is my first post/fic so i’m pretty nervous, but i hope you will like it. [ btw my inspo came from CW S7E2 ] my requests and dms are open so feel free to txt me, i’m in a need of hayden/sw enthusiast moots lol btw english is not my first language, so i’m really sorry if something is grammatically incorrect.

now enjoy the story! <3

The halls of the Jedi Temple were eerily silent as you rested in your quarters, the faint hum of Coruscant's bustling cityscape a comforting lullaby in the background—although it was muffled by the thick walls. From the bed, you could hear the distant whir of passing speeders, and their voices always made your mind wander into its blurry maze—to craft different imaginary scenarios. They fed your delusions with the false hope: maybe your master had finally arrived home from his mission. You were supposed to station on Anaxes with the rest of the team, but a morning fever confined you here, far from the frontlines, far from him.

The aftereffects of the illness weighed heavily on you, your body was sluggish and weak, yet it was your heart that ached the most. You couldn't stop thinking about Anakin's suffocating absence and how he should have been caressing your overheated frame instead of fighting on a different planet. You fantasized about him wiping away the beading sweat from your shivering, fragile body with his caring, large palms. You sighed, leaning back against the cool pillow. Every fiber of your being yearned to be by his side, battling droids and facing the galaxy's chaos together, but your condition had left you stranded here.

The hum of the holo-communication device broke the silence of your desperation. You froze stiff as a statue—just like the ones surrounding Naboo's lakeside, and your heart leaped into your throat. You rushed to the device, fingers trembling as you activated the connection.

And there he was.

The flickering light revealed his face, your heart ached at the sight of him. His face bore new scrapes and smudges of dirt, his hair tousled from the battlefield, but his eyes—those molten orbs of fire and tenderness—were fixed solely on you. You got goosebumps as a shiver went down your spine, but the medicine had already started to work, so the fever didn't cause it.

"Ani," You whispered—a breathless relief flooding through you at the mere sight of him. You hadn't even realized how badly you needed him until now. 

"Chee-ska anota," he murmured, the Huttese term for "my dear love" falling from his lips like a prayer.

"I didn't expect to hear from you. I thought you'd be too busy saving the galaxy." You teased him softly, but deep down, you were glad you were on his mind as much as he was on yours. He chuckled—the tone low and warm—a balm to your frayed nerves.

"What's the point of saving it if you're not there to see it?"

But before he could continue his sentence, his words faltered for a second as his eyes traced over your face. 

"You look—your face is still red, and your eyes..." He shook his head, his brow furrowing. "Your eyes are shining, but not in the way I want them to. You're still burning up, aren't you? Fuck." You noticed him curling his hands into a fist, his fingers dug into his palms. "I could already barely focus on this duty because of you, but this was the last straw. I'm going home." 

Even though his concerns melted your heart, you didn't want to ruin their mission by making their strongest Jedi vanish or risk the option of the others discovering your little secret relationship.

"Honey, my fever is already gone. I just need to regain some strength." You were hoping this would change his drastic decision, but it only made him raise his voice at you firmly. 

"It was already a huge mistake to leave you alone in such a helpless state. But I promise you, Chee-ska, I won't abandon you again. Ever." Worry pooled in his eyes, a silent storm brewing beneath his lashes.

God, he's always so stubborn.—you thought to yourself.

Your body craved every molecule of him to be close to you—but you knew you had to do something to calm him down and make him stay there with the troops. You brushed your curly locks away from your face and leaned forward on the bed so that your robe opened slightly in the front, revealing the lacy top of your satin nightgown, along with your rosy cleavage. 

His features immediately loosened up, while a small sigh escaped his mouth—since he's aware that you never wear any lingerie under it. 

"Don't try to manipulate me, Snips. I'm still your master, which makes me the one in charge. I make the rules." He tried to appear serious, but he couldn't mask the sound of longing that filled his voice.

You knew that he wouldn't be able to resist you—since he could never hold himself back. When you find a way to flick the switch in him, he sheds his cautious, caring personality and transforms into a predator. When he got aroused, he became a bloodthirsty beast—and you embodied the prey in his eyes. Just like a starving animal, ready to maul and devour any living creature in sight. 

Since your goal was to push him over the edge, you bit the pink flesh of your pouty bottom lip and reached out to his other lightsaber—which was accidentally left lying on the nightstand next to your bed. It was the only thing that resembled his present, and as you slowly ran your fingers over its surface—you quickly figured out your plan. 

"If you are the one making the rules, why don't you make them fun?" These words left your glossy lips as you drove the weapon up to the right corner of your mouth. 

"Stop being a brat and fix your behavior, youngling. I command you as your superior, not your partner."  His tone carried the weight of authority, a warning you might have believed—if not for his eyes, smoldering and unashamed as it lingered on your chest.

You loved to lure out his raw dominance with your attitude so he would use you to fulfill his sickest, secret, intimate desires. His mechanical arm and the force combined allowed him to take advantage of you and have more control over you than anyone else could ever do—and you enjoyed it more than anything.

"Are you sure that is what you want? Because if you change your mind and stay, you could see me doing this." You kneeled and grabbed the saber with both of your hands so that you could lick it all the way from the bottom to the very top of it. You started swirling your tongue around the tip of it and throated every inch of it without any warning. It wasn't a challenge to take it—your esophagus had adjusted from everyday use to Anakin's significantly bigger size—but it still drew a quiet gag out of you. Your teary eyes never left his surprised gaze, which hunger quickly overtook.

You saw him reach out one of his hands towards your hologram—to pretend to grab your hair—and started bobbing it in the same rhythm as you did with your head. You noticed his growing bulge through the thin fabric of his Jedi uniform—and you couldn't help but sit back on your heels and start rocking your hips a little for some stimulation. This lustful view strikes a tingling sensation in your abdomen. Your brain flooded with the picture of his trembling, overstimulated tip as it stained his pants with his sweet, milky, smeared precum—waiting for you to clean it up with your tongue. 

You snapped back to reality, and a streak of saliva remained attached to the object as you released it from the hot cave of your mouth—while trying to catch your breath.

"I wish that it would have been you. Even though it's your lightsaber, unfortunately, it still can't cum down my throat like you." You said with sad puppy-dog ​​eyes while trying to stop panting, but an unexpected statement struck your ear.

"Ride it." 

A naughty grin appeared on your face as you tried to tease your boyfriend for a tiny bit longer.

"I thought you were worried about your sick little girl, but now you want to use her?" You said with a mocking tone, but he immediately growled at you.

"I said ride it." The harsh order made you stare at him momentarily, but he instantly broke the silence.

"Don't play stupid now. Just obey." He aggressively unbuckled his belt with one hand and rolled up his sleeves while he continued his monologue.

"I lied to the team that I came to this empty warehouse to strategize, so be a good slut for me and don't waste our precious time." He gently ran his fingers over the prominent outline of his size, which made his voice tremble with desire. 

"I saw my needy baby grinding while putting on her little show, so don't you dare to deny how fucking wet you are for me." You squeezed your thighs together, and they remained stuck from how sticky he made you. "You knew exactly what you were doing, so now it's your job to finish what you started, sweet little thing."

You realized how Obi-wan or even the enemy could catch him at any millisecond, so you quickly tossed the lightsaber on the bed, placed your hands in front of yourself and positioned your tiny body above it. 

"Yes s-sir!" You stuttered, but before you could start masturbating, you heard him say—

"Stop. Did you just go dumb on me already? You forgot something. Words, sweetheart, words. What do good girls say?" His serious side always made your core drool. You remembered the missing essential and said it without hesitation.

"Thank you, master!" His mean face finally released a small smile. 

"Now you can continue."

You shifted until your painfully throbbing slit hovered directly over the part that was covered in ridges. As you slowly sank into it, the cold touch of the remaining saliva sent a jolt through your body. You started humping on your little "toy" back and forth, dragging your clit across the whole length of it. The friction made your breath come up in ragged gasps. You tried to glare into his lustful iris but couldn't make contact with his gaze—Anakin had already rolled his eyes back. A heavy moan escaped from your plump lips as he revealed his fully erect member, slamming it against his muscular abs. A puddle of precum pooled around the base of his dick, and some of it already ran down to his thighs. The liquid glistened as the light reflected off it, but he spat in his palm to lubricate it even more. He started gliding his hand on his most sensitive area while watching you chase your high. The holopad was set up to make it look like he was towering over you, ready to finish on your face.

"You are the filthiest whore in the whole galaxy. I mean, look at you, tiny Padawan of mine…skipping your stationing duties to pleasure yourself at home." He kisses his teeth, making a quiet 'tsk' sound." You're fucking pathetic." He threw his head back as he degraded you. You tried to fasten your pace, but your legs started to shake unintentionally to let you know you wouldn't last long. A knot began to form in your stomach, but Anakin shouted at you.

"Oh no, don't even think about it. Don't you dare to cum yet. I didn't give you permission. Don't be greedy."

You whined, your fingers curling desperately into the sheets, the fabric twisting between your trembling hands as you fought against the inevitable. Every muscle in your body was drawn tight, quivering under the weight of restraint, but it was futile—you were at your master's mercy. The heat between your legs was unbearable, pulsing, demanding release, but you knew better than to give in without his approval. Your breath hitched, a pathetic whimper slipping past your lips. You felt helpless, wholly unraveled under his control, but deep down, you knew his cruelty had a purpose. He wasn't denying you out of malice—he was building you up, drawing out your pleasure until it consumed you, until you shattered so thoroughly you wouldn't recover for days. The way he edged you was deliberate, precise, and designed to wreck you in the best way possible. Every second he made you wait, every teasing word, every denied climax—it all led to something greater. He wanted you mindless by the time he allowed you to break. He wanted to pull every last drop of prurience from you until you were gasping his name like a prayer. And when that moment finally came, when he finally let you fall, it wouldn't just be pleasure—it would be devastation.

"See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? At least not for such a good girl. Now, my princess gets rewarded for finally being obedient." He looked up at your face, then down to his old weapon in your hands, and his lips curved into a smirk.

"Slide it in your pretty pussy. Ride my lightsaber as if it was my cock." Anakin's penis was aching, his whole body was shaking while he jerked off. 

"Spread your legs wider, angel, will you? I want to see what's mine. Your warm cunt belongs to me." After his request, your hole pulsed as if it had its own heartbeat. You aligned the "dildo" to your entrance, and with one sharp movement, you rammed it into your opening. You reached up to your chest to cup both of your breasts in your hands and gave them a rough squeeze before you pinched your nipples as Anakin's replacement kissed your cervix. You saw that he trusted into his palm faster than before and became much more vocal.

"Yeah, that's it, that's my girl. You are taking it so good for me." His praises helped your orgasm to build up even more. 

"A-ani, mhh, I'm close; I can't take it anymore! " He heard your shutter, which made him look up from under his eyebrows. You could see that pearly sweat streaks started to run down from his forehead, and their route followed the scar mark on his eye.

"Do you think you deserve it? Beg for it. Can you do that, little one?" He questioned. "How much do you want it, hm? Show me. Make me proud."

His hips hadn't stopped since the call started; he fucked his palm restlessly, so you knew that you had to trigger his weakest spot to get the job done.  

"I promise that I'll be your slave, your fucktoy when you come home, okay? I'll let you use me as a cumdumpster anytime, just please let me finish already.  Anakin, it hurts! " You whimpered while tears ran down from your cheeks to your chin. You started rapidly circling on your swollen clit and pumping into your soaked folds, sliding in and out his "stunt double" that rubbed against your G-spot repeatedly. This was all he needed to hear and see.

"K-kay, let it happen baby, cum for me. Cmon, give it to me. Give me what's mine." He commanded, his words are law.

Your back arched with grace as you went crashing over the edge. You collapsed on your bed into a puddle that your squirt made, mind blank as waves of pleasure rolled through you. The world around you blurred into nothingness, consciousness suspended in the aftershocks of ecstasy. This meant the main attraction to Anakin, the sight of you undone, the way your body trembled and spasmed. His breath hitched, muscles tensing as climax washed over him. His cock throbbed violently in his grasp, spilling thick ribbons of his release over his fingers as he choked out your name. Ropes of his load painted his v-line, dripping down toned his stomach and pooling in his lap.

"Fuck, you are something else. Good job, kid." He panted as he dragged his pants back on. 

"See, I told you that you don't need to leave work for me." You stuck out your tongue while giggling and kicking your feet. 

"You are not sick anymore, that's for sure. The only sick thing is what you promised me in return for your orgasm." He winked at you with his ocean-blue eyes. "Good thing that Rex's helmet recorded everything, so I will have proof." 

Your eyes widened, and you couldn't believe what you heard.

"OH MY GOD—ANAKIN SKYWALKER, YOU FUCKING FREAK! Why didn't you tell me you made the call from his helmet?" You screamed in anger, but your boyfriend just laughed in your face. 

"More risk, more fun, doll." 

Before you could respond to his answer, a sharp knock echoed from his end of the connection. You could see the sudden shift in his expression, the way his shoulders stiffened. From offscreen, you heard Rex's voice, low but clear—

"General Skywalker, you've got company." 

Anakin cursed softly, his free hand running through his already messy hair. He turned back to the holo-projector, his face conflicted. 

"The team found me, I have to go. I'll be home soon, so don't forget our deal. Ni chuba du," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words in Huttese heavy with meaning. "I love you." 

Before you could respond, the connection flickered out, the blue light vanishing, and you were left staring at the empty space where he had been.

[madlori]

Facebook Official

whoops my hand slipped and I banged out 1800 words of fix-it fic in like an hour. btw i think the Abby connection is dumb but I'm making it work.

Three years after reconciling with Buck, newly engaged to him, Tommy gets a phone call from a certain former dispatcher...who's just seen some interesting news via a Facebook Relationship Status post.

*****

(also on AO3)

To say that the phone call blindsided him would have been the understatement of the century.

He was just sitting at home watching the game, having a beer, minding his own business. Evan was on shift — must be a busy one, he’d only gotten two text messages all evening, one bitching about not having had time to eat dinner and the other about idiots who texted while driving.

His phone rang. Unknown number. Normally he wouldn’t have picked up, but with all the wedding preparations, a lot of vendors were calling. It was a little late to be making business calls, just after 8 pm, but he’d quickly learned that business norms meant little in the wedding planning business. “Hello?”

“Tommy?”

“Yes?” A woman’s voice. Familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

Pause “You’re marrying Buck??” A slightly hysterical note of disbelief entered the woman’s voice as she said the name.

And all at once, he knew who it was. Shit fuck motherfucker why didn’t we get ahead of this one.

“Abby. Um…”

“Evan Buckley? My ex-fiancé and my ex-boyfriend are marrying each other?”

“Small world, huh?” he said, going for levity.

“Buck’s not even gay!”

“No, he’s not. He’s bisexual.”

“I’m…okay. I’m sorry, it’s just…this is a lot of information to get all at once.”

“How did you even find out? Don’t you live in Phoenix?”

“Buck posted one of those relationship status things on Facebook.”

“Oh. I barely use Facebook.”

“Me either, but Buck does, and I hadn’t been on there in awhile, but I logged on and that was like the third post I saw!”

Tommy remembered the day Buck had made the post. They hadn’t really put their relationship on social media much - Buck posted photos of them on Instagram sometimes - and he hadn’t done one of those stupid relationship status things for them until they got engaged. They’d trawled their phones for the right pic, eventually settling on one taken at a 118 barbecue of them together, smiling, arms slung around waists. He hadn’t said so, but he’d gotten a little emotional over what Evan wrote on the post:

Evan Buckley is engaged to Tommy Kinard.

“It’s been a long road, but we made it. Can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with this man. He’s the best person I’ve ever known. I love you!”

“Well…I’m sorry that was an unpleasant surprise for you,” Tommy said, carefully.

She sighed. “I don’t know that it was…unpleasant. But a surprise, for sure. How do you even know Buck? How did you meet?”

“We’re both firefighters, it’s not that surprising that we could have met, is it?”

“No, I guess not.”

“And he was at my old firehouse. The one you refused to ever come to. But I guess you went when you were with him, didn’t you?”

“You never wanted me to meet your friends. I guess I found out why when you broke off our engagement.”

“I’m sorry, Abby. I know I said it then, but I’ll say it again now. I lied to myself, I lied to a lot of people. It took me almost trapping you in my lie, when you did not deserve that, to break me out of it.”

“I forgave you ages ago. We don’t have to go over all that again.”

“I met Evan…I guess it’s four years ago? We started dating not long after. I, um…was the first man he dated. I guess I made him realize some things about himself.”

“Just transforming lives everywhere you go, huh?” she said, a teasing note entering her voice. Tommy was happy to hear it.

“Yeah, well, I almost screwed it up. I broke up with him six months later. He was diving in headfirst, too fast, just all in and wanting to move in with me.”

“That sounds just like Buck.”

“I panicked and ended it before I could get in any deeper with him.”

“It was too late, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah. I was already in love with him.”

“He’s easy to love. Too easy,” she said, quietly. “But you got back together, obviously.”

“Took a little while. Almost a year. I dated a few guys, he dated a few people, but nothing stuck for either of us - I know now it’s because we were still hung up on each other. We have a friend in common and we’d hear about each other through him…but I didn’t really see him until we ended up on a major incident call together. I sustained a minor injury - just a scrape, really - and Hen from his house patched me up. I was sitting there on the ambulance deck, more or less left to myself, and he came waltzing up with that eyebrow raised like he knew all my secrets.” Abby chuckled, like she knew the exact expression he was describing. “He just said, are you done being fucking stupid yet?”

“And you were.”

“Yep. I was. He took me home that night and we’ve barely been apart since. Got engaged a year later.”

“You sound happy.”

“I am. I’m ecstatic. I can’t believe I got a second chance with him. I kicked myself for ending it like that, I don’t know what came over me.”

“I do. You thought you weren’t enough for him to want to keep you.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“That’s dumb.”

“That’s what he says.”

They sat there not speaking for what felt like a long time.

“Well…” Abby said. “I feel like I just unloaded on you out of the blue.”

“You kinda did,” he said, smiling.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have called.”

“I’m glad you did. You know…Evan and I didn’t realize we had you in common until our six month anniversary dinner. In fact, it was that revelation that sort of started us on the way to breaking up for awhile. But that’s been so long now and it hasn’t come up in a few years. I almost forgot about it.”

“Gee, thanks,” she said, her grin audible. “I’m glad you’re both happy. I have a lot of regret over Buck, how I left things with him. I assume he’s told you.”

“He has. If it helps, he doesn’t have any bad feelings towards you.”

“It does help. Thank you for that.” She sighed. “I’ll let you go. I just saw that Facebook post and spiralled a little bit.”

“Understandable.”

“Please tell Buck I say hello. And I wish you both so much happiness, Tommy.”

“Thank you. And I will.”

She hung up. Tommy stared at the phone for a moment, then opened his text message thread with Evan.

You’re not gonna believe what just happened.

*****

When Evan got home at 7 am, they had their usual two hours to share breakfast and maybe a quick fuck before Tommy had to be on shift himself. They tried to sync their schedules so their off days coincided, but it didn’t always work.

“Holy shit, why didn’t we get ahead of that one?” Evan said as he burst in the door, not even bothering with “hello.” His shoes and duffel went flying and he bustled into the kitchen where Tommy was mixing the pancake batter.

“Yeah, I had the same thought,” he said, leaning over to kiss him hello.

Evan went to the coffee pot. “I didn’t even think about it, that she might see.”

“Neither did I.”

“How’d she sound?”

“Really surprised at first. Incredulous, even? Like in the what-are-the-odds way.”

“Kinda like when I found out we’d both dated her.”

“Yeah, but you’re my himbo now,” Tommy said, smirking. “No, she was just shocked. I gave her the quick rundown, and she ended up congratulating us.”

“Did you tell her it’s her fault we broke up for a year?” Evan said, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

“I think the proper person to bear the fault is me.”

“And also me. Who asks someone to move in after six months? Before even saying ‘I love you?’ And when you had a house!”

“I say we blame Josh. He got you all juiced up with that damn Glee speech.” After they’d reconciled, Evan had given him chapter and verse on his mind-boggling thought processes on that last fateful day.

“He got me feeling guilty, is what he did. That I judged you for lying to Abby. Overcorrecting is one of my special gifts.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, while I’m overcorrecting…why don’t we invite her?”

Tommy looked up. “To our wedding?”

“Sure, why not? She can flip a coin whose side she sits on,” Evan said, grinning like the mischievous imp that he was.

“Evan, darling, love of my life, we are not inviting our ex to our wedding.”

He scrunched up his face. “Ew. ‘Our’ ex? Makes it sound like we were in a throuple.”

“Ew, indeed.”

He cocked his head. “I dunno, though. The thought’s kinda sexy.”

“Not to me! No vaginas anywhere near my bedroom. Kinsey 6, remember?”

“Of course, my apologies.”

Tommy looked at his innocent wide-eyed face for a few beats. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“Can I help it if the thought of two people I have found intensely attractive doing sexy things is appealing?”

“Can I help it if the thought of Chris Hemsworth going down on you has gotten me through some lonely nights?”

“Okay, I get the point. Shutting up now.” 

Tommy put a plate of pancakes in front of him. “Your shift okay?”

“Fine. Busy. I’m a bit wired. Do we have time for me to bounce on your dick for a bit before you have to head out?”

“For that, I’ll make time.” He sat down at the table at Evan’s side with his own pancakes. Evan slid a hand over and squeezed his thigh.

“Missed you, though,” he said, chewing.

“I always miss you when you’re on shift,” Tommy said.

Evan looked up at that, meeting his eyes. “Tommy, sometimes I miss you when you get up to get a beer.”

The simplicity, the sincerity of it made his chest tighten a little. He leaned forward, put his fingers under Evan’s chin and pulled him into a soft kiss, just like the first time. “I love you,” he whispered. 

“I love you, too.”

“And we are not inviting my ex-fiancee who is also your ex-girlfriend to our wedding.”

Evan grinned. “Deal.”

[nix-writes-mcyt]

Can you write some fluff/comfort xisuma? Been wanting some more cute and cosy fics for him but so few write them <3 love your writing btw! Long time lurker<3

Sorry it took a little while anon, but the fic is now here. Enjoy!

Business Man

Oneshot Contains: nothing but Fluff -----------------

You wander into the trophy shop, hoping to find Xisuma. You're behind on three trophies now, and it's not because you haven't sent in your diamonds.

In fact, turns out your mail was getting lost, to and from your home. Etho and Tango will be out to fix it soon, but it depends when they have the time. Thankfully Etho had dropped off all the lost mail at the Post Office, where Pearl had sorted it out and called you to pick it all up. The unfortunate thing was that the lost mail included the multiple parcels sent to Xisuma that didn't arrive.

So here you are, in his shop, hoping he is too. "X?" You call out, but there is no response. The trophies sit on their display pedestals, almost mocking you. Or at least they could be in a different world, but they're only trophies and that was a silly thought.

"X?" You call again, this time hearing a soft thud come from the wall. You take a few more steps into the room and look at some of the bigger trophies.

"This feels like a scam now that I think about it." You stare at the trophies and they stare back. It's definitely mocking. Trophies you earn diamonds to get.. and spend diamonds to get. "I can assure you it isn't." You turn quickly at the sound of Xisuma's voice, and sure enough there he stands. He's just barely in the room, coming from some hidden door.

"Oh, I didn't.. you know, mean it like that. I just meant that you're, well, a" the words are already barely pieced together but finding the end of the sentence is not easy. "I'm an entrepreneur. A business man, if you will." You see the gleam in his eyes through his visor. "Yes.. that." You reply, "a business man. A man of business. Xisuma." You're feeling even more flustered by the minute, the fact he's closing in on you only increasing that feeling.

"I heard you had some mail that got lost, did you come to deliver it personally?" His voice is so smooth and confident you find yourself completely at a loss for words. So you just nod, pulling the envelopes from your inventory. He holds out his hand, leaning just a little closer as he does. You swallow hard as you place the mail in his possession, at this point just trying to have the moment over and done with.

"Let me go sort this out for you, won't be a second." With that he's gone. You can breathe again. You look around the room, the trophies sparkling under their lights, the product of a business man. A man who has somehow taken your diamonds and apparently your heart.

Now your reaction seems silly, and you hope he didn't notice.

Soon enough he reappears, box in hand. "I've got your trophy, you'll have to be careful with this box though. Don't do anything too adventurous as this ones quite fragile." He places the box on the floor next to you. "Don't worry, I didn't make any plans because I knew it would be." Xisuma moves to lean against the pedestal opposite you, silence settling in.

Then he speaks up. "Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to do something? You don't have to, I just thought maybe you and I could go for a walk.. or visit the zoo or maybe something else?" Any smoothness or confidence he had earlier? Gone. Yet he remains just as charming. "Like a date?" The words just come out of your mouth before you have time to stop them.

"Yeah, well no. Unless you want it to be?" You think about it for a second. Is this actually happening? You were not expecting to be asked on a date. "I wouldn't mind a date." Is all you manage to say.

Xisuma steps forward, offering his arm to you. You take it, heart pounding in your chest. This is both exciting and terrifying. "Let's go then." You can hear his smile, the two of you leaving the shop immediately.

You walk down to the river with very little said between you, just enjoying the moment. As much as you can anyway, it's not like your nerves are in shreds or anything. Xisuma doesn't seem to mind the lack of conversation though, or at least if he does mind he says nothing.

The two of you walk for what seems like forever, even though it can't have been more than an hour. Almost a full lap of the shopping district has been done, but you both find a well needed place to sit down and rest. Conveniently for the two of you Keralis' Lake not only has seats, but a nice view and some shade.

You both settle on a bench, Xisuma leaning into you a little when you put your arm around him. "This has been nice." He mumbles. "It has. And I've not been robbed blind by your devious business tactics." You joke, earning a small laugh from Xisuma.

"Just because you kept your diamonds doesn't mean I haven't gained something of value." You can't help but smile, knowing he's speaking about the time spent with you.

The sunlight dances on the waters surface, which does remind you of your trophy. Your trophy which you left in Xisuma's shop. It's not a big deal, it gives you another excuse to see him now. Perhaps that was his plan the whole time, you'll never know. Or maybe you will if he tell you.

Regardless, Xisuma is right. The time you've spent with him has been wonderful, even if most of it has been spent in silence. All you wanted was to bring in your lost mail, but you've come out with a nice date. That's a win in your eyes.

Xisuma reaches over and takes your free hand in his, sighing softly as he gets comfortable being held. Between the cuddle, the sound of the birds and the lake, it's truly peaceful. "I'd like to do this again sometime." He says. "I'll do it again under one condition." You reply quietly, "I'll do it again if you'll be mine?"

Xisuma lets out a breath of relief, "I was worried you'd ask for a discount, but that's a much better deal in my professional opinion." The two of you giggle before settling back down, to spend some more of your day cuddled up by the lake.

[thegremlininyourcloset]

Hello, I saw you reblogged my post about my AU versions of Steph saying you had your own collection of Steph's and I'm very curious to hear about them

Oh wow hi!!!! okay so I have a lot

very few of them are coherent

even fewer of them have any sort of story

but basically there’s ain’t no easy roads Steph, who I’ve worked teh most on for my fic Step Left For A Better Future (which has the first chapter on ao3 and several other snippets here on Tumblr if you wanna read it!!!)

the plot is that its basically a fix it if Steph’s Robin run—except that isn’t what it is at all because it’s very angsty

basically, Steph is the Robin in Titans Tower, and ends up fighting for her life (he’s not really trying to kill her but Steph doesn’t know that) against one Jason Todd (who she does not know the name of btw)

and then the next fics are going to focus on the aftermath + how the attack (and Steph’s reaction to it) kinda served as a reality check for the other Bats

then there are the other AUs, which are more like ideas than anything else

there’s finders keepers, where Vampire! Dick Grayson ends up found familying Human! (Or is she?) Steph

it gets better, where a Transfem! Steph strikes up an online friendship with a Transmasc! Wally West

prepare for trouble (& make it double) which is a Steph and Tim childhood civilian friends au (where they are also both trans)

then there’s liar, liar, where Steph actually DID die and lied about it to everyone

I have also had thoughts on a Red Hood!Steph, a First Robin! Steph, a Batman! Steph, a Luck Meta! Steph, & Green Lantern! Steph

and one idea where the Batfamily are separated for whatever reason and Steph must rescue/reunite them

and the there’s the AU where Steph is taken form the Bats, and has to fight her way back all while they look for her (which might include a Batfamily with psychic/soulmate bonds and will absolutely include stephcass)

The Steph in Young Justice AU (featuring spoilsecrets!! My favorite rarepair)

Not to mention some passing monster/creature/nonhuman Steph ideas (I wanna make her a dragon)

and also the not-exactly Steph-centric but still heavily featuring her AUs

with

Into The The Robin-Verse

with features all the Robins, and a weird multiversal mishap

Batgirl, Batgirl, Batgirl��Superboy?

where Kon gets yoinked/adopted by the Cryptid! Batgirls

and

a shape all your own

the transfem! Damian AU, with transfem Steph as a mentor/big sister figure

Wow holy shit I really do have a lot—

And @fictfrenzy @themoonwitch-mustspeak y’all might wanna see the whole list

[blueflipflops]

I saw the post you made about punk-flower and the patch sharing jacket and I just wanted to ask if you have anything specific that you would like to expand on as I plan to write a fic for it!

I’ve been in a writing slump for months now and you’re post just inspired me again finally so I just wanted to see if there were any more headcannons you had for this idea

This is the post I’m referencing btw!

Ignore the terrible crop job lol

Oooooh thats so cool! Sure!! Go for it!!

There's really not much for me to add other than ✨️vibes✨️and like a general direction/idea. But i do have a few so here's what i got so far:

I imagine that Miles was the first one to ask bring up the patched jackets (i don't really know what they're called) thing for like just a conversation starter at first but ended up getting geniunely interested as Hobie rants explains the whole thing. From its history where its originally a practical way of mending clothes but now means more to the punk culture, to how to stitch it in, picking the right jacket for it, etc.

He would explain each patch in his vest, what they represent, and how he got it. (Or Miles would ask abt it idk)

I like to hc hobie as decent enough at sewing to make shody patches with his own design. Its not good good but he's proud of them enough to show it off

Miles couldn't get his mind off Hobie's rant and some of the shoddy patches that looks so rough and like a snap away from leaving Hobie's vest and he can't get his mind off the fact that Hobie made some of his own patches which made him curious enough to make his own designs.

At first it was just drawings and doodles but then he got curious enough to try embriodery stuff. How hard could it be, right? He was wrong. Embroidery is very hard. (This coming from me who does embroidery for fun) But the learning process was fun enough that he continued on.

Rio absolutely caught him more than once, brings out her sewing kit, and gives him tips and advices like different kinds of stitches and how to fix holes on clothes, happy to have something they can bond over. (Would love to have more Rio content. She deserves the world.)

With his newly aqcuired sewing skills, he offers to fix Hobie's patch that was loose.

Then he showed Hobie the very first patch he made which was a very simple sunflower (or something else if you want) and

Hobie was very normal about that and trying to be casual like: "Can I keep it?" And it flusters Miles like "Uh, yeah, sure. I guess. I mean if you want it—"

Hobie then decided that Miles is his new go-to patch repair guy just so he can spend more time with him

Miles uses a really old jacket from either his dad or his uncle Aaron or heck even from his mom or maybe even from his grandparents. (your pick) Because he knows that you just dont do that on a new jacket! That goes against its whole purpose!!

When he shows Hobie the jacket he intends to patch up, Hobie got so exited that he rips off a patch from his vest and gifts it to Miles to "start him with" or something.

They gift each other patches that reminds them of the other

And yeah. That's it. Thats all I've got haha. Link me up on the fic when (? Or after? Srry idk grammar haha) you get to write it. Really very excited to read how you write my current favorite blorbos!! 💕

[eye-may]

idk if you even read fanfiction lol but do you have any recs from the cats fandom, i love your headcanons so i trust your judgement lol

originally I had two paragraphs ranting about how mad I was at my past self for not bookmarking some of the fics I wanted to recommend, and how categorically worse than useless google is in times of crises, but I'm happy to report that I did manage to trundle through enough digital ether to eventually find the elusive yarns. I did it for you, anon.

so yes btw needless to say I do occasionally partake.

anyway, I have extremely unregulateable, tunnel-visioned interests, so these are all at least somewhat mistoffelees or tuggoffelees centric.

after deliberation I have decided to confine this list to longform bc I am too indecisive to cherrypick which oneshots/shortforms to include and tumblr simply does not have the character capacity for me to log them all. might just have to make a whole separate ass post for that.

this list is incomprehensive and in no particular order. fuck it we ball?

I think all my ducks are in a row but if one of the links turns out to be wrong or smth pls lmk, I will fix it and then call the police on myself

I Call Out Your Name, But You Don't Call Back by Anonymous - COMPLETE / 43.8k words

Misto wakes up thinking he was kidnapped by Macavity. Luckily Tugger is there to assure him it was just a nightmare.

a good long look at some quite literal psychic damage wrought by Macavity. really delves into how his sith mid tricks fuck with Mistoffelees, who struggles to discern what's real and what's not. I love how this fic focuses on the depths of Macavity's ostensible hypnotic powers and how well it grapples with psychological fuckery via the pov in a literary sense. and also it has tugger being devoted and comforting. I could hardly ask for more. (also it includes cool art).

Curiosity Killed the Cat by StarFar - INCOMPLETE / 222k words

Munkustrap and Tugger's relationship had never run smooth, mostly thanks to their very different personalities, but when Tugger takes an interest in the newly arrived nephew of the esteemed Bustopher Jones things get complicated. Quaxo himself has little interest in making friends. All he wants to do is to look after his twin sister and keep his magic hidden, he didn't think that was too much to ask. But things get even more complicated when even more new arrivals show up, this time with links to the long banished Macavity. Despite this the Rum Tum Tugger is a curious cat who just can't help but get involved, and it turns out Munkustrap isn't so different to him after all. And we all know what they say about cats and curiosity.

first of all, yes it's incomplete, BUT I honestly think it leaves off in a satisfying place. as you can see by the word count it is VERY! long, so it's hard to describe it succinctly, but I will try lol. it's dark, it's dynamic, and it expands extensively on two relationships that I hold dear: tugger+mistoffelees, and macavity+mistoffelees. and it also runs a wider gamut of varying, fully-realized relationships(i.e., Mistoffelees and Bombalurina having an intriguing, and sometimes funny, friendship). this fic deals a lot with an abusive false imprisonment and shows a lot of self-sacrificiality on Mistoffelees's part, as well as his attempts to both endure, and outsmart, Macavity. and in that vein, it explores moral ambiguity and the Batman/Joker trappings of the infinitely juicy Live Long Enough To See Yourself Become The Villain web of drama. amidst which is a lot of focus on the specificity of Mistoffelees's powers, his limitations, and shows how he evolves with (mostly coerced) practice and training. also it contains some of the most extensive and unapologetic whump and angst I have seen in any CATS fanfiction, and a luxuriously long recovery section. the fic is not without levity however (the BEEF between bustopher and skimble is so fucking funny to me)...suffice to say it contains multitudes lol. starfar...you have done the lords work.

A Different Kind by TheGirlWithBrightEyes - COMPLETE / 52.2k words

Quaxo is a cat with powers - and a lot of problems. When he escapes from his new owner's house in an act of desperation, he finds himself brought into a tribe of mostly stray cats and has to come to terms with his new life and the loss of his family. At the same time, Quaxo's powers that were not under his control from the start are quickly spiralling out of control making him a danger to the others. He needs to gain control fast before anyone gets hurt - including himself.

A really heartwarming "origin story" with an ADORABLE explanation for how Quaxo came to adopt the name "Mr. Mistoffelees." including a wide variety of soft, fluffy friendships and an intriguing interpretation of the difficult journey Mistoffelees had to take in order to ingratiate into the junkyard and get his powers under control. incidentally contains really cute friendship moments between Mistoffelees and Alonzo, which is a pairing I wish to see more often. and the most hilarious and believable depiction of Tugger I think I've ever read lmao

Kidnapped by the Fire by Anubis44 / INCOMPLETE / 39.6k words

"They all stood there. Dead silent. Nobody was moving a muscle. Only thing heard was a faint growl. The unconscious body of Mister Mistoffelees was hovering just above the ground right next to The Hidden Paw himself." Macavity desides to torment the Jellicle Tribe (and his brothers) as revenge for the Jellicle Ball and leaves everyone hurt in one way or another.

evidently never going to be finished, but what's left to us is marvelous. unambiguously Evil Macavity and lots of whump to go around if you're into that lmao. pretty much everybody amply suffers, as promised in the author's summary.

Gold Rush by millenari / COMPLETE / 174.7k words

In the aftermath of his bout of heroics at the Jellicle Ball, Misto finds himself with a newfound -and unwanted- popularity brought on by his and Tugger's performance. After one too many incidents from which Misto escapes his new fans by the skin of his teeth, Tugger informs him that he needs to change things up. The plan they end up hatching in order to do so is unconventional to say the least. But brought to the end of his rope by his new admirers, dreading the approach of the yearly heat season, and busy tending to his sister in the aftermath of her own abrupt transition into adulthood, Misto figures that pretending to be mates with his best friend since kittenhood couldn't possibly make his life any more harrowing. And it's not like such a small lie is going to actually hurt��anyone. Right?

my fav. slice of life! expansive glimpses into the banalities of Jellicle culture! angst! levity! contains some of my favorite descriptions of Mistoffelees struggling to understand and wield his own magic. and what if I told you that the most relatable, accurate, meticulous, sensitive, and believable depiction in writing of neurodivergence and social anxiety I've ever encountered can be found in a longform tuggoffelees fanfiction? what then??

Catalyst by FlyingFritz / COMPLETE / 47k words

There's a shift in the air. Quaxo can feel it. A strange, alluring presence taunts him in his dreams despite his attempts to ignore it. The more he tries to push it down, the more insistent it becomes, leading to explosive, dangerous results. Meanwhile, Tugger tries to puzzle out the enigma that is Quaxo and learns that there is more to this cat than meets the eye. Misto/Tugger

first of all this took me HOURS to find. ig it's not on ao3 or if it is I can't find it on there. but anyway! this was one of the first CATS ffs I read and it has a really neat take on the quaxo-eventually-embodies-and/or-becomes-Mistoffelees pipeline. ik there's a handful of fics out there that grapple with the concept, but I particularly enjoy how this one interprets the separation (or lack thereof) between the two personas. I want to get it into it further but am gallantly restraining myself to avoid spoilers. also: tugger kind of bumbling through the entire convoluted series of events is funny and cute. AND you get a lot of good pounce and tumble.

He's Always Wide Awake! by Maliex / COMPLETE / 14.7k words

The Jellicle Cats are settling down again after the intense Ball where Grizabella went to the Heaviside Layer. Important conversations are had, and Mistoffelees adjusts to his new power levels and position in the Clan. But he knows - a storm is brewing on the horizon, one that he will have to be in the middle of.

again!! I searched for HOURS!!! I was so mad at my past self for not having bookmarked this fic for whatever god foresaken reason. hopefully my devotion to hunting it down is a sufficient indication of the impression it left upon me lmao. before I continue, it's worth noting that this is a part of a series, but this is the only installment of the series that I've read. so I can't speak to its predecessors or how worthwhile it is to read the entire trilogy in succession. idk do w that information what you will.

anyway, this fic has one of my fav interpretations of magic and the ways in which Mistoffelees and Macavity differ regarding their relationships with it. the author also has an infinitely interesting and juicy take on Macavity's backstory and why he is the way he is...and the ways the characters and their interpersonal dynamics evolve are riveting. also this version of Mistoffelees is really curt and just like...Done With All Bullshit Ever and I think it's funny lmao. btw if you're into Deut Family Dynamics (tm)...plenty here!

okay that's enough *for now* ig. shout out to fanfiction authors...yall are really out here providing hours of entertainment for FREE?!! all of you are amazing.

[tunamayojazz]

Love your art, any Toge/Yuuta fanfic recommendations? Thanks so much!!

hi!! thank you so much...🥺🩷🩷 and i am SO glad you asked this. i have so many!! here are the ones i read/reread more recently along with some of the tags. tried to make every rec here different from each other hehe have fun reading!!! can't help it (if you look like an angel) by glimmiks (12.4k)

tags: college au, friends to lovers, mutual pining, IKEA

THIS WAS SO FUN TO READ PLEASEEEE i absolutely love college aus so much. and you just know the 2nd years would be the most fun and chaotic as college students. their dynamic is just chefs KISS, and it's written so well here. the mutual pining in here is truly a 10-course meal and i always go back for another round.

i'm alright if you're alright by anonymous (14.2k)

tags: spoilers up to ch146, fluff, hurt/comfort, injury recovery, fix-it, love confessions, pining

post-shibuya fic excellence. i always have such a great time reading this like inuokkos really do eat so well in this fandom. yuta pining is always so great to read like he is Longingly thinking about toge at all times im cry

Magnificently Cursed by diggingupthegrave (91.2k)

tags: dark academia, magic au, magic school au, slow burn, angst, mutual pining

i will always always recommend diggingupthegrave fics. they are easily my favorite inuokko writer pls you have to read all their inuokko fics...i saved this particular one of theirs to read for much later bc i knew it was going to change my life (7 chapters ok) and boy did it do exactly that. the way they implemented canon elements into a magic setting was so so brillaint and i savored every bit of it.

Beat the Turtle Drum by CasuallyScreaming (7.4k) tags: major character death, post-shibuya incident arc, angst, minimal comfort, no shibuya spoilers read this before sleeping the other night and honestly how i managed to still fall asleep after was my body trying to protect me from full out bawling and having a mental breakdown...i don't think i've read a lot of MCD inuokko but god this one shook me to my core. almost like the feeling of loss and grief were bleeding through my phone screen. so well written and while it's definitely mostly painful, the ending....well you'll find out :')

a special occasion by Cheshire (2.5k) tags: idiots in love, established relationship, first dates this was so so cute...!!!!!!! panda: but aren't you two already dating? yuta: well yes! no. sorta, kinda. super cozy and fluffy read!!

is this how every day begins? by mitgi (5.4k) tags: roommates, living together, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, angst i will always love me a roommate au. this fic was such a lovely read and i'm actually going to reread this right after i finish writing this! there's so much to explore in inuokko's relationship and also when it's in different settings. every time i think about how the actual source material are literal crumbs, i'm just even more amazed by how writers are able to draw out the most of what info we have and write their mannerisms so well. it all feels right and so WARM UOGHHHHH

haunted by sieling_fan (3.3k)

tags: pining, hurt/comfort, canon typical angst, character study

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

you showed up just in time by diggingupthegrave (14.6k)

tags: time travel, friends to lovers, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, slight age gap

another diggingupthegrave fic that had me crying screaming shaking throwing up because god. this was so so good. the build up had me at the edge of my seat bc like oh my god what happened? what's happening?? why is this like that? @#$%^&*()_!!!!!!!!!!!!! and when it's all pieced together? oh it ended me. read this again and again for DAYS you would think i was researching it for a thesis or something. take your time reading this btw like im so serious.

okie that's all for me from now, i have so many more to rec honestly....sending out 100000000000 hearts to inuokko writers you are my roman empire....

[slowd1ving]

II. RIDING HIGH IN APRIL ･ﾟ FRANCIS MOSSES

"Your usual, Mr Francis Mosses?” you repeat with the same inflection. It has to stay the same. A name to a star will not make it any more personal – it’ll remain the same cold distance away, stay the same burning core of amorphous light, in a fixed set of constellations. It has to. But you’ve overlooked the most salient point. Humans are not stars. There's a reason you stuck with this shitty diner job: routine. So, why the hell does that keep changing for you? warnings + general: amab!reader, nsfw, depression, smoking + unhealthy habits, diner au, trauma, military background (made up unit for doppelgangers) so canon divergence, obsession lowkey BTW this is also posted on ao3 so if there are any doubts about me being the author just comment on any of my fics and I assure you I'll reply on there! (but thank you to those who expressed concern it means a lot)

MISC. MASTERLIST

THAT'S LIFE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

PREVIOUS PART ゜・NEXT PART

‘That’s life (that’s life) I tell you, I can’t deny it.’

It’s a different type of blue hour when it’s thirty minutes before dawn – cleaner than your smoke-filled evenings: filled with hope and a promise of sunlight, rather than a vow of everlasting sin. 

Your lungs burn with the cold air. It seems like you’re drowning, but it’s not the same sensation as three years back. This time, all your cells are clamouring for oxygen; scrambling and twisting, unlike the freezing resignation beneath the rain and viscera. 

You’re dressed casually: sweats and a shirt that’s tighter than your clinical kitchen jacket. Like a never ending hug, it tightly clasps the muscle forced upon you by the Execution programme. You should feel cold. You are cold, but the surge and flush in adrenaline is something that melts your stone heart and body. In your haste to leave at your colleague’s proclamation of an emergency, it seems you forgot your jacket. 

Fatigue eludes you – your breathing is controlled as ever. 

Let’s face it – if it weren’t for your shifting galaxy, you would’ve stayed in bed this morning. 

This is all his fault. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing here, having jogged to the diner getting heckled via landline by your coworker. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t have deigned to answer. After all, the day management of the place is left to your colleague, not you. 

“He’s asked for you specifically.”

You can hear the satisfied grin through the landline. When you press her for more details, she hangs up on you, and you’re left seething with an almost broken cord clenched tight in your fist. 

Who the hell is she talking about?

As far as you knew, the boss had gone and fucked off to somewhere in Scandinavia two years ago. Unless he’s hauled his geriatric ass back here, you sincerely doubt he’s the one requesting your presence. 

But if you’re being honest, you don’t mind this sudden disruption to your schedule. 

Like molasses, sleep would’ve pulled you under – sticky and sweet – for the rest of the day to escape your thoughts. That’s your daily routine: an endless struggle with your mind. 

With this, at least the war in your brain has stilled. It’s a dangerous calm, one that threatens to flow out of control at the slightest ripple. The waters are growing agitated – it’s only a matter of time before you’re pulled under. 

Make no mistake, you will be dragged to the depths eventually. That’s not something you, nor anyone, can prevent. Sleep cannot hope to fight it. You cannot hope to ever escape it. 

Your head aches. 

It’s freezing. You’re slowly becoming more frigid, and your hands are beginning to shake. It was a mistake, coming out here. You don’t know what’s caused the change. 

No, you do know. You just can’t bear to keep acknowledging the catalyst behind it. 

It’s not the run that’s winded you – your breath stops ragged as you fumble in your pockets for the Old Gold that should be there. That small, plastic-wrapped carton should be there, but your pockets are sorely empty. 

Shit, shit.  

Your ears are ringing. Just like the death knell ringing for your friends and subordinates, it keeps ringing and ringing and tolling and tolling. Those reverberations permeated through sinew, through flesh and vessel – only contributing to the staggering tremors attacking your palms. 

That alizarin blue is fading from your vision, and there’s nothing you can do. 

Numbness spreads awful quick through your extremities after all; it hurtles whip-fast through your spine, pressing you against icy, rough brick. 

“Ha,” your breath comes in the form of hoarse, faint heaving. 

You’re not sure what comes next. Once the star begins exploding, it’s eventually reduced to nothingness. It’s theorised that even its very atoms disintegrate eventually.

 What’s going on?

Why aren’t you disappearing like those husks of particles?

You– you’re an empty shell. 

What’s that infernal fire spreading through your arms?

“I’m sorry,” you whisper with the finality of resignation. You’re not falling anymore. You give up. 

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry for.”

He was nowhere mere moments ago – there was nothing but empty void on all sides. Not a star, not even a singular atom to initiate collision and the chain of energy. He’d been nowhere, but now he’s everywhere. 

That hushed cadence. Those warm palms. That tired look in his eyes, softening as you met his gaze. 

“You okay there?”

Mr Francis Mosses is closer to you than he’d ever been. Each callous on his hands you can feel pressed through your thin shirt, they burn against the permafrost of your skin. 

You’re too close. Those soot-black eyelashes – you can count them individually at this proximity. This distance is infinitesimal; faint traces of his cologne invade your senses, lingering beneath that milky, powdery smell. You shouldn’t notice this. You shouldn’t be like this. You shouldn’t be feeling that feeling in your stomach. 

This is dangerous. 

“Yeah,” you manage to form a coherent syllable. A nuclear fission chain begins in your throat. “I’m alright.”

“Mm,” he acknowledges. His hands are still supporting you, and he’s not letting go. You can distinctly hear each pulse as it sounds out in his ribcage, while simultaneously hearing each breath as it hitches and tumbles in his lungs. At your sides, curled into tight spirals are your fists. 

You’re tense. Anyone can see it – the spring making up your flesh and bones is about to reach its plastic limit. You won’t be able to come back from this. 

The centripetal force making up your galaxy – your routine – is dissipating. 

He’s the cause of it. 

His arms wobble when you go limp, and suddenly you’re in his space – face pressed right into his trapezius, breathing in the temperature of his skin and the woody scent of aftershave. 

That’s new. 

He wraps around you, and you clutch the back of his shirt with enough force to crush a skull. He’s alive, pulse wildly careening through his flesh and sinew like a hummingbird. Furiously, he’s alive. His touch is searing as you press impossibly closer and closer. 

That gravitational pull can’t be from a mere supermassive black hole. 

He’s the origin – the very centre of the universe. All matter wants to be part of it; your cells tear into his, your heart sings out its mournful song, just to be a part of him. 

“Hey,” his breath is scorching across your ear. “You’re here, you’re alright.”

The murmurs are clumsy, tripping themselves up in a rush to escape his torrid lips. 

I’m here.

I’m alright. 

It may just be true. Where your hands connect to his latissimus dorsi through his crisp white shirt, they’ve stopped shaking. 

And you don’t know it, perhaps you never will, but that small, plastic-wrapped carton of gaseous aurum has been stored neatly away in the back of your mind for the past few minutes now. 

A throat clears. 

Your colleague’s face sports an amused expression, while your eyes convey a well-timed fuck you, as the rest of your face is buried in his shirt. 

When you pull back slightly, with her hand now on your back as well, you swear you feel Mr Francis Mosses clamp around your biceps like a vice. Resisting. An unstoppable force. His expression is worried, but when his exquisite brown eyes slide from you to your coworker, you think you can see the hint of a glare in them. You can’t be too sure. 

In the ultramarine light, there might be a hint of red on his face. You can’t be too sure of that either. 

“Sorry, I wouldn’t have called you in if he said he didn’t know you,” she explains sheepishly, but your ears are too full of a roaring heartbeat and your focus is entirely elsewhere. “We’ve been having issues with our milk provider, so we’ve switched to his company. It wouldn’t have been such an issue if our menu wasn’t half milkshakes.”

Her eyes are full of apology, despite her grumbling. She’s known you since your Execution Squad days, operating the calls and speaking to victims. She knows exactly how it feels – the panic, the suffocation, the lingering taste of tobacco that you can never really escape. 

But you can’t focus on that either. 

His thumbs are rubbing tiny, fiery circles onto your flesh – unconsciously, you think, as your eyes observe the slight anger in his face. 

No, wait. You blink in surprise. Since when are you able to discern that face?  

“I’ll wait inside so you can help me with the contract,” she scratches the back of her head, nonplussed when you don’t reply. “Take your time.”

She leaves, and you feel the origin of the universe relax. The molten, rigid singularity sighs – the heavens shift in response. 

“Sorry for taking up so much of your time.” He’s working, yet you’ve taken that away by giving in to your weakness. Shame bubbles in your throat, and you wish you could repeat this morning all over again and do it right just so you could avoid inconveniencing him. 

“Don’t apologise for that,” his voice is low, strung through with a hoarse fatigue. There’s something else clouding it, though, a sort of tightness that reminds you of anger. But he’s not angry, not anymore, you don’t think.

What is it?

He pulls you back into him, clutching at you as though you’re the lifeline instead of him being yours.

What is it?

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you breathe, but your arms wrap around him tightly once more. 

What is it?

“I’d give up all my days to help you like this.” 

The words are hushed, too hushed. They’re not meant to be for your ears, but your senses have been honed to a razor-sharp edge and your hearing is the sharpest blade of them all. 

You’ve identified that strain of his voice, so parallel to anger. 

Worry. 

He’s worried. 

That realisation burns you more fiercely than anything you’ve ever felt before. 

You give in to the torturous exhilaration. 

You lose yourself in the warmth. 

Just for a bit. 

‘I thought of quitting, baby, but my heart just ain’t gonna buy it.’

When he comes in those blue evenings, he brings the stardust that you can never spot in the sky. There’s no sun. There’s no moon, either. There are only the thick clouds that only let the most precocious blue through, and the power lines that cut straight through them. 

Over these three years, the only stars that you’ve seen are the twinkling remnants left in high-rise office buildings in the far city. You’ve seen the glimmers in diamond-encrusted watches, seen the shine on the record-player knobs you polish, seen the glitter in the dirty cents handed over the counter. These are not real stars, however. 

He brings the excruciating stardust, all bottled up in flesh and woven through in his capillaries. 

Today is no different. 

You don’t need the stars that are light-years away. Proxima Centauri, I don’t care about you. Tens of thousands of Kelvin – but they might as well be as freezing as the vacuum they orbit in. They’re cold points to you, dots of light that you can only see in encyclopaedias and the thick books customers bring in on occasion. These celestial bodies aren’t meant to be in a greasy diner – even mere phantoms of them are rare to spot.  

He’s warmer than any star. He’s closer than any star. He’s comprised of the universe itself. 

“What would you like today, Mr Francis Mosses?” 

Your very own galaxy. It appears nightly, much better than those lousy light shows that never appear in the thick fog of this polluted city. 

The panic of this morning has been long-forgotten. All gone, when you look in his mellow eyes. All gone. 

“Your recommendation,” he requests. He’s derailed your routine once more. “And double that.”

For the first time, you’re late in lighting a smoke. That’s not your fault, of course. It’s not. It really isn’t, not when he pulls your arm to sit you opposite him, nor when you let him, nor when you miss the warmth of his hand as he retracts it. 

The steaming food lies as the Rubicon between you. Who will cross it first?

You wait, tongue poised between your teeth. 

His hair is as messy as ever. Briefly, you wonder how it would feel beneath your calloused fingertips. 

There’s no response yet. You watch a little longer: a slight tremor as his throat bobs, lips pulled in nervousness, and eyes that dart to you, to the food, to the wall and everywhere in between. 

You lied about that last bit, by the way. Those tired, glassy eyes are focused solely on you at the moment. His darting eyes are actually your own: focused on him, his tapping fingers on the black reflective table, the steam particles between the two of you. 

“Are you feeling better?” It’s a simple question, devoid of any exhausted hum. It takes everything out of him, as though he’s practised a million ways of saying it and he’s still messed it up. His next breath is deep. 

“Yes?” You don’t mean it as a question, but the rising of the syllable from your larynx belies your confusion. Of course you’re all right – and you don’t mean this in a patronising manner. Of course you’re alright, when the building suffocation was replaced with a suffocation of another kind. 

A balmy, soothing sort. The previous drowning was a struggle; you gave into it fighting, with a snarl on your lips and a shattering spirit. But who wouldn’t ease into the other asphyxiation? In that honey-sweet warmth, you’d readily renounce your soul. 

“Yes,” you quickly repeat. This is a first: considering a customer’s feelings as you attempt to avoid a misunderstanding. “Much better, Mr Mosses.”

You don’t know why you avoid his first name. 

It seems he doesn’t know either; those tranquil brows furrow momentarily, before he gestures to the second portion of food. 

“Will you eat with me?” 

You give in too easily to the deception, especially when he adds your name onto the end of his question. It’s like a challenge, almost. 

“I thought about asking you directly,” he bites into the sandwich. Chews. Swallows. You’re slightly entranced by the movement of his throat. Human windpipes are so fragile, after all, in comparison to the imitation. “Mm, then I got nervous.”

If he was nervous, what were you?

“Don’t worry,” you say blithely, but that’s not your intention at all. You don’t want to be callous, and that surprises you once more. 

He always seems to coax a novel reaction from you. 

“Don’t worry – I wouldn’t refuse you,” you repeat. It’s a little quieter, a little more honest about how your heart sways. You don’t think you’ve ever sounded so heartfelt. 

“You mean that?” 

His tone shifts; a note lower, a pitch you wouldn’t have detected if you hadn’t specifically trained for this. You didn’t think of your response as particularly special, but it seemed he’d taken it as an invitation. 

You don’t mind that. Then again, you don’t mind his actions that should annoy you, had they been done by anybody else. 

“Yes. I’ll eat with you anytime.”

When you take a bite of the sandwich, you finally cross the Rubicon. 

You don’t know anything anymore. The routine, the precious universes you shaped – they’ve all been scattered by the two warm palms of a single man. The object of your rage is sitting in front of you, yet there’s no actual fury filling in the preconceived compartment. 

There’s amiability in one neat box. In the next, curiosity overflows and spills everywhere. Weaving through them all, however, is a strange substance you can’t identify. It’s warm. 

It’s warm, where there had previously only been ice. 

The strawberry taste lingering on your tongue is exquisite. 

It’s odd. Only after the dishes are soaking in the sink do you remember the pack in your apron pocket. Only when you turn around do you realise he’s still in the booth. Only when you spot his face do you notice you’re no longer feeling the same surge of adrenaline right before you smoke. 

You light the stick on the stovetop dispassionately. 

When the crisp blue air greets you, he’s in your shadow. How bizarre. 

It’s even more strange when he doesn’t leave to go to his small, compact van. He… remains. 

No, he does go back to his van. You watch him, sweet plumes hazing from your lips and fingertips. You can see the contraction of his tendons, each muscle moving seamlessly. No, not seamlessly. There’s a bit of a wobble – from fatigue, perhaps. No, that’s not right either. 

Have you always made so many mistakes when reading someone?

There’s a lack of drag that you’d expect. He’s always tired, so the slight pause in his gait is something natural to him. Instead, his feet are hesitant, as though he’s jittery.

This time, he comes back. 

Your mouth opens slightly. 

He’s never done this before. 

That coat from before, he wraps it snugly around you. You didn’t even know you were shivering. He’s meeting your gaze, but his brows are furrowed and he wears a weak smile with it. 

“Ah,” he mumbles slightly as your cigarette falls to the gravel between the two of you. It’s fine – it’s almost been burnt to a stub regardless. You step on it – thus bridging the chasm between you two. At this distance, he’s shorter than you are. You’ve been aware of it, but this is the first time you’ve truly felt it. 

He’s fastening his coat around you, but you can feel the trembling of his hands. 

“You looked cold.”

He’s so considerate, you realise. Even this morning, he went out of his way to help you. Even now, when he’s uncomfortable, he’s thinking of you. 

“What about you?” you breathe out. Your breath condenses in white plumes, and you think it’s a prettier sight than smoke. “Aren’t you cold, Mr Francis Mosses?”

Those warm eyes soften into liquid. There’s a slight crimson in his ears, a tiny hitch in his breath, and a shake in his shoulders. 

“No,” he answers honestly. It must be honest, for though his voice is clear, he looks away bashfully. He’s bared his heart, while yours is still locked away in its box. “I don’t get cold when I’m with you.”

What a coincidence, you want to say. 

Neither do I.

But you’re not him. You don’t get to run words parallel to that beating organ’s desires. 

You look away. 

You shouldn’t be allowed to say that either, you also want to add. 

Inexplicably, your heart is beating far too fast for it to be considered healthy. In fact, it might even be arrhythmia. That’s serious. 

“I–” You begin your sentence, but you hadn’t planned to actually open your mouth. This is new, too.  

“You should take better care of yourself.” The words stumble clumsily from your lips. Not everyone can have that buttery smoothness like he has. This is the universal truth – you’ve always avoided prolonged conversations for that reason precisely. So, why? Why now? Why does your pulse push these syllables from your careless vocal strings?

“I will.”

The weakness in his smile is gone. It’s fond, and you can’t bear it. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” you warn. 

And you won’t be at the diner if that happens. 

That’s strange. Why are you thinking that way?

Right. It’s him. He’s the catalyst. 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His teeth are so bright. When he smiles, he’s got the jewels of the sea in his mouth. Bright pearls – and here you thought he’d only have mastery over the stars. 

“I’m serious.” You let yourself indulge in the smell of him on the coat. Your eyes are closed. You don’t think you could bear seeing his face more. “Don’t get sick.”

“Don’t worry so much,” he exhales – the trip and jump in the sound turns it into suppressed laughter. 

You can’t get sick. You want to say that. You’d shout it for the world to hear, but that would be too troublesome – and like you mentioned previously, you’re not like him. Your heart is small and cold and closed off in a tight box. 

Please, you can’t get sick. 

But for him, you’d do it. 

‘And if I didn’t think it was worth one single try, I’d jump right on a big bird and then I’d fly.’

He’s tricked you. 

Each time you think you’ve fit Mr Francis Mosses into a neat routine with clear expectations and a place in the galaxy, he evades that and tricks you. Then, he tricks you for a second and a third time, for good measure. 

Otherwise, why would you be counting down the hours until he gets here?

When you’re ringing up Miss Mia Stone’s order at half-past twelve, you’re thinking of him and his soft hair. When you’re taking Mr Henryk Jamesons’ money at quarter to five, you’re picturing those molten brown eyes. And when you’re separating the food into two compact takeout boxes for Mr Stephen Rudboys, you’re imagining those soft lips, poised to say the most unexpected things.

That’s also new. Since when did you focus on his lips?

“Thanks, have a great day,” Mr Rudboys waves at you mechanically, and you almost unconsciously reply with ‘don’t get sick’. You feel like an idiot. 

You feel swindled. 

You feel tricked, and it’s all his fault. He evidently has no respect for the labours of a diner worker, if he’s entering your mind while you’re serving other clients. 

Why does everything have to boil down to him?  

It always comes back to Mr Francis Mosses. You think it was a wise decision to be wary of his gravitational pull. If you’re not careful, he might just cause a wormhole and shoot right through you. 

With others, you’re thinking of him. 

Even when you’re alone, you swear you can smell that powdery, milky smell lingering. 

It’s not fair. 

Does he think of you too? When he’s under blue, fog-filled skies like these, does he think of the smoke you exhale? When he’s with others, can he recall your awkward attempts at conversation? When he’s alone, does he imagine you there with him?

Do I occupy your thoughts like you occupy mine?

It’s ridiculous. Really, it’s laughable. You’re a speck on this planet, while he’s the centre of everything. 

That would be your usual train of thought. 

Humans are not stars. 

But you don’t get to think even that, because you can hear the familiar hum of an engine and you know it could only be him that’s here.

And you’re laughing – laughing at yourself, laughing at your foolishness, laughing at just how ludicrous you’re being. To think, he’d made himself so at home in the ordered compartments of your mind that your very capillaries are magnetised to him. 

You’re attuned to him – compass pointing straight. Not north – you couldn’t care less about the ridiculous iron centre of Earth. The arrow points at him.  

For the first time, you’re inside the diner when he comes through – still beaming, hand pressed to your miserable face and wretched laughter ringing flush against the mellow tones of Frank Sinatra. 

He pauses in the doorway. Though you hear him – how could you not – the sounds that bubble up from your diaphragm refuse to cease. 

It’s only when you notice that gaze in his eyes that you stop – warmer, more liquid than anything you’ve ever seen. Those irises are darker, too – impossibly dilated. 

“Mr Francis Mosses,” you greet him. There’s a smile on your lips. You don’t think he’s ever seen you smile like that. “What will it be today?”

Dazed. You can read his face clear as day – and somehow, somehow, that makes you incredibly conscious of yourself, of him and of every minute action between the two of you. 

“I’ll take anything you give me,” he murmurs. His voice is hoarse, and not in the fatigued way, but in the ‘I’m losing my composure’ way. Carmine bleeds into his skin – you can feel the same carmine thrumming ceaselessly through your veins. 

Fuck.

This man, is he your Achilles’ heel? Your hamartia, your flaw above anything.

No, it can’t be. You’re full of flaws – he’s the only good thing about you. If anything, you’re the person who’s sure to drag him down. 

“Right.”

He sits at the counter today, perched on the cerise-red stools and propped up on an exhausted elbow. Yet, his eyes are clearer – sharper – than your usual expectation. They’re honed on you: your movements, your actions, you. He’s watching you, and nobody else. 

“Did someone make you laugh?”

His tone is different from his usual one; it lacks its usual enervation, and there’s a rougher burr to it that you can’t quite place. When you look up from where you’re assembling his wrap, there’s a shadow in his eyes. 

“Yes.” You did. For the first time in years, you laughed. All thanks to your azure singularity – him . 

There’s more he wants to say. Those lips of his part minutely, but you’ll never know what he wanted to say. 

“Hm?” And for the first time, you really want to know the potential: his thoughts before they leave his lips. 

“Forget it,” he exhales, looking anywhere but you. You slide his food over the counter; there’s a tinge of disappointment in your action. Disappointment, huh… 

You wonder if you’ll have enough boxes to sort out these different feelings. 

He doesn’t speak as he eats. It’s only when you slide onto a neighbouring stool with a milkshake for yourself that he looks up in surprise. 

“You…” he murmurs – there’s an eternal question concealed in that singular word. 

“You feeling alright?” you ask in mild concern. 

“What would you do if I said I wasn’t?” he breathes, and you look at him. You study his expression: his wide, sleepless eyes, his tousled hair, his lips pressed together. There’s a faint trembling in his hands. That won’t do.  

“I’d ask about it further, Mr Francis Mosses,” you reply seriously. “If it’s an emotional issue, I’ve been told I’m a very good sandbag. I can listen and take beatings simultaneously.”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” his raised eyebrows suggest he’s mildly taken aback, but he presses on. “But there’s one thing you could do for me.”

“Which is?” you prompt. 

He takes a deep breath.

“Call me Francis.”

Oh. 

He always exceeds my expectations. 

“Please,” he almost begs. Who are you to say no to the one who decimated your universe?

“I think I’ll go crazy if you don’t.”

You don’t think you’re meant to hear that last bit – it’s muttered so softly that you think he’s unaware that these are his words.

There’s a maddening rhythm to your heartbeat. You don’t want it to ever end. 

“Francis.” Those two syllables creep out carefully. This is a first – you don’t remember the last time a name wasn’t carefully framed by honorifics and made impersonal. Francis. 

“Yes?” he replies breathlessly. It’s so fucking intimate: his pupils are blown out, bottom lip wobbling with a slight sheen on them, hands shaking around a cheap napkin. All because of you. It’s his name you’re saying, but it’s your lips it’s falling from. Yours. 

You want to turn his thoughts on their head – just like he’s flipped your world upside down. 

“Francis.” It’s almost a whisper – not quite. There’s laughter seeping into the name; rich amusement drips from it. You’re delighted. 

How can one man make you feel so much?

At the sound of your joy, his scarlet flush bleeds into his neck. Before, he’d met your gaze so boldly each time – irises honed right on you. But this – his face is exquisite right now. Those glazed-over eyes evade your stare. He’s looking anywhere but you: breathing spiralling out of control, teeth clamping desperately over those soft lips. 

And you’re grinning, teeth flashing neon and that blue taste on your tongue. 

Have you ever felt so light?

There’s laughter spilling over, and his eyes snap back to yours. 

“Francis,” you rasp. “Don’t ever change.”

Keep surprising me. 

Stay right here. 

When he takes your hand and holds it in both of his, it feels like a promise. It lasts only a moment – but you swear you experience several lives within that singular gesture. 

There’s that blazing flush on his face. 

You hope he’s feeling as warm as you are. 

“I won’t,” he says, and the heavens align themselves once more. 

‘I’ve been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate, a poet, a pawn and a king.’

Anticipation makes way to expectation.

Francis.

Each muscle, every organ, all of the cells in your body – they’re all waiting. Sure, you’ve waited before. You’ve waited for the next mission, you’ve waited for your paycheck, you’ve waited for your new gun to be issued. 

You’ve waited to tear down doppelgängers.

You’ve waited a long time for revenge. 

But that burning feeling doesn’t feel like the balmy heat that traipses carefreely within your vessels. It’s a dancing, delicate thing. 

You’ve seen the ballet, once. There was a doppelgänger amongst the dancers – movements bolder than any of the others, freer and more unrestrained. Wilder. You almost felt bad about putting a bullet through its eye, but duty called and you weren’t about to abandon the fury within your heart for something as mundane as admiration. 

You don’t know why you’re thinking about it. 

You don’t know why your heartbeat is behaving so intrepidly, but you suppose you’ve lost enough humanity for your body to develop such characteristics. 

It’s strange. Really, it’s so strange you might end up laughing again.

Francis.

He’s got you so easily in his palm. If he asked you for it, you think you’d take the fist-sized organ from its receptacle nestled between your lungs and present it to him on a silver platter. You’d wipe away the congealed blood on his hands with a rough thumb and kiss them better with your poisonous mouth. 

You aren’t a poet. 

You’ve been a soldier and a pawn, so all you know and all you may ever know is the metallic, coppery stench of carmine – it follows in your shadow and stains your footsteps. Your hands are covered in it, and will be forever.  It doesn’t matter – you’d give your body over and over and over and over. Parallel universes will have the same outcome for you. There’s no changing that. 

You’re a soldier, so you’re not allowed to wax poetic about him – any letters you write, any flowery prose will be obscured by the heavy darkness you drag within you. 

But for once, you’d like to try your hand at words. And if your hand is still too stained with that bleeding arterial red, you’ll write it with your body. 

Just once, you’d like your limbs in this universe to be used for something more pretty than killing. Even though it’s an imitation, red is still red and blood is still blood. 

You aren’t a poet, so the most you’ll get is this expectation. You’re a simple creature. Words elude you, but your emotions are too fleeting to be caged in by prose and logic. 

It’s so ordinary. 

It’s all you ever wanted. 

But he doesn’t come tonight. 

Tonight, you’re left with that awful blue fog as your paramour and Sinatra as your entertainment. 

It was foolish, holding on to this expectation. Did you forget already? 

He is one to go beyond them. 

This is one of the few times you’ve ached so sharply. It’s a clean slice through your heart – not like the blunt bang of a pistol, but a masterful cut that draws out the pain better than a bullet ever could. 

It hurts. It really does, and it’s all your fault for feeling hopeful. 

You changed your mindset, and it only came back to pay you in tears. 

But you don’t cry.

It hurts, but the plumes of smoke you exhale taste better than the salt. 

If anything, you’re cherishing the white-hot pain. Maybe you haven't completely lost your humanity. 

It’s long laid dormant, but this agony is sweeter than honey. 

Still, you wish for everything to just disappear. If only for a moment. 

It hurts. Go away, please. Go away. 

You’re an idiot, and when you bury your face in your hands, you barely feel the burn from the cigarette. 

‘I’ve been up and down and over and out and I know one thing.’

You’re unusually sullen the next day. There’s the biting pressure you feel from yesterday, but that’s ridiculous. Francis has no obligation to visit you daily, and your disappointment is your own fault. 

It’s alright. 

You can’t bring yourself to blame him. 

You feel so stupid, though. 

Never have you felt so small. With revenge, the burning consumes you and you don’t feel hopeless. There’s a goal to strive for, after all. But with this, there’s nothing you can do.  

“What will it be, Francis?” 

Your words come out tired. They match the fatigue in his eyes; something you’d normally be noting with wonderment. Today, the excitement doesn’t come. 

No, to be more precise, you tamp down on it harshly before it can come up to the surface. 

“Mm.” He acknowledges your question, but he’s staring you down dazedly and you can’t help but feel slightly wobbly inside. “Something light. I haven’t been feeling well lately.”

Right. You tap the pager unconsciously – it seems him staying away yesterday wasn’t out of his own volition. You don’t know what you would’ve done if it had been otherwise; but then again, you’ve forced those feelings back into a little box, locked tight thrice. Inescapable. Impenetrable. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You give him a weak smile, and the awkward fumbling of well wishes seems to have done the trick – his soft smile back washes the insecurity away without a trace. 

It’s when you’re cooking that it happens. While your hands drip red from strawberries, you hear footsteps. His footsteps – the ones you memorised. There’s that same gait, that same tired drag of his sole. 

And you force down your smile. 

He’s never done this either.

You’d think he was just walking around the diner to pass the time, but his footsteps get closer and closer, until–

His arms wrap around you from the back. 

You freeze. 

Out of all the things you thought he’d do, this isn’t one of them. His face presses into the juncture of your neck, and he’s breathing you in. He’s warm, so warm, and your heart finally begins its fervent race once more. 

If he squeezed you any tighter, you would’ve thought he was going for a suplex.

His fingers trace from your hips, up your abdominal muscles, before settling on your solar plexus – each digit splayed out as though his palms were the sun and his fingers the rays. How fitting. 

You should push him off. You should, but there’s something about him you can’t resist. 

“Francis,” you whisper, and it’s like that final barrier in the dam finally breaks. You give in to the raging tide of emotions. Let yourself be swept up in this turbulent river. Don’t worry about a thing. 

“Mm,” he hums, lips just brushing against the stiff fabric of your clinical jacket. And you can feel their reverberations echoing to your very bone marrow – you don’t think you’ve ever heard your pulse so cleanly, so clearly. “I missed you.”

The admission takes all the strength out of you. 

I missed you too. 

I missed you, so much I couldn’t bear it. 

Perhaps that’s the reason. Perhaps that’s why you could never push him away. 

Fuck.  

You really are a fool. 

So, why doesn’t that upset me?

‘Each time I find myself flat on my face, I pick myself up and get back in the race.’

It’s a sleepless night. Just when you think those sweet molasses are going to drag you under, they slip from your fingers and leave you tossing and turning. 

“I missed you.”

You can still feel his fingers on your body. 

When you close your eyes, you can feel him, pressing his lips against your neck and holding you close to him. 

Back then as a Captain, there were people who needed you. Of course there were – you were a pawn, a soldier, someone who had a duty and kept to it. You were a resource: easily replaceable. In fact, it was a miracle you’d lasted the year. 

But him.  

You bury your face in your pillow. There’s a furious beat to your pulse. You can feel it everywhere: your head, your legs and even your stomach.

There’s no doubt about it. 

You like Francis. 

You like him, so much so that you’re running out of boxes to put your emotions in. 

It doesn’t come as a surprise when you’re haggard at work, even more so than yesterday. The day is both sluggish and hare-like, racing away from you yet constantly disturbing you with its slow crawl. It’s the adrenaline and dopamine; they’re clashing and twisting and dancing against themselves. You honestly don’t know how your hypothalamus manages to outshine itself every time. 

The familiar hum of the engine comes when the fog up in the sky is still white. It’s earlier than usual, but Francis has never been one to stick within the lines you’ve put him in. 

“Francis.” 

The shadows under his eyes are darker than before.

“I’m not here for food today,” he exhales. “Just let me spend time with you here.”

That’s a first. 

You’re a little lost. When the boss trained you on how to deal with customers, he never mentioned the tricky ones like these. 

“Ah,” you mumble. “Sure.”

“I also brought you something.” He’s smiling with his eyelids lowering – it’s not an expression you’ve ever seen him make. Fuck. You can’t resist him. 

He’s already taken up too much space in your universe. 

There’s a small plastic bag he takes out of his coat pocket. It crackles lightly against the glass of a milk bottle. “Strawberry cookies. Made them myself.”

You don’t think you’ve ever received such a heartfelt gift. 

When he places them in your outstretched palm, all you can think about is the roaring heat of his hand. 

There’s a few flecks of sanguine on his crisp white shirt. When he notices you looking, he laughs awkwardly. 

“I cut myself at work,” he explains, adjusting the hazy buttons. That’s a new habit; of course he’s filled with mysteries. Since he’s Francis. 

Gently, you take his wrist and press your lips to the fabric concealing it. 

“What–” he chokes. “–what are you doing?”

“I’m kissing it better,” you reply. There’s something different about you tonight as well. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, but it seems you’ve become more bold in the time you’ve met with him. “Do you want me to stop?”

It seems you’ve been intoxicated by him. 

“No,” he stammers. “Please don’t.”

Perhaps he’s been intoxicated by you too. 

It’s only when you’ve placed your lips on the tips of his fingers that you finally pull back and study his face. He’s completely flushed now, with his hair messed up and eyes wide. 

You take a bite out of the biscuit. There’s strawberries on your tongue: sweet, tangy, perfectly suited to the buttery crumble. It’s warm, as if it’s been held close to his heart. The thought makes you smile. 

It’s perfect. 

This man…

When you stand from the stool to brush the crumbs from your fingers, he stands with you. 

When you head into the kitchen area, he follows you. 

When you attempt to move past him after washing your hands at the sink, he stops you by holding onto your wrist. You could break free if you tried, but you won’t. Because it’s him.  

“Francis…” you trail off. There’s a certain look in his eyes – it’s impossibly tender.  

“Tell me you’re feeling the same as me,” he pleads, pressing your palm flat against his heart. His pulse is wild, spinning out of control like that dancer you saw all those years ago. 

Your own heartbeat roars its own feral beat; it’s a careful syncopation with his. 

You didn’t know his human heart could feel that way. 

It’s not supposed to, not like yours does. 

That heaviness – you don’t hear it with humanity. 

Your thumb brushes over those soft lips; that look in his eyes speaks of immeasurable hunger. 

“Please,” he whines, and you surge. 

Your mouth is on his, and he tastes like the strawberries you’ve just eaten. Heady. Sweet. He may have cornered you between him and the sink, but you’re in control – the two of you know it. 

Perhaps that’s why his lips part so easily. 

He’s warm – so warm. You eagerly devour him, pressing a hand to his nape and another to his waist while you take his small hisses in stride. He’s forced to tilt his head up; hands scramble for purchase in the dips of your back, seeking refuge as you roughly press into him. 

He’s intoxicating. Even when the metallic taste enters your mouth, he’s intoxicating.  

Even when you can no longer smell that milky, powdery smell on him. There’s no woody aftershave either. 

Even when you hear the sound of a familiar hum. 

He stands, frozen in the doorway. 

Your lips are on someone who looks like him. 

And you’re looking directly at him. 

Why does he look like that?

His hands are shaking, and he just looks so lost. He’s panting, as though he’s just run here – and his face is covered with small scrapes that can’t just have been from work. 

And why are you feeling this bitter pain?

You knew you could never have Francis – his world was far too removed from yours, and staying with you is dangerous. You’re cursed, doomed to stay in this intransient state. 

“No–” he chokes out. “Get away from that thing!”

Why does it hurt so much?

You thought you’d be alright giving up on him. 

He can’t enter your blood-soaked world. 

He can’t.  

It hurts. It hurts so much. 

Your heart’s breaking into pieces, but you’re still holding onto his doppelgänger and that creature’s lips are still on yours. 

Francis… 

It was nice. This little dream was nice. 

It was nice, but there are tears in your eyes and a wry smile on your lips. 

It’s ending. That fake, brief happiness is crumbling away. 

“Get away!”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The doppelgänger’s voice finally drops to its natural pitch – low, a harsh hum reverberating through your sternum. “You caught on now?”

No. You hadn’t caught on just now. 

You had a feeling from the very beginning. 

‘That’s life (that’s life) that’s life and I can’t deny it.’

All the celestial bodies will go cold one day. It is simply a matter of waiting for the universe to turn into a graveyard of giants, undisturbed for the rest of eternity. 

There’s a gun in the cabinet behind you. If one examines it closely, you can see distinct initials that match someone working at the diner. But, surely not, right? None of your customers have suspected a thing. 

Faintly, you hear your name being called from somewhere along the periphery. 

“You need to get back, he’s dangerous!”

You pull out your gun, unlocking the mechanism with a swift click. It’s a standard-issue, given to the lieutenant-class and above – a heavy thing, unauthorised to be carried by any civilian. The bullets inside are deadlier than any ammunition used in human warfare. 

You didn’t think you’d ever use it again. 

But today, Francis will be joining the graveyard of celestial bodies. There, he’ll eventually disintegrate – not an atom will remain. 

“Francis, stay right there.” Your words are cold. Don’t you see? This is my world, Francis. 

This is my danger. 

This is what follows in my shadow. 

Don’t come near me. 

“Oh? I didn’t think you were ex-military,” the doppelgänger’s voice rumbles in its chest. “Give up. You’re no match for me. We’ve evolved past puny human capabilities.”

You didn’t think you’d ever do this again. 

Not again. 

Tears blur your vision, but you don’t need to rely on your eyes to kill. 

You need to shoot him. You need to shoot him because you love him, because he’s still alive and this thing is trying to replace him. You need to pull the trigger. 

Francis.

I love you. 

This pain – it’s too much to bear. 

When you squeeze the trigger, you repeat it like a mantra. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

And there’s a smile on the doppelgänger’s lips as you shoot him, like he’s won. 

There’s blood everywhere. Splashed on the pans, coating the griddle, sliding and congealing on the bright neon signs that light up the diner in fluorescent red. Brain matter is cleaved in thousands of pieces, and you resist the urge to throw up.

Red is still red, and blood is still blood. 

When the doppelgänger’s body begins to bubble, you move without a trace of hesitation – sliding across the counter with the agility of an athlete. You’re crying – crying as you take Francis out into the pouring rain.  You’re crying, as you’re covering his body with yours – behind you, the doppelgänger’s body finally blows up and shards of the diner stick to you and maul your back. But it’s fine – he’s still alive. Your universe is living – breathing beneath you. He's warm – a human warmth, with a human pulse and a human smell. 

“You–” he murmurs, drenched in rainwater and the blood covering you. His eyes are widened, but he doesn’t look scared. He’s not scared of you. 

And you’re high, high on adrenaline and the sight of him. 

He’s alive. 

He’s not dead. 

You protected him. 

‘Many times I thought of cutting out, but my heart just won’t buy it.’

The D.D.D will get here eventually. That’s something you’ve come to accept as truth, which is why you don’t care about phoning them when the smoke rising from the place will alert them regardless. 

You pull him into an alleyway near your apartment. There’s a howling storm and a torrential downpour, but you don’t care about any of that. 

He’s warm. He’s warm, and he’s alive. 

“You’re real, right?” you murmur. Your drenched palms press into his face. He’s staring at you, tears gathering on his lash line and a shake in his bottom lip. “Francis.”

“I’m real,” he breathes, and it’s like nothing else exists in the universe. Nothing but him and you in suspended animation, within all the space-time. “I’m not going anywhere.”

I’m not going anywhere. 

Has anyone said something like that to you before?

There’s no fear in his eyes.

What a foolish promise. 

But maybe you’re the fool for feeling the way you do about that vow. 

You’re covered in blood, but he’s looking right past that. 

“Did you know–” he chokes out, looking away. “–that he was a doppelgänger?”

Yes. I knew, and I kissed him despite knowing that. 

Francis, I can’t be with you. 

Those words race through your head, but you can’t bring yourself to say anything. You can’t bring yourself to lie, either. Instead, you nod – and you can’t meet his eyes when you do so. 

“Why were you with him like that, then?” His thumb traces your jaw, mirroring the actions of your hands just moments prior. He sounds heartbroken, and you can feel tears blurring your vision once more. “Don’t tell me he’s better than me.”

“Francis,” you plead against the storm, against the deafening wind that presses against your words. “I can’t be with you.”

There’s a pause. Water soaks the two of you, but neither moves. 

“Who decided that?” He steps closer, and you swallow. His arms wrap tightly around you, and his head’s buried against your chest. He’s angry, you realise. He’s angry, because he knows exactly why you decided on that dream. 

He’s pressed skin-to-skin against you – fabric drenched through and ice-cold – and there’s a searing heat that threatens to envelope you whole. Let it, you think. I’ll give in for you. 

“Who decided that?” he repeats, mouth moving against your collarbone. If you weren’t against a wall, you think you might’ve collapsed by now. 

“Francis,” you falter. More. “Don’t you see how dangerous it is with me?” Say no. Be with me despite that. 

You’ve become selfish. 

“I don’t care,” he whispers against your flesh. “You like me, don’t you?”

I adore you. 

Don’t leave me.

You don’t say anything, but he can hear your answer in the wild drum of your pulse. 

“You’ll protect me.”

I’d give my life to serve that purpose. 

“Francis,” you rasp. There’s something coiling within you, burning up hotter and brighter than anything you’ve felt before. It sets your veins and capillaries alight, altering everything within. 

There’s a frigid downpour that freezes flesh and sinew, but you’re sweltering with him pressed against you.

Stardust coats your fingertips when you slide them beneath his chin. Beneath the rain, everything sluices away – the pain, the blood, the worry, and the hesitation.

“Use me to forget,” he breathes. “I’ll be yours.”

Fuck.

Gently, you slot your lips against his, and his eyes flutter closed. He’s hesitant – you can tell from how his hands curl open and closed against your chest. He’s hesitant, yet he presses himself against you like you’re going to disappear any minute. 

It’s funny. 

You’re thinking the exact same thing about him. 

Your fingers dig into his hips – you don’t think you’ll ever let him go.

His lips are warm – humanly warm – and he tastes explosive, like neutron stars merging. He’s divine.  

“More,” he whines into your mouth. “Please.”

With such soft lips parting just for you, who are you to refuse?

“Mm,” he gasps as you deepen the kiss, pressing your tongue into his spit-slicked mouth. Each pretty noise that escapes him snaps one more string of self-restraint of yours, until it’s all gone. You flip him, so his back’s pressed against the cold, drenched wall and your body moves against his front. 

And his hands – they’re clawing at your back and dragging against its valleys. You can feel each nail as you go rougher – eliciting more pain for you, but you couldn’t care less about that . Not when you’ve got him melting like putty as he clumsily moves his lips against yours, not when he’s desperately trying to come closer and closer and closer.  

There’s salt on your lips and copper on your tongue. Tears and blood. You can’t tell who cries. 

“More,” he pulls back from your mouth panting, choking for breath. “Please, I need more.”

Fuck.  It’s getting addicting. 

“You sure?” 

Give in.  You can’t help wanting to lose yourself in that heady sensation. 

“Please,” he begs. 

You crumble so easily. 

‘But if there’s nothing shaking, come this here July, I’m gonna roll myself up in a big ball and die.’

[p1a9u3]

PeepHole Ch.1: Moving Day

Masterpost Ch.1 - Ch.2 Pairing: Dylan Matthews x Fem Oc

Rating: 18+ (mdni)

Genre: Neighbors/Strangers to Lovers, Smut, Angst, Fluff, Slow-burn

Summary: Moving isn't as exciting as Amoya thought, plus she may have pissed off her new neighbor.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: (This story takes place in 2024) Mental illness (anxiety, ocd), Violent intrusive thoughts, Language, Age gap (5years), Using phone while driving

Status: Unedited

Author note: This is the first fic that I've ever posted, I've written before but I've never finished anything and published it so don't tear me to shreds, please. I chose to make an oc instead of just writing as a reader mainly because I made a whole character in my head before I wrote this so I decided to just make her an oc, if you would like a post going more into this oc of mine feel free to ask (I might post it anyway because I like her), there is no smut in this chapter btw. Please give me feedback and suggestions, constructive criticism, etc. Don't be a bitch about it though...please. I'm thinking of making this a series POSSIBLY, but I procrastinate a lot so that may never happen. To my fellow troublemakers hopefully, I do Dylan justice and my writing is at least a little bit accurate to his personality. Still, to be fair I'm a fairly new troublemaker having only found out about this man a few weeks ago, so if something isn't accurate please correct me...politely. He's become my new hyper fixation so when I saw there aren't really any fics about him I decided I should make my own so here we are. Anyway with that being said Enjoy <3. Update: Dylan is barely in this chapter

Monday, February 26, 2024 Time: 8:30AM Moving out was less relieving than you thought it would be. Having been by your mother's side for almost all your life, you'd gotten comfortable always having someone around.

'You can't live with your parents forever'

People would remind you whenever the topic of anyone's living situation would be brought up. Being twenty-seven and still living with your mother wasn't something you wanted to keep telling people, no one would take you seriously. Though your mother never pushed for you to move out, never mentioned it actually. You think you know why. You never say anything though, so you deal with the slight embarrassment, and ignore the judgmental stares you get whenever someone brings it up.

'They don't know our relationship'

More excuses you make up to justify your obstinance; and to mask the anxiety you're feeling as finish up packing your U-Haul. You had finished packing your stuff from your shared apartment and were now finishing the few boxes you had in storage. Now in the elevator mustering up the strength to carry the last two boxes back down to the truck. Grabbing the lock you had left on the floor, you place it on top of one of the boxes and stack the box onto the second one, bending down and lifting with a soft grunt. Long strides carrying you to the elevator, you push the down button with your foot. The doors open soon after, you step inside setting the boxes down as you push the bottom floor and wait. Pushing off the wall as the doors open you pick up the boxes once again, you quickly load them up into the U-Haul before grabbing the padlock from on top of the box, and then heading to the front desk of the storage building.

"Here, the unit is clean and empty." You smile at the woman as she takes the lock and keys with a thank you.

Turning on your heels you walk back to your U-Haul giving everything a once-over before locking it all up, now turning your attention to the hitch attached to the back of the Truck where your precious car is hitched too. It was a black and cherry red 1993 Nissan 240SX with a red interior, you had seen it while driving with your mom past a repair shop when you were 25, back then it had no windshield or wheels. You won't lie and say you fixed it yourself but you did invest all the money you had at that time to fix it up and color it how you wanted; you still would say it was worth it. Checking the hitch and chains attached to the bottom of the car making sure everything was set and ready.

"Everything looks good?" Your mother said making you jump

"Yah! A warning ma, please! And yes everything looks good, I packed up the last two boxes and returned the keys and lock to the front desk while you were in the bathroom." You let out a breath calming your heart from the scare you just had, your mom snickering next to you. You turn to her rolling your eyes playfully as you walk to the front of the truck, your mom following behind you.

"Good, let's get on the road." Your mom hops into the passenger seat and rolls down the window. "I wanna get home by Wednesday."

You climb into the driver's seat, buckling your seatbelt then checking your mirrors. You two had agreed on driving to your new apartment, taking turns every 5 hours, once you got there she'd help you unload and unpack on Tuesday, and your mom would then fly back to New Orleans on Wednesday. The more you think about it the more you feel yourself panic a bit.

"Okay."

Time: 9:00AM Starting the car, you let out a breath putting the car in drive and pulling out of the parking lot of the storage building. You could tell your mom was trying to keep herself calm by the way she would rub her right thigh with her right hand, it was a nervous tick she passed down to you. Unfortunately, you were just as nervous, so you decided to turn on the playlist you and your mom made while eating the night before, mixes of all kinds of genres put into one playlist to keep you both entertained during the drive. Pulling off the main road and merging onto the freeway, you glance over to your mom to see her smiling wide looking back at you. She has that look in her eyes, you know it well.

"Its happening ma." You smile back at your mom then look back to the road

Your mother places her hand on your thigh, letting out a long sigh and a soft squeeze before returning it back to her own lap. You see her wipe a single tear from your peripheral; you don't acknowledge it. She'll start bawling the second you tell her not to cry. So you pretend not to see it and start singing along to Erykah Badu, your mom turns the music up a bit and starts singing along too. You smile to yourself as you glance out your side window, watching as familiar buildings pass by in a blur, You think you'll miss this place. No, you know you will, but a part of you is kinda excited, relieved almost. You've silently always longed to live on your own, but another part of you calls you selfish for even wanting that until now

'How could want to leave your mother'

You know it's normal to want to move out of your parent's home, every grown adult has to move out at some point, and twenty-seven is a perfectly normal age to do so, You wanted to move when you were twenty-four. Hell, some people live with their parents till they are far in their thirties.

'But you know your mother may need you right'

All your brothers have moved out, they are doing good on their own, and you're the only one left. It was only a matter of time; you tell yourself. Your mom will be fine, she's dating a new man who treats her great and takes care of her. Hell he tried to hire a moving crew to move all your stuff, but you wanted to do it yourself and your mom wasn't going to let you drive almost halfway across the country by yourself.

'you could've found a place closer to her you know'

Phoenix, Arizona. You chose Phenix simply because it was affordable for you and close to LA, your mom agreed it was a good choice. There is work in LA, California is just so expensive, so you chose the next best thing. The apartment is nice from what you saw as well, one bedroom, two baths with a study. It was perfect for you.

Time: 11:23AM The drive was going well so far, your mother eating a bag of chips she packed along with all the other snacks and drinks. You were eating a Honeybun, one of your favorite snacks, and drinking water. Your mom had turned off the music and started watching YouTube with mostly commentary so you could listen and drive, Right now a video was playing talking about some ice cream drama in North Dakota. Author note: if you watched this video featuring Dylan is in Trouble, I know it's technically in the future but I don't care, this is all fake anyway. You found it interesting and kinda funny, laughing every now and then when your mom would pause to add her opinion. About two-thirds of the way into the video you glance down at the screen, there are two guys now instead of one, and one of them is wearing glasses, you glance back down looking at the title of the video 'Insane Local Ice Cream Shop Drama (w/ Dylan Is In Trouble)' You made a mental note of the second guy's name for later, his voice was nice you told yourself, he was also fine as fuck. You leaned your seat back as far as it would go, which wasn't very far, getting comfortable. You still have two more hours left to drive.

Time: 12:35PM Your mom had fallen asleep about ten minutes ago, YouTube was still playing, The next video had been the same guy as before. You looked down for a second, looking at the title of the video that had been playing for about fifteen minutes. 'Guessing Finales After ONE Episode (ft. Dylan Is In Trouble)' You smile to yourself a bit recognizing the name at the end of the title, you let the video play just listening to the guy talk for ten more minutes. You caught yourself smiling again when you recognized the second guy's voice as he joined in for the rest of the video, you took a sip of your water glancing down at the video, seeing him pop on screen whenever he had something to say

"he's funny." You mutter to yourself quietly, thinking out loud.

The video had ended and your lips fell back into their original position, as an ad played before the next queued-up video, you looked down at your GPS. 1322 miles to go; you let out a sigh.

'200 miles closer to leaving you mom'

She was helping you unpack, so you technically wouldn't be leaving her really. If anything she was leaving you since she had to fly back home. You prop your left elbow on the open window, your left hand holding the steering wheel, and your right hand comes down to your thigh, rubbing small circles back and forth.

'What happens if Devon goes back home'

Your oldest brother Devon was working at a mental facility. He was on his medication and was doing good, he managed to get a job there and has been making decent money. He was doing fine, He is doing fine.

'What if he stops taking his medication again.'

They will keep tabs on him, they know his habits, his symptoms, He is fine.

'Has another episode and gets out'

That wouldn't happen. He's fine

'He'll be there when mom gets back'

No.

"Hes gonna ki-'

-beep! beep! beep!-

Time: 2:00PM Your mom's alarm goes off, making you jump a bit. Reaching over to turn it off, your mom moans a bit as she wakes up from her short nap, stretching her arms a bit as she yawns.

"Jeste li spremni za promjenu." she yawns out, going for a sip of her water ( translation: Are you ready to switch)

Your mother's Croatian tends to slip when she's just woken up, or delirious. You nod your head looking at the next exit sign to find a gas station, spotting a Love's off the side of the freeway. Slipping off the freeway you pull up to the gas station before parking next to a pump.

"Bathroom?" You look over at your mom, she nods, unbuckling her seatbelt and hopping out of the truck, you do the same.

You both enter opposing stalls to relieve yourselves of all the water you had been drinking, washing your hands after. Your mother heads back to the truck to pump the gas as you browse the aisles for any extra snacks, spotting a honeybun you instinctively grab one, then two, and head to the cashier. You place your honeybuns on the counter and then look up at the cashier who seems to be invested in something on her phone, she wasn't wearing headphones phone volume at maybe thirty percent, you could hear what she was watching. You recognize the voice, the cashier finally looks up from her phone quickly apologizing for not paying attention.

"Oh I'm so sorry, will this be all" She quickly rings up the two honeybuns.

"No you're fine, that'll be it actually." You dismissively wave your hand pulling out your wallet to pay.

Looking down you notice her phone, she had put it on the counter, and the video on it had been paused but on the screen was that guy again, though it seemed to be a video of his own this time. You pull out some cash and hand it to the young woman behind the counter, she takes the cash, counts it, and then goes to get your change.

"No, it's fine, keep the change" Flashing a smile then grabbing your honeybuns you take another glance at the women's screen before it turns off from being left alone for too long.

Opening the passenger seat door, you climb into the seat buckling yourself in. Pulling out of the gas station your mom pulls off back onto the freeway continuing your journey. You pull out the bag you had brought for little activities, pulling out your book of choice. You had splurged at a Barnes and Noble a few weeks before you began packing, picking up a bunch of books you had either heard good things about or had been wanting to read. Red Rising was one of the books, it was also the one you were currently holding.

"I'm gonna put my headphones on, so you can listen to whatever you want." You tell your mom as you put your headphones on and pull out your phone.

You had gotten the book on Audible a while back and wanted to read and listen at the same time. Pressing play you turn to the first chapter and begin reading as the narrator spoke. Your mom seemed to have put music on, you could feel the bass as she turned up the volume and began singing along.

Time: 10:56PM Hours had passed, it was your turn now with two hours left till your next switch. Your mother was knocked out, lightly snoring as you drove in silence, you had stopped reading once you had switched. You also decide to put off reading it until you were moved in, the book had grabbed your attention, so much so, that you wanted to be able to focus on it solely; so you chose to wait. You had a couple hundred miles left to go and things were sinking in more as you drove silently. Your mind doing its usual thing, making you worry about things that most likely won't happen, even if it did, you know it wouldn't be your fault. You couldn't help but think maybe it would be though, it was a dumb thought but you couldn't help it

'What was that guys name again'

Your brain blanked for a second, random but ok, your brain goes back to the YouTube video your mom had been watching, that cashier was watching him as well. Dylan is in Trouble, you wonder what kind of videos he makes, most likely commentary. You pull your phone out glancing down and go to YouTube, you use the voice to text and hold your phone up to your mouth.

"Dylan is in trouble"

You press search, going back and forth between looking at your phone and watching the road. You look down to find his channel, press his icon, and scroll through some of his videos. Movie commentary is what you mostly see, occasionally you'd spot something different, you decided you'd dive into his channel later when you weren't driving.

Time: 5:00AM You were in the driver's seat, you had let your mom sleep more after she had been driving for about three hours. She was up now though, you could tell things were starting to catch up to her again. She was fidgeting a lot more now, well so were you, she looked very tense. She helped you find this apartment, but you assume she wants to see the neighborhood for herself, in person, wants to see how good the security is and what the neighbors are like. It's only natural, she's a mother and her only daughter is moving twenty hours away from her. You look down at your phone, your GPS says you are pulling up now, you look around the area, it was very nice, wasn't too far from the city. You spot the complex to the left, it was pretty big with multiple sections with apartments, you were building three, kind of in the middle of everything. You pull into the complex parking in front of the leasing office to speak to your landlord and to get your keys, your mom comes with you of course, sizing everything up.

"Hi welcome to Arts District Apartments, it's Amaya correct, my name is George?" An old-looking man stands from his desk, his hand reaching out to shake yours

"Thank you, George, it's Amoya actually" You reach out and shake his hand with a smile.

You two talk a bit about the complex and its rules etc. Your mom chimed in every now and then to ask her questions. Before you know it you're unloading the truck into your new apartment, you're realizing now that you didn't have as much stuff as you thought. The last thing you had left was your bed, you and your mom had been doing well with just the two of you, but after you two had gotten the mattress inside your mother's back began to bother her. Now you had your bed frame, you told your mom to relax for now and that you could get the frame up yourself. Partial lie, you previously took apart the bed frame and so there were mainly long pieces that weren't too heavy except the backboard, that thing was heavy as fuck, luckily you had a dolly at the storage building to help you carry it out, but now you have to carry it to the elevator and down the hall. You managed to get it down from the truck, and from there you lifted it and sped walked to the elevator, almost dropping the bed frame on your foot as you set it down to push the button. The doors had closed on you twice as you tried to pick the frame back up and lift it into the elevator, but alas you made it, now on the third floor and outside the elevator. You took pride in your body, you considered yourself strong, regularly went to the gym, and you would say your legs were the strongest part of your body, with that being said, you tried to make as little noise as possible since it was still early in the morning, you lost your footing. You were almost there, your door being right in front of you; but you fell. Landing on the door behind you hitting your head with a very loud thud.

"Bumbo." You whisper yelled at yourself in Jamaican as you set the frame down and leaned off of the door. (translation: Fuck)

Holding the frame upright you walk around it reaching for your door, the frame slipping from your fingers and falling against your neighbor's door again. You prayed that your new neighbor was either a very deep sleeper or wasn't home right now, though maybe you didn't pray hard enough. You lift the bed frame from your neighbor's door, getting your phone to get your mom to hold the door open for you so you can slide it the rest of the way inside. Stopping, you hear the door behind you click open. Your bed frame blocked your view of whoever had stepped out, but you could hear him.

Ch.1 - Ch.2

Updated Author note: Hopefully this was an enjoyable first chapter or part. The apartment is just a random apartment complex I saw on Zillow, everything in this is all fictional besides the YouTube videos and things that are obviously real. Anyway, I have decided to make this a series, I've gone into too much detail on little things like Amoya's intrusive thoughts and all that, and it'd be a waste to shorten and delete half of what I put and speed through everything, Amoya's intrusive thoughts and anxiety is a trait I added from myself, so you'll notice a lot of internal thinking and scenarios she makes up in her head. Hopefully, the idea is as cool as what I thought of in my head. If this does well, I will upload the other chapters one after the other, If it does bad I'll just delete everything, but please be patient I procrastinate a lot and I want the writing to be good. Please be honest and let me know how you all feel about this, if you like the writing, the main character, the pacing, the storyline, length, anything, and everything, I need criticism but don't be a bitch about it.

[kindlingkeen]

do you have any good fic recs? i've just finished reading all of your fics (AMAZING btw i LOVE competent jason and you write him sooo well) and obviously you have good taste so i thought i might as well ask (i will say that i don't really do ship fics tho)

thank you! looking forward to what you have in store for jason and the batfam next!

First, thank you for the ask! And I’m so glad you’ve been enjoying my fics!! 😊 I’m on vacation this week and finally writing again (had a bit of a rough writer’s block patch). So hopefully I’ll be posting more content in the next couple of weeks.

Fic recs - boy do I ever. I will say, I have super varied tastes in fics, I’ll read just about anything Gen that’s Jason-centric, plus a few Jason ships (although I’m pretty picky about what actually makes it into my bookmarks). All of the fics I’m rec’ing below are Gen, although some might have flavors of a relationship (likely JayRoy since that’s my preferred pairing). I tried to pick a selection of different styles and tropes, so hopefully you find something you like. Almost all these authors have multiple fics I’ve loved, so look at their other works on ao3 for more great reading (you may need to be logged into ao3 to see some of them). Enjoy!

Fic recs

Glow in the Dark Stars by essspressso (stylesmakethefight) 

This is a time travel fic that made me bawl ugly tears, like seriously bawl. Read if in need of a good cry.

The Cold Like Coming Home by cabezas_de_vaca 

An interesting one-shot of Jason and Bruce finding their way back to each other.

More Chances Than Deserved 'Verse by Skalidra  @skalidra

A series that starts out post batarang, Jason does not rejoin the family.

Gotham CPS by ebjameston 

Not sure how to even describe this one, it’s pure hilarity told by an outsider POV.

Nests and Cages by LanternWisp, Lysical @lanternwisp

A series detailing Jason’s journey back to the family. The last installment of the series has probably the best reconciliation discussion between Jason and Bruce re: Bruce taking on another Robin that I’ve ever read.

Buy One Get One Free by Here_we_go

A series that starts with catatonic Jason. I love how Jason is written in this one so so much (especially the main first part), and there’s a short segment later in the series with Talia that’s lovely.

fever by r_astra  @heyy-its-skip

One-shot. Quality batdad in the context of a sick fic

nightmares and daydreams by r_astra @heyy-its-skip

One-shot. Beware, there’s some heavy duty torture in this one. Jason & Tim isn’t usually my thing, but I really like their brief interaction in this one.

all the small weights by sparkycap

One-shot. More quality batdad, this time in the context of fear toxin

a (cat)astrophe in the making by mikkal

Part of a loosely connected series, if I’m remembering correctly. I’m a firm believer that Jason Todd needs a cat.

Red Hood by envysparkler @envysparkler

An amazing Jason rejoins the family, classic fix it, set early in Lost Days continuity. Envysparkler’s works are pretty much solely responsible for getting me into the Batfam. This fic in particular motivated me to start writing TPWC.

Overcoming Our Antecedents by Batbirdies @batbirdies

De-aging fic, this isn’t my favorite trope, but of what’s out there, I like the dynamics in this one.

Things We Only Talk About After Dark by BabblingBookends

One-shot. More good batdad, but not fluffy like the other two above. I really like how Bruce is written in this one, how he struggles with the unknown.

Kidnapped! by Cerusee @cerusee

One-shot set in Jason’s Robin days. One of my favorites for father and son feels.

A MOMENT THAT'S HELD IN YOUR ARMS. by orpheusaki

More baby Robin Jay and good dad Bruce.

White Lighters / Afterglow by lurkinglurkerwholurks @lurkinglurkerwholurks

One-shot. Another one that legitimately made me cry.

Druthers by d_aia @e-alexandrescu

A really creative, not-your-typical-take on Jason rejoining the family. Sniper Jason is so frelling cool.

I linked the tumblr’s for the authors I know of. If you have any to add, leave them in the comments and I’ll update!

[onnoffwrites]

I have been losing my shit over this damn panel for the past THREE DAYS (more or less) and I need to yell somewhere so it's gonna go here.

It all began when I was writing my fic (I think this was for My Immortal), and I needed to recap significant hakukai moments. And I remembered "hey, I should include this one thing saguru said during sunset manor that was stupidly super gay for no fucking reason" bc like, yea hakukai not canon, but if canon was gonna give me a whole ass confession then I might as well use it. So, like always, I head to mangadex to look for this panel... Except... It's not there... The line... The line's not there... But I remember... I remember something about "the only one to disrupt/disturb my thinking/mind"... Where... I didn't imagine that right? I mean I read a lot of google translated Chinese fanfics but... I REMEMBERED reading that line... In a manga... In English... ON mangadex...

This is where I should mentioned, that if you weren't around for the Great Collapse of Mangadex. Then... Well, so there was this period of time where mangadex just DIDNT EXIST. Bc there was some cyber?? Attack??? On the site??? I can't fully remember. But it like wiped out most of the site. The mangas r just, gone. So mangadex fixed it. It took a while bc they figured "might as well revamp our site and system". And they did. And it's great. And it looks beautiful now, even more than before.

But see. The line I remembered? Yea... Yea that was from before The Collapse. And mangadex let multiple translation groups submit their translations. So u can read diff translations of diff group, see how things are interpreted differently... And... I remembered this one, that I posted here up top, but I remembered there was another. One that had The Line.

And it was driving crazy so, like usual, I asked my cn friend. But my cn friend (why am I still saying that, it's @beingvv , that's the friend) has A Life, and isn't always online, and we love that for ppl. So. I'm still crazy. I can't trust my own damn mind and memory bc why tf do I remember something that isn't there (happened before btw, but that has nothing to do with this).

Luckily, I have a friend who knows jp. UNLUCKILY, I don't have the jp raws and it's from chapter 300 and we are in the thousands. So, I went back to losing my mind. Until I found it again, and realized. Heyyyyyyy there's a whole ass ANIME. So like the baggage my dear friend had the misfortune to be saddled with, I went to find the ep, timestamped it, yelled begged them for help.

This is where I lose my damn mind the first time in the recent weeks.

(thank you my dear piglet, u don't even go here but u tolerate my insanity)

THIS. THIS WAS THE LINE. THATS WHAT I REMEMBERED.

So, I feel a little more sane (bc my mind didn't fabricate a memory again) and also A LOT more insane bc WHY WOULD U SAY THAT, HAKUBA SAGURU 😭😭😭 WHY WOULD U SAY IT LIKE THAT 😭😭😭

In any case I feel validated. Told beingvv about my discoveries (for whenever they come back) not that they need it cn fandom already got the correct translation. And finished writing my fic.

And then Saguru's comeback was announced.

So I've been losing my shit for 3 days on twitter, looking at all my fave KR and JP accounts and the things they say.

And then someone dug up and old tweet thread that talked about this panel. Specifically, op talked about the nuance in the word choice used.

Here's the og thread if anyone wants to read or Google translate it urself.

(mkppyong my love, bless you)

Bc mkppyong talked to a jp acquaintance about ??? Uh I dunno just language I guess. POINT IS. They pointed out that gosho used specific words/phrases that really wasn't needed if all he wanted to say was "the only one who drives me crazy/mad." But he did used them. It's specifically "his thoughts/mind" that's being driven crazy. And that if he wants to just talk about Saguru's mind being disrupted/confused, then there's rly no need to use the words "go crazy"

And then they wrote out a whole symbolism about clocks and saguru and being broken down/disrupted and I lost my shit over the clock symbolism, sue me 😭😭😭

I don't think I'm making sense anymore bUT WAIT, THERES MORE, THE FINAL BLOW

THE THAI TRANSLATION

This is where I expose myself more than I ever want to, but here's a fact. I'm thai

Here's a second fact. I'm SHIT at Thai. I've been bad at this language before I got good at English. My Thais as good as an elementary student. Every time I understand difficult words I get confused bc where did I know THAT from???

In any case, point is, I saw that tweet, read the text, immediately understood it and began losing my shit all over again... And then I doubted... Bc like, I'm not good with this lang anymore... Maybe im understanding it wrong? So I look up Google.

Google: คลุ้มคลั่ง just means go crazy

So I was like, damn guess I'm wrong, read too much into this. BUT SEE BC I LIVE HERE I HAVE FRIENDS WHO ARENT A DISGRACE. And so my friend said:

SO WELCOME TO MY THIRD ROUND OF INSANITY.

HAKUBA SAGURU WHY WOULD U SAY THIS SHIT IN FRONT OF LIKE NINE OTHER PPL 😭😭😭😭😭 BOY WHY R U TELLING THEM UR OBSESSED 😭😭😭 youre driving ME crazy 😭😭😭

So. Here we are. At the end. I have no idea how tf I'm supposed to end this post. I'VE been obsessed for 3 days straight. I don't have a lot of braincell left in me (there weren't any to begin with). I don't have a statement to wrap this post up in a nice little bow. Go make ur own conclusion I dunno.

But I would not have been losing my shit over this stupid panel for a month if it wasn't for the fact that eng translation was missing a pretty crutial thing in what Saguru said. I don't know if this was a mistranslation or a misunderstanding or something, but the English translation was lacking. And I love and have always been thankful and grateful to the ppl who worked hard to translate mangas in their free time, and do it all for free, bc I haven't had any real way to rent/borrow mangas from renting shops/libraries in years. So this was one of the only ways I can read mangas. But, even as I checked the raw panel with Google lens just now, even google translate it as "the only one to make my thoughts go round." No where was there any mention of "case" and "solving." So that's just, multiple accounts of ppl who knows jp, including native jp speakers, all saying that this panel is Saguru saying "the only one to drive me crazy". And man I rly hope this doesn't make me come off as ungrateful or like shitting on the translation team, I'm rly not. But yea. Uh. The translation was wrong. And I remembered that there used to be a diff eng translation. And it led me to go to all this trouble and journey to find out what was actually said. And here we are, at the end.

The only one who could disrupt Saguru's thinking.

The only one who could disturb Saguru's mind.

The one whose sole existence drives him mad.

The only one to make his mind obsess over till he's driven to madness.

Or to use the symbolism mkppyong wrote: the only one to break down the clock, the precise and accurate mechanism, that is Hakuba Saguru.

[lazyfandombean]

Psst, you!

Hey, hey you! Yeah, you! I've got a question for ya. Do you feel normal about SCC (Sweet Cap'n Cakes)?

-> Yes -> No

[❤️Yes] [Ohhhh, I see. You're in denial, aren't you? ;)]

[❤️No] [Aha! Just as I projected- I mean suspected! Suspected. Yeah.]

Well, I've got some GREAT news for you! Have you ever felt saddened by the lack of SCC-centric fanfiction? Specifically the kind that depicts them as brothers instead of bandmates or partners (no shade to those depictions btw)?

No? Shut up yes you have /j

Yes? Fantastic! Well, no, sorry that you're sad :/ BUT! Be sad no longer! For I've come to save the day!

In the form of my newfound SCC hyperfixation!!!

That's right!! I've been going crazy about The Guys™️ for the past week or so, but to my absolute SHOCK, there are hardly ANY fanfics for them!!! And almost all them revolve around them as a SHIP! And no offense, but I just don't like reading about ships all that much, sorry!!! :(

SO!!! How am I going to fix this dilemma, I wondered? But THEN! I remembered something!! Something very, VERY important:

'Oh yeah I'm a fanfic author.'

Is this me implying that I'm now writing a bunch of SCC fanfiction in a very roundabout way? YES YES IT IS! :D

In fact, I've already posted one on Ao3 and have turned it into a 'series'! By that I just mean that the 'series' is really just a place for me to dump all of my SCC-centric fics. I'll link the series here, BUT I'll also be cross-posting most, if not all, of those fics from Ao3 to here on Tumblr!

Oh also link btw:

But why am I talking about it like this on Tumblr, you ask? Introducing it in such a way when I could have just started posting SCC content? For two reasons!

One: Idk I just felt like it

Two: Because!! It has come to my attention that hardly anybody on Ao3 even reads SCC fanfiction.

And no, this isn't me begging for like... kudos or subscriptions (or followers, I guess it is on Tumblr? Idk I don't use it much) or anything like that. What I AM asking for is for people to read it. Not because I want to get popular, but because...

I am very self-conscious about the way I write SCC.

Well, to be honest I'm just self-conscious about the way I write any fictional character. It's actually the thing I worry about the most when it comes to fanfiction; whether or not I'm getting the personalities right. And I'm aware that it's more about how you perceive the characters, and that headcanons are a thing (I have plenty of them myself), but in my opinion, there's a line between having a headcanon and writing something ooc. Headcanons are fine, yes, and I use them a lot (especially when it comes to Undertale and Deltarune characters), but I feel like it can get to the point where it's so ooc that it doesn't even feel like the same character. And that's something I definitely don't want to happen when I write about my three favorite guys EVER. So basically, I'm asking people to read my fics specifically so I can get feedback on how to write the characters.

Why didn't I ask my friends? Bold of you to assume I have any /hj

But no fr, none of my friends play Deltarune, and I'm not even sure if any of them have heard of it. My sister has played before, but she never really got into it, and it's been so long that I doubt she would even remember who SCC are if I asked.

So, I've taken it to random strangers on Tumblr!

There's only one work in the series right now, but I'm currently working on another and have many more ideas sitting in a doc, waiting to be written! I'll also take requests if anyone has any (which I doubt will happen but anything's possible I guess), but before I post any more, I'd really like to get some feedback from... someone, I guess. I dunno I just really want to do them justice 😭

Anyways, that's all! Sorry that this was so long and probably annoying to read, I just thought it'd be funny but now I don't even know aldkdsfljk- but I'm leaving it like this because why not I guess

[aachria]

do you have any one piece oc fic recs ?

I had to think about this. My tendency to never bookmark shit I love because I’m usually crying too hard by the end has stopped me from giving you the most 😔

Anyways here’s a few (all on AO3 btw)

Spin A Yarn

Absolutely wonderful series. Zolu time travel fix-it with quite literally all the feels. Completed

This Bites!

Always God Tier. Took me 32 glorious days to binge. Pre timeskip is completed, post timeskip is on hold until the authors know more abt the OP ending (I think?)

We Set Our Wishes Upon Her Waters

Super cool series with a super cool premise. As always I’m here for the Sea Lore™. Incomplete and hasn’t been updated for like a year :(.

Dive|rgence

Another isekai with my heart. HAS PLATONIC ROMANCE YEEAAAHHHH! Incomplete but updating. Bonus it has really long chapters.

Koby’s Awful No-Good Very Confusing Day

Kobylu and fucking hilarious. Bitches love time travel fix-it’s. By the lovely @okiedoketm here on Tumblr go bug her about how good it is. Updates regularly (like literally today).

Losing Time (You Can’t Go Home Again)

I’m a slut for Law angst always and this has unironically made me cry before. Incomplete.

Worse Than Nicotine

Zosan modern AU thing- it’s real fuckin good and makes me feel things. Incomplete and currently updating.

That’s a couple, keep yourself busy ✌️

[paunchsalazar]

hey so I really enjoyed your kyokao longfic and i was wondering what the writing process was like since im planning on writing a fanfic (first time).

did you plan anything with an outline? or did you wing it?

anyways thanks in advance (and btw im doing another reread of your fic, it's so narratively satisfying!!)

omg woah first!!! thank you so much!!! that is seriously the most touching thing to possibly hear T-T

This is going to be such a long-winded answer but I definitely did not wing it!!! apologies for the long post but I love to see behind the curtain and think about process so...

That fic was my first multi-chapter story and waaaay longer than anything else I’ve ever made… so I kinda had no idea where to start. I wanted to make a rough outline to see if it was even feasible - was there a beginning, middle, and end? Even a super hazy one? before jumping in and writing a whole long project… (I had no idea how long it would be, but knew it was definitely longer than a few thousand words.)

it started as a timeline - trying to keep track of all the canon events via bonus chapters and sketches, then working to fill in the gaps with headcanons. Even though Ouran is silly, by the end they’re operating within a normal timeline lol….

After filling out a lot of the timeline with headcanons then organizing them in chronological order.. started to see the plot/opportunities for change - in the characters, their relationships, the state of their lives - especially with school, moving, etc. all of the above

I tried to make myself a guide to keep organized lol (totally unnecessary, but helped me keep track of things!)

the timeline started as bullet points - if there are any settings or occasions that would justify an “episode” - major holidays, group trip, etc. At least with Ouran, I tried to play around with the settings - The host club has unlimited resources which is a rare luxury… but wanted to keep in the realm of what they might do + think about fancy rich people things they hadn’t yet covered “on screen”

From there, it went to sub-bullet points, then trying to nail down each beat I'd want to cover - through narration or dialogue

It's hard to pin it down but sometimes certain moments - a visual, an exchange of dialogue - play out really clearly in my head… so would occasionally find that moment and then reverse engineer what would lead to that, then follow the thread to where it would potentially go…

Usually went in chronological order or at least made a list of beats all the way through, but then would jump back and forth to fix little things or add in details I realized needed to move sooner/be foreshadowed…

Outline/timeline > beats > rough draft > going line by line to edit + then hopping around to fix things accordingly

I had a lot of different docs... just because they get so big

+ I like to put unfinished things in blue (or any color, I like blue because red feels more negative to me lol) and then change them to black when they feel "locked" or at least like they're functioning. It helps me keep track of how much is left to do + makes it easier to find spots that need attention!

+ also like to have a "cutting room" document for everything I cut/don't know where to put/is redundant in case I want to use it for later, or even just to try to see what I was going for!! I've found it to come in handy down the line

Here are some examples of the WIP bullet points/blurbs lol... I also like to make "off-screen" notes to myself just to keep in mind, I did have a friend beta-reading some parts, but kinda do this for myself anyway just to keep it in mind.

From there it was just writing and rewriting... I usually go through a scene from the beginning and read until something trips me up, try to either fix it or make note of what the intention was and then go on to the next beat. I went chapter by chapter, in order, and tried to get each locked before going on to the next one.

Should also note that this fic took me a long time!! And I wasn't working on it with a super set schedule. It was purely for fun, so I just worked on it when I felt like it (and as it grew, I found myself wanting to work on it more and more! so it was exciting more than a chore).

I talked to friends about it, even if just kinda laughing about headcanons or jokes, and had a few people read through the beats and a few scenes to see if it flowed/if the dialogue sounded in character!

+ I did a lot of revisiting the source material or even just watching a clip when I felt like I was losing their voices. Idk if it was that successful... but it helped to keep them in mind!!

Anyway... I can only speak for what works for me! and I think a lot of these habits are coming from my storyboarding workflow.

Writing is so personal and there is bound to be trial and error!! I hope that you have so much fun writing, whatever approach you take!!!!!

Also what thank you so much for reading my fic at all and for your kindness!! If you ever publish your fic, please send me a link!!! even if it is ages from now!!!!!

[tossawary]

As I post about rereading SVSSS for lore and characterization, and about sometimes ignoring canonical details for the sake of whatever story I want to tell / explore in fanfiction for fun, I want to make it clear that I don't make these changes because I think it makes a "better story" or that I can write a "better story". I don't even like using the term "fix-it" for my canon divergence AUs that avert some in-universe tragedy, even if it is the "correct" fandom term in some cases, because I don't think that SVSSS is a story that needs to be "fixed".

(Honestly, a lot of my minor alterations to canon's details are because I can't remember what exactly canon is and can't always be bothered to hunt for one sentence (which I may or may not remember existing at all) across multiple volumes, especially when I don't always think strict faithfulness to canon is that crucial to the main concept of what I'm doing. I wrote PINTWILF and several other fics before the official English translations were fully released, when checking minor details was an even greater pain in the ass. Sometimes, I'm cooking without the recipe in front of me because I just want to eat.)

Like, I have criticisms of SVSSS, definitely. When I first started writing SVSSS fic, I was more frank about this (fond but less fond of the characters and world than I am now), and I've talked about things I wished the story expanded on more. I think it has flaws. I know those flaws are a dealbreaker for many people. But it's not my story. I can't tell MXTX's story better, because I believe that every author's story belongs to them and only they know what they're trying to achieve, even when I may personally think that the story might have been stronger if it had done something differently or I'm ignoring some minor detail specifically because I don't really like it.

It's awkward, sometimes, occasionally being told by someone that they enjoyed my fic more than the original story. It's very flattering (I can't pretend I don't have an ego) and I don't think anyone means any harm by this, people enjoy stories or don't for many different reasons (enjoyment is not necessarily an indication of quality and I think engaging with fandom can often be more fun than just reading a story on its own by yourself), but it is a little awkward, especially when SVSSS is not an English / western story. I have an advantage appealing to western readers. Reading a translation of the original story, I know there are details of SVSSS going over my heard, references I'm missing, nuances I don't recognize, even as I endeavor to keep learning. I personally enjoy some of my fics more than SVSSS itself because I associate them with good experiences and a lot of them appeal to me personally in some way or another (all of my favorite tropes! we all have favorite tropes!), but they are built on the back of someone else's original work on the other side of the world, and I want to be respectful of that.

I don't want to compete or fix. I'm not trying to compete or fix, I think I would fuck it up if anyone seriously set that task on me, and I don't think that's a good way to view anything. I want to explore and appreciate. I'll type up a lengthy post at some point as to why I'm generally not interested in concrit on my fics (honestly, mostly it's because I'm not interested in being told that a reader hates the present tense and wishes I would rewrite the entire story, which has happened to me before), but I hope that doesn't come off as disinterest in the original story or its cultural context, or as me thinking even a little bit that any of my stories are flawless and/or better than the original.

I want to make a "why would you put two bad bitches (compliment) against each other like this?" joke here, but I also want to be clear: I think MXTX is by far the badder bitch (compliment) in this situation.

(Turning off reblogs, btw, because this post skews more on the personal side.)

[adamsstabwound]

Adam x Archangel!Mreader

-cock signing off

A/N: pretty gn though ngl 😔🙏 first posted fic btw be nice 2 me 💕

Summary: you'd met him in the Garden of Eden between Lilith and Eves creation. The new human had taken a fondness for you.

The air in the garden was warm, a comfortable warm, when was it not? You'd come to visit the human god had created for only the second time, you were simply there to keep him company for the short while.

As you walked through the angelic(pun intended) garden, in search of the human, you came to a pause. You stood straight, looking around, puzzled as of to where the hell he had gone- it's one garden, where could he have possibly wandered off to?

You sighed at the silence, nothing but the beautiful songs of birds and the rustles of the leaves in the gentle breeze. It was.. nice. It felt more colorful than heaven. All of the vivid colors seemed not to follow any set of rules, any specific strict palettes. It was.. natural. Beautiful. You felt out of place in your brightly colored white robes and golden wings. Among so many unique and gorgeous things and here you stood with NO fashion.

You were snapped from your thoughts as you heard a splash, your head snapping in the direction it had emmited from. Surely it was Adam- well. No. He wasnt the only thing in this god damn garden but-

You sighed softly as you made your way forward, coming to a clearing where a large pond lay, Adam sat comfortably at the shore of it, watching the creatures he'd oh so proudly named ducks paddle through it. As he heard you approach, he excitedly turned his head towards you with an eager smile, only for his expression to soften in some kind of disappointment when he saw you.

You waved awkwardly before sitting beside the human, you wanted to pretend to watch the ducks, but your eyes couldn't help but stay fixed on Adam. In the strong silence, he finally spoke,

"Will i get a new wife?" He asked dryly, staring towards the lake, but his voice was laced with a subtle sorrow.

You frowned softly, followed by a gentle nod, "soon, Adam." You assured, tilting your head to properly face the human, "what are we doing today, Adam?" You smiled in an attempt to ease the tension, trying to cheer the man up.

He peered to you softly once more, raising his brows, in thought. You watched, taking note of his features, how soft yet sharp they were. How endearing, how fascinating. A human. The fi-

"I was thinking," Adam began, ripping you from your thoughts once more. You raised your brows almost mockingly. Adam? A human? Thinking? How revolutionary.

He furrowed his brows softly as he took note of your rather telling sarcastic expression, snickering softly to himself, "dont look at me like that-" he groaned, sighing and leaning back on his hands.

You smiled, trying to imitate Adams posture as you too sat back on your hands. Nodding softly to Adam in acknowledgment, "Okay,, well what were you thinking, Adam?" You questioned, looking to the human.

He smiled excitedly, obviously happy to share any and all thoughts with someone who could- well- reply to them. He couldn't deny his own loneliness. He was,, pathetic.

"Okay okay, well i was thinking of a name for y-" he started, only for you to interrupt him, furrowing your brows slightly.

"Adam, we've discussed this. I already HAVE a name i don't need-" you objected, only for Adam to put a gentle finger against your lips to shush you before he continued,

"A friend name! Just for us?" He pleaded, pouting his lip playfully, to which you groaned in irritation. You couldnt deny the soft spot you'd already grown towards the human. It was rather embarrassing actually.

"Okay. Just for us." You repeated, sighing deeply and nodding to Adam, the mans face lighting up instantly, leaning forward.

"OKAY OKAY-" he began, you couldn't help but roll your eyes already, peering off to the side as if youd found something more interesting to look at.

"So what about.."