#Hey i wrote something?

[codenamesazanka]

More Post-Canon Spinaraki!Kid Masanori.

＊

Late one afternoon, Deku arrives back at UA and is told by coworkers that there's a kid waiting for him in front of the school gates. A middle schooler, who refuses to say what he's here for, refuses to talk to anyone except Deku. Not an emergency, he just wants to talk to Deku. Kid gave his name as Shirakata Masanori; doesn't seem dangerous, just strange. Deku's call on whether he wants to meet the kid or send him home.

So of course Deku goes to meet the kid.

Shirakata Masanori is a boy with a quirk that gives him lizard features, it seems - he's short and slender, with white scales, shaggy black hair, pink eyes; in a middle school uniform, holding a file in his hands. Quiet and a bit stiff. Deku feels a weird sense of familiarity, and wonders if he's encountered the kid on a previous case before.

Shirakata-kun…is it? You wanted to talk to me? Do you need help?

In a way.

Kid says it's personal, but nothing more than that. Deku, starting to get a bit concerned, secures a private room for them to talk. He wonders a variety of situations: kid has a secret only a Hero can help with, kid did something wrong, kid is in some kind of danger…

After they sit down, Masanori breathes in, looks Deku in the eye, and says: You killed my father, so I'm here because I want you to make up for that.

It's not super unusual for people to ask compensation from Heroes - usually from family members of people that Heroes were too late to save in an accident or were collateral damage in villain attacks. Insurance often takes care of it, and HPSC has a division dedicated to dealing with such accusations, but of course Heroes work their hardest to make sure they save everyone so it's not a thing in the first place.

In the six years since Deku became a Hero again, he hasn't had any serious accusations - minor injuries that insurance took care of, and the rare nutcase claims - so this is a huge shock. Immediately sends Deku into a panic where he stammers out apologies and condolences as he mentally tries to think of every incident he's been in and what he's done wrong. He's been super careful because his Hero suit is after all just a suit, and he always tries to team up with other Heroes so they can cover for him in case that ever happens, and in every case he's saved everyone who was directly in danger, so what can this be...

The kid's unmoved - just watching Deku panic and ramble on, almost like he's a curiosity. And strangely, he seems very calm. No anger, no sadness, no yearning for meaning - none of the emotions a grieving son might have, especially if he's blaming Deku for killing his dad. There's an aloof, gloomy demeanor to him that's also really familiar and then the realization hits Deku like a smash.

Are you... talking about Shigaraki Tomura?

There's that familiar pang of guilt and pain that always occurs when Shigaraki Tomura is brought up. But all that is overshadowed by pure shock and disbelief.

Because it's ridiculous. Shigaraki was 21 when he died - not married (…which means the kid is illegitimate?); not impossible to have a kid at that age, but improbable (and yet the kid looks about age 15, and it has been 15 years since the war…). There were no accounts of Shigaraki ever being close to a woman. Investigation never revealed anything that might have ever pointed to him having a kid. Moreover, Deku, having been in Shigaraki's heart, never felt an inkling that Shigaraki ever knew he had a kid.

The closest people Shigaraki ever had were the League and among them, there was only... Spinner... who was also a lizard heteromorph...

But Spinner was a guy. And Spinner was never—pregnant? Or capable of having a kid, as far as Deku knew, and he's been in prison ever since the end of the war, til the end of his life a few years ago, and he never said anything either.

(Or maybe there was someone else… maybe Shigaraki just… got along with people with lizard heteromorphic quirks? A woman in the Meta Liberation Army that could produce such a child... but.)

This has all the making of a very, very outlandish and distasteful hoax, and yet, looking at the kid in front of him, Deku somehow knows that it's the truth.

Maybe it's that on closer look, kid looks exactly like the crying child Deku once saw in Shigaraki's heart - shaggy black hair, reddish eyes. Maybe it's just that his demeanor reminds Deku of Shigaraki. Maybe it's that Masanori looks 100% serious, looks like he's being totally honest, telling the truth.

Or what he thinks is the truth.

You're... You're saying Shigaraki is your father?

One of them.

…One of them?

Spinner’s the other one.

Deku has no reply to that. His thought was actually right, but he has no reply to that.

Masanori says that last year, he received a letter from Spinner, the League Villain, delivered by a lawyer. It said that Spinner and Shigaraki were his parents. That Spinner had produced an egg; then lost the egg during the Gunga raid, 15 years ago. He asked his lawyer to find what happened to the egg, if possible, and if a kid ever hatched from it...

That kid was Masanori. He hatched from an egg three months after the war. The egg was captured during the raid on the PLF Villa. No one ever claimed him, they never found his parents, and he grew up in an orphanage.

Masanori says maybe Spinner was insane, but the letter is real. Came from a lawyer, who also gave Masanori manuscripts of the League memoir Spinner wrote. But otherwise, Masanori has no proof other than the letter, which he hands over to Deku.

If what Spinner said was the truth, though. Then what's also the truth is that Deku killed Masanori's father.

Masanori hands over the photo of Deku smashing Shigaraki, which Deku flinches at. And so, yeah, Masanori wants him to make up for that. Compensation.

Deku skims the letter, but is not reading any of it. Can't. This is a lot to take in. Don't even know where to start.

This is… I can't just… What do you even mean… I don't…

Masanori breathes out slowly. I'm Shigaraki Tomura's son. Probably. If that 'probably' is 'definitely', then you, Midoriya Izuku, killed my father. So I want you to pay for that. I'm allowed to want that.

Those last parts shake Deku out of his daze.

…Pay?

It feels bad, but Deku has to be on guard. Though Masanori doesn't seem hostile or out for blood - it doesn't seem like this is a blood revenge scheme, which would be more likely if the kid is delusional.

Then, is this an extortion attempt? A scam extortion attempt? Pay, as in money? Compensation is given after a death. If Deku really is responsible for a death. If the death really is Shigaraki's death. If the kid is truly Shigaraki's kid.

Three things, Masanori says. I want three things:

1. Guaranteed admission to UA's General Studies class

2. A stipend for three years of high school, and

3. An all-purpose recommendation letter from Deku when Masanori graduates.

That throws Deku off again. It sounds… so reasonable. Sort of. It's, of course, also ridiculous. It doesn't sound like compensation at all. Reasonable as in kid's not asking for millions; but ridiculous in that kid's asking for things that's for Midoriya-sensei the UA teacher to do.

You want to go here? To UA?

I want you to get me into UA.

Deku shakes his head. I can't just... Did you take the entrance exam? That was last week.

Think like a teacher. That's still not addressing the massive bombshell of Shigaraki having a kid (with Spinner???), but as a teacher, Deku can get a grip on this conversation thread. As a teacher, he knows how to proceed.

You should've gotten the results by now. Did you not get in? Are you—you want to be a Hero? You want to go to UA to be a Hero?

No. I told you, General Studies. Masanori pauses. I never took the entrance exam. I missed it.

Then…

But you're a teacher here. And you're Deku. You can get me in.

No, I can't do that. Deku straightens up, becoming the teacher he is, one that has to deal with teenagers and their bizarre logic sometimes. That would be cheating. You have to earn your place here. Why didn't you take the exam?

I wasn't planning on going to high school. And then it was too late. I missed registration. I also had no time to study at all.

You weren't planning to go to high school?

Masanori shrugs slightly. I'm 15. The orphanage asked me to leave once I graduate middle school this spring. I was going to work.

And… Deku shouldn't say this, but he does. He has to ask. …you don't want to?

...Not if I could go to school.

By doing this. Deku gestures wildly the room, at whatever this is.

By doing this, Masanori agrees.

Deku can't understand the logic at all. He tries a different track. Nothing else to do but move on at the moment. Why UA? I mean, there's other schools, surely, if you just want a general program.

It's a good school, Masanori says. Basically everyone famous went here. You've got dorms.

So do other places.

Recapping. Masanori wasn't planning on going to high school. He didn't study, didn't take any exams. Then for whatever reason, he decided he did want to go to high school. It was too late to study or take exams, so now he's here, asking to be let into UA of all schools, by—trying to use Shigaraki's death as a ticket. Because Shigaraki is his father. Probably. Because of a letter Masanori received from Spinner.

Deku rubs at his face. Continue ignoring that last part. Deal with that later. Deal with Masanori as a student, for now.

Shirakata-kun. This is not the way to do any of this. You can't just come and demand I get you into UA. It's a school that you have to test into. You have to work for it. You needed to take the entrance exam and pass, fair and square.

Fair and square, Masanori echoes. Yes, fairness and square...ness. You killed my father. I never got to know him. I grew up an orphan. I don't know, I think something in return is deserved. That would be fair, right? And then we'll be squared.

What does Deku even do with this logic?

Your parents have nothing to do with going to UA. Plenty of Heroes' children have to test into this school too.

Well. I'm not a Hero's kid. I'm a Villain's kid.

…What I mean is, Deku says. Then pauses. Then forces himself to continue. Who your parents are don't matter here, in this case. It's not about them. You are responsible for yourself, your studying, taking your exams. I'm... it must have been hard, growing up in an orphanage. But it doesn't mean you get special treatment. You have to earn your spot, like every other student.

Masanori watches Deku, face betraying no emotion.

Deku continues, carefully. If what you're saying is true... I did kill Shigaraki. I won't deny that. If it's compensation you want… there's official ways to go about that.

Masanori's gaze continues to be steady. They'll compensate for a Villain's death? For Shigaraki Tomura's death?

Deku has no answer to that.

In the silence, the two of them stare at each other. Masanori has Tenko's wavy black hair and Spinner's pink eyes. He has Spinner's scales and Shigaraki's slim frame. If he smiles… Deku wonders whose smile Masanori would inherit, if that's something that can be inherited at all.

Masanori's hands have no claws - rather, his fingers sharpen to a point, it looks like. They clench at his knees, stiff and rigid.

He's just a child.

Deku says, I can't get you into UA. But I can help you... I will help you. I can give you some of that stipend, so you can focus on school. There's probably schools that don't require entrance exams, or are still giving exams... You should try taking them, see if you can get in. Maybe you can take a gap year, and try to apply for UA next year, under special circumstances...

No.

No?

I want all three of my demands, Masanori says. If you say no, then I don't want anything.

Not even the stipend? Don't you want to go to school? You'll work instead?

Looks like it.

Deku is a little stunned. He can't understand this kid at all.

You wanted a free ride. You didn't want to work for it.

Masanori says nothing. Maybe Deku shouldn't say that to a kid who's going to be getting a job and working—(Or maybe... what if he gets illegal work? What if he's going to turn to crime?) No, he's just a child, needing guidance. As an adult and teacher and Hero, Deku has to—

This is the wrong way to approach your problems, Shirakata-kun. You can't try to take advantage of people, of situations like this.

Masanori twitches, before leaning forward, one hand reaching out to Deku. Deku recoils, suddenly seeing a different, more familiar hand, five fingers spread out to touch—

…I just want my letter back, Masanori says.

Deku blinks, looking down at his own hands, which apparently has been clutching Spinner's letter this whole time. He still hasn't read it.

O-Oh. Deku hesitates - he really actually did want to read the letter, because what how Spinner Shigaraki w h a t ? - but gives it back to Masanori. I—

This is all I have, Masanori says, sitting back and folding the letter. Two dead people and this one situation. Why shouldn't I take advantage of what's mine?

Deku grimaces. Things like extortion and blackmail are—

It wasn't. Masanori stands up. I know it wasn't. I'm not extorting anything. You said no, so now I'm leaving. There's nothing to blackmail, either. You killed a Villain and everyone saw it. They loved you for it. So all I did was come here to ask you for some help.

Calling what you were asking for help is—

You call it cheating, but I didn't do anything. I asked, you said no. Masanori heads for the door. So I'm going. There's nothing else I'm going to do. Nothing I can do.

Wait, Shirakata-kun. What you wanted—even if it was just about UA admission, you tried to use the fact that, that I killed Shigaraki—

Cuz you did.

You were expecting me to fold to that.

Yeah. The kid stands in the doorway, looking back at Deku. You're a Hero, aren't you?

And then he was gone.

[ryssbelle]

I forgot the set up so all yall get is the punchline

[theinternetisfulloftrash]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Dylan O'Brien x Reader (Female) Synopsis: Traveling. Any annoying but necessary part of any actors job for the non-traveling party. But the welcome homes? They are oh so fucking sweet. Tags: it's filth with some cute plot, shower sex, kisses, more banter than is reasonable in polite society Rating: Explicit (obviously) Author’s Note: Y'all listen. I know. Okay. It's been a while, and to be honest? I started this in fucking January, but hey. It's here now, right? We're all chill? No one's upset? Good. LOVE YOU!

He’d been away for days, but it felt like weeks. Your feed has been covered in photos of him. The algorithms have you pretty much figured out. You’d been keeping up with his interviews, watching clips of his adorably awkward award acceptance speech. It wasn’t a surprise award, but it didn’t matter that he was prepared for it. He was incapable of being acknowledged for his achievements without turning into the equivalent of a turtle hiding in its shell. You’d have reached out to hold his hand and ground him if you could, but you’d been here. Alone. Missing him. But all that was soon to change.

He was on his way home. Annoyingly, his flight had been delayed, but as you stared up at the JFK arrivals board and it read: ‘Arrived’, you couldn’t help the bubbling up of excitement and giddy nervousness. It seemed like Tony was picking up on it as well because he stood against your leg, pawing at your thigh until you picked him up. He’d been missing his dad and had taken more comfort in your presence since he’d left. 

Your ears perked when the announcement that the baggage from his flight was about to begin its rounds through the baggage claim area. Your phone vibrated in the thigh pocket of your leggings. You gave Tony a quick squeeze before setting him back on the floor and taking your phone out. You smiled at the preview of the text you’d just received before you swiped to see the rest. 

��Your fine ass better be waiting for me down there.’ 

You smirked before typing out a teasing reply. 

‘Got stuck in traffic a few times but I’m here. I hate Newark btw.’ 

You watched the dots appear and couldn’t help the audible laugh that escaped when you read his next message. 

‘Newark!?’ 

You interrupted him with a quick ‘I’m joking!!!’ before you could see what he was typing next. Then after a brief pause, the dots reappeared before his reprimand. 

‘You know you’re this close to the find-out stage of fuckin around?’ 

‘Oh? What if that’s exactly what I want?’ 

‘👀’

‘Not that I want to rush through the fuckin around part 😏’  

“I’ll be taking my sweet fucking time…don’t worry.”

You startled at his audible reply and your eyes shot up from your phone and met his as Tony pulled at the leash in your hand to reach him. He looked a bit tired but happy. His smile was wide across his stubbled face, quirking up at the corner when you smiled back. 

“Hey buddy!” he said, handing you his pillow before bending down to scoop Tony up into his arms. “I missed you!” he swooned in the adorable baby voice he reserved for his furry son. “Did you miss me too?” He rubbed Tony’s head and then his tummy. “Such a good boy!” 

You smiled at the two of them, pulling Tony’s leash from your wrist and handing it to Dylan. Tony would be stuck to him like glue now. 

“Hey, baby,” he said softly before he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your lips. One just long enough to make you the tiniest bit dizzy and eager for more. 

You blinked away distracting thoughts. “Do you have much luggage?” 

Dylan shook his head. “Just this,” he said pointing at his backpack, “and one bag on the turnstiles.” 

“Should be over there, they just announced it,” you said, taking a few steps toward the baggage claim area.

“Nice!” he said, hiking Tony up onto his shoulder a bit before he followed after you. 

His bag passed in front of him and he hefted it off the belt and popped out the handle and you took it from him so he could focus on the excited ball of fur in his arms. You set his pillow on it and wheeled it behind you toward the cab that was waiting out front. As much as you hated early morning airport runs, you were glad his 4 AM delayed arrival made the whole airport experience a lot smoother. Fewer people. Less traffic. You’d been able to get in and out without so much as a sideways glance from anyone else. 

“Hey you,” he said as he slumped in the seat next to you, Tony taking up the little bit of space between you. 

“Hey,” you said, smiling back at him. 

It was just after 5 AM and you’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. Originally, he was supposed to have gotten in at midnight and had been scheduled to arrive at Newark, but his flight had been canceled. When he called you to let you know, you were already getting ready to catch the Uber you’d called to take you to the airport. You had a habit of being too punctual. But that also meant that you had a hard time settling and only managed a short nap before you got up to head to JFK. You were a bit tired, but feeling his warmth next to you for the first time in a while was enough of a comfort to fight off the droop of your sleepy eyes. You wanted to see his smile, the upturned tip of his nose, the lopsided smile he sported as he pet Tony. Sleep could wait. 

The drive back to the loft was rather uneventful. Traffic was light, you weren’t sure you’d ever made it the Carey Tunnel faster than you just had. When you hopped out of the car, Dylan gathered his bags from the back of the car and you headed up to the apartment. Home. It was always a comfortable place, but it was warmer when he was in it.

“Smells nice in here…” he said with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment as his shoulders sagged in relaxation. “I missed it.” 

“And I missed you.” You stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his waist and he quickly pulled you to his chest, looping his arms over your shoulders and pressing a kiss into your hair. 

“You did, huh?” he chuckled, the heat of his exhaled breath warming your skin. 

“Mhm…” you hummed, laying your cheek against his chest. The loft was dimly lit by a single lamp near the sofa in the living room and the streetlights that filtered in through the large windows. It added to the comfort you felt in his arms. 

“I missed you more,” he whispered.

“Impossible.” 

He sighed out a long breath, holding you tight to his chest before he pulled back, his hands clasped around your waist, eyes locked to yours. The warm, honey-brown hue of them sent a shiver down your spine, of course, it didn’t help that he’d begun to work his hands under the hem of your shirt, his fingertips pressing just a little more firmly into the bare skin covering your ribs when he leaned down to kiss you. 

His lips were insistent, the kiss at the airport clearly not satiating the need that had built during your time apart. It was a comforting reminder that his infatuation with you must be at least somewhat comparable to your own. 

You moaned when his lips wandered along your jaw and latched to your throat just below your ear. Not to be outdone and wanting a little audible thrill of your own, you were satisfied at the deep groan that emanated from the back of his throat when one of your roaming hands slipped down between your bodies to graze across the front of his thigh until it was cupping him through his sweatpants. 

“Definitely missed that,” he breathed out across your collarbone before pushing your hair back and sliding the collar of your shirt aside to access more of your skin. 

You laughed softly before it morphed into a half-whispered moan of his name when his teeth grazed along the sensitive skin above your breast. “Fuck…” you breathed, squeezing your hand around him eliciting an appreciative grumble from him that you felt vibrate the aching bit wet skin he’d been sucking on your chest. 

When you released your grip to slip your hand behind the waistband of his sweats, he grabbed your wrist. “Not yet…” he chuckled when he pulled back to see you scowling at him. “Don’t worry,” he said, smiling at you, brushing an errant hair back from the place where it hung in your eyes, “I’m gonna make you scream…” 

You swallowed thickly. 

“I’d just rather not reek like a man who’s known only seat 23A for 10 hours when I do it.” 

You chuckled softly. “Well…” you smiled back before reaching both hands around behind him, “then you better get this,” you squeezed his ass, “fine thing in the shower then.” You gave him a gentle spank. 

He laughed and pressed a kiss into your hair. “Thirsty little monster,” he said, running his hand down your arm. “Join me?” he said, pleading gaze meeting yours. 

You nodded and he took your hand, lacing your fingers together and leading you through the apartment toward the bathroom. The gentle squeeze of his hand in yours sent a satisfying ripple of warmth through your body. Just as you’d made it through the door to the bathroom, you tugged on his hand and swung his body to pin him against the counter of the vanity. 

He let out a soft huff at the gentle impact and smiled down at you as you grabbed at the hem of his shirt and yanked it roughly up over his body. His bare chest heaved as your eyes roved over him, your hands following your gaze across his pecs, through the soft hair, down his abs, settling on the waistband of his sweats before you began to crouch in front of him as you slid them down his thighs to pool at his feet. 

You looked at him from between his thighs and watched as his brown eyes turned near-black, crouching there longer than was necessary to achieve the task, fluttering your lashes at him.

“Fucking tease…” he muttered under his breath before he hauled you up in front of him and stripped your top off, tossing it across the room before he latched onto your throat and bit down. 

While you writhed in his arms, his hands warmed up your back until his fingers worked open the clasp of your bra. He slipped his fingers under the straps and slid them free of your shoulders and let the garment fall to the floor. 

“Mmm…” he mused, looking down at your chest before he leaned forward and captured your lower lip between his teeth and pulled it back slightly before releasing it to kiss down the column of your throat. He cupped you breast and brought his lips to the peak and flattened his tongue in a wide sweep before sealing his lips to suck your nipple until it was taut and pebbled.

“Dylan…” you groaned, your hands tangling into his hair.

He held you against his body and swapped your positions until your lower back was pressed against the vanity. He nipped at your chest before he finally pulled back and lifted you to sit on the counter in front of him. He quickly unbuttoned your jeans and pulled them from you, throwing them into a heap with the rest of your discarded clothing. Then he slotted himself between your thighs. “Shower’s right there…” he titled his head in its direction, “and yet here we are…” he smiled, his fingertips trailing down from your arms, along your ribs and waist until they teased at the elastic of the last piece of clothing you were left wearing.  

“Here we are…” you repeated, looking down your body at his hand as it slipped into your underwear. You fell forward into his chest when you felt his teasing, barely there touch where you were now aching to feel it. Your sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed.

He leaned in and grinned against the skin of your throat before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the tendon running the length of it. “Something wrong?” he teased, still not touching you the way you wished he would. 

“Please…” you whispered. 

The little amused noise he made only frustrated you more, because Instead of giving in to your need, he hooked his fingers around the band of your underwear and stepped back from you to slide them free from your legs. He twirled them around his long index finger before letting them slip out of his hands to the floor. His eyes roamed over you, exposed to him now, perched on the counter. “Fucking perfect…” he breathed, giving his head a slight shake.

You flushed under his attentive gaze, your own eyes catching on the obvious sign of his own interest tenting the front of his boxer briefs. “Talkin’ about yourself?” you finally managed. 

He smiled and shook his head. 

“You should be…” you sighed, “but you could stand to be just a bit more naked…” you pointed to his underwear. 

He laughed. “Fair,” he said before turning around to turn on the shower. He looked back at you, smirking as he hooked his thumbs in the band of his boxers. When he slid them down his thighs the need you felt for him was almost unbearable. He held out a hand to help you down. “Time to get you wet,” he said with a smirk. 

“Too late.” 

His brows shot up his forehead. “Fuck… me…” he muttered

You stepped past him, your hands gliding over his naked torso, and into the shower. “That’s the plan.” 

He followed after and closed the door, the glass quickly began to fog with the steam as you stood under the spray of the faucet. Even though you knew the water was hot, it almost felt cool on your heated skin. Dylan watched you as you ran your hands over your body before he reached out, gripping your hips. He shoved you back against the wall and his lips crashed into yours. 

You reached up clasped around his neck, your hands tangling into the wet strands of his hair, deepening the kiss and tasting the faint hint of mint on his tongue. His teeth grazed over your bottom lip, pulling it taut before he kissed along your jawline. 

He muttered something unintelligible under his breath against your throat.

“Soap’s over there,” you sighed, jutting your chin to the shelf in the corner. 

“Right… showering…” his teasing mouth paused and he pulled back from you. “You’re so fucking distracting…” he groaned, his grip on your hips shifting to your ass before he squeezed it in both of his palms. 

You grinned and wet your lower lip with your tongue. 

“Not helping.”

You laughed before you pushed him away enough to grab the body wash from the shelf and squeeze it onto his loofa. “Lemme help then,” you said, gesturing for him to turn around in front of you, the water now striking him in the chest. 

He didn’t protest, and quickly spun around as you took a small step closer, so your wet body was pressed briefly against him before you began to scrub his shoulders and upper back. 

“Mmm…” he hummed, rolling his neck. 

You tickled him enough to raise his arms so you could wash them both thoroughly. You smiled watching him noticeably relax his shoulders. You washed down his back, sliding the loofa down to the dips in his low back and over his perfect ass. 

“Taking your time back there…” he chuckled. 

“Stop having such a nice ass and maybe I’d make quicker work of it.” 

He shook a bit with a contained laugh. “Noted.” 

You finally relented, taking one last look at his soapy cheeks before you reached around to scrub his chest and stomach, not spending too much time before reaching down and squeezing the loofa at his belly button and letting the soap begin to run down his body. Your free hand followed after it until it was teasing at the coarse hair, brushing just where you knew he was dying for you to touch him. 

“Relentless fucking tease–” 

You cut off his complaint by wrapping your hand around his sudsy length and pumping him just once. “You were saying?” you breathed against his back before you kissed his shoulder blade before you pumped him again. 

He groaned, his head falling forward. “I’ll shut up… just don’t fucking stop.” 

You beamed with pride. It wasn’t like he never begged, but it was far less common than your own pleadings that more frequently bounced off the walls of this room. You rewarded its rarity by picking up the pace with your hand, pinning him against you with the other hand pressing against the front of his thigh, the loofa long forgotten at his feet. 

He stuttered forward, one hand coming up to hold his weight against the tiled wall the other grasping gently at your wrist, not stopping you, but guiding your hand. “Fuck,” he cursed, the last consonant of it coming out shuddered and low.

You were growing more and more impatient with each second. The ache between your thighs was forcing you to squeeze them together for some kind of relief. You moaned in frustration, your pace faltering. 

Dylan squeezed your wrist and stilled your hand. “Someone sounds needy…” he whispered, pulling your hand free of him and swapping your positions. He pressed you back against the wall and grabbed your body wash from the shelf, squeezing some into his palm. 

You watched him warm his hands together, lathering the gel into foamy suds in those gorgeous fucking hands that you knew he was about to touch you with. 

He smirked at the audible sound of you swallowing before he cupped one of your breasts, his other hand snaking around you, his fingers teasing the dimples of your lower back. He pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, his nose nudging your chin up enough for him to run his tongue up the length of your throat before he kissed you. 

Your heart hammered in your chest, your skin pebbled with goosebumps, your body sang under his touch. You’d missed him. God, how you’d missed him. It should be against the Geneva Convention for him to be away from you this long. Torture, pure and simple. But this? This was as close as you could imagine to what it might feel like to be moments from dying of thirst in a vast desert only to stumble into the cool waters of an oasis.

He slid his hand down your body and, without a hint of teasing or pretense, rubbed your clit with the pads of two fingers. 

“Holy. Sh–!” you cussed, only getting half of it out before it devolved into a strangled moan. 

Dylan nudged at your chin as your head lolled in pleasure, his lips skimming across your skin, breathing out praise as he continued to swirl his fingers over the sensitive bundle of nerves that had you writhing against him. “Missed the way you sound…” he nipped your neck, “the way you feel…” he groped at your chest again with his free hand, “the way you taste…” he kissed you again, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. 

His talented fingers had you approaching the edge, that warm feeling building up inside you, that pressure that made you feel like you were electrified. “Dyl… please…” you softly begged when he gave you a moment to finally breathe. 

His lips slipped from yours, your noses touching, both of you panting in the same air. Then you whined when you felt his fingers disappear from you. He stepped back into the stream of water and pulled you with him, kissing you everywhere his lips could reach as the hot spray of the shower rinsed you both clean of suds. 

You looped your arms around his neck and he gripped the backs of your thighs, hauling you up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. 

His eyes were wide with the same wonder he somehow still held for you even though he’d had you so many times there was no way to keep count. It made you feel warm and wanted. Desired and beautiful.  

“Could stay in this shower for the rest of my fucking life…” he said as he pinned your back to the wall and bucked up against you, slickening himself in the folds of your body, driving the head of his cock into your already sensitive clit. 

Your eyes rolled back at the contact, your hips rocking forward to meet the roll of his. “We’ll… we’ll get all pruney….” you finally breathed out. 

He laughed against your throat before he kissed, nipped, and sucked what you knew would be an impressive little bruise into your skin. “So be it,” he said, and then he shifted his hips, met your gaze, and slid into you to the hilt. 

The stretch, the fullness, it was almost as shocking now as the first time you’d felt him buried inside you. It was perfection, blissfully indecent perfection. You moaned his name, your fingernails clawing at his shoulders as he began to set a punishing pace, driving up into you hard, rutting his body against yours enough to stimulate you in just the right places, inside and out. 

“Shit!” you swore, letting your head fall back against the tiled wall. 

He fucked into you over and over as you felt yourself edging closer to the brink. You felt your thighs begin to shudder as his pace grew more erratic an unpredictable. 

“So fucking tight…” he groaned before he kissed the valley between your collarbones. 

The strangled need in his voice, the feel of his breath against your skin–all of it coupled with the delicious way the end of his length was pressing into that perfect spot inside you that made you feel like you were losing touch with reality–you were ready. “Fuck, Dyl–” 

He raised one hand to press on your chin enough to force your gaze back to his, the pad of his thumb dragging across your lower lip. 

You moaned and flicked at it with the tip of your tongue. “I’m so close… please!” you begged.

He drove his thumb between your lips and when you sucked it into your mouth, he slipped the hand on your thigh between your legs to rub his finger over your clit just when he drove a final thrust against your g-spot. 

You’d had your fair share of fantastic orgasms at this man’s hands, literally, but this one was up there standing proudly on the podium collecting its medal. It was a rush of pent-up need and desire that washed over you like a crashing tidal wave. Every single cell in your body felt like it was vibrating with pleasure. Your muscles clamped down on him as you felt him join you in his own release. The feel of him spilling into you, the sound of your name falling from his slack lips, making it all so much more intense. It was perfection. Pure and simple. Absolute. Unadulterated. Bliss.

Your chest heaved against his, both of you softly laughing between kisses before you felt him slip free of your body. His hands warmed up your arms before they cupped either side of your neck. 

“I love you so fucking much.” 

You smiled at him, leaning in to run your nose along his throat until your lips were at his ear. “I love you too.” 

He sighed and his lips found yours, but he held back from the kiss long enough to speak. “Hell of a welcome home.” 

[slushfaerie]

you and art were invited to his grandma's friend's holiday party. you really don’t want to go.

art donaldson x introverted!fem reader (or fem reader that would just rather stay home and have her way with loverboy art and vice versa..bc like...) incredibly self-indulgent and hastily written. inspired by my desire to stay home and also my desire for art donaldson. nsfw elements! way steamier than what i've written before. happy holidays and/or happy wednesday <33

it was almost time to leave and you'd put off getting ready for as long as you possibly could.

art looks up from his spot lounging on the couch with bated breath as you emerge from the bathroom, steam billowing through your hotel room.

his mouth all but hangs open as he sees you, cheek resting against his hand as he takes you in, probably wrinkling his pressed collared shirt he’s chosen to wear, sleeves rolled up to his forearms.

there you stood like some sort of angel - wrapped in a silky white robe, still-damp locks of hair framing your face. he would stare at you forever if he could. 

art’s attuned to you as you let out a soft sigh, your gaze a million miles away. holiday gatherings - gatherings in general - weren’t your most favorite thing. but you’d at least have art to buoy you through the evening, trying to make you laugh with aptly timed snide comments whispered in your ear at the expense of other partygoers. he'd reach his hand beneath the dinner table, thumb caressing your thigh acting as a life preserver. anything for you. 

art was agreeable, malleable in social situations, but he could think of a thousand other places he’d rather be - almost all of them having to do with you wrapped around him in some way. 

as you reach for your moisturizer on the dresser, art’s hand covers yours before intertwining your fingers. you melt against him as he slots his body behind yours, kissing the sensitive spot behind your ear, leaving a trail of kisses down your neck. he has to hold back a moan as he inhales the scent of your shampoo, of you. 

art undoes the tie of your robe, peeling it off and putting you on display to him, only in your cute bra and panties. you watch as he grabs the tub of moisturizer himself and unscrews the lid with diligent fingers, warming some between his hands. 

the way art massages your shoulders, it's as if he hopes to melt away your nerves and tension, leaving kisses in their wake. he hums approvingly as he feels you exhale.

you turn around to face him, your robe a silky pool at your feet, a look of momentary bliss on your face from his ministrations. he turns his head to press a gentle kiss to your palm as you cup his cheek with your hand.

art lets out a gasp as you lace your fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to yours. he kisses you back in earnest, licking into your mouth as his warm hands wander down to palm your ass, massaging with as much devotion as he'd given the rest of you, pulling you against him. he'd drown in you if you'd let him.

art lays you down on the bed as he continues to massage the moisturizer into your arms, pressing kisses and giving attention to each hand, each individual finger. looking down to meet his gaze, you see his pupils dwarfing the depths of his blue eyes with that little kiss of brown.

you can't hold back your moans as art leaves lingering kisses on the tops of your breasts - he's all lips and tongue and gentle nips, teasing the hardening buds of your nipples through your bra, trailing his way down your stomach. 

art’s lashes flutter shut as he licks the sensitive skin around your navel, tracing teasing shapes with his tongue right above the cute little bow at the top of your panties. god, you tasted so sweet.

art gives you a crooked grin as you squirm, cheeks flushing, breath now coming out in sweet, shallow pants.

"y'know, you're making me wanna keep you here all to myself."

you mumble with weak protest something about being worried about being late, about making a good impression on his grandmother. art chuckles and rolls his eyes with resignation.

"okay, if you say so." he crawls up your body, giving your cheek a tender caress with his thumb as he leans in closer.

"just wait until i get you back here," the words of encouragement more for himself than you at this point as art pulls himself away and goes to retrieve his sweater from the hotel dresser.

a little motivation to get you both through the night never hurt anyone.

[impsandstars]

Some thoughts on Stolas's growth from the early days vs. Mastermind

I recently saw on twitter someone bring up the parallels between the interaction between Stolas and Blitz in truth seekers and their interaction during the court scene. The tone and Stolas’s demeanor is very similar but with one crucial difference. In mastermind Stolas was putting on an act, pretending to be this elitist, bigoted Goetia, and although I don’t believe Stolas has ever felt or been at the same level as Andrealphus in his distaste and seeing imps as lesser beings, the Stolas in truth seekers feels like a different person. So I wanted to go back to the beginning, now that we have this arc of the book coming to a close and see how Stolas has changed.

The Stolas we meet in season 1 episode 1 is utterly infatuated with Blitz. Blitz (from The Circus episode) was this rugged, no nonsense, pleasure seeking, suave motherfucker that swept Stolas off his feet. Who showed him, for possibly the first time in his life, what real, mutual, consensual pleasure with a man was like and he was hooked. Blitz was also someone that Stolas chose himself, and we also know now how devastatingly lonely Stolas has been.

The man, literally the morning after their first meeting after 25 years, finally finally had the nerve to be like ‘that’s the sound of a fucking divorce!’ to the wife he hates. (I cheer every time. The absolute relief and crazed laughter after he just realized what he had done)

Look at what that lizard did to the man just after one night, no wonder Stolas reached out wanting to keep Blitz in his life.

And so the natural conclusion he came to was to find a way to get the imp back, and to do so permanently, or at least for as long as possible. So was born their transaction. I personally don’t believe Stolas set this up with the understanding of the power dynamic issue. I think it’s a problem that it never crossed his mind, and I’m not saying he gets a pass, but I do understand where it came from. He had a problem: I want to have sex with Blitz more, I don't want to feel so lonely, I want to see more of the man that sparked something to life in me and so he came up with a solution that he felt made the most sense. He gets what he wants and Blitz is able to continue his work. I also have always been intrigued if the main reason Stolas didn’t immediately go get his book back when he realized it was lost was because he wanted it to be a reason to get Blitz back into his life. Which can be romantic….and a bit manipulative too (‘I’ve allowed you to use my book even though it is illegal so do me this favor.’ Oh no Stolas.). There wouldn’t be growth if he didn’t start out with things that needed to be addressed.

As stated by others many times, both of these idiots (affectionate) placed the other on a pedestal (“Where is my knight in shining armor”). Seeing what they wanted to see on a surface level and not really going any deeper. Blitz to Stolas was just this embodiment of freedom and choice, an idea (a prince come to save me), rather than Stolas looking at Blitz as a whole person. We see this in the way that he talks to Blitz in the Loo Loo Land and the Harvest Moon Festival. He pays Blitz to essentially have the chance to flirt with him all day and when Blitz says things like, “save it bitch I’m working,” and “this is work and work only…not here to satisfy your perverted bird needs,” I don’t think Stolas is actually paying attention to his tone or his words and is just like, ‘oooo blitzy is being flirty, hard to get, pushing me away but wanting me.’ Remember this guy lives and breathes soap operas and romance novels which idealize actual relationships and so is reading it how he wants it to be perceived, not how it actually is. Blitz sees this as a job he has to do and Stolas sees this as an opportunity to spend time together. In the Harvest Moon Festival Stolas’s comments of “that sexy one there” and “my darling Blitzyyyyy”, again have negative reactions from Blitz of embarrassment which Stolas seems to not really be aware of, or again reads it as him being “cute”.

It’s not great but personally I do not read it as Stolas intentionally ignoring the way Blitz is responding, I think he is just reacting to everything Blitz does with some very rose tinted glasses.

I believe over time though, after spending time with Blitz during their full moon meetings and on other occasions where they were together, I think Stolas’s feelings began to grow slowly into something real when he allowed himself to actually notice who Blitz was as a person (and realized that he liked these things about him). 

Maybe Blitz wore horse boxers and Stolas got to see them every time he took his pants off, charmed by this little detail. He would see the picture of Loona, Moxxie and Millie as his phone background, realizing that they weren’t just colleagues to him but closer. They would probably talk about random things after they finished for the night. Stolas asking him how his day was and Blitz going into a tangent about their latest client. Blitz would flirt and make corny jokes that would have Stolas rolling over in laughter. Blitz was eager to try new things in the bedroom with him and would (speculating here) clean him up after a long session, hands gentle, eyes averted.

Unfortunately he still didn’t see that the transactional relationship was an issue and was something that was preventing Blitz from seeing what was forming between them as anything different. It kept them together, kept them seeing each other, and Stolas wished to keep that for as long as he could. 

You see more distinctly a change in Stolas at Ozzie’s. He isn’t parading Blitz around, flirting shamelessly with him or making overly sexual comments; he thinks this is a real date. An encounter that people do to get to know each other better, to spend time with someone that they like. His view and feelings for Blitz have changed into something a little more real. He asks about his day, trying to make this suddenly awkward situation better, genuinely wanting to take this seriously. 

Then we get Blitz’s admission and a much needed reality check from Stolas that the consequence of setting this whole thing up without thinking of the implications it had had was coming to fruition. Blitz is setting up a boundary (‘don’t read into this more, it’s only about the book’).

And what does Stolas not do? He doesn’t agree with Blitz that yea this is just transactional, or wave it off as Blitz being ‘cute’ again, or that the only reason they’re still doing this is because he just wants Blitz to fuck him. Because at one point in time it absolutely was. But now? Stolas doesn’t see it that way anymore. (He had heart eyes when he realized Blitz was asking him on a date and put on his best outfit. The boy was falling for him).

So Stolas, seeing, finally, the impact this whole situation has had on Blitz, he goes out of his way to end it, and not only that, but end it in a way that ensures Blitz can still do his job, which Stolas knows is important to not only him but his family. Because he sees Blitz now. Sees the importance of getting Blitz’s side to all of this, because he had assumed they were both on the same page. Episode 1 Stolas I don’t think would be as quick to try to end things if he had been confronted. Again not vindictively, not because he believes Blitz should be happy he gets to fuck a Goetic prince, but because he wanted it so bad. Needed it even.

Seeing Stars and Western Energy are these somewhat weird middle grounds between Ozzie’s and Oops because Stolas goes back to shameless flirting and not really seeing Blitz’s discomfort when he was about to perform on Tv in the former. But in Western Energy his texting to Blitz in the hospital, I feel, does show some of his growth. He knows they are on rocky ground and so gives Blitz the choice to come see him or not. He wants comfort after what has happened to him. He wants to see the person who makes him feel better. 

And, we do get confirmation from Blitz at the start of Full Moon that Stolas hasn’t had them doing their transaction since the night of Ozzie’s (so for a few months?), which means Stolas is taking Blitz feelings about this seriously and having a nice long look at his own side to all of this. He is trying to show Blitz that he now means more to him than just the sex. 

In Full Moon we get a Stolas who is apologetic (although doesn’t actually say sorry :/), explaining (as best he can my poor boy) that he doesn’t want this to continue. Blitz is free now from the tether that Stolas tied around them to keep him in his life. (If you love me let me goooo). He’s being (for the most part since he is kind of doing the 'if you love me you'll say' test) selfless here, allowing Blitz the chance to make up his own mind about being with Stolas (a choice he really didn’t give him in episode 1. Like Stolas, my dude, you called Blitz to set this whole thing up in the middle of being chased and shot at and we know you know that because of the bubble. Yikes, not good there. Blitz probably would have said yes though no matter what the situation he was in because he had a family to take care of). Yes it wasn’t perfect. Stolas still made the decision himself to end it and give Blitz a crystal without prefacing it with some more context, but his intentions were good. ‘I care for you and didn’t realize that what we were doing was being understood differently by the both of us so have this choice now that I didn't give you in the beginning.’

And then we have Mastermind. This is it. The one action that many a romance is built on, ‘I would do anything, even sacrifice myself, to make sure you are safe and alive.’ There is so much complexity to mastermind and Stolas’s actions here but the main one in terms of Stolas’s growth is an understanding (maybe not an entire understanding but one more than he had before) of the class issue inherent in Hell. Episode 1 Stolas would be flabbergasted by it. Stolas plays into it in this episode, acknowledging the power it has to influence the elite lining the courtroom to save Blitz’s life. 

I feel such maturity from Stolas. Going back and watching him in Loo Loo Land is like seeing a completely different person. He is naive and juvenile in the way he talks and presents himself that is so drastically different from the ‘master of my fate’ that we get in Mastermind. 

And it’s beautiful because we’re not done yet. Stolas is a baby bird just thrust into new circumstances with a Blitz fully now on board with the idea of them. Stolas is going to experience a world he has only recently started to understand and I can’t wait for his future growth because it will bring him and Blitz together with a better understanding of each other.

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[fenristheulv]

Song: it is what it is by Abe Parker

[misiahasahardname]

mephone4 is Not a good teacher

(for an object show highschool au i made up… probably not gonna post more about it lol)

BONUS: chocolate bar, an unfinished doodle with mephone and two, and something i drew after tpot13 released and forgot to post. i think

(yes two is a god. as are the other algebraliens (besides x). the lore i made up for the algebraliens in this au is so strange…)

[jadewritesficshere]

Eddie x fem!reader (reader wears lingerie, no other descriptions of reader given except mentioning hitting that spot just right)

Contents: lingerie, both are a lil pervy tbh, humiliation, crying, praise kink, sub!Eddie, this is literally just horny ramblings

18+ only

It wasn't every day you came back to your house and your best friend had broken in. Maybe, every other week at best.

Usually, Eddie would be high eating your snacks (you were thinking about getting a lock for the cabinets). Or he would be watching whatever show you recorded and tease you about spoiling it (you threatened to use the VHS to beat him over the head and strangle him with the VHS ribbon if he did).

But, you had no clue Eddie was even in your house today. His van wasn't parked in your driveway when you came home. His shoes weren't in a haphazard pile at the front door. You had 0 clue he was there.

Not until you heard a thump coming from your bedroom. Which, your first thought went to the knickknacks you had that someone could be stealing (they wouldn't cause to a normal person it was junk but to you they were memories).

You grabbed a knife from the kitchen (you weren't gonna die without a fight, besides you learned a thing or two from the horror movies Eddie made you watch). You quietly pushed your bedroom door open and-

Shit.

Eddie was standing in your room in front of your mirror. Miles of pale skin just on display, scattered with contrasting dark tattoos he had. Nothing on, save for your lilac lingerie.

The palest purple lace bra, you can see from the back isn't even clipped correctly, missing the hook entirely. But the color is striking on Eddie. The lace thong cuts high on Eddie's ass, and you try not to gawk at the little black heart tattooed on his cheek. Eddie's scars seem softer amongst the lace.

How often did Eddie do this? Come over and put on your lingerie? Stand in front of the mirror and rub his fingers over his one hardened nipple. You couldn't see from where you were, but you knew his cock was hard. He'd be leaking all over your underwear, marking them.

Eddie lets out a little moan and it ignites a fire in your gut. You lick you lips as you watch Eddie, which maybe makes you a pervert but really it is your house and he is wearing your clothes so if anyone is-

Fuck why is it so hot?

"So-" you clear your throat. Eddie let's out a screech (that you are pretty sure ruined your eardrums) as he whirls around. He tries to cover himself with his arms, curls in on himself. And Holy cow he is hard.

He is big, so big, the tip just peeking out of the waistband of the panties. You can see the pearly translucent precum already dripping onto the underwear.

"I- fuck, I'm aha listen I can exp- i can explain!" Eddie fumbles over his words. You blink a few times tearing your eyes away from his massive dick (oh it would feel so good it would hit every spot just right).

Eddie's face is red, tears welling up in his eyes. "Oh Baby, no," you rush over, pausing when Eddie flinches. You gently put a hand out on Eddie's shoulder, drawing him into a hug, " It's- it's okay. Please don't cry." "Don't hate me." You gasp in shock, pulling back to look in his eyes," I could never!"

Eddie's eyes are wet, filled with unshed tears. His nose is turning a bit red, from embarrassment, shame, or sadness you can't tell. But his cheeks are such a pretty pink you think it'd look nice elsewhere on his pale skin.

Eddie hides his face with his hair, shuffling his feet a bit. "So..." you pause unsure how to ask it politely so you just go for it," I can see this is a kink thing...but like, what kind?"

Eddie shrugs," Wanted to feel pretty..." You frown," You are pretty Eddie." Eddie shakes his head and gestures to his abdomen," Not with these."

Eddie really should not be drawing your eyes any further south then his face. Cause your pulse kicks up and the fire inside you lights back up your spine. You can't help but notice his dick is still hard as a rock.

"You are too pretty." "Not really." "Yes!" Not-" You shove Eddie lightly, causing him to stumble back and fall onto the bed. Eddie's eyes widen in shock as he peers up at you.

"Don't talk about my best friend that way! You are too pretty. And handsome. Funny. So talented," You sigh and step forward, into Eddie's parted legs. Eddie leans up on his elbows and blinks rapidly at you. "You're so fucking pretty Baby." You murmur, hand reaching out lightly touching his thigh.

Eddie let's out a whine before looking startled at himself. You can't help but notice his dick twitch under the pale purple lace. "You like being called pretty?" You smirk. "Like when you call me Baby," Eddie replies softly.

You aren't sure who moves first, but suddenly your arms are wrapped around each other. Your lips meet Eddie's without hesitation. His are slightly chapped but still soft, molding perfectly against your own.

You run your hand down Eddie's neck, to the pale bra strap and snap it. He gasps and you take the chance, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of weed, mint gum, and just Eddie.

Eddie moans against you, hips bucking forward seeking friction. You pull back, gasping for air. Eddie let's out a whine," No, come back-" "I ain't going anywhere Baby."

Eddie's eyes flutter shut as he bites his lip. He hums as you kiss his jaw, lightly nipping at his pulse point. He shivers against you, hips bucking forward again. You suck lightly as you decide to give him some relief.

Your hand snakes down, grasping him firmly. You lightly squeeze through the lace, giving just enough friction as you move your hand.

"Look so good in my lingerie Baby, you should wear it more often." You murmur between kisses. Eddie nods absently, gasping and moaning beneath you. "Got a red pair that has some nice straps, you'd look so metal and so so pretty."

Eddie freezes, mouth falling open. His brow wrinkles slightly as he moans, pleasure overtaking him. His hips spasm, even his thighs twitch, as he comes. You can feel your underwear get soaked along with part of his stomach.

You stroke him through it, extending his pleasure until he whimpers and pushes at your hand. You pull back, smiling softly at his face. Eddie's eyes flutter open, darting down to your lips. "Kiss?" He asks quietly, unsure. You simply smile and kiss him again.

[bythesigninthescarletprison]

Writing prompt #3

"Go on, darling," the villain said, eyes glittering in the dying light of the city. They made a sweeping gesture to indicate the patch of gravel rooftop just before their feet. "Kneel. Kneel and I will spare them."

The hero's fists clenched, so hard they could feel their broken nails digging into the flesh of their hands. Their jaw tightened, eyeing the villain, the enemy they had spent half of their life fighting, outwitting, snatching victory after victory on credit, praying that they'd get out before the bill came due.

Well. Now the debt collector was breaking down their door.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts, darling." Their grin grew wider.

And they were offering such generous settlement terms.

"No," the hero said softly, eyes fixed on the crumbling skyline.

Six hundred thousand lives saved. Protected.

"Then go on, precious. Kneel."

And all it cost was one hero's freedom.

The hero knelt.

[humanitys-strongest-bamf]

OK I WAS TOO UPSET TO WRITE THIS BUT NOW I AM ONLY MILDLY UPSET SO I WROTE IT

Your Worth | Canonverse Oneshot

✧ word count ➼ 1.3k ✧ notes ➼ canon!verse, hurt/comfort, negative self-talk, levi being comforting in his levi way

The door to your office flew open. It was already well into the evening. Nearly everyone should have returned to the barracks. You were hoping to have some alone time to process and catch up with paperwork. The previous few hours haven't been easy and you were coping by drowning yourself in tedious work.

Your body tensed as you heard Levi's distinct footsteps step into your office.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked sternly.

You put your pen down as you slowly looked up at your visibly agitated boyfriend. You had an idea as to what got him so upset, although you hoped it wasn't the case.

"What are you talking about?" you asked quietly.

He was holding a few sheets of paper in his hand. He placed one on your desk in front of you. Your heart sank upon reading it.

It was your request to the Commander to be removed from Levi's squad. You had submitted it early this morning, putting in substantial effort to get it to the Commander's office without Levi catching on.

You took the page from him roughly, frowning.

"Tch," you muttered in irritation. "He showed you?"

"It's my fucking squad, of course he showed me," Levi scolded.

You didn't respond. You knew he had a point. It was Levi's squad. He was the Captain. Of course he was going to find out sooner or later.

"Why are you requesting to be removed?" he asked with a gentler tone. "Did something happen?"

It wasn't like you to just suddenly do something like this. He had noticed that you had been acting differently or have been more reserved for the past few days. He had been expecting something to eventually happen, but nothing as extreme as this.

"_____," Levi nudged you once you didn't respond.

After a while, your lips finally parted to speak.

"I'm..." you mumbled quietly, "I'm holding you back."

"Ah?" Levi muttered, genuinely not expecting those words to come out of your mouth.

"You heard me. I'm holding you back," you reemphasized. "Everyone you had chosen for your squad is skilled with the gear or has a high amount of Titan kills and I'm just...me."

He took the paper back from you and set it to the side, sitting on your desk as he looked down at you as you sat in your office chair.

"...the fuck do you mean 'just' you?" he asked, although he already somewhat knew the answer. He knew that you were frequently plagued with feelings and thoughts of inadequacy.

You knew that he knew.

"What do you want me to say?" you exclaimed, frustrated beyond belief. "No matter what I do, there's someone that's better at it. There's someone with more kills, faster times, more respect, or whatever! No matter how much I try, no matter how much effort I put in, I will never be the person that someone goes to for help. There isn't the One Thing™ that I'm good at where someone would be like 'hey, _____ should be the one you ask for help from'. No, I'm always in the fucking background and being dead weight, so that is why I requested to be discharged from your squad. The last thing you need is to have me drag you down."

Levi was silent the entire time you rambled, never taking his eyes off you as he listened.

"You done?" he finally said once you stopped speaking.

You scowled at him again.

"Get out."

Levi promptly got up, but instead of walking out the door, he walked around your desk to where you were seated at.

"Get out!" you repeated, raising your voice.

"Not until you tell me that everything you just said was bullshit," he said sternly.

You clenched your jaw, frustrated. You wanted to tell him what he wanted to hear, but you couldn't lie to him. You did legitimately believe in everything you just said, in every flaw that you had just listed.

You groaned in frustration as you buried your face into your hands while gripping at your hair.

These feelings of inadequacy were not new. Feelings of never being good enough and your fear of failure was something that was just drilled into you as a child. You were always being compared to others and you eventually developed a worldview that made you feel like you had to "earn" your right to exist by being good at things. Not only that, but you had to "specialize" in it, which made it so that anytime someone else came along that was just as good at if not better than you at something, you felt like your entire life—including your right to live it—spiraled out of control.

Levi gently placed his hand on your shoulder.

"Hey," he said quietly.

He shook you a little bit once you didn't answer or move.

"_____, look at me."

You slowly leaned back from your desk to look at him.

Before your eyes could even focus properly on him, he gently flicked at your forehead.

"Quit pitying yourself," he said as he scowled.

You rubbed at your forehead, which was now slightly red as you pouted at him.

The pout was a good sign for him. It meant you were listening to what he was trying to say, despite how strong those intrusive thoughts were being.

He knelt down, so that he was eye-level with you, gazing at you with gentler eyes.

"What started this?" he asked quietly.

You looked away, but he immediately grabbed your chin and turned you towards him so that he was making eye contact with you.

You tried to resist against his grip, feeling incredibly embarrassed that he was still able to read you like an open book. You had prided yourself as being able to mask well to not be a burden to those around you, but that was never the case around Levi. You hated and loved it at the same time.

You sighed in defeat.

"I just heard some of the prospective recruits talking and mentioning who in the Scouts they looked up to, and I guess it was foolish of me to even think that my name would be mentioned, but a dumb part of me hoped that I at least contributed something, something to be remembered for if I died," you began rambling, taking a deep breath to keep your voice from breaking as your frustration and self-hate threatened to boil over. "But there isn't, is there? As far as everyone else is concerned, I'm either your partner or just another soldier. I'm not anyone special-"

"Cut that shit out," Levi scolded, not giving you a chance to finish your rambling this time.

You stopped talking, but looked at him with hurt in your eyes.

"I know how important external validation is to you, but the cadets are talking out of their ass and you know it," he said as he looked intensely in your eyes. "You know they don't know shit about what any of us actually do—and it certainly doesn't warrant you requesting to be discharged from the squad."

He sighed and let go of your chin, instead moving to gently place his palm on the side of your face, allowing you to take comfort in his touch. It at least helped ground you when you felt like your emotions were taking over your entire world.

"You're worth more than you know," he said gently before pulling you in and gently placing his lips against yours, lingering for a few seconds until he felt you relax into him.

He placed his other hand on your thigh and gently squeezed as he slowly began to deepen the kiss before finally pulling away and resting his forehead on yours.

"And if I have to remind you of that every single day of your life, I will."

ok this was cathartic, ty to anyone who took the time to read :3 #: @chaotic-on-main @romantichomicide95 @lovolee3 @svftackerman @levisbrat25 @leviismybby @idkks4m @moonmalice @elnyrae @sleepyfairyxo @averysmolbear @cathybarn @tclbts @belovedackerman @bejewelledd @fuyulvr @sad-darksoul @levis-squishy-cheeks @roseofdarknessblog @anviacker @aam1na @luvjiro @noctemys @sixpennydame @dumbfound-princess @raenacreates @deepzombieyouth join my taglist!

[elodieunderglass]

Your bloodthirsty house story is everything I have ever wanted in a short story... Ever. Every concept and trope a loveletter to my soul. Houses alive in more ways than one, you never see that often, so when you do it is always a treat. Thank you, thank you so much.

(In reference to this post)

Well THAT is something that is unexpectedly derailing to hear. Thank you so much! I feel like someone has dropped one of those effervescent vitamin c tablets in my ear!!!

[gravitywonagain]

Inquiring Minds

holy shit, i finished a thing. well, a draft of a thing, but still counts!

based on this post about wwx being just dead enough be susceptible to the compulsion of inquiry

--

It was, in retrospect, the stupidest possible way to be found out. Wei Wuxian will readily admit that. Unfortunately, the level of stupidity was not a determining factor for the level of reality — as was the case for so much of Wei Wuxian’s life.

It all happened because one of the two dozen Jin disciples who bothered to show up to the war got a little drunk and a lot prideful and ended up starting a fight he couldn’t finish. Or, that was the going theory, anyway. The Jin leadership — such as it was — wanted an investigation done. As if they had nothing better to do. As if there weren’t reasons to be conserving spiritual power and not wasting it playing Inquiry for a guy who had decided to pick a fight — hopefully, hopefully it was a fight — with a Nie disciple who, granted, did not have the startling musculature of some of her shixiongs, but was still a fucking Nie disciple! 

This guy was not worth their time. This guy was not worth Lan Zhan’s time. Or his attention, or his spiritual power, or the stress it would put on his guqin strings— okay, maybe Wei Wuxian should have taken a moment to purge some of his resentment before walking into the tent. 

But he didn’t. This is important. 

Because then Lan Zhan began to play. 

And there was this strange… tugging sensation in the pit of Wei Wuxian’s gut, right where his golden core was supposed to be, pulling him toward Lan Zhan, or toward the empty space in front of Lan Zhan. 

Wei Wuxian shouldn’t have ignored it. He gets that now. He does. But he always wanted to be near Lan Zhan, and his body had been doing all kinds of weird shit since he’d had his core cut out, and who was to say this wasn’t just another weird side effect. 

Well. It was. A weird side effect. After a fashion. 

But that’s not the point! 

He should have noticed then. He should have left then. But he didn’t. 

The melody changed and the tugging sensation stopped. Which was great! 

Until something else started. It felt like a kind of drunkenness, light and hazy in his head, loose around his tongue. Three or four bowls in. 

He shook himself to dislodge it, but the motion only drew a sharp glare from Jiang Cheng. 

The tent was full of spectators. At least two representatives from each major clan were present, plus several “close friends” of the victim -- like four of the fifteen total Jin disciples -- who probably just wanted something else to do outside of eat, sleep, and fight. Wei Wuxian couldn’t blame them, exactly, war was remarkably boring most of the time, but it was getting awfully stuffy in there. 

Lan Zhan changed the melody again, something almost lexical about it. Wei Wuxian could almost hear the question being asked, even before Zewu Jun’s voice chimed in, translating for anyone who didn’t know the qin language — which was pretty much everyone else in the tent besides the Twin Jades — “What is your name?” 

Wei Wuxian caught his own response between his lips, pressing them together tightly, as the guqin sounded three distinct notes which Zewu Jun reported as Jin Zixin. 

So, good. It was the right guy. That was great. Nothing weird at all. 

He should have left then. He didn’t. 

Lan Zhan played again, and again Wei Wuxian thought he understood the phrase, the question, even before Zewu Jun said for the tent, “How did you die?”

Wei Wuxian felt the answer fly to the tip of his tongue and bit his teeth around it, through it. His cheek bled with the force of keeping quiet. 

It was weird. So weird. But maybe, Wei Wuxian justified to himself, maybe it was just an effect of holding a secret inside for so long and having someone actually ask the question out loud. Maybe, it was just the same automatic reaction of answering with your name when someone asked for it. Maybe he was just too fucking tired, and the resentment under his skin just wanted something to laugh at, something to entertain itself with. Like the five of ten Jins standing in the back of the tent. War was boring, okay?

The notes from Lan Zhan’s guqin hung in the air, resonant and waiting. The moment seemed to stretch out too long. It dragged and Wei Wuxian gradually felt the words stop fighting him to escape. 

But the Jin ghost didn’t answer either. 

When Lan Zhan played the same phrase over — “How did you die?” echoed on Zewu Jun’s tongue — the compulsion was much stronger. This time it was like Wei Wuxian could feel Lan Zhan’s spiritual power pouring through him; the strongest of wines, several jars of it. 

He couldn’t fight it. 

His mouth opened. 

I fell. I fell. I fell. 

“I fell.”

All eyes in the tent turned to him. 

Jiang Cheng’s elbow caught him in the ribs. He didn’t even bother to glare. He said, “Not you, Idiot.” 

The qin sounded and everybody looked back to Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun, waiting to hear the Jin disciple’s answer. 

Zewu Jun hesitated for the barest of moments, stuttering into the start of his translation before finding the confidence of his voice once more, recounting whatever it was that the ghost had strummed out. 

Wei Wuxian didn’t hear a word he said. He was, instead, pierced on two sides. 

On one: Jiang Cheng muttered to himself, “Wait,” and then his eyes went wide as he looked back at Wei Wuxian. 

On the other: Lan Zhan’s fingers froze above the strings of his guqin and he turned to stare over his shoulder at Wei Wuxian with something like horrified understanding dawning within his gaze. 

Wei Wuxian finally realized he should fucking leave. Immediately. 

He wanted to run. He knew better. Knew what that would look like. 

Instead, he was going to simply walk out of this tent as he had walked out of so many already during this campaign. Gravel crunched under his heel as he turned. 

But his brother knew him too well. Jiang Cheng’s hand clamped tight around Wei Wuxian’s bicep, his grip unyielding. With his golden core, Wei Wuxian might have been able to break it. But the real bitch of it was that it was his golden core that was holding him in place. 

Jiang Cheng tensed as if readying for a fight, but Wei Wuxian already knew how that fight would end. So he let himself be restrained. 

He turned back to face the Inquiry. 

Lan Zhan was still staring at him when Zewu Jun finished speaking. He was still so stuck in place that his brother had to prompt him into finishing the ritual. Which he did, with all the grace and skill expected of him. He really was just so beautiful to watch. 

All the while, Wei Wuxian listened to the music and bit through his tongue to keep it silent. The questions continued to drag at him -- “Do you know who killed you?” Wen Chao. “Do you have any last requests?” To leave this fucking tent. -- though the pressure to answer eased significantly as the Jin ghost became less stubborn about it. Wei Wuxian settled for reciting the answers to them in his head until they no longer felt pressed against the thin seam of his mouth. 

It took approximately sixteen-hundred years. 

All seven Jin disciples supporting the war effort left the tent after the ghost had recounted his final moments. The attempted sexual assault was not unexpected, judging by their faces, but still disappointing to hear about. Clearly not the entertainment they were hoping for. Luckily for Wei Wuxian, they were apparently too wrapped up in their Jin nonsense to realize new entertainment was fidgeting in the corner and trying not to sever the tip of his tongue completely. 

The Nie, represented by Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, left shortly after the ritual concluded. If Nie Mingjue had to tug his brother away, Wei Wuxian was too busy keeping his mouth shut to comment on it. 

And then there were just the four of them. Plus the corpse. But they were like six months into a war, so the corpse didn’t actually seem to bother any of them. It hadn’t even started to smell yet. It was still pretty intact, too, and now that it was verifiably a criminal, Wei Wuxian wondered idly if the Jin would let him use it in their next battle. Probably not. 

His idle wondering ceased abruptly as his brother’s fingers bit deeper into the meat of his arm. 

“Wei Wuxian,” he said, all of his surely filial worry for his gege boiling over into a spitting, incandescent fury. He never had to say he loved his brother, Wei Wuxian could always tell. It was the teeth gnashing that gave him away. “What the fuck do you mean you fell?” 

Right. 

Wei Wuxian played it as cool as he could with a definitely-not-bleeding tongue. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jiang Cheng.” He shrugged, but his arm didn’t move very far. 

“You answered Inquiry,” said Lan Zhan. Succinct as ever. 

“No!” Wei Wuxian said, maybe a little too loud, but not at all childishly. 

Zewu Jun narrowed his eyes and pulled out his xiao. Wei Wuxian tried not to flinch about it, he did. But Zewu Jun only played a short, non-Inquiry melody, and a shimmering, blue barrier manifested around the interior of the tent. 

“No,” Wei Wuxian said again, this time at a totally normal volume. “I was just… messing around. You know how I do that, Lan Zhan. Always a rule breaker.” He grinned, desperately trying to play it all off. Realizing faster and faster how very badly this was going for him. 

Lan Zhan surprised him, then, saying, “Not when it matters.” 

“What?”

“Wei Ying doesn’t break rules when they matter.” 

Wei Wuxian didn’t know where the fuck that was coming from. But he couldn’t say he hated it. 

Except that he did, because it was going to be a problem for this whole I’m just a silly rascal defense he was setting up. 

Jiang Cheng still hadn’t let go of his arm. His fingernails were starting to split the fabric of his sleeve. And worse, his eyebrows were scrunched together in the way they do when he’s thinking through all the angles of a problem. 

Zewu Jun still had his xiao in hand, and he was looking at Wei Wuxian like he was deciding whether to perform an exorcism or an execution. 

But Lan Zhan… Lan Zhan hadn’t moved from his seat on the mat. He had turned his body so that he was facing Wei Wuxian, giving him his full attention, and was looking up at him with… pain in his eyes. Shining, wet pain. 

“You died?” he asked. “Are you dead?”

“I don’t…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. He couldn’t find the words. 

He didn’t know. Which was, possibly, not the best sign. 

“I can’t be dead,” he said, looking over at Zewu Jun, Jiang Cheng, then back to Lan Zhan. “Can I?”

Zewu Jun, still wary, said, “You responded to the compulsion in Inquiry. Inquiry is a song that speaks to and compels answers from the dead. It does not generally work on the living.” 

“Well--” Wei Wuxian started, defensive and scared. But again, he didn’t really know where to go with that. 

“Where were you, Wei Wuxian?” Jiang Cheng asked him. “Why didn’t you meet me at the bottom of the hill?” 

Lan Zhan and Zewu Jun shared a look. They didn’t seem to know what Jiang Cheng was talking about. But Wei Wuxian really, really, didn’t want to get into that whole mess. If anyone was going to see right through him and his flimsy tale about suddenly remembering the location of Baoshan Sanren’s mountain, it would be Lan Zhan. Actually, Zewu Jun would probably figure it out, too. And then maybe even Jiang Cheng. Now that he wasn’t all broken and desperate and gullible. 

Fuck. With the way Jiang Cheng was looking at Wei Wuxian, the way his hand released some of the pressure around his arm, he might already have. 

Wei Wuxian laughed, hoping it came off more smoothly than it felt in his chest. “Ah, Jiang Cheng.” He brought his own hand up to lay over his brother’s. “What if I told you--”

“No,” Jiang Cheng cut him off. “No more bullshit. Where were you?”

The mirth, false as it was, drained out of Wei Wuxian as he saw the pain building behind his brother’s eyes. 

There was movement in his periphery and then Lan Zhan was standing on his other side. His fingers wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s other arm with a much gentler grip than Jiang Cheng’s. Something imploring about the touch. Like he was seeking confirmation to a theory, or maybe proving to himself that Wei Wuxian was actually there. 

“I…” Wei Wuxian trailed off. 

Zewu Jun’s gaze was hard as steel, but aimed, it seemed, at Lan Zhan’s hand, rather than at Wei Wuxian in general. 

“There was a rumor,” he said in slow, even words, “that Wen Chao had thrown you into the Burial Mounds.” He waited a moment after he finished speaking, as if trying to reconcile the words himself, before he looked up to meet Wei Wuxian’s eyes. 

Of course, Wei Wuxian didn’t want to meet Zewu Jun’s eyes. He didn’t want to meet any of their eyes. He wanted very much to be out of this tent and away from knowing gazes altogether. 

Unfortunately, he hadn’t quite figured out how to teleport using resentful energy yet. So in the tent he remained. 

He looked down at his feet. His boots were crusted with dirt and blood and other bodily fluids. War really was super gross, in addition to being largely boring. 

“That’s ridiculous,” he said, still looking down. “Everyone knows that nothing leaves the Burial Mounds.” 

Lan Zhan’s hand tightened around Wei Wuxian’s arm. Jiang Cheng’s loosened, but didn’t let go. 

“Yeah,” said Jiang Cheng, like an accusation, “it would be impossible.” 

Wei Wuxian still didn’t look up from his feet which meant that he missed whatever silent conversation happened between Jiang Cheng and Lan Zhan that had both of them tightening their grips on his arms just before fingers were pressed to the pulse points of his wrists. He struggled, flailing as much as he could, but against Lan Zhan’s golden core and his own, he stood no chance. He could barely budge them. 

He screamed but the sound only reverberated inside the tent. 

The only thing he could think to do was to call up the dead. The dead man still lying in front of them. The Jin. Rapist. Criminal. He could use that wicked corpse to fight off the people holding him down, taking his secrets. Smoke curled out of his sleeves and he--

He stopped himself. 

It was over anyway. 

Even if they couldn’t read his spiritual energy, or lack thereof, his fighting them was confirmation enough. 

He went limp in their grasp. His knees buckled. 

It really was the stupidest possible way to be found out. 

“Where is it?” asked Jiang Cheng. But it was clear from his voice that he already knew the answer. 

Lan Zhan was silent. 

Zewu Jun looked to his brother for an answer, not understanding what they had just discovered. 

“His golden core,” said Lan Zhan. “It’s gone.” 

“Wen Zhuliu?” Zewu Jun asked. 

But Jiang Cheng made a sound that was somehow both a laugh and a sob. 

Wei Wuxian regained control of his arms. He sprawled himself out on the tent floor, exhausted from his struggle. He laughed, too. “After a fashion.” 

Jiang Cheng fell to the ground next to him, hands cradling the place where Wei Wuxian’s core now spun. “What the fuck?” he said, quietly, to no one in particular. Then, loudly, to Wei Wuxian in particular, “What the fuck!” 

His cheeks were wet. Jiang Cheng’s, his own. He looked over to confirm, and yeah, Lan Zhan’s too. Zewu Jun had nothing to cry over, except maybe confusion, but he was too cool for that, so he just stood in the middle of the tent, shocked, presumably, as his brother, another sect leader, and a demonic cultivator broke down around him. 

Wei Wuxian stared up at the tented canvas ceiling and cursed himself for not leaving the tent when he first noticed something wrong. 

“Jiang Cheng,” he started, but Jiang Cheng cut him off with a wet yell. 

“Why would you do that, you fucking idiot?! What the fuck were you even thinking?! How did you-- How--” 

He seemed to lose steam trying to figure out what happened on “Baoshen Sanren’s mountain” and potentially also why Baoshen Sanren’s voice sounded so familiar. 

Zewu Jun’s voice was remarkably calm for a man witnessing-- whatever he made of what he was currently witnessing. He said, “Wei Wuxian, I believe your Sect Leader would like to know how you lost your golden core.” 

Wei Wuxian laughed at that. Because yes and no. 

“No, Zewu Jun,” he said, still laughing. He tried to stop, but it was just too funny. “No,” he said again, slightly more sober, “he wants to know why and how he now has my golden core.” 

He didn’t really mean to say it. He felt drunk again, like he did when Lan Zhan was playing Inquiry. Ready to spill all his secrets at only the slightest provocation. Zewu Jun could probably ask him just about anything right now -- Lan Zhan and Jiang Cheng too, for that matter -- and he would answer it. It wasn’t exactly a safe mindset to be in. But he couldn’t really do anything about that now. 

At least there was some kind of privacy barrier over the tent. 

Zewu Jun stood. Speechless. 

Lan Zhan’s tears fell silently. 

Jiang Cheng glared, hands clutched tight against his lower dantian -- whether to hold something inside or to tear it out, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure. 

Wei Wuxian felt light as a feather. Drunk and dizzy with it. A weight had been lifted, he supposed, but one he was never supposed to let go. His laughter died down to the occasional press of his lungs. Tears collected in his eyelashes until everything was blurry. 

Emptiness yawned inside him, but it was gentler somehow. As if the secret itself had been clawing away at his slowly healing wounds. 

“Fuck,” he said with a hiccup of a laugh. And again, quieter, “Fuck.”

He really should have left the fucking tent. 

Also, wait. Was he dead?! 

--

(7/18/24: now on ao3)

[phdmama]

Hey lovely, how about 43 from the smut dialogue list if you’re still looking for inspo - and maybe buddie as the ship? (I may have started reading a few fics and it might be about to become a problem…) but any ship that takes your fancy if you’re prefer!

Hello my dear pal!! I am so so excited you're reading some Buddie!! xox

I am so sorry this took this long to write (I've had some real rollercoaster ups and downs over the past few days with this silly broken leg bullshit). So anyway - here is where my brain went! (Keep in mind, I am lots of painkillers and have barely written in months!)

43. “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Show My Mouth (Your Favorite Places)

Buddie, ~2300 words, Explicit tags: getting together, first time, Eddie Diaz has yet another close call, gratuitous use of italics, only lightly beta'd by me, set somewhere vaguely post season 7ish?

They’re barely through the door of Buck’s loft and Buck immediately has Eddie backed up against it, reaching out to run a hand over Eddie’s chest.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie says again, and yeah, okay, it’s probably the tenth time he’s repeated the words but that was too close a call, and Buck says as much as Eddie tips his head back against the door, his eyes closed.

“Take your shirt off,” Buck says, reaching for the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. It’s dirty and torn and Eddie doesn’t protest, doesn’t even open his eyes, just lifts his arms and lets Buck pull the rough fabric over his head.

“If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask,” Eddie says and Buck freezes.

“I just. I need to see you’re okay,” he says finally, and Eddie just smiles. 

“Help yourself. I told you, the thing barely grazed me.”

Buck doesn’t answer, just flips on the light and runs his hands lightly over Eddie’s chest. There are some scrapes, a few spots that will probably bruise, but Buck has to admit Eddie is probably right, the damage is superficial. Buck doesn’t really pay attention to what his hands are doing, caught in the memory of the way the tree had come down and for one, brief, terrifying moment he’d thought… He’d thought. That’s all.

He’s still thinking, lost in it when Eddie says, his voice rough, “Buck.”

“What?” Buck startles back to the moment and realizes he’s been, well. 

He’s been gently stroking Eddie’s bare chest, and Eddie’s eyes are open now, dark and intense, fixed on Buck’s face. His skin is slightly goosebumped and his nipples are tight buds on his broad chest. Buck rips his gaze away and swallows, his throat dry.

He’s worked so hard to just be chill, is the thing. After he and Tommy broke up (no real drama, just Tommy gently letting him down), Buck has been so, well. Aware of men, is the thing. Men in general and one man in particular. Buck knows he’s been weird about Eddie from the very beginning, and he knows Eddie is just as weird about him, and there have been moments where he’s thought… maybe… but he’s never been sure. Never seen a look on Eddie’s face like the one currently leveled at him.

“Are you, um. Are you cold?” he whispers and Eddie’s mouth curves.

“Not even a bit,” Eddie says, and his voice is so low and gravelly, it legitimately sends a shiver down Buck’s spine.

“Are you in pain?”

Eddie just shakes his head, not breaking his gaze. 

“I, just.” Buck’s heart is pounding. It feels like an avalanche in his chest, and under his hands, he can feel Eddie’s heart racing, just as fast. “Eddie,” Buck says, his voice pleading, although he doesn’t even know what it is he’s asking for. 

Eddie knows though, the way Eddie always knows.

Eddie simply replies, “Buck,” and then lays one hand over one of Buck’s where it’s still resting on his bare skin. 

For one brief, agonizing moment, Buck worries that Eddie is pushing his hand away, but it immediately becomes clear that's not what’s happening. Eddie is not pushing Buck’s hand away, he’s pushing it down. Eddie slides Buck’s hand down over his own toned abdomen, slowly enough that Buck can feel the expansion as Eddie takes a deep breath, and then, oh god. Then he shifts Buck’s hand even lower to where he’s hard in his LAFD sweats.

Buck stares at him as Eddie presses his hand to the hard length of him under the rough cotton. “Eddie,” he whispers.

“I’m not cold,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m not in pain. I don’t need you to fuss over me.”

“Then what,” Buck swallows. “What do you need?”

Eddie just grins, and he lifts the hand that’s not pressing Buck’s against his cock to curve it around Buck’s face. 

“I think you know,” is all he says and Buck breaks.

He surges forward, tightening his fingers around the hard shaft under his hand as he pushes forward, his mouth landing on Eddie’s. Buck is frantic, gasping as he lets himself go, lets himself take what he’s been longing for for so long. He’s afraid that this might be his only chance, that if he takes his time, Eddie will change his mind.

But Eddie doesn’t seem inclined that way. He meets Buck in the middle, strength for strength, passion for passion, kiss for kiss, until he begins to gentle things between them. 

Eddie pulls back, and whispers, “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

He leans back in and this time he sets the pace with deep, slow kisses, syrupy-sweet, until Buck thinks his knees might genuinely give out.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers and shifts, letting his mouth move over Buck’s face to his neck, a quick nip to the sensitive skin behind Buck’s ear that has Buck groaning and shaking. “Buck, baby. Let me take you to bed.”

“Too far,” Buck mumbles, turning his head to catch Eddie’s lips with his own. “Can’t wait.”

“Couch then,” Eddie insists and doesn’t stop kissing Buck, just gently herds him backwards through the apartment until Buck’s dropping onto his couch and pulling Eddie down with him.

For several moments, Buck doesn’t think about anything at all except the feel of Eddie’s chest against his own, the taste of Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hand in his hair as they kiss. He finally has to pull back to take a deep gasping breath, and just stares at Eddie over him.

“Is this… is this really happening?” Buck finds himself asking and Eddie grins, drops a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

“It is if you want it to be.”

Buck just blinks at him. “I didn’t know. How did I not know you wanted this?”

Eddie shrugs, shifts his weight off of Buck so he can pull Buck up to sitting. “Let’s just say… when you started dating Tommy, I figured a few things out.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Of course not, Buck. You and Tommy, well. You were happy. Having fun. I didn’t think this was possible, but then when you guys broke up, and we were back to hanging out all the time. I started to think that maybe…” his voice trails off as he hooks his fingers under the hem of Buck’s t-shirt and starts to remove it. 

Buck automatically lifts his arms. “Have you ever… with a guy?”

Eddie just smiles, shakes his head. “Never let myself even think about it when I was young, and then. I guess it was just never the right time. Until now.” He lifts his hand, brushes his knuckles across Buck’s cheekbone, skates his hand down to curl it around Buck’s jaw. “I want to, though. With you, if you want that.”

Buck stares at him. “If I want that? Eddie. Of course I want that. I just. What does it mean?”

Eddie leans in, kisses him once and then again. He feels so good that Buck can’t help but groan as Eddie’s mouth moves to his collar bones as he slowly pushes Buck down onto his back, slides between his legs.

Eddie lifts his head after pressing one last kiss to Buck’s chest. “It means whatever you want,” he says finally.

“But,” Buck is compelled to ask, “what if it changes everything?”

Eddie laughs, low and rough. “Of course it’ll change everything, Buck, and I want that. I don’t think it’ll take anything away though. It’s just another way for me to love you, and I already do, so…”

He pauses and Buck grabs him by the shoulders. 

“Up, up, up here now,” he says frantically, suddenly sure that if he can’t kiss Eddie immediately, he may genuinely die.

Eddie snickers and Buck realizes he’s said that last part out loud. Then Eddie’s mouth is back on him, and Buck stops thinking at all.

He’s aware that this is Eddie’s first time with a guy (and holy hell, that’s a thought so hot that Buck’s brain might melt out of his ears) but there’s nothing in the way Eddie’s moving against him that suggests any hesitation about what they're doing. He lines them up, hard cocks pressed together, both of them still in their sweatpants, and sets up a slow, filthy grind. It’s good, so fucking good, that all Buck can do is wrap his legs around Eddie, grab onto his shoulders, and hold on.

Eddie’s kissing him again, those same deep, slow kisses, his tongue fucking into Buck’s mouth in counterpart to the way their bodies are moving together. Buck’s got his hands firmly planted on Eddie’s ass now, and it’s just as spectacular as Buck always thought it would be, especially with Eddie gasping into his mouth, sexy punched out groans that bring Buck closer and closer to the edge.

“How do you…” Buck starts and then shudders at a particularly innovative shift of Eddie’s hips. “Eddie, fuck, how…”

“How what, babe?” Eddie whispers against his lips, not letting up on the way he’s rolling his hips for even a moment.

“How do you want to come?” Buck finally grits out, holding on by sheer force of will now.

The question seems to surprise Eddie and he eases up now, rocking his hips so slowly as he considers Buck’s face.

“I mean,” Eddie says and then a wicked grin crosses his face. “You’re the expert here, Buckley. Walk me through it. What are the options?”

Buck stares up at Eddie and then can’t help himself, starts to laugh, deep belly laughs as his head drops back onto the couch cushions. “Not an expert,” he gasps finally, and sweeps his hands from where they’re resting on Eddie’s shoulders down his arms to his wrists and then back up again, to link his fingers behind Eddie’s head, pulling him in for a kiss. “Journeyman at best.”

Eddie is still grinning and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Fine. Journeyman. Whatever.”

Buck kisses him again, reaches down to grab Eddie’s hips and pulls them flush to his own, before working his way down Eddie’s neck.

“Lots of options,” he mumbles into Eddie’s collar bones. 

Eddie is grinding against Buck harder now, gasping, and Buck can taste the sweat on Eddie’s chest under his tongue. 

“We can keep doing this,” Buck manages to say and then groans at the way Eddie feels. “Fuck, that’s so. Oh my god, Eddie.”

“What else?” Eddie pants.

“I could… oh shit, Eddie, I could.” Buck swallows, his own breathing ragged in his ears. “I could suck you, jerk you off, whatever you want. You could fuck me,” and Eddie goes rigid above him, head thrown back, tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief as he lets out the sexiest sound Buck has ever heard, and Buck feels Eddie’s cock jerk as he starts to come.

For a long moment, the silence in the room is broken by the harsh sounds of Eddie’s breathing. Then Eddie opens his eyes, and the look on his face cracks Buck’s heart wide open. Eddie looks astonished, awed almost, as if his entire worldview has been shaken, and maybe it has, Buck thinks, remembering some of his own recent revelations. Maybe it has.

Eddie stares down at Buck as his breathing starts to settle, and the weight of him pressing Buck into the couch is as intoxicating as it is reassuring. There’s something so raw and honest about this moment — the way Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Buck’s face, the damp heat between them, the smell of sex intermingled with the scent of the peonies Buck bought at the Farmer’s Market the other day. Buck feels like every sense he has, and maybe some he didn’t even know about, are dialed all the way in.

“Buck,” Eddie breathes and his smile makes Buck’s throat tighten and his eyes prickle suspiciously. “My god, Buck.”

Eddie leans down and brushes a kiss across Buck’s lips, gentle and sweet, but as he does so, the extra pressure on Buck’s aching cock makes him hiss, his hips jerking up not of his volition.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie says, and without further ado, slides down Buck’s body and sticks his hand down Buck’s pants.

It doesn’t take long after that. Objectively, it’s nowhere near the best handjob Buck’s ever had — Eddie’s hand is dry, his grip a bit too tight, and his rhythm isn’t great, but none of that matters because it’s Eddie staring down at him, Eddie whispering things like “God, Buck, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart, c’mon baby, give it to me,” and Buck is helpless to do anything but obey.

It feels to Buck like his orgasm is being drawn out from the very depths of his being, starting deep in his belly and rolling over him like the tide, inevitable and inexorable. Eddie keeps muttering words of encouragement, and when Buck’s head tilts back and his back arches, Eddie grins in satisfaction.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

It turns out Eddie is mistaken. They clean up, make some dinner, collapse on the couch with their food and beers, and it’s no different than any other normal post-shift hangout. In the morning, Eddie good-naturedly submits to the ice packs Buck presses against his bruises, lets Buck make him coffee and bring it to him on the couch. No different from any other close call aftermath.

But Eddie’s never spent the night at Buck’s like that. Never brushed his teeth side by side with Buck before crawling into bed, wrapping himself around Buck like an octopus, the bare skin of his chest pressed to Buck’s back, his hand resting possessively on Buck’s hip. He’s never brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin at the nape of Buck’s neck. And he’s never said I love you quite like this before. So yeah, it turns out that he was also 100% correct. It changes everything.

And it’s amazing.

[corpusdiem-seizethedead]

Angel: I always thought "happiness" started with an "h", so why does mine start with "u"? 😉

Husk:

Husk: I think you're fucking dyslexic.

[muffinlance]

I know you hate being asked. But I desperately need to know is there any plans for Fox younger and Kirin bone book 3? I’ve passed my copy around to a few friends and I’m starting to get hounded for more.

Sequels are in the works! Book two pre-order is coming shortly, and book three is fully outlined and currently being written (albeit slowly, because it is spring and I'm enjoying the lovely weather with my children. Was literally working on the next chapter all weekend, though!)