#That and they both fit in the palm of my hand which is a bonus! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-xp-budget · 29 days

Text

Goblins - Part 2 (Pyro)

Through the smell of old books and wisdom kept preserved for ages upon ages, you catch the scent of something else. Burning. Something is on fire.

Smoke erupts from a nearby shelf, and as you duck behind cover, someone steps through the fumes. Grey-green complexion, pointed ears, this is a Gobin.

His eyes are glued to a single mote of flame that dances around on his palm, but then you see him look around, registering an unfamiliar presence and searching for you. His mouth twists into a snarl, and that fire in his hand begins to grow and lash out. It’s hungry.

Roll initiative.

Goblin Pyro

The air in the temple suddenly grows hot, too hot to bear. You duck under a blast of flame and turn around to see what appears to be a Goblin emerging from behind a statue. You see a heavy woollen cloak over a suit complete with a bright orange cravat that matches a sash over his shoulder. The left sleeve of his jacket is missing, showing off an arm that doesn’t match the rest of his body, apparently made from polished obsidian refined into an appendage that terminates in three, clawlike fingers. You see the arm begin to glow as he prepares to hurl more fire towards you.

In my previous post, I talked about Goblins more generally, and a lot of that information still stands with this entry into the crew. Goblin Scuttle can still be used for defence and for repositioning, for example.

In that post, I focused on the martial Goblins, meaning that our spellcasting friends had their own post to themselves. I did plan on covering both in this post, but this post got long with the two of them, so here’s the Pyro. Here’s the general information.

Generally speaking, spellcasters are more vulnerable than martials, since they have a higher damage output on average. The Pyro fits this, although with an Armour Class of 16 in comparison to the expected 15, it doesn’t appear to yet.

The devil is in the Hit Points. The average for a creature of level 1 is 20, but the Pyro only has 15, so he’s not going to stick around and tempt fate. He’ll deal lots of damage then skiddadle when things look rough.

However, here is the important kicker for running spellcasters in PF2e: You don’t have to cast all of your spells. Fights in this system go quickly (a little too quickly for some people), and that means that certain abilities aren’t going to get used. This is fine, everything has a time and place, that’s why this blog exists.

You are playing to have fun, not to win. This blog exists to challenge players, not turn them off the game. The creatures aren’t the main characters, the PCs are.

For the sake of argument, lets quickly go over the Pyro’s melee option. It’s a torch, with a +7 to hit and a damage output of 1d4 +1. If we apply the strategy of “move to a target and hit it twice”, we end up with this:

Two Attacks: 0.5 * 3.5 + 0.15 * 7 + 0.35 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 7 = 4.38

A reminder that the Warrior, a creature two levels lower than our Pyro friend, had a damage output with this strategy of 5.08, and that doesn’t take into account flanking, which makes the Torch look even worse by comparison. This is a last resort item when the Goblin can’t escape or cast spells, and his enemies won’t accept surrender.

The Goblin grimaces and looks down at the almost burned-out torch still in his grasp. He gives a resigned sigh, and begins to flail wildly, leaving a trail of embers with every swing.

To better illustrate how rubbish of an option this is, I made a graphing system. Essentially, I need a graph with three points on it. The minimum damage, the maximum, and the average against a creature of the same level.

This is fairly simple, but it doesn’t mean anything on its own. To form a baseline, I look to the creature standardisation tables in the GM core.

The average attack bonus for a level 1 creature is +7, and the average strike damage is 1d6 +2. As such, the equation and graph for for that looks like this.

Generic Strike: 0.5 * 5.5 + 0.15 * 11 = 4.4

Now do you see what I mean? The Pyro’s physical weaponry isn’t a viable option, so let’s look at spells instead.

Our Pyro has a spell attack modifier of +6, and a save DC of 16, which means that, against a generic level 1 creature, he will hit with spell attacks 60% of the time, and the creature will fail against 50% of the saving throws he forces it to make. Bear this in mind, it will affect everything I say later.

Light isn’t a combat focused spell, and considering the Pyro has Darkvision, it’s not really useful at all, except as a distraction. Show me a TTRPG player of any system who won’t see a glowing golden chalice on a pedestal and immediately try to pick it up.

Ask the players if they touch the chalice halfway through. It means you can enjoy watching them suddenly contort their methods to avoid directly making contact with it, and it will take their attention off their surroundings, allowing the Puro an advantage when sneaking up on them.

The statuette glows with a flickering light that illuminates this entire space. Golden, warm light, almost hot to the touch.

There’s no mechanical benefit to this (although if a player tried this, I would allow them to take the Create A Diversion action using their spellcasting modifier in the place of deception), but it would distract the players from taking the search action, and that’s some decent risk assurance.

Telekinetic Hand, meanwhile, is best used like the force. That is a role-playing spell, allowing the Goblin to feel magical if the characters engage with it. Maybe he lifts a drink to his hand from across a table or holds a book in the air in front of him so he can read and gesticulate at the same time. Alternatively, it can grab something off a high shelf or put something up there so it can’t be stolen.

The Goblin leans back in his chair and flicks his wrist. “Manus Liquefacta” You see that arm of his begin to glow once more, as an ember trails off into the air and begins to expand into the shape of a hand that floats idly beside him.

Ok, now we have the useful spells. These are the ones he will use most often in combat, and the most obvious of those is Ignition, a two-action spell that targets AC and has a critical hit function that makes my math more complex.

Each round, after a creature takes persistent damage, they can make a flat check to recover from the condition. It’s a DC 15 flat check, so there’s a 30% chance of succeeding. So, for the sake of math that doesn’t make my nose bleed, we’ll say that it will probably deal about 70% of the damage it could.

The length of the condition is assumed to be one minute, which translates into the game as ten rounds. At 1d4 persistent fire damage per round, that’s 25 damage if the effect runs its course, and 70% of that is 17.5.

So, with all that and the chance of succeeding I mentioned before, our equation for the damage of one strike is this:

Ignition: 0.5 * 5 + 0.1 * (10 + 17.5) = 5.25

That’s not a lot of damage, I will admit, but we aren’t done yet. Remember that this spell requires an attack roll, so it works with conditions like Off-Guard. This Goblin has a +7 bonus to his Stealth checks, so we can mess with that if we want to.

The expected perception score of a level 1 creature is +7. With the +2 bonus from cover, our Pyro friend has 65% chance of succeeding on his roll. That increases to 75% with greater cover and look at what that does to the damage of this spell.

Hide Then Cast Ignition (Cover): 0.65 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.2 * 27.5) + 0.35 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.1 * 27.5) = 7.04 Hide Then Cast Ignition (Greater Cover): 0.75 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.2 * 27.5) + 0.25 * (0.5 * 5 + 0.1 * 27.5) = 7.31

Before we put that on the graph. We need to take into account that this spell takes two actions, so the single attack options need to be accounted for.

That is a massive spread, but it’s the averages that matter. Theoretically, if everything goes well, this spell can deal 56 points of damage, but that is very much theoretical.

“Fides Ad Ignis.” Even whispered, the voice echoes against each of the columns in turn, sourceless and indirect. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck raise and turn in time to see the Pyro stepping out of the shadows to hurl a ball of flame like a discuss towards you. You throw up your defences, and by the time the fire reaches you, you have lost track of its cause entirely. That’s a twenty-four to hit.

Worth noting, since this is only this blog’s second entry, I’m still working on the formatting and even this graph specifically. Bear with me, I’m experimenting.

The final cantrip in the Pyro’s arsenal is Tangle Vine, which takes a little more fenagling to work out the efficacy. First up, it doesn’t do damage, it’s a mobility hampering spell. Best used as a means of escape, so it needs to be judged on a different scale.

So, let’s assume that the Goblin is a sphere and apply some baselines. The GM core tells me to assume a speed of 25, which is the same as the Goblin Pyro, so let’s go with that.

The Pyro has two options, either use all three actions to sprint the full 75 ft. Or he can only move 25 ft. and cast Tangle Vine. Limiting his own speed in return for a single round of movement penalties applied to his target.

In the below graph, the lighter circles represent the starting point, and the lower of the two darker circles corresponds with stopping to cast the spell.

The opponent meanwhile has three options that they can take, each dependant on the spell. First, the spell misses and they cover thirty ft., catching up with the Goblin and rendering their defensive spell moot. Second, the spell hits, and the target’s speed is reduced by 10 ft. As such, they only cover 45 ft., but they do still catch up with the Pyro. The third option occurs on a critical hit, which immobilizes the creature, limiting their movement entirely for the round.

Here are those three options on the map.

I think you can see where I’m going with this, but just to be clear, let’s work out how likely each option is to happen.

The Pyro has 60% chance to hit with this, that means a 10% likelihood of immobilizing his target. As such, the formula looks like this:

Tangle Vine 0.5 * 45 + 0.4 * 75 = 52.5

Not even accounting for the fact that an immobilised creature can just use an action to try and escape, this spell is not worth it as an escape option.

You see the Goblin’s eyes light up for just a moment as he draws himself to his feet. You hear him say “Manete”, and then feel your limbs begin to resist your motions, like something very hot is trying to latch onto you. Does a nineteen beat your armour class?

Most likely, this is a last stand spell. This is a spell for when the rest of the Goblin’s crew is trying to get away, and our friend is making himself the easiest target. In that case, his companions can use their full movement to escape, while the Goblin will use his turn to slow down the threat, and hope he has enough time to get away on his own, most likely in the opposite direction to his friends.

This spell has a range of 30 ft., so it is best used at the limit of this distance.

Alternatively, if the goblin gets reduced to half HP and the battle is still ongoing, he might throw out this spell before making his escape.

But that’s enough of the cantrips. The Pyro has three spell slots that can be used for either Grease or Breathe Fire, and we’re going to start with my favourite of the two.

Grease is a control spell. It messes with people and sets up allies by knocking anyone in its space prone. Since it takes an action to take cover while prone, that means any character who failed their save is off guard against everyone until they move.

Let’s compare outcomes. Because this is the support spell, let’s assume we have another Goblin who can move into melee. The Pyro will most likely be accompanied by Warriors, so let’s bring back our friend from the previous post.

Once again assuming everything is a sphere, let’s say that there is one opponent (level 1), and the two Goblins, who are both within 30 ft. of it and, for the sake of argument, hidden.

Here’s our first scenario. On his turn, the Pyro will cast Ignition and then hide, while the Warrior will emerge from hiding and shoot the target twice before ducking back behind cover. This is a simple equation, modifying the warrior’s formula a bit to account for a higher target AC and adding all the totals together.

Both Goblins Attack: 8 + (0.5 * 3.5 + 0.25 * 12.5 + 0.35 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 12.5) = 14.73

Alternatively, the Pyro can cast Grease, while the Warrior’s strategy doesn’t change. In that case, the Warrior’s second attack would be against an off-guard creature. Applying what I said earlier about likelihood of success, the formula looks like this:

Grease: 0.5 * (0.5 * 3.5 + 0.25 * 12.5 + 0.45 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 12.5) + 0.5 * (0.5 * 3.5 + 0.25 * 12.5 + 0.35 * 3.5 + 0.05 * 12.5) = 6.9

Notably, this tactic doesn’t work with just one other Goblin. But let’s consider a few more options. For the sake of space, here’s another graph.

Here, each +1 means a single Goblin other than the Pyro.

Once again, this is a dead end. So, let’s consider another use case, setup.

What if we combine this with the Light spell from before? Lay Grease on the ground near an entrance and Light on something shiny, then wait for potential targets to rush in and slip. Like I said before, fights go really quickly in PF2e, so running out of spell slots isn’t really an option.

As you reach the bottom of the stairs, you feel your feet begin to lose purchase on the ground. Apparently, you’ve stepped on something slick, like ice or oil. Everybody make either an Acrobatics check, or a Reflex save as you find yourself struggling to keep balance.

Theoretically, a character actively seeking wouldn’t have to make a check to notice the spell’s effect. But again, if I put something glowing on a pedestal, the likelihood of someone searching is diminished.

On the other hand, if a player searches for traps and subverts the Goblin strategy, that’s not a bad thing. It means the player is engaged with your world enough to want to look around and to try and predict things, and it allows that player to feel powerful without the need for special magic items. You’re playing this game to have fun, remember?

If successful, the Grease gambit would mean that the fight starts with a few of the Pyro’s opponents on the floor, causing them to waste multiple actions getting up, drawing weapons, and then moving towards the Pyro, essentially destroying the entirety of their first turn and possibly setting up the Pyro for the last of their spells.

Speaking of which, Breathe Fire is an area of effect spell with varying degrees of success. Considering the predicted save likelihood of 50%, as mentioned above, it is incredibly likely that the target will take at least some damage. Here’s the formula and graph for that damage against one person:

Breathe Fire (One Target): 0.45 * 3.5 + 0.45 * 7 + 0.01 * 14 = 4.87

This has the benefit of scaling directly with the number of creatures in the area. At two creatures, it outpaces Ignition with an average of 9.74 damage, and this continues with three or four creatures.

For the fun of it, the maximum amount of creatures who can fit in this area is seven. Here’s what that looks like on the graph:

You watch the Goblin rear backwards, breathing in heavily as he speaks the incantation. “Aetnae Ira!” His words trail into a scream as he breathes out an enormous cone of fire so hot it's tinted blue. I need you, you, and you to please make Reflex saves to try and get out of the way of this blast.

So, we have our strategy for the fight. Start with a Grease trap with a glowing valuable item serving as bait. Preferably with more Goblin Warriors by the Pyro’s side than there are opponents. Then, open with a Fire Breath while the trap is still in effect and its subjects are prone and trying to work out what’s going on. Then duck back into cover for a third action.

Spend the next few turns peppering opponents with Ignitions from a hidden vantage point.

If the opponents clump up again, the Pyro will use his final spell slot on another Fire Breath and assess the situation. Generally, if a target hasn’t been killed by two spells, the Pyro will take the hint and back out of the fight.

He will also flee if reduced to half hit points or fewer, or if half of his fellow Goblins are slain or otherwise removed from the battle.

For the greatest effectiveness, the Pyro will want to fight in as little light as possible to take advantage of the fact that his opponents can’t see. Also, fire looks cool in darkness.

Alternate Spells

Since most of this Goblin’s vibe is summed up by his spell list, so theoretically you could swap out all of the spells and make a Goblin Necromancer with next to no trouble. But I wanted to pick spells that fit the theme.

I am partial to the Forge spell, which would replace Fire Breath for a ton of single target damage that is especially effective against construct opponents, although I’m honestly not sure how many there are of those with whom the Pyro will come into contact.

Forge: 0.45 * 7.75 + 0.45 * 15.5 + 0.05 * 18 = 11.36

Obviously, it doesn’t match Fire Breath for multi-target damage, but Fire Breath needs three targets to beat this, so this is better for small groups or those that like to spread out. Of course, the Pyro can't decide what size their target is before they pick their spells, but they are aware of their strengths, which affects when they do and don't pick fights.

If the enemy flees, that’s still a victory, and generally all the Pyro has to do to start that domino chain is get someone on the opposite to seriously doubt their safety. If one person flees, their allies will probably join them.

As for Cantrips, I genuinely think Ignition is the best for this theme, so maybe replacing Tangle Vine with Eat Fire would be helpful. It’s situational, but maybe the goblin pokes himself with his own torch. He would resist all the damage he can take from it, then release the smoke to conceal his retreat. It ain’t prefect because he can’t see either, but it could definitely shake up a battlefield.

Conclusion

I am of the opinion that a creature’s worth is in its inspirational value, rather than any numerical advantage. The creature that makes you want to tell a story about it is more valuable to me than the heavily balanced boss monster with two voice lines.

As such, I like the idea of a Goblin who is also a fire mage. Fire is fun, and it can look phenomenal in the right situation. So that’s a plus to me.

I also appreciate the versatility of this stat block. You can replace every spell and get a completely different creature, and while I would prefer if it had an ability that made it stand out for itself beyond this, you have to respect the baseline.

If you have any suggestions for creatures you’d like me to cover, send me a message or put your suggestion in the replies or the ask box. I’d be happy to oblige.

All credit for this idea comes from the The Monsters Know What They’re Doing blog, I have simply ported the idea over to PF2e.

#pf2e #pf2e tactics #goblins #pf2e goblins #pathfinder #pathfinder 2e #pathfinder 2nd edition #XP Budget

3 notes · View notes

sunshine-zenith · 6 months

Note

1, 4, 18, 19, 24 from this ask game

Thank you for the asks!

Heads up y'all, this one is a bit long and the questions dig deep, so mind the tags lol

1) What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I stick with default Ariel Size 11. Times New Roman is kinda the only other font I can take seriously when writing, and it’s kinda tainted from years of typing out essays and media releases for school and my old job

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Recalcitrant and pluperfect — two words that I don’t think I’ve used in any of my writing but I love working into conversations when I can (bonus — they’re both words I learned from reading fics)

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

From By Your Side Again (sorry, this is a long one, with even longer rambles, probably, but I put a lot of thought behind the headcanons I included here)

Spoilers for Nimona (both the film and the graphic novel), and obviously the fic

“...Your arm?” Ballister eventually asks.

“Just dislocated, don’t worry. I can move it fine, the sling is probably overkill.”

“I heard Todd broke his.”

“Good for him.”

They both chuckle weakly before Ambrosius stands.

Ballister’s eyes glance away before meeting his again, looking apprehensive. “Speaking of, could you… plug my arm in? If you’re okay with it.”

Ambrosius blinks, turning to face the arm on the counter. “I- sure. Of course.” Walking towards it, he sees the robotic prosthetic is in three parts -- the arm itself, laying palm up (-Ballister’s arm falling, almost mockingly slow, the sword falling from it as Bal screams and looks at him in shock-). He sighs through his nose, counting to ten and grounding himself back in this moment. As horrible as he feels about his actions, this arm, right here -- it's not about him and he’s not about to make it about him. He’s not going to make Ballister pretend the arm doesn’t exist. Beside it is something that looking like the upper right part of their chest armor, but thinner and more form fitting, with straps attached to it -- what the arm connects to, Ambrosius guesses, with the straps presumably going across Ballister’s chest and under his left arm to hold the whole thing in place. On the other side is a thin, tiny crystal-like device on a tray. Ambrosius runs a finger along the edge before giving Ballister a hesitant look. Ballister quirks an eyebrow that had Ambrosius nodding, confirming his curiosity.

“That chip reads my brain’s signals, sending it to my arm to make it work like my other one,” Ballister begins. “It's not necessary for the arm to work, but without it, my arm wouldn’t be quite as….” he wiggles his fingers as explanation. Ambrosius nods again, silently urging him on. “It's a hybrid -- electronic and body powered, as well as mind controlled. When it has no charge and the chip isn’t connected, the wires react to movement in my shoulder, which can open and close my hand and- you’re smiling at me.”

“Am I?” Ambrosius asks absently. It's hard not to smile when Ballister gets passionate about something. “Should I stop?”

“No, no, It's just… I missed your smile.” Ballister’s voice dips low enough Ambrosius almost misses it. Clearing his throat, he says, “Anyway…?”

Just another thing they need to talk about eventually. Ambrosius lets it go for now, because he’s worried he’ll get choked up if he gets into it. “How would this even reach your brain?” He asks.

“Well, I cracked my skull open when the ground gave out that night.”

Ambrosius laughs at the unexpected answer. “Oh, of freaking course you would, Bal!”

“Wait- I- That was a joke, obviously I was joking!” Bal gives him an offended look that only makes him laugh again. “It goes in my ear, why would I- why would you think-?”

“That you’d do DIY brain surgery? Because you’re you, Bal. I mean….” Ambrosius gestures to the arm behind him. “I always said if you weren’t so squeamish, in another life, you’d be a mad scientist.”

So—

I specifically wrote Ambrosius with his arm as in a sling to both nod to the moment in the Nimona Graphic Novel this fic based on (where Ballister Blackheart’s arm is in a sling). I specifically gave him a dislocated shoulder because a) you can see his injured arm hanging limply as he approaches Bal after Nimona’s sacrifice, and b) I wanted to give him an injury that didn’t break continuity — his arm clearly being injured after the Director shot him and he was blasted to the ground, but it not being in a sling in the epilogue while Todd’s was

I wrote Bal’s prosthetic as a hybrid — biotic, mind controlled and body powered — instead of just biotic for a couple reasons.

In universe: he DIY’d it himself while on the run from the law, so it doesn’t need to fit solidly into one or the other. Who’s gonna stop him? Insurance coverage? Research funding? Nah, he’s out there probably salvaging parts from abandoned flying cars, he can do whatever he wants with his design

Out of universe/my personal experiences: my mother was in an electric wheelchair nearly the last decade she was alive, and while thing offered her a lot of autonomy, it was also, frankly, a clunker. One time when I was a teenager, we were going down the sidewalk when the battery that powered her chair just fell out.

I remember spending a good ten minutes trying to just pick the thing up to put it back in, it was so heavy. Luckily a nice jogger happened to be running by and stopped to help me lift it, but like. Y’all. When the cheapest electric wheelchair insurance will swing you loses its battery, it does not convert into a manual wheelchair. My mother physically could not move from that spot. Neither of us had good cellphones at the time and anyone we could’ve called wouldn’t get back to us very quickly, so if that jogger hadn’t stopped to help me lift that battery who knows how long we would’ve been stuck there

Since then, whenever I encounter fantasy mobility aids that rely on super high technology or magic or whatever, I just mentally tell myself that it’s a convertible/hybrid model that also functions without electricity/magic/etc or that they totally have a backup readily available just off screen, just because this memory is not a super fun one for me

As for why I specifically had Bal need to charge his arm/likened Bal’s arm charger to a phone charger, it’s because I’ve seen battery prosthetic users with above joint amputations (specifically, admittedly, above the knee amputees) describe charging their prosthetic as being like charging a phone

(Video examples by Alex1leg and Josh Sundquist, both above the knee amputees.)

I specifically took a moment to make Ambrosius unconsciously smile because I love his smile. I love his smiles for Bal. I love that little moment at the beginning of the movie where he tells Bal, “they’re going to love you,” before a smile grows on his face as he says, “like I do” — likes he’s excited and overjoyed he already gets to love Bal and the thought of others loving Bal makes him so happy. I love that moment where, when they see each other for the first time post-chop, when Ambrosius says, “Bal,” you can see his lip quirk up, like Bal’s name is just of of those sounds you can’t make without smiling a little. I love Ambrosius smiling because of Bal

The “chip” was my hand waving how Bal’s prosthetic could balance so well and had such fine motor skills when he’s basically finished DIYing it right before rushing off to the Institute. Many advanced biotic arm prosthetics do use brain scanning to interpret their user’s brain signals. Eh, its the future, if they can include holographic coins when venmoing tips to street musicians, Bal can DIY a neurolink in an alleyway while on the run from the law and probably having a hemoglobin of 3.6. I made it “crystal shaped” to mirror the crystals Nimona left behind after stopping the Director

Also Bal is absolutely feral enough to casually do brain surgery on himself. I just didn’t go that route because his signature finisher in the movie is headbutting people wearing helmets with his bare forehead, and thinking about it too long made my head hurt

Lastly, my favorite bit of characterization from the graphic novel was Blackheart’s love of science (I even specifically referenced Nimona shapeshifting into Blackheart and shouting “SCIENCE” in a set of notes I took for my friend for our cell bio class), and while I love the movie I am a little sad they didn’t lean into it. The “in another lifetime” line is a blatant reference to the epilogue of the graphic novel

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I guess my “journey” started in elementary school — I would draw pictures and tell admittedly impressively sequential stories about them. My mother would transcribed these stories, stable them together, and show my teachers, who in turns told me I should become a published author one day. I wasn’t sold on it at the time, admittedly (I’m dyslexic and I was bitter about it as a kid), but all the adults around me figured I’d either go into healthcare or become a writer (my peers figured I’d either cure all disease one day or become the next Jack the Ripper, so make of that what you will).

(spoilers, I'm going with both)

(the healthcare/writer thing, to clarify. Not the scientist/serial killer thing)

My first degree was in English/Creative Writing, and I worked as a journalist for a couple years. I’ve even got a couple poems and a short story published in small magazines.

My mental health took a dive after some personal loses, including the death of a beloved irl writing partner, combined with a shitty work schedule (listen if your job promises only 35 hours a week but actually has you working 50 across five days, not including travel, with promises of punishment if you call out and refuses to offer part time, run), so I haven’t had the motivation to publish anything original lately. I’m hoping once I’ve got my second degree in nursing, I’ll be able to land a job that lets me survive off of three day work weeks, so I’ll have time to focus on poems and novels (I don't care if my work days are long, as long as I enjoy what I do and can get them out of the way as soon as possible)

For now, I’ve dedicated myself to my fanfics (instant gratification upon publication babay)

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

If you can’t tell, I overthink as many small details as I can lol. I try to plot my stories out in advance and research things in advance. This part of the process does lead me to procrastinating often, though — I’ll plot the entire thing meticulously, tell myself, “wow that was a lot of work,” then I won’t touch the story again for weeks. The thing is, once I do start writing, I let myself have freedom — the characters and plot will go where they go whether I want them to or not, so I don’t try to fight it. If there’s a specific bit of dialogue or action that I want, I’ll write that part of the story first and hope the before bits don’t go too off track to get there smoothly

I’m also the worst as guessing what my word count will be — it’ll either be half as much or twice as much as predicted and I won’t be able to tell you what the word count will be until it’s ready to go live

#ask #zyrafowe-sny #death mention tw #mental health hit reference #toxic workplace #I promise there’s neat/fun stuff in here

4 notes · View notes

hoardlikegoldenirises · 11 months

Text

Just updated Naomi's costume post with these images as I came to a realization this morning, but thought I'd post them on their own—hey, gloves!

closeups and reasoning:

See, the thing is, the whooooole reason I wanted to give Naomi full-fingered gloves (and shoes) in the first place, for her advanced suit made of special materials, was very simply: to protect her fingers from the cold. Even in California, if she's climbing high enough, she's going to wind up in the cold, and having her fingers and toes out in the cold seems like a bad idea.

She climbs with van der Waals forces, aka the same thing a gecko uses, with setae (modified hairs) in her fingertips and toes (and also her soles/palms), so her handmade costume obv has those fingerless gloves and easily removable shoes with stirrup tights. So the whole thing with the exotic suits is that they use carbon nanotubes and/or comic book science mumbo jumbo to let her completely cover up her hands and feet and still stick. Side effect of this is that actually she would be able to use these gloves and shoes to climb even without powers lol.

But then when I was working on her costumes I couldn't help thinking that he powerset really made her kind of... well... not useless but not really a character who'd be capable of holding her own in, for example, a fight. Recon, stealth, yes, all that, but she had absolutely no offensive measures, no weapon, no super-strength—nothing.

So it was at that point of course that I decided to ask friends and acquaintances for ideas to get me rolling on how to make a 100 lb wall-crawler viable in a fight, and where that ended up was like, two or three different people saying, hey, what if poison? And that made me go, o-ho-ho what if poison indeed! So naturally, me being me, I proceeded to spend at LEAST an hour if not much longer reading about venoms, poisons, and eventually gila monsters and beaded lizards, whose venom is delightfully neither lethal (at least, not in the quantities a lizard bite delivers) AND apparently cause some of the most painful envenomations known to man lol so I thought that would be verrrry fun.

The only question then was like, me wondering how she would deliver the venom at all, you know? Biting requires such close quarters (but hey, mask is open; I am 100% tucking "venomous bite" into my back pocket), and most of the poisons from poisonous amphibians are like. extremely deadly (lol) and seem to also be diet-based, rather than made by the animal, which would not be workable here—and also her powerset is reptilian, not amphibious, so obviously I had scrapped the idea of poisons via absorption already by that point.

Anyway, I'm rambling. My solution, as you can see, was to use her already-existing modified hairs to my advantage and add a bonus, other kind of modified hair related to her setae, which is hollow needle that shoots out of the follicle to inject her painful non-lethal venom into the skin of a potential foe/victim/attacker.

Which... requires fingerless gloves. That was easy, I just drew some fingers on and called it good, not really thinking about the whole reason I went for full gloves in the first place.

Of course, this morning, I suddenly realized, oh fuck, her fingers would fall off in the cold 😂 Luckily I did literally draw the fingers in a separate folder above the gloves so I have both versions ready to go at all times (hm, good thinking, past me) so I decided to slap this image together and show the full gloves and fingerless gloves side-by-side, with the thinking that, much like helmets and masks and the initial magical girl-esque transformation that all of these characters use to suit up in the first place (just to make my life easier lol), she can probably just transform her gloves between fingered and fingerless whenever she wants. easy.

And it kind of fits with the reptile theme. You know, changing the appearance—like a chameleon. (camouflage also a possible power but not 100% for sure yet. it's on my list though)

#nadiart #arghdesign #shiny art #geckonyx aka naomi #not fanart #scratchverse #superhero oc #not sure why tumblr remembers that tag but not like. half of my other scratch related tags.

5 notes · View notes

lunarsands · 1 year

Text

ALSMP Fanfic: Along The Roads To Sanctuary Ch 4

Bonus also Empires SMP S2 fanfic! I just didn’t want to make the title field too long ^_^;

Characters: PearlescentMoon, Scott Smajor, MythicalSausage, Eddie, Joel Smallishbeans, Bubbles the Dog, Hermes, mentions of other Empires S2 characters, including a certain misplaced warlock… Sausage Supreme

Relationships: MythicalSausage/Scott Smajor

Tags: Canon Divergent, fictional religion, scosage, Afterlife SMP meets Empires SMP S2 but in an AU way

Warnings: violence, surrealism via magic auras, humorous misunderstandings about infidelity (tfw your husband cheats on you…with you), kidnapping (although we know how that went in canon)

(Sequel to Echoing Through To You, When The Skies Cry, Until The Blood Moon Descends, Then We’ll Rewrite The Stars, Wherever These Flowers May Grow)

Summary: A happily ever afterlife is interrupted by the distant past; Sausage receives another calling and is sent into a different mortal world from their old one, with Scott insisting on following so they won’t be separated. They both lead brand new lives but only Scott regains memories of the previous one on his own, and he isn’t allowed to remind Sausage about any of it without jeopardizing the mission the angel was sent to complete – a mission someone else was supposed to have dealt with.

(Also available on Ao3!)

[ Chapter One ] [ Chapter Two ] [ Chapter Three ]

[A/N: Two chapters in one day bonus because I’m experiencing burn out and need to forge on ahead.]

---

Chapter Four

“This might be an even bigger revelation about where we are, if it can get through that barrier still up in your mind.” Scott held onto him all the way up to the patch of ‘unique’ flowers. “Does anything else about them seem familiar?”

Sausage gazed down at the blue and white flowers, but then shook his head.

Scott took on his second floran form, complete with a starflower in his hair. He carefully watched the aura around Sausage. “This memorial. The flowers. Our flowers, Sausage.”

Just as he had suspected, the silver part of Sausage’s aura flowed up around his head. “St-Starflowers. Angelflowers. Wait… This is THAT world?!”

“Yeah. I thought it was a crazy coincidence when I first realized—”

“Joel is THAT Joel?!” Sausage interrupted. “How did he not— Oh, right. Neither me or you look, uhh, whatever it is you are right now. I don’t remember that either.”

“Floran,” Scott said warmly. “It was honestly one of my favorites. It offered some unique opportunities, and fit right in with our love of beautiful gardens.”

Sausage hummed in agreement, then promptly plopped down on the ground and squished his face between his hands. “This is a lot,” he mumbled into his palms. “And… not all of it is making sense.”

“Sorry.” Scott changed himself back to his human appearance in case someone else happened to come across them, then sat down across from Sausage. “I don’t know what the entire plan is this time. This world now has new, thriving civilizations, built on top of what we did in the past. That other version of you mentioned centuries having passed – so maybe…” Scott pondered for a moment. “Maybe he was around when that corruption struck the land. Maybe he time-travelled to get here. What’s even in that white tower?”

“Oh, that was something I built based on a different kind of dream I had – sort of like being granted a vision by a god of creativity! A tower to greet the morning’s light after a good night’s sleep! There are a couple of special items in there… Um, one of them might have been able to allow entry from another reality, now that I think about it.”

“Let’s start there to see if we can get any clues.” Scott pointed to his left eye again. “We’re probably meant to do something about him, which might also help clear up your head and get you back to normal. I can now see your aura as well as your wings. You look like a bit of a confused mess, so obviously there’s more yet to be done.”

Sausage nodded and moved to get to his feet. Once standing, he cast about himself, checking his pocketspace. “The first thing I should do is ask the magic to give me a new Staff. Something tells me I’m going to need the power. Don’t know what that other guy is going to do with it, but maybe he has magic powers, too.”

They headed back and stopped off at the gifting tree. Upon Sausage’s request, a second Staff of Sanctuary appeared. He gingerly took hold of it, but he smiled when he could feel the magic pulsing through it as strongly as ever. However, he was very quiet as they made their way up through the white, mossy tower. Scott took it to mean Sausage was still processing everything, so he let him be, and meanwhile looked around at all the details inside the tower. Glowberry vines hung everywhere, with plenty of other greenery scattered around, and Scott would have figured it was just one more nature-themed portion of Sanctuary until they reached the landing that contained a pedestal directly in line with a window.

Scott could see it was swirling with a rainbow of different magics, but one that stood out the strongest was a dark gray stream of smoke. On top of the pedestal lay a single wither rose.

Sausage cautiously approached, then picked up the rose. His expression crumbled, and Scott saw wisps of pale blue encircle his head. He quickly stepped in and put his hand over the top of the rose. “Let’s try to stay focused. We’ll unpack anything else later. What is this thing?” Scott gestured to the pedestal.

“Part of it is a lodestone, to act as a guide for different energies.”

“Okay, that explains why I’m seeing every color of magic under the sun around it.”

“Are any in particular standing out?”

“It’s starting to dissipate now, but there’s gray smoke.”

“Gray smoke, black wither rose. That might have been his connection into this reality.”

Further explanations were cut off by the sound of an explosion in the distance. Sausage hurried to the window for a look. “I think that came from the Forgotten Cove!”

“Before he knocked me out of the window, he mentioned something about causing chaos. I’m thinking he has already started.”

“Let’s get after him before he hurts someone!” Sausage hopped up onto the window sill to take off with his foliage-covered elytra, then glanced back at Scott.

The disguised starborne shrugged. “I left mine at home. I can travel long distances without them as a starborne, but…” He gestured down at himself.

“You can borrow one from me! Back to the tree!” Sausage jumped to the floor and grabbed Scott’s hand, squeezing it once as they ran down the steps. He threw a hopeful smile Scott’s way. Scott shifted his hand to interlace their fingers and lightly squeeze back. They were halfway out of this mystery – halfway to returning Sausage’s memories of their life from before this.

The other half, however, was what worried Scott, and he recalled Pearl’s confession that there was something she wasn’t allowed to tell, and it relied on someone else not yet in this equation on his and Sausage’s end.

~*~

They tracked Sausage Supreme by the trail of destruction he left behind, as well as some of the other rulers complaining about Sausage – of the Sanctuary variety – pestering or outright bedeviling them by blowing up projects they had been working on, adding that they weren’t fooled by him changing outfits and pretending to be innocent. Sausage was consternated by the fact no one seemed to notice the difference between him and the other guy, but he wasn’t going to try to explain the concept of this particular case of different realities when he was still grappling in his own head to understand what was going on.

Finally, the two made their way to Chromia, where Scott was dismayed to see everything was overrun by llamas that had been let out of their garden by large holes in the walls. “I’ll worry about rounding them up and fixing that all later. How have we not caught up to him by now?!”

Rather than answer, Sausage took off again and made a beeline for Stratos. Scott gasped loudly as realization hit him.

Hermes was at Stratos. And with the way Joel sometimes left them unattended…

With daylight preventing him from accessing most of his starborne powers, Scott could only hurry after Sausage using his borrowed elytra.

Stratos had not gone undamaged. Wither roses surrounded the lore fountain and the water seemed to have been replaced with mud. But it was the row of signs in front of it that Sausage was staring at. “He’s been leading us on a chase as a distraction this whole time,” he said when Scott landed. He had his fists clenched tightly. “He’s got my boy. He went right back to Sanctuary. Let’s go!!”

Without waiting another second, Sausage flew toward the giant Nether portal in the center of Stratos. Scott followed but wished they had some kind of plan. Having his other scimitar might help, too, but he had forgotten about it with more important things going on. He hurried after Sausage into the portal, feeling the drag of the Nether’s heat and swiftly becoming uncomfortable due to its utter lack of a sky. He lost sight of Sausage, but stuck to the marked off path that led to Sanctuary’s portal.

He always hated going through the Nether, but with no one else to see at the moment he didn’t have a reason to suppress the weight of it on his breathing or have to be casual about how it made him slower. Except, now wasn’t the time to be slow; Sausage hadn’t waited for him and had already gone through the other portal. Scott kept the layout of its exit in mind as he flew into it.

He pulled up short at the edge of the platform. He could see them in the town square below already – Sausage Supreme to one side with Hermes in a cage behind him, the floor lined with copper to counteract the child’s storm-inspired powers, and Sausage was across from him, shouting for the villain to let Hermes go. The two Sausages were pointing their respective Staffs of Sanctuary at each other.

Scott carefully glided down, trying to remain out of sight in hopes of getting the drop on Sausage Supreme. Or, perhaps, he should try to free Hermes so there would no longer be leverage against Sausage and he could cut loose with the magic he intended to use; or maybe even unleash some angel power.

That hope was dashed when he saw Sausage become outlined by a red glow and be tossed up against a building. Not completely pinned though, Sausage lifted his arm and fired a bright blue bolt from his Staff toward Sausage Supreme, breaking his focus and disrupting the holding spell, allowing the Protector to drop to his feet. Then the spell slinging went into a full battle.

As he attempted to get closer, Scott had to shield his eyes. The feedback from his left one was starting to feel like an oncoming headache. He was about one street over from Hermes when Bubbles ran past him carrying a pickaxe in her mouth. She slipped right past Sausage Supreme’s notice and made it to the cage without any trouble.

Scott retreated behind cover. Maybe he wasn’t needed here, after all… But he would absolutely step in if it looked like Sausage was about to lose. Scott’s attacks would be weakened by the daylight, but even just the showy effect of a star strike could distract the villain long enough for Sausage to recover.

That is, if he didn’t end up incapacitated, himself, with how much ethereal energy was being revealed by his left eye. Sausage’s dual-mixed aura was surging and starting to blot out his features, while now Scott could see Sausage Supreme’s aura – itself a roiling combination of red, magenta, and gray. The bursts of magical energy from their spells made him clutch at his head; this was going to become overwhelming very quickly. “Pearl,” he muttered, “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea…”

He wasn’t sure he could keep up with everything enough to figure out where – or if – he even could lend a hand. He put his head down and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping a few seconds of not observing all that magic might help. He was drawn back to the battle, however, when he heard an angry cry.

He was now baffled by a new sight. Sausage’s aura was now split perfectly down the middle, silver on one side and pale blue on the other, which was also the side that held the Staff of Sanctuary. The villain’s aura was still a messy cloud, so it wasn’t as if something had happened that stabilized all the different energies.

Then a new figure’s aura crept into view from a different alleyway: small, diluted purple, and crackling with sparks. Scott tried to reach out but was too dizzy to even try stumbling over to stop them. Hermes. No. It isn’t safe!

The child’s aura crackled brighter. Scott squinted. Lightning shot forth, skewering through the red-magenta-gray conglomeration.

All right. Well. That could definitely be of help.

Scott then saw the hand on the silver side reach out to grasp the end of the lightning bolt. Silver flames erupted around the hand, and it trembled, but then the wrist rotated as if getting a better grip on a piece of rope and began to pull, dragging Sausage Supreme toward him.

The glow coming off of Hermes flickered, then went out as the remainder of the lightning was discharged. Scott could see the child unobscured now, tottering back a step with Bubbles at the side to lean on. Hermes seemed unharmed, merely out of power for the moment.

Meanwhile, Sausage Supreme’s aura shook from the side effects of the electricity. As he came within range, the pale blue hand struck its Staff of Sanctuary against the ground, releasing a pulse of energy; then it let go of the Staff, leaving it to stand upright on its own. Energy pulses continued to radiate from it, while the pale blue hand grasped hold of Sausage Supreme’s arm.

The pulses from the Staff grew brighter. Scott saw Hermes cover his eyes, and Bubbles laid down with a paw over her muzzle, so he knew he wasn’t the only one being overwhelmed by the light. He could no longer make out the difference in the two Sausages so he shut his eyes, placing an arm in front of them for good measure. He heard a sound like the reversed shattering of glass, then felt a final pulse of magic right down to his starborne bones. He hastily looked out across the square—

He saw only one figure now, with a mix of silver and pale blue churning around red, gray, and magenta. Those three colors were soon swallowed up, then, suddenly, the pale blue spread in a burst, forcing out the silver into a splatter across the ground. Scott’s stomach wrenched.

Yet then the silver gathered itself together and rose up into a small pillar of swaying flames. The fully-blue Sausage form didn’t seem to notice it and instead took the Staff of Sanctuary from where it still stood on its own. As he lowered it, the intense magic faded from the area, returning Scott’s vision to normal. He saw… just Sausage of Sanctuary again, no outline of wings or other auras as he crouched and held out his arms while Hermes ran over to him. “Hermes! ¡Mi querido hijo! You were so brave! And so strong! Yeah, no one is going to mess with you ever again!”

The pillar of flame seemed to be watching, then it turned and started drifting toward Scott. He felt a warm sensation on his hand and remembered the other rings he had intended to give Sausage. One of them was now beginning to glow. Scott ducked around a corner. When the pillar reached him, a tendril of flame extended toward him. Scott took off the glowing ring and held the tendril as if it were a hand, then slid the ring onto it.

The pillar shifted and took on a vague humanoid shape with wings. The head turned to look back at the Protector of Sanctuary and Hermes. Scott then heard his partner’s voice in his head, strongly confident without any of the earlier confusion or reluctance, albeit distant and ethereal. “They’re a nice family. I’m sure Hermes will grow up to do great things.”

Relieved that it seemed like his Sausage had emerged with all his memories back, Scott whispered, “You need to explain to me what, exactly, just happened. You weren’t the only one in there, were you? You got kicked out just now. What did I just see?”

“Can we… go somewhere else? I need a moment. It got really weird there for a while but I needed to just stay focused. And, um, I’m not quite myself right now.”

“I can see that! But at least you’re more yourself than you were twelve hours ago.”

As quickly and carefully as they could, they crossed the town square. The Protector of Sanctuary was chatting away with Bubbles as he carried a now sleepy-looking Hermes, probably on the way to put the child in bed for a nap. Having been leaning his head on the man’s shoulder, Hermes could see over it as Scott and the silver-flame version of Sausage snuck past. He raised his little hand and waved. Sausage the Seraph paused and waved back, then hurried after Scott.

Hermes leaned their head back down and hugged his papa.

“Oh, mi niñito tiene sueño. I love you, too! We’ll all go rest and then you can have cookies and pumpkin pie for dinner later!”

Once they had entered the Nether and crossed to Chromia’s portal, the angel-shaped silver flames leaned on the frame and sighed with gusto. “Whew! That was a lot! I don’t think I’ve had to deal with that much magical energy since that time Pearl sent me to the Twilight Forest to try to negotiate with a High Lich!”

“When she— What? Never mind. Tell me how I managed to miss the fact I might have been talking to two different Sausages the entire time we’ve been here.”

“I found out the same time as you – like ten minutes ago, right? Of course, now that I look back, there was a kind of feeling that another soul was there, but like it was half-asleep, or something, through everything.”

“I’m. I’m sorry, like it what?”

Sausage went quiet; Scott wasn’t sure if the crackling-flame sound he heard was coming from his partner or the Nether itself. Then Sausage drew a deep breath. His form solidified a little more, but still resembled an apparition. He held up the index finger of both hands. “Two souls, two versions of me, inside the same body.” He pressed the fingers together. “Living the same life, gaining the same experiences. …Until I started getting my memory back, and the other me’s own memories also started to surface.”

He moved one finger away by a centimeter. “And then a third version from a different reality showed up, but was actually a piece missing from the soul of the other me that I was sharing a body with. Then add the missing piece back in, and there’s no reason for me to keep being there.”

“I think I need a flow chart. Why would this world’s Sausage be missing a piece of his soul that was in a different… reality? What.”

Sausage sighed loudly in exasperation. “How should I know! I’ve got my own memories of the life you and I had together, and now the shared memories of growing up here! Remember how I forgot all about originally being from the celestial realm and being one of Pearl’s angels? The other soul didn’t have any memories I could access to find out, not that I even had time for that when I realized it was there! I was too busy wrangling lightning and trying to stuff the evil soul into the whole mess of Mythical Sausage energy! Look, look – it was like if you’ve got a cup of water that’s two-thirds full, and you need to add the remaining third, but that happens to overflow the cup because it turns out one portion is like a different density than the others. Like mixing oil and water. I was the portion that didn’t actually belong, but the portion also already in there didn’t have the… uh… adhesiveness? Mergeability? To get the missing part to stick. I think I’ve lost track of the metaphor, hold on…”

Scott could only stare at him helplessly, trying to get a grasp of the explanation.

Sausage appeared to scowl, then sighed again, this time in resignation. “I don’t think the other me was strong enough to get the job done. And you saw that other guy – no way could he be allowed to keep running free. Who knows what he would have done – if he ended up influencing Hermes, turn the kid into a demon or something – that would be horrible! And the only way to stop him was to put him back where he originally came from.”

“So,” Scott said softly, “What about Hermes, then? He’s… your son, too.” He gave a gentle chuckle. “A child of a god and an angel.”

Sausage’s expression turned lost for a moment. “I’m not…sure. Technically they’re the son of the me of this world, and Joel. I was kind of… an extra co-parent? I guess that I’m sort of like a built-in guardian angel. And what happened at the end there was me fulfilling that part of a guardian angel’s calling. Stop a demon from causing harm. Demon is gone, threat is over, I move on.”

“Wait, what do you mean a demon?”

“Oh, that guy had some serious demonic vibes going on! There was a bunch of demon power mixed into his soul! Come to think of it, maybe that’s also why I needed to be here…”

Scott gingerly touched Sausage’s arm. “Well, we know how things go when your calling ends. You could always check in on Hermes from the reflecting pool, like you did with me.”

“Yeah,” Sausage said with a bittersweet smile, his tone soft. “I’ll be able to do that much.”

“Plus, since Hermes is a demigod, there might come a day where he ventures into the celestial planes and pays a visit to Pearl’s realm.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s true.”

They stood in silence for another moment, then Scott said, “So I guess we’re done here. We can check with Pearl to see if there’s anything else, but maybe we can go home. Um, but at the very least, let’s get out of the Nether right now. Not a great environment for starbornes.” Scott grimaced, then held out a hand toward Sausage to walk him through the portal out into Chromia.

“I’m done, yes, but what about you?” Sausage asked as they stepped down onto the grass. “You still have a life here. Don’t you have anything you need to take care of? You still have Chromia to look after. Someone else is filling my shoes.”

Scott led the way toward the pond connected to the celestial realm, a little smirk crawling onto his face. “You know what? I think it’s time for the ruler of Chromia to go back to his adventuring days – who’s to say he didn’t simply disappear while hunting for another mysterious treasure?”

Someone called from behind them, “You would leave just like that, without saying goodbye first?”

They turned, both startled to have heard the voice of Sausage – the Protector of Sanctuary variety. He grinned as he trotted away from the Nether portal. “Where do you think you two are off to so fast?”

Scott pointed at himself and feigned confusion. “Us two?”

The Protector gestured toward the angel-shaped flames. “I can see him, too. We did just share a body for over two decades, even though I was asleep through most of it, and had you fill in until I was aware enough. I remember most of my past, now.” He nodded at Sausage the Seraph. “You must have had a similar experience, if they thought you were the one for the job.”

“Actually, I’ve figured it’s because I’m a really powerful angel, and that other guy had some demon energy mixed in! Could be a real challenge for the average reincarnated human, even if it’s a human version of me! No offense.”

“None taken. I’m glad for the help. Things got… messy, at my end. The big issue I now remember, involving my Pearl, well… She… ascended to godhood, but felt so much regret for being unable to help me when I was desperately trying to save her when the world was ending, that after she came to claim my soul at the end of my mortal life, she didn’t want to let me go when my soul was called back to this world. Before all that even happened, I had split the other guy off from my soul and banished him to a pocket dimension where he couldn’t hurt anyone – yeah, that’s a whole other story. But I guess the universe saw he would find a way to return to this reality, and I was needed to put an end to what I was responsible for creating. But Pearl – my Pearl – didn’t want me to have to deal with what was involved. So, the universe needed to balance things out after finally wresting me from her, so that’s where you came in.”

He sighed sadly. “She meant well. She got involved before, when I did something else kind of stupid.” The Protector then smiled weakly. “She means a lot to me, too, so I can’t really blame her. I don’t have a way to talk to her directly right now, but I hope she’s looking in and can see that it all went just fine!”

Scott put a hand on the Protector’s shoulder. “We need to get back to our own Pearl. I think she might have known what your Pearl had done, and was upset but couldn’t let it show. We need to let her know that everything did work out.”

The Protector placed his hand over Scott’s. “So… what actually are you?” He looked at him a little sadly. “Are you from another reality, too, and not just some cool star-powered hero from here?”

Scott nodded. “Yes, I’m from his reality. We have a tendency to follow each other around.”

He grinned over at Sausage the Seraph, who came closer to rest a hand-shaped flame on the Protector’s other shoulder. “Take good care of Hermes for me. And if Joel ever gets his memory back, ask him about the two spirits of the forest who came to rest in a bamboo jungle near a rock outcropping. He might be able to explain where those flowers came from, after all.”

The Protector seemed to mull that over, then looked between the two in wonder.

~*~

Scott and Sausage the Seraph continued on their way to the pool by the shed only to find it ringed by glowstone and the light from the water giving off so much supernatural radiance that Scott started to get a migraine within seconds. He covered his left eye and motioned for Sausage to enter the pool. Rather than extinguish his flames, he merely passed through. Scott hopped in after him without hesitation. The glowstone shattered behind him, returning the water to that of a simple decorative pond.

On the other side Sausage stood restored to his normal, solid angelic appearance. He looked himself over and sighed in relief. “Wow, that was convenient! For a minute there I was worried I would need a whole new vessel! How about you?”

He turned to Scott, who was still in his Chromian human form. “Well, I kind of still like this coat, but it clashes a little with the purple.” He waved a hand over his face and head, turning his eyes violet and hair shimmery purple, with the tiny constellation also returning to view.

Sausage studied him for a moment. “Hey, so, what is up with your eye? Is that some starborne thing we didn’t know about before, or just some extra magic you picked up along the way in that world?”

“The second thing, technically. It was Pearl’s doing, to be honest. My, um, eye got stolen by a creepy skull artifact and a wizard tricked me claiming he could get my original eye back from it, but according to Pearl he was going to sneak a fake one in, but she intervened in time to imbue it with magic first, to give me an edge in aiding you. I’m not actually sure how much it helped in the end, since I got overwhelmed by all the soul auras and magical energy around and couldn’t fight.”

“Well, I still think I was meant to handle that final part by myself – er, me and the other me.” Sausage then smirked. “Couldn’t stay away, could you? You followed me.”

“Do you really think I was going to wait decades to see you again? I don’t care how immortal we are like this. I don’t have that kind of patience.” Scott smirked right back at him.

They stepped toward each other to embrace, but then Pearl appeared and got between them. She turned to Scott and pressed the palm of her hand over his left eye. Scott uttered a quiet noise of discomfort as mild pain swelled around his eye socket, but as it faded, he could tell the input from that eye had returned to the way it was before the incident with the skull.

Pearl smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, I had to wait until you came back to this realm for me to be able to fully restore it for you.” She then turned to Sausage with an even more pained look.

“Everything worked out fine, Pearl!” Sausage announced cheerfully. “I mean, that did get a little weird when I started remembering my life and the other me’s at the same time – but it’s pretty cool knowing there’s another me who led a different type of life, all mortal and plain and stuff! Well, aside from the magic. That’s not plain or boring!”

The pained expression on her face remained.

“Uh. Pearl?” Sausage asked, confused as to why she hadn’t even hugged them upon their return.

Pearl walked to the reflecting pool and waved a hand over it, then said softly, “Sausage, do you remember when I told you about my old world, and how I had a friend I had to leave behind?”

“Uhm, yeah?”

The pool resolved into the image of a sepia-toned scene of swaying stalks of wheat. “When he reached the end of his mortal life, I went down to collect his soul before a reaper could come to try to send it to the Plane of Souls…”

“Oh, this sounds familiar! Wait, are you saying you’re the Pearl that the other me was talking about??” Sausage’s eyes went wide. “I thought he meant another, parallel Pearl! Like how I’m a parallel version of him, but I’m an angel instead of a human with incredible magical powers!” He uttered a brief chortle, pleased with the idea of any parallel version of himself being powerful in some way, but when Pearl failed to smile, he stopped. “Uhm. Is there something else to this that I’m missing?”

Pearl glanced toward the pool. “Do you remember when I said you were so much like my old friend?”

Sausage nodded then exchanged looks with Scott.

“It’s… because you are him. I did something similar to that other Pearl. I put that soul into a brand-new angel vessel. I just wanted to have you by my side and at peace here, doing what you loved to do back in the mortal realm. My architect.” She turned toward Sausage again and reached out to gently touch him under the chin, then withdrew her hand. “But you also became angel-coded because of that vessel, so when you received a calling, I couldn’t do anything about it, and had to let you answer it, then wait for you to complete your journey through a new mortal world.”

She took a deep breath. “The other version of me wasn’t so willing to let her boy go. He didn’t get put in a new vessel. She just hoarded his soul somewhere. The threat he needed to face was something you had also dealt with in your original mortal life, but it was properly resolved, and there was no chasing down fractured pieces of your soul. And yet, your soul was similar enough that the higher powers that be enlisted you for this job.”

Sausage stared, dumbfounded. “Uh— Wait— You mean, some of those memories might actually have been mine, and not his?”

Pearl nodded. “I can’t say how much of it was one or the other.” She gave another weak smile. “I don’t have that much insight into what’s in your head.”

“So, Mythland—?”

“Was a kingdom you built up and restored in some places. Do you want to see it?” Pearl gestured to the pool.

Sausage shook his head. “No. I’d rather leave that in the past. I have what I have now.” He took Scott’s hand and held it tightly. “And also, I, um, think I need to sit down.” He started to glance around in distress, but Scott swiftly guided him over to the wicker throne to sit at its base.

The starborne was silently digesting all of this. It didn’t change how he felt, even if this was a whole new side of Sausage that he was finding out about. In fact, Scott let out a little laugh. “Does this mean you’re actually several hundred years older than me?”

“I don’t know,” Sausage mulled it over, the distraction perfectly timed. “Does it count that I sort of started over as an angel, like we started over in that world? Hey, Pearl – did you know that was the same world you sent us to as florans? And Joel didn’t recognize either of us! What are the odds of him losing his memory of the past when me and the other me had our memories sealed away! Can you imagine what would have happened if we all remembered at the same time? Hey, speaking of that – Scott, did you know the whole time, or did you get to have a little vacation from the past, too?”

As he babbled on, Pearl and Scott were both relieved that the revelations hadn’t dampened his spirits any. Pearl even chuckled to herself. Yup, Sausage was the same as always, no matter what form he was in. There might be more to unpack another time, but for now she was happy to indulge his enthusiastic ponderings.

~The End~

---

[Post A/N: The story of Sausage of Sanctuary, as well as more revelations about which Sausage, exactly, he is, will be continued in the crossover “Thou, O Kings, Fair Be You All” coming soon!]

---

Translations for this chapter:

¡Mi querido hijo! = My dear son!

mi niñito tiene sueño = my little boy is sleepy

#alsmp #alsmp fanfic #alsmp shipping #scosage #empires smp #empiressmpshipping #mythicalsausage #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #sausage supreme #empires hermes #empires smp fanfic #soul liminality 2 #lunar yarns

10 notes · View notes

chordsykat · 2 years

Text

Kloktober 2022 Day 27 - Fave Trope or Guilty Pleasure

The trope: A plot-mandated friendship failure (on multiple fronts but largely in the form of a band breakup) The guilty pleasure: Reading old fanfiction The bonus guilty pleasure: Sparkleface A little of both for you guys, today -- from my old fanfic. :) Art above is equally old, but I feel, quite fitting.

Some spoilery things in here if you haven't gotten to read Dethkomic to its current update. Too, this one takes place towards the very end of my very, very, stupidly long series. The girls live in an off-Mordhaus mansion called Kirsche Hall and have a ridiculous manager by the name of Jenna Syde in this one. Those things, along with a lot of what I wrote 10 years ago aren't as canon as they once were, so... maybe this is more like an AU? Maybe an AU of an AU? Honestly I have written these characters in so many forms now, I have no idea which is the real U.

But who cares, eh?! It's MTL and the canon universe is practically bound to get reset anyway. Enjoy!

--- The next morning, Nita Nirvana’s eyes flitted open as her nose recognized a distinct scent she hadn’t been privy to in almost as long as the time she’d spent living in Kirsche Hall: the smell of burnt toast.

More than curious, she pushed the black comforter of her pillow-overloaded mattress aside and got to her feet. Her silk robe was a beautiful ocean of ebony waiting crumpled on the floor next to her bed, and she eased it over her bare shoulders while stepping into a nearby pair of sandals. The scent of burning bread, among other harshly toasted things for sure, was heavier in the air when she walked through her bedroom door and out into the upstairs walkway. Not only that, she could finally hear Sparkles screeching angrily about something, a couple pans clattering around, and the ironically far more calm tone of William Murderface. All of this racket seemed to be centered entirely within the room directly below her - the house’s kitchen. She headed downstairs and, after a brief jaunt through Kirsche Hall’s never-ending dining area, Nita pushed open one of the surgical steel doors to the cook’s quarters. Normally, it was a picture of pristine sterility, but that wasn't the case this morning. Whole bags of flour had been torn open, upended and emptied of their contents which powdered the floor in generous amounts. With them were about three dozen eggs and more than a few gallons of milk. “Gordon Ramsay’s worst kitchen nightmare come to life…” the vocalist said to herself as she tried to find sturdy footing among the far larger spaces of slick surface.

The engineers of said nightmare, Murderface and Sparkles, were easily spotted beyond a jumble of pots, pans, and utensils which, naturally, hung on meat hooks from the ceiling. The duo was stove-side and engaged in a display of fantastic culinary mediocrity. Murderface was putting out a small fire which had sprung up on the corner of the cookbook he was holding while simultaneously ignoring about a dozen more mini-conflagrations going off in the pan before him. Sparkles had apparently been cracking eggs on her forehead. Large portions of yolk and shell smeared across her hairline and trailed down her unkempt bangs as evidence to this. “Awh!” Murderface sputtered, his face falling as he noticed Nita. He put the scorched cookbook down (atop another fire) on the counter. The act, by itself seemed to admit defeat. “We were gonna schurprische you!” Sparkles smiled toothily at Nita before she became distracted by the small fires. She put her hand on one and let it burn her for several seconds before pulling her palm away and hissing at it, then beating the licks of flame into oblivion with her fists. Ever since their joint attempt at a concert in Finland, Dethklok’s bassist had been spending more time at the Baen-Shee homestead, which was to Nita, a bit odd at first. Regardless, his presence had lent itself well to curb the dull sting at the back of everyone’s minds which reminded them all that Eden Nightwish was still in Mordhaus’ hospital, and still not conscious. Murderface was sometimes an opinionated, uncouth lummox with no shortage of bad ideas, but he was always kind at heart and in the very least, entertaining. Nita shot the mustachio’d man a sweet smile, “That’s so thoughtful, you guys!” She paused to look around the room and assess the damage more closely, then - It appeared extensive but salvageable. “Since I’m up, if you wanted to still cook breakfast, I’ll be happy to help. Not like I have anything better to do.” Just as she said that, a Klokateer came through the door and singled Nita out of the crowd immediately, “My lady, your manager wishes to speak with you in her office.” The female bodyguard spoke quickly and nearly slid off her high-heel boots and onto the milk and egg coated ground. When she finally had it together, she added, “It appears to be an urgent matter, majesty.” “Yes, of course.” Nita arched an eyebrow back at her two friends before, very carefully, following the gear out the door, “I’ll be back soon, guys. Keep it hot.” As she was leaving, she caught a glimpse of Sparkles pouring oil onto one of the stove fires. “That schouldn’t be a problem!” Nita heard Murderface yell just before the kitchen doors swung closed behind her. The office of Jenna Syde, Baen-Shee’s manager, wasn’t very far from the kitchen and dining area, so Nita was privy to the sounds of crashing pans and more of Sparkles’ screaming even after she found herself just outside the room’s threshold. Nita knocked timidly, but apparently loud enough to be heard. Jenna threw open the door to her chambers a second later. “Well!” was the first thing said by the offbeat manager-producer as she led Nita inside with a silly grin plastered on her face, “We’re a complete failure! Can you believe that?” “What?” Nita said, stumbling at those words in her march alongside Jenna to her desk. “What do you mean by that..?”

Jenna circled around to her chair, propped her thick boots on the fine cherry wood of her desktop and knocked over three recently emptied bottles of what must have been her breakfast beer in the process, “I mean Baen-Shee isn’t selling… and this last concert fiasco, since it was all a big hoax anyway, only put us further under…” Nita shook her head in disbelief as she sat down in the big leather chair. “Wait - hold on. Nobody’s picking us up now?” Her lips remained half-parted after she asked the question, and she could feel a hitch forming in the back of her throat. “Afraid not, kiddo.” Jenna said, picking up a stack of papers, “When the band went on hiatus the first time after Cherry passed away, there was risk signing you. Now Eden’s in the hospital and people assume there’s going to be another long wait before we get this thing back on the road again. Venues don’t like doing business with bands that are only half-together, no matter how good that one half may be.”

“Well, we can find another guitarist if we have to… we did before…” Nita wanted to bite her tongue. The idea squeezed at her heart for so many reasons. The thought of Eden not playing with them was made all the more bitter by the realization that it would only happen should the unthinkable come to pass, and the girl died. Nita wasn’t sure she could handle losing two band mates in the short course of one years’ time. “It’s worse than that, honey.” Jenna ducked down momentarily to grab another beer from the mini-fridge under her desk, “Caj is gone again.” “WHAT?” This news nearly drove Nita to an immediate breakdown… and simultaneous rage. “The guard who was on perimeter duty last night told us he saw her leaving. Naturally, you’re all free to come and go as you please, so he didn’t stop her. He gave us this…” Jenna pushed a piece of paper - obviously crumpled and then unfolded again, toward Nita’s side of the desk. The girl picked it up and her eyes immediately set to work devouring each word. She didn’t expect the story told by the meager little parchment, though, and the closer she came to the end, the further her eyelids drooped and her expression turned more pained. “I… never knew… she never told me about…” “She didn’t tell anyone!” Jenna interrupted with what almost came off as an appreciative snicker, “I almost think it’s a stunt. That PR nightmare from last week of hers…” Nita was on the defensive, then, crumpling the letter anew, “You think she faked this note and made up a crazy story so she could go AWOL again, just because she got into a little hot water over a leaked video? Honestly, Jenna!” The manager took a hefty swig from her bottle of Budweiser before continuing, “What I’m sayin’, kiddo, is that I don’t know enough about The Great Dane, and her associated band of closet-skeletons to honestly tell concert promoters that we’ll be right back to square one in no time. That’s my good name going down, there. Not yours, not Caj’s, not Baen-Shee’s. Mine” To stamp some finality on her words, Jenna then let out a loud belch that likely would have impressed even Nathan Explosion had he been present.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this…” Nita said, rubbing two circles around either side of her head. “Well, it’s just the business, babe. I wouldn’t worry about it. You were a respectable household name before this whole thing started, anyway. Besides, you’ve already had one offer…” “What? Who?” “Hah! Rikki Kixx!” Nita’s throat clenched, “You’re joking.” And she hoped Jenna was, though her hands stopped moving around her temples, then.

#old stuff #fanfiction #yeah i know #how about that?#kloktober 2022 #my writing #and that's how Nita ended up on tour with all new all sober Snakes N Barrels #or is it?#(it isn't)

10 notes · View notes

mudkissphotography · 2 years

Text

2022 - MY YEAR IN REVIEW

Looking back at 2022, it was a year of living life on my terms. Doing things I have wanted to do for a long time, regardless of age. My biggest personal change this year was losing 4 stone and getting fit and healthy - its still a work in progress. I also dyed my hair like a raspberry ripple ice cream, (not been pink since the 80s) and had another tattoo.

I began to smile more and felt great, but sadly towards the end of the year, I lost my beloved 16-year-old bengal cat Rococo, so Christmas time was tinged with sadness that he wasn't around. I had this portrait of him completed as a tribute in November by Ana at Holy Trinity Tattoo Studios in Wigan.

On the photography front, I got to photograph two world-renowned theatrical shows. Firstly the Burlesque queen herself Dita Von Teese's Glamonatrix show, (the hottest, most glamorous ticket in town in March) was really something special and I was one of only 2 photographers chosen. Cirque De Soleil was another one off my bucket list and the only photographer at this particular show. I was treated with respect and kindness by the female tour managers of both shows.

I got to photograph the great British theatrical show Circus of Horrors which is always fun and keeps the audience on the edge of their seats with its death-defying stunts and bizarre horror themes and freak show.

It was also an incredible year for live music, it really did breathe life back into the venues once more. I was lucky enough to experience some magnificent shows and photograph them.

In no particular order, this is what struck me as some of my favourite times this year. First Aid Kit was my final show of the year, beautiful music, I could easily have photographed them all night.

Always fun shooting Billy Idol, who was in one of the first punk bands I saw in 1977. He is still the king rocker and had the audience in the palm of his hands. I also had one of my photos of him commissioned in the Guardian.

Robbie Williams is an incredible entertainer and 7 photographers were allowed access to his arena show - I was one of the lucky few.

Peaches, a superstar, a creative and powerful female artist, an explosive show at O2 Ritz, I was the only one shooting the whole show. It was dynamite and colourful and I had the best time. Peaches even shouted out to me to take the shot and proceeded to do a high jump for it. My favourite show of the year.

Taylor Momsen of The Pretty Reckless owns the stage at the Mcr Academy, with a pit packed full of photographers trying to get THE shot; I loved the beauty in this shot of Ezra Furman shooting for Academy Music Group at O2 Ritz, which reminds me of a pre rachelite; the first time capturing the funkiness of Macy Grey was fun and also a bucket list tick for the exciting duo Nova Twins to a packed crowd in the small academy; shooting legends My Chemical Romance in Warrington in daylight was marvellous, sounding fantastic, bonus that the L. A band Starcrawler was one of the supports.

Photographing the Mcr show for Brix Smith as she unleashed her new band supporting PiL was awesome. John Lydon was in fine form too. Tori Amos at Mcr O2 Apollo was a challenge from the rear of the theatre, but I loved the colours and stage set-up. Karen O of Yeah Yeah, Yeahs, was another awesome show, her outfits were magnificent. Blondie, another old favourite at the Mcr Arena spectacular backdrops made for a stunning photographic show. Wolf Alice, was one of my first live music events for me this year and what a dynamite show it was too.

The Rolling Stones in the summer I sadly didn't get to photograph them, but as press for Louder Than War we did get access to the VIP area which was just amazing, with Echo and the Bunnymen as support - win-win. These were the famous lips in the grounds of the Anfield Stadium.

So many shows I got to photograph this year I couldn't include them all here - but a shout out to Cassyette, Chvrches, Roxy Music, Mitski, Marina, LP, St Vincent, Paloma Faith and Samantha Fish, for some great photo ops, if you wish to go see the albums they are all here on Flickr:

So what a year it proved to be, packed with diversity and it was great to reconnect with some of my photography chums, old and new once more. It was also a pleasure to liaise with some fantastic writers on the live shows this year and some of the Louder Than War crew got together in the summer at Home Mcr for an afternoon of chatter, drinks on John Robb.

And this was such a fantastic mural in the town of Leigh (4 miles from me) and such a fitting tribute to Pete Shelley that I had to include it here as one of my favourite moments - taken July 2022 on the day of the launch.

Just one last one, this was our New Years Eve 2022, walking through Delamere Forest on the illumination trail - such a grand spectacle.

Use of these images in any form without permission is illegal.

#2022inphotos #mudkissphotography #livemusic #livemusicphotography #gig #music #mudkissphotos #o2ritzmanchester #liveperformer #manchesteracademy

0 notes

scholastic-dragon · 2 years

Note

Since the first time I saw him, I was enamored with Rocket ♡

Prompt- 'comparing hand sizes'

Details- Rocket (GOTG), human f. reader, fluff, and the thought of MC having "larger" hands than Rocket is just so adorbs to me. I can't help but to imagine him either complaining that it means nothing compared to intellegince/strength or just straight up getting a tad flustered that they're touching ო̤̫

(ps. the Collector request was divine..! ⁽⁽٩(๑˃ᗨ˂)۶⁾⁾ )

I love this

Hands, hands, hands

Rocket x Fem!reader

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Rocket being Rocket, Rocket with a crush, spelling mistakes, fluff

Summary: Rocket needs help fixing his new invention, you're more than happy to help

Having small and nimble fingers were always a bonus when it came to Rockets inventions. He could make and arm small bombs that no one else could deactivate.

It was always a bonus.

Until today.

He had to rewire one of his aero rigs and while his hands could fit perfectly into the opening and grab the wires...he couldn't hold both wires, put them in the right spot AND weld them at the same time.

He sighed, tucking his welder under his chin and twisting the wires around his fingers.

He refused to ask for help if he didn't absolutely need it.

Holding the wires he took the welder and turned it on, moving to press it to the cords. Like before, the cords moved again and the welder almost made a hole in his palm.

He groaned, shoulders slummping as he sat back on his haunches on the Milano floor. Turning off the welder he tossed it to the floor, rubbing his temples.

He needed help.

Pushing down his pride he stood from his pile of machinery and wandered down the hall to your room.

It was late, they were calmly drifting through space, the ship silent save for a few fans and filters working.

He came to your door, swallowing his pride as his hand came up to knock on your door.

He heard shuffling on the other side and half hoped you'd tell him to piss off and leave you alone, but he knew you'd never do that.

The door opened, revealing you in your comfy clothes with your hair down...your very soft looking hair.

"Oh, hey, Rocket, what's up?" You leaned against the doorframe, crossing your arms with a small smile.

"I...well...I have an aero rig I'm trying to fix....and my hands....well, I can't hold the wires in the right spot to weld them together and...I need your help," He sighed, stuttering and rubbing the back of his neck, unable to meet your eyes.

"Yeah, sure, I'll try to help you,"

He led you down the hall to his "work station" which he had claimed about 3 months ago. He kneeled down at his previous spot in front of the small machine.

You copied him, sitting to his side, waiting for him to instruct you.

"Alright, see that green and blue wire? I need you to twist them and hold them to that small port right there, I'm going to take the welder and zap them into that spot," He explained carefully, it wasn't like him, normally he brashly stated what to do.

"I'll try not to burn your fingers, but if I do, there's a first aid kit on the wall behind you," He looked at you, nodding over your shoulder.

You nodded back, pulling up your loose sleeves and putting your hands forward.

"Got it,"

He picked up the welder, then glanced to you.

Carefully you put your right hand into the tight opening on the machine. You could only fit one hand, and your fingers were backwards to the wires and port.

You twisted the wires and pressed the ends against the port, your hand bending awkwardly back, but you could hold it.

Rocket leaned forward with the welder, with his right hand he had to adjust the wires slightly you were a centimeter off.

In the process, he moved his hand right into your palm. He paused, something about how your hand dwarfed his made his heart beat faster.

His entire hand fit perfectly into your palm, and your skin was so soft and warm.

"Rocket?" Your voice was a whisper as his head whipped up at you, mouth agape, eyes wide. "The wires?"

"Right, yeah yeah, sorry," He shook his head, thanking the stars he couldn't blush. He cleared his throat, leaning forward and welding the wires into the port.

The wires sparked, catching your finger tips, you flinched, hissing at the pain, but not moving your hand.

"Oh, shit sorry," He internally smacked himself, shutting off the welder and putting it by his side. Grabbing your elbow and helping you move your hand out of the machine.

Your fingertips were bright red, and Rocket stood, walking over to the wall and getting the first aid kit.

You turned to him, rolling your legs and sitting down crossed-legged on the metal floor.

He opened the kit and pulled out a burn ointment. He opened his hand and gestured for you to give him yours. You layed your hand over him, once again, your soft skin touched his small hand.

His heart skipped a beat and his throat went dry but he pushed down those feelings and started to apply the ointment.

You hiss occasionly when he got to a sensitive spot, but other than that he was so gently, like how he was with Groot.

His movements were slow and calculated, afraid to hurt you more.

"Is that better?" He whispered softly, looking up into your eyes.

"Yeah, it didn't hurt that bad, just an uncomfortable sting," You shrugged, as if it was nothing.

"Well, even if it didn't, I'm sorry," He mumbled it under his breath. Never in your few months of knowing him had Rocket ever apologized to you.

"It's alright, I'm not mad. It's nice to not have you yell at me for once for messing up a project," You spoke without thinking, looking back down at your hand, which was still laying on his.

"I don't yell that often," He countered, feeling guilty when you simply raised an unimpressed brow. "OK, maybe I do,"

He sighed, putting down the ointment and picking up se small bandaids, unwrapping them with his teeth and gently placing them over the pads of your fingers.

"When...when I ask you for help on a project and something goes wrong, I hope you don't blame yourself for it," He starts, flipping your hand over and gently placing his hand in your palm. "I'm mostly just upset with myself for having to ask for help and it's easier to blame someone else than take responsibility,"

It was strange, this easy open talk on the floor in the late hours of the night. Rocket never knew what it was about you that made him feel so different.

He'd touched the other Guardians hands before. Quill when he wanted to know how to shoot a different type of blaster. Gamora when she got an injury on her hand. Even Groot was known to take his hand from time to time in stressful moments.

Yet, the feeling of his hand in yours made his chest feel tight and his head feel warm.

It didn't help that you were always calm, and nice, always sticking up for him in front of the others, and you never judged him for his past.

You were his friend. Honest to goodness a good person and light in his life.

And you were also very pretty, with bug expressive eyes and a warm smile.

Rockets fingers gently ran over your palm, he looked up to meet your eyes. His heart raced faster noticing you were already looking at him.

Without saying anything, your fingers enclosed his hand in yours, enjoying the warmth and slight tremble from his hand.

#guardians of galaxy #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 #guardians of the galaxy imagine #guardians of the galaxy headcannons #gotg #gotg2 #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 headcannons #guardians of the galaxy vol 2 imagines #rocket raccon #rocket raccoon imagines #rocket racoon headcannons #rocket racoon x reader #x reader #intamacy prompts #prompt list #thanks for the ask!

467 notes · View notes

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Text

~ MLB Curious Gazes ~

prompt: four different situations where people have run into or hung out with MLB!H - told from their perspective.

word: 6k +

warnings: language, mentions of sexual content

If you enjoyed this please - reblog, like, recommend, comment, and inbox me to chat about it!

please consider donating to my kofi - my work is FREE and it is a great way to show support!

enjoy!

-=-=-=-=-=-

The Doctor’s Office

Aubrey couldn’t believe her eyes as she sat in her uncomfortable, too small chair in the empty waiting room at the OBGYN office in the early hours of the morning.

She was sitting alone with her baby boy sitting in his carrier on the floor - it was his nine month checkup and it was taking forever to be seen.

The woman was sitting, scrolling on her phone when out of her peripheral she saw an extremely - like extremely handsome man step into the area with a carrier.

Aubrey was a married woman but holy shit this guy was hot- without even trying is the thing.

He had on a New York Yankees Nike hoodie and a pair of Nike athletic shorts with some calf length Blake Nike socks and trainers.

In the carrier was a fresh little baby, couldn’t be older than three months who was bundled up with a sunflower headband on.

The man was multitasking with a curly haired toddler on his other hip as he finds a seat a little bit down from Aubrey on the opposite side.

His wife was standing up at the check-in and of course it made sense that she was absolutely beautiful as well even though Aubrey could relate to how tired she looked.

The woman still had a small bit of her pregnancy bump left signifying that the baby was indeed very very new to the world.

She keeps glancing over at the man, he looks so familiar but she would remember if she had even met someone that handsome.

Then the context clues hit her, his hoodie, his toddler son was also in a little Yankees hoodie that matched his fathers and Aubrey googled quickly.

Her eyes flitted throughout the recent articles.

Styles’ Alleged $65 Million Dollar Bonus

Hot Head Harry Styles - how he managed to start three bench clearing brawls in one game!

Breaking Records and Bats - Styles manages to break his own record in the same season followed by breaking a bat in celebration

Holy shit.

She could help but watch them - this was much more interesting than reading a magazine.

Aubrey didn’t follow baseball but Harry had turned celebrity status and was this well known cocky dickhead to the media - women and men loved and drooled over him for his looks and his skills.

Right now, he sat down with his two babies - the boy looked exactly like Harry, it was quite unbelievable from the curly locks to mossy green eyes that was copy and paste.

Harry was currently tucking an applesauce pouch between his lips and guiding the boy's small hands to hold it for himself.

“Good job, ,” He murmurs in the dead quiet waiting room as he tucks him further into the crook of his arm.

Harry looks up to his wife who joins them, she is a bit in awe when Aubrey sees him palm a bit at her bloated belly and whisper, “Y’look gorgeous today, mama.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but frown, she wished her husband did that.

YN sits down, leaning her head on his shoulder - Aubrey didn’t know her but she seems tired - of course she was a new mother.

The silence is broken when a nurse comes out and with an apologetic face says, “I’m sorry, we are running really behind today. It might be another thirty minutes,” before shutting the door again.

Harry kisses his wife’s forehead before wrapping his unoccupied arm around her shoulder, a flashing gold band on his ring finger.

Aubrey zones off for a little when her son wakes up, rocking the carrier a few times before he settles again.

She’s brought back to the couple when she hears a sniffle comes from Harry’s wife and his face turned towards hers, hand rubbing her shoulder reassuringly.

“Mama, she’s so healthy. There’s nothin’ to worry about, did a perfect job growing her in y’belly. I know these check-ups make you anxious but nothin’ is gonna be wrong,” He soothes, a near whisper because of how quiet the room is and he didn’t want to disrupt.

“I just don’t know if she’s been getting enough milk, it’s so hard to tell,” YN replies sadly, like she’s disappointed in herself.

“Y’kidding me? She’s our chunkiest baby - look at those little rolls. She’s on y’tits more than any of the boys including me,” He jokes softly, obviously trying to make her feel better.

It seems to work a little bit because she lets out a light giggle with a roll of her eyes, “No one is on them more than you.”

Harry shrugs unashamed before replying seriously, “Everything will be okay. She’s perfect and healthy.”

The curly haired little boy gets a bit squirmy with the wait after he finished his pouch, asking to be set down which his father does.

Harry is watching him carefully, his nervous but still adventurous little two and a half year old, as he toddles around the waiting room.

When he spots Aubrey and her carrier, he wanders over looking up her with wide curious eyes, he points at her son and squeaks, “Baby?”

Ever the diligent father, Harry is up and next to his son, Aubrey is a bit starstruck if she’s honest when he talks to her.

“M’sorry, he’s a curious little one,” Harry smiles at her, going to pick Ezra back up to guide him away from bothering her.

Aubrey waves her hand though, lifting the visor to show the sleeping baby, “Yeah, he’s a baby. That’s Dominic.”

The boy gazes at the baby before lisping, “Bry!”

Aubrey isn’t sure what he means but his father clarifies, “You’re right, Dominic is a baby just like your little sister Briar.”

“Okay,” Ezra shrugs and goes back to his mom to inform him of what he just discovered before crawling up and cuddling into her chest.

Harry nods, “Thanks for indulging him.”

“No pro-problem,” She stutters like an idiot and Harry smiles a bit like he knows but doesn’t say anything else before going back to his family.

A few minutes later when a high-pitched cry resounds through the room, Harry is carefully cradling his daughter who Aubrey notes looks nothing like him but like her mother even though her features were still so little.

“Shush, darlin’,” Harry coos with a soft drawl, leaning in to kiss at the newborn’s button nose.

Briar roots at her father’s chest, smacking her plump lips, and squeaking in frustration when she doesn’t find a nipple. It makes Harry chuckle before he glances at his wife and his smile falters a bit, “Sweetheart, did y’bring a bottle?”

Aubrey watches his wife shake her head, she is facing away from her so she can’t see her expression but gauging Harry’s it seems that she may be upset, “No, I completely forgot. I didn’t bring my nursing blanket either - I’m going to have to go the bathroom. M’being such a bad mom.”

The observer feels a pang in her chest, she can definitely relate to not always feeling like she is a good mother because of little mistakes she makes like forgetting diapers, buying the wrong formula, forgetting to bring a pacifier.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice is firm, “Y’not going to talk like that when s’the farthest thing from the truth. S’okay, we have four babies, we’re both goin’ t’forget things sometimes, okay? Here, let me help you.”

Aubrey wishes she had a husband who was as empowering, supportive of his wife.

He hands the whimpering baby over to his wife, he’s then tugging off his hoodie. Aubrey tries but fails to divert her eyes when his shirt rides up revealing a glimpse of his taut abdomen and a light dusting of hair leading into his shorts, obscene tattoos covering his hipbones .

Harry maneuvers the hoodie over his wife’s shoulder, helping her tug down her loose shirt and nursing bra, and guiding his newborn to his wife’s breast until she latches and starts suckling hungrily.

“There y’go mama,” He whispers encouragingly before tugging Ezra back onto his lap to rock him a bit as he’s getting whiny - ready for a nap soon and not liking being in an unfamiliar place for too long.

Aubrey is buckling Dominic into his carseat when she spots the other family exiting the office.

Harry’s wife looks much more relaxed, a smile on her face, and her arm tucked around her husband’s narrow hip, they’re parked close to each other, and Aubrey climbs into her small sedan - blasting the aircon.

She watches the parents strapp their kids into a massive, tinted and brand new cadillac escalade that was no doubt over a hundred thousand dollar car but who could expect them to be driving around a mid-level minivan?

After the kids are secured and they close the doors, Harry presses his wife up against it with his arm resting over her shoulder against the window. He is whispering to her, their mouths close before he ducks down to connect their lips.

His hand comes back to her deflating baby bump like he did in the doctor’s office, hand massaging the skin with adoration that was visible even to Aubrey as she sat in her car watching them.

Later on in the week, as she sits on her couch, a video pops up on her timeline. It’s a sports report she was about to skip until the name caught her attention.

The sports reporter stated, “Harry Styles was fined an alleged sixty thousand dollars at last night’s game after getting into a verbal altercation when the second base man purposely tripped him.”

It flashes to the man she just saw in the doctor’s office in a form-fitting Yankee’s blue and white striped uniform with a helmet on as he ran at an impressive speed from first to second, stumbling when the baseman put out his foot.

Harry recovers quickly enough to touch the base to be considered safe.

After that though, he’s pushing himself up and brushing off the dirt, then he’s charging towards the man who fucked up the play.

He has no fear as he gets in the man’s face, veins on his neck standing out as he shouts. They don’t play the audio but you could tell Harry was cussing this man up and down.

It flashed back to the reporter speaking to another, “Nearly every team in the league reports that Styles is an absolute nightmare to play against from his skill to his downright arrogant and cocky attitude. He’s not someone I’d find myself wanting to hang around.”

“I agree with you there, Tucker. He has a right to be proud with all of his broken records and achievements but being a bit humble would do this man so good. I feel sorry for his wife and kids. He probably just spends all day bragging about himself.”

Aubrey clicks off the video, if only everyone in the world just saw the Harry Styles she saw just a few days ago - well they’d all change their minds on what kind of person he is. Especially what kind of husband and father.

The Charity Event

It was a charity event at Madison Square Garden in Time Square.

It was for all Major League Baseball teams who had qualified for the playoffs and of course, The New York Yankees were there.

There were tables filling the whole stadium, extravagant in white linen tablecloths, multiple bars, and it was black tie dress code.

It was a private event and it was not open to the public but after the dinner there would be awards given out and that would be broadcasted.

Nicole was there with her husband, Trent, the left outfielder with an average batting score. He wasn’t the most popular on the team by far - well everyone got outshined by Styles.

She couldn’t help but be a little bitter that Harry had gotten a $60 million dollar bonus (the biggest bonus ever gifted but also the Yankees were not taking any chances at losing their star and their ultimate money-maker). Trent got a measly bonus of $100,000 which was nothing in baseball terms.

The wives and girlfriends of the Yankees players did not like YN one bit. It really wasn’t fair because she was always lovely, kind, and friendly. It didn’t matter because they were all spurred on by jealousy of what she had.

Nicole couldn’t help by gaze at Harry as they sat at the same circle table towards the podium where the awards would be presented after dinner. He was in a sharp all black suit with a small team logo pin of the lapel.

She couldn’t deny how stunning YN looked in an absolutely stunning dress. It was a one-shoulder with sparkling black stripes against a tan background, it fit like a glove and accentuated her stunning legs with a high slit. ***

It blew Nicole’s basic black Gucci dress out of the water which made her even more infuriated at the woman. She knew she was being irrational and if she hated her so much, why couldn’t see stop staring at the couple?

Nicole could get away with it by looking past them at other tables but to be quite honest, the two were much too wrapped up in each other to be aware of any of their surroundings or people watching them.

Trent was off bullshitting with all the other players while the Styles’ sat at the table and Harry waited for people to approach him - like the cocky asshole that he was. He would give them a minute of his time before becoming visibly bored and returning his attention back to his wife.

As the appetizers arrived, Trent finally sat down with a grunt, giving his wife literally no attention as he dug into the salad like a slob.

Across the table, Harry looked down at his plate, picked out all the tomatoes and stabbed them with his fork. He then brought his hand over to his wife who giggled and let him feed her the three little tomatoes for his salad.

“Don’t like tomatoes, Styles?” Henry, third-baseman, jokes as he watches him feed his wife without any shame.

“I love ‘em, m’missus just really like the little grape ones,” Harry shrugs casually - like that didn’t just sound like the most whipped thing that he could say.

Trent probably couldn’t even guess Nicole’s favorite color - let alone know something so minuscule like YN like the little tomatoes that come on house salads.

Throughout the whole dinner, it was quite disgusting how infatuated these two were with each other - Harry had at least one hand on her body at one time - her thigh, shoulder, even cupping her neck in a way that was almost too intimate for the setting.

At one point, Harry notices that YN is a bit quiet - sipping on her glass of water and he pulls back from the conversation, murmuring, “Y’alright, mama?”

Nicole bites her lip hard at the cute pet name, feeling even more dislike towards YN - why couldn’t she have had someone like Harry?

“D’you think the babies are okay? Ezra’s been so anxious lately,” YN replies quietly, there were no phones allowed at the event and had to be left at home or at the door.

Harry kisses her temple, “Y’know Ezzie is good with m’mum, doesn’t get as anxious as he used to at sleepovers. Y’know East and Cash are probably on a sugar high.”

YN nods, agreeing and Harry jumps right back into the conversation but she notices that he keeps looking over at his wife to check on her.

Trent accidentally knocks her elbow hard and just grunts out a bland, “Sorry.”

The topic changed to traveling for games. Ellie, another wife of a player who was nice to YN were chatting about how stressful it is.

“I know, loading all three boys up is rough when we do decide to travel to games with H,” YN says to Ellie, a small smile on her face.

“Ugh, I know. Lily and Parker are the worst flyers! They usually end up throwing up or not being able to nap at all,” Ellie groans about her two little ones she has back at home.

YN let’s out a laugh that just irked Nicole to not end.

“It's going to be even harder when we have more kids,” YN laments like she’s bothered.

“Oh? More kids?” Ellie squeaks with excitement, clapping her hands together.

Nicole reaches a breaking point, jumping into the chat,“Really? More kids? Don’t you think you should focus on the ones you have? Or do you think because your husband makes an unfair amount of money, you can just have as many as you want? Hire nannies and act like you take care of them?”

Before YN frowns, about to respond when Harry interjects with a booming, displeased voice, “First off, why don’t y’mind your own fuckin’ business. My wife and I can ‘ave any many kids as we want, last time I checked.”

He continues with tense posture, all of his previous calmness disappears, “Second off, don’t take it out on my wife tha’ your husband got a shit bonus, we all know tha’ why y’pissy. And don’t act like y’dont have a nanny for your one kid while we don’t nor ever will have one.”

Nicole sneers, “You’re a cocky bastard.”

Harry smiles in faux charm, “Of course I am, dear. I’ve got a fucking beautiful wife, three healthy babies, the most records broken in history, and the fattest bank account in this room.”

“Alright, alright,” Trent interrupts and it doesn’t go unnoticed that he doesn’t defend his wife. Instead he shoots Harry an apologetic look for his wife’s behaviors.

Harry just scoffs at the couple, rudely rolling his eyes, and tugging his wife in for a kiss that’s a bit too intense but he can’t help himself, smiles against her lips when his wife pinches his thigh playfully.

He says (not quietly at all), “All these women are jealous of you, hm? S’cause you’re so beautiful and such a fuckin’ catch.”

Nicole feel a sharp pang in her chest at the indirect comment - fucking asshole.

Deep down, Nicole is unfavorably realizing that somehow YN has it all - a loving husband, who is seemingly head over heels four her, three well-behaved children, and everything she could ever want - sitting on Harry’s $600 million dollar net worth, on top of being gorgeous.

She didn’t have that. Trent and her were on the rocks constantly, has definitely cheated on her, their kid is a literal nightmare, and they’re both so reckless with money they have no savings.

It made her jealous to see Harry whispering in YN ear to make her giggle- lips brushing her ear, his hand splayed across her bumcheek while they waited for drinks at the bar, she even hears them murmur ‘I love yous’ at least twice.

Then the lights dim, spotlight on a podium in the front of the room, an older man in a crisp navy suit taking the stage.

“It is an honor for me to announce ‘Player of the Year.’ The decision by the board of Major League Baseball wasn’t a hard one. The statistics and records broke continuously by the man has led us to only one option.”

Everyone watches all the other players in room deflate a bit because they realize the award is going to Harry yet again.

“He is again breaking a record tonight, he is the first player to earn this achievement four years in a row. The duality of this man when it comes to pitching a curveball or hitting a homer is truly remarkable.”

It makes all the players even more irritated than they already are when they look over at Harry who’s sitting back, manspreading, hand on the back of his wife’s neck gently, and a cocky, unbothered grin.

Like this award wasn’t the biggest accomplishment he could earn.

One of the players from an opposing team at a different table mutters to one of his teammates, “Fucking arrogant asshole. The only thing this award does is feed his gigantic ego.”

“Such a douchebag,” The other agrees, jealousy tinges his voice.

“I’ve most likely made it obvious who the the recipient is this year. The New York Yankees pitcher with the most strikeouts to date and top-scoring hitter - Mr. Harry Styles!”

The crowd erupts in applause, whistles, and a standing ovation because despite his unsavory demeanor - no one could deny he was a legend.

Before he gets up, Nicole watches as he cups his wife’s cheek - locking her lips in a kiss before she has to give him a playful shove when he tries to slip some tongue.

When Harry gets up to the stage, he shakes the hand of the announcer and takes the award from him, setting it on the podium.

“Fourth year in a row has a nice ring to it,” Harry gives the crowd a dazzling white smile that have his dimples digging into his cheek.

The crowd whistles and coos.

Nicole notices YN getting teary-eyed as she watches her husband accept the award.

“I want t’thank a few people tonight. I want t’thank m’wife and the mama of my babies - YN. She’s supported me from when I was in college with no other career path but baseball, unsure of if I’d fail or not, she stuck through it.”

She can sense everyone’s eyes dart over to YN who is still staring up at her husband - who is giving her a gleaming smile right back.

“We’ve been through some really hard obstacles in our first years as a couple but she’s the reason for all this - the fact that she always believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself.”

The audience is respectful, quiet as he publicly tells a story of his deep love for his wife.

“I want t’thank m’three babies. Easton, Cash, and Ezra. They inspire me to be a better better man and a good role model - even though I think y’all agree they won’t be if they watch too much how I play when I’m out in the field.”

The crowd erupts in laughter at Harry poking fun at his own antics that he’s most famous for. He goes on to thank the team, coaches, Nike, everyone on the professional side of career.

When he’s done, everyone stands back up to congratulate him, patting him on the back as he returns to his seat.

Nicole watches as Harry sits back down, chuckling as he swipes a tear off his wife’s cheek, “Why y’crying, mama?”

“I’m just so proud of you. Everything you do for me and our babies. The best husband, best daddy. My heart is just full,” She murmurs, clearly not meant for others to hear but Nicole was eavesdropping.

Harry’s eyes darken with something Nicole can’t identify but does notice his hand creeping a bit further up her thigh.

He leans into whisper something into her ear before she sees his lightly nip at her lobe before pulling back to join into the conversation.

After the lights come back up, Trent abandons her to go shoot the shit with other guys.

When she trails off to the bathroom, down a long hallway from the main area - she hears a rustling from behind a door labeled with a plaque that says ‘executive meeting room’.

Nicole pauses confused, all these offices and other rooms were strictly off limits during events obviously. She was confused to hear someone in a room that was not supposed to be in use.

Then she realizes it’s not just someone - it’s two people.

“S’good, sweetheart. Give it t’me so good.”

And she knows right then and there all she needs to know about who’s in that conference room and what they were doing.

“Be quiet, you’re being too loud,” YN scolds back, the walls were clearly thin because she could hear the exchange.

“Make y’cunt not feel like heaven then,” He remarks back, his voice slower and more soft than it would be in front of people.

God, Trent and her haven’t slept together in ages - let alone has spontaneous hookups or dirty talk like that ever.

When they all end up back at the table before the closing speech for the night, Nicole spots a nicely sized mark under Harry’s jaw that he’s wearing with pride.

YN had her lipstick wiped off and was much more clingy as the night rolled on which Harry seemed to thrive on.

As she and Trent are on their way home, Nicole speaks into their silence, “I don’t think our relationship is working.”

Not after she saw love and happiness at that event table tonight - she wanted that kind of love not settling for some cheating asshole.

The Little League Game

It was a cool autumn evening, it was an important game - if you could call it that for the little league team that Kayla had her son on.

The goal was to determine which team would move onto the playoffs, even though most of this was all in good fun because it was for eight-year-olds and it wasn’t serious.

Kayla couldn’t lie and say that she didn’t spend some of the time curiously gazing at the New York Yankees player who would come to watch his son play.

He wasn’t at every game due to his schedule but it seemed like he came to whatever ones he could with his wife and other three kids.

They had taken the bench on the bleachers right below her so she had an up close and personal view of the family when they’ve never sat this close before.

As the kids warmed up, Harry had his youngest son who looked to be about four sit next to him, squished between his dad and mom happily.

Their middle son was next to his mom on the other side, looking to be about six, and he was wriggling impatiently in his seat - eager to join the other kids in the jungle gym.

The baby girl who looked about a year and a half old didn’t look anything like her brothers - it was obvious that she was a spitting image of her mother (who was stunning).

She was curled up in her mom’s lap, asleep with her face squished against her mother’s chest - a pacifier suckling fiercely between her puffy lips.

“Mama, please,” The curly haired boy begs with greedy puppy dog eyes as he keeps glancing back to look at the other kids.

“You stay right where daddy and I can see you, yes?” YN murmurs, brushing back his unruly curls that where getting long, “And what are our rules?”

“Stay where you can see, don’t talk to strangers, and be nice to others,” He recites perfectly, Kayla was a bit blown away by his manners.

She watches baseball. It was hard to believe their children were so mild mannered when their father was the exact opposite - at least on the field.

Harry was rustling in the diaper bag for something as his son looked at him with wide, concerned eyes, “My baby, daddy.”

“I know, Ezzie. M’lookin’ f’your baby,” His father replies softly, the polar extreme of his normal brash, crude language that had a nasty tone like he couldn’t bother giving people the time of day.

“Daddy, please,” The youngest whines, his little hand grasping at his father’s tattooed wrist as he gets to his knees to help his dad look.

“Left inner pocket,” YN murmurs offhandedly as she makes sure Cash gets to the playground safely with his friends.

“Say ‘thanks mama’,” Harry coos to his son as he manages to tug out the baby doll and hand it to the awaiting little boy.

“Thanks mama,” He replies instantly with a gapped smile as he nuzzles right back into his father’s side as if he can’t get close enough.

“How are you feeling, Ezra?” His mother leans over to ask, keeping the baby close to her chest.

“M’happy, mama,” Ezra replies simply before starting to babble to himself as he plays with the babydoll.

Kayla watches Harry and YN swap a fond look at their son but she couldn’t help but wonder why they asked him that? He seemed fine so why did they feel the need to do that?

The game is going okay, Harry stands up to cheer and whistle when Easton hits a two-base hit but YN smacks his thigh and motions to their sleeping baby.

He looks at her sheepishly before sitting back down, kissing her cheek in apology, and peeking down into the fleece blanket to watch his daughter sleep for a moment.

Then it seems like Easton starts to lose momentum after he pitches two home-runs, his face pinched in disappointment as the other team scores but Harry is attempting to keep him motivated with encouraging shouts.

Easton struggles from then on, he strikes out for his final three turns, doesn’t catch two pop-ups, and his pitches start to get a little shaky. It’s obvious in his facial expression he’s getting upset because he’s breathing heavier like he’s trying not to cry.

Kayla feels a sense of dread for the little boy, his father who’s the best baseball player in modern day history is watching his son not do well during an important game.

Because of what she knows of him from his temper and attitude on the field - she worries that he’s one of those father’s who will hound their kid for doing poorly.

“Oh, c’mon East,” Harry murmurs softly when his son stumbles over a ground ball before another kid picks it up and throws it in - their son smacking his glove down against the ground in frustration.

“He’s getting himself worked up,” YN notes as she watches her oldest kick his cleats in the dirt with a quivering bottom lip.

“I know,” Harry replies to his wife, “Wish he wouldn’t, he’s gettin’ upset out there, I can tell.”

“Sad?” Ezra squeaks, clambering onto his father’s lap and stating, “Hold me, daddy.”

Harry obliges easily, gathering up his small son before his attention is directed back onto the game - it was down to the last few minutes and unfortunately Easton pitched a ball that resulted in a home run for the other team.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters, running a hand through his messy locks before he’s setting Ezra back down on the bleachers, “I’m going to go talk to him. Do you want to meet back home?”

YN nods, leaning down to tuck the baby into the double stroller before buckling Ezra in as well, “I’m going to go get Cash and head out. Why don’t you take him out for some ice cream? I love you.”

“I love you too, mama,” He replies, kissing her softly before kissing both of his kids foreheads and stepping down the bleachers - ignoring all the adults who are staring at him with a starstruck expression as he heads to the dugout.

It cleared out fast, nobody sticking around after the loss that ended with them not continuing on to the championship, and Easton was sat on the bench - he was stoic and there was a hard, angry expression on his face that reminded Kayla of what she saw Harry look like when he played.

As she gathers up her son and makes sure he’s got all of his equipment, Kayla stands and chats to a few of the moms before she’s heading to her car - which happened to be parked next to a sleek Masserati crossover, who would let their muddy kid go in there? Rich people, she guesses.***

Kayla pops the trunk to her van with her key as they get closer, she notices that Harry also has his up and Easton is sitting on the tailgate with his eyes looking down at the pavement. She tries not to appear as nosey or eavesdropping as she tucks her items into the back.

“Sweetheart, s’okay. Y’did so so good tonight,” Harry assures his pouty son, he squats down to start to untie his son’s nike cleats but continues to make eye contact with him.

“No, I didn’t, Daddy!” Easton whines, tears finally starting to bubble over the surface as he begins to sob with a shuddering chest, “I gave up home runs and then I missed ground balls!”

“Whoa, bubby,” Harry simpers after he tugs off the shoes and throws them carelessly into the back before standing up, “Y’did amazing, are you kiddin’? You did three innings of strikeouts, hit two of y’own homeruns. Y’played like a professional, way better than daddy.”

Kayla’s heart aches a bit when she sees Harry sit down next to him before hugging him harshly into his side, thumbing at the tears that are running down his son’s sweaty cheeks with soft reassurances.

“Daddy, are you mad I didn’t win?” Easton asks shakily, keeping his head buried into his father’s side and his small hand clutching into the fabric of his hoodie.

Harry chuckles lowly, “Daddy would never be mad at you f’anythin’, definitely not a baseball game. Remember what mama and I said? If at any point y’want to stop playin’, just let us know and we can find something else, yeah? Just like how Ezzie does art classes.”

Easton seems to calm down after a few moments of Harry rocking him and reassuring him of what an amazing son he is.

As Kayla drove away that night, her perspective on the all-star baseball player definitely changed. It was refreshing to see someone to not hold their child to an unreasonable expectation just like she thought Harry would.

The Campfire

Austin was the shortstop on the baseball team, he’d brought along his girlfriend, Chelsea, to the frat party to celebrate another win.

Everyone was in whispers that Harry was bringing his new girlfriend but nobody knew who she actually was because it was just a rumor.

It was surprising because Harry wasn’t a relationship kind-of man. He wasn’t into hookups much - always said he needed to focus on baseball.

Many of his teammates were envious of how many girls were constantly coming up to Harry at parties to flirt and try to get a dance in but he had always rejected them.

Harry had never showed interest in any of these girls at the parties, never seen him disappear upstairs with one or really entertain a conversation over a beer like they’d expect.

Chelsea pokes his shoulder and nods towards the entrance when Harry walks in with his arm around YN’s shoulder.

Most were in a little shock because they seemed like such an unlikely couple - YN had written some scathing articles about him and it was no secret he hadn’t been a fan of her.

“Holy shit, Harry’s dating YN?” Chelsea whispers to Austin as the group of party-goers cheer and whistle at the allstars appearance.

“Guess so,” Austin replies with a shrug, tugging Chelsea into the kitchen for a drink.

Later on that night, there’s a bonfire on one side of the backyard and a volleyball net on the other where a group was gathering to play.

Austin and Chelsea are on the opposing team of Harry and YN - she can’t help but watch them with curiosity because of what a surprise it is that they’re dating.

Even Austin has been watching because Harry’s acting in a way that he’s never seen throughout his time on the team with him.

Harry is just all over YN which was confusing how he went from not being remotely interested in the college girls to being a lovestruck puppy.

When she throws the ball up to serve, Harry reaches over and pinches her bum which makes her squeak and accidentally drop the ball which has him cackling as she glares at him.

As they change positions, he crowds up behind her, and massages her hips, leaning down to murmuring something in her ear.

She blushes wildly before smacking him off which has him laughing hard and kissing the back of her head before taking his position.

After Harry jumps and spikes the ball hard, earning them the winning point, YN turns around and wraps her arms around him to hug him tightly.

Harry wraps his arms around her shoulders, returning the hug before pulling back to kiss her lips in a soft peck.

Chelsea elbows Austin, “Who’s that and what did they do with Harry?”

Austin shakes his head, “I really don’t fucking know.”

The group migrates over to the fire as they might become cooler and the stars are high up in the sky, the fire flickering orange and yellow crackles of sparks.

Harry plops into a chair, pulling YN right onto his lap, and she wriggles until she’s comfortable. Chelsea notices him tap her thigh as if telling her to cut it out, too much motion right on his crotch.

Jake, one of his teammates, says in a teasing tone, “YN, I’m surprised to see you around these parts . I clearly remember a strongly worded article about how stupid frat parties are.”

YN takes it in stride, smiling as she replies, “And this party just proves my point.”

The group laughs easily, they enjoy YN’s sharp wit and comebacks as they get to know her. Austin can’t help but to notice how quiet Harry is.

Normally, he’s the life of the party, loud and making his presence known to everyone but not tonight. He has his chin propped on her shoulder and she’s cuddled back into his chest.

Austin can’t make out what Harry is saying but he’s constantly whispering in her ear and accentuating each time with a squeeze to her thighs.

“Are you guys official?” One of the teammates asked bluntly, a few beers deep by this point in the night.

Harry replies instantly, a possessive squeeze, “She’s mine and off the market, s’don’t even think about it.”

“Well I don’t think it matters because she’s turned down the whole baseball team by this point. I think everyone tried to ask her out at least once,” Steve jokes as the others agree.

“Tha’s m’girl,” Harry murmurs to her before teasing his friends,“Who’d want to go out with any you? You’re all dickheads.”

Everyone continues to joke around, it’s nearing midnight and that’s right about when Harry gets in his prime - like the party just started.

But not tonight.

YN’s eyes start to flutter shut as everyone banters and drinks around the fire, obviously not used to these late night parties.

“I better get this one t’bed,” Harry states after a few minutes, thumbing at YN’s cheekbone as she tries to stay awake.

“I’m okay,” She mumbles weakly, head still heavy against his shoulder.

“You’re coming back though, right?” Kyle asks expectantly, brows furrowed.

Harry shakes his head, “Nah, m’in for the night when she is.”

All the players look at him with a bit of a dumbfounded look, Steve shooting out, “Who knew you’d be so pussy whipped, Styles?”

Chelsea’s eyebrows raise at the crude comment, waiting with bated breath as Harry’s jaw clenches as it seems like he’s biting his tongue.

“Goodnight,” Harry says in a tone Austin has never heard before - agitated and almost…offended.

When Austin and Chelsea are sneaking up to his room for a late night hook-up, she overhears Harry and YN in his bedroom.

At first, she thinks they’re in an actual argument but as she listens to them - it’s not the kind of arguement she thought it was.

“You’re always the little spoon,” YN groans from behind the closed door.

Harry squawks, affronted before huffing back at her, “S’my favorite, please spoon me, darling?”

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” YN giggles as Chelsea assumes they move into a position where Harry’s the little spoon.

“Mm, I like feelin’ y’tits against my back, s’nice,” Harry hums with a boyish tone.

Chelsea doesn’t even realize she’s smiling until Austin drags her from her stupor.

All she knew was that Harry Styles really really fancied that school reporter.

-=-=-=-=-=-

If you enjoyed this please - reblog, like, recommend, comment, and inbox me to chat about it!

if you’ve ask to be on my taglist and you’re not here - please check your settings because i’ve tried to add you and it didn’t work.

taglist babies (thank you): @dioc4ne @hazgoldenstyles @harrysdimple05 @wonwooen @ficnarry @leeroysdancer @harrysloveheart @harryscherrysugar @pradastardust @rish-haz @wildcstdrexms @evanstylestan @wisetoadbonkbiscuit @meredithhuntt @tpwkvictoria @lovely-him @haymix @eiffelmezarry @pilgrim-harry @soullessbabee @afterglowstyles @tulsasjesus @elenagilbert01 @meh–mood @pretty-pop-princess-hs @msolbesg @localfalsegodstan @evanjh @i-just-like-fanfics @harrys-hs-gf @lightsupdoyouknowwhoyouare @afterglcwswift @harrystyles-tpwk @amyvandijk @godilovetheenglishx @harrys-cherrry @theprofessionalfanby @your–sweetest–downfall @la-cey @bdbtchdir @killerqueencapstan @elizabeth23567 @camflowervol6 @its-a-finee-line @rish-haz @solonelytobe @nav1234 @harrynamjoon @hopefullimaginer123 @westallenhes @awesomebooklover17 @will-be-a-fineline @vasilikir5 @your–sweetest–downfall @pretty-pop-princess-hs @harrynamjoon @harrypinks @ivyirenehoax @harryspink @sunsetcurve-h @goldenstylesh @mouthfulloftoothpastehs @hello-34583 @prettylovley @nicolecarsley @lamariettes @imavirginhoe @unknown7549 @mellamolayla @kiwitsayedsugar @hopefullimaginer123 @harrysmatcha @weaslettesstuff @saintsmotels @hi-yekaterina @aubreyfineline @harrysgoldenbum @ebstylesx @goldeng1rl8 @tnqueen @percysaidnever @bebecalpal @virtuallybaby @rbforsmileycal @televisionboy @evanjh @lolzskye @haroldpotterson @pandxthings @leeroysdancer @summersylesxplr @cherriesrae

2K notes · View notes

thewritingginger · 3 years

Text

AoT Boys - Preferences

This is something... I have nothing else to say about it lol

Also it may be a bit all over the place idk

Fandom: Attack on Titan Characters: Reiner Braun, Armin Arlert, Eren Yeager & Jean Kirstein Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, Fem! Bodied Reader, Mentions of sex, Swearing, lot of boob, ass, & thigh talk, also switches b/w saying s/o and you I'm a mess :)

Enjoy ~

Reiner

Reiner is a simple man that loves dem tiddies!

Big or little doesn't matter

Man has giant hands and if it fits it ships

“You fit so perfectly in my hands.”

Loves to lay on your chest - #LittleSpoonReiner

When he had a particularly rough day all he wants to do is nizzle into your chest and breathe in your scent

Likes to massage them over your clothes when y’all make out

Can’t keep his mouth off of them, licking and biting them as he also plays with your nipples

He may give them a few smacks here and there if that's the mood 😉

Honestly would so happy to just play with your chest and nothing else, especially if you really like it

Likes when his s/o rides him - not only cuz it gives them more control of the pacing but also bc he gets a full view of their breasts

If you want to make this man nearly combust send him a saucy pic while he’s out/at work and can’t get to you

Man is weak for some lacy lingerie - really likes pastels and white (to him if makes it almost feel naughtier cuz of how sweet it looks)

“I was thinking of wearing this to our date tonight, do you like it? 😇” - w/ a mirror pic of you in a matching lacy set, wearing one of his large button up shirts and make sure you put your hand on your cheek sweetly, pressing your breasts together

He would call you so fast!

“Sweetheart, I am at work! Please-”

“And change of plans, instead of going out Imma need you to be on that bed when I get home tonight because we will not be leaving that room till you’re completely fucked out.”

Really likes clothed sex - why would he just rip of that pretty lingerie you put on for him when he can continue to enjoy it on your beautiful body while he rails you?!

He just overall enjoys seeing and feeling your chest and bonus points for it also feeling good for you though he doesn’t really touch them w/o your permission/ when y’all are getting it on

However, in his sleep his hand can become a bit of a wanderer

So he is a perv but not so outwardly so

Really likes lacy or mesh shirts where can see your bra/bralette - though sometimes it can make him feel some type of way

“Beautiful, I always love what you wear but you gotta stop doing this to me, my heart can’t take it.”

Man just melts for you! ok?!

Armin

Armin is a Thigh Man! and I will die on this hill!!!

He loves to hold and squeeze them - in both sexual & non-sexual situations

Laying on them is prime time for him, he may even leave a few sleepy kisses behind before falling asleep on them

Also Thigh fucking is his jam!! And you can’t convince me otherwise

Not only does he love the feeling of your thighs jerking him off but also it’s about that teasing he loves to give his s/o

May even taunt them about it

“You like feeling my cock slide between your thighs?”

“My Angel wishes they had my cock inside them, huh.”

He also just generally loves kissing, licking and biting your thighs, he likes to take his time especially when he is about to go down on you

He likes to have his hand on his s/o’s thigh while sitting next to them, whether at home or out for lunch with friends - not necessarily in a sexual way well… unless you want him to 😉

Want to make him excited? Wear some thigh high stockings

If you are wearing a skirt and at some point in the day you lift the hem to show the garter strap holding up your stocking he’ll let out a little low hum of approval and needs to get his hands on you soon

That also goes for if you want to send him a little pic in the day to show you miss him just a little

“Thinking of you bb 🥰” - w/ a picture of your skirt raised or just in a pair of cute panties while sat on your knees with your thighs pressed together would do the trick

He would blush a little at the initial shock -especially if around others- but would be quick to excuse himself before responding

“You’re so beautiful, when I get home I’m gonna spread those pretty thighs open and have you screaming for me.”

Boy really likes not only shear tights but also fishnets

Whether you wear them under a skirt/dress or under distressed jeans and it peeks through holes and over the top he’s in for it

Has 10000% had sex with a pair of fishnets on - the ones with the extra large holes that he can fit his dick through - yes ma’am

Also just plain old ripping them open so make sure you don’t spend a lot of money of your tights cuz they might not last too long oop

Eren

Also a Boobie Man!

Whether he is just chillin on the couch watching t.v. with his s/o or making out and getting down to business, his hand somehow always finds its way to a boob

He will just put his arm around your shoulder and snake his hand down the collar of your shirt and just cup it - maybe will begin to give a few squeezes here and there mf treating it like a stress ball smh

Will motor boat you - he doesn’t care if there isn't much to your chest either cuz he will go for it anyway

If he is having sex in missionary best believe both his palms would be kneaded his s/o’s breasts

Or if from behind he will lean over and wrap his arm around their front to hold them

But lets need not forget the tiddie bounce when his s/o rides him

So many choices baby boy doesn’t know which one he likes best 🤔

Loves some tiddie-fucking

And cumming on dem boobies as well

“You look so good with my cum drippin down your tits.”

This bitch will be at work and ask for nudes smh

Of course he wants boobie pics - loves when you are topless and holding your breasts with your hands or simply just your cleavage down your shirt

“You’re always so good to me Babygirl. I’ll see you when I get home 😉”

Likes when you wear revealing tops

Of course he’ll about throw hands if someone's gaze stays a bit too long but he is proud of his baby and knows they are beautiful

Eren, unlike Reiner, is more outwardly pervy

Always encourages you not to wear a bra

“Your nipples are so cute, why wouldn’t you want to show them.”

Also you know he aint afraid to stare and when you catch him he’ll just give you a wink and a cocky smirk

Jean

Bonafide Booty Man!

Like Reiner, the size doesn’t matter!

Big or little - if he can grab he can vibe with it

This boy always has his hand on the butt any chance he gets

Cuddle Time? His hand will rubb and hold the booty

When y’all are making out? You best believe he’ll pull you real close and squeeze your ass

So safe to say that taking his s/o from behind is great booty access

Also reverse Cowgirl is a nice view as well

“Fuck, I love seeing your ass bounce on my cock.”

Loves to squeeze, jiggle and spank your butt

Also kissing and biting the cheeks are a yes in his book

Likes to bend over his s/o and go down on them from behind, having is tongue covered in their taste as his hands grope and smack their ass - sign him up

Likes days in at home with you, especially if you opt out of wearing pants - Pants are always optional in his household 😉

If he sees cheeks he’s a happy man

Expect to get little booty love taps &/or pinches while around him - mostly when it’s just you two at home

If you want to fluster him a bit give his ass a little smack/squeeze of your own

Likes when you send him pics but when he’s at work? He’ll have to breathe for a minute and leave the room if others are around

“Baby, should I get these?” - w/ a pic in a dressing room wearing a silky “pajama” short set that leaves little to the imagination; booty on full display of course

“Yes! 😍😍😍”

“My sweet girl, I want to see you in that when I get home.”

Big fan of leggings and high waisted pants on his s/o - all about extenuating that booty

Just tight pants in general tbh

If you ever come out in a little number and the booty is poppin he’ll grab your hand and make you do a little spin for him to get a full 360 view

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Hope you liked that! Want more? Let me know.

My requests are open for both regular and Kinktober - Make sure you read my guidelines :3

💛 ~

475 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 4 years

Note

okay but here me out: you're a prostitute hired by laurie bc she found out that andy is cheating on her and needs proof for a divorce. when you see him, the payment is merely a bonus

wait i love this but i wanna modify it slighty: you’re a private investigator hired by laurie to seduce andy to prove he’s cheating!

this got so nasty so fast omg watch out for really dominating andy, with lots of dirty talk and a little bit of manipulation if you wanna read into it

“you don’t have to go through with it, obviously,” she explained, “you just need to get him to admit he’s done it before, and he’ll do it again. on tape, with this.”

she set the audio recorder down in front of you, and you smiled sympathetically.

“don’t worry, ma’am, this isn’t my first time with a case like this. I have my own equipment that’s less conspicuous and more reliable. I could even catch him on film if you wanted.”

“you can do that?”

“yep, I have cameras that look like pens, buttons, rings, earrings, glasses...”

“well, video footage would be even better,” she explained, excited yet somber. “I mean, it would make a better case in the divorce. it would kill me to have to watch it, though...” she trailed off, scratching the back of her neck.

“is there any doubt in your mind he’s cheating on you?”

“only because I don’t want to believe it. but it’s become to obvious to ignore,” she shook her head.

“I understand. it’s hard to stomach that the people we care about most would hurt us like that. but sadly it is all too common. let’s just say that as a private investigator, this is a huge portion of what I do... and I get very steady work. you’re not alone, laurie.”

“thank you,” she smiled weakly. “can you do it tonight? I want this over with.”

“um, as long as it’s pretty late, I have other tasks this evening.”

“oh, late shouldn’t be a problem, he’s out until 4 or 5 in the morning these days. this is the address of his work--” she set a piece of paper in front of you-- “just follow him to whatever bar he goes to from there and you shouldn’t have a problem.”

she’d shown you a photo, so you knew what to expect. you had to come straight from your last assignment following somebody else around the city, so you weren’t dressed for the occasion at all. to follow someone, you needed to dress plain and forgettable; to seduce someone, especially someone like andy barber, you needed to be extremely memorable.

you brought a change of clothes in your car, which you hastily slipped into in your back seat-- it required some acrobats to put tights on in the back of a small car like yours, but you managed to get through.

not just tights, but lingerie and garters. sky high heels, a skintight dress that made you feel like your whole body was on display. a motorcycle jacket and dark lipstick to give the whole look some edge. basically, you’d tried to look as different from his wife as possible. married men who were fucking around on the side always wanted something different, something fresh. you knew how to do that.

plus, the jacket had the hidden camera attached to the lapel, nearly invisible among the snaps and buttons.

the echo of your heels on the concrete floor of the bar made every head turn. it was quiet, and apparently a pretty slow night with only a few men scattered here and there-- the only other woman was the waitress.

andy was sitting at the bar, nursing a beer, and he gave you a quick glance before doing a double take. you tried not to smile visibly. gotcha.

you sauntered up to the bar, leaning forward and making sure to arch your back just so, showing off your ass. “vodka cranberry?” you requested, smiling when the bartender nodded and started pouring grey goose into a glass.

you took a seat decently far away from andy, “adjusting” your jacket to turn the camera on. you wanted to make sure you caught him coming up to you, starting the conversation, flirting first. he looked over at you a few times but never said anything, making you start to get a little impatient, before finally the bartender arrived with a second drink.

“from the gentleman at the end of the bar,” he explained as he handed it to you.

“oh!” you smiled, “that’s so sweet! you can tell him to come say hi if he wants.”

and it was just a few minutes before andy got up and leaned against the bar beside you, looking down at you with dark, half-lidded eyes.

“thanks for the drink,” you grinned coyly, letting your gaze drift a bit. he was really good looking, honestly, and he looked all kinds of right in that suit, too. if it weren’t a job, this might be the kind of guy you would actually flirt with of your own accord. then again, you knew better than to go for a guy who had a tan line on his ring finger-- you hoped the camera was able to see that he’d taken his wedding band off.

“I’m here almost every night and I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’m from out of town,” you explained.

“business or pleasure?” he asked with a little smirk.

“I guess we’ll find out,” you winked.

it didn’t take much more flirting and a few more rounds of drinks for him to ask if you wanted to ‘get outta here,’ and with a giggle and a nod you let him guide you to his car with a hand on the small of your back.

of course, you thought he was going to drive the both of you somewhere. you didn’t expect him to push you up against it and kiss you roughly.

it was so sudden, and you knew you should stop him, but you somehow couldnt bring yourself to push him back, not when the way he was breathing heavily against you made your head spin, not when you could feel his beard and it was so hot for no good reason at all, not when his thick hands were grabbing you at your waist just tight enough to make you breathless.

“get in the back,” he instructed when he pulled back, making you blink up at him in shock. you knew you had enough, you knew you should make an excuse and leave, get this footage uploaded from your mini cam and onto your laptop so you could get laurie what she needed...

but instead you found yourself biting your lip and nodding, letting him open the door for you and hopping in before he climbed on top of you, shutting and locking the door.

“we can go back to my place,” you offered as he started to suck on your neck, pulling you closer.

“cant wait that long,” he mumbled quickly before helping you push your jacket off.

and you could tell that the way he tossed it onto the floor made the camera perfectly angled to see what he was doing to you. maybe it was the perfect evidence for laurie’s case. maybe it was about to tape you in your most intimate state with no way for you to stop it.

certainly there was no way you could stop when he manhandled you onto your hands and knees, pushing your dress up to find your black lace panties, and the garters holding up your tights.

“fuck, look at you... that’s why you came out tonight, then? to get fucked?”

you nodded a little, gasping when he slapped your ass.

“little whore.”

you didn’t think you’d like being talked to like that, but it made your pussy throb beneath the lingerie that barely covered it.

just when you thought he was going to give it some attention, he flipped you around again and pulled you into his lap.

“get on the floor, on your knees, and suck my cock.”

how was he so comfortable telling you what to do? better yet, why were you doing it?

you slipped down, barely finding enough room with your massive heels in the way, and started to palm at his cock through his suit trousers, moaning absent-mindedly when you felt the thick, hard, hot length hidden beneath. your mouth was already watering.

you started on his belt, looking up at him occasionally to find him watching you with a cold, unyielding stare. when you reached inside his boxers and pulled it out, he smiled at your little gasp.

“bigger than you expected?” he taunted. you were speechless, only able to nod in response before he put a hand on your hair-- not exactly forcing you forward, but definitely encouraging you to go ahead and put it in your mouth.

“fuuuck,” he groaned with you licked the head and finally closed your lips around it, suckling gently as your eyes fluttered shut. “no no,” he correctly instantly, “look up at me with those pretty eyes, sweetheart. take it deeper.”

you moaned around him but obeyed, using your hand to stroke the portion you couldn’t fit in your mouth (which was more than half). you started to back away when you choked a little, but he pushed you back down and moaned a little louder, “I like it when you gag,” he explained gruffly, smiling when you looked up at him again, your eyes watering this time. “god, you look so good like this.”

he pulled you off by your hair while you took in a gasping breath, gripping his cock at the base and slapping you lightly on the face with it a few times. when you put your chin by his balls, the head hit you on the forehead... it made your gut burn as you tried to imagine how that would possibly fit in you without breaking something important.

when he pulled you back onto him, bucking up into your throat as you choked and gasped for air, you felt need tingling up your spine from seeing him like this. he was completely in control and yet looked totally wrecked as he fucked your face. it made you so wet you couldn't stand it.

just when you thought he might come, he stopped suddenly and lifted you up onto his lap, pulling your dress down to admire your completely impractical bra.

he grinned when he saw your nipples were already hard, reaching up to tweak them gently until your hips rocked on top of him of their own accord.

“you like having your tits played with, sweetheart?”

“I like when you do it,” you blurted out.

“sweet young thing like you, you’ve probably never even been with somebody who knows what they’re doing.”

it’s not like you hadn’t had some adept partners in the past, but none of them were like this. nobody had ever made you this desperate.

“please fuck me, andy,” you whimpered.

“not yet,” he growled, ripping your bra and tossing it aside.

“that was expens--” you started to protest, but it fell into a moan as he latched his lips onto an exposed nipple, sucking and licking eagerly.

“f-fuck!” you stammered, gripping his jacket tightly as you tried to stop yourself from humping his leg out of desperation

but he wanted you to-- he grabbed your hips and pulled you down, guiding you to rub yourself on his thigh.

“go ahead, pretty girl, show me how bad you want it.”

you were pretty confident that even through your panties, you were going to leave a stain on his trousers.

you could even feel his cock on the inside of your thigh, hot and still slick with your spit, so hard you wondered why he wouldn't just put it in you already.

“please please please, need it so bad,” you whined, “I'm so wet for you, baby, I'm so fucking ready....”

“I know,” he whispered, pulling you closer to put his lips right beside your ear. “I know, baby, I can feel it. I can smell it. you smell so fuckin sweet...”

you whimpered and your head fell back, pleasure shooting up through your body in jolts as you rubbed your swollen clit on his thick thigh.

“want me to fuck you? I’ll fuck you, babydoll. hard and rough just how you need it.”

“yes,” you sobbed.

“I’ll give it to you so good you won’t be able to walk straight tomorrow, won’t be able to sit right cause I tore that pretty little pussy up.”

you gasped but you wanted it, god you wanted it so fucking bad you couldn’t even remember that this was supposed to be a job, not a hook-up. but you didn’t care.

“please baby, I’ll do anything just fuck me, please--” you cried, cut off by him grabbing you and pushing you onto your knees again, slapping your ass one more time before pulling your panties aside.

“god, you’re soaked,” he chuckled condescendingly. “you’re so sensitive, honey. I bet you’ll go crazy if I touch you here,” he proposed, rubbing his thumb over your clit and making you jolt forward from the intensity of it.

he leaned down to wrap his body over yours, holding you close with one arm around your neck as he whispered in your ear, turning your face slightly with a hand on your jaw.

“look into the camera while I put it in you, baby...”

you weren’t sure if it was realizing you’d been caught, or the feeling of him pushing into you that made your eyes water, but a tear fell down your cheek as he buried himself into you with a groan. it was just the right type of pain; with how wet you were, even a cock as massive as his slid into you easily. but it felt like you’d never been stretched so wide and you didn’t even know what to do with yourself as he pulled back and slammed into you.

“I never told you my name,” he reminded you, “but you knew it anyways. and with what I do for a living, I can smell a p.i. from a mile away. you’re not as slick as you think, sweetheart-- well, proverbially slick... cause literally, this pussy is so fucking wet for me.”

you could only gasp and sigh as he pumped into you faster and deeper, reaching parts of you that had never been touched before, let alone ravaged like this. you could feel his smile against your ear as he started to fuck you faster, his free hand palming at your breasts before reaching back to hold your hips steady.

“god, you’re so fucking tight... anybody ever fucked you this good, honey? anybody ever taken you like the needy little slut you are?”

he bit down on your ear and you realized he wanted an answer.

“n-no,” you replied, “never. nobody’s ever fucked me like this, andy.”

“anybody ever fucked you on camera before?”

you swallowed dryly. “no.”

“was it all an act, then? all part of the job? I don’t buy it. I think this is who you really are, a desperate little slut who needs to be stuffed full of cock by somebody who can give you everything you need.”

his filthy monologue fell on deaf ears as you tried with all your might to look away from the camera on your jacket, knowing that you had totally blown your case as well as presumably destroying your reputation. fucking a married man is one thing, fucking a married man whose wife is your client who hired to prove he was cheating? maybe you could spin it as doing your job a little too well?

“I can tell you’re close, sweetheart, go ahead and come for me. I wanna feel this pretty pussy squeeze me, milk my fuckin cock when you come.”

mainly you were just trying not to get too loud, afraid that the car wouldn’t be enough to muffle your noises in case somebody walked through the mostly empty parking lot.

“andy!” you yelped when you reached your peak, not really meaning to but it came out anyways, he chuckled a little, the sound morphing into a growl as you clenched down around him with each wave of pleasure washing over you.

“fuck, don’t fuckin stop, this pussy feels so good I think I’m gonna come inside...”

you were too out of it to protest; you would’ve gone limp and fallen down onto your chest if he hadn’t held you up, his cock flexing against your overstimulated walls as he painted your insides with his come.

he grinned as he stilled his movements, catching his breath for a moment before sitting up and pulling out, slipping your panties back on to keep his come inside for a bit longer.

it was all a blur as he helped you half-redress before he all but shoved you out of the car, stuffing his cock back into his pants before getting into the driver’s seat and starting the engine.

“tell my wife I said ‘hi’,” he winked at you as he drove off, leaving you with wobbly legs balancing on your heels while his come leaking down your thighs.

#andy barber x reader #andy barber smut #Anonymous

905 notes · View notes

natewriteslol · 3 years

Note

Hey lol i hope i'm not bothering bug if that's okay could i request the first years + Grim {platonic only for the gremlin lol} (sorry i just love them they're all so precious🥺) with a MC who has demonic heritage? Like, when the mirror judged them he talked about them being stronger than the average human or something and they just shrugged went "ah yeah, it's because my grandparents are demons".

They're still human since they're the dominant genes but as i said previously they're stronger than an average person and have heightened senses. they're not as strong as a demon or a half-human half-demon but they're capable to defend themselves if needed.

Bonus if they actually get to meet their demon relatives and their relatives are super sweet to them. Sorry i just love the thought of a thousands of years old creature being soft for a kid 👉👈 gsksgs sorry that this is so specific gsksgsk

A/N: There’s nothing wrong with specific asks bby I love this prompt! I will be making a part two where the first years meet the grandparents :)

Y/N is gender neutral

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Epel Felmeir, Jack Howl, Sebek Zigvolt, Grim (platonic ofc)

Ace:

-You both had to study for an upcoming test for Magical History

-Ace texting you, and I quote “PLZ HELP”

-With a ridiculously, large textbook with leather fastening laid out on the table and other resources you began your session

-”Okay, I understand every section of this book. But the last one is about demons, but I really don’t understand it. It’s in this forgien text and I can’t read any of it.”

-You turned to look at the page, looking it over, you understood it perfectly

-”It’s discussing magic potion compounds demons use. It’s nothing that we really need to study in depth.”

-Ace looked at you like you grew another head, “How could you understand any of that, Y/N!?”

-”Well, my grandparents are demons after all.”

-”Y/N, what the fuck.”

-You can’t just drop a bombshell like that?? So casually??

- Ace had been crushing on you forever, and just now you’re confessing this to him??

-I mean he knew that you were incredibly strong, but he just thought that was how humans from this place you call Earth come from

-He was so shocked and in a state of disbelief that he just had to meet your grandparents

Deuce:

-There had been rumors of a dark evil from within the forest, something otherworldly

-”Hey Deuce, wanna go check out of what's in the forest?” you asked, bored on this Friday night

-”W-what?! Are you crazy? I’m not going with you and you shouldn’t either-”

-And there he was, by your side roaming through the dark forest with a flashlight

-Hearing the coos and caws of different creatures lurking within

-”Ah new humans to devour, my favorite!” a new voice exclaimed.

-And while Deuce screamed, he got infront of you to protect you “Y/N get behind me now!”

-”Y/N?

-You recognized that voice. “Eren?”

-”Oh, well this is awkward-”

-”Now what did your mother tell you about terrorizing the innocent?” you asked, gripping the shadow beast’s...ear?

-”Now you best go home, otherwise I’ll tell Aunt Acheron!”

-Deuce was in a state of shock, mouth gaping open at your exchange

-”Sorry, that was my cousin Eren” you said sheepishly.

-”What do you mean cousin?” Deuce asked, not believing what was coming out of your mouth

-”Well my grandparents are demons. Almost my entire family is!”

-You were just… full of surprises aren’t you Y/N…

Epel:

-Pomefiore was hosting a “Party for the Ages” as Vil called it

-And they needed to get these decorations on point, so Epel called Y/N to help aid them

-They needed to hand the streamers from the upper handrail of the stairs, which keep in mind is a completely second story

-”Hey Y/N, could you please hang these up there?” Epel asked, handing you the streamers

-”Oh okay cool” you replied. Wait why are you running- oh my god you jumped to the second story of the dorm

-”Y/N!” Epel yelled out.

-”Yeah?”

-”What did you just do?!”

-That was superhuman strength, no human being could jump from the ground to the second story of a house, let alone a mansion like building?

-Once you both finished decorating you told him about your heritage with demons

-” I-I see”

-He understands but he is still in shock

Jack:

-He always knew that there was something strange about you

-Your abilities were flat out inhuman and your smell was different

-But he just couldn’t figure it out

-Until one day, he just had to ask

-You decided to help the organize the Rugby field with him in the afternoon

-”Hey, Jack! Catch!” you said, about 80 feet away from him

-And there you threw, except you didn’t quite aim it right

-And...the ball went right out of the vicinity

-the display looking like a comet as it blistered with so much heat it turned a bright orange-fiery hue

-Jack gasped at what just happened

-”Y/N, what even are you?” he asked, still bewildered

-”Well, a quarter demon. I’m not as strong as my grandparents though” you smiled.

-Jack loves you dearly Y/N, but god did you confuse him

Sebek:

-Ah, Sebek he really did try to keep his feelings for you at bay

-I mean, him with a human? Pathetic, it could never happen

-But everyone did see how he treated you more gently than others he had distaste for

-When he realized your true power and when you told him about your family was when you challenged to spar him

-Sebek decided to just go easy on you and throw out a couple of magical beams or whatever to help your skills in combat-

-Wait you’re beating his ass hold on-

-Even though Sebek won, the fae started his own little fit

-”What was that?! T-That isn’t like weak humans at all!”

-”Well, technically I’m not human since my grandparents are demons.”

-You grabbed your towel since you started to sweat

-”Well I’m going home, nice sparring match, Sebek! You did super good!” you complimented, giving a soft pat to his forehead with the back of your palm

-If he struggled this much fighting someone who only has a ¼ or ½ human DNA (he doesn’t know your parent’s DNA after all) then how powerful is a fullbread demon?

-The man has so many questions that he will bother you about

Grim (platonic):

-He knew during the first few months of school when you both had ghosts in your dorm

-And while you didn’t mind, there were a few in particular that seriously got on your nerves

-Those ghosts had to go

-One day they just wouldn’t stop messing with Grim

-And while he is a slight menace to society, Grim didn’t deserve it

-So you decided to take out your Amina Box (Soul Box), or your Soul Snatcher as you liked to call it that your grandmother had gifted to you

-Once you opened it, in the ghosts went inside vacuum like

-Grim was so weirded out

-”They were bullying me the whole time and you didn’t bother to stop them?! And where did you even get a box like that, stupid human?”

-”First of all, it was a little funny. Second off, I’m not really a human, after all my grandparents were demons.”

-Grim stayed in silence, connecting the dots until the light bulb went off and he got a little jealous

- “How come all the cool stuff happens to you?” Grim said, pouting.

-”Don’t worry, Grim. If ‘cool stuff’ happens, I’ll be sure to take you with me. I promise.”

#twisted wonderland fanfictions #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland reactions #twst x reader #ace trappola #deuce spade #grim #sebek zigvolt #jack howl #epel felmier #ace x reader #deuce x reader #sebek x reader #jack x reader #epel x reader #twisted wonderland x reader

398 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Words Whispered in the Dark

Type: Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: professor!Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 6250🙈

Summary: There are things, intimate desires, which people simply don’t want to talk about out loud. Since you prefer writing those down, it applies twice as much.

Steve supports your writing – but what he’d think about your newest story… well, you’re not sure you wanted to know.

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, bondage, oral (M rec), consensual sensory deprivation, praise kink & body worship, ‘babygirl’, fingering, dom/sub undertones & implied age gap & professor-student dynamic & cumplay if you squint, language ---- (let me know if I missed any…why is the list so long wtf)

A/N: Can be read as a standalone. Part of the Attached ‘verse with professor!Steve.

A/N: For Siri’s 5K Soft Dark Challenge. Congratulations to the rightfully earned milestone ❤️ Thank you for hosting the challenge and kindly including even soft fics (even though I feel like my soft got lost in translation a bit).

Prompt: “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.” - bold in the text, pls don’t @ me for the way I used it.

Stepping back into your and Steve’s shared bedroom and study room in one, you froze on spot, heart leaping to your throat.

You were lucky you didn’t drop your coffee and snack upon the sight of him, your fingers gripping the items tighter in surprise instead. But fuck, was it a close call.

Because few minutes ago, you moved to the kitchen to grab some refreshments for your brain. Relaxed air had settled over your tiny but loving household on a late Sunday morning; Steve was chilling on the bed, while you sat by your desk, laptop in your lap as your fingers danced over the keyboard, putting into words your latest… uhm, story. It was going great too and being able to steal glances at your gorgeous fiancé and muse in one person was a pleasant bonus.

Steve was, as sheepish as it sometimes made you, well-acquainted with your passion for writing, even rooting for you in his fully-supportive partner mode at all times. He read a few things of yours, both dirty and sweet ones, and he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. You weren’t hiding things from him, never had to; and damn, did it feel good for both of you.

So technically, you knew there was a chance you’d find him behind your desk, eyes skimming over your words since you left the computer opened, just like the document, but… well.

Nothing could prepare you for the sight on him actually doing it, shoulders tense, Adam’s apple bobbing, breathing shaky as his chest kept rising and falling irregularly.

Your own breath hitched at the sight, face feeling like set aflame, pulse hammering in your temples.

Oh no. Oh shit. This wasn’t happening--

Truth was, you really had no problem sharing your stories with Steve. But this one… well, fuck. You were so fucking screwed.

“Oh---oh honey,” you stuttered, the endearment you rarely used tasting foreign on your tongue. That was how out of it you were upon realizing what was happening here.

Steve was reading it. Steve was reading that thing. That shameless, entirely dubious thing that--- this was bad. Bad, bad, bad, really fucking bad—he hadn’t run for the hills before, no matter how filthy your stories got, but now he certainly would.

Steve’s head snapped to you at instant, cheeks flushed, eyes wide as he was caught red-handed.

“You- uh, you weren’t supposed to… see that,” you stuttered awkwardly, still unable to move an inch.

Maybe you should run for the hills just so you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath?

He didn’t react apart from spinning in the chair to face you, throat working again as his gaze trailed up and down your figure clad in a simple shirt and shorts, fluffy socks to keep your feet warm. Despite your plain outfit, his gaze burned with intensity and dare to say hunger, enough to stir heat in your belly.

Realizing this might be the last time you’d ever see him (okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration, maybe, but better safe than sorry), you let yourself to take him in as well, again, even if you knew every line of his body, every detail. The cut of his jaw, tendons in his throat tense as well as his shoulders, long fingers griping the armrests, legs slightly parted, accenting the unmistakable growing bulge between them.

Your heart skipped a startled and excited beat. Oh. Well. At least he liked what he read, you supposed, even if all bells in your head were ringing it alarm, because… that. That kind of story would be a little too much for him, you had thought.

Was it?

“Come here,” he whispered, voice hoarse as if he had just woken up, the same voice that caressed your ear as he rutted into you, in the lazy loving which so perfectly fit a morning like this.

Willing your feet to move, teeth sunk into your lower lip, your fluffy socks padded almost soundlessly against the floor as you obeyed his request.

He gestured for you to rid yourself of the items in your hands; once again, you obliged.

The second your hands were free, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you in for a dirty kiss, fingers sinking into your hair to keep you exactly where he wanted you. Sighing in relief, you relaxed into his affection and he wasted no time licking into your mouth, his free hand gripping onto your shirt (his shirt) to drag you into his lap.

A hazardous position in an office chair, one might think. But you had a lot of practice with your favourite professor.

Sliding lower in the seat and pulling you up, Steve positioned you to his liking, drawing an appreciative hum from you as his erection rubbed deliciously against your core. You felt him smile into the kiss at the little sound you made, his fingers digging into your flesh in order to press you into him further, rutting against your quickly dampening centre.

Okay, who were you kidding. You had been writing down your filthy fantasy, you were already soaked, Steve’s movements and apparent enthusiasm just adding to the heat. A whine escaped your lips when he withdrew a fraction, giving you a chance to breathe, hand slipping under your shorts to fondle your lower cheek.

“Well, I did see it, sweetheart,” Steve said lowly, a little too short of breath for the teasing to work in his favour. Still, your stomach twisted in anticipation of what was to follow. “And I want it.”

Your eyes snapped open, your lips parting in awe, butterflies erupting in your stomach. You met his eyes, dark pupils having almost swallowed the blue of his irises, gaze intent to prove his point. Fuck. You could come right now if he kept you sitting exactly as you were and watching you like that.

It was one thing to see him react to your fantasy laid bare for him to see – voluntarily or not – but him admitting it out loud, well that was just a whole new fucking level.

Now the idea of that actually being doable was planted in our brain and your core clenched at the wistful image you had painted with your words.

It took you another minute of staring at each other to realize what exactly he was saying without explicitly voicing it.

“Wait, right now?” you blurted out breathlessly, a single nod and a kiss to the corner of your mouth your only answer.

Fuck. Shit. Okay.

“A-alright. Let’s do this then,” you stuttered, as thrilled as nervous.

You didn’t expect that – but you weren’t one to let the opportunity pass. You framed Steve’s face with your palms, his beard rough against your skin, and pressed your lips to his in a hurried kiss, eager to get him where you needed him before he changed his mind. Last grind of your hips, swallowing his content hum, you climbed from his lap to search for something that would hold.

“Bed. Now.”

Your fingers were shaking a bit under his intent gaze as they slipped under his t-shirt, pulling it over his head. Steve was sitting on the bed now, legs parted enough for you to stand between them, watching our every move. You didn’t think you’d ever get used to the way he was looking at you – so tender, with longing and yet with such lust.

It lit your nerves on fire in the worst and best ways and that was alright with you, as long as you’d get to keep him.

He smiled at you softly, a little quirk to his eyebrow when he caught you staring and not springing into action just yet.

“What is it, babygirl?”

His hands trailing up your waist made it harder to answer.

You sighed, feeling your earlier confidence wavering. “You’re just so fucking pretty, it’s unreal.”

His lips curled up in a smirk, but the light in his eyes gave away just how much the compliment meant for him. He pulled you closer, a breathy kiss landing on your clothed stomach.

“That coming from you… could look at you all day, you must already know that,” he murmured to your shirt, sending a sparkle of courage up your chest.

You ruffled his hair and pushed him away with a chuckle, mirroring his previous smirk.

“Well, you won’t, not this time,” you sing-sang cheekily, stepping over his thigh to kneel on the bed behind him, hearing his breath catch, his hand brushing your thigh as you danced out of his reach.

Placing the scarf over his forehead first, you felt your insides twist in anticipation, fingertips tingling. God, you were really doing this.

“You ready, Professor Rogers?” you hummed to his ear, marvelling at the effect the title had on him, always, as his hands clenched into fists on his thighs.

“When you say it like that, babygirl? Yes, I am,” he grumbled, causing you to bit down on your lip.

Making sure you didn’t tie the knot too tight nor too loose, you moved the fabric so it would cover his eyes.

“Good?”

“Uh-huh,” was his wordless answer as you let your hands slid to his bare shoulders.

Steve was undoubtedly a specimen. He was every male-attracted person’s wet dream and you were the one getting your hands on him. You thanked heaven and hell for it every day. The barely visible lines of his abs, toned chest… but Christ, it was his back that would be your downfall.

Allowing your hands to wander, your fingertips traced the hard lines of his deltoids, a featherlight touch making him shudder and your mouth to actually salivate. Dropping a kiss between his shoulder blades, you scooted closer so you were literally breathing down his neck, palms sprawled over his triceps, caressing his thick biceps, down his forearms and over his fists and all the way back up.

It was almost like a beginning of a massage, you supposed, but no one could blame you if you were enjoying the sensation on your palms a little too much. You didn’t get the opportunity to appreciate Steve’s physique like this often enough. So you indulged yourself a few more times, applying more pressure, dropping a kiss to the crook of his neck every once in a while. He winced at the accidental scrape of your nails up his forearm, causing you to halt in your movements.

“You still good?” you questioned quietly, genuinely worried for a second. You realized he had barely made a sound so far.

“You could say that, yeah,” he choked out you felt your lips curl up into a smile. Stealing a glance over his shoulder, you took notice of the unmistakable hard outline on his sweatpants and gleefully resumed your movements, nibbling on his shoulder before soothing the skin with a gentle lick. “Babygirl…”

“Yeah?”

“You know what. Don’t test me,” he warned, only making you smile wider.

“Or what?”

He turned his head to side despite not being able to see you, giving you a perfect view of how tense was his jaw. Oh, you could imagine the stern look he wanted to scold you with.

“Or you’re not gonna like what’s to come when I put my hands on you,” he threatened, sighing exasperatedly when you replied with a barely audible ‘promise?’.

“In all seriousness though… what if you… uhm, couldn’t?” you asked reluctantly, not keen on sharing what you wanted… but wanting it really badly. You were sensing a pattern within yourself, seriously.

“I don’t follow--- oh,” escaped him soundlessly as your fingers attempted to wrap around his wrists and squeezed to give him a hint. “I don’t know about that, I mean-“

You felt your hear sink in disappointment, but you tried not to let it show, wondering how to try to convince him one more time. Sure, if it was a no-no, then you wouldn’t force him, he never forced you into anything either and this was about your mutual pleasure, but… now, having him partially at your mercy, the idea nudged insistently on your mind and the image of him with his hands tied above his head while you could do anything you pleased… you might have been soaking the shorts and the sheets at that.

“We don’t have to, Steve,” you assured him kindly, hundred percent honest despite planning on playing dirty. Your hands moved to his abdomen, caressing their way up his chest, accidently brushing over his left nipple, your lips moving to his ear. “But I’d be so good to you…”

“Babygirl,” he whispered, out of breath as your hand wandered down his happy trail, slipping just under the hem of his sweats, the fingers of your other hand moving to the neglected nipple, this time shamelessly toying with it.

“I’d be such a good girl for you, Professor Rogers,” you promised, keeping the smile off your voice when you heard him gulp, his cock visibly twitching. “I’d be really, really nice. Don’t you want that, Professor?”

“Y-yeah, yeah, okay-“

“Good choice,” you said approvingly, dropping a kiss to his cheek, making him groan and probably regret his decision already. You stood up, quickly looking for something you could use. “Just so you know, I think this is where the same rule applies,” you noted matter-of-factly. “You don’t like something I do, you want me to stop at any point, you tell me. I really want this to be good for you, Steve. So. What’s the word?”

From the front, you could see the blush that spread over his chest, causing you to bite your lip and nearly stumble over your feet. Good lord, Steve blindfolded, all flushed and waiting for you on the bed so you could do your worst--- now that was a sight to behold.

“Uhm… Waterloo?”

You bit your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at his choice. It was cute and ridiculous... but also kinda hot, because well, Steve’s brains were just another turn-on for you. Of course he would choose something like that. Professor Steven Grant Rogers, history buff, certified hot nerd, the sweetest man to ever walk the Earth.

You pressed your lips together to prevent yourself from smiling too wide. You didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like he could see you.

“Okay. Waterloo it is,” you said, swiftly moving to the closet when another idea popped in your head.

Slipping into a new outfit before heading back, you were rather satisfied with yourself as you grabbed the two ties you found prior. Not that it would actually hold him – it was about the idea.

“You’re taking a bit long, babygirl…”

“And? You mind?” you teased him, stopping to stand in front of him. “Have some… pressing issues?”

“Keep it up, babygirl, see what happens once this is over,” he bit back, only making you chuckle at the perfect pass.

“I think there’s something else that’s up--- sorry, sorry,“ you mumbled when his hand landed blindly on your thigh.

His brows furrowed when he felt the difference.

“You changed.”

“Uh-huh.”

His hand trailed up curiously, right under your miniskirt and you let him… just until air got stuck in his throat upon finding you with nothing but the generous amount of slick covering your core.

“Fuck-“

“Nope,” you replied cheekily, even if the flicker of his finger caused you to shudder, his touch like liquid fire at this point.

Fuck, you wanted him. You wanted him right now and you wanted him to take you in every way he wanted… but the idea of him at your mercy was appealing enough for you to control yourself.

You grasped his wrist and shoved it away; he allowed it, but not without whining pitifully.

“Lie down, Steve, please. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“You better,” he grunted, unwillingly moving up the bed, obediently spreading out on the sheets and letting you guide his arms up as you climbed over him and tied his wrists together.

“Not too tight?”

He shook his head, a smirk crossing over his lips. You rolled your eyes at the double meaning, but you guessed it served you right.

Oh, but would you wipe that smirk off…

Securing the knot, you shifted to be face to face with him, lips hovering just above his mouth, breathing the same air and hoping to begin the sweet torture.

You had to admire his patience; despite definitely noticing your positions, Steve didn’t move an inch. It was up to you then – and the premise sent another thrill through your veins. Oh, you’d break him in the most delicious ways.

As soon as you erased the distance, his lips sunk into yours hungrily, wet and soft in the contrast to his beard, the sensation you adored, having you squirming above him until you remembered again that you were the one in control.

You kissed him with vigour, licking into his mouth, one hand still where his were joined, the other pressing against his chest. Your tongue met his, revelling at his taste and at another of his tries to dominate the kiss, to set things as they usually were. But as much as you loved it when he took charge… not today.

Parting abruptly, his lips following on instinct, you couldn’t but grin to yourself. Kissed his fingertips, you lingered at the one still glistening with your juices. You took it to your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and sucking lightly, feeling Steve’s heart speed up under your palm like crazy.

When you lightly grazed the skin with your teeth, his groan and the way his hips thrusted upward was the best reward you could get.

Kissing a trail down his arm – because goddammit you loved his arms – you hummed to yourself contentedly whenever you could feel the slightest shift of his body under yours and greedy for more contact, you allowed yourself to put most of your weight fully on him.

The choked sound it elicited from him startled you at first – until you realized that with your skirt hiked up, you weren’t the only one enjoying the skin-on-skin contact, your slick coating Steve’s lower stomach just above his sweats. Hopefully it was giving him ideas – it was certainly was to you.

Rustle of fabric, ragged breaths, occasional smacking noise when you moved up or left a small hickey on his shoulder and above his collarbone. Your fingers toyed gently with his nipples as you kissed his sternum before replacing your hands with your mouth once more, sucking, drawing a quiet whimper from him.

Fuck couldn’t get enough of the noises he was making. The pretty breathless moans of your name, the curses slipping from his lips… it was like music, but on a desperately low volume.

“What is it you always tell me?” you teased, lamely covering for the fact that your own arousal was nearly uncontainable. Shit, you loved how sensitive his nipples were… how much more sensitive he must have been now, no visual, laser focused on every touch instead? You wanted more… so much more. “Don’t hold these pretty sounds from me?”

Steve gritted his teeth at the remark, but as soon as you positioned your heat directly over his hard length and rolled your hips, he sang for you beautifully.

“Shit, sweetheart-“

The rush of confidence, the feeling of power was almost overwhelming – the image of him, lips parted in mute pleasure, certainly was. You were a little too close to climbing your own peak a little too quickly to your liking.

Sitting up straight, you undulated your hips few times, hands tracing patterns over Steve’s rapidly rising chest and abs. Much to his obvious dislike, you all too soon slid lower, your mouth making its way down his abdomen and then you finally, finally rid him of his sweatpants and boxers in one go.

His cock sprang free, hard and red at the tip, leaking just enough to cause your mouth to water and your thighs to rub together to give yourself some of the friction you craved so much.

Hands planted on his hips, you kissed along his hip bones and the apex of his thighs, taking your sweet time exploring everything you could – except for where you suspected he wanted you the most. You had to grin for yourself when you cupped his balls, causing him to hiss in relief, the muscles of his abdomen and legs clenching beautifully.

“Talk to me, Steve,” you hummed as you replaced your hand with your tongue, licking a stripe towards his base.

“Christ- don’t stop--“

“Eloquent as always, Professor,” you retreated, causing him to let out a growly sound you never heard before and had your core tingle, cunt feeling awfully empty.

Christ was right, alright. Seeing his chest heaving, fingers twitching as if he wanted nothing but to tug at your hair to keep you there and stuff your mouth full of his cock--- if you didn’t get some soon, you might actually combust.

So you put your mouth back to work on his sack again, fingers barely curling around the base of his cock, giving a first experimental stroke before you squeezed a bit tighter – and then swiftly moved away, his hips following on instinct in, craving more.

“For fuck’s --- how did I ever think you were sweet and nice?” he complained huskily, impatience lacing his voice.

You chuckled, but heard him out, leaving his balls in order to give more attention to his impressive and possibly painfully hard length.

“Beats me,” you retorted, hands busy with gentle strokes to his shaft. “I mean, we literally got together thanks to you finding out I wrote about sucking and riding your dick right in your office, Professor Rogers.”

“You little-“

His protests died in his throat, features twisting in wordless pleasure when you finally wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, delivering a few kitten licks to the tip. His taste exploded on your tongue, eliciting a content hum which he certainly felt too, because a jerk of his hips pushed him deeper to your mouth.

Slowly swallowing as much as you could without having him hit the back of your throat, you curled your hand tighter around the base and started bobbing your head.

A string of breathless profanities left his mouth whenever you squeezed, only getting filthier when you hollowed your cheeks. It was all encouragement you needed to take him deeper, giving him a taste of heaven as his tip brushed the back of your throat.

“Babygirl, fuck, fuck, yeah--- just like that…”

Your own arousal became unbearable, a surge of hot need squeezing your insides at Steve’s praise. Slipping a hand under your skirt, you sighed in relief when your fingers caressed your lower lips, hips bucking forward in desperate need of more.

Your predicament was impossible to solve – you wanted him inside you already, so badly, but fuck the picture Steve made, even if blurry as tears prickled your eyes whenever he hit the back of your throat, was just too divine.

Lips crimson with how he kept biting at them to keep at least a little quiet, hair sticking to his forehead, muscles drawn tight like strings as he kept clenching them both unwittingly and consciously in hope to get you where he wanted you and the fresh taste of him whenever you did something he particularly liked--- you simply had to feast your eyes on him. And he couldn’t do the same… or take charge for that matter.

So fucking pretty like this.

And you were the only one seeing him like that, tied up, helpless against the assault on his senses sans vision. He gave himself up to you like that, willingly. The thought warmed you up inside out, enough to drive you nearly as crazy as if you were in his place.

Wasting no time with preparation you didn’t need, you pushed two fingers into your core at once, whimpering around Steve’s cock when you did. Your whole body relaxed, the pent-up desire easing a little and yet burning hotter. You pumped your fingers slowly, the sensation so blissful you had to remind yourself to keep working on Steve too.

Still, your actions didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you—are you touching yourself, babygirl?” he whispered, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

It took you a second to swallow the baseless embarrassment and literally swallow, causing Steve to let out a moan so wrecked and pretty you felt your pussy clamp around your fingers.

Hoping your words would come out less shy than you felt when saying them, you released Steve’s length with a wet pop to tease him some more.

“Yeah, I am…. Why? You want a taste?” you asked sweetly, clearing your throat that suddenly felt so empty.

The guttural moan that erupted in Steve’s chest was music to your ears, his cock twitching and glistening with fresh beads of precum a sight to behold.

“Yeah, babygirl… give it to me,” he choked out and the genuine desire in his voice was like a punch to your solar plexus. Your walls clenched around your fingers, the familiar coil in your abdomen tightening.

Swallowing a pitiful sigh at the loss, you stretched over the warm length of Steve’s body, gulping when his own parted in invitation.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Reluctantly, you let the fingers sticky with your juices brush over Steve’s lips, gasping when his tongue instantly slid out to lick at the essence eagerly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Fuck, always so sweet, babygirl…” he muttered, your breath stuck in your throat when his mouth blindly chased after your fingers before you could withdraw your hand.

“Oh my god-“ you choked out, mesmerized, your pussy clamping around nothing.

He sucked greedily, the image alone causing your hips to rut against his, your clit catching against his rock-hard shaft. Your eyes fluttered close in bliss, stars exploding behind your eyelids.

Unwittingly, you worked your hips faster, riding Steve’s thick cock even without having him inside. The friction, the soaked fabric of your skirt brushing against your clit, the sensation of Steve’s tongue lapping at your fingers as if he had his mouth on your pussy instead--- you felt the coil in your belly snap, the world turning white before you knew how.

You came with a broken cry, blissed out and shocked at the sudden release, but riding your pleasure out on instinct.

Grazing your fingers with his teeth as he let go, Steve spoke words so filthy our head spun.

“That’s it, babygirl. Fuck. Look how little my girl needed to come all over my cock. Using me so shamelessly. You must have really wanted it, didn’t you…” he said, voice hoarse with a tint of smugness as you came back from your high, the dirty talk only already riling you up again.

You had no idea what just happened, but you had a feeling Steve immensely enjoyed it as he somehow got the upper hand on you despite being the one tied up.

For someone who was supposed to have all blood out of his brain and have it in his dick instead, he was way too smug… but you’d reverse it again. He had no idea what was about to hit him.

Stealing a kiss to taste ourself on his tongue, your fingers went to remove the blindfold.

Your professor was, in certain aspects, still just a simple guy – he liked a good visual. It was silly of you to rid him of it in the first place, no matter how much fun you had with it.

Steve blinked in surprise, squinting against the sudden light, while you slipped out of your bralette, leaving you in nothing but your very schoolgirl-like mini skirt. You smiled at him sweetly, kissing his mouth once more, thumb softly brushing his lips as you towered over him, nearly giving him a view of what was under the fabric.

“I always want you,” you whispered with a smile, your hand cupping your breast, gently tweaking your nipple, his gaze following the movement as his fingers twitched. You bit the inside of your cheek, hand slowly trailing down. “Want you to touch me, everywhere. Always so wet and ready for you…”

Dark eyes watched you as you slipped your fingers under the waist of the skirt, a tiny mewl escaping you when the pad of your fingers bumped into your clit.

You would have felt stupid trying to give him a show after you came after almost nothing, but the warning growl of your name once again assured you that unsexy was the last thing that came to Steve’s mind when looking at you. It warmed both your belly and your heart. You almost felt regretful for a moment that you were still keeping him hanging, neglecting his no doubt aching cock, but he thought he had the upper hand here.

He was wrong.

“Always thinking of you… even when I’m alone, always thinking about your fingers, stretching me so good, about you fucking me, so hard till I’m screaming your name,” you continued in hushed voice, revelling at how tight his jaw set, eyes narrowed, breathing once again picking up.

“Babygirl—”

“Oops, sorry,” you chipped, pecking his lips as you withdrew your hand, quickly drawing a trail of kisses down his chest and abdomen, unable to resist a lick here and there where the line of his muscles looked particularly tasty. “Just thought you’d like to see my mouth on you. You like to watch, Professor Rogers, no?”

He never got a chance to answer as you guided him to your mouth again, holding his gaze as he indeed watched, eyebrows furrowing, each breath hitching, soon chanting your name. You caressed his balls as well, tongue tracing the vein on the underside of his length, your other hand firmly around his base.

You were the first to avert his gaze as your eyes fluttered close so you could fully focus on your task, relaxing your throat.

“Babygirl--- fuck me-- I’m gonna-“

You eased up a bit, earning a frustrated growl, the corners of your lips rising a bit as you imagined the ugly glare he must have shot you.

Thinking about it, closing your eyes was a mistake.

You never saw it coming as a hand suddenly sunk into your hair, yanking you up face to face with him, alarmed eyes staring into black ones as his pupils nearly swallowed all the blue or his irises.

He had slipped out of the poorly tied bonds, clearly fed up with your shenanigans.

Ah-oh, sounded in the back of your mind.

Another part of you didn’t fail to notice that despite the swift movement and calling an end to your games, Steve’s fingers were careful not to pull too harshly, making sure he was cradling your head safely. Same when he rolled you over, trapping you under the hard lines of muscle you had been tasting a moment ago, protective cage of his arms around your head.

If you weren’t so startled, you would have swooned.

You never got the chance, because any possible sound was muffled by his mouth crashing into yours, hand slipping from your nape to your throat to keep you in place with a wordless warning, hips pressed to yours just in case you would want to escape.

You would never. Even if you had a hunch Steve was about to ruin you in a way that would have you feel it for days.

Having enough of your mouth for the moment, giving you a chance to gasp for air, he stared at you smugly, one corner of his perfectly red lips raised in a smirk.

“Wicked little thing, aren’t you?” he grunted, thumb caressing the hollow of your throat softly, causing you to gulp.

You summoned your best innocent look, doe-like eyes that usually worked. “S-sorry?”

A flicker of a smile as he forced his knee between your thighs, instantly pressing against your still sensitive core.

“I don’t think you are, babygirl,” he huffed, nosing the crook of your neck, biting down sharper than you expected, a yelp erupting from your throat. He soothed in with the pad of his thumb, smiling wide, something soft in his eyes when he looked at you again. You were so fucking baffled at what that meant. ”That perfect filthy mind of yours… and you still get a bit shy, huh?”

“W-what?”

“You know what I think, babygirl?” he whispered intimately, teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “I think that you left the document opened on purpose.”

Your rapidly beating heart stopped in your chest, wind knocked out of you completely.

Fuck.

You were so busted.

Steve had read you like a book wide open--- because of course he did.

Yes, there had been a great part of you who wished for him to see it, hoping in this exact outcome; there had been an equally great part dreading what he would think about you. Writing the story down, you were thinking a bit more with your pussy than your brain though, so you decided to leave it for Steve to read. If he went for it, maybe you’d get something from it. If he didn’t, you’d move on. No harm no fool, right?

Right. No.

Now he did know and saw right through your little trick. And damn, did he look proud of himself for figuring it out. You were in so much trouble.

Somehow, you were as horrified as excited.

Steve chuckled as you swallowed against your suddenly dry throat, eyes no doubt wide as saucers.

“Oh, you did. Too shy to ask for it, leaving that to me instead. My sneaky, needy girl,” he muttered, fondness and humour with a dark lilt in his voice.

“I—I didn’t know how-“ you stuttered, feeling your face burning in embarrassment at his tone, just a smidge patronizing.

You averted his gaze, a vain attempt really, knowing he wouldn’t let you. Slipping two fingers under your chin, he guided you to face him again.

“Didn’t know how… hmm… so you thought you’d play me? That’s really naughty, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry… Professor Rogers,” you added quickly in hopes to mollify him, indeed earning a sweet kiss.

“Oh, it’s okay, babygirl. You know why?” he tested you and you could only shake your head lightly, guessing at best what kind of revenge awaited you. “Because you’re my good girl and you’ll let me settle the score. I’ll play with you now. It’s only fair, no?”

Oh fuck, here it came.

For a brief second, his lust-filled eyes appeared startingly clear and sober, boring into yours with a serious question.

It’s only fair, no? he had said.

It’s alright with you if the roles reverse, right? was what he was truly asking, checking, always checking if you were okay, just like you had been checking with him.

Because sex was fun, but only if all parties were on board.

Because Steve was sweet, considerate, soft and loving and he was everything you ever looked for in a man and more. You trusted him. You always did and you trusted him now – he would make you feel so so good. It was never really a question.

“Y—yes, it is.”

“Good girl,” he praised you, causing your core to weep. And he knew it, oh did he know and shamelessly used it against you... a little payback to all the professor you’d been throwing around. “Close your eyes.”

And you did. The blindfold came first, then hands, his fingers skimming over your forearms teasingly, feather-light touch on your sensitive skin, before he finally brought them up and tied them together.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

No, you were absolutely not ready, but your body was buzzing with desire again at that point, so you breathed a soft yes. And maybe, just maybe… no matter how you had enjoyed driving him crazy, cheeky and full of feeling of power, this felt like home. Because you trusted him – and so you gave yourself to him wholly.

He hummed in contentment as you confirmed, causing you shiver as he nosed the skin under your ear. “Good. Because I’m going to wreck you for that little stunt of yours.”

His words tickled the sensitive skin and shit, okay, your nerve endings were tingling, the sensation amplified tenfold with your eyes covered. Steve really was going to wreck you.

Mouth moving to your breast, he took the nipple in his mouth, shifting so the head of his cock nudged at your weeping opening, pushing just a bit with a promise of a delicious stretch, almost, almost there.

“Please,” was all you managed to breathe out, growing impatient, hissing when gave a playful bite to the underside of your breast, sending a surge of arousal through your veins. You back arched, a mewl escaping your when Steve moved his hips away completely, denying you.

“And you’re gonna take it, aren’t you?” he muttered to your skin, lips trailing lower and lower, warm and soft, beard leaving behind a delicious burn.

“Y- yes.”

“Good girl. And what else are you going to do? Tell me,” he encouraged you, large palms pushing your thighs apart so he could fit the insanely broad shoulders between them.

Mind foggy with need, senses overwhelmed, you still had enough wits to understand what he wanted to hear.

“Thank you,” you breathed out.

“Damn straight.” His words were a damp hot blow of air against your mound, causing your hips to jolt as if your body was begging to be taken apart by him already – blissfully aware of how he would put it back together again.

And with an inevitable scratch to your lower lips and a kitten lick to your swollen bud for starters, Steve did.

Attached masterlist

S.R. masterlist

I sincerely apologize for twisting the prompt and not even being able to write a soft enough fic the one time I’m supposed to.

But I hope you enjoyed anyway. I mean, if you made it to the end…

Thank you for reading :-*

Your Anika I’m-Not-a-Smut-Writer Ann

P.S. Fic loosely relates to one of the reblogs of this series: “You know one good thing about being an erotic writer is - you don’t have to talk about your embarrassing kinks. You want to tie your boyfriend up? You just email him a story about it 'subtly’ hinting at it.” Close enough?

#siris5ksoftdarkchallenge #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #professor steve rogers #LEMONS #mind the warnings #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #captain america au #college au #modern au #wrong attachment au #captain america #captain america x you #captain america x reader #attached #words whispered in the dark #anika ann

371 notes · View notes

cdroloisms · 3 years

Note

I have seen a few fanfics with this premise, so now I wanna see your hands drabble with it. AU where everything is the same except nobody knows that Dream is actually the youngest member of the SMP at 14-15 years old. Bonus points, revived Wilbur figures it out and makes some plans for how to use this knowledge to his advantage.

ooh yeah !! this au is one of my favorites - it’s a really interesting examination on the mindset of different characters in the server, plus just fun for just Angst Purposes. this is a little messy but i hope you like it!

tw: abuse, torture mentions, broken bones, branding mentions, trauma, emotional distress, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms, smoking, mental illness, panic attack, mentioned death, dark portrayals of ,, most of the server, prison arc/pandora’s vault

“Hey. Thought I’d find you here.”

Wilbur turns at the familiar voice at his back, smiling.

“Dream,” he pulls him in to clap him on the back, ignoring the other’s full-body flinch at his movements. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Don’t pull that bullshit on me,” Dream’s words are biting, but he smiles as he says them - a small, bitter thing that stretches over his scarred skin. His new mask is pulled to the side of his face, exposing the dark bags beneath his grey-green eyes, the varied scars that fall over the bridge of his nose and under his jaw to trace down his neck below his collar. Wilbur watches him as he walks forward to stand by his side with a small spark of fascination, enhanced further when Dream’s eyes narrow at him. “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing- nothing,” Wilbur laughs. “They just really did quite a number on you, huh?”

Dream stiffens, then rolls his eyes. “Well, he did have seventy four days, or so I’ve been told,” he quips back, words dry. “Not that there was any keeping track in that hellhole.”

“Speak for yourself,” Wilbur smiles tightly, amusement coloring his words as the other scowls. “I kep track of my thirteen years quite well.”

“Whatever you say, old man,” Dream huffs. “You have a cigarette?”

“I almost feel bad, y’know. You’re kind of underage, man,” Wilbur feels his smile widen when Dream glares up at him, eyes glinting dangerously from behind his eyelashes. “I don’t know if I should.”

“I was younger when you gave me one the first time,” Dream retorts immediately, not bothering to hide his annoyance, sharp-edged and acidic. “And even younger when you drafted child soldiers to fight in a war for your own glory. Don’t make me laugh.”

“Ouch, really know how to hit a man where it hurts, don’t you?” Wilbur mimes pressing a hand to his heart like he’s been shot with one hand, the other fishing through his jacket pocket for his pack. Dream rolls his eyes again, but stretches a hand out for him to press a cigarette and a lighter in his palm.

“Learned from the best,” Dream drawls, going quiet as he focuses on holding the end in the flame and then pulling the lit cigarette to his lips. He chokes, as he always does, on the first drag, sputtering slightly as the smoke seizes in his chest like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit, and Wilbur watches the little flickering light at the end of the stick in his hand as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Surprised I can stand the sight of these things,” Dream says suddenly, quietly, as Wilbur pulls out one of his own to light. He looks up, meeting Wilbur’s quizzical look with a faraway one of his own. “Quackity was a fan of making me his personal ashtray.”

He reaches up towards his collar, pulling it away slightly to reveal a collection of puckered circular burn scars that dot the skin of his shoulder to trace to the edge of his collarbone. Wilbur hums in vague sympathy and acknowledgement, breathing in a drag of his cigarette slow and smooth and feeling the smoke fill his lungs.

“Guess it didn’t make the cut of torture methods bad enough to become a trigger,” he laughs, sharp, the bitter punctuation of a joke he’d realized would fall flat halfway through speaking and fidgets awkwardly with the cigarette in his hand as he looks off into the distance. “I should make a tierlist. It could be...useful.”

The words are empty - Dream wouldn’t be able to stomach torturing anyone and they both know it; Wilbur cocks his head to the side curiously, deciding to press the point anyway.

“Useful?” He takes a deliberately heavy drag, blowing the smoke out slowly from his lips and watching as Dream flinches away from it. “How so?”

Dream keeps looking stubbornly away, the only indication he’s heard at all being the way his lips press tighter together. Wilbur laughs softly.

“You mean with Big Q, don’t you?” Dream’s hand, which never seemed to stop trembling since he’d left Pandora, starts shaking harder, the smoke rising from the cigarette clutched tightly between his fingers making a jagged pattern in the air. “I won’t judge man! He tortured you for- what, 72 days?”

“74,” Dream’s shoulders rise to his ears, his head pitching forward as his arms wrap around his torso in a futile attempt to hold himself, “74 fucking days, and no one gave a single shit.”

Wilbur hums, encouraging, trying to tamp down his curiosity from making itself too obvious in his voice. Dream had been closed off for as long as Wilbur had known him, his walls only rising more after they’d pulled him out, half-starved, half-dead from the depths of the prison, newly revealed face startling young even deprived of the baby fat that would’ve otherwise lingered in its corners. For the other man to actually say something, to give more clues into his head than his usual one-word answers and bitter sarcasm - Wilbur settles in place, raising his cigarette to his lips once again. This will be interesting.

“I just-” Dream’s voice cracks, and he goes quiet, looking down at the cigarette in his hands like it’ll give him the answers he’s looking for. “I don’t understand. They’re all perfectly fine with throwing me in there and leaving me to rot, with letting Quackity come in every single day to make my life hell, but all of a sudden because I’m fifteen that changes? Because I’m a “child”? Because that makes them feel guilty?”

His grip tightens on his arm, breath seizing in his throat. “It doesn’t change a damn thing and they all know it. All of them were perfectly fine with watching me die, with sticking me in that hell, with letting Quackity- fucking-” his free hand reaches for the long tangles of his hair, the sandy locks peeking out from between his fingers, “He did- everything he could fucking think of, carved words on my goddamn back, broke every fucking bone in my body just because he could, branded his fucking NAME on me I-” he squeezes his eyes shut. “I screamed for them every single day. All seventy-fucking-four and I was still calling their names and-” Wilbur reaches towards him, watches as his head snaps away once again. “It didn’t fucking matter.”

“Dream-”

“None of it mattered. All that matters is that I’m a fucking child, that I’m fifteen fucking years old. Not that they stood by while I died twice with no means of defending myself! Not that they threw me in a fucking torture chamber! All that matters is how old I am and I fucking hate them!” He shouts, voice breaking and dissolving into a choked sob, and Wilbur watches quietly as Dream swallowed back his cries, shoulders shaking silently. “I- I hate them. All of them. At least Quackity still treats me like normal- the rest of them just look at me with this- this stupid pity, I don’t need their pity, I don’t need anything from them, not anymore-”

“Dream. Look at me.” Dream’s head snaps over, fear flashing in the backs of his eyes before it disappears as fast as it came. Wilbur ignores it, shucking off his jacket and draping it carefully over the other’s shoulders. “They’re hypocrites, I know. That’s why we’re doing this, yeah? We’re blowing it all up to kingdom come. You know how it goes.”

Dream meets his eyes, a storm warring briefly over his face before he looks down. “It was never meant to be,” he says, sounding tired, sounding resigned, and Wilbur smiles darkly at the self-same bitterness that shadows the words, recognizing the ashy taste from when they had coated his own tongue.

“Atta boy,” he says, grip firm on the other’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow. You can keep the coat for tonight; it’s getting cold.”

“Thank you,” Dream murmurs, quiet, and they both know it’s about more than just the jacket. “See you tomorrow.”

239 notes · View notes