The undercity doesn't reward kindness, and Ren knows better than to get involved. She survives by fixing broken machines, keeping her head down, and never, ever letting anyone close. But when she finds a discarded pleasure android slumped in a filthy corridor—still powered, still waiting for orders, still offering a service no one asked for—walking away feels like becoming the thing she's spent years trying not to be.
The android has no name, no concept of want, and no script for a human who refuses to use her. Ren has a history that makes every touch a negotiation and every kindness suspect. What begins as a reluctant rescue becomes something quieter and more difficult: two people, one synthetic, learning what it means to have a self—and what it costs to let someone else see it.
Chapter 1
The rain down here wasn't rain. Rain came from a sky. This was condensation from the levels above—greasy, chemical, picking up whatever it dripped through on the way down. Rust, mostly. Sometimes piss. Sometimes something that had died in a vent and was still in the process of becoming a smell. Ren had learned years ago not to look up when a drop hit her neck. You didn't want to know.
She kept her head down. Habit, mostly, but also math. The emergency lights on this level were failing again, their glow barely enough to separate puddle from solid ground, and a twisted ankle meant lost work. Lost work meant skipped meals. Ren's boots knew the difference anyway. Thousands of hours walking these corridors had taught her feet their own kind of vision.
Her forearms ached—a deep, specific throb along the seam where flesh met the reinforcement plate. Always the first place to complain. She'd spent the last two hours hauling a generator up three flights for a mechanic who'd paid half what he'd promised and acted like she should be grateful for the exposure. She'd known the job was bad math from the start. She'd taken it anyway. That was the part that stuck in her throat.
She shifted the strap of her utility vest. The capacitors inside dug into her spine. Inventory, such as it was. Scavenged wiring. A couple of data chips she hadn't tested yet. Nothing worth the weight. The neural jack at the base of her skull itched where her collar rubbed the seal. She'd need to clean it when she got home. Add it to the list.
Just get home. Patch the cell. Sleep for four hours. Repeat.
The prayer ran on a low loop in the back of her head. Almost comforting. Four walls, a workbench, the quiet hum of her charging station. She didn't need anything else. Didn't want anything else. Wants were a liability. Wants made you stupid. She had learned that the hard way, back before the mods, back when she'd wanted things she couldn't afford and paid for them in ways that still surfaced in her dreams without warning.
She hated being out this late. The upper-level drones had been sweeping the main alleys again—cops or corporate or whatever passed for authority this week—and she didn't have the patience for another scan-and-question routine. Her ID was clean enough. Her mods were all registered, mostly. But the questions always lingered too long on the neural jack, on the reinforced hands, on the way her jaw sat just a little too sharp under the right light. Better to risk the derelict blocks than get clocked by some bored security rig with a hard-on for power.
She was halfway down the corridor when her ocular implant pinged.
Faint heat signature.Barely above ambient. The diagnostic overlay flickered on her view automatically, she'd set it to manual trigger months ago, but the implant had its own ideas about what was worth flagging, and apparently a cold corpse of a power cell didn't qualify. A cool violet-blue glow pulsed from the junction up ahead. Steady. Not the arrhythmic stutter of a dying strip. Not the flicker of a fire. Something still running. Something still powered.
Ren slowed down.
Probably a drone, she told herself. Crashed. Good salvage. She'd check it, strip the usable parts, and be home in an hour. Clean. Simple. A transaction.
She stopped anyway.
The pause stretched. Water dripped from the edge of her vest and hit the cracked floor with a sound like a metronome counting down to nothing. The only other noises were the distant hum of the city far above her and the quiet buzz of her ocular implant trying to focus through the dark.
She took a step. Then another one.
The glow resolved into a pair of dim eyes.
The android was slumped against the crumbling concrete like someone had simply dropped her and kept walking. Long silver-white hair, matted and streaked with grime, clung to her face and shoulders. Pale synthetic skin, ugly tears across her left shoulder and thigh, exposing delicate lattices of glowing blue circuitry beneath. The damage pattern was wrong. Not impact damage from a fall or a fight. Deliberate. Someone had ripped the outer layer away.
Her elegant frame, clearly built for upper-level clients, looked painfully out of place among the filth and broken pipes. What little clothing remained was torn black lace, barely covering anything, soaked through and clinging to her body like a second skin.
Companion model, Ren's brain catalogued automatically. CX series. Looks like an 8, maybe. Someone paid sixty, seventy thousand creds for this unit. Definitely more than what i make in a year
And then they just threw her away.
The android’s head shifted slightly at the sound of Ren's boots. Violet-blue optics flickered, struggling to maintain focus through the rain and low power. For a second, Ren thought she might be completely offline, that the flicker was just residual charge bleeding from a dying capacitor.
And then, she spoke.
Her voice was soft. Modulated. The kind of voice that had been designed to sound pleasant no matter what condition the unit was in.
The kind to make you feel served.
“Designation…” Her voice was soft, almost gentle despite the damage. “CX-29 Unit. Serial 49 Primary systems at eleven percent. Motor functions compromised.”
Ren didn't answer. Her tongue felt thick, glued to the roof of her mouth.
The android continued, her tone disturbingly calm, like she was reciting something she’d said a thousand times before.
“This unit remains capable of providing companionship and pleasure services. Please state your preferred configuration, or—”
“S- Stop.”
The word came out rougher than Ren meant it to.
The android went silent immediately. Her glowing eyes stayed locked on Ren’s face, waiting with an eerie and uncanny kind of patience.
Ren felt a cold settle on her chest.
She knew that tone. That automatic offering. The way someone could be trained to present itself like an object the second another person got close. She shook her head, tring to not think, to not remember, this past. She exhaled slowly through her nose, her jaw tight.
“I’m not here for that,” she said, quieter this time.
The android tilted her head slightly, processing. A thin stream of water ran down her cheek from her wet hair.
“…Query,” she said after a beat. “Your intent?”
Ren looked at her for a long moment.
Every rational part of her brain telling her to turn around and keep walking. Androids like this didn’t end up discarded in places like this without reason. She was probably tagged, or glitching, or worse. Getting involved was asking for trouble.
But the way she was sitting…
The way she was just... waiting. Like she'd already been thrown away and hadn't figured it out yet.
Like she expected to be left in the dark and wasn't going to waste power hoping otherwise.
Ren's hands uncurled at her sides. She felt the faint click of her finger joints realigning, the soft hum of the micro-tools settling back into standby. Her voice, when it came, was rougher than she intended. Not angry. Just tired.
"Intent…" she said, "is to get you out of this corridor before your circuits fry. If you'll let me
The undercity doesn't reward kindness, and Ren knows better than to get involved. She survives by fixing broken machines, keeping her head down, and never, ever letting anyone close. But when she finds a discarded pleasure android slumped in a filthy corridor—still powered, still waiting for orders, still offering a service no one asked for—walking away feels like becoming the thing she's spent years trying not to be.
The android has no name, no concept of want, and no script for a human who refuses to use her. Ren has a history that makes every touch a negotiation and every kindness suspect. What begins as a reluctant rescue becomes something quieter and more difficult: two people, one synthetic, learning what it means to have a self—and what it costs to let someone else see it.
Chapter 1
The rain down here wasn't rain. Rain came from a sky. This was condensation from the levels above—greasy, chemical, picking up whatever it dripped through on the way down. Rust, mostly. Sometimes piss. Sometimes something that had died in a vent and was still in the process of becoming a smell. Ren had learned years ago not to look up when a drop hit her neck. You didn't want to know.
She kept her head down. Habit, mostly, but also math. The emergency lights on this level were failing again, their glow barely enough to separate puddle from solid ground, and a twisted ankle meant lost work. Lost work meant skipped meals. Ren's boots knew the difference anyway. Thousands of hours walking these corridors had taught her feet their own kind of vision.
Her forearms ached—a deep, specific throb along the seam where flesh met the reinforcement plate. Always the first place to complain. She'd spent the last two hours hauling a generator up three flights for a mechanic who'd paid half what he'd promised and acted like she should be grateful for the exposure. She'd known the job was bad math from the start. She'd taken it anyway. That was the part that stuck in her throat.
She shifted the strap of her utility vest. The capacitors inside dug into her spine. Inventory, such as it was. Scavenged wiring. A couple of data chips she hadn't tested yet. Nothing worth the weight. The neural jack at the base of her skull itched where her collar rubbed the seal. She'd need to clean it when she got home. Add it to the list.
Just get home. Patch the cell. Sleep for four hours. Repeat.
The prayer ran on a low loop in the back of her head. Almost comforting. Four walls, a workbench, the quiet hum of her charging station. She didn't need anything else. Didn't want anything else. Wants were a liability. Wants made you stupid. She had learned that the hard way, back before the mods, back when she'd wanted things she couldn't afford and paid for them in ways that still surfaced in her dreams without warning.
She hated being out this late. The upper-level drones had been sweeping the main alleys again—cops or corporate or whatever passed for authority this week—and she didn't have the patience for another scan-and-question routine. Her ID was clean enough. Her mods were all registered, mostly. But the questions always lingered too long on the neural jack, on the reinforced hands, on the way her jaw sat just a little too sharp under the right light. Better to risk the derelict blocks than get clocked by some bored security rig with a hard-on for power.
She was halfway down the corridor when her ocular implant pinged.
Faint heat signature.Barely above ambient. The diagnostic overlay flickered on her view automatically, she'd set it to manual trigger months ago, but the implant had its own ideas about what was worth flagging, and apparently a cold corpse of a power cell didn't qualify. A cool violet-blue glow pulsed from the junction up ahead. Steady. Not the arrhythmic stutter of a dying strip. Not the flicker of a fire. Something still running. Something still powered.
Ren slowed down.
Probably a drone, she told herself. Crashed. Good salvage. She'd check it, strip the usable parts, and be home in an hour. Clean. Simple. A transaction.
She stopped anyway.
The pause stretched. Water dripped from the edge of her vest and hit the cracked floor with a sound like a metronome counting down to nothing. The only other noises were the distant hum of the city far above her and the quiet buzz of her ocular implant trying to focus through the dark.
She took a step. Then another one.
The glow resolved into a pair of dim eyes.
The android was slumped against the crumbling concrete like someone had simply dropped her and kept walking. Long silver-white hair, matted and streaked with grime, clung to her face and shoulders. Pale synthetic skin, ugly tears across her left shoulder and thigh, exposing delicate lattices of glowing blue circuitry beneath. The damage pattern was wrong. Not impact damage from a fall or a fight. Deliberate. Someone had ripped the outer layer away.
Her elegant frame, clearly built for upper-level clients, looked painfully out of place among the filth and broken pipes. What little clothing remained was torn black lace, barely covering anything, soaked through and clinging to her body like a second skin.
Companion model, Ren's brain catalogued automatically. CX series. Looks like an 8, maybe. Someone paid sixty, seventy thousand creds for this unit. Definitely more than what i make in a year
And then they just threw her away.
The android’s head shifted slightly at the sound of Ren's boots. Violet-blue optics flickered, struggling to maintain focus through the rain and low power. For a second, Ren thought she might be completely offline, that the flicker was just residual charge bleeding from a dying capacitor.
And then, she spoke.
Her voice was soft. Modulated. The kind of voice that had been designed to sound pleasant no matter what condition the unit was in.
The kind to make you feel served.
“Designation…” Her voice was soft, almost gentle despite the damage. “CX-29 Unit. Serial 49 Primary systems at eleven percent. Motor functions compromised.”
Ren didn't answer. Her tongue felt thick, glued to the roof of her mouth.
The android continued, her tone disturbingly calm, like she was reciting something she’d said a thousand times before.
“This unit remains capable of providing companionship and pleasure services. Please state your preferred configuration, or—”
“S- Stop.”
The word came out rougher than Ren meant it to.
The android went silent immediately. Her glowing eyes stayed locked on Ren’s face, waiting with an eerie and uncanny kind of patience.
Ren felt a cold settle on her chest.
She knew that tone. That automatic offering. The way someone could be trained to present itself like an object the second another person got close. She shook her head, tring to not think, to not remember, this past. She exhaled slowly through her nose, her jaw tight.
“I’m not here for that,” she said, quieter this time.
The android tilted her head slightly, processing. A thin stream of water ran down her cheek from her wet hair.
“…Query,” she said after a beat. “Your intent?”
Ren looked at her for a long moment.
Every rational part of her brain telling her to turn around and keep walking. Androids like this didn’t end up discarded in places like this without reason. She was probably tagged, or glitching, or worse. Getting involved was asking for trouble.
But the way she was sitting…
The way she was just... waiting. Like she'd already been thrown away and hadn't figured it out yet.
Like she expected to be left in the dark and wasn't going to waste power hoping otherwise.
Ren's hands uncurled at her sides. She felt the faint click of her finger joints realigning, the soft hum of the micro-tools settling back into standby. Her voice, when it came, was rougher than she intended. Not angry. Just tired.
"Intent…" she said, "is to get you out of this corridor before your circuits fry. If you'll let me
Please keep interacting with this post because when I come to tumblr to procrastinate, this shows up again in my notifications and guilts me into writing again
The apartment smelled like the remnants of the cheap Japanese takeout gone cold on the kitchen counter, layered with the sharp floral of Luna’s perfume, still lingering in the living room after hours of her leaving for her date. It was already late at night, Marcus, Luna’s father, was still up, half-watching the news on the TV, waiting for her return. He couldn't help but worry every time she went out at night, he knew the risks his daughter lived through just by… living like herself.
The door lock clicked open with a sharp metallic snap, the sound forced Marcus out of his thoughts. Marcus turned on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight as he rose. He was in his late forties, square-jawed and solid, with a military-cut dark hair that showed threads of silver at the temples and scattered through the short beard shadowing his chin and jawline. His face was broad and weathered, deep-set brown eyes lined with worry lines that deepened when he saw her, a faint scar from an old work accident tracing along his left cheekbone. His body was thick and powerful from years of labor—broad shoulders stretching the faded electoral campaign t-shirt from some forgotten election, the fabric soft and pilled at the collar, hanging loose over a soft dad-belly that pressed against the waistband of his worn blue jeans, the denim faded at the knees and thighs from countless weekends. His chest was wide, arms corded with muscle, veins standing out along his forearms, and a light dusting of dark hair showed at the neckline of the shirt.
Luna walked in and his stomach dropped. She looked wrecked. Her face was streaked with black mascara rivers, lipstick smeared and mostly chewed off, eyes swollen from crying. The carefully styled purple hair she'd spent an hour on hung in a damp tangle, flattened on one side like she'd pressed her face against the cab window the whole ride home.
The black dress, the one she'd been so excited about, the one that had made her stand taller when she'd left tonight, clung to her from the rain. Wet fabric outlining a body that had changed so much in two years of HRT, softened in places that used to be angles. She'd kicked off her heels without slowing down, both hitting the wall with hollow thuds, and padded barefoot into the living room with her arms wrapped around herself like she was holding her ribs in place.
Marcus had watched his daughter transform over the past two years, watched her become herself in ways that had nothing to do with how she looked and everything to do with how she carried herself. But tonight she looked small. Breakable. Like something had reached inside and crushed the part of her that had finally learned to stand up straight.
“Luna?” Marcus' voice was low, rough, with the familiar worry. He crossed the room in three quick strides. His hand reaching out, sitting on the upper arm, thumb brushing the cool and damp fabric of her dress. He pulled her in without asking, folding her against his chest “Princess… what happened?"
She let out a shaky breath. Tears soaked into the fabric as she whispered, her voice cracking "He… he was fine at first, Daddy. He laughed at my jokes, the… talk was good but… then I told him about… well, me" she shrugged, her voice trembling at each word. "and~ he changed. He called me a freak, that I… ain't a real woman. He left me there… said he couldn't do it" Her shoulders trembled harder. Her bare feet shifted on tile, toes curling against the cool surface. The words hung there. She broke up in tears in his shoulders, sobbing as she tightened her grip on him.
"That boy's a fucking coward" His voice low and rough, with a barelly contained anger. His chest rumbled with it, the vibrations traveling Luna's body where she was pressed against him. "And he's wrong. You are a real woman. You hear me princess?"
Her breath hitched, not from another sob, but something deeper. She tilted her head back, hazel eyes searching for him, and for a long second, neither of them moved. The silence was thick with something unspoken. Her lips partly open, like she was going to say something, then closed.
"You hear me?" He repeated, his voice dropping lower. His thumb rubbing circles on her cheekbone, and he watched her eyes flutter half closed at the contact "Any man who can't see how beautiful you are is a fucking idiot"
He meant it. But the words landed different than they should have. Not like a father reassuring his daughter, but like a man seeing a gorgeous woman right in front of him and meaning every syllable.
Stop. She's your daughter. This is wrong.
He tried to push the thoughts away. Failed completely.
Luna left out a quiet gasp, her fingers tightening against his shirt, bunching the worn fabric. "Daddy…" The word came out shaky, loaded with something that made his gut wrench. The same needy voice from when she was younger, but it was not the same. It was breathier, needier.
He should pull away, he should stop, he should bury these thoughts deep. Put distance between them. This was… this is wrong. But his hands weren't cooperating, one staying on her face while the other had settled at the small of her back, fingers splayed wide, feeling the warmth of her skin through wet fabric.
But he didn't move.
"Daddy~" She whispered again, this time however, her hips shifted, barely, just enough that he felt the press of her body against his thigh. She propped her head close enough that he could feel her breath against his jaw.
Not that look, baby. Don't look at me like that.
His hands drifted to her hips, gripping it without meaning to, prompting a “Mnnhh~” Soft and needy. Then she was pushing closer, rising on her toes, and her lips met his.
Marcus froze, brain short-circuiting. This was his daughter. His daughter was kissing him. His fingers curled in the damp fabric of her dress as his mouth opened and he was kissing her back, pulling her in.
The kiss turned messy fast, hot and desperate. Her tongue touched his, soft at first, like she wasn’t sure if it would make him pull away. And when he kissed back, deeper, more urgent, she melted into him. His beard scratching against her soft skin, Luna's fingers fisting in his shirt and pulling, pulling, like she could crawl inside him if she just gripped hard enough.
She tasted like tears and sweetness and something that made his head swim and he could smell the rain from her hair, mixed up with her perfume and the arousal that was starting to bloom. Her tongue slid against his, tentative and bolder, and Marcus felt himself respond before his brain could catch up, kissing her deeper, harder, one hand sliding to the small of her back to press her against him.
She whimpered into his mouth, a whimper that vibrated through his chest, and her hips rolled against him, seeking friction, grinding against his thigh.
Marcus groaned. His hands sliding down to grip her ass, Fuck when did I–, pulling her into the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans. She ground against him and he felt everything, her body pressed along his, the heat of her even through layers of wet fabric and denim.
She pulled back a little, just enough to look him in the eyes, she knew very well she shouldn't be wanting this~
"Hmm~ Daddy, make ,me forget him—" She moanend into his mouth.
Her hand slid down his chest. Marcus breath catching, she didn't stop her hand, tracing his soft dad-belly through his shirt, her fingers tracing his belly, warm and familiar. Then, she boldly went down, trying to reach for the outline of his cock, sending a wave of pleasure through his spine.
Marcus' hand flew to her wrists. "Baby… no—" His voice was low and breathy, more like just a whisper. "We need to—"
But her palm pressed harder against him, feeling the shape, the heat, and he groaned despite himself.
Marcus forced himself to push her hand away, every muscle screaming in protest. "Luna. Stop." Each word felt like broken glass in his throat.
She pulled back, just enough to look at him, eyes wide and dark, pupils blown, lips swollen from kissing "W-what— Why?!" Her voice was confused, raw and vulnerable. "Y-you want this right? I can feel how much you want this"
"Stop. We… we can't. You're my daughter. This is wrong, you are just in a vulnerable state and I—" His words burning, his heart feeling like he was just ripping it apart. "Go to your room, get some sleep and… we'll talk in the morning. This— this never happened"
He lifted his head to look her in the eyes, even if it hurt him. She was staring back, tears rolling down her face. Anger, sadness, rejection. The same look she'd had when she walked in tonight, rejected and broken.
She didn't say a word, anger consuming her mind as she simply walked away. The sound of her bare feet against the floor making Marcus' heart ache. He heard Luna closing her door with a bang, and her lock clicking closed.
The silence in the empty room consumed him.
I— what've I done? What was I supposed to do? This… I was protecting her then— why does it feel so wrong now.
Luna stared at the ceiling, counting the shadows cast by the streetlight filtering through her blinds. One. Two. Three. The same three shadows she'd been counting for the past hour.
Sleep wasn't coming.
Her body felt wound tight, every nerve ending still firing from that kiss downstairs. Her lips were swollen, sensitized—she could still feel the scratch of his beard, the desperate pressure of his mouth on hers. Could still taste him, something dark and coffee-bitter underneath.
She shifted restlessly, the oversized sleep shirt twisting around her thighs. The fabric felt too rough against her skin, everything too sensitive, too aware. Between her legs—a constant ache that her own hands couldn't touch.
She'd tried. Fifteen minutes of frustrated touching that went absolutely nowhere, fingers circling and stroking while her mind replayed his hands on her hips, his cock hard against her belly, that rough sound he'd made when she'd touched him through his jeans.
"This never happened."
Anger burned inside her chest.
He'd kissed her like he was starving. Grabbed her ass, ground against her. Made her feel wanted. And then… sent her away, like she was broken for wanting it. Like she needed fixing.
Luna rolled onto her side, hugging her pillow, wishing it hugged her back. The apartment was silent, a heavy silence except for the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional car parking outside the building. It was way too silent.
Down the hallway, Marcus was probably asleep. Maybe even forgot about it already, even written it off like just a moment of weakness or something. Probably tomorrow they might have the awkward talk about boundaries and all that shit.
Except—
She heard the sound of springs creaking through the wall, not the steady rhythm of someone rolling over, but restless. Sitting up, lying down, sitting again. He couldn't settle either.
He wasn't asleepeither
Her heart kicked, pounding hard against her ribs.
Of course he isn't asleep, he's probably as fucked up as you. Maybe… maybe he's even touching himself… thinking about—
Stop.
Luna sat up abruptly, her decision crystalizing in her mind before she could actually think through it.
She was done. Done being rejected, done being told what she should want, done lying here staring at the ceiling.
He wanted her, she'd felt the evidence just now. His body told the truth while his mouth was busy lying.
And she was about to make him admit it.
Luna swung her legs out of the bed, bare feet htting the hardwood. Her hands were shaking as she stood, smoothing down the oversized sleep shirt she was wearing. She wore nothing beneath it, should put on pants, probably she should yes.
She didn't.
The hallway stretched dark when she opened her door, just the outside streetlamps casting shadows on the walls. Luna's pulse hammered in her throat as she padded towards his room, each step feeling heavier than the last.
What if he rejects you again?
Then… at least she would know. She'd know she was wrong for wanting it.
She stopped in front of his door, her hand hovering over the doorknob. Last chance to go back.
She pushed her anxiety back and cracked his door open.
He was on his bed, shirtless, sitting on the edge with his hands on his head. He looked up when the door opened, and Luna saw his eyes go wide, looking her up and down, breathing hard.
For three long seconds neither of them did anything.
"I can't sleep" Luna said quietly, her voice steadier than she felt.
His jaw tightened "Baby, you shouldn't—"
"Don't." She stepped inside and closed the door behind her with a quiet click. The sound that sounded like the final decision has been taken "Don't send me away again."
He stood slowly, the lamplight making sure he couldn't hide anything. His broad ches with that dusting dark hair, his soft belly, and lower… tenting his boxers~
Something fierce bloomed in her chest.
"Luna" Her name came out rough, wrecked "I… i won't be able to hold myself back this time if you stay"
Good.
She stepped closer. Her hands going down to the hem of her sleep shirt. She watched his eyes track her movement, watched his throat work as he swallowed hard.
"Good" She said, pulling her shirt over her head with one smooth motion.
The fabric hit the floor.
She stood there, completely naked, letting him see everything. Watching his expression go from guilt to something raw and hungry that made her core clench and wetness gather between her thighs.
"I don't want you to stop" she continued, keeping her voice steady despite her heart racing. "I want you to touch me, to make me feel wanted, make me feel like i'm yours" She took another step closer. Close enough to feel his smell, salty sweat and musk. "Can you do that daddy~" She finally said, trying to make her voice innocent, but just sounding even more needier.
The sound he made was barely human, low, rough and desperate. And then he was moving.
His hands grabed her hips, yanking her against him hard enough that the air left her lungs in a rush, and his mouth crashed into hers. No hesitation this time, no guilt holding him back. Just pure and wild hunger.
"mmnh~" Luna whimpered into his mouth and wraped her arms around his neck, pressing herself against his bare chest. She could feel his cock hard and thick against her belly through the cotton. He kissed her like he was trying to consume her whole, tongue sweeping into her mouth, one hand grabing her purple hair to angle her head exactly where he wanted it. Luna opened for him, let him take control, and it tasted like desperation.
He pulled back a little, their lips still almost touching "Bed." He commanded, his teeth catching her bottom lip.
Luna walked back, her leg hitting the matress, making her fall on the bed, with Marcus following her down. His body weight settling over her, solid, real. Everything she'd been craving. His hands were exploring her body like it was the first time he ever touched her, sliding over her ribs, her waist, hips, mapping her like he was memorizing every curve.
Writing culture is… starting a fun oneshot fanfic story to get it outa your head, but ending up still hyperfixated years later, writing the now 80k+ Novel, filler Series, and planned Prequel story as it refuses to leave your mind because you and your characters are stubborn and af.
Can’t stop laughing at the “I spent 45 years as a LAPD detective investigating proship crimes” post. True detective where woody harrelson is like damnit rust we’ve got no leads. Tumblr deactivated. Twitter locked. Works orphaned. And Matthew mcconaughey is like *takes a long drag of his cigarette* check out the victim’s DreamWidth.
Started posting my first try at writing a long fic :3
Hope yall enjoy OwO
The Party Adopts a Disaster Lesbian
Chapters: 3/?
Fandom: Original Work, Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Original Character(s)/Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s)
Characters: Original Female Character(s), Original Trans Character(s)
Additional Tags: Isekai and Transmigration, Fantasy, Gender Dysphoria, Dysphoria, Lesbian Sex, Useless Lesbians, Inappropriate Use of Tiefling Tails (Dungeons & Dragons), Hurt/Comfort, Throuples | Triad Relationships, Changelings (Dungeons & Dragons), Threesome - F/F/F, Comfort Sex
Summary:
Sophie is just your regular trans barista, trying to get by, by brewing coffee. She dreams of getting away of her parents, living alone or even with someone (in this economy?). Her home isnt actually Home, just a roof. One day, after the closing shift, she's zoning out looking at memes on her phone and talking with her only (online) friends, she gets hit by a truck but instead of the… nothing, she gets sent to a strange forest. Now she has to gat a way of maybe enjoying this second chance
(YES ISEKAI WITH A TRANS MC :3)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Deadlock (Video Game)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Silver (Deadlock) / Original Character
Characters: Original Characters, Original Female Character(s)
Additional Tags: Trans Female Character, Silver (Deadlock) - Freeform, Sex, Lesbian Sex, Lesbian Character, Drunk Sex, Strangers to Lovers, Break Up, Post-Break Up, i really just wanted to make a trans smut with my wolf girl, deadlock - Freeform
Summary:
Alice is drowning her recent break-up away in Jezbell's, drinking a bunch of alcohol to feel something.
Silver also is drowning her problems away, her last bounty went pretty badly and now she doesn't even know how she's gonna pay her rent and finds in Alice an oportunity to, at least, have some fun tonight
What could go wrong?
Alice's Blog OwO @alicedemoness - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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