#please reblog! it would mean the world!

[bubblegumflavor]

Uhm... I had this going on in my mind for my doodle last night and I wanted to show you so I tried to animate it...

[witchqueen]

Does anyone have any tips to help stop yourself from comparing your artwork to others, or equating your value as an artist with likes and reblogs?

I've struggled with this for a while and it's getting old, I don't know how to just shrug it off. Any genuine advice would be nice

[piko-rose]

"Heroes Don't Fail" - Sonic Movie 3 Angst Prediction Fanfic (OUTDATED PLEASE IGNORE LOL)

After Tom fell ill due to protecting him from a bullet, Sonic was left to wonder if his own friends had any faith in him to begin with during their most dangerous adventure yet. He was left to wonder if him and Shadow had more of a similarity than he thought.

Trigger Warnings: Usage of handheld weaponry, child endangerment, light blood, light swearing, implied PTSD

(THIS FIC CONTAINS POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR SONIC THE HEDGEHOG 3 AND THE FINAL TRAILER. IT IS ONLY A FIC BASED ON MY PREDICTIONS OF A MOMENT IN THE TRAILERS WHERE THE WACHOWSKI BROS ARE OUTSIDE OF A HOSPITAL BUILDING. BUT JUST IN CASE, PROCEED WITH CAUTION. EVERYTHING IS UNDER THE CUT.)

(just a little something before I return to my break thingy lol be back soon <3)

"What the hell is wrong with you, you jerk?!"

What a terrible, terrible time to get caught by G.U.N. officials, and even Commander Walters out of all people. The man responsible for that little girl's death.

Sonic and his friends were SO close to breaking in, and shut down the Eclipse Canon before it accelerated back into space, with the Robotniks, and Shadow the Hedgehog, boarding it.

Controlling it.

And now, because of Walters and his men trapping him and his family in the Robotnik base, surrounding them with their weapons, the moon has a gaping hole for the whole planet to see.

The Eclipse Canon did that.

And G.U.N. just let it happen, all because they refuse to let him and his team get to the weapon of mass destruction in time. They didn't want some randos become the heroes.

Noooo, it had to be the "Guardian Unites of Nations," the big, strong, tough guys who don't give two craps about the people around them. Only their reputation.

Which will surely go down now that Sonic's angry tone finally shown it's furious face.

Sonic never meant to swear in front of the young fox, whose ears were covered by Knuckles' mittens, even though the question was already out by the time Knuckles realized what was spoken.

But just by seeing the commander, who demands answers to why they have random people they don't even remember recruiting, and in an empty base when they should be after that hedgehog and those crazed doctors, he was fueled with rage.

Just not too long ago, Sonic made a truce with Robotnik, big mistake, and along the way found a diary of sorts. A diary that contained everything he needed to know about this Project Shadow, and this Eclipse Canon...

Before he could explain to his brothers what's going on with Shadow, he took them out. ...Again. Definitely Sonic's strongest opponent yet.

With Doctor Robotnik betraying Sonic and his friends, with Shadow himself and Robotnik's grandfather joining him, apparently, they needed extra help from their parents, and even Rachel, whose husband was an agent himself.

They posed as agents, to try and gather all the information about the Eclipse Canon, and take it down, and hopefully find Shadow and the doctors.

But... Walters just had to evade their plans. He just had to ruin everything.

Like how he ruined Shadow's life.

"...Excuse me?" Walters muttered out, taken aback by Sonic's outburst.

"Don't pretend like I don't know! I know what you did all those years ago," Sonic barked, not afraid to step forward in front of armed troops, just to get up close and personal with the commander.

"I have no idea what you're blabbering on about, Sonic," Walters shook his head in disbelief, confused yet seemingly upset at the pissed off hedgehog.

"Forgotten about Maria already, huh?"

The mere mention of her name made the old man's eye brows rose lightly, but no body in the room could tell. But Sonic knew that he wasn't expecting the name to be mentioned again.

He demands an explanation. He demands answers.

"Wh- what about Maria?" Walters asked, nearly fumbling over his question.

"You ever wonder why Shadow turned out the way he is? Looks like you didn't tell us the full story!" Sonic says, his fists clenched into gloved balls, with fingernails nearly poking through the fabric, "You knew all along! You kept all of this from us!"

Tails and Knuckles looked at each other, then back at Sonic who was walking closer to Walters. They don't know who Maria is or why she's involved with Shadow, but it probably might have something to do with that diary Sonic tried to talk about earlier.

"What does any of this have to do with you being in Robotnik's base?"

"Why are YOU in his base? Trying to get rid of more Robotnik related evidences?"

"Sonic," Tom, seeing that Sonic is just a few more steps away from being up to his face, reached his hand out to try and get him away from the old commander, worry showing in his eyes, "step back. He probably has a weap-"

Tom's sentence was cut off when a armed man motioned him back where he was with his gun. The warning only earned the man a death glare from the Donut Lord.

No one tells the Donut Lord to back away from his kid.

"Sonic... I... believe I owe you an explanation." Walters sigh in defeat. His sentence made his nearby men turn to face him. Despite their faces masked, they all seemed perplexed as most of Sonic's friends and family.

"An overdue one," Sonic added in retort, his brow furrowing, appearing threatening to some of the soldiers.

"I was... involved, in the incident from 50 years ago," Walters began, "I never meant to injure Maria, but I never wanted anyone to know about it... I had to cover it up."

Sonic's top muzzle scrunched. Had to cover it up?

"So you just put the blame on an innocent hedgehog?" Sonic asked loud enough to accidentally scare more of the armed men around him.

"Who said he was innocent?" Walters asked, his tone sounding annoyed, "everyone knew that Shadow had incredible power strong enough to possibly wipe out a nation! Innocent or not, he was too dangerous to be around anyone!"

"He was only 'dangerous' because you took away his closest FRIEND!" Sonic's voice cracked on the last word as he screamed it at the commander, scaring him. "You seriously think covering it up is gonna make everyone feel better?!"

Tails and Knuckles grew concerned and thought about intervening, Tom, Maddie and Rachel all exchanged shocked looks at each other, and Randell closed his eyes and looked away, feeling hurt to know about this information his own ex-commander kept from him.

"So G.U.N. has always been a thing, huh?" Sonic asked, hands on his hips, "There's just not a lot of extra-terrestrials around here to keep an eye on, so you have to retire until I came in??"

"...Precisely." Walters, once more, sigh in defeat, facing away from the enraged hedgehog.

So from Sonic's understanding, G.U.N.'s job was to destroy all friendly, alien life who dares to step foot onto beautiful planet Earth? People of this world actually rely on these guys??

"Wow. Some heroes you all are."

"We didn't want Shadow to cause more havoc!"

"YOU caused havoc," Sonic stomps his foot, "YOU guys were responsible for making Shadow feel pain and loss!" He repeated the two words at him. The ones the commander gave to him back at the Chao Garden.

All this time he thought Walters barely had any info on Project Shadow, but he was wrong. Shadow was the victim all along.

"Who says you guys can be heroes after what you've done?! He's not the villain, YOU ARE!!" His eyes glow a sharp, angry blue as he points his finger, not realizing that his hand he used was spitting out electricity at the commander, making him back up.

Because of his powers being exposed, the soldiers threatened their weapons at the blue hedgehog, who was startled by them at first, but remained angry, who glued his focus on Commander Walters.

"Sonic!" Nearly everyone exclaimed, with Tom shouting his name louder than everyone else in the room. He threw his weapon and tried to run towards him, not wanting him to get shot, but one to two men stopped him by pushing him to the ground violently.

"Thomas!" Maddie cried. She would've been by his side by now if it weren't for more soldiers guarding Tom from both her and Rachel. Randell, Tails and Knuckles all saw this too and gasped.

"Tom?" The moment Tom was planted to the ground, he turned around to see his own father figure face down on the glowing red ground.

All of that anger immediately washed away when the possibility of Tom getting hurt entered his mind, and made him vulnerable long enough for Walters to snatch him by the wrist.

"You talk too much, hedgehog," Walters says calmly yet coldly, getting ready to grab his cuffs and take the hedgehog away, along with the others, already having the idea to give orders to his men.

"Sonic!!" Tom shouted, watching this old man putting his dirty hands on his son.

"Dad!!" Sonic cried out, reaching his free hand to his father, who couldn't get up as long as a weapon was aimed right to his head.

Suddenly, a loud BANG goes off, as a bullet nearly went flying to Walters' face, but hit against the wall to his right. He snapped his head to the dent in the wall, then back at the culprit who almost shot him.

Rachel. Eyes huge, out of breath and holding one of the men's guns in her hand.

Everyone's eyes grew huge and their mouths drop agape seeing this woman do something unbelievable, especially her sister Maddie, who is almost terrified of her, if not, proud of her.

"Holy crap," Knuckles unintentionally muttered out for everyone to hear, sounding rather impressed.

"Get. Your hands. Off my nephew!" She warned the commander. Her hands trembled intensely, not wanting to pull the trigger again, but will do whatever it takes to keep her family alive and safe.

There was no response for a couple of seconds, but Sonic, shaking off the speechlessness, turned his head back at the bewildered commander, who was having flashbacks of the last time this woman fought with him.

"You heard the lady," He says, his traditional smirk still having a hint of anger written on it.

He spun into a ball and lunged at him to the stomach, making him hit against the wall.

"RUN!" Sonic ordered his family as he ran off to the nearest exit, and so everyone, fighting off the soldiers, do just that. Maddie stayed behind for a minute to help Tom up, and hugged him, before Walters gets back up.

Sonic didn't really remember all the pathways to this stinky base well enough to know where the heck he was going, or even know where the way out was.

Some nerve that old man has, though. Trying to cover up an accident just to make himself look good? Sheesh.

As long as G.U.N. is out of his way, he can finally deal with the Robotniks and Shadow.

He came to a halt however when he noticed that no body was following him.

"Guys?" Sonic turned around to see no body behind him, and was growing worried.

He runs off to the opposite direction, risking to put himself in Walters' sight again just to rescue him. He just prays that Tom is okay.

But as he makes a quick left turn, Walters was in his sight. With a weapon in hand.

"Hoo boy," Sonic whimpered.

"Trust me. I don't want to do this," Walters says, despite the look of his eyes saying otherwise.

Sonic is the fastest creature in the universe, why does he feel nervous to be held at gunpoint? He should be able to outrun it. He never deemed Walters to be threatening, he's just a jerk.

That's all there is to him.

Why should he be scared? He's not scared. He's not scared of Walters.

He's not scared of his little toy.

"Out of my way, my family's in there!" Sonic barked, ready to put up another fight with this old bully.

"You've learn too much about G.U.N.'s history. No body should know about what happened on the ARK. You have no right to have this information with you." He says, still aiming at the hedgehog.

"I believe I do," Sonic protests, looking at the commander square in the eyes as if the gun was never there to begin with. "If you would've told me what had happened up there all those years ago, I wouldn't have NEVER join your little cult!"

"You didn't really have a choice."

"I feel like I did."

Loud thuds could be heard in the other room. Sonic suspects that his family is either kicking butt, in danger, or both. Probably both since Knuckles is going all out. He could hear his cries every couple of seconds.

They better be okay.

"You lied to me, Walters," Sonic says, his voice quiet yet threatening. "Do you have any idea what Shadow has been through because of your actions? You even made Gerald gone mad because of what you did to Maria!"

"You seriously shouldn't have never learned this information." Walters tries to dodge the question, but he knew it was fruitless.

"You refuse to listen, do you? You refuse to accept that you ain't no hero. Well... you're not." Sonic hissed. "You're a monster! A heartless jerk who only cared about his troops and no body else!"

"We are only doing what we think is right!"

"Nothing you ever did in your life was right."

"We are protectors who face anomalies such as you and Shadow! We don't know how strong your powers are and we worry it could affect the world in ways that damage it!" Walters continued, "I don't believe this world asked for heroes such as yourself."

"Damage it?!" Sonic shrieked with fury, "I saved this world a handful of times from that doctor, and you don't even care?! I saved the world! TWICE! Soon THRICE!"

"Didn't you see the state San Francisco was in?" Walters asked, growing more irritated with this creature. "We had no choice but to unite G.U.N. back because of your actions! And don't even get me started on Green Hills from last year."

"From MY actions-? Pfffft, okay, okay," Sonic "chuckled," "You seriously think that was my fault? Robotnik was the guy who endangered many lives out there, and, as usual, you put the blame on the alien hedgehog."

"Every other life endangering event occurred because of anomalies like you that kept running all around the planet instead of going back to the dirty caves where you belong!"

Dirty. Cave?

Oh, hell no, he did NOT just go there.

"Listen hear," Sonic began, gritting his teeth, "I lost my owl guardian when I was a child and had to live on Earth all by myself for ten years, seven in a cave. Throughout those years I was isolated! I had no body! Then, a twist of fate lead me to my father and mother, who took care of me for years, alongside my brothers, Tails and Knuckles, who went through a troubling childhood as much as I had!"

Sonic never noticed that he called Tails and Knuckles his own brothers, but he was too fumed at the commander to care.

"Even though I have people to care for me," he continued, "Robotnik has the guts to cause chaos in my life, and threatened the world at the same time, but I pulled together with my family and saved the world! More than once!"

Walters was listening, but never shown any signs that he cared. This only made Sonic more angry.

"Sure, there were some property damage, and some people were hurt, but sometimes even heroes make mistakes!" Sonic says, his fists clenched, "But I'm not gonna let that get to me!"

Walters' nose lets out an unimpressed exhale.

"I did my best to keep the world safe- my home safe, and all you do is treat me and my family like dirt!" Sonic raised his voice at him as he took another harsh step forward at him.

"I did more saving than you and your men ever will! You think you have the right to determine whose the hero and who isn't?! No!! You don't! You ruined Shadow's life, I won't let you ruin mine!"

Walters believes he sounded too brave.

"All I wanted to do is to live my life with my family, and I'm tired of people like you making a decision on rather people like me deserve it or not! I HAVE DONE NOTHING WRONG!!"

Sonic panted after finally letting his emotions out. His eyes were shut, he was no longer paying attention to the commander, only his breathing.

He never felt so glad to let it all out like that. But the relief didn't last too long...

"And it's going to stay that way."

Click...

The hedgehog snapped his emerald eyes open after hearing a small creaking sound, to see Walters aiming the gun directing to his face.

"No hero should ever make a single mistake," It was Walters' turn to speak, "after all, heroes don't destroy things. They don't endanger civilians. You're responsible for most of the destruction in San Francisco, and because of Robotnik's obsession with you, your own townspeople have gotten injured, despite the so-called victory."

Sonic backed up two steps.

"Are you certain heroes do these things? Most specifically, you?"

He backed up two more steps.

"Shut up," he muttered.

"I'm not letting a bunch of alien troublemakers take my place as protector. You didn't even have the courage to rescue your owl. With a reputation like that, why should you not let it get to you?"

He does have a point. He tried to go back to save her from the Echidna, but... he was too late.

"You're no hero. You're just some kid, a dangerous one. A hazard. A weapon!" Walters barked the word right at him, making him jump.

"You seriously believe the world is yours? Sorry, but after what happened on the ARK, I'm not taking any chances. This world doesn't need another disaster. It doesn't need another failure."

His finger prepared to pull.

His own words took over Sonic's brain.

How could he let them take over so easily?

Sonic isn't a failure! He's-

BANG!!

Sonic shuts his eyes tight, not fully prepared for the bullet, but nothing had happened. He opened his eyes again to see a person standing right in front of him, shielding him from Walters' gun.

As he got a good look at him, he gasped. His ears pinned to his head. His worst nightmare came true.

Tom Wachowski, groaning quietly as some blood leaked through his shirt, while he was still guarding him from the commander.

He took the bullet for Sonic.

Tom is hurt. And it was because Sonic didn't run away.

Despite the pain shocking his body, Tom weakly opened his right eye and barely smiled at his little Blue Devil. "Make me proud, son," he whispered before collapsing to the ground.

Everything around him went dead silent. All he could do was stare at the seemingly lifeless body of the person who saved his life.

How could he make him proud when he was one who killed him?

How could he make anyone proud now?

Maybe Walters was right.

With a loud cry, before Walters could react, Knuckles delivered his most brutal punch to the commander, slamming him to the wall, knocking him unconscious.

The sound of a harsh slam to the metal wall knocked Sonic back to his senses.

"Hedgehog! They took Maddie and Ra- ...Thomas?" Knuckles just now noticed the body of Tom laying in front of a panicked Sonic. The echidna's purple eyes rose with concern, praying that what he's looking at isn't what he's looking at right now.

Sonic's eyes began to swell with tears as he looked back at his brother. "Where's Mom...?"

His question broke his heart. Despite remaining quiet, Sonic knew the answer, and was more devastated.

"Is everything okay in here?" The young fox called out, slightly afraid to come around the corner.

"Everything's..." Knuckles stopped himself. No. Everything is not fine. G.U.N. captured Maddie, her sister, and Tom appeared to be severely injured.

Not to mention that the mad doctors and that monster are still on the loose.

Everything is not fine.

"We're getting out of here." Knuckles says, picking up Tom bridal style, and ran off in a rush.

Tails came in just to time for a hurt Donut Lord to not come into his view. A defeated, glossy eyed Sonic didn't make it any better though.

"Sonic? Where's Tom?"

All the hedgehog could do is blink.

It was enough to give Tails the upsetting conformation.

-

Gloomy, dark clouds loom over the city of London. Roads were beginning to form puddles from the light rains that have been pouring down for a good hour or so.

An hour seemed like a trillions years to find out if one person is gonna survive a bullet or not.

Sonic, Tails and Knuckles were outside, barely dried off from the rain speaking with one of the G.U.N. agents, that was informing them about their father's well being.

"The good news is, however," she was speaking with the boys for a good while now, each of them showing concern in their own ways. Knuckles tries not to show it, and was listening closely, Tails was holding one of his tails, and Sonic, still recovering from the earlier incident, twiddled his fingers, wanting to hear the good news already.

"he wasn't hit near the heart, but the bullet was pretty close to the lungs. He will need to undergo surgery, so he has to remain in the hospital until then. Other than that, no other injuries have occurred as far as I'm concerned."

The trio didn't say a word, but they understood. They're just glad, at least mentally, that Tom is gonna be okay, but it'll be a while until he's able to wake up.

"Thanks for telling us," Tails says quietly, not really looking at the agent in the eye.

"As for your mission, I... really wish I could help," she says. She was concerned for the boys' well being, and thought about helping them, but after hearing word about the commander getting injured, she needed to be in a hurry.

"No you don't," Sonic mumbled, doubting her sincerity.

She sighed through her nose. She should've expect the boys treating this way to her. But it's understandable why they're acting like this.

"Could you at least tell us if Maddie and Rachel are okay?" Tails looked up at her with hope in his eyes. He doesn't want anyone to get hurt like Tom.

"They are confined until further notice. There's nothing I can do."

Sonic refuses to look at her.

"I hope you boys make things right and take care of those freaks up there," she says, "because if you fail on your mission, no one will forget this. Keep that in mind."

It was the last thing she said before making her leave. The trio watched as she goes, as they were left with the sentence floating in their heads.

Knuckles seemed calm, he has certainly been through worse, but he hasn't gotten a look at Sonic or Tails yet. They both seem distraught. This is their biggest adventure yet, and possibly their deadliest.

She's right. They cannot fail. No matter what.

Sonic closes his eyes and turned away from his friends, thinking. Tails and Knuckles looked over with concern.

"Sonic, y-you're not thinking about giving up, are you?" Tails asked nervously. A lot has happened, but there still all the time in the world to turn everything back to normal. Hopefully.

"Never," Sonic responded. He turned back around to face them. He never looked so serious. "It's not over until I say it's over."

Hearing that definitely lift Tails' spirits. "Oh! That's great! I'm so relieved!"

"What about the Eclipse Canon? How do we stop it now?" Knuckles asks, turning to face Tails. "It's already activated with the use of the Emeralds, which we cannot reach to unless we're in the ARK."

"Aw, shoot, you're right," Tails' smile faded away in an instant after hearing the mention of the Chaos Emeralds. "Ugh, if only I knew G.U.N. were to show up then we would've-"

"Do not blame yourself, fox. You did all you could," Knuckles reassures.

"I guess you're right, but what about Shadow? We can't get to him here, he's probably up in space by now! Maybe if I can somehow find a way to steal a space shut-"

"'We?'"

Sonic's voice caught Tails and Knuckles' attention.

"Nah," he says, "I'M going after him."

"What??" They both cried in confusion.

...Is he serious? Why is Sonic thinking about facing that guy on his own? Why without their help?? There's no way he's serious. When was the last time he was ever serious?

"Sonic, are you- are you hearing yourself? That is suicide!" Knuckles cried, "You don't even know the full power he's capable of!"

"Hes right, Sonic," Tails added for Knuckles' sake. They got the taste of Shadow's power firsthand. He knew that fighting Shadow alone would be a nightmare. "This is a bad idea."

"When does that ever stop me?" Sonic says, furrowed brows and fists clenched again to show the dead seriousness in his face.

Oh, dear lord, he is serious.

"I faced Eggman twice," The blue hedgehog continued, "once in a flying pod, and in a giant death mech, with the Emeralds! I can take on a super hedgehog."

"He obliterated us!" Tails says, "He's way too powerful! What if he hurts you and we can't save you in time?"

"I'll be fine," Sonic answered, his eyes lowered and away from Tails, "besides, I don't want you guys to get hurt."

Walters' words were still fresh in his brain. He couldn't help but think that maybe he did cause some destruction while saving the world, but he won't let it happen again this time. He won't let his brothers- his friends, get hurt.

He didn't notice that Knuckles looked slightly offended from being pushed aside from a fight. "But Sonic," he says, "we are strong enough to protect ourselves and you."

"I know, but I especially don't want you, Knuckles, to go overboard on Shadow. I think he's been through enough."

Knuckles blinked. "What do you mean?"

"He lost a friend on the ARK, remember?" Sonic says. "He's probably mad at the world because of that..." His expression seemed hurt from the thought of losing someone that close. He's been there...

But after thinking for a moment, his eyes began to twinkle with hope, and a small smile rose on his muzzle. "...but maybe if I can try and reason with him and change his mind, then our problems will be solved!" He exclaimed, beaming at his friends.

Tails and Knuckles earned him very lost looks.

"'Reason' with him? Oh, sweet mother of Tikal..." Knuckles messaged the bridge of his muzzle, not believing what was spoken just now.

"Sonic, there is no point in trying such thing," he says, "He is blinded by rage. How could he listen to you?"

"There... there is a way. I know there is!" Sonic spoke, sounding unsure if he knows a way at all. He just hopes that Shadow would listen to him somehow...

"Sonic," his tone rose for a moment to get Sonic to listen, "he tried to destroy us, and now he's trying to destroy the planet! Do you honestly believe this monster will, just, stop from your useless plea?"

Sonic stared at him like he killed a man.

"He's not a monster," he says, "he was just blamed for something he didn't do."

"That was in the past," Knuckles argued, "this is the present! We are dealing with Shadow's action NOW! His actions now is what makes him a-"

"I'll find a way to stop him, Knuckles," Sonic explained, "Besides, he'll probably listen to me because of how similar we are! We both lost someone really important a long time ago... ...Wait, is Shadow, like, an old dude now or-?"

"He was frozen, Sonic." Tails corrected, his eyes stabbing him with disapproval.

"...So, does that make him, like, Captain America, or somethin- BUT ANYWAYS, anyways," Sonic stops himself from going off topic.

"H-he used to have a human friend and those G.U.N. jerks took her away, and I used to have Longclaw before I came to Earth..." He looked down at his shoes and scratched the back of his head, not wanting to bring himself back to a difficult time of his life, nor wanting to think about what he had read in that diary.

"But Shadow is nothing like you," Knuckles mentioned, "Just because you both have 'similar' pasts, that does not mean it will stop Shadow from being destructive."

Sonic couldn't help but feel scolded in some way. Maybe it was because he read the diary and never got the chance to show Tails and Knuckles before Shadow came in.

They never knew what Shadow been through. It's understandable that they were cautious over this plan, but... it seemed like Knuckles doesn't believe everything Sonic is saying.

...is he?

"Well, I mean... I guess me and Shadow do have a lot in common," Sonic says, "We're both hedgehogs. We both run pretty fast. We both have really cool kicks. And... we were doubted."

Tails blinked. "Wh-what? Sonic, we didn't doubt you."

"You guys don't even believe what I said, didn't you?" he stressed, "I read those diary pages. I know what happened! I'm not lying just to make friends with an emo hedgehog!"

"No, no! I believe you!" Tails cried, waving his hands at Sonic. He had no clue that Sonic was feeling this way the whole time.

"Yeah, right!" Sonic says, hand on hip. "You guys don't even believe that I can handle Shadow on my own! You guys... really don't think I can do this?" his ears flopped to his head, looking at his friends, begging them to be on his side.

"Not on your own." Knuckles stated.

"At least wish me luck or something! Gosh, why are you... why are you guys loosing faith in me?" Sonic asked, sounding defeated.

Tails' two tails dropped to the ground. He wasn't loosing faith in him! He was just worried for his well being. Tom is already in the hospital and Maddie and the rest of her family are being held somewhere. He doesn't want to loose anyone else.

He believed him, one hundred percent. He never meant to make Sonic believe otherwise. He felt awful making his own hero feel this way.

Knuckles, however, thought Sonic is just saying all this just to battle on his own. Does this hedgehog know that they are in a middle of a crisis?!

"We didn't say that we're loosing faith..." Tails spoke sadly.

"You didn't, but I know you are," Sonic looked away, his eyes set on the hospital building. The one Tom is staying at for God knows how long.

The one Sonic himself put him in.

It makes sense that his own friends think that he couldn't do this right, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Aren't they suppose to support him?

Like a good team he thought they were?

"I'm not gonna lie," Sonic began, his voice breaking but barely hid it, "I'm kind of disappointed of you both."

Knuckles' face grew disgusted and Tails tugged at his own hand.

...disappointed?

"I am doing all I can to make everything go back to normal," he continued, "and nothing is working so far because stupid Ro-butt-nik ruined everything, and stupid G.U.N. caused more problems and...! Ugh, and you guys aren't making it any better!"

Knuckles scowled down at the blue hedgehog. He had no right to be disappointed at the Echidna Warrior.

"None of this wouldn't have happened if we didn't put our trust into that mustached mad man!" he roared at his face, "So, technically speaking, YOU ruined everything!"

Sonic froze.

He, ruined everything...?

They recruited Tom and Maddie and family to help them on their mission, went to London to find the ARK before the Robotniks do, G.U.N. stormed them first, and the Robotniks got away with not only the ARK, but the Chaos Emeralds included, which helped powering on the Eclipse Canon, which cut the moon in half just now...

...and it was all Sonic's fault?

"Didn't you see the state San Francisco was in? We had no choice but to unite G.U.N. back because of your actions!"

Sonic blinked twice. Walters' words haunted him once more.

"You know what Robotnik has done to us in the past, and you seriously think he was our last chance at victory?!" Knuckles cried.

"You didn't even have the courage to rescue your owl. With a reputation like that, why should you not let it get to you?"

The longer he stared at Knuckles, the more his emerald eyes loose their spark.

"You think it's so easy to have all of our sworn enemies magically become friends?! is that your plan? Because it sure is a ridiculously stupid one." Knuckles stated.

"Knuckles, quit it!" Tails protested.

"No hero should ever make a single mistake. After all, heroes don't destroy things. They don't endanger civilians."

He breathed heavily. Walters just won't shut up.

"No hero should ever make a single mistake."

He won't shut up!

"No hero should ever make a single mistake."

"No hero should ever make a single mistake."

"You think I'm stupid?!" Sonic yelled. The fox backed up, startled by Sonic's scream.

"You think I didn't see any of this coming, no matter how much I hoped it wouldn't happen?! You think I believed that Robotnik was our only hope?!"

"Yes." Knuckles answered with a straight face, unaffected by his anger.

Sonic's left eye twitched. This damn Echidna. He didn't believe him from the start. He didn't think this plan was the best he could come up with!

When they were chained up after getting knocked out it was punishment enough. He didn't need Knuckles the Echidna to remind him how much he failed.

He could've at least pretend to have faith in him instead of being brutally honest. Then again, Knuckles is a terrible liar.

Knuckles lying would be more worse than just being honest anyway. Who in the right mind would lie about how amazing and clever and heroic Sonic is?

Tails and Knuckles, apparently.

Sonic hated Walters' guts, but he hated how much he was right more. Out of all the mistakes he could ever make in his life, as a sorry excuse for a hero, is to put his faith on two "friends" who have never supported him from the beginning of the mission.

Or even the beginning of their adventures in general.

He tried, so hard, to make everything according to plan, but it all came crashing down, because he had to make a truce with Eggman. He even put Tom in the hospital because he didn't get the chance to run away from a stupid bullet.

And what did his friends do after all that? They criticize him.

He is fully aware of how imperfect he is, but Knuckles made him open his eyes. But especially Walters. No one had faith in him. He was never a hero, and he was too blind to realize that. Until now.

But he will fix everything. On his own. He will reclaim his title, without the help of his friends.

In a blink of a second, Sonic's eyes glow a sharp blue. If this is how his friends treat him after everything, then so be it.

Sonic scoffed a snarky chuckle.

"Well then," he says, raising his voice at first, "if we're playing the blame game, then THIS, is all Tails' fault!" He points at the young fox.

His ears folded downward. "What...?"

What did he do??

"That's right. Blame me for being a failure and see what happens!" Sonic barked him, stomping his foot.

Knuckles' violet eyes rose. Why the hell is he yelling at this poor child??

"Maybe YOU wouldn't have failed if you try to figure out what to do when G.U.N. showed up! I thought you were smarter than that, Miles!" he cursed his real name.

Tails gasped and back away, hugging on of his fluffy tails. His eyes fluttering as tears began to form.

Knuckles is having none of it.

"How dare you scold the young fox like that!" Knuckles walked up close and personal with Sonic, shielding Tails from him. He snarled at the hedgehog, but it didn't scare him off.

"Sonic, what is wrong with you," Tails croaked, his voice breaking. "I did my best!"

"I'm doing my best too, but no body seems to care!"

"ENOUGH!" Knuckles ordered Sonic loud enough for the whole area to hear. It was enough to make him back away a bit.

"We are supposed to be a team," he reminded calmly yet angrily, "why are you acting this way, hedgehog?"

"Because you don't think Shadow is capable of change." Sonic answered, forcing himself to not cry in front of Knuckles, "you don't believe in him. You don't believe in ME. And you know what? Even if I needed help, I wouldn't rely on people who don't believe in me!"

"I do believe in you!" Tails cried, a tear streaming down his muzzle. He never felt so heartbroken in his life. He did rely on Sonic. He looked out for him. He couldn't believe what was happening.

Why is his own hero acting so harsh to him? ...he probably deserved it.

Knuckles made sure Tails was still behind him in case the hedgehog does anything rash.

Sonic didn't hear a thing Tails said, and he refused to.

"I'm tired of losing other people," Sonic continued, now yelling, "I nearly lost Tom, I am NOT gonna lose the entire world, and I won't let you stop me!"

Tails held onto Knuckles' huge hand. The gesture only made Knuckles grow more angry. Sonic is scaring the small fox. He should not have done that.

"I am not gonna argue with you guys in a middle of a crisis that could only worsen if I'm not doing something about it!" He pointed at the duo. Then he walked up to Knuckles, his eyes glaring right at him like daggers.

"Besides, KNUCKLES, you are way too simpleminded to even listen to a word I say because all YOU care about is kicking someone's butt," Sonic hissed, not afraid of what the Echidna is about to do next.

"Simpleminded?"

He closed his eyes, and breathed through his nose.

He should be.

Knuckles carefully pushed Tails to his side, and then backed up a few steps. "Take it back," he ordered quietly, brow bridges furrowing as he glared back at the hedgehog.

"Make me," he opened up his arms. He could clearly see that this warrior is about to duke it out. If that's the case, he's ready to throw hands whenever.

Knuckles growled. Loudly.

"Take. It. BACK!" He roared as he smacked both of his own fists, causing fire to burst out ablaze out of his gloves, complete with his power surge spiraling all over his body.

Sonic formed his fists tight, his own power surge sparkling as well. His eyes zapped the same blue as before as his quills began to glow.

"Make me!"

It's go time.

Sonic and Knuckles charge at each other, delivering powerful punches to one another, some they dodged, most they certainly came in contact.

Knuckles tried to kick Sonic in the stomach, but as he tried to do so, Sonic zipped behind him and dragged him by his quills and threw him to the nearest police car.

The echidna made a dent on the door and the sirens began to blare off, but no body cared, except for Tails, who was stressed out enough already. He covered his ears, the sound of the police siren bothering his eardrums.

Sonic punched Knuckles in the face twice, but it had no effect. He's just too strong. Knuckles snorted, finding the attack rather unimpressive.

It was his turn to punch back.

POW!!

Sonic goes flying off a few feet away from Knuckles, as he stretches briefly before going back to his fighting stance.

The blue hedgehog gets up, rubs his bruised nose and growled at the Echidna Warrior.

"Stop fighting!" Tails plead.

As if this day couldn't get any worse, two of his favorite people in the galaxy are beating themselves up because of an unsuccessful mission that was probably his own fault.

His family is falling apart. He didn't ask for this.

"See? I told ya, didn't I?!" Sonic barked, his fist shaking, ready to punch that dumb red cherry straight to the concrete. "Fighting is all you focus on! You wanna remain victorious! Undefeatable!"

Sonic came running full speed and landed his fist straight to Knuckles' face. He tumbled on the ground before quickly getting back up, sprinting behind him.

"And all you care about is your reputation!" He spit back, before delivering back his own punch.

"Bull-crap!!"

"You are such a child!"

Sonic spun into a ball before lunging himself right into Knuckles' gut, barely weakening him. Still in his ball form, and rolled laps around him, trying to confuse him, before kicking him hard in the chin.

"I know what I'm doing! You both stay out of this! I don't need your help!" Sonic roared, his power surge growing stronger and unstable. He may be unable to keep his powers at bay, but he couldn't care less.

He just wants Knuckles to back off.

"You haven't a single clue what you are doing, you blue buffoon," The Echidna stated, raising his flaming fists of disaster, ready to set that hedgehog's pathetic face of fire.

"You call yourself a hero after the way you treat your teammates?! You are no such thing until you get your act together!"

"Shut up! Shut up!" A whirring sound grows louder and louder, unable to hold his power together anymore. He was too angry. He was too blinded by rage.

He is sick and tired of being criticized as an imperfect hero. He tried his best. He tried so hard. Why won't it be easy? Why can't everything just go his way?

Why does his family hate him so much?

"Just shut up, you Knucklehead!!!" Sonic screamed at the top of his lungs before shooting himself right into Knuckles at scary speed, preparing to pound the living daylights out of him.

"STOP!"

WHAM!!

Thud...

Sonic's heart nearly stopped.

The light in his once enraged emerald eyes faded away in a second the instant he's seen what he had done.

His powers died down. Now his fur is a dull blue.

It didn't stop his hands from trembling, however.

His ears bent back. He step back a few steps, not letting his eyes off the small, fox, that was once in his way, now many feet away from the duo, not moving a muscle.

His tails were limp for an uncomfortable amount of time. No sound was made from the fox. He remained still on the ground.

For seconds. Too many seconds.

Sonic's mouth quivered. He refuse to believe it.

He punched him. He punched his own little buddy. He hurt him.

"What have I done?"

"Tails!" Knuckles cried out his dear brother's name as he ran towards him, leaving a shocked Sonic by himself.

The Echidna rolled onto the ground as he grabbed Tails by his arms and cradled him close, checking for any injures, and making sure he's alive.

"Tails, are you alright? Speak to me!" He begged the young motionless fox, putting his hand up to his face, checking for blood and cuts.

Sonic watched from afar. The strongest fighter in the galaxy, holding onto a small child for dear life, begging for him to wake up. He caused this.

"Is he...?" he never finished his question. Somehow he knew the answer, but he just prayed it's not really true.

"He's... unconscious." Knuckles said to himself at loud.

Sonic placed both of his hands over his mouth slowly. He was in disbelief.

He knocked his little brother out.

Knuckles and Tails may be a few feet away from him, but to him it felt like millions and millions of miles away. He never felt so divided from his own friends.

How could he do this? To his own little brother?

...his little brother.

Dear God, he hurt his little brother.

How could he?

This small fox, who he bonded with for months, under the same roof, and spend good and bad times with alongside Knuckles, is knocked out because of him.

This tiny, precious baby, who admired him, protected him, fought by his side with, and even looked up to him, is not responding to anything Knuckles is doing.

He hurt him. He yelled at him.

What the hell was he thinking??

What kind of a hero is he hurting his own little brother like that?

His heart completely shattered into pieces the second Knuckles turned his head at him.

This strong Echidna, who has fought the toughest battles and the meanest bad guys before his arrival on Earth, has never looked so lost and distraught.

There were tears swelling in those violet eyes of his.

Knuckles just witnessed a small child got the soul knocked out of him by a speeding hedgehog, and didn't even save him in time.

It terrified him.

It made Knuckles cry. Knuckles never cries.

Sonic made Knuckles cry.

Throw anything at the Echidna, and he'll brush it off, but an injured fox would break him down in seconds.

Sonic may have hurt Knuckles physically, but he was destroyed on the inside just the sight of this small unconscious fox with a huge, purple bruise on his cheek.

Knuckles and Tails had such a bond so close, it would only make sense for Knuckles to break down like this.

The whole scene was just so horrifying for Sonic to watch.

He caused this scene. He hurt his own brothers.

His own brothers who he took in after they dealt with such a troubling childhood. Having either loosing a family, or never having one to begin with.

He gave them everything they ever truly wanted. He gave them a family. A happy life on Earth.

And now, he gave them something they'll both never, ever forget.

Betrayal.

"No hero should ever make a single mistake."

He let Walters' words get the better of him. His own words were his own weapons against his brothers.

Walters managed to break Sonic to the point where he endangered his own brothers.

Because of his fear of failure, it lead him to hurting his own brothers.

Whom he was supposed to protect.

His own fears took over him, making him appear as the bad guy to Knuckles. All over again.

Because of his failure as a hero, Knuckles may never look at Sonic the same way again...

Perhaps it could be true, as Knuckles shuts his eyes tight, and turned away from the speechless hedgehog, trying to calm himself down.

Him and Shadow really do have a lot in common after all.

Knuckles took a few deep breaths. "Keep calm... Don't let it out... Seal it in..."

Seal what in? What was he talking about?

Knuckles exhaled deeply, feeling more relaxed, but still in slight distraught when he opened his eyes back up, seeing the unconscious fox back in his view.

He couldn't bare to look at the poor thing any longer. he shuts his eyes tight again. He will find a way to nurse him back to health.

The hospital is right there. Hopefully the doctors know how to take care of an alien fox.

"Kn-Knuckles...?" Sonic mumbled his elder brother's name, reached his hand out slowly to him, praying he's not too mad at him now that he calmed himself down.

"Leave."

...Or maybe not.

Sonic pulled his hand back, stabbed in the heart by that one word. He doesn't really want to leave his friends behind. Not after what he had done.

He never meant for any of this to happen. He never meant to go so hard on them. He just doesn't want them to get hurt.

He just doesn't them to go too far on Shadow.

Another fight with Shadow is long overdue, but he knows what he has been through. He knew deep down he wouldn't listen, but talking things out won't work forever.

He just didn't want his brothers to make things harder for him than it already has, but he never meant to hurt them either.

Shadow is just a rival, but Tails and Knuckles are his brothers. Hurting them is a different story entirely.

They mean so much to him as much as Tom and Maddie. His parents.

He has injured his family. He had failed them.

...but hopefully not the world.

There is still time to stop the Eclipse Canon from powering up, and stop the Robotniks for good, and taking care of Shadow. It's just Sonic doing all the work now.

His family needed rest to heal anyways. He has put them through enough trouble. No more mistakes. No more hurting.

He's doing this alone. For them.

"I'll leave," Sonic croaked quietly, but loud enough for Knuckles to hear, "but I'll fix everything. I promise. Once I'm done with Shadow, I'll go and you won't need me anymore, and that's fine."

He sniffled, turning away from his brothers. He doesn't want to see them in that state anymore.

"I'll be okay on my own. I've done it before... I promise I won't bother you guys again..." Sonic says. Despite his small smile, he was screaming and sobbing on the inside.

"You have every right to be upset at me, but it won't change how I love you. And because I love you is why I'm going alone. I hope you understand. ...Goodbye, big bro."

With a burst of speed, Sonic ran off in seconds, leaving a blue blur behind him. Now it's just Knuckles, and a small motionless pup in his arms.

Deep down, Knuckles didn't want Sonic to leave, but he was just so angry at him...

He doesn't deserve to be alone. No body does.

Shadow doesn't deserve it either.

But he was still angry at him, especially. But he'll deal with him later. Sonic can't handle Shadow on his own, even though the blue hedgehog is full of surprises.

He'll deal with everything later. His baby brother's well being is his number one priority.

He pulled Tails in closer where his head meet his chest, and pressed his muzzle against his bangs, giving him the most comfortable hug he could ever receive.

"I won't leave you until you are all better, my dear brother," he whispered to him, still holding onto him as if he was just a small baby.

He sat there on the wet concrete, ignoring the cold shivers, and remained there until the fox is okay.

He is not loosing another member of his tribe. Not again.

-

Randell watched from afar. He wasn't there to witness everything, but he's gotten enough context to understand what had happened.

He stood there, his arms crossed, watching Knuckles holding onto Tails for dear life.

He still can't believe these are the dangerous aliens Walters was freaking out over for so long. They're just children. Children longing for a home.

And because of Walters' actions, these poor kids have been separated.

He turned away, crossed with his ex-commander. He could've just let them get to the ARK first. He could've just left them alone. But he didn't. He just had to be the villain.

"When I see him, he will not ignore me again," he said, before walking off.

He gave a promise to himself that if Walters won't leave this family alone, he's gonna have to take drastic measures.

He doesn't care about the consequences. The only thing he cares about is his family. And the planet they belong in.

-

[bbeelzemon]

as such i have been tits out for hours

[hotvampireadjacent]

Racism is alive and well in America

This Juneteenth as we celebrate and reflect on the progress we've made and look to what we can do to improve equal rights for black folks I want to bring attention to an issue far too closet to my heart- environmental racism.

I had a friend who died, far too young. It's been many years so newer tumblr users won't know him. His name was james and he was a popular tumblr user when he was alive @kumagawa . I idolized him like an older brother, and still do. He lived in Flint, Michigan. He was around 27 when he died. He was a healthy man, other than the fact he lived with dirty water in Flint, Michigan.

I'll never fucking forgive the US government for killing my friend, my brother. Why did James die? Because Flint, Michigan is 56% Black. Because it would be expensive to fix the lead pipes that gave my friend lead poisoning and killed him.

As of April 24,2024 the city of Flint, Michigan still hasn't replaced all the lead pipes that are poisoning the people living there.

https://www.aclumich.org/en/press-releases/residents-still-waiting-city-flint-replace-all-lead-pipes-10-year-anniversary-water

If you can help, give money to Mari Copeny's go fund me.

Mari Copeny, better known as Little miss Flint, is now 16 years old and over the past few years has raised nearly a million dollars for her community.

She has a website to links for other ways to support the community

Please reblog this post if you can't give any money... It would mean the world to me if I could use my friend's memory to help promote environmental racism and the issues still facing his community today.

[daggers-drawn-returns]

Please Help a Homeless Transgender Woman Afford Her Hormones and a Gym Membership to Have Access to a Shower and Locker to Keep Her Belongings Safe

November 2nd 2024

Hi, I'm Thistle Ishtar Daggers-Drawn and I'm a homeless transgender woman living on the street. I have been blessed by all of you with support for awhile and it's really been making my life so much better and in some cases just plain possible. Thank you all so much!

Lately, I've been having a lot of trouble with people walking up to me while I'm sleeping and taking my stuff. I've lost a lot of valuable and sentimental belongings like this.

It would help me a lot to have a membership to the local gym which is on the same block as where I sleep. I would have access to a locker, showers, electricity, wifi, and some nice things like the sauna and hot tub which would help all the body aches from sleeping on concrete. The gym is also a UPS access point where I can receive mail. It would cost around $50 for a three month membership.

I also haven't had my hormones in about 6 months and I'm feeling super dysphoric. It would cost about $100 to be able to order a 6 month supply from pharmaceutical manufacturers in China. It means so much to me to be able to continue my hormonal transition!

Please help me raise $150 to afford access to a locker, shower, wifi, electricity, mail, and hormones!

Cash App: $ThistleDD

Venmo: @ThistleDD

Thank you for your support so far! If you can't donate, reblogging and sharing make a world of difference!

[zarameraki]

♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧ 𝘆𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝘂𝗸𝘂𝗻𝗮'𝘀 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱'𝘀 𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♡₊˚⚜️・₊✧

: ̗̀➛ tropes: fem! reader 𖥔 mdni 𖥔 sukuna is a mafia kingpin 𖥔 teasing grumpy x sunshine 𖥔 pregnancy trope 𖥔 he'll burn the world for you 𖥔 "my wife" 𖥔 he's a great dad 𖥔 mentions of miscarriage 𖥔 mentions of physical and sexual assault 𖥔 mention of parental death 𖥔 major fluff 𖥔 sexual content 𖥔 alternate universe 𖥔 nsfw 𖥔 he loves eating you out 𖥔 anal play (yup.) 𖥔 last warning: mdni!

: ̗̀➛ words: 6.0k

: ̗̀➛ notes: no bc i love you all so much. it's insane how much you guys have supported my toji fanfic & and my nanami fanfic. i'll def be writing a part two to both of those masterpieces (yes i have self-confidence). as someone who's always imagined sukuna as a mafia leader, i decided to say fuck it and write it. please leave a comment, like, and reblog! thank you & ily. enjoy! (p.s. pregnancy trope>>>)

You never thought you'd be married to Sukuna Ryomen, let alone carrying his kid again. Yet, four years deep into this forced marital mess, thanks to your father owing a hefty debt to the kingpin of the underworld crime syndicate, here you were.

“Look at you, Mrs. Ryomen, radiant as ever!” chirped one of your husband’s associate's wives. You had studied a name list last night, but it all escaped your memory after you passed out from sheer exhaustion.

Sukuna wasn’t keeping a hawk's eye on you like he used to when you first stepped into the public eye. Gone were the days of his glares if you messed up a name. Never once had he laid a finger on you at home, despite your assumption that forgetfulness would earn you a beating.

“Thank you." You forced a smile at the woman, your patience waning as the mayor's birthday party stretched on. It was almost the end of the night, and your feet were protesting from traipsing around in flats. All you craved at that moment was your bed, pronto.

The woman and her husband attempted to capture Sukuna's lukewarm attention through political discussions and expressing gratitude for the illegal artillery shipments from your husband's syndicate. They made no effort to acknowledge your existence by his side.

Your hand rested on your belly, a mere eight months into your pregnancy—a new personal record. The first time you conceived, Sukuna demanded an heir, and you willingly agreed, knowing that the child would provide some distraction in the expansive estate that felt like a cage. Unfortunately, at the two-month mark, you experienced a miscarriage.

Feeling Sukuna's knuckles lightly tapping your back, you straightened your posture momentarily, only to slouch again almost instantly. It was futile. The discomfort of your swollen and cramped belly made it nearly impossible to maintain a poised demeanor in the midst of the party.

Disobeying Sukuna meant facing inevitable death, a fact well understood in his dangerous domain, and you had never dared to challenge that.

"Let's go," Sukuna said, cutting through the incessant chatter of the couple. He didn't grasp your hand, only your fragile wrist, a gesture you didn't mind. Yours was not a typical love; he, Sukuna Ryomen, a most feared monster in the criminal underworld, and you, a sacrificial lamb, a trophy collected three years ago, a means to his heir.

"I'm sorry," you whispered as you exited the venue, heading towards the limousine surrounded by fifteen armed guards under Sukuna's command. "I'm so sorry—"

"Get in the car." He held the door open for you, signaling his guards to disperse and take their positions in the Jeeps parked behind.

Silencing yourself, you cautiously settled into the back seat, and Sukuna joined you, slamming the door with force. His anger was discernible, and the memory of that night, losing your second unborn child to a kidnapping, plagued your dreams. You were uncertain if the nightmares were about Sukuna's wrath upon finding you or the horrors his enemies inflicted on you during your 48-hour captivity.

Sukuna noticed your struggle with the seatbelt and contorted his body toward you. Your fingers released their grip on the belt, allowing him to pull it taut and secure it snugly around your midsection. Click. He withdrew, distancing himself from your face that had been mere inches away.

“Tedious fucking party, anyway,” Sukuna grumbled, his left ankle casually perched on his right kneecap. He always adopted a specific posture, his elbow leaning against something, cheek resting on his knuckles, and his narrow eyes a rich brown that could almost pass for a deep shade of red. He exuded an unrelenting air of intimidation.

"I agree," you unintentionally voiced your thoughts, earning a sidelong glance from him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

His attention barely lingered on you as the car roared to life. You breathed a sigh of relief, stretching out your legs and leaning your head back against the seat's shoulder. Your palm absentmindedly traced circles on your belly. Goosebumps peppered your skin from the frigidness in the car, stirring an involuntary shudder.

"Turn on the heater," Sukuna ordered the driver in his smooth, languid baritone.

"Yes, sir."

As warmth gradually surrounded the backseat, you hummed a small "Thank you" and closed your eyes, enjoying a few moments of peace.

Disorientation clouded your senses, and you dispelled it by rubbing your eyes and using your knuckles to prop yourself against the headboard. A couple of contractions ripped through your gut, causing you to groan and hiss through gritted teeth.

The enormous room was devoid of Sukuna, its black silk sheets hinting at the luxury covering you. The fireplace casted a warm glow, and a soft, dim golden light spilled from the lamp onto the floor.

In the first year of your marriage and pregnancy, your bedroom was located three doors away. You were tended to by on-site nurses and doctors, surrounded by an entourage of maids for company. Days were spent aimlessly wandering the estate, occasionally crossing paths with one of Sukuna's mistresses, their curious smirks evident as they exited his room.

The second year brought a subtle shift. You still slept alone, but now there was a surprising addition of joining Sukuna for dinner. Positioned diagonally from him, an air of restrained silence hung above your head. Yet, between the utensils clattering and quiet chewing, Sukuna's glances toward you and your five-month-old belly revealed your anticipation for the impending arrival of your child.

One of your maids had been instructed to lure you into a private conversation in the back garden, and before you could react, a group of men clad in black drugged you and forcibly removed you from the cage, which in that cruel moment felt like a sanctuary.

Most details of the monstrosities forced upon you in that warehouse have been compressed by your mind—the merciless physical and sexual assault endured for hours. They callously bragged that raping Sukuna's Ryomen's wife was a personal victory, cackling like bloodthirsty hyenas as you bled from your legs. In the thick of your suffering, you lost your second child in a pool of your own sweat and feces.

When Sukuna discovered you, when he annihilated every man along with their bloodlines, you were left as a mere shell of a woman, practically lifeless. You've existed as a walking corpse for quite some time now. Following that dreadful night, you attempted every conceivable means to end your own life—drowning, leaping out of windows, creating a makeshift noose from bed sheets and tying them around balcony railings, teetering on the edge—but every attempt proved useless. Sukuna consistently interfered at the last minute, sweeping in and enveloping you in his arms as you wept until unconsciousness claimed you for days.

Therapy provided some relief, as did the medications. Sukuna heightened security measures tenfold, keeping only those workers who served during his father and grandfather's reigns. He moved your belongings into his bedroom, sleeping by your side with a gun beneath his pillow. There were times when you would doze off in the library while reading, only to wake up in his room.

Two years seemed like an eternity in the slow process of healing, both physically and mentally, from the torment that had befallen you. Stepping into the garden was a reminder of the progress you had made, yet the hope that blossomed in your womb now filled you with a different kind of fear.

You needed your baby. Even if it meant risking your own life during childbirth. The only thing that mattered was the precious life you carried within you, and as long as your baby took that first breath, you'd welcome death with open arms.

Sukuna's bedroom door creaked open, revealing his presence.

Mink-colored tendrils of hair obscured his eyes, disheveled from their usual spiked stance. The stark white of his dress shirt was marred by the unmistakable stains of someone else's blood, and a gun dangled casually from his grasp. In the subdued lighting, his facial markings, inked tattoos designed to mask the scars of his tormented childhood, appeared more ominous than ever.

Without acknowledging your ogling, he briskly entered his bathroom.

You slipped back under the covers, pulling the comforter up to your chin, soothing the sharp twinges in your belly. The rhythmic sounds of his shower served as a background melody. Sukuna took an eternity to freshen up, nearly two hours passing before the door finally creaked open. You had kept a close eye on it, lost in your own world and trying to ignore the persistent contractions. No complaints, though – you were at the eight-month mark, and this baby was determined to make its entrance into the world.

Draped in a sleek black silk robe, Sukuna strolled toward his side of the bed, his eyes locking onto yours. "Why are you still awake?" He tilted his head as if studying an unfamiliar creature. He always regarded you with a curious interest, unearthing some new revelations about you.

"Cramps," you whispered in the dimness, even though the first rays of morning sun began to seep through the curtains.

Sukuna strolled to his side of the bed, lifting the comforter to settle down. "Do you take any medication for it?"

You shook your head. "I don't want to take any risks."

"So you're just going to endure the night with a migraine?"

Your husband seemed oblivious to the concept of cramps. He hadn't bothered to educate himself about your pregnancy or even familiarize himself with basic menstrual cycle terminology. You hesitated to bring attention to his title and position, but he was, after all, born from a woman.

How could he not know?

"Answer me," Sukuna demanded, fixing you with a cold, indifferent gaze. How could two simple words carry such a heavy, intimidating weight? Your entire body shuddered, and you swore you felt your child kick in response to his attitude, causing you to clench your teeth.

"Cramps . . . are something women experience during their period and pregnancy. They're sharp, unpredictable pains in your gut and back," you explained, finding a position that eased the cramps and calmed your baby. "It's worse when you're pregnant—like someone attached a taser to your body without a switch to turn it off."

Sukuna's brow furrowed, and he seemed pissed off as if he held a vendetta against cramps. "Will it have any consequence on the baby?"

You were really trying to be patient. “The baby is the reason why.” 

He ran his hands wearily down his face, casting a stern gaze at the ceiling, his breath quickening. "Is there any way to relieve the pain? Besides medication?"

“Well,” you said slowly, “when I first started menstruating, my mother used to place a warm rubber bottle on my stomach.” The recollection of nights spent groaning, tossing, and turning with your hand clutching your stomach brought a smile. After her passing in high school, you found yourself managing the household, dealing with your drug-addicted father, and taking care of yourself all on your own.

"Come here."

Startled, you shifted your focus to your husband, who raised the comforter like a makeshift tent with one arm. "You don't have to—"

"Come here."

With caution, you edged closer, lying flat and holding your breath. Sukuna propped himself up on one elbow, resting his temple on his knuckles while adjusting the blanket up to your neck. His left hand glided up your sweater and settled on your swollen belly.

An immediate sense of relaxation cocooned you, your eyes closing as warmth radiated from his palm onto your skin. The sensation passed through to your child, who quit kicking within seconds, seemingly recognizing their father's touch. It dawned on you that Sukuna hadn't touched you since you conceived, and you hadn't realized the volume of your misery and longing until this moment.

"Feeling better?"

"Mm-hmm." You nestled your face close to his neck. All you managed to whisper, your voice tinged with brokenness, was, "Please, don't let go."

Sukuna responded only with silence.

You'd woken up screaming bloody-mary.

The security team and maids hurried into the bedroom, their eyes widening at the sight of blood staining your clothes and darkening the black sheets. In a swift response, the doctor and her team of nurses rushed in while Uraume, Sukuna's trusted aide, calmly called for your husband from a corner of the room.

In the heat of your excruciating screams, five nurses attempted to guide your breathing and encourage you to follow a pattern. Guards carefully lifted you into a sitting position, and Uraume decisively cleared the room of all men. The doctor swiftly removed your sweatpants and panties, covering your lower region with a sheet, and instructing you to push.

Your body felt numb, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, and a black vignette closing in on your vision. Your head swayed left and right, on the verge of dropping if not for Uraume's unwavering support. Despite the intensity of your grip, they held steady, their only reaction being a stream of muttered curses amid the chaotic scene.

"I can't—Uraume—"

"You will, Mrs. Sukuna. You have come this far. Giving up now is not an option."

"I don't want to die," you whispered akin to a prayer.

"You won't," they softly replied. "He won't allow it."

Uraume, a silent figure from the past, now stood by your side, offering support and encouragement. The connection with them had been minimal, limited to the formalities of a marital contract signing. They had simply muttered, “He’s not half as evil as they say,” to you before packing up the papers and leaving you in the room with Sukuna.

The room buzzed with affirmations, reassuring you that they could see the baby's head and urging you to push with each breath.

The sound of the baby's cries stirred you awake.

You snapped to attention at the sweet, reassuring sound, realizing that your baby was close to arrival—alive and ready to face the world. Following two heartbreaking miscarriages and the pain endured as Sukuna's wife, the bearer of his lost children, you were finally on the cusp of welcoming motherhood.

"Two more pushes!" The doctor's voice cut through the air.

"AGH!" A guttural growl escaped your throat as you grappled with the harsh sensations. Your body trembled, and waves of fiery discomfort overflowed through your core as you exerted yourself to bring your baby into the world.

"Come on," Uraume whispered. "You can do this, Mrs. Ryomen."

You let out a powerful cry and strained with effort, bringing forth new life. The baby and you were crying at the exact wavelength, competing against who could be louder. The nurses and attendants, familiar faces from your previous pregnancies, clasped their hands in prayer for a safe delivery. Tears of relief streamed down your face as you pushed for your own well-being.

"Blanket!" the doctor urgently called out, prompting a nurse to rush over with a soft cream blanket. "Push!"

With a final, determined push, the weight lifted suddenly.

The slippery sensation of delivering the child and the immediate release of pressure left you slumping against Uraume's shoulder. As they laid you down, the doctor directed the staff to tend to you while the baby's cries filled the air.

The doctor approached through your hazy sight and gently laid your newborn on your chest. Overwhelmed with emotion, you showered your baby with kisses, tears of joy streaming down your face. Your little one was here. They were finally here.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Ryomen," the doctor announced as the cries of your newborn gradually faded into the background. "It's a girl."

You drifted into unconsciousness.

The soft cadence of Sukuna's voice filtered through the foggy boundaries of sleep, causing you to slowly come back to life.

“Why is this brat refusing to sleep?” you heard your husband grumbling.

With a laborious effort, you rubbed your eyes, summoning the strength to lift your head from the comfort of the pillow. The scene unfolded before you—Sukuna, the most feared criminal, pacing at the foot of his bed, cradling your crying newborn daughter in his arms, unsure of how to handle his little foe.

"What do you want? Food? You don’t have any teeth yet, little miscreant."

"Sukuna . . ." you whispered, a gentle plea for attention.

Your husband's gaze snapped in your direction, relief washing over his features as he realized you were conscious. "Thank fuck." Moving swiftly, he approached and took a seat at the edge of the bed.

His brown-reddish eyes lingered on the delicate scene unfolding before him—the intertwining of your index finger with your daughter's tiny, rattling fist. A calming magic seemed to stem from your touch, instantly soothing the cries to soft sniffles.

"Already playing favorites, I see," he remarked with a teasing tone, a wry smile on his lips.

"I have to feed her." Your voice was hoarse from the relentless screaming during the delivery. A series of deadly wheezes followed when you coughed, frightening your baby once more. Her cries started again, blending with the impatient curses of her father.

He gently placed her in the cradle, his strength used to prop you up against the headboard. The room carried the scent of coconut soap, your body freshly washed, the sheets beneath you brand-new. You were also dressed in a new set of panties and a nursing bra.

"Are you sure you have enough nutrients in your body to feed her?" Sukuna asked, holding your baby girl as you unclipped the front left cup. Rather than wasting your breath on a response, you focused on helping your daughter latch onto your nipple.

You winced once she caught it, then melted back as she started drinking. “I’m fine,” you finally answered. “Body . . . hurts.”

"No shit. You pushed an eight pound baby out of you." Despite the crude sarcasm in his tone, Sukuna tenderly caressed his knuckles over his daughter's cheek.

"Did you want . . . a girl?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, adjusting your baby onto your lap. "I assumed you'd prefer a boy as an heir."

"I'm not my father," he declared, putting an end to the conversation. "She's got your eyes."

Your daughter gazed up at you with a curiosity remarkably similar to yours. You smiled down at her, grateful she had made it. Grateful that Sukuna wasn't throwing a tantrum over the gender of your child but instead cupping the top of his baby girl's head and brushing his thumb across her forehead.

“You got a name for her?” Sukuna asked.

“Yes, but we can brainstorm if you don’t—”

“You carried the child, you birthed her, you will name her. Whatever it is, I agree.”

Something dead stirred inside your chest. Swallowing hard, you shared the chosen name, "Nobara."

He nodded in approval, and as he pronounced her name, Nobara responded with a wailing cry. "Her tantrums will be the fucking death of me." Sukuna took her into his arms again.

"Support the back of her head and rub her back. She needs to be burped," you advised.

He grunted but followed your instructions. Moments later, a tiny burp from Nobara made you chuckle, earning a slight eye roll and a hint of a smile from him.

"I'll take the next few weeks off to help you recover from the aftermath and the stitches," he announced, rising and walking towards his work desk, where he settled into a large leather chair, cradling your newborn.

You nodded appreciatively, easing yourself down.

"Oh, before I forget," Sukuna mentioned as you settled into bed, "I've arranged a new doctor for you."

“Did you fire the last one?”

“I fired at her, yes.”

Your eyes widened. "What? Why would you—? What?"

He shrugged, cradling the back of your newborn's head. "She suggested an additional stitch for you. Said it would make things 'tighter' down there for me."

Your face flushed. “So . . . you killed her?”

"Yes," he confirmed, his gaze fixed on you with those penetrating eyes, "I don't need a mere doctor questioning whether I'd still enjoy having sex with my wife after she gave birth to our child."

“But . . . you have mistresses. Don’t you?”

He lifted a brow. “I had mistresses up until . . . ”

Up until the kidnapping.

Sukuna never spoke of the crime after he’d saved you. Instead, he expressed his commitment through actions: sleeping beside you, teaching you how to handle a handgun, keeping a protective arm around your waist at social gatherings. Occasionally, you swore you felt him run his fingers through your hair as you slept.

"I wouldn't mind if you did," you admitted, a voice inside contradicting your words. "Given what my body has been through, I would find myself repulsive for pleasure, too. I understand if you feel disgusted."

Sukuna halted the gentle strokes on your daughter's back and straightened up. "What the fuck did you just say?"

An icy shiver ran through you, momentarily numbing the pain. "I-I just assumed—"

"You know, you make a lot of assumptions about me, wife. It gets under my fucking skin that you'd ever believe I could raise a hand on you. Day and night, every hour and minute, even now, in your presence, my mind is consumed with ways to kill the fear that's taken root in you.” He was infuriated yet vulnerable, with Nobara sleeping peacefully on his shoulder. “Everyone I’ve ever met has done nothing but fear me like I’m a curse on their soul, and while I’m flattered of the monster they’ve painted me out to be, I refuse to let my wife and daughter see me in that light. Do I make myself clear?"

You . . . nodded. 

“And for your information, I had mistresses up until I married you.”

You took in a sharp breath, processing the confession. "But those women—"

"Spies," he clarified, his voice low and steady. "They operate undercover in my clubs, keeping an eye out for potential threats. I haven't fucked anyone since the day I put that ring on your finger." He offered a small, almost imperceptible apology to your baby for cursing.

"Oh."

All you ever heard were twisted stories about the Sukuna Ryomen, a young man who, against all odds, slaughtered his own father to ascend the throne of the underworld criminal realm. Whispers spoke of a chilling childhood, where a mother's desperate attempt to suffocate her son in his sleep. The scars etched into his skin, concealed beneath a tapestry of dark markings, bore witness to the brutal initiation rites inflicted by vengeful uncles. In his domain, everyone prayed to see him buried six feet under.

Which is why you felt sympathy for your husband. He was lonely. Too lonely. Despite all the riches and influence surrounding him, he was stuck in a fortress where danger lurked around every corner. He had no friends, no one he could truly confide in—except perhaps Uraume. Opening up about his emotions wasn't in his nature. He kept the tough exterior, convinced that being a monster, a curse, was the only path to earning respect and recognition.

But just now, when had cut himself open in front of you and bled a human color, he was Sukuna. Your husband. The one who just became a father. A man wrapped in a comfortable robe with his hair combed down and his skin clean of dirt and blood as he held his daughter, as he gazed at you like you two were the only people meant fighting for in his treacherous world.

Sukuna noticed your silence, tuned in to your steady breaths, and lowered his lashes. "You'll ask me to touch you. Not just for the sake of having another child but for your own pleasure. If I'm not around and you need me, you will call, and I'll rush home. If this little brat gives you any trouble, I'll handle it. Hell, maybe I'll let her in on a bit of the family business for a head start."

"No," you murmured, absorbing everything he'd just said. "Not now. I want her to enjoy a proper childhood."

"Is that a demand?" Sukuna tilted his head slightly, another method of asserting authority. Yet, after all he'd shared about dropping everything for you, about making love to you, the fear in you started to dissolve bit by bit.

"Yes," you affirmed. "It's a demand."

A small smirk played on Sukuna's lips as he rose from his spot, circled the bed, and settled down beside you, with Nobara resting peacefully on his chest. Summoning all your strength, you turned to run your fingers over your baby's soft cheek and tiny, parted lips.

“She sleeps like you, Mr. Ryomen.”

“Sukuna,” he corrected, his arm covering his eyes as he breathed with a slightly open mouth. “My wife will call me Sukuna.”

Teasingly, you asked, “Is that a demand, Sukuna?”

His arm shifted low, and his reddish-brown eyes softened, stealing your breath. “Only from my wife and daughter.”

You smiled, closing your eyes. “Goodnight, Sukuna.”

In response, he wrapped his strong arm around you, pulling you close to his side, his two girls snuggled against his body.

In the beginning, you knew you didn't belong in the hell Sukuna ruled. Your father's mistakes, pilfering drug shipments and peddling them locally, had sealed both his fate and yours. With thoughts of fleeing the disgrace your father brought upon your family, you had started packing, desperate to escape the clutches of your old man.

The following night, Sukuna and his henchmen barged into your cramped apartment, wreaking havoc on every piece of furniture. Rocking in the corner of your room, Sukuna casted his shadow over you like the God of Death, bathed in your father’s blood.

Crouching down to your eye level, he tipped your chin up, leaving a splotch of blood. He used the collar of your sweater to wipe it away. In a hushed confession, you revealed the hidden drugs under the sink and floorboards, along with your father's buyer list folded in the cereal boxes. Sukuna grinned and ordered his underlings to retrieve the concealed items. Then, the chilling question hung in the air: "Are you going to kill me, too?"

"I'm tempted," Sukuna replied, "but not to kill you." His gaze fixated on your left hand, and he raised it, studying your ring finger. "You will pay for your father's crimes with your life." He held your hand in front of your face. "You will take my last name." His smirk widened, revealing perfect teeth. "Isn't that the cruelest form of death, love?"

Unconsciousness claimed you then, but after seven years of marriage, enduring unimaginable hardships, and finally welcoming a baby into the world, your answer was clear. The true torment wasn't caused by the man you once perceived as a monster but rather by his enemies.

"How am I supposed to know if Mr. Munchkin wants more tea? He's a fucking stuffed toy. Can't talk, you know?"

"Sukuna," you warned, perched on the armrest while busy crocheting baby socks for your little one on the way.

Nobara, wielding a rubber, squeaky hammer, stood up from her seat, giving her father a bonk on the head each time he let out a curse. And you often heard the squeak of the hammer around the house.

Nobara's tiara was slightly askew, frustration evident in her curled lips and bared teeth. She was growing increasingly irritated with her father's lack of understanding about the rules of her tea party. "Mr. Munchkin wants tea, Papa. Give him tea! Give him tea! Give him—"

"Fine, I surrender. Here, you little bastard. Take the whole fu—damn pot." He shoved the plastic teapot towards Mr. Munchkin, a well-loved cat stuffed toy you had gifted Nobara on her last birthday. "Happy?"

"Cup," she insisted, pointing at the tea cup in front of Mr. Munchkin.

Sukuna sighed and poured the water from the kettle into the pink plastic cup.

"Me too," Nobara added, settling back in her kiddie chair. Sukuna had barely taken his seat before she had him on the floor. "Hurry!"

"May I pour for the other toys first, Your Highness?"

"Not toys. Friends."

Sukuna shot you a helpless glare, eliciting a chuckle from you. He filled the table with tea, and Nobara, holding her small cup, clinked it with her father's, followed by her collection of stuffed animals. Sukuna reluctantly mimicked the gesture. Instead of sipping the tea, he downed it like a shot.

“Papa!”

“Sukuna, come on.”

There wasn’t any winning with his girls.

Sukuna reluctantly poured himself another cup, sipping it with an air of royalty that mirrored a princess. Despite his resistance to the make-believe tea party, you couldn't ignore the genuine affection he showed toward his daughter. He would nod attentively when one of the stuffed animals "spoke," laughed along with Nobara, and even beautified himself with a glittering tiara, a feathered pink scarf, and deep purple-painted nails.

Sukuna was, without a doubt, a fantastic father. It came as no surprise that Nobara's first word was 'Brat.'

That night, you kissed your daughter goodnight and tucked her into her bed. Sukuna joked that he’d spent every last bit of his wealth decorating the brat’s room, filling it with the latest toys, and stacking her closet with whatever clothes she laid her finger or eyes on. She was truly the princess of her father’s heart.

"She's asleep," you informed him.

"I'll give her a kiss in a minute. Just need to finish this," Sukuna replied, pouring over his documents.

Letting out a sigh, you shuffled over, rolled back his chair, and settled onto his lap. He continued reading as you wrapped your arms around his neck, resting your cheek on his shoulder, peering at him through your lashes.

"I want you," you murmured.

Sukuna paused, lowering his gaze to meet your cheeky smile. "Later."

"It's late."

"I have to finish—" He halted as you began kissing his neck, moving up to his jaw and cheeks, tracing the contours of his face tattoos.

"Please, Sukuna," you whispered near his ear.

How could he refuse you anything when you appeared so stunning, radiating with the joy of expecting another child in your four-month-old belly?

“Take off your robe and get on the bed. Spread your legs for me.” He gave your ass a little smack as you happily skipped away, shedding your clothes and clearing the bed to settle in. With a grin, you opened your legs, propping yourself up on your elbows.

Sukuna stood up from his seat, loosening his robe as he did. He sighed, watching the moisture forming between your legs. Pregnancy seemed to heighten your lusts, and Sukuna was always ready to fulfill your needs.

“What pretty, wet cunt,” he whispered softly, leaning in to kiss your chest, trailing down to your stomach, your hips, your calling clit. 

Over the years, you realized Sukuna enjoyed pleasuring you more than the opposite. He feasted on you like a starved man, whether it happened in the back of the limo, in a guest room during a party, or just minutes before a crucial meeting in his office. He insisted it was his way of relaxing, often pleading with you to spend a full hour on his face as he ate you out and drank every drop of your release. It had turned into a daily routine for him. And for you.

“Oh, Sukuna, yes, yes. Right there—ah!” Your back arched off the mattress when his tongue drove into your hole, flicking and exploring your clamping walls. His mouth was latched to your pussy, sucking it in, his cheeks hollowing rapidly. Your fingers tightened in his hair, hips voluntarily grating against his face, his sharp nose rubbing over your swollen clit. 

Sukuna drew back as you came down with a muted cry behind your hand and lapped at the flow of your juices pouring out of you. His lips shone as he leaned over and gently kissed you, allowing you to taste yourself from his tongue. “If I don’t fuck you now, I will die.” 

“Hurry, then.” 

Sukuna pushed himself inside you, and that first wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you sank your nails in his back and cried out heavenwards. He groaned and grunted, thrusts growing speed, his plump balls smacking against your ass. You loved that he fucked harder, faster, driving you to the brink of ruination. 

After you'd healed from Nobara's birth, he would always make sure to get at least ten orgasms from you. From midnight to early morning, he'd fuck you in every possible position. But his favorite was always missionary, where he could have his eyes on you, writhing and whimpering beneath him, telling him it’s too much, he's too thick, all while using your heels to draw him in even closer.

Sukuna curled his arm around your waist and sat you up on his lap, thrusting up into you as you coiled yourself around his neck. “Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your cunt was made for me, love. Your cunt was fucking made for me.” His hand threaded to the back of your head, grasping your hair and drawing your face back so you were looking him in the eyes without wavering, without bowing your head. He needed to know you didn’t fear him when he fucked you like this. It was an unspoken check-in, and when you smiled drunkenly, only then did he let you return to embracing him. 

“Are you close?” you whispered. 

“Not yet. I want to come in your ass.” 

You shivered despite how scalding and sweaty your bodies were. “Do it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Please.” 

Sukuna dragged you off his cock so you could get on all-fours, raising your ass up for him. He’s only ever been in your sacred spot a handful of times but never finished himself inside it. It appeared that tonight you were both a little extra spellbound.

Mounting himself behind you, Sukuna unfurled your ass and spit on his fingers, stroking the puckered hole. He gathered the creamy liquid dripping out of your pussy to lubricate the spot. His middle finger stretched you out, followed by his ring fingers, pushing in and out until he knew for sure you were prepared for him. 

Sukuna’s steel-hard cock pushed into your tiny hole. The sight of it expanding to swallow his girthy size almost made him come right there and then. He started to move in sluggish movement, grabbing onto your waist. His hips cruised, brushing against your ass, making you impatient and push yourself back. 

“Understood.” He chuckled and dug his nails into your skin, dragging out to the tip and shoving himself inside. Your face pressed into your pillows, crying and trembling as he abused your asshole non-stop. “You’re taking me so well, my love. Oh, fuck, fuck.” He rutted into you like a beast, claiming your body, rubbing your clit from the front, spanking your ass, brandishing you over and over again. 

You both snapped in unison. 

Sukuna sagged over your spine as he bucked in every last bit of his sloppy seed. His lips kissed your shoulder blades, holding you up by one arm. Gently, he pulled out, his cock growing floppy until you flipped onto your back, hair sticking to your sweaty, flushed face, belly slightly swollen, your tits larger in size, his release mingled with yours seeping out from your holes. 

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, cupping your face like he didn’t just fuck your soul out of you. That smirk you’d come to love appeared on his lips. You reciprocated back, stretching out your arms so he could lean down and kiss you sweetly on the lips and cheeks and toss in a praise or two for what a good girl you were as he slid into you again, slower and more intimate with his game. “I fucking love you, Y/N.” 

You smiled against his lips that continuously whispered the three beautiful words and said, “I love you, too, Sukuna,” before sealing it with a long, lasting kiss.

[glass-clown]

[ID: A screenshot of tags by @faelovers that reads, "It's interesting seeing this as someone with a big interest in dolls and closely follows the market trends and companies, cause like if you follow these brands and their releases you know that toy companies have been struggling. The manufacturing costs are increasing and kids are less interested in physical toys and for a while collectors have been very disappointed in releases from Mattel specifically, while their rival company MGA has been very successful recently with the collector and tween market for their Bratz revival and with their Rainbow High brand which took a lot of inspiration from the success of Mattel's success with Monster High in the 2010's. This movie seems very much made to appeal to nostalgia and the 'kidult' market interested in Barbie again. After a long time of her being either the lame sister to Monster High or a brand collectors are giving up on, these corporations are really wanting adults to buy into their brands and Mattel's only play atm is nostalgia and the Barbie name brand because Barbie products haven't been on par with their competitors for a long time. This is so boring and corporate but I've been following these trends since I was like 12 lmao. Autistic gals got to be boring about something." /END OF ID]

is the creativity in the room with us right now .

[falesten-iw]

To Those Who Still Hold Onto a Shred of Morality and Humanity - Stand with Us and Don’t Forget Us.

Over 40,000 lives have been lost, with 70% of them being children and women. Among these numbers are my own family members—many of whom I’ve already lost.

My family, my cousin, aunt, their children, and grandchildren were all directly targeted by Israeli airstrikes. I’m sharing a video of my aunt and cousin to reveal the harsh reality we are facing in Gaza. In this video, my aunt bravely shares her story about how the Israeli army airstruck them along with their children and grandchildren. Even if you don’t understand Arabic, just watching her speak will help you grasp the immense suffering we are enduring in Gaza. You can see the vedeo in this post.

The few family members who remain are in grave danger, and I’m terrified of losing them too. We have a chance to make a real difference and give my 24 surviving family members a chance to live.

In Gaza, jobs are non-existent, and nonprofit organizations like the UN have drastically reduced their work on the ground. Basic necessities such as milk, food, and medicine are almost as expensive as gold. My family is struggling to afford even the essentials, and my mother urgently needs medication that we simply cannot afford.

I’m also sharing another video that shows the daily struggle people face just to get clean water. The suffering here extends far beyond my family; it’s a genocide affecting every aspect of life in Gaza.

Thanks to the generosity of those who have already donated, we’ve raised $535 toward our goal of $190,363- august 17th. I’m deeply grateful to each of you, but we still have a long way to go, and I need your help more than ever. Imagine if it were your family—how would you feel if they were in this situation?

For those who have created special posts or reblogged to amplify my voice, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support means everything to me and to my family. If you haven’t yet shared our story, please take just one minute to do so. Your voice could be the lifeline my family desperately needs.

You cannot continue to treat human lives as mere numbers. This is a genocide that demands immediate action. How many more should be killed before you all wake up? Will 40,000 lives be enough to stir us to action? 50,000? 100,000? 150,000?

Asking for donations and charity is something we never imagined having to do in Gaza before the war, and it’s heartbreaking that it has come to this. But if everyone who saw my last post donated just $10 or $20, we could reach our goal in no time. If you’re looking for a way to contribute, consider giving up your coffee, tea, or other “cup” for one day, one week, one month, or anything in between. Then, donate what you would have spent to help me. Please help us and donate now!

This is about more than just donations—it’s about preserving human lives and upholding our shared moral values. Your contribution can make a world of difference in our survival and ensure I don’t lose more of the people I love.

Demanding an end to this suffering is a matter of basic humanity. You cannot remain neutral in the face of such genocide. Please, let’s stand together. Enough is enough.

Every donation, no matter how small, brings us closer to hope and healing. Thank you again for your kindness and support. I will never forget it.

Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.

Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link

Listed even as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link

Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link

Important note: ** 105 Swedish kr is just 10$ ** 1050 Swedish kr is just 100$ ** 10500 Swedish kr is just 1000$

Please share !

@humansofnewyork@intersectional-feminist @intersectional-feminists@intersectional-feminism @intersectional-feminist-killjoy

@thepeoplesrecord@socialjusticekitten-blog @socialgoodmoms @nowthisnews @socialgoofy

@theblogofawesome@fightforhumanity-rpg-blog @fightforhumanity-rp@queerandpresentdanger @progressive-pride

@radicalsocialworker @activistminds @mybelovedworld @hopeandresist @solidarityisimportant-blog

@solidarityissbliss @solidarityisnotaslogan-blog-blog @unified-multiversal-theory @feministacansada

@feministactionsupportnetwork @globalvoices @save-the-world-but-lose-her @save-the-world-one-day-at-a-time

@save-the-world-tonight @wip-wednesday @daily-writing-prompts @allthingswordy @writerscorner-blog

@fictionfood @wordsthat-speak @writerscunts-blog @storyshots-blog @wordsnstories-blog

@writeblr @thewritingcaddy @fictionwriting2 @inkstay @creativepromptsforwriting @interact-if

[reem-reem-0]

Please take a few minutes to watch the video and read this post.

I am writing these words after losing hope in everyone… except for you, my friends. Tumblr has a very large number of users, estimated in the millions . That’s an enormous number! But imagine, with all those of people, how would you feel if people saw you and ignored you? You’d feel deeply disappointed, right? Or maybe you’d even wish for death.

Have you ever wished for death? For me, I feel like I’d rather die than be ignored by everyone. If I wasn’t in desperate need of help, I wouldn’t ask anyone for it. I really need help.

Imagine for a moment that you have a small child you love dearly, and you’re forced to watch her suffer in front of your eyes. This isn’t just an imagination for me; it’s my reality. My family and I live this pain every day.

The Rafah crossing will open its doors for travel a month from now. If we do not collect enough money for all of us to go out, we will be forced to separate and the family will be dispersed. Please stand with us and do not allow us to separate and our family to separate. We all want to get out of here.

Please, be our hope. Be our voice. Be the ones who save us from despair. Don’t ignore us. Donate, even if it’s just $5 .

There are so many people reading this post right now. I beg anyone who sees these words to donate if they can, and if not, to share this post. Please, don’t leave us behind.

Be our family, or think of us as members of your own family, and save us from this suffering.

No matter how small the amount, your help means the world to us. And if you can’t donate, share this post and add a few kind words to inspire others to help.

Thank you so much, everyone. I wish you all the best.

Tagging for reach 🙏🏽

@timetravellingkitty @deathlonging @briarhips @mazzikah @mahoushojoe

@sar-soor @rhubarbspring @pcktknife @transmutationdice @sawasawako

@appsa @anneemay @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria

@mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @turtletoria @tortiefrancis @ot3

@amygdalae @ankle-beez @communistchameleon @dykesbat @komsomolka

@notallmensheviks @riding-with-the-wild-hunt @heritageposts @stuckinapril @lacecap

@determinate-negation @deepspaceboytoy @paper-mario-wiki @kibumkim @neechees

@chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @rooh-afza @shesnake

@emil @side-sidecast @brokenbackmountain @turian @buttercuparry

@littlegermanboy @imjustheretotrytohelp @writerofweird @voicetalentbrendan @schoolhater

@transmutationisms @feluka @anneemay-blog @7bitter @aristotels

@neptunerings @watermotif @mavigator @socalgal @himejoshikaeya

@upontheshelfreviews @greenwingspino @thebigdeepcheatsy @one-time-i-dreamt @tenaflyviper

@akron-squirrel @what-is-my-aesthetic @ifihadaworldofmyown @justice-for-jacob-marley @franki-lew-yo

@skinwretch @meowmaids @featherfrond-reblogs @halvoric @readingsquotes

@bellybuttonblue2 @andiv3r-reblogging @sillyseer @cloudedcari @stealthjet

@pinnyy @sivavakkiyar @chronicowboy @bi-worm @ydic74the

@amorosebeing @golvio @nb-marceline @tachycardial @cicadaland

@manletwizard @2blushie @antiauteur @pompompotato @purpupa

@cherrysnax @hisui-zorua @kalosbian @90-ghost @palms-upturned

@wakimakiplus @w0rld0flight @evileyeamulet @justsomeoneunordinary @i-think-i-will-watch-leverage

@newtlesbian @communistkirby @txttletale @lesbianalism @bite-my-grimy-fleshy-ass

@angelicguy @bulliness @harrowharkist @soup-mother @cardassian-artistry

@wolfertinger666 @the-big-iron-official @timequangle @libertineangel @isopod-lesbian @maowives

@plum-soup @spaghettioverdose @thementalistscandidate @gopostal @casketofstar

@dykeredhood @sluttynurse @smoqueen @piralea @viciar

@momxijinping @the-nyanguard-party @zorotlekuykauo @hustlerose @lesbianchemicalplant

@meaganfoster @kyra45 @criptochecca @bilal-salah0 @iguanodonwildman

@skipppppy @killyourhistory @yamada-ryo @chussy @grahamkennedy

@im-smart-i-swear @transformers4palestine @kifaprokumiv @chingaderita @palidoodles

@communistchilchuck @stil-lindigo @palestine @thenewgothictwice @licencetokrill

@petracourtjester @golvio@leftismsideblog @star-and-space @agentfascinateur @queerstudiesnatura

@nabulsi@sayruq @oopollo-blog @fireyfobbitmedicine @interfacefox @cosmic-collectivesystem

@finnslay @walking-polyp @autisticexpression2 @bisexualchemistry @violetclowns

@beefybutchboy @feefal @mobydyke @genderfluidgothwitch @sleepyseaslug

@urfavhatesthehungovt @riding-with-the-wildhunt @muchmossymess @rez-urrection @morallyrainyday

@olovelymoon @jannahswaiting @beesofink @curiOuscreature @orchidvioletindigo

@sunclownsblog @ragingbullmode @theneutral-zone @thevalaxy @gorillawithautism

@seafoamwoman @iznabl @selamat-linting @velvetys @terroristiraqi

@soracities @trans-axolotl @bedufairy @starstrucksnowing @handsworthsongs

@libraryposting @geeseareassholes @edwordsmyth @psychotic-gerard @bringmemyrocks

@arslanjae @reduxskullduggerry @sharingresourcesforpalestine @littlestpersimmon @lukewarm-lesbian

[littlestpersimmon]

Am caught in a death spiral my lieges. I don't feel entitled to anyone's time, effort or resources but I feel so beat down. I am disabled, I am working so much I genuinely developed a hunched back. I am alone responsible for my autistic sister, her parentified sibling, and my two parents who are disabled with extremely limited movement. I have three jobs. I can't ask for help on twitter because people I work for follow me there. My work requires me to draw every day, without a day off, ever. I have a "morality clause" which means if I or the author I work with are deemed to be acting in any way the company thinks inappropriate, we are immediately fired and would have to return every single cent we have made. I feel at my wits end. My employers are american- but I am not. I live in the global south- government assistance in the Philippines is *nonexistent*

Last week I asked for help to pay for electricity. The other week I asked for help with my sister who had to be rushed to the ER.

I doxxed myself and posted medical info to this blog, so many strangers know my address, my legal name, everything just for me to be able to seek mutual aid- Wallah I do not want to be this person, but if anyone could please, pick up a print from my inprnt, or subscribe to my patreon, I already have 300+ drawings up there and I upload thrice to four times a month, or if you could send direct tips it would make a world's difference. I will try to open commissions next week but as the world is being plunged into wherever it is we are headed, it's getting harder and harder to get clients.

Currently myself dealing with housing insecurity- we only have a year or two to fix our traditional filipino house as it is falling apart due to the philippine storms and termites- *please* help me and my disabled family of three. I feel I am rambling now bc there's so much on my mind, on my plate, I've asked friends and my partner for help, my sister and my cousins and my friends are all I have. My mom's side of the family cannot help as they are all extremely poor themselves, and my paternal side of the family have emotionally abused me and have members that committed routine csa on me. I do not take any of the help I receive here for granted, and I'm sorry. Reblogs are off as I am asking for help from followers as I feel very ashamed / embarrassed/ humiliated to still be stuck in this dark place . Sorry and thank you again

Inprnt is having a sale rn, everything is like at 40% off!

And my tipping jars:

Sorry and thank you again. If you can't donate or purchase its OK, just please please please include me in your prayers, make mi shebeirach for my health so I csn continue to work, or any prayers at all for me. Thank you

[roturo]

SUCCESSOR -`♡´-

summary: He believes he’s going to die soon, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable. He needs a successor. And soon.

warnings: A LOT of breeding, smut, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, multiple rounds, pwp, tummy buldge, mentions of cum, mating press, virgin!L, obssesed!L, mentions of forming a family, not proof read and sleepy while writing this. and more.

a/n: ik this is going to have as much support as my other works, but it's def one of my best and favs writings, so please show me your support with a comment and reblog! it means a lot for me!

You've been part of the task force for a while now, ever since L handpicked you for his elite team. As a regular member, you've earned your place and trust within the group. The necessity of keeping your identity hidden has diminished, thanks to the expanding team, but you still opt for an alias during meetings, maintaining a veil of secrecy around your true connection to L.

L’s mind is a labyrinth, each thought of a winding path leading to an unknown destination. His strategies are always a step ahead, his deductions razor-sharp. Yet, despite his brilliance, one specific thought has been haunting him lately:

He believes he’s going to die soon.

This isn't a paranoid delusion but a calculated assessment. L understands the immense dangers tied to the Kira case. The complexity of the situation has grown, and he suspects an external force at play, one that eludes even his grasp. This unknown entity has shifted the balance, making the case more perilous than ever.

L is determined not to let his legacy end prematurely. He has dedicated his life to solving the world’s most challenging mysteries, and the idea of leaving the Kira case unfinished gnaws at him. The thought of his legacy fading away too soon is unbearable.

He needs a successor.

And soon.

Finding someone who can match his intellect and tenacity is no simple task. The successor must be able to understand his intricate methods, to carry on his relentless pursuit of justice. The urgency of this mission weighs heavily on him, as he prepares to identify and groom the next guardian of his legacy.

You were the perfect match for him, and his calculations confirmed it. There was an 86% probability that having a child with you would result in someone with a higher IQ than his own, combined with the social skills he lacked. In the realm of interpersonal relationships, L was inexperienced, never having had a relationship or intimacy before. Recently, he had been contemplating how to propose this idea to you.

Should he ask you outright? Should he try to make you fall in love with him first? No, this wasn't about love. It was a precaution, a step in his investigation, a way to ensure his legacy continued if the worst were to happen.

The atmosphere in the headquarters was tense as always, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the room. You sat at your desk, engrossed in your work, when L’s quiet footsteps approached. His presence was magnetic, his aura of mystery and intellect always palpable. He paused beside you, his gaze fixed on the monitors displaying the latest updates on the Kira case.

“Can we talk?” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, a rare departure from his usual confident demeanor.

You looked up, surprised by the uncharacteristic uncertainty in his tone. “Of course, L. What’s on your mind?”

He shifted, glancing around the room as if searching for the right words. “There’s something I need to discuss with you. It’s… personal.”

Your curiosity piqued, you nodded, giving him your full attention. “I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting yours. “You’re aware of the importance of my work, of the dangers we face daily. The Kira case has made me realize that I must consider contingencies I hadn’t thought of before.”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue.

“There’s a… statistical analysis I’ve conducted,” he said, his voice becoming more clinical as he explained. “It suggests that if I were to have a child with someone of your intelligence and social capabilities, the child would have a higher IQ than mine and possess the social skills I lack. This could be crucial in continuing my work if anything were to happen to me.”

The gravity of his words hit you like a ton of bricks. L, always methodical and rational, had approached this highly personal matter with the same analytical mindset he used to solve cases. You could see the logic in his plan, yet the implications were overwhelming.

“So, you want me to… have a child with you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes unwavering. “But understand, this is not about emotions or personal desire...I think” He whispers to himself before he continues– “It’s a precaution, a part of my contingency planning. I’ve never experienced a relationship or intimacy, so I’m uncertain how to approach this.”

The room seemed to close in around you as you processed his request. It was a cold, calculated proposition, yet it carried a weight of vulnerability and trust. L was placing his future, his legacy, in your hands.

“How do you expect this to work, L?” you asked, your voice tinged with both curiosity and trepidation.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his facade of invincibility cracking slightly. “I’ve considered different approaches. Should I simply ask you directly? Should I try to make you fall in love with me first? But this isn’t about love. It’s about ensuring that if I am no longer here, someone capable can continue my work.”

A silence fell between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts and emotions. L’s eyes searched yours, looking for understanding, perhaps even acceptance. You could see the conflict within him, the struggle between his logical mind and the unfamiliar territory of human connection.

“I need time to think about this,” you finally said, your voice gentle but firm.

L nodded, a flicker of relief crossing his features. “Of course. Take all the time you need. This is not a decision to be made lightly.”

Finally, you made your decision.

One evening, you found L in his usual spot, hunched over his laptop, eyes glued to the screen. The dim light cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his focus. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“L,” you said softly, breaking the silence. He looked up, his piercing gaze meeting yours.

“I’ve thought about what you asked,” you continued, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “And I agree.”

For a moment, L simply stared at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he nodded, his fingers tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. “Understood. Thank you for your cooperation.”

You took a seat across from him, the air between you charged with a new sense of purpose. “How do we proceed?”

L leaned back, his thumb brushing his bottom lip in thought. “We need to ensure this doesn’t disrupt our work or compromise the investigation. The task force must not be aware of our personal connection, as it could create complications.”

You nodded, understanding the delicate balance that needed to be maintained. L’s expression remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. “I must admit that emotional connections are not my area of expertise. This will be… a learning experience.  Should… we do it tonight?”

“Ah- Ah- Slow down, L-Lawliet!” you gasped, your voice breaking with a mix of pleasure and urgency.

L’s thrusts were sloppy but fast, driven more by instinct than experience. His movements lacked rhythm, a clear sign of his inexperience. He had come twice already without withdrawing from you, his body responding purely on primal urges.

He had done his research, concluding that a mating press might be the most effective position for this purpose. But he never anticipated how overwhelmingly good it would feel. Was it like this with everyone? Or was it something unique because it was you?

His thrusts grew more erratic, almost desperate. Small whines escaped his mouth, each one tinged with your name like a prayer. You could feel every twitch, every movement inside you, the raw intensity of his desire almost too much to bear.

“L,” you whispered, trying to regain some control. “You need to… slow down.”

He nodded, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. “I’m trying,” he panted, his voice unsteady. “It’s just… so overwhelming.”

His usually sharp, calculating mind seemed lost in the haze of sensation. Every thrust, every brush of skin against skin, was a new experience for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between maintaining control and giving in to the raw pleasure.

He moaned at the familiar, overwhelming sensation of climaxing again, and you could feel your own release approaching. The intensity was almost unbearable when he grabbed a pillow and slipped it under your back, angling you into an even deeper mating press. His thrusts became more deliberate, his cock somehow reaching deeper, hitting your g-spot with precision over and over again.

The pleasure was so intense, so all-consuming, that all you could do was chant his name like a mantra, each syllable a prayer of ecstasy. “L-Lawliet,” you breathed, your voice trembling with the force of your impending climax.

He watched you with dark, hungry eyes, his own pleasure driving him to thrust harder, faster. “S-shit,” he gasped, his breath hitching, “I think—” His words dissolved into a whine as he came again inside you, his release flooding your womb with a desperate, addictive need.

This wasn’t just about producing a successor anymore. It was about the raw, primal satisfaction of filling you over and over again. He was captivated by the sight of your bodies joined, the way your mixed arousal leaked from where you were connected, glistening in the dim light.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your own climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, milking every last drop of his release as he continued to thrust, his movements erratic and needy.

He whimpered, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pressed his forehead against yours, his dark hair falling in a messy curtain around your face. “You feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion and exertion.

He groaned before pressing his lips to yours, the kiss deep and fervent. His cock remained erect inside you, pulsing with an insatiable desire. The feeling of having you this close, of being connected so intimately, was overwhelming. In that moment, he lost all sense of reason and the initial purpose behind his actions.

His mind, usually so sharp and focused on the Kira case, was now clouded with visions of a future he never thought he'd consider. He imagined how adorable you would look, carrying his child, a baby with his eyes and your smile. The idea of having a family with you consumed him, pushing all thoughts of logic and strategy aside.

Without realizing it, he began thrusting again, the movement instinctual and desperate. Each thrust was deliberate, fulfilling the small bump of cum inside you that was already visible through your tummy. He watched in awe, fascinated by the sight of your bodies joined so intimately, the tangible evidence of his desire and your shared pleasure.

“L-Lawliet,” you gasped against his lips, your hands clutching his shoulders as he moved within you. “What... what are you thinking?”

He pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “I’m thinking… I’m thinking about us. About a future I never allowed myself to dream of.” His voice was rough with emotion, a raw edge that you rarely heard.

Your heart swelled at his words, the vulnerability in his usually composed demeanor striking a chord deep within you. “Lawliet,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the contours of his face. “I never imagined… I never thought you’d want this.Want me”

“I didn’t either,” he admitted, his thrusts growing more purposeful. “But now, with you, that's all I can think about. The idea of you carrying my child, of us having a family…you in general… it’s overwhelming.”

He kissed you again, more gently this time, savoring the softness of your lips against his. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, the sensation heightened by the emotional intensity of the moment. His hands roamed your body, memorizing every curve, every detail.

“Do you… do you want this too?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

“Yes,” you breathed, the admission freeing a weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. “I want this. I want us.”

His eyes darkened with a mix of relief and desire, and he kissed you harder, his movements inside you becoming more urgent. The room filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, each moan and gasp a testament to the bond growing between you.

As he continued to thrust, you could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, each movement pushing you closer to the edge. He seemed to sense it too, his rhythm intensifying as he chased his own release.

“Lawliet,” you cried out, your climax hitting you with the force of a tidal wave. Your body tightened around him, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

He groaned, his own release following closely behind, filling you once more. The feeling was addictive, the raw intimacy of it all-consuming. He held you close, his forehead resting against yours as you both caught your breath.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he whispered mostly to himself, his voice filled with wonder.

“Neither can I,” you replied, your heart pounding in sync with his. “But it feels right. It feels perfect.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “It does.”

You stayed entwined like that, savoring the afterglow and the newfound depth of your connection. The Kira case and the outside world faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of each other’s presence and the promise of a future together.

Eventually, as the reality of your situation began to seep back in, you knew you had to return to your duties. But the bond you had forged would remain, a source of strength and comfort in the days to come.

As L gently pulled out and helped you adjust, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. “We’ll figure this out,” he said softly in a small whisper. “Together.”

“Together,” you echoed, your heart filled with a certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them side by side.

[monamoon8]

Instead of getting ready for Eid festivities like they used to every year, my friend Bilal's family are still living in a makeshift tent in this sweltering heat, striving to secure the inadequate amount of food and water they can hardly come by. Since October, Israel has imposed a tight siege on Gaza, severely limiting the flow of life-saving essential food and medical items. Now, with the seizure of the Rafah crossing border which has been closed since May 7, the situation is worse than ever. Vital goods are scarce in the markets, and when they are available they're sold at exorbitant prices.

Bilal's family had to leave Rafah and go to Khan Yunis again to escape the recent massacres. It is now harder for them to provide basic needs for themselves and the children including the three newborns. The little water they manage to obtain with great difficulty is often polluted and salty. It's not even suitable for cooking regular meals for adults, let alone prepare baby bottles for three newborns if ever formula is accessible.

Every single day is a struggle for survival for Bilal's family. Their lives are constantly threatened by acute malnutrition, infectious diseases, and indiscriminate bombing. Your support has truly made a difference, but it is now needed more urgently, as the situation is getting more dire.

Please help Bilal keep them as safe as possible until the border reopens and they are hopefully able to evacuate.

It would mean the world to them if you donated or reblogged.

[enbyhyena]

Hey, wait! Please stop scrolling for a sec!

Please bear with me and read to the end! I promise it'll be worth it.

My name is Nexys, and I am queer and disabled. For years I have been striving to create the most tight-knit safe space (that's ACTUALLY safe) on the internet, using content creation as common ground. And we're really starting to take off!

But I need your help. Please reblog this post so that I may meet new people and make new friends! My community has been lifechanging, both to myself and to the people within it. I really feel like my Twitch, YouTube, and Discord communities have been making a difference in the lives of some of the most disadvantaged and marginalized people in the LGBT and neurodiverse communities.

We often play games like Minecraft, Stardew Valley, Harvest Moon, and Pokémon, with the occasional challenges and other genres thrown in. Sometimes we even invite our chat to play the games with us! So if this sounds like the sort of community you'd be interested in, please join our Discord Server so you don't miss out!

I'm a small creator, and due to my disabilities cannot hold down a normal 9-5 job, so any support and engagement from you—time or money—is a lifechanging opportunity that could potentially alter the course of my life and the lives of my loved ones. Even just dropping in to say hello would mean the world to me!

But I know time is a precious resource, so if you're too busy to sit in with us but still want to support the cause, for as little as $1/month you can become a Patron or for one-time donations buy me a Ko-fi! And depending on what you choose, there may even be some free artwork and other fun perks in it for you!

Thank you so much for your time! Me and my community really hope to meet you, and we hope that you, dear reader, have a fantastic rest of your day/night! Happy Pride!

❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🩷🤍🩶🖤🤎

[msgexymunson]

The Ink Shop

Description: Desperate for a job, you answer an advertisement not knowing it's a tattoo shop. It's not particularly difficult work, except for one thing: having to deal with Eddie Munson. 

Warnings: NSFW, minors DNI or I'll tell your parents, fem reader, thick sexual tension, angst and smut. Fingering. 

A/N: I finally wrote it! The teach me fic I've been day dreaming about forever. This will be part one of three, and honestly this is one of the hottest things I've written. If you enjoy it, please comment and reblog, it means the world to me. 

8k words

Masterlist Part 2

Screwing your nose up in confusion, you look at the meticulously cut snippet of newspaper neatly attached to your resume with a paperclip. Sure enough, receptionist and administrator wanted for a place called ‘The Ink Shop’. 

The outside of the building looks a little bleak, all decked out in black with frosted windows, but the fading lettering above does indeed spell out ‘The Ink Shop’. 

Weird. This does not look like a printers. 

You smooth down a minor wrinkle in your white shirt and open the door with unsure hands, the bell above ringing out loudly. 

Oh. 

This is not a printers. This is a tattoo shop. 

The thought hadn't even crossed your mind. The noise is a cacophony of buzzing, rock music and loud conversation. Art hangs on every available wall, the wallpaper underneath a royal purple, faded over time. There's frames upon frames of predesigned pieces for people to choose from, and an enormous wooden counter, black and gouged with use, directly in front of the doors. 

Taking a confidence boosting breath you march forward, pencil skirt stretching and heels clicking on the black and white linoleum, and stand by the counter. No one seems to have noticed your arrival, and a polite cough is not going to cut it. 

“Hello?” Calling out to the shop, a devilishly handsome tattooed man in a ripped band shirt, black jeans and scuffed army boots turns his head. Loose dark curls escape a low bun and swivel with him, framing his animated face. He saunters over to the counter and towers over you, giving you an appraising look. 

“You old enough to be in here sweetheart?” He asks, amused, as he points to the sign on the wall that states ‘Strictly Over 21s, no exceptions’. 

“Yes?” You're trying to be confident but it comes out as a question, entirely taken aback by the strength of his stare. 

“Oh, well then I'm Eddie,” he holds out a hand and you're forced to reach up to shake it, but to your surprise he doesn't let go. The skin is rougher than you thought it would be, and absolutely covered in small tattoos. “What is it today? Let me guess, cover up an ex boyfriend's name? I can help you forget all about him.” 

The grin he shoots back is nothing short of predatory. All you can think of is that old childhood song, never smile at a crocodile…

“No, no, I'm here about the job?” 

He looks genuinely surprised, taking in your outfit in another flagrant stare. 

“Really? You?” 

“Yes, me.” You respond, cheeks flushing in annoyance. 

“Hey, Mac!” He calls over his shoulder and a big guy with a shaved head lowers his tattoo gun, glancing over at you both. “This girl's after a job?” 

Mac stands up slowly and begins to walk over. 

“You can let go now princess.” 

Staring at Eddie dumbfoundedly, you realise his grip on your hand has softened completely. Whipping your hand away, you flash him a defiant eye. It's ineffective; he merely grins wider and winks at you, poking his tongue out playfully. You see a hint of silver, a tongue piercing. 

“Hey there, I'm Mac, the owner.” another handshake, but gentler and brief. You introduce yourself and go to hand him your resume. 

A phone rings on the counter and Mac shouts “no!” just as Eddie picks it up. 

“Mac’s Roadkill Café, from your grill to ours.” Eddie delivers the line as smooth as silk, never taking his eyes off you. “Yeah, it's Eddie, of course. Oh, I'll tell him. Thanks.” 

As Eddie turns to Mac he's given a small but effective slap to the back of the head by Mac. 

“What did I tell you, stop answering like that!” 

Eddie just grins wider and looks at you again, a fake pout on his full lips. 

“You see that? Harassment in the workplace. Wanna kiss it better?” 

Mac shuts his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then turns to face you again. 

“Are you immediate start?” 

“Er, yeah. I've got my resume, and references here-” 

“Listen Miss, if you can read and write, answer a phone, and put up with that-” he says, gesturing a thumb at Eddie, “then you've got the job.” 

Thank God, two of those references were your best friend with different names. Stunned, you just nod fast.

“Great. Tomorrow morning. We open at 10am.” 

Saying goodbye, you turn to exit, and risk one final glance over your shoulder. Eddie's still at the counter. A disarming wink, and then the door shuts behind you. 

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

So, not exactly what you expected, but a job's a job. After getting a degree, you'd assumed doors would open, but a string of coffee houses later and here you are. You'll take it. 

It's 9:30 am, and you stand outside, wondering whether or not to try the door. Keen, but not too keen. It's a line you're trying to toe without much experience, especially with an establishment like this. 

A pretty woman with an undercut and a butterfly neck tattoo stirs you out of your calculations. 

“Hey, I'm Chloe. You're the new girl, right? Eddie bet you'd be early.” 

Blushing at the entirely accurate first impression, you try to stop your nose scrunching in distaste. As if reading your mind, Chloe chuckles.

“Ah, don't worry about him, he's an idiot. Come on, I'll show you the ropes.” 

Chloe is the piercer that basically rents a place in the shop, where she's been for around three years, she explains. There's also Julio, who does more realistic tattoo work, and Miranda who works part time. 

Chloe turns out to be warm and welcoming, showing you how they book clients in, how to take payments, and the phone note system. It's straightforward work, stuff you'll master in no time. In fact, you feel comfortable enough by 10 am to sit at the counter on your own.

Mac arrives on time, giving you a quick check in and taking down all your information on a yellow legal pad. 

“Do you not have a computer in here?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. 

“Oh no, not yet. I don't know how to work those things, Miss.” Mac chuckles, and gets to his station to prepare for his first client.

At 10:45 am Eddie walks through the door as if he owns the place. 

Your eyes widen at his brazen lateness, but no one seems to bat an eyelid. It boils your blood; to be that disrespectful and clearly not care. How could someone act like that? 

“Hey princess, didn't think you'd come back,” he smiles, reaching for your hand. 

Oh I'm not falling for that again. 

You pull your hand into your lap, expecting trickery from him. A smug grin smears across his face at the gesture, as if he knew you'd do that. It makes you even more annoyed. 

“Eddie, the book says you start,” you say, flicking through the tome in front of you, “ah, at 10 am today.” 

“It's walk-in Wednesday sweetheart. There's no one here.” 

He's got a point. Chloe had explained the tattoo artists work a shift of Wednesdays, someone is always available for walk-ins for small and pre designed pieces. Today is Eddie's turn, and he's right, no one is here. 

“Well, there could have been,” you snark back, folding your arms. 

He crosses into the shop, pushing the little gate open and stands next to you, arms crossed. The height you had is now lost, forcing you to look up at him. 

“As far as I know, you ain't the boss of me. I suggest taking the stick out of your ass before you come here.” 

Mouth falling open in outrage, you move to reply but he's already turned away. 

“Oh, and princess, there ain't a dress code.” 

He's gone, disappearing upstairs. Blushing crimson, you cross your arms as if you can hide the conservative outfit you're wearing. 

You're beginning to see why Mac asked if you could put up with Eddie. 

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

Halfway through the day, you realise just why Mac puts up with Eddie. 

“Hey! Seeing if I can book with Eddie?” 

“Any appointments with Eddie?” 

“Just checking to see if Eddie had any cancellations?” 

It seems most calls are about him. As you check his schedule, it's not only fully booked for the next 6 months, they've even started a waiting list at the back. 

“Any walk-ins?”

The words next to your ear make you jump bodily, almost losing your place on your chair in alarm. 

“You scared me! No, I would have said,” turning to him, you're sucked into those deep brown eyes once again. “Why do you do walk-in Wednesdays if you're so… so popular?” 

Eddie flashes a smile at you, full of self importance. “I don't know sweetheart, Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle!” Shouting the last part at the back of Mac's head, he turns to you. “We just divided the shifts, so it was fair, that's all. Why, want a tattoo?” 

You roll your eyes. “No, I was just wondering.”

“Do you have any, princess?” 

“Not that it's any of your business, but no, I don't.” 

The laugh that rips from Eddie's chest is hearty and full of amusement. 

“You work in a tattoo shop and you don't have any? That's practically blasphemy!” 

The little bell above the door rings, and a nervous guy looks around before walking in. Before you see what he wants, you shout to Eddie's retreating back. 

“Van Gogh was only famous after he died, you know!” 

It's a little later on in the day; you've done a stock take, ordered more ink, and neatened up the consent sheets three times. The phone hasn't rung in a while, and you're bored out of your mind. 

Chloe walks over, coat in her hand. 

“Hey, how you getting on?” 

“I'm good, just bored.” 

She laughs, “it's not always this quiet, mid week and all. Mac's done for the day, and I'm heading off. You gonna be OK?” 

You glance over to Eddie, who to your surprise is tattooing his own fingers. 

“What, with the untrained monkey? I'll live.” 

She laughs harder at that, “he's not so bad, once you get to know him.” Lowering her voice, she whispers, “he's good at some things, you know.” The conspiratorial wink fills in what she isn't saying. Cheeks flushed, you gawp at Eddie and back at Chloe. 

“Huh? W-what, are you like, an item?” You ask, entirely thrown. 

“Oh no, he's not exactly boyfriend material. It was just one night, but bloody hell. Anyway, it's not like that anymore, we're just friends now. Maybe you two should just, you know.” 

A blush floods your face, almost reaching the roots of your hair. “I don't- I don't, do that.” 

“I'm just saying, it's an option. It'd stop the bickering at least. I can sense the tension from all the way over there.” 

Without a further word, she leaves you sitting on your stool, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Right, let's just play nice. 

Walking over to his station, you try to glimpse what he's tattooing. 

“I thought Van Gogh wasn't made to doodle” you quip, trying to keep it light. 

“This is different” he responds, not looking up at you.

“You know, that's a waste of a needle.” 

Eddie turns the machine off and rolls his eyes at you. 

“Who made you Princess of the Needles, hmmm?” 

“Mac did actually, when he asked me to check the stock,” you reply hotly, folding your arms. Stopping for a second, you take a breath. Play nice, you're supposed to be playing nice. 

“Sorry, I didn't mean to-” 

Eddie turns the machine back on and continues with his impromptu tattoo. 

“Can't you just be… professional?” You ask over the buzzing. 

“Can't you just relax for a second? No ones here. Fuck, you need to get laid.” 

Mouth dropping open in shock, you grab your bag and stomp out of the store, anger fuelling every step. 

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

Right, be calm, put together. You've dealt with worse people. 

It's true. At the coffee shop you had on edge caffeine addicts shout in your face almost on a daily basis, but none of them got under your skin like Eddie did. Then again, none of them had spat truths like venom in your face.

Breathe. Just breathe. 

Taking the leap, you walk into the shop, coffees and a tray of donuts in hand; a small peace offering. To your surprise, he is already at his station, sorting through ink pots. 

You make quick work of handing out coffee and donuts to everyone, until you reach his side. There's plastic wrap around one of his fingers, you assume from his little tattoo session yesterday. It only serves to remind you of how tetchy you were. 

“Morning Eddie.” 

“So you came back. Tough little princess ain't ya? Remove the stick from your ass yet?” The grin he flashes you is wide but there's a bite to his words. 

He's trying to rile you up, but you ignore it, thrusting a coffee at him. 

“I'll be nice if you will.” 

Tension laces the air as he stares at your outstretched hand, but he takes the coffee. 

“I'm sorry Eddie.” 

Opening the box of donuts, you gesture for him to take one. He does, stuffing half of it into his mouth. 

“What about you?” you ask.

“Huh?” He mumbles through a mouthful of crumbs. 

“Are you sorry…?” 

“What for?” 

Setting your jaw, your hand is about two seconds from slapping the shit out of him, but you need the money. So, you huff and walk away. 

“What did I do?” He huffs, shouting it to the shop. 

“You should just say sorry, you've clearly upset her.” Chloe calls over to him, a slight smile on her face. 

“Yeah, how do you know?” 

“You upset everyone Eddie.” She laughs, and stands to greet her first client. 

It's a tense kind of day, with neither you nor Eddie backing down, only speaking to each other if absolutely necessary. By the time everyone's left it's just you and him again. 

He's finishing up with a client, telling them about aftercare as they gush about their new ink. It's difficult to deny, the guy is talented. This phoenix tattoo looks like it's popping right off of the skin, the flames so bright and detailed you could swear you saw them move. 

Once they've left, there's an awkward pause. Eddie breaks the silence first. 

“Listen, I'm sorry sweetheart. I shouldn't have been rude to you. So I'll make you a deal. I'll give you a tattoo, for free, and we ask each other questions, get to know each other. What do you say?” 

Smiling in spite of yourself, you turn to face him. “And why would I want a tattoo?” 

He visibly relaxes at your grin, and flashes one of his own. “Come on, I'm the best. I promise I'll be gentle.” 

“We close at six, so it'll have to wait.” 

Eddie looks at the clock, and bobs his head with each tick. Twenty seconds later he turns to you, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, I suppose it is a bit silly to work in a tattoo shop with no ink.” 

He punches the air with glee, forcing you to smile despite your better judgement. 

“Well then, what are you thinking, got any ideas in mind?” 

“I want a heart on my hip” he groans, putting his face in his hands, “hang on, before you judge, I want one like this.” 

Pulling a book from your bag, you turn to the page neatly bookmarked. It's an anatomical heart from a textbook you own, a line and dot drawing.

“Oh.” Eddie's eyes light up, “that's pretty metal, actually. So, you just happen to have this on you?” 

“No, I've been thinking about it for a while. It's… not what people would expect. And when I got the job here, I was working up the courage to get it. Carrying around the book was a promise to myself, I think.” 

He busies himself with getting a stencil ready, the drawing supplied speeding up the process. 

“Right, climb on up princess, show me where you want it.”

Blushing, you unzip your skirt at the back and roll it down slightly, shifting your blouse up high. The smile Eddie gives you is salacious, but he doesn't say a word. 

“Right here?” Softly his fingertips graze you, making you jump. That simple act crackles over your skin in an electricity unknown to you. 

“Y-yes,” you practically whisper it, face crimson. 

“So, questions. Can I go first?” 

“Sure” you nod, feeling vulnerable flashing this much skin. 

“OK,” he starts, pressing the stencil down, “I'll start with an easy one. How old are you?” 

“23.” 

He nods, prepping the needle, “your turn princess.” 

“How old are you?” 

“Ah, copycat,” he grins, testing the gun, the sudden noise making you jump, “I'm 30 sweetheart. I know, I look younger.” 

Act younger is more like it. 

“I'm gonna start, you still alright?” 

“Uh huh.” 

“Atta girl. It'll feel like a scratch.” 

He leans forward as his words burn your insides. Atta girl? Part of you wanted to tell him you're not a fucking horse, but another, deeper, part keens at the praise, kicking it's feet and twirling its hair like some dizzy schoolgirl.

The needle touches and you jump, but it's fine. It's easy. If anything, it's rather nice? You gasp at the feeling, your feet wiggling. 

“Right, next question. Why here, why this job?” 

The gun is moving across your skin, consuming all rational thought. You could lie, but a part of you feels like he'd know somehow. 

“I thought it was a printers shop, or a copy place.” 

He laughs briefly, but continues to focus on your new ink. 

“I knew it. Pretty, innocent thing like you, wandering into this den of depravity? Too good to be true.” 

Glazing over his comment, you think of a question to ask. 

“How did you start working here?” 

Eddie scoffs and turns off his machine for a moment, “you need to get creative, stop using my questions.” 

“I really want to know!” You say, meeting his derisory look. 

“Fine, quid pro quo and all that shit. Been here seven years. I begged. I begged Mac for an apprenticeship everyday for a week. He gave in, and here I am. Ask something else, that was boring.” 

You wrack your brains, trying to think of something original, far too aware of the steadying hand that he's pushing onto your abdomen. 

“What band is that?” 

It's the only thing that pops into your mind. He follows your eye line to his t-shirt. 

“Oh this? This is my band, Corroded Coffin. You should come see us sometime.” 

“Oh, what do you play?” 

His face lights up, “I sing, and play guitar. That's why my fingers are so rough-” he holds one up, covered in black latex, “-oh yeah, gloves.” 

After you both share a chuckle, there's a breath of quiet between you, except for the sound of the tattoo gun.

“My turn,” he says, smiling at your hip, “I gotta know, are you a virgin?” 

It's a miracle that he's as responsive as he is, since the question knocks you sideways. You sit up in shock, but he's already moved the needle off and away. 

“You can't just ask that, it's… it's rude!” you splutter, face glowing red. 

There's no trace of apology on his face. In fact, his grin only widens with your reply. 

“I thought so. Don't worry, I'm not gonna tease you about it.” 

Laying back down, you try to think of something to say, but it just doesn't arrive. He can read you like an open book and it's deeply unsettling, not to mention embarrassing. 

“Your turn princess.” 

“I don't want to play anymore.” 

“Oh come on, I'm being nice! Ask me something.” 

“Fine. What was your last wet dream about?” 

To your dismay, he smiles yet again.

“You, sweetheart.” 

Huffing, you cross your arms in annoyance. “Fine, don't answer.” 

He's focusing on your tattoo, tongue poking out in concentration, “I'm nearly done, then you can go back to hating me.” 

“I don't hate you. I've never hated anyone,” you respond in truth. Eddie's eyebrows raise, but he remains focused. 

“Really? You must have had a much better childhood than mine.”

It's quiet for a bit. You're not sure how to respond to that, feeling the cloud of his memory hanging thickly in the air between you. 

“All done.” 

“Huh?” 

He chuckles and points at your new ink, “take a look.” 

It's beautiful. All line and dot work, like it was pulled from the book itself and glued to your hip. 

“It's amazing Eddie. Thank you.” 

The grin he shoots you is warm as he wraps your new ink and then removes his gloves. “No problem. I'll lock up, the sheets on aftercare are right there. But you knew that.” 

Smiling affectionately, you take one and stand up, hovering for a second. 

“Eddie what do I owe-” 

“-not a damn thing. See you in the morning, princess.”

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

The next few days were much more pleasant. Eddie was flirty, yes, but he seemed to understand when to stop. You had been nicer to him, biting back on the comments when you could. There was a rhythm to it, a constant dance of him flustering you and you annoying him. 

Things really felt like they were falling into place. Until Eddie decided to cross the line. 

Walk in Wednesday again, and the shop was dead. Julio was on shift, sitting in the back having a nap. 

“Hey Mac, can I ask you something?” 

“Sure, what is it Miss?” 

“Well, how do people know about our Wednesdays?” 

“Mostly word of mouth. We handed out flyers before, but it didn't really pick up. Honestly, I'm thinking of scrapping it.” He shrugs, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Before you do, I have an idea. I can design some flyers, get them out to the coffee shop I used to work at. It's by campus, I'm sure a few students would jump at the chance. You could offer a student discount, get them in the door?” You stare at him wide eyed, hoping he likes the idea. The little speech was one you'd practised about fourteen times before actually saying it to him. 

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles. “You know, that's a good idea. I like it. Tell you what, you make it a success and I'll give you a raise.” 

“Oh, thank you! I'll get on it.” You beam, and start planning the flyer. 

Ten minutes later you have your head down, your attention entirely on the paper in front of you. The noisy shop was purely a background soundtrack, including the approaching footsteps. Then, there's a whisper, directly in your ear. 

“What you up to, princess?” 

“Fuck!” 

You scream it out and jump so high you fall off your stool. Eddie's in bits, laughing so hard he's clutching his stomach. 

“I'm sorry I didn't mean to,” he says, looking the least sorry you've ever seen a person look. 

Clambering off the floor to berate him, your mouth flops open when you hear a rip. As you desperately turn your head to look down, you see where your pencil skirt has torn right next to the seam nearly up to your ass. 

“Fuck's sake Eddie! What the hell am I gonna do!” 

Hands shaking, you clench your jaw in panic, trying to frantically come up with a way to rectify it. Eddie holds his hands up to you as if he were approaching a wild animal. 

“Just calm down princess, it's only a skirt.” 

Pouting, you hit him on the arm. 

“It's not just a skirt! I can't work like this, how can I go home and change, I won't be able to fix it and-” 

Eddie smiles and holds one of your hands. 

“It's gonna be OK, we can sort something out. You seriously need to chill, have a big O or something.” He chuckles, clearly meaning for it to be a joke, but it's hitting too close to home. 

It's never happened for you. You've kissed guys, sure, but whenever they reach into your pants, it's either uncomfortable or downright painful. Even your own desperate fumblings haven't got you there. Most of the time you just feel stupid and awkward trying to touch yourself. So, you'd given up, thinking you're broken. That it'll never happen for you. 

Tears well immediately in your eyes. He knows he fucked up, it's written all over his face. As he opens his mouth to speak you rip your hand from his grasp and run to the restroom sobbing. 

It's stupid, it's so stupid. You know that, but the tears won't stop falling, face hot and scrunched as you sit on the closed toilet seat with your head in your hands. Your breath is heavy, gulping and wet; you dimly wonder if you can just stay here until the shop closes.

There's a gentle knock on the door. 

“Sweetheart, can I come in?” It's Eddie, voice softer than you've ever heard it. 

“Go away” you manage. It's shaky and pathetic sounding, but it's out there. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Talk to me, you'll feel better, I promise.” 

He tries the door, turning the handle before you get a chance to lock it. Jumping upright, you go to push him away but he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him. His embrace takes away that edge and pretty soon you're just sobbing into his chest. 

As he strokes the back of your head, he makes shushing noises, his other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders. You're not sure how long you stay like that, in the warmth of his hold, his body pressed against yours. The tenderness calms you down until your tears stop, but he doesn't pull away. 

After a while, he whispers, “feel a little better?” 

“Y-yeah,” you say, voice returning to itself. 

Only then does he release you, rubbing a thumb under your eye to wipe moisture away. 

“I didn't mean to hurt you. You wanna go somewhere and talk about it?” 

“I- I've never- I don't talk about- I-” you shake your head as if to clear it. A part of you wants to hit him, to shout at him, but his gaze is so concerned that you agree. Your shoulders slump, losing a bit of tension. “OK.” 

Smiling at you, he whips his flannel shirt off, leaving him in a white vest, and ties it around your waist. 

“For your modesty. Come with me.” 

Puzzled, you follow him out of the bathroom and back into the shop where Mac is sitting looking worried. 

“What's going-” 

Eddie interrupts, “emergency late lunch needed, alright? Can you cancel my 3 o clock?” 

Mac seems confused, but looks at Eddie's earnest face, and your emotional one, and nods. 

“Not a problem.” 

“Thanks, man.” 

Before you can ask where you're going, he pulls you from the shop by the arm and across the street into a dimly lit bar, depositing you in the nearest booth. 

“I'll be right back.” 

If he's uncomfortable by his appearance, he doesn't show it. The way he strides up to the bar, it's as if he owns the place. It's remarkable, the sheer confidence he embodies like a second skin. 

“Hey, John!” He hollers, knuckles knocking on the wood of the bar. 

John appears, a gruff, stocky guy with a buzz cut and a sour face. 

“What the fuck are you doing here.” 

“Oh come on, you know you missed me.” 

John's face screws into something akin to a smile. “What do you want, you little shit.” 

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Eddie grins and winks, “two beers please.” 

A grunt and a nod, and John puts the beers down on the bar. As Eddie reaches for his wallet John waves a hand in dismissal. 

“Put that away boy, your money ain't good here. Besides, your lady friend looks like she needs it.” 

You flush and tear your eyes away, embarrassed. Eddie walks back over and puts a beer in front of you. 

“Eddie, we're still working I-” 

“It's one beer. It's alright.” 

You shrug and take a sip, nodding at the bartender, “he knows I'm upset, do I look a mess?” 

Shaking his head so hard it releases some of his wayward waves from their confines, he tips his beer at you, before he takes a long chug. 

“No,” he says enthusiastically, “you look just as pretty as you always do.” 

Scoffing, you turn your eyes downward. Eddie ignores your response, instead pressing on what happened earlier. 

“Sorry again,” he says, sounding genuinely distressed, "I don't want to see anyone hurt from something I said, least of all you.” 

Meeting his gaze, you smile incredulously. “Oh? And why me?” 

“Come on, don't make me say it.” 

Staring at him, you fold your arms in an act of defiance. He rolls his eyes and looks at you. 

“I like you. You're uptight, and mean to me, and a little conceited, but I like you. I don't want you to hurt. Can we just be friends? I'm a pretty good listener, you know? I can help.” 

Heat floods your insides. Eyes scanning him for any sign of a joke, you come up empty. 

‘I'm not conceited,” you counter weakly, clinging on to the familiar push and pull. 

“And I'm the Easter bunny.” 

Giggling, you take another sip of beer. 

“Come on, friends? Talk to me.” 

Sighing deeply, you fix your gaze at the table, forefinger tracing patterns in the condensation from your drink. “Promise not to laugh?” 

“I promise.” 

You can't tell how genuine he's being, as you don't dare look at his face, nerves controlling your every limb. His voice seems honest enough. 

“I- I have a problem, something I can't physically do. You reminded me of it. It's not your fault.” Shrugging in an attempt to make this look less serious than it is for you, you take a pull out of your beer bottle once more.

“Wait, are you saying…” he chuckles a little in disbelief, “have you never… had an orgasm before?” 

“Eddie, be quiet!” You urgently whisper, looking around the bar. 

“No one's listening sweetheart, no spies in here,” he says in a low tone, hand reaching out to grasp yours. Your first instinct is to shake his hand away but he holds firm, rough fingertips rubbing against your knuckles. 

“Eddie, I'm broken,” you whimper, voice breaking, “I can't do it.” 

“Oh sweetheart,” he responds, chock full of emotion, “you're not broken. You are perfect.” 

Pulling your hand away, you keep your eyes away from his, unwilling to meet that burning gaze of his. Unwilling to lose yourself in those sultry dark eyes. 

“I can't do it. Anytime some guy tries, it hurts. I've given up to be honest. I just wasn't made for it.” 

He laughs again, dragging his hand over his face. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, the problem ain't you. Have you- have you tried, fixing it, on your own?” The last part is a whisper, you assume to protect your feelings. 

“Yeah, but I just feel stupid and awkward. I don't know.” 

There's a little silence between you as you both dwell in the suffocating fog of your confession, neither of you willing to clear it. 

“Listen, this may be way out of your comfort zone, but I'm saying it anyway. If you don't like it, we'll forget it, and I won't mention it again.” 

Finally looking at him, at the vulnerability on his face, you nod, not trusting your voice. 

“I can… maybe I can help you. Show you you're not broken? As a favour between friends.” 

You laugh mirthlessly and finish your beer. “That's a little more than a favour, Eddie.” 

“We can keep it professional.” 

You stare at him wide eyed. His messy hair and dark glittering eyes. At the way he slumps in his seat like a king or a delinquent, you can't decide which. At his taunt frame, the tattoos spackling every available inch of his skin. Your eyebrows raise of their own accord. 

“Professional? You?” 

“Yeah, me! I can do it, you know. I could make you come.” 

A shiver forces its merry way down your spine at his words. 

“You're really confident.” 

“You haven't seen what I can do.” 

Blushing hard, you attempt to control yourself. “Look, if we're going to do this, I need you to promise some things.” 

“Ah, of course, you would have rules,” he grins, as he leans back and spreads in his seat, “continue.” 

Searching your mind for a moment, you try to glean what you need. 

“First of all, we need to be discreet, and professional at all times, clear?” 

“As crystal,” he grins wolfishly, “anything else?” 

“Yeah- I think,” you wrack your brains, trying to come up with something that would make this less intimate. Anything. But the roguish nature of his presence makes it hard to even think of a thing. Finally, your eyes widen at the idea that suddenly crosses your mind. 

“Final rule. No kissing.” 

He pouts, looking at your chest and back up, “no kissing anywhere?” 

“N-no, no kissing on the mouth.” 

Grin returning, he winks at you, a gesture that flips your stomach inside out. 

“Kinky. Alright, deal,” he leans forward to give his hand to yours. A hand covered in ink and calluses. Roughness and tenderness. 

You shake it.

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

For the next couple of days, your little arrangement isn't brought up. A wild thought hammers itself into your mind; either he wasn't serious, or you imagined it. 

Those theories are put to bed on day three. 

After you let Mac know about the flyers and the bonus poster you designed, you sit back and enjoy the praise given to you. It's funny, the feeling of being told a job has been well done makes you happier than you care to admit.

Eddie turns up at the counter, whistling through his teeth. “Sweet looking flyers, how'd you swing those?” 

“I designed them. I've got a degree in design and marketing, if you didn't know,” you sniff, rearranging the stationary on the counter to avoid his eyes. 

“Maybe you could help me design some for my band. These look pretty metal.” He says, picking one up and looking at it closely. 

“Maybe.” 

Eddie leans in close, so close you feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. 

“If you're still up for our arrangement, I'm free tonight.” 

Heat immediately flushes your face. Ignoring him entirely, you write your address and a time on a notepad, and thrust the paper into his hands. 

“Covert, I like it. See you then princess.” 

By the time 9pm rolls around you're a jittery mass of nerves, having changed clothes no less than four times, tidied your apartment, changed the bedsheets and paced so much you're surprised there's not a groove in the floorboards. 

In the end you'd decided on a baggy band t-shirt and your sleep shorts. It was a rational calculation to make Eddie think you're just wearing what you usually would at home and therefore show you're not nervous. I mean, you are wearing what you'd usually wear at home. He didn't need to know about how long it took you to reach that decision. 

The sound of the intercom buzzing sends your pulse into overdrive. Pressing the button, you let out a strangled “Hello?” 

“Hey princess.” 

“Come on up.” 

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

A soft knock at the door and you count to five, trying to remember how to breathe. When you open the door, you're stunned. He's leaning on the doorframe in a fucking button up shirt. It's black, and clings to him deliciously. His hair looks a little damp, loose around his shoulders, and his aftershave is making you feel dizzy. 

“Oh, you didn't need- I mean-” you point at his shirt, and he looks down and chuckles. 

“Just came from band practice. Took a shower, and this was clean,” he shrugs and shoulders into your apartment. “Nice place. Where's all your stuff?” 

You look around at your sparse apartment. Everything in order, down to the fresh flowers on your tiny dining table. 

“This is all my stuff,” you say, confused, “I don't like clutter.” 

He chuckles, walking over to you. “No wonder I annoy you. I am clutter.” 

He's close now, close enough so that you have to look up to see his face. His rough fingers ghost your arm, sending a wave of goosebumps over your skin. 

“Nice seeing you in something casual. L7, right?” He asks, pointing at the t-shirt. 

“Yeah, you know who they are?” 

“I'm surprised you do. Thought you'd be a Mariah Carey kinda girl.” 

You scrunch your face in distaste. “No, not at all. You don't know everything about me.” 

He leans in, warm breath a whisper in your ear. “I know some things about you.” 

Squirming hotly, you lead him to your room before you lose your nerve. 

“So, the princess's bedchamber. It's nice,” he remarks, flopping down on the bed as if it were his own. 

“Take your boots off,” you snip, folding your arms. 

“Ah, there she is.” He smiles, but does as instructed. Once more he's laying back into your scattered pillows looking perfectly at ease. You, on the other hand, stand there, spine a vertical rod as you stare back at him. 

 “Come on then, sit down.” 

Nervously you sit at the foot of the bed with your legs crossed. 

“Now princess, what do you do when you touch yourself?” 

Blushing furiously, you stammer out, “what, do you expect me to like, show you?” 

He chuckles, diffusing some of the tension. “As much as I'd like that, I don't think you're ready for that kinda shit. Just tell me, what's your thought process?” 

Staring at him for a little too long, you open your mouth and close it again. He rolls his eyes. 

“Look, if you want me to help I'll help, but you gotta give me something here.” He looks as if he's about to get up and leave; your arm shoots out on its own accord, grabbing his leg to stop him. 

“Sorry, sorry. I just, I've never spoken about this kinda stuff. I don't know about any process, I just… reach down and fiddle around?” You blush even more. 

“So you don't like, watch anything? Or read anything?” He looks a little amused.

“What on earth are you talking about?” 

“Porn, sweetheart.” 

It's so blunt that you jump a little. “Oh no, I've never, oh no no.” 

“Christ,” he whispers, “right, you can like, set the mood. Look at something to turn you on? It'd probably help you feel less awkward.” 

“Oh. Right.” 

“And do you ever just like, slouch? I feel like I'm back at school looking at ya.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just, come here.” He pats the little space between his spread legs and you hesitate for a second before you crawl over to him. 

“How do you want me to sit, like cross legged or-” 

He grabs your hips and spins you, forcing your back into his crotch.

“Stop trying to control every little thing,” he says in a hard tone, one you're too embarrassed to admit makes your insides tingle. Softer, he continues. “Look, if you're ever gonna get there you need to relax, stop trying to control it, and stop overthinking.” 

“Great, all of the things I'm shit at.” 

His laugh is loud, it vibrates into your spine. “I'll help you, OK? You trust me?” 

“In a very limited sense of the word, yeah.” 

“Lemme rephrase. You still OK to do this?” 

“Yeah.”

“Good. Just relax.” 

You're not sure what you are expecting, but it certainly isn't his hands winding into your hair, fingertips rubbing softly at your scalp. It shoots tingles down your spine, your entire head feeling fuzzy and warm. 

You stifle a whimper, biting your lip. His fingers stop. 

“If you want to make noises, you can. Tells me I'm doing a good job. That goes for everything else too, alright?” 

“Alright.” You whisper. 

“You comfortable?” 

“Yeah it's just- well-”

“Tell me.” 

“I think it's your shirt buttons, they're digging into my back a bit,” you admit, feeling the sharp points down your spine. 

“Easily fixed.” He taps your arm and you lean forward. Some rustling, and he throws his shirt to the foot of your bed. 

“Now just chill sweetheart.” 

His fingers begin rubbing at you again, thumbs sinking low to pop at the bubbles in your neck. 

“Fuck, that's really nice.” 

He hums appreciatively, working his hands lower and dropping them to your shoulders. The massaging continues, and you feel yourself melting, your body moulding into his. Your legs, once ramrod straight, have bent a little and parted of their own accord, the muscles loosening. Even your breathing has slowed. 

“That's better, atta girl,” he says and you whine at the words, a little pathetic mewling sound that tumbles past your lips.

“Oh, you like that, don't you?” The smile is evident in his voice, a smug tone smeared liberally across each word. 

“You, you're so-” you begin, but his hand drags across the front of your shirt, just over the tops of your breasts.

“I'm so what?” He whispers in your ear.

“So, so arrogant,” you huff. He laughs, a husky chuckle, and dances the tips of his fingers over your clothed nipple. Gasping, you grasp at his thighs either side of you.

“Yeah? What else am I?” He says, nibbling at your earlobe. 

“You- you're cocky, and- and self assured- Oh God!” 

Rudely interrupted by him tweaking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, you swear, back arching off of him for a moment. 

“You know,” he says in a gravelly tone directly in your ear, “those are pretty much the same thing.” 

“You drive me crazy,” you huff, squirming a little against him as his hands explore your chest over your shirt.

“Good crazy or bad crazy?” He smiles, then bites softly at your neck. 

“I- I haven't decided yet.” 

“Good. I can say the same about you,” he admits, his hands trailing lower, pulling your shirt up so he can stroke at your bare sides. The touch of fingertips on your skin sends a river of sensations through you that run deep into your core. 

“Are you going to- what are you doing, exactly?” You breathe, starting to move against him. 

“I'm warming you up sweetheart. Why, don't you like it?” 

Genuinely curious, you try to ask what you want to know without using the words. 

 “N- no, I do. Do you have to, erm, get warmed up? When you, you know.” 

He lets out a little huff of a laugh. “Guys are a little less… complicated, than girls. For the most part.” 

“Oh. OK, so you can just. I mean, you just, get excited?” Your breathing becomes more ragged when the tip of his thumb grazes the underside of your breast. 

“Sweetheart, I got hard seeing you in these little shorts.” Running a finger down your stomach, he lightly pings the elastic of your sleep shorts as if to accentuate his point. 

“Really?” 

There's no denying it when he moves his hips up and you feel his solid bulge press into the small of your back. 

“Really. Can I take this off?” He asks, twisting the hem of your shirt in one hand. 

“Yeah.” It's a whisper. You're a little scared of being bare chested, but not having to see his face helps. Plus, he's wound you up so much you're on the verge of begging for his touches, pleading for more. 

He guides your top up, up, up, revealing you slowly. Coaxing it over your head, you move your arms up so he can remove it. It ends up in a heap on top of his shirt. One tattooed arm wraps around your waist, pulling you toward him more, his hardness pushing against your ass. 

His breathing is unsteady as he grinds his hips, pushing onto you further. Gasping, your fingers are vices, firmly attached to his thighs in a vain attempt to anchor you. 

Suddenly his hand is winding into your hair, tugging your head aside so he can run a fat tongue across your neck. You shudder at the sensation, feeling the hard ball of his tongue piercing against your throat When he takes his pillowy lips and sucks at the spot between your neck and shoulder a moan slips out. Grunting in approval, his hands are on your bare tits, fingers pinching at your hardened nipples. 

“Holy hell!” 

He laughs, running rough fingers down your body, circling your new ink, then dipping down past your waistband. Those tattooed fingers barely brush your pubic hair, teasing you, then glide back up to your stomach. 

“Eddie, please.” 

Your voice is small, not your own. Eddie groans low in your ear, rubbing his length into the fat of your ass.

“Fuck, princess, I like you saying my name like that. You want me to touch you right here?” he says, pressing down hard over your clothed clit. 

The sheer relief of having his touch where you need it gets you close to tears; a gulping shudder of a sob rips from deep in your chest. 

“See, you're not broken, sweetheart. Can I take these off?” 

Shaking, you hook your fingers into your sleep shorts and pull them down your legs, air hitting your most intimate area. Eddie huffs in your ear, his inked hands rubbing up the insides of your thighs. 

“You're so fuckin’ sexy.”

Before you can retort, his fingers dip down to your entrance, gathering your slick. You can hear how wet you are, but it's not in you to think about it. You can't think, only feel. 

When his fingers run up and start rubbing circles into your clit, your response is visceral. Bucking up, you chase the feeling, searching for even more. 

“I'm gonna slip a finger in, alright princess?” 

You nod, waiting for the pain, wincing before it even starts.

“It's OK, you're fine, you gotta relax baby.” He strokes your stomach with his free hand, pressing kisses to your temple. 

The tip of his finger breaches you, and the pain doesn't come. Your soaking wet cunt invites him in, warm and pulsing with arousal. He slips it into the hilt, his palm pressing into your clit, and your moan is long and loud. It's never felt like this. Never has it stoked a fire in your gut, bubbled your insides like pop rocks and Coke, turned you into a writhing mess. 

He fucks his finger into you, slipping a second in to join the first, and you move your hips, chasing the building tightness in your belly. Each thrust of his hand has you bucking, and in turn rubbing against his member trapped within its denim prison. 

“That's it, good fuckin’ girl.” His voice is strained, as if he's trying hard not to lose control. 

“Eddie, oh fuck, f-feels so- good, yes, please, please-” 

You're not sure what you're begging for, and Eddie doesn't seem to be in any state to ask, but it doesn't matter. His fingers fuck into you in earnest, stroking hard against some spot inside that has you babbling and quivering around him. 

“God, you're so tight, this little cunts gonna drive me crazy. So wet and perfect, Jesus Christ.”

The feeling seems too much and not enough, and it grows higher and higher, flooding your body with a pleasure so intense you're sure you black out. The only thing you're aware of is your voice screaming out his name as your body thrusts wildly into his grip. Finally, it dissipates, your body melting against his form, sweating and spent. 

You take a breath, and another, trying to gather your wits enough to speak. Eddie speaks first.

“So sweetheart, everything you dreamed it would be?” He asks as he strokes your hair. 

“Better. Fuck, Eddie. Thank you.” 

“Anytime. Seriously. Any. Time. Day, night, weekends, holidays-” 

You giggle, slapping his thigh, and sit up, grabbing your discarded shirt to cover up. 

“Sorry, that was probably a little er, frustrating for you.” You say as you glance at his bare torso, drinking in the sight with your eyes for the first time. He's lean, but ripped, a faint sheen of sweating making his tattoos glisten in the low light. 

“What do you mean sweetheart?” 

“Well, doing that, not getting anything in return...” 

He chuckles lightly, “Oh I wouldn't say that,” he glances down, gesturing to his jeans, “full disclosure, I came in my pants.” 

“Really?” your eyes widen, staring at him with disbelief. 

“I ain't lying. Wanna check?” He waggles his eyebrows at you, making you laugh again. 

“You seem better already. Right, I better go.” 

Shoulders deflating, you pout, “I suppose you better.” 

“Hey don't look at me like that. I hoped that helped. Sleep tight, drink some water. I'll see you tomorrow princess.” 

And just like that, he leaves. Of course he leaves, it was just a deal you struck, nothing more. A favour. you wipe stray tears from your eyes and try not to focus on the sound of the front door shutting. 

As you collapse on the bed, exhausted, you think about his hands, his words. There's something screaming inside, telling you you're playing with fire, but as you drift off you can't find it in you to mind.

Taglist

@liminalpebble @eddies-puppet @rip-quizilla @micheledawn1975 @vanilla-demon @millercontracting @roanniom @josephquinnsfreckles @leelei1980 @mrsjellymunson @usedtobecooler @eddiesprincess86 @ali-r3n @choke-me-eddie @littlebebebunny @big-ope-vibes

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.