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caelum-in-the-avatarverse · 6 months ago

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Fandom can do a little gatekeeping. As a treat.

So I finally decided to archive-lock my fics on AO3 last night. I’ve been considering it since the AI scrape last year, but the tipping point was this whole lore.fm debacle, coupled with some thoughts I’ve been thinking regarding Fandom These Days in general and Fandom As A Community in particular. So I wanna explain why I waited so long, why I locked my stuff up now, and why I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a-okay with making it harder for people to see my stories.

Lurkers really are great, tho

I’m a chronic lurker, and have been since I started hanging out on the internet as a teen in the 00s. These days it’s just cuz I don’t feel a need to socialize very often, but back then it was because I was shy and knew I was socially awkward. Even if I made an account, I’d spend months lurking on message boards or forums or Livejournals, watching other people interact and getting a feel for that particular community’s culture and etiquette before I finally started interacting myself. And y’know, that approach saved me a lot of embarrassment. Over the course of my lurking on any site, there was always some other person who’d clearly joined up five minutes after learning the place existed, barged in without a care for their behavior, and committed so many social faux pas that all the other users were immediately annoyed with them at best. I learned a lot observing those incidents. Lurk More is Rule 33 of the internet for very good reason.

Lurking isn’t bad or weird or creepy. It’s perfectly normal. I love lurking. It’s hard for me to not lurk - socializing takes a lot of energy out of me, even via text. (Heck it took 12 hours for me to write this post, I wish I was kidding--) Occasionally I’ll manage longer bouts of interaction - a few weeks posting here, almost a year chatting in a discord there - but I’m always gonna end up going radio silent for months at some point. I used to feel bad about it, but I’ve long since made peace with the fact that it’s just the way my brain works. I’m a chronic lurker, and in the long term nothing is going to change that.

The thing with being a chronic lurker is that you have to accept that you are not actually seen as part of the community you are lurking in. That’s not to say that lurkers are unimportant - lurkers actually are important, and they make up a large proportion of any online community - but it’s simple cause and effect. You may think of it as “your community”, but if you’ve never said a word, how is the community supposed to know you exist? If I lurked on someone’s LJ, and then that person suddenly friendslocked their blog, I knew that I had two choices: Either accept that I would never be able to read their posts again, or reach out to them and ask if I could be added to their friends list with the full understanding that I was a rando they might not decide to trust. I usually went with the first option, because my invisibility as a lurker was more important to me than talking to strangers on the internet.

Lurking is like sitting on a park bench, quietly people-watching and eavesdropping on the conversations other people are having around you. You’re in the park, but you’re not actively participating in anything happening there. You can see and hear things that you become very interested in! But if you don’t introduce yourself and become part of the conversation, you won’t be able to keep listening to it when those people walk away. When fandom migrated away from Livejournal, people moved to new platforms alongside their friends, but lurkers were often left behind. No one knew they existed, so they weren’t told where everyone else was going. To be seen as part of a fandom community, you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known, etc. etc.

There’s nothing wrong with lurking. There can actually be benefits to lurking, both for the lurkers and the communities they lurk in. It’s just another way to be in a fandom. But if that is how you exist in fandom--and remember, I say this as someone who often does exist that way in fandom--you need to remember that you’re on the outside looking in, and the curtains can always close.

I’ve always been super sympathetic to lurkers, because I am one. I know there’s a lot of people like me who just don’t socialize often. I know there’s plenty of reasons why someone might not make an account on the internet - maybe they’re nervous, maybe they’re young and their parents don’t allow them to, maybe they’re in a bad situation where someone is monitoring their activity, maybe they can only access the internet from public computer terminals. Heck, I’ve never even logged into AO3 on my phone--if I’m away from my computer I just read what’s publicly available.

I know I have people lurking on my fics. I know my fics probably mean a lot to someone I don’t even know exists. I know this because there are plenty of fics I love whose writers don’t know I exist.

I love my commenters personally; I love my lurkers as an abstract concept. I know they’re there and I wish them well, and if they ever de-lurk I love them all the more.

So up until last year I never considered archive-locking my fic, because I get it. The AI scraping was upsetting, but I still hesitated because I was thinking of lurkers and guests and remembering what it felt like to be 15 and wondering if it’d be worth letting a stranger on the internet know I existed and asking to be added to their friends list just so I could reread a funny post they made once.

But the internet has changed a lot since the 00s, and fandom has changed with it. I’ve read some things and been doing some thinking about fandom-as-community over the last few years, and reading through the lore.fm drama made me decide that it’s time for me to set some boundaries.

I still love my lurkers, and I feel bad about leaving any guest commenters behind, especially if they’re in a situation where they can’t make an account for some reason. But from here on out, even my lurkers are going to have to do the bare minimum to read my fics--make an AO3 account.

Should we gatekeep fandom?

I’ve seen a few people ask this question, usually rhetorically, sometimes as a joke, always with a bit of seriousness. And I think…yeah, maybe we should. Except wait, no, not like that--

A decade ago, when people talked about fandom gatekeeping and why it was bad to do, it intersected with a lot of other things, mainly feminism and classism. The prevalent image of fandom gatekeeping was, like, a man learning that a woman likes Star Wars and haughtily demanding, “Oh, yeah? Well if you’re REALLY a fan, name ten EU novels” to belittle and dismiss her, expecting that a “real fan” would have the money and time to be familiar with the EU, and ignoring the fact that male movie-only fans were still considered fans. The thing being gatekept was the very definition of “being a fan” and people’s right to describe themselves as one.

That’s not what I mean when I say maybe fandom should gatekeep more. Anyone can call themselves a fan if they like something, that’s fine. But when it comes to the ability to enjoy the fanworks produced by the fandom community…that might be something worth gatekeeping.

See, back in the 00s, it was perfectly common for people to just…not go on the internet. Surfing the web was a thing, but it was just, like, a fun pastime. Not everyone did it. It wasn’t until the rise of social media that going online became a thing everyone and their grandmother did every day. Back then, going on the internet was just…a hobby.

So one of the first gates online fandom ever had was the simple fact that the entire world wasn’t here yet.

The entire world is here now. That gate has been demolished.

And it’s a lot easier to find us now. Even scattered across platforms, fandom is so centralized these days. It isn’t a network of dedicated webshrines and forums that you can only find via webrings anymore, it’s right there on all the big social media sites. AO3 didn’t set out to be the main fanfic website, but that’s definitely what it’s become. It’s easy for people to find us--and that includes people who don’t care about the community, and just want “content.”

Transformative fandom doesn’t like it when people see our fanworks as “content”. “Content” is a pretty broad term, but when fandom uses it we’re usually referring to creative works that are churned out by content creators to be consumed by an audience as quickly as possible as often as possible so that the content creator can generate revenue. This not-so-new normal has caused a massive shift in how people who are new to fandom view fanworks--instead of seeing fic or art as something a fellow fan made and shared with you, they see fanworks as products to be consumed.

Transformative fandom has, in general, always been a gift economy. We put time and effort into creating fanworks that we share with our fellow fans for free. We do this so we don’t get sued, but fandom as a whole actually gets a lot out of the gift economy. Offer your community a story, and in return you can get comments, build friendships, or inspire other people to write things that you might want to read. Readers are given the gift of free stories to read and enjoy, and while lurking is fine, they have the choice to engage with the writer and other readers by leaving comments or making reclists to help build the community.

And look, don’t get me wrong. People have never engaged with fanfic as much as fan writers wish they would. There has always been “no one comments anymore” wank. There have always been people who only comment to say “MORE!” or otherwise demand or guilt trip writers into posting the next chapter. But fandom has always agreed that those commenters are rude and annoying, and as those commenters navigate fandom they have the chance to learn proper community etiquette.

However, now it seems that a lot of the people who are consuming fanworks aren’t actually in the community.

I won’t say “they aren’t real fans” because that’s silly; there’s lots of ways to be a fan. But there seem to be a lot of fans now who have no interest in fandom as a community, or in adhering to community etiquette, or in respecting the gift economy. They consume our fics, but they don’t appreciate fan labor. They want our “content”, but they don’t respect our control over our creations.

And even worse--they see us as a resource. We share our work for free, as a gift, but all they see is an open-source content farm waiting to be tapped into. We shared it for free, so clearly they can do whatever they want with it. Why should we care if they feed our work into AI training datasets, or copy/paste our unfinished stories into ChatGPT to get an ending, or charge people for an unnecessary third-party AO3 app, or sell fanbindings on etsy for a profit without the author’s permission, or turn our stories into poor imitations of podfics to be posted on other platforms without giving us credit or asking our consent, while also using it to lure in people they can datascrape for their Forbes 30 Under 30 company?

And sure, people have been doing shady things with other people’s fanworks since forever. Art theft and reposting has always been a big problem. Fanfic is harder to flat-out repost, but I’ve heard of unauthorized fic translations getting posted without crediting the original author. Once in…I think the 2010s? I read a post by a woman who had gone to some sort of local bookselling event, only to find that the man selling “his” novel had actually self-published her fanfic. (Wish I could find that one again, I don’t even remember where I read it.)

But aside from that third example, the thing is…as awful as fanart/writing theft is, back in the day, the main thing a thief would gain from it was clout. Clout that should rightfully go to the creators who gifted their work in the first place, yeah, but still. Just clout. People will do a lot of hurtful things for clout, but fandom clout means nothing outside of fandom. Fandom clout is not enough to incentivize the sort of wide-scale pillaging we’re seeing from community outsiders today.

Money, on the other hand… Well, fandom’s just a giant, untapped content farm, isn’t it? Think of how much revenue all that content could generate.

Lurkers are a normal and even beneficial part of any online community. Maybe one day they’ll de-lurk and easily slide into place beside their fellow fans because they already know the etiquette. Maybe they’re active in another community, and they can spread information from the community they lurk in to the community they’re active in. At the very least, they silently observe, and even if they’re not active community members, they understand the community.

Fans who see fanworks as “content” don’t belong in the same category as lurkers. They’re tourists.

While reading through the initial Reddit thread on the lore.fm situation, I found this comment:

[ID: Reddit User Cabbitowo says: ... So in anime fandoms we have a word called tourist and essentially it means a fan of a few anime and doesn't care about anime tropes and actively criticizes them. This is kind of how fandoms on tiktok feel. They're touring fanfics and fanart and actively criticizes tropes that have been in the fandom since the 60s. They want to be in a fandom but they don't want to engage in fandom

OP totallymandy responds: Just entered back into Reddit after a long day to see this most recent reply. And as a fellow anime fan this making me laugh so much since it’s true! But it sorta hurts too when the reality sets in. Modern fandom is so entitled and bratty and you’d think it’s the minors only but that’s not even true, my age-mates and older seem to be like that. They want to eat their cake and complain all whilst bringing nothing to the potluck… :/ END ID]

“Tourist” is an apt name for this sort of fan. They don’t want to be part of our community, and they don’t have to be in order to come into our spaces and consume our work. Even if they don’t steal our work themselves, they feel so entitled to it that they’re fine with ignoring our wishes and letting other people take it to make AI “podfics” for them to listen to (there are a lot of comments on lore.fm’s shutdown announcement video from people telling them to just ignore the writers and do it anyway). They’ll use AI to generate an ending to an unfinished fic because they don’t care about seeing “the ending this writer would have given to the story they were telling”, they just want “an ending”. For these tourist fans, the ends justify the means, and their end goal is content for them to consume, with no care for the community that created it for them in the first place.

I don’t think this is confined to a specific age group. This isn’t “13-year-olds on Wattpad” or “Zoomers on TikTok” or whatever pointless generation war we’re in now. This is coming from people who are new to fandom, whose main experience with creative works on the internet is this new content culture and who don’t understand fandom as a community. That description can be true of someone from any age group.

It’s so easy to find fandom these days. It is, in fact, too easy. Newcomers face no hurdles or challenges that would encourage them to lurk and observe a bit before engaging, and it’s easy for people who would otherwise move on and leave us alone to start making trouble. From tourist fans to content entrepreneurs to random people who just want to gawk, it’s so easy for people who don’t care about the fandom community to reap all of its fruits.

So when I say maybe fandom should start gatekeeping a bit, I’m referring to the fact that we barely even have a gate anymore. Everyone is on the internet now; the entire world can find us, and they don’t need to bother learning community etiquette when they do. Before, we were protected by the fact that fandom was considered weird and most people didn’t look at it twice. Now, fandom is pretty mainstream. People who never would’ve bothered with it before are now comfortable strolling in like they own the place. They have no regard for the fandom community, they don’t understand it, and they don’t want to. They want to treat it just like the rest of the content they consume online.

And then they’re surprised when those of us who understand fandom culture get upset. Fanworks have existed far longer than the algorithmic internet’s content. Fanworks existed long before the internet. We’ve lived like this for ages and we like it.

So if someone can’t be bothered to respect fandom as a community, I don’t see why I should give them easy access to my fics.

Think of it like a garden gate

When I interact with commenters on my fic, I have this sense of hospitality.

The comment section is my front porch. The fic is my garden. I created my garden because I really wanted to, and I’m proud of it, and I’m happy to share it with other people.

Lots of people enjoy looking at my garden. Many walk through without saying anything. Some stop to leave kudos. Some recommend my garden to their friends. And some people take the time to stop by my front porch and let me know what a beautiful garden it is and how much they’ve enjoyed it.

Any fic writer can tell you that getting comments is an incredible feeling. I always try to answer all my comments. I don’t always manage it, but my fics’ comment sections are the one place that I manage to consistently socialize in fandom. When I respond to a comment, it feels like I’m pouring out a glass of lemonade to share with this lovely commenter on my front porch, a thank you for their thank you. We take a moment to admire my garden together, and then I see them out. The next time they drop by, I recognize them and am happy to pour another glass of lemonade.

My garden has always been open and easy to access. No fences, no walls. You just have to know where to find it. Fandom in general was once protected by its own obscurity, an out-of-the-way town that showed up on maps but was usually ignored.

But now there’s a highway that makes it easy to get to, and we have all these out-of-towner tourists coming in to gawk and steal our lawn ornaments and wonder if they can use the place to make themselves some money.

I don’t care to have those types trampling over my garden and eating all my vegetables and digging up my flowers to repot and sell, so I’ve put up a wall. It has a gate that visitors can get through if they just take the time to open it.

Admittedly, it’s a small obstacle. But when I share my fics, I share them as a gift with my fellow fans, the ones who understand that fandom is a community, even if they’re lurkers. As for tourist fans and entrepreneurs who see fic as content, who have no qualms ignoring the writer’s wishes, who refuse to respect or understand the fandom community…well, they’re not the people I mean to share my fic with, so I have no issues locking them out. If they want access to my stories, they’ll have to do the bare minimum to become a community member and join the AO3 invite queue.

And y’know, I’ve said a lot about fandom and community here, and I just want to say, I hope it’s not intimidating. When I was younger, talk about The Fandom Community made me feel insecure, and I didn’t think I’d ever manage to be active enough in fandom spaces to be counted as A Member Of The Community. But you don’t have to be a social butterfly to participate in fandom. I’ll always and forever be a chronic lurker, I reblog more than I post, I rarely manage to comment on fic, and I go radio silent for months at a time--but I write and post fanfiction. That’s my contribution.

Do you write, draw, vid, gif, or otherwise create? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you leave comments? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you curate reclists? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you maintain a fandom blog or fuckyeah blog? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you provide a space for other fans to convene in? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you regularly send asks (off anon so people know who you are)? Congrats, you're a community member.

Do you have fandom friends who you interact with? Congrats, you're a community member.

There’s lots of ways to be a fan. Just make sure to respect and appreciate your fellow fans and the work they put in for you to enjoy and the gift economy fandom culture that keeps this community going.

#ao3 #lore.fm #fanfiction #fandom history #gift economy #caelum rambles

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prael · 2 months ago

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A Bargain To Remember

Kinktember Day 13: Car sex

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 4,950 Kinktember Masterlist

"Finally, a face to the name."

You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.

The surprise is that she knows you.

Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.

"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.

"I would like to make a purchase."

"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"

She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."

You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."

She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.

"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."

There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.

Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."

You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."

Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."

You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"

"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."

"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.

"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."

She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.

"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.

You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.

"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."

She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.

"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.

She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.

She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"

"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."

Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."

You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.

The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.

"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.

You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"

"Do it." She's insistent.

A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.

There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.

Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.

"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.

"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"

"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."

Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.

"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"

Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"

You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."

"You're going to manually record?"

"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.

She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.

A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.

A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.

"When are we?"

"2024."

"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"

She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"

"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"

She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."

Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.

"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."

"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.

And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.

She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.

"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.

Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.

It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.

You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.

She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.

You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.

Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.

She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.

You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.

You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.

"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."

You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.

"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."

You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.

You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.

"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.

"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.

Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.

Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.

You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.

"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.

Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."

She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.

You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.

"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."

"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.

"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.

She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."

You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.

A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.

You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.

Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."

"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."

You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.

The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.

"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.

It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.

"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.

From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.

Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.

And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.

"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"

"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.

"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.

You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...

"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."

You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.

She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.

"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.

There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.

"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.

You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.

"Incredible," you breathe.

Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.

"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.

"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.

"I'll get started."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Miyeon smut #gidle smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Miyeon x reader #Cho Miyeon smut #(g)i dle smut

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carriesthewind · 3 months ago

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Ok. I am maybe kind of losing my mind just a little bit.

A few days ago, I mentioned in a post that the IA only cares about information being digitized, not about actual digital access. And I mentioned that access includes patrons being able to actually find what they are looking for, and suggested IA did not prioritize that critical aspect of access. But I didn't really go into any more detail.

So someone over on bluesky linked to this write-up of a talk Brewster Kahle gave about using so-called AI. And one of his reported statements made my mouth drop open in shock.

...and then I read further in the article and realized it was incorrectly reporting basic facts around Hachette, so I had to go and listen to the whole speech myself.* (And I want to say, briefly - he raises some legitimate potential uses for LLMs! He's kind of a dick about some of it ("it's up to us to go and keep [Balinese] culture alive"), but some of the things he's talking about actually seem useful.)

*Incidentally, while Kahle doesn't lie about the ALA brief in the speech, he absolutely misleads about the nature and facts of the case and deliberately omit the part of the story where the IA decided to suspend the one-to-one owned-to-loan ratio thing, despite repeatedly emphasizing that one-to-one was what the IA was doing with their lending program.

And oh my god. He really said what the article reports. (This portion starts around 20:10.)

He says that the IA has scanned over 18,000 periodicals. And that they used to have professional librarians manually create descriptions of the periodicals in order to catalog them. (Sidenote: there are existing directories, but he describes their licensing terms as "ridiculous." This is not a field I know much about, but I spoke to one person who agreed, though for different reasons. His reason is that you can only license, not purchase, the directory descriptions. The person I spoke to was instead focused on the prices demanded for the licenses. Regardless, the idea of creating an open, free directory seems both like an incredible amount of work and an amazing resource...if it was accurate.)

But according to Kahle, it took 45 minutes to an hour to create a description and catalog each periodical.

And so now, instead, they're using AI to make the descriptions and so it only takes 7-10 minutes!

"And yes it hallucinates, and it has some problems, and whatever — but it’s a lot faster than having to write it yourself!"

Oh. My god.

Just.

YOU ARE KNOWINGLY INTRODUCING AI HALLUCINATIONS INTO YOUR CATALOG?!

(And yes, he says that they are "confirmed by a librarian" but it can't really be, not if it's only taking 7-10 minutes! Maybe the librarian can do a quick check for super obvious errors, but actually checking a AI's summary work requires actually going back to the source and reviewing it yourself!)

I just....

I need to emphasize for those of you for who aren't familiar - if a book or article is miscataloged, it is effectively lost. Because it doesn't mater if a library or an archive owes it - if someone can't find it when they are looking for it, it is not only inaccessible, the only way to find it again is through chance. Imagine if you went into a library, but instead of organized shelves (where if even if you can't find what you're looking for, the librarians know where to look), every single book was just piled in a heap.

If a book is miscateloged, it still exists, but it is lost, not truly accessible. And they know that this is happening, "but whatever." Because Brewster Kahle doesn't actually care about real, practical, digital access. (Much less non-digital access.)

(And then to top it off, he goes on to criticize the Library of Congress for not being "access oriented.")

I just. 18,000 periodicals. And they've knowing, recklessly lost who knows how many of them. I feel like crying.

18,000 periodicals.

#internet archive #ai bs #nope sure don't like using those two tags in the same post #also just admit that you are an archive kahle #archives are great!#I love archives!#they serve a critical purpose distinct from libraries #I don't understand why you seem to hate the idea of being one!#(except I do - the same reason why you won't just admit what the ia did w/ the 'emergency library')

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sweet-as-an-angel · 11 months ago

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House Husband! Simon who…

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Sexual Punishment (Consensual), Degrading, Edging, Simon Exhibiting Some Himbo Tendencies, Objectification of a Military Man, Implied Pegging, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.

Lets you take the stresses of your day out on him, riding him with such fervour that he’s left digging his heels into the mattress of your shared bed, gritting his teeth and trying not to let the coil in his stomach snap before you’ve gotten yourself off.

Secretly loves being berated, being called your “Stupid boy, only good for cooking and cleaning. Such a good husband for me.”

Loves when you spoil him with the lavish gifts you can afford with your high-paying job. “A reward for keeping the house so tidy while I’m away.” You say as you take the cologne bottle in your hand and pull the waistband of his boxers with the other, slipping the bottle past before letting the band snap against his skin. You make sure to give his ass a good smack on your way past, too.

Another symbol of your ownership of him to complement the wedding band you’ve bound him with.

He’ll bend himself backwards to please you, learning to cook anything that takes your fancy, giving you massages when you need them, using his height and strength to clean the house thoroughly, pulling out all the furniture and making sure the place is spotless.

Though, he’d never admit that he sometimes leaves certain things — laundry, dishes, whatever — unfinished so you’ll punish him when you come home.

Loves when you edge him, using him for your own pleasure while preventing him from feeling the fullest extent of his. He lives for the tears in your eyes when you cum for the third time, rocking yourself on his thick cock as he holds you by the hips, desperately trying not to rut into you and give you another reason to stave off his orgasm.

When you think he’s earned it, you’ll make sure he really feels it. Squeezing around him with such ferocity that has him seeing stars when he finally does unravel, thick ropes of cum shooting into you as his back arches, his low, strangled moans filling your home. He’ll pant heavily, trying to gather his bearings as you detach from him, thin strings of cum trying desperately to keep the two of you connected.

He shudders at the tone in your voice when you throw a towel and a pair of pants at him, telling him to clean himself up and go and make dinner.

“I expect it done within the hour. I’m starving.”

Needless to say, he considers burning it a little to incur your wrath once more. But he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that that parcel you ordered the other day did look rather long. Thin, too. Almost dick-shaped.

He’s taken a peek. He knows he shouldn’t have, but now he knows he mustn’t – under any circumstances – get on the wrong side of your strap-on. Especially one so girthy and long; big enough to even wind Simon if when you slammed into him with it.

But that’s a punishment for another day.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

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ramp-it-up · 1 month ago

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Knock You Down: IV

Photo credit to @thebluemage. Edit mine.

Summary: James Bucky Barnes is an avowed bachelor and one night stand artist. But when he meets you, he finds out that sometimes love comes around, and it knocks you down. Finally! Date Number Threeeeee!

This is a follow up to Part III

Word count: 3.5 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This is the final part! (For now) I think that this is one that I will definitely write in answer to asks. I just love these two so so much! Thank all of you for rocking with me on this one. This was in part inspired by Seb Stan's latest pics and this press run 🫠, and partially inspired by an old song by some problematic people, lol. This is the result. As usual, I am Basil Exposition, so this is broken into parts.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. SMUT!!!! The end of the Slow burn, now it's burning very fast 😅. Cursing, flirting, jealousy, apologies, Bucky cooking (a warning!), kissing, dry humping, dirty talk in both English and Romanian, voice kink, oral sex (m and f receiving), protected sex (yay Bucky!) And these two are so fucking fluffy. I'm scared, y'all. I want it to be good enough for the build up.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

As soon as he entered the Brownsville Arts and Culture Center, James Bucky Barnes was hot. Blood was rushing to his ears and he needed a drink. He wasn’t sick; his symptoms were all due to you.

The black dress that adorned your body contained all of his hopes and dreams, but you seemed to be flirting with another man, twirling for him and then giving him a hug. To add insult to injury, you had the nerve to laugh and smile with the punk.

You in that black dress was everything in the world that Bucky could want, except maybe you out of that black dress. As his eyes traced down your form, he noticed the 5 inch red bottoms that you had on. Yes. You, out of that dress with just the red bottoms. That was what he needed in his life.

But first, he had to take care of that other man.

—-

“Benson’s work emphasizes the subjects’ spiritual essence over their physical appearance, don’t you think?”

You turned around at the sound of the deep baritone.

“Well hello, Mr. Rogers. How are you today? Delivering an art analysis given to you by AI? Oh. I forgot. You are an ‘art dealer.’ An art dealer who goes to Soul Cycle in Brownsville all of a sudden?”

Steve clutched his heart.

“Ah. I’m hurt, Y/N. I thought we were cool. But I guess I deserved the air quotes. I do actually love art. I took some art classes when I was a kid and I still love to sketch.”

“Hmmmph. Okay. I’ll give you that. But how is it that you popped up in my Soul Cycle class? Don’t play me, Steven.”

Steve raised his eyebrow at you and grinned. He understood why Buckiy was so drawn to you. Not only were you gorgeous, you were a spitfire. That was hot.

“I would never try to play you, Y/N. I also actually love Soul Cycle. Used to teach a class in Park Slope.”

“I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover, can you?”

Steve’s eyes slid over you appraisingly.

“Speaking of. You look very, very nice today.”

You twirled for him, feeling as safe as you would your brother.

“Nice. Okay, listen. I’m sorry about the other day. I was just trying to protect my friend. And you.”

Steve sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’ve never seen Bucky like this. He’s never been this smitten with someone before and let them into his life. But I get it now.”

Steve’s blue eyes were almost as beautiful as Bucky’s.

“Bucky is my family. Since we were kids. He’s always taken care of me. And I will do anything for him.”

He raised his eyebrow at you.

“I can see now that means that I will do anything for you, because I have a feeling that you’re gonna be around a lot. So do you forgive me?”

You considered Steve. He was not too different from his best friend, and you couldn’t hold a grudge. Not after Bucky laid it all out to you last night You opened your arms.

“Let’s hug it out.”

Steve chuckled and gathered you into his warm embrace. You pulled back and giggled, grinning at him.

“So what makes you think I’m gonna be hanging around?”

“Well, judging from the look on Bucky’s face, he’s serious about you.”

Steve nodded behind you, toward the door. You looked that way and saw James Bucky Barnes headed straight for you.

And he didn’t look happy.

—--

“Good morning, Frumoasă. You look stunning today. The exhibit is amazing, the space looks great and it seems that the right people are in the building.”

Bucky came up and placed his hand on the small of your back as he spoke to you, ignoring Steve. His blue eyes were storm clouds at the moment, and his touch was electric.

“Thank you, James. You’re so observant, I appreciate that. And you look very handsome today.”

You looked him up and down and bit your lip, meeting his gaze and the way he kept eye contact as he inclined his head in response.

Bucky was attractive as hell in his black on black shirt, blazer and slacks. You noticed that his collar was unbuttoned; the medallion hanging on his chest made you want to take it between your teeth. You stared at it for a moment, imagining such a scenario where that could happen and then met his eyes again, prompting desire to roll through you as Bucky licked his lips. He was right there with you.

You smiled at him in a way that you didn’t smile at Steve. Who was Steve Rogers, anyway? You could hardly remember meeting him as your mind went to the feel of being in Bucky Barnes’ arms.

You sensed an air of proprietariness as Bucky took your hand and kissed it, causing a shiver to run down your spine. Possessive Bucky Barnes felt like a sin you wanted to indulge in. You cleared your throat and looked at Steve, as if surprised to find him still standing there, watching the show.

“Well, I see some board members over there, I’m going to go do my job. Talk to you later, boys.”

You walked away and gave them a wink over your shoulder, and you caught both of them looking at your ass. You shook your head and chuckled as you went on your way.

“You trying to steal my girl?”

Everyone stopped when Steve laughed, his deep boom a distraction. Bucky still wasn’t amused.

“Oh. So you’re in love.”

“What?”

“You’ve never worried about me taking your leftovers or vice versa before. Hell, we’ve even shared–”

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Bucky snapped at Steve who put his hands up.

“Whoa, there. Just yanking your chain, buddy; I know she’s special. I wouldn’t dream of making a move on her. Not that she knows I’m alive. When you walked up, I thought I was going to have to take off my jacket so you two could fuck on the floor.”

Bucky was barely listening to Steve as his eyes followed you around the room. One thing Steve said was echoing in his mind: “So you’re in love.”

—-

You floated through the rest of the day on a cloud. The exhibit was a smashing success with the

Board of Directors in attendance. Securing Howard Benson’s penultimate work from Rebirth was the feather in your cap.

And you had Bucky to thank for it.

Bucky’s visit was also a hit; he and Steve charmed the board members with the help of Sam and Nat, who arrived later. They all made amends for what occurred that week and you were left very impressed with James Barnes.

After a couple of hours at the event, Bucky came over to let you know he was leaving.

“I will see you later, Frumoasă. I have much to prepare for tonight. Nico will pick you up at 7:30.”

“See you soon, James.”

He kissed your hand again.

“See you soon, Y/N.”

—---

“It is actually insanely attractive how you handled yourself in the kitchen.”

You were seated with Bucky on his couch in his living room, looking over the New York skyline from his Brooklyn penthouse. The dessert had been delicious and the wine in your hand was spectacular.

“I was sure you’d order something in and just play it off. But I watched you create a meal in front of me, and I should have known that if you said you were going to cook, that you would do just that.”

Bucky’s heart beat double time at what you were saying. He wanted so much for tonight, but most of all, he wanted it to flow naturally. He saw that you were relaxed and open to him, which pleased him immensely.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, Frumoasă. I enjoy cooking for my friends and family. Cooking for a beautiful woman is a treat.”

Bucky’s eyes slid over your form. You had changed to jeans and a color block sweater that just put your cleavage out there for the world, which was Bucky Barnes, to see. You also wore the same red bottoms from that day, and Bucky was beginning to think he had a foot fetish as you took them off at his entryway.

You took a sip of wine.

“How often do you do that? Cook for a woman?”

You barely hid your curiosity.

Bucky smiled and drained his glass, reaching over to refill it.

“Not as often as you’d think. Never had any other woman over here. Food is not usually the top priority with them.”

You pouted, which was so cute. Your spark of jealousy inspired Bucky.

“But I don’t want to talk about anyone else. Tonight is about me and you.”

Any uncertainty that arose was quelled by his assertion. You grew warm, so you finished your wine and rose to go to the window.

“This is the most gorgeous view I’ve ever seen.”

“Absolutely agree.”

You looked behind you and Bucky was still sitting on the couch, hands spread out on the back of it, checking you out. You gave him one of your adorable smiles and he came to stand behind you, and took you in his arms.

“I want you to know that you deserve everything, Y/N. To be cheered on and protected every day. And thoroughly ruined every night.”

You turned around and his hands went to your hips. It was the perfect moment.

“James?”

“Can I have a kiss?”

Bucky’s eyes dilated, and he moved his hand to your cheek. He licked his lips as he looked deep into your eyes.

“Ah, Frumoasă. I thought you’d never ask.”

His first movement was a subtle brush of your lips. He pulled back to assess the situation, and you didn’t know why, but that made your nipples tighten into stiff peaks. You gasped as Bucky watched you hungrily.

The air seemed to change around you, and you shivered. He lowered his head so his lips could meet yours again, and this time his mouth was gentle but demanding. You gasped at the spike of electricity that flared between you and Bucky took the opportunity to dip his tongue into your mouth, scorching your lips and soul. With a low groan, he shifted your angle, bending you backward a little to kiss you deeper and ripping a moan from you as you melted against him.

Good lord, could the man kiss.

At that point, he was holding you up, one hand on your hip and one hand on the back of your head as you molded yourself against him. Bucky’s fingers dug into you, sure to leave bruises the next day. You relished the thought as you moaned into his mouth again, giving him the opportunity to continue destroying your soul.

Bucky dragged his lips from yours reluctantly and stared at you, eyes almost black with desire. He brought his thumb up and wiped the moisture from your bottom lip. Motivated, you captured his digit, drawing it into the hot wetness of your mouth. He stared at you, mouth open, as you looked him straight in the eye and started sucking.

Bucky moaned as he pushed his thumb deeper into your mouth, and walked you back to the couch. He extracted his finger, watching the show your lips put on as he pulled it out, leaving them in a delectable pout.

“More,” Bucky demanded as he crouched down and took your head in both hands as he kissed you again.

His hands wound up in your hair, tugging gently, then on your back, then your ass as you arched your back to fill his palms. Bucky picked you up, then deposited you on his lap as he sat down on the couch, and you felt how aroused he was. His thick length was where you needed him most.

“Fuck! That feels good.”

Bucky was watching you grind on him like it was the best show on earth. Then he looked up at you.

“Yes, yes it does.”

He leaned forward and captured your bottom lip between his teeth, a preview of how rough he wanted to be with you. Then, he went in for another kiss. That continued for a good five minutes until he pulled away to stare at your swollen lips, and down to your cleavage, which was practically in his face.

When his eyes met yours, you were entranced.

“You good? You want this to happen?”

You nodded and took his hands in yours, guiding them up to your breasts, squeezing yourself with his hands. You rolled your hips, causing his breath to hitch in his throat.

“Like you said, James. More.”

You continued to grind on him, causing him to just gape at your body moving on his.

“I’ve dreamed of this so many times…”

“Yes? Tell me about your dreams, Baby.”

His hands moved to find your nipples through the lace of your bra and the wool of your sweater. He found them in no time, and pinched them lightly, then more roughly when you moaned.

“Mmmmnnnn. So fucking hot.”

Bucky kissed you again and then pulled away as he stared you down and tortured you.

“I dream about marking you up,” he kissed your neck under your chin, “to your clavicle,” a kiss there, “and all over this beautiful flesh until I get to your nipples.”

He looked at you for any signs of discomfort as he slipped his hands under your sweater to find the thin lace there. He found your hard peaks again and started rolling them both in his fingers.

“Then I want to kiss and suck them until you come in my arms.”

“Holy god, Jamie….”

Bucky’s eyes rolled at the second pet name you called him and continued.

“Wake up so fucking hard every morning since I met you. Then, I daydream about how wet and tight you will be after I made you cum, and how good it would feel to… to give you my cock. Do y’like that idea, Frumoasă?”

“Y-yesssss!”

“O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă.”

You almost came right then.

“D-don’t know what you said, but yes to whatever you just suggested.”

Bucky pulled you to him, and then chuckled into your ear.

“It means that I want to make you cum over and over again on my cock.”

You were already making a mess in your jeans, but you knew he could feel you soaking them at the moment.

“Please. Give it to me?”

Bucky groaned and kissed you again, this time encircling your waist in his grip and pressing you down on his bulge.

“You know I can’t deny you anything. Are you certain?”

“Yes, James. Please…”

He lifted you easily, kissing you as he walked you down the hall to his bedroom, depositing you on his bed.

“Y’look so fucking good.”

He crawled toward you on the bed and settled between your thighs as you hitched your leg over his. You pressed your core against his bulge and it had you muttering.

“Too many clothes.”

Bucky leaned up and you were fumbling with his button and he with yours. You looked up and laughed.

“Maybe faster the other way.”

“Agreed.”

You two made quick work of your own garments, flinging them around the room between frenzied kisses. The way your eyes widened when Bucky got naked made his chest swell. He wanted you to always look at him like that.

“Wow…,” you said as your eyes roamed his physique.

His cock seemed massive as it slapped him on the abs.

“Wow, indeed,” replied Bucky as he took you in hungrily.

Your white lace underwear looked amazing against your skin and against your cunt it served to make him hungry.

He moved toward you again, kissing up your leg until he got to the edge of your panties and nudged his nose there, making you squirm.

“Smell so good, look so good…”

Bucky kissed at the edge of your underwear,

“I just know you’re gonna taste good too..”

He moved to the center of you, placing a kiss over your lace-covered sodden slit. Then, he looked up at you and smirked before he leaned down and licked you over your panties.

“Fuck.”

He pulled your panties to the side and gazed at you there.

Those blue eyes threatened to steal your soul as he gazed at you and confessed, “This is the most gorgeous pussy I’ve ever seen,” and proceeded to lick a rude stripe up the center of you after he tore your panties away.

“Oh my god, James.”

You rolled your hips again and reached down to feel Bucky’s soft hair. He pulled your hips closer and his lips suckled you with more pressure, adding one finger, then two to stretch you out.

“Gotta get you ready for me, my love.”

Your eyes rolled back into your head as you moaned through Bucky thrusting his tongue inside you, then pulling back to focus on your clit.

“I c-can’t.. I–”

“Give me my cum, Frumoasă!”

You locked eyes with him as he buried his face in your cunt and shook against him as you came embarrassingly fast, pulling on his messed up curls.

“So fucking delicious. Taste.”

He took your head in both hands and kissed you deeply, and you responded by sucking your essence off of his tongue. You reached down and started stroking his cock, overjoyed and a little bit scared that your fingers didn’t meet around him as he unclasped your bra.

Bucky whimpered as your thumb came up and stroked his sensitive head, spreading his precum over the wide, mushroom cap.

“You’re so fucking huge, Bucky…”

Bucky pulled you toward him as he reached into his bedside drawer for a condom and a bottle.

“And you’re so wet, Furmoasa. We will make this work. Believe me…”

You continued to stroke and watched him as he brought the wrapper to his teeth and him tearing it open was about the hottest act of sexual protection you’d ever seen. Somehow, your mouth ended up sucking his tip as you watched his eyes roll back into his skull.

“That beautiful mouth…”

Bucky put his hand on your head as you tasted him experimentally, wondering if you’d ever be able to take it all. He seemed to read your mind as he spoke next.

“Don’t worry, I plan on us having a lot of practice with this later, but if you don’t let me put this condom on, I’m gonna cum all over your face, Frumoasă…”

You looked up at him and grinned as his cock jumped in your mouth, but you finally pulled off of him with a pop.

“I need to feel you around me when I cum love. S’all I’ve been dreaming of all week.”

Now his chest was heaving as he rolled the condom on, and he pushed you back onto the bed as his hand went to your core once again. You were even wetter than before and Bucky smiled at you, lining up and kissing you on the forehead as he began to breach your folds.

When he slid inside, your fingernails curled into his shoulders and your eyes grew wide. Bucky stopped, concentrating while his cock pumped, barely inside you.

“There is nothing. In the world. Like being inside your soft, wet, cunt.”

“Fuckkkkk!”

You became even wetter and he slid fully inside you. There, Bucky waited for you to get adjusted around him.

“So fucking tight. And hot. Just like I knew you would be.”

“More, Jamie!”

Smiling, Bucky started moving and you gripped him as he stroked in and out.

“Please don’t stop. Harder!”

Bucky grabbed the headboard and gave you what you wanted. His other hand pulled your hair and his strokes became more intense.

“Wanted to last longer, but I can’t, Baby. So beautiful. Pussy made for me. Cuming soon, but later… O să te fac să vii pe penisul meu iar și iar, Frumoasă. I never make a promise I can’t keep.”

You orgasm whited out your vision and your throat burned as you screamed. Bucky roared, filling the condom with copious amounts of cum. Your cunt was milking him and he hoped it would hold. He stayed sunk into you as long as he could before he had to get up and rid himself of the prophylactic.

He was only in the en suite for a few minutes as you floated in and out of sleep, lust drunk and exhausted.

Bucky climbed back into bed and got both of you situated under the covers, whispering in your ear.

“Stay tonight.”

“Of course. That was the plan, wasn’t it?”

Both of you chuckled, because you knew it was true. Bucky kissed your ear and waited for your breath to even out. When he thought you were asleep, he whispered again.

“I’m going to be a better man for you, Frumoasă.”

“You are exactly who you need to be, James Barnes. Just keep moving forward. Tomorrow is another day to do that.”

After a few more minutes, you spoke again.

“Tomorrow will only be a week that we’ve known each other. Imagine that.”

Bucky buried his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.

“Guess I better wait until tomorrow to ask you to marry me.”

You laughed a sleepy laugh.

“You got jokes.”

“You know me, Frumoasă. A professional comedian.”

But somewhere in the dark of Bucky Barnes’ closet, a diamond found some light and sparkled.

——

The next morning is here ;)

Please, please! Let me know!

#ramp-it-up falloween 24 #falloween #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #seb stan #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x black!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fluff

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richarlotte · 2 months ago

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365 Days from Rot to Hot (Pt. 3).

Find your colors. You could use AI, take a trip to Lowe’s (this is one of the things I did), or actually use a service, but sorting out what colors suit you is essential. A major part of building my blend and creating my personal style was based around finding things that suited me, and I do believe that you shouldn’t start buying clothes or putting a look together unless you know your undertone, have a grasp of your colors and your body type, understand your seasons, and are prepared to experiment with what you’ve learned. Finding your colors should be the first step you take, as it will make the process of creating looks easier and give you a general idea of what things will look good on you.

Search for inspiration and don’t hold yourself back. It’s your life; it’s your fashion; it’s your style. You can be as basic or as eccentric as you want. If you think Kendall Jenner and Hailey Bieber are goddesses, then take inspiration from them. If you’re a budding Betsey Johnson or a Lisa Frank and want to design your own clothes and make them even brighter, then do that. If you’re obsessed with Bella Hadid’s western era and want to chase your own wild horses, then go ahead. I’d recommend doing what I did and creating a number of Pinterest boards and using Instagram to create polyvore-like style and vision boards.

Set a reasonable budget and stick with it. You cannot spend more than you have, and it’s not wise to get into debt pursuing a lifestyle that you know you can’t afford in the long run. Create a reasonable budget and work with it; don’t try to work around it. I found myself shopping from Walmart, Meijer, Gap, and J. Crew Factory and looking for sales before I bought anything. Don’t jump into the process and waste your money buying everything straight off the racks; utilize stores like TJ Maxx, look for sales, use what you already have, and really make an effort to make your dollar stretch. Another part of working with your budget is not blowing it by shopping at Shein; if you buy something and then have to throw it out and rebuy it after 5 wears, you’re not actually getting any bang for your buck.

Utilize Pinterest and social media to find women that look like you. An integral part of creating your own blend and finding what works for you is seeing it on other women. I followed a number of women that looked like me and didn’t look like me, lived in areas of the world I found fascinating, and had tastes that I wouldn’t describe as mainstream. I used a number of different languages to search for the trends that I liked; I used Twitter and Instagram to look at hashtags; and I took total advantage of the resources I was able to access. I used magazines, went through online archives, and spent time building my ideal image. Was it perfect? No, but as time passed, it became more and more helpful, and it eventually became the Pinterest board that I use now and my main vision board.

Tie it all together and see how things work. I had to experiment with so many different looks, delete and recreate so many vision boards, and try things for myself. Am I a hairstylist? No, but I’m also not a billionaire, so I had to learn how to style my wigs to see what suited me. I went to stores to try things on, experimented with IG to see if certain pieces of jewelry would suit me, and had the time of my life during my experimentation phase. Collecting online images isn’t enough, and it’s very hard to actually get a grasp of what you like if you’re doing everything online. Try your lookout, put things together, adjust it as you please, and tie your loose ends up.

Pt. 4 to come next.

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bodyhopper-files · 6 months ago

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An escape from jock life.

I chose Jeremy as my roommate for a specific reason; it may have seemed odd to others, since to all outward appearances I’m a fit and popular, straight, pussy-loving jock while he’s a chubby, introverted gay guy. But what they didn't know is that I wanted to use his body as an escape from my strict and disciplined life. Between working out, going to practice, and maintaining my social status, I needed a break sometimes. So I would slip into Jeremy's body - soft, simple Jeremy who enjoys lounging around, snacking, and playing video games with his nerdy gay friends.

It was a welcome change from my responsibilities as the big man on campus. And to top it off, I could text Jeremy's cute boyfriend to come over whenever I took control of his body so that I could fool around with another guy and take care of all my gay urges without any guilt whatsoever. He, of course, had no idea that his cuddly boyfriend was being controlled by his jock roommate, and that's just how I liked it.

Taking control of Jeremy was effortless; he was always napping, always at ease, ready for me to enter and take over. On days filled with classes, sports practices, and social events, I would come home to find him sprawled out on the couch, waiting for me to release myself.

I slipped into Jeremy's body, feeling the softness of his belly as I lay back on the sofa. It was so different from my own chiseled abs and muscular frame. A smile spread across my face as I blinked his eyes, reached for his stash of weed on the coffee table, and expertly rolled myself a fat joinT. As I lit it up and took a long drag, I felt myself relaxing, letting go of the stresses of jock life. I picked up Jeremy's phone and texted his boyfriend Alex, "hey babe, want to come over and cuddle?"

He quickly replied yes and I grinned in anticipation, feeling Jeremy’s stubby gay cock rise to the occasion.

----- ----- -----

Original story and AI Illustration by @bodyhopper-files

#male transformation #body switch #body swap #possession #body hop #body hopper #male tf #body possession #body theft

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in-a-nook-with-a-notebook · 1 year ago

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Use Your Words

Franchise: Marvel (Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x male reader (reader's pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: smut, sub!Miguel, dom!reader, office sex, door unlocked, loud Miguel, breeding kink, Miguel has a praise kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, anal fingering, reader referred to as sir, Miguel's claws, Miguel's fangs, minor degradation, minor angst (reader's been worried about Miguel), fluffy aftercare

Summary: Miguel had been teasing you all day, the little shit. You knew that he knew damn well what he was doing. And he knew exactly what would happen when you caught him alone that night.

A/N: Requested by an irl of mine @sixatrocities ! This is my first smut that I'm actually posting so bear with me (is it still considered a one shot when it's over 3k words??) also I myself do NOT speak Spanish (English, French and a bit of Italian but not Spanish) so most of what Miguel says is directly from Google Translate and I'm so sorry if I messed up - this was also written as though Miguel’s suit is like a physical one as opposed to what I assume is nanotech somehow in the movie

You’re in a meeting with various other members of the Spider Society. This includes Jessica, Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, Peter and Mayday. And of course, you, Miguel and Lyla. You lean back in your chair at one end of the long table, farthest from where Miguel is at the other end. He’s mostly stopped his teasing, other than shooting you mischievous looks from across the table when no one’s paying attention.

“Any questions?” Miguel says finally, having finished his explanation about the next mission. You know he can feel your gaze burning into him, but he pointedly ignores it. No one says anything, clearly satisfied with the information given.

“Class dismissed,” you say sarcastically. Everyone begins to leave without a word. You turn your eyes on Miguel’s AI. “Lyla, take the night off,” you say. “I need to… discuss some things with Miguel. One on one.”

As Lyla blips out, Miguel swallows hard, finally looking up at you.

“You guys alright?” Peter asks on his way out.

“We’re fine, Pete,” you say, your gaze trained on Miguel’s. His eyes are dilated so much you can’t discern the black of his pupils from the brown of his irises as he scans your face. “Don’t worry about it. Have a goodnight, man, say hi to MJ for me.”

“…Alright,” he replies, though he sounds slightly unsure. “Say bye, Mayday.”

You turn to look at the young redhead, a sweet smile crossing your face as you wave to her. You nod to Peter as he slips out the door.

And then there were two.

“Y/N-”

“Miguel,” you say, your voice bordering on a warning. You slowly cross the room to where he’s standing at the wall. He begins to back away when you get too close, backing up so far that he ends up pressed between you and the wall. You place your palm flat on his broad chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your fingertips.

“What was that?”

“What, er, what was what?” He asks in a tight voice. His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“You know exactly what you were doing, O’Hara.”

Miguel’s breath hitches in his throat. “I’m-”

“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

Miguel nods quickly. “Mhm.”

“So you know what comes next, then, hm?”

He nods again. “Mhm.”

“Your office,” you state. “Now.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

————————

You follow close behind Miguel as the two of you walk back to Miguel’s office. You say hello in passing to some of the people you pass, like Ben and Margo, prolonging how long Miguel has to wait for the consequences of his actions.

When you reach the office, Miguel moves to lock the door behind the two of you. You catch his wrist before he can touch the doorknob.

“No,” you say.

“But-”

“Miguel.”

“…Yes, sir.”

You gesture for him to go to his desk and you notice him shift his suit a little. You follow him to the desk. He turns around to say something, but you pin him between you and the desk before he can get a word out, his hands bracing himself on the edge of the surface. The proximity gives you both some friction between your respective suits. Miguel sucks in a breath when you grind against him, chewing on his bottom lip. You can see his sharp fangs outlined against his soft pink lip while he watches you carefully.

“You can’t be a tease in the middle of a meeting, baby,” you say in a low voice.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel says breathlessly.

“No you aren’t,” you murmur. “That was bad, Miguel.”

“I’ll be good,” he says desperately. “Por favor, señor, I’ll be good for you.”

You raise an eyebrow in challenge and feel him practically melt underneath you. “Take the suit off, sweetheart.” You step back to allow him to free himself from the confines of his suit. He’s soon left in his boxers, watching you for his next instructions.

“So handsome…” you whisper. You step towards him again, ghosting your fingers over his warm bare skin. He shivers under your touch. “Just begging to be fucked, aren’t you?” You hook a finger under the waistband of his underwear. A whine escapes his lips before he can stop it. “Use your words, baby boy.”

“Please,” he whimpers.

“Please what, Miguel?”

He squirms a little under your hand. “Please fuck me, I need you inside me…”

You guide him back to the desk, framing his body as he leans against it. You can feel his hard, clothed cock against your covered crotch. He tries to grind against you, desperate for a little more friction, but you gain bruising grip on his hips, holding him in place.

“I didn’t say you could move.”

“Por favor, señor, necesito tu polla dentro de mí,” Miguel begs.

“Patience, darling,” you say. You reach around Miguel’s broad frame and push everything off his desk. He looks like he’s about to object, his mouth opening to say something, but the look you give him tells him to keep it to himself. “We’ll fix it later,” you assure him quickly. His tense body relaxes a little.

In mere moments, you rid yourself of your own suit, reaching for the secret compartment of one of the drawers of Miguel’s desk. The two of you have fucked in his office on more than one occasion, so he keeps some condoms around just in case. As you move to withdraw one, Miguel’s thick fingers curl around your wrist. You look back at him.

“Miguel?” You say in a teasingly questioning tone.

“Just your cock,” he whispers. You drop the condom and close the drawer without looking away from him.

“You want me to breed you,” you say. Miguel chews on his lip nervously but he nods.

“Yes, fuck, please.”

“You love the idea of that, don’t you?” You mutter, leaning close to his face. “The thought of being fucked full of my cum to have my kids? Is that what you want?”

Miguel whimpers as you press yourself against him. “Y-Yes, sir…”

A smirk crosses your face. “Good boy.” Your hand moves upwards to thread your fingers into Miguel’s hair. You tug his head back and a gasp tumbles from his lips. Your lips attack his neck, sucking hickeys from the bottom of his jaw down to his collarbone. As you move further down, your lips attach to one of his nipples. A sharp whine escapes him, his body arching into you. He grips your shoulders.

“Fuck,” he whimpers.

One of your hands, the one that had been hooked under his waistband, slips into his boxers, gently grabbing his hard cock while your mouth stays on his chest.

“Ay, dios mío,” he moans. “Please, sir, fuck me, I need your cock so bad, please…!”

You tug his boxers down around his ankles, letting his dick spring free of its confines. Miguel kicks them away as you shed yours too. You stick three fingers in Miguel’s mouth.

“Suck,” you order. That skillful tongue of his swirls around your digits, watching you in desperation. You stroke your cock a few times while you watch Miguel. “Such a good boy for me, baby. So obedient.” You take your fingers away. “Lay back on the desk,” you tell him.

He shifts to sit on the edge of the desk, wincing at the feeling of the cold surface under his bare ass, then lays down on his back, his legs spreading automatically for you. You run one of your wet fingers around his puckered hole and he shivers. You push one finger into his entrance and Miguel moans loudly at the feeling, gripping the edge of the desk above his head.

“So tight for me, darling, so perfect,” you murmur. You pump your finger in and out of his hole, soon adding the second one. Miguel’s mouth falls open, his moans getting more and more high-pitched with your every move. You curl and scissor your fingers inside him and soon his legs are trembling on either side of you. “Can’t wait to breed this tight hole of yours, fuck…” You add your third finger and Miguel already looks like he could cum.

“You think you’re ready?” You ask him.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Use your words, baby boy. Please what?”

Miguel whines as you withdraw your fingers. “Please breed me, I need it!”

You quickly grab a little bottle of lube from the desk drawer, coating your dick in the cold substance. You toss the bottle to the side when you’re finished with it. You place one of Miguel’s legs over your shoulder, lining your shaft up with his entrance.

You push in slowly, watching Miguel for any signs of discomfort. His sharp claws dig into your back. His eyes roll back and his lips part, letting out one of the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard.

“Good boy, such a good boy, taking me so well,” you say, making sure every inch of you is inside his hole.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so big…”

“You can take it, I know you can,” you say as you bottom out. Miguel whimpers. You stay still for a few moments to let him adjust. When he looks up at you with red-tinted, lust filled eyes, you watch him.

“Move,” he whispers. “Please.”

“As you wish.”

You thrusts start slow, but once you start to see your dick bulging in his stomach, you increase your speed. Miguel’s loud moans fill the air, mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin while you fuck into him. You rest your hand over his stomach bulge. “This what you wanted?” You ask. “Wanted me to fuck you like a needy little whore to be bred?” You thrust into him particularly roughly, eliciting another moan from him.

“S-Sí, señor- ah, fuck…!”

“You just wanna be filled up with my cum, don’t you? Wanna have my kids, huh?”

“Please, please, please,” Miguel begs breathlessly.

“This tight little ass of yours is gonna be my personal cum dump,” you state with a sharp snap of your hips. You can tell from the moan he releases and the way he grips your shoulders that you hit his prostate. “That feel good? You like it when I say I’m gonna fill you up?”

He almost looks like he’s in a haze as he reaches towards his cock. You slap his hand away. “No touching,” you growl, hitting his prostate again.

“P-Please, sir, I’m- I’m so close!”

“Oh yeah?” You taunt. “Gonna cum without your dick touched?” You emphasize each word with a sharp thrust.

“Señor, por favor, es demasiado!”

“Take it, you little slut,” you growl, gripping his hips in a way that’ll leave bruises. “Gonna fuck you so full of my cum, baby boy.”

“Please, please, I need to cum…!”

“Cum for me, Miguel,” you order, moving one of your hands to wrap around his cock.

It takes only one stroke from you and he’s screaming your name, cumming all over his chest and your hand. The feeling of his hole clenching around your cock almost sends you over the edge, but not yet. You work him through his orgasm, stroking his shaft as you milk him. Your hand doesn’t cease its movements after he’s finished. He begins to squirm underneath you.

“Señor,” he whines. “Es demasiado, I can’t take anymore!”

“You can and you will,” you state, once again increasing the speed of your thrusts. You can feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten.

“Señ- oh, mi maldito dios!” He exclaims when you swipe your thumb over the sensitive tip of his cock. “Santa mierda!”

“I’m close, baby, you’re doing so well for me,” you say in a low voice, fucking him with everything you’ve got. “You’re gonna take it all and you’re not gonna spill a drop, got that?”

“Sí, sí, sí- oh mierda… jodidamente arruinarme…!”

All you have left in you to say is growling out curses as you get yourself off with Miguel’s hole. Your hand is no longer on his cock, but bending his legs so his knees are up to his chest, giving you an even better angle at his prostate.

“Y/N, sir, please!” Miguel shouts. “Please, cum inside me, please…!”

With your hand on his stomach again, you feel the coil in your stomach snap. Your thrusts falter. “Fuck, Miguel!” You yell, burying your cock to the hilt in his ass, cumming harder than you have in a while. You can feel Miguel squirming underneath you, his hole clenching around you as he cums again suddenly. He’s trembling beneath you. Your balls drain, your cum painting his insides white. You see a bulge in his stomach where your cum is and feel a sense of satisfaction. You stay inside him for a moment, revelling in the feeling of having bred him.

“Good boy,” you say in a low tone. “Gonna keep that all inside, sweet boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Miguel murmurs, looking thoroughly fucked out. His claws retract and his hands drop to his sides. Your shoulders burn where his claws had dug into your skin, but you’ve always loved getting to see the marks he leaves behind.

“Good boy, Miguel, so good for me.”

You lean down and press a deep kiss to his soft lips. Your tongue pokes into his mouth, feeling his fangs. You grin into the kiss. When you pull away, he takes your hand that had been jacking him off and licks off the excess cum that had been left when he had climaxed, and damn if it wasn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen.

“Let’s go home and get you cleaned up, babe,” you say gently.

You carefully help Miguel to his feet, finding his boxers on the floor. You have to help him back into them, considering he can barely move or walk properly. You help him out his suit back on as well. He hisses at the feeling of his oversensitive cock rubbing against the fabric of his underwear. You tug on your boxers and your suit as well. You know you’ll have to wash or replace both of your suits, considering there’s likely cum all over the inside of Miguel’s now, but how else were the two of you supposed to talk back to your apartment? Naked?

As tempting as it is to show everyone that Miguel isn’t so scary under the right circumstances, you wouldn’t do that to him. Plus, you’d like to keep that sight for yourself.

You have to support Miguel as the two of you walk, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Anyone who questions his stiff movements look to you for an answer. “Rough mission,” you reply with a smirk.

————————

Miguel leans against the wall next the door to your shared apartment, waiting for you to dig out your key. You do about 75% of the Macarena to locate it, jamming it in the keyhole and letting the two of you in. You lock the door behind you when you’re both inside.

“How you feeling, hot stuff?” You tease gently, giving Miguel a once-over.

“Sticky,” he admits quietly.

You grimace. “Sorry. Shower?”

“Can’t stand properly,” he says, a tone of humour in his voice even though you can tell he’s still feeling pretty stiff.

“Bath?” You suggest. He nods tiredly.

Miguel uses the wall to hold himself up as the two of you make your way to the bathroom. You walk more quickly so as to get the water running. While the tap is on, the water warming up, you move to help Miguel get rid of his suit again. You set it by the door so you can remember to wash it later. You do the same with your own. As you help Miguel out of his boxers, he sucks in a breath through his teeth; his cock is still sensitive and you’d just accidentally brushed it with your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“’S’alright,” he mumbles. He turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the heel of your hand. You smile at him, then finish helping him undress. You set his underwear aside with his suit, again doing the same with your own.

You lean forward and softly connect your lips with Miguel’s in a loving kiss.

“I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too, mi vida.”

“In all seriousness, though, are you alright?”

“Soy perfecto, querido,” he says assuringly. “A little achy, maybe, but I’m alright.”

“If I ever go to far-”

“I’ll tell you. Promise.” He kisses you again.

The two of you slip into the warm water, Miguel resting between your legs and leaning his back against your chest. You press a kiss to the back of his ear and he hums contentedly.

“Comfortable?” You ask. Miguel nods.

You help him clean up the mess you’d both made, happy to feel him relax under your touch. He’s been tense all the time. Any moment of comfort and rest you can bring him, you’ll do it. As much as you love him, he’s been off for a while now, always tense and grumpy. Nothing you couldn’t handle, but it still worried you. He wasn’t always like this.

You had your suspicions as to why - or, rather, who - was making him feel like this, but you knew you shouldn’t mention her. She’d deny it a thousand times over, and you weren’t sure Miguel would believe you either.

“You’re safe, my love,” you say quietly, wrapping your arms around him.

“Thank you.” He pauses for a moment, then he tenses. “Oh, shit, my desk-”

“We’ll go back, it’s okay,” you answer quickly. You reach one hand up and run your fingers through his hair. His posture softens, leaning comfortably against your chest again. “We’ll clean up that mess after we’re done with this one. Okay?”

He nods slowly. “Okay.” His eyes close a little; he’s tired, and you know it. He’s been tired for a long time.

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’d say we’re pretty much cleaned up, so how about we dry off and you curl up in bed, and I’ll go back and fix your desk.”

“But-”

“I know how you organize it,” you reassure him. “And I’ll swing there and back, so I won’t be gone long. Is that okay?” Miguel hesitates. “Baby, you need rest,” you remind him, gently rubbing his arm.

He sighs tiredly but he nods. You kiss the nape of his neck. He leans his head back to rest on your shoulder, looking at you with exhausted brown eyes.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you tease softly. He grins lazily.

“Hi.”

#miguel o'hara #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara smut #x male reader #x male top reader #sub!miguel o’hara #spider man #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099

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soaps-mohawk · 5 months ago

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Important Things For This Blog

I wanted to make a post with some rules/important things to know for this blog. It will be linked in my pinned navigation post. I know some of you have been asking for this and I apologize for it taking this long to do this.

Probably the most important thing (which is sad that this is something I have to say) but

UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES DO YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION TO USE MY FICS FOR AI

If you see someone using my fics or claiming to have my permission please report them because I will NEVER give permission for my fics to be used for AI

Okay, now that that's out of the way, I wanted to put down some reminders/rules (not that I've had many issues to date) but just in case:

This is an 18+ blog with explicit content. I am trusting a lot of you to be honest and stay away if you are not 18. This is not a minor friendly space.

I am one person running this blog. It's just me, a real person behind all of this.

I am in Pacific Standard Time (PST)/Pacific Daylight Time (PDT) depending on the time of year, so any time I talk about days, I'm meaning that day for me if I forget to add the timezone.

I take a break from this blog on Thursdays (PST), though that can sometimes start as early as Wednesday afternoons and can extend into Friday mornings.

Again, I am a human being with my own struggles and some days are not good days. I try to avoid interacting too much those days, but sometimes I'm not smart enough to do that. So if I seem off or rude or snappy, I do apologize. I always feel guilty after I get back into my normal head space.

I invoke the right to delete any ask that I do not want to answer, or that makes me uncomfortable.

As point number 2 states, I am just one person, and I get a lot of asks some days, so if your ask/comment/reblog etc isn't responded to right away, it's either because I didn't get it/didn't see it, or because I have 30 others in my inbox that I haven't answered yet too.

I try and avoid posting asks/reblogs with spoilers right away for those that don't/can't read the chapter right away. I tend to hold off for a couple days so if I haven't responded to you, that's also probably why.

Responses that have spoilers and are posted the days I post spoilers are tagged with "crcb spoilers" so block that tag if you don't want to see them or have anything spoiled, though after those days I stop tagging things with that tag.

I use my queue a lot, especially on days where I don't plan to be on Tumblr much, or days I post spoilers. I try to remember to use the tag "queue 06" when I'm using the queue.

Regarding CRCB exclusively, I have taken a lot of time to make and organize several lore/FAQ masterlists. If you ask a question that has already been answered there (which to be fair I do miss adding some sometimes) I will direct you there to avoid repeating myself.

The navigation post pinned on my page is there for a reason. Please utilize it.

If you would like to be on my taglist, please follow soaps-mohawk-taglist and turn notifications on as I will post there every time I post a new chapter/fic

I do not tolerate any hate or disrespect on this blog, towards me or others. You will be blocked, anon or not.

Please be respectful of me, my rules, my boundaries, and the reminders above, and most importantly, remember there is just one living, breathing human being behind this blog.

Now for the part most of you have been asking for, the things that I'm not comfortable writing. If it's not on this list, or if you are unsure, please ask if it's something I'm comfortable writing. I won't get upset if you ask for clarification.

Pedophilia (including lolicon & shotacon)

Age Play

Beastiality

Detailed Domestic Abuse

Detailed Child Abuse

Emetophilia

Olfactophilia

Scat

Cheating

Rape*

Child Death

Hurt/No Comfort

Pregnancy (Anything in the realm of pregnancy)**

RacePlay

Formicophilia

Pecattiphilia

Some specific violent situations (including ones with kids)

Embarrassment

Animal abuse and death

*It depends on the scenario/my own state of mind at the time. It's not a hard no, but it really just depends.

**I know I've answered some pregnancy (and child death) things in the past but it's just not something I'm comfortable with going forward.

Honestly it's just best to ask if you're unsure, about anything listed above. I'm just asking for everyone to be respectful of me and my rules, as well as everyone else, so we can keep things as they have been.

Have a Gaz just because

#sorry this took so long to make #I was going to do it but then I kept forgetting and getting distracted #this is not an all inclusive list there are probably things I have forgotten #so please just ask if you need clarity or you're unsure

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rbbrbikerthorp · 1 year ago

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The Fitting Room Is This Way

I got the inspiration for this story from a GIF, which must have been a looped clip taken from a video called "Abducted". I used a generative AI platform to create a couple of the images - not bad for a first effort?

“Why don't you just try something on? I think it look like a second skin on you and will suit you very much. Here, the fitting room is this way…”

"Errrrrrm," was about all I could muster as a reply. I tore my eyes away from the rails of black and multicoloured rubber that had absorbed my attention for more minutes than I care to say. I turned my head to see what I can only describe as an attractive young male with orange and green hair, multiple piercings and more tattoos than I'd ever seen on a body. I'm not usually stuck for words, but this time I was.

It was the first time I'd ever crossed the threshold of any adult store, let alone a fetish store. I was actually on a business trip to the city for a couple of days to meet with a bunch of different customers. I'd arranged to meet one of them for dinner this evening, but something had come up and they had to cancel. With time on my hands, my curiosity got the better of me. I walked the short distance from the hotel into what people might describe as a 'seedy' part of the city and walked through one of two doorways that would change my life - forever.

"Look, you've been gawking at these garments for at least ten minutes, so something must have piqued your interest," the shop assistant said grinning in a somewhat sinister way.

The truth is he was absolutely right. I had a real fetish for rubber, but it wasn't something I could share. If I didn't use an incognito browser, a casual glance at my web history would show me landing on websites with videos and pictures of men in rubber and stories of men being turned into rubbermen, from beasts to slaves.

The assistant looked me up and down, "yes I can see why you are captivated by the rubber suits - so much more exciting than a business suit to wear, and it will hug and show off your best bits," he giggled to himself as he grabbed two or three suits off the rails.

"Right one of these will be perfect for you. It will feel like a second skin. So much so, that I don't think you'll ever want to take it off."

There was that ominous grin again.

"Follow me. It's this way to the fitting room"

He walked deeper into the basement and towards a set of dark doors. Was there a fitting room really this way? I'd never been in a fetish store before but I'd read a few stories about what was inside. He pushed on the door, it opened slowly. Very little light emanated from inside. “Come on”, he said jovially. I followed like a puppy dog follows its mother.

Inside the room I could just about make out the shapes of muscular men in shiny dark clothing. Several hands grabbed me, restraining me before I knew what was happening. At first I struggled against my captors but one came up to me and held a mask over my nose and mouth; I heard a hissing sound. I felt a kind of euphoria cone over me. My struggles evaporated and I allowed myself to be led deeper into the room. Now that I was next to these men I could tell they were wearing similar outfits to the ones I’d seen on the rails back in the shop, and their heads were enclosed in some kind of hood/gas mask combination.

I looked at the assistant standing there holding the rubber suits whilst I was stripped of my clothing. Now naked, they started rubbing what I can only describe as an oily cream all over me. One of the dark rubber-suited men walked over to the assistant, who handed him one one of the rubber suits. He walked back towards me and took the suit off the hanger. Two other lifted my left foot off the floor and he started sliding it in, then they put my foot back on the floor and he repeated the process with the right foot.

Then it was a simple process; to gently and very erotically guide the rubber suit all the way up my body. As they did they smoothed out any bumps, making sure the rubber clung to every millimetre of my body. Just before the suit covered my groin, I looked down to see one of the men fitting a device over my cock and felt another slide something into my arse. At first he struggled, so he squeezed something onto it and started pushing at my sphincter. At first it met a resistant from a hole that had only known 'one-way' traffic. suddenly I felt a ‘pop’ and my arse felt 'nice and full' (where did that come from).

The men carried on smoothing the rubber suit as they pulled it up my torso until it reached my chest. Then, one at a time my arms were fed into the suit. The shop assistant walked up to me and fitted what I can only describe as mitts over my hands. I stood there, a spectator in my own body, watching as the flesh was covered with black latex. Then the suit was zipped up to my neck. I felt a mild construction and heard a snap. The assistant walked around in front of me and held up a broken zip. His grin now a haunting smile.

Before I could react I felt something rubbery being brought to my face, I could see lenses and a place for my nose to fit in. I started breathing more rapidly as a sense of unease started to build. Despite my fears I allowed the men to fit the mask over my face, the mask seemed to be part of a hood because the next thing I sense was a zip being pulled from the top of my head down to meet the top of the suit at my neckline. My head now felt as constricted as my body.

Through the lenses I could see my captors. Then I heard voices in my ears. Mini speakers in the hood activated, “welcome brother, welcome to the nest. From here we grow, we spread, we convert and we conquer.”

There was just white noise now. The lenses darkened and my vision blacked out. Then instantly there were spirals, shapes and words imprinted on the lenses. Voices in my head said, “Rubberdrone”, “obey”, “comply”, “convert”. Over and over the words bombarded my head until...nothing. My own thoughts stopped. The lenses cleared to let this newly created rubberdrone see the room again, the voices in my ears stopped.

In front of me were half a dozen rubber drones lined up. To the side I could recognise the shop assistant. I instinctively knew to join at the back of the line. The assistant opened the door and we started moving forward.

#rubber #drone #conversion #slave #gas mask #boots

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peggyao3 · 3 months ago

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Relic - Pt. 8 "Rowing in Eden"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: 18+, smut, she/her AFAB FMC, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum, Feyd-Rautha's big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, Frank Herbert would frown, some politics, implied/referenced (child) abuse ❗, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts ❗, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable!Feyd, Emotional!Feyd, Possessive!Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, implied/referenced cannibalism ❗, implied/referenced murder

WORD COUNT: 4.6k

A/N: Saw myself forced to split this chapter in half becase you won't catch me uploading a 10k chaptie 😭 Hence why the alternative title for this one is "Blue Balls" 💙🥰

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

← Previous Chapter, Next Chapter →

Giedi Prime, Day 4

Quietly, she stands on the balcony of her room, forearms on the banister as a stormy breeze ruffles her clothes. The wind brings no refreshment, it only moves the smog around.

The city below reminds her of Neu-Seoul paired with industrial power plants as far as the eye can see and post-apocalyptic wasteland, a planet groaning and moaning for plant life and to be freed of the human plague that festers on its crust, much like Old Earth. She is quite used to toxic air, but this atmosphere is a little worse even than that of her former home.

A rumbling crack had startled her yesterday while she was trying to inconspicuously scan the Harkunnin language and grammar from the audiovisual filmbook recording that was given to her. Her personal maid, a woman named Lilia, had reassured her that that was just the volcanic activity deep within the bowels of the planet and nothing to worry about.

The engineer from Old Earth has a slightly different opinion on that, but she had thanked Lilia with a smile and rewinded the filmbook to proceed committing the data to her chip.

Looking over her shoulder now, she sees Lilia's pale, bald head moving about, filling the wardrobe with clothes that have just been delivered. The Harkonnen woman doesn't seem as malnourished as the ones she had seen on her first day.

The relic doesn't like the fact that a stranger has access to her chambers where her sarcophagus stands, folded back together so that nothing visually gives away any of the heresy inside.

A notification lights up her virtual interface. The AI tool has finished compiling the Harkunnin vocabulary and sorted it in an appealing, searchable array. Now she only needs to acquire a filmbook about Galach and scan that too, so she can start cross referencing in her virtual, little lexicon. Her eyes focus back on the room and the interface dissolves when she takes notice of Lilia's pale hand waving at her.

"Your new pants, my Lady!" The maid lifts a pile of garments, some of them even colorful. The Lady had (unknowingly) requested colors which are expensive to import, the costliest one being purple. Of course, such expenditures are to be expected for the new Lady of House Harkonnen and Lilia had spared neither trouble nor expenses to ensure her wardrobe is as she desires. Being assigned to the woman from Old Earth, a place which Lilia had assumed to be only the stuff of mysteries, is the best promotion that ever could have happened to the maid.

"I love them already. I can't go another day with my bare thighs touching under these gowns." The woman steps into the suite, pulling the balcony door and the curtains shut so the color stealing sunlight is barred out. Lilia looks at her like she doesn't quite understand the remark about her thighs, though that may be due to the fact that Harkonnens, regardless of gender, appear to be completely and entirely hairless except for their lashes.

"Can I try them on?" The relic asks, pointing at the trousers.

"Of course you can, my Lady. Like I said, you don't need to ask me for permission for anything."

"But it's good manners to ask."

Lilia likes this woman even though she asks curious questions sometimes, such as how high her salary is and if she has health insurance, followed by a lengthy explanation about what health insurance is. She likes her because she talks to her like she's a human, which is typically something that no one above her rank ever does, save for Lilia's own husband.

The new pants fit perfectly and there is no need to try them all on, but she does so anyway because it's fun and it distracts her from the painful waiting for her beloved.

"When will Feyd be here?" She finally inquires after the eighth pair of pants which she keeps on because they're comfortable.

"I'm afraid I don't know, my Lady. The na-Baron has a busy schedule."

That he does, she grimly notes. He never used to be so busy in their dreams, she had him all for herself. After 24,000 years of sleep and 2 years with the Bene Gesserit, she only just got him back. Is it wrong of her to want to spend every minute of every day with him?

Lilia suggests: "If it pleases you, I could do your makeup before the na-Baron arrives."

"Ah, that's very kind of you, but no thank you."

Lilia seems to be the multi-purpose kind of handmaid, being a skilled seamstress and stylist who even boasts experience with hair, a rare skill set on Giedi Prime. Proudly, Lilia had proclaimed that she has a personal knack for medicine and trauma management without leaving but a scar. The relic still wonders if this is a commonly needed skill around here…

"Then I'll leave you to your own devices." Lilia hasn't failed to notice the oftentimes absent look in the Lady's eyes, as if she's not quite there. Although the maid is impossibly curious and precariously drawn to danger (a trait which she has learned to suppress), she won't urge the foreigner for stories or company. They're not friends.

The relic glances over when her handmaid slips out of the room and the open door briefly reveals the guard who is stationed in front of it. She can only hope he has been placed there to keep unwelcome visitors out, not to keep her inside. So far, she's had no desire to test it.

Neither the idea of leaving her Sarcophagus unattended nor wandering around the palace pyramid on her lonesome seem awfully inviting.

She returns to the balcony, forearms on the banister, and her expression flattens. Melancholy glazes over her eyes and she summons the interface to blank out the depressing concrete jungle that spews smog into the sky from roaring chimneys. The only improvement is that she is now wearing pants.

While she should start studying the Harkunnin language or delve into the Holtzman physics (something about it sparked vague recognition in her), she ends up loading up a serial to watch on her interface, denying herself the luxury to sit down. Because if she gets too comfortable, she fears she will forget where she is and break down as soon as she shuts off the stream.

Feyd watches her stand there, clothes ruffled by the breeze, herself unmoving in the grey light, in the toxic air. Her back is turned to him and for twenty minutes she hasn't stirred.

Carefully, he had deposited the three long-stemmed crowns of thorns on the vanity when he realized she wasn't going to turn around. They're the only native flower on Giedi prime, all thorny, dark-grey stems and white petals.

On quiet soles, he steps out on the balcony, almost breathing down her neck. All day he's been thinking of her. Every second apart is a little death and he had hoped she would fall into his arms the second he came through the door. From an angle, he studies her face, pupils dancing. She looks sad and he can't see why. For a second, he contemplates stealing the chip out of her skull when she sleeps.

But for that, they'd have to start sleeping in each other's beds first.

"What are you doing there, my darling?" A pair of toned arms encircles her from behind and she yelps, shutting down the stream and the interface.

"Feyd!" She attempts to spin around and face him, but Feyd pins her back to his chest, humming as he buries his nose in the crown of her head. She hugs his forearms against her stomach, craning her head to find his pale-blue gaze. Feyd's nose slides across her head and he kisses her forehead.

"You looked sad."

"Yes, because I've missed you." That is very much true, though she conceals the fact that rewatching her old favorite serials had nearly broken her heart. Her answer placates him for a minute and he presses the front of his body against the back of hers, squeezing her like he's seen her squeeze the stuffed animal of hers.

"How are you?" He murmurs.

"Good!" She replies a bit too quickly and inhales like a liar caught in the act.

"You don't like it," Feyd doesn't ask, he states, and disappointment reverberates in his tone. He knew this, yet his chest hollows itself out with a blunt carving knife.

"The place is just… Different than I thought." She squeezes the forearms that hold her.

"But I'm here," he mumbles and presses his nose against her temple.

"Yes, I feel better when you're here." Finally, he allows her to turn around in his embrace and face him properly. They're so close, he can feel the expansion of her thorax with every breath. Blue eyes lovingly trail over her face.

"Did your maid not offer to do your makeup?"

Her stomach sinks and she blinks quickly. "Don't you like me without makeup anymore?"

"No! That's not what I-" Feyd scrambles for words, cupping her jaws and neck. "I just wondered if she offered. If not, we'll replace her. You're supposed to have only the best maids and servants one can-"

"Stop." She interrupts him firmly, shaking herself as if to free herself from his hands, which can't be what she means, so Feyd keeps holding her. "Lilia is wonderful, I don't want her replaced."

"Hmmph." Feyd gives his agreement and wonders if she had ever called him 'wonderful'. Slowly, he lowers his face, closes his eyes and slots his lips against hers, moving sensually as he presses their bodies flush. Her spine pushes right against the banister and her breasts against his chest. All day, he's been fantasizing about this. Today he'll finally be brave enough and take her to bed, there's nothing to be afraid of.

But he can tell she's thinking, thinking again, always thinking so much instead of giving herself to him unconditionally.

She kisses him with closed lips, like a parting gift before she speaks. "There are… Things that I feel like we should talk about."

Feyd exhales a short, hard breath against her face. "Like what?"

"I can't kiss you without thinking of, well, everything," she sighs and gestures over her shoulder. "This planet is… I don't know what I expected."

"Then let's go inside, so you don't have to see the planet." Feyd tugs on her waist and she allows him to guide her inside, walking backwards and pulling her with him. But when he attempts to kiss her, she clutches his lapels and shakes her head.

"It's not just that. It's the people. You're keeping slaves to work at your palace."

Not only in the palace, Feyd thinks to himself. If she knew about the slave fields…

"No one is having fun, everyone looks the same and everyone seems to be scared for their lives!" She inhales harshly and Feyd's fingers trail down her waist and spine, proactively grasping at the fabric in case she wants to tear away from him.

A muscle along his jaw flexes lightly before he speaks. "Well you don't survive wars by having fun and being fair to other humans, do you?"

"No, but-" she stumbles. "That was different. We left Earth with a higher purpose, to save our species from extinction. It was logistically impossible to bring every single human to a new home."

"We also serve a higher purpose. To maintain our status and power among the Great Houses, we cannot grant every citizen the luxury of free will."

"But not like this." She clutches his lapels like she wants to strangle him, or at least someone. "This is terrible."

"Well, I live here," Feyd grates out. "I didn't choose to live here. And it just is like that." He had chosen to live here at an age at which one cannot make sensible decisions yet.

"But you could do something. You're the na-Baron, right? You could change something."

"You're right, I'm the na-Baron," he grimly states.

"Lilia said, if she gets hurt, she needs to stitch up herself and she'll be dismissed without recompensation if she finds herself unable to perform her tasks anymore." She looks at Feyd expectantly who stares over her head at the roiling cityscape out the balcony door and shrugs his shoulders. "Do you at least agree that the staff around here are treated unfairly? It is proven that employee satisfaction and work efficiency correlate strongly."

"I don't know," he grumbles and refrains from telling her that the correlation between the threat of a blade between the ribs and work efficiency can hardly be beaten. The relic takes note of how annoyed Feyd looks, like he's been talked into a corner. What he really says is 'I don't care'.

Slowly searing under her expectant stare, Feyd continues: "Sorry. But I don't want to change the world, I have bigger concerns."

"Such as the fact that I'm not kissing you?" She almost scoffs a little, remembering a moment which feels like a lifetime ago, and her heart aches in her chest, knowing exactly that's not what he meant.

"For example…" Feyd brings one hand to her face and caresses her cheek softly, fingertips moving tentatively from temple to jaw. "You didn't ask me about my day."

"Oh, Feyd, I'm so sorry." Her shoulders fall and she feels horrible for jumping him with her concerns, but who else could she talk to, who else could she trust? The grasp on his lapels becomes yearning and clingy, exactly how he likes it.

Softly, she asks: "Is everything okay?" The lingering sub question is: Did he hurt you?

"I'm okay," Feyd hums and a dreamy, little smile slips over his face.

"Are you sure?" She cups his cheeks and looks at him insistently. All of her attention is finally only his and Feyd seizes the moment, delving down to kiss her, cupping the back of her head. This time, he will not be deterred.

Further questions are muffled by Feyd's pillowy lips on hers, kissing her with such determination that her belly is flooded with heat and she whimpers quietly in his mouth when he walks her backwards. Soon the back of her knees hit the mattress and she sinks down, bones melting like jelly when Feyd-Rautha crawls over her like a big cat, his body as hard and heavy as it was the first time they made love.

"No lucid dream this time," he whispers against her wet lips and settles on her chest, relishing the feel of her softness beneath him. His fingers trail downwards with a purpose, stopping occasionally to squeeze her breasts, her waist, her tummy, all the parts that he likes. Calloused fingertips slip beneath her waistband and across her venus mound.

Oh God, to be touched like this in real life! It's been over 24,000 years. She gasps so loudly when he touches her clit that it makes Feyd smile from ear to ear. "That's right, we're finally together," he breathes against her open mouth, drawing small circles on the tender bud, though his wrist is restrained by the waistband of her trousers. "And you're every bit as sweet and wet for me as in the dream."

His eyes are closed. It's easier to talk to her like that. Feyd feels like he's 13 and having his first proper time all over again, except this time he actually wants the girl to like him.

"Feyd," she mewls, fingers curled around the back of his head, nails digging slightly into his nape.

"Hmm?" He hums against her mouth, tongue barely wanting to leave hers.

"Feels so good… Ahhh!" Feyd-Rautha's fingers have slipped further south, two of them sinking tentatively into her cunt and filling her up. With short back and forth of his digits, he makes her thighs fall open wide and her pelvis buck against his damp palm.

Shyness be damned, he needs to see her. So he swiftly stands up, sucks his fingers clean and pulls her pants and underwear (It's strange seeing a woman in pants) down her legs. While he's at it, he discards his shoes and suit jacket too, enjoying the range of motion his sleeveless tunic offers him.

Pale arms cage her when he climbs back on her. His woman shuffles backwards so her head lies properly on the pillow. Feyd would have ravaged her on the cold floor tiles too, but she likes it comfortable, and so does he, but only with her and only in secret.

He wants to eat her cunt until she cries his name, but her fingers have formed a manacle around the nape of his neck, pulling their foreheads flush while her knee nudges against his thigh, falling open for him once more. His fingers return obediently to the joy of sinking into her wet, squishy cunt and Feyd breathes wordless adoration against her parted lips, eyes hooded, cock hard, his chest a flurry of quick panting.

How badly, how madly, how deeply he loves her. He should finally tell her.

"Will you, ahh, eat me out like during our first time?" She whines, lashes fluttering open while her pelvis needily grinds against the steady pace of his hand.

"I'll touch you however you please, my Lady," Feyd purrs, thumb brushing over her tender nub.

"Why, ahhh, why are you calling me that? Lilia called me that too."

"Because you're my Lady Harkonnen."

To be his Lady - whatever that exactly means - fills her cheeks with warmth and drives her pelvis upwards, because she likes the way it sounds. "But I already have a last name," she pants. Feyd cocks his head to the side, fingers slowing down, and a foreboding overcomes her.

"You know they gave you to me as my bride?"

"Gave me to you?!" Her blissful expression dissolves at once and she sharply sits up, forcing Feyd to withdraw his hand unless he'd like to have his wrist snapped. "I'm not your property."

"Well, no, you're my wife." He looks at her pleadingly. "Or, you will be, very soon."

His woman puffs herself up and for a moment he thinks she's going to explode not with the bliss he had meant to bring her, but with rage.

"How come I wasn't made aware of that? Do marriages no longer require consent from both sides?"

"I thought it was self-explanatory." Helplessly, he lifts his arms and shoulders in a gesture of defense. Two fingers of his right hand glitter obscenely with her essence.

"It is not." She stares at him with wide, steely eyes and her fingers reach for his clothed knee, clutching it tightly. "Mankind really has gone back to the middle ages," she snaps. "No computers, and women are treated like cattle."

"I don't know what middle ages means, only that you are my bride," Feyd scowls.

"You don't realize how backwards this is, do you?" She tries to find compassion for his self-assured tone, the pouty lip and the stubborn eyes. "I can't believe you would…"

She shakes her head firmly, biting back disappointment. They never used to have arguments like this, or arguments at all. It used to be only love and comfort and desire and now she feels like her rose-colored glasses have been yanked off her face and replaced with a filter of monochromatic awfulness.

"I would… What? Want you as my wife? Of course I want you as my wife. You're the only one I'd ever even consider."

"No, you're not listening." Huffing, she slumps back down, knees pressed together. Feyd can still see her slick-glistening cunt peeking out enticingly between her thighs but decides to keep his hands to himself while his betrothed is so angry. She sighs heavily and hates how this last sentence made her feel - belly full of pulsing butterflies. "Fine, let's talk about this some other day and let's pick up where we left off?"

"As you wish, my Lady," Feyd coos, calloused hands slipping over her knees. Pleasant goosebumps break out all across her flesh and her fingers slide down to tangle with his. She's missed him so terribly, she could cry.

"We have protection, yes?"

"Protection?" He frowns and his woman's fingers freeze threateningly on his knuckles. "No one would dare disturb us here. I'll take care of you-"

"Protection from pregnancy, you idiot!" She almost slaps him square across the apple of his stupid cheek and her livid expression stops his crawling advance over her body.

Feyd flinches, eyes blown wide with surprise and he looks five years younger like this. Immediately, she feels awful and doesn't dare to imagine how awful she would have felt had she actually slapped him.

"But didn't you leave Earth to colonize your Solar System?"

"I'm an engineer, not an incubator."

"But we didn't take any precautions when we-"

"We were dreaming! Feyd, please. Don't give me an aneurysm and don't make me strangle you."

"Okay, okay…" Cautiously, he pulls away, glancing at his scared woman before he bends down to his discarded jacket.

"Thank you," she sighs more softly. She does want him, wants to feel him everywhere, on her and in her. Looking at the shape of his broad back and narrow waist, she wants him so badly that it hurts.

Feyd pulls a small device from the pocket and clips it behind his ear. When he begins to utter guttural words in the language she doesn't yet understand (Her interface helpfully flashes, identifying the words as Harkunnin, along with an error message about incomplete reference data), she identifies the device as a transmitter.

"Getting us a contraceptive," Feyd mutters when he is done and lets the transmitter vanish in his pocket. "Can I kiss you while we wait? We don't need protection for that…"

God, he pouts, he actually pouts and she can't help but open her arms for him. Immediately, Feyd settles on top of her, chest flush against hers. One thigh pushes between her legs and she grows aware of the hard length confined by his trousers, his cock hot and solid as it grinds against her hip with soft, rutting movements.

Their pleasure is short-lived. A knock on the door drives them apart, or rather, his woman urges him away like she's ashamed to be seen making out with her own betrothed.

"Come in!" She calls and Lilia enters, carrying a tray with two ampules. The woman decidedly avoids eye contact with the na-Baron and bows deeply when he takes the delivery from her hands. Without a word, she scurries away.

"These are quick and effective. We also have formulas with a more long lasting effect. These give us about twenty-four hours," Feyd declares and swallows his dose without delay. His cock is leaking into his pants and he might just go insane if he waits any longer. He won't tolerate any further distractions. Technically, she doesn't need to take her dose on top of his, but Feyd already knew she would have freaked out if she didn't have her own.

She accepts the ampule and looks like she's immensely relieved that they have contraceptives at all around here. But of course they do. The na-Baron can't go around and impregnate every pet he's ever fucked.

His woman's eyes are focused and he realizes she's probably scanning the ampule. By the look on her face, she is not satisfied with the result.

"So, the effect is immediate?"

"Give it a minute or so, but yes." Feyd regards her with hooded eyes and reaches for her waist. When she slips away again, he is seriously tempted to take her to a playroom instead and shackle her to the headboard, fuck her until both of their bodies are numb and her chip is fried.

The engineer climbs off the bed and squats in front of the cryo pod, opening up the BioChem compartment. Equipment that she is not the most familiar with unfolds rapidly in front of her, offering her a tiny workstation. Instructions race over her interface, accompanied by a voiceover directly into her head.

"What are you doing?" Feyd growls with a voice as rough as a whetstone when she brings out a petri dish and drips a tiny droplet of the supposed contraceptive on there. She can barely hear Feyd over the voiceover so she sees herself forced to switch it off when stomping footsteps approach her from behind. "What. Are. You. Doing?"

"Just analyzing a sample real quick. I'm no biologist, but the medical module of the Sarcophagus' program should be able to tell me if-"

"Are you serious?" He barks. "I want to sleep with you." His arms wrap around her waist and drag her backwards, face buried in her neck, lips warm and wet against her skin, nibbling and kissing. She just barely manages to push the petri dish in the slot where it belongs.

"Feyd, wait!" She struggles against his hold though her core floods with heat under the assault of his lips. This is how people end up pregnant - because someone's lips and hands felt too good. "Why are you so… So angry?"

"Why are you so scared of me, and fighting me?! It's just me."

"I'm not scared, I'm just-"

"Don't lie! You are scared, I can see it in your eyes. And you think I'd betray you and give you a faux contraceptive."

With great power of will, she tears her neck away from his lips and spins around in his arms, walking him backwards until his thighs hit the edge of the bed and his knees bend. He looks up with big eyes, pleading and angry, pouty lips parted just a sliver, revealing the inkiness of his teeth behind them.

Feyd is convinced that she will slap him, the way she looks down at him like no woman ever has in his life, but she only cups his face firmly with both hands.

"I'm sorry but I will complete this test. I trust you, but I don't trust anyone else. Do we really know whose hands have prepared these ampules?"

He looks like a kicked puppy, or more like an alligator with a currently closed maw full of sharp teeth. But she also sees the acceptance in his gaze and that he deeply admires her wit.

"Fine then." Wistfully, he lets the fabric of her shirt slip from his fingers as she turns away.

This isn't how she had expected her next encounter with the BioChem compartment to go. Squatting bare-assed on the floor while the man she's in love with paces up and down behind her like a tiger in a cage. From her interface, which is permanently linked to the Sarcophagus as long as she's in range, she selects the molecular analysis tool, giving some pointers by adding that the sample at hand is assumed to be a contraceptive.

Estimated time: 47 seconds

"How long will this take?" Feyd rumbles.

"Only a minute."

"Why didn't you say that sooner!" He stops the pacing and watches, finding a modicum of appreciation for the scarily multifunctional metal block that dominates her room. Surely there are other uses for the sarcophagus that no human in his universe has ever even dreamed of.

"Oh, thank God," she sighs.

Analysis complete…

Rowing in Eden – Ah, the Sea! Might I but moor – Tonight – In Thee! - Wild Nights - Wild Nights! by Emily Dickinson, 1861

A/N: In the next chapter they're finally doing it, I swear 😩

TAG LIST:

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@esolean, @szapizzapanda, @coastalcowgirl35

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starlight-and-snowflakes · 1 year ago

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5 strategies that have improved my executive functioning in 2023

1. Preparing tasks in advance

This tip has been one of the most useful things for me to be able to actually get the things I want to do done without getting stuck in the process. I am very prone to difficulties with task initiation and task switching. Basically I've found that if I check what activities are upcoming for that day in my calendar (but you can use any task that you want to do sometime that day) then I set the task up in advance it's a lot easier to actually do the task.

So if my goal is to stream after dinner then I turn my pc on and have my setup ready to go before dinner. If I want to do a Pilates workout I set up my mat an hour before I actually want to do the workout. If I want to go to the gym I get into gym clothes at the start of the day so I don't have to change later.

I basically eliminate all the difficult prep work and then I find doing the task so much easier when I get to it.

2. Task switching when stuck

A lot of neurodivergent people have issues with getting 'stuck' or 'frozen', myself included. Whether it's autistic inertia or decision paralysis or something else it's very common to find yourself unable to do anything at all. You'll know that even if you put your phone away or stop what you're doing you'll just continue to sit there doing nothing.

The solution to this for me has consistently been to switch goal. I want to get up and shower but can't? I'll find that I can pull my laptop out and get some work done instead (and then shower after lunch later in the day). I am stuck when I want to stream? I find I can do my skincare instead (and I ended up streaming the next day).

Yes this means you don't get your original goal done when you wanted but you get something done, and something is better than nothing.

3. Task chaining

I've found that task chaining is the easiest way for me to get multiple tasks done. It's basically building upon your success. Take the example from my task switching section where I couldn't get myself to start streaming so I decided to do my skincare instead. While doing skincare I remembered I wanted to ask my brother about a particular product. So suddenly I'm capable of going to ask him about it. I couldn't even get out of bed before but now I have the motivation to move (I keep my skincare next to my bed so I didn't have to get up prior to this). After talking to him I decide I can go downstairs and make tea (something I originally wanted to do before streaming but was too stuck to do). While downstairs my mother tells me that she has a pile of laundry for me. I decide to take it back upstairs and put it away immediately. While doing so I figure I may as well sort all the laundry that's piled up on my floor as well.

I've gone from not doing anything to completing 4 separate tasks. If I wanted to get up and put the clothes on my floor away originally I'd never have been able to do it. I built on my successfully completed tasks and chained them together. Of course you should still remember to rest after chaining a number of tasks together.

4. Prioritise harder tasks earlier

I get all my energy at the start of the day and feel quite tired by the end of the day. This is how most people feel due to how our circadian rhythms function. Because of this I have found it's a lot easier to get difficult tasks done in the morning.

So now instead of trying to clean my room or go to the gym at 5pm I'll do it at 9am. I'll save 5pm for my easy tasks, things like studying Korean, meditating, studying geography, and coding. Take some time to figure out which tasks you find easy and which you find hard. If you consistently find yourself unable to do a task that's a hint that it's difficult for you. Vice versa if you're consistently capable of a task it might be a sign it's an easier one for you.

5. Using an AI scheduler

I saved this one for last, not because it's ineffective, it's actually made a huge difference in my life. But it does cost money to take full advantage of this so I put it down the bottom. Still there's a lot to be said for using an AI scheduler. I hate choosing what to do and have always preferred to be told what tasks I should do each day. It also takes a huge amount of mental energy to decide what tasks I should do when each week and organise them in advance.

Enter Reclaim, the AI scheduler of my dreams (there are lots of other ones on the market too like Motion! Take a look around and see if you can find one you like but unfortunately they all seem paid). Reclaim does have a free version but for me their paid version is necessary to achieve my goals.

I set up all my tasks and habits in Reclaim, I can customise how often I want to do things, how long they should take, and what hours I have free. Then I just check my calendar each day and see what tasks I'm meant to do. If I end up taking more time than expected I just hit the 'reschedule' button on a task and it's automatically slotted in somewhere else that week. This has definitely made one of the biggest changes to my quality of life I could probably make a whole separate post about using Reclaim.

That's all the tips that have worked for me this year so far, maybe some of them might help you!

#actually autistic #actually neurodivergent #executive dysfunction #adhd #autism #executive function #long

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captainsophiestark · 8 months ago

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Like Home

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for my personal fic writing challenge for 2024, Sophie's Year of Fic! Featuring a new fic being posted every Friday, all year long :)

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Summary: When a serious magical threat comes to Mystic Falls and puts Josie and Lizzie at risk, Caroline and Ric send Klaus' ex down to New Orleans to seek safe harbor for the girls with him. Or, what if Y/N went to New Orleans instead of Caroline, and Klaus was free to see them.

Word Count: 2,966

Category: Angst, Fluff

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

I chewed my lip as I stared up at the building before me. If this were any other situation, I would've turned on my heel and run by now. But there were two little girls, one on either side of me, who needed me to be strong. This was their best hope of being safe, which meant all of my stuff needed to take a back seat.

I took a deep breath, trying not to let the girls sense just how nervous I was, then started heading for the door to the bar. It was the middle of the day, so hopefully no one would mind me bringing two kids in with me.

Caroline and Ric had trusted me with Josie and Lizzie, and I refused to let them down. Some new supernatural none of us knew existed had come to town and, worse, had started going after the girls. So, I'd sat down with their parents, and we'd figured out a plan to keep them safe: take them to the bigger, badder supernatural who I used to know.

My eyes scanned the bar for the familiar face of Klaus Mikaelson, and after a moment, I found him. He was leaning against the counter talking to the bartender, and I was surprised he couldn't hear my heart beating out of my chest from here. I hadn't seen him in years, and I'd also rejected him the last time I saw him. But he was the best chance the girls had, so I was just going to have to hope he didn't hate me now.

I cleared my throat, shook my nerves off as well as I could, herded the girls into a booth where I could keep an eye on them, then turned to face the bar. I found Klaus already looking at me, his arms crossed and a curious look on his face as he leaned against the counter. A wave of emotions hit me at once, but I shoved back against the feeling, squaring my shoulders and putting one foot in front of the other until I stood in front of Klaus.

"Hello, love," he said, and my heart damn near stopped in my chest. I took a deep breath. "It's good to see you again."

"It's... it's good to see you again, too."

And it was. Most of my friends had been relieved when Klaus finally left town, and they'd freaked out the minute they found out he'd come back to see me. And at the time, I'd convinced myself they were right, and that it was better he was gone. But standing before him now, that slight smirk on his face, I realized I had really, really missed him.

"So what brings you to New Orleans?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He looked past me to where the girls were playing a clapping game in the booth. "I take it it has something to do with them."

I sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"And who's the father?"

Now it was my turn to cross my arms and raise an eyebrow.

"They're actually not mine. But I'd say you don't have a lot of room to judge, considering the reason you moved to New Orleans in the first place."

"Who said I was judging? I was just trying to gauge how jealous I might need to be."

I huffed a laugh, trying and failing to hide my smile by glancing at the ground. Nik grinned at me, and for just a flash of a moment, it was like nothing had changed between us since the last time I'd seen him.

But then I heard Josie and Lizzie behind me, and I remember why I'd come here in the first place. I sighed and met Nik's eyes again.

"I need your help."

His eyebrows immediately drew together, and he straightened up from the bar, taking a half step towards me. The intensity of his worried stare made my heart melt.

"What's wrong, love?"

"There's a new supernatural in town. Or a few new ones, I guess. We're struggling a little bit to deal with them, and they've made Josie and Lizzie their targets. Caroline and Ric are their parents for all intents and purposes, and we sat down and decided our best chance at keeping the girls safe is if I left with them, alone, and came to you."

"And whose idea was that?"

"...Mine. It... actually took a lot of convincing for Ric and Caroline to let me bring them to you."

A hint of a smile flickered across Nic's face as he huffed a barely audible laugh. His beautiful blue eyes met mine with the intensity I'd seen a thousand times for both good and bad moments, and it made my heart race.

"You will always be welcome here, with me. I'll keep the three of you safe."

Relief washed over me. I closed my eyes, taking a minute, and when I opened them again I found Nik still watching me intently. I thought he might lean in for a hug or a kiss or something else, but instead, he just gave me a small smile and nodded in the direction of the girls.

"Mind introducing me?"

The girls absolutely loved Nik from the first moment they met him, and he was nothing but sweet and patient and kind. He made a few absolutely ridiculous jokes that had them falling out of their chairs laughing, and had my heart melting all over again. We left the bar together, the four of us strolling through the streets of New Orleans as Nik led us to his home. He glanced over at me a few times with the roguish smile I'd come to love, and despite the fact that I'd come here on the run to protect the girls, I couldn't help enjoying this moment with him. In different circumstances, it might've just felt right.

"We're almost home, but I just had a thought," said Nik, his arm swinging back and forth with Lizzie's as they marched down the street together. Lizzie and Josie held hands, and I did the same with Josie, making us a little chain. I turned to smile at Nik over the girls' heads.

"And what's that?" I asked. Nik smiled at me, then turned his attention to the girls.

"My favorite ice cream place in the whole of the city is very close to here. Does anyone else feel like we ought to make a pitstop?"

"YES!" the girls screamed in unison. I laughed as Nik stopped abruptly, turning on his heel and then pulling us in the other direction.

"Alright, come on then!"

The girls cheered as they marched after him, and my heart soared as I followed along behind the three of them. I'd gotten to see Nik like this every so often in Mystic Falls, but a lot of our interactions were colored by whatever drama he and his family had going on with my friends and I. Being with him, like this, and seeing him being so amazing with the girls was seriously doing something to me.

"This place really does have the best ice cream," Nik assured me as we stepped inside and joined the line, the girls bouncing excitedly in front of us as we stood shoulder to shoulder. "Hope loves it."

"Hope... how is she? How's... how's Hayley?"

Nik smirked. "They're both good. We've had our rough patches, but Hayley and I have found our rhythm as coparents despite not being together."

I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and Nik laughed.

"Now look who's trying to gauge their jealousy."

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't hold back a grin all the same.

"Whatever. But... you're happy? Being a dad, and being here, and... and everything?"

The corner of Nik's mouth quirked up, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Like anything, it's had its ups and downs. But I wouldn't trade Hope for anything in the world."

I nodded, and the two of us fell into comfortable silence as we worked our way through the line. The girls were ecstatic to try their cones, and Nik recommended his favorite flavor to me, which lived up to the hype he'd promised. The four of us wandered slowly the rest of the way to our destination, which turned out to be an absolutely massive compound in the middle of the French Quarter.

Nik pushed open the door and led us inside just as the sun began to set outside. I came to a stop in the beautiful open space just inside the front doors, staring around at it in awe.

"C'mon, love," Nik said gently, resting a hand on my back and guiding me in the direction of the stairs. "Let's get the girls settled in for the night."

I just nodded, putting my focus back on the girls as we followed Nik through the massive compound. He pushed open one of the many doors along the second floor, letting us into a bedroom with two beds. I even spotted a few kids books on the shelves to one side of the room.

I slid my eyes to Nik with a raised eyebrow, but he just shrugged.

"For Hope, and any friends she might decide to bring over when the time comes. No reason to not be prepared, especially since we have the space for it." The corner of my mouth tugged up into a smile, that warm feeling spreading in my chest again. "I'll bring a few of her pajamas in, they should fit these two alright."

"Thanks."

"Of course, love."

Between the two of us, Nik and I managed to get the girls settled down and in bed in under an hour. They'd had a long, tiring day, after all, and if I weren't practically jittering with nerves after the afternoon I'd spent with Nik I'm sure I would've been right behind them.

Instead, I found myself following him after we closed the door to the girls' room, going who knows where in this massive house in his new life since he'd left Mystic Falls. After a few moments, I couldn't really take the silence anymore, so I spoke up.

"Where are the rest of the Mikaelsons?" I asked, my voice thankfully even. "I'd expected to see at least one of the siblings by now."

Nik turned to give me a little smirk over his shoulder, and I hated that he could probably hear my heart race.

"They're busy with other things for the night. And Hope is with Hayley having a mother-daughter weekend away from everything. It's just us, tonight."

My heart sped up even more, although that shouldn't have been possible. After a moment, Nik led me into the kitchen and headed straight for the refrigerator. I took a seat at one of the high stools at the counter, watching him as he moved.

"I assume you still like hot chocolate more than most other drinks?" asked Nik without turning around. I smiled.

"Absolutely. I know it's been a little while, but come on Nik, I'm not a completely different person."

He paused to give me a smile over his shoulder, then continued in his hot chocolate preparations. I scratched at something on the counter while he worked, trying to get up the courage to talk about all the million things hanging in the air before us. Finally, I cleared my throat and forced myself to look up, watching Nik's back as I spoke.

"Thank you for this, by the way. For taking us in, even after... Well, even after I told to leave me and Mystic Falls."

Nik sighed, bringing our two mugs of hot chocolate over and setting them down on the counter before walking around to stand in front of me. We were barely an inch apart, but he didn't make a move to close the distance anymore. I'd set a boundary the last time I'd seen him, and he clearly had no intention of crossing it.

"I will always be here for you if you need me, love. If you seek me out for refuge, or to change your mind and take me up on my offer to show you the world, or even because I make the best hot chocolate in the entire world and you just can't live without it... I'll be waiting."

I stared up at Nik, a slight twinkle in his eye, as I fought to keep tears out of my own. He'd truly caused so many problems in Mystic Falls. My friends' dislike-to-hate of him made sense. But he'd always been sweet and funny, patient and kind and understanding, with me. If I was totally honest with myself, I'd been starting to fall in love with him before I'd decided to side with my friends and push him away.

"Don't cry, love. It's alright," he said, his eyes scanning my face. I hiccupped, the tears finally starting to fall, a combination of all the different emotions and stressors of my past few days coming together and overwhelming me at once. I'd held it together for the girls, but now they were in bed and taken care of, so I could safely fall apart.

I leaned forward, falling into Nik's chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around me the moment I did.

"It's alright. You're safe with me."

That brought on a whole new wave of tears, not just for the stress of the day, but for everything I'd lost with Nik, too. He just held me tighter, rubbing soothing circles on my back as I let it all out, then slowly started to calm down.

I pulled back slightly once I managed to get ahold of myself. One of Nik's hands stayed on my arm, and he brought his other hand up to gently cup my face, wiping away a few of the tears with his thumb.

"What can I do, love? Tell me how I can help you and I'll do it."

I choked back another sob, this one turning into a half-laugh.

"You've already done enough, Nik. More than enough. It's just... it's been such a long day. I feel like I've been barely holding back a complete stress breakdown for like a week, and I always had the girls with me so I had to keep it together..."

"Well then, why don't we get you settled into a room so you can get some sleep, hm? We can always talk more in the morning."

Nik started to move to help me off the stool and up to bed, but I stopped him, hands resting on his biceps. He raised an eyebrow at me but didn't move away.

"No, Nik. I don't want to talk tomorrow, I need to say this. I... I love you."

Any hint of humor or lightness dropped off Nik's face, replaced by completely serious shock. My heart was racing out of my chest, and I knew he could hear it, but I pushed on anyway.

"I think I was falling in love with you before, and I didn't want to admit it to myself. But being with you here, now... it feels right. There are a bunch of powerful murderers chasing me, trying to hurt two kids whose parents have trusted me, exclusively, with their safety, and I'm in a strange city far from anywhere I've ever called home. But for some reason I just feel... happy. Happy to see you again, happy to spend time with you, about a thousand times calmer than I was without you. You feel like home, Nik, and I love you. I just... that just feels like something you should know."

Nik's eyes had been scanning and searching my face intently the entire time I'd been talking, the slightest hint of wetness gathering in his own eyes. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth once I'd finished speaking, and he brought his hand back up to cup my face, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek.

"I don't think I've made it any secret how I feel about you, love," he said, voice soft and tender. "But in case you need to hear it again, I love you. Always and forever."

A few tears managed to sneak out and down my cheeks again, but this time I had a smile on my face. Nik's expression mirrored my own.

"Once... once all of this is over, do you think... well, maybe I could come back here. To New Orleans, once the girls are safe back home. That is, if... if your offer to follow you to New Orleans still stands from the first time you extended it?"

Nik beamed back at me. "I can honestly tell you that absolutely nothing would make me happier."

My smile grew to the point of pain as I stared up at Nik, a light in his eyes that I'd missed much more than I'd realized. I leaned forward just slightly, Nik mirroring my move as I glanced at his lips. One corner of his mouth rose higher in the troublemaking smirk that always made my heart race before he closed the rest of the distance between us, his lips meeting mine, soft at first and then with the same urgency pulsing in my heart.

I'd kissed him before, but it had always been tempered by concern for my friends, and about what they'd think. But this time, as fireworks exploded in my chest and thousands of butterflies took off in my stomach, I couldn't bring myself to care.

I was safe and happy in the arms of the man I loved, kissing him senseless. I'd missed out on a lot of times like this, but from now on, I didn't intend to let anything keep me from spending every second I could just like this, friends and insane supernatural threats be damned. Always and forever.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury @kmc1989

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

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blackroserelina · 2 months ago

Text

Once Lost Now Found

I'm not much of a writer I had to use AI to even get this done, but this is basically the story for the lost one out line I did. I'm not fully happy with it but it's what I can do.

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"Pfft, what a bust," Marinette exclaimed as she stomped into the dimly lit coffee shop. The hotel's coffee pot had decided to brew its last cup of sludge that morning, leaving her desperate for a decent caffeine fix before the big tour of Wayne Enterprise. She was in Gotham for a class trip, and the thought of facing the day without her usual buzz was as appealing as a soggy croissant.

Her eyes landed on the menu, and she felt a glimmer of hope as she spotted the "Death by Espresso" option. "Perfect," she murmured, stepping up to the counter. "One of those, please."

The barista, a young man with a slightly worried look, asked "You're sure you can handle it?"

Marinette's determination didn't waver. "Trust me, I need it."

As she waited for her drink, she heard the door chime, and in walked a figure that was both familiar and foreign to her. Tim Drake, in his casual yet expensive attire, strode in with the confidence of someone who was used to the chaos of Gotham. His eyes scanned the room, and when they met hers, he paused for a fraction of a second before ordering the same lethal concoction.

Their drinks arrived simultaneously, and they both went to grab them, "Well, I guess we have similar tastes in coffee," Tim said, noticing her bewilderment.

Marinette couldn't help but laugh nervously. "Yeah, I guess so."

Tim's eyes searched hers, and she felt a strange sense of comfort from his presence. "I'm Tim," he said, extending a hand. "Timothy Drake."

Marinette took his hand, her grip firm yet gentle. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng."

Tim's smile grew as he replied, "Nice to meet you, Marinette."

As they stepped out of the coffee shop, the harsh reality of Gotham's streets hit them like a cold wind. Marinette's eyes grew wide as she spotted the bus, her class's yellow beacon of safety, pulling away from the curb. Panic set in, and she looked around frantically for any sign of the teacher who was supposed to be looking out for her.

"You, okay?" Tim asked, his eyes narrowing at the bus's retreating figure.

Marinette nodded, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. "Yeah, I just… I can't believe they left without me."

Tim's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and concern. "That's unacceptable. You're not from around here, are you?"

Marinette nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. "It's a class trip from Paris. I won the contest to come here."

Tim's eyes widened. "Paris? That's amazing! But it's also incredibly irresponsible of them to leave you behind."

Marinette felt a warmth spread through her chest at his genuine concern. "It's okay," she lied, trying to put on a brave face. "I'm sure they'll realize and come back for me."

Tim's expression was grim. "I wouldn't bet on it. Gotham's not the safest place to be stranded, especially if you're not from around here." He checked his watch. "Look, I'm heading to Wayne Enterprise myself for some work. You can come with me, and I'll make sure you get to the tour on time."

Marinette hesitated, eyeing him warily. Gotham was a city of shadows and secrets, and she wasn't about to trust a stranger, no matter how kind he seemed. But as she focused on his aura, she felt a gentle warmth, a sense of protection and sincerity that washed away her fears. "Okay," she agreed, taking a deep breath. "Thank you, Tim."

The ride to Wayne Enterprise was filled with nervous energy, their conversation bouncing between the mundane and the profound. Tim spoke of his love for Gotham, despite its dangers, and Marinette shared her excitement for the tour, her voice filled with hope and wonder. As they approached the towering building, Marinette's heart raced.

Upon their arrival, Dick Grayson was already waiting for them. His gaze swept over the group of students, and his eyes lingered on Marinette as she stepped into the lobby, clutching her purse tightly to herself. His stomach twisted in knots as he heard the whispers of her classmates, the cruel taunts that seemed to follow her wherever she went. He had been informed by Tim of the situation, and it was all he could do to keep from swooping in and putting an end to it right there.

As Marinette sees her class, she knows her time with him has ended so she waves goodbye to Tim.

"I'll be okay," she assured him with a forced smile. "Thank you again for the ride."

Tim nodded, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer than necessary before he turned to leave. Dick stepped forward, a mask of professionalism sliding into place as he began the tour. Throughout the grand halls of Wayne Enterprise, Lila's voice echoed like a siren's call, weaving tall tales of her connections and the importance of her family name. The class hung on her every word, their eyes glazed over with adoration, while Dick felt his patience wearing thinner than a spider's web.

Marinette alone remained unshaken by Lila's deceitful charm, her eyes never leaving Dick as she listened to the real stories he shared about the company's history and its commitment to the city. Her gaze was a beacon of sanity in a sea of naivety. He found himself grateful for her silent support, her nods of understanding grounding him in the face of such blatant dishonesty.

As the tour dragged on, the rest of the class remained enraptured by Lila's fabrications, while Marinette discreetly sent glances Dick's way, her expressions a silent question. He returned her looks with a mix of exasperation and amusement, his respect for her growing with every step.

"Miss Bustier," Dick called out, his voice echoing in the vast lobby, "I think it's time we moved on."

Lila rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, come on, Mr. Grayson, we're having so much fun!"

The class giggled in unison, clearly on her side. Dick felt a headache coming on. "Miss Rossi," he said firmly, "let's not hold up the tour any longer."

Lila huffed, but complied, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Marinette couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for Dick. He had been trying so hard to give them a real insight into the company, and all they cared about were her classmates' petty gossip and exaggerated tales of wealth. She walked closer to him, her eyes scanning and hands fiddling with the locket that was her silent companion around her neck.

"Thank you for the tour," she said quietly, her voice sincere.

Dick nodded, his eyes scanning the locket around her neck. It was a subtle gesture, but Marinette caught it. "You're welcome, Marinette. It's not every day we get such an insightful visitor."

As the tour concluded, the students dispersed, eager to explore the rest of Gotham, but Marinette lingered, her eyes on the locket that had drawn Dick's attention. The rest of the class had ignored the actual tour, lost in Lila's fabricated tales of grandeur, but she had been the one to truly listen and appreciate the stories Dick had shared about the city and the company.

Dick noticed her lingering and approached her. "You seem like the only one who actually enjoyed the tour," he said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Marinette shrugged, her cheeks flushing. "I guess I just like to learn about new places."

Dick's smile grew, and he gave her a warm pat on the shoulder. "You're a breath of fresh air in this city," he said before turning to leave.

Marinette watched him go, her thoughts a jumble of confusion and excitement. She couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to him than met the eye. She knew he wasn't just any employee at Wayne Enterprise; she could feel it.

The class trip continued, and that evening they all went to a fancy restaurant for dinner. The chatter was loud, a cacophony of French and English blending together. Lila, as usual, held court, spinning tales of her fabulous life in Paris that made the other students' eyes widen with envy. Marinette tried to ignore the noise, focusing instead on her meal. The food was delicious, but the company was… less than ideal.

As the meal ended and the students began to leave, Marinette told Miss Bustier that she had to use the restroom really quick.

"Don't take too long," Miss Bustier called out, already halfway out the door.

Marinette nodded and hurried to the bathroom. When she emerged, the restaurant was empty except for a few lingering staff. She felt a cold hand of fear grips her heart—she had been left behind again. Panic rising, she fumbled for her phone in her pocket, only to find it as lifeless as a forgotten souvenir. The battery was dead.

With no way to call for help, she stepped out into the darkening streets of Gotham. The once vibrant and bustling metropolis now seemed like a labyrinth of shadows and danger. She had been warned about the city's notorious reputation, but she never thought she would be alone in it. As she wandered, trying to remember the way back to the hotel, she heard the distant sound of laughter and footsteps growing louder. Two men turned the corner, leering at her.

"Looks like we found ourselves a little tourist," one of them sneered, his teeth glinting in the dim streetlight.

Marinette took a deep breath, her hand instinctively moving to the locket around her neck. It was all she had left of home, of her father, and she wasn't about to let anyone take that from her. She had been trained in martial arts, thanks to her adopted mother's insistence and with her experience as Ladybug, she wasn't going to let fear dictate her actions.

The alley grew quieter as their footsteps grew closer. The moon cast eerie shadows that danced on the damp pavement. The smell of rotting trash mixed with the scent of rain that hung in the air. She knew she had to end this quickly. With a swift move, she grabbed one man's arm and twisted it behind his back, causing him to cry out in pain. The second man lunged at her, but she was ready. She ducked under his arm and delivered a powerful kick to his midsection, sending him reeling into the wall.

As she spun around to face the first attacker, she felt a hand on her shoulder, firm yet gentle. "Easy there, kitten," a gruff voice said. She whipped around, ready to fight, only to find a man dressed in red and black, a hood shadowing his face.

Marinette's heart raced as she took in the newcomer. The two men she had just fought were groaning on the ground, but the new figure didn't seem concerned with them. "Who are you?" she demanded, trying to keep her voice steady.

The man in red and black, known as Red Hood, chuckled softly. "Someone who doesn't like to see a pretty girl like you fighting in the streets."

Marinette's eyes narrowed, and she took a step back, her instincts telling her to be wary. "What do you want?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Red Hood's grip on her shoulder tightened for a moment before he realized his mistake and let go. "I'm not here to hurt you," he said, his voice calmer now. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

Marinette eyed him warily, her heart pounding in her chest. The locket felt heavy around her neck, a silent reminder of her father's love and protection. "Thanks," she managed to say, her voice still shaking slightly. "I can handle myself."

Red Hood studied her for a moment, his eyes piercing through the shadows of his hood. "I can see that," he said with a hint of admiration. "But it's not every day you find a tourist who can take down two thugs without breaking a sweat. What's your secret?"

Marinette swallowed hard, her thoughts racing. She couldn't tell him the truth, not here, not now. "Just a little self-defense," she lied, trying to keep her voice steady. "My mom taught me."

Red Hood's eyes searched hers as if looking for a glimpse of the truth behind her words. After a moment, he nodded. "Good for you," he said, his voice carrying a hint of a Southern drawl. "But you shouldn't be out here alone. It's not safe."

Marinette felt a shiver run down her spine, her earlier bravado fading in the face of his intense gaze. "I know," she murmured, her eyes darting to the unconscious men on the ground. "My class left me behind."

Red Hood's expression darkened. "Stay here," he instructed, his voice firm. He stepped over to the thugs and tied them up with a swiftness that spoke of experience. He pulled out a small communicator from his utility belt and spoke into it, arranging for their pickup.

Marinette watched him, feeling a strange sense of comfort in his presence. She knew he was dangerous, a vigilante of some kind, but he didn't feel threatening to her. Her eyes wandered to the locket again, the warm metal pressing against her skin.

"You okay?" Red Hood asked, his voice softer now.

Marinette nodded, still trembling slightly. "I think so," she whispered. "I just want to go back to the hotel."

Red Hood looked at her for a long moment before nodding. "I'll take you there," he said. "But you have to stay close."

Marinette nodded, her eyes never leaving his. She could feel his concern, his protective aura wrapping around her like a warm blanket. As they walked through the streets of Gotham, she couldn't help but feel a strange kinship with him. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something comforting about the way he moved, the confidence in his steps.

"What's your name?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"Red Hood," he replied, his eyes never leaving the shadows. "How about you?"

Marinette took a deep breath, the air thick with the scent of rain. "Marinette Dupain-Cheng," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

Red Hood nodded. "Nice to meet you, Marinette," he said, his eyes scanning the street. "Now, let's get you out of here."

They moved swiftly through the alleyways, sticking to the shadows. Marinette could feel his eyes on her, checking if she was okay, if she needed help. She didn't. Her training as Ladybug had prepared her for moments like this, but she appreciated his concern.

As they neared the hotel, the streets grew quieter, the neon lights reflecting off the wet pavement. The rain had started to fall, a soft patter that grew louder with each step. Red Hood pulled his hood up further, shielding his face from the downpour.

Marinette felt a twinge of sadness as they approached the hotel's glowing entrance. She didn't want to leave him, didn't want to return to the cold reality of her classmates' indifference. But she knew she had to.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely audible over the rain. "For everything."

Red Hood nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "You're welcome," he said, his grip on her shoulder reassuring. "And remember, Gotham can be a tough place. Stick with your group and stay safe."

Marinette stepped into the light of the hotel lobby, the warmth enveloping her as the rain continued to fall outside. She watched as Red Hood melted back into the shadows, his figure disappearing as if he had never been there. The encounter left her with more questions than answers, but she knew she had to keep moving forward.

The elevator ride to her room felt like an eternity. Each floor that passed brought back the memory of her father's eyes." The locket felt like a burning ember against her skin, a constant reminder of her lost past.

When the doors finally opened, Marinette rushed into her room and collapsed onto the bed, the locket still clutched in her hand. She stared at it, the inscription blurring through her tears. "My most beloved daughter M.W.," she whispered, tracing the letters with her thumb. "Daddy loves you always." as she cried herself to sleep.

The next day, she was paired with Damian Wayne for the visit to Gotham Academy. His cold demeanor was intimidating, but Marinette felt a strange pull towards him. Throughout the day, she saw glimpses of kindness beneath his tough exterior, especially when he defended her from a sneering comment by one of the other students. His sharp gaze was assessing, and she couldn't help but feel that he was searching for something in her, something she wasn't even sure she knew existed.

As they walked the halls, Marinette found herself opening up to Damian, sharing her love for art and her dreams of becoming a fashion designer. His initial skepticism gradually gave way to something resembling respect, and by the end of the day, she had earned a rare smile from the young heir to the Wayne legacy.

In the bustling cafeteria, they sat side by side, surrounded by the cacophony of chatter and clanging trays. Marinette picked at her food, lost in thought about the events of the past few days.

"You know," Damian began, his voice low and contemplative, "you're not like the others."

Marinette looked up from her tray, surprised by his sudden openness. "What do you mean?" she asked a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

Damian's gaze was fixed on her, his dark eyes unreadable. "You're… different," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You have… a strength about you."

Marinette felt her cheeks flush. "Thanks," she murmured, unsure of how to respond.

Damian's gaze remained steadfast. "You remind me of someone," he said, his voice a mix of curiosity and something else she couldn't quite place.

Marinette's heart skipped a beat. Could it be? Could he somehow know about her secret life as Ladybug? She quickly dismissed the thought. No, it wasn't possible. "Really?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual. "Who?"

Damian leaned closer, his eyes searching hers. "Someone important," he said, his voice dropping even lower. "Someone who has faced darkness and come out stronger for it."

Marinette's heart raced. Could he be referring to Ladybug? Her mind raced with possibilities, but she kept her expression neutral. "That's a nice compliment," she said, her voice a mere whisper.

Damian nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "It's more than that," he said, his voice intense. "It's a recognition of something… extraordinary."

Marinette felt a jolt of adrenaline. She had never met anyone who seemed to see through her so easily. Her heart pounded in her chest as she wondered if he could be talking about her heroic alter ego. "What do you mean?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Damian leaned back in his chair, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "I've seen the way you handle yourself," he said, his eyes never leaving hers. "The way you stand up to bullies, even when you're scared. It's… inspiring."

Marinette felt a warmth spread through her, a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time. Someone was finally seeing her, not just her classmates' version of her. "Thank you," she said, genuinely touched by his words.

Damian's smirk grew. "You're welcome," he said. "You know, if you ever need anything while you're in Gotham, just let me know."

Marinette's eyes widened slightly. Was he offering to help her, not just as a fellow student but as something more? "Thanks," she said, her voice a bit shaky. "But I'm sure I'll be fine."

Damian's smirk didn't falter. "I'm sure you will," he said, his tone sincere. "But sometimes, even the strongest heroes need a hand."

Marinette's thoughts swirled as she took in his words. Was he hinting at something? Did he know her secret? Impossible, she thought, pushing the doubt aside. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that he saw more than he let on.

The rest of the day at Gotham Academy was a blur. The tension between her and Damian grew thicker with every shared glance and whispered conversation. She felt like she was walking on eggshells, not wanting to give anything away.

As the class boarded the bus back to the hotel, Marinette couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. She knew she had to keep her distance from the Wayne brothers, not just to protect her secret but also to protect them from the danger that followed her. Yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were somehow connected, that they were all part of something much larger than themselves.

That night, she couldn't sleep. Her mind was racing with the day's events. The way Red Hood had moved, the way Tim and Dick had looked at her during the tour, and now Damian's cryptic words. It was all too much to process. Her heart felt like it was going to burst with excitement and fear.

The next day, the class was scheduled to visit the Gotham Museum of Art.

Marinette walked through the grand halls, feeling a strange mix of awe and anxiety. She had always loved art, but in Gotham, it felt different, as if each painting held a secret of the city's dark soul. She found solace in the quiet whispers of the brushstrokes, a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

As the tour group moved from one exhibit to the next, she noticed a peculiar painting that had been recently added. It was a portrait of a young girl with her mother, and the girl's eyes seemed to follow her, filled with a sense of longing that resonated deep within her. The plaque beside it read, "Marinette Wayne," and she felt a cold shiver run down her spine.

The first name was the same as hers, and the resemblance in the eyes was uncanny. The more she stared, the more she felt like she was looking into a mirror reflecting a past she couldn't remember. The rest of the class had moved on, but she remained, lost in the haunting beauty of the portrait.

It was then that she heard a soft footstep behind her, and she spun around to see Bruce Wayne standing there, his eyes fixed on the painting as well.

"It's a beautiful piece, isn't it?" he said, his voice low and measured.

Marinette nodded, unable to tear her gaze away from the painting. "It's… haunting," she murmured.

Bruce stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the painting. "It reminds me of someone," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Someone very important to me."

Marinette felt her heart clench in her chest for some reason.

Bruce continued, "Marinette was my daughter," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "She was… she was everything to me."

Marinette's breath caught in her throat. The locket grew heavier on her neck. "Your…daughter?" she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bruce nodded his gaze still on the painting. "Yes," he said, his voice filled with a sadness that seemed to echo through the museum. "She was taken from me when she was very young. I've been searching for her ever since."

Marinette's eyes grew wide with shock and disbelief. "What…what happened?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Bruce took a deep breath, his eyes welling up with pain. "She was kidnapped," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I've devoted my life to finding her, and to making sure no one else has to go through what she did."

Marinette's hand flew to her locket, her heart racing for some reason. She felt a strange kinship with this man, a bond that she couldn't explain. "Di… did you ever find any leads?" she asked.

Bruce's eyes searched hers, the pain in his gaze was palpable. "No," he said, his voice strained. "Every trail went cold. I never gave up hope, but… it's been so long."

Marinette felt a tear slip down her cheek. The story was all too familiar, but she didn't know why. "I'm sorry," she murmured, not knowing what else to say.

Bruce's gaze softened, and he reached out to gently wipe the tear away. "It's alright," he said, his voice filled with a warmth she hadn't heard in years. "Life is full of tragedies, but also moments of beauty, like this painting."

Marinette nodded, her eyes still glued to the portrait. "It's just… it's eerie how much she looks like me," she whispered.

Bruce's hand froze, and he leaned in closer, examining her features. "You do share a resemblance," he said, his voice tight with restrained emotion. "Perhaps it's the eyes."

Marinette's heart raced as he took a step back, composing himself. "It's just a coincidence," she said, trying to convince herself as much as him. "I'm sure lots of people have similar eyes."

Bruce nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on the locket she unconsciously clutched. "Perhaps," he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken questions. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

Marinette's hand tightened around the locket, the carving of 'M.W.' feeling like a brand on her skin. Her mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle that was her life.

"Marinette," Bruce said gently, using her name for the first time. The sound of it on his lips sent a wave of longing through her. "Do you have a moment to talk in private?"

She nodded, and he led her to a secluded corner of the museum. The silence between them was deafening, filled with the weight of unspoken truths.

"I know this might sound strange," Bruce began, his voice gentle yet firm. "But I need to ask you something important." He took hold of the locket around her neck, the weight of its contents heavy. "Do you know what this means?"

Marinette's eyes grew wide with shock "It's… it's just a necklace," she lied, her voice trembling. "It's special to me, but I don't know what it means."

Bruce's eyes searched hers, and she could see the hope and fear mingling in the depths of his gaze. "Marinette," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Look inside."

With trembling hands, she opened the locket. The same words she had read countless times stared back at her, "My most beloved daughter M.W. Daddy loves you always." But this time, something clicked. The initials matched the name from the painting. Her heart skipped a beat. Could it be?

Bruce's eyes searched hers, holding the locket between them. "Do you know who this is?" he asked, his voice filled with a mix of hope and fear.

Marinette felt the room spin as she stared at the locket, the reality of the situation crashing down upon her. "It… it's me," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "It's… I'm M.W."

Bruce's hand trembled as he cupped her cheek, his eyes searching hers. "Marinette," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Is it possible?"

Marinette's eyes filled with tears as she nodded slowly. "I… I think so," she choked out, the weight of the revelation too much to bear.

Bruce's own eyes glistened with unshed tears as he cradled her face in his hands. "Marinette," he breathed, her name like a prayer on his lips. "My baby girl."

The dam of emotions broke, and Marinette threw herself into his arms, sobbing uncontrollably. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring her to this moment, to this place where she could finally find the love she had been searching for her entire life. Bruce held her tightly, his own eyes filled with tears as he whispered soothing words into her ear, the warmth of his embrace bringing a sense of belonging she had never felt before.

Marinette pulled away, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Daddy," she whispered, testing the word she hadn't dared to speak in so long.

Their moment was interrupted by the concerned chatter of the approaching tour group. Bruce quickly composed himself, his eyes scanning the room. He knew they couldn't stay here, not like this. "Marinette," he said, urgency in his tone. "We need to talk. In private."

They found a quiet spot in the museum's garden, the chilly Gotham air a stark contrast to the warmth of their conversation. "What do we do now?" Marinette asked, her voice still shaking.

Bruce took a deep breath, the reality of the situation setting in. "First, we need to find out for sure," he said, his voice firm.

Marinette nodded, wiping her eyes. "How do we do that?" she asked, hope mingling with fear.

Bruce took a deep breath. "We need to get a DNA test," he said. "It's the only way to be certain."

Marinette's heart raced at the thought. "But…but what if it's true?" she stammered. "What if I am your daughter?"

Bruce's gaze softened as he took her hand in his. "Then we'll deal with it together," he assured her. "But we need to be certain."

Marinette nodded, her mind racing with the implications. "Okay," she said, her voice small. "But how do we explain this to everyone?"

Bruce's expression grew serious. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he said. "For now, we need to keep this between us. The less people know, the better."

Marinette nodded, her mind reeling with the gravity of their situation. She knew that if it were true, it would change everything. Her life in Paris, her friends, her secret identity – all of it would be turned upside down.

"We'll figure this out together," he said, his voice a soothing balm to her racing thoughts. "But for now, we need to keep this between us. I'll arrange for a discreet DNA test tomorrow."

Marinette nodded, her mind racing with the implications of her potential lineage. Could she really be the lost daughter of Bruce Wayne? It was too much to comprehend.

The rest of the day was a blur as she went through the motions of the tour, her thoughts consumed by the revelation. She couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and dread intertwined. Her heart ached with the hope of finally finding her family, yet the fear of losing everything she knew was ever-present.

That night, she lay in her hotel bed, the locket clutched tightly in her hand. Her mind was a whirlwind of questions, and she couldn't shake the feeling that her entire life was about to change. The DNA test loomed over her like a storm cloud, and she found it hard to sleep.

The next day, Bruce arranged for a private meeting in his office at Wayne Enterprise. Under the guise of meeting the winner that won the class this trip. The gleaming skyscraper stood tall against the gloomy Gotham skyline, a symbol of hope amidst the city's darkness. Marinette's heart hammered in her chest as she stepped into the elevator, feeling the weight of the unknown pressing down on her.

When the elevator doors slid open, she was greeted by Alfred, Bruce's loyal butler. His kind eyes searched hers, and she wondered if he knew the truth they were about to uncover. He led her into a plush office, where Bruce was waiting, his expression a mask of calm she couldn't quite read.

The DNA test was quick and painless, but the wait was agonizing. They talked in hushed tones, avoiding the subject at hand, their eyes darting to the clock on the wall as the minutes ticked by. Marinette felt like she was in a dream, one that she didn't want to end but knew would bring a reality she wasn't prepared for.

Bruce excused himself to take a call, leaving Marinette alone with her thoughts. She gazed out the window at the sprawling cityscape, the stark contrast of the gleaming Wayne Tower against the grimy buildings of Gotham a stark reminder of the life she might have had.

When he returned, his eyes were heavy with a mix of anticipation and dread. "The results will be in tomorrow," he said, his voice tight.

Marinette nodded, trying to keep her emotions in check. "Thank you," she murmured, feeling a knot form in her stomach.

The next 24 hours were the longest of her life. She walked through the streets of Gotham, the weight of the locket and the potential truth it held pressing down on her like a leaden cloak. She couldn't focus on anything else, her thoughts a tornado of what-ifs and maybes. Her interactions with her classmates were forced, her mind elsewhere.

The night brought no rest. She tossed and turned in her hotel bed, the locket lying like a hot coal on her chest. The whispers of the wind outside seemed to carry the secrets of the city, secrets that could soon be her own. The room felt too small, the air too thick to breathe.

The next day dragged on like a mournful symphony, each second a painful crescendo towards the truth. The class continued with their Gotham adventures, but Marinette was lost in her thoughts, unable to fully engage with the world around her. She found solace in the quiet moments, the gentle hum of the city's pulse a lullaby that sang of a past she had long ago forgotten.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Gotham in a cloak of twilight, Marinette waited anxiously in the hotel lobby. The grand clock ticked away the moments, each chime echoing through her soul like a countdown to destiny. And then, as if on cue, the elevator doors parted, and Bruce emerged, his eyes filled with a solemn intensity that told her the moment of truth had arrived.

He approached her, his footsteps muffled by the plush carpet. In his hand, he held a small envelope, the seal of the lab stark and official. Marinette's heart felt as if it were about to burst from her chest as he handed it to her, his own hand trembling slightly.

With trembling fingers, she took the envelope and slid out the single sheet of paper. The words she read sent a shockwave through her entire being. The DNA test results were conclusive: she was indeed Marinette Wayne, the long-lost daughter of Bruce Wayne. The truth hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt her legs give out beneath her.

Bruce caught her before she could fall, his strong arms wrapping around her as she sobbed into his chest. "It's okay," he murmured over and over, his voice a comforting rumble that she hadn't heard since she was a child. "You're home now."

Marinette looked up at him, her eyes blurred with tears. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice small and scared.

Bruce's gaze held hers, filled with a fierce determination. "We get to know each other," he said firmly. "You're not alone anymore."

Marinette nodded, her heart swelling with a mix of joy and fear. She had found her father, but what about her mother? The woman in the portrait, the woman she had never known?

Bruce seemed to read her thoughts. "Your mother was a wonderful person," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "She was… she was taken from us when you were very young. But I promise you, she would be proud of the strong, brave woman you've become."

Marinette felt a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill over. "I don't know how to be a Wayne," she whispered. "I don't know anything about this life."

Bruce's grip on her tightened. "You don't have to be anyone but yourself," he assured her. "I'll be here to guide you, to help you navigate this new chapter."

Marinette took a shaky breath, trying to process the monumental revelation. "What about my life in Paris? I have responsibility there."

Bruce nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. "We'll figure it out," he promised. "We'll take it one step at a time."

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