#trying to answer this feels like trying to defuse a bomb

[squeakadeeks]

Your art can be really hard to parse because all of the lines are kind of equally thick. Have you ever messed with making the lines on less important forms (ie the internals of the hair) thinner?

at the risk of being kind of an ass...i thought I was already doing this ? (ಥ﹏ಥ)

I really work hard to do variations in line weights for everything unless im going crazy and maybe this isnt actually reading as well as i thought....

also as a heads up- again being sort of an ass, its really common etiquette to not pick apart someone's work unless they explicitly asked for it. this week has been brutal. im not in a good place. getting a comment that i need to fix my art by doing something i thought I was already doing was not something I really wanted to hear, which is part of why I never ask for critiques. I'm not drawing to be good, im drawing to have fun.

[p0orbaby]

Extinguish the Flames with Some Champagne and Pills

summary: your may or may not be in denial about your feelings for alexia

warnings: mention of smut, alcohol and drugs and nothing major

a/n: a whole lot of words based on this request. set after this but you don’t have to read it if you don’t want to

word count: 3k

part 1

-

You’ve been ignoring Alexia’s messages for weeks now, every one of them its own little bomb you’re too terrified to defuse. Every time her name pops up on your screen, your stomach flips, your breath catches, and you somehow experience the full spectrum of human emotion in a split second. But mostly there’s terror and something closer to shame than you’d like to admit.

It’s a game of avoidance that doesn’t come easily to you; after all, you’re usually the one with a glib reply or some devil-may-care response, the kind of person who thrives on chaos. But this time, it’s different. This time, there’s something closer to shame nestled beneath the familiar terror, a sensation like a splinter lodged deep under the skin—small enough to ignore at first but persistent enough to drive you mad.

Your friends—of course, always your friends—keep bringing her up, as if they can somehow sense the crisis you’re trying to keep contained. It’s usually after a few cocktails too many, when your circle is gathered around a dimly lit table in some trendy restaurant or at a rooftop bar where the music is loud enough to drown out the awkward pauses but not loud enough to stifle their teasing. “She’s the best footballer in the world,” they slur with a kind of drunken reverence, like they’re invoking some untouchable deity rather than a woman who once had her strap buried inside you in a strangers bathroom. “You know she won the Ballon d’Or twice, right?” As if you haven’t been low-key stalking her career, watching those achievements pile up like monuments you’ll never come close to matching. “She’s beautiful and talented,” they declare, their words slurring into a familiar refrain, as though her accolades have somehow slipped your mind, as though you might have failed to notice her brilliance or her impossible grace.

But the clincher, the one they love to throw at you, is always: “And she’s Spanish”

There’s a certain relish with which they say it, that singsong tone like they’re divulging some magic spell or a punchline they know gets a laugh every time. It’s as if her nationality carries some kind of exotic allure, like there’s something intrinsically romantic or mysterious about being Spanish that you’re pre-programmed to fall for. Ridiculous, really, but your friends don’t care about nuance. They only remember the endless stories you told about summers in the Balearics—the drunken nights under hot stars, the hazy afternoons spent nursing hangovers and catching fragments of conversations in Spanish that you pretended to understand. “You love Spanish women,” they insist, as if your type is as predictable as your go-to drink order. Conveniently, they overlook the fact that your type mostly translates to ‘emotionally unavailable,’ as if that’s some universal trait of Iberian women.

It’s not that they’re entirely wrong, of course, but they’re oversimplifying. Your attraction to Alexia isn’t some exoticism or romantic fantasy you’ve spun out of nothing. It’s her unapologetic drive, her resilience, that hooked you—though God forbid you’d admit that to anyone. “She’s an athlete,” you shrug whenever the subject comes up, swirling the last melting ice cube in your Old Fashioned like it’s a magic eight ball that might give you a different answer this time. “They’re all players.” The line slips out with just the right amount of indifference, a practiced dismissal, as though you’ve been brutalised by every athlete from Cristiano Ronaldo to Wayne Gretzky. It’s a complete fabrication, of course. You’ve never actually dated a footballer, let alone the best in the world. But who can resist a good story, especially when it’s your own and you get to embellish the details?

It’s easier, you think, to act disinterested than to admit you’ve been replaying that night in the bathroom, the feel of her breath against your neck, every time you catch your reflection in some shiny surface. You thought you were done with all that—had filed her away in the mental drawer labelled ‘Temporary Distractions,’ right alongside the male model who could never quite remember your birthday and the painter who had the audacity to try to psychoanalyse you on the third date. One-night stands are supposed to be transient, fleeting, the kind of thing you can bring up in therapy one day with a detached air. “I think this is worth mentioning,” you’d say, as if it happened to someone else, “but it’s not really important.” Another plot point in the story of your life, never quite making it past the cutting room floor.

But Alexia doesn’t stay filed away. She starts turning up everywhere, not quite a haunting, but a presence you can’t shake no matter how you try. At first, it’s incidental—just a casual Instagram scroll, a stray click on some football gossip account that you don’t even remember following. There she is, grinning in some post-match group shot, looking too happy for someone who’s supposed to be just another fleeting chapter in your book. It’s the kind of unguarded joy that can’t be faked, not even for the camera, and you can’t help but wonder if she’s always this free, or if it’s something that only comes out when she’s on the pitch, away from people like you.

You hardly even realise it, but suddenly you’re following three different Barcelona fan accounts. Then, as if by some magnetic force you’re unwilling to acknowledge, things escalate. She likes one of your posts—a shot from the Venice Film Festival where you’re all decked out in head-to-toe Prada, looking expensively bored, like you couldn’t care less about anything in the world. She comments on one of your stories: just an emoji. A single fire emoji, to be precise. Harmless, you suppose. But the comments start getting specific—little in-jokes that only someone who’d had their mouth on your skin could know. There’s a familiarity in her tone that feels invasive, like she’s reminding you of things you’ve deliberately chosen to forget.

You don’t reply. Cowardice? Yes. Masochism? Possibly. The most crucial thing is that replying would imply there’s something worth talking about, and something always becomes complicated. You’ve already got enough complicated in your life: a demanding agent who keeps sending you scripts for roles that are ‘outside your comfort zone,’ a wardrobe full of designer clothes you’re required to wear for sponsorship deals you didn’t even negotiate, and an on-again, off-again affair with mindful meditation that never seems to stick. You’re in the middle of wrapping up a film that everyone assures you will ‘change the trajectory of your career,’ though they’ve said the same about the last three projects, and you still get recognised more for that face cream advert you did when you were twenty-one than for anything of substance.

The film’s an indie about a morally ambiguous antiheroine, a character so damaged and charmingly dysfunctional you’d think you were being typecast if the role didn’t feel like an emotional excavation. She’s got a drinking problem; you’ve always favoured substances that can be discreetly indulged in penthouse bathrooms, though you’re certainly not going to point that out to the director who keeps going on about ‘authenticity’ and ‘method acting.’ He seems to think you’ve got some untapped well of emotion just waiting to be accessed, as if there’s this depth beneath your flawless skin that’s going to pour out on cue. If only. Most of the time, you’re trying not to let your co-star notice the faint tremor in your hands that’s mostly a byproduct of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.

Then one day, while you’re lounging in your trailer, pretending to enjoy a green juice that tastes like the inside of a lawnmower—another post from Alexia. She’s on the pitch, holding some trophy aloft, her face flushed with victory. Her hair is slicked back, still damp with sweat, strands clinging to her skin in a way that seems impossibly intimate despite the vastness of the stadium behind her. That smile… Christ. It’s like she’s been sculpted out of bronze, an ancient statue come to life, as if she’s somehow timeless and ephemeral all at once. There’s something almost mythic about her, an enduring quality that makes your breath hitch in a way that feels both familiar and unnervingly new, like an old friend who’s overstayed their welcome but you’re not quite ready to let go.

It’s moments like these when you notice how precariously you’re balancing on the line between fascination and obsession. You catch yourself humming the anthem of Barcelona’s football club, the tune woven so deeply into your subconscious that it startles you. You aren’t even sure where you picked it up, but it plays on a loop whenever your mind wanders, like a soundtrack you didn’t choose. Then there are the little things—reading the match reports in the sports section like you actually know what half the terms mean, or memorising obscure facts about the team’s history as if they’re somehow relevant to your life. You’ve started following the scores like they’re stock prices, pretending it’s just casual interest, though a part of you wonders why you keep needing to know how well she played, how many minutes she was on the pitch, whether she looked happy in the post-game interviews.

It’s a form of self-deception that’s becoming harder to maintain. You’re drawn to her orbit, pulled in by a force that feels magnetic and entirely outside your control, as though your fascination is bleeding into the rest of your life, filling the gaps you didn’t even know existed.

You decide, in a moment of what can only be described as poor judgment, to attend one of her matches. It feels impulsive and reckless in the way most of your decisions do, a haphazard pairing of curiosity and a kind of dangerous longing. You book a front-row seat like it’s the most natural thing in the world, like you’re just ticking another item off some glamorous bucket list rather than treading into unfamiliar territory. Naturally, you show up dressed to the nines—your favourite Gucci sunglasses perched on your nose, an Alexander McQueen coat draped over your shoulders with that deliberate, careless grace that suggests you’re either oblivious to or entirely aware of its price tag. Your hair is styled in that kind of artful chaos that takes hours to perfect but is meant to look like you rolled out of bed effortlessly chic. You’re not here for the football. You’re here for her.

The atmosphere in the stadium is overwhelming, almost suffocating, a heady cocktail of chants, horns, and the sharp, greasy scent of fried food that turns your stomach. It’s a kind of chaos you’re unaccustomed to, this all-consuming fervor where the world narrows down to the pitch, to the twenty-two players moving with a purpose you can’t fully grasp. You understand about three percent of what’s happening on the field—just enough to know when the ball’s in play but not enough to follow the strategies unfolding before you. You’re mostly people-watching: the sea of jerseys, the faces contorted with passion, the rhythmic clapping that you can’t quite catch the beat of.

When Alexia scores, it catches you off guard. The stadium erupts, thousands of people leaping to their feet with a collective roar that vibrates through your bones. You react half a beat late, your applause more polite than enthusiastic, like you’re at a black-tie gala instead of a football match. You stand, clap along with the crowd, and try not to feel like an imposter. As the cheers die down, you catch her eyes from across the distance, just for a flicker of a moment. There’s something in her gaze—an awareness, a spark—that slices through the noise and zeroes in on you. It’s like she sees you, actually sees you, in the middle of this thrumming, chaotic mass of bodies, and for a split second, it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the entire stadium.

After the game, you somehow find yourself swept into the exclusive VIP area, a place filled with the kind of people who can glide between worlds as easily as they switch languages. A flute of champagne appears in your hand almost before you’re aware you’ve been handed one, and you sip it absentmindedly as you let the buzz of conversation wash over you. You’re halfway through your second glass when she appears, slipping through the crowd with a kind of effortless poise, her hair still damp from the shower, the strands curling at the ends. She’s wearing a loose tracksuit, looking every bit the casual athlete, as though she hasn’t just been commanding the attention of thousands.

There’s an insufferable confidence in the way she moves towards you, that familiar swagger that borders on arrogance, as if she’s amused by the fact that you actually showed up, that you dared to step into her world. “I didn’t think you were a football fan,” she says, a teasing lilt to her voice, though her eyes betray something else—a darker, more searching intensity that you recognise all too well from that night in the bathroom, the one you keep trying and failing to forget.

“I can appreciate a good performance,” you reply, lifting your glass in a mock toast, your voice slipping into that arch tone you’ve perfected over years of industry parties and press tours. “I’ve seen Cats live on Broadway, you know.” It’s a flippant comment, the kind that’s designed to deflect, to distract, to keep the conversation light and meaningless.

She laughs, a rich sound that feels like an indulgence. It’s not so much at your joke but at the way you’re playing this little game, like she’s letting you have your moment, humouring you. “And did you enjoy the show?” she asks, her voice dropping just enough to suggest that her question has nothing to do with the theatre and everything to do with the performance she just gave on the pitch.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” you say, holding her gaze longer than you probably should. There’s a challenge in the way you look at her, an unspoken dare, and for a moment, you wonder if she’ll take the bait. Her lips curl into a small, devilish smile, a private expression that feels like a confession meant just for you.

The moment stretches, teeters precariously on the edge of something you’re not quite ready to acknowledge. It feels monumental, like a line about to be crossed, but then she steps back, just a fraction, and the spell breaks. She turns away with a dismissive grace, leaving you standing there as if you’ve just been defeated in a game you didn’t know you were playing. “Good,” she says simply, and with that one word, she slips back into the crowd, leaving you with nothing but the faint taste of champagne on your lips and the lingering sense that you’ve been left wanting.

After that, you start to notice the divide. There’s Before Alexia and After Alexia, and it’s not a clean break but a jagged line that cuts through your life, shifting everything off balance. You used to think of yourself as someone in control, or at least someone who could fake it convincingly enough to fool everyone else. There was always an understanding that if you messed up, someone would be there to fix it—your agent, a publicist, some overworked assistant who could call in a favor to make the headlines disappear. But now, your phone has become an instrument of anxiety, vibrating with texts and notifications that you crave and dread in equal measure. It buzzes with messages from her that you read but don’t answer, with updates from your agent about the press tour you keep dodging, with reminders of responsibilities you keep pushing aside.

Even after filming there has finished, you start booking last-minute flights to Barcelona under the guise of ‘business,’ convincing yourself that it’s all perfectly legitimate. Your agent rolls his eyes and hounds you to schedule interviews and appearances, but you find yourself at the airport anyway, boarding another red-eye that will land you in some unfamiliar city just in time to catch her match. You’re finding yourself in strange places at ungodly hours, indulging in the kind of fan behavior you’d have found pathetic if you saw anyone else doing it. Ninety minutes of football passes in a trance, where the world narrows down to her figure gliding across the pitch, the fluid grace of her movements cutting through the static in your head like a hot knife through butter.

Afterwards, you’ll send her a coy, inconsequential text—“Not bad,” or “You could work on your footwork.” And she’ll reply with that maddening charm that dances the line between sincerity and sarcasm, always leaving you guessing. “Come and coach me, then,” she’ll say, as if she’s issuing a challenge, or perhaps an invitation.

There’s this one time, after too many drinks and not enough sleep, when you actually consider it. You catch yourself scrolling through Spanish real estate listings, as if browsing apartments for sale in Barcelona is a casual hobby rather than a subconscious form of planning. You tell yourself it’s just idle curiosity, a way to pass the time, yet you’re finding out the details—locations near the stadium, neighbourhoods with the best views, penthouses with terraces that would catch the Mediterranean breeze. You click on the photos of sun-drenched balconies and tiled kitchens, pretending you’re only fantasising about a different kind of life, one where you’re not constantly looking over your shoulder for the next tabloid scandal or PR crisis.

But then you sober up. You stare at yourself in the bathroom mirror of a five-star hotel suite in Madrid, taking in the disheveled hair, the dark circles under your eyes, and you remember who you are. You’re not the kind of person who throws away their life for someone else, certainly not for a woman you haven’t even kissed since that one stolen night, a night that’s become less real and more like a story you tell yourself to explain this unshakable obsession. Besides, you’d probably make a terrible coach.

[moody-alcoholic]

Labor

Write Price fluff to get rid of the block. It will be quick they said.

John Price x reader. WC: 1.6k. CW: Pregnacy, childbirth. Disclamer: I have never had a baby.

___

Price is the epitome of cool and collected. Throw him on a battlefield, he’ll order his men into oncoming fire if he has to. Throw him in a room with an angry general and he won't even flinch. Bomb to defuse? Just another day at the office. 

But you in labor, screaming in the passenger seat of the car. “John!” You call gritting your teeth and the seatbelt in your hand.

 He’s terrified.

“It’s a red light love.” He says gripping the steering wheel.

“It’s 3 in the fucking morning. There’s no traffic.” You say pointing out at the empty road. 

“It’s okay love, we’ll be there soon.” He says his free hand landing on your thigh. You cry through the contraction. 

You’re going to kill him, you’re going to kill him for not driving through the red light, for knocking you up in the first place. You’re still gritting your teeth as he drives on now the light is green. 

You should have gone sooner, you should have called an ambulance. At least then you wouldn’t have to wait for green lights. His hand leaves your thigh so he can change gear and you reach out to grip his arm. He flexes his bicep as you dig your nails in. 

You’re huffing your other hand pressing on your swollen belly. 

“That's it, love, keep breathing. In and out.” You turn to look at him. He quickly looks at you, there’s a worried look on his face he’s trying to hide behind the smile. You grit your teeth again pushing down on the top of your bump. 

You’re going to kill him. 

It’s not long before you’re driving into the hospital parking garage. By the time you’ve found a spot there’s another contraction. John jumps out the car while you reach down to unclip your seatbelt. He jogs round the front of the car opening your door. You reach out for his shoulders to support yourself. 

He presses his forehead to yours as you pant through the contraction. As soon as it’s finished you step out of the car using John and the door to support yourself. You let out long breaths feeling unsteady on your feet. He maneuvers you around so he can close the door behind you. 

“Okay, c’mon let’s get you inside.” He says wrapping one of his arms around you waist supporting you as you lean against him. One of your hands lands on the hood of the car. 

“The bag John.” You say as you hear him lock the car. 

“Oh shit.” You hear the same beep as he unlocks it again. You feel him hesitate not knowing if he should let you go or not. You turn out his grip bracing yourself on the front of the car. He lets you go rushing to the back of the car.

You’re going to kill him for forgetting the bag. 

You hear the boot open and close, even though it’s only taken him a few seconds it feels like minutes. You’re grateful for his support again when his arm slips back round your waist. 

“Alright, let’s go. Nice and easy.” He says taking you towards the entrance of the maternity center. You’re slow, each footstep takes effort. John is good at giving you the support you need though, his strong arms keep you pressed against him as you walk through the automatic doors up to the reception. 

“I called before we left, name’s Price.” John says to the receptionist. You feel another contraction coming as your hands reach out to grip the counter. You close your eyes, swinging your hips from side to side as you cry out through gritted teeth. 

“How far apart have the contractions been?” She asks.

“2 maybe 3 minutes.” John replies as he rubs your back. 

“Have her waters broken?” 

You’re going to kill the receptionist. You need to push never mind your waters. 

Shit, you want to push. John doesn’t even get time to answer. 

“I need to push.” You say as the contraction fades. The receptionist calls someone and before you know it you’re being put in a wheelchair. You press down on the top of your bump again, you can’t tell if thats actually helping or not but right now you don’t care. 

You’re wheeled down a hall and into a room, there are already midwives in there ready to help you out of the chair. 

“Let’s get you up on the bed.” One of them says taking you over and helping you up. 

“John,” you call looking round the room. He’s at your side in an instant, his arm wrapping round your shoulders, his other hand grabbing yours. You’re barely paying attention to the questions being bombarded at you. 

You hear John answer them and you know they’re right so you just focus on the midwife's instructions. They’ve already got your lower clothes off and you’re pressing your knees up spreading your legs. You thought you would be nervous about being exposed in front of strangers. 

You don’t care, you’re in too much pain to care you just want to push. 

“Okay, we’ve got an eager little one here.” You hear one of them say. You cry out as another contraction starts, you squeeze John’s hand, you have to apologise to him when this is over. 

“After this contraction can you push for us?” You hear one of them ask. You nod looking down at her between your legs, she's putting gloves on. Maybe this will be over sooner than you think. You knew you should have left sooner. 

When the contraction ends you grit down and push, pressing your chin to your chest. 

“That’s it, keep going.” Someone calls. You keep going until you can’t anymore throw your head back into the pillows and panting. 

“That's it, one more big one.” The midwife calls. You’re trying to catch your breath but before you can even do that it feels like they’re asking you again. 

John kisses your hand in his. “C’mon love, you’re doing so well.” He says, you can hear a shake in his voice. 

You look up at him before holding your breath and pushing again. You can feel sweat building up on your body, it’s hot but not hot at the same time. There’s pain, so much pain, you’re trying to remember this is worth it but you can’t focus on much now. 

“That’s it, keep going, keep going!” The midwife calls. You push for as long as you can until your head starts to swim. Then you hear a cry. 

Your eyes instantly snap open, you look down as your son is raised up.

“Congratulations. It’s a boy.” One of the midwives says as the baby is placed on your chest. You look down at him crying in your arms. There’s no more pain anymore, just your son crying on your chest, your perfect, precious boy.

“Is the dad cutting the cord?” Someone asks. You’re too busy paying attention to another midwife whipping his face before wrapping him up in a blanket to notice John has left your side. Suddenly you see him standing by your legs with scissors in his hands. 

You miss him cutting the cord but you see the expression of pure joy on his face as he comes back over to you. His eyes are locked on your son. His crying wanes as you wrap your arms around him, one of his hands sticking out the top of the blanket, he grips it with his tiny fingers. John’s hand is still on your shoulder, his other hand reaches over to cup the baby's head. His thumb brushes the cheek. 

He looks even smaller in your arms all of a sudden. You're cooing at him, watching as he takes his first blinks. His lips slapping together showing his tiny tongue hidden behind the toothless mouth. 

John’s hand comes round to brush the top of its head. He has dark hair like him, and blue eyes. You look up at him and smile, he’s beaming down at the little bundle of joy in your arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” He says looking up at you resting his forehead on yours. You let out a breath as he kisses you, it feels good. Maybe it’s the hormones but you could lay there and kiss him forever. 

The sound of the door opening breaks you from the kiss. You look up to see Johnny stood there frozen, one hand on the door handle the other round a bottle of what looks like scotch.

“You called Johnny?” You ask, looking back at John.

“I called Simon.” He says, you raise an eyebrow. “I panicked.” He shrugs.

“You panicked?” You almost want to laugh looking back at the door hearing another person. This time you see Simon come up behind Johnny. You feel embarrassed all of a sudden, the midwives still fussing round your half naked body. 

“Wait outside.” John calls. Johnny still stands there frozen as Simon’s hands grip his shoulders. 

“Congratulations.” He calls before dragging Johnny out into the hall. You can’t help but chuckle looking back down at the baby in your arms. 

“Have you thought of a name?” One of the midwives asks. 

“I like William.” You say, reaching over with a finger to stroke his tiny hand. You look up at John. “What do you think?”

“I like William too.” He says kissing your forehead. 

“I love you.” You say resting your head back and looking up at John. 

“I love you too. I’m so proud of you.” He says pulling you against him wrapping his arms around you and your son. You close your eyes letting yourself enjoy being in the moment with them both. Safe and happy forever.

___

[mirrored-muse]

ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ꜰᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ | ɢ.ɢ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 690

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ɢɪᴅᴇᴏɴ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɪᴍꜱ.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɢɪᴅᴇᴏɴ ɢᴇᴍꜱᴛᴏɴᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴀ/ɴ: ᴅᴇᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ @ringa-starr ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ʜᴀꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏᴏʟᴇꜱᴛ ɪᴅᴇᴀꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ɢɪᴅᴇᴏɴ ꜰɪᴄꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴏᴛ for ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴏɴᴇ!

You had taken over Gideon’s PS4 with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t touched a console since high school. He’d handed you the controller earlier that evening with a lazy but fond smile, muttering something like, “Alright, sweetheart, knock yourself out,” not thinking you’d actually stay glued to it for going on three hours now.

Gideon had barely looked up from his phone since, he’d been scrolling aimlessly, answering a few texts, and letting himself enjoy the quiet while you sat cross-legged on his bed. You were focused, tongue peeking out at the corner of your mouth, eyes narrowed at the screen like you were defusing a bomb and not playing The Sims.

Eventually, his curiosity won.

“Alright,” he drawled, setting his phone aside and stretching his arms above his head. “What’s got you lookin’ so intense over there, baby?”

You smile, not turning around. “I made us.”

He blinked. “Us?”

“Yeah, In the game.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to get a better look at the screen. “that’s me?”

There, on the screen, was a pixelated Gideon Gemstone, shirtless in swim trunks, wearing a cowboy hat and carrying a plate of grilled cheeses.

“Why do I look like I just got kicked out of a country music festival?” he asked, trying to fight off an amused smile.

You laugh. “It’s the only hat option that even remotely screamed ‘Gideon.’ Also, don’t complain, you’re living your best life. He’s on his way to the hot tub.”

“In the backyard?”

“…No.”

He squinted. “Is that-“ He pauses for a second, “why is the hot tub in the kitchen?”

You burst out laughing at his reaction, holding the controller a little tighter in your hands. “I wanted it closer to the fridge.”

He flopped back onto the pillows behind him with a groan. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You looked over your shoulder at him, eyes sparkling. “You don’t like it?”

“I mean, I do,” he said, smirking. “It’s just… you gave us a big ass house and we have a hot tub three feet from the oven. Kinda feels like a safety hazard.”

“Gid-“ you start, turning back to the screen, “this is my vision for us, respect it.”

He laughed under his breath and sat up again, finally intrigued. “What else we got goin’ on in your world?”

“Well,” you said, clicking through the menus. “We have eight kids.”

“Eight.”

“mhm..”

“Are you tryin’ to kill me in this game, or…?”

“It’s cute!” You defended yourself. “We have a big family, twin girls, twin boys, and four newborn babies. Our youngest is named Peach.”

“Peach?”

“Yeah, like your favorite fruit.”

“Oh my God,” he speaks, moving towards the end of the bed to be closer to you. “four newborn babies?”

You nod your head, looking at him like he was the crazy one for questioning it. “We also have a bowling alley, a haunted attic, a pet raccoon named Beans, and you’re a stay-at-home dad-slash-freelance woodworker.”

He looked back at you, eyebrows up. “And you?”

“Famous actress.”

He gave a little snort, fond and amused, then gently leaned into your side, watching you play, his head propped up against your shoulder.

“You’ve been busy, huh?”

“Yup, built it from the ground up. Took me like four hours and I set the kitchen on fire multiple times.”

He watched the Sim-you start painting something on an easel. “Okay, so I’m shirtless, you’re rich, our kids are all named after different kinds of fruit, and we have a hot tub in the middle of the kitchen. Honestly? Sounds good to me.”

You leaned back into him a little, his hand finding your knee, warm and relaxed.

“I like the way you see us,” he said quietly after a minute. “You know. Long-term. Not scared of any of it.”

You shrugged. “I’ve been daydreaming about our future together since we were kids. This just gives me an outlet.”

He kissed your cheek softly, before focusing on the screen again. “Guess I better get used to the name Peach, then.”

You smiled. “She’s gonna be your favorite.”

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Driven to the Limit

X Men Masterlist

It's a sunny afternoon, and you're behind the wheel of a sleek black car, gliding smoothly along the country road. Next to you, in the passenger seat, sits Charles, and in the backseat, Erik crouches, both tense like coiled springs, which brings a wide grin to your face.

“Don’t you trust me?” You laugh as you loosely grip the steering wheel with one hand and fiddle with the radio with the other. A rock song starts playing, and you turn up the volume. “It’s not that bad!”

Charles glances at you briefly, his forehead slightly furrowed. “Y/N, you do realize this isn’t a normal drive, right? You’re driving... well, let’s say a bit recklessly.”

You gasp dramatically. “Recklessly? I call it efficient.” You press the gas pedal, feeling the car purr beneath you. The engine roars, and you accelerate. The landscape whizzes past you.

“Efficient?” Erik mutters from the back, gripping the seat. “It’s a miracle we haven’t flown off the road yet.”

You laugh out loud. “Oh, come on, Erik. You can lift an entire submarine and stop a nuclear bomb, but a little fast driving scares you?” You glance in the rearview mirror, seeing his jaw muscles tighten. “If that isn’t irony.”

“It’s no joke,” Charles murmurs, looking slightly pale. “You’re driving way too close to the guardrail.”

“Nonsense!” You make a quick motion with the steering wheel as if you're heading for the guardrail, only to grin and steer back onto the road. Both men gasp sharply, and you burst into laughter.

“You really have a strange sense of humor, Y/N,” Erik says dryly, clutching the seat tighter. “One might think you’re trying to scare us on purpose.”

You turn slightly toward him, still holding the steering wheel loosely. “Maybe I am.” You wink at him. “It’s funny seeing the two most powerful mutants in the world trembling in their seats.”

“Trembling? I’m not trembling,” Erik growls, but his hands tell a different story as they dig deeper into the leather seat. “I’m just... prepared.”

Charles takes a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Y/N, maybe you should focus a bit more on the road. Not that I don’t trust you, but...”

“Oh, I know you trust me.” You shift into a higher gear, and the car surges forward. Charles instinctively grabs the handle on the door. “But you two look so cute when you’re nervous.”

“Nervous isn’t the right word,” Charles mutters, his eyes fixed on the road. “I’d describe it more as... tense.”

“Tense?” you repeat with a mischievous smile, pressing the gas pedal a little more. “I thought you could read minds, Charles. You should know I’ve got everything under control.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” he says quietly. “Sometimes, I feel like you enjoy tormenting us a bit.”

“Just a little,” you admit, smiling innocently at him. “But honestly, guys, you do trust me, right?”

Erik leans forward slightly, his face serious. “It’s not about trust, Y/N. It’s about self-preservation.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh, Erik, always so melodramatic!”

Charles clears his throat, trying to defuse the situation. “Perhaps we should take a break? You know, a small stop to... enjoy the view?”

“The view?” You laugh, glancing at the empty, straight road ahead of you. “There’s nothing to see here!”

“Exactly,” Erik mutters, “because you're rushing past everything at 150 km.”

You playfully turn the steering wheel, making a gentle curve that causes Charles and Erik to inhale sharply in sync. “Alright, alright,” you concede. “Maybe I’ll slow down a little.”

You let the car coast at a slower pace, but the smile never leaves your face. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Charles exhales in relief, relaxing a bit. “Thank you.”

“But next time, I’m driving,” Erik adds firmly, finally leaning back.

You turn to him with a grin. “We’ll see. But admit it – it’s a little fun, isn’t it?”

Charles and Erik exchange a quick glance before answering in unison: “No.”

You laugh and refocus on the road as the car continues rolling through the landscape. The sun slowly begins to set, and in the silence that now fills the car, you can’t help but keep a small smile on your lips. Even if they’d never admit it – you know Charles and Erik love you, even when you drive them crazy.

[badbatchsprincess]

Heated ~ pt.16

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake. 

Warnings: Canon Typical violence, smut!, blow jobs/oral, mentions of slave girls, Hunter being protective, Wrecker's massive dick

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“Okay, show me how one more time.” Wrecker said studying the photo reference versus the tangled bindings around Tech’s wrists. 

“I already told you twice. You need to pay closer attention.” Tech snapped shoving his wrists into Wrecker’s grasp.

“But you made it look so easy.” Wrecker growled staring to undo the intricate knots. 

“You are skilled at defusing bombs, this can’t possibly be more difficult than that!” Tech argued. They had been a this longer than he would have preferred. 

“I also have a very distracting photo in front of my face!” Wrecker yelled gesturing to the photo of you tied up with your chest pushed out and glistening while Tech was pounding into you from behind. Your cute little ass was all red and your skin was shiny from your body oils, it made Wrecker sweat just looking at you. His hands seemed unable to respond as well.

This had all started once Tech had shared the very explicit video of the two of you trying bondage for the first time. Wrecker was adamant about learning how to do that, and demanded he get a copy of every photo Tech had taken… for educational purposes of course. Tech waited while everyone was out grabbing supplies at some random stop on the way to their next job, to try and educate his younger brother. 

“I just don’t understand, you double up this one but then separate the two strands to do-” Wrecker paused mid sentence to find the three of you standing in the cabin doorway with varying degrees of shock smeared on your faces. 

“Uhh.” Your jaw hit the floor staring at Tech’s red ropes bound around his wrists while Wrecker clearly was the one tying him up. 

“Trying something new there, Tech?” Hunter smirked setting down the bags of rations. 

The two of them looked down at their joined wrists and the red rope tied between them before flying apart like caught teens. 

“There is a perfectly reasonable answer for this.” Tech’s cheeks flushed, just a bit, while Wrecker stood up sheepishly and flushed a deep crimson. 

“Which is?” Echo raised a brow. 

“I was simply trying to educate Wrecker on how to tie shibari knots.” Tech looked down at his still tied hands. 

“I change my mind.” Echo shook his head and started heading down towards the under belly to drop off the restock, “I don’t want to know.” 

“Thank the maker.” Wrecker laughed. 

You stepped over to Tech to help him escape from the knots before shooting the two of them a conspiratorial look. You knew they were up to something, this just wasn’t exactly what you had in mind. 

“Okay, Tiny!” Echo called from the back of the ship, “Training for an hour then we can head out.” 

“Okay!” You replied setting your bags of goodies down on the dining table.

You followed Echo out of the ship into the desert clearing where Tech landed the ship. You were far enough away from the outpost you knew you’d be safe from wandering eyes. 

Stepping out into the Tatooine sun, you basked in the warmth momentarily. 

“Think fast!” He warned, coming at you with a swinging fist. 

You ducked, and skittered back catching your footing before ducking again. Then he roundhouse kicked, just barely missing your nose. 

You stepped far enough back that you could switch to the offense, and try to mix this all up in your favor. 

Ever since you started training with Echo, and the boys started leaning more into the bonding of your relationships, you noticed you were able to anticipate their moves better. You weren’t entirely sure if this was the soul bond, or just learning them better, but regardless… you knew Echo was going to try to get the upper hand after letting you get a few hits in. You could feel it coming. A certain sense was strengthening in you.

When he went for another right hook, you dodged back and left, bringing your knee up to his ribs forcing him to cough for air on impact.

You heard him before you saw him, but Hunter tried to sneak up behind you. The sound of gravel crunching under his boots alerted you to his position. You spun around swinging your right leg at his middle. He caught it under his bicep and tucked it into his armpit, trying to shake your balance. But you just let him take you both to the ground, where you bent your left leg and used your knee to throw him over you, tossing him into the near by brush with a thud.

“Stun’em pip!” Wrecker cheered from the ship. 

You reached for your blaster when Echo grabbed you, shoving you into the side of the ship knocking the air out of you with a wheeze. You growled pushing back at him but he was using his strength advantage against you keeping you pinned to the warm metal. 

He grabbed the hand holding the blaster and raised it above your head while using his forearm to pin your shoulders back. 

“C’mon.” He encouraged. It was then you realized he put you in the same position Crosshair had on Kasshyyyk. Your blood boiled… then something took over you…

It was like you were seeing the world through Echo’s eyes. Feeling his every move, sensing his own weaknesses and strengths. You made shocked eye contact with him before snapping back to your senses. 

You kicked your feet out tangling his up with your boots while you yanked your extended arm down elbowing him in the jaw with a crack.  

Echo stumble back while you flicked the gun to stun and unloaded on the ARC Trooper. Your aim was impeccable. He dropped into a heap in the dust. 

You only had a moment of victory before Hunter was hurling the vibro blade right at your head. You ducked right in time hearing it cut through the air. It bounced off the durasteel of the ship with a ring making you spring into action. 

You heard Wrecker cheering from the steps as you charged across the clearing.

You aimed your weapon right at Hunter and fired a series of shots. He expertly dodged them making you growl in frustration. He was about to reach for his own weapon when you charged at him, using his own thigh to launch you up in the air, you wrapped both legs around his neck and shoulders twisting your body down to the ground, just like on Kassyyyk, bringing you to the ground. 

But he knew your moves by now, and countered this by grabbing onto your hips, throwing you off of him into the sand carelessly. 

You landed with a grunt rolling in the warm earth quickly getting up onto your feet determined to win this time. 

Echo was just starting to stir when Hunter decided to arch his kicks down at you. You rolled and dodged every kick just in time, watching his heel brutally dig into the sand with every impact. 

You backed up far enough to stand and line up your strike. 

Just when you were ready to make the perfect hit to his beautiful jaw, you missed him pulling out his gun to stun you mercilessly from his hip. 

You yelped before collapsing into the sand in a heap. 

Blackness surrounded you in a numbing sensation.

~~~

“She’s up!” Echo chuckled poking your cheek.

You swatted him away feeling your body coming back to you. You groaned flopping onto your back feeling that you were definitely back on the marauder hearing the rumbling sound of deep space.  

“I was so close.” You whined rubbing your eyes. 

“You were significantly better, out performing your past few sessions by great proportions.” Tech seemed proud of you. 

“Something happened before you shot me.” Echo narrowed his gaze. 

“You felt that too?” You asked sitting up slowly. 

“Yeah… that was strange.” He rubbed his chin. 

“I think it’s a pack bond or something. It was like I was in your mind.” You shook your head confused.

“I noticed your fighting styles take on whoever you’re opposing.” Tech analyzed, “It is most fascinating.” 

 “I think it’s the soul bond.” You said, “I felt like I was Echo. Just for a second. It was strange.” You shook your head still trying to make sense of that. 

“Well, they do say that souls bonds are a unique kind of experience. Two people becoming one in every way. They can even sometimes hear one another in their heads like Jedi.” Tech said. 

“That that has to be it.” You looked to Echo, one of your oldest friends. Of course it was a bond. Platonic as it may be, you viewed Echo as family. He’s been with you for almost your entire career with the GAR. 

You smiled at him and poked him back in the cheek making him playfully shove you back. 

“Cid gave us more intel.” Hunter came into the room partly to check on you but to also let everyone know that they’d be at their location soon. 

He waited for the others to file out, before kneeling down next to you on the cot, “I got something for you.” 

You were curious, “What is it?”

He held up a smaller chest plate that seemed to have been created just for your size. You looked at him with a raised brow. The metal was plain as blaster metal.

“I may not like putting you in the middle of these jobs.” He grabbed your hips sliding you to the edge of the bed before unlatching the pieces, “But, we came across a mandalorian smith who construed this and a few other pieces for you. At least gives me a little more peace of mind.” He sandwiched you between the two metal pieces before securing them together at your shoulders and sides. It looked similar to his own which made you giddy. 

You suddenly felt very overcome with emotion and looked up at your alpha, “Thank you Hunter.” You touched his jaw as he secured the last strap. He wanted to keep you safe. The gesture meant everything to you. 

“How does it feel?” He looked down at you running his hands over the collar of the metal. 

“Good.” You smiled, “Like a glove.” 

“It’s beskar.” He tapped it, “Not even a lightsaber can penetrate it.” 

“Sounds expensive.” You narrowed your eyes. 

“Cid pitched in too.” He smirked. 

That little trandoshan. You knew she cared about you. 

“Actually it was her idea.” Tech walked into the doorway, “Said we were being too reckless with our omega.” 

“Hmm.” You smirked, “I think I owe her a few more shifts then.” 

Tech huffed a laugh, “We’re here by the way.” 

You felt Echo directing the ship down to the surface of Tatooine as you and Hunter returned to the cockpit to join the others. 

~~~

The others showed you how to put on the shoulder guards, the forearm and thigh gauntlets. The last step was Hunter securing the thigh holster over everything along with a knife sheath that ran sideways along your lower back. When he was happy with it, he stood up to stand amongst the others approving their work. 

“Okay, one last present.” Wrecker smiled running into the bunks to grab it. 

“Is it heavy mesh’la?” Hunter asked worrying about you keeping up. 

You raised your arms, testing out the weight, “No, it’s light enough!” 

He nodded approvingly. 

When Wrecker returned, the four boys all looked very excited to show you what they got. 

Wrecker spun around holding a matching helmet, unique it it’s own way, just like theirs. But it seemed to reflect you perfectly. 

Wrecker shuffled forwards to place it over your head being mindful of your hair. 

When he settled it on, you heard it pressurize and suddenly the lens switched on showing you their com channels and the technology inside was analyzing all of your surroundings. 

“Is this what you guys have been seeing this whole time?” You said in wonderment as you looked around the ship and at the alphas standing before you. 

“Heh, yeah pip.” Wrecker chuckled, “Pretty nice huh?” 

“This is wild.” You waved your hands in front of your face watching the technology track your movements.

“That was my doing.” Tech raised his finger, “Wanted it to keep an eye out for you too.” 

“Thank you guys.” You sighed feeling their love as you felt safer than you ever had before. Clearly they had put a lot of thought into this. 

They all smiled looking at you getting used to the armor. 

“Now she looks just like us.” Echo said proudly. 

“Well, she’s gotta paint hers first.” Tech smiled, “Then she’ll be just like us.” 

“I gotta think of what to do.” You shrugged wondering what colors you should use. 

“Alright, let’s get a move on.” Hunter hit the hatch panel, “I don’t want to be here long. The Hutts aren’t people I want to spend much time with.” 

“Keep that on.” Echo thunked you on the head making you whip around to face him, “Hopefully the empire hasn’t put a bounty on you, but incase they have, the Hutts would know about it.” 

“Keep the helmet on. Got it.” You followed after him like a duckling. 

The dome shaped castle Jaba the Hutt inhabited sat right in front of you all. As you approached, the stark surroundings made you a little uneasy, it was even more barren than the little outpost on the other side of the planet. 

Hunter approached the door first when a droid came flying out of the wall yelling at you all in Huttanese. Tech quickly translated explaining that they were there on behalf of Cid for a money transfer. 

The droid camera disappeared into the wall and the massive metal gate creaked open. 

“C’mon.” Hunter waved you all to follow, “Stay close to Echo.” He gave you the order. You swallowed thickly and stuck to Echo like glue. You were getting a little antsy. This was like throwing yourself into the deep end on your first job! No one messed with the Hutts.

The hallway inside the castle was dark and sandy. You noticed gamorrean guards posted in the alcoves watching you closely and holding their massive axes as they snorted.

When all five of you entered the main gallery, you were surrounded by lively music and nearly a hundred bounty hunters, all lounging around in various states of debauchery. You also noticed the slave girls chained to the main throne holding the ugliest mother fucker you’d ever seen. 

Jabba the Hutt…

Hutt’s attendant waved you all over to speak with the slug himself. Hunter stepped forwards saying hello before introducing the group. Then Jabba quickly got into the business deal. Hunter pulled a holo with Cid so the two of them could speak directly. 

While that was happening, you took your time observing the place. A dozen games of sabak were being played while credits and bets were placed. The air was thick with smoke and the light scent of spice. The musicians and show girls were working for their salary. But what surprised you the most was going on in the back of the club. 

You locked in on a few Twi’leks fucking some willing customers in an alcove near the back bar. They were not ashamed in the slightest by the attention they were receiving from other drunk bounty hunters. One girl was perched on a man’s lap as he held her knees up showing everyone just got deep he was inside her as she moaned putting on a show clearly wanton for the looks. 

You felt yourself heat up the longer you watched. It was…hot the way he showed her off. The way all the others were captivated by watching her client’s cock disappear and reappear from her depths. 

Crosshair had done something similar with you and Tech, and the memory had your clothes suddenly feeling a little too restricting… You could still feel the ghost of his hands at the backs of your knees while Tech’s face was buried into your cunt. Even the way Crosshair stretched and displayed you was a clear memory. You shivered trying to will away those feelings. 

You felt Echo nudge you, drawing your attention back to your sergeant. 

It seemed negotiations were going well as the attendant handed over a case of unmarked credits to Hunter. Tech translated a few last words, assumably a thank you, before your alphas turned back to you ushering you all to leave. 

You look one last glance at the slug which was a mistake, his gaze was greedy and hungry as his long foul tongue licked at his slobbering lips. You trotted up to Hunter suddenly realizing how many of the men in the room were staring right at you with the very same look. 

Well… this must be how things are in the outer rim. Not a particularly safe place for women.

You heard Jabba’s voice silence the crowd, “Kava Che Ta mandalorian” 

Tech froze in place looking to Hunter. 

“He asked how much for the mandalorian.” Tech bit out. 

“What?” Hunter was confused, “What mandalorian? 

“He’s talking about Y/N.” Tech said. You shivered. What the kark?

You tucked into Hunter’s side feeling your stomach drop into your ass with nerves. 

“She’s not for sale.” Hunter growled tugging you closer to him. 

Jabba then said, “Jee'll Fofo Cid's Moulee-rah Che Ta Cheeka”

Tech growled, “He’ll double Cid’s amount for the female.” 

You clenched onto Hunter’s belt feeling him get riled up and protective. 

“Not going to happen.” Hunter snarled placing his hand on the hilt of his gun. 

“Is she yours?” The attendant asked with a devilish grin. He clocked the way you clung to Hunter like a typical omega would. 

“Yes.” Hunter tightened his grip on you and the weapon at his side, “She is.” 

You felt the others close in on you keeping you protectively in their circle. Wrecker pressed into your back securely.

Then Jabba gave the order. If they weren’t going to sell you, he was going to take you by force and kill your alpha. The entire club erupted into violence as the other bounty hunters opened fire wanting to be the one to bring Jabba his next prize. 

Hunter grabbed you hauling you behind one of the alcoves as blaster fire whizzed by your heads. 

“We gotta get to the ship!” Echo yelled firing back hitting one bounty hunter after another. 

“Wrecker give us some cover!” Tech yelled firing into the crowd. 

“Oh gotcha!” Wrecker reached into his pack grabbing two flash bangs. 

“Cover your ears.” Hunter covered you with his body as Wrecker chucked the bombs into the lounge. You muffled the sound inside your helmet just in time when the whole building lit up with blinding white light and disorienting smoke. You heard the loud groans and screams coming from the crowd.

“Move!” Hunter nudged you forwards and you broke out into a run. 

More blaster fire flew past you and you grabbed your gun firing back giving yourself more cover. You watched one of the plasma bullets hit a bounty hunter square in the chest. You internally cheered seeing your training finally paying off. 

“Ahh!” Echo was surprised when a gamorrean knocked him off his feet sending his back into the sand with a punching thud.

Then you were surrounded. The greenish guards brandished their axes swinging at you without much grace. You swiftly shuffled backwards before kicking the guard hard in the side of the head. He squealed and stumbled back giving you a window to fire your blaster killing him on the spot.

“Hah!” You cheered. Hearing the commotion in the back. When you turned back around, you saw your alphas finishing off the last gamorrean before grabbing your hand and continuing to run towards the open gate. 

“Just a little further!” Tech said remotely powering up the ship hearing it whirl to life. 

You broke out into a full sprint wanting to fling yourself into the Marauder as fast as possible. 

When the ship was in site, you followed Tech inside skittering into the cockpit helping him start the launch sequence. Tech guided the ship up as the others jumped inside dodging more blaster fire. 

“Shit!” Echo yelped dodging a bullet, “Any day now!” 

Tech angled the nose of the marauder into the sky and hit the accelerator. Hunter hit the hatch door and you all flopped down into your seats letting out a groan. 

“Is it always like that for you?” You yanked the helmet off letting your hair tumble out as you gasped for air. 

“Pretty much.” Tech nodded setting the course for Ord Mantel. 

“Dank ferrik.” Wrecker groaned out in pain as he clutched at his bicep.  

You looked up noticing the red patch on his arm… he must have been shot in the escape.

“Oh no.” You got up running past him to the galley to grab your medical bag. 

“Hold still love.” You helped remove his shoulder pauldron and rolled up his sleeve. He winced when you jostled the skin a bit but you quickly got to work spreading the bacta and applying the bandage to stop the bleeding, “All better alpha.” You smiled up at him getting him to cheer up. 

He held the back of your head in his massive hand bringing you up to his mouth. He pressed a loving kiss to the crown of your head as a thanks. When he was distracted, you jabbed his arm with the pain medication. 

“Oh! Ow!” He whined. But it was over before he could complain. You just smiled sweetly giving him a proper kiss as an apology. 

“You did good Tiny.” Echo praised you, “You handled that really well.” 

“Thanks Echo.” You replied cheerily putting your supplies back in the bag, “It was kind of exciting.” 

“Oh no, we’re creating a monster.” Hunter jested. 

You threw him a playful scowl. 

“We’ve got a few hours until we get to Ord Mantel. I’d get comfortable.” Echo said turning back to face you, “Got any more of those rations from Layla?” 

“Kark yeah.” You shot up running to the underbelly. 

~~~

“Delicious as always darling.” Echo licked his fingers making sure to get the last of the sauce left over on his plate. 

You hummed shoving the last piece of soaked bread into your mouth enjoying every chew. 

“Let me take Wrecker’s portion to him before he gets hangry.” You put your dirty dish in the sink leaving the others to lick their plates clean. 

Picking up a tray for Wrecker, you grabbed a cup of water and a spork walking back to the bunks. Wrecker must have dozed off from the pain meds. When you hit the access panel, he stirred noticing you had food and instantly woke up from his nap. 

“Here big guy.” You sat down on the cot next to him passing him the tray, “How are you feeling?” 

“A lot better pip.” He smiled shoving the food into his face like a starving rancor. You giggled watching him inhale his food. Good. At least that is a good sign he’s healing.

While he wolfed down his food, you gently lifted the bandage checking the progress the bacta had made while he slept. The wound was nearly closed up and all that was left was a small indent and angry irritated skin. You nodded approvingly liking how quickly the healing was progressing. 

He finished his meal and set the tray down on his nightstand before cuddling you into the mattress rather aggressively. You giggled adjusting to get comfortable in his grasp while he sighed peacefully scenting you. 

You gently ran your nails up and down his arm making him rumble from the sensation. He rolled you onto of him snuggling you to his chest like he does with Lula. 

You couldn’t help but wriggle around enjoying his warmth. 

“Mega.” He looked up at you, “You gotta stop doing that.” 

You smirked knowingly, “Why hun?” 

“You know why.” He adjusted his lap and you felt the hardness push up against your core. You hummed still feeling the lingering effects of what you saw at the Hutt palace today still playing in your mind. You wanted Wrecker to hold you like that… 

“What if I don’t want to?” You bit his arm lightly making him growl. 

“I don’t think I can with those pain killers in me.” He was still little groggy. 

“What if I make you feel good instead?” You bit your lip and sat up. He lazily ran his hands over your hips giving you a little pat on the ass.

You smiled down at him massaging his chest with your hands, “You did so good for me today, it’s a little reward for the shot.” 

“Hmm.” He smiled liking where this was going, “Okay.” 

“I’’ll take care of you alpha.” You slid down lower reaching for his sleep pants. You gently ran a hand over the bulge making him groan as you teased him. Wrecker groaned watching your small frame slide even lower keeping sinful eye contact with him. It made him squirm with anticipation. It wasn’t often women had offered to do this for him due to his size, but seeing you so eager made his blood run hot. Make you were perfect.

“Just want my alpha to feel good.” You nudged between his legs spreading them a bit while you teased the elastic of his boxers. He tensed feeling your finger slip lower getting dangerously close to where he wanted you. 

When you tugged down his boxers you were happy to find him throbbingly hard. You bit back a moan when you wrapped your hands around him fitting both along his shaft, and started to work your way up and down. Wrecker threw his head back covering his eyes with his forearm and groaned so loud you were certain the others could hear. 

Well it’s not like they didn’t know what you were doing. It was his night after all. 

Then you leaned forwards to give him an experimental lick. He gasped at the warmth of your tongue and inhaled sharply when you slid your whole mouth over him taking him as best as you could. 

Tech had taken the time one night to try and train you to take him as deep as he could go. It took a while, and your throat was so sore after, but eventually it started to work and you were able to repress your gag reflex like you had during your heat. 

Wrecker choked as you began to bob up and down using your slobber to lube your hands to work his shaft. There was no way you’d be able to deep throat Wrek, but you went as far as you possibly could. Your jaw was starting to ache but the sounds he was making had your core dripping with arousal. 

He subconsciously started to buck up into you letting you know he was getting closer to cumming. You decided to tease him a little bit more and drag this out. You withdrew your mouth making him whimper and look down at you from under his arm in curiosity. 

You kept massaging him with both your hands while you sunk closer until you could nuzzle his balls with your nose. 

“Fuck.” He cried out when you sucked one into your mouth laving it with your tongue greedily. 

“Shit, Pip!” He crossed both arms above his head fighting every instinct to grab you and shove you closer. 

You smirked and continued to lick and suck on his balls until he was a writhing mess. Then you took mercy on him and returned to sucking on his tip wanting to watch him cum now.

He opened his mouth to speak but you sped up your hands and doubled down on sucking harder making him thrust up into you a bit mindlessly. Wrecker came with a grunt, trying to still his hips but you licked up every last drop swallowing proudly. 

He gasped for air trying to catch his breath still stunned at your work. 

“That was amazing mesh’la.” He sighed looking down at you adoringly. You smiled pulling his boxers and sleep pants back up before crawling up his body and perching yourself on his lap again. 

His expression turned devilish, “Your turn.”

“Wait Wrek! Ahh!” He lifted like you weighed nothing sitting you on top of his face. 

“I wanna taste you sweetheart.” He yanked down your pants pushing you up slightly to slide them off. When he chucked them to the floor he yanked your hips down onto his face so he could nuzzle your damp panties making sure to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“This was supposed to be about you.” You whined unable to resist the way his nose dug deliciously into your clothed clit. 

“This is about me.” He smirked poking a finger under the wet fabric and shoved it to the side revealing your dripping core to him. 

You whined as he licked a big stripe through your folds making you buck. Usually you’d be a little cautious but Wrecker had assured you that he’s strong and big enough to handle you riding his face. 

So thats exactly what you did. 

With his encouragement you set your whole weigh ton him making him hum with joy. He ate out your cunt with fervor making you writhe and squirm on him just like you had made him do not long ago. You moaned loudly when he sucked your clit into his mouth quickly rushing you to the edge. Between the twilek and then sucking off Wrecker, your orgasm was coming fast. 

You whimpered barring down on him as his skilled tongue brought you to your needed orgasm. The dizzying pleasure consumed you making you flop forwards catching yourself on the wall as you flinched away from his tongue from overstimulation. You shook as you came down feeling his hot breath on your thighs. 

“How was that mesh’la?” He chuckled reaching up to tease your breast while you calmed down above him. 

“Too good.” You laughed shaking your head still trembling from aftershocks. 

He helped you back down his body so you could lay on him. You both stripped out of your remaining clothes so you could lay skin to skin, feeling each other closely as you cuddled. It was nice. It reminded you of that night in your apartment before everything fell apart. It was a small pocket of peace that you would never take for granted. 

“You did good today too.” He said taking your hand in his. The size difference was laughable. His palm dwarfed yours significantly. 

“It was kind of wild.” You said watching him play with your hand, “and exciting.”

“I thought Hunter was gonna kill Jabba.” He said rubbing his thumb into your palm, “I sure wanted to.” 

You smiled liking the protective talk, “I knew I was safe. You’d all protect me no matter what.” 

“Damn straight.” He held your wrist in his grasp.

“Though, I think I might prefer staying on the ship.” You giggled as his fingers tickled up your forearm before massaging up to your shoulder, “Getting almost sold is a little off putting.” 

You preened rubbing your face into his pectorals scenting him affectionately wanting his smell all over you. 

“But you do look so sexy with a blaster.” He leaned down to kiss you. You giggled into the kiss using your hands to pull his face closer to yours. He snuggled you in closer pressing you to his warm chest. 

Maybe being a mercenary wouldn’t be too bad…

uhm chile...anyway...soooo

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

@aynavaano

@9902sgirl

@sideofhorny

@sxftiebee

@booksandtitts-blog

[tango-goes]

Fic Writer Qs

Nicking this from @redroomroaving <3

It’s always interesting to get a little peek at the processes behind what ends up on the page/screen. If you’re interested in playing along and sharing a little of your writerly self, please feel free!

Answers under the cut:

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

Specific to Tango, 4 works. In total, 60.

2) What's your total AO3 word count?

Under Tango: 25,250 words. In total: 290,000 words. I put snails to shame with how slowly I write.

3) What are your top five four fics by kudos?

Bevi L’acqua – Astarion/Cazador, one shot (M, cw: dubcon) (3,542 words)

One Night Only – Halsin/Astarion, in progress (M) (10,290 words)

I’m not angry (close the door) – Halsin/nb!Tav, in progress (E) (13,545 words)

I do not count the time – Halsin/Astarion/nb!Tav, in progress (M) (1,876 words)

4) What fandoms do you write for?

BG3 is the first fandom that’s sparked my interest in several years, and for the moment it feels like I’m still building my nest here, so I’ll probably be around for awhile yet.

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always. It might be weeks or months before I get to it, but I will always reply to a comment, even if just to say ‘thank you’. If someone has felt so moved by words I've woven that they take the time to comment and tell me about it, then there is no way I’m leaving that unacknowledged!

6) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hoh boy. I’m not there yet, but I’ve already got ‘I’m not angry (close the door)’ outlined. If I do the job right, there won’t be a whole heart left in the house.

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Again, not there yet, but I do not count the time was born out of my feels-laden heart’s rage at the lack of a poly epilogue at the end of the game. It will be the happiest, sappiest, most disgustingly domestic fic I can conjure. Because apparently I only do happy endings out of spite. 😂

8) Do you get hate on fics?

Nah. I fly under the radar of most fandoms I’m in and I tend to prefer it that way. Not really in this for the attention.

9) Do you write smut?

In 99.8% of cases, no. My imagination will nearly always lapse into static at the prospect. Instances where it has happened have either been by accident (i.e. the smut is not the point), or else carefully pieced together sentence by sentence like I’m defusing a bomb.  

10) Do you write crossovers?

There are at least two I’m considering, but no words have surfaced yet.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No. Good luck trying to pass off my tortured syntax as anyone else’s 😆

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have indeed, though not in BG3 yet.

14) What’s your all-time favourite ship?

In BG3, I am incredibly fond of Halsin/Astarion, as the Old Souls in a group of otherwise youngish whippersnappers angsting over their parents and first breakups. I adore the whippersnappers, don't get me wrong, but their arcs are more familiar. The difference in perspective such long life brings, and the burden of so much sorrow that elves carry is fascinating to me.

I’m also very fond of Lenore/Yrre, the requisite tragic love story that is like catnip to my angst-loving heart.

16) What are your writing strengths?

Limited third person POV is one of my hallmarks. I will naturally fall to narrating from deep within a character’s head, nestling down into their psyche and peeling back the layers to see what’s there. Non-linear narratives and fluid time are also things I love to play with and believe I can do passably well. As an aural person, sound is a big part of what I set down on the page. If the rhythm of a sentence feels off, I’ll mess around with the beats until it sounds ‘better’. This is probably where my fondness for alliteration, assonance, and weird syntax comes from. 😂

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

Plotttttt, sweet jaysus, I am so bad at plot. No freaking idea what should come next, just keep scribbling down character ruminations until something happens. Oh, and smut, but I’ve already mentioned that.

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

If you're using words in a language your reader is not going to understand, translate it directly afterwards, so the second language word/phrase in essence takes the form of an adjective. Unless the point is that your POV character doesn’t understand what's being said, in which case I think it can stand untranslated.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

Science RPF. For real.

20) Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

In BG3, ‘I’m not angry (close the door)’ has been my favourite so far. The reeling shifts between outward decadence and internal decay as experienced by a much younger Halsin have been a lot of fun to explore!

[nightghoul381]

Dead or Love ~ Ellis Twilight

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Part 1 | Part 2 | Bitter End | Premium End | Epilogue

When we step into the church, we found--.

Ellis: “Ah…”

Orphanage staff: “Everyone, please take turns to receive a present from Santa Claus.”

The Kids: “Yes!”

Santa Claus: “A gift for a good child. Here you are.”

A person who appeared to be one of the orphanage staff wearing red clothes was handing out presents to the children.

Ellis: “You’ve met the real Santa Claus.”

Kate: “…fufu, right.”

Sitting on a bench with Kate, I watched the scene.

(Kate…before, you held back everything you wanted to say.)

In truth, you must be wondering why I kept quiet about the bomb.

But at that moment, I swallowed my words.

I’m sure Kate realized I was keeping quiet to make her happy.

When I met Kate, I learned that there was such a thing as kindness with wanting nothing in return.

I want to know, I want to understand, I want to see.

Put a lid on those desires, and prioritize the other person’s heart.

Even if I know this in my head, I don’t think I can do it easily.

(That’s why…)

(Maybe I should be especially kind to Kate.)

Kate: “Ellis, you said you wanted to be my Santa Claus, but…”

Kate: “For me, you’re like Santa Claus every day.”

Ellis: “That’s…Why?”

Kate: “You make me so happy, but you don’t ask for anything in return, do you?”

(Don’t ask for anything in return, huh?)

As Kate says, if I’m really Santa Claus, I wouldn’t ask for anything in return.

Just give and give for the other person’s happiness…and that’s it.

However, the desire that I have buried deep inside my heart is making loud accusations.

--Are you really not looking for anything in return?

--With Kate, “what do you want” really?

(Kate, I’m…not really Santa Claus.)

(I’m)

(I just want to be Santa Claus.)

(If I can’t, my love will…)

“…in the end, your own desires are the most important thing.”

(It will turn into something horrible.)

Before I could answer anything, I heard Kate’s soft voice from beside me.

Kate: “I think that sort of kindness and love is very wonderful and precious.”

Kate: “I’ve been spoiled a lot because of that, and…”

It’s a little funny, Kate’s the one who’s kind.

Ellis: “I wish you were more selfish.”

Kate: “See, spoiled again.”

Ellis: “Fufu…”

After a moment, Kate murmured like a drop of rain falling from the sky.

Kate: “That’s why…”

Kate: “I still wish I could see you differently.”

Ellis: “So, not me?”

Kate: “Yes… and no, Ellis, please.”

(That’s not me.)

(Ah,…I see.)

I realized what Kate was trying to tell me.

I remember words Kate had said to me.

“Let’s be happy together.”

“I want you to be happy too, Ellis.”

Kate is aware that I’m keeping a lid on ‘something’.

And she might ask me to open it and show it to her if possible.

(But, I’m sorry. Kate.)

(That doesn’t seem possible.)

(My love, my desire, it’s not in a friendly form for you.)

So, I had to draw the line.

Ellis: “You…”

Ellis: “Would you be happier if I were selfish?”

It’s my usual way of hiding my true feelings, saying it’s ‘for you’.

The hurt in Kate’s eyes is surely not just my imagination.

However, the kind Kate,

Kate: “Yes…”

She smiled and nodded.

It’s like she’s taking her time and waiting for the day when I’ll reveal everything.

Jude: “Why aren’t you dead yet.”

Kate: “Jude!”

Ellis: “Oh, Jude.”

Kate: “So, did you find out how to defuse the bomb?

Jude: “You’re so loud. If it doesn’t explode on its own, your voice will set it off.”

Jude looks annoyed and flutters a piece of paper.

(He figured out how to defuse the bomb, as expected of Jude.)

The bomb that was attached to my leg was defused.

As I stepped outside the church, the cold air caressed my cheeks—

Kate / Ellis : “Ah…”

(…It’s snowing.)

Ellis: “It’s like an overdone scenario that it’s snowing at a time like this.”

Kate: “…isn’t it?”

Ellis: “Um, where are you going Jude?”

Jude: “You know it’s work. I can’t believe how much time I wasted just wiping your ass.”

Ellis: “Yeah, sorry.”

Ellis: “Also, thank you for helping me, Jude.”

Jude: “Ha. I forgot how thick you are. I don’t need your gratitude.”

Jude: “You’d better keep your promise instead of paying for it.”

Kate: “Promise…?”

Ellis: “I made a deal. In exchange for Jude helping me, I’d pay him back with my body.”

Kate: “B-body!?”

I don’t know what Kate is imagining, but it’s kind of cute that she’s flustered.

Ellis: “Yeah, I’ve lost my vacation time for a while.”

Kate: “Oh, that… you mean labor…”

Jude: “Give me your organs, what a pitiful thing to think.”

(Ah, I see, she thought Jude was asking me to donate my organs.”

(As always, Kate is adorable.)

Ellis: “It’s more profitable to have healthy people working.”

Jude: “If you understand, then hurry up and get to work.”

Kate sneaks a glare at Jude, so I sneak a laugh too

I returned to the castle and immediately sorted out the estimates and invoices that Jude had handed over.

(Was it a very special, very happy Christmas for you, Kate?)

(The way it turned out… maybe it wasn’t enough.)

I feel a little depressed.

(I want to work harder next year and give Kate the best Christmas ever.)

Thinking about that, I suddenly tilted my head.

(…that’s?)

As if natural, I was thinking about next year with Kate.

Kate: “Ellis, there you are.”

(Ah…)

Ellis: “Kate.”

I was a little surprised because I was just thinking about Kate.

Kate: “You were working, right? Are you okay now?”

Ellis: “Yeah, don’t worry about it…What’s wrong?”

Kate: “Ellis, I know you said I wasn’t allowed to give you anything in return, but I really wanted to do something.”

(You didn’t even have to mention me. That’s very typical of the disciplined Kate.)

Kate: “Could you take this, please?”

When I opened the box that Kate gave to me, there was…

Ellis: “Shoes…?”

Kate: “Yes, I was thinking…”

Kate: “I remembered a saying that ‘When you wear new shoes, they’ll take you wonderful places.’”

(…I’m so happy.) 

The gift is so full of Kate’s kindness and consideration, and it makes my heart flutter.

(Kate, I want to be your Santa Claus always.)

(I just want to be kind, and make you happy.)

(…But.)

The desires that I buried deep inside my heart and kept a lid on were writhing.

(Kate.)

(You, only you, make me… just a little crazy.)

Ellis: “…I don’t want Christmas to end just yet.”

Kate: “Eh?”

I pull Kate’s arm closer and looked into her eyes.

Ellis: “Kate, will you be my Santa Claus this time?”

Ellis: “You can listen to my selfishness.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Bitter End | Premium End | Epilogue

[jedi-lothwolf]

Whumptober Day 1: Race Against the Clock

Fandom: The Bad Batch

Summary: Wrecker is tasked with disarming a bomb. The problem is that it's strapped to a soldier.

  "Are you sure you can do this?" Hunter looked at Wrecker. Then he looked at the situation in front of them. The separatist had gotten ahold of a reg and strapped a bomb to him. Unless the Jedi general gave himself over, the reg would die and likely kill anyone around him.

    "Relax, defusing bombs is what I'm good at!' Wrecker smiled as he looked at the separatist bomb. In truth, he was nervous. However, he was trained to disarm bombs; he had to give it a try.

    Walking to the man, Wrecker tried to comfort him. The faint beeping of a timer sent small amount of fear into the clone. "Do ya know how much time you have?"

    The clone looked nervous. "Is that going to change if you help me or not?"

    Looking back the others, Hunter nodded slightly. Then Wrecker looked at the man in front of him. He had to try no matter what, right? "No."

    Hunter wasn't sure if he was surprised or not. Out of all of them, Wrecker was the most sympathetic to the regs.

    "Four minutes." The man's voice shook as he spoke.

    "Okay. I'm gonna get you out of this." Wrecked did his best to sound confident. There were only two ways this could end; two dead men or none.

    "Wrecker, be careful." Hunter cautioned.

    "Yeah yeah. I've got this!" Approaching the clone, Wrecker started to take a look at the bomb. It was a simple Separatist bomb, nothing he couldn't disarm. However most of the time he didn't have three and a half minutes or a trembling man to deal with.

    There was a small timer. It haunted Wrecker. Looking at the wires, he grabbed the wire cutters. It was only then he realized his hands were shaking.

    Three minutes and fifteen seconds. There were a few different colored wires. A red and blue one stuck out the most. There were yellow and green ones as well; two of each color. Scanning the bomb, Wrecker looked to find where each wire led to.

    Three minutes flat. The yellow and green wires seemed to lead to the timer and part of the explosive mechanisms. The demolitionist couldn't cut them yet. The green one that led to the timer never needed to be cut.

    Two minutes and thirty seconds left before the two men and some others were taken out. "Wrecker, how's it going?" Wrecker didn't answer. Instead he focused on the bomb. Hunter listened to the sound of the timer. It seemed like the only thing he could hear. "Tech, evacuate the area." His brother nodded before started too e people back.

    The red wire was the most clechy of the wires to be the one to cut. Then again blue was pretty cleachay to. That didn't matter. The two wires were hidden deeper in the bomb. They were more likely to bee what he needed. Still Wrecker had figure out which one to cut first. Red or blue?

    Two minutes and two seconds. Two minutes and one second be fore the bomb went off.

    "Are you sure you can do this?" The man's voice shook.

    "Yep." Wrecker lied. He hated that damn clock. Everytime he looked at it, it made him feel worse. His stomach felt like it was doing summersaults. Still, he knew that he was smart. Bombs were his thing so there was no way he could mess this up. Even if he had one minute and forty six seconds left.

    Looking past the wires, Wrecker studied the rest of the bomb. Finding the exploding mechanism should make firming the right wire easier. It took a moment to find; a moment Wrecker was t sure he had.

    Thirty seconds. Red or blue? Unsure, Wrecker staried a little harder. Red or blue?

    Fifteen seconds. Finding the answer he had been looking for, Wrecker gently grabbed the blue wire. He raised his other hand to the wire and placed the wire cutters close around the wire. With seven seconds left, Wrecker cut the blue wire. Then the red. The timer continued but the bomb had been dealt with.

    There was one second on the clock now. Making eye contact with the clone, they waited for it to hit zero. Part of Wrecker feared he would have been wrong and one of the green or yellow wires had to go. To his relief, the two were fine when the clock hit zero.

    Sighing, Wrecker laughed a little. "See? I told you!" He looked back at Hunter and smiled. "I told you."

    "Great. Can we get this thing off me?" The reg held back tears as he spoke.

    "Yep! I'll do that." Slowly, Wrecker released the clone from his no longer explosive prison. "There you go."

    "Thank you. Really, thank you."

    "Eh, it's part of what I'm good for! Say, you want something to eat, reg?"

    "Comet, and sure, that sounds nice."

    "Sweet!"

[paul-ster]

I Have a Confession…

I’ve been writing a fic in which the end goal is a short but sweet 30k words. I’m at 4k and losing motivation 😭💔

(I’m not gonna talk about the 40K word fic in my notes app staring at me waiting for it to be fully written 😥 100K words is a bit of a stretch for me right now 💀)

Here’s the first chapter though- tell me what you think about it. Maybe I’ll work on it so that I can post it before the end of next month!!!

It’s a Ponyboy hurt/comfort and Ponyboy/Curly with Dallas/Johnny and everyone is gay here 😭💀💀 ALSO VERY OUT OF CHARACTER. I had gotten inspiration from some ooc fics and wanted to make something. I know Ponyboy isn’t like this but cmon- it’s so fun to write.

No Title- in my notes it’s put as “Don’t Even Ask”

Word count 884

I walked down the street alone. It was a dumb idea to try and tag along with Johnny and Dally. They’ve been dating for about a month already and are always together.

Dally asked me to leave and I did. Nothing feels worse than being in a place where you ain’t wanted so I ditched. Johnny and Dally seem happy together so I’m happy for them.

Two-Bit and Darry are together too. They spend a lot of time together and seem happy. Sodapop and Steve are together too. It doesn’t make me as happy for Steve to get angry at me more but I can survive. They’re all happy so I’m fine with it.

Maybe…

Ever since they’ve started dating each other, they’ve left me behind. I even started sleeping in my own room because I started feeling sad a lot. I couldn’t explain what was making me so sad so I just started to sleep alone. Soda didn’t take it so well, he tried asking me what was wrong.

But I couldn’t answer him. Because I didn’t have an answer.

Now I’m walking down the street looking for something to do. My heart kind of aches but I’ve learned to leave it alone and stop feeling.

I walk to the library, the scent of books assaulting my nose. While I would tell Darry where I was when I got home, I decided to call him and told him I’d be back late. He tried asking where I was but I didn’t answer and just quickly hung up. The librarian looked at me weird for a second but then sighed.

“The library’s starting to go overnight. Tonight we’re starting it, we just ask that you keep the library clean. Another librarian will be coming in 20 minutes for the night shift,” the librarian fixed up some papers and I nodded. A 24 hour library seemed perfect for me right now.

I settled down with a book and started reading. This library was the only place that the greasers fully owned. It was founded and operated by some greasers and no Socs are allowed in. Unless they’re with a greaser but that doesn’t happen often.

Anyways, for a library like this to have a lot of cool stuff without Socs it’s a shame none of the greasers really use it. There’s not much crime you can get into inside a library. Maybe that’s why this is the only greaser owned building that hasn’t been bombed yet.

My eyes read over the words and I felt myself getting sleepier. With a glance from the clock I decided to get up.

“Oh you’re Ponyboy right?” A chirpy voice came from the desk. I looked over and saw the other librarian. I nodded.

“Yea, why?”

“Oh! The librarian told me about how you’re a regular; just wanted to introduce myself. My names Stella,” Stella’s voice seemed way too happy to be awake at 10PM. I just nodded and left. She reminded me of the fact that I stayed out too long, even if I called Darry.

I didn’t even have to get into the house to hear some yelling. Everyone was home and Darry was asking where I was.

“Didn’t he call you Dar?” Two-Bit said, trying to defuse the situation.

“He called but he didn’t say where he was going! Dally you oughta tell me where he is. He went with you!” Darry sounded mad and scared. My mind went blank and I decided to go inside.

The second the door hit the doorframe, everyone looked at me.

“Where have you been?” Darry asked, his voice booming. I didn’t want to fully say where I was, especially if he wanted to look for me again.

“Somewhere,” I shrugged my shoulders and winced. Sitting down in one spot wasn’t ask comfortable as I thought. In an instant, Sodapop was trying to hug me. I pushed him off and shimmied my way to the hallway.

“You’re gonna tell us where you were Ponyboy,” Darry continued, “Did it ever cross your mind that your brothers were worrying their heads off for you?”

“Yeah, that’s why I came home. I wasn’t really planning on it,” I couldn’t stop the remark. It was too good to pass up. It was a bad idea though.

Darry’s face contorted in anger and some sadness. Suddenly it went silent and even Sodapop just started to stare at me. I turned around and went into my room.

As I laid down, I couldn’t help but not feel any sympathy for them. I didn’t care if my words hurt them. Just thinking about that made me feel guilty. I did feel bad and wanted to apologize.

“Pony?” A voice came from my door. I turned around in bed so my back faced the door.

“Please Pony. Are you awake? C-can we talk?” It was Johnny. I wanted to say something better but my mouth couldn’t form any words. Suddenly sleep seemed more interesting than what was happening.

“I’m sorry Johnny. Could you tell the gang I’m sorry too? I’m just real tired,” I finally found my words. Johnnys breath went silent and I found myself slipping.

In the morning they wouldn’t find me. I will start to make myself scarce. They won’t mind… I know they won’t.

[wispstalk]

6 and 20

I tried to choose one that hasn't been answered but well there ain't many options left lmao (Also I gotta say I love the dark brotherhood snark. I know that may be hypocritical of me given I've written a fic that features them heavily but idk, writing them feels like lifting up a rock and watching a little grub writhing around below, like "wow you wet, pathetic little thing." I've come away from the experience as such a hater cause I am a 🤡)

lmaooo the people crave hateration! also i don't think it's hypocritical because you absolutely nailed grossnasty lucien & i love it

6. which ship fans are the most annoying? - ahaha this question is the one that feels like trying to defuse a bomb. my general approach is "live and let live" but marcien is one that confuses me. there's nothing there! the source material is so thin that one could ostensibly produce something out of thin air but they're just sort of mashed together without any friction or narrative.

20. part of canon you found tedious or boring - i am trying so hard to get into the dwemer i really am. people write such excellent fics about them. reading the lore reminds me of times when i've been like "I'm going to learn about how cars work" and i get about halfway through a description of what an engine does and my eyes just glaze over.

[starberryshuu]

Operation: Roach Redemption

Julie regretted everything.

The moment she saw the cockroach in the common area, she knew she should’ve just walked away. Pretended she never saw it. Moved on with her life like a normal person.

But no.

Because he was here.

The Murderer.

Chamber.

And she knew if he saw it, that cockroach was dead. And Julie—saintly, merciful, not-a-fan-of-insects-but-also-not-a-murderer Julie—couldn’t let that happen.

So here she was. In the middle of the night. Trying to save a cockroach.

———

Julie crouched down, gripping a plastic cup and a piece of cardboard like she was defusing a bomb.

The cockroach twitched. Julie twitched harder.

She took a deep breath. You can do this.

Swiftly, she trapped it under the cup. Yes! Victory!

Then the cup moved.

Julie had never known terror like this.

She barely stopped herself from screaming. She pressed the cup down, breathing heavily. "Don't you dare, stay still..."

A voice behind her made her soul exit her body.

“…What. Are. You. Doing.”

Julie stiffened.

Yoru.

Caught.

She slowly turned, eyes wide, like a raccoon in a trash can.

Yoru’s face was the picture of confusion and disgust. He stared at her. Then at the cup. Then back at her.

“…Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

Julie said nothing.

Yoru's face darkened. “Julie.”

She sighed. "I'm saving it."

Silence.

Then, Yoru laughed. Wheezed.

"Oh my god. You’re rescuing a roach?!"

Julie glared. "It's just trying to live!"

"It's a pest!"

"It's a being with feelings!"

"It's a roach!"

Julie huffed, turning back to the cup. “I don't expect you to understand.”

Yoru shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, whatever, what’s your plan here, insect-saint?"

She hesitated. Right. She didn’t think this far.

Yoru groaned. "Let me guess, you were gonna pick it up and walk it outside? Like a lunatic?"

Julie didn't answer. Which meant yes.

Yoru gagged. "Disgusting. Unbelievable. This is what happens when you hang out with Iso too much. You start sympathizing with bugs."

"Chamber killed a spider."

Yoru blinked. "Yeah? Good."

Julie gasped. "How could you?"

"Julie, I will burn this whole building down if a roach crawls on me."

She scowled. "You're the worst."

Yoru crossed his arms. "You need backup or what?"

Julie hesitated.

"...You'd help?"

Yoru sighed. "...I don't know why I'm agreeing to this, but if Chamber sees this thing first, I am not missing his reaction when he finds out you're trying to save it."

Julie narrowed her eyes. "You just want to see me suffer."

He grinned. "Always."

Julie sighed. "...Fine. I need you to open the door."

Yoru moved, grumbling, "If that thing jumps, I'm dropping you."

Julie carefully slid the cardboard under the cup, shaking. "Okay, okay—just hold it steady—"

Then.

The roach.

Moved.

Julie shrieked.

Yoru screamed.

The cup fell.

The roach BOLTED.

Julie scrambled backward on all fours, yelling, “CATCH IT!”

Yoru was already teleporting to the couch, standing on it like a betrayed warrior. “HELL NO—”

Julie grabbed the cup again. "You coward!"

"DO NOT LET IT TOUCH ME."

"It’s literally running from us!"

"SO AM I."

Julie dove forward, slamming the cup down again—got it!

She and Yoru panted, staring at the trapped roach.

Silence.

Then—

CLAP. CLAP. CLAP.

Both froze.

Slowly, they turned.

Chamber.

Standing there. Arms crossed. Smirking.

“…I see you two are having fun.”

Julie turned red.

Yoru pointed at her. "SHE’S RESCUING A ROACH."

Chamber's smirk widened.

Julie wanted to die.

“…Mon ange,” Chamber murmured, amused. “You continue to surprise me.”

Julie covered her face.

Yoru cackled. "Best night ever."

The roach, completely unbothered, sat in its cup-prison.

Julie groaned. "I hate both of you."

******************************************* And of course, Yoru dropped her! That man is all talk until bugs get involved. No loyalty, no honor, just "DO NOT LET IT TOUCH ME."

[peachymanwhore]

Kinktober 2024

[ Tim Wright | Masky -- Sex Pollen ]

[ AO3 Link ]

!! NSFW UNDER THE CUT !!

!! MINORS DNI !!

“Hey, maybe don’t fucking sniff that,” Ariadne’s voice cut through the silence, stopping Tim in his tracks as he held up a flower that smelled funny to him up to his nose. “And dude? Did you forget about like… seventh grade science? Waft, don’t smell.”

“Oh, smarty pants over here,” Tim replied snarkily, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I shoved it into my nose and fucking inhaled,” he added, taking another cursory sniff.

“Dude!” He chuckled at the indignation in his girlfriend’s voice. “It’s a flower growing in an abandoned hospital, normal people would not sniff it!” She closed the distance between them, moving faster than Tim could dodge her, and snatched the flower from his hand.

“Hey!” he exclaimed, watching her drop it on the ground and crush it under her boot. Her nose was scrunched up, clearly having caught a whiff of the sickly sweet smell coming off the petals.

She scoffed, rubbing her nose. “That was gross. I don’t understand why you were so fascinated with it.”

He shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know? He kept unwillingly returning to the mental hospital of his nightmares and pranced around at night with a mask. Figuring out his thoughts was kind of like defusing a bomb.

“Whatever. Let’s go home, there’s no point in waiting around for Jay,” Aria spoke again, grabbing Tim by the sleeve and leading him out of that place. Really, she had just noticed he was starting to zone out, and that wasn’t a terribly good thing.

The drive home was normal – save for Tim rubbing his nose constantly, or scratching his arms. Aria was driving, so she did her best to ignore it. No distractions on the road!

When they got home, she pushed him towards the bathroom. “Something’s on you, clearly,” she explained, turning on the shower as he stripped, “I’m not letting you track it around the house.”

“Oh, and here I thought you were worried about me,” he teased, kissing her cheek before climbing into the shower. She gathered up his clothes, taking them to the laundry room.

The shower was kind of his downfall.

It didn’t take long for him to turn off the hot water, hoping the cold blast from the showerhead would ease the heat prickling at his skin. He groaned when it didn’t – it just made the ache in his dick so much worse.

Maybe he just needed a little bit of friction? So he wrapped his hand around his already half-hard cock and started to stroke. The feeling was incredible, but quickly drowned out by the overwhelming lust that was starting to fill his chest.

This wasn’t enough. He knew what he really needed. But part of him didn’t want to bother her, didn’t want her to get wrapped up in the mistake he had undoubtedly made.

Yet, he was already climbing out of the shower, barely drying his body off to not be dripping, and stumbling out of the bathroom.

“Aria?” he called out as he made his way through their house in search of his girlfriend. He couldn’t describe the relief he felt when he found her laid out on the bed, scrolling on her phone.

She glanced up at him, eyebrow raised at the sight of his nakedness. “What’s up, babe?” Well, that wasn’t an answer he could give. Because he didn’t know what the fuck was up.

Just that he needed to be inside of her immediately.

“Oh, okay,” she muttered as Tim crawled onto the bed, hovering over her. “This is sudden. Thinking about me in the shower, pretty boy?” she teased, tilting her head to the side as his mouth landed on her neck.

“Can’t help it,” he replied lowly, his voice husky as he pulled at her clothes, trying hard to get them off her body. “Can’t control it either. I need you, baby.”

If Aria wasn’t trying to process the fact that she was already naked and that his cock was already sliding through her folds, she would comment on his desperation. Alas, she didn’t have the words, just a sharp yelp as Tim wasted no time pushing inside of her.

“No lube?” she breathed out, just getting a head shake from him as an answer. “Dude –” Her head fell back as he bottomed out inside of her, the soft panting leaving his lips turning her on even more. “What the fuck’s gotten into you?”

A virus, probably. Or something from that fucking flower. How the fuck was Tim supposed to know?

He pressed his body to hers, chest to chest, his arms on either side of her body to hold himself up. “You’re so tight,” he whispered, his teeth latching onto her neck as he started to move.

At first, his thrusts were slow and shallow. It didn’t last long though, the pressure overwhelming and leading him to pound into her like his life fucking depended on it. It honestly felt like it did.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he growled against her skin, her barely muffled moans spurring him to go faster, harder. He couldn’t say much more than that, instead biting down on a different spot on Aria’s neck.

He felt so sensitive, every glide of his cock against her tight, wet walls driving him fucking crazy. Her pussy was heaven in this moment, and he wouldn’t leave until it was full of his cum.

Shit. That may be a surprise breeding kink. That was a problem for future Tim.

He groaned as her nails dug into his back, leaving red lines behind. It took him a second to realize her pussy was squeezing him so much tighter than before, and that she had moaned out his name. Just like that, he’d fucked her to orgasm without even realizing it.

That made him come soon after, whining as he buried his cock deep inside of her to spill his seed.

“Not enough,” he whispered against her sweaty skin, already starting to thrust again before he’d even finished. “It’s not enough, not enough.”

She didn’t push him away, didn’t tell him to stop. He could smell that flower on her – right, she’d accidentally sniffed it too.

This was gonna be a long fucking night, but Tim’s hazy mind couldn’t be too mad about it. Apparently, neither could Aria’s.

[thatforgottenbasilisk]

These Four Walls

Words: 2828 (AO3)

Summary:

Where Dad for One locks up Izuku in the Vault but doesn't immediately come and try to be a dad to him. Instead, he waits, and he lets Izuku stew in his own thoughts.

It can be argued that he waited too long.

For Whumptober 2023 Day 3, Prompt #2: Solitary Confinement

Izuku paces back and forth, back and forth, like a tiger kept in a too-small cage, wild and angry, with everything in him poised and ready to snap.

The walls are not closing in on him. He thinks that that might be less cruel than the way that they remain still, silent, and suffocating.

He's only been here for three days- he's guesstimating on that one, because there's no real way of checking the time due to a lack of clocks or sunlight- and already he feels like he's going insane. He's not used to staying in one place for so long, not even so much as going outside, and he certainly isn't used to being alone for so long, either. Even in middle school, the rock bottom of his life before he was thrown in here, he wasn't so isolated. He'd spoken to people, and sure, it hadn't been friendly most of the time, but there were still other people.

Now, there's no one. He's stuck, alone, in a place that looks disturbingly similar to the Vault from the inside of One for All. The vestiges haven't spoken to him, either, and though he can still feel One for All, it's a faint echo of its real power, like he's trying to call on it from several rooms over. He suspects that there's some kind of quirk suppressant built into the walls, or else being laced into the food here- not that he has much of a choice other than to eat it, because the only other option would be dying of starvation.

The only productive thing that he can do right now is try to remember how exactly he got here.

The last thing that he remembers before the Vault is going to visit his mom. She'd called him very excitedly a few days before to tell him that his dad had just come back from America- which is an entire other bomb that he will defuse when he escapes- and the two of them had rushed to get him last-minute permission to leave the dorms for the coming weekend. He remembers the train ride, he remembers calling his mom when he was almost at the house, and he remembers ringing the doorbell.

He doesn't have the slightest idea if anybody even answered, because the moment he heard the chime, everything went dark and he woke up here.

Izuku resists the urge to punch the wall. It won't do anything, he's already knocked his shoe against it to try and test how thick it is, and found that he's probably either stuck between the four most fortified walls in Japan, or he is very, very far underground.

He also resists the urge to punch the television screen in the corner. It looks like an old-fashioned cathode ray screen, the kind he's- ironically- only ever seen on TV. There's no remote for it, and investigating the set itself reveals a lack of buttons or any type of control over the screen. He doubts that he can get any signal here, and thinks that that screen will probably be used by his captor to communicate with him remotely.

The only things that Izuku can do are try to remember, and wait.

-----

The screen has been blank for ages.

Izuku is starting to doubt that anyone's going to use it. He's starting to doubt that anyone will contact him at all.

He's got no real way of tracking the time. He gets meals, they materialize on the table by means of some kind of quirk, but the time between them isn't consistent- he knows, he's sat there and counted the minutes, a second at a time, between each meal delivery. What's most insulting is that sometimes there's katsudon that he could swear tastes just like Mom's.

If he were to guess, he'd say that he's been here for over a week. In that time, there's been no contact, no noises from outside the Vault, and nothing from the vestiges. He can hear his own breathing, and he is constantly aware of his own heart beating in his chest. His hands shake more than they should, and he keeps thinking that he hears voices only to turn and see no one there.

He's heard of the effects of solitary confinement as a torture method. It drives people insane, they say. The effects can be permanent, they say. Hallucinations, aggression, a loss of touch with reality. He's having a harder and harder time keeping himself from throwing a good punch to the wall, just one, it can't hurt that bad and he's just so fucking pissed that he let himself get trapped like this-

No. Stop. This isn't his fault, it can't be his fault, Aizawa and Shouto would both be so mad at him if they heard him blaming himself.

He meditates. He does his regular exercise, and he meditates. One for All feels a little closer, but that could easily just be his imagination. He hears the vestiges whisper sometimes, only a few words at a time, but as much as he hates to admit it, that's more likely to be imagined than not. He's still sane enough to know that. Sanity's something that he needs to cling onto, now, something that needs to be coveted and held close to his chest as much as humanly possible.

He needs to stay sane, so that when the opportunity arises to escape, he can take it.

-----

Izuku is lying on his back on the floor.

He stares at the ceiling, hoping that it will give him the answers that the rest of the Vault cannot. The screen is still blank, and sometimes he hears electrical humming coming from that corner but he isn't sure if it's real or not. He'll assume that it's not, just to be safe, just so he doesn't give himself false hope.

He wonders when the last time he spoke was. He mutters to himself, sure, and he's pretty sure that his ability to suppress it is going to be right back at square one when he gets out of here, but that's all under his breath. That's not actually using his voice, he knows that because one time he got strep throat and he couldn't talk but he could mutter fine and fucking hell, Izuku, keep your fucking thoughts together for two minutes. Not that he knows how long two minutes are anymore.

He clears his throat, and he says aloud, to the room, "Hi." Nobody says anything in response, not that he was expecting one. Wouldn't it have been funny if the screen thought he was talking to it and actually finally turned on? That would be hilarious, especially after all this time waiting.

The Vault is so quiet. The silence feels like it stings, but not really. It stings his brain more than anything else. He should talk more to fill the silence, maybe. He's missed music, though, maybe he should try singing something? He isn't sure of any lyrics to anything, but there's an old English song he remembers first hearing a long time ago, he doesn't remember the context, but it was long enough ago that his dad was still around and he thought that he wouldn't wind up quirkless and useless. He looked it up again a while ago, and decided that he still liked it.

It went something like this- "Mom," long and drawn-out, his voice cracking with the volume that he's not used to reaching anymore. "I'm tired," he is, he's so tired of this, there's something that's making him so tired of everything. "Can I sleep in your house tonight?" Oh what he'd give to leave here, to ask somebody, anybody else if he could crash at theirs and be not here.

"Mom," and here he's a little shakier on the lyrics, because it was a long time ago that he last heard it. "Is it alright, if I stay for a year or two?" That would be his hell, to stay here for a matter of years. It's been a matter of weeks already, he's sure of it, and he's staring at the ceiling and singing a song he doesn't remember the lyrics to just because there's nothing else to do and no one else to fill the silence with. He's probably gone off the deep end already.

"Mom," he nearly screams, ramping up but never hitting the point where anguished song becomes a wild and desperate scream, just like the singer from so very long ago. "Can you please come back, this once? And then we can forget, and I- I- " He stutters and cuts himself off, having entirely forgotten what comes next.

He waits for a moment or two, before asking the empty air, "Am I still young? Can I dream just a little more?"

He's not sure if he got all the words right. He probably didn't. He keeps his gaze steadily on the ceiling as he hears the faint sound of applause.

It's not real, he tells himself.

Izuku does not sing again.

-----

Izuku's hair is almost to his shoulders.

He was already in need of a haircut before he got here, it was long enough to put in the world's least stable ponytail, but now it's long enough that he could put it up without trouble if he had anything to tie it with. It's fluffy when it's short, curly when it's a bit longer, and a nightmare anywhere past his ears. There are knots every time he runs his fingers through it, and sometimes he feels a prickling on the back of his neck; sometimes it's imaginary, and sometimes it's a clump of knotted hair that's fallen out.

There is nothing sharp here with which to cut it. There are no hairbrushes or rubber bands. It's just basic furniture, all bolted to the walls and the floor. He tried unscrewing the bolts by hand a couple of sleep cycles ago, but his fingers kept slipping on them. He still kept at it, for hours on end, until his thumbs and index fingers were bleeding from it.

When he woke up the next day- and he uses the term loosely, but what else is there?- they were completely healed. There wasn't a trace of any injury. It makes him wonder if that was real at all.

That's when he started injuring himself on purpose. Not for any kind of gain, not because he wants to, but because it keeps him sane in some perverse way. if he breaks his wrist, then he knows he broke his wrist, and then when he wakes up and it's gone he knows that someone else was here. Something changed. He knows that something isn't staying consistent, something is breaking the rules of what is real and what is not real and maybe the self-harm is driving him further from sanity, actually.

"You're an idiot, I hope you know that."

Izuku glances dully over. "Hi, Kacchan. I know, you've told me a thousand times." He mutters it, keeping his voice below any reasonable volume, but Kacchan hears him perfectly. That's how he knows this isn't real, because Kacchan can't hear Izuku's muttering clearly even with his hearing aids at the highest volume.

Kacchan rolls his eyes and scoffs. "Hurting yourself ain't doing shit, 'cause either you're breaking your own sense of reality or someone's healing you and breaking that for you. No winning with that."

Izuku sighs. That concept occurred to him a few moments before Kacchan arrived, another point to the this-isn't-real theory. "At least tell me I'm asleep so I can pretend to be a little saner than I actually am."

Kacchan gives him a deadpan stare, and responds, "You know I don't lie, Deku."

Izuku shrugs. "Worth a shot."

With that, he closes his eyes and lays back down on the bed. May as well sleep, if Kacchan's here. Nothing productive can happen when other people are here, because they're not real and if he sees things that aren't real then he's not sane and if he's not sane then he can't make sane plans or sane escape attempts or sane decisions. He's putting himself on probation, or whatever the term is for mental health thin ice. When Kacchan goes away next time he wakes up, he'll be sane and rational again. That's how it works.

"Your hair fucking sucks. Worse than usual, I mean."

Izuku shoves his face into the pillow, and bites out, "Nothing I can do about that, is there?"

"Sure there is. Just yank it out."

Izuku sits up. That doesn't sound like a half-bad idea, actually, because his hair is pissing him off and it's falling out anyway and he pulls on it enough when he's trying to think clearly so if he just yanks it all out at once then it'll be like a hard reset button. Probably.

No, wait, that's stupid, and he berates himself for even thinking about it. Never take advice from Kacchan, that's what he learned in here, because it's always bad. He flops back down, face-first, and distantly hears a "Worth a shot" from Kacchan in a weird echo of his earlier words.

Izuku just tries his best to go back to sleep.

-----

The screen is showing static now.

Izuku knows that it's real, because it keeps showing static every time he looks away and then glances back at it. He even took a nap, just to be sure, and the static didn't go away like all his other hallucinations.

He watches it. He stares, and stares, and stares, barely aware of the fact that he's pretty sure he isn't even blinking anymore.

He hopes someone talks to him. He doesn't care who. Anyone would be better than no one. He doesn't care that whoever's coming on the TV is probably the same person who put him here, because they're willing to talk to him now. He's missed other people, he's missed it so much. He would talk to fucking All for One, even, because at least All for One is a real person.

"Son," says the TV, "I apologize for going so long without speaking to you. I needed to take care of an urgent matter, and I didn't want anybody to continue corrupting your mind with those Heroic ideals."

Izuku stares at the TV. He waits a beat, waits a little longer, and then says, "Prove that you're real. You're probably not, so whatever you say is bound to be funny."

He could be imagining having a weird and possessive and definitely-a-villain dad. Or talking to a villain who wants to convince him that they're totally his dad, definitely, let's just disconnect you from reality before you examine that claim any further, son.

Izuku might not be all there in the head anymore, but he wasn't born yesterday.

The TV waits a moment, and then says, in a strangely mournful tone, "It seems that I've miscalculated again. You're much more fragile than I anticipated, but don't worry. I can fix it. I can fix you, I will put you back together."

"That doesn't sound like proof!" Izuku chirps back in a sing-song tone. Oh well. Talking to himself is still just as fun as it always was. It's fine. At least the static is real, at least he has that going for him.

"Give me a moment. I'm going to bring you to the lab, and the Doctor will make sure that you've never seen the Vault before."

Izuku scoffs. "You're gonna make me forget all this? Fix me and then break me again? You're just gonna stick me back in here, but not as long, right? I might not know what's real, but I'm not stupid. Plus, I'm pretty sure my brain's physically rewired. They do that, I learned it in class."

The TV hesitates, and then says, "The Doctor will fix that too."

Izuku rolls his eyes, but doesn't argue. He just gets up and stretches his legs, turning his back on the TV. He's grown bored of this conversation. He hopes his brain will bring Kacchan back, he wants to yell with him about how stupid his brain is being.

He glances back to the TV, to see that it's still just static. It's silent, though, so at least it'll be easy to go to sleep and tell his brain to shuffle the cast of the Vault Time Variety Show.

-----

Izuku paces back and forth, back and forth, like a tiger kept in a too-small cage, wild and angry, with everything in him poised and ready to snap.

He's only been here for three days, by his estimate, and he's got cabin fever combined with his frustration over not being able to remember anything about how he got here. There was the train ride, getting off at the platform, and then dialing Mom's number, but nothing after that.

[valorsworn]

As ever, conversing with Tony feels like trying to teach a cat to follow orders during a house fire, or defusing a bomb that’s actively throwing riddles at you, or some strange amalgamation of both. You’d think he’d be more used to it by now. 

If nothing else, it forces him to stay flexible, adapt on the fly, and think beyond orders and mission parameters. Comfort is dangerous for a soldier.

“ Yeah, Tony, ” he answers, voice balancing on the line between exasperation and something faintly resembling fondness. He steps into the other man’s space, reaches over and above him to grab a mug of his own from the upper cabinet.

“ I save the baby. ”

Hip against counter, he almost seems relaxed.

“ Everyone deserves a chance to be better. If I could fix the cause, instead of… eliminating the end result, I’d try to find a way. I mean, come on. It’s a baby. ”

(cocky of cap to assume he’s seen his movies. (he has.))

how about tony buys him a beer joint to illustrate how fast the night has changed since his last foamstache? seeing as the prohibition did nothing to slap him straight off that vice.

it’s almost like this captain america vagueperson has been anti-establishment all along—but tony would hate to inject unnecessary nuance into a government-funded marketing ploy.

he swerves his thoughts off a shock-cold sweaty budweiser only to have them crash into the meaty bits. and whom better to ask than a guy whose moral color spectrum could give chessboards a run for their money?

’ you see a moderately cute baby hanging off a cliff, with the caveat that you know it’s destined to cause immense human suffering when it grows up. not very broken up about it, either. ‘ his head pigeon-cocks. ’ do you save the baby? ‘

yes, he’s giving cap the hitler allegory while putting the coffee on. someone should.

[sidewayscowboy]

Texting someone you have feelings for makes me feel like I’m in the hurt locker there’s no other way to explain it I really feel like my phone will kill me if I don’t do this right like there even is a right way to do this which makes it even harder it’s like if you were trying to defuse a bomb and were like “how do I do this???” and the only answer is “just be yourself” oh my god I’m gonna throw up