#do i really dare put these on the main tags

[feath-r-hopper]

not dead, just artblock since january x_x still carnal about that sad old man. also more oc/rp stuff beloww

[bogos-bint3d]

random thought bc i was making alphyne sims LOL, do you think undyne would ever want to have children? how do you think she’d be as a parent?

While I personally don't quite have a "definite yes" or "definite no" answer for this I personally think that, yeah, possibly! I think it's a question with a lot of layers to it, "is it something the character would want?" "Is it something the character should do?" "How much thought would the character put into it all beforehand?" "How long would the character wait before making that choice?" And first of all I think I should talk about fandom culture's view on kids in general. Why? Because I'm obsessed with validating my opinions like this

It's been said many times by many people now how there are a lot of times where fans end up writing completely out of character for the purpose of placing characters into positions of stereotypical familial structures- ESPECIALLY forcing women into the roles of motherhood where it doesnt fit or make sense for them to the point where I don't think I can really add anything substantial or important to the topic. The pros have very much said what needs to be said.

HOWEVER. I ALSO LIKE TO HAVE FUN WITH FUCKING CHARACTERS. I LIKE TO EXPLORE DIFFERENT TOPICS AND SITUATIONS WITH THEM. I WANT PEOPLE TO BE ABLE TO SHAMELESSLY ENJOY THEIR RIGHT TO INTERPRET CHARACTERS WHERE THEY THINK NESCECARY. WHERE THEY THINK FUCKING FUN!!!

So with that said, while demeaning female characters to singular sad and one dimensionsional traits of "Mother" is very clearly to me Not A Good Thing, people should stop acting like it's a fucking sin to imagine the possibility of a character having a child while still retaining all their accurate attributes, because it is a very possible thing that can be and IS done!!!!!

What are my thoughts on Undyne with all this?

Hehhaahehehaa....... strap in.

Where do I BEGIN. How about the inspirations behind the character of undyne herself.

Ok so see this wonderful lass here. That's a sculpture by Chauncey Ives of the mythical water spirit, Undine. Thinking about it, you all probably know this anyway because I do fairly often reblog Undine themed stuff too. Because I'm just like this. But how about the interesting stuff?

The original myth, created by Paracelsus, an alchemist and philosopher born in the 1400s, I believe comes from his work "A Book on Nymphs, Sylphs, Pygmies, and Salamanders, And Kindered Spirits". I think that's what it was called. I'm too tired to talk fully about it specifically and we need to get to the point so have a video of some guy reading it here

Yay :]

It's pretty much what it says. Paracelsus essentially believed that elemental beings (whom he had adapted and reimagined from ancient or traditional at the time sources) were simply part of the strangeness of God's natural creation and should be studied, as part of appreciation of the Bible etc. And we know ALL ABOUTTTTT utdr and its biblical links/imagery. But back to undine :]

Paracelsus named his takes on the classic concept of elementals: gnomes for earth (YES HE INVENTED THE WORD GNOME!!!!!), sylphs for air (yeah he also invented the word sylph), salamanders for fire (he didn't invent that :[), and of COURSE! UNDINES FOR WATER! He believed undines to be fairly similar to humans, a significant difference being the lack of a soul. Which surely means nothing when talking about Souls Are Important the Video Game. And anyways according to him they were apparently fairly capable of getting a soul through love. Wikipedia also says that Paracelsus says that a child from this love will too have a soul which is nice

Blablabla Wikipedia says undines are like fucking desperate to get a husband or whatever but dudeeeee she can do whatever she fucking wantssssss. I think she can and should be enjoying her life with alphys rather than it being a thing just for a living soul or whatever. They're just happy, no mythology attached

Onto the most iconic interpretation of the myth, 1811s Undine by Friedrich De La Motte Fouque. When you think of the tale of Undine it's almost always that it's this specific story you pull from. Apart from another one I'll briefly touch on later (please hope it's brief). In it, Undine is a woman adopted by a fisherman, who was taken in by the fisherman after his own child died. Hmmmmm wow hmm sort of like how asgore took in undyne after his children died HM BACK ON TOPIC. Personality-wise, Undine is described by Wikipedia (because I don't have the book) as "erratic", and "capricious", which Google dictionary describes as "given to sudden and unaccountable changes of mood or behaviour", which again sounds quite similar to the Undyne we all know and love.

It mentions that when married to Huldbrand (the main guy in the book he's not important tho) she is "kind and gentle" and yeah imo the writing with this IS kinda shit HOWEVER I think if were simply using this as inspiration for undyne I can definitely imagine her *eventually* becoming a calmer and more thoughtful person with A: the presence of someone like alphys to mutually love and understand her for her and B: the absence of having to worry about a war to fight and always sort of being on edge and just being. Like that. And again this would all be a *progressive experience*, rather than in the book where undine literally switches up over night. I do like to consider character and stuff

There's this line from the Wikipedia summary which jumpscared me

I 0% believe this has any significance to deltarune whatsoever however it was so funny out of context I had to add it

Another completely unrelated thing here but there's a fucking guy called "Kuhleborn" and I just. Can homestuck leave me alone. FOR FIVE MINUTES.

Sorry back to cherry picking the story to fit undyne.

Ok so truthfully I don't find anything else from that specific story that I find particularly helpful to undyne, the rest of it's kinda just useless to my point. Re-establishing the fact here that I skipped over a most of the actual significant parts of the story because I specificly want to talk about how I see it parallel to undyne. But that's it really. I just especially wanted to mention this adaptation of the story as it is pretty much the most iconic interpretation of the myth.

That is, interpretations that specifically refer to its source by name. Because by far the most well known media to draw influence from the myth of undine is the iconic Hans Christian Andersen fairytale, "The Little Mermaid". I don't have much to say on how the little mermaid does take much inspiration from undine, other than the way andersen himself interpreted the story. Simply, the fact that Hans Christian Andersen, a man who based this story off of his own feelings at the inability for another man to reciprocate feelings of romance for him, and resonated with the story of undine so much that it was a source of inspiration for the little mermaid itself is so crazy to me. Like. Here is a queer man who read the tale of Undine and understood it so much he wrote his own story inspired by it and made it tie in with his own experiences of homosexuality! Like that's so crazy to me! Because it just makes the undertale character of undyne being sapphic so much better to me! It took the sad story of gay tragedy and took it and made it a story of gay joy!!!!!!! We are all so happys forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok ummmm. I got carried away because we are steering very far away from what this post was originally about. Umm. Point is. Original story was of queer sadness but undertale is now of queer joy + the story of queer joy being based on story where being with this person who you really love and being truly and properly bonded in an undeniable and magical way is enough to give you a soul that will live forever. I think that's somewhere near the point I'm trying to make but at the same time it's not quite the point I was trying to make. And this is absolutely just one interpretation of one relationship and this is by no means in any way supposed to be the end all be all of what ANY relationship should be. I really don't think this is what the definition of love is. However for these characters I feel it can be a huge aspect of it for them

NOW FINALLY MOVING ON TO THE ACTUAL CHARACTER FROM UNDERTALE THANK FUCKING GOODNESS!!!!!

Oh undyne. With some of the implications in game that she lost her family, I very much imagine her being cautious with this sort of situation. Would she be able to handle is for example? Would she know what to do. Given its something she might not even have real first hand experience of, is it something she would even want to risk forcing upon another person? I think she struggles so much with responsibility as it is. She wants nothing more than to protect people and cheesus if she had a kid of her own you know she would be doing every single thing in her power to make sure that kid never has to face what she did. Undyne says at one point in game (if you kill her in neutral i believe) she never told alphys the way she felt because if/when she died in battle, she wouldn't want alphys to deal with that. And again, she really would not want to have a kid if she worries that one day that kid would have to worry about someone they truly care about not being with them anymore

So *would* she want them? I don't really think it would be an overwhelming innate desire or anything like that, but really not against it. Sged need a lot of time beforehand first. Some time to live her life to the fullest, time to make sure it's something she can handle without guilt, time to make sure it's something that does bring her joy. And then yeah, 6 or 7 years minimum I can see it happening. And I think it would be nice

"Now let's talk about susie, can we talk about susie? Please stun (and other readers) I've been dying to talk with you about susie all post, okay?" /ref

I don't really have anything to add I just think alphyne should adopt susie. In every timeline. Undertale deltarune I just think ok. Because she doesn't have a good home life to the point where she's like just Not Safe and hm young couple with no children in her area? Undyne would want to help her soooo bad because she understands just what it feels like to be young and alone not really cared for and she would NEED to fix it. That's defo how it is for undertale at LEAST. Idk entirely with dr if it'd be exactly like that cause we don't know what undynes got going down in dr yet.. but even so that's nothing to stop them

Anways yeah I think you mightve been waiting just a wee bit long for the answer to this ask I uhh.....m.....mmmm. yeah man I... yeah. I really do genuinely hope you enjoyed his tho cause uts currently quarter to 2 in the morning and I'm going on a train & to the aquarium tmrw so my ass CANNOT be waking up at 11 am again. Shits fucked. But when I tell you when I'm locked in on an undyne topic I AM LOCKED IN. IT TOOK A WHILE BUT I FINALLY DID IT. MORE THAN HALF OF THIS WAS WRITTEN WITH NO BREAKS OF CHECKS BUT THATS THE BEAUTY!!!!!! FLY MY SCARAB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[lesbianraskolnikov]

Crime and Punishment 1998's Confession + EPILOGUE

[battleclawed]

woe. more kludd/nyra kid OCs be upon ye (under the cut)

a couple notes for this AU:

this timeline is a non-canon offshoot of my Sacred Orb Lives AU (more on that here). there's not really a set plot/timeline of events (and the story would still end in roughly the same way) so it's more just me doing fun experiments lol

in the standard AU timeline kludd lives just long enough to be an alive dad to the gwen (the sacred orb baby) and coryn for like a year. in this timeline the war is dragged out enough for nyra to fulfill her wish of having a big ““happy”” family and then kludd dies

hagsfiend nyra is not real to me so all the kids are full barn owls. i'm not 100% sure how i'd rework nachtmagen/hagsfiends into this AU but it's more like... fringe magic that was only maybe real in the past that nyra and one of the kids is trying to revive in the present but will backfire spectacularly

GWEN

gwen's still here

honestly having more siblings might make gwen more stable. i think she'd be able to mediate her jealousy + feelings of inferiority better if having more kids around became like, a normal thing for her

she's not so deeply attached to kludd since she's got more family members so she doesn't immediately lose it when he dies

also she’d be older and probably more prepared to take her father’s place! but her plot mostly remains the same (losing all the time and then dying, now with the added responsibility of looking after a bunch of younger siblings. sorry gwen ily)

CORYN

coryn's still here too. included for the sake of knowing where he sits on the family tree

in this AU coryn leaves before kludd dies (since kludd dies way later) but. stuff is mostly the same with him re: the ember of hoole and becoming king of the tree

KAY

born before coryn leaves and becomes coryn's replacement after his departure. kay vaguely remembers coryn, but any talk of him is forbidden

(for nyra none of the younger children can ever replace coryn, though, because none of them are eclipse babies. you hate to see it)

gwen and kay do like each other and get along very well. gwen's like "this little brother is way cooler 👍 my old one was lame"

kay is smiley and friendly and well-liked among the soldiers. this makes kludd go “??? why are you like that” but kay is also big and strong so kludd doesn’t complain too much

a "just following orders" kind of guy. not very smart but that's okay, his parents do all the thinking for him :)

the initial plan was for kay to die with kludd during the battle of the burning (or whatever burning-equivalent battle kludd dies in) but i think i'll change this...

post-kludd death kay is just kind of directionless. looking to gwen as a replacement authority figure but ultimately she can't fill the vacuum left by their dad

kay will still die early but as a result of gwen’s poor military leadership/strategy. for maximum gwen tormenting

MORGAN

triplet 1

once the triplets are born kludd is like "i'm tapping out of parenting i have my heir and my spare i'm DONE" so he kind of ignores them unless they prove to be particularly interesting/useful to him. morgan is deeply aware of this and hates him for it

thinks she's so much smarter and cooler than all of her siblings. deeply bitter about the fact that no one seems to recognize her specialness

latches onto her mom because at least nyra pays attention to her sometimes

post-kludd death + gwen's high tyto-fication, morgan becomes a lot more brazen since she’s not under her father's thumb (talon?) anymore

morgan thinks gwen is stupid and unworthy and has stolen all the glory and recognition that SHE’s supposed to have

mommy's little blood sorcerer. totally down for the nachtmagen stuff. when nyra obtains the book of kreeth morgan helps her with the hard words :)

gwen does not approve of the nachtmagen stuff. she's like "this is unnatural!! what would dad think" and morgan's like "dad SUCKED i'm cooler than him and you combined. watch this" [explodes]

^^ tries to usurp the high tyto position from gwen by using a spell to make herself more powerful. it backfires on her and she dies. whoops!

MAGNUS

triplet 2

daddy's little mad scientist

kludd and nyra let him run fleck experiments on the prisoners (the m in magnus stands for malpractice)

magnus making someone’s brain explode: pretty cool right dad?

kludd nodding sagely: pretty cool

magnus and morgan do NOT like each other. though with morgan it’s like [seething, muttering under her breath] “ihateyouihateyouihateyou” and with magnus it’s more like [side eye] “can you please be normal for like five seconds”

magnus and mallora (triplet 3) however are chill. this drives morgan insane (morgan thinks she and mallora should be allies against the great evil that is magnus)

kludd likes magnus because he’s smart and science-brained BUT magnus does not like to do combat or battle strategy stuff so he’s like. wishing he could combine kay and magnus into one Wholly Competent Soldier Son

there's a period of time where gwen is worried magnus will overtake her as kludd's favorite but because of his combat avoidance she feels safe in her position at the top. from then on magnus is just her nerd brother (affectionate)

i think magnus DOES die during the battle of the burning with kludd. whatever scientific "legacy" kludd was building with his fleck mind traps needs to die with him i think. and that includes magnus

MALLORA

triplet 3

really weird about the nyrolian owl thing. worships nyra to a degree that makes even nyra go “hmmmmm”

also just generally kind of weird religious-y

mallora has really strong starsight but her interpretations of her visions aren't always correct + she speaks in riddles so no one really listens to her

knows everyone thinks she's weird and doesn't care. purposefully acts off-putting because she likes to watch them squirm

gets along with most of her siblings, but she's not particularly close with any of them (she thinks they’re funny but all kind of dumb)

doesn't mind being alone. spends a lot of time in her own head

keeps having dream visions of coryn but she's never met him so she thinks it's nyra

"The Stars Show Me My Beautiful And Wise Mother Ruling From The Island Of Hoole, An Ember Glowing Green In Her Talons... her scar is in the wrong direction but surely that means nothing :)"

mallora and gwen end up being the last two kids in the Pure Ones base so their dynamic is like. gwen [head in hands] “why is everything so bad all the time” and mallora’s like [unhelpfully] “Have You Tried Praying About It? :)”

tries to grab the ember of hoole for her mother and it just straight vaporizes her

ADELLA

adella is small and sickly. nyra thinks it’s kinda cute when she's a baby bc she's so clingy but then adella never grows out of it and she’s like “hm. maybe i should’ve let one of your siblings TUPSI you after all”

kludd never bothers to spend any time with adella before he dies so she doesn’t have many memories of him other than being deeply frightened by his mask

kay and adella are/were besties because he’s the only one who bothers being nice to her

he does not understand why she’s so terrified of their parents though. he’s like "just do everything they say perfectly and you’ll be fine :D nothing to be scared of :)"

shortly after kludd dies someone (mallora probably) lets it slip that adella will have to do her TUPSI. adella manages to escape despite her poor health and flight skills

nyra's very mad about this ^ but gwen (who is now in charge) is like man whatever. let her go. i can't deal with this right now

adella somehow manages to meet coryn and get to the great tree. BUT she's like "what do you mean i have to share a hollow with the scary non-tytos 🥺 what do you mean i have to do chores with them 🥺" and coryn has to be like "ohhh that's not. that's not how we do things around here"

adella’s like. well it was bad at home but at least they treated me like i’m special there 🥺. here they think i’m the same as everyone else!!! (this as a great outrage to her)

leaves the great tree thinking maybe she can bargain her way back into the pure ones. mysteriously disappears and is never seen again… (gets swept up in a storm and dies)

[night-dark-woods]

Yet she had also decided that she felt a strange kinship and sympathy for it, this cornered, desperate god, making infinite sacrifices out of its people.

I'm on a "rereading Forsaken loretabs" kick and I'm rotating this line in my head. Mara constantly sacrificing herself and her people to protect the solar system as a whole. Her sense of duty. Determined and deadset on saving everyone and the thing is she does she DOES save everyone!!! But does that make it worth it does that make it right!!!

What got me started again was the last line on the loretab of this year's Dawning ship (Hiera Hodos - which also... thats the Sacred Way from Athens to Eleusis, as in the Eleusinian Mysteries that Mara's throneworld is named for...):

And Mara walks alone, between the City and the dark outside.

Which made me think about this part of the Savin loretab (Title is also from this loretab):

Perhaps the Earth would be better off if the Traveler vanished or was destroyed, she thought. Even in the Reef, she felt as if she were living next to a torch held up in a dark wilderness, calling out across the galaxy to hungry things with too many eyes.

And so now I'm down the "Mara and her god complex" rabbithole again. Under a readmore because it's long:

If you have grace, then see our sorrows, but swallow back your tears. We were made to pay this price. I led us to our fate. (Archiloquy)

She feels this absolute guilt from the very beginning because she saw deeper meaning in a freak accident:

Because I asked us to leave, Mara thinks. Because something came out of deep space and killed the man next to me, and I saw the omen, and I said we should go. And now I feel like a coward. (Cosmogyre II)

And then you combine that personal guilt with her mother and Alis Li telling her she's responsible for what others think of her and that she is capable of more than those around her:

"It is one thing to have a particular power over people, Mara. But it is another to deny that you are using it." ... "Mara, you are an Auturge, a volunteer. I cannot order you to stop, and your work is exemplary. Are you putting anyone else in danger with your… art projects?" "No," Mara says. "Just myself." "False!" Li barks. "That is a selfish answer. You are now a symbol to my crew, a house god. If you were to die, they would lose something important, something Human that they have created out of loneliness and void. It would be an unforgettable reminder of the hostile nothingness that surrounds us. When you endanger yourself, you endanger that symbol. You are part of this mission's behavioral armor, Mara." Mara is thunderstruck. She's never thought about it this way. "All I did was take some captures. I didn't ask to be anyone's… mascot." "You presented yourself as a conduit to secret knowledge," Captain Li counters. "People made something out of you, Mara. Please take this from a starship captain: What people make of you, what they create of you—even without your consent—becomes a kind of responsibility. If the Mara they see when they look at you is good for them, then you have some duty to be that Mara." (Brephos III)

And you put all of that on the shoulders of an already self-important and borderline suicidal 19 year old who is convinced she's seeing secret meanings in things (and she is!!! Is the thing!!!) You cannot tell me she's not, given that her favorite enrichment activity is going on EVAs and taking off her suit in order to experience this:

The void boiled the water off her skin. Her body swelled with unchecked pressure until her undersuit forced it to stop. Alarmed cytogel crawled down her throat, hissing emergency oxygen: not enough. Her skin blued with cyanosis. She was bathed in the most profound emptiness. She recorded all of it at the neural level. The exquisite darkness. The sense of fatal independence from all things. There are those who will give anything to feel that void. (Brephos II)

And then after they are in the Distributary she keeps her idea of the duty of the Awoken to herself for so so so fucking long and plays such a long game and sacrifices her own people in that game to keep the Awoken from being truly comfortable in the Distributary:

"I have worked for many hundreds of years to arrange this outcome," Mara says, forthrightly, but without the courage to look Alis Li right in the eyes. "I have nurtured and tended the Eccaleist belief so that there will always be Awoken who feel uncomfortable in paradise. Guilty for the gift of existence in the Distributary. People who'll come with me." (Nigh I)

And all for the sake of her eventual goal of returning to the real world and saving the solar system that she is absolutely completely incapable of abandoning, regardless of the cost:

"Do you understand what you've done? Have you reckoned the full cost?" She has convinced tens of thousands of Awoken to abandon their immortality. She has deprived the Distributary an infinite quantity of joy, companionship, labor, and discovery: all the works that might be accomplished by all the people who will join her in her mission to another world. When she lies awake at night, seized by anxiety, she tries to tally up the loss in her head, but it is too huge, and it becomes a formless thing that stalks her down the pathways of her bones like the creak of a gravity wave. "Some infinities are larger than others," she tells her old captain. "I believe… we are here for a reason, and this is the way to fulfill that purpose." "And how much would you sacrifice? Your mother? Your brother? Are the Awoken real to you at all?" Alis leans across her pinned hand, viper-fierce, striking. "Do you think my people were made to die for you? "Not for me. For our purpose. For our fate." (Nigh II)

And she is so so so deeply aware of that cost, in Fideicide II Alis Li knows that "Mara knows the unthinkable value of even a single Awoken life," and she is so deeply deeply guilty about that. Like when she does tell Alis (and Sjur, eventually) we get to see her the most fucking vulnerable we ever do and GOD.

"No," Mara says, with her heart in her throat, with trepidation bubbling in her gut. You cannot keep a secret buried like a vintage for so many centuries, and then unbottle it without any ceremony. "The boon I ask is your forgiveness." Then she explains the truth. She tells Alis Li what she did: about the choice Alis Li would have made, if Mara had not made her own first. It's only an extension of what Alis has already deduced. When she's finished, her ancient captain's jaw trembles. Her hands shake. A keen slips between her clamped teeth. The oldest woman in the world conjures up all the grief she has ever felt, and still it is not enough to match Mara's crime. "You're the devil," Alis Li whispers. "I remember… in one of the old tongues, Mara means death. Oh, that's too perfect. That's too much." She laughs for a while. Mara closes her eyes and waits. "You realize," Alis Li says, breathing hard, "that this is the worst thing ever done. Worse than stealing a few thousand people from heaven. Worse than that thing we fled, before we were Awoken—" "Please," Mara begs. "Please don't say that." Alis Li rises from her chair. "I'll support your fleet," she says. "I'll use every favor and connection I have to get your Hulls completed and through the gateway—and I will do it so that I can hasten your departure from this world. I will do it out of hate for you; I will do it so that every good and great thing we achieve here will ever after be denied to you, you snake. No forgiveness. Do you understand me? It is unforgivable. Go. Go!" "I'd be very glad if you didn't tell my mother," Mara says. (Nigh II)

The last line there fucking kills me. "I'd be very glad if you didn't tell my mother." God. And then when she is brave enough to tell Sjur, to try again after last time backfired so fucking spectacularly, Sjur forgives her:

"I was first," Mara says. And she explains the missing half, the first half of the sentence: I made the rules and initial conditions that deceived her into believing she herself had decided It ends like that, where the rest picks up. Sjur Eido looks at her in expressionless silence. Sjur Eido's hands stroke the seam between Mara's skinsuit and the glassy petals of her helmet. Long ago, this woman betrayed her oath and went to serve the Diasyrm, a woman who cried out in anguish at the curse of physicality and the possibility of suffering. Long ago, this woman threw away her whole life to punish the highest crime she could imagine: the denial of transcendent divinity to those who might have claimed it. "You're the devil," Sjur says. "You're the lone power who made death. You allowed the possibility of evil. You might be responsible for more preventable suffering than anything that has ever existed." Mara cannot shake her head or even nod. "Well," Sjur says, "if you hadn't, none of us would be here. I guess I don't see what else you could've done, if you cared about those we left behind. If you wanted us to be able to go back and help in the fight." She leans forward and very gently kisses the inside of her helmet, where it meets Mara's: in her mind, in that place that is bound to all other Awoken, Mara feels the touch of gentle lips. (Tyrannocide III)

And like, those chapters also make me lose my mind because of the twofold meaning of the title- Tyrannocide because she is killing Oryx, yes, but also because she herself is dying. The self-appointed (and only ever real) Queen of the Awoken:

We are risen from man and fallen from heaven. We are made again in the fall. What was once us will not ever again be us. I am the uncrowned ever-Queen and my only diadem will be the event horizon of the universe, which is my dominion. By falling, I will rise. (Palingenesis II)

&

"Mara, with all my respect, all my genuine gratitude for bringing us here," Esila sighs, "who died and made you Queen?" Mara says nothing. But she thinks: Everyone, Esila. All of us died and made me Queen. (Revanche II)

&

On the day the Fallen struck, Mara was proclaimed Queen. It happened swiftly, though after no little debate among the people, for everyone was afraid of a monarch who could speak to their thoughts. Yet they feared more to deny her power and sovereignty, for they had come between worlds in her name. To refuse her would be to refuse their choice. (Revanche V)

And the thing is that she is their queen in such a real and tangible way like she made them she made their fate she can sense every single one of them and feels their deaths and at the same time as she is sacrificing them for The Greater Good she would do anything to save them:

Mara crawls through compartments choked with vaporized coolant. She keeps low and clutches the breather to her face. All she can think of is Kelda Wadj's last message and the data attached. "Mara. The paracausal effects are strongest around you. Whatever's happened to us, you are the locus. I cannot overstate how subtle and how important this discovery might be. Mara, when we use radioactive decay as a trigger for simulated bombs—bombs that could harm Awoken—the trigger atoms are a thousandfold less likely to decay near you. People are literally safer when you are around." She has to get into the riot. She has to protect her people. A horrible groan vibrates through the habitat structure, and then, with an apocalyptic shudder, something tears off the Reef. A ship. A ship is leaving. Mara has failed. ... She rolls onto her back and stares up into the swirling vortices of coolant, seeing faces, futures, the lives she has just lost, the lives she might yet lose. She brought her people here to die in the sense that she brought them into mortality—but she never wanted it to happen quickly. (Revanche IV)

And she keeps losing people and losing people and losing people. So many of the Distributary Awoken defect and go to Earth:

Nasan purses her lips. "I want them to understand that you are—that you—that you are good. That you aren't what they think." Seeing Sjur bristle, she holds up her hand. To her relief, Mara makes a slight warding gesture as well. "And if they know that and still wish to live apart from us on Earth, that's fine. That's their choice." "I don't need them to understand that," Mara says softly. There is the faintest husk of grief in her steady voice. (Chords of Meaning)

And then she loses Nasan too and she comes back as Orin and the Traveler has taken yet another of her people from her (and brought them back wrong!):

"Woof," Sjur Eido says when she sees Orin for the first time, "Mara's gonna hate this." She crosses the detainment cell to get a better look at Gol. "Figured this might happen eventually, but I'd always hoped…" She pulls at the nape of her neck, then gives a little half-shrug: well, what can you do. (Queenslaw)

And then she loses Sjur when she is taken/killed by the Nine:

"This was on her body, Your Grace." A strange coin lay at the center of Abra's outstretched palm. Mara took it between thumb and forefinger and held up it to the cosmos with dainty contempt. Weregild, she thought. Powerful grief filled her chest, as thick and caustic and heavy as unset concrete. (Oathkeeper)

And she turns to Orin for assistance with that and then because of that (!!!) loses Orin again as well:

On the day that Sjur Eido dies, she receives a call from Mara Sov. "I would ask for my boon," the queen says with shaking voice. It is the first time she dares to trust a Guardian. It will not be the last. (Debt)

&

On the day she leaves to find the Nine, the Techeuns name her Orin the Lost. (Synesthesia)

And then she answers the question Alis Li asked her so long ago about whether she is willing to sacrifice her brother (a resounding, grieving, determined yes):

Mara will begin the end of that Queen's brother today. She knows what that means for the fate of her own. An eye for an eye. She must think now of the fate of entire cosmos—and of her tender, half-assembled answer to the cold sword logic of the Hive. She must not grieve. She must not fear. (Tyrannocide IV)

And then at the Battle of Saturn all of this loss she has been dreading and yet causing for millenia finally comes to fruition and she then will have a good long time just sitting with that in Oryx's throne world:

This is the moment of absolute sacrifice, the incarnation of Awoken doom: to give up their lives in defense of the world they once abandoned. The sense of their great dying rips at Mara like a sob. (Tyrannocide V)

It's just like. Such a classic and compelling and well-executed examination of do the ends justify the means? (Seth Dickinson at it again! In so many ways Baru is Mara is Baru is Mara!!!) Every one of her actions led to this point, to defeating Oryx, and was that not worth it? And yet how could it ever be worth it?

I think especially the outside perspectives from Earthborn Awoken & Guardians are really interesting on that front because while they still have the connection to Mara - "However, there was always in their souls an itch, a vector pointing to a distant place in the Asteroid Belt, where their Queen still dwelt." (Revanche V) - they did not choose to follow her and they do not have the same loyalty:

Zavala:

"She was a charlatan," Zavala says, quietly. "Fighting a war that existed only in her mind. Dragging you all behind her. Any of you who will admit that are welcome in my City. But I will not take in whatever conspiracies she left unfinished. If you come to us, you come to join the City." (Refusal)

Arach Jalaal:

She speaks. "Earthborn. Did you mourn for her?" He thinks she will know if he lies. "I respected her, yes, but I despised the way she seemed… entitled… to us all. I never regret choosing the path I did. I was Awoken to continue the search we started long ago. The quest for worlds worthy of our lives." (Fleet)

Master Rahool:

We long feared that if it were intercepted by her Majesty your Queen, it would be denied or manipulated to serve some need of her own. (Of Earth and the Reef)

Mara is just such an incredibly compelling and complex and interesting character and she is so stubborn and full of herself and self-righteous and she saved the solar system and she doomed her people to mortality and she's always right because she has to be and because she makes it so and she keeps secrets from everyone and has lost more people than many people ever meet and she has felt every single one of their deaths. She is everything to me.

[a-spes]

Hi! If you’re taking fic requests, may I request a story with fem!nerd reader whose a loner, paired with popular Wanda, Natasha, or both?

Their friends challenge them to a bet, daring them to make the reader fall for them. As time goes on, they unexpectedly develop real feelings for her. However, on the day the reader confesses to both of them, she discovers the truth, that it was all just a bet, while their friends are present. Reader distances herself, but Wanda and Natasha do everything they can to win her back. Angst and fluff please!

Of course, you don’t have to write this if you’re not comfortable, but thank you regardless! ☺️

A Penny for your Love. (W. M. x N. R. x R.) — Part one. (5.006 words.)

| Tags & Warning — Popular!Natasha Romanoff x Popular!Wanda Maximoff x Looser!Reader. University alternative universe, social anxiety, loneliness, spiralling thoughts, alcohol consumption (just a bit), insecurities (a lot, not gonna lie), cheating (not really), lies, manipulation (or at least not being honest), fluff, angst (a bit).

| A/N — my draft was very (very) long so there will be two parts (or maybe three, i will see). i hope you will enjoy this first part even if it is coming a bit late!

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

You were sure that no one would notice if you were not here.

And this statement was not the result of dark thoughts, it was a fact. A conclusion so simple that the realization had been agonizing — how did you not realize this sooner? You always knew you were not outstanding, but you never thought you were so.. disposable.

People do not know your name, and those who see you every day barely remember your face. Yet, it has been almost three years. And even though you knew you could not blame them — how could you? You had never exchanged more than a few words with them — the heaviness this fact had placed on your chest was impossible to shake off.

It was your fault.

You were the one who put yourself in this situation. You were the only one who could be blamed for it and, at the same time, the only one who could get you out of it. But the realization came too late, you kept repeating yourself, at that time, the friendships were already made, and you were sure no one would need — or want — a new one.

You were sure no one was as lonely as you were. 

But that was nothing more than an excuse, a reason not to even try, because the truth was that you didn’t feel up to the task. It should be easy, to exchange a few words with the people you saw every day, for more than two years, but it was not. 

Every time you looked at them, you felt your insides knot up. Every time you thought of exchanging a few words with them, you were petrified, not to mention the few times life had forced you to do so. You had uttered a few words whose syllables had become jumbled, your voice trembling as you were saying the words you would regret for the next few years.

It is no surprise that you did not make any friends. 

You are a mess. 

The voice in your head whispers the same thing again, and again, until you can’t do anything but believe its poisonous words. Your fists clenched until your fingernails leave crescent-shaped marks in your palm, you try to push these thoughts away but, deep down, you know. 

There is some truth in these words. 

It was no coincidence that every one of your attempts at making friends had failed, and not just at university. It has always been that way. The loneliness and the yearning to be a part of their world, two feelings that had been tearing you apart since a very young age. 

But you were used to it by now, even enjoying the loneliness sometimes — It has its advantages. These were also words you kept repeating in a pitiful attempt to comfort yourself, more lies. I do not care, you were saying through gritted teeth but, as you were watching them, you could not ignore the jealousy that was creeping up.

And even though you should not, in these moments, you didn’t want anything more than being one of them. You wanted to be the one who laughs at the jokes one of her friends just told her, even if it was lame. To be the one who didn’t have time to finish her meal because she spent the lunch break chatting. The one who was courageous enough to speak up in class, ask the questions that bloom in her mind and give the answers, even when they were wrong. The one who would not have to worry about the group projects because she would already know who she was going to be with, their eyes meeting before the instructions were even given because it was just as obvious as the color of the sky that they would be a group. 

You yearned to be one of those that were brave enough to live, to exist.

But no matter how much you wanted it, you had never managed to get it. The invisible wall that separated you from them was far too thick to be broken that easily, and so you stayed there, watching them from the other side of what seemed to be a one-way mirror — You could see them, but they were unaware of your existence. 

And because wanting something was not enough to get it, you never managed to do more than touch your dreams with your fingertips. For every step you took forward, you felt like you were making three back afterwards.

You were not getting closer to your dream. 

You were moving away from it, drawing in your own mess. 

The few times you had had the impression of being a part of their world had only been illusions that never lasted long. It was nothing more than fragments of what it could be. 

And you wanted more than that.

More than snatches, what you really wanted was a permanent spot in this sweet universe that was theirs. A place where solitude would not be a constraint, but a choice, and yours. Not one that was made by others because they did not deem you worthy of their time.

But life is not a fairy tale. It is cruel, harsh, and the reality catches up with you faster than you would like when your language teacher announces a group project — In pairs.

You do not even look at your classmates, preferring to avoid their gaze by pretending you are writing something on your notebook — you are not, you are just scribbling circles. But the motion helps you to think about how you are going to formulate your request. This teacher is a bit of a boor, you thought, so there is little chance of her agreeing to you doing this project on your own but maybe, maybe with the right words you could change her mind.

The course is continuing, but you are not listening anymore, unable to think about anything other than this stupid assignment, than the conversation you will have at the end of the course. Your breathing has quickened, your hands have become clammy, but even though you keep telling yourself that everything is okay, you can’t calm down. At least not enough to be able to concentrate on the class. The teacher’s words seem far away, and they do not really reach you, as if cotton had been put in your ears.

It is a tap on the shoulder that eventually pulls you out of your thoughts, preventing you from falling further down the rabbit hole into which this whole story was dragging you in. When you turn your head, your eyes land on a pretty redhead — Natasha Romanoff. She is not in your class, being a bit older, so you do not see her much outside the language classes. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she murmured, and you must have looked surprised — perhaps even frightened — because she immediately moved her hand back in a gesture of appeasement. “I wanted to know if you would like to pair up with me?” She said, and you could not help but notice how soft her voice sounded as she was asking you to be her partner for the second time, the words not having reached your ears the first. 

“What?” You replied without thinking, but maybe you should have, it would have prevented you from saying the stupidest thing you could have. The instant the question escapes you, you bite your lip — she must think you are a complete idiot now, well done, you thought.

“For the group project,” she clarified, “would you like to work with me? If you are not already with someone else, of course,” she said, but it was only to sound polite. Despite what you may think, Natasha Romanoff knows you, and she knows that you are a lonely soul, never heard, hardly seen — You may be discreet, but not enough to escape her observant gaze.

Even though it was the third time she had asked the question, you detected no trace of impatience in her tone, no judgment in her eyes, just a certain.. expectation, but you could not tell for what reason.

“Ar-,” — you sure? You wanted to ask, but you swallow the words before you can say them, replacing them by a simple nod. “Yes,” you blurted out the word, your voice being so high-pitched that you winced with embarrassment for a moment. “I mean.. I do not have a partner yet, and I would love to work with you,” you clarified, trying to control your voice, but your excitement hadn’t gone unnoticed by the redhead, nor did the slight tremble of your hands, and she was now smirking — because you looked like you were about to explode, and maybe you were, for real. “My name is-” 

“I know,” she cut you off as she filled in the sheet that was being passed through the rows, writing your name without any hesitation, without a mistake. “Did I write it right?” She asked with feigned care. She already knew that she got it right, and she is not surprised when you nod — she could not say the same about you, though. 

You may belong to two completely different worlds in appearance, one barely existing, always in her sole company, the other always surrounded, her presence hard to ignore. And yet, from the very first lessons, Natasha had found something endearing about you, waiting for the opportunity to approach you without frightening you — and she knew she was not the only one whose gaze you caught.

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Before that evening, the two women had never spoken of you — nor had they ever spoken to you — and you were like a half-confessed secret floating between them, because despite their respective silence, they knew each other too well to not know the truth.

Wanda could see the smile on Natasha’s lips whenever she was coming out of her language classes that, as luck would have it, you had chosen too. And Natasha for sure noticed the sparke in Wanda’s eyes when they landed on you in the corridors, always lingering a little longer than they should on your silhouette.

But they had never been brave enough to put into words what they were feeling, and this desire continued to grow little by little in their hearts. Out of respect, they told themselves, to not admit that it was out of fear — that they would mess everything up.

You were from a very different world. The two women were popular, and all it took was a smile and a few pretty words to get any girl into their bed. Girls who did not care about being a one-night stand, who lived for it, but they could tell that you were not one of them. You were reserved, and solitary, and by the way your fingers trembled and your words tangled at the slightest conversation, they guessed you took things too personally to be satisfied with a one-night stand — you needed time, and attachment.

But they were not sure they would be able to give you what you needed. Their relationship was complicated, messy, it was in their image and that suited them — or almost. And then, out of fear of ruining their chances by taking the first step too soon, or doing things the wrong way, they kept their desires a secret, observing you from afar, pretending it satisfied them. 

Until that night.

From the moment they were dared by their friends to choose a target for their twisted game, your name had been on their minds — it has been evident. And so, despite the initial desire not to disturb your tranquility, they made you their prey. Their judgment had probably been impaired by the few — many — drinks they already had that night, but the cheers of their friends quickly cleared their doubts.

They could have chosen someone else — they should have — there were so many girls who envied them, who wouldn’t have minded being the object of a bet — but where was the fun in that? You were different, you were unreachable, always slipping through their fingers, never exchanging more than a few hesitant words with them, or the others. 

You always left class the instant the bell rang, never leaving your headphones, and music quickly became your only company to the point where it discouraged any of your classmates from trying to bond with you. 

If the women did not know any better, they would have assumed that you were content with your situation, but they had never missed the hint of sadness — and jealousy — that clouded your gaze whenever your eyes landed on the others — nor they had missed the desire in it when you were watching them, thinking they would not notice.

But they always did.

Something in your attitude made them want to wrap their arms around you, to protect you — and to love you — even though they barely know who you are. It is a foreign feeling they had never felt before, not even with each other, their love taking on something completely different, something rougher. 

And maybe that is why the two women did not think about the harm this little game could cause, because for a few hours, under the effects of alcohol, they had forgotten how different your world was from theirs, how much more fragile. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

It is only a few days after you first met the redhead that you eventually came across the second one, Wanda, and for a long time you thought that your meeting had been nothing more than a happy — very happy — coincidence.

At that moment, you were at the library working on some of your assignments, or more realistically regretting some of your materials choices — How could a Sokovian language class for beginners be so complicated? A few months ago, it had sounded like an interesting choice, and you had then been thrilled by the possibility of learning a new language. But you soon understood why so few people chose this class; while it sounded appealing on paper, it was nothing less than a nightmare to study.

Despite trying your best, you were piling up the difficulties, falling behind, and you were not sure you would ever be able to catch up, even if they gave you years to do so. The letters and their sounds, the words and their meanings, everything was mixed in your mind, forming an indecipherable mass of information.

You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you didn't even notice when she approached your table. At this point, it was not about studying the material or getting your exercises done anymore, it was about pushing these thoughts away, those which attempted to drag you down, to encourage you to give up — because what is even the point of putting so much energy into something you are going to fail, as everything else you do? 

It is only when she waved her hand in front of your eyes that you noticed her presence, and it took you a few long seconds before you recognized her face.

“Y- yeah?” You stuttered, scrambling to remove your headphones.

“May I sit there? All the seats are taken,” she explained softly, a disappointed pout spreading across her face as she talks. And, unable to refuse — and certainly not wanting to — you hurriedly retrieve your belongings to make room for the brunette. 

What you ignored is that her words were not completely true. While most of the tables were in fact taken, Wanda was not actually looking for a seat. She was already on her way out when she saw you, but it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up — Especially since Natasha had already taken the lead in their little game, and she hated to lose. 

But maybe you should have said no, because from the moment she sat down, you have been unable to concentrate on your work. All your thoughts were directed to the woman, especially since you could feel her gaze on you as she watched what you were doing.

If her gaze was filled with curiosity, you could not help but imagine judgment in it — What would she think of you if you wrote something really wrong and really stupid? Suddenly, your breathing was a little faster, your hands clammy, forcing you to readjust your grip on your pen several times, and your mind too foggy to be able to do more than pretending to be thinking.

Why did you say yes, already? 

Partially because you didn’t know how to say no, mainly because you were so delirious that a part of you was hoping to become friends with the woman, exactly like in fiction where the most beautiful relationships were starting with insignificant, unexpected encounters. It was stupid, and you were perfectly aware of that, already regretting your choice — You should have lied, it wouldn't have been that hard, would it? But the words came too late to your mind, and you were now stuck with that girl until one of you decided to leave.

The minutes stretched until they seemed interminable, as if the seconds had stopped ticking. None of you were doing anything, and she hadn’t even bothered to — or at least pretend to — mind her own business, never taking out her notebooks, never letting her eyes leave your worksheets for a minute. 

When she finally spoke, you looked at her with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. If you didn’t understand the meaning behind her words, you could still recognize them as Sokovian — And by the way she pointed to your sheet while talking, you guessed she had seen every one of your mistakes. 

But she had not been mean about it, and even the smirk she wore was not mischievous, just very frustrating as you would learn later. The girl — Wanda, as she will let you know in a few minutes — even kindly offered you a little help, probably out of pity, which you tried to refuse. But your lies were not very convincing. 

“That’s nice, but I am doing just fine,” you replied, your words sounding a little harsher than they did in your head. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to mind, her smile not faltering. 

“Are you sure?” She asked back, tilting her head slightly to the side. But she already knew the answer, you both did, and it was no surprise that you eventually admitted that you in fact needed a little help with your lessons. 

“Actually, no,” you conceded, and the chuckle that escaped her lips was so infectious that you forgot your own embarrassment for a moment, a soft laugh escaping yours too.

And if at first you felt bad about accepting her help, that feeling quickly faded as a routine set in. At least twice a week, the two of you would meet at the library so she could help with your language lessons — And damn, you really needed this help. Surprisingly, the woman never lost her patience, and even when you thought she would hate you for making her repeat the same thing dozens of times, she did not, always remaining benevolent.

You appreciated these moments more than you would admit it. Wanda’s presence was breaking your loneliness a bit, even though you were not sure if you two could be considered as friends since you’ve never met outside of the library’s walls.

“Why does it have to be so difficult?” You mumble, and these are the words that usually conclude your sessions, marking the moment when you despair overcomes your determination. Most of the time, they are accompanied by a groan as you lean dramatically on the table, knowing it would make her laugh. A sound you loved to hear because it made your heart beat like never before. A sweet, warm feeling that spreads through your whole being. 

At that point, she always whispers the same words that you can’t understand. And whenever you ask her about their meaning, she refuses to give you the answer. “It will give you a reason to study,” is the response she gives you every time. And as she talks, there is that unnerving smirk dancing at the corner of her lips. 

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

Since you have met the women, something has shifted in your attitude. It was nothing obvious, but it was still enough for them to notice. You were a bit more confident, sometimes even initiating contact with them instead of dodging their eyes. and you let in a glimpse of yourself you'd usually kept hidden. More relaxed, less withdrawn.

And you felt it too, this change.  

The past few weeks, the fear that used to knot your insides had been replaced by a kind of enthusiasm. It was driven by the fact that you knew you would see them whenever you were at university, and even though you were not talking much with them outside of your work sessions, you were looking forward to crossing their paths. The women always had a smile or a lingering hand to spare, and these small gestures meant everything to you as they never failed to make your days much better than they were.

Honestly, if you haven’t yet seen any of them outside university, it was mainly your fault. Despite how great everything was going, there was still this lingering fear you couldn’t get rid off — It was this voice. The one that never failed to remind you how much people must hate you, how much you hated yourself. And it was always here to remind you that the women will dump you at your first mistake, because it is sure you will end up making one. You always do, ending up ruining all the good things you were given. 

Studying at the library with Wanda, or working on your group project in a coffee shop with Natasha, it was easy, familiar and you knew how to do it without messing it up. So every time they have tried to propose something different — and damn, they have tried so many times — you’ve come up with an excuse, always being too busy to do anything else than studying.

In reality, the only thing you have been busy with was drowning in your own thoughts. Despite how well things were going with them, you were still not sure if you could really be friends, let alone being more, as your delusional mind liked to hope sometimes.  

They are popular, and so are their friends. They go to parties every Thursday, where they probably drink and smoke. They do not worry about everything, and are not scared by everyone. They are pretty, funny, and confident. In other words, these people were everything you were not. They knew how to live, something you did not, and you knew they would notice that you weren’t like them the moment you would meet — And what if they judge you for that? What if they do not like you? Or worse, what if they talk about it with Wanda and Natasha, and the women eventually realize how lame you are ? 

But tonight had been different, because this time you had said yes to them — more specifically to the redhead. When she told you she was having a party at her place, you were ready to decline before she even got a chance to finish her sentence. Yet, this time, Natasha had refused to take no for an answer, and after several long minutes of trying to convince — and reassure — you, you eventually agreed. But it was only after she told you — multiple times — that it wasn’t really a party, only a small gathering with a few friends to celebrate the end of the exams.

A choice you were now regretting. 

You have never felt so out of place than the moment you walked through that door, entering a universe that was foreign to you — Natasha and you definitely didn’t have the same definition of a “small gathering.” When you didn’t immediately see the redhead, the thought of leaving crossed your mind because it suddenly felt impossible. Until then, you knew the steps you had to follow perfectly — choosing an outfit, coming there, not too late but not too early, bringing a little something — but now? 

Now, you were not sure, and this uncertainty was already gnawing at you — Should you send her a message? But what if she forgot about you, or doesn’t want to stay with you all night? Should you get yourself a drink? 

The weight on your chest grew heavier with each passing second, but the moment your eyes met hers, it was gone. You weren’t aware of it, but she saw you the moment you entered the room. You had this ability to absorb all her concentration, to the point where she wasn’t listening to the conversation she was engaged in anymore.

You hadn’t planned what happened in the following hours. It just happened, one event after another, and you just let it happen. At the same time, after a drink, or two — or maybe three — you weren't really able to think anymore. This too, you didn’t foresee. But you have been unable to refuse the glasses that some people kept handing you, a part of your actions being driven by the desire to be like them, or at least pretend to be for one night.

“I think you had more than enough for tonight, malyshka,” she intervened at some point, fetching the drink someone was handing you before you could grab it.

“Noo,” you whined in response. The redhead may was right, but the action still felt really unfair in the moment, and you couldn’t help but pout as you witnessed your drink being taken away. “Please, just one last more, I promise I am perfectly fine,” you tried to argue, but nothing you could say would change her mind, and you understood it when the only answer she gave you was a negative nod of the head. “You are not fair!” You grumbled. 

“Life never is,” she replied, a smirk dancing on her lips — One that was frustrating but terribly endearing at the same time. One that was atrociously close to Wanda’s, the two women having more in common than they might admit. “Come on,” she eventually added, grabbing your arm as she was talking.

“Where?” You immediately asked, refusing to follow the woman, almost fighting her grip. “I don’t wanna leave,” you whined, and this time her eyes went up to the sky — You may be adorable, but you were also being damn annoying when drunk.

“We are not leaving, I promise,” she sighed, “I have something I wanna show you,... a secret,” she added, lowering her voice. The woman knew exactly what words to use to convince you to follow. 

Throughout the walk, one of her hands rested on your lower back, probably because she didn’t want you to get lost — Or to run away. A thought that was really tempting right now. And it was a good thing that she was there to catch you when you got your feet caught. not because of the drinks, but because you were too focused on her than where you were walking. 

You could not help but stare, but observe every detail of her face. Your eyes traveled up her jawline, lingering on her lips for a moment too long before tracing the bridge of her nose to these eyes, topped by slightly frowning eyebrows, an expression she often wore when she was focused on something. 

“I wanna kiss you,” you blurted out at some point, the words coming out of your mouth before you could even realize it. By the time you do, it is already too late to take them back, and you can’t help but blush under the redhead’s gaze. Fierce, and full of something you couldn’t name — Hunger, desire. Things no one has ever felt towards you in the past.

In reality, the look of surprise on Natasha’s face was — at least partly — feigned. The women already knew about your attraction to her, you weren’t exactly as discreet as you had imagined. Yet, she hadn’t expected you to be so direct about it when you would eventually reveal your feelings for her, you who were usually so reserved, and shy. But the alcohol probably helped loosen your tongue. 

“Do you?” She asked, but she already knows the answer, and before you can even nod or mutter some excuses, you are pushed against the corridor walls. 

The music from the party was still playing loudly but you could barely hear it, the sound covered by the one of your heart pounding in your ears. You had expected the woman to react in a lot of different ways, but never this one. In the thousands of scenarios that had been created by your mind, never one had involved anything other than rejection — Instant, and disgusted. 

The possibility that she might feel the same way you do seemed unreal. You were too used to being invisible, not enough to being seen, and desired. It was something new and foreign, and it made you feel like you were about to die on the spot — But at the same time it was the best thing you had ever felt.

“Then I must give you what you want, printsessa,” she whispered, and even before she leaned in so her lips could meet yours, she was so closed that you could feel her breath brushing against your face.

God, she has waited so long for this moment, unable to take the first step because she was afraid she would mess everything up, afraid that the relationship she has built with you over the past weeks would crumble — Because kissing you means that the bait is over, and she is not sure she wants it to be. Because it has never truly been about this stupid game.

| MAIN MASTERLIST - REQUEST GUIDELINES. — next part.

| Tag list —

[leriexoxo]

Truth or Strip

Bestfriend! Chan x Reader

PART ONE

Tags: Slowburn smut, best friends to lovers, teasing, playful tension, emotional filth, alcohol, heavy teasing, strip games, oral (f + m receiving), 69, mutual masturbation, fingering, cock worship, dirty talk, creampie, overstimulation, switchy energy, possessiveness

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: You and Chan have been best friends since middle school. No blurred lines, no awkward crushes—just pure, chaotic, platonic energy. That is, until a drunk night turns into a strip game, and suddenly, there’s too much skin and not enough self-control.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

next

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

Your living room was a mess of snack bags, empty cans, and strewn jackets—somehow, you and Chan had survived the party without losing a limb or a phone, which felt like a miracle considering how trashed everyone else had gotten.

You’d made it home mostly in one piece, shoes off by the door, laughter still bubbling out of you both as you collapsed onto the floor in front of the couch, limbs tangled in a heap of jackets and throw pillows.

Chan was still chuckling when he flopped onto his back beside you, his face flushed from the vodka, dark curls messy from dancing like an idiot two hours earlier.

“You’re gonna have the worst hangover in the morning,” you mumbled, swiping at his cheek with your sleeve to wipe away some glitter. “Who the hell even put this on you?”

“I think it was that girl in the pink dress,” he said with a grin. “She told me I had ‘main character energy.’”

You snorted. “You? More like comic relief.”

He clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “Rude. You know I’m the main event.”

You laughed until your stomach hurt. It felt good—easy. This was always the best part of a night out. Not the chaos or the noise, but the quiet hours after, when it was just you and Chan. You’d been doing this since high school: crashing at each other’s places, splitting hangovers, waking up tangled in blankets on the couch like siblings. Nothing new.

Except tonight, something felt different. Not in a big way. Just a flicker. A tension in the air. Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline, or the way his shirt had ridden up just slightly to show the V of his hip when he stretched his arms above his head, yawning.

“Alright,” you said, sitting up and tossing a pillow at him. “We’re not gonna fall asleep any time soon. Let’s play something.”

He blinked at you. “Like what? We’re not sixteen anymore.”

“Truth or dare?”

“Lame,” he groaned, but he was grinning.

You shrugged. “Got a better idea?”

“Hmm.” He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes gleaming. “Truth or strip?”

You paused, blinking at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not even a little bit,” he said, sitting up straighter. “Come on. Truth or dare is boring. But truth or strip? That’s some high-stakes sh*t.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You just wanna see me naked.”

He barked a laugh. “Please, I’ve seen you in worse. Remember Vegas?”

“Fair point.” You bit your lip. “Alright, fine. But you’re playing by the same rules.”

“Obviously,” he said, holding out his pinky. “Swear?”

You linked your pinky with his. His skin was warm—too warm—and for some reason, you felt your stomach do a stupid little twist. Don’t read into it. You were just tipsy and sleep-deprived.

“Alright,” you said, settling in cross-legged on the floor, facing him. “You start.”

He grinned like the devil. “Truth or strip?”

Your smirk was smug. “Truth.”

He pretended to be deep in thought. “Okay. Have you ever faked an orgasm?”

Your jaw dropped. “We’re starting there?”

“Game’s the game, sweetheart.”

You reached for your drink, trying to hide your grin. “Fine. Yes.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Wait—really?”

“Multiple times.”

“With who?”

“Not your turn to ask more than one,” you said, sticking out your tongue.

He laughed, clearly intrigued. “Okay, okay. Your turn.”

You cocked your head. “Truth or strip?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Truth.”

“What’s the weirdest porn category you’ve ever clicked?”

He choked. “Dude.”

You grinned. “Answer the question, Christopher.”

He groaned, rubbing his face. “Fine. One time I ended up on a step-sibling thing by accident. I panicked and closed it, but like… I stayed for the acting.”

You lost it, laughing so hard you fell back onto the couch cushions.

“You stayed for the acting?!”

“It was a dramatic plot!” he defended. “There was betrayal! Emotional arcs!”

“Oh my God,” you wheezed. “You’re so full of sh*t.”

His face was bright red, but he was laughing too. This was good. Safe. Still funny.

But you both knew the game couldn’t stay innocent forever.

“Alright,” he said, grinning wickedly now. “Truth or strip?”

You paused. Not because you were scared—but because something in his gaze had shifted just a little. Still playful, but there was heat there now. Or maybe you were imagining it.

“…Strip,” you said softly.

His brows lifted, impressed. “Bold.”

You slipped off your hoodie, leaving yourself in a little black crop top. Nothing scandalous. Still friendly. Still harmless.

But you noticed his eyes flick down and linger just a second too long.

And just like that—the air got a little thicker.

You were already warmer than you should’ve been.

Not just from the vodka, or from the buzz of lingering laughter between you and Chan—but from the subtle shift in the air. The way your hoodie sat discarded beside you, leaving you in a crop top and high-rise shorts while his eyes danced anywhere but directly at you. Except when they did.

“Alright,” he said, voice low and lazy, tapping his finger against a half-empty can. “Truth or strip?”

You caught the glint in his eye. Not teasing anymore. Or at least, not just teasing.

“…Strip.”

You weren’t drunk enough to not feel it. The nerves. The hesitation. You’d been friends for years. You’d fallen asleep beside him a hundred times. Shared beds. Shared hangovers. Shared so much.

But never this.

Your hands were steady, even though your heart wasn’t. You reached for the hem of your crop top slowly, half expecting him to interrupt. To laugh. To call your bluff.

He didn’t.

And maybe that was the worst part.

You peeled it over your head in one fluid motion and let it drop to the floor.

Silence.

No bra. Just bare skin and freckles and the weight of his gaze when it finally—finally—dragged up to meet yours.

You crossed your arms instinctively, even though you weren’t cold.

“Say something,” you muttered, not looking at him.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

You peeked at him, and—yeah. That was not a casual face. That was not a best-friend-safe-zone face. That was a holy shit, my best friend is topless face.

He cleared his throat, eyes jumping anywhere but your chest. “I—sorry. I just… wasn’t expecting you to actually…”

“You said strip,” you said, trying to act like you weren’t burning alive.

“I did, yeah. I just thought you’d maybe… like, take off a sock.”

You let out a breathless laugh, wrapping your arms tighter across your chest. “You’re the one who suggested this game, idiot.”

“Right,” he muttered, running a hand through his curls. “Right. That’s on me.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

His cheeks were flushed. His jaw was tight. His eyes flicked to your arms, then away again.

He was trying not to look. Trying so hard.

And for some reason, that only made it worse.

“I can put it back on,” you said, voice softer now.

His eyes shot to yours. “No. No—it’s… it’s fine.”

You both froze.

Just… sitting there. On your living room floor. Shirtless. Buzzed. And suddenly so far from where the night started.

You let out a nervous breath and tried to laugh it off. “Okay, new rule. No stripping unless we’re okay with getting weird.”

He nodded quickly. “Yeah. Totally. That’s fair.”

You stayed like that for a beat too long.

And then you said, quietly: “Truth or strip?”

His head jerked toward you like he forgot you were still playing. “…Truth.”

You studied him for a second. Not smiling anymore.

“Have you ever been turned on by something you didn’t expect?”

His breath hitched.

A full second passed before he said, “That’s a loaded question.”

You tilted your head. “That’s a yes.”

He dragged a hand over his face, groaning. “We’re not gonna be friends after this game.”

“Why? ’Cause you’re scared I’ll win?”

“Because I’m starting to feel like this might actually f**k us up.”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

“Do you want to stop?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Chan looked at you like he wanted to say yes. But instead, his voice came out rough:

“No. I just think we should be careful what we ask next.”

And God, something about that—that—was hotter than any strip or dare.

You both sat in silence for a long moment, your pulse loud in your ears. There was music playing faintly from your bedroom—something slow and bass-heavy—but it felt far away. Like the world had gotten quieter since you took off your shirt.

You could still feel Chan’s gaze flicker over you and then away, like his eyes couldn’t decide whether to look or run for their lives.

You were still covering yourself with your arms, elbows resting on your knees. Trying to pretend it wasn’t weird. That your nipples weren’t tight from the air. That you weren’t hyper-aware of how small this room suddenly felt.

“I’m just saying,” you said eventually, breaking the silence, “if you get to ask if I’ve ever been choked, I get to ask something borderline illegal too.”

Chan huffed a laugh, visibly relaxing. “Alright, hit me.”

You tilted your head, letting your eyes rake over him slowly.

“…Strip.”

His brows lifted. “No truth?”

“Nope.”

He looked at you for a beat—then reached for the hem of his tank top. His fingers curled under it, and for some reason, that movement alone made your stomach clench.

He pulled it off in one smooth motion, revealing the lines and curves you’d seen a million times at the beach, in the gym, shirtless in your kitchen—but somehow this time it was different. The air in the room shifted like it knew.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

You’d forgotten how solid he was. Broad shoulders, defined chest, those little indentations near his hips that only appeared when he was fully relaxed. Which, ironically, he didn’t look now.

Chan tossed the tank top aside. You followed the motion. Watched it flutter to the floor and suddenly realized—between the two of you, there wasn’t much left to take off.

You were braless in just your shorts. He was shirtless in sweats.

Dangerous territory.

You both sat there for another beat, and then Chan leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower.

“…Wanna make it more interesting?”

Your heart jumped.

“How?” you asked, even though you already knew this was the moment the game turned fatal.

He smirked, but it was softer now. Like he was testing your reaction.

“What if we add… dares?”

You blinked. “Dares?”

“Yeah. Like… if you don’t want to answer a question or strip, you can take a dare.”

“That’s just—Chan, that’s just truth or dare with extra steps.”

“Yeah,” he grinned, “but sexy.”

You raised a brow. “Define sexy.”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I dare you to do something dumb. Or risky. Or…”

His voice trailed off, and his eyes dropped to your mouth for just a split second. You felt it like a match striking.

“…or?”

He shrugged, playing innocent. “Who knows. That’s the fun of it.”

Your heart thudded harder. This felt like a crossroads. Like a moment you could still laugh off or steer away from. But instead, your voice came out quieter, steadier:

“…Okay. Let’s do it.”

His eyes flicked back up to yours. And just like that, you were in even deeper.

He nodded. “Alright. Truth, strip, or dare?”

You licked your lips. Thought about it. Then: “Dare.”

The way his smile curled slowly across his lips was unholy.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked straight at you.

“I dare you…” he paused, letting the silence stretch, “to take your arms down.”

You froze.

You weren’t even cold. But you’d kept them there the entire time, like a half-hearted attempt at modesty. Like a shield.

And now he was daring you to drop it.

Not touch him. Not take anything else off. Just… let him see you.

Your arms stayed in place for a beat longer. You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

“I know.”

Slowly—so slowly—you uncrossed your arms and let them fall to your sides.

His eyes dropped like gravity pulled them there.

And when they did—when he finally looked, really looked—he didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t tease.

He just stared.

You could see the exact moment his breath caught. The slight flare of his nostrils. The clench in his jaw. The ripple of something restrained deep in his chest.

He looked at you like you were a secret he wasn’t supposed to know.

You shifted, suddenly restless under the weight of it. “Okay. Now you.”

He dragged his gaze back up slowly, his voice a little hoarser now. “Truth, strip, or dare?”

“Truth.”

He raised a brow. “Playing it safe?”

“Playing it smart,” you said.

“Fine,” he murmured. “Have you ever wanted to kiss me?”

You blinked.

Then laughed. “What happened to sexy dares?”

“Answer the question.”

You hesitated.

Wanted to kiss him? No. Never. You’d never thought about it. Never let yourself.

But right now, with him shirtless and flushed and watching you like he wasn’t sure what the hell he’d just asked—it didn’t feel so absurd.

“…No,” you said finally. “Not until maybe two minutes ago.”

Chan’s mouth parted just slightly. Like you’d slapped him and kissed him all at once.

“Your turn,” you said, heart thudding now. “Truth, strip, or dare?”

He didn’t look away.

“…Dare.”

You felt it. That wicked spark at the back of your throat.

“Touch me.”

His brows lifted.

“Where?” he asked.

You smiled, slow and dangerous. “Dealer’s choice.”

You could hear your heart.

Not figuratively. Not romantically. Literally. It was thudding in your ears like a war drum—deep, steady, traitorous.

Chan didn’t move right away. Just watched you, as if checking one last time to make sure this was okay. That he wasn’t hallucinating the dare that just came out of your mouth.

And then—he shifted.

He leaned in slowly, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment, and reached out with the hand that always used to ruffle your hair or flick your forehead or pass you a drink like it was nothing.

But this time, his fingers didn’t feel like nothing.

They brushed your bare shoulder, the pads of them soft and impossibly careful. He dragged them up—along your collarbone, then higher—skimming the slope of your neck in one long, reverent line that left your skin goosebumped and buzzing.

You tilted your head without meaning to.

And that’s when his hand slid up the side of your face, his thumb catching beneath your jaw as he guided your head to the side—gently, but with the kind of confidence that made your pulse slam.

You breathed out, shaky.

His fingers disappeared into your hair at the back of your head, and then—God.

He tugged.

A small, firm pull.

Not painful. Not even rough. Just assertive. Controlled. Possessive in a way that made your thighs clench and your thoughts scatter like marbles.

“Chan,” you whispered. Barely.

But he didn’t say anything. Just looked at you—really looked. His face close. His breath warm. His grip steady.

Your chest rose and fell faster than it should have.

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until his fingers relaxed and slid away, trailing down your neck like he was reluctant to stop.

You sucked in a breath like you’d been holding it forever.

Silence.

Until you muttered, almost accusing, “You’re good at that.”

Chan blinked, looking a little shaken himself. “Wasn’t trying to be.”

You stared at him.

He stared right back.

And then, just when it felt like the tension might tip into something you couldn’t undo, he exhaled hard, sat back on his heels, and said:

“…Okay. My turn.”

You blinked, trying to reboot your brain. “Your what?”

“Truth, strip, or dare,” he said, voice rough, “I pick strip.”

You stared at him. “You don’t even wanna hear the options first?”

He shook his head, jaw tense. “I need to lose something.”

And with that, his hands slid to his hips, and you realized—with a full-body jolt—that he only had one layer left too.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweats, and for the first time tonight, you were the one staring like a deer caught in headlights.

He pulled them down slowly—gray cotton dragging over tanned skin—and when he tossed them aside, what was left was…

Obvious.

Not exaggerated. Not cartoonish. But undeniably, definitively, a problem.

You blinked at the bulge pressing against his dark briefs, very real and very impossible to unsee.

Neither of you spoke.

Chan shifted slightly, like the pressure was getting to him, and you watched the twitch in his thigh, the tight clench of his abs, the subtle flex in his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with them anymore.

“…That a side effect of vodka?” you asked, trying to make your voice light, even as your brain short-circuited.

Chan snorted. “That’s a side effect of having your tits out for the past ten minutes while telling me to touch you.”

You blinked.

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

“You’re not… embarrassed?”

He shook his head. “I think we passed embarrassed somewhere back when you dared me to touch you like that.”

“…Fair.”

Another beat passed.

Then his eyes cut to you, warm and half-lidded.

“Truth, strip, or dare?” Chan asked again, but this time his voice was different.

Lower. Darker.

Less of a question and more of a challenge.

You should’ve been drunker.

You weren’t sober by any means, but in this moment—sitting on your bed in nothing but shorts while your best friend sat shirtless, flushed, hard, and watching you like a fucking meal—you felt painfully aware of every choice you’d made to get here.

You met his gaze. “Strip me.”

He blinked. “What?”

Your lips twitched. “You heard me.”

He hesitated—just long enough to make your stomach flip—and then leaned forward, his hand moving slowly toward the waistband of your shorts.

You held still. Let him.

His knuckles brushed your hip.

Then, with quiet fingers, he tugged the hem down. You lifted your hips instinctively, and the fabric dragged over your thighs, past your knees, to the floor—leaving you in just your lace thong, nothing else, the cool air brushing every inch of bare skin and making you shiver.

Chan sat back, eyes stuck on you like he was trying to memorize the whole scene in case it disappeared.

“You’re—” He swallowed, hard. “Shit.”

You gave a breathless little laugh. “That all you’ve got?”

He looked up, eyes flickering over your face, and for a moment, it felt like he wasn’t your best friend anymore. Like something had shifted permanently.

And then—of course—he tilted his head, and said:

“…Dare.”

Your pulse jumped. “What?”

He smirked. “You said I could strip you. So I did. But it’s still my turn.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off, already moving forward.

“I dare you…” His voice was molten now, every word sliding under your skin, “…to get on my lap.”

Your heart practically stopped.

Not “sit next to me.” Not “touch me.” Climb into his fucking lap.

“You want me to sit on you?” you asked, voice smaller than you intended.

He raised a brow. “I said lap, not cock. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You blinked at him. Jaw slack.

But he just leaned back on his palms, legs slightly parted, abs tightening as he waited.

Waiting for you to make the move.

Your skin was already on fire. Every part of you felt exposed, not just physically—but mentally, emotionally, like this wasn’t just a dare anymore. This was something else.

Still… a dare was a dare.

So you crawled over slowly—like each movement might detonate something—and settled yourself on his thighs, careful not to touch too much.

But even that little bit of contact—your knees bracketing his hips, your chest dangerously close to his, your barely-covered core pressed against the heat straining under his briefs—made both of you tense.

He inhaled, slow and deep.

You swallowed.

“Still just a game, right?” you whispered.

Chan’s eyes flicked to your lips. “We’re still playing.”

But he didn’t smile this time.

Didn’t laugh.

He just sat there with you on his lap, staring like he was seconds from forgetting his own rules.

Your breath hitched. “Your turn.”

“Truth, strip, or dare?” he murmured.

Your voice came out soft. “Dare.”

He stared at you for a beat. Then, quiet:

“…I dare you to tell me what you’re thinking right now.”

You froze.

The tension between you buzzed like live wire.

Your thighs clenched slightly. You could feel him under you, hot and heavy and undeniably affected. And yet, somehow, he still wanted the truth before the touch.

You licked your lips. Breathed in.

“…I’m thinking,” you said slowly, “that if you move your hands even once, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

He blinked.

Then, ever so slightly, his fingers twitched behind him.

“Careful,” Chan muttered, voice strained. “You keep talking and moving like that, and this game’s gonna end real fast.”

You gave him a sweet little blink, all innocence. “I’m just sitting.”

“You’re grinding.”

“Am I?” You tilted your head. “Weird. Didn’t notice.”

Chan exhaled sharp through his nose, clearly fighting for composure. His hands were still braced behind him, his biceps flexed, and the muscle in his jaw ticked once—hard.

“Behave,” he warned low, but it wasn’t convincing. Not with the way his eyes refused to leave your chest. You could feel them there, like a second kind of heat, burning over the curve of your breasts. Your nipples had been hard since the second he touched your neck, but now? Under his gaze, they felt damn near untouchable.

“You’re staring,” you said, biting back a smirk.

He didn’t deny it.

Didn’t even blink.

“Hard not to,” he muttered. “They’re just… right there.”

You arched your spine slightly, just enough for your tits to bounce once, subtle and unintentional on purpose.

Chan swallowed.

His eyes darkened.

“I warned you,” he said, but it was a growl now. Less of a threat and more of a promise.

Still—you didn’t back down.

“Okay, then,” you said casually, “my turn.”

He blinked, a beat late. “Huh?”

“I get to ask now, remember?” You smiled sweetly. “Truth, strip, or dare?”

He scoffed. “You’re literally naked. I’m hard as fuck. I think it’s safe to say there’s no more stripping left.”

“Then pick something else.”

He hesitated. For a long moment, he looked like he was weighing every possibility.

Finally: “Truth.”

You leaned in—close enough for your bare chest to brush his as you whispered:

“Coward.”

He laughed—tight and hoarse—but you didn’t let him recover.

“Wrong answer,” you said. “Try again. Truth’s not allowed anymore.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You just made that rule up.”

“I’m not the one rock hard in my own boxers begging for mercy. Pick again.”

Chan stared at you. His entire face was flushed now—not embarrassed, but aroused. Frustrated. Barely holding it together.

“…Fine,” he said, voice rough. “Dare.”

You smiled slow. Dangerous. And then dropped it like a lit match:

“I dare you to put your mouth on me.”

Everything in him went still.

You felt it—the way his thighs tensed beneath you, the way his eyes flicked up to yours like he couldn’t quite believe you said that.

But you didn’t flinch.

You leaned in until your forehead brushed his, until your lips hovered so close he could taste the breath between them.

“I didn’t say where,” you whispered. “Or how long. Just your mouth. Somewhere. Anywhere.”

His eyes flicked to your lips.

Then your neck.

Then lower—much lower.

He exhaled, long and trembling, and his voice came out so deep it sounded like gravel.

“…You’re evil.”

You smirked.

“Still playing, though.”

⸻

Chan still hadn’t moved.

Not even an inch.

But his jaw was clenched, the muscle tight under his skin, and his eyes were flickering over your face like he needed permission to breathe.

“You’re really gonna make me do this?” he muttered.

You grinned. “It’s a dare.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose—then leaned in.

Slow.

Measured.

Like you were something sacred he was about to defile.

The first place his mouth landed was your neck.

Just under your jawline. Warm, plush lips grazing the thrum of your pulse, and lingering. Not a quick kiss. Not even close.

It wasn’t even a kiss—it was a taste. The kind of mouth-on-skin contact that made your whole body hum and your thighs press harder around him without realizing it.

Your breath hitched. He felt it. Smirked.

And then moved lower.

The next kiss landed in the center of your chest, just above the curve of your breast. Hot. Open. His tongue swiped lightly over your skin like he was testing it.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured against you.

“No, I’m not.”

“Liar.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Not when he tilted his head—lips still on you—and dragged his mouth downward.

And then he stopped.

Right at the swell of your left breast, so close his breath fanned over your nipple, and froze.

His lips parted.

But he didn’t move.

Didn’t take.

Didn’t dare.

You felt his breath hitch, his throat bob as he swallowed.

“You said anywhere,” he said, voice hoarse. “Didn’t say I had to choose.”

Your heart felt like it was gonna punch through your ribs.

You didn’t move either.

“Then what?” you whispered.

His hand slid up your thigh. Not rushing. Just claiming.

Then he leaned up, lips brushing your ear.

“I want you to tell me,” he whispered. “Say where.”

Your stomach flipped violently.

His mouth was still close enough to feel, his hand still not touching where you wanted it, and now—he was flipping the script. Holding himself back, just to make you ask for it.

Your dare.

His rules.

You felt his nose nudge your temple, his breath fanning your cheek.

“Say it, baby,” he murmured. “You want my mouth? Tell me where to put it.”

You swallowed thickly.

Your hips flexed just slightly against his lap, and he groaned under you, soft and strangled.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

He smiled into your skin. “No, you don’t.”

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, your whole body tensed in the electric silence between you.

And then—

The tension snapped in your chest like a livewire.

You didn’t say a word.

Didn’t warn him.

Your hand just moved—fast, instinctive—sliding up into his hair, gripping the back of his head, and pulling.

His breath stuttered out of him.

You didn’t stop.

You guided him down, slow but firm, until his lips met the bare swell of your breast—and then you pressed harder.

Right there.

Right on your nipple.

His reaction?

Fucking feral.

A low, helpless sound tore out of his throat the second his mouth made contact. His hands flew up, grabbing your hips like restraint was no longer an option. And then—oh god—

He groaned.

Long and broken.

It rumbled against your chest like thunder, and his lips parted immediately, open-mouth kissing over the soft skin, dragging the flat of his tongue just under your nipple, breath shaking.

“Fuck,” he muttered, muffled against you. “Fucking hell, you—”

You arched into him, your thighs squeezing tighter around his lap as the sensation pulsed through you like a jolt.

His mouth was hot.

And his tongue—

God, his tongue teased your nipple like he’d been dying to taste it all night.

“You said anywhere,” you gasped, tilting your head back. “So I picked for you.”

Chan’s breath hitched. His lips moved to your other breast, not even hesitating now, sucking your nipple into his mouth with a low moan like he couldn’t stop himself even if he tried.

Your hand stayed in his hair, fisted tight. Your hips rocked once against him—just once—but it was enough.

He felt it.

Felt everything.

His hips jolted up under you, and you swore under your breath at the heat and thickness pressing against your center through the thin lace of your underwear.

He was rock hard.

So hard you could feel the outline of him now.

Still clothed—but barely.

Chan pulled back slightly, eyes glassy, lips swollen, chest heaving.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he rasped.

You smiled, breathless.

“You’re still playing, aren’t you?”

He blinked slowly, a dangerous kind of haze settling over his face.

Chan’s eyes were wild now.

Dark and shining, pupils blown wide. His hands slid slow up your thighs, stopping at the crease between hip and waist, right where your lace clung tight.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he said roughly.

You didn’t deny it.

Didn’t need to.

You were sitting on his lap with your tits in his face—dripping into his boxers—trembling and bare and drunk on the kind of heat that didn’t come from alcohol.

Chan licked his bottom lip slowly.

And then—smirked.

“Truth, strip, or dare?” he asked again.

You opened your mouth to answer—but he didn’t let you.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw as he whispered:

“Never mind. I’m picking for you.”

Your heart slammed once, hard.

Then his hands gripped your thighs tighter, spreading them just slightly over his lap.

He pulled back to meet your eyes.

And dropped it—low and lethal, right between your legs:

“I dare you…”

A pause.

Then a smile so cocky and devastating it made you clench.

“…to sit on my face.”

Silence.

Your lungs stopped working. You blinked, dizzy, absolutely reeling.

He saw it.

His grin widened.

“You heard me,” he said, voice like sin. “Come here, take these pretty thighs—” he ran both hands up them, slow and reverent, “—and sit. Right over my mouth. Let me taste everything you’ve been trying to pretend isn’t happening.”

You swallowed, hard.

Your breath stuttered.

And he kept going.

“I want your legs shaking around my head, baby girl,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “I wanna feel you lose it on my tongue. Right. Fucking. Here.”

Then—soft, almost cruel:

“What’s the matter? Scared of your best friend’s mouth?”

You didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

You just looked at him, wide-eyed and flushed, like the dare alone had knocked the wind out of you.

Chan wasn’t smiling anymore.

Not really.

There was still a little curve to his lips—but it wasn’t cocky now.

It was hungry.

Serious.

Almost desperate.

“Too much?” he asked softly, eyes flickering between yours.

You opened your mouth. Closed it again.

You were barely in your lace thong. Your breasts were still flushed from his mouth, your thighs slick and twitching from where they sat astride his lap—and now?

He wanted you over his face?

You weren’t supposed to think about Chan that way. Not ever. Not until tonight. Not until his tongue was on your chest and his voice was rasping filth that had your spine curling like a livewire.

You swallowed hard, trying to blink the fog from your head.

“Chan…”

“Say no,” he breathed. “Tell me no. I’ll stop.”

But then—he moved.

His hands slid down, gripping your ass, pulling you in at the same time that his hips grinded up—slow and thick and hard, dragging his length right against the soaked heat of your thong.

“Fuck—” you gasped, eyes flying open, your hands clenching against his chest.

His mouth fell open too, like he hadn’t even meant to do it.

Like his body moved without permission.

Then he did it again.

Grinding up.

Pressing you down.

Letting the friction between you grow deliberately unbearable.

You could feel him now. Feel the curve and weight of him, thick and straining beneath you, sliding through the drenched fabric like he already knew how wet you were.

Your hips jolted before you could stop them.

Chan groaned—low and ragged—fingers tightening.

“Babe…” he warned, voice shaking. “I’m not—”

Another roll of his hips. Babe

“I’m not playing anymore.”

Neither were you.

“Fuck it,” you whispered.

And then you shifted, rising slowly—legs shaking—only to grab the edge of the couch and lift yourself just enough to move forward.

Over his chest.

Then his collarbone.

Then—God help you—his face.

Chan’s breath hitched.

His head tilted back against the couch, eyes never leaving you as your knees slid up to either side of his head, your thighs trembling, fingers still digging into the cushions.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice wrecked.

You paused just inches above his mouth, heart hammering, pulse in your ears, lace clinging to the heat between your legs.

And then?

He reached up.

Grabbed your thighs.

And yanked you down.

The moment your thighs framed his face, Chan made a sound—deep and wrecked—and then he didn’t waste a single second.

There was no hesitation.

No teasing.

Just the sharp snap of fabric tearing and your startled gasp as his fingers ripped through the middle of your soaked thong like it was paper.

“What the fuck—!”

“Couldn’t wait,” he growled, voice hoarse, hungry. “Needed you.”

And then—he buried his face in you.

You choked on a cry, both hands flying to his hair as his mouth sealed over your bare, aching cunt, tongue dragging from your entrance all the way up to your clit in one long, filthy stroke.

Your thighs jerked.

Your spine arched.

And Chan—moaned.

Loud and desperate.

Like he was tasting fucking paradise.

He pulled you down harder, forcing your thighs to lock around his head as he licked you again, faster this time—his mouth moving with a rhythm that had your whole body shaking, his tongue working over your clit like he knew exactly what would break you.

“You’re so sweet,” he mumbled against you, voice muffled, drunk. “Fuck, you taste so—”

Another moan, this one so guttural it vibrated through you.

And then he just devoured.

Sucked your clit between his lips, tongue circling, teasing, driving you out of your mind. He kept going, relentless, like he was starving, hands roaming up your waist, squeezing your ass, holding you down when your thighs tried to run.

“Chan—fuck—I can’t—” you gasped, eyes rolling.

“You can,” he groaned. “You’re gonna.”

His eyes flicked up, locking with yours from between your thighs, wild and ravenous.

“Sit on my face and fucking come for me.”

You were close.

So fucking close.

Chan’s tongue was merciless, his grip bruising, and the slick sounds of him devouring you filled the room, matched only by your moans and gasps and the deep, desperate groans he let out every time your thighs clenched around his head.

You felt the heat snap up your spine.

You felt your legs start to shake.

You were seconds—seconds—from falling apart on his tongue—

And then you flipped.

In one breathless motion, you spun your body over his, never once lifting from his face. Your knees planted on the couch cushions, straddling him in reverse now—and facing his cock.

Chan moaned violently into you.

You heard it.

Felt it.

His hips jolted, thrusting up like he couldn’t help it, and suddenly your best friend’s hard, flushed length was right in front of your face—thick, leaking, twitching with the same need he was pouring into your cunt.

You grinned.

“Fuck,” you panted, glancing down between your legs, “you like this?”

Chan didn’t answer—his mouth was too busy buried in you, tongue dragging through your folds again with a new kind of urgency.

So you reached down and wrapped your hand around him.

He bucked.

A loud, muffled grunt punched into your pussy from below.

You giggled, breathless, and stroked him slow, your fist gliding over hot, slick skin, spreading the pre-cum at his tip.

“You’re so hard,” you whispered, licking your lips. “What the fuck, Channie…”

Then—you bent down.

And slid your mouth over his cock.

He fucking shouted.

The noise was muffled by your cunt, but it rattled through his chest.

His hips snapped up into your mouth so suddenly you almost choked—but you took it, sucking him deeper, tongue swirling, moaning around him while he screamed into your pussy.

His mouth was messy now—his tongue wild, his lips soaking you, sucking, lapping, chasing your orgasm like it was his only mission in life.

And all the while?

You kept sucking.

Pumping.

Ruining him.

Your mouth worked him with purpose, with rhythm, swallowing every desperate sound he made until his cock throbbed hard on your tongue.

You didn’t even care anymore.

You were lost.

Your thighs were clenching, your moans echoing into his skin, and Chan’s hands were digging into your hips, holding you down while he devoured you like he’d die without it.

And just before you tipped over the edge—

You both groaned at the same time.

Raw.

Ragged.

Feral.

His mouth was everywhere.

Your thighs had no strength left in them, your moans spilling out louder, broken, as Chan’s tongue moved in tight, fast circles, drawing orgasm after orgasm closer until your hips were trembling and your chest was heaving and—

“Chan—I’m gonna—”

He sucked your clit deep between his lips and groaned.

That sound—that sound—vibrated through you like an earthquake, tipping you straight off the edge.

You came hard.

Harder than you ever had in your life, your whole body clenching as pleasure ripped through your core and burst like fireworks behind your eyes. You ground against his face, breath caught, voice lost, shaking apart while your best friend held you there and licked you through it like he couldn’t stop.

Like he wouldn’t stop until you gave him every last drop.

Your thighs were still twitching when you started stroking him faster, hand slick and wet, mouth messy and open as you sucked him deep again—and Chan’s moan turned into a growl.

His hips bucked once.

Twice.

Then his hand flew to your ass, gripping tight as his cock pulsed in your mouth—and he came with a loud, shattered cry muffled into your pussy, spilling down your throat in thick, hot waves while his body convulsed beneath you.

You swallowed it all, trembling, moaning softly as his hips slowly stilled.

And then?

Silence.

You collapsed, barely able to breathe, sliding down off his face and rolling to the side, both of you gasping—sweaty, dazed, fucked-out.

He didn’t say anything.

Just turned toward you.

Grabbed you by the waist.

And pulled you into him—tight.

You melted, pressing your face into his neck, feeling his heart pound against your chest as the sweat on your skin cooled.

Neither of you spoke.

Not one word.

Because anything either of you said would change everything.

So you just stayed like that.

Tangled.

Sticky.

Wrecked.

And completely, utterly lost.

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

Authors note: BEFORE YOU KILL ME!! There will be a part 2 but we gotta be more interactive if you want me to keep feeding y’all lol. 100 notes and ill drop part 2 asap!

So encourage this horny writer and leave that like!! ❤️❤️

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Every Day That You Want

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, pregnancy, pre-established relationship, marriage proposal

Summary/Warnings: You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Author's Note: Kind of a prequel to another fic of mine (Still You Want Me), but can be read alone. I just love putting big scary men in normal situations.

Word Count: 2.9k

You can do this. You’ve been to hell and back, you’ve killed angels, you’ve survived at least three apocalypses, and you’ve helped raise the Anti-Christ. This should, comparatively, be easy. 

It’s not. It’s the most daunting and terrifying thing you’ve ever done. It’s just words, but you’re going to choke on them because they could ruin your life. You’ve rehearsed in front of the mirror until your voice didn’t sound like yours anymore and nothing you said seemed real. It had been like repeating the same one word over and over again, until it’s nothing but an odd sound. Until it meant nothing.

But this has to mean something. You have to be able to say this to Dean, and you have to try and not get lost in the possibilities of how he’ll respond. He won’t leave you—Dean would never leave you—but he might tell you he doesn’t want this, and then you’ll have to make a choice. You don’t want to make a choice. You don’t want to hear Dean tell you that, with the lives you lead, this wouldn’t be a good idea. That it doesn’t matter what either of you want, because this isn’t something you get to have.

You want to have this, though. You want to have Dean and the baby. You want to have him as you’ve always had him before—strong and tired, always fighting because it’s all he knows how to do, but resting his head on your chest in the dark and humming against your lips when he kisses you—but you also want to have him in this new way. Where he’d smile for more reasons than just you and Sam and Cas. Where he’d get to direct some of that undying loyalty to someone who’d never be ungrateful, who’d would see him as a hero in a way he might finally believe. 

He’d be so good at it. Dean would spoil the kid, and teach them everything he knew, and care for them more than he’d ever care for himself. It breaks your heart sometimes, how he doesn’t kill himself for Sam, and he doesn’t drink himself to death for Cas, and he tries to get better for you, but he still doesn’t really know how to look in the mirror and not see a shadow.

And this would be the piece of him that’s never been tainted. The piece of him that crawls over you in bed just to hold you, that still watches cartoons and gets excited when he sees a cool car or hears an awesome drumline. The part of him that still cares, against all odds, and cares so much you’ve been worried it would kill him. The part of him that’s so simply made of light and love, crushed under years of his soul being bruised and beaten.

A part of him that won’t break. A part of him you love just as much as the rest of his wreckage, but that you still try to tend to, because you’ll love him the same if it vanishes, but you don’t think he deserves that. Dean deserves to only have that piece of him expand, to have it absorb all the love you throw at him, to grow until he can see it too. Until he can believe it’s there.

You know that it’s all so fucking hard. That Dean will never be all light, but you wouldn’t ever expect him to be. You know that a baby won’t fix him, not by far, but you also know it will show him he can create something. That he doesn’t poison everything he touches. 

That he made something entirely good, with you.

And if he tells you he doesn’t want this, you’ll live with that. You’ve lived with worse.

But you don’t even want to try to live with it. You’ll probably have to, but you’d like to pretend you won’t. 

The most you’re daring to pray for is that he doesn’t freak out. But angels don’t really take your calls anymore. 

So you’ll just have to hope.

You’ve set this up perfectly. There’s a pie in the oven that you will not let burn. There’s bacon and pancakes on a plate waiting for him when he finally gets his ass up. You have the whole bunker to yourself, because Sam’s off to see Eileen.

You’re not allowed to tell Dean that—Sam says he gets annoying—but you will in order to get him in a better mood. Sam’s fatal mistake was believing that you wouldn’t do anything to make Dean happy. So this is really on Sam. He’s the one that introduced you to Dean in the first place. Just because you were his friend first doesn’t mean he didn’t lose your automatic allegiance the moment he said this is my brother and his brother was the hottest man you’d ever seen. 

Sam should’ve known better. His big head should’ve understood that letting you anywhere near Dean—let enough so close that you’d be allowed to fall in love with him—would have always resulted in you using his secrets against him to make Dean happy, so you could slip in the fact that you were pregnant with Dean’s baby as easily as possible. 

Like any sane person would.

Although you have been up for hours, after only sleeping two. And you might be losing your mind. But anyone would lose their mind in a situation like this. Waiting for their dumb boyfriend to wake up so they can change his life forever. 

But Dean’s still asleep. You’re starting to get worried. He usually sleeps in late, especially after hunts, but not this late. Not past noon, long enough for you to stress eat half of his pie, then make a whole second one. Not long enough for the coffee to go cold three times.

You’re about to go check on him when he appears in the kitchen door. Bleary eyes and mussed hair, his glazed eyes focusing slightly when they land on you.

He starts to shuffle towards you, and you forget everything you’d rehearsed. He looks sleepy and adorable, and you’ve seen him like this before but you’d like to see it a million times more. You’d like Dean to always drop his head on your shoulder and wrap his arms around your torso, to always slump over you with a low hum. To always kiss the crook of your neck and let out a long breath when your hands snake around his neck and your fingers tangle in his soft hair.

You could have him like this forever. 

You just have to tell him. 

“Dean-“

“Why’re you up.” He speaks against your skin, his voice slurring slightly, tugging you a little closer. “’S early.”

“It’s 3pm, baby.” You draw back to smile at him, and he just blinks at you. “You’ve been knocked out for fourteen hours.”

He shakes his head, pouting slightly as he takes your hand in his. “Nah. Doesn’t feel it. C’mon.”

Dean starts to walk away, taking you with him, and you’re snapped out of the daze.

“Wait,” You pull on his grip, and he turns with a frown. “Where are you going?”

“We’re goin’ back to bed.”

You give him an amused look, your affection briefly overpowering your panic. “We?”

He nods, tugging your hand in his until you’re pressed right against his chest. “Only up ‘cause you weren’t there. Need to get my girl back to bed, you need sleep too-“

You do need sleep, but until you tell Dean, you might as well be injecting caffeine right into your bloodstream.

“But I made you bacon-“

“Course you did.” He grins, pressing a light kiss to your nose. “You’re awesome, baby.” 

You feel your stomach flutter, and at this stage it has to only be nerves, but that doesn’t make anything easier. “Can we please eat?”

Dean hums, scanning carefully over your face. “You eat already?”

“I had some applesauce-“

“Then we’re good.” He starts to move again, and now you’re attached to him like a magnet. You couldn’t move away if you tried. “Bed.”

You’re frayed and wired and on edge, trying so hard to find the will to insist he stay and eat, but Dean’s so warm and suddenly you’re drunk on him. He’s sturdy and soft in all the right places, herding you back to bed with hands on your shoulders and mumbled praise about being his dream girl, making him bacon for breakfast and lovin’ him more than he deserves, and you wish you had enough backbone to just shout at him that he does deserve your love. He deserves whatever you can give him, including a baby that he needs to know about now before you explode.

But he gets you back into bed, splaying his body over yours and pinning you down.

“Didn’t see Sammy,” his head is buried in your chest, his voice muffled against your skin. “Where’dhe go?”

“Eileen’s.” You sigh, running your fingers through his hair. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, though.”

Dean chuckles, his hands drawing slow circles on your hips. “You’re a little backstabber, sweetheart. I’m never tellin’ you anything again.”

“I’m backstabbing Sam for you.” You shrug, smiling at the air. “I’d never backstab you.”

“’S exactly what a backstabber would say.”

You giggle. “You’re tired, Dean. Your brain’s not working right. Maybe if we get up-“

“Not getting up.” He grunts, squeezing your body. “Not until you get your own fourteen hours.”

“I’m okay, Dean-“

“No. Sleep.”

You sigh, squirming slightly under him. “You know, it’s bad for you to sleep in. It’ll mess up your circadian rhythm-“ 

Dean tilts his head up, frowning at you. “What’s going on with you?”

“I, um-“ You swallow, your whole body suddenly far too warm. “Huh?”

“You always make me sleep extra after hunts.” His voice is a little stronger, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Why’re you suddenly trying to get me up?”

“Nothing’s going on-“

“No.” Dean’s sitting up now, rolling onto his back and pulling you over his lap, his gaze stern. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong either-“

He says your name, squeezing your waist as he rubs his jaw. “Please just tell me. If it’s a body we can hide it, but I need to know if it’s a monster body or person body-“

“Why the hell would it be a person body-“

“I dunno, but if it is you gotta tell me, so I can grab the salt.” He cups your cheek, offering you on his charming, downright boyish grins. “I’m not letting any ghosts haunt your hot ass, babygirl.”

“Thank you.” You mumble, dropping your brow to his. “But it’s not a body.”

“So there is something.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “But I… I’m not-“

“Hey,” Dean leans back, holding your gaze as he tucks some hair behind your ear. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. I’m helping you.”

You swallow, squeezing your eyes shut. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, like it’s simple. Like this will really be that easy. “For you? Always.”

It takes deep breathes, and hands curled in Dean’s t-shirt—gripping him hard, making sure he won’t fly away or vanish into the air when you speak—but you do it. You run over your entire rehearsal one last time and let it all go, because Dean’s right here, in front of you, and you just need to-

“I’m pregnant.”

You say it, and he doesn’t vanish into nothing. Dean just stares at you, eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them, and whispers, “With a baby?”

“Yeah, Dean.” You offer him a small smile. “A baby.”

“My- my baby?” 

You open your mouth with a slight frown, and Dean’s hand flies to cover your mouth before you can speak.

“Wait, shit, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just-“ He groans, his eyes seeming to drive right into your soul as his voice because hoarse. “You’re sure? That you’re… growing one?”

You wish you could read him better right now. You’d laugh at him saying growing one.

Instead you just nod, and it’s like something flips in Dean. He grins—wide and toothy and unrestrained—and you barely have time for the relief to hit when he’s kissing you. Long and deep and passionate, until you’re dizzy and grinding down onto him, falling over his chest and clinging to his shoulders.

“Dean,” you gasp as he dives down to kiss a line over your collarbone. “Shouldn’t we, shit-“ He starts suck on a soft spot behind your ear, and all your exhaustion is starting to catch back up with you, so everything is really just a haze. “Don’t we need to talk-“

“No,” he mutters, rutting slightly up into you and chuckling against your skin when you whine. “Just need you, baby, need to- son of a bitch!”

Dean’s yanks himself up and twists to his bedside table—his hand on your hips holding you steadily against him—scrambling around the drawers as he mutters low words you can’t hear.

“Are you okay?” You ask, your hand fisting in his shirt once more. “I mean, I know you might have doubts about-“

You’re cut off as Dean surges back up to kiss you again, this one shorter and soft, but still firm. 

“No doubts, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips. “And I’m better than okay. I’m fucking amazing.”

“Good.” You sigh, pulling back to scan over his face. “What was that, then?”

Dean smiles at you, and it’s… nervous. He’s almost never really, truly nervous, but this smile has no edge, no carefully designed charm. It’s just Dean, purely him, smiling at you like you’re holding his heart in your body.

You kind of are.

“I know I, uh, I don’t say it enough. You know I’m not good at saying it. But I do love you,” Dean says your name, and you blink at him. This sounds like a speech. “I love you so much it drives me insane. And I’d never want this, want a baby, with anyone but you. But, I, uh, I want all of this. Whole stupid, apple pie thing, just with you.” He takes a long breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “Marry me.”

You gape at him. “What?”

“Marry- shit, wait-“ Dean reaches slightly behind him, grabbing a small box, and pops it open with his thumb. There’s a diamond ring inside, and it looks like a real one. Not the ones you’d use on cases, that would give you a rash for a week after. This looks… carefully made.

Made for you.

“Dean-“

“Marry me?” Dean looks between your slack jaw and the box, his voice almost nervous. “Please?”

“I-“ This is going better than you could’ve ever even imagined. You’re not sure how to handle it. “I don’t want you to marry me just because you knocked me up-“

“Baby, I didn’t pull this ring out of my ass.” He drawls, his voice a little firmer. “I’ve been getting ready to ask you for months. I was going to kick Sammy out next week, make a picnic in the library-“

“Really?”

“Yeah, I-“ He frowns. “Why’d you think I was poking about your ring size?”

“I don’t, um, I don’t remember you doing that.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head slightly. “That’s good. I was worried I ruined it. I, um-“ he glances down at the ring, his face falling back to the nerves, and you realize you haven’t actually answered him yet. “I haven’t-“

It’s your turn to kiss Dean, and these words aren’t difficult to say at all. “Yes,” you whisper, pressing another, smaller kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ll marry you.”

“Awesome.” He grins, and the ring is barely on your finger when he’s diving back into you, kissing you until you can’t ever remember anything has been difficult in your life. 

You yawn right as Dean pulls away, and he chuckles. 

“You alright, sweetheart?”

You hum, nodding. “I’m good. So good. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Dean says your name in your ear, and it’s quiet and gentle. Not like a secret, but a promise. “How’s a day in bed sound? We can try and get you pregnant again.”

“That’s not how it works, babe.” You giggle, folding a little deeper into his hold. “I’m gonna have to buy you some books.”

“I’ll read them.” Dean kisses the top of your head, and you can feel his smile on your skin. “For you.”

“Thank you.”

“Course.” He sighs, squeezing your body slightly. “We’re having a fucking baby.”

“Yeah.” You smile, and there’s that piece of him, shining on the surface. All joy and wonder for something that’s really just good. “We are.”

End Note: Dean Winchester in my head this is indeed the life you live every day. Season 15 isn't real it can't hurt me.

Title from Waste by Foster the People

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[kousanosgf]

men, minors dni

sevika x prostitute!reader

sometimes life gets worse, before it becomes better. luckily sevika ready to help you with it.

a\n: i hate how half of this fandom makes "sexy sevika in a brothel" jokes. this was written with the strong despisement for anyone who supports swork and thinks that it's freeing in any shape or form. it's NOT a light one, i'd say, so please be careful with the content you're consuming. also inform me if i should change something about the tags or tws

tw: mention of suicide, not explicit describtion of SA, drug abuse

tags: angst, hurt\comfort (kinda?), no smut (idk if i can call it sfw, sex is mentioned but not with sevika), happy ending

whispers run through the main hall, they won't stop repeating for half an hour at least, every worker and guest is too excited or nervous to be in the haunting dog of zaun's presence. "she's here". "sevika came". it won't be surprising if someone suggests placing a bet who she'll choose next, now that her favorite girl is dead.

well, that's the thing really, you couldn't care less for anyone in here and especially sevika. your best friend is dead and you can't even mourn her properly, because there's always "clients demand our full attention, girls, don't forget that" and "no alcohol or drugs, unless our guests want it, girls". there's numbing pain tugging at you heart, making you want to vomit every time you have to think of your loss and there's no way to drink yourself to oblivion to not feel all this.

so far, the night was calm. the only man for the night left you alone an hour ago after mindlessly fucking you face down into the mattress for couple of minutes and disappearing as soon as he finished. you could only hope for it go as smoothly but luck wasn't on your side for some time now. a shadow looms over before you notice who it belongs to.

you raise your eyes. sevika. "of course," you think, "cause the day needs to get worse".

"are you free?" she asks bluntly. no greetings, no small talk. that's normal really, manageable. it's usually way worse when the client wants to spill all their heartache or frustration before what they actually came for.

"not even gonna buy girl a drink?" you try to put on your prettiest face, smiling coyly and frowning in a fake pout, hoping she'll let you get at least a bit drunk.

"no, come on". she just turns around and heads towards the second floor to the private rooms.

a scream dies somewhere on a tip of your tongue, leaving sour taste.

you have to hurry after her, people as powerful as sevika hate nothing more than to wait and there's no reason to get on her bad side. it's nerve wracking, scary even, to guess what kind of client she will be. there're not much women who come here and not one of them has ever chosen you. a risk of sevika getting frustrated and dissatisfied with your inexperience is high and definitely not what you want since if the customer is angry then madame is angry and you'll be punished in some way.

you take a look at sevika again, following her step by step. she holds herself with great confidence, understandable for someone with such a status, broad shoulders, perfect posture, full heavy steps that make people move out of her path.

you reach the room finally, dreadfully. sevika sits down in the chair waiting for you to lock the door. as you do so, you turn back to her, sliding the straps off your minidress down.

"wait, no." sevika stops you. "i'm not here for this. just sit down." she gestures to the bed and you follow her orders, confused but not daring to ask.

the silence follows. you sit in your place trying not to breathe too hard, a blank expression on your face, while sevika thinks something through.

"you knew yana?" you basically jump in place, hearing your friend's name. "i mean... she was your friend?"

"she is my friend." you snap unexpectedly even for yourself but don't correct the words or make an attempt at apologizing no matter how dangerous that move is.

the corner of sevika's lip rises a little in a smirk but it's gone as fast as it appeared.

"she's dead." "doesn't change the fact that she's my friend." gods, why can't you shut up.

there's a pure rage boiling inside of you. it's painful when no one in this fucking place took time to acknowledged her death. another whore killing herself, what's the news really? but this... it's worse, the way sevika seems more amused with the fact than, you don't know, at least sad that one of her favorites is no longer here.

silence again. sevika studies you like she's trying to find something. the gaze is different from what you usually get from customers, burning, suffocating glances of men who look you over, imagine what you would look like naked under them before making there choice and passing several bills to madame.

"you have a lot of friends here?" what the fuck is she on about?

"i don't run my mouth if that's what you need."

"that's not what i asked." the smirk again. "but whatever."

she lights a cigarette and makes a few puffs. as the smell reaches you, you can't help but scrunch your nose, never appreciative of the smell. as she sees your dissatisfaction, she clicks her tongue and reaches for the ashtray, putting the cigarette down.

"here's what we gonna do. i'll sleep here till morning and you just... i don't know, do your thing? sleep too?" she waves her hand in the air.

you have to take a moment before her words actually lock in. "what?" sevika doesn't strike you as the type to use some euphemisms when she talks about sex, "sleep" here actually seems like she means it.

"you heard me. i already paid for the whole night if you're worried about it." she gives no further explanation and just leans back, dropping her head on the chair and closing her eyes. it's better not to disturb her. there's not much to say or do for you so you just sit there for a while, listening to the steady breathing and fall asleep yourself, not ready to give up a prospect of a calm night. when you wake up in the morning, sevika isn't there.

she comes and goes. for the last two weeks sevika visited you almost every day. the nights go basically the same. nothing much happens, though she becomes more and more chatty with every meeting.

you know her favorite food, know how her day went, know what she thinks about every chem-baron. in return sevika knows what're your favorite flowers, knows what your childhood was like, knows how you got into the brothel.

she's always so nonchalant about her questions, trying not to make a big deal out of it, like she's simply asking to fill the space. but working in a place like this teaches you read people easily and it becomes clear very quickly that sevika is actually searching for something. you're not sure if it's safe to give her the information she wants to hear but it's been too long since you had a person to talk to. it becomes easy to pretend like she actually interested in your stories and opinions.

she also now sleeps in a bed with you, leaving her place in the chair on the third night when you offer it yourself. she's one of those people who can fall asleep on a whim anywhere and anytime, you guess. or she's just very good at pretending.

and when she does fall asleep you lie awake, looking at her, replaying everything she said earlier in your head, trying to make sense of it, of her.

you get caught eventually. one night she just opens her eyes as she wakes up (if she's slept at all) and looks straight at you. both of you lie on your sides, facing each other. nothing is said for good five minutes, she's studying your features as well as you do hers in a dim glow of the lamp post outside the window.

"wanna know a secret?" sevika finally breaks the comfortable silence, a light smirk on her lips. you nod your head slowly, not breaking the eye contact.

"i'm getting you out of here."

the sentence doesn't register, so you have to ask her to repeat it.

"i'm getting. you. out." she says again, slowly, dividing the words.

you rise up swiftly, leaning yourself on the elbow. "you're not funny." of course it's some twisted joke, what else could it be. anger ready to overtake you easily.

the smirk grows wider on her face. "im serious, sweetheart."

that's when she tells you. probably the craziest thing you've ever heard. her visits to the brothel were never for any sexual pleasures, mostly getting intel for her and, by extant, silco's plans. till couple of months ago when she took on a mission of getting such a business out of zaun.

yana was suppose to be one of the first women who sevika and her team would save. they were late in the end.

"why didn't you tell her?" you ask partially frustrated at the coincidence of circumstances and sevika. if only yana knew that the help was on the way, she would still be alive, probably free from her prison. instead she just couldn't handle the life she thought she's bound to till her dying day or when she'll become old enough for madame to throw her out on the streets cause she wouldn't bring enough money.

"i was afraid to risk it, she was too unstable to be trusted such an information for a long term." sevika sighs heavily, dragging a hand through her face. "that was a wrong move on my end."

"and yet you're telling me this two weeks later? there were no guarantee for you that i wouldn't do the same."

"i... had to take a gamble. i knew basically nothing about you before. yana did share some stories but that wasn't enough to ease my anxieties."

you talk and talk and talk. about yana, about your life here. you throw question after question to her and she doesn't seem to get tired of answering you.

"why me? or why... not everyone at once?"

"it's impossible to do this in one go without much practice. look at this as us dipping toes in the water."

"so i'm a guinea pig?" sevika opens her mouth to argue but closes it immediately, realizing that you're only teasing her.

"no, you're something i can fix. give me a week more, okay?" she says it with such confidence in her voice that you got nothing else to do but to believe her.

sevika comes every night now, trying to take as much as she can of your working time so others won't get to you. there's a slight tug of guilt somewhere in your heart, because there's probably girls in the brothel who need this more, who can handle less than you, who just got here and weren't that much ruined with the way people treat them like some meat to jerk off to.

"your arm."

you look over yourself. it is an old bruise that got her concerned, one of the clients getting too harsh. you don't remember much, he let you have a blunt, you didn't ask of what, before everything occurred. it's yellow already, few days more and it'll disappear.

"fuck. probably smudged my makeup somewhere."

sevika's look is heavy, fixed on the spot.

"it's nothing, don't worry."

"it's not nothing." she's now looking straight into your eyes, there's a dangerous fire gleaming and it's impossible to hold her gaze so you just look to the side, noticing her fingers digging into an armrest. it is not nothing, you both know that. but all you can think of is that you would love to feel sevika's palm on you, covering the damned bruise, letting you dream it was never there.

no, you deserve to run as much as the next person. and it's not like you're gonna be the only one. like sevika told you, it's only the beginning.

"good news", sevika says and there's a smile on her face. you're not sure if you ever saw her smile. not a grin or a smirk that she gives everyone here but a genuine, warm smile. she looks lovely with it and you can't help but smile too back at her, not even knowing the reason.

"like what?"

the morning air is cool, autumn starts to take the reigns of nature. there's only a set of underwear and a nightgown on you so you shiver and hug yourself. you couldn't take any of your belongings, she said yesterday night, when she finally announced that it's time to set the plans in motion. some kind of big cloth, a poncho, you regester not as fast as you'd like to, lends on your shoulders, warm from the body heat of it's owner.

"sorry, that's all i got for now. need to get to the safe house, have actually some clothes for you."

you nod dumbfounded and just follow her. everything feels like a dream really, that about to be ripped away and you'll simply wake up back in the room that smells of head numbing incenses, ready to greet another customer.

you look over the clothes she gave you, simple pair of brown jeans, a black turtleneck and a jacket. the jeans are a size too big for you but nothing a belt can't fix.

"the plans to get you out changed so quick, i completely forgot to buy something your size."

"was it for her?" you don't need the answer, you know it already.

"yeah."

there're tears falling down that you can't control. you cry silently, turned away from sevika. you're not sure if she actually doesn't notice or just wants to give you space when she finally says "alright, gonna step out for you to change, meet me in the kitchen when you're ready."

as she takes a step to the door you lounge yourself at her, grabbing calloused hand and tugging it to your waist, looking for contact. now only you can do is cry, your sobs becoming louder and louder, your throat hurts like hell, you won't be able to speak later for sure.

there's a stream of "thankyouthankyouthankyou" coming from your mouth, your body basically presses inside sevika's. she doesn't answer. her other hand gently covers the crown of your head, guiding your tearful face to her chest and she lets you rest it there.

[paracosmic-murdock]

vigilante like me

chapter seven: you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon

pairing: matt murdock x black widow!vigilante!reader

summary: nights and nights of playing the hero as if that could redeem you that easily ended up taking you to new york, where you accidentally met the man who would turn your world upside down. a vigilante like you.

warnings/tags: angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, mentions of murder and themes explored in the past couple chapters, mentions of reader being able to wear matt's clothes but it's not specified whether they're too big/too small/fit perfectly/etc., phd in applied flirting and ma in yearning studies, some smut (minors dni), takes place sometime during the blip, when born again comes out we might find out if my decisions of who were gone were right, spoilers/references of stuff and themes from daredevil (2015); avengers: infinity war (2018); avengers: endgame (2019) black widow (2021); and hawkeye (2021), but y'all must've watched all of those already so idc, yelena belova and the themes and events from the black widow (2021) movie are very relevant in this plot, song: cowboy like me (taylor swift)

✰ chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter eight | chapter nine

word count: 2.9K

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

Who would you call if you killed someone? That is the question.

As a Black Widow, you never really cared about hiding a body… you found your target, got the job done, and left. You never stuck around long enough to find out anything. Either way, you have nobody to call in case you ever had to hide a body or get an alibi. You don't think you would need anybody for that, right? You know enough.

But, who would Matt Murdock call if he killed somebody? Would he call anybody at all? He is not the kind of person who would burden anybody else with his faults if he can help it. Both knowledge and involvement are a heavy weight to carry, and Matt isn't willing to put anybody —much less if it is a person he loves— in that position; there is enough with those who already know he is Daredevil. However, he knows that there is one person in his life right now that wouldn't judge him and would be glad to help him carry such a cross—to ease his guilt.

That someone is you, he knows that all too well. That is why he couldn't tell you what happened; what he did.

He just returned home, took a long shower, a habit he had recently gotten from you, and went to sleep on his couch.

The next morning, you woke up to the sound of your phone. It was 7 AM, and your boss was calling you for God only knows what. Then, you remembered what had happened the previous night and the way he probably just found the gym.

“Hello?”

“Dear God, are you alright?!”

You cleared your throat. “I take it that you are in Fogwell's already.”

“Yeah! What the Hell happened here?! I saw the security footage right away, God!”

“Security footage?” you asked, fearing for yourself and for Matt's identity.

“Yes, where are you?”

“At home,” you lied, making a grin of guilt you knew he couldn't see.

He sighed. “How do you feel?”

“Like shit, of course,” you replied. “Can you not… tell the cops about this?”

“Sure, so the guy who drugged you and left you there and the other guy who tried to kill you can be free and get away with it?”

“Basically,” you replied, preparing yourself for him to disagree. “Look, I can't get involved with the cops, you know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I'll make up for it,” you promised. “I'll be there today. 9 AM, Boss.”

“Oh, don't you dare,” he answered. You swear you could see his upset face staring at you, outraged like a father. “If you actually die in the workplace, I'll have way more issues, you know? Just… I'll come see you at lunch break. Do you need anything?”

You hummed. “I need you to delete that footage. Please.”

“Alright, I will,” He sighed. “What happened with- uh, you know. The guy who saved you?”

“I told him to take me home and not to worry,” you lied, again. “He, uh… left when I called a friend that's a doctor. You know Louis? He trains at Fogwell's almost everyday. He's an ortho surgeon, which is convenient, right?”

“I hope you're not lying to me, young lady.”

“You don't have to come see me, Bobby,” you chuckled. “I'm okay, and there's a friend with me here.”

“Do you even have friends?”

“An incredibly tiny amount and half as many as I used to.”

“What? Four to two?” he questioned, all ironic.

“You're a smart one, aren't you?”

He scoffed. “You're suspended for a week for being mean to your boss and also you're taking a few sick days. You must be eighty percent dead. Paid.”

“I'll take a three-day leave.”

“Make it five. And you'll take it easy once you're back, alright? Promise.”

“Okay, I promise.” You curved your lips slightly.

“I'll come see you tomorrow morning,” he announced. “I'll take Marlene with me and we'll bring you a nice breakfast.”

You sighed. “I don't want to put any of you at risk, okay? I'm not sure what those people truly wanted, but what I do know is that they could target anybody close to me.”

“I can take care of myself,”

“Those were the good old days,” you reminded him. “I'm gonna be back as good as new. You know that if there's someone in Fogwell's who can take a beating, it's me.”

“You remind me of someone, Y/N,” Bobby commented with a smile you couldn't see but you felt it in his voice. It was one of affection, very fatherly.

Your idea of fatherhood is based on some movies or shows. You always thought he was the model of a great father, at least he was always that way with you: dumb dad jokes you pretended not to laugh at, always protective of you despite you constantly telling him not to worry, and believing in you and helping you no matter what. Bobby Fogwell was a great boss, a great father figure, and a way greater person.

If there was somebody who didn't deserve to carry the burden of you or be affected by your shit, that was definitely him.

“Who would that be, sir?” you asked.

“There was a boxer here back in the good old days,” Bobby began. “Good at punching but somehow better at taking a punch. One thing about him? He never stayed down. He knew the floor very well and knew that's not where he belonged. Lost more than he ever won, but his conviction used to make it seem like he could never lose.”

“Do you think I've lost more than I've ever won, Bobby?”

He clicked his tongue. “Would you ever let me finish?”

“You stopped talking!”

“To breathe, damn,” You knew he rolled his eyes. “Alright, so… He had a son; a single father he was. The boy was in an accident when he was a kid, I think he was nine or ten, I'm not sure. The thing is: God, he did everything for his kid… when you see what parents sacrifice for their children, that's when you look at yourself and realize when and where you're failing. I'm not saying he was perfect, but he was damn good. And you must be wondering what that has to do with you, right?”

“Right,”

He chuckled. “I think you have never been one to look beyond the present, and I know you haven't really gotten around to care about someone else, but you'd be the best at it. You always stand up, no matter how awful those punches are, and I need you to look in the mirror and tell yourself that you can do anything; nothing can end you.”

“You really wanna see me all beaten up, don't you?” you questioned him, trying to suppress a laugh.

Bobby did laugh. “I'm gonna put you in the ring, lady. We'll make thousands out of you.”

“Will we? What would my stage name be?”

“I've actually thought about it. My go-to is Black Widow, you know? Because you're Russian like Natasha Romanoff and you're a damn good fighter.”

You clicked your tongue, trying to ignore how much being called a Black Widow by someone who didn't know any better really hurt you. “Did the man that I remind you of have a better stage name? I can't accept that.”

“Battlin’ Jack Murdock.”

Listening to that name made your heart jump. Of course it was Matt's father, and of course you felt like you had invaded his privacy by knowing what happened to him as a kid.

“That's a badass name,” you commented, looking at the door as you felt Matt's presence join you in his bedroom as if you had just summoned him. He had a tray in his hands but you didn't really pay attention. “I'm honored.”

“Damn right you should be,” He laughed. “Anyway, I won't take anymore of your time. Get well soon, okay? And rest a lot.”

“Will do, Boss.” You hung up the call.

“Work?”

You hummed. “Yeah. Bobby has security cameras now, but don't worry, I got him to delete the footage.”

“That's good to know, I guess.”

“Yeah, you're safe,” you noted. “He saw that you saved me, though.”

“So I heard.”

“Show off.” You scoffed.

Matt shook his head and smiled lightly. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Such a gentleman,” You lifted a corner of your lips while he sat beside you, looking incredibly handsome in his midnight blue dress suit for work. “I've only ever seen this in the movies.”

“Now you can say you've experienced it.”

You stared at his face. You couldn't help it. He was just so…

“Oh, you like me that much, sweetheart?” Matt grinned.

You just stood up. “Shut up. Give me a toothbrush.”

“I left one for you near the sink. It's the one that doesn't look used.”

“Copy that.”

“Do you not like me, then?” Matt questioned you, increasing the volume of his voice as you left the room.

“I don't. You're absolutely hideous and I might need a paper bag hiding your face once I'm back.” you muttered on your way, knowing he could hear you.

He laughed. “Was that a joke?”

“That was the truth.” you denied before starting to brush your teeth.

You didn't expect what you saw once you were back in the room.

“You're a kid,” You shook your head, taking a seat beside him. “Definitely. Are you seven?”

“No.”

You ripped the paper bag open. “Gross face. So hard on the eye.”

Matt smiled and brought you closer. “I hope you're not ugly because there can't be two of us.”

“Disgusting,” You kissed him. “Can't believe I like you this much.”

He brought you even closer and kissed you again, wishing he could do so and never, ever stop. Maybe having you like this would help him forget the one thing that has been driving him insane since the previous night, though you were the reason he did what he did.

Matt can't even say what he did. That would make it real, putting it a name.

“Hello?”

You inhaled, trying to muster the strength to speak. “Hi, Sveta.”

“Hi!” She greeted you cheerfully. You curved your lips softly as you heard how excited she was to speak to you. “You've forgotten about me.”

“I could never forget about you,” you replied. “Actually, I was thinking about having lunch with you today, are you in?”

“Yeah, of course,” she agreed. “We could go to that restaurant near my place, is that okay? It's the one that's right across the street.”

“Italian?”

“Yep.”

“Alright, see you there. 1 PM is alright?”

She hummed. “Perfect. See you.”

Waiting until Matt left for his office to make the call drove you far too anxious for your own good. So, when the rough calculations told you he must be at this workplace already, you gave yourself the freedom to make the call that was begging you to be made.

You decided you were going to stop fighting. It was of no use anymore.

During the hours of introspection in which Matt was out being Daredevil and you were failing to fall asleep in his bed, you came to the conclusion that you weren't doing anything to help anybody. It was all much more an excuse, or maybe you just weren't able to stop fighting because it's all you've ever known in life. Who are you if not a fighter?

That is what you had to find out, and now you had a reason to get an answer. Just because something is all you've ever known, it doesn't mean that it's all that you are.

However, it doesn't mean you should start right now. Maybe the process could wait until you found them. Because they did you dirty, and you couldn't really fathom how much until you were staring at yourself on your phone's screen.

There was no way in hell you could hide the fact that you had taken a beating not too long ago. It was so bad that you knew even under the average New Yorker's careless eyes, it was quite obvious with the way you stood, the way you walked, and the stitched cuts all over your body.

Either way, you did your best with Matt's clothes. Yours were all ripped and torn from the attack you had received, not to mention full of blood.

As you had a moment to do what you feared—looking at yourself, you felt tears running down your cheeks. You hadn't cried in five years, when Yelena was blipped, and before that, a couple years after she found you and showed you some other of the files Natasha had gotten from the Red Room, the one that said how you specifically were selected and later taken from your family. Reading how those routine genetic tests they perform at hospitals to pregnant women and their fetuses were just given to the wrong hands so they could find perfect matches for the model of girls they wanted for their Black Widow program, how the doctors would be so careful with the mothers of these girls and their pregnancies, how everyone just faked a baby's death to give them to the Dreykov, and how you were one of those. Just knowing that there wasn't any further information about you, wherever you were born and who your family was was so devastating that it made you shed a few tears. Before that, you cried when you killed Olga, and before that, the last day of an undercover mission in Naples when you were seven years old. The only souvenir you had from there was the last name of the Widow who pretended to be your mother, Katerina Volkova. You kept it as your own later. Those are the only happy years you know you have lived.

Now, you believed you could find happiness again; one as beautiful as how a child's innocence is, and you could only get there once you had the peace that will come when Fyodor and Crosby are gone.

It was ironic how a fake face was the only thing that made you feel safe. As if only someone else deserves peace, not you. Never you… So, you wore it as you left Matt's apartment building and got to yours in a cab.

You quickly checked your apartment for any possible intruder, so paranoid you could pass out from the stress.

Thankfully, it was all clear.

You found a bigger bag and saved some clothes, knives, all your guns but the one in the fridge, bullets, money, makeup, medicine, first aid kit, coffee, laptop, and a book you had bought but never read. You thought you might have to stay with Matt for a couple days at least and you had to be ready.

When you got back to Matt's apartment, you left your bag in a corner, changed your clothes, and left for the restaurant you and Svetlana would have lunch at.

The thing you weren't counting on was Matt going to his place with lunch for you, spotting you leaving far too easily.

So he followed you.

You and Svetlana had your lunch and got up to date with each other's lives. It was easy talking to someone who understood your struggles and shared a past.

She was always easy to read, that's how you knew she had no kind of involvement in what had happened to you. Once she was free, she decided she wouldn't be one to hide and be under radar; it was her moment to find out who she truly was.

“Can I ask you something a little personal?”

Sveta nodded. “Of course.”

“I wouldn't be asking this if it weren't this important, but… what happened between you and Fyodor?”

“That asshole. If I see him ever again, I will rip his head off,” she swore. “But, to make it short, I wasn't taken from my family just like that… Him and my father sold me to Dreykov.”

You covered your mouth with your hand. “I can't believe it.”

“It's true,” Svetlana confirmed. “He always knew what I was going through and never, not even once, tried to find me. Not to mention that they lied to my mother and told her I was kidnapped by my father's enemies. She fell ill soon after thinking they wouldn't be able to find me.”

“Sveta, I am so sorry to hear that,” You shook your head, surprised by the information and outraged for ever engaging with Fyodor. “I needed to talk to you about him. He's in New York, or maybe he already left.”

“He's here?!”

“Yeah. And… he did something to me, something unforgivable,” you added. “He was insisting on going out with me and we saw each other last night. He drugged me, and when I woke up, I was beaten and hurt by a man who was seeking revenge for Tarakanov's death.”

She just stared at you. “We will find them.”

“I ubit’ ikh.” you completed.

Matt didn't need to know Russian to understand you and Svetlana meant you wanted to kill Fyodor and Crosby for what they did.

What will happen when or if you find out they are already dead?

Will you ever realize Matt was the one who killed them?

What would you say to that?

taglist: @wh1sp

[yyaktayak]

Chapter 4📌

tags: @uceyliyahh @charmed-dreamssss

---

uceyjucey has posted a story !

*Kimaya's POV*

I scrolled through my phone absentmindedly, my fingers stopping on Jey's latest post. My heart did a weird skip as I stared at the photo he'd uploaded: me, with my head resting on his shoulder, smiling in a way I didn't even know I was capable of doing when I was around him. His arm was wrapped around me, like he was already staking his claim.

I couldn't help it—my stomach did a little flip.

It wasn't just the photo. It was the *caption*—or rather, the lack of one. Jey didn't need to say anything. The silence spoke volumes. He'd just made me the subject of his story, and in doing so, I knew exactly what that meant.

The whole groupchat had been buzzing since he'd posted it, but I hadn't dared check it yet. I knew I'd be mortified. I could already feel the hot rush of embarrassment creeping up my neck.

I quickly shot a text to Kaveri.

---

ra💕: Girl, Jey just posted me. On his main. No caption. Just me. What am I supposed to do with this??

---

I watched the three little bubbles appear and disappear as Kaveri typed, probably trying to form a response that wouldn't give away just how much she was freaking out, too.

---

kaveri💛: Girl, you really gonna act like you didn't see this coming? He's been onto you since, like, forever.😩

---

I groaned, dropping my face into my hands. Of course she was right. I knew it, too. But seeing it *there*, on his story for everyone to see? It felt like stepping off a cliff and realizing there was no net below.

---

ra💕: This is insane. Why didn't he warn me? What am I supposed to do now?

---

A minute passed before her reply popped up, almost like she was waiting for the right moment to hit me with the truth.

---

kaveri💛: Girl, you know you're not fooling anyone. He's already made it clear he's into you. You're on lockdown now.😉

---

I blinked at the message, rereading it twice to make sure I wasn't misunderstanding. *On lockdown*? That was one way to put it. My heart skipped a beat.

---

ra💕: Lockdown?! What do you mean by that?

---

The three dots popped up again. I could almost hear Kaveri's dramatic sigh through my phone.

---

kaveri💛: Stop pretending like you're not already all in. You're his, Ra. He's not playing, and it's obvious.😛

--

I stared at the screen, feeling that familiar nervousness bubbling up. Was she right? Was I really all in, or was I just pretending to be? I could feel my emotions doing that crazy back-and-forth dance again—one minute I was convinced I didn't want to be tied down, the next I was thinking about how Jey made me feel, how I wanted to be with him in a way I couldn't really put into words.

---

ra💕: But what if he's just... messing with me?

---

Kaveri's response came almost immediately.

---

kaveri💛: Girl, please. He posted you for a reason. He's not gonna do that if he's just playing around. He wants you, and it's clear he's not hiding it anymore.

---

I let her words sink in for a moment. Was Jey really that serious? When I thought about it—about how he'd been with me since day one, how he'd always found ways to make me feel special, even when I wasn't sure I deserved it—I started to believe her. Jey wasn't playing games with me. He never had been.

But then the text came through again. This time from Jey himself.

---

My🩵: I'm putting you on Code Arrest. You're mine until I get back from tour, and I'm not letting you forget that mama.

---

My stomach flipped, my heartbeat picking up as I read his words. It wasn't just a post on his story anymore—Jey had taken things to a whole new level.

I didn't even know how to respond. My hands were shaking a little as I typed back, trying to play it cool, but I knew I couldn't hide my feelings.

---

MyRa💕: You're ridiculous.😳

---

I set my phone down, pacing around the living room, trying to figure out how to handle the mix of excitement and dread swirling inside me. Jey had just made it official. *Code Arrest.* I was his—no more playing around. But what did that mean for me?

My phone buzzed again, this time with a notification from the groupchat.

---

joe 🩶: Jey really posted Kimaya? This is a whole new level.

cody 🩶: Bro, we've been waiting for this. Now the whole world knows you're wrapped up in her. Are you ready for that?

---

I could feel my face turning red. I didn't even have to check my messages to know the boys were all in their feelings, too. They were waiting for me to do something, but what was I supposed to do?

---

Twin🩸🤍: Yo, Twin putting her on lockdown for real?

---

I read through the comments, smiling despite myself. I wasn't ready for this attention, but at the same time, it felt like the first time I wasn't hiding anymore. The first time I wasn't pretending that this thing with Jey wasn't real.

I picked my phone back up and quickly typed to Kaveri.

---

ra💕: So, what now?

---

Her reply came almost instantly.

---

kaveri💛: You're gonna accept the fact that you're his and stop fighting it, sis.

---

I leaned back on the couch, staring at the screen for a long time, letting Kaveri's words sink in. I wasn't ready to admit how much I wanted this. But maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to be ready.

I was already in. There was no turning back now.

---

*Jey's POV (Later that Night)*

I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my bags half-packed, but my mind was on one thing—Kimaya. I couldn't stop thinking about her, couldn't stop worrying about how she was handling everything. I knew it was a lot to drop on her all at once.

I wanted her to know how serious I was. I didn't want to hide behind jokes anymore. Not with her.

I sent her one last message before I left.

---

My 🩵: You're gonna be okay, right? Just know, you're mine. Don't let anyone else tell you different.

---

Her reply came almost immediately.

---

MyRa 💕: I'll miss you.

---

I smiled to myself, feeling that familiar rush of warmth in my chest. It wasn't just the words. It was the fact that she was starting to believe it, too.

I wasn't going anywhere. And neither was she.

---

A/N: Things are heating up between Kimaya and Jey! Can't wait to see how they handle the pressure of being so public. What do you think about Jey stepping up so bold with his feelings? Let me know your thoughts below!

[naffeclipse]

I don't know when I'll ever write this, but I've had this AU in the back of my mind ever since Bendy and the Dark Revival came out, and it's best to get it out of my head before it festers and rots.

More or less, it's BatDR and the DCA smashed into one. The premise is that you are an animator at Fazbear Studios and Sun and Moon are humans who go by Cyrus and Mani respectively, employed as voice actors. (First AU with human Sun and Moon whoo! don't get attached though) Vanessa is a janitor who is a bit odd, mostly keeping to herself though sometimes you feel like she's starting at your back when you're alone.

Cyrus and Mani perform as extras in the Fazbear cartoon, adding supporting voices for side characters and miscellaneous lines. Cyrus often supplies humorous, wacky, and surreal voices to his performances. Mani tends to get villainous or spooky characters with his deeper, raspier voice. They both enjoy what they do and love that they can work together as brothers.

You can't help but notice Cyrus and Mani. You admire their skill, their passion, and their smiles, and you sometimes even work up the courage to wave at Cyrus or Mani whenever one of the brothers happens to pass by your work desk.

They inspire you—not just with their work, but with their small acts of care. You find coffee on your desk when you return from a meeting with the other animators with a little smiling sun doodled on the cup. Sometimes, Cyrus asks you to join him on a walk since it's your lunch break and you could really use some sunshine and a chance to stretch your legs. When it gets far too late and you're burning the midnight oil, Mani is somehow always there, doing a funny voice to surprise you with a little reminder that it's past your bedtime. He leaves you little treats in blue wrappers, hidden in places on your desk, among your ink and papers.

It's not a surprise that you start drawing a character for them in your rare off hours when you still have the energy to hold a pencil. The Fazbear cartoon could add a new, permanent character. A robotic jester, lanky and tall, but with two forms for the day and night, funny and sweet and mischievous. Cyrus and Mani could both voice him!

That's silly, however. Fazbear Studios does not want your chaotic and half-brained scribbles nor do you dare show the brothers what they inspired—they might hate it. You keep your little jester character tucked away, along with a small doodle of a minor, nobody, gray character who may or may not be a tag along to the main act that is the jester. Your sketches and concept art are hidden away, far from where the light of day or the shine of night will ever see.

It goes missing one day. You're upset and asking everyone who went through your desk. No one confesses. Cyrus tells you that it'll be okay, he'll help you find it. Mani suggests that you keep locks on your drawers from now on.

It's never found, not that you wanted either of them to stumble upon it. Yet, they stay late with you after everyone has gone home, looking for your precious and secretive sketchbook through the many departments of the studio.

Somewhere along the way, Cyrus disappears, promising to return with your sketchbook. You lose Mani in the audio department before, oh, there's Vanessa. She tells you to come to the basement with her—she found your notebook. You're relieved but a little put off by Vanessa and reluctantly follow her down into the dark.

You don't find your sketchbook, but you do find Cyrus slumped against the wall, blood trickling down his temple, and a strange collection of shrines to one of the studio's cartoon characters.

Before you can rush to his side, pain explodes in your skull, cracking white across your vision. You fall to the ground, dazed, as Vanessa gives a cryptic promise to return with the last sacrifice. You manage to crawl across the floor in your pitiful state to reach Cyrus and attempt to revive him, but by then, Mani is walking in. His shock overtakes him but he dodges a swipe of Vanessa's wrench and starts struggling against her. You try desperately to drag Cyrus somewhere safe as he murmurs for you to get out of here, but in the middle of Vanessa's and Mani's fight, she flips a switch and ink begins filling the room.

The black flood sweeps Cyrus away from you. Pages spill out from the inside of Vanessa's vest, dozens of sketches of your jester character. You cry out. Mani looks to you. Vanessa at last shoves Mani into the surge of onyx liquid beside Cyrus, and you watch both of them go under together. You scream their names. She turns to you, grinning.

The last thing you remember is Vanessa shoving your head into the ink.

Then it's the only thing you remember. You're vaguely aware that your jet-black hands are strange and shiny, and that you don't know where you are in this sepia-colored studio, but you know something's not right. You're missing someone, and someone else. You're scared.

You wander around for a bit until you're attacked by monsters emerging from the ink, shrieking and wailing in gluey dark forms until a wonderful and terrifying automaton arrives. He destroys such a creature about to tear you apart. He stands so tall, detailed with sharp teeth and even sharper sun rays around his large, flat face, but you think you recognize those yellow eyes—a living cartoon.

He helps you calm down and asks for your name in a loud and funny voice that rings like a bell in your mind but you can't name the tune. You don't remember your name. He doesn't remember his either. He leads you away from the harsher spaces of the studio, somewhere 'safer'. You don't know if there is anything as safe, but you feel better with him.

You're startled when after a time, in the middle of talking to this sunshine character, he melts and morphs and bubbles until a crescent moon face emerges and a new grin. You panic before a darker, raspier voice, like a cartoon villain, tells you it's alright. He's here, too. He's not sure what's going on but he, and the other 'him', and you are gonna make it out of here, somehow.

You don't have hope anywhere else but in this unique robot jester, and he seems to want you to stay close to him. So it's you two, the last sane partnership in the crazed and dripping studios, fighting off ink creatures and surviving other bizarre characters. You learn how to wield a gent pipe and the jester is strong on his own, often able to tear things apart or toss monsters off of you before they can do worse. He has claws and teeth and he uses them well.

Vanny is a lady rabbit and a constant threat. She's smart and cunning, unlike the other mostly senseless attackers. She keeps tracking the two of you down and spouting off the religious rhetoric of Inktrap, promising that your sacrifices will be well worth the pain. You had to be introduced to the cycle. The ink has corrupted you perfectly. You are part of this place. You are never leaving and will give in to Inktrap.

You and he avoid Inktrap at all costs. You've only caught glimpses of the shadowy, pitch-black beast, but that's all you need to see as you both hide and hold your breaths until the danger just barely passes by.

You start to call the daytime jester Sun, and he seems to respond to it. The nighttime joker is Moon, and he neither hates nor loves it, but he answers when you call. He has a name for you, too, or rather names. Peach, bird, thrill, calico, and sweetheart. He gets creative and goofy. You think he's being mean sometimes but he tells you he's not, he means it, and you don't know how to take that before you two have to focus on escaping this part of the studio and getting into safer areas. You protect his back and he protects yours, and together, you make this living, unending nightmare bearable. Sharing bacon soup, falling asleep in Moon's lap, and patching up any drips in Sun's inky form becomes something like a life.

It just never stops, repeating over and over. The jester deserves better than this, whatever happened to him. You know you both do.

You become determined to learn how the cycle works and how to prevent it from going on. There's a funny feeling you have that, somehow, you're going to have to go through Vanny and the Inkdemon. One day, you will get the jester and yourself free.

You need to see his and your happy ending.

[seung-scrittore]

what it’s like dating SEUNGMIN !

📻 … hel- … can anyone … kkchh .. WC: 204 … GN! READER … GENRE: fluff … WARNINGS: none … -over … kchhh ..

minnie isn’t the best at expressing himself but he takes intense moments seriously, he’ll insist on looking each other in the eyes during a conversation <3

oh my… he’s so petty ??? why do you put up with him tbh… he’ll complain about the littlest things, but it only takes a kiss or two to calm your menace down

needless to say, the two of you enjoy each other’s company and so! you’re over often, often enough to warrant having your own toothbrush at his house. oh, and seungmin loves the domestic feeling of brushing your teeth in the same home every night 🫶

casually mentions that he wants to marry you. just out of nowhere. you’re surprised for sure but it’s endearing to think seungmin wants to spend the rest of his life with you 😵‍💫

grocery shopping !!! like i said, seungmin really adores being in domestic situations with you. and grocery shopping of all things? oh, he’d melt… he probably took mental notes on every brand you bought, he’s obsessed

and don’t you dare binge that one tv show without him, (yk the one i’m talking about !) that’s sacred to him !! he will pout for weeks if he found out you so much as unpaused without him ‼️

consider leaving a reblog ? ^^

… is anyon- … kkkch .. TAGGING: @liumoonlight , @sunoo-bby , @tbzloonar , @noramoons , @seonghwas-lighter , @septabuspass , @kflixnet , @kwritersworld , @k-labels @straykidsland-main , @kdiarynet … pleas- … -you copy? … kchhh …. 📻

[imagineredwood]

7. Macarons 🍪

Summary: Manny likes you, has for a while, but he's gotten mixed signals from you and isn't sure if the feeling is mutual. That's ok though. Nothing a few laced cookies can't solve.

Pairing: Manny x female reader (did he have a last name? Can’t remember)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI Sexual content, they do not have sex, just grinding and touching, Dark!Manny DRUGGING - the reader is drugged without her consent with a 'truth serum' type drug in her gifted macarons to get her to tell him how she feels. The reader does like him and does want to be with him/be sexual with him, she's just been shy and didn't dare to be upfront; the drug helps it come out. So their interactions are technically consensual, but she has been drugged against her will/knowledge and is under the influence. Just want to make that clear for everyone. If it's not your cup of tea or triggers you or anything like that, please don't read it. I would never want anyone to be upset by/hurt/triggered by my work, but at the same time, we're also responsible for the content that we choose to consume. So if it doesn't sound like something you would like or enjoy reading, please don't read it. I won't take it personally if you sit this one out. Also please let me know what other tw I should tag it as if there are any you feel it should be under

Word count: 1.6K

"Macarons??"

You beamed as you looked into the box, the selection of pastel treats looking delightful. They were expensive for their size, one of the main reasons you never really splurged on them. You'd had one or two here and there, but a box of 24? You had never spent that kind of money on a cookie. That didn't mean that you couldn't admire them though. You'd saved some aesthetic tiktoks of them, opting to one day spoil yourself with a beautiful box of them. You hadn't ever told Manny about your desire to have them, knowing that if you merely mentioned it, he would've splurged on the most beautiful and expensive ones he could find. He was just like that when it came to you. So you'd kept it to yourself, deciding that you would get yourself a small box for Valentine's Day, seeing as you didn't have a Valentine. 

But Manny had beat you to the punch. 

He grinned as he watched your eyes light up, happy that his gift had paid off. At first, a few months ago when he was trying to plan out what he would do for the special day, he wasn't sure if the treat was one you would be into. He wanted to make sure that whatever treat he got you for Valentine's Day, was one you would enjoy and preferably one you would remember.

When he saw the saved tiktoks, he was thankful that he'd had the idea to hack your phone a few weeks before. 

His intentions had been innocent enough, really. He just wanted to be able to know what you liked. He always got you gifts, eager to please. He had already decided he was going to put together a Valentine's Day basket for you, but he needed to make sure everything was perfect and to your liking. He needed you to see how much he cared about you and wanted you to be happy. Wanted you to be his. All of his previous gifts had warmed you and gotten you closer to him, but you still weren't his. His hope was that this gift would change that. 

So scrolling through your likes and saves, he'd found a handful of videos of the delicate treat and knew then that was his way into your heart. And right he had been. 

You smiled eyes raking over all of the colors, the sweet aroma wafting up to your nose in a swirl of vanilla and raspberry and cinnamon and-

"I'm glad you like it."

The Mayan looked proud as he eyed you, happy with his decision. Your mouth was practically watering at the smell and he knew you couldn't wait to try them. 

"Go 'head, mama. Let me know how they taste."

Your fingers hovered around the box, all of them looking so good you were having trouble picking which one you wanted. You settled on a baby pink one and picked it up, admiring it. 

"This one looks just like one I saw a video of." 

Manny nodded, knowing the exact tiktok you were speaking of. He didn't say that though. He knew that was the one you were going to have picked first. He knew you'd be excited and enthusiastic to dig into them.

That was why he had paid to have a little something slipped into the filling. 

He wasn't going to hurt you, of course not, he would never do that. He just wanted you soft and compliant. Honest. Needed to know if you felt the same way. Needed to know how you felt about him wanting you to be his and only his. So he'd gotten the idea from one of his brothers, 'truth serum cookies' he'd called it. The company made desserts for different purposes. Some had aphrodisiacs for couples to ramp up their sex life, others like the ones he had ordered had a drug known to make people relaxed and forthcoming, perfect for those who struggled with shyness when it came to dirty talk. 

In Manny's case, he just wanted you to be relaxed and open enough to tell the truth about if you wanted him as much as he wanted you. He needed to know if you would be his, and if you didn't want to be, then why. He'd brought it up to one of the Yuma brothers and he'd sold him on the idea. 'She won't even know. You can't taste it, no one would buy them if they tasted weird. They crush it up and mix it with some sugar, then add it to the cookie's filling. She won't have a clue. And you'll get to figure out whether she wants to have your crazy ass or not.' he had said.

He watched as you brought the macaron to your mouth and took a bite, catching a crumb in your hand as you licked the rest from your lips. Manny licked his own instinctively, eyes raking over your face as he watched you eat, almost in a trance. You smiled, covering your mouth as you chewed, not wanting to make more of a mess. 

"It's delicious." 

He smiled, then shook his head as you held it up to him for him to take a bite. 

"Not a fan of raspberry. Enjoy it." 

He lied cooly, and you bought it, taking another bite. You pushed the box towards him and motioned for him to take one as you both stood there at your kitchen counter. He obliged, not wanting you to suspect anything, and grabbed the cream-colored one with light brown filling, taking a bite. 

"Cinnamon." 

"Mmm." 

He held it out for you to take a bite of your own and you did, enjoying that one just as much as the other. You both stood there together, eating and chatting, a whole row missing before you knew it. You'd eaten most of them, and he wasn't worried about being affected. He didn't have anything to hide. You let out a yawn, and grabbed the lid, covering up the box with a laugh. 

"The crash after a sugar rush always sucks."

Manny nodded, his eyes on you as he watched your eyes grow a little heavier, your lids moving a little slower as you blinked. 

"Maybe we could go chill on the couch." 

You nodded and offered him a relaxed smile, that idea sounding wonderful. 

"Yeah, that sounds good." 

He followed you as you walked, hands itching to grab your hips as they swayed in front of him. You were a goddess in his eyes. A treasure that was meant to be his, but was always just out of his reach. But he was also a gentleman, despite his unorthodox methods of gaining the truth. So he kept his hands to himself, sitting down beside you on the couch. He angled his body towards you slightly like he always did, except this time it was because he was keeping an eye on you. 

Your eyes were soft, your face smooth and relaxed. He looked you over, not worried about you thinking he was weird or creepy for how long he stared at your face. He took in the angle of your nose, how your lashes fluttered on the tops of your cheeks. The softness of your lips. Your voice was gentle when it spoke, and his eyes were watching your lips as they parted, but it still caught him off guard. 

"Do you think I'm pretty, Manny?"

There it was. The serum already going into effect. His eyes drifted away from your lips and locked with yours.  

"I do, mama. I think you're gorgeous." 

You smiled softly. 

"I hoped you did." 

He inquired even though he knew exactly what you meant. 

"Hoped I did what?"

You shrugged, head tilted to the side as you gazed at him. 

"Hoped you found me pretty." 

He swallowed, his fingers wiggling as they screamed to touch you. 

"Well, I do. I think you're the prettiest little thing I've ever fuckin' seen." 

He watched as your throat moved, your swallow audible and pulling a smile from him. 

"What about you? You think I'm handsome?"

You didn't hesitate to nod. 

"I think you're very handsome. I think you're sexy." 

He adjusted himself in his seat, pants starting to feel a little snug. 

"That so?"

"Mhmm." 

You stared at him, fingers twiddling with the hem of your shirt. 

"I wanna sit in your lap. If that's ok." 

He melted, his nod sharp as he lifted the arm that was toward you, inviting you in. 

"C'mon then."

He felt his pulse quicken as you crawled over, a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you tossed your leg over his and then settled down in his lap, his eyes peering up at you. Your hands rested on his chest, fingers reaching up slightly, the tips tracing over the tattoo on his throat. 

"Wanted to sit like this for a while." 

The Mayan allowed his hands to finally drift over onto your hips, fingers digging in ever so slightly into the plush skin. 

"Wanted you to sit like this for a while too." 

Your giggle was breathless and it took everything in him not to start dragging your hips back and forth on him. 

"Anything else you been wanting?"

 You looked at him, fingers still stroking the ink. 

"Been wanting you to touch me."

Manny groaned, his hands gripping you tighter. 

"Oh yeah? Where?"

You shrugged and he shook his head, sucking his teeth. 

"Nah, none of that. Where you want my hands at, pretty girl?"

He slid his hands down further, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, gripping and pulling at your cheeks. 

"Here?"

You nodded, your hips rocking slightly. You pulled one hand away from his throat and instead gripped your own breast, your nipple hard under your palm already. 

"Maybe here too." 

He cursed quietly under his breath and pulled only one hand away to replace yours, squeezing at the soft swell of your breast, feeling like he was in heaven. 

"Yes ma'am." 

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl  @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast  @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114   @destynelseclipsa  @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben  @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester  @alexxavicry  @savagemickey03  @fanfic-n-tabulous   @gangstaliciou06

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon​  @abunnykisses​ @briana-mishell24​  @wrcn9fvlcver​  @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @krysiewithak​  @appropriate-writers-name​  @blessedboo​  @megapeacelovemusic-blog​ @emoengelfurleben​ @blowmymbackout​ @abby-splace​ @kola95​ @black-repunzel99​ @redpoodlern​  @myakai13​

@cruzwalters​  @danimals1096 @po3ticb3auty​ @lyly00​ @im-just-a-mississippi-girl​  @angel-121​ @fanfic-n-tabulous​ @90sisthenew80s​ @lovelytricia @librarian1002

[see-arcane]

Welp. Been a minute. Overdue for an update.

So.

The Depressing Bit

Going to go ahead and rip off the band-aids quick.

First off, I passed my one-year laidoffiversary a couple weeks back. Still no new job despite applying every day of the week for the past year. A lot of dead-end interviews. Three times as many scams and I don’t dare guess how many entirely false job openings posted by companies who were never hiring in the first place, but wanted the positions out in the open to scare their actual employees with the threat of being easily replaced and to look good to investors with the illusion of growth. So there’s that.

Then, while doing my taxes, I came to a fun little revelation.

You know my novella The Vampyres, ala eBook and paperback? Had its birthday last year, March 15th. As I plugged in my earnings from that book from Draft 2 Digital’s doc, I discovered I'd made a grand total of $278 from it over the course of 2024. Cool.

I paid $275 to purchase the ISBNs (International Standard Book Numbers) for the eBook and paperback respectively, and a barcode. Which would mean that I made approximately $3 in profit from The Vampyres after a year.

Except I also spent $25 on a ‘change token’ with Draft 2 Digital because I had to make an alteration to the book's interior.

Meaning I spent $300 total on self-publishing this book. And have so far made back $275 of it.

…

Still glad I did it. Still glad a few folks might someday come across it and enjoy the read. But it’s…yeah. Kind of a glum revelation with March 2025 coming up.

Still job hunting. Still writing. Still hoping and going.

Anyway.

New Stuff

Ko-Fi

Added a couple new options in with the doodles and fancier art bits if you want to take a gander.

Substack (For Now)

While I’ve been posting my chapter updates on my Substack for a bit, and my stuff is still going up there for the foreseeable future, I’m going to start shopping around for an alternative platform. Not a big fan of how Substack is apparently buddying up to Elongated Muskrat and his specific idea of ‘freedom of speech.’ The main things I’m looking for is a lack of price tag and easy usability. I’ll let everyone know if/when I make the switch to something better.

StoryGraph

The Vampyres is on StoryGraph (and so am I). I’d appreciate you leaving any reviews on there rather than Goodreads, the latter being one of Amazon’s Bezos Babies. Really, nice reviews anyplace where books are picked up will help, but do consider a hop to StoryGraph in particular.

Merchandise

One of my New Year’s Resolutions is finally setting up shop with a little merch. I want to make stationery and possibly some novelty mugs* as things to start with. I’m browsing around for a good manufacturer and shipping combo option while trying to 100% avoid Shopify or affiliated sites. Not real keen on them being fine with selling Nazi and MAGA merch. (Frankly not keen on how dodging Nazi infiltration has become a rote part of trying to ~Sell Myself~, but here we are.)

I’ll post prospective product pics once I have something solid. Cross your fingers for me.

*The mugs are mostly for me as I have a devastating addiction to charming drinkware. But I guess you guys can have some too.

???

I don’t really have anything salient to put here. I’m mostly just grateful to all my friends out there in the Internet abyss for sticking around and making all this feel a little less lonely. Thank you.

[farfromstrange]

Carpe Noctem [PREVIEW]

Main Masterlist

PREVIEW.

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Nun!Reader

Warnings: (additional tags to be added/changed) Dead Dove Do Not Eat, religious imagery & symbolism, vampirism, Dark!Matt, blood consumption, corruption kink, SMUT (18+), pain kink, blood play, ANGST, canon typical violence, physical assault, allusions to sexual assault, hunter and prey vibes, allusions to stalking (possibly full-on), scent kink, marking, blasphemy, no happy ending

Summary: Over the past centuries, nothing could have stopped Matt Murdock from wanting, craving, everything, even what he could not have; money, power, and sex, among other more materialistic things, but nothing has him in quite a chokehold like the insatiable hunger for blood he was cursed with the night he died. Nothing could have stopped him from getting what he wants until one day in March, you enter his life.

Matt has stolen, beaten and killed without care, but corrupting a child of God is a line he dares not cross. You, a nun. It’s unthinkable. The part of him that longs for the life he was torn out of—the boy still riding the waves of Catholicism, that Matt Murdock—would rather see him impaled on a wooden stake than allow him to take your blood. Your blood, your innocence, and all that you are; the aroma of rosemary and sanctity that surrounds you is a siren’s call that draws him inevitably closer. The same walls of Clinton Church that house you would incinerate him, and he still wants you. He wants you, but he can’t have you.

Devoting yourself to the church saved you from the abyss, but it may also lead to your eternal corruption at the hands of the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Matt Murdock. A vampire. Soon, you find yourself not only on the verge of losing your innocence to this angel of the night but your life, too, and your world drastically changes for what you realize might be worse than death itself.

(18+ MINORS DNI!)

A/n: I’m back, back, BACK again! Vampire!Matt brainrot is real, and this idea was so dark in my head and kind of ironic, really, I had to put it out there for you. I will be doing my research on Catholicism religiously (pun intended) to make this as accurate as possible, but it’s still an alternate universe and I like making up my own rules. Everything I write is my personal playground, and I invite you to join me for this steamy piece of angst. So far, this is only a concept, but I will get to writing it as soon as I can! The idea is there, and I’ve got some things planned out already. So, if you’re curious, do stick around!

AESTHETIC.

Matt.

You.

RELEASE DATE: TBD!

(If you want to be tagged to know when I release it, as always, feel free to let me know. I don’t bite. Well, only sometimes.)