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tbaluver · 2 months ago

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hi!! i was wondering if i could ask for some angst with all the guys ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

smthing like mc (gender neutral if possible!) going to a mission and not coming back and the guys' reactions to that ?

ty in advance (≧▽≦)

When You Don't Come Back From Your Mission- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: angst no comfort a/n: hi anonnie! i hope this was okay and that you enjoy ! i'll post a part where mc/ reader comes back from the mission after a long time and maybe that would be a comfort part of this angst reaction (๑>؂•̀๑) i know a couple people from my inbox have requested me to write something about that and i'll get it out soon it's just sitting on my drafts but it'll be out so so soon ദ്ദി ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ ) sorry lovelies i just get distracted a lot any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

You and Xavier weren’t assigned to this mission, which was a bummer given how often you two have been always paired for similar tasks. Your extensive training together, countless sparring sessions, and numerous times you two have spent together have created a deep bond and sense of confidence in each other’s skills. Although it was unusual to not be paired in a mission, you both trusted in your abilities and didn’t think much of it.

As he returned from picking up snacks at the convenience store, he walked into the Hunter’s Association office and was struck by the sense of panic that had been overtaken in the room. The frantic energy was evident as he overheard that your team has not given any responses or updates regarding your location. The news hit him like a jolt, nearly causing him to drop the snacks he was holding.

His gentle demeanor shifted to one of deep concern. The usual calmness in his eyes was replaced by a serious and troubled look. His universe felt like it had dimmed, knowing that the brightest star was missing from his grasp.

He demanded immediate access to the latest mission’s location, coordinates, or any relevant information. He insisted that he would take charge of the situation himself and offer no objects as they recognized the intensity in his voice.

He internally blamed himself for not coming sooner. Every path he takes as he travels to find you, only fuels the sense of urgency and concern to find your and ensure your safety.

Zayne:

Zayne has always trusted in your abilities and knew what you were capable of. Each mission, he knew you could handle it with ease and he had faith that you would come back. As always, before he left he would always remind you, “Stay safe and don’t do anything reckless. I don’t want to see you back in my office with another injury.”

Normally, your absences were brief and he would patiently wait for your return, eager to hear the absurd stories of your missions, but this time something felt different. Something he couldn’t quite place. The days dragged on longer than usual and the silence from you was unsettling.

He tried to distract himself with paperwork and tending to patience but his anxiety gnawed at him, thinking of what had happened to you. A mission shouldn’t take this long, especially for someone as skilled as you.

Every day he would send a text and sometimes they were random. Sometimes they were filled with encouragement or updates about small things in his life, in hopes to get a response from you. However, each message he sent was always left unanswered which fueled his growing concern. He began to doubt if you were ignoring him or if something far worse had happened.

Unable to contain his worry any longer, he drove to your house and knocked on your door unannounced. The minutes stretched into an agonizing wait and when there was no response. His heart that had been warmed by your presence has now gripped by icy fear.

Each day he has desperately waited for any responses and any updates from the Hunter’s Association about your well-being. The longer he had to wait, the more he was determined to join the battlefield himself in desperation to find you again.

Rafayel:

Ever since you departed on your mission, he would be counting the seconds, minutes, and days until your return. It’s something he would usually do when you leave for a mission. Time passed by slowly in your absence and he tried to distract himself by visiting the beach or working on new sketches, hoping to find a spark of inspiration for his next piece. Yet, inspiration was difficult when his greatest muse was missing for a few days

A few days. What began to be a few days stretched into a week and more. His concern grew as your silence and absence in his life persisted. Normally, you would have responded to any of his texts or calls even amid the chaos of your missions. But now, this mission was different. His phone never lit up from any notifications from you and your absence gnawed at him.

His distress was evident. His meticulously groomed appearance had unraveled. His hair was disheveled and his outfits mismatched. The studio that was usually a bright haven of creativity had become a reflection of his inner turmoil. The room was shrouded in shadows, and canvases were marred with erratic splashes of paint and frustrated strokes.

'Missing you comes in waves and tonight I am drowning.'

He was spiraling and grew relentless, digging up any lead and rumor of information about your mission. Whatever happened to you, someone was going to pay. He doesn’t care if the bounty on his head catches up to him. He’ll try to find you no matter what, even if it takes him another 800 years.

Sylus:

He knew you were a skilled Hunter so initially he dismissed your absence as just another routine mission. He assumed he would see you again soon in a couple of days and began making plans for the two of you to relax and enjoy when you returned.

However as days turned into a week without any responses to his text or voice messages, his calm demeanor began to crumble. Your status on DeepSpace hadn’t been updated since the last time you had talked and it never showed that you read his messages. His unease deepened when Mephisto reported that he had been unable to locate you.

The growing anxiety and frustrations were impossible for him to contain. He had tried to rush to the location of your mission only to find no trace of you there. His office became a battleground of his conflicted emotions. He cursed himself for being so careless about you.

Luke and Kieran could only witness the storm of anger and worry from a distance. They dared not to approach him during the moments of his intense agitation. They understand as they miss you as well but they could only wish they could do so much to help find you.

He figures he has to take matters into his own hands no matter the cost. Your little Hunter’s Association could only do so much but many do not understand how much power, influence, and resources Sylus has at his disposal. He doesn’t care if he has to get his hands dirty, he will have to do anything to find his little dove back in his arms again.

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writingbuckets · 12 days ago

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The Hot Take: Part 1

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 1.7k

a/n: here's part 1 to my influencer!reader fic based on the poll i posted a few days ago. i took a few days to write out the first few parts to this storyline, so i shall see yall in a few days <3

**********

Sitting in the studio, you shuffle through the day's notes as you wait for Taylor, your partner and co-host, to get ready. You glance around at the familiar setup: soundproof walls, the big red “ON AIR” sign, and Taylor’s mic with her distinctive bright blue pop filter across from you. The Hot Take has come a long way since you and Taylor first started recording episodes in a makeshift studio in your apartment.

Finally, Taylor takes her seat, grinning like she’s got a secret. You recognize that glint in her eye; it’s the same look she gives you right before she drops a bombshell on air. You chuckle, half expecting her to share some wild celebrity tidbit or throw in an off-the-cuff comment that’ll leave fans buzzing.

“All right, ready to kick things off?” she asks, sliding her headphones on. You nod, pressing record, and the familiar flow of the episode begins.

The conversation starts with your typical lineup of the week’s big pop culture and sports events. You trade opinions on a recent basketball draft, discuss an unexpected celebrity breakup, and riff on a few new album releases. Fans love the way you and Taylor can pivot from debating sports stats to analyzing the latest music trends—all with a laid-back vibe that feels like a natural conversation between friends.

As you move toward wrapping up, Taylor flashes you a mischievous smile, one that promises she’s about to shake things up. Before you can question her, she clears her throat, leaning close to the mic with a conspiratorial whisper.

“So, Y/N, we always promise full transparency on this show, right?”

You nod, slightly suspicious but playing along. “Right...”

She grins, eyes sparkling. “Well, I feel like it’s time I share something personal—a bit of a confession, if you will.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh, really? Do tell.”

“It’s about my celebrity crush,” she declares, and you feel your eyebrows shoot up. Celebrity crush? That’s…random. But Taylor’s got that devilish glint, so you know she’s leading somewhere.

“Oh, please, Taylor,” you say, laughing. “Are you seriously bringing up your celebrity crush right now?”

“Of course! It’s relevant to sports, I promise.” She laughs, her voice dipping into an almost-reverent tone. “Because it’s Paige Bueckers.”

There’s a beat where you try to process that. Paige Bueckers—a name practically synonymous with college basketball greatness, a player with such raw talent and drive that her highlight reels are legend. Of course, Paige has the kind of skill and flair on the court that would make her anyone’s “celebrity crush.”

Without thinking, you roll your eyes and let out a laugh. “Oh, Paige Bueckers? Come on, Tay. Isn’t she a bit…overrated?”

The words escape before you have time to reconsider, and you catch Taylor’s jaw dropping in mock horror, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, as if you’ve just blasphemed on live radio.

“Overrated?” she exclaims, her voice full of exaggerated shock. “Y/N, you’ve officially crossed into hot-take territory. Are you serious?”

You shrug, leaning back in your chair as you play it off. “I mean, yeah, she’s good. She’s really good. But let’s be real—people act like she’s already the GOAT, and she’s, what, twenty-three? I think she’s talented, sure, but maybe the hype’s a little…excessive?”

Taylor shakes her head, laughing as she turns back to the camera, knowing your listeners will eat this up. “Listeners, you heard it here first—Y/N thinks Paige Bueckers is overrated. Prepare for the inevitable Twitter meltdown!”

You chuckle, figuring it’s all in good fun. You and Taylor are known for your candid takes; it’s what fans love most about the show. This will be just another talking point, something people can debate online. You wrap up the episode, signing off with your usual mix of humor and playful barbs, and end the recording.

**********

A few hours later, you’re back at home, scrolling through Twitter out of habit. Normally, after an episode drops, fans will post funny clips or start discussions around your and Taylor’s latest takes. You expect some buzz, but this? The reaction is way bigger than usual.

Your notifications are packed with tags, mentions, and—oh. There it is. A clip of your “overrated” comment has already gone viral. One account with a sizable following has posted it, captioning, “Did Y/N just call Paige Bueckers overrated?!” The clip has already racked up thousands of likes and retweets, with fans both defending and attacking your opinion.

Curious, you start scrolling through the replies. A lot of fans are indignant, passionately defending Paige’s talent and listing her stats, achievements, and highlights as if you’ve personally insulted them.

“Overrated? Y/N clearly hasn’t seen a game.” “She’s one of the best of her generation—how can you not see that?” “Bet Y/N wouldn’t last five minutes trying to guard her.”

But there’s also a crowd that’s rallying behind your comment. Some fans are laughing, glad to hear someone finally say what they’d been thinking. “Finally, someone not drinking the Kool-Aid,” one user writes. Another adds, “She’s great, but let’s not pretend like there aren’t other amazing players out there.”

The debate is heated, and the takes are piling up faster than you can read them all. A quick glance at Twitter’s trending page reveals that your name and Paige Bueckers are both climbing the ranks.

You sigh, amused but slightly annoyed. It’s one thing to have fans debating, but Twitter is practically ablaze, turning what you thought was a lighthearted comment into a viral controversy.

By the next morning, things have escalated even further. As you sip your coffee, you notice that your notifications have doubled overnight. And this time, it’s not just random fans. Paige’s teammates are chiming in too.

Azzi Fudd has posted a clip of Paige landing a flawless three-pointer, captioned, “@Y/N, this looks overrated to you?” Jana’s added her two cents with a subtweet: “We all have opinions, I guess. Can’t wait for the next episode.” And KK has dropped a classic response: “Hot takes are like free throws—not everyone hits.”

Each comment comes with thousands of likes and retweets, adding fuel to an already blazing fire. You find yourself chuckling, impressed despite yourself. They’re all coming to Paige’s defense with such witty precision that it’s hard not to admire the loyalty.

Yet, you also feel a prickle of defensiveness. Sure, Paige is good—great, even—but does that mean everyone has to agree that she’s the best thing in sports right now? You pride yourself on being honest and not falling for the hype, but as you scroll through the seemingly endless tweets, part of you wonders if you went too far.

Taylor texts you with a stream of laughing emojis. “Looks like you got the basketball world up in arms. Congratulations!”

You text her back, trying to stay cool. “All in a day’s work, right? Who knew Paige Bueckers had such a dedicated fanbase?”

“Did you really think people would let you get away with that one?” she teases, sending a gif of a player shrugging. “I think you just made Twitter history.”

You laugh, trying to play it off, but as the morning wears on, you can’t stop refreshing the timeline. More comments flood in from basketball fans, analysts, and even a few pro athletes. It’s spiraled into something you never intended—an opinion piece turned viral moment.

That night, you’re lying in bed, scrolling through the remnants of the day’s chaos when a new notification catches your eye. It’s a message request, from someone with a verified blue check. Your heart skips a beat as you read the name.

Paige Bueckers.

You hesitate, not sure what to expect. You’ve been in the public eye long enough to know that some people thrive off the chance to “clap back,” and you half expect Paige to lay into you.

You click to open the message, bracing yourself, but what you read is the last thing you anticipated. The message is short, her tone direct but surprisingly playful: “Overrated, huh? Bold opinion. Care to explain?”

For a moment, you just stare, processing the fact that Paige Bueckers herself has taken notice of your podcast—and your opinion. There’s something oddly thrilling about the attention, and you can’t help but wonder what this conversation might lead to.

With a smirk, you hover over the reply button. You know that a response could pull you further into this whole debate, maybe even turn the interaction into something bigger than a passing Twitter controversy. But there’s a thrill in it—this was Paige Bueckers, after all. The fact that she’d reached out, even playfully, meant you’d gotten her attention. For someone so used to being idolized and hyped up, maybe your perspective had struck a nerve.

Do I play it cool? Double down?

A few clever responses run through your mind, each one more sarcastic than the last, but you decide to keep it simple and direct. After all, Paige’s message had a vibe—she wasn’t attacking you. She was…what? Curious? Challenging you? Either way, it felt like an invitation, and you weren’t about to back down.

“Guess I’m just not a fan of hype,” you type, keeping it short but loaded. You hit send before you can second-guess it.

Not even a minute later, a new notification pops up.

“Fair enough,” she replies. “But if you think it’s all hype, maybe you’ve been watching the wrong games.”

You stare at her reply, feeling a flicker of competitiveness spark to life. She was biting back, not with hostility but with confidence—clearly ready to defend herself without missing a beat. Part of you is annoyed, but a bigger part admires the quick comeback.

So you respond again, more playful this time. “Guess I’ll have to tune in to one of your good games, then.”

A couple of seconds pass, then another message from Paige appears, this one laced with a challenge: “Tell you what—how about courtside seats to the next game? See if you still think I’m overrated.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. Was she…inviting you? To her game? This was turning into something more than just a Twitter exchange. The idea of seeing her play up close, watching her skill in real-time, fills you with a mix of intrigue and resistance.

You sit with her offer, fingers poised above the keyboard. Every instinct is telling you to throw a snarky response back, but curiosity gets the better of you. Before you realize it, you’re typing, accepting her offer with a short, “I’ll be there.”

#paige buckets #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #uconn huskies #uconn wcbb #wcbb #wlw fanfic #wlw post

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glasssoda · 1 month ago

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somebody requested that i start posting my metadow art on tumblr and i will do so because i lurk on that tag here every day anyway . here’s my latest one but im gna do a dump of other drawings after this

… my favorite hc for them is that shadow is one of/ the only person who actually attempts to meet metal where it’s at / work within its terms / coding rather than trying to explain things with terms that won’t be relevant to it … which is backed up by how shadow spoke to other robot characters in the archie comics . like for example , instead of making metal decide what it “would like to do” he would ask it what activities are logical options to fulfill its current set of goals … like … oh, quietly doing a puzzle is a mutually enjoyable and enriching task, therefore it meets the criteria as a superior and logical option toward meeting the goal of maintaining a positive relationship … do you see my vision …

#metadow #metal sonic #shadow the hedgehog #sonic fanart #sonic the hedgehog #metal sonic x shadow

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sparkleshakes · 2 months ago

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wife

gojo satoru x reader

genre: fluff ‼️

( reader is not exactly present but she’s mentioned a lot )

yuji and nobara were lounging in the common room after a grueling day of training. the sun was setting, casting a warm glow through the windows. they were chatting about their latest mission when yuji suddenly remembered a rumor he'd heard.

"hey, nobara," yuji said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial grin. "have you heard that Gojo-sensei is married?"

nobara's eyes widened in disbelief. "what? no way! gojo-sensei? married? that's hard to believe. he probably bribed her with money!"

just then, megumi walked in, overhearing their conversation. he sighed, knowing it was only a matter of time before they found out. "yeah, it's true," he confirmed, causing both yuji and nobara to turn towards him in shock.

"wait, you knew about this, fushiguro?" nobara exclaimed, feeling a bit left out.

megumi nodded. "yeah, I've known for a while. gojo-sensei's wife is also a powerful sorcerer. she’s been away in africa on a mission with yuta."

yuji's jaw dropped. "so not only is gojo-sensei married, but his wife is also a top-tier sorcerer? that’s insane!"

nobara crossed her arms, still processing the information. "i can't believe he never mentioned it. but then again, it's gojo-sensei. he’s always full of surprises."

megumi shrugged. "he probably didn't think it was necessary to bring up.“

yuji and nobara exchanged glances, both feeling a mix of awe and curiosity. "i wonder what she's like,"nobara mused. "if she's anything like gojo-sensei, she must be incredible."

"we'll probably get to meet her eventually," yuji said with a grin. "I can't wait to see what she's capable of."

as they continued to talk about gojo’s mysterious wife, they couldn't help but feel even more inspired to become stronger sorcerers themselves. after all, if gojo and his wife could take on the toughest curses, so could they.

the next day, during their training session, gojo seemed to be in an unusually good mood. yuji and nobara couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the recent rumors they'd heard. after the session, yuji decided to muster up the courage to ask.

"gojo-sensei," yuji began hesitantly, "we heard a rumor that you're married. Is it true?"

gojo paused, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "ah, so you found out, huh? yes, it's true. my wife is currently on a mission in africa with yuta."

nobara's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "why didn't you ever tell us, sensei? we had no idea!"

gojo-sensei chuckled. "well, I didn't think it was relevant to your training. but yes, she's amazing. you'd like her."

yuji couldn't contain his excitement. "will we get to meet her someday?"

“we’ll see.” replied gojo.

as the days passed, yuji, nobara, and megumi continued their training with renewed determination. the thought of meeting gojo’s wife and seeing her in action fueled their motivation. they pushed themselves harder, knowing that they were part of a legacy of powerful sorcerers.

one evening, as they were finishing up their training, a portal opened in the courtyard. out stepped a woman with an aura of power and grace. yuta followed close behind her, looking equally formidable.

gojo appeared beside them, a proud smile on his face. "everyone, I'd like you to meet my wife."

#gojo satoru #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #fluff

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rooksunday · 1 month ago

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day four: accidental child acquisition for @corrieweek !

“Sir, can you come to the front desk? There’s, uh, there’s a Jedi here to see you.”

Looking up from frowning at his afternoon schedule, Fox redirected his frown at his comm. Widget was more than competent to deal with any queries that came via the front desk, and he and the other Coruscant Guard had an unofficial—and, as far as they knew, undiscovered—ongoing effort to avoid asking Fox for assistance if they could possibly avoid doing so. Some well-meaning but less than ideal concept of “protecting” him.

(Fox wanted to let them believe that they could for as long as he could. They didn’t need to know that the worst things came in golden packages, and not via yelling civilians.)

However, despite his message, Widget didn’t sound worried and hadn’t used any emergency code words. Fox couldn’t place Widget’s tone. Confused? Amused?

“Did they say what they wanted?” Fox asked warily. If it was Vos again, surely Widget would’ve just said.

The silence that followed the question was disconcerting.

“It’s— It’s not clear, sir. Could you come down? I asked for Commander Thorn but he said it’s better if you come.”

Fox’s frown deepened. “I’m on my way.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Pushing from his desk, Fox quickly checked that his armour was production-line smart, and buffed his visor with the cuff of his gloves before donning his helmet. He left his office and marched briskly along the short corridor toward the front desk, where members of the public could—and often did—stagger in from the street to berate the Guard about things entirely outside of the Guard’s control.

What might a Jedi want? Did the barracks obstruct their view of the famous Coruscant skyline? (Thank you, sir, I’ll let the Chancellor know about the impact on your property value.) Had one of Fox’s troopers ran off without paying child support? (Thank you, mx, but your child is older than my troopers. Yes, mx, of course you can submit a request for a paternity test.) Maybe it was something more relevant, like actually helping with the war—

Fox stopped in the doorway. He pointed at Widget. More precisely, at the banned visitor in Widget’s arms.

“That’s not a Jedi.”

Widget jostled the little green being with the big brown eyes and bigger smile. “Well, he’s not a tooka, sir.”

The little one’s ears were certainly large enough but the being wore a tiny beige robe: Fox had seen tookas in jackets and booties, but never a robe.

Also, to date no tooka had ever done the mental equivalent of knocking on Fox’s brain and thought-shouting:

HELLO!!

Fox flinched, full-body, before he could stop himself. He never got used to that, no matter how many times the menace had announced himself that way. Fox pressed one hand to his helmet, pointlessly, and waved off whoever was watching the cams with the other; if he caused a galactic incident because he couldn’t cope with a Force-fuelled toddler, he’d be laughed out of his batch.

“Stand down, stand down.” To Widget, after a mental poke at Grogu, to which the kid only burbled a laugh, he said, “Do we know why this fierce and mighty Jedi is visiting us today?”

Widget nodded, still lightly jogging the tubie. “Grogu here has a note.”

Fox eyed the tiny three clawed hands, then tilted his bucket pointedly at Widget. Force or not, Grogu couldn’t hold a stylus. With a sigh, already mentally preparing his latest apology to Grogu’s crechemaster, Fox made a grabbing motion and Widget handed over a message scrawled in careful block capitals on a piece of flimsi From The Desk Of Mace Windu.

GROGU IS ALLOWED A PLAY DATE WITH THE CORA CORRI CORUSCANT GUARD. HE LIKES EGGS AND JUMPING !

SIGNED

ENMON, AGED 6 AND 3/4

CLAN KRAYT, JEDI TEMPLE, CORUSCANT, THE CORE, THE GALAXY

Fox read the note three times. It did not become less damning with repetition. He looked directly at the nearest camera, recording Fox’s last days on 000 for posterity, and the camera adjusted its angle slightly to frame him in the centre.

Abruptly, Fox realised where Thorn was, and not incidentally where the holo footage of his ‘play date’ would be plastered within the next cycle.

Fox sighed again. Muting the batch chat preemptively on his comm, he stretched out his arms to Grogu, and did his best to beam a smile at the tubie with his mind. The kiddo had first appeared in Fox’s office not long after they’d arrived on Coruscant, and despite the best efforts of various Jedi Masters, Grogu kept wiggling out of the Temple and appearing at HQ.

Considering the type of visitors the Guard usually had, Fox didn’t mind a play date with a copikla kid now and again.

“Come on, then, Commander. I have my orders, he said, wiggling his fingers in invitation.

Grogu leapt into Fox’s arms with a cheerful ‘patu!’ and immediately clambered up the armoured chest plate to perch on Fox’s shoulder: Grogu’s favourite place. He liked feeling tall, if the image he sent of Fox striding through the streets like a krayt dragon were any indication.

Once situated, Grogu drummed imperiously on Fox’s bucket and burbled instruction.

Fox nodded. “Absolutely, sir. Let us go and solve the very important case of the missing cookies. It could be the key to cracking the war. Widget, hold my messages. I’m on an important mission with a top Jedi Commander, understand?”

Widget saluted smartly. “Yes sir! Should I, uh, should I direct any messages to Commander Thorn, sir?”

Smart vod, that Widget. Fox grinned. Grogu trilled a happy noise. The security cam whirred.

“Absolutely correct, trooper.” Fox stared down the camera’s red eye as he continued, “And can you forward him the details of my afternoon meeting, too? I think this mission is going to run over midmeal and I’d hate to reschedule the briefing with Senator Binks.”

When Grogu started to giggle, it was like bursts of sunlight in Fox’s mind.

Maybe the Force osik wasn’t so bad, after all.

#look LOOK all my fics at the moment are fox with a cute sidekick #i’m just picking up what the universe is puttting down okay #commander fox #grogu #coruscant guard #corrieweek2024 #corrieweek #rook writes things #add to ao3 later #star wars #the clone wars

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midnight-in-town · 11 months ago

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Ao no Exorcist is a Shonen series written by a woman and it shows

Since the latest chapter, I've been thinking about how several usual Shonen tropes are written rather differently under Kato-sensei's pen. No judgement or anything, it's just cool to observe. Some examples :

1) Rin's mentor is a woman

2) Rin's secret, despite being the MC, was revealed in ch13 to the entire cast, meanwhile Shiemi, The Main Girl, who was introduced to be so helpless is only starting to be explained.

3) Also, the Mysterious plot-relevant Shonen Parent is actually the twins' mother. (Of course Shiro is super plot-relevant too, but Satan is still angsting over Yuri and she's a huge part of the reason why he's the big bad)

4) Rin also changed his view about his future throughout the story: from dropping out of school, passing by hoping to become the Order's Paladin (probably to cope with Shiro's death and also to antagonize Arthur), to finally showing way more interest and potential in the (less epic and heroic in appearance) field of talismanic cooking.

5) When it comes to arcs, mental illness is a valid reason to build a character arc around...

6) And so is making an arc about girls being "cursed" to basically "get married and have children before they hit 30, the age where their beauty fade thus they become useless" :

7) ANE is a story about women becoming traitors to protect their loved ones, like Mamushi

or becoming overwhelmed because men toyed with their feelings like Tamamo

8) Older women can be absolute badasses like Shiemi's grandma

or Lucy.

9) Complicated mother-daughter relationship and girl friendships are given as much focus as complicated father-son relationships and sweet bro friendships (like Bon and his dad during the Kyoto arc, as well as the complicated but deep bond between the Kyoto Trio)

10) And one of my favorites: full time single dad, asking for help to do the job as well as he can and finding his true purpose in life by doing so :D

Hmm and now that I think about it, the only other Shonen series written by a woman I've been as invested in is Kuroshitsuji, by Yana Toboso, and similar examples can be found in it too, namely:

1) If Ciel ever finally admits needing a mentor, his aunt Frances will probably play that role

2) Girls can be super strong & skilled (Elizabeth, Mey Rin) and clever (Sieglinde)

3) (one part of) the Big Bad is a woman (Queen Victoria)

4) maybe Ciel's entire revenge stems from a conflict between Queen Victoria and Ciel's maternal grandmother, Claudia.

5) the Undertaker has been a continuously freaking pain in the ass because he probably fell in love with that same maternal grandmother and couldn't mourn properly

TL;DR we love our boys and their spectacular growth and development under women's pens a.k.a shonen series written by ladies are hella fun to read. :D

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genericpuff · 2 years ago

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LORE | REKINDLED - MASTER POST (READ BELOW!)

LORE | REKINDLED is a transformative project dedicated to the S1/Pilot era of Rachel Smythe's Lore Olympus. Rekindled will attempt to re-interpret and reconstruct the foundations laid by Rachel Smythe in S1 of Lore Olympus' publication, while also remaining true to the themes and messages of the original myths upon which Lore Olympus is based.

We hope you enjoy this re-interpretation of The Hymn to Demeter - also known as The Rape of Persephone - expressed through the lens of a meta re-interpretation of Lore Olympus. Made by the fans, for the fans.

Disclaimer: This is a non-profit transformative fan project drawn and written by @genericpuff. All brushes, textures, and font packs used to replicate Lore Olympus' art and style are sourced legally, and panel art is created from the ground up. All Lore Olympus-relevant character designs and branding belong to Rachel Smythe. All interpretations of Greek characters, mythologies, and themes are purely fictional and should not be used in any factual sourcing when researching Ancient Greek material.

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anjelicawrites · 8 months ago

Text

The one looking out for you

Paring: dark!Michael Gavey x fem!reader Synopsis: fill for this ask: “Hii can I request a dark Michael gavey x fem reader smut where they're coworkers and reader don't really know Michael because he works in IT and they only pass each other here and there but Michael is obsess with reader and one day he overhears reader telling a coworker that she's ovulating but her fiancé (who's been cheating on her without her knowledge) is out of town and they've been trying for a baby. Michael digs up dirt on her fiance and leaks the info anonymously and then he "coincidently" finds her crying and kinda drunk and he "comforts" reader”. Warnings: NONCON (reader is drunk while having sex), rape, rape drugs, stalking, obsession, sexist language, fatphobia, pictures and videos taken without reader’s consent, vomiting, alcohol usage, reader being drunk, p in v sex, chocking, titty sucking, fingering, creampie, baby trapping, breeding kink, lactation kink, talk of reader reduced to a basement wife, talk of pregnancy sex. A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, she/her pronouns used.

Michael knows how special you are, how gentle you heart is; he sees you in all the ways other people don’t. Some might call his behavior obsessive, stalkerish even, but the world doesn’t understand that, when you finally find your person, you need to take all the necessary steps to keep that person safe. Take today, for example. You had worked overtime, your team leader needing your expertise for the latest company project, and are going home just now, after 9 pm on a cold winter night. You should wait for the bus, or hail a cab, but you’re too tired to wait and just want to go home thus cutting through the city park. Michael knows because he’s following the GPS of your phone, to make sure nothing happens to you, and is using the speakers of your phone to hear what’s happening around you and call the cops if someone tries to approach you.

He shouldn’t have cloned your phone, he knows it’s frowned upon, but you pull shit like this: how is he supposed to keep you safe? You are too gentle, too trusting of the world and in need of a protector, someone who will really look after you, not like your useless fiancé, who doesn’t treat you the way you deserve, nor he loves you, otherwise he wouldn’t be having an affair with the girl living in the next door apartment. The discovery had been casual, the Trojan he used to clone your phone had infected your fiancé’s as well and Michael had been the unwilling witness to his sexual escapades with that whore. He had been so disgusted by the way the asshole talked about you, that he would have disconnected from the phone, if he wasn’t digging for dirt on him.

Michael knows he’s invisible, he’s always been: no friends, no girlfriend, only him and his brilliant mind; when he was younger he had suffered because no one acknowledged him, now he understands he has a superpower that helps him navigate corporate life, absorbing all the relevant information, without anyone realizing what he’s doing.

You greet him whenever you stumble upon him in the corridors, still grateful he solved a computer issue you had the day of a big presentation, the reason why he’s met you in the first place and every gentle smile you direct his way, adds fuel to the fire of his obsession. He’s racked his own brains for days, after that first fateful encounter, wondering how he could start a conversation with you, cloning your phone had been the only way he thought he could find something you two had in common. It saved him a gaffe, when he saw all the photos with your fiancé, and gave him so much insight inside your brain, to understand you were the woman for him; of course you are far more creative that he’ll ever be, your soul gentler than his, but you are smart and being so different will only add to you two’s relationship, once he’s gotten rid of your boyfriend.

Michael is working on the new firewall, hidden in his own basement office. He’s thankful that the other IT people are misanthropes as he is and don’t mind that he’s working with his headphones on, on the contrary, everyone is wearing headgear to focus better on their task, the difference being, he’s listening to you. Your day is slow, with the big project finished, you and your team can kick back a bit, have a chat while ironing the last wrinkles.

Michael has been listening while you were chatting with that stupid cow, Marissa, about the last movie you’ve watched at that theater that shows mostly old black and white flicks; Michael has managed to garner quite the knowledge about old time Hollywood and Cinecittà and has discovered a fondness for old Hammer movies himself, even though the movies he prefers the most star you while you’re pleasuring yourself (something you’re doing quite frequently, since the asshole doesn’t seem to be that interested in you anymore), the theater? Your webcam and your apartment.

His focuses his attention when you go to have a coffee with your ‘work wife’ Jenny; through your phone he hears that you two are going downstairs, to the cafeteria of the building: one day you and him will do the same, pick a place to call your own, just to have a break. You have only bought your phone with you, it’s easy for him to listen to the inane chat, even though the cafeteria is packed; he’s not truly focusing on the conversation, just to the sound of your lovely voice as you wait for your coffee (espresso, a splash of oat milk and half sugar) and your favorite pastry (pain au chocolat, vegan); it’s when the asshole’s name drops that he stops working and focus only on you.

“You know we’ve been trying truly hard, at least we used to.” You say with a defeated tone he doesn’t like. “Then we stopped for his big project, I understand that he couldn’t follow that and my hormonal cycle.”

Michael grits his teeth; he’s been looking out for you for the better part of the year, before? He wasn’t your guardian angel and it had been difficult for him to put together the pieces, since you don’t use that many apps to store your personal life and information.

“Wait.” Jenny stops you. “Wasn’t he the one who wanted to start trying again?” “Yes.” From your tone only Michael can imagine you pinching the bridge of your nose. “He’s been repeating me to check my ovulation, write everything down or use those pregnancy like sticks, and what does he do the weekend I am at my peak? Leaves for work!”

Michael has to clench his fists when he understands what you and Jenny are talking about: children. You and the asshole having a baby!

Michael has to leave his small office and storms to the bathroom where he can pace around like a caged beast: that son of a bitch wants to knock you up, while he’s having an affair with the whore next door?

Calm, he tells himself, you need to stay calm and focused.

“What kind of trip is that?” He hears Jenny ask. “Work. His firm is trying to promote a new kind of prosthesis during this orthopedics conference; he has to be there.” “Why can’t you go with him? Take the weekend off? You wouldn’t be the only partner to go, I think”. “There have been some issues.” Your voice lowers conspiratorially. “Some of his colleagues had gone with their mistresses, on firm expenses and now all family members are banned from going.” “Hmm.” Jenny doesn’t seem too convinced. “Are you sure he wants to truly try?

Michael hears you sigh and wished he was there, not in this stupid bathroom!

“We are more distant. I keep telling myself that we had to both work on big projects at the same time, that we were forced to focus on work more than we would have liked and that, after the storm, things would go back to normal.”

Michael hears you sniff and the soft sound of Jenny’s hand on yours.

“What’s your gut feeling, love?” She asks, with a quiet voice. “That is not a storm and that he’s asked to try for a baby again because he doesn’t know how to handle all of this.” “Perhaps him going away for the weekend isn’t such a bad thing.”

Michael likes Jenny, she’s smart, calls IT only when she has a real issue and treats all of them like they are people, not the weird nerds hiding in the basement; he reckons Jenny is a bit of a nerd as well, based on the Star Trek knickknacks on her desk. Yes, when you and him are together, she’s one of the friends he’ll advise you to stick with: you’ll have to drop many of them, too stupid for you, and for him, but not Jenny, she can stay.

Michael hides in one of the stalls and opens the secret app on his phone where he keeps all your photos and videos. Some are racy, you pleasuring yourself using your favorite dildo and clit sucker, your sobs of pleasure going straight to his cock every time, but that’s not what he is looking for as his thumb swipes through all the pics he has, until he’s found the one he loves the most: you on the sofa, dressed in an oversized jumper, as you read your book. You look homely, the picture of what he wants your lives to be: quiet and filled with each other’s presence, you two don’t need anyone else, Or perhaps...

His mind goes back to the conversation he’s just heard. Michael doesn’t truly care for children but for you? He’ll give you a soccer team of babies if only you asked, fuck you full of his cum until he’s sure he’s bred you, only to fuck you some more once you’re full. His finger slides through the photos until he finds one of you in your bathing suit, just to imagine your tummy full of his child and your breast swollen with milk, begging to be sucked: yeah, the idea of knocking you up becomes more and more appealing as the minutes pass. He just needs to make sure the asshole doesn’t manage before he does.

Michael goes back to his cubicle with a lighter heart, now that he knows what the stakes are; he even whistles his favorite song as he orders a bouquet of the flowers you love (white callas and light pink lilies), to have them sent to your workstation: this has been his only outward way to express his feelings for you and today you need something nice to look at, after your heartfelt conversation with Jenny. As he focuses again on the firewall, Michael mentally pats himself on the back for having cloned the asshole's phone by mistake: you will have to know what is going on, it will hurt you, but he’s going to be there for you, unlike your fiancé.

Later that night, Michael is storing all he has on the asshole on the USB pen he’s bought on the way back to his small apartment; as one of the computers is working on the background, out of curiosity he checks if what the asshole has told you about the ban on partners going to conventions is true or not: if he’s lying, he’s going to add to the mountain of proofs he has, if not, well, it means that even him plays fair sometimes.

He stares at the desktop, before clicking on his browser icon: obviously is a picture of you, a selfie you’ve taken on holiday; you look so relaxed and happy, the shadows the straw hat you’re wearing paint on the skin of your cleavage are so elegant: he’s never met a woman who can be classy even when wearing a skimpy bikini. You are truly a Goddess among your kind, the best and the smartest, created just for him. He hopes you’ll let him snap racy pictures of you, once you two are together; nothing obscene or pornographic, just to celebrate your beauty and grace. Michael thinks he will be able to convince you, otherwise something in your water to make sure you’re pliant will make do.

You don’t want to be at this stupid office party. Yes, your last project was a success, all your colleagues want to celebrate, but you are in no mood, thanks to your cheating, asshole of a boyfriend.

You don’t know who sent you the USB pen, you’re not sure you’ll ever thank them for opening your eyes, but the truth is in front of you and you have no way to stop knowing what has been happening behind your back; given the chance, would you rather not have received the envelope and the USB? Nursing your umpteenth cocktail you’re not sure of the answer.

The envelope was white and lacked a return address, which was unusual but not overly so: the local Catholic Church leaves leaflets when Christmas and Easter are near, to promote the activities during these periods of time, never envelopes but you thought they were changing their strategies and opened it once you were home, alone as usual. The USB had surprised you, the printout of the reservation made of your fiancé and the girl next door, for the conference, propelled you to the bathroom, where you threw up your lunch and afternoon snack.

There was another message, smaller, that invited you to check the USB pen in your hand, if you wanted to know the truth; you stayed rooted on the spot for the longest time, torn between wanting to ignore everything, or let the bomb explode. Time passed, punctuated by the old clock in the kitchen, until you made up your mind, and choose the latter, you’re a daughter of Pandora after all, and plugged the USB in your computer: a barrage of text, photos and audio messages attacked you, you managed to go through a small percentage of them, before you had to run to the bathroom to throw up again, your stomach churning bile until you had nothing left to give. After this onslaught you cried with your knees tight against your chest, until you felt so tired you’d sleep on the cold bathroom floor, but you forced yourself to go back to the living room and went through all the proofs of your fiancé’s infidelity with the whore next door.

You didin’t know your personal guardian angel was listening to everything and looking using the smart TV you’ve bought last year. Michael’s heart hurt with your pain, he wished he was there to comfort you; if only you had waited for him, instead of being with the asshole, he wouldn’t have to make you go through all of this. It was your fault for not having faith that your true love was waiting for you: you’ll go through this cathartic experience and then be free to start your new life, the one Michael will tailor for you, and for himself.

With gritted teeth he watched the fight you have with the asshole, all the excuses he spewed, and then the insults against you, before he left slamming the door. He saw you angrily drink and cry until you passed out on the couch and he stayed up all night, watching you through the TV to make sure you were still breathing. It hurt him that you were hurt, but it was the price to pay for a better future.

You have been on autopilot for the rest of the week: went to work, where you used a mere fraction of your attention on the last details of the finished project, and then returned home to cry. You fiancé, better, former fiancé at this point, didn’t even try to patch things up with you, on Thursday, after you returned from work, all his stuff had disappeared and he hadn’t even left a note or sent you a message. You truly spiraled after that, called your best friend and wept on the phone for hours, until you head hurt; on a whim you had even thought about not going to work on Friday, but you couldn’t, not with the presentation of the bloody project and the celebration party afterwards. You decided to settle with finishing the alcohol at home and sent disparaging texts to your ex, who never answered them (little you knew that your own guardian angel had to do with that, and with the fact that he had disappeared with all his belongings; that was not something Michael thought you needed to worry your pretty head with).

You played your part on Friday, said your little spiel and shook hands on command, wore a fake smile for everyone to see, until you could hide in the conference room, nursing glasses after glasses of cheap alcohol, until you felt like enough time had passed to return home.

You’re sitting at the big desk, facing morosely the incredible view from such a high floor, with a glass and bottle you’ve taken from the open bar. You’re drunk, it's so easy to ignore the little voice in your head that’s telling you to stop, call a Uber and go home when your tummy is sloshing with alcohol. You’re so detached from your body that the door opening with a small creak doesn’t scare you.

“I thought nobody was here.”

You turn your head slowly and feel the strain of your eyes as they focus on the intruder. On first sight you don’t recognize him, then his name comes back to you Michael, one of the IT guys who solves all your technical issues. You’ve met him a couple of times, once when Marissa had some issued with her computer. You had felt bad for the guy, who had to come upstairs to simply turn the switch Marissa had swore was already on the right position. He had said something nasty about your colleague under his breath, ‘vapid cunt’, or something among those lines, as he was leaving. You didn’t approve of his language, but understood his frustration: he probably had to deal with stupid accidents like that all the time, his patience must have slipped; you had stopped him before he entered the lift and said you were sorry on your colleague’s behalf. You could have sworn his eyes had focused on you, behind his tick glasses, as if he was assessing you, judging you, but it was just a moment, then his blue eyes seemed to clear and you had repeated yourself that you have been consuming too much true crime, if such an innocuous man could cause weird thoughts in your head.

You had seen him around, he had saved your arse when your computer stopped working the day of a big presentation, tall and gangly, and always greeted him with a smile and a wave, which he would awkwardly respond to: he was one of the many people you knew, but weren’t truly friends with.

“Hi.” You try to sound sober. “Far from the madding crowd as well?”

Ok, you tell yourself, that’s not too bad.

Michael gently closes the door, you don’t see it but he locks it as well, before he walks towards you.

“Something like that.”

You stare at him, truly taking his appearance in for the first time. He’s awkward, standing the way he does a couple of chairs away from you, but not ugly: he should dress better and wear more stylish glasses, but he is handsome, in a nerd kind of way; his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue, and he is tall, not imposing but with large shoulders.

“Come.” You say, patting the chair next to you. “Don’t stand where you are. Fancy a drink?”

Almost knocking a chair over, Michael walks where you are and stiffly sits.

“I think I am full for the night.” He answers, when you offer him your own glass. “Are you sure? I’d loathe to drink by myself.” “Sure.” He answers. “Uhm, congratulation with the project.” He adds.

You pour yourself a generous amount of alcohol and drink it down in one go.

“That? Child’s play.” “Still, a great amount of money coming this way.” “Yeah.” You’re suddenly more morose than before. “All I am good for.”

You sway on the chair and distantly feel Michael’s hands, his very large hands, grab you by your shoulders before you can fall.

“I’m fine Mickey boy.” You slur with your face dangerously close to his. “I’m nothing but trash worth kicking anyway!”

You shrug him off and try to keep an upright position.

“Don’t say that about yourself!”

Something in his tone forces your drunken mind to focus on him.

“What do you know?” You bare your teeth at him and he has to keep you upright again. “I’m with this guy for years, years! I turn down the position in the USA office for him! Lose weight! Learn how to cook like his sodden mama and what does he do? He fucks the next door neighbor, that fat cow! I have to starve myself and be shamed when I can’t be a bloody size 8 and he fucks her! Sends her dick picks! Talks shit about me!”

The same way rage had possessed you, it disappears, leaving you a shaking handful of nerves; before you even realize it, you fall against Michael and start crying, fat, inconsolable sobs against his ugly sweater.

Michael holds you tight, reveling in the fact that you are in his arms, never mind the reason: you’ve opened up your heart to him, you’re seeking him for consolation! Not Jenny, not your best friend, but him! Because you know, in your heart of hearts, that Michael is the one for you!

He knows he’s awkward as he caresses your back and tries to murmur soothing words against your hair, but it doesn’t matter, not when all his hard work has come into fruition!

“I’m so sorry.” He hears from the general direction of his chest. “I don’t know what happened.” “That’s fine.” He answers, his arms still caging you. “Truly Michael, I don’t know what possessed me.”

When you finally manage to lift your head from his chest, you stare into his eyes, now dark pools your drunken brain can’t read.

Michael loses himself in your beautiful face and in the pain still marring your features: you need consolation and not the kind that words offer. He hadn’t planned all of this when he had followed you in the conference room, but you are in his arms, needy and sad and his cock is rock hard. You are causing all of this, he tells himself, because you need this and him. And he can’t say no to you.

His big hand sneaks into your hair to pull you closer to him; in your drunken state you don’t realize what’s happening, if not when his lips crash on yours, uncoordinated and dry. You try to push him away, to beg him to stop, but he uses your parted lips to slip his tongue in to deepen the kiss, his free hand grabs your hips and he pulls you on the table, slotting himself between your parted legs, his erection shocking you. When he starts kissing your neck, you try to push him away again, too drunk and weak to manage and he grabs your wrist in his big hand, to push you against the cold glass of the table; his free hand slips under your skirt and his fingers sneak under your panties.

“If you don’t want me, why are you so wet?”

He towers over you, his eyes unreadable behind his glasses and you can’t help but sob again: your drunken brain can’t find an adequate response, your body on fire after such a long time without another person’s touch.

Your body arches when his fingers slip inside your cunt, warm and wet, to fuck your hole hard and fast: he’s seen you masturbate so many times he knows how you like it, how you want his thumb on your clit, how to curl them to find your G spot and bully it, while you trash and cry, your muscles impossibly tight around him. He knows the sounds you’re making, those high pitched sobs that mean you’re close.

“Nooo…” You moan when his fingers leave your body.

Michael’s stare his cold and burns you at the same time, you have to hide your face because you can’t stand it deep into your soul; roughly he forces you to look at him.

“Look at me when I fuck you.” His palm cups your cunt cruelly. “You don’t get to come if you stop staring at me.”

Your drunken mind wants to come, wants an orgasm to take the pain away, it doesn’t matter who gives it to you, as long as your heart stops hurting. Then you will forget all about it.

A scared sound escapes your mouth when his big cock is revealed to you: you’ve never had anything so tick inside of you, you’re scared. Michael seems to revel in the fear he sees in your eyes, he can feel his erection grow with it, the knowledge that you’re finally at his mercy fueling his desire: you’re going to take all of him and be grateful that his seed will grow inside your belly, he’s going to give you all the time to adjust, but he’s coming inside of you and you with him.

Impatient he pulls your shirt and bra out of the way to free your beautiful breasts and he jacks himself faster at the sight of your tits. He bats your hands away when you try to cover yourself and curls one hand around a breast, until you cry out in pain.

“You’re all mine to see.” The vise on your breast is so tight he’s going to leave imprints. “Say it!”

You’re drunk and petrified, you don’t understand where this violence comes from, you just want to come and be done with all of this.

“I’m… I’m all yours to see.” You manage to say with tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “It wasn’t so hard.” Michael’s hand travels from your abused tit to your cheek to dry the tears already there. “I want to make you feel good, but you have to behave. Will you be my good girl?”

If you weren’t this drunk you’d fight him off you, scream bloody murder until someone comes to your rescue, but you’re drunk and desperately need all the human connection that you can scrape. You’d never sleep with Michael, not in a million years, but you’re not in your right mind and you just slump against the cool glass, incapable of stopping him.

Michael’s bulbous head nudges your wet entrance, slowly he slides in and groans at how wet you are; he hasn’t had many partners but no cunt has felt as perfect as yours, the ripple of your muscles as your body desperately tries to adjust to his size makes his blood boil, your pained moans and keens spur him on and his pushes become faster and faster, the more your cunt opens up for him. Desperate you try to relax, the pain of his intrusion mixes with pleasure, your drunken mind is confused, your body arches when he bottoms out and your eyes roll in their sockets: you’ve never been so full in your entire life.

Michael has to stop once he is sitting fully inside of you, your hole strangles his cock in ways no other cunt has ever managed, your nipples are erect with the pleasure he’s giving you and you’re making those small sounds that have him want to fuck you hard and fast, but he’s promised you pleasure, and he is no liar. Your tearful eyes are on him as he bends his back to envelope one nipple in his mouth to suck, gently, the other is getting pinched by his long fingers; slowly the pleasure mounts over the pain you’ve been feeling, your drunken body responds to his ministration and you moan, eyes on his as he switches between nipples with satisfied groans, your hips even lift to invite him to move, and he follows your movements, picking up speed when he feels your muscles give up to his ownership of your body.

You moan and keen when he picks up speed and he pulls your legs over his arms to fold you and fuck you faster, your wet cut squelches with every push, his cockhead bullies your G spot mercilessly and you try to squirm away, the pleasure too much and not enough. Michael bends against your body again and kisses you, tongue proprietary in your mouth he snuffs your scream when you come, your cunt so tight around his cock that he follows, copious in your hungry hole, and keeps fucking you, his erection still at full mast, fueled by your desperate sounds of overstimulation: he’s dreamed about this for too long to stop now.

You try to beg, to scream, but his hand around your throat cuts off your desperate prayers, your scratch his wrist and he simply fucks you harder, grinds against your poor clit tighter and your legs kick against his back, spurring him on: he knows you like it hard and even if you don’t? It’s what you’re getting now.

With a groan he pulls out and turns you face first on the table, fast he enters you again and grabs your tits to use your body as leverage to fuck your hole savagely, his hold the only reason your body is still up, your hands try to grab uselessly at the glass, his heavy balls slap against you and pleasure burns through you, painful it courses through your body and you squirm with it, tears falling from your eyes as his cock rapes your hole deeper and deeper, until he comes, panting your insides again, triggering your own orgasm.

You pant, the cold of the table nice against your over heated skin. Distantly you feel Michael’s lips on your nape, he’s leaving small kisses and nibbles on the soft skin, when you try to move you moan, your cunt curling around his still erect cock.

“Michael, please.” You beg, so sore already. “If you didn’t want me, why is your cunt strangling my cock?” He whispers cruelly in your ear.

Michael can’t believe his body can still be in need of yours, but he’s not going to say no, not when your cunt is massaging his erection so deliciously. Fast he removes his cock and plugs your cunt closed with his fingers, he can’t risk his seed to go to waste, not when he’s trying to knock you up; one handed he turns you on your back again and enters your hole with a groan: he’s found his home and he’s not going to leave it.

“Please Michael.” You sob. “I’m so sore!”

He cups your cheek and kisses you again. You submit to his ownership, afraid of triggering his rage; distantly a part of your brain is screaming that you don’t want this, that you should fight him, but you don’t have the strength to, not when you just want to forget your ex for a while ans are so scared of his rage: you will feel dirty afterwards and will drunk yourself in a stupor to forget, but that’s problems for future you, now you can't do anything else, you just want the pain to stop.

“I was too forceful, was I?” Michael caresses your body, already getting used to the feel of your skin under his. “I’ll go slow this time, love. Give me your last one and we’ll stop.”

For now, he thinks. He’s not done with marking all your holes as his.

“Don’t hurt me.” You sob, small and pathetic. “Never.”

His hips move slowly against yours, long and deep pushes that you feel everywhere in your body. His hands are at your breasts again, massaging them in tandem with his pushes inside of you; you squirm, your muscles sore with the abuse he’s subjected you to, your clit inflamed with the way he grinds against it, still sparks of pleasure explode in your muddled brain, your cunt clenches around him, pulling him in tighter and tighter, that he can’t help but grind against you, the image of the ring of his come and yours around his base and the squelch of your hungry hole spurring him on. He’s not going to last long and you’re coming with him again, sucking all your seed inside of you, until it takes. He’s going to fuck you through your pregnancy as well, his hips grind faster when he imagines the added pressure of your full belly and your tits, leaking milk he’s going to be all the happier to suck.

“No Michael please!” You beg when he starts fingering your clit. “Be my good girl.” He groans, punishing you with hard thrusts. “You’re going to come and drain my cock dry, or I’m not going to stop until you do.”

Your body arches at his words, the part of your mind that’s still coherent reels at the realization that he’s been fucking you bareback, your cunt clenches at the thought, tighter and tighter as he fucks your deeper and faster, until you come with a pained sob and he follows you, emptying his balls fully inside of you.

He stays rooted inside of you, willing his seed to take as your muscles massage his soft cock to the point of overstimulation; you’re a mess of tears and ruined make up under him, still too shook after so many orgasms, and he uses your fragility to enact the last part of his plan.

He grabs the glass and bottle still intact after your coupling and fishes for the small packet of drugs he’s bought on less than savory websites (the wonders of the deep web, if one knows where to look) and dissolves one capsule in the remaining alcohol. Gently he raises your head and forces you to drink everything: you need to be pliant for this part, he can’t risk you acting silly if you two meet some coworkers on the way out.

Once you’ve drunk everything, he stays inside of you, just enjoying your body as the drug takes effect, only then he’s going to dress you and help you back to your apartment, where he’s going to fuck you for the whole weekend. Hopefully his purchase will not be needed, but if you misbehave he’ll have to give some more of it, he needs you to be pliant, ready to follow his breeding project. As you stare at him with glassy eyes, Michael decides he’s going to drug you anyway and once the effects drain off your system, hopefully you’ll buy his story, that you two went on a weekend binge of alcohol and sex. If things will go as he’s planned, come Sunday you’ll be embarrassed and he will buy you breakfast and ask you out on a proper date, if you start complaining, then he has to use plan B, the one he had devised when he had found out you had a fiancé. You don’t know it, but if you are going to be a silly goose, he’s going to hide you away in the small farm out in the country he’s bought under a false name (he is a man who needs little to survive and has managed to put away a big sum easily), until he can break you and remake you into his perfect little wife. He will have to lock you in the basement for a time and use the fake posts he’s prepared in advance to justify you disappearing from your life, but he’s positive that’s not going to be needed: you are his other half, after all.

#michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #michael gavey x y/n

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ckret2 · 19 days ago

Note

minor nitpick but does VENDOR not capitalize THEIR own pronouns when referring to THEMSELF? also while reading that bit I realized that yeah, Bill would have no idea what VENDOR was, as vending machines as a concept wouldn't work in a two-dimensional world

I think when I was first picking THEIR pronouns I considered all capsing I/ME/MY but then didn't for reasons I don't remember because that was at least half a year ago. And a few days ago I suddenly realized aw man it would be really cool if VENDOR uses (and all-capses) the royal WE. But I didn't think of it earlier.

I can't be assed to go back and change THEIR first person pronouns when I'm working with a zero chapter buffer and am just barely squeaking out each week's fresh chapter, but when I'm posting chapter 61+ to AO3, the royal WE might be something I edit in.

(Since VENDOR's never referred to THEMSELF with all caps pronouns and you're only just asking now, I suspect it's partially because THEY called THEMSELF "Vendor" in the latest excerpt instead of VENDOR. My doylist explanation for that is THEIR logo is literally spelled "Vendor" in THEIR actual art because initial caps got me that retro 50s appliance brand aesthetic I wanted better than all caps did; and my watsonian explanation is that if some actual IRL human beings can have their signatures in all caps even though they'd properly spell their name with initial caps if they were typing it in an email or something, then VENDOR can sign THEIR name with initial caps for the aesthetic even though THEY'd properly spell it in all caps.)

And ye of little faith! You can totally make a vending machine work in 2D.

Did you know that the first vending machines were designed in Egypt nearly 2000 years ago and dispensed holy water or wine in exchange for a coin? This isn't relevant, I just think it's a cool fact.

But VENDOR's so big, so alien-looking, and so filled with planets that Bill wouldn't immediately make the connection that THEY're a vending machine. Imagine seeing, like, a 200 story tall steel fridge. You might initially mistake it for a weirdly featureless windowless skyscraper with a weird decorative wave coming out of one side rather than recognizing it as a fridge with a handle.

#anonymous #ask #bill goldilocks cipher #my art

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dindjarindiaries · 7 months ago

Text

Rush

summary: You and Hunter have to make a risky escape when the end of a mission goes sideways, though even an exit gone wrong has a bright side.

pairing: sergeant hunter (tbb) x reader

tags: canon-typical violence, light angst, kissing/sexual themes, fluff

rating: T

word count: 3.478k

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

Thunder crackled overhead, and no later did you start feeling the droplets of rain that ricocheted off the trees surrounding you. With a huff, you tried in vain to press yourself harder against the rough bark, as if the canopy of leaves would somehow give you cover from the oncoming storm. “Great,” you muttered. “This is just what we needed.”

“At least it’ll cool us off,” Hunter offered, tilting his helmet as he kept his blaster lifted in his hand. He spoke without moving from his post, which happened to be the tree across from yours.

You raised an amused eyebrow at him. “Ever the optimist.”

Hunter chuckled. “I’m trying my best.” He touched his fingers against his helmet and spoke into the comms. “Time’s winding down, Echo. How close are you two?”

“We’ve nearly got it,” Echo responded. “I’ve gotten access, but Tech just has to decrypt a few more sequences.”

You and Hunter watched another patrol of guards stroll around the corner of the safehouse Echo and Tech had snuck into. It was the third you had seen in the past ten minutes, which confirmed their suspicions were rising. Your squad had over welcomed their stay.

“There’s a third patrol group,” you warned them.

“Make that four,” Wrecker added. “Omega and I see a new group, too.”

You and Hunter shared a cautious look. His finger tapped his blaster a few times before he spoke into the comms again. “Tech?”

“Thankfully, I work well under pressure.” The tapping of Tech’s fingers along his datapad could be heard in the background of his comm. “All of Cid’s requested intel has at last been decrypted and uploaded. I must say, I find it utterly intriguing that she—.”

“Is this relevant, Tech?” Hunter’s tone was short with concern, not anger.

Tech’s sigh was audible over the comms. “I suppose it can wait. Echo and I are making our exit now.”

“Great.” With that, Hunter lowered his blaster, though he kept it close. You did the same with your own as you kept your keen eye on the latest patrol. Tech and Echo were getting out the same way they got in, and you and Hunter were closest to that exit point. Your focus would guarantee their safety.

As the rain turned into a downpour, however, it was harder to see. You squinted and blinked a few times when raindrops cascaded from your brow down to your lashes, eventually raising your arm to your eyes in a vain attempt to dry them. Your clothes had already started to stick to your soaked skin.

“You okay over there?” Hunter’s voice was yet again full of concern as you lowered your arm to look at him.

“I’m fine.” You offered him a nod for further reassurance. “You’re just lucky you have a helmet.”

Hunter began to raise his hands to the sides of his helmet. “You can have it if you need it.”

Warmth that was much more welcome than the tropical planet’s humidity swelled inside your chest as you shook your head. “That’s sweet, honey, but I’ll be fine.”

Hunter lowered his hands and nodded. His visor returned to the sight of the building in the distance even as he continued to speak to you. “I like it when you call me that.”

You chuckled to yourself. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s…”

Hunter trailed off, causing you to look from the blurry view of Echo and Tech’s exit point over to him. His entire body was tense as his visor looked just beyond you, and it became apparent that his senses had alerted him to something new. You furrowed your brow and prepared to ask him about it when you heard the sound of a growl just behind you.

“Sunny.” Hunter’s voice was a low and worried warning. “Don’t move.”

You slowly turned your head over your shoulder and felt your heart leap into your throat. There was a creature at least twice your size standing just behind you, a four-legged beast with long talons and two rows of eyes. It flashed its massive teeth at you as it growled once again.

Your panicked instincts took over, but before you could act out on them, Hunter lunged over to muffle your scream and keep you in place. His gloved hand absorbed the sound as his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Don’t. Move.”

You tried to control your breathing as your gaze stayed locked on the creature’s, but the louder it growled at you, the more difficult that task became. It took a step closer, and you gripped Hunter’s arm and wrist, lowering his hand from your mouth. “Hunter…”

“I’m watching.” His own steady breaths guided yours as his armored chest rose and fell behind you. For a moment, you really thought it would be okay.

Then, the creature roared, and Hunter raised his blaster and shot it so fast that it was nothing more than a flash in your memory.

Keeping his arm on your waist for a moment, Hunter tugged you away, leading you in a new direction. “Come on!”

You snapped back into battle mode as you diligently followed him. “Where are we going?”

“We can’t evade this thing on foot,” Hunter insisted, guiding you through the trees as the creature followed. You didn’t need Hunter’s enhanced senses to know it was only getting closer and closer. “I saw some speederbikes by the other exit point.”

“Won’t they see us stealing their equipment?”

Hunter gave his helmet a tilt even as he ran. He continued to raise his voice above the sound of the storm. “I have a feeling they already know we’re here.”

Then came the first blaster shot. You ducked down and glanced to your right, seeing the patrol group from earlier taking their aim at you and Hunter. “Oh, great! Another thing to avoid!” You fired back at them, though the attempt was pointless as the downpour blurred their distant images. “I could really use some of that optimism right about now!”

“Just stay close!” Hunter also fired back some shots at the patrol, which was thankfully composed of some poor shooters. He artfully dodged each tree and other obstacle as he led you forward, and soon, he was pointing at something ahead of him. “Here!”

You saw the outline of the speederbike just before Hunter hopped onto it. He waited until you had fallen in place behind him to push it forward, but even with the sound of its loud engine and the pouring rain around you, you could hear the other bikes following you in close pursuit. “We’ve got company!”

“Hold on!” Hunter took a sharp right, causing you to tighten your grasp on his middle for stability. Once he had straightened the bike out again, you reached back with your blaster and started to take aim at your pursuers.

“What’s causing that blaster fire?” Echo asked over the comms. “It’s impossible to see anything in this storm.”

“We’re in a bit of a situation,” you informed the squad, taking another few shots before holding tight to Hunter as he banked left. “We’re handling it, though. Did you get out okay?”

“Echo and I have rendezvoused with Wrecker and Omega,” Tech answered. “We are en route to the ship.”

“We’ve got a patrol hot on our trail,” Hunter managed to say even as he steered the bike. “We’re not heading back to the ship until we lose them.”

“Do you want some help?” Wrecker asked, and his tone revealed his desire to see some action.

“Negative, Wrecker.” Hunter paused as he went right, and you nearly lost your grasp on him thanks to how slick his armor had become. He set a hand over yours to keep it secure. “I don’t want them knowing there are more of us. Just get the ship ready to go.”

“You’ve got it, Sarge.”

“Be careful!” Omega’s genuine request managed to make you smile even as you blasted a few more times. None of your shots were landing, thanks to how hard the downpour was making it to aim. To make matters worse, they were firing their own shots, and you were just barely managing to dodge them thanks to your exposed position.

“I can’t see anything in this rain!” You ducked as a blaster bolt nearly grazed both your heads. “My shots are useless!”

Hunter, of course, only needed a moment or two before his quick thinking began. “I have an idea.” He paused to go around a tree, and you held on tight to keep yourself from slipping. “We’re gonna switch.”

Your eyes widened as you gave him a once-over. “How?”

Hunter spoke without once looking away from where you were going. “I’m gonna lean left, and you lean right. I’ll maneuver myself behind you, and once we’re both settled, you’ll take the handles from me. Okay?”

You took a deep breath. “Do you trust me to pilot in this downpour?”

Hunter’s response was genuine as he offered you a quick glance. “I trust you with my life, Sunny.”

You smiled as your determination set in. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Hunter nodded. “On the count of three.” He tightened his grip on the handles. “One… two…” Hunter took one more hard turn and then leveled the bike back out. “Three!”

As Hunter lifted himself up and leaned to the left, you leaned right and pushed yourself forward, tucking yourself under his arm. Hunter’s right leg swung off the front of the bike and fell in place behind you, and in just a few seconds, he was seated behind you. You wrapped your hands around the handles to take them from Hunter, and he let go once you were in full control.

“There you go.” Hunter wrapped his left arm around you for stability and drew his blaster with his right. “See? Easy.” He gave you a gentle squeeze before he focused on shooting.

“Yeah, don’t speak too soon.” You smirked to yourself as you banked left and then right, causing Hunter’s grasp on you to tighten.

“Are you trying to throw me off this thing?” Hunter’s tone was laced with amusement as he fired a few blaster bolts.

Your mischievous grin widened. “I thought you said you trusted me.”

“I do.” Hunter paused to focus on aiming for a few moments. “But I still wouldn’t put it past you to make it hard on me.”

“Considering you’re the one who’s responsible for keeping us alive right now,” you gritted your teeth as you swerved around two trees, “these are purely circumstantial challenges.”

“Lucky for you, I can handle it.” No later did you hear Hunter’s blaster go off, followed by the sound of a speederbike crashing. “We’ve only got two left.”

You revved the bike and pushed it forward even faster, causing Hunter to grunt with surprise as he held on tighter. You racked your brain for a new strategy as you artfully dodged each obstacle in your path. “Okay, I’m gonna make a hard left,” you told him. “That should give you a good shot at the pilot on our left.”

Hunter nodded, a movement you could sense as he kept shooting to distract them. You waited until you were headed full-speed at a tree to turn the handles and brake left, causing your bike to be perpendicular to the path of the others. All it took was two shots from Hunter’s blaster to incapacitate the second driver, leaving you with one more left to go.

Hunter’s modulated voice was warm as he spoke. “If I had known you were this good at piloting a bike, I would’ve had you hop on first.”

You chuckled to yourself and tried to ignore the heat that rushed to your face at his praise. “That’s nice of you to say, but we’re not done yet.” You glanced over your shoulder to see the bike gaining speed on you. “Got any ideas?”

Hunter kept shooting, and each new shot proved this pilot wasn’t going down as easy as the others did. “Not really. This one’s tough.” He pressed himself against you when a blaster bolt flew over your shoulders. “We might just have to try to lose them.”

You wove around another tree, and the movement alone gave you a new plan. “I’ve got something.” You flexed your wrists to increase your speed. “Holster your blaster and hold on tight, Sergeant.”

Hunter didn’t hesitate to obey your order. It was only after both his arms were tight around you that he spoke up. “What do you have in mind?”

You tilted your head and focused on the upcoming path. “You’d rather not know.”

Before Hunter could respond, you began to swerve around a massive tree trunk, but you kept your momentum to the left and turned the bike all the way around in a circle. You pressed forward even harder, causing you to charge the other bike head-on as you fired a few blasts from the bike’s guns. It did nothing as the distance between your two bikes began to close.

“Sunny,” Hunter warned, his gloved hands fisting the material of your tunic as you went faster and faster. When you still didn’t stop or turn away, he said your real name in an even more panicked tone.

At the last second, you pulled up hard, causing the bottom of your bike to narrowly miss skimming the other as they flew under you. Your distraction, however, caused them to miss what was standing directly in their path, and their bike flew straight into the tree trunk you had already circled around.

“And that’s three,” you said, smiling to yourself with satisfaction as you began to steer yourselves back towards the Marauder. You gave Hunter a quick glance over your shoulder. “Still think I’m a good pilot?”

There was a pause as Hunter lifted one of his arms from you. He reached up to remove his helmet as he exhaled an affectionate breath. “You’re amazing.” The hand holding his helmet wrapped around you again as the other moved to your thigh, his thumb and his fingers stretching across the expanse of it. “Amazing.”

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt the warmth of his lips on your rain-soaked neck, and despite the fact you were trying to focus on the winding path ahead of you, you couldn’t help tilting your head to give him more access. His hand running up and down your thigh was no help. “Hunter,” your utterance of his name was more of a pleased sigh than you would’ve liked, “this isn’t helping me to focus.”

He stopped kissing you to speak, but he kept himself close enough for his breath to fan over your skin. “I think you’ve proven you can still work well with distractions.” Hunter gave your skin another kiss before pausing again. “But I’ll stop if you want me to.”

You couldn’t resist him. “Hell no.” You freed a hand from the handles to cover his on your thigh. “By all means, keep challenging me.”

Hunter huffed, the sound melting into your skin in a way that drew an audible breath from you. He took your words as an open invitation to devour you, despite the way the rain was still pouring over him—and now soaking his unprotected head. Heat coursed through you in a way that was much different than the planet’s humidity, and it was only getting more and more impossible to ignore.

So much for working well with distractions.

You weren’t far from the Marauder when you brought the bike to a full stop. Before Hunter could even begin to question it, you had already spun around to grab his face and pull it to yours. Each bead of rainwater on your faces began to melt together in a sweet storm of your own, feelings of strong desire and relief from your leftover adrenaline pulsing through in each matching stroke of your tongues. It wasn’t often that you got to show off for each other, and it certainly wasn’t often that you got to celebrate a victory like this.

You raked a hand through his wet locks, drawing a pleased growl from him that caused him to somehow intensify his beautifully overwhelming actions. He tilted your head back, deepening your kiss in a way that made you cling to him the most you could. It was a breathtaking moment that made everything else fall away, from the raging storm that continued to pour down on you to the squad who was still waiting for you on the ship.

That was the thought that eventually helped you to separate yourself from him, though your teeth gently clung to his lip in your desperation to stay in the moment as long as you possibly could. Your slickened forehead rested against his as you took a few breaths of composure. “I really need to focus on getting us back to the ship, honey.”

Hunter smiled at that. “You’re right. We can’t leave the squad waiting for too long.” He lifted his head from you and helped you to turn back around. “I don’t like it when they start to get suspicious of us.” You chuckled at that, the warmth remaining in your chest as he set his hand on your thigh once again. “Lead the way, love.”

You beamed and prepared to push hard on the handles. “Hold on, Sarge.” You surged forward, and Hunter tightened the arm he had around you to keep himself in place. You laughed as he shook his head, though his own armored chest was rumbling with a hearty sound that you could feel on your back.

It wasn’t much longer before you saw the Marauder exactly where you had left it. You parked the bike, and before you could hop off, Hunter had already done so and extended his hand to you. You smiled and accepted it before the two of you ran towards the open hatch.

“Nice of you two to join us,” Echo quipped from inside the hold. He had a smile on his face that proved Hunter’s earlier words to be true; he was eagerly suspicious of something.

“Took a while for us to lose them.” Hunter’s response was delivered with as much composure as usual, though you didn’t miss the gentle brush of his hand over your back as he passed you on the way to the cockpit. “Tech, get us out of here.”

You were immediately distracted by Omega, who ran up to you with a worried stitch in her brow. “Are you okay, Sunny?” She gave you a quick once-over, no doubt searching for injuries, as she held the blanket over her shoulders even tighter. “How did they see you? It was so hard to see anything in the rain!”

“We’re fine, Omega.” You ran a hand over her wettened hair and smiled. “A creature jumped out and surprised us, and that gave away our position.”

Omega’s eyes widened. “How’d you get away?”

You crossed your arms, suddenly starting to shiver now that the regulated temperature of the Marauder was making your soaked clothes feel colder. “Speederbikes.”

Omega began to look even more impressed as she raised an eyebrow. “You stole one?”

“We did.” It was Hunter who answered for you, having returned from his quick check-in with Tech. His gloved hand had fallen on your shoulder, and as you glanced at him, there was no hiding the concern in his gaze as he looked upon your shivering form. He stepped away to set his helmet down and grab another one of the blankets, which he set over your shoulders for you. You uttered a quiet thanks as he nodded.

“Aww,” Wrecker cooed from where he was sitting in the hold. “Look at your soft side, Sarge!”

“No blanket for me?” Echo added, his grin having widened even more.

Hunter grabbed another blanket and threw it at Echo, causing both him and Wrecker to laugh as he did so. You giggled and shared a look with Omega, who was beaming at you as she rested her side against yours. You sat down with her on the floor of the hold, huddling together for more warmth. Your gaze caught Hunter’s as his lips stretched in a smile that warmed every inch of you in a way that was much more wholesome than your stolen moment.

You would only have those longing glances until you could steal another moment with him, though the rush his admiring eye gave you would never fail to leave you wanting more.

main masterlist • hunter masterlist

hunter tag list: @zenrobbins0021 @cw80831

#oh to earn praise from this man... *sigh of longing*#tbb hunter #hunter tbb #sergeant hunter #tbb hunter x reader #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter tbb x reader #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch fic #dindjarindiaries

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