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manicpixiefelix · 11 months ago

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baby, put your back into it {Farleigh Start/Reader/Oliver Quick}

2/2: think about me while you do it [SMUT]

{ masterpost : 2/2 }

Summary: In which Oliver puts you in your place, and makes you beg to be there.

Need to Know: She/Her. AFAB!Reader. Established FWB Brat!Reader/Brat Tamer!Farleigh

Warnings: PWP!! smut; fingering, oral (M receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of arguing, reader is very very bratty, dehumanising language and overall incredibly degrading talk, BDSM, leashes, dacryphilia(crying), reader being treated like a dog, bondage & restraints, creampie, so much begging, sir kink, oliver having the time of his life as a manipulative dom, pet name used for the reader "princess" and being referred to as "good girl"

A/N: 7434 words. never ever as long as i live will i ever write this pairing (farleigh/brat!reader/oliver) again, and not only can you quote me on that, but you can take it to the fucking bank. that being said, i did genuinely LOVE writing this, i think they're dynamic is so incredibly fun to explore, and honestly there's something hot about the mind games they all play on each other. it's just that it takes FUCKING FOREVER for them to do anything because they all hate each other. well, you and farleigh hate oliver and he hates both of you, but you also like to cause problems on purpose which pisses them both off. i love it. i never want to write them again. 10/10 LETS GET WEIRD WITH IT i would love to know what you guys think about this all :) oh also we definitely get heavy on the farleigh/oliver in this as well

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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Farleigh has always had these long, delicate fingers that Oliver's been fascinated by since they'd met, since he'd grabbed his thigh - so achingly briefly - in their tutor's office and levelled a grin that surely read as apologetic to the professor for running late, but turned so immediately dismissive the minute his gaze flicked to Oliver himself. For so long as Oliver wormed his way into Felix's life, into his circle of friends, that's all Farleigh had been; dismissive looks and long, enticing fingers poised with cigarettes and disdain like he was a model for Marlboro.

But the coldness in Farleigh's eyes turned warmer, especially over the Summer at Saltburn, and Oliver couldn't deny the heat of his frustration didn't have some kind of want pitting in his stomach. Anger and lust have never truly been strangers, at least not if he was judging by the way Farleigh had been looking at him tonight.

Now, Farleigh was looking at you with that heat in his eyes, looking at your parted lips and breathless smile like he wanted to devour you whole after so readily giving in to Oliver's degradation. Then he's watching the gentle way Oliver caresses your face in the moments that follow, and that heat too turns degrading.

"You really have no self respect," he scoffs; the mood shifts sharply to the left. There's that look in your eyes again like you're on the verge of causing more trouble.

"He said I had no manners!" You protested as Farleigh moved back from you, "my etiquette teacher would be rolling in her grave if she heard that!"

"Etiquette teachers aren't a real thing, are they?" Oliver, genuinely baffled enough to be pulled out of his earlier mood, automatically shuffles back as Farleigh gently pushes you over. You land on your stomach with a humph, hands still trapped at the small of your back, though now Oliver can see the skilled, tight way his belt was binding them. It conjures up images of expensive leather contraptions, restraints, and you on display, desperate for a hungry-eyed academic like Farleigh who'd actually put in the work to study how to best tame a beast like you.

"Do you think she ever stops to think why we call her a princess?" Farleigh scoffs in a brief moment of solidarity as he reclines on the bed. Oliver actually, genuinely laughs at that, much to your chagrin, at least until Farleigh's hand, those beautiful fingers, pushing down the waistband of his own boxers to finally give his cock some sorely needed attention. "Don't think your manners are the most scandalous thing you've been a part of tonight," he adds, turning his head to you with a deliciously sly smile, "your etiquette teacher know you beg like that?"

Oliver had caught sight of the way you were pouting, legs kicking ineffectually against the end of the bed considering how you were trapped in your position, like a little worm. You turned your head to face Farleigh with that same sulky expression, like all three of you didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

"My arms hurt," is all the response you give.

"Good," Oliver hadn't meant to say that out loud, nor had he entirely realised how fucking pleased he'd sounded as he'd said it, but it had seemingly escaped him nonetheless. His focus had been caught on the lazy rhythm Farleigh had been using to keep himself hard, but he still found himself enjoying the sound of your complaints, it seemed.

And your reactions to him; the way your fingers curled, the shiver he could see run down the length of your spine, and how quickly you had to press your face into the mattress, most likely embarrassed by whatever Farleigh would have seen in your expression. It seemed Farleigh himself wasn't even immune, cock momentarily twitching in his hand before Oliver realised how long he'd been staring, and that Farleigh's bright yet smug expression had meant he'd definitely noticed.

"You are taking to this remarkably fast," Farleigh sounds almost pleased, almost proud. You tell him to shut the fuck up, face still pressed against the duvet, but can't kick anyone from this angle, much to his ongoing amusement.

Surfacing, but still rather flustered, you announce sharply that you're not touching either of them until you can use your hands again. Oliver remarks that that's the point, and there's a part of him that's far too pleased about how it makes Farleigh laugh too. Of course this sets you off - he should have known - but it's easy enough for Oliver, sitting on his knees beside you on the bed, to keep you from sitting up too far once you've managed to roll over onto your back.

He knows he's different in this light, leaning over you, everything awash with the blue and silver of the night. For just a moment, it's as if you know you're helpless, his hand flat and warm on your chest, on your sternum, and you can see it in his eyes that he thinks you're helpless beneath him too. The chain around his neck hangs like the sword of Damocles above your own throat, and with the blue, searching, hungry eyes of a man who remembers every last cruel remark you'd tossed at him in the past week.

"Can I at least get some water?" You break the moment, and Oliver almost has to laugh, "it's not funny, I'm thirsty and for some reason," you pointedly rolled your eyes, words dripping with sarcasm, attempting to regain some of the composure you liked to carry yourself with, "I can't move my arms."

"Of course, your highness," Oliver briefly acquiesces, lips twitching into a smile as he made his way to the adjoining bathroom, hoping their was some kind of cup in their. Re-joining the room, he finds Farleigh to be amused, and you to still be on your back, annoyed -

"- not kidding, I'm not doing anything with either of you if you don't take this belt off of my damn hands," you were still insisting. Farleigh just grinned.

"Yeah, Miss Green-Light-Princess, we'll see about that."

Considering how your expression scrunched up to something almost flustered, and you didn't have any kind of comeback, it was safe to say you were still on board, just as Farleigh was delighted to call you out on it. Oliver reintegrates himself, sits himself on the edge of the bed and wears a little smile even as you call him your hero with more bitter sarcasm than he's ever heard from anyone in his life.

"Sit up," so gentle, so opposite of the ways he's been speaking to you just before he'd left; Farleigh is regarding him curiously, but you just roll your eyes. Now that Oliver knew inside and out - pun entirely intended - you were deliciously predictable. Easy to lull into a false sense of superiority.

"I can't."

"Roll over," the sweetness is quickly disappearing. For a brief moment, Farleigh's gaze meet's Oliver's, and he knows exactly what Oliver's doing, even if you haven't clued in. There's a spark of devilish glee that they share in this moment, but Oliver can't let it show on his face.

"What?"

"Roll over, I'll help," Oliver's smile doesn't reach his eyes, but you dubiously agree. Perhaps you think he'll undo the restraints around your wrists. Of course he won't, you should know better than that.

With you obediently on your stomach, Oliver puts the water on the nightstand. One hand goes to your shoulder, the other holds your shoulder.

"Now princess," he murmurs low in your ear, tone oozing condescension, "sit," like ordering a dog when he pulls you upright; you don't even fully notice at first, the pressure from the angle that he pulls your arms makes them ache once more, but then you're sitting up on your knees, and Oliver's lips are inches from yours, leaning into your space with intent, "stay," and you go quiet.

There is fury when he looks in your eyes; your jaw twitches as you bite down on a hundred different retorts. There's something intoxicating about you, the way everything you do in these moments is a war between your cruel nature and your hedonistic desires. You want to kick him, you want him to spit in your mouth, you want to ruin him, you want him to ruin you. All of it is written in your eyes.

You have spent all week treating Oliver Quick like nothing more than a dog; you hate that it turns you on when he returns the favour.

Farleigh is eating this interaction up, watching like a hunter who lay in wait for his prey, content with how Oliver so skilfully toyed with you -

"There's a leash in the bottom draw of the night stand -"

"Farleigh Start, I'm going to kill you with my bare hands when I get them back," you hissed, but Farleigh's comment had piqued Oliver's curiosity. Before you could even look back to give Farleigh a withering glare, Oliver's hand found your throat. Thumb and fingers against your delicate pulse points, not yet cutting off the blood flow, but right where they needed to be.

Ironically it's Farleigh's voice in the back of his mind, a night out at the pub where it had just been mostly guys, and somehow the topic of their sex lives came up. It had been Farleigh who had rolled his eyes and explained - it's here, idiot - reaching over to demonstrate on Felix himself - it's cutting off the blood flow that makes their head spin, not actually choking them to death. Gorgeous fingers momentarily placed on his cousin's throat, Oliver had memorised the placement. Considering what he now knew of Farleigh's relationship with you, he didn't need to guess why he was so sure back in the pub.

"Didn't say speak."

"I'd kick you if I could," your lip curled, even as his grip on your throat tightened. That fire in your eyes was betrayed by the way your heartbeat practically danced beneath his fingertips, "give me my water, I wasn't kidding about that."

There's a long, tense moment where Oliver deliberates. Then, very slowly, he lets you go, and turns, reaching over to the night stand. Out of the corner of his eye there's a very sudden flurry of movement, and of Farleigh moving unexpectedly fast. The water actually shakes with it, spills and splashes several drops onto his thighs, cold in the humid room, before he turns to see the tableaux of attempted rebellion. Farleigh looks still amused, but rather exasperated, like he expected as much, expected to have his hand in your mouth, your teeth in his palm, other hand digging nails into your shoulder as he attempted to hold you back.

"It's like you forgot, Ollie," Farleigh says with a mean little smile, "my dog's the kind that bites," still he plays along, the words coming out lazily despite how he seems to actually have to work to pull his hand from your mouth. Your anger at being thwarted seemed to simmer just beneath your skin; this smile you now wear is laced with malice that hadn't been there before.

"Just having some fun," you practically spat, with both of Farleigh's hands now on your shoulders, holding you in place. This malevolence is it's own kind of fun; your desire to hurt, to wound, to sink your teeth in like a cornered animal betrays you to Oliver. Your pride is starting to win over your desire; your capacity for cruelty is overcoming your desire to be put in your place. Perhaps it was getting to real, perhaps you remembered how much better you supposed you were than Oliver himself. This is exactly how he wants you.

Princess. Collared.

Taking a deep, deliberate breath, Oliver levels a flat, unimpressed look at you. Both you and Farleigh are waiting, watching, letting him lead in this moment, and he does. Water in one hand, he carefully reaches down to the bottom drawer of the nightstand - when you move, the bed moves with you, but Farleigh's grip on you never yields, never lets you lunge at Oliver the way you keep trying. The collar is sleep and simple, padded on the inside, with a leash to match. It even has a little bell, and an engraved tag.

Bitch.

Oliver chuckles a laugh as he reads it, he can't help himself.

"Farleigh thinks he's very funny," you roll your eyes, knowing exactly what Oliver had found so amusing. Farleigh does look particularly pleased with himself over your shoulder.

"It was true when I got it engraved and it's still true now."

But Oliver's moving on again, asking Farleigh to hold the glass of water for him as he fiddles with the collar. He is quiet, intense, arms around your neck as he takes his time doing up the collar; his face is so close to yours, sharing your furious, shaking breathes.

"How is our princess feeling?" Oliver takes the moment to check in, genuine, though it seems to irritate you further, "green light?"

"Do not flatter yourself into thinking I am yet speechless," you spit, "if I truly thought you offered me nothing, and wanted nothing more from you, I am more than capable of making that abundantly clear." You were endlessly fascinating to Oliver; you wanted to maim him, but you wanted him nonetheless. He tightens the collar around your neck. Farleigh still has one hand on your shoulder; his thumb comes to press against the edge of the collar, against your skin meeting the leather as he makes a pleased hum. "Green fucking light, scholarship boy," you give a mocking little smile to Oliver, the bitterness never leaving your eyes.

"Good -" the moment Oliver has latched the collar, has the leash curled at the back of your neck around his fist, you strain forward against it. The bell rings with the movement, a delicate sound for an indelicate moment -

"But I am warning you," forehead pressed against Oliver's, you're straining for any inch, any millimetre more you could get from his unyielding grip on your leash, you practically snarl against his lips with venomous hatred, "about what you will get when you treat me like a dog." Yet Oliver makes sure to remain impassive, perhaps even a little amused, in the face of your threats.

"If I can't make you bark like a good girl, princess," Oliver murmurs, catching your lips in a kiss even as you try to bite him, pulling back with a cold smile, "then I'm going to make you beg."

"Are you going to be a good girl?" Farleigh's voice purrs in your ear, and some of the viciousness about you eases. You sit back, back out of Oliver's space, and watch as Farleigh hands the water back to Oliver's waiting hands, trading him for the leash.

"For you," there's contempt in your eyes as you watch Oliver while addressing Farleigh, "I'll think about it."

Oliver's gaze meet's Farleigh's as he presses his laughter to your shoulder; something in his eyes almost says, well, good luck, I tried. Like Oliver isn't revelling in this chance you've laid before him; like he doesn't know how quickly your body betrays you at every single opportunity.

"If you want some water, you have to ask nicely," Oliver offers. A pause follows, and he watches you change tact.

You relax, letting the fight leave you, pressing yourself back against Farleigh as much as you could. Feeling his face so close to yours you turn, practically nuzzling against him.

"Even if I'm nice, he's going to be mean about it," your voice comes out so sweetly, so transparently manipulatively, "I just want a drink of water, you wouldn't make me beg for a drink of water, Farleigh," you insist, voice plaintive, all doe-eyed and pouting and not looking at Oliver.

"I can and I have and you didn't complain this much," Farleigh saw fit to remind you, giving a wide, mean smile. Your lip began to quiver.

"You're not even fucking me and I'm going to cry," you tried whimpering.

"Funny how none of those sound like any of those safe words," Oliver points out. Your lip stops quivering, in fact, you glare at him out of the corner of your eye as you pout, still trying to be soft and gentle with Farleigh.

"That's because they're not," Farleigh says far too knowingly, far too smugly, muttering into your ear once more, though loud enough for Oliver to clearly hear how sharp and praising it is, "and aren't you pretty when you cry."

"Can't cry if I'm dehydrated," you huff, and finally Farleigh, with a roll of his eyes, gives in with a sigh.

"Give her the water."

You immediately perk up, looking far too pleased to be getting your way, and lean forward expectantly. Oliver will give you this - and only this - before he drags every bit of satisfaction out of you that he wants. So he is careful, doesn't let the water spill, lets you breathe between mouthfuls when you indicate.

"All of it; it's good for you," still he tells you, tone like a teacher, cup insistent at your lips.

"Yes sir," you managed sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you drank more of the water, but something snapped, rewired in Oliver's brain. Farleigh could see it too.

"Oh he liked that," he commented, eyes alight with intrigue, and you frowned as you indicated for Oliver to lower the cup.

"I'm not saying it again."

"The optimism you have about what you will and won't do tonight is adorable," Farleigh tells you, planting a teasing kiss on your cheek, while you tell him to piss off.

"Give me the last of my water, you fuck," you finally manage, and Farleigh finally feels like he can lay himself back down, cackling at your audacity in the face of everything that had just happened. He also drops the leash, at least confident in either Oliver, or his own reflexes, for the time being, "do you want me to drink it all or not? Pick a lane."

Oliver, glass in one hand, reaches between your legs with the other. Immediately, you close your eyes, breath catching, knowing exactly what he was playing at.

"Is that how you think you're going to get fucked tonight?" No response; Oliver's thumb begins moving on your clit, pressing insistent circles as your breathing grows deeper, "are you going to be a good girl?"

"I'm not going to bark for you," you manage through gritted teeth, though after a moment, you half stutter out a moan, "please can you let me finish my water?" Two fingers slide teasingly down your slit, "please, Oliver -" you swallow hard, eyes opening to meet his; he can see this almost pains you, "please Oliver Quick, can I have the last of my water?" Those two fingers inside of you, curling, teasing, pulling a groan from you, eyes fluttering closed, and your voice barely above a whisper, "may I finish my water, sir?"

Oh yes, he did like hearing that from you.

"Of course," Oliver sits back, pleased, licking his fingers clean like a pleased cat while assisting you with finishing off the glass of water. You can't meet his gaze, already embarrassed by how quickly you'd given in. He watches your tongue dart out across your lips, collecting the few drops that had strayed, clinging to the edges of your lips. Beautiful mouth, he's sure he can put it to good use.

"All better, princess?" Farleigh snarks from behind you. Oliver thinks he can see you bite back on a harsh retort, and once again watches you change tact. Shifting away from him, half turning so you were now perpendicular to Farleigh and able to properly look at him, you wriggled your legs out from under you, perhaps a little more comfortable to your side, like a Victorian woman on a fainting sofa, it's an unassumingly sweet pose for the situation. Though it clearly matched the energy you were trying to give off.

"Yes, Farleigh, thank you, Farleigh," without even sparing Oliver a single glance. For a long moment, Farleigh's gaze slides from your innocent act to Oliver, looking unamused and still holding the empty glass. A strange moment of understanding passes between them the minute Farleigh sees Oliver's gaze snap to the leash down your back. So he sits, leans in close to you, and takes your face in one hand. It's clear you're leaning in to this perceived moment of tenderness, but Farleigh stops, a breath from your lips.

"You fucking bit my hand," his voice ice cold, you see there's no humour in his eyes as you pull back and try to stammer out something, anything, genuinely caught off guard, "so thanks won't cut it, princess; you can start with an apology."

"I -" you begin to frown, but then the bed dips behind you, and Oliver's cool hand is grasping at the leash, pulling gently.

"Didn't say speak," he warned, and didn't even give you a moment to butt in before continuing, "show Farleigh you're sorry."

Farleigh, clearly delighted by this turn of events, sits himself up, shuffling back to lean comfortably against the headboard. This confidence becomes him, legs spread in invitation, generous cock resting hard and wanting against the smooth plane of his stomach. For several long moments, Oliver watches Farleigh lazily stroke himself, simply watching you and Oliver through a smug, half-lidded gaze.

"You should see yourselves," the teasing barely hides how his voice is dripping with want. Unsurprisingly, you try to play it off, becoming flustered at the implication of you staring, of how much you knew you wanted him. But Oliver meets Farleigh's gaze, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Farleigh's smile widens.

"Aren't you lucky?" Oliver murmurs into your ear, grip on your leash tight as he keeps his eyes locked with Farleigh's. Though you've gone quiet, Oliver's unsatisfied with your lack of proper response, and gives a pointed yank on your collar.

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, I'm lucky," you sighed faintly, "sir." Farleigh snorts a laugh, and Oliver grins, shuffling himself to sit on Farleigh's other side, by his hip, and looks expectantly at you before giving your leash a tug. At least you seem to be getting into this, considering you actually perk up, scrambling as best you could to sit yourself between Farleigh's legs.

There's something about the gleeful little grin that you give Farleigh in this moment that give away how much genuine joy and anticipation you have to have your mouth on his cock. He too seems at home in this moment, settling back against the headboard with his hands behind his head. It's almost cute, your eagerness, the way you lean down in anticipation before.

"Can I have my hands back now?"

Farleigh goes to sit up, goes to say something, as if he'd realised you'd probably need your hands for the act, but Oliver cuts him off before he can.

"No." And it's too firm for him to argue with. When you look at Oliver this time, there's something there that wasn't before. A moment of genuine doubt, a moment of genuine submission.

"Sir, I think I need my hands for this," instead of argumentative, it's almost pleading. This is the moment he knows he's starting to win. Oliver tips his head to the side, as if regarding you curiously.

"Do you?" He can see the doubt in your eyes grow; it's driving him mad the way he's holding himself back, but good things take time.

"I think so," you don't sound sure.

Oliver moves slowly, deliberately, and makes sure you're following his movements. Farleigh's cock twitches in Oliver's cool hand, but all Farleigh does is let out a low, pleased hum. He starts simply, thumb gliding over his slit, collecting the precum that had been beading there, hand then moving up and down in even strokes. For a moment, he chances a glance at Farleigh, only to see his head lolling back against the bedframe, pleased smile on his lips.

When an actual whimper escapes you, and Oliver feels you tug on your leash in his other hand, he remembers his task at hand. There's lust in your eyes as you wriggle, thigh clenching and rubbing together at the sight of Oliver working Farleigh's cock. This might be far easier than he thought.

"You want this?" Just like a pet owner with their clearly eager dog, Oliver teases you.

"Yes," your practically bark, breathless and eager and embarrassingly fast. It actually seems to catch both Oliver and Farleigh off guard, Farleigh's cock clearly reacting positively in Oliver's hand to your obvious desire, and Oliver giving Farleigh a genuinely impressed look.

"Never seen someone so eager to get their mouth around a cock before; you must've done something special to her."

"Do you want me to teach you or do you want me to show you?" Farleigh's eyes shine as brightly as his smile in the silver-blue glow of the night. Oliver's mouth goes dry at the thought, his own cock aching at the mere thought of what it would be like to look up at Farleigh with his smug approval - knew you could be boy for me, Oliver - and he wants to hate the idea, but he can't. But he doesn't get the chance to respond -

"No, mine," slips from you like a whine, unexpectedly possessive. It brings both boys' attention back on you, however, and you seem to realise your slip up. Mouth opening and closing, you can't even seem to find the words to defend yourself; at least you've learned to shut up.

"Careful princess," Farleigh says surprisingly coldly, slipping back into dominance with practiced ease, "you're lucky, remember?"

"I'm lucky," you nod emphatically, but you're straining against your leash, wetting your lips.

"Good girls get treats," he yanks your collar back to remind you who still holds your leash, "this a treat for you, princess?"

"I do genuinely enjoy it," you admit honestly, seeming a little flustered to be saying as much, looking to Oliver with a sheepish smile, "not with anyone else though," it's actually a very sweet moment.

"Really?" Farleigh seems genuinely flattered, wide, bashful smile on his face as he sits forward a little.

"You seriously don't understand how hot the noises you make are," you laughed a little self consciously, "I came completely untouched once just from going down on you."

"Are we here to stroke Farleigh's ego or his cock?" Oliver rolled his eyes, already tired of this, but Farleigh sat back obliging, while you tried to bend down, but very much couldn't.

"Pick a lane, Oliver," you groaned, before quickly amending, apologetically, "sir." Farleigh snickered. Oliver's gaze grew cold.

"Beg for it."

He pushes his hand between your shoulder blades, forcing you to double over and bend down, but then kept his grip on your leash tight as he held the shiny, plump head of Farleigh's cock just inches from your lips.

"Please," already you were back to playing along, mouth open, breathing heavy, whimpering as you hear an impatient moan from Farleigh himself, "please, sir please -"

"Please what?"

Mouth hanging open, panting like a desperate whore, you beg for Farleigh's cock in your mouth, your throat, to be facefucked and used, whatever - you felt like you were going insane from the suspense. All the words come spilling out from you, begging and dripping with need that Oliver almost gives in right there.

Oliver's hand has been skilfully fisted around Farleigh's cock this entire time, keeping him hard and ready and in the perfect spot to drive you made, just out of your reach. He'd half forgotten he was even doing it, getting him all worked up, leaking, slick, fingers shiny and sticky with Farleigh -

"Oliver -" Farleigh chokes out in a kind of warning tone, as if to tell him to stop playing around one way or the other.

"You think you deserve this?" Oliver finally lets Farleigh's cock go, and you actually whimper. Oliver wipes his hand off messily against your mouth, once more demanding to know if you think you deserve this. You're begging, please tumbling from your lips even as Oliver presses two fingers into your greedy mouth.

"Please, sir," muffled so much that it's almost indistinguishable as your thorough tongue laps at Oliver's fingers, "please, I need him," and the desperate tears are welling in your eyes as he keeps his fingers in your mouth but pushes you back up onto your knees.

"Will you sit for me if I give you what you want?" He pulls his fingers slowly from your mouth. You nod, heartbeat alive when he wraps a firm hand around your throat, "will you stay for me if I give you what you want?" Another nod, lip trembling and breathing so desperately hard. He applies more pressure.

"Anything," you gasp, hips moving again, insistent, desperate for friction; he'd see to that soon, "speak, shake," you wet your lips, "roll over."

Oliver glances over his shoulder to where Farleigh is watching with rapt attention. Good.

"Good dog," Farleigh mumbles, desperately working his own hand up and down his shaft.

Oliver lets go of the leash carefully, and your eyes snap back to him. Just as you promised, you sit, you stay, a good dog, watching him move closer to Farleigh with intent. He hears your breath catch the moment he takes Farleigh's cock in hand, and the desperate chanting of 'pleasepleaseplease' as he lowers himself down. For a moment, he looks to Farleigh, a silent question of permission, but considering he too can hear how desperate and needy you're behaving at the mere sight of this, he realises, at least in part, what Oliver's doing and seems entirely on board.

You were right, Farleigh moans and whimpers like a whore with a mouth on his cock. A wanton melody made all the sweeter for your begging having turned simply to needy noises. What Oliver can't fit of Farleigh in his mouth he continues to jerk off, momentarily slipping down to gently squeeze Farleigh's balls, earning him the most beautiful series of swears Oliver's ever heard. Tongue always moving, caressing, often lapping at Farleigh's slit and the sweet, salty slickness, Oliver works hard to make him feel good - which he knows he's more than capable of, despite his demeanour he's nothing near a virgin in any realm - without getting him to close. He'd still leave that for you.

For a moment he glances up at Farleigh, and the bitterness in his eyes at the edge of the obvious lust, like he resents Oliver for being so good at this, makes it all worth it.

I got you here, Farleigh, Oliver thinks with bitter triumph, everything else is sloppy fucking seconds.

When he pulls away, he makes sure there's a distinctive, lewd slurp before he takes a deep breath.

Looking to you, the fight is back in your eyes, but it doesn't fucking matter; Oliver won. He pulls you in for a rough kiss -

"I hate you," you snarl at him through your intensely frustrated pout, even as his hand grabs your jaw, "interloping little slut, where the fuck do you get off -?" But the minute he pushes his tongue into your mouth you still try to press yourself against him, to kiss him harder, taste all of Farleigh in him that you could. You know you're sloppy fucking seconds to him, and you hate him for it.

"I was thinking it was going to be in you," Oliver says blithely as he pulls away from the kiss. In the back of his mind he knows it's a loaded statement - ha - but he hasn't forgotten the colours if this was a bridge too far -

"Fucking finally you have some common sense," you sneer, as if you weren't still on the verge of tears, "I was going to say that if you ruined my sheets I was going to have you arrested."

"No you weren't," pipes up Farleigh with an eyeroll. Immediately embarrassed you tell him to shut up, "no, I don't think I will; I'm beginning to think you guys are a bunch of fucking teases -"

Oliver gives him a thin smile, handing over the leash, having gotten all the permission he needed.

"Are you going to be good for Farleigh?" He whispered low in your ear, "didn't you want this?"

"Weren't you just begging for it?" Farleigh smirked down at you, lust-filled approval in his voice, "come on, baby," he murmurs as he takes your face in his hands, and immediately you're his, "crying for me?" The teasing starts warm, but as he's wiping the first of the tears from your cheeks, as you're nodding with embarrassment, his teasing turns mean and sharp and smug, "crying like a desperate, little cockwhore," he doesn't even time to let you react before he's giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze; "open up," he orders in that same cruel, loving, smug tone that makes Oliver's hairs stand up on the back of his neck. But you seem to react with relief the moment you have your mouth around him.

There's something that even Oliver finds entrancing about Farleigh in this moment. He'd been leading you both for so long that he'd forgotten where it had all started, the way Farleigh had spoken so early on, and how even in your most vicious or playful, part of you would always refer back to him. Part of Farleigh had earned your respect, and in the end, he had been the only one in the house who made the princess feel like her place was on her knees.

"Now your little power trip is over," Farleigh's voice cuts through Oliver's thoughts like a fucking knife, as always, painful and clean and precise, "do you need my permission to -" but Oliver's done with his bullshit tonight too.

"Shut it Farleigh," he rolls his eyes and starts to move once more. Time he focuses on your bound hands, finally deciding that you'd probably had enough, or at least were willing enough to listen to either Oliver or Farleigh in a way that mattered.

"Oh my god, freedom!" You immediately announced, sitting up to throw your hands in the air with a genuinely delightful glee.

"You see what you've done," Farleigh looked over your shoulder to Oliver, tossing his belt to the side, but you were already using your freedom to crawl up to meet him. Oliver's surprised by how genuine and affectionate you are when you tell him to be quiet for a moment. With one hand still working on him, the other being used to brace yourself up, you kiss Farleigh gently. What surprises Oliver even further is the momentary look of actual love in Farleigh's eyes as he cups your jaw and kisses you back.

Then you're moving back, making sure to let them both know that you weren't kidding about how much you enjoyed going down on Farleigh. However you do give pause, looking at Oliver through narrowed eyes for a long minute where he's sitting by your knees, watching the exchange, not quite sure where he was meant to go from here.

Your foot lashes out at him. Hard. It's unexpected. Somehow, so is the second kick that follows immediately after. The third he anticipates, but by that stage you'd shunted him to the edge of the bed, and though he tries to catch your leg he falls off, unsuccessful.

"What kind of problem do you have?" Oliver is scowling from the floor, his shoulder and hip sore from the fall, while Farleigh is laughing his ass off.

"What are you, a coat rack suddenly?" You demanded, matching his scowl with one of your own, still braced on your hands and knees over Farleigh, "also fuck you for making me beg for water." Careful, Oliver thinks, he's not quite done making you beg.

"Maybe his dick's broken," Farleigh snorted, "which would be a fucking shame; have you had a proper look at it?" Oliver bristled at the implications, though he knew he'd be thinking about the compliment tucked in there for days to come.

"You are both right fucking insufferable," Oliver snapped, getting to his feet and brushing himself off with indignation.

"Yeah, I'll cry about it in the shower later," you could clearly be heard rolling your eyes. There's a few pointedly obnoxious moments where you make a point of gagging on Farleigh's cock before coming back up for air and to add, "fuck me or fuck off - woah, okay, good choice!"

Before you can even finish your ultimatum, Oliver's decided he's come too far to, well, not. Grabbing your thighs with all the strength he could muster, he pulls you almost entirely away from Farleigh, to the end of the bed, half off the bed, causing you to faceplant into the duvet the moment your knees were no longer supporting you. Farleigh's protests fall on deaf ears, however, as all Oliver allows himself to focus on is keeping you stable, bent over the end of the bed like this.

Still, Farleigh shifts down to accommodate your change in position, despite his eye rolling and claims that Oliver's being dramatic, it's overshadowed by the sudden, loud moan that escapes you.

"Never felt someone so fucking desperate for someone they hate," Oliver bites out, almost impressed by how easy it was to bury himself in you. In the moment he gives you to adjust, his hand pressed to the small of your back to which you eagerly arch back against him, he watches Farleigh. It's his turn to be smug.

After a moment, he gives a few, shallow, experimental thrusts. Each time you rock back to meet him, to take him as deep as possible, and each time he hears a faint, pleased whimper. Your body and it's desires has betrayed you at every single opportunity, which is information Oliver gladly keeps in the back of his mind.

"Come on princess," he leans over to you to murmur in your ear where you'd pressed your face to Farleigh's thigh for the moment, attempting to keep going with your hand on him when your body could only focus on the rhythm of Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, "you've got a job to do, don't you want to be good?"

"I want to be good," you keened, before making the effort to prop yourself up, taking Farleigh in your mouth once more.

It's the last moment of care that Oliver affords, however, as he very quickly sets a rough pace, nails digging so hard into your hips that he thinks he might draw blood. But your cunt still clutches at him like it was made for his cock, so slick with how much you need this, need him in this moment, that it's already dripping down your thighs.

The three of you get lost in each other, each desperate moan from your muffled by Farleigh's cock hitting the back of your throat. The sensation soon sets him off and he can't keep his hands off of you. Up on his knees he takes over, takes your face in his hands as you look up at him, teary-eyed with a heady kind of bliss, and he matches Oliver's rhythm as he fucks your face.

Oliver can only imagine the kind of mess you look like right now, but has to focus on sustaining himself, making sure he doesn't leave you with any more excuses to belittle him tonight. So he reaches around, between your thighs, and his fingers find your desperately sensitive clit.

Immediately your stance slips, widens, gives him better access to your clit, and he hears your muffled moan become a choked sob. The beginning of the perfect end.

Farleigh's getting close, his pace is faltering, his hips are stuttering, you're whining and gasping desperate breathes between each of his thrusts, that have turned to wordless, overwhelmed sobs in the past few minutes. Oliver is genuinely impressed that you're able to take all of Farleigh like that; he wonders if he'd dedicated time to training you. He can't dwell on it, not when Farleigh's eyes have fallen closed and he's started mouthing what Oliver can only assume is a string of swear words.

For just a moment, Farleigh looks like an angel. Ethereal. He almost glows. Perfectly at peace and content and not a total, unbearable smug asshole. Then he pulls his cock out of your mouth and lets his legs give out again, flopping back onto your bed with a wide grin.

"I thought Oliver couldn't make you speechless," Farleigh teased, while you had in fact moved past words almost entirely, except -

"Please," you sobbed desperately. Farleigh, who'd never gotten to see you like this from here, lights up, moving back to you. You're shaking, barely able to support yourself, and he finally sees Oliver's hand between your thighs, and puts two and two together.

"Please?" He wears a smile that's all teeth, gently taking your shoulders and the pressure of keeping yourself up. In return you find yourself holding his face, his arms, everywhere, for support as he moved you back to press against Oliver. Taking the hint, Oliver wraps his arm around you, firm against your back, keeping you secure as he fucks up into you.

"Pleasepleaseplease -"

"Words, princess," Farleigh tells you as he brushes Oliver's hand out of the way, letting him focus on the new angle, the new sensation, the way you're trembling and so close to cumming on his cock. Before you can even formulate proper words at first, your head falls forward onto Farleigh's shoulder, sobbing, aching with how good you've been made to feel.

"I'm so close," you choke out, "please can I -"

"Selfish," Oliver admonishes coldly, and the reaction is immediate.

"No, no," you whimper apologetically, something Farleigh's never heard from you before. Lifting your head you lean back, fitting yourself against Oliver further, trying to placate, "please, no I promise- you, I need -" you take a deep, shuddering breath, "Ollie, please, it feels like I'm going to fucking die if you don't cum in me," you blurt out. Farleigh actually laughs, he's never seen you so fucking weak for another person.

Your begging and desperate pleas spur Oliver on, holding you tighter, fucking you harder, until he finally leans forward, sinking his teeth into your shoulder. It sends you over the edge, has you seeing stars as you cry out. Shudder and sobbing with your release, you feel Oliver bury his cock deep in you as it twitches and throbs and paints your inside.

Oliver lets you go, lets you fall onto Farleigh as your orgasm is still quaking through you. Oliver's hands grip your hips, keep you flush to him, keep you from pulling away.

"That's a good girl," Farleigh murmurs in your ear. He's holding you close with one arm, the other gently running his fingertips up and down your back in a comforting rhythm. He doesn't bother sparing Oliver a second glance, Oliver isn't an important part of this equation to him anymore. Not that that matters to Oliver.

It was far easier to pick you apart, to own you inside and out, than he'd ever imagined. He'd brought you to tears, made you beg for every last bit of fucking pleasure including every inch of him and then some. He would leave you aching, leave you knowing that you both knew the truth of where your place is in his world.

Finally Oliver pulls out of you, wiping his softening cock on your thighs before he thinks about getting dressed. He does take a few moments, while you're still half bent over the bed and being supported by Farleigh, where Oliver watched with a detached kind of approval, the way his cum starts to leak out of you, down your thighs with your own shining arousal.

The princess had been collared, cuffed, and his, inside and out.

"Thank- thank you, Oliver Quick," your voice is demure and grateful among your sniffles and whimpers, and Oliver can't help but smile to himself. His pride in you extends only to your final show of submission, though it's pride nonetheless.

"Good girl."

#saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start x reader x oliver quick #farleigh start x you #farleigh start imagine #farleigh start x y/n #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick smut #farleigh x reader x oliver #farleigh x reader #farleigh imagine #manic writer

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beatcroc · 10 months ago

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a year!!! as of today i have now been drawing these funny little pizza freaks, to the exclusion of almost everything else, for!!! an entire year!!! i wanted to do a nice group shot/lineup of everybody to compare to when i first started trying to draw them because oh boy were they bad. i never even posted most of them anywhere because they were so bad. but im posting them here, now, to see how everything's changed/evolved.

this is probably the hardest time i've ever had trying to figure out how to work with a style, but we got there eventually; i'm pretty happy with the handle i've got on everybody now...dont let ur memes be dreams. lots of unimportant journaling and idle thoughts abt it below.

older pics

the first one is the VERY first time i drew them, before i thought i was going to actually have any interest in drawing them [lmao]; it was just the one isolated image, for my friendserver, to illustrate the funney message, so there was no attempt to make it Good or actually understand anything going on w/ the designs or style.

second is the original run of practices sketches to start trying to figure them out for real; done after i started having ideas for the comics and such and realized oh god maybe i am actually gonna draw fanart for this. [again, lol, and lmao.]

third one is the first pt art thing i posted on here. there were a couple weeks of sprite studies between this one and the previous image. the one on the top right wasn't part of that post i just threw it on as space filler; i'd intended to shift to doing Sprite Redraws But Stylized to explore tings more, but that was the only one i did. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

individual characters

peppino: by far the hardest dear god. bro what ARE your shapes how DOES your face work. jesus christ. everything i have trouble with this style for, peppino has it in excess. i draw in polygons! i need consistency! and that is the last thing this kind of style is concerned with. they are made of squarshy clay and i do not understand how to mold them. i was really hoping trying to learn this game's style would GIVE me that kind of flexibility for fun exaggerated facial expression but i don't think much came of it in the end 😔. anyway on the bright side all this means once i got peppino figured out a little bit everybody else clicked way easier.

fake peppino: honestly i never did anything with him on purpose except for how his eyes work + the perma-smile thing. i figured ok hes supposed to look weird and off model so whatever happens with him happens. and it did. and it kept happening. it is still, in fact, happening.

noise/ette: somehow, for every bit that peppino was the least natural thing i've ever tried, these two worked pretty much right off the bat. i still don't understand it, seeing as pretty much all the things at play for peppino are also at work for them. i think the new sketches are actually a little worse than older ones but not enough that i care.

gustavo: really funny bc i drew him on model twice and just went 'okay, cool nice, easy, um. he doesn't have any fucking legs?' fortunately he was the only one i had a strong idea for how to stylize him [square] and it worked exactly as i was hoping so wahoo.

brick: is an animal and therefore 5000x easier and more natural for me to draw/stylize than anything else in the cast. that is Just a rat bro. i can draw a rat.

gerome: i think the funniest one here. the most drastic and least necessary change imo. i was gonna have him be really small at first, like smaller than the noises, but then i just... didn't. he's just peppino-sized now. also i gave him like. actual human facial structure, which is funny bc in most cases i'd do anything to avoid, but it works well for his being A Rock to give him some angles and definition like that+ to differentiate his vibe from the rest of the cast who are all very squishy. also since he is essentially Just A Head it's good to emphasize that too ig.

john: i only drew john a couple times but he gets to be here because i like him. and because most of the stuff i applied to gerome was readily applicable to john, though i did try to keep him a little more uncanny because he is a Huge And Lanky Freak. i hate that he is barefoot btw but idk how to make his color balance look right with shoes.

pizzahead: i did not want to put him on here honestly but i Have drawn him a handful of times and more importantly i didn't know what i was gonna do with john's pose if i didn't have him there to be glared at. the only thing that's different with him is giving him wider-bottomed pants, which i got from when i tried to draw these guys in clone high style [i never posted that one either][i will eventually]

snick: he gets to be here because 1. he's like 6 lines 2. i like him and 3. ive scribbled him a few times offhand and it went pretty well

misc

there are some guys missing because those are guys i didn't draw enough [or at all] to have gotten comfortable with them. sorry

i would have Liked to shade these but for the time being i have accepted that my grasp of light/shadow has decayed to the point im not going to be happy with anything i try there, so For Now i am working on my presentation with flats i guess. gerome has a shadow only because he's shaded like that ingame and looks naked without it

anyway if you are still reading [hi?] i get to shamelessly plug now. i'm over the hill of my pizza run now, and while i still have plenty of things i want to make here, most of the bigger more in-depth ones have passed. pizza tower was the first thing in THREE YEARS to get me out of my oc groove to doing fanart, and once i am done with my ideas here i will be going right back to it. if you like my art or how i write characters/interactions you should check out my oc/webcomic blog @jamverse . i can't promise people who like pizza stuff will be terribly into my designs, but i can guarantee i treat my guys with the exact same sort of tone i handle the pt guys with. and hell, i've mentioned it a few times before, but like 70% of my characterization for fake pep is just copied off one of my characters, so if u are going to miss him... he will still be there in spirit >;p

and if you dont care about any of that and are still reading thank you anyway. actually making these comics + seeing how shockingly well-received they've been has done a lot for my confidence, and for seeing that my kind of stuff IS something people enjoy :')

#pizza tower #peppino spaghetti #fake peppino #gustavo and brick #the noise #noisette #pizzahead #arting #pizzaposting

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sh4wty18 · 16 days ago

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girl of your dreams - chapter five. [complete]

one. | two. | three. | four. | five.

pairing: hockeyplayer!chris x figureskater!reader

summary: chris gets injured at practice which leads to some unexpected alone time in the men's locker room. then you go to his house after practice to finally work on the teambuilding exercises. what could possibly happen?!

cw: rivals to lovers, angst, first person POV, language

word count: 3.7k + not proofread sorry (but y'all are getting fed sooo)

tags: @joeshiestyslover @chrissbluehat @h3arts4harry @wompwomp-1 @cassluvsturn @cl1tlover3000 @amelia-sturniolo3

dividers from @plutism

!! chapter warning: this chapter contains smoking 🍃 & getting high!! keep in mind that this is a fictional story, and i am not claiming that chris does this irl. i know he is sober, this is just for fun and nothing about it is accurate to irl !!

---

The next day at practice I can hardly focus on anything. I’m stumbling as I run my drills, barely sticking my landings when I jump. Usually my moves are clean, crisp–perfect. But I can’t seem to do anything right after last night.

Luckily, no one else was in the rink when it happened. We were alone. Maybe that’s why he’d done it in the first place. No risk, no consequences. Just pure, desperate lust. I wanted it to happen, of course I did. His lips were soft, but the roughness of his stubble gave the kiss an edge–a bite–and it had me craving more. I had to wear a turtleneck to practice today, to cover the bruises he’d left on my neck and collarbone. Playing it off like I was just “getting a cold” when Coach Beck asked why I was breaking the uniform felt wrong. I don’t like lying to people, especially not my role models. But a part of me also liked it. It felt good to live on the edge for once, to have a secret. Something that made me more than just the goody-two-shoes straight A student everyone knew me as.

Coach Beck blew her whistle as I fell out of time with the other girls yet again, stumbling over my feet as she shook her head in disappointment. “Alright, take five!” she shouts with an eyeroll. I look over at the hockey team and see Chris staring at me. He looks away quickly, and then back at me again when we make eye contact.

I turn my attention back to Beck, who struts over to me with a look of concern lining her face. “Are you alright? You’re my star skater, but today… things have been off. Not even just today, this entire season. Something feels different. Is everything okay?”

“Yes!” I snap, a little more defensively than I’d intended to. “I mean, yeah. Everything’s fine. I’m just busy with MCAT studying and you know, it’s my senior year. Graduation’s only seven months away. It’s just a lot. I’m sorry, that I… you know, seem out of it.”

Coach Beck stares at me and her face softens at my words. “I know there’s a lot going on. If you ever need someone to talk to, just know I’m here for you. We have our first competition next week, you think you’re gonna have your head in the game by then?”

I smile, “Yeah. Definitely.”

She pats me on the shoulder, “Good.”

Suddenly I hear a loud crack and a scream, and my attention is pulled back to the hockey team, where one player is laying on his back on the ice with a group of players circling around him.

“Sturniolo!” I hear Coach Carter shout, “The fuck are you doing?! This is what having your head up your ass all practice’ll get you.” He walks over to where Chris is laying and lugs him off the ground, “Come on, let’s get you into the locker room.” Chris cradles his cheek, that’s been split open and is gushing blood, the skin around his eye already darkening with a bruise. “Clean yourself up and call it a day. Get back in the rink tomorrow ready to play, got it?”

“Got it, Coach. I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I-”

“Save your apologies. I don’t wanna hear ‘em. Just get focused, and get ready to be a team player. I need my star center.

Chris hobbles off the ice and into the men’s locker room. And I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but before I can think better of it, I’m making my way off the ice, too. I’m untying my skates and throwing them down on the ground next to my bag, and I hear Coach Beck shout, “Y/n/LN, where are you going?!” as I run into the men’s locker room.

“Chris?” I call out as the locker room door closes behind me. I find him leaning over the sink, touching the cut below his left eye with a wince. He jumps when he catches my reflection behind him in the mirror.

“The fuck are you doing in here, kid?” he asks.

“Helping you,” I reply. For once, my voice isn’t filled with annoyance when I talk to him, even though he was already being a prick, and he’s only said one sentence to me. I couldn’t find it in me to be mad at him though, not in this state. “Sit on the sink, you still have your skates on.”

“Where are you going?” he asks as I walk away from him. I grab the first aid kit off the wall above the fire extinguisher and bring it back to the sinks, where Chris is now sitting on the vanity. I smile to myself a little, finding it endearing that he listened to my instruction despite everything.

“Grabbing this,” I answered his question, shaking the kit in front of his face.

“How’d you know where that was?” he asks, confusion written all over his face.

“Chris, it’s a first aid kit. They’re above the fire extinguishers in both locker rooms.” His face still spells out confusion, even after my explanation. “You never noticed the fire extinguishers before, have you?”

“Maybe…” he trails off, biting back a smile. “Ow.”

“Don’t laugh,” I say with a giggle. “It’s just going to make your face hurt more.”

“How do you expect me not to laugh when…” he stops himself.

“When what?” I ask with a grin.

“When you literally left your practice to help me. You know how bad that looks, right?” He grins back at me.

“Yeah, well. Maybe I just don’t care how bad I look anymore.” I look down at my feet.

“Nice turtleneck,” he says, and I can almost hear the smirk in his voice. I feel my face flush red, and I keep looking at my feet. There’s no way I’m letting him see me blush for him.

“Fuck off, Chris.” I step between his legs, which dangle off the edge of the sink, and open the first aid kit. I grab the alcohol wipe to clean the cut, “This is gonna hurt.”

I lean against the sink with one hand, and bring my other hand up to his cut, gently dabbing the cut with the wipe to clean off any leftover blood. He winces in pain, and grabs my hand as a reflex. “Shit,” he hisses.

“I know, I’m sorry,” I whisper, not pulling away from his grip. “How did this even happen? I heard the noise but didn’t see anything.”

I throw the wipe in the trash, finally letting go of his hand to grab the anti-bacterial ointment from the kit to rub around the perimeter of the cut. I lean closer as I do, careful not to get any of the ointment into the open wound. Our faces are inches apart. It’s taking everything in me not to close the gap between our mouths right now.

“Nate hit the puck and it flew up and fuckin’ hit me in the face. I fell on my ass. Couldn’t see for a second. It hurt like hell, but I guess I’m lucky it didn’t get me right in the eye.” He looks down at my face, his eyes passing over my lips.

“Why weren’t you paying attention?” I ask, stopping my movement for a second to hold his gaze.

“You know why,” he replies, nodding toward me before looking past my eyes at the wall.

“Hold still.” I grab some butterfly bandages from the kit and unwrap one, holding his chin steady with one hand and bringing the bandage up to his face with the other. I can feel his gaze burning into my skin, but I stare at his cheek with laser focus. I press one side of the butterfly bandage into the skin under his eye as gently as I can.

“Fuck,” he hisses again, and his hand flies up on instinct to pull my hand away from his cheek.

“Chris, I didn’t say it was gonna be painless.” I give him a little laugh in a bleak attempt to lighten his mood. When in reality, I hated seeing him in pain. I wanted to reach out and kiss his bruises. Make all his pain disappear and make him forget about the injury in the first place. Damn. Maybe I care for him more than I thought I did.

“I know, I know. Just… shit, um, keep going,” he winces. I pull the butterfly bandage until the cut is semi-closed, and press the other sticky end down on the other side of the wound. I repeat the process a couple more times, until he has a perfect, straight row of bandages holding his cut together.

He looks into my eyes, and my fingers graze against his black eye. He leans into my touch, never taking his eyes off of me.

“Thanks,” he whispers.

“Mhm,” is all I can muster up the confidence to say. He leans in, so slowly that at first I can barely tell he’s moving at all. But then his mouth is only centimeters away from mine, and his eyes are closing, and his lips are parting, and then mine are too.

“Sturniolo! Y/n/LN! What the hell are you two doing in here?!” I hear Coach Carter bark as the door to the locker room slams open. I honestly don’t understand how the hockey team deals with him, he’s so mean. Chris’s head snaps upward and I back up enough that he can hop down from the sink. “Get back on the ice, Y/n/LN. Your practice isn’t done yet. Sturniolo, go the hell home and rest. Your face looks awful.”

“Gee, thanks Coach!” Chris says sarcastically, and I can’t help but let out a snort.

Coach Carter shoots me an angry look, a warning. I clear my throat and straighten my posture. “Sorry, sir.” I give Chris one last onceover, and he nods, his mouth in a small half-smile.

For the rest of practice, all I can think about is that Chris almost kissed me again. We almost kissed again. It must not have been a mistake for him, I realize. If he was willing to do it again. Maybe he felt the same as me after all. When practice finally lets out, I immediately run straight to my bag and grab my phone, eager to text Gracie about my encounter with Chris. When I came home last night and showed her my neck, she nearly passed out from excitement, and I heard so many “I told you so”s that the phrase started to lose meaning. But before I can even text Gracie, my eyes are met with a text from Chris:

still coming to my place tn?

I type out a reply quickly:

I can. Do you feel up to it?

His text bubble appears, then disappears. Then it appears again. And I bite my lower lip with nerves at what he could possibly be taking so long to type out.

yea

we gotta do this team building bullshit either way

lol

Three texts. Was the Chris Sturniolo… nervous? I decide to be a little bitchy in my reply. I can’t have him thinking our rivalry is over, just because we made out once… And then almost kissed again.

It’s not bullshit, Christopher 🙄 You’d think after this afternoon you’d be a little nicer to me…

He responds quicker to this one, eager to return the banter.

okay y/n… whatever u need to tell urself

just get over here quick and maybe i’ll be nice to u 😁

I smile at my phone, throwing it back into my bag and rushing into the locker room to take a quick shower and get dressed again before walking over to Chris’s place.

—

I knock on the ADPhi house front door, looking down at my body to make sure my outfit looks good too.

A man who isn’t Chris opens the door and immediately stares me down. “Who you lookin’ for?” he asks with disinterest.

“Chris. We have to work on something for our sports–”

“Don’t care,” the man says and rolls his eyes. “Come in.” He moves out of the way so I can cross the threshold. “You know where his room is?”

I think back to the last time I was in Chris’s room, and have to look away before my face goes red. “Yeah, I got it,” I reply, but he’s already walking back to the living room to watch basketball with his frat bros. Asshole, I think to myself as I walk up the stairs and to the first door on the right.

I pause at the door, exhaling deeply to prepare myself for the inevitable. I don’t know why, but for some reason I was more nervous than ever to be alone with Chris. I’d never been nervous around him before, usually just annoyed. Maybe that was because before his party, I hadn’t had a reason to be nervous. Now our mutual attraction to each other is out in the open, and that’s scary.

I finally knock on his bedroom door, and he opens it in a few seconds. He smirks at me, “Look who learned how to knock,” he says with a chuckle. I can feel my cheeks burning up, so I shove past him and into his room. I hear the lock click behind me as he closes the door. It could’ve just been muscle memory, but part of me hopes that he locked it on purpose, to give us privacy.

He sits down on his bed and grabs his phone from off his nightstand, scrolling mindlessly as he leans against the pillows.

“Um, hello?” I say, clearly annoyed. “We have a job to do.”

He looks up from his phone to give me a half-hearted scowl. “But…I’m so weak and injured.” He throws a hand across his forehead to feign illness. “I need to rest.”

“If you needed to rest so badly, then why did you ask if I was still coming over?” I ask, giving him my best ‘I just caught you in a lie’ look.

He swallows hard, and for once, I think Chris Sturniolo is at a loss for words. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Okay so I was thinking we could start with classic ice breakers, like names, majors, hobbies, you know the drill. But then, maybe we could do an activity where we each try to teach the other team something from our sport. So, like, the figure skaters can teach the hockey team how to do a basic turn or jump, and then the hockey team can teach us how to pass the puck back and forth or something.” Chris stares at me the entire time I speak, never breaking eye contact, and it gives me goosebumps. I clear my throat once I catch myself staring at his lips for a second too long, “So, um, what do you think?”

He tilts his head, rubbing his chin in thought. “I don’t think it’s terrible. To be honest, I’m good with doing whatever you want.”

“Really?” I ask, “You don’t have any ideas?”

“No, Y/n,” he laughs. “And even if I did, there wouldn’t be any point in telling you, because no matter what I say, you’d find a way to rebuttal it.”

I pull a disgusted face, “No I wouldn’t!”

He laughs even louder at that, “Yes you would, Y/n. It’s okay… that’s just how you are with me. I like it.” He pulls a pre-roll and a lighter out of his nightstand and lights the joint, bringing it to his lips and taking a long drag.

I cross my arms, not giving in so easily. “Well, maybe if you didn’t say stupid shit all the time, I wouldn’t have to rebuttal you.” I tilt my head in his direction, leaning closer to him as he finally exhales the smoke over his shoulder toward his open window.

He runs his tongue over his top teeth, smiling at me. “You want some?” he nods toward the joint before bringing it back up to his own mouth and taking another hit.

I think about it. Usually, I would say no in an instant. But… It's Chris. And for some reason, my inhibitions fall away when I’m around him. “I mean, I’ve never…” I trail off.

“I can teach you,” he says. Then quieter, mumbles, “If you want.”

“Okay,” I affirm.

He looks up at me with a look of surprise. “No way, I got the Y/n to agree to smoke a joint with me! Ladies and gentlemen, are we seeing this?!” He questions the imaginary audience.

“Don’t make me change my mind,” I say with an eyeroll, but I can’t hide the grin that’s creeping onto my face.

“Okay, okay,” Chris says excitedly as he brings the joint to my mouth, waiting eagerly for me to latch on. I reach out and rest my hand on his wrist, guiding the joint between my lips. “So you’re just gonna inhale, hold it for a second, inhale again so it goes into your lungs, and then let it all out.” I inhale for a couple seconds, immediately feeling the heat enter my mouth. I let go of the joint and held my breath for a second, feeling my eyes start to water a little. “Okay, now inhale again,” Chris instructs. I do, and in an attempt to gracefully exhale, I end up coughing all over him. I let go of his wrist to cover my mouth, the relentless burn in my throat making it hard to stop. “Woah! You good?” he asks, grabbing a half-drank plastic water bottle from his nightstand and handing it to me, which I gratefully accept. He rubs my back in small, gentle circles as my coughing fit ends. “Yeah, that can happen,” he giggles.

“Thanks for the warning,” I say sarcastically, but I can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him. I can already feel the weed taking its effect. I feel heavy, yet light at the same time. And I feel calm, and like I could laugh at anything. I also feel like I could reach out and pull Chris in and kiss him right now, and it’s getting harder to stop myself.

Chris takes another hit and passes me the joint, I inhale again. This time on the exhale, I don’t cough. I look up at him proudly, and he cheers. “Woo! The student becomes the master.” He gives me a nod of approval, and I pass the joint back to him.

He looks at the joint, then up at me, and it’s like a lightbulb goes off in his mind. “Do you trust me?” he asks with a smirk.

I give him a questioning look, one eyebrow raised, “Yes?”

“Good. Open your mouth.” I don’t know why I do it. Maybe the weed is making me less tense, but I open my mouth without a second thought. He inhales again, but this time he reaches out and grabs my chin with his thumb and index finger, pulling me in. Before I know it, his lips are grazing against mine, and he’s exhaling the smoke directly into my mouth. And before I can even register what’s happening, he’s closing the gap between our mouths.

And then I’m caught up once again in the feeling of his soft lips against mine. I waste no time wrapping my arms around his neck, and his hands find my lower waist. He yanks me into his lap so I’m straddling him, never once breaking the kiss. His hands roam my back until he settles on my ass, holding me with both hands and grinding me against his lap. I break away for a second and let out a sigh. He reaches up and tugs my turtleneck down to analyze the bruises he left yesterday. “Wanna leave more all over you,” he says, leaning in to kiss my collarbone over my shirt.

I hold his face in my hands again and pull him in to continue kissing him. When his stubble brushes against my chin, it makes my heart race. After a few minutes, he pulls away from me, staring up at me with bloodshot, droopy, puppy eyes. “Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

I giggle, “You just did, but yes.”

He smiles up at me, “Why did you help me today?”

“Um…” I hesitate, trying to figure out what I want to say. I brush my fingers over his black eye, and this time he doesn’t wince or pull away. “Because I don’t hate you. At all. And I think I finally realized that, and now I just think about you all the time.” I feel myself blushing, and immediately try to cover my face with my hands, but this time, there’s nowhere to hide.

Chris pulls my hands away from my face and smiles at me, “You blushin’ for me, ma?”

“Shut up,” I say, hiding my face in the crook of his neck.

He turns and his mouth is right by my ear, “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that. Or how long I waited to kiss you.” I sit up and stare at him, shocked at his words. He continues, “No matter how insufferable you are, you’re still, like, my dream girl.”

All my confidence is restored then, and I’m smirking down at him, “Oh yeah? I’m the girl of your dreams, Chris?”

He scoffs, giving me his classic eyeroll, “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.” He pulls me tighter against his chest, his strong arms wrapping around my back. I drape my arms over his shoulders, ready to turn my attention back to his mouth. His gaze passes between my eyes and my lips, and a small grin forms on his face. He leans in so close I can feel the breath pass between us. “You’re mine,” he whispers.

Those two little words are all I need to hear. My mouth is back on his just as rough and desperately as it was after practice yesterday.

I never want this feeling to end.

---

this marks the end of the girl of your dreams series. i hope you enjoyed and let me know what you think! it honestly could've been more chapters but i was getting bored of it. so i decided to write one loooonnnggg chapter to wrap it up <33

#sh4wty18 #original fiction #sturniolo triplets fanfic #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo angst #angst to fluff #angst with a happy ending #hockeyplayer!chris #hockeyplayer x figureskater #hockey!au

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r4ins · 2 years ago

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could u pls make another dick grayson x male reader fic? ^^

Dick Grayson x Top Male Reader

cw. bottom dick x dom male reader

“I thought you Bats didn't approve of gun ownership,” Y/N murmurs when they step over the carpeted threshold. Dick trails him, hands slipped into the back pockets of his jeans. Y/N definitely hasn’t been looking at how they frame that cute ass.

Dick doesn’t seem to notice, his gaze trailing over the wares with aloof curiosity, waiting as Y/N approaches the nearest rack. Doesn’t bother to turn over the gaudy little price tag; he can afford any model he wants.

“I don’t have an issue with you owning guns,” Dick replies lightly, and Y/N hums. “I do have an issue with you using them on innocent civilians, though.”

“What about smart-talking vigilantes?” Y/N quips back, and looks up in time to see the man flush. Dick’s gaze slides away, nonchalant, and he clears his throat.

“I mean for your work. If you’re just looking for some toys to try out at the range, I’m not going to hold you back.”

“And there’s no ulterior motive to wanting to accompany me into a gun shop,” Y/N returns with a crooked brow.

“No,” Dick says, admirably level.

Y/N hums again, and wanders over to the handguns. He palms the nearest, pulling it off the rack to test the grip, smooth his trigger finger down the barrel. “See anything you like?”

Dick smiles. “I don’t want a gun. They’re your thing. I’ve got all I need with my escrima.”

“Sure, Grayson.”

He palms the slide, listening for the satisfying clack of polymer settling. He lifts the firearm and squints his good eye down the sights, aiming for a rack of semiautomatics across the room. Dick’s gaze follows him, but there’s nothing in his expression to give the game away. Doesn’t mean Y/N misses the minute hitch in his heart rate.

He lowers the gun, ejects the empty clip. “So you don’t have an issue with my work?”

Dick makes a complicated expression. “An issue? Maybe. Would I prefer you were putting your talents to better use? Absolutely. Am I going to try to stop you? I’m not that stupid. And you’re holding a gun.”

Y/N snaps the clip back into the well, holding Dick’s gaze as he does. Which means he sees the heat bleed into those blue orbs. “And they say you’re just the pretty one.”

Dick gives him a grin for that, trailing Y/N as he shifts down the wall, setting that gun aside and trying a higher caliber.

“Charming. I am more than just a pretty face though.” When Y/N opens his mouth, Dick cuts him off with, “Don’t tell me I’ve got a pretty ass too. I’ve heard that one before. Come up with something original.”

Y/N grunts, and weighs the new firearm in his palm. It’s heavier, the frame steel. Dick’s throat bobs when he swallows.

“Have any favourites?”

“Favourites?” Dick repeats blankly.

Y/N waggles the gun in his grip. “Any favourites?”

“Oh.” Dick flushes, then nods at the gun in Y/N’s palm. “That one’s bigger.”

Y/N gives him a wry smirk. “Ever the size queen, Grayson.”

Dick scowls. “I didn’t mean like that. You’re big, I figure a bigger gun is something you’re after. Fragile masculinity and all that.”

Y/N toys with the hammer, ratcheting it back slowly under Dick’s burning gaze. “You really don’t know the first thing about guns, do you?”

“I’ve studied guns,” Dick contradicts, hands slipping from his pockets to cross over his chest, defensive. He leans his weight into one hip, considering Y/N’s current fascination. “Bruce gave us all the rundown.”

“You haven’t studied them yourself though, have you? Haven’t gotten familiar with them, intimate.” Y/N’s grin becomes a tad more malicious when Dick shifts at that, so he smothers it back to acceptable impassivity. “You could do with an education, Grayson.”

“And you’re going to teach me, aren’t you?” Dick suggests, crooking a dark brow. He doesn’t look offput by the idea, though.

“Is there anyone who knows guns better than me?” Y/N counters, returning the handgun to its hook. Dick’s expression is just the barest bit crestfallen at the surrender.

He gathers himself rather quickly though, to quip, “Deathstroke.”

Indignation spills across Y/N’s features before he can curb it, displeasure twisting his lips down at the corners. Dick’s grin grows in response.

“Jealous, Y/N?”

“Watch your tone, Dick.”

“Oh no,” Dick purrs, and circles around behind Y/N to lean one hip against the nearest counter, where Y/N’s eyeing the rows of custom engraved bullets with intrigue. “Don’t tell me your ego is that easily bruised.”

“If you want to talk bruises, that can certainly be arranged.”

Dick’s lips tick up another notch. “Bit cliche, don’t you think? You’ve only spanked me - what - forty-five times, at least count? Losing your touch a bit, babe.”

“Or maybe,” Y/N contradicts in a low murmur, “I just know all your kinks so well by now, little bird.”

Dick flushes at the nickname, but lifts his chin an inch, challenging. “I don’t think you know all my kinks.”

Y/N scoffs, and brushes past him to retrieve another firearm, far above where Dick can reach. Doesn’t miss the younger man’s gaze appreciatively trailing the length of his arm when he stretches upward.

He flips the gun over in his palm, watching the light dance down the sleek black metal, the way it catches in Dick’s blue eyes. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, Grayson.”

“Subtle?” Dick prompts, saccharine.

Y/N glances up, meets that gaze with his own eye.

There’s the sharp, bright chirp of a momentary alarm, and then the electricity snaps with a harsh sizzle, the store falling into immediate dimness around them. Y/N’s gaze goes to the door, to mark the reinforced steel bolt that locks into place. Dick’s gaze sweeps the counter and the unmanned racks.

“Lockdown,” Y/N murmurs, on the lazy side of alert. “Someone tripped the alarm.”

“No one else in the store,” Dick informs him, in quick report. “Unless someone’s in the back.”

They pause for a moment, to note the stillness and the distinct lack of panic.

“False alarm,” Dick entreats, and Y/N nods an agreement.

“No getting out until they reset the breaker, I’d say,” Y/N concurs, shifting around Dick to return the firearm to its shelf. Then he has an idea.

He withdraws the gun, index fingertip stroking the steel.

Waits until Dick’s gaze slowly returns back to the metal, like a moth to flame, before he offers, “I suppose I could give you that lesson while we wait.” The suggestive stroke of his finger down the barrel leaves no room for implication.

“Seriously?” Dick says with a hint of incredulity, and eyes the gun.

Y/N lets it loll in his grip, if only so he can enjoy the way Dick’s eyes fitfully track the firearm. “I need a new gun. It would be negligent of me not to test it before purchase.”

Dick’s gaze flicks to the door, and then the empty counter, skimming that sleek barrel before it jumps back up to Y/N. His pulse is rabbiting. “You’re serious.”

When Y/N just holds his gaze, steady and unwavering, Dick’s throat bobs. He bleats a short, tittering laugh, his gaze flashing to the door again as his weight shifts against the case.

“Here? Right now?”

“Can you think of somewhere better?” Y/N returns, and smirks at the scowl Dick throws him.

So the little bird needs convincing. Y/N’s a regular charmer.

He takes a step forward, ignoring the reflexive tense that halts the air in Dick’s lungs, and stops just short of crowding the boy. Ensures he’s only barely touching the front of Dick’s torso, enough to set the man’s senses to blistering.

Dick swallows again, and looks up to meet his eye.

“I think we both know how this is going to go, little bird,” Y/N murmurs, tone deep in a way that pulls a shiver from the acrobat’s arching spine. He lets his wrist lull until the muzzle of the gun in his palm nudges Dick’s thigh, just so he can enjoy the way the boy flinches at the cold touch, distracted. “The question is whether you still need convincing.”

Dick’s gaze flicks down and back up when the muzzle traces the joint of his thigh and hip, trailing higher before returning. Y/N’s lips quirk at the involuntary shudder it produces.

Then those pretty blue eyes flash across the store one more time, to each corner of the room and back over to the counter. Cataloguing surveillance cameras probably, though he arrives at the same deduction as Y/N; whatever tripped the power to the store probably cut the power to the surveillance feeds too.

All the privacy they need to get started.

Dick shifts then, hands lifting to Y/N’s hips to ease him back a step. Just far enough away from the counter that the little bird can slide down to his knees between Y/N’s boots, eyes locked on his the whole while.

It’s an intoxicating sight, having a man like Dick Grayson willingly sit on his heels at Y/N’s feet. Makes his mind race with wicked possibilities, makes him almost wish they had more than a few minutes before the electricity comes back on.

Let it not be said that Y/N can’t make the most of a time-sensitive situation.

He rolls his wrist, letting the cold metal glide up the angle of the man’s jaw. Dick tilts his head into the motion, giving him a soft little moan when those sights scrape down the ridges of his windpipe and then press in against his pulse. The little notches leave twin marks when Y/N pulls them back, but only so he can nudge Dick’s gaze back up to his own again.

“Didn’t need that much convincing after all,” he points out, and chuckles at the flash in Dick’s gaze. His fingers slip into the man’s dark locks, a hush cresting over his lips as he taps the barrel of the gun against that handsome chin. “Don’t pout, little bird. We both know how much you’ve been begging for a good throat-fucking.”

“Didn’t think I’d be getting it from your gun,” Dick admits. Y/N can tell from the tightness of the words just how affected the man is, see how much he leans into the sensation when Y/N drags the gun up to knock gently against his cheekbone. “You’re not one to share, usually.”

“If you’re going to mouth off,” he warns, “I can give you a nice pretty bruise to remember the occasion by.”

It’s a delightful sight, watching the words tumble through the boy’s skull, seeing the way he conjures and discards quips just as quickly. Weighing the merit of each against the possibility of Y/N knocking his teeth around in retribution.

He settles on, “I can find something else to do with my mouth, sir.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Y/N praises gruffly, and reaffirms his grip on the boy’s hair, holding him steady as he aligns the barrel with those begging lips. He makes sure to stop a few inches short of penetrating the man’s mouth though, just to watch the confusion and then the realisation crest over Dick’s features.

The little bird’s been trained well though, because Y/N doesn’t even have to bleat a guiding command before that tongue dips out to lather the underside in a long, tantalising swipe. Y/N hums an approving note, offering more of the barrel as the man’s enthusiasm rises. There’s something about the sight of those soft, pliant lips caressing hard metal that has Y/N’s blood heating, has him fighting the urge to just fuck straight into the boy’s begging mouth.

“Chamber's empty, right?” Dick asks between dragging kisses down the cold metal.

Y/N gives a responding hum. “Hard to say.”

Dick stills for a beat, eyes flashing up. “Y/N-”

He takes advantage of the man’s slack jaw to press the muzzle between his teeth, ignoring the bleat of surprise in favour of enjoying the way Dick immediately opens to allow the gun entrance. It slides across his tongue, sights clacking on his teeth as it dips inside.

Y/N doesn’t push it farther than that, giving his bird a moment to adjust. Those blue eyes are heated, but from the way his cheeks hollow and those pretty lashes flutter invitingly, Y/N assumes the outrage is fleeting.

“That’s the way,” he purrs in approval, enjoying the shiver that traces down Dick’s spine, the way he tilts his throat open a few inches further. Betters the angle of Y/N’s gun when it slips over his plush lips.

The roll of the flesh beneath the unyielding metal is mesmerising, as is the way the boy takes every slow thrust so readily. He looks completely focused, on his knees, at Y/N’s mercy. Every sense and nerve attuned to the inexorable press of that gun further and further into his throat.

“Come on, little bird,” he coaxes, easing the barrel deeper. “Something tells me you’ve got a little more give in you. I’ve seen you take cock deeper than that.”

Dick whines at the tease, jaw opening farther to let him in, to beckon that gun deeper into his throat. He only gags once, when the sights press against the roof of his mouth, and then he’s drawing in a sharp breath, wresting free of Y/N’s grip in his hair to bear down on the weapon.

When he pulls back up, Y/N only lets him withdraw as far as letting the sights clack against the back of his teeth. Those blue eyes slide up to meet his, awaiting instruction, so Y/N gives it to him.

“How about you tell me how much you want it, little bird?” he suggests, and pumps the gun once, slowly, into his mouth just to watch those gorgeous eyes water. “Convince me how much you need a gun down your throat.”

To his credit, Dick doesn’t try to pull back any further. Not that he’d get far, with Y/N’s unrelenting grip holding him at just the right angle. His tongue dips out once, in an attempt to wet his lips perhaps, before he tries to speak around the barrel filling his mouth.

It’s barely coherent, but Y/N can interpret the sentiment of the, “Please, Y/N,” from the earnestness in the little bird’s eyes. He watches the man swallow, that throat flexing as that tongue withdraws briefly, before he tries again, moaning the words out around the muzzle in his mouth.

Y/N holds him there, lets the man beg and plead around the obstruction for a few seconds longer. Just until he can see the first bead of drool spill over the stretched corners of those lips, see the flush that takes over his cheeks when Dick realises, see the way he tries to angle himself to curb it and finds himself trapped beneath Y/N’s grip.

“What a pretty sight you make,” Y/N coos, tilting his head sideways until the string of drool is caught beneath what remains of the light. If it takes longer to drip down the boy’s chin too, that's just a bonus. “Making a mess of yourself.”

The droplet parts from Dick’s wavering chin, splattering on the toe of Y/N’s boot as they both watch. Y/N takes the moment of distraction to thrust the barrel deep, enjoying the sound of the man’s choke, the slick sound of saliva as he gags, before he withdraws it back to a reasonable length again.

“Just begging for it, aren’t you, slut?” he says quietly, smirking when Dick’s gaze flashes up. It’s wide and open, laid bare for him.

Y/N slides back the gun, ignoring Dick’s bitten down whine as he wipes the weapon clean on each of his cheeks. Feels a thrum of heat at the way Dick’s lashes flutter with shame, at how the spit must feel drying on his skin. Then he returns the gun to rest on the man’s lower lip as he shifts his other hand to unbuckle his belt.

“I don't think I’d even need this,” Y/N ponders aloud, rolling the flesh of Dick’s lip beneath the muzzle, “to get you to take cock like a good whore. You’re eager enough already.”

Dick moans, soft and breathless, when Y/N palms his cock, eyes flickering between the progress of his calloused hand and Y/N’s burning gaze.

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse,” Y/N continues, peeling his jeans down far enough that he can bear his cock to the cool air, and pause to sigh, “so that no one blames you for being the eager little slut you are.”

“Please,” Dick whispers, lips catching on the barrel when he speaks. It kicks Y/N’s pulse up another notch.

“How about you show your gratitude by sucking me and my gun off?” Y/N suggests, enjoying the breath that hitches in the man’s throat. “Then I’ll let you keep the excuse to take back to Daddy Bats when he asks why you were on your knees in broad daylight sucking off a mercenary.”

The groan is much more audible this time, the need obvious in the way his hands fist the material of Y/N’s jeans. He doesn’t keep the bird waiting, angling the gun into the corner of Dick’s lips as he feeds his cock into the vigilante’s mouth.

Dick takes him eagerly, familiarity taking over as he sets to work. Y/N lets him adjust for a few moments before he taps the gun against his cheeks, humming approval when they hollow obediently.

It’s wet and hot, those lips sinful in the way they wrap around Y/N’s cock like they were made for nothing else. The small, pleading moans that spill up the boy’s throat are a gorgeous accompaniment, betraying the need in that heated gaze.

“That’s it, little bird,” Y/N murmurs, chuckling at the whine Dick lathers around his cock. Those pretty lashes flutter when he presses the man’s face down on his cock, gun scraping across his cheekbone to dig into his temple.

He lifts a thumb to draw down the hammer, making sure every click of the mechanism reverberates into the boy’s crooked ear. Those keens rise to a fever pitch when he releases it, his motions growing sloppily desperate as he fucks down onto Y/N. Punctuating each moan with the mercenary’s cock hitting the back of his throat.

“I could blow your brains out, just like this,” Y/N coaxes, and curls his finger off the trigger guard.

Those pretty blues roll, his motions jerking to a surprisingly sudden halt as he shudders. For a moment, Y/N wonders if he’s taken it too far; then the flush spreads over the little bird’s cheeks, a sheepish edge to the gaze he won’t lift to meet Y/N’s eyes.

The realisation crawls over Y/N’s skin like a palpable heat, thundering down to his groin as he fucks tightly into Dick’s slack, recovering mouth. The thought that the man could come just from the threat of a gun has Y/N spilling down his throat, grunting as he empties.

Dick takes it all with only the mildest of chokes, Y/N guiding palm helping him to keep it all down. He settles once the brunt of it is taken, catching his breath when Y/N pulls free and tucks himself away.

“Come on, little bird,” Y/N says, offering a hand to pull Dick up to his feet. He wipes the back of a hand against his lips, still flushed with colour beneath Y/N’s wandering gaze. “There’s a range in the back where we can try this one out. I think we could even fit you beneath the counter if you aren't inclined to watch.”

#top male reader #x male reader #dc comics #gay #dc universe #dick grayson #bottom dick grayson #nightwing x you #nightwing x reader #nightwing x y/n #queer community

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hplonesomeart · 16 hours ago

Text

Why bro looking like that /j

Personal update thing (skip reading if you’re just here for the Puzzle art. I’m not going to drag everyone into my life. Especially if it’s a rant about trivial things that don’t matter that much in the end lol. I just enjoy personal journaling and expressing my mental state whenever I feel stuck. This isn’t really a public notice for everyone, it’s more like talking to myself):

I might be going through some kinda art block right now I don’t quite know…just wish I wasn’t feeling as sluggish/lazy with how I spend my time. Lately it feels like it’s a chore to try and get myself to draw anything. It’s like my body and my mind are trapped in slow motion; I can barely get changed into normal clothes, eat breakfast, or get out of bed in the morning. Even when I manage to draw it’s like the art I’m currently producing looks bad. Maybe my brain suddenly forgot how to draw his head proportions? Looks off model and it bothers me. Maybe I needed to use more references? Suppose I could chop it down to being a stylistic choice but even so—feel like I could do better :P

So I’ve been taking a break. But if I start playing video games for too long (specifically I’m trying to get into playing Momodora—I have a history with my past friends trying to introduce me to the game ages ago. I never got myself a copy until this Christmas) I feel like I’m wasting time I could’ve spent animating. No matter how I choose to spend my time it always feels a little wrong. I believe it’s the subconscious pressure of having a short Winter Break. I start school again in January and I’m really not looking forward to it. Throughout this 2024 school year I started getting lightly scolded by my parents for animating instead of studying or focusing on work. So my brain adapted to doing this oh so “helpful” (sarcasm) thing where it shuts down the desire to animate or draw when it’s preparing for school. And yet when I’m IN school suddenly all these animation ideas happen and when I’m OUT of school with all this free time it goes “lol nope don’t feel like doing it.” Is this what executive dysfunction is like…? Or is that different?? I don’t know but it’s kinda frustrating.

Anyways here’s the low effort Puzzle art I sloppily made. I don’t like how it looks but hey beggars can’t be choosers….making any amount of art is a miracle at this rate. No matter what it’s extra drawing practice at the very least. I was just goofing around with the glitch effects & chromatic adhesion. It’s nothing special but complaining about it won’t get me anywhere, so we keep moving forward instead 👍

#hplonesome art

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ladylooch · 2 years ago

Note

could you do a friends to lovers fic w/ Nico pls?? my plates empty and i’m starving 🍽️😂

You know, it is lunch time and I'm happy to provide 😉

Where I'm Supposed to Be- Nico Hischier

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: fluffy, swearing, drinking, itty bitty amount of angst

A smile twitches my lips when I hear Nico Hischier’s footsteps running down the hallway of my apartment building. He’s cutting it pretty close this year. I should give him a pass for being on the road, but it’s too fun to watch his face scrunch in exasperation when I tease him. Nico is the only one of my friends who insists on seeing me every year on my birthday. Even if he isn’t in town, we FaceTime and do our traditional shot together to celebrate another year around the sun.

Not much changes from year to year and this year, it will be the same. Another year around the sun being in love with him. Not that he knows that. I’d rather have Nico as my friend than run the risk of losing him with unreciprocated feelings. As a captain of an NHL team, he has his pick of women. All of his last few girlfriends have the same thing in common, they model professionally. Although, calling them girlfriends might be a stretch. They never seem to stick around long enough for me to meet them.

I stand as his footsteps get louder, pausing with my hand on the door knob.

“Shit.” I hear him mumble after the sound of plastic hitting the floor. “Fuck.” He whispers forcefully.

I open the door as he is raising his hand to knock. I fall a little more in love with him seeing his brown hair peeking out from his black beanie. His face is flushed from exertion and visibly lights up when he sees me.

“I made it.” He pants out. The hot pink tulips in his hand have seen better days as he trusts them at me, completely ignoring the few petals that have fallen to the floor. “Happy birthday!”

“Barely.” I quip with a large smile, referencing the clock on the microwave that says 11:56pm.

“It counts.” He insists, walking forward. His hands go to my hips, nudging me backwards so he can enter my apartment fully. Butterflies assault my stomach at his touch. It feels so personal, so assertive and loving, just like Nico.

“To be honest, your birthday game has been slipping since you were named captain.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just pour me your birthday shot.” He laughs, placing a hand on the small of my back to move me forward.

“I have Jameson or Fireball.”

“Jameson. It’s tradition.” I nod reaching for the bottle on the back counter and two shot glasses from the drawer.

“I’m doing fireball.” I insist. I pour the shots out, sliding Nico’s across the counter to him. I hold mine up, letting our glasses rest against one another.

“To my best friend. I’m glad you’re mine. Life would suck without you. Happy birthday.” He smiles sweetly. His words settle into my chest where I’ll surely overanalyze them later tonight, alone in my bed.

We toss the shots back, both grimacing slightly at the burn we feel.

“Hit me again.” Nico taps the glass at me.

“Wow, rough game?” His eyes lift, studying my face. He reaches out to my cheek, grabbing at a piece of lint stuck in my hair. Electricity explodes at the feeling of his skin against mine.

“Just trying to chase some thoughts from my mind.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Nope.” He puckers his lips at me, scrunching his nose. Something passes between us. The air becomes unsettled and I feel the temperature rising in my body. Nico ends it before it can go any further. “Okay. I need to go get some sleep. It’s game day tomorrow.” Disappointment pulls my gaze from his.

“You say that like you’re not going to take a two hour nap.” I tease to keep the mood light. He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders. He reaches for the second shot of whiskey I poured him, knocking it back easily. He licks his lips when he’s done, setting the glass back on the counter.

“Before you go…” I murmur, watching the shine of his lip in the low lighting. I shake my head at the thought of pressing my mouth there, tasting that shot of Jameson like I was the one who took it. “Um, could you fix my toilet? It’s running again.”

“Seriously?” He laughs in disbelief at me. “I showed you to how fix this last time.”

“Yeah, but I fix it and it happens again right away. You fix it and it stays that way. You’ve got the touch.” He raises his eyebrows in what I think is suggestion. My mouth goes dry and I resist the urge to reach for him.

“You really need to put in a maintenance request for this, babe.” Both Nico and I pause at the pet name. I hold my breath for a moment while his gaze diverts from mine. “Sorry, that was…”

“It’s okay…” I trail off, not quite sure what else to say.

We walk down to my bathroom in silence. As we go, Nico shrugs his jacket off, handing it back for me to hold. His fingers work on the buttons of his dress shirt at his wrists, rolling the black fabric up his strong forearms. The sound of running water greets our ears as Nico walks to the tank. I lean my butt against the counter next to him as he sets the top on the ground.

“How long has this been running?” He wonders as he begins to work on the tangled chain.

“I don’t want to say.” I purse my lips together, trying to hold the laugh in.

“You’re unbelievable.” Nico snorts, shaking his head. The laugh bursts between my lips, shaking my shoulders. This catches his attention and his laughter joins mine.

“I may be a disaster, but I’m your disaster.” Our eyes shine together for a moment as I tilt my head at him. My gaze softens as Nico stares back at me with a depth in his face as if he’s contemplating something. Then, suddenly his smile drops.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Nico mumbles, breaking our eye contact and resuming fidgeting with the chain in the tank.

“I’m… not looking at you like anything.”

“Yes you are.” He insists, clipping the chain back to it’s place. He tests the tension then does a test flush.

“How am I looking at you?” I push him, drinking in each tightening of his cheek as he bites his lip in concentration.

“Like you’re in love with me.” He turns fully to me when he says that.

“You’re my best friend. Of course I love you.” I try to sound calm as my heart pounds so hard in my chest that it hurts.

“You know I don’t mean it like that.” His brown eyes pin me in place. I can barely breathe. I think of the years of friendship we’ve had. I think about what it would be like to lose him. But then I think about living the rest of my life like this, pining for someone in secret. Despite my fear, I know which one is harder, so I leap.

“What if I was?”

“What if I know I am?” He responds immediately.

Years later, we’ll argue over who made the first move, but in the moment, we both fall into each other at the same time, lips sealing to one another eagerly.

“Say it.” He says against my mouth as his teeth tug my bottom lip. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you, Nico. I can’t remember a day that I didn’t.”

“Good. I love you too.” We laugh to each other, then kiss again. Eventually, the realization of us making out in the bathroom hits, so Nico leads us to my bedroom. He sits on the bed and pulls me down with him. We fall onto our backs, then turn to our sides to braid our limbs together.

“I thought you had to go?” I murmur as he snuggles me into his body with a firm hand on my butt. He shakes his head no.

“I’m finally exactly where I’m supposed to be."

#nico hischier blurbs #nico hischier #new jersey devils #NHL fan fiction #hockey writing #my writing #writing request

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izicodes · 2 years ago

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Hi! I’m a student currently learning computer science in college and would love it if you had any advice for a cool personal project to do? Thanks!

Personal Project Ideas

Hiya!! 💕

It's so cool that you're a computer science student, and with that, you have plenty of options for personal projects that can help with learning more from what they teach you at college. I don't have any experience being a university student however 😅

Someone asked me a very similar question before because I shared my projects list and they asked how I come up with project ideas - maybe this can inspire you too, here's the link to the post [LINK]

However, I'll be happy to share some ideas with you right now. Just a heads up: you can alter the projects to your own specific interests or goals in mind. Though it's a personal project meaning not an assignment from school, you can always personalise it to yourself as well! Also, I don't know the level you are, e.g. beginner or you're pretty confident in programming, if the project sounds hard, try to simplify it down - no need to go overboard!!

But here is the list I came up with (some are from my own list):

Personal Finance Tracker

A web app that tracks personal finances by integrating with bank APIs. You can use Python with Flask for the backend and React for the frontend. I think this would be great for learning how to work with APIs and how to build web applications 🏦

Online Food Ordering System

A web app that allows users to order food from a restaurant's menu. You can use PHP with Laravel for the backend and Vue.js for the frontend. This helps you learn how to work with databases (a key skill I believe) and how to build interactive user interfaces 🙌🏾

Movie Recommendation System

I see a lot of developers make this on Twitter and YouTube. It's a machine-learning project that recommends movies to users based on their past viewing habits. You can use Python with Pandas, Scikit-learn, and TensorFlow for the machine learning algorithms. Obviously, this helps you learn about how to build machine-learning models, and how to use libraries for data manipulation and analysis 📊

Image Recognition App

This is more geared towards app development if you're interested! It's an Android app that uses image recognition to identify objects in a photo. You can use Java or Kotlin for the Android development and TensorFlow for machine learning algorithms. Learning how to work with image recognition and how to build mobile applications - which is super cool 👀

Social Media Platform

(I really want to attempt this one soon) A web app that allows users to post, share, and interact with each other's content. Come up with a cool name for it! You can use Ruby on Rails for the backend and React for the frontend. This project would be great for learning how to build full-stack web applications (a plus cause that's a trend that companies are looking for in developers) and how to work with user authentication and authorization (another plus)! 🎭

Text-Based Adventure Game

If you're interested in game developments, you could make a simple game where users make choices and navigate through a story by typing text commands. You can use Python for the game logic and a library like Pygame for the graphics. This project would be great for learning how to build games and how to work with input/output. 🎮

Weather App

Pretty simple project - I did this for my apprenticeship and coding night classes! It's a web app that displays weather information for a user's location. You can use Node.js with Express for the backend and React for the frontend. Working with APIs again, how to handle asynchronous programming, and how to build responsive user interfaces! 🌈

Online Quiz Game

A web app that allows users to take quizzes and compete with other players. You could personalise it to a module you're studying right now - making a whole quiz application for it will definitely help you study! You can use PHP with Laravel for the backend and Vue.js for the frontend. You get to work with databases, build real-time applications, and maybe work with user authentication. 🧮

Chatbot

(My favourite, I'm currently planning for this one!) A chatbot that can answer user questions and provide information. You can use Python with Flask for the backend and a natural language processing library like NLTK for the chatbot logic. If you want to mauke it more beginner friendly, you could use HTML, CSS and JavaScript and have hard-coded answers set, maybe use a bunch of APIs for the answers etc! This project would be great because you get to learn how to build chatbots, and how to work with natural language processing - if you go that far! 🤖

Another place I get inspiration for more web frontend dev projects is on Behance and Pinterest - on Pinterest search for like "Web design" or "[Specific project] web design e.g. shopping web design" and I get inspiration from a bunch of pins I put together! Maybe try that out!

I hope this helps and good luck with your project!

#my asks #resources #programming #coding #studying #codeblr #progblr #studyblr #comp sci #computer science #projects ideas #coding projects #coding study #cs studyblr #cs academia

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kiawren · 2 months ago

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Heeyy.... Back again for tonight before I leave again. They leaked a bunch of SM stuff 😃I did not expect it, I thought all the leaks had been covered. I was really bummed cuz I KNEW there were things, but the main leakers perhaps just didn't go through the and upload them. But there have been some now!... But overall my mood is poop cuz I've been feeling really dreadful about exams. Discipline is something I really struggle with.

ANYWAY! Some of the leaked stuff includes concept description of the main alolan cast. I've yet to read through them all so I'll just say stuff about the Kiawe one.

Btw these character concepts are early and change over time. Also this is Google translated so the translation is not excellent.

Honestly the thing I found most funny and baffling is "African-American descent" and they put a pic of a Japanese dude. Not even mixed I think. I googled him and it looks like this particular pic he's just tan 💀 if you see the stuff they have for other poc it's also something along these ignorant lines LMAO. Anyway.

I'll go generally chronologically

- "master of flying", I just assume to do with charizard cuz he gives the player the pager for it after his trial. Although the games didn't show him with a charizard AT ALL, the anime did show this and other stuff mentioned in the character description.

Which is cool becuz although I ship with his game version I did merge some familial exposition from the anime. Anyway

- "his grandfather dancing acrobatically with Charizard" no idea how that's supposed to look like. But it's cool there's a bit of flying elements. Also in the anime Kiawe is the one who performs the flying-type Z move in the show. Not Kahili or any other character. (If I'm not wrong lol). If charizard is on his team along with talonflame, he'd have two flying types as the only other type outside of fire that he'd need to be more skilled in. I'm pretty sure it's obvious Wren would specialise in Flying types. So it could mean something kiawren but also nothing at all don't worry about it

-interesting that instead of dancing with charizard as the concept idea, they went with alolan marowak as his dance partner in the end, which I think is perfect and very fitting. It would be nice to imagine him navigating his image of dancing with charizard as his grandfather does, but then obtaining a marowak and adapting to it and finding his own style with that. In the anime his grandfather passed before the canon story takes place, not specified at what age kiawe was then,...

-but reading on about his conflict with his ambition and obligation... He'd probably feel quite lost for a while on his own without his grandfather.

I actually never thought about any expectations that may have been placed on him. But that MAKES ME EVEN SADDER hhggfghhhhh

I had the headcanon that his parents support him but he felt bad about them covering too much of his study and travel expenses so he wants to work and cover it himself. BUT.... BUT WITH THE IDEA THAT. IN THE GAME HIS PARENTS WANT HIM TO TAKE OVER THE FARM. WHAT IF HE'S WORKING TO PROVE HIS DETERMINATION THAT HE CAN BE SELF SUFFICIENT AND WORK FOR IT BECUZ HE REALLY WANTS IT. AND THEN THIS SHIT HAPPENED BRRUUGh well i just think of his parents as the versions in the anime cuz in the games it's just reused NPC models that don't look related to him especially his dad is a white guy. So I always envisioned his parents to be the supportive caring ones in the anime. Though the game has more maturity to it. In the anime he's not even a dancer btw LMAO. So. So. In my Kiawren vacuum universe. His parents look the same in the show. But they're slightly sterner (though still caring) and want him to look after the farm. ALTHOUGH LIKE. THEY'RE NOT EVEN THAT OLD. AND KIAWE IS STILL 18 LIKE HE STILL HAS HIS LIVE AHEAD OF HIM WHAT TAKING OVER THE FARM BRO YOU GUYS ARE STILL PERFECTLY YOUNG AND WORKING AGE

But yeah yay more kiawren lore to think about. Actively working through his dilemmas together. I guess in the end his parents would support him. OH YEAH HE HAS A SISTER. Yeah incorporating her into the game universe although the character concept didn't note him having a sister. She wants to help out on the farm all the time in the anime and he gets protective over her carrying heavy stuff so. I guess she can be take more responsibility for the family farm when she's older. Things will #work out

-Do you know how comforting this (below) is to me lol. That he's a silent romanticist. In this way he's a lot like me you know. I know I say this a lot but I'm not reaching with this, it's out there, not blatantly obvious in his character but theres traces of it.

That he is practical and realistic, but also has passions and dreams. I also can't decide if I'm more of a realist or idealist. I feel like I'm realistic about the world but idealistic when it comes to myself. I have self-actualising ambitions, but I know about the real life obstacles and work needed to get there. Which even right now, in my real life, is really bothering me. Academic exams are such a burden to me when I just want to get out to the field and the world and engage with the nature and people around me. There's always room for more conservation and I wish I could start NOW. And skip the school and textbook stuff. I want to help now!

Sorry for derailing to me but I feel like for Kiawe and I, we've found our passions. We know it's our calling. We want to extend it to other people and community, and deepen our knowledge and love for the world and nature, art, culture. It's just the getting there. The personal obstacles and constraints we have to overcome. The how to make it in a world that doesn't care about art and conservation as much. Do you understand meeeee???

When I first selfshipped with him I only did it for comfort and enjoyment. How in the world was I supposed to know he'd have me reflect on my own ambitions. And think about us talking about them and achieving them together. It just makes me yearn even more and feel even sadder that we can't experience it together. FUCK MY STUPID BAKA LIFE

Fck it's so late I need to sleep. Anyway. Less serious stuff ahead.

-"casual jeans and high-top sneakers" LMAOOO LMAO

-"Distinctive features include a beard. Very long black hair tied up" that's interesting to imagine..

Actually my previous ideas of a future version of him, and the au with my spidersona, has him tied up long hair (below) Haha haha.. Though it's a bit hard to imagine him with long hair being let down but he'd look nice. I guess as he becomes an older adult he'd want to keep facial hair. Taking notes

Alright about his ethnicity now. I reached 10 pic limit so scroll up to the pic of his parents if you'd like.

I always established him to be native Hawaiian at least from his mom's side. His grandfather is maternal btw, and since he was so dedicated to a native tradition I just established that that side of the family is native lol. That will still remain.

As for his dad he could be black but they don't put in enough effort to hint at any heritage of that which is expected but it would have helped. Since my mind was wandering to our fursonas (sorry the jump in topic is abrupt) and how it bugged me that I want to assign him the red ruffed lemur but it's not a native hawaiian animal. I was thinking his dad could be Malagasy. Though I haven't read up much about it and it's just a rough thought. But honestly a lot of this would already be headcanon. So I might as well.

Wikipedia: "The Malagasy (French: Malgache or Malagasy: Gasy) are a group of Austronesian-speaking ethnic groups indigenous to the island country of Madagascar, formed through generations of interaction between Austronesians originally from southern Borneo and Bantus from Southeast Africa."

Honestly I think it's interesting they're Austronesian, Google the map and see how far Austronesian people span! If I go with this headcanon, it'll enrich his cultural background so much and it'll be a lot of cool stuff for me to learn about! His dad and mom would both be Austronesian but native to completely different parts of the world. Borneo is also a region I'm very interested in. Although I'm Chinese diaspora, my home is in Southeast Asia (if you zoom in slightly more, Malesia, which is the part of SEA that overlaps with the Austronesian range more.) I want to learn all I can about SEA. I love this region so much. I don't even love Singapore that much. Our government doesn't like to acknowledge our Nusantaran roots. Btw, I have very little knowledge of history and what I know comes from recent interests (that I'm excited to develop with time) But yes I'm glad to be part of Southeast Asia. The lamest country in it fucking Yes but I'm glad I have time to learn about this region and Austronesia in general. It really fascinates me so much, the geography, history, languages, culture of Austronesia and how much it spans. How many people it includes, how so rich and diverse it is. To go back to kiawren... That only means there's so much to learn about together and discover about this together!!! WHERE ARE YOU BRUHHH MY CRINGE STUPID LIFE

The takeaway out of all this is that Kiawe and selfshipping with him makes me think about ambitions and culture and. It surpasses just a Selfship lmao. Changed my brain chemistry so much. It covers all my bases for greater fulfilment of my life. Does that make sense. But at the end of the day it's also a fun thing I do for little comforts. Thinking about us just hanging out and stuff. Just.. Why is he not real. WOW I FORGOR ABOUT MY EXAMS WHILE WRITING ALL THAT. NOW IT HIT ME AGAIN AND IM FEELING THE Dread™

Okay, that's it. If you read this Wow thank you 1 billion. Its very late as I write this and I should really be heading to sleep.

#Kiawren #About Kiawren

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sephirthoughts · 6 months ago

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4, 17 and 25 for the writer’s ask game 🙌

thank you for the ask i love doing these! 🖤

4. an excerpt of my writing with dialogue i'm proud of

this isn't really anything all that profound, but i love the dynamic between them so much (it's from a genshin impact fic i wrote over a year ago and haven't finished)

On this particular day, by some miracle of the Archons, Kaveh had finally managed to drag Alhaitham away from his stupid boring studies, to attend one of these campus parties. Wondrous! What a delightful time they shall have! But wait! No! It was Alhaitham, after all, and what did that insufferable chunk of granite do, rather than socializing, like a human being? He sat down in a corner and opened a book! A BOOK! Kaveh was so mortified, he nearly melted into the crevices between the floor tiles. “What in the Abyss are you doing!” he hissed, hurrying over to Alhaitham (after looking around to check that no one attractive saw him talking to the tower of muscle and jawline that was his roommate). Alhaitham turned a page without looking up. “I’m water-skiing.” “Ha ha, so funny. What are you doing reading at a party!” “As you gave me to understand the matter, the purpose of these functions is enjoyment. I enjoy reading. Hooray party.” “Ugh, you are so fucking embarrassing,” Kaveh groaned. “Fine. If you want to cement your position as a social pariah, you go right ahead. I’m going to go mingle, before anyone sees me talking to you and my chances of getting any action are obliterated.” “Why should you talking to me have any impact on your chances of engaging in sexual activity with others.” “Because of all…this!” Kaveh returned, gesturing to encompass Alhaitham’s entire person. “You’re offensively handsome, six-foot-four, and built like a male fitness model! No one wants to compete with that!” “Absurd,” Alhaitham snorted. “How can my looks be offensive? You’re talking a lot of nonsense, today.” “Fuck’s sake—it was a hyperbole! The point is that while you’re sitting here all stone-cold scholar, making every other guy at the party look like a before-picture, I’m actually trying to meet people! If they see me hanging around with you, they’ll think I’m taken, by the big, scary, hot guy and get frightened off!” Alhaitham looked up at him. “Well?” “Well what?” “Go away, then.” Kaveh made incoherent noises of exasperation and stalked off, in search of a much-needed drink.

17. excerpt from an unpublished WIP

this one is tentatively called Corporate Espionage and it's Reeve/Vincent

He fired off his email to the zoning committee, explaining once again that currently inhabited dwellings were not to be considered ‘abandoned’ or ‘derelict’ simply because they thought a shopping center would look better there, and dropped his forehead onto the desk with a dull thunk. Was thirty-five too young for a heart attack? Probably. Too bad. No hope that way, then. He had a sneaking suspicion that even if he died, they’d find a way to yank him back out of the lifestream and make him review Land Use and Development reports. He very nearly had his fanciful heart attack, when suddenly something hard and cold clamped down on the back of his neck. His first thought was ‘Oh, good. They finally sent the Turks to kill me.’ After he gave his first jolt of surprise, he didn’t struggle or try to lift his head. He just stayed that way, with a metal something holding him by his neck. “Tense,” said a low, deep voice, barely loudly enough to be heard, over Reeve’s white noise machine and Zen relaxation fountain. “Uh—hngh!” he groaned, involuntarily, as the cold metal thing (which he now understood was a hand in a gauntlet) squeezed, exerting precise pressure on the neck muscles, right at the base of his skull. “Agent…Valentine. What are you—” “No talking.” Reeve shut his mouth. The utter absurdity of the situation made him strongly suspect that he’d fallen asleep with his head on his desk, and was now dreaming. Having his neck rubbed by a nearly sixty-year-old former Turk maybe-vampire, who could swat him like a gnat (and that was when he wasn’t a monster), was definitely something his stress and fatigue-addled subconscious might invent. Well, fuck it. He may as well enjoy it, before one of his phones rang and woke him up.

25. an excerpt from something i consider to be a favorite

this is the opening couple paragraphs from my Ryu Ga Gotoku fic. it's one of my favorite things i've written so of course it was not very popular 😂 (asexual kiryu x bisexual majima OTP of ever)

Hand-to-hand combat, like any religion, requires devotion. One must practice it every day, or wisely avoid its temple and its acolytes, as it can only be a source of pain and frustration. For those who observe it devoutly, however, the violent collision of muscle and bone is both prayer and worship. Communion and confession. A ritual to clear the mind and purge the soul. A pure, sensory meditation. Iron-hard fists raining blows like cannon shots. The teeth-cracking, bone-jarring thunderclap of impact. The intoxicating heat. The acrid tang of sweat and blood. The aromatic scent of petrichor from a freshly rained-upon city street. A hint of cigarette smoke and a man’s cologne. When he comes back to himself, he is standing over his opponent, battered but victorious. Stars dance in the corners of his vision. His knuckles are throbbing and he tastes blood. Then he sees blood. On his fists and his opponent’s face. For a split second, he’s sure he’s gone too far, this time. But the man lifts his head and looks up at him. Takes the outstretched hand to be helped back to his feet. Though he springs up with suspicious buoyancy, considering the beating he just took. “What’s with the face, Kiryu-chan?” he pants, smearing the crimson droplets across his chin with the back of his black-gloved hand. “Mad at me for jumpin’ you?” “I’m not mad at you, Majima-aniki. This is just how I look,” Kiryu answers flatly, which is one of the three tones of voice he has. “Right, right. I was meanin’ to ask, do kids run off cryin’ when they see ya in the street?” “Not…all of them.” This elicits a half-hysterical laugh from Majima’s still-bleeding mouth. “You look like you’re on your way from a funeral to another funeral. Why don’t you try smilin’ once in a while.” The furrows in Kiryu’s brow deepen. “I do smile. I just don’t do it for no reason.” “Must be why you’re so popular with the ladies. Come on, Kiryu-chan, lemme see ya smile.” “No.” “I’m not lettin’ you go till you do it.” “God damn it. Ok, fine.” Kiryu complies stiffly with the demand, stretching his mouth and turning up the corners, as if smiling is something with which he is theoretically familiar, but has never seen actually done. “Fuck, I take it back!” Majima exclaims, throwing up a black-gloved hand as if to shield his eyes. “I can’t believe you’d do that out in public. Some innocent bystander might see and be scarred for life.”

#writer asks #inbox games #shameless self promotion #for funsies

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randomfoggytiger · 2 years ago

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The Mulder Family In-Depth (Part I): Colony and End Game

Bill and Tena (not “Teena” because of a Two Fathers script I read that spelled it that way, thanks @x-files-scripts for posting them~) Mulder are “two complicated, flawed, beautiful people” that deserved a deep-dive of their own. In doing a frame-by-frame, however, I discovered there was more than meets the eye to their character; and, slowly, one post turned into who knows how many. So, without further ado, let’s begin.

Pilot

During their first case, Mulder stops being a jerk to his little spy when Scully shows up at his motel door, shaking and scared. After the dust has settled and all is calm, he opens up about his sister’s abduction and the fallout it had on his family: “I was 12 when it happened. My sister was 8. She just… disappeared out of her bed one night. Just gone, vanished. No note…. It tore the family apart. No one would talk about it. There were no facts to confront, nothing to offer any hope.”

The only one who seems to have found hope and comfort from the past is Mulder, who goes on to explain how he found the X-Files and used hypnosis to recall his sister's abduction. He never mentions what his parents' thoughts are about this path he has taken; and doesn't bring them up again for a long time.

Aubrey

The first memory Mulder relates of his father is in Aubrey as he and Scully bat the likelihood of genetic predisposition back and forth: “Whe-when I was a kid, I’d have nightmares and I’d wake up in the middle of the night thinking I was the only person in the world. And I would hear this--” crunching down on a sunflower seed to illustrate-- “My dad would be in the study eating these.”

This was obviously comforting to a young Mulder, likely stretching to a time before Samantha’s abduction when his family hadn’t fallen apart yet. (It also ties into the discussion on insomnia later in this post.)

Colony

Mulder and Scully are interrupted from their mytharc quest by a summons from Skinner, who relates that Mulder’s father had been trying to contact him all afternoon.

Mulder runs to the basement to call Bill Mulder back; and is shocked when Tena picks up. As she passes the phone off to her ex-husband, Mulder shifts his cellphone nervously to another hand. His nerves are only heightened by his father's cryptic answers-- "I received a very strange phone call this afternoon. I called your mother. We think it is extremely important that you come up here as soon as possible.”

It's important to note that Bill tells Mulder that both he (which he denies later) and Tena wanted their son to "get up here"-- the up-here meaning Tena’s house in The Vineyard. What’s interesting about that is: Bill has not separated a meeting place with his son from his former wife’s house, all three of them taking for granted that they’d meet at Tena’s. It’s such a blurring of boundaries and lines that it’s easy to see why Mulder blurs those boundaries constantly with Scully, modeling his parents’ separate-but-not-really relationship.

Mulder has shifted in full-blown panic while Bill continues to dodge questions-- “I’ll know more when you get here”-- and hangs up, much to Mulder’s frustration.

Mulder leaves immediately, dumping the investigation in Scully’s lap.

When he arrives at the Vineyard, Mulder is stopped from walking inside by Bill on the porch-- “Your mother needs some time.”

Mulder goes in for a hug naturally, implying that at some point hugs were a tenuous normal between them, at least in times of crisis.

When Bill swiftly blocks his attempts with a hand stuck out for a handshake--

Mulder is aggrieved, but accepts it.

He is further pushed away by the distance Bill places between them: “SHE wanted you to come. It’s a difficult time.” He almost implies that Mulder was invited up because Tena requested it, not because he wanted his son there.

Bill Mulder appears distant and cold from the first moment we see him. The invitation and longing seems to be, by his own words, from Tena; and Mulder’s emotional outreach appears to be personally undesired and refused.

However, it’s incredibly important to note his facial expressions and relaxed posture whenever Mulder isn’t directly looking at him;

because, once his son has been redirected away from scrutinizing, Bill’s real feelings slightly bubble to the surface: he’s nervous and unsure. His smoking seems to be a distraction or a crutch as he tries to relate his jumbled feelings about the whole affair:

“The certainty. The calmness-- a comfort that allows you to move on. We bury our memories so deep after all that has been destroyed… never expecting--”

Here Mulder cuts his father off, having observed his mother through the window talking with a woman and roughly wiping away tears with her handkerchief:

The first time we see Tena is as a dynamic woman: her hands are traveling all over her scrunched up face, expressing intense emotions through her jerky movements and mile-a-minute talking.

Bill reveals that the woman is Samantha, with a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. (And, though the music is swelling menacingly and not painting him in the best of lights, in retrospect he isn’t menacing or smug: just… processing the shock in his own way.)

Tena is wide-eyed, amazed, bewildered, and hopeful when her son walks in the room.

After a night spent talking and processing, Mulder takes an active role in putting Tena to bed:

As he settles her in, Tena reflects: “After all those sleepless nights, I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

Mulder pulls her down gently, turns out her light, exhaustedly tries to softly soothe her for sleep-- "Well, you're exhausted. We all are. It's after 5:30."

Tena response? “Oh, I just need a couple of hours.”

She continues to comply as her son reiterates “Try and get some sleep", settling more firmly against her pillows and watching as he tucks her in, turns out her light, gives her a kiss, and begins to close her shades.

This interaction is CRUCIAL in the early stages of Mulder and Tena’s relationship dynamic:

1. Tena is afflicted with the same insomnia issues as her son. In fact, the two of them demonstrate an underlying rote awareness and second-nature routine as he becomes her caretaker-- pulling back the covers, settling her pillows, and guiding her into bed-- and she a compliant but wired patient-- “Oh, I just need a couple of hours”-- after having spent all night talking and enduring an emotional upheaval. (Insomnia doesn’t seem to simply be a post-traumatic response connected to Samantha’s abduction: Mulder states in Aubrey that he would be up late, or wake from a nightmare, and hear his father comfortingly cracking sunflower seeds in the study. Since these memories are from early childhood, it’s hard to speculate how late Bill Mulder’s habits were in comparison to a young boy’s bedtime.) At the very least, Mulder and Tena seem to have bonded over their terrible sleep routines. That would also explain how Mulder is a natural at tucking Scully in or letting her sleep on his shoulder.

But most importantly:

2. Tena and Mulder have an emotionally open relationship (or did until Demons.) Most often I find theories, meta, or fics depicting Tena as cold, aloof, or withdrawn; but this firmly establishes that she has no qualms talking about her vulnerabilities with her son. And furthermore, she has done so in the past, often enough that Mulder takes her declaration as a fact that doesn’t faze or surprise him. It explains Mulder's comfortability with emotional expression-- wide-eyed in his earnestness to not only help Scully heal in a crisis, but to empathize with victims and the downtrodden. It also explains why he gives so many forehead kisses and comforting hugs: he expressed his love and care for his mother in those ways, and she likely did it for him as well when he was small. It seems, however, that since Samantha's abduction the role has solely fallen on Mulder because of how effortlessly they fell into these heartfelt but wonky dynamics.

Before Mulder can leave, Tena pops back up and asks fearfully: "Fox, it is really her, isn't it?"

Mulder smiles, tired but content; and replies: "I don't see who else it could be."

Tena is not very reassured;

but she trusts her son and his instincts. When he further admonishes her to "Go to sleep", she sinks back on her pillows

and obediently closes her eyes against the worry.

As demonstrated, Tena and her son’s relationship is heavily baked in trust and trauma. She obeys his every word, clings to his every assurance, leans on him more than he leans on her. It’s a credible reflection of Mulder’s insanely trustworthy character: so many people rely on him and trust him on his word alone-- his mother, Scully, Skinner, TLG, even acquaintances and informants-- willing to put their jobs and their lives at risk to stand by him. Because Mulder is pure Truth: he lives by what he seeks.

Now: does this mean Tena is a compliant wallflower who does the bidding of everyone around her? No. Her stubborn, tough-as-nails nature will be explored in a future post about Talitha Cumi.

Regardless-- thus ends Colony.

And thus begins--

End Game

After the loss of Samantha (who no one knows is a clone at this point), Mulder leaves Scully on the bridge with an ominous parting statement: ”I already told Skinner, that was the easy part. Now I gotta tell my father.”

This is when Bill Mulder’s true nature is revealed: emotionally disconnected and harsh to protect against the scars of trauma.

Bill arrives at Mulder’s apartment with an expression much more open and, perhaps, optimistic than he had on their previous meeting.

He even starts the interaction by teasing his son-- “You didn’t have me come all this way to give me good news”-- which is a fascinating window into how Mulder developed his sense of humor.

The fact his dad is so cheerful and trusting is a further blow to Mulder, who had seemed to recover his family in one night only to lose it himself, again, in the next.

Bill sees that disaster lies ahead, donning the armor of stern anger to smoke out the truth. His son has become a suspicious character to interrogate and correct.

Mulder turns back-to, shakily explaining: “Samantha’s gone… Dad. I lost her.”

Bill pauses for a couple of heavy seconds, baffled, unable to wrap his mind around that thought.

When it clicks, he begins speaking rapidly-- “what do you mean ‘you lost her’?”-- taking swift steps into the room. For a split second, raw, vulnerable fear and hurt is written all over his face:

Mulder keeps silent for a stretch; but finally explains that his partner had been held hostage and Samantha needed to be exchanged. While he is fumbling with his words, his father’s eyes begin to glisten, and his mouth becomes more and more pinched to keep back the emotion.

“You let this man take your sister? …Isn’t that what you’re trying to tell me?”

“I… can’t explain it to you”-- Mulder pleads-- "But, um, I believed I was doing the right thing, Dad.”

His gestures are unsure: hand flailing as he tries to grasp an explanation, eyes averted to the floor, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Bill reads this all as guilt of thoughtless action, which turns to useful anger he can use to blockade off his feelings.

As Bill perceives it, his son’s actions have hurt him deeply, and lost Samantha for possibly the last time. Despite knowing how dear she was to the family, his son traded her for the safety of a work partner from (likely) the very people that had taken her in the first place. Bill sees this as reckless, and harshly punishes his son like a child who has killed a little bird in his careless actions. Chastisement has become the modus operandi.

“Was this your decision?”

Those words will haunt Mulder to his dying day...

(or would have if Samantha had not been a clone.)

“Yes.”

Bill Mulder was a military man; and you can tell he trained his son by those hard standards as well. He stands erect before his father, shouldering the blame and answering his commanding officer with a direct affirmative. But at the same time the little boy peeks through--trying to protect himself by tucking in his chin and manfully facing his punishment instead of slinking off into the corner to cry.

And like a little boy, he tries to show his father he's learned how to be good and take responsibility for his actions: “I’ll tell Mom.”

Bill continues his correction speech: “Do you realize what losing her again is going to do to your mother?” His barely restrained tears give away his true meaning: Do you realize what you’ve done to me?

While he expects straightforward honesty from his son, Bill himself practices deception by avoidance. He cannot bear to peer into the darkness of his own emotions and pain; so, he deflects them by projecting onto Tena.

When Mulder falters and doesn’t answer, Bill’s thinly held anger seeps through with more his clipped, uptight inflection:

“Do you?”

He is exuding more outwardly forceful control because his own has internally slipped.

Here it is demonstrated how alike and dissimilar father and son are. They both protect Tena in their own steadfast ways, but in very different ways. Mulder comforts and soothes her distress while Bill tries to guard her from the pain by wrapping her in protective layers from the outside world. He is angered that an unavoidable heartache was brought to her doorstep because it’s another home he couldn’t keep the conspiracy out of, following her even when she had tried to escape from his connections by leaving him. You could easily make the case that Bill is still in love with Tena-- whether it’s in a fond, by-gone-days affection bred by guilt or love that couldn’t be revived after the horrific loss of his family (similar to what Scully and Mulder went through during their breakup years.)

Mulder tries and fails to compose himself as his face crumples and his voice cracks: “I’m sorry, Dad. I-- I’m sorry.”

Bill turns abruptly to leave, overwhelmed; but pauses when he remembers the envelope left by Samantha for Mulder.

“Your sis--” his face softens, almost cracks;

then hardens as he copes by distancing himself as quickly as possible-- “...Samantha left this at the house for you.”

Mulder's anguish overcomes him again at the thought of a posthumous letter from his sister;

giving Bill ample time to retreat, slamming the door behind him.

This next part is still relevant, as it demonstrates Mulder's coping strategies he learned from his parents.

Mulder softly grasps the letter, expecting it to be a heartfelt note; but is surprised to see she'd written cryptic instructions that leads to an abortion clinic. He immediately turns tail and flees from his emotions by running headlong into his quest for answers, uplifted he can distance himself from the bog of guilt and head towards more active salvation. He may have lost Samantha; but perhaps he can redeem his failures with the Truth. He sees hope in that.

Thus ends End Game.

Thank you for reading! I will be adding more parts in future; but that might take a bit. In the mean time--

Enjoy!

#txf #analysis #x-files #the x files #meta #mine #S1 #S2 #Pilot #Aubrey #Colony #End Game #Bill Mulder #Teena Mulder #Tena #The Mulder Family In-Depth #Colony and End Game

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