#they’ll fill my brain to the brim | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yaut-jaknowit · 1 year ago

Note

Hi! I like you, you seem so cool. Such a vibe.

So, i might end up writing this eventually BUT the writers block has locked barricaded and blown up any entrance to writing anything beyond poetry for the past numerous months and, honestly, I don't think she (gn) is willing to open up. We've gone to therapy. But she just says she needs time. 🙄 . ANYWAYS, I had this idea, right? Reader and a Yautja who are mates/soulmates, and he is NOT for it. Big no no time. Shuts them down and pushes them away. Thing is, while the pull towards them is intense for him, he doesn't realize that for humans it's, like, a painful experience. They can go a bit without being near their soulmate once they find them, but months? *years*?? Eventually he goes back to earth and something pulls him to go check in them and finds them an absolute wreck. Chronic pain, maybe some of that ✨️classic substance abuse✨️, and absolutely heartbroken because their *soulmate* didn't even want them.

And... that's where the little writer part of my brain walks away.

Anyways, maybe one day I'll write this, but the ADHD part of my brain wants the gratification my writer part just isn't interested in entertaining.

I'd love to see your twist on it, if you'd be interested! If not, I get it (not every request peaks our interest and that's valid, but thought I'd share).

P.S. I just heard an owl for the first time in AGES. Really cool.

Are We Meant to be?

Pairing: Yautja x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2031

Summary: On a walk home from work in a city that wasn't friendly, you stupidly decide to take a shortcut. A shortcut that could cost you your life...

Author Note: Thank you! I'm glad I have good vibes! I might be falling into writers block... Towards the end, it was hard to figure out what to write but I hope this is good for you! I wanted to give you a start so you can finish it yourself!

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 2

When you find your soulmate, it’s said that fireworks go off in your stomach. Then, life is a happy fairytale afterwards. Both souls are drawn to each other by an invisible string. Over time, they’ll be pulled to one another until they meet. From there, life is filled with happiness and complete. You are at height of your life with your soulmate.

So why was the universe cruel to you?

In the concrete jungle that made up your city filled to the brim of people and constant death, you raced back to your little apartment. The minute place you’ve carved out for yourself in a city like this. Something told you to be here, to stay here, no matter what happens. Just a tiny feeling in your cold, hope-filled heart. Maybe, just maybe your soulmate was here. So you endured the life you’ve created here and waited.

Waited for that faithful day they would stumble across your path and boom! Fireworks.

This was a bad idea, your brain shouted as you turned into a dark ally. It was a short cut that would shave off about five minutes. Five minutes closer to your studio apartment. Or lose your life.

A dark figure stepped out from the shadows. In the limited light, you see the way a blade reflects. Shit. Cursing internally, you skid to a stop and started to walk backwards towards the safety of the public street. But footsteps behind you had you pausing where you stood. More curses flew around in your brain as any logical thought.

Nothing needed to be said as you stared down the figure before you. This wasn’t unusual for a city like this. They wanted money, your money. Yet, you didn’t have much on you to offer. Probably only two dollars and nineteen cents in your pocket. Definitely not enough to quell them.

Before you had a chance to even inhale and speak, the person before you collapsed to the ground with nothing but little more than a squeak. A hunking form towering over his crumbled body. Your jaw dropped at the size of this figure. Your heart stutter in its bony cage as you were pinned to the spot like your shoes were welded there.

The string in your chest yanked hard directly in front of you. Your eyes couldn’t expand anymore at the feeling.

With nothing more but a breeze, the shadow zipped past you. You spun around to keep an eye on whatever had attacked your own attackers. Now that it was closer to the street lamps, you were able to pick up flashes of what it looked like. Yet, your brain couldn’t comprehend who this figure that moved in a blink of an eye was. You’ve never seen anyone move like that before. It couldn’t be possible.

A sick snapping echoed through the alleyway that had you tensing. The second attacker fell to the ground, unmoving. Finally, your shoes unpolarized from the dirty concrete but stepped away from the towering form that casted a long shadow. The head barely touching the tips of your toes. You swallow thickly and ignored the way your heart pounded heavily. It wanted freedom, wanted to rip out and go towards it.

He lifted his head. What could you see were long, thick… dreads? swaying as he shook his head. Metal, shining ornaments were attached to them. His form, larger than any man you’ve met before stood there. Only one arm moving, bending at the elbow. You couldn’t see what he was doing. You felt a fluttering feeling in your chest.

The figure whipped around with a snarl that echoed back at you. All you could see was emotionless eyes before it was upon you.

Your back slammed into the brick wall but a hand cushioned the back of your head. A gasp tore from your throat then your vision settled to take in the sight. He had pounced on you, pinned you to the alleyway wall, all the while breathing heavily. A hand had captured your neck, to ensure you stayed there, trapped.

Even with the knowledge this unknown figure might had just killed two people, your body was warm, lax underneath him. Your brain should’ve been screaming danger of the situation but all it sung was safety. A melody you couldn’t tell was true or not from the logical side of your brain. Yet, you couldn’t dispute the hot flash of an connection that struck you deep in your stomach at just his touch.

“Y-you…” he forced out in a guttural, gravely voice. This close to him, you realize he was wearing a mask, metal by the looks of it. “Not po-possible.” Your brows furrowed at his barely audible words. What did he mean?

Timidly, you reached out and rested your palm on his chest. He was incredibly hot, temperature wise. You felt a sort of netting there. He hissed, like a cat, and slipped the hand behind your head to snatch your wrist. It was pinned above your head. “No.” It was hard to understand what he was saying.

Not an ounce of fear entered your body as he continues to pin you there. Yet, your voice was caught behind a lump. So many questions fluttered around inside of your head but all you could do was stare into the emotionless eyes of his mask.

As if you had burned him, he ripped himself away from you within a blink of any eye. It left you feeling unsteady and almost falling to the ground. You saw for a moment he reached out to help you before letting the limb fall to his side.

Then, he was gone. In a small flash of blue, his form disappeared completely. Yet, you could feel him standing there, like a ghost to haunt you.

The walk home was confusing.

…

Blaring noises, inundated scents. Everything that a newly blooded would not be able to handle. Through the thick of it, the hunter waited in the shadows for the perfect moment. His ears picking up every little noise yet filtering them until he felt a pull. This pique his interest. A feeling he’s never felt before. His eyes closed as it persisted inside of him, his chest tightening.

A huff sounded from his mask he stood up, long legs stretching after being in a crouch position for so long. The Yautja cracked his neck a couple of times before beginning his trek through the concrete jungle. He allowed the tug to guide him over buildings as if he back on his home planet. It took him from one side of the city hundreds of thousands of oomans resided in all the way to the other side.

All of his moves were smooth, agile. He knew where and how to land before he was going to. His body going through the motion like a thousand times beforehand. His feet never making a sound. His breaths steady, confident. He loved this, the movement, the rise of adrenaline. That extra energy that filled his system.

The pads of his feet let him land silently on the edge of a building. The pull taking his straight down. He stopped and peered over the edge… to find three measly oomans. The heavy scent of fear permeated the air. He drank in the smell and watched the scene unfold before his bright eyes.

At the sight of ooman between the two male had his quills bristling at the sight. With his cloak deactivated, the Yautja stepped off from the edge. His entire body landed on top of one ooman, simply crushing it underneath his feet like the scum it was. Its frame making a sickening sound he could care less about to think of.

He launched himself at the other ooman. No mercy. A hand wrapped around the ooman’s throat while the other wrapped around its head. Only an ounce of his strength was extruded as he snapped the neck of this low life. Its body dropped to the dirty floor of this noisy, death filled city.

Beneath the thick scales that covered his chest, a strange feeling bloomed. It was the same notion from before. Pulling him backwards. He raised a hand to graze over the spot, deep in thought.

A snarl ripped at his throat. He whipped around to face the only other living thing in this dark path. The biomask that covered his face scanned over the little ooman left in his presence. Weapons, nonthreatening, adorn its small body. He wasn’t intimidated by them. He could scoff at how unprotected it was in a place like this.

He was upon the ooman in a second, ramming them into a brick. One hand coming around to cradle the back of its head while the other swiftly encased your neck. The Yautja gave it no room for escape.

His entire body tensed as the feeling tenfolded, eyes widening behind his mask. He didn’t know what was happening. Unlike any other time he’s had a ooman in his grasp, you didn’t move, you were like water in his grasp.

Tales as old as time sprung to life in his mind. “Y-you,” he grumbled in the ooman’s dialect. It hurt his throat to speak the language but he wasn’t going to waste a translator on you. He couldn’t… couldn’t. His heart, his mighty heart pulled, fluttered even, at your proximity and touch. “Not po-possible.” He hated the ooman languages.

The ooman’s face turned sour with confusion. He watched as you raised a hand to his chest, where his heart beats. A hiss surged past his mandibles. With a hand, he snatched your wrist and pinned it above your head harshly. Hopefully, you would learn a lesson. Not a single waft of terror rolled from your tiny, fragile body.

It jerked at his heart harder. In an instant, the Yautja yanked himself away from you with disgust. Yet, the way you stumbled from the lack of a steady body to protect you, he moved to help you. Halfway through the motion, he paused, arms falling to his sides. He needed to leave. Now.

A simple button had his cloak reactivating and gone from your sight. His feet were cemented in place right before you. You could still feel him, standing there. He observed you after you finally ripped yourself from the wall and began the trek of wherever you were heading.

Like your shadow, he followed you. All the way, even as you opened a door to a dingey old building and up the stairs. The Yautja followed your every move even as you prepared for bed and laid down. He watched you struggle to find comfort, kicking, squirming, and shivering. The distress clearly evident. Strangely enough, he wanted nothing more to march into your room and comfort you. But, the Yautja stayed.

When he knew it was time to become homebound, the Yautja gave you one last look. Days in, days out, he’s been your shadow, observing your every move. For the fifteen rotations of your planet, he’s been there. He didn’t allow himself to be seen, by anyone. Including yourself. He was there though.

Sleeping was difficult. A struggle to find peace within the storm raging inside of you now. It felt a door had been opened and couldn’t be shut. You felt incomplete now. A distraught noise escaped your lips as you fulfilled your worthless job. You leaned heavily on the counter with a sigh, eyes shutting. All you saw through the darkness was flashes of that night.

The night were everything changed.

On the day afterwards, you took an unfortunate day off from work. As much as you needed the money, research was needed to be done. For the entire day, you searched through every article possible about soulmates. Everything. You also dug into anything that was close to whatever had… saved you. It had saved you then disappeared. But it left behind a feeling that was consuming you every thought.

Was this what it felt like to be abandoned? You whined at the thought and opened your eyes. Work needed to be done. If only you knew the consequences.

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #alien vs predator #predator x reader #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader

342 notes · View notes

miguelswifey04 · 1 year ago

Note

A cute idea: Miguel and reader go to an animal shelter looking for a dog, and Miguel sees this absolutely TINY chihuahua and just MELTS. Even if he wanted a bigger dog originally, he just has to have this one instead, so now reader gets to see this giant of a man cooing over a ridiculously small animal

aweeee you always have the cutest of ideas!! i love your brain 🧠 <3

miguel o’hara x gn! reader

adopting a small chihuahua with miguel because he is fawning over how small and cute it is

you and miguel embarked on a heartwarming adventure to find a new addition to your family—a furry friend to bring joy and love into your lives. you ventured to an animal shelter, your hearts open to the possibility of finding the perfect companion. as you perused the rows of wagging tails and eager noses, miguel’s eyes caught sight of something unexpected—a minuscule chihuahua, barely bigger than the palm of his hand. instantly, his heart melted, and any preconceived notions of a larger dog disappeared. "oh my goodness! look at this little one! how can something so tiny be so utterly adorable? i must hold them!"

his face filled with pure delight as he gently cradled the tiny chihuahua in his massive hands. he cooed and whispered sweet nothings, his voice laden with affection. "hey there, little buddy! you’re the one, aren't you? i think we were meant to find each other. you’re coming home with us!" the chihuahua responded with an excited wag of its tail, as if sensing the immense love radiating from miguel.

you watched the heartwarming scene, a smile stretching across your face. you couldn't help but find miguel’s gentle nature completely endearing. “well, it seems like this little chihuahua has won over your heart, miguel. i guess we're getting a tiny dog after all!" miguel beamed with joy, his eyes never leaving the chihuahua nestled in his arms. “absolutely! look at how adorable they are! i can already imagine all the adventures we'll have together. don’t worry, little one, you'll be showered with love and endless belly rubs!"

as you both finalized the adoption process, miguel’s excitement was palpable. your little family was now complete, with this tiny chihuahua filling your lives with endless joy and a whole lot of cuteness. walking out of the shelter, miguel held the chihuahua close to his chest, gently stroking its fur, immeasurable tenderness etched across his face. "i can't wait for this little one to experience the love and care we have to offer. they’ll have the best life with us, little chihuahua. welcome home."

and so, miguel, the ‘gentle’ giant, walked hand in hand with you and your newly adopted chihuahua, your hearts brimming with love and excitement for the new chapter that awaited you—an adventure filled with laughter, wagging tails, and the unconditional bond between human and fur baby..

a/n: he seem OOC but i feel like comic miguel would be like this 😭

tags 🏷️!! @kairiscorner @astro1bloom @meeom @emiemiemiii @obi-mom-kenobi @sabcandoit

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #lin’s asks #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara imagine

177 notes · View notes

rinstaro · 2 years ago

Note

OK but like, Four with a breeding kink?

Bro is EFFICIENT. Splits just so every one of them can pump you absolutely full until you can't even think anymore. Each colour just rambling on about getting you pregnant, how gorgeous you'll look with a baby bump, how nobody else would even think to touch you.

hi friends, sorry this is so late and short. posting something for wild soon

cw: breeding, you get fucked four times, a little possessiveness, reader has a vagina no pronouns

minors do not interact.

red is first. though they were all desperate to have you under them, he was the most vocal. he took you on your hands and knees at a needy pace, moaning about how he needs you to stay with him. and how he’ll do anything to make that happen.

vio was next. so gentle, so sweet as you begged him to stuff you to the brim. your nails raked across his back leaving red streaks in their wake. he mumbled sweet words in your ear, telling you how beautiful you were, and how you’d be even more beautiful when you became his spouse for good.

blue was rough. a hand wrapped around your neck as he bullied your poor cunt. his thrusts were so rough you felt like you were melting in pleasure. he hissed about how he needs to fill you til you can’t take anymore.

green was last. before touching you, he stared at your ruined cunt. there’s no way you wouldn’t end up pregnant, right? 4 loads should surely be enough. if not, they’ll just have to try again. he ran his hand down your body, gently caressing your tummy. how pretty, he can’t wait to see you swollen with his child.

he lifted your hips, pushing his cock deep into you. you whimpered weakly. your legs trembled slightly, having already given out on you. you used what little strength you had to wrap your arms around him. “p-please…”

without response, green pulled his hips back, slamming them into yours once more. his pace wasn’t as slow as vio’s, yet not as cruel as blue’s. but his thrusts were hard. you couldn’t help but cry, his intent clear with the way he was fucking you.

“did so good, taking it like that. gonna get pregnant with my kid, yeah?” he leaned down and mumbled into your ear, the grin on his face spread from ear to ear. you could only moan and nod, your brain reduced to mush. you felt like if he let you go, you’d fall apart.

“can’t let anyone else have you now, sweetheart.”

#kore.writes #kores.blurbs #link x reader smut #link smut #link x reader #loz x reader #loz x reader smut #legend of zelda x reader smut #legend of zelda x reader

350 notes · View notes

claudeng80 · 2 years ago

Text

Kissing Lessons

“I need you to teach me to be a gentleman.” Ryuu doesn’t hide anymore. He plants himself in front of Obi, upright and confident in his demand. “I’m going to the Lilias research awards reception this year, and I need to be a credit to the pharmacy.”

Shirayuki slouches further into her chair, watching the tableau over the brim of the leather.

Obi’s wide-eyed, cornered, but at the same time she thinks he might be a bit touched. “Are you sure you don’t want to be asking someone else? Shidan’s been there before.” He pauses, almost certainly dismissing Suzu and Kazaha as alternative role models. “Or Rata Forzeno, he certainly is better at this than I am.”

“He’s up in the mountains, collecting. And Shidan is why- I heard he hides in corners and doesn’t talk to anybody.”

“And that’s not-” Obi struggles, a moment. That sounds like a very accurate description of how Ryuu generally deals with crowds. “And you want to be the center of attention?”

Ryuu recoils. “No! I just want- You’re good with people, and Shirayuki too. I want to make you proud.”

Shirayuki can’t see the look on Obi’s face anymore. “You always do. But I guess we can have a class on party skills, if that’s what you want.”

She’s not going to survive this. She wipes her eyes, then silently sets down her book and creeps toward the exit, only pausing to peek back just before she reaches the door. Her view is blocked by black and gold. “Going somewhere, my lady?” He holds out his hand. “After all, even a pretend party requires a hostess.”

She tries to convey with her eyes alone that she’s going to cry if they do this, and Obi’s say right back that he doesn’t care, he’s not doing this alone. Defeated, she braces her hand on his to pull herself back up to a full stand, and by the time she gets there Obi raises his hand further, tilting it in a way the back of her brain says is a dancing thing. He could be telling her to spin.

She has no idea which way. So she freezes, and Obi laughs. “Okay, so no dancing,” he says, and the relief on Ryuu’s face must match that on her own. “That’s probably not a highlight of the scholars’ reception, anyway. So what is it that you actually want to know?”

“Shidan said that when you arrive, you have to greet the chair of the committee serving as hostess. What do you do? I’m sure they don’t want to hear about research right away.”

“This is Lilias…” Obi says, and Shirayuki elbows him.

“You tell her your name and say good evening, then say it’s a pleasure to be there.” Shirayuki fills in. “Then you bow, just like when we meet with the king.”

“Unless she holds out a hand, then you kiss it. The king doesn’t do that part,” Obi says.

Ryuu wrinkles his nose. “That doesn’t seem very sanitary, for her or for all the guests. What if someone’s sick?”

Obi waves a hand. “Ah, you don’t actually kiss it. Here.” He squares up next to Ryuu, facing Shirayuki, still a little taller than Ryuu but not for much longer. He looks down at Ryuu, and it’s such a delight every time she catches that pride on his face. “We have arrived at the reception. We walk through the front door, and the chair of the committee is there to greet us.” He flips a hand at Shirayuki, cuing her.

“Welcome,” she says, not having any better of an idea what the chair of the research committee would say. Obi’s eyes twinkle at her.

“I’m Ryuu, from the Lilias pharmacy,” he says with only a little prompting from Obi.

“Obi, from the guard,” he adds.

“Sir.” Ryuu interrupts. “You’re Sir Obi.”

Obi’s lips tighten. “Technically,” he agrees. “But that’s not the point.”

“You still should get it right,” Shirayuki says. “It’s your title. You’ve earned it.”

He still looks unimpressed, but they’ll wear him down eventually. “Fine.” She can watch him shift, everything from his face to the way he carries his body suddenly a born courtier. “Sir Obi, from the Lilias guard.” He shifts his feet, ready to bow, waits a second for Ryuu to mimic him, and then raises an eyebrow at Shirayuki.

“Oh!” Her hand shoots out, far from graceful. Obi almost keeps his composure, only the tiniest of snorts escaping, and she narrows her eyes at him. “We are honored by your presence,” she intones, emphasizing every word.

“My lady, the honor is ours.” His right hand brushes the underside of her wrist. It’s a perfectly controlled movement, not too soft and not too firm, but exactly calibrated to hold her steady. It’s humbling, how closely he observes her, how precisely and how completely he knows her. Gracefully he pivots and bends, drawing her hand up in the same motion as his head descends, the two reaching equilibrium with his lips just a breath away from her skin.

Everything stops. It may be only a second he lingers there, but Shirayuki’s heart stops keeping time. She’s felt like this before, in the depths of kisses, in the heart of an embrace, but never from something so innocuous as this. He means nothing by it but a demonstration for Ryuu, and she is debilitated. She wants, and she doesn’t even know what, and when he straightens up again, she mourns.

“See? It’s really just a bow with a close approach, nothing to be afraid of.” Her hand still lies in his, inert and unresisting. When he lets go, she inhales. “Now you try.”

Ryuu bows over her hand just like Obi had, a quick study. Shirayuki’s heart still pounds, but with no new skips and halts. Correlation is not the same as causation, but still she knows it’s only Obi who makes her feel this way.

“That’s it?” Ryuu asks, dropping her hand.

“It is,” she answers, her voice too breathy to be truly normal but she still feels like she’s drowning.

Obi nods, then really looks at her. She knows the exact moment he registers the look on her face. “Good job,” he says to Ryuu, laying a hand on his shoulder. “If she’s blushing you’ve done something right. Definitely do that to the chair, it’ll make her day. We can let my lady get back to her reading, if there was anything else you were worried about.”

They disappear back into the stacks with just a nod of farewell, but she doesn’t pick up her book for a long time.

#fanfic #obiyukimadness23 #i kiss your hand

43 notes · View notes

ghostwav64 · 1 year ago

Text

I’ll always share my Spotify wrapped because I think it’s neat as hell to see what everyone listened to this year. I didn’t get L to the OG to the top like I wanted, my commitment to the bit waned unfortunately.

2023 my music listening habits were very different than they normally are, I spent less time keeping up with new releases and wayyy more time exploring artists and genres that I previously hadn’t really listened to.

That being said there were still a few projects from this year that I really loved that I figured I’d take the time to write a little about now.

5. Actual Life 3 Piano EP (January 1-September 9,2022)- Fred again..

Really inspiring EP for me, it’s a quiet reflective audio journal featuring some ambient sounds, some really cool samples, and some pretty piano playing throughout it’s a lot more lowkey than his album last year but I really enjoy that.

Favorite track: Nathan (Varner Road)

4. Quaranta by Danny Brown.

While I really enjoyed Danny’s work with JPEGMafia this year, I ultimately prefer this solo release from him this year. It’s a follow up to his album XXX, on that album Danny was a 30 year old struggling to make it as a rapper, now a decade later he’s obtained the success he once wanted so badly and he finds himself reflecting on where he was and where he is now. While financially Danny is better off than he was a decade ago,mentally he is still hurting and struggling as much as he was then. It’s a raw and vulnerable album with some excellent production throughout and some of the best verses of Danny’s career in my opinion.

Favorite Track: Down Wit It

3. Census Designated by Jane Remover

On Census Designated Jane Remover moves away from the hyperpop and digicore influences of her last album and leans more into rock and shoegaze, although there a certainly still a ton of fun little glitchy and stuttering effects throughout. If you like Ethel Cain I’d highly recommend this album.

Favorite Track: Cage Girl/ Camgirl

2. Wallsocket by underscores

A really wonderful pop rock concept album filled to the brim with infectious hooks, creative sampling and a lot of fun vocal manipulation throughout. There are no skips on this thing, every song is bursting with this really great creative energy. There are only few songs that I fell in love with this year more than You don’t know who I am.

Favorite track: You don’t know who I am.

1. 10,000 gecs by 100 gecs

The second I hit play on this album and I heard the THX logo sound followed by gunshots and the sick main riff on Dumbest Girl Alive, I knew this was going to be my favorite album of the year.

Here the gecs expand on their sound from the first album, refining it and fine tuning it, while still maintaining the playful energy that made the first album so exciting. Every song on the album has at least one or two lines that have permanently burrowed their way into my brain like the best ear worms do.

This album really flexes the duos skills at genre blending as they take from nu-metal, rap, pop, rock and ska and fuse them all into this wild album. It’s an unpredictable and fun listen one second they’ll be singing about struggling to make it in Hollywood, and little later you’ll get a song about having a tooth removed.

There’s a playful rebelliousness to all of their songs that I just can’t get enough of.

Favorite track: Dumbest Girl Alive (duh it’s my most listened to song this year) but I also wanna shoutout Most Wanted Person in The United States, that song fucking rules.

What’d you like this year?

#spotify wrapped #2023 music #danny brown #100 gecs #underscores #jane remover #fred again

8 notes · View notes

the141ghost · 1 year ago

Text

If he changed his mind, Johnny had said.

Was it too soon to say he already had?

Before he could even express his surprise that Johnny had already told his family about him, he continued to speak, explaining just how everyone would interact with him. It was strange to think, but Simon realised he’d definitely have the hardest time being comfortable around Soap’s mother.

Even his own mother never doted on him. She made sure he was fed, clean, and dressed, but mostly left him to his own devices. She didn’t want to do anything to agitate his father, and he couldn’t blame her for that. But, the thought of Soap’s mother, of all people, doting on him?

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

Johnny’s Beth just sounded like his own, loving and friendly but with enough of a fire to deal with the shit people would throw her way. And Lorna… Well, the second Johnny said she scared away a potentially bad boyfriend, she was fantastic in his books.

Quite frankly, the idea of Johnny bringing home another man to meet his family made chills run down Simon’s space, cold anger that he wasn’t sure where it came from, but he knew for fucking sure that it was there.

But, not only had Johnny brought someone home, the son of a bitch had been just that: a complete bitch. Beth wasn’t his sister, not by blood, and if anyone would have said to Simon to tell her to back off? The police would have found their body.

Everywhere.

Simon made a quick, executive decision not to mention his sudden, hostile thoughts towards the man. Johnny didn't seem particularly pleased about the encounter, but he didn’t seem upset.

And then, Johnny had the gall to suggest that Simon could ever react the same way. Maybe not as aggressively as getting him to tell his sister to back off, but be scared off nevertheless.

An exasperated smile, an expression that was filled to the brim with fondness. Simon laughed with his full chest, his whole body shaking with amusement. “I’m a trained killer, Johnny, an’ I deal with all the bastards here on a daily basis while none of ‘em even know what’s under my mask,” he replied, voice taut with laughter. “I think I can handle your nosy sister, I’ve been handling nosiness for most of my life. You don’t have t’worry.”

He wished there was a less suspicious-sounding way to tell Johnny that, at this point, nothing could scare him off. Even if there was a gun to the back of his head, so long as Johnny wasn’t in the line of fire, that wouldn’t have stopped him from being close. Nothing could, and nothing would. He’d make sure of that.

As he carefully stubbed the rest of his cigarette out on the cold room beside his thigh, he let out a final breath of smoke and hummed.

“Maybe one day, I will. Long as you promise they’ll like me, ey?” he asked teasingly, lightly punching Johnny’s shoulder. Then, he got to his feet and extended a hand out to Johnny. “Up ya come, s’getting late, we’ll ‘ave to be up in a few hours, now.”

It wasn’t that he wanted the night to end, it had been the best time he’d had in a long time. But, he knew that if he didn’t stop it now, he’d say something he would regret. Something that would put Johnny off when, inevitably, he had to explain he didn’t feel the same way and it was highly inappropriate for someone in his position to insinuate something like that could ever happen.

Simon wasn’t sure why his brain had begun doing somersaults around what he was thinking.

If he didn’t put a stop to it now, he might actually tell Johnny that, since the first time they met, all he’s wanted to do is wake up next to him.

“I’ll walk you back to your room.”

Johnny thought about that for a moment and realised Simon was actually right. He was pretty certain he, at least, had never specifically requested leave any time other than for Christmas, and he’d never heard of Simon willingly taking leave either. Nor Gaz or Price. The Captain would probably be happy if he asked.

The silence after he offered to take Simon to visit his family gave away his answer. He wasn’t surprised to hear his hesitant response. He was prepared for it, even.

“Well, we’ll be waitin’ if ye change yer mind,” Johnny said, smiling up at him. If Simon didn’t feel ready yet, that was okay. But Johnny was determined that, if and hopefully when he did, they would be there for him.

His smile widened into a grin as Simon asked whether he’d have their approval. Little did he know, he practically already did, and they’d never even met him.

“Oh, definitely,” Johnny said with a grin, “They’ve told me they’d love tae meet ye.”

He’d spoken to his sisters about Simon - leaving out any names or identifying details of course, classified and all that, they understood - and they all sounded very enthusiastic to meet him. Of course, they knew quite a bit more about Johnny’s… feelings when it came to Simon. And had probably told his mum, even if he hadn’t told her directly.

What he didn’t realise was that, by saying that, he’d just admitted he’d talked about Simon to his family. Well, that wasn’t the end of the world, was it? He’d also talked to them plenty about Gaz, and Price. Perhaps not quite as… at length. But still, he’d talked about them. It wasn’t an unusual thing to talk about your coworkers to your family.

“My mam would dote on ye,” she did on anyone Johnny sounded interested in these days, enthusiastic for him to find someone already. Yer 26! he could practically hear her saying, Ye shoulda found yerself a lad by now! And then, his sisters, “Beth’s just the sweetest. Likes tae make friends with anyone and everyone. If yer nice tae her, she’ll love ye. And Lorna, well, she can be a bit nosy, but tha’s fine, I’d get her tae shut up fer ye.

“Y’know, there was this one time I brought a guy home, actually,” talking about Lorna’s nosiness had reminded him of the story, and he was already too caught up in telling Simon about his family to stop, “We’re talkin’ years ago now, back when I first passed selection. I went home fer a while after an’ met him while I was there, an’ when I brought him home and Lorna met him she fucking scared him off. By askin’ too many questions! After he left he messaged me tellin’ me tha’ my sister was crazy, an’ if I wanted tae continue seein’ him I had tae tell her tae back aff. Which, obviously, I told him tae piss aff ‘cause that’s ma sister he’s talkin’ about, an’ never saw ‘im again but. Yeah. She can be like tha’ sometimes.”

Then, he realised he wasn’t really doing himself any favours with that story, maybe just discouraging Simon further instead. “Don’t let that scare you off though. I promise, she is nice.”

#tbd//threads

103 notes · View notes

c-is-for-circinate · 3 years ago

Text

For a long, large part of my life, being queer in a media landscape--finding queerness in a media landscape--has meant theft.

I'm a Fandom Old, somehow, these days, older than most and younger than some, in that way that's grown associated with grumpy crotchetyness and shotguns on porches and back in my day, we had to wade through our Yahoo Groups mailing lists uphill both ways, boring and irrelevant anecdotes from Back In Those Days when homophobia clearly worked differently than it does now, probably because we weren't trying hard enough. I've seen a lot of stories through the years. I've read a lot of fanfic. (More days than not, for the past twenty years. I've read a lot of fanfic.)

When people my age start groaning and sighing at conversations about representation and queerbaiting, when we roll our eyes and drag all the old war stories out again in the face of AO3 is terrible and Not Good Enough, so often what we say is: you Young Folks Today have no idea how hard, how scary, how limiting it was to be queer anywhere Back In Those Days. Including online, maybe especially online, including in a media landscape that hated us so much more than any one you've ever known. And that is true. Always and everywhere, again and again, it's true, we remember, it's true.

We don't talk so much about the joy of it.

Online fan spaces were my very first queer communities, ever. I was thirteen, I was fourteen, I was fifteen--I was a lonely, over-precocious "gifted kid" two years too young for my grade level in an all-girls' Catholic school in the suburbs--I lived in a world where gay people were a rumor and an insult and a news story about murder. I was straight, of course, obviously, because real people were straight and anyway I was weird enough already--I couldn't be two things strange, couldn't be gay too, but--well, I could read the stories. I could feel things about that. I would have those stories to help me, a few years later, when I knew I couldn't call myself straight any more.

And those stories were theft. There was never any doubt about that. We wrote disclaimers at the top of every fic, with the specter of Anne Rice's lawyers around every corner. We hid in back-corners of the internet, places you could only find through a link from a link from a link on somebody else's recs page, being grateful for the tiny single-fandom archives when you found them, grateful for the webrings where they existed. It was theft, all of it, the stories about characters we did not own, the videotaped episodes on your best friend's VHS player, one single episode pulled off of Limewire over the course of three days.

It was theft, we knew, to even try and find ourselves in these stories to begin with. How many fics did I read in those days about two men who'd always been straight, except for each other, in this one case, when love was stronger than sexual orientation? We stole our characters away from the heterosexual lives they were destined to have. We stole them away from writers and producers and TV networks who work overtime to shower them in Babes of the Week, to pretend that queerness was never even an option. This wasn't given to us. This wasn't meant for us. This wasn't ours to have, ever, ever in the first place. But we took it anyway.

And oh, my friends, it was glorious.

We took it. We stole. And again and again, for years and years and years, we turned that theft into an art. We looked for every opening, every crack in every sidewalk where a little sprout of queerness might grow, and we claimed it for our own and we grew whole gardens. We grew so sly and so skilled with it, learning to spot the hints of oh, this could be slashy in every new show and movie to come our way. Do you see how they left these character dynamics here, unattended on the table? How ripe they are for the pocketing. Here, I'll help you carry them. We'll make off with these so-called straight boys, and we only have to look back if somebody sets out another scene we want for our own.

We were thieves, all of us, and that was fine and that was fair, because to exist as queer in the world was theft to begin with. Stolen time, stolen moments--grand larceny of the institution of marriage, breaking and entering to rob my mother's hopes for grandchildren. Every shoplifted glance at the wrong person in the locker room (and it didn't matter if we never peeked, never dared, they called us out on it anyway). Every character in every fic whose queerness became a crime against this ex-wife, that new love interest. Every time we dared steal ourselves away from the good straight partners we didn't want to date.

And: we built ourselves a den, we thieves, wallpapered in stolen images and filled to the brim with all the words we'd written ourselves. We built ourselves a home, and we filled it with joy. Every vid and art and fic, every ship, every squee. Over and over, every straight boy protagonist who abandoned all womankind for just this one exception with his straight boy protagonist partner found gay orgasms and true love at the end.

Over and over, we said: this isn't ours, this isn't meant to be ours, you did not give this to us--but we are taking it anyway. We will burglarize you for building blocks and build ourselves a palace. These stories and this place in the world is not for us, but we exist, and you can't stop us. It's ours now, full of color and noise, a thousand peoples' ideas mosaic'ed together in celebration. We made this, and it will never be just yours again. You won't ever truly get it back, no matter how many lawyers you send, not completely. We keep what we steal.

Things shifted over time, of course. That's good. That's to be celebrated. Nobody should have to steal to survive. It should not be a crime, should not feel like a crime, to find yourself and your space in the world.

There were always content creators who could slip a little wink in when they laid out their wares, oh what's this over here, silly me leaving this unattended where anybody could grab it, of course there might be more over by the side door if you come around the alleyway (but if anybody asks, you didn't get this from ME). We all watched Xena marry Gabrielle, in body language and between the lines. We sat around and traded theories and rumors about whether the people writing Due South knew what they were doing when they sent their buddy cops off into the frozen north alone together at the end of the show, if they'd done it on purpose, if they knew. But over the years, slowly, thankfully, the winks became less sly.

A teenage boy put his hand on another teenage boy's hand and said, you move me, and they kissed on network TV, in a prime-time show, on FOX, and the world didn't burn down. Here and there, where they wanted to, where they could without getting caught by their bosses and managers, content creators stopped subtly nudging people around the back door and started saying, "Here. This is on offer here too, on purpose. You get to have this, too."

And of course, of course that came with a whole host of problems too. Slide around to the back door but you didn't get this from me turned into it's an item on our special menu, totally legit, you've just got to ask because the boss throws a fit if we put it out front. Shopkeepers and content creators started advertising on the sly, come buy your fix here!, hiding the fine print that says you still have to take what you've purchased home and rebuild it with your semi-legal IKEA hacks. Maybe they'll consider listing that Destiel or Sterek as a full-service menu item next year. Is that Crowley/Aziraphale the real thing or is it lite?

And those problems are real and the conversations are worth having, and it's absolutely fair to be frustrated that you can't find the ship you want on sale in anything like your color and size in a vast media landscape packed full of discount hetships and fast-fashion m/f. It's fair to be angry. It's fair to be frustrated. Queerbait is a word that exists for a reason.

There's a part of me that hurts, though, every time the topic comes up. It's a confusing, bad-mannered part of me, but it's still very real. And it's not because I'm fawning for crumbs, trying to be the Good, Non-Threatening Gay. It's not that I'm scared and traumatized by the thought of what might happen if we dare raise our voices and ask for attention. (Well. Not mostly. I'll always remember being quiet and scared and fifteen, but it's been a long two decades since then. I know how to ask for a hell of a lot more now.)

It's because I remember that cozy, plush-wallpapered den of joyful thieves. I remember you keep what you steal.

Every single time--every time--when a story I love sets a couple of characters out on a low, unguarded table, perfectly placed to be pilfered on the sly and taken home and smushed together like a couple of dolls, my very first thought is always, always joy. Always, that instinct says, yay! Says, this is ours now. As soon as I go home and crawl into that pillow-fort den, my instincts say, I will surely find people already at work combing through spoils and finding new ways to combine them, new ways to make them our own. I know there's fic for that. I've already seen fic for that, and I wasn't really interested last time, but the new store display's got my brain churning, and I can't wait to see what the crew back at the hideout does with this.

Every time, that's where my brain goes. And oh, when I realize the display's put out on purpose, that somebody snuck in a legitimate special menu item, when the proprietor gives me the nod and wink and says, you don't have to come around the side, I know it's not much but here--there is so much joy and relief and hope in me from that! Oh, what we can make with these beautiful building blocks. Oh what a story we can craft from the pieces. Oh, the things we can cobble together. Look at that, this one's a little skimpy on parts but we can supplement it, this one's got a whole outline we can fill in however we want. This one technically comes semi-preassembled, and that's boring as shit and a pain to take back apart, but that's fine, we'll manage. We're artists and thieves. I bet someone's pulling out the AU saw to cut it to pieces already.

And then I get back to our den, which has moved addresses a dozen times over the years and mostly hangs out on Tumblr now (and the roof leaks and the landlord's sketchy as fuck but at least they don't charge rent, and we've made worse places our own). And I show up, ready for joy--ready for a dozen other people who saw that low-hanging fruit on that unguarded table, who got the nod and wink about the special menu item, who're ready to get so excited about this newest haul. Did you see what we picked up? The theft was so easy, practically begging to be stolen. The last owner was an idiot with no idea what to do with it. The last owner knew exactly what it could become, bless their heart, under a craftsman with more time on their hands, so they looked away on purpose at just the right time to let me take it home. I show up every time ready for our space, the place that fed me on joy and self-confidence when I was fifteen and starving. The place that taught me, yes, we are thieves, because it is RIGHT to take what we need, and the beautiful things we create are their own justification. We are thieves, and that's wonderful, because nothing is handed to us and that means we get to build our own palaces. We get to keep everything we steal.

I go home, and even knowing the world is different, my instincts and heart are waiting for that. And I walk in the door, and I look at my dash, and I glance over at twitter, and--

And people are angry, again. Angry at the slim pickings from the hidden special menu. So, so tired and angry, at once again having to steal.

And they're right to be! Sometimes (often, maybe) I think they're angry at the wrong people--more angry with the shopkeeper who offers the bite-sized sampler platter of side characters or sneaks their queer content in on the special menu than the ones who don't include it at all. But it's not wrong to be mad that Disney's once again advertising their First Gay Character only to find out it's a tiny sprinkle of a one-line extra on an otherwise straight sundae. It's not wrong to be furious at the world because you've spent your whole life needing to be a thief to survive. It's far from wrong. I'm angry about it too.

But this was my den of thieves, my chop shop, my makerspace. Growing up in fandom, I learned to pick the locks on stories and crack the safes of subtext at the very same time I learned to create. They were the same thing, the same art. We are thieves, my heart says, we are thieves, and that's what makes us better than the people we steal from. We deconstruct every time we create. We build better things out of the pieces.

And people are angry that the pre-fab materials are too hard to find, the pickings too slim, the items on sale too limited? Yes, of course they are, of course they should be--but my heart. Oh, my heart. Every single time, just a little bit, it breaks.

Of course the stories are terrible (they have always been terrible). Of course they are, but we are thieves. We steal the best parts and cobble them back together and what we make is better than it was before. The craftsman's eye that cases a story for weak points, for blank spaces, for anywhere we can fit a crowbar and pry apart this casing--that's skill and art and joy. Of course we shouldn't have to, of course we shouldn't have to, but I still love it. I still want it, crave it. I still thrill every time I see it, a story with hairline cracks that we can work open with clever hands to let the queer in.

That used to be cause for celebration, around here. I ask him to go back to the ruins of Aeor with me, two men together alone on an expedition in the frozen north, it feels like a gift. And I understand why some people take it as an insult. I understand not good enough. I understand how something can feel like a few drops of water to someone dying of thirst, like a slap in the face. If it was so easy to sneak it hidden onto the special menu, to place it on the unguarded side table for someone else to run off to, why not let it sit out front and center in the first place? I know it's frustrating. It should be. We should fight. We should always fight. I know why.

But my heart, oh, my heart. My heart only knows what it's been taught. My heart sees, this thing right here, the proprietor left it there for you with a nod and a wink because they Get It. It's not put together yet, but it's better that way anyway. It's so full of pieces to pull apart and reassemble. I bet they've got a whole mosaic wall going up at home already. We can bring it home and make it OURS, more than it was ever theirs, forget half of what it came from and grow a new garden in what remains.

And I go home to find anger, and my heart breaks instead.

#I don't actually know how to tag this #representation #maybe?#C needs help feeding the dinosaurs #because this is very much about being a fandom old #probably also #driveby meta attack #because that's where I keep my impromptu rambles #CR spoilers #technically I guess?#there's one line that references the finale #fandom history

6K notes · View notes

nonclassyparty · 2 years ago

Text

(not) my baby - c.s.

title; because the morning comes and you’re not my baby

notes; a drabble from subtle variations of heartbreak series that i’ve decided to start posting. they will be short but i think there will be a lot of them and they’ll all be written from the point of view of the members. i’ll be posting them randomly, sometimes with new scenes sometimes with scenes from the series.

san knew that party would be the party.

from the way you fidgeted in your seat, your thigh brushing his as you watched yunho talk with a classmate leaned on the wall across the room, from the way yunho glanced back and forth at you when he thought no-one would notice.

san noticed. san always fucking noticed.

you both had feelings for each other. you liked each other. and it all caused san’s guts to twist in the worst way possible, the green monster threatening to come out every time he would catch you staring at yunho like he hung the fucking moon on the sky and scattered stars around it, just for you.

san liked you first.

and he knows that means absolutely nothing when he never told a single soul about his pathetic crush on you. but he liked you before yunho liked you.

he remembers seeing you for the first time in freshman year. you were at the quad with the rest of the dance team, in shorts and a t-shirt. you were sweaty, hair falling out of your ponytail as you executed every move.

and san, a mere freshman who was trying out for the football team, thought you were the prettiest girl he’s seen. now, two years later and nothing has really changed.

well, less than two more to go and you would all be off to college and san will never have to see your stupid, beautiful face again.

but now, he had to watch you pine over yunho. yunho, who was one of san’s best friends. yunho, your neighbour.

san remembers a time in freshman year, when you and yunho weren’t friends. the rest of the guys were all hanging out in yunho’s backyard that summer, lounging on the grass and enjoying the snacks and cold drinks yunho’s mom made him prepare.

you waltzed out the house next door in a sundress and your long hair fell over your shoulders in two plaits, your skin was tanned from the summer sun and all the baby fat seemed to disappear in the three months that san didn’t see you. he almost choked on the chip he was chewing because he had no idea that you lived next to yunho.

but also, because you looked even prettier than before and it was starting to become a problem.

before san could stop his brain, the words left his mouth.

“hi, y/n!” he called out, the other boys turning quieter as their eyes followed your movements to your mom’s car where you pulled a paper bag filled with groceries to the brim.

you turned to the direction of san’s voice in slight surprise. san didn’t know if you even knew him, you had a couple of classes together but you were both in different friend groups. your eyes turning into crescent shapes as you gave him a bright smile that made his palms sweat. he leaned them on the cool grass just so no one else would notice.

“hi, san!” you reply and disappear back into your house.

you knew his name. it made san flush bright red as he stared at the, now closed, front door of your house. the nudge to his ribs snapped him out of his daze.

it was yunho.

“what was that about?” yunho mutters and if san didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like he was pissed that san greeted you. was he not on good terms with you?

“what?” san shrugs, his confusion genuine. “she goes to school with us.”

yunho pursues his lips in thought not saying anything else, dealing another stack of cards to the circle. but san doesn’t miss the way yunho glances at the window facing his house from next door every now and then.

when you and yunho become friends again, san thinks he might have a chance. it’s a slim chance because you barely speak to him except for when you greet him but it’s a chance nonetheless because he gets to spend more time in your company.

it’s when he notices the way yunho and you are when you’re together, that everything goes to hell.

you two probably never noticed it before, but yunho and you always had a bubble of your own that everyone else was an outsider to. san comforted himself saying that you two were just friends for the longest time but sometimes...

sometimes your eyes would stray to yunho when you’re lost in thought and they would grow softer and make san sad because...that was the way he looked at you.

san wished he could hate yunho, he really did but it’s just not that simple.

yunho was one of his best friends. he was a good person. and he bought you your favorite snacks and laughed the loudest at your jokes. yunho made you happy, so how could san possibly hate him?

“why don’t you just tell him?” san whispers in your ear, a strand of your soft hair brushing against the tip of his nose. you turn to him in surprise, cheeks already turning red for getting caught staring at yunho.

“tell who what?” you ask quietly and san has to bite his lip to stop his chest from caving in from his first ever heartbreak that is bound to happen because this party is the party.

“you know who and you know what.” he responds back matter-of-factly. “you’re only torturing yourself like this.”

and it’s unnecessary torture as well because yunho felt the same way. he was just too big of a whimp to make the first move. and it was painful to fucking watch, even for san who was in love with you.

“i’m scared.” you say quietly and san’s heart does a little backflip at the way your eyes turn bigger and lips fold into a devastating pout that you’re probably not even aware of. “what if he doesn’t like me back?”

“then you’ll at least know it, better than thinking you might have a shot for the rest of your life.” san says in the fashion very much familiar to him. make a joke, san, and pretend like your heart isn’t being ripped out because she’s in love with someone else.

he laughs a little at the glare you throw him, for a split second san hopes that if you and yunho start dating, then maybe you would hang out with san more. he’d like to be your friend if he can’t be anything else.

“he’d be stupid not to like you back.” san adds with honesty. maybe even a little bit too much honesty because for a second, he gets scared that he might’ve gave himself away but you don’t notice. you don’t even register the last part of san’s sentence where he adds that you should confess to yunho, because you’re too busy staring at the tall boy across the room.

san watches you two leave that night and he experiences his first heartbreak which wasn’t even an actual heartbreak. maybe just a variation of what awaits him in the future. but it hurts all the same.

that party is the party after which you and yunho will start dating.

it��s confirmed when san wakes up to messages from yunho in the morning, freaking out because apparently, yunho kissed you last night and (surprise surprise)- you liked him back.

and san is filled with relief, somewhat.

because he no longer has to be plagued by the what-ifs of his mind and he knows for sure that no matter how much he liked you, you liked someone else and that’s just it.

he can’t force you to change your mind and he doesn’t want to either. san wants both you and yunho to be happy.

it doesn’t matter if it’s his heart getting chipped away piece by piece.

#san x reader #ateez x reader #ateez angst #choi san

173 notes · View notes

bytrauma · 6 days ago

Text

Evident in the way that his gaze remains upon her, he's filled to the brim with a unique curiosity about her. Curses himself for the bashful demeanor that seems to cast around him, something about being caught in the light of such beauty that his hum fumbling at his words. He's heard it all before, how he has no business in being deeply insecure, yet those words do nothing so dismantle the lack of trust he holds in himself. Could fight a war without a blink of an eye, but stalls whenever he does as much as talk to a girl. He'd never quite comprehend the science behind it all, and he's sure that she's violently aware of his shortcomings.

She is the embodiment of confidence. Like, she knows herself like no other and wears pride like a birthright. It's just as attractive as it is envy-inducing.

“Tomorrow morning, if it works for your schedule. I don't know what kinda stuff you'll be gettin' into while you're down here. Can't imagine much, though,” teasing words accompanied with a smile. He's all southern charm, that humble kind of beauty that has every elderly woman fawning over him. A real gentleman, thanks to his mother, the kind of man someone wouldn't hesitate to bring home to mama. His gaze falls for a moment, a crimson hue that adorns the apples of sunkissed cheeks. Fair skin adorned with a plethora of light freckles that illuminate his face every summer. “I suppose we ain't strangers no more,” he'll laugh, airy & light. Her inquiry only provokes more laughter, his head shaking. He's sure everyone would have nothing but nice things to say. Something about these old southern folks and their affinity for veterans. A shrug at his shoulders, feigning nonchalance. “Well, ‘m sure they’ll tell you how lovely I am. They're easily dazzled by my resumé, I guess. If anythin', they'd tell you that you chose the right guy to go out on the water with.” There's a pause for a moment, a quiet moment for his brain to mull over his own words. “Well, shit, ‘least I hope that’s what they say.”

what does she know? her world is plunged in brighter things, blessed in so many departments, she couldn't begin to scrape together a starting plunge within this. at the heart of it, she was here, cosplaying the part, a girl who'd been handed her place in life by both birth and the lucky gamble in genetics her parents had made. what did it all count for? avery couldn't help but feel HOLLOWED OUT, as romantic and wretchedly empty as the art that she made. but what was the point of it? she couldn't create, that fear, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts, that maybe she really was the great fake that others whispered about. that it wasn't talent, but luck and connections that elevated her to the points that she had made it to. but it's funny. here, even people her own age didn't know who she was...

maybe that was KIND OF REFRESHING and halfway terrifying at once.

"tomorrow morning?" the brunette brightens, her voice sweetening a touch. "increíble. that was what i was hoping for. i don't really know how long i'll be here, but..." she finds that she's lingering - looking for an excuse not to find herself locked up, bored and scratching at the walls, her cell phone reception halfway to shit out in the swamps. the things that she was finding that she didn't miss as much as she expected, not that it helped - she was still trying to find out what it was that people did here to even fill their time in the first place. her lips curve halfway into a smile, taking his hand in her own to shake, firm in her own grip. "AVERY. nice to meet you sailor, and i suppose we're not strangers anymore, are we?" a brow raises, tongue pocketing in her cheek. "so if i go asking the nice people who run that bed and breakfast i'm at about you, what kind of things are they going to tell me? any secrets that might get me buried out in those waters?" her tone, light, teasing - she couldn't imagine serial killers were posting their phone numbers on the windows of convenience stores.

- @bytrauma

#* prose.

7 notes · View notes

sugawarassoulmate · 3 years ago

Note

could i get sugawara x cool world 🍑?

words: 413

cw: fem!reader, praise, sugawara likes to call you “baby”, riding, cumming inside, suga also likes to fuck you in other people’s beds, minors dni

“shit, right there, baby, fuck,” he babbles while you bounce in his lap. you feel sugawara’s fingers reaching under your blouse, digging at your skin. “sorry, baby, i couldn’t wait. needed to get inside you.” he couldn’t, he really couldn’t just wait a few more hours. there was a party going on downstairs — all your friends drinking, playing games, making conversation — but sugawara found the first room he could, sitting on the bed and dragging you in his lap before shoving his cock inside you.

“koushi,” you gasp, holding on to his shoulders. you should be scolding him. this is a bad idea, we’re in someone’s room. but the words can’t form in your brain. his sweet words in your ear cloud your judgment, you’d do anything he’d ask of you at this point.

“i know, my little baby is worried someone will see,” he coos, laughing at how you whine over a particularly hard thrust. “oh, but they’ll get to see how pretty you are. see how well you’re taking my cock, always such a good girl for me, yeah?”

your face is heating up, he always makes an effort to embarrass you when you’re in his arms. you’re his dumb baby, his sweet little toy that he loves to play with whenever he wants. but don’t worry, he’ll make you feel good the entire time. he’ll make you cum until you’re whining and pushing him away because it’s too much. “ahhh, baby, squeezing around me so nicely, god, i love you so much. look at me.”

sugawara grabs you by the chin, forcing you to look into his beautiful eyes. “there’s my pretty girl. gonna cum for me, yeah? make a mess for me all over this bed?” and you’re creaming all over him before you can even think how wrong this is. it’s someone else’s bed, you shouldn’t but it’s too much — he’s always too much.

you’re crying against his lips, your juices running down the length of his cock. he only gives you a second to breathe before he’s pinning you to mattress, fucking his cum into you. “kou, the mess,” you mumble.

“don’t worry, my little baby,” he says, filling you to the brim with his seed and enjoying how it dribbles out of you. “always so good for me,”

you can faintly hear your friends laughing as the party goes on downstairs, completely unaware that sugawara’s lazily rubbing your cum-covered cunt between his fingers.

448 notes · View notes

ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

Live and Learn. Yan Albedo x Amnesiac Reader [COMM]

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, drugging and amnesia. Word count: 3k.

“Your name is [First].”

“My name is [First].”

“You’ve lived in Mondstadt your whole life.”

“I’ve lived in Mondstadt all my life.”

“You’re staying with me, the Knight’s of Favonius’ Chief Alchemist, until your lost memories return.”

“I’m staying with you, the Knight’s of Favonius’ Chief Alchemist, until my lost memories return.”

You’ve never understood the point in repeating this humdrum mantra every day. Albedo’s remained insistent on it despite your reservations — claiming it’s important to engrave this into your brain — yet you can’t help but find it redundant. The basic information isn’t what you’re concerned about, it’s filling in the rest of the gaps that matter. Still, it does you little good to express this frustration with him. There’s no changing Albedo’s mind once it’s been made up. If he says it’s going to help, you’ll take his word for it.

He is doing you a favor, you remind yourself. A rather generous one at that.

“How did things go today?” You inquire, setting your latest book aside to give Albedo your full attention. This is one of the few works of fiction in his possession. While it makes sense that someone like him would prefer in-depth encyclopedias and papers filled to the brim with scientific jargon, it makes for a dreadful read. Even more so when you need to entertain yourself for hours on end.

“I’ve made considerable headway in my Dragonspine expedition,” he stretches his arms above his head. “Though, there’s still much to be done. I never imagined it would be so difficult to get all my equipment up a mountain.”

Albedo’s lips twitch into a frown when you laugh at his complaint.

“Well, it is a mountain. An incredibly cold one at that. I hope you’re not working your poor assistants to death.” You faintly recall both their names — Timaeus and Sucrose, if you’re not mistaken — you wonder if you’d ever met them before all this.

He’s doesn’t linger on the subject of his assistants, instead returning the conversation back to you. “They’ll manage. How are you feeling? Have you noticed anything abnormal? Tell me everything, no matter how small you consider it to be.”

You wonder why Albedo’s so disinterested in speaking about anyone other than you. Could it be out of consideration for your feelings? Or did he never know about your relationships with others before he took you under his care? It’d be a shame if it was the latter, since Albedo currently acts as your sole connection to the past; gaining insight on your previous friends might even help kickstart your memory. At least, that’s what you thought until he waved the idea away. Something about “not wanting to overwhelm your currently fragile mental state” with unnecessary outside interaction.

Albedo’s waiting for your update, you realize. It might be best to worry about this later. You’ll assume he’s looking out for your best intentions now as he always has, even if he shows it in unique ways.

“Other than the usual headaches, everything’s been about the same. I just… kinda wish I had more to do, y’know?” You accentuate this by offering your brightest, most enticing smile. It doesn’t feel right to complain given the circumstances, so you hope by phrasing it in a lighthearted manner, he won’t take offense. The guilt you were intending to keep at bay creeps up when his shoulders droop, a mannerism that doesn’t get unnoticed. His face stays impassive, but you can already tell something is off, anxiety flowing through your veins at the thought of potentially upsetting him.

Raising your hands in defense, you rush to defend yourself. “I-I don’t want to sound whiney or anything! I appreciate all that you’ve done for me, especially since you’re so busy; having to take care of me on top of your normal workload is already an extra burden.”

“No, it’s fine,” he shakes his head at your nervous rambling and you hold your tongue to prevent further embarrassment. “You’re right. Before you started staying with me, I’d rarely come back home for anything but sleep. As a result, I’m afraid there isn’t much to do in terms of stimulating activities. I’ll see what I can do to remedy that.”

Relief floods your system at this, your once tense muscles relaxing. “Ah, thank you very much. I’m glad I didn’t come off as ungrateful. That’s the last thing I’d want.”

Albedo gives you a look you can’t quite interpret. Eyebrows furrowing and a hand to his chin, he thinks on your words, before deciding on a tentative response.

“You could never,” he murmurs, suddenly avoiding eye contact. “No, not you… your heart is kind. Too kind, truthfully.”

His comment feels somewhat out of place. You’ve grown accustomed to Albedo’s clinical, almost detached manner of speaking, but this is different. Almost… tender. So why is it that shivers are sent down your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck standing in anticipation? Shouldn’t your cheeks flush and heart fondly thrum at such a sweet declaration? Your biological responses aren’t lining up as they should. It’s only now that you realize just how fondly Albedo’s looking at you. Swallowing thickly, you avert your gaze, your mouth going dry.

Why does it seem so wrong when he looks at you like that? For your body to react subconsciously react so negatively to a non-threatening sight… You feel like you’re missing a piece of the bigger picture.

There’s no time to fixate on the uncanny interaction, as a high pitched noise steals your attention away. This is yet another routine you’ve fallen into with Albedo. When he comes home at the end of the day, the two of you share tea together. He used to brew it for you, but you’ve been beating him to it by boiling the water around the time he normally returns lately. It’s nice to have a sense of structure, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant.

Wordlessly, you both set into motion, like all the evenings before. You set out the china and stoke the fireplace while he does the rest. Once he’s satisfied with the coloration, he hands you your specially made drink and takes a seat on the sofa. No matter what it is that Albedo’s doing, he completes it in a thorough manner. It’s one of the many aspects about him that you’ve come to respect. A task as trivial as steeping tea is carried through with perfection. He’s always been insistent on getting the right combination.

It can be a bit intimidating with how flawless he appears to be. Now that he’s watching over your recovery, there’s even more for him to do on top of his demanding schedule. You can’t recall a time he’s ever complained about it, which begs the question. Why exactly is he going to such lengths for you? You’re able to assist with household chores and the like, but everything else is taken care of by him. Albedo’s never so much as asked for a thank you in return. Is it goodwill that’s inciting him to help you? Or a chance to study an amnesia victim up close? You often find yourself wondering where his motivation comes from.

Whatever the case, you’re glad you’re not dealing with this alone. That would’ve been a nightmare.

Not wanting to dwell in your disjointed thoughts, you occupy yourself by starting up a conversation.

“Say, Albedo. What was I like? Before all of this, I mean.” You take a sip of your tea, wincing at the slightly bitter taste. It’s certainly not your favorite flavor, but Albedo’s insistent that you drink all of it. Something about the nutritional value being beneficial to your recovery. When you heard that, you set aside your reservations and made sure to always drink every last sip. Anything that might help you get your memories back is worth the effort, no matter how farfetched.

“Very similar to how you are now,” he sets his cup down with a gentle clink and steeples his hands. “I would go as far as to say the only aspect of you that is different now is your obstructed memory and the confusion that comes with it. Your original mannerisms, personality, and quirks remain intact. ”

Does he consider that to be a good thing? Wanting to know more, you press on. “That must mean we were close if you know so much about me.”

You’ve always been curious about the state of your relationship with Albedo before your current condition. Were you acquaintances? Friends? Or maybe…

“In a way, yes.” He responds without further elaboration. How odd, you think. If there was ever a word you wouldn’t use to describe Albedo, it’s concise. You’re used to him expanding on his thoughts in great detail. Right now, however, he’s closed himself up like a clam. It’s unnerving enough that you shuffle in your seat, hoping to clear the tension in the air. You didn’t feel like you said anything insensitive, besides, Albedo’s not the type to easily take offense.

Unless it hurts him to remember what you were, compared to how you are now.

Luckily, you catch a break. Albedo must’ve caught onto your sulking and decided to explain himself more. For someone who claims not to be the best with social cues, he can read you without a problem.

“You’ve always been considerate of the people around you, and I was no different,” Albedo gazes distantly into the crackling fire. “When I’d be inundated with work, you made it a priority to check in on me, for example. No matter how busy you were yourself. It was… nice.”

Ah. Why does it feel like your chest is clenching?

There’s a part of you that lives in his mind that you might never come to know. Whatever memories he holds — you wish more than anything that you could have them back — but all you’re left with is a sense of profound loss. To know something is missing, with no clear fix is painful. The universe has seen fit to wrong you. Is this the reason he avoids speaking about the past? He truly does know you well. Likely better than you know yourself right now.

Rubbing frantically at the corners of your eyes, you laugh a humorless laugh.

“I’m glad to know I was able to be of use to you once.”

He closes his eyes and you swear you see him smile.

“Who is to say you ever stopped?”

ii.

Nature is a pleasant escape from your mundane day to day activities.

Lush flora of varying colors bloom en masse by your feet, accompanied by overarching trees and fields of eternal grass. You’re grateful for the fresh air that fills your lungs, an extra spring in your step while you continue foraging for the day. It took a while to convince Albedo that you’d be fine journeying out some on your own. A long array of promises secured your ability to do so. It felt strange bargaining for such a simple freedom, yet he made his opposition sound reasonable. His concern was that you’d manage to get hurt while out on your own.

Your current state indeed leaves you more vulnerable, but you’re still an adult. After making this point — along with a variety of others — he caved. You swore not to stray off the main roads and that was that.

What else do I need to get, you think, raising your handwoven basket to inspect. Hmm, maybe some more apples to bake a pie with. That’d be a nice change of pace!

“Human.”

The new voice startles you from your contemplating, your basket full of fruits and herbs falling onto the ground as a result. You place a hand over your pounding heart and will yourself to stay calm. A young man emerged from the nearby thickets, sporting long silver hair and piercing crimson eyes. His entire appearance is rather roughed up like he’s been living outdoors, dirt patches on his face and clothes.

Wait. Did he just address you as human?

There are too many questions to know where to start, but he gives you no time to ask any of them. His nose twitches and he frantically sniffs in the surrounding air. You remain still as a statue while he steadily makes his way to where you stand. Maybe this is why Albedo’s insistent you rarely leave his residence, to avoid odd interactions such as this. For whatever reason, you don’t sense any malice from his actions and let him do as he pleases.

He sniffs right over your shoulder. “Weird smell.”

“I-I’m sorry?” You squeak, regaining your senses enough to put some distance between the two of you.

Your fallen basket is his next target. He rummages through it, picks out a particular herb, and grimaces. “Don’t eat. Bad.”

The next thing you know, the herb in his hand incinerates with a loud crack. His foreboding comment catches your attention more than anything else. What exactly did he mean by not good? You’re positive Albedo wouldn’t have you consuming poisonous plants. In fact, he’s the one who showed you where to pick this herb, stating its importance in your recovery. It’s the main ingredient for your nutrient-rich herbal tea.

“Bad? How is it bad?” You ask, unable to fathom a world where Albedo would actively let you consume something detrimental to your health.

The stranger taps his forehead and grimaces. “Hurts head. Don’t eat.”

“Makes you… forget.”

iii.

You wanted to trust him.

The guilt that would weigh down on your soul if you falsely implicated Albedo would be too much to bear. When your memories of the past years slipped through your fingers like sand, there was no telling if it would stop just there, or continue eating away at your mind. The thought of being reduced to nothing but a husk haunted you without offering respite. It had been Albedo that offered his quiet yet firm reassurance. It had been Albedo who suggested you stay with him so he could further monitor your condition.

You stare at the murky brown liquid as if it was the devil himself handing it to you.

“Is something wrong?” Albedo tilts his head, his eyes flickering from the cup to you.

“N-no, nothing’s wrong,” you curse yourself for being so readable. “I’m just not feeling up to drinking this tonight. I know it’s good for me and all, but it wouldn’t hurt to pass just this once, right?”

This is meant to be a test. Should he readily accept your excuse without giving it a second thought, you’ll consider the stranger’s warning void. A simple little misunderstanding that no one will need to know about. That way you’ll be able to carry on your recovery in peace and things will remain as they always were.

On the other hand, if he gets upset and demands you drink it, you’ll have your answer. As undesirable as it would be.

A high risk, high reward gamble.

You maintain eye contact with him to make your position clear. This is a decision that you have to stick by, no matter the persuasive tactics he might try and use. There’s too much at stake here to easily give in. Please, please just let this be nothing but a mistake. Let it be another uneventful evening full of conversations on life, dreams, and expressing your thoughts to one another. He wouldn’t betray your trust, right? Not after the lengths he’s gone through to help you?

His lips part to speak and you hold your breath in anticipation.

“How did you find out this time?” Albedo asks the question posed in such a casual manner that it takes a few seconds to sink in.

How can he remain calm? Does he perceive you as so little a threat?

The way he’s acting now is more akin to accepting a minor setback than facing an accusation as grave as actively drugging you. You clearly stated your point, there’s no way he somehow misconstrued your words. The way he phrased it is subjected to your scrutiny, goosebumps dotting up and down your arms at the implication.

“This… time?” Your blood runs cold as you repeat the words back to him. Suddenly, you’re hyperaware of how cornered you are, Albedo’s body positioned right in front of you. He’d likely be able to stop you should you try and leap for a last-ditch escape. If you somehow managed to run, where would you even go? Who would believe your story in your current state? Everything feels like it’s happening at once.

“The first time, I had been careless,” he recalls the memory with a rational tone, almost as if to critique his previous methodology. “I had left some of my sketches of you in various positions in an accessible spot. It had earned a rather… displeased reaction from you.”

Would it matter if you screamed? Would anyone other than him be around to hear your desperate pleas?

He sets the incriminating cup aside. “Back to my original question. If you tell me how you found out the truth, the severity of your punishment will be lessened. I need to know in order to make future adjustments, so please, if you would. Keep in mind that I will know if you are being dishonest.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” The question is meant more to stall for time than anything else. Albedo’s giving you too much information to work with. All you need is a single opening to take advantage of to lunge for the door. Just keep him talking, keep him distracted. That’s the best chance you have here. Archons, to think all this time, you were coexisting with such a malicious person, who held your life in his hands.

You ready yourself to make for the door.

“Because it doesn’t matter what you know now.”

He reaches into his long, white coat, his Vision glowing in preparation for what was to come.

“You’ll forget everything soon enough.”

#albedo x reader #yandere albedo x reader #albedo #albedo genshin impact #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff #commissions #tw: drugs #tw: amnesia

1K notes · View notes

glossysoap · 4 months ago

Text

HOLY GOD 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i’m so sorry i’m just now seeing this what the fuck!!

johnny’s fucking cockiness!!!! towards your reluctance!!!!!! RAGGHDHDHS

“what happened to daddy’s good girl, huh?”???? are you kidding???? RAHGDJDJSJ JESUS CHRIST.

oh my god oh my god your brain!!!!!!

the way you’re SO FULL when they’re both buried to the hilt 😵‍💫 the way they can feel each other throb!!!! the way they can feel you clench and pulse around them and they groan into your skin 😵‍💫

“never gonna leave this sweet arse, swear to god.” johnny bites into your neck.

“don’t think they’ll let you, huh? so fuckin tight.” john chuckles.

they fill you to the brim with their cum, in both holes. they stay in you, wanting to keep it plugged in.

WOOF

anyways

dubcon daddy kink am i right ahaha

216 notes · View notes

neon-junkie · 3 years ago

Note

Ok so going off the fic with the batch taking your suppressors every once in a while, how would they be if you wind up going into heat? Would they do like a group session or assuming the heat takes a few days would they take turns? You've got this thought living in my head rent free

I do plan on writing a full fic where you go into heat, but for now, here are some thoughts. (gender-neutral reader)

I was meant to briefly write a few things for this, but uh, this is 2k words... sorry, not sorry hehe.

---

So, it all comes down to what your heat is actually like. Is it a single day thing? Does it last for a few days? Are you somewhat stable? Or are you a complete and utter mess? Are you whiny and desperate? Or snappy and demanding? So many factors to consider!

Either way, the Batch is going to help. They'll do a mixture between a group session, and taking it in turns. They chalk up a rota, and spend a few hours with you every day, taking care of your needs, however you see fit.

The first shift is spent with Hunter, of course. He's going into this blind, just like everybody else, since Tech can only find so much about your heats. You've not had one in years, so you're also uncertain on how things will go.

Hunter is extremely caring. He's heavily concerned, not just for your physical needs, but for your mental wellbeing. Hunter needs to make sure that your heat doesn't scramble your brain too much, and the second you show signs of things becoming overwhelming, he's there.

At first, he attempts to be calm and caring. He'll fetch water when needed, and ensures that you're eating, whenever you can stomach food. Hunter won't come onto you until you ask, and even then, he's still soft and gentle. Fuck, he's worried he's going to hurt you - you're hyper sensitive right now, so every touch feels tenfold.

It isn't until Hunter removes your underwear that he realises just how bad you are. Fucking hell, you stink, and Hunter has to shut his eyes and let out a deep breath as he attempts to calm himself. Curse his heightened senses, they're really not helping right now.

He wants to relieve you with his fingers and mouth, he wants to hold back as much as possible, but no matter what he does, it's not enough. You need to be full, over-flowing, stuffed to the brim, and after hours of listening to you beg, he finally snaps. Hunter swiftly fees his cock, leaving the rest of his armour still on, and pulls your knees up over his shoulders. He folds you in half, mating press style, and lets out a heavy sigh as he slides into your slick heat.

Even now, Hunter's trying so hard to be careful and gentle, but you're clawing at his armoured back, whining and moaning his name, and he decides that fuck it, he's going to pound this heat out of you, or at least attempt to. Hunter manages to keep you busy for a few rounds, enough to stabilise your heat for a few hours, until he eventually has to tap out from exhaustion.

His shift is up, thank the Maker, and he crawls back to his room due to exhaustion, leaving poor Echo to take over where he's left off.

Echo, like Hunter, attempts to be calming and gentle with you. It doesn't take a genius to realise that Hunter's just spent the last few hours tending to your needs, mainly because the air stinks of sex, but for now, you're stable.

Echo has a nap with you, letting you curl up against his chest, huddled under the warmth of your blankets. Thankfully, you manage to get some rest, only to wake up hours later with that throbbing pain between your thighs again. Your whimpers wake Echo up, and he's greeted to the sight of you mewling in his arms, grinding yourself against his thigh as your heat worsens as every second passes.

Sadly, Echo isn't entirely sure what to do. He's not hooked up with anyone since before Skako Minor, and despite not losing his cock in the blast, he hasn't really touched himself since then. He considers himself to be inexperienced, somewhat of a virgin, and he can't keep eye contact as he explains that to you. However, he insists that he wants to help, he just needs you to take the lead.

Despite the overwhelming desire to mate, you manage to suppress your needs, enough to give Echo the reassurance that he requires. This time, you're the one being gentle as you straddle him, slowly undressing him whilst you make out. Echo is the one whimpering as you slide down onto him, holding yourself steady until he gives you the signal to move.

Fuck, you're aching, burning up between your thighs, but you continue fighting your natural urges. Echo notices this, and encourages you to pick up the pace, telling you that he's content and relaxed with how things are going. You trust him, and you know that if he needs you to stop, he'll tell you to. With that knowledge in mind, you pick up your pace.

To your surprise, Echo begins bucking up into you. Your heat is so damn tight, wet, slick, and ah- Echo only manages to last a single round. Knowing that you're aching right now, he swiftly cleans himself up, and leaves a gentle kiss on your forehead as he tells you that he's going to get you more help.

Tech is surprisingly not on his holopad as he enters your room. He's somewhat formal, informing you that he's here to tend to your needs, and help however possible. You're biting back a laugh, but your cheeky smile is wiped off your face as Tech shows you the little device that he's been working on this whole time.

It's some sort of vibrator. You're able to attach it wherever you need it to go, and Tech helps fasten it in place, smirking to himself when the device turns on, and you instantly let out a groan. It's perfect, stimulating you enough to keep most of the heat down, but you're still aching to be filled up.

Tech has no problem filling in that role, and informs you that mating press is the perfect position to hit all the right spots. He swiftly strips down before manhandling you into position, and wastes no time sliding into you, letting out a groan as his cock begins filling you up. Of course, Tech's thrusts are calculated and accurate, paying attention to how you react to different angles, speeds, and so on. You tell him exactly what you want, and Tech delivers.

With Tech's accuracy, and the vibrating device working away, you reach peak multiple times, as does Tech. He fills you up, over and over, until you're overflowing with his (and the others) loads. Tech can't help but push his leaking release back into your hole, making a smug comment about how you seem to be so desperate to be filled up, yet you can't even hold onto what he gives you? Tut tut.

He's sweating by the time you two are finished, both out of breath, exhausted, and somewhat stable. Tech makes quick work of cleaning both of you up, and doesn't bother redressing as he crawls into your bed, pulling you tightly against his chest. Your heat is far from over, but for now, you can enjoy some more rest, before the next Batcher comes along to tend to your needs.

Wrecker is up next, and thankfully, he brings food! Haven just woken up, your heat hasn't returned to its agonizing state, so for now, you can enjoy some snacks whilst you and Wrecker mindlessly chat away.

After snacks and a cuddle, your heat begins building up once more, and Wrecker seems surprisingly eager to help you out. You've spent the last day being pounded over and over, leaving your hole open and leaking, giving Wrecker an advantage when he slips his thick cock into you. The others have filled you up perfectly, but Wrecker is something else, boarder lining painful. He remains still as you adjust to his size, and when you're ready, he goes slow.

However, Wrecker holding back and going slow only seems to make you worse, and you practically have to beg to get him to speed up. He knows he's big, and he doesn't want to hurt you, but seeing as you're almost in tears from the sensation between your thighs, Wrecker decides to pick up the pace.

When Wrecker delivers, he delivers, and goes above and beyond to help you out in any way possible. He's worth the stretch, and his massive frame is doing things to you, peering up through your hazy eyes to see nothing but Wrecker, towering over you, keeping you pinned beneath him as he fucks you senseless.

Wrecker's grunting and moaning as he cums, and he only needs to stop for a few, brief seconds before picking up speed again. How he can fuck like this is a mystery to you, but you're not going to ask questions, especially when you're this cock-dumb.

Finally, after hours of progress, and days of your overall heat, the burn is slowly starting to settle down, and it's only taken four men to help you out! Wreckers' load spill out of you when he finally pulls out - not like your bed isn't already soaked. He wraps you in a blanket and settles you on the floor as he pulls on some light clothing and strips your bedding, insisting on cleaning up before the final person takes over his shift.

When your bed is remade, you're left bundled up in it, and Wrecker ensures that he's smothered you in more than enough kisses before leaving your room.

Crosshair takes a while to arrive, and you almost drift back to sleep whilst waiting. He's brought you some water, and helps you up as he hands it over. He doesn't say anything, at first, but when he finally speaks, all he tells you is that your room stinks. Like, it reeks, and it's drifted out and smothered the entire ship. Crosshair is laughing as he tells you that Hunter has had to camp outside, as the smell is really getting to him, but Crosshair is here to finish things off.

Crosshair makes a comment about how you've saved the best for last, and places the kindest, most tender kiss you've ever felt on your temple, before he shrugs the blanket to you and gets to work. Whilst the others have been gentle in their own ways, Crosshair isn't - he knows what you need, and he's insistent that he's going to be the one who fucks this heat out of you.

Crosshair wants you on all fours, head down, ass up, wrists pinned behind your back. You're still stretched out from Wrecker's thick length, and Crosshair's chuckling as he slides in, making comments about how fucked out you are, about how you need five different men to satisfy you, about how needy and forgetful you must be if you forgot to take your supplements.

As Crosshair's pounding into you, you can feel everybody's previous loads being pushed from your hole, dripping onto the bed. Ugh, the covers are going to need changing again, but that chore disappears from your mind as Crosshair slips two of his fingers in alongside his cock, fingering you as he fucks you in an attempt to keep you full.

He can't help but make even more comments, both praising and mocking you for how well you're taking his fingers and cock. After the first set of orgasms, Crosshair flips both of your bodies over, and lays back on your bed. He has you lie on him, your back against his chest, and he holds your legs up against your shoulders as he begins fucking up into you.

Crosshair is grunting against your ear, leaving the occasional mark on your neck. He's not holding back - why would he? This is what you need, and Crosshair's here to supply it. One hand moves from your legs and wraps around your throat, whilst the other slips between your thighs to touch you feverishly. He's ordering you to cum for him, demanding it, and the final orgasm that you have almost causes you to black out.

During your hazy, fucked-out state, Crosshair carefully rolls you off him, and begins taking care of you. He cleans you up, helps you put some light clothing on, and curls up into bed beside you. Crosshair's large frame wraps snugly around you as he takes the position of big spoon, planting gentle kisses on your shoulder as he asks how you're feeling.

Finally, your heat is over, and now comes the following soreness from being fucked silly over the past few days. Oh well, it was fun, and maybe now you'll learn to take your supplements regularly?

#this was fun as fuck to write #tbbwriting #swwriting #nsft #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb x you #reader insert #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #smut #hunter x you #tech x you #echo x you #wrecker x you #crosshair x you #the bad batch x you

363 notes · View notes

ellesliterarycorner · 2 years ago

Text

Writing Dialogue

Ah, writing dialogue. I don’t mind writing dialogue even though I’m definitely more of a description kind of girl. But, I do love the way that dialogue can really reveal characterization and the relationships between characters which is always my favorite thing about a story. Personally, I feel like writers fall into two groups: people who absolutely love writing dialogue and fill their stories to the brim with meaningless conversation and people who would rather die than write a single conversation. It’s a coin toss. But, most writers understand that you really can’t just have a story full of exposition and description and dialogue serves a very necessary purpose in the story. With all the expectations to write memorable sentences and snappy one-liners your future fandom will definitely put on a shirt, writing dialogue can be really hard. Worry not, here are a few tips to help you out!

Let’s Skip the Small Talk

It’s a popular saying that dialogue in books should be realistic and mirror real life conversation. Yes, that’s true, but we really don’t need all of the fluff and extraneous stuff that we say in real life. A lot of times, in real life, people will talk just to talk. They’ll just say things, and that shouldn’t necessarily be the case for your story. In my opinion, it’s more important to make sure that every line adds something to the story rather than it being excessively realistic. More often than not, a character saying, “Hey, Elle! Long time no see! How are you doing?” Unless, there’s a secret meaning behind those words, they really don’t add anything to the story, and it’s almost implied that things like that are said at the beginning of conversations. Your readers probably don’t want to sit there while your characters exchange pleasantries, and you could write something as simple as ‘they greeted each other’ which covers all of that much more cleanly, so you can skip ahead to the actual meat of the conversation.

Said is Not Dead

The amount of times I have had a teacher say that said is dead. In seventh grade, one of my teachers, literally held a funeral for the word said with a cute little tombstone and everything. Anyway, said gets a terrible rap for being extremely overused and boring as dialogue tag, but the thing is, a lot of the time readers don’t really notice dialogue tags. It’s one of those things that our brains kind of auto fill-in for us because we’re more focused on what the characters are actually saying, as we should be. What readers do notice, is when you use a bunch of kind of pretentious sounding words like ‘urged’ ‘cautioned’ ‘exclaimed’ and ‘gushed.’ I promise that 9 times out of 10 those draw far more attention than simply saying said. And if its conversation between two people where you can clearly establish who’s talking, dialogue tags may not even be necessary. Personally I stick with ‘said’, ‘whispered’ and ‘murmured’ as my go to dialogue tags. But, like i said earlier, even in larger conversations I don’t always use dialogue tasks. Here’s an example:

Sabra skipped over to Sir Garrington. “Tell me the story of you ended the Queen’s War again.”

Boom, the reader should know who’s talking, and a dialogue tag wasn’t necessary for it.

One Speaker = One Paragraph

For the love of all things good on this planet please follow this rule. We all have a story of reading a Wattpad story where the author decided not to use any punctuation or paragraphs, and that is quite annoying for obvious reasons. I don’t know why, but like I feel lately like authors now think it’s trendy to have multiple characters speak in one paragraph, and I am so not okay with that. This is probably the one writing rule that I am an absolute stickler for: Every time someone speaks, you create a new paragraph. Yes, even if that character literally only says a singular word they get new paragraphs. But, Elle, you say, it’s so annoying if a character only says one word to make a new paragraph. Yes, dear readers, I know. The annoyingness of having to create a new character should prevent you from having your characters saying completely unnecessary things. Not creating a new paragraph every time a new character talks will only confuse the reader and make them annoyed with your story.

All Things in Moderation

Every character in your story should have a unique way of speaking. Doing this gives your characters more personality and distinguishes them to the readers. Some people may talk very smoothly and use super flowery sentence while some people are super direct and straight to the point. A character with a college education will probably speak differently from someone who didn’t finish High School. It’s a great way to deliver characterization in a relatively easy way. Some authors do this by giving character’s a little catchphrase, just like Jay Gatsby calls people ‘old sport’ in the Great Gatsby. But, I say all things in moderation, because some authors overdo this to the extreme. Gatsby doesn’t say old sport in every single sentence that he speaks. He says it quite a lot, but I don’t think he says it every single time he opens his mouth. That would be incredibly annoying. If you do give your character a cool, catchy catchphrase, don’t ruin it by having them completely overuse it.

#writers #writers on tumblr #writersnetwork #writersofig #writers and poets #writing tip #writing tips #writersofinstagram #writers of the future #writing resources #writing resource #writing reference

36 notes · View notes