#but i was too tired for drawing like at all

[vypridae]

hi masm fandom today i bring you the shittiest 2 am 10 minute doodle ive done so far. tomorrow? who knows probably the same thing

[flw3rrr]

I love the idea of sevika with a retired brothel worker. Like they fell in love and sevika got her a job at the last drop or smth.

I also love the idea of mama sevika. I would love to give her a child 😭 so maybe domestic fluff around sevika her wife and their child. Lil' Families are my favorite thing

The bright side of things

Parings: Sevika x Retiredbrothelworker!reader

Warnings: Nothing major, Fluff, just full on FLUFF, No mentions of Y/n, and no description of reader. Sevika trying to seem tough around the kid, but fails. (100% let me know if anything is missed!)

Word count: 1.4k

Not proofread! sorry for any typos. I wrote this at like 2 am....oops

A/n: Thank you so much for this request. I loved this idea so much when I first read it, so I had to do this one immediately! 

(I have so many more amazing requests in my inbox, and I'll get to them soon! Thanks so much again for sending this, and I hope you enjoy it)

Dividers by: @cafekitsune

Ever since you retired from working at the brothel, life seemed more simple and comfortable. Sevika, who you met a few months ago before your retirement, had grown onto you. The way she carried herself whenever she would stride around the building made you burn inside a little.

It all got better when you were told you were booked for an hour. Dreading what kind of person you'd have to entertain or boost their ego to make them feel something, but with a big surprise when your face met with Sevika's, she was leaning back, legs spread open as a cigar sat on her lips. That's how everything started for the both of you.

Sevika offered you a job at the last drop when you first told her of your retirement; it got tiring and exhausting physically and mentally. Your heart melted at her offer and took it immediately. It's something you never in your life thought you would work at, but what can you expect? It's a way better job than working at a brothel, body sore and no break.

You always remember to thank her whenever possible; Sevika isn't the type to show affection in public, so you'd always kiss her on the cheek and lips as a way of thanking her. Sharing each sweet moment with one another in your new shared apartment. The undercity wasn't some fairytale place to grow up, but with her presence, it made you forget everything.

Sevika likes that you took her offer on working at the last drop. She now gets to keep an eye on you, especially when she plays poker, and in the quick moment whenever you'd hand her a drink, your eye's lock on hers every time you hand her the glass, a soft and sweet look. Of course her gaze locks in yours in return, but never softens; she can't let half of the undercity that she's practically on her knees for you.

And this is where the both of you are now, still together and head over heels for one another. The two of you sat on the couch that sat in the small living room; you held a sketchbook, drawing random doodles, never being the professional type, though. Sevika just watches you making a game of her own on trying to guess what you're making or stares very confusingly at it. Everything was quiet and calm until a thump was heard from one of the bedroom doors.

The sound of feet padding against the wooden floor became louder until a small girl appeared with a huge smile on her face. Immediately she decided to join the both of you on the couch, but rather than sit, she began to jump and speak very fast.

"Can I please, please, pleaseee come to work with you, Momma? I want to make drinks with you." Speaking so fast, neither you nor Sevika could comprehend a single word. Glancing at Sevika for a quick moment and back to the child before stopping her from jumping on the couch to avoid any possible injuries.

"Selani, remember what we both said about jumping on the couch? You could get hurt easily." Her smile dropped as she looked at Sevika, who spoke about 'the couch wasn't cheap.' Selani gave a nod in return before sitting herself down onto the couch. Both you and Sevika took Selani in after you both found her alone with nobody near; it broke your heart badly, and with not much nagging, you both quickly became her adoptive parents.

You could tell Sevika cared for her just as much as you did, catching moments between the both of them, Selani play fighting with Sevika, who obviously would go easy on the kid knowing her strength would accidentally crush or break a bone. Or whenever Sevika's arm needed to be repaired or a quick fix, Selani was standing right by her, being the best helper.

Slowly shaking your head, sitting down by Sevika once more, both of you would take Selani with you to the last drop, as you had nobody to watch over her. Thank goodness for Jinx sometimes, but you never wanted to pressure her watching over some kid, but she always proves you wrong when Selani is gone, in seconds walking away with Jinx to do whatever.

Sevika did whatever Silco wanted her to do, whether it be cleaning up one of his messes with people or looking scary behind him. But she is graced with time to herself, which is usually at the table playing poker. You'd always say her playing poker was a show just for you because you got to watch her from afar enjoying the smirk her face always held as the other players held a look of defeat.

"You lucked out, kid; none of us are going today." Sevika spoke up, breaking you out of your train of thought. Selani frowned at the news of not going out. She always wanted to be out exploring or at the last drop, whether it be with Jinx or sneaking away and somehow finding Silco and bothering him; he seemed to not mind, you hoped.

"What? Why not?!" Crossing her little arms in frustration, both of her eyebrows slanted. That is the start of a tantrum you've grown to learn from the years you took her in--not fun at all, you remembered. It took both of you time to learn how to be parents to a child, having no prior experience, though Sevika had a tiny bit from when Jinx was younger.

Sevika let out a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back up at Selani. "Because we both got the day off, and you usually take those for granted, trust me, kid." Selani's gaze just stared at the both of you; confusion covered her face. The both of you never had a day off, so why now all of a sudden? Adjusting your body to sit more straight, you faced her directly, a soft smile placed on your face knowing it's good to talk to her straightforwardly with a few restrictions but to help her feel more validated and that she had your attention.

"It's a good thing not to worry, Selani; it just means me and Sevika have the whole day with you to play or cook, even just relax if you wanted." As soon as those words left your mouth, her face lit up as if she saw a whole pile of candy with a sign that said free. "Really!" A toothy grin appeared with one missing front tooth. Giving her a nod, she immediately shot up, running over to the both of you.

Once she was in front of you both, you could tell many ideas of games were filling her little mind. Taking both of your hands, making you stand. "Do you guys have any game ideas?" Selani asked, pride filled within you, teaching her to always ask her friends if they had any ideas before doing all of hers to ensure a fair game. Within a second, Sevika tapped her shoulder before dragging you away, running. "Your it!" is what you had managed to comprehend.

"That's cheating!" Selani yelled, her laugh heard behind you as you both ran. Now ending up in your shared room with Sevika, you purposely slowed down, letting Selani catch up and tap you. Quietly, you both teamed up to get Sevika and corner her. She went in the other room first, then you followed behind.

Immediately, Selani ran at Sevika, jumping on her; following Selani's actions, avoiding hitting them both, the three of you land onto the bed. Laughter could be heard throughout the whole apartment. And if it was heard by anyone, they would only think how happy you all are. This was your safe spot, where happiness is the love of your life and beloved child. 

Sevika carefully flipped Selani over the bed, and a game of play fighting began. You watched to make sure they both didn't get hurt, and to your surprise, Selani pulled the kick method. "You called what I did cheating. What you're doing is cheating!" She joked, a smile plastered on her face as she managed to get ahold of Selani.

In a moment, Selani whispered something to Sevika, and a grin grew as they both slowly turned to look at you. "Uh oh, what's going on?" With a blink of an eye, they both grabbed you, landing back onto the bed, Selani tickled you on your stomach.

Even if your laughs filled the room, your thoughts only held on how much you adored this moment and would cherish it forever.

Life for you got automatically better and brighter once they both entered your life, and you'd never trade it away.

[tasteracha]

a/n: when my angel @astraystayyh asks me for something i deliver. or make an attempt to. anyways please watch this before reading. warnings: subby hyunjin, mentions of alcohol, smut - MINORS DNI.

you loved all the colors of hyunjin. how could you not?

the deep shaded power with which he dances, sweat dripping off his temples and a fierce look in his eyes that only show when he’s on stage or pounding into you late at night. the carefree pastels that breeze through his hair when he has a day off, spending all his spare time with you with your fingers interlocked like he would lose his way otherwise. the soft mauves and grays of his sleepy eyes in the morning while you draw your fingers across his scalp, tracing along his nose down to his lips to feel the plushness underneath your skin. 

but the one that holds a fonder space in your heart was the one you were looking at now. his face is painted with the brushstrokes of a glass of wine, redness on his cheeks and stained across his lips. he’s warm, you know he is, even if you haven’t touched him yet. your own half full glass sits forgotten on the nightstand, the heat from the alcohol just enough to burn at your stomach and scorch high on your cheekbones. 

he’s talkative, speaking about everything and nothing while he holds you in the palm of his hand with just his eyes. soft giggles escape his lips, given to you freely despite how precious every sound that comes from his lips are. you take his hand in yours, finally drinking in the warmth of his palm as you hold it to your lips for a chaste kiss. it was innocent, a helpless motion that you don’t even realize you’re doing, but the look he gives you in response is anything but that. his eyes darken for a moment before he groans, sliding onto his back and stretching out his tired limbs. his cardigan rides up, exposing a sliver of his shoulder, taught skin over hard muscle, and you can feel your mouth begin to water. 

he’s left with his head tilted back, his neck a blank canvas begging to be colored by you, and your heart begins to beat faster. 

“god, i love you,” he turns his head towards you, letting his hand fall onto his stomach right above the waist of his pants. his legs are spread, beckoning you to fill the space between them. “did you know that?”

he’s not drunk, at least not from the wine. he’s drunk off of you, the mere presence of your body in bed with him is enough to make him lose a bit of his sanity. 

it’s not as if you’re any better with the way your body is singing for him. 

“yes, silly boy,” you smile, leaning over him to brush your lips against his jaw. “you only tell me every day. it’s not as if i could forget it.”

you throw your leg over his and slot yourself into the space that he left for you, and for the first time in the night he is silent. he watches your every move and his breath hitches when you place your hand next to his, ghosting across the muscles rippling on his stomach. 

“i love you, too,” you lock your fingers with his, squeezing them together. “do you want me to show you how much?”

he barely gets time to breath out a yes before you’re leaping forward, kissing him with a passion that never depletes no matter how much time passes by. he opens his mouth for you and you take the invitation, sliding your tongue against his. you can’t get enough of his taste, wine and his cherry lip balm and him. you move your lips down to his neck, biting sharply then soothing the spot with a lick. his arms wrap around your waist and pull you closer to him, but before he can get too far you take his wrists into your hands and pin them to the mattress at his sides. 

“keep these here, okay?” he nods so quickly that his hair shakes with the movement. satisfied, you sit up and slide down, dropping to your knees in front of him. freeing his cock from his pants comes more easily to you than breathing, the movements committed to memory like the way his feet move when he’s dancing. you leave his pants hanging off of his knees, too impatient to maneuver them off of him. 

you take his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly and hollowing out your cheeks. you look at him through your lashes, and the innocent look paired with the obscene sounds coming from your mouth making him growl fiercely. he reaches his hand towards your head, moving to card his fingers through your hair.

“darling, you’re so-” he cuts off when you pull away, fixing him with a look. 

“what did i say?” you move your eyes to his hand, still hovering in the air by your head, and he drops it back to the bed with wide eyes. 

“good boy,” you smirk when he shudders, giving him a moment to adjust before going back down on him. you lick a stripe up your hand to ease the slide of your hand on his cock, pairing it with sucking and licking at his head. you take him a bit deeper and you can feel his hips shift. the muscles on his stomach ripple in restraint, and you feel a swell of pride at him doing what he’s told. 

he’s so good to you. 

“where do you want to come?” you move away, leaning your head on his inner thigh as you lazily pump your hand along his shaft. he’s been so good, he deserves to make this choice. 

“i- what?” his eyes are hazy, your words not registering in his pleasure soaked brain. 

“on my face? in my mouth?” your breaths his hit exposed skin and he twitches, his bottom lip capturing between his teeth. “it’s your choice, baby. your reward, for being so good.” 

in truth, he’s barely done anything to deserve a reward, but the fondness you feel for him makes you want to praise him over and over. 

“in-” he clears his throat when his breath catches. “in your mouth, darling, please.”

you run a soothing hand down his thigh but it does nothing to calm him down. you shake your head fondly before taking his cock into your mouth for the last time. you speed up, sucking harder than before, going deeper, moving your hand in a flurry. the sudden change of pace makes him release a series of noises that make your head spin. little whimpers mix with soft moans, and he throws his head back as his entire body goes taut. strands of white paint the inside of your mouth, and the taste doesn’t bother you because it’s him.

you keep him in your mouth, swallowing his release around him and suckling him clean until he starts to whine in sensitivity. he releases his hands from their invisible prison and pulls you up and close to him, tucking your head into his neck and wrapping his arms around you. his hold is so tight, like he’s afraid you’d disappear if he didn’t hold you in a death grip. 

“you?” he whispers, stretching his languid body underneath you and sliding one hand down to cup your ass. 

“i’m okay, you can pay me back later,” you giggle against his neck and he sighs, his entire body going slack as he lets himself relax in his post-orgasmic bliss. 

“did you know that i love you?” he says against your hair, and you snort out a laugh. 

“do you want to do this again?” you roll your hips against his softening cock and he squeaks, tightening his arms around you even more than they already were. 

the sound of your shared laughter echoes through the room, taking the shape of affection that doesn’t need to be spoken.

[livebeforeyoulearn]

Where Do You End? Where Do I Begin?

Warnings: Fluff, Soft Smut, 18+

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: After a long day, all you want is to feel Alexia.

Request

ib: ‘melt’ by kehlani

-

Today had been utterly exhausting, a marathon of meetings filled with droning voices and meaningless jargon, business calls that drained your patience, and men who seemed barely competent in their roles. They lacked the simplest common sense, and by the time you walked through the door of your shared home, you felt the weight of the day pressing against your shoulders. All you wanted was Alexia. The comfort of her presence, the grounding of her touch, the release of tension only she could provide. You wanted to hold her, to feel her warmth against you, to pour yourself into pleasing her – because in doing so, you’d find solace too.

Now, you lay sprawled across the bed, your body draped over hers as if you could fuse into one being. Her skin glows faintly, her chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm that soothes the restless ache inside you. Her eyes are closed, her expression serene, still lost in the aftershocks of the pleasure you’d just given her. Your hair, a tangled mess, mingles with hers in a way that blurs the lines between you. 

Your fingers trace the tattoo on her inner left arm, moving in absent, reverent patterns. The inked design feels almost as familiar as your own skin. You and Alexia are so attuned to each other, so deeply entwined in every sense of the word that it’s hard to remember that you’re two separate people. It’s as though the world doesn’t recognise one without the other. You wonder fleetingly if others see it too; when they think of her, do they picture you somewhere close by? The thought makes your heart swell.

Your touch shifts, fingers gliding from the soft skin of her arm to the curve of her shoulder and up to the delicate ridge of her collarbone. Your caress is featherlight, intimate, a silent declaration of love meant only for her to feel. Her breaths are deep and even, and you unconsciously sync your own to hers, your chests rising and falling together as though tethered by some invisible thread.

These sacred pockets of time where it’s just the two of you are rare. Her demanding schedule and your equally relentless job often keep you apart. But when you have her here, like this, the world fades. You cling to it, knowing it’s fleeting yet wishing it could stretch on forever.

Her head shifts slightly, her cheek pressing against the top of your head as she plants a gentle kiss on your forehead. Her fingers brush away a few stray strands of hair from your face, her touch as tender as her voice when she whispers, “Are you tired?”

You shake your head, nuzzling closer before pressing a soft kiss to her chest. “Are you?”

Her lips curve into a lazy, satisfied smile. You can’t help but giggle, the sound light and full of affection, knowing exactly how drained she must feel after what you’d done for her.

Leaning up, you press a lingering kiss to her lips. When you pull back, she surprises you by cupping the back of your head, holding you in place. Her lips press more firmly against yours, her kiss deepening as if she wants to draw every bit of your soul into her. Before you know it, she’s rolling you onto your back with an ease that takes your breath away, her body hovering over yours.

Her knee slides between your legs, pressing against your core just enough to draw a soft moan from your lips. The sound is caught by her, swallowed into the kiss as she applies more pressure, coaxing another from you. You try to lift yourself onto your elbows, craving the closeness, but she pushes you back down, her palm gentle yet firm on your shoulder.

“Let me do this for you,” she murmurs. Her gaze locks onto yours, her smile soft yet commanding in its tenderness. “You’ve had a long day. Just relax, mi amor.”

With a sigh, you nod, surrendering completely to her as you sink deeper into the bed, allowing her to take the reins.

She starts with a soft kiss to your cheek, her lips warm and lingering as if savouring the first touch. Then her head dips lower, her breath brushing against your neck before her mouth begins its delicate work. Her kisses are tender at first, a gentle pressure against your skin, but they quickly deepen. She sucks softly, her tongue darting out to trace invisible patterns, followed by the slightest graze of her teeth.

You can feel her love in every movement, it’s raw, intimate, and utterly consuming. It’s something you’ll never grow tired of.

Her kisses wander lower until her mouth reaches your chest. She places a lingering kiss over your heart before moving to take your nipple into her mouth. Her free hand moves to your other breast, her fingers kneading gently, sending ripples of pleasure through your body. Your hand instinctively threads through her hair, your fingertips brushing against her scalp as you look down at her.

Her hand begins a slow descent, fingers brushing down your sides and then over your upper thigh. She traces circles there, her touch maddeningly light as she inches closer to the spot where you ache for her most. You shift beneath her, your thighs parting in silent invitation, but she takes her time, relishing the journey as much as the destination.

Eventually, she lowers herself fully, her body stretching out between your legs. Her arms wrap around your thighs, holding them open with an ease that makes you feel exposed and cherished all at once. Her lips find the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, placing soft kisses there. Each one feels like a promise, her devotion spelled out in every touch. She moves slowly, torturously, until finally, her mouth reaches your clit. She presses three soft pecks before taking it into her mouth and sucking with a perfect rhythm.

A gasp escapes you, your head falling back onto the pillow as the pleasure starts to build. Her tongue and lips work in perfect harmony, slow and intentional, her movements designed to drive you higher. “That feels so good, Ale,” you whisper, your voice breathless.

She hums in response, the vibration resonating through you, amplifying the sensations. Your fingers tighten in her hair, needing more of her. Her tongue moves lower, teasing at your entrance, and you pull her head closer.

You feel her smirk against you, a small, knowing curve of her lips that sends a flush of heat through you. It’s that same teasing smile she gives when she knows she’s driving you wild, when she knows you’re at her mercy. “Patience, amor,” she rasps, her voice a husky whisper against your skin. The sound alone makes your breath hitch, and you bite your lip, forcing yourself to obey her, to let her take control.

When her tongue finally plunges inside you, it’s as if every nerve in your body ignites at once. She moves with precision, devouring you in a way that leaves you helpless, lost to the overwhelming pleasure she’s giving you. Your back arches off the bed, a soft cry of her name spilling from your lips. It becomes a chant, breathy and desperate, a prayer offered only to her.

Her thumb joins in, rubbing firm circles over your clit in perfect sync with her tongue. The added sensation sends you spiralling, the pleasure building until it’s too much to contain. “Fuck, Alexia. Don’t stop,” you beg, your voice breaking with need.

And she doesn’t. She keeps her pace steady, unrelenting, driving you higher until you shatter beneath her touch. Your legs clamp around her head, holding her there as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body trembling with the force of your climax. She stays with you, guiding you through it, her tongue and thumb working until the sensations become too much. You nudge her away, your body oversensitive and trembling.

Alexia places soft, grounding kisses along your thighs as you come down, her touch gentle, reassuring. Slowly, your breathing evens out, the haze of pleasure fading just enough for you to open your eyes and meet her gaze. She smiles at you, a soft, satisfied curve of her lips, before crawling up your body.

“Strap?” she asks hesitantly.

“Okay, but be gentle,” you reply.

“Vale, gentle,” she promises with a soft smile, leaning in to give you a lingering kiss. She stays for a moment before she rises and you watch as she grabs the harness, the way she adjusts it around her hips, her eyes flickering to meet yours.

When she crawls back onto the bed, her weight presses the mattress just enough to snap your focus back to her presence. She situates herself between your legs, her hands finding your thighs and beginning a slow caress. Her fingers trace over your skin, her eyes trained between your legs, dark with thought. You can see her considering every movement she’s about to make, every touch she’ll deliver.

“Ready?” Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper, as she looks up at you, searching your face for any hesitation.

You nod, your heart pounding as you give her your trust. “Ready.”

Her lips curve into a smile that’s as reassuring as it is alluring. She shifts slightly, positioning the toy against your slit. The initial contact sends a shiver through you, her movement of coating the toy in your essence. Her eyes never leave you, watching the subtle changes in your expression as she begins to press it inside.

The stretch is slow and steady. Your teeth catch your bottom lip as your eyes flutter shut, then open again to find her watching you. She’s always watching, making sure you’re okay, making sure you feel good.

Her hands settle on either side of your waist as she leans over you, her body close enough that you feel her warmth. She starts with a gentle rhythm, sliding the toy in and out of you, her movements measured and precise. You both glance down, watching the space where your bodies connect, the intimacy of it all heightening the moment.

She keeps her word, her thrusts firm but unhurried. It doesn’t take long for the pleasure to build, your earlier arousal intensifying every sensation. She knows your body so well, knows exactly how and where to touch to bring you the most pleasure. It’s like she’s mapped you out in her mind, memorised every reaction, every gasp.

Her head dips to your neck, her nose brushing your skin as she nuzzles into you. Her breath is warm and uneven, and you feel the subtle increase in her pace as her movements grow more intentional. You kiss her temple, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Your legs hook around her waist, holding her in place while still giving her room to move.

Her lips find your jaw, trailing soft kisses upwards before returning to your neck. Each press of her mouth feels like a declaration, a silent claim that you are hers as much as she is yours. The pressure builds as she begins to thrust harder, your whispered, almost desperate, “Harder,” urging her on.

“Harder?” she asks, her voice husky and teasing. You hum your affirmation, and she obeys, increasing the intensity of her movements. The change makes you cry out, your nails digging into her back as she hits a spot that makes your entire body tremble.

The sound she makes – a heavy exhale that’s more a groan than a sigh – only spurs you on. Her teeth sink into your shoulder in response, a mix of pleasure and possession that makes you shudder beneath her.

You hear her moan softly as the base of the strap presses against her clit with every thrust, bringing her closer to her own release. Her breathing grows heavier, more laboured. “Fuck, I’m close,” she admits, her voice breaking slightly.

You pull her even tighter against you, your hands roaming over her back, needing to feel her as she reaches her peak. Her thrusts become erratic, desperate, her hips rocking into you with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Her body begins to shake, and her moans grow louder.

When she finally comes, her moans spill into your ear, her teeth sinking deeper into your shoulder as she rides out her climax. The mixture of pain and pleasure makes your head spin, but you try your best to focus on her – the way her body tenses and then relaxes, the way she clings to you in her most vulnerable moment.

Her movements slow but don’t stop entirely, her focus shifting back to you. The pleasure she’s been building within you crests, and your body trembles as you reach your own release. Your hands clutch at her, your face buried in her shoulder as the waves of your orgasm crash over you.

Eventually, her hips still, and the two of you lay tangled together, breathing heavily, your bodies slick with sweat and glowing with satisfaction. She brushes soft kisses along the mark she left on your shoulder, her lips featherlight and filled with apology and affection. She trails kisses up your neck and finally captures your lips in a sweet, lingering kiss.

When she pulls back, her eyes meet yours, full of love. “I love you, mi amor,” she whispers, her voice soft and sincere.

You smile, your fingers threading into her hair as you reply, “I love you too, Ale.”

[insidekatmind]

When everyone's asleep-Pope Heyward

Wearning: +18,smut, english is not my first language.

The night had fallen on John B’s cottage, enveloping everything in a silence broken only by the chirping of crickets and the rustling of waves in the distance. John B and Sarah had taken refuge in their room, leaving the rest of you to settle down in the kitchen, which had been converted into a makeshift camp. Thin mattresses and blankets spread on the floor welcomed Kiara, Cleo and JJ, already immersed in a deep sleep.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t sleep. You felt your heart beat faster than normal, but it wasn’t the waves or the wind that shook the windows. It was him. Pope.

He was lying beside you, his face relaxed as he pretended to sleep. But you knew him too well. You noticed the way his hand barely moved, looking for yours under the shared blanket. A slight smile curled your lips as you let your fingers intertwine.

"Don’t you sleep?" he whispered, his voice a breath in the silence.

"And you?" you replied in a similar tone, the smile evident even in the dark.

The others were all too tired to notice what was going on between you. Pope came a little closer, his warm breath caressing your cheek.

"You’re the one keeping me awake," he admitted, with a glimmer of malice in his dark eyes that you could glimpse in the dim light.

"I didn’t do anything," you replied quietly, trying to keep an innocent tone.

But it wasn’t entirely true. The tension between you had been building up for days, weeks perhaps. You were always close, but lately every touch, every look seemed to carry a deeper meaning.

"You don’t have to do anything, Y/N. I just look at you," said Pope, the sincerity in his voice making your heart beat even faster.

You did not answer, but let your face draw near to his until your lips touched. It was a soft kiss, almost shy, but the way Pope drew you closer made all doubts vanish. His hand gently laid on your cheek, his thumb drawing imaginary lines on your skin.

"They’re sleeping," you murmured against his lips, your hands clinging to his shirt.

"I don’t care," he replied, the voice charged with a sweetness that made you tremble. "I’ve waited too long for this."

The kiss grew deeper, and each touch seemed to set the air between you. Your hand slid down his chest, feeling the muscles tense under the cloth, as he left a trail of caresses along your side.

"Pope..." his name slipped away in a whisper, a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

"Shh..." he silenced you, his smile lighting up his face. "You must say nothing."

It was not easy to remain silent with the way his lips explored your skin, descending down your neck. You would sometimes glance at others, but they were completely unaware of what was happening. JJ snored slightly, while Cleo and Kiara were wrapped in their blankets, lost in their dreams.

"Promise you won’t regret it tomorrow," you whisper, biting your lower lip as his eyes met yours.

"The only thing I would regret is not having done it," said Pope, his voice full of determination.

Your heart seemed to explode at those words, and you let the moment overwhelm you. It was risky, crazy, but every second with him made you feel alive like never before.

As the night continued, it seemed that the world outside the chalet had vanished, leaving only you two, your whispers and kisses exchanged, as if the rest did not matter.

Pope’s breath deepened as your lips continued to search for each other, hungry but slow at the same time, as if you wanted to savor every second of that stolen moment. His hands gently slid on your hips, drawing you closer.

"Come here," he whispered with a thread of voice, and before I could answer, you felt his strong hands guiding you, gently sliding on him.

Your heart seemed to beat so fast that it could wake up others, but at the time you didn’t care. His hands were on your sides, holding you with the right pressure, while his gaze was lost in yours.

"You’re amazing, you know?" Pope whispered, his tone loaded with a sweetness that made you melt.

You looked down, a shy smile curving your lips. "You shouldn’t say that so often, I could get my head blown."

"I’ll stop saying that when you stop driving me crazy," he replied, a flash of fun in his eyes before drawing you back to himself.

The kiss became more intense, and your body instinctively responded to his. You felt the warmth that emanated, the way in which his hands explored the curve of your back, going up and down with a delicacy that contrasted the obvious desire that you felt growing between you.

"Pope..." whispered against his lips, your hands clinging to his back, trying to balance.

"Tell me," he replied, his voice low and crusty, as his fingers brushed the skin of your bare side.

"If anyone wakes up..." you started, but his lips settled on yours again, interrupting you.

"They won’t wake up," he assured with a mischievous smile, his eyes shining bright as they were looking for yours. "And even if they did, I don’t care. I want you."

Those words made you shiver, and without thinking too much, you let go completely. Your hands moved towards his face, caressing his jaw as your lips continued to move in perfect harmony.

Sometimes you would glance at others, but their sleep seemed deep and peaceful. JJ was curled up under a blanket with a peaceful expression on his face, while Cleo and Kiara were not even making the slightest movement.

"See? Everything under control," Pope whispered, noticing your worried look.

"You’re too sure of yourself," you replied, trying to keep a firm tone, but the smile that formed on your lips betrayed your true mood.

"Only when it comes to you." His words left you breathless, and you felt the need to reciprocate the gesture. You bent down again to him, your lips finding his neck, leaving light kisses that made him barely shake.

"You’re torturing me," Pope muttered, his voice broken by pleasure as his hands clenched even tighter on your hips.

"I didn’t think you were so sensitive," you joked, but the smile on your face turned into a slight moan as he decided to counter-attack, his lips moving down your neck, leaving a trail of heat that made you tremble.

The moment seemed eternal, a mix of audacity and desire that completely enveloped you. For a moment you forgot everything: the chalet, the others, the possible consequences. There was only you and him, the dark accomplice of that night, and the desire to continue discovering every nuance of each other.

Your movements started almost without thinking about it, slow and uncertain at first, but soon the need to feel more, to be closer to him, took over. Move your hips against him, creating a slight friction but enough to make him jump under you.

"Y/N..." Pope whispered at your lips, the tone charged with a mixture of surprise and pleasure.

You noticed the way he clenched his teeth, desperately trying to hold back a moan that could have broken the silence of the chalet and attracted the attention of others. But the way his hands clung to your hips made you realize how much it was making him lose control.

"Is something wrong?" you asked with a whisper, a mischievous smile curving your lips as your hands flowed on his shoulders.

"You... know it exactly," he replied with a clenched teeth, a flash of fun mixed with desire in his eyes.

You kept moving, your hips following a slow but steady pace, while he tried to keep control. His hands guided you, holding you tight enough to make you feel the warmth of his skin through your clothes, but never too much to be intrusive.

"You’re incredible," he muttered, interrupting the kiss to stare at you with eyes that shone in the twilight.

"You’re not bad yourself," you joked, but your voice betrayed the effect he was having on you.

He bent forward, his lips finding your neck, and this time did not hold back. He left a more determined, almost possessive kiss, followed by a trail of light bites that made you shiver. Your movements became more fluid, more natural, while his breath became irregular.

"If you keep this up, I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to hold back," Pope whispered in a husky voice as his eyes settled on yours with an intensity that made you tremble.

"Who told you I want you to hold back?" you said with a whisper of voice, your hands sticking in her hair.

The way his body reacted to those words was enough to make you realize how close it was to the limit. He moved just below you, trying to make more contact, while his lips returned to urgently seek yours. Every kiss was an unspoken promise, an invitation to let go completely.

For a moment, you forgot where you were. There was no longer the risk of being caught, or awareness of how risky what you were doing. There were only you and him, lost in a vortex of emotions that seemed to grow with every movement, every whisper, every kiss.

You started to lower your pyjamas and thongs and then do the same thing with his shorts and boxer shorts. Pope was already shirtless and having Pope all naked and needy under you was a sight.

You joined your lips with hers while you lined up your pussy on her cock and sank in it while trying not to moan. Pope was going crazy: your pussy was squeezing his dick and the fact that he couldn’t moan was killing him.

Your lips kept searching for hers with increasing urgency, the kisses getting deeper and more messy, while the heat between you increased inexorably. Your movements on his hips became more determined, the rhythm you followed sent shivers down your back and, judging by the way Pope clenched his jaw, also along his.

"God, Y/N..." He whispered with a thread of voice, his hands clenching even more on your hips, as if trying to control what was happening, but without really being able to. " You’re riding me so well"

Every movement of yours was a sweet torment, and you felt it in the way his breath became more and more irregular, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again and looking for yours.

"Pope..." you murmured, his name coming out almost like a moan as you felt the growing warmth between you. Your hands clung to his hair, the touch that seemed the only way to anchor yourself in reality as you lost yourself in him.

"You’re playing with fire," he said in a hoarse voice, the tone that had a warning note, but his smile betrayed how much he loved everything that was happening.

"I see you more than comfortable with the fire," you replied, your voice a mixture of provocation and desire.

Pope laughed softly, a muffled sound to not wake up the others, but immediately after his lips returned to yours, hungry, as if he needed that touch to breathe. Each of his kisses was deep, slow and incredibly intense, and the way his hands held you made you feel wanted in a way that you had never felt before.

Your movements became more natural, as if your bodies spoke a language you had never learned but instinctively knew. Every touch, every pressure created a crescendo of emotions that left you breathless.

"I can’t think of anything but you right now," Pope confessed, his voice broken by pleasure as his gaze waned into yours.

Those words made you melt, and you returned with a long kiss and full of feeling, your hands slipping down her back, wishing the moment never ended.

"Neither did I," you replied in a whisper, your foreheads touching as you both tried to catch your breath.

The sound of a slight movement from the sofa made you freeze for a moment. You both turned your head towards JJ, who turned under the blanket, mumbling something in her sleep.

You both held your breath, holding up a nervous laugh when he showed no other signs of awakening. Pope looked at you with a complicit smile, the desire in his eyes now mixed with a touch of fun.

"You’re too dangerous," he quipped softly, putting one hand on your back and moving closer to him again.

"Yet you don’t seem to want to stop," you replied with a mischievous smile, your lips resting on hers again in a long and sweet kiss. And as palpable as the risk was, neither of you seemed willing to give up that stolen moment.

You started rolling your hips on his cock feeling how his dick went on your g-spot and you lowered your head biting his neck not to chase the moan that was coming out of you while he left a small moan at impact.

"shit y/n" he murmured as you left him sucking his neck, leaving a mark. " you’re my death" said Pope as he put your hands on your ass and squeezed it to make you move more against him.

You bit the inside cheeks of your mouth not to groan but always small groans were coming out so Pope joined his lips with yours swallowing all the groans.

"you’re holding it so well to me" I whispered near your lips and then kissed you again while you groaned.

You both came to the climax and Pope cum inside of you while you were still kissing.

After a while you recovered you adjusted and fell asleep hugged.

The next day you were all out and only JJ was still sleeping. When he came out, he seemed amused." Guys I had a strange dream... I dreamed that someone was fucking while I was sleeping, what a cool thing" said JJ amused and unaware of everything.

You and Pope looked at each other and were holding back a laugh amused.

[bohnerrific69]

WASTING TIME? ﾉ EKKO

pairing: alternative!ekko x fem!reader

blurb — theme/content: fluff. "angst" if you squint? idk. reader has fomo (fear of missing out) implied. it's ekko from s2 ep7. ꒰ word count: 960 ꒱

"babe?..." you said as appeared on ekko's room door, seeing him sat in front of his desk with a million papers above, his inventor plan of attack as he liked to call. he was resting his face in one of his hands while his elbows were resting on the table and its papers.

"hm? yes miss? whatcha need?" he rubbed his eyes and mumbled without looking at you, from far away you could notice a little smile appearing on his face, making yourself smile too knowing that his one it was because of your presence. it was like this since your relationship started, being on the same tune, contagious.

"you done? i mean... doesn't look very done to me, but..." you replied while getting steps closer to his desk, contouring his body just to being up behind him, leaning down to put support your hands on his shoulders. "just checkin' you up.”

"ah, i think i am really on the final steps to conclude this... am only securing it all goes fine," ekko muttered concentrated doing some more scribbles, at the same time using his left hand to catch one of yours from his shoulders, bringing it closer to his face so he could kiss the inner palm of your hand, making you smile. "besides... why the shawty is awakened this hour?”

"aah i- i missed you on the bed, the usual..." you yawned lazily and leaned all your body on his, being with your chin above his head and arms wrapped around his neck. his body heat was radiating and smelling so good as he took a bath some minutes before, making you sniff his hair just to feel the loveable coconut shampoo smell that you buyed for him.

“i am managing my time very well lately and the project is in the dead end, this time it's the only last time i'll be overworking, ‘kay?” he giggled at your sniffing on his hair, at this point it turned out to become common you doing this, it was cute; lifting his head to look at you, endened giving you free access to kiss his forehead, as you should and did.

“i know… i just can't sleep because of that thing,” you pointed out with your chin the blackboard on the wall with various drawings about this new invention. “i don't want to not be here when you finish this…,” you sighed, catching a chair nearby and sitting really close at ekko's side.

your sudden change from a tired expression to a worried and sadden one was not missed by him, who quickly dropped his pencil at the desk and turned his torso to look at you directly with those frowned big eyes so sweet of him. “babe? what is wrong? you- you don't need to worry about that.”

“nah… just some bullshits passing through my mind… i'm tired, only that.” you looked away from his gaze and scratched your forehead, squirming on the chair a little to see if it could make you comfortable to talk about the subject. it wasn't helping, you're not the kind of person who likes to talk about serious things like this. always praying and hoping for better days, trying to ignore the rocks life throws at you, till you reach the limit and suddenly explodes as a tiny thing goes wrong. like this you wouldn’t worry anyone but only yourself.

“hey, i know when something is wrong with you…” but of course he knew, ekko being your best friend who turn out to be your boyfriend, always being a great observant to notice every detail of you, and care about each one of them. that's why it was so easy for you to fall for him. 

“it's that thing we talked about before?” he asked while softly catched your chin with one of his hands to make you lock eyes with him, he looked so worried and still so caringly about you, it made your butterflies on the stomach do flips. “y-yeah… it's making me anxious…”

“hey, you’re not- you don't lose anything not being here when i finish this…,” he fixed his posture on the chair, quickly catching your hand and intertwining your fingers. “i promised you that everything that i create, you will be the first eyes besides mine that will appreciate it when finished. just because it's not your thang to understand inventions, or not being here when i end those things… doesn't mean you're less of a girlfriend or bad person.”

ekko was so damn comprehensible with everyone, and mainly you, that it made you heart aches everytime you had every time you had a moment of low self-esteem and your anxiety spoke louder. but he was always so careful and always knew what to say to calm and reassure you, how can you not love him?

“and not to forget too, you're never gonna not be enough for me, never. you heard me?” you felt that warm and asphyxiating feeling gathering on your throat wanting to cry but holded enough and only sighed tired, giving him an agreeing smile. “i know… i'm sorry for-” 

“don't need to apologize babe, i understand you…” he pulled you to make you sit on his lap, hugging your waist, making you feel safe. “life is stressing me out these days ekko, but… you make it better,” you mumbled on his neck, hugging him back and closing your eyes.

“i love you” he replied, by the proximity you could know and feel that he was smiling. “i love you more” and now you too.

(...)

after spending some minutes staying like this you happened to start sleeping, there, on ekko’s arms and lap while he continued finishing his invention, feeling safe, loved and enough.

a/n: this was writed only for satisfy myself! i love him so much, i'm so enchanted. ngl, write the universe from s2 ep7 it's easy for me😭 he's still the same but i love how there's no conflicts around. this is the actually the third writing piece i post here, i hope you enjoyed and it's not ooc, writed this while almost sleeping. (i edited this ekko image here.

tagging some mutuals to boost the post! sorry for the bothering. 🤍 @strawb3rrystar @marchsfreakshow @wcnderlnds @decaf-mother @jazzy-reads @mistysconcilium | join my taglist here.

[plumpybread]

Asking because of the previous ask, are you not a fan of Ethan anymore? If so, why?

It's complicated, I suppose (rant where i talk abt ethan but then also my OCs in general)

I really do not like the first version of Ethan I made like 3 years ago. Obviously I like indulging in devilish ideas but I don't know, it ended up turning into something I didn't really end up liking too much.

Then I revisited and sort of rewrote his story a bit a while back when making the OC archive site (I'm aware the site is not available anymore for the people who asked, I took it down myself) and was much happier with it for a while.

Don't get me wrong, I like Ethan, I know he's the OC people seem to like the most, but it's still like a personal mental battle of like maybe it's too effed up? Even when I draw characters going through unwilling/accidental extreme weight gain, I make them either ambivalent or accepting of their situation, but for Ethan it's kind of like torture, and I can't bring myself to get like..aroused and excited to draw more of that *personally*.

Changing up his lore wouldn't really work either since his story is based on helplessness and stuff, and it'd be disingenuous to make him be happy with his situation, so I've just sort of subconsciously decided to leave him as is and treat his content as its self contained story more than nsfw art to goon to, if that makes sense. I don't know, maybe I'm just thinking about it too much, but just wanted to say what goes through my head.

I also don't really revisit Ethan for the same reason I don't tend to draw much of all the past OCs I've made, as I see each of them as a way to explore different facets of how weight gain can manifest and adapt into a character's life to create a story around it, and I feel like I've covered most of the ground around them already.

All of my OCs come from a sudden short prompt that pops up in my head, usually out of nowhere. I suddenly wanted to make a big-hearted southern farm guy who was super massive and I immediately ran to draw Rudy, for example.

I draw them a little reference, with my typical bullet points next to them with basic info to get an idea of what their dynamic is like, and a more lengthily written backstory or description if I'm feeling fancy under it, and then for the next week or two it's all art of them and answering questions about them... and then another idea pops up, and a new OC comes in.

It's not that I get tired of them, but I just simply do not know what to draw with them. Ethan is the biggest outlier in this case, since he is my fattest OC and half immobile, you just don't really know how else to bring something new that's not him laying on his bed at a slightly different angle.

I guess that's why I always do OC asks, I sort of need them to be able to know what to draw with them, since I struggle coming with things like that by myself, and you know I always like avoiding drawing a character in a void with no context.

The Genshin Obesity AU is my longest running like "project"?? thing just because there is an endless amount of content I can pull from since there's all these characters, places and possibilities I can write from. My OCs are obviously much more self-contained and moreso serve as individual experiments to explore different people and scenarios, so after the 10th drawing of them... I genuinely do not know what else I can add to them.

I hope that was a bit insightful. I know most of you guys love Ethan, and I love him too! But I don't know, I guess this is why I don't tend to have immobile/near immobile OCs, since the potential art ideas for them drop to just them sitting on a mattress or sitting on the floor and I'm just left confused on what to do with them.

Maybe Ethan in his college days is something you guys might be interested in? Or I don't know, I'm just writing this post as my thoughts enter my head.

Sorry for the rant, I sure do love typing, hope this clears up some questions people might've had

[kayawolfhorse]

As It Was | Read on AO3

—☾—

Desert nights, in the shadow of the sweltering hours of daylight, are improbably, intolerably cold.

Neither Scar nor Grian had anticipated the biting chill that rose with the moon over the sea of sand dunes, and their castle, for all its formidable glory, had not simply not been built to retain heat. Drafts of frigid air seep through glassless windows and the slats cut along the uppermost edge of the outer walls and drift across the tall rooms, coming to a rest against bare floors. The base’s design works beautifully against the sun’s relentless rays, but the night’s clever fingers find purchase all too easily between every brick and beam.

“I think you’ve straightened that barrel four times by now,” Scar comments from where he’s sitting upon wrinkled covers in front of the furnaces. The bed’s placement is temporary—they have actual bedrooms now, decidedly the most reasonable place for a bed to be, but in lieu of any real chairs in the kitchen, Scar’s willing to delay its relocation.

“It was crooked every time,” Grian answers, and adjusts it again. His sleeves are wound tightly around his wrists, colorful wings held firm to his back, and there’s hardly a plank out of place in the double row of barrels that line the walls. Scar’s reluctance to leave the warmest room in the castle is clearly shared.

They continue to swap idle chatter and half-hearted battle plans until Grian runs out of excuses to linger and they’re both stifling yawns after every word.

“I guess that’s it, then,” Grian says, and his words drag along like stubborn heels wedged in sand.

“Guess so.” Scar makes no move to get up, and Grian remains rooted in place. After a moment of mutual inaction, an idea sparks to gleaming life. “You know, we could just stay here.”

“Yeah, but I’m tired,” Grian says. “Need to sleep at some point, and it’s not getting any warmer.”

“Well, lucky for us both, then, there’s already a bed right here.”

Two ticks pass undisturbed.

“You want to—share?” Grian sputters. His wings splay out slightly, seemingly of their own accord; Grian’s quick to smooth them back down.

“No reason not to!” Scar says. “I’m cold; you’re cold. Pooling body heat would be a very economical move.”

Grian stares at him, and Scar can practically hear the gears churning in his brain before he decides, “We can make adjustments to the castle tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

“This is a one-night thing.”

“Sure, sure.”

Scar lays down with his head to the furnaces, scooching back until there’s a nice, Grian-sized spot next to him. Slowly, hesitantly, Grian kicks off his shoes and slides into bed.

The narrow mattress was certainly meant for a single body, and the wall is cold against Scar’s exposed shoulder, but at every point where his other side meets Grian’s is blissful warmth. He resists the urge to melt on the spot.

The space between them is a held breath; just enough tension strings along Grian’s frame to be palpable, and his hand is balled into a loose fist at his hip.

After a moment, when his fingers uncurl in a quiet exhale and start to reach instead of refrain, Scar turns towards him and snakes a careful arm around his waist. Grian huffs, but relaxes his stiff shoulders, which Scar takes as an invitation to draw him closer into himself.

“Dude, you’re like a teddy bear,” Scar says into Grian’s soft hair.

“And you’re a barnacle,” Grian grumbles, and shifts beneath Scar’s grip. Scar releases him, unsure if he’d gone too far, but all Grian does is tug Scar further into his space and tuck his head beneath Scar’s chin. Scar chooses to blame the heat that spreads across his cheekbones on the sudden temperature change. “You’d be warmer with a shirt, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Scar says. Grian mutters something unintelligible, but his argument evens out with his breath; in one last sigh, he’s asleep.

Scar pulls the blanket more securely over them both before returning his arm to its position around Grian. They’ve hugged before, of course—Scar enjoys showering his friends with physical affection, and Grian’s a very huggable guy! The only real contrast is between their usual verticality and how horizontal they lay now.

It shouldn’t feel different. It shouldn’t. It’s rather late to be picking apart how it does.

For all Scar hid from it, sleep finds him with swift assurance, and the darkness pulls him under.

—☾—

It’s been a few minutes since Scar had gasped awake on his final life, gear-less, enchanter-less, and utterly alone. The wind that blows across a lonely mountaintop beyond his hut’s walls is the only sound that dares fracture the silence suffocating him.

His stuff is still back at the Southlands, if there’s even anything left of it. Murmurs of white-hot phantom pain ghost across every part of his skin the lava had touched.

He should go get his stuff. He should gather his few bits of TNT and ignite a trail of ruin within the base of those who have taken so much from him. There should be anger crackling at his very marrow, urging him forwards, avenging his death.

Scar stares at a scuff mark left behind on the calcite floor, and doesn’t move for a long time.

Eventually, the rattle of the doorknob startles Scar up onto his feet and into his usual place behind the just-for-show register. No one has business here anymore—he’d run out of his most precious commodities to sell. His fingers tighten against the counter.

Grian’s near-shoved inside by a particularly inspired gust, and he grunts as he hauls the door shut behind him. Everything about him is mussed; the scarf around his neck, the breaths that fall rapid-fire from his lips, his wings. Scar’s immediate instinct is still to offer a preen. He doesn’t.

“Hello there,” Scar greets instead. What else is there to do? Maybe he can work in a scam before Grian leaves.

Grian’s gaze snaps to Scar’s face before the words are fully out of his mouth. It’s foolish, really: there should be mockery swirling within the amber of Grian’s eyes; teasing pity, or, if Scar’s lucky, fear, but all he can find in the pinch of Grian’s mouth and the furrow of his brow is concern.

“I brought your items,” Grian says, and holds a pair of diamond trousers aloft. “D’you have a place to put them?”

Scar steps back from the counter and gestures to its empty surface. As Grian dumps what meager gear had survived the lava onto it, Scar briefly entertains a fantasy in which he’d sent Grian to deposit the items in the mess of chests outside instead. He supposes he couldn’t have prevented any thievery, should it have arisen, if Grian was out of his sight, but somewhere deep within, Scar gets the feeling Grian agrees that he’s already taken enough.

The sound of leather against wood brings Scar back to the present. He glances down; a book whose cover is marked by Bdubs’ familiar looping handwriting lands next to his pickaxe. A second book bearing Joel’s signature is soon to join it. Contracts.

Scar looks sharply at Grian, who shrugs. “I didn’t see mine.”

“So that’s it, then,” Scar says, and something bitter coats his throat.

Grian empties his bag of a final unlit torch. “I came all the way out here, didn’t I? The contract’s still on.”

“Oh,” Scar says. He blinks. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Grian says. Uncertainty washes over his features in one second; it’s gone in the next. You wouldn’t happen to have tea, would you?”

Scar doesn’t, but from his inventory Grian produces not only a pouch of tea leaves but an entire kettle to prepare them in. He crouches before Scar’s tiny fireplace and fusses about setting water to boil while Scar uselessly rearranges things on the shelves that line the far wall. Against the brush of his fingers, a rack of crystals hanging from chords of string chime softly against each other, and Scar savors the sound; Grian, too, pauses to listen, and continues only when the twinkling has faded.

Long after the dregs of tea have cooled, it becomes apparent that Grian isn’t leaving, and Scar doesn’t understand why. Even his contract didn’t oblige him with this—the stipulations may protect Scar from Grian’s physical harm, and give demand for resources when he needs them, but they’re not really allies, not this time around.

Scar doesn’t know what to make of it. He certainly doesn’t know what to make of Grian’s tired eyes and empty hands as he sits on the floor beside Scar’s bed.

He holds his tongue for an admirably long time. Company is so few and far between, after all.

“What are you still doing here, G?” Scar asks.

Grian stares for a fierce, resolute moment at the floor before answering. He must’ve found the same scuff.

When he looks up, his mouth churns for a second before words start to come out of it. “It’s awfully cold out,” he says. “I figured I’d let the worst of it pass.”

Scar considers this. It really is quite frigid, and where the rest of the server is swathed in the honey-boughed trees of autumn, his mountain sees only the hardiest of evergreens. Dusk brings a fierce bite that threatens to close its jaws around any player foolish enough to traverse its snowy cliffs.

“It won’t get any better ‘til the sun comes out, I’m afraid,” Scar says lightly.

The thing is, Grian’s not lying. It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth, either. He’s keeping something from Scar (when’s the last time he told Scar anything, anyway? Scar knows the answer) and Scar can’t figure out what.

Though, Scar supposes, full honesty is hardly a ware upon his own shelves. If things were different, if they stood on different ground and the air between them wasn’t filled with static, Scar would press harder.

He lets Grian keep his not-lie, free of charge.

“That’s alright,” Grian says. He removes the goggles perched in his hair and tilts his head back against the corner of the mattress behind him, closing his eyes. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

Scar gives himself exactly three seconds to breathe before he unclasps his cloak and leaves it on its hook by the door. He’ll have to dig his black one out of whatever chest it’s stashed in tomorrow to better drape over his last life. Carefully, he edges into bed, and once beneath the covers, gives Grian’s shoulder a gentle tug.

A single half-slitted eye flicks up to Scar’s outstretched arm.

“Just for tonight?” Scar asks. He thinks he might be pleading. “A one-night thing.”

Just when Scar’s about to take back his words and encase them in fake laughter, insisting he didn’t mean them, Grian shrugs out of his boots and crawls into bed, and easily curls around Scar.

His hand finds Scar’s own and squeezes, briefly, before letting go. It travels up the side of Scar’s neck—Scar shouldn’t trust this much, and Grian shouldn’t be this gentle—until his fingers twine around a strand of Scar’s hair.

“It’s getting long,” Grian says, and his eyes are far too pained. Scar wonders if he, too, is thinking about the nights they passed a pair of shears between them to trim each other’s unruly mess of hair before remembering that neither of them should care about that anymore.

“Haven’t had time to cut it,” Scar lies. The echo of what’s left unsaid is unbearably loud.

Grian fully retracts his hand; his countenance shutters with it. After a moment, he rests his arm over Scar’s waist. “A one-night thing,” he says, like it’s a reminder.

For all he can foolishly hope otherwise, Scar knows Grian means it. It’s a far cry from countless nights spent scheming in whispers on a single bed whose crevices always held pinches of sand, no matter how hard they shook out the covers. Tomorrow night, he will be alone again.

For the fleeting moments he has him, Scar holds Grian close and aches.

—☾—

There’s a second heartbeat intertwined around Scar’s own between his ribs, and it’s as familiar as a path trodden down by years of use; as foreign as the untouched grass of a new world’s spawn, and its owner lies across the room from him.

The sensation is odd: to share something only ever meant for one body feels like it should feel wrong, like it’s breaking a line of code within the Universe itself. Stranger still is to be so far away from his counterpart, when surely they’ve been melded as one. Every part of him yearns to reach across the expanse between their beds.

Grian’s heart drums out homesickness within his ears. Scar kind of hates it.

“Grian, did you move the diamonds somewhere?” Scar calls over his shoulder. With a collective distaste in organization, the pair of them make for a blight upon storage systems everywhere, but Scar could’ve sworn the few diamonds they had left were right here a day ago.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I moved them further in. Let me grab them.” Grian appears with an axe in hand, and pries up a few floorboards near the back wall to expose a hidden chest. He gestures to it. “Gathered up our iron and TNT supplies, too.”

“You never tell me anything,” Scar muses as he crouches down to grab enough diamonds for a pickaxe. When he looks up at Grian, he’s got a funny expression on his face, like he’s bitten into a melon that’s been left out in the sun for too long.

“I tell you plenty,” he says, and his tone edges into something defensive.

Scar examines a nail. “Didn’t tell me about the secret chest though, did’ja?”

“I was going to,” Grian says evenly. His pale knuckles are in the process of turning whiter around the handle of his axe.

“When?” Scar asks. “After you gathered all the courage you needed to share plans with your teammate? After I’d caught you with red enough hands that you had no choice?”

“No!” Grian must’ve noticed his tightening grip, and shoves the axe back onto his belt. “No, Scar, that’s not it.”

“Then what is it, I wonder? I don’t think you trust me, Grian.”

“I trust you plenty,” Grian dismisses. Liar. Something cracks beneath Scar’s eye. “It’s not like you tell me everything you get up to, anyway.”

“It was a bit of light arson, everything’s fine.” Scar waves a flippant hand. “I can make my own decisions and you should support me in them, as my soulmate.”

“Making enemies behind my back isn’t fine,” Grian says with a glare. “Not when both of our lives are at stake.”

“Sure, but I would’ve told you straight away,” Scar says. “It’s not my fault you heard about it through rumors before I could get to you. You clearly don’t feel the same about what you keep from me.”

“I just didn’t think it concerned you,” Grian mutters.

“Concerned me?” Scar exclaims. “They’re our resources! Why wouldn’t that concern me?”

“Cared. I didn’t think you cared,” Grian corrects himself. A nasty little thing worms its way into his tone as he says, “It doesn’t affect the pandas. What reason do you have to care?”

“We’re supposed to be a team,” Scar spits out. “And let me tell you, you’ve done a crap job so far.”

“Oh, Scar, we haven’t been one for a long time,” Grian says, and his blade softens to barbs wrapped around Scar’s flesh. “Why start now?”

The wire tightens. Scar bleeds.

He doesn’t grace Grian with another word before storming out of the haphazard storage room. Grian can hide any chest he wants, Scar doesn’t care. He doesn’t.

Dread prickles along the nerves of Scar’s palms. The darkness before him is blinding; he can’t see, no matter how wide he tries to open his eyes. Weight presses down upon every limb, and he’s trapped, he’s vulnerable, and all around him, inky blackness roars—

“—Scar? Scar. C’mon, buddy.”

Scar bolts upright. It takes a moment before low torchlight burns into view, and the room around him sharpens. He holds a hand to his brow. It comes away sweaty.

“Scar.”

Right. Grian’s kneeling beside Scar’s bed, his red sweater a bloodstain in the dimness, and his hand hovers close to Scar’s arm. When Scar meets his gaze, his reach drops entirely.

“Yes?” Scar asks expectantly. He had avoided Grian for the rest of the day after their argument, and was asleep before Grian had returned to the base; this is the first they’ve spoken in hours.

“You were having a nightmare.” Grian says, and gestures to his own chest. Scar’s heartbeat had given him away.

“Oh.”

Uncomfortable silence falls between them. Scar fidgets with the blanket and vaguely debates what time it must be.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Grian says. His delivery is lacking, in Scar’s humble opinion, and at least some of that must show on his face, because Grian continues: “Really, I am. I should’ve told you straight away.”

“You should’ve trusted me straight away,” Scar adds. He’s been taken off-guard, admittedly. Grian’s always been the type to argue fast and apologize just as quickly afterwards, but this is the first time he’s said it here. Scar wouldn’t have expected it to come in the middle of the night, but Grian’s also never been one for general reason.

“I should’ve,” Grian agrees. “It’s pretty lousy to go behind your soulmate’s back like that; you deserved to have known.”

“Thank you,” Scar says, a bit stunned.

“We kind of suck at this whole soulbound business,” Grian says, with a humorless little laugh.

Scar shrugs. “We’ll manage.”

Grian’s forehead furrows and he scans Scar’s face before he nods once, slowly, decisively. “Yeah, we will.”

It’s too late in the night for truthfulness, and Scar’s edges are feeling rather raw, so instead of releasing the hundreds of words that threaten to tumble from the tip of his tongue, he extends an arm in invitation to Grian.

Grian doesn’t hesitate to haul himself forwards and settle his head upon Scar’s chest when they’re both properly laying down. Scar might cry. He buries his face in Grian’s hair.

“For what it’s worth,” Grian says, a final breath before sleep, “I’m glad to share a heart with you, as accident-prone as you sometimes are. I don’t think I’d want it to be anyone else.”

Scar squeezes him tighter. Grian hugs him back. The distance gaping between them doesn’t feel quite so insurmountable.

—☾—

“Hi Grian! I’m so sorry, but it had to happen. Thank you.”

Grian’s unblinking stare doesn’t waver. If Scar squints, he can almost convince himself he sees some semblance of life in the stiff form of his body through the water that cascades between them.

“No—this isn’t an apology session, he tells you your future,” Bdubs says, and the group crammed together in the little stone room erupts into giggles. Scar defends his position against their teasing through his own laughter.

Still chuckling, Scott says, “You know what, this can be whatever you want. For Scar, it can be a confessional, and for the rest of us it can be fortune telling.”

“Okay, hold on, one second.” Scar clears his throat and peers back through the waterfall. It’s almost easier to hold Grian’s eyes when he’s not behind them. Scar misses their spark. “I’m sorry that I baby-talked you so much, you were just so cute on your little llama. I’m so sorry that I killed you, but I had to. It was part of the moment, things happen. Thank you.”

Someone gives a short-winded clap.

Scar turns around with a flourish before straightening. “I feel better.”

“Lovely,” Bdubs says.

After the bit has run its course, Scar shuffles aboveground with everyone else and lags behind when they head for their respective bases. When the coast is clear, he doubles back to where Grian’s been left.

First he plugs the water, and in its absence, the room is shockingly still. He then drops into a crouch by the wall next to Grian, and unhooks his legs beneath him until he’s sat flat on the ground, leaning against the cool stone.

“I lied,” Scar says, staring into nothing. “I said I was sorry for killing you, but I’m not. Well, maybe I am. I’m sorry for not being more sorry.”

Will Grian be mad when he wakes? Surely he’d expected chaos upon leaving his unoccupied body on a server like this. It’d be, frankly, unreasonable not to. If anything, he’s lucky he’s not on red, or a shimmering spectator floating through the night!

Scar is briefly distracted by visions of a ghostly Grian wearing a leather jacket as solid as the moral world around him, like when one forgets to remove their armor after taking a potion of invisibility. He voices as much to the real Grian, and the faint echo that follows his own voice is his only response.

It feels wrong to let the stifling hush fall back into place, so Scar fills it.

He tells Grian about the Clockers, and how their tower is coming along. He recounts a funny encounter with Martyn and all of the spectacular ways Scar’s traps have failed. Joel had complimented Scar’s triple kill, Scar can’t help but gloat, and winces when he gets to the part where all three of the players who’d died were yellow.

“You’d be proud,” Scar says. “Almost a quad.” There is something undeniably warm and inexplicably aching in his chest.

“I miss you sometimes,” he confesses, “and it’s silly, because you’re right there in front of me. You’ve got your sunglasses and your bread bad bridge boys—however you say it—and it’s stupid to miss someone you can see, right?”

He tilts his head up and traces patterns in the ceiling. “I’m happy with Mom and Bdubs. I’m not sorry for burning your mansion down or maybe sort of poking around your chests. We both know how Double Life ended.”

From his pocket, Scar produces a bedroll, and he briefly shuffles around to place it where he’d been sitting and re-settle upon it. His legs were getting sore.

“We make a good team.” Sepia-toned kitchens and grey trouser pockets lined with TNT bleed into spiked fortresses and mildewed cities deep underground. “Or maybe we don’t.”

Scar sighs. “Silly of me, isn’t it?”

A stuttering cough jolts Scar from the hazy area between wakefulness and sleep. It takes him a moment to place where he is. There’s a crick in his neck from where he’d been awkwardly leaning it against the stone.

“Of all the places to be, I don’t think this is what I was expecting,” Grian says contemplatively to Scar’s right, his voice a little scratchy.

“Oh!” Scar says, startled. “Good… something, sleepyhead.”

“Scar? What are you doing here?” Grian asks. Scar watches as he clambers out of the hole he’d been put in on unsteady feet. “Actually, scratch that. Where is here?”

“Somewhere under Entertainment Mountain!” Scar frowns. “I think.”

“Right, okay.” Grian’s remarkably composed for someone in his position. “Getting back to my first point, are you a guard or something?”

“You were telling fortunes,” Scar says.

It’s astonishing how different Grian’s blank stare is now compared to his previous state. He shakes his head as if to clear it and says, “Actually, I’ve decided that I don’t want to know.

“You told Scott he’d soon come into a stack of diamonds and promised Bdubs a puppy,” Scar says, just to mess with him.

Grian snorts. “Sad to have missed it.” Something like relief floods through Scar.

“Fun times, fun times,” Scar says. “Off to your bread boys, then?”

“Are you off to your Clockers?” Grian asks. He nearly smirks with it.

“It is pretty late,” Scar says, and his own smile grows.

“The boys will definitely want more of an explanation than what I’m awake enough to give,” Grian agrees. He gestures to the space next to Scar, and asks, “That seat wouldn’t happen to be taken, would it?”

Though their teams will worry, though they’ll wake up tomorrow and join opposite sides once more, Grian’s legs tangle between Scar’s own and his breath puffs gently against the juncture of Scar’s neck. Scar’s fingers dig into the softness of Grian’s sweater. He’s glad Grian had left his jacket behind for taking off for… wherever he went.

“So, what was your fortune?” Grian asks, and Scar can feel the words against his skin. They dance as they fall from Grian’s lips, light and teasing.

“That I’m going to win Limited Life, of course,” Scar says with a grin.

Grian hums. “Guess we’ll see.”

—☾—

Twilight catches between each of the sunflowers’ petals that have not yet been shrouded in the shadow of the wall around Scar’s valley, a pretty contrast to the craters he’s been tripping over on the way home. He catches the edge of the nearest flower between his forefinger and thumb as he passes by and releases it before the petals can tear away.

The glow of his outpost is a beacon; once inside, Scar collapses against the door on weary bones. He’d been set on fire a couple times today, and none of it compares to the burn nipping at his feet now. Exhaustion barely begins to cover the shape of his lungs and every limb.

Scar’s moved to sitting on the counter’s edge with his boots removed when a knock sounds at his door. “Come in,” he calls without looking up.

“You’re in a sorry state, aren’t you.” Grian appears in front of Scar. He’s looking rather disheveled himself—his wings, in particular, are just as rumbled as the rolled-up cuffs of his sweater and the white undershirt that peeks out from his collar.

“Wow, rude,” Scar comments.

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” Grian says. “I came to check on you. Big day, yeah?”

Scar scoffs. “That stupid thing chased me for like—an hour!”

“And you made a valiant effort,” Grian says, and gives Scar’s shoulder a compassionately gentle pat. “I brought a golden apple over, if you need it.”

“Here at Trader Scar’s, stock is looking unfortunately low at this very second.” Scar waves a hand in the vague direction of the barrels on the wall. “Come back tomorrow.”

“At no cost.” The corner of Grian’s lip quirks up.

“Well, in that case…” Scar holds out a palm, and Grian passes him the apple. He takes a bite and savors its sweetness, ambrosia whose warmth runs over top of his wounds without truly mending them. The kindness of the gesture itself soaks deeper, and Scar’s determined to savor that, too.

Grian watches him for a moment. His gaze seems to skirt across every inch of Scar, never lingering on any specific part. “Got any other general ailments?”

“Can’t do much about them, now can we?” Scar shrugs.

“Sure, but I could at least clean them.” Grian’s tone is nonchalant, but his words, Scar knows, are anything but. This matters to him. The corners of Scar’s eyes crinkle.

The Wither—and the rest of the day’s shenanigans—had left a number of scrapes and bruises along Scar’s skin that turning in his task hadn’t fully healed. A dull sort of sting gnaws at the lines of Scar’s nerves, residue from the withering he hadn’t been able to dodge. His legs hurt and his head throbs and there’s a twinge in his shoulder from where Scar had collided with a wall at an odd angle.

His hands are in arguably the worst state of it all; bare to the earth Scar caught himself upon when he tripped, and tight around a bow when he dared to turn and shoot. He offers them up first to Grian, who takes them, one at a time, and cleans away the dirt and blood with invariable carefulness.

From his pocket Grian produces a roll of bandages, which he uses to wrap each of Scar’s palms. The rhythm is soothing, and Grian’s steady warmth is familiar. The pain ebs, if even just for a moment, in the wake of his touch.

“Anything else?” Grian asks after he releases Scar’s hands. Though he remains close enough for his breath to fan lightly across the tip of Scar’s nose, Scar mourns the loss of contact immediately.

“Nothing that can be wrapped, it seems,” Scar says. “You?”

“I’m pretty alright,” Grian says. “I feel like I could sleep an entire week, though.”

“Sleeping on wings looking like that?” Scar says conversationally. “They’ll be worse by morning.”

“Oh,” Grian says, sounding a little surprised. He tosses a half-glance over his shoulder. “They’ll be fine.”

“Nonsense!” Scar says. “I’d be a terrible host if I let a guest stay over in such discomfort.”

“Really, there’s no need,” Grian says, leveling Scar a look. Unfortunately for him, Scar’s thoroughly familiar with his tactics.

“You fixed me up,” Scar says, “it’s only fair if I do the same, right?”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Grian says. “I didn’t come over for any deals.”

“Consider this to be on the house,” Scar says. Softer, he adds, “I want to. If you’ll have me.”

Grian’s quiet for a long moment. His wing twitches in seeming contemplation.

“Fair is fair,” he concedes soon after. “Want any help getting into bed?”

“Please.”

Scar wraps an arm over Grian’s shoulder, careful to avoid his wings, while Grian braces Scar across his back. Together they make their way into the outpost’s second room, where Scar’s bed is nestled amidst a pile of chests. Scar tugs off his poncho and tosses it onto the nearest surface, then settles onto the bed against the far wall. Grian perches on the edge in front of him and spreads out a wing.

They really are beautiful this time around, all earthy browns and creamy tans, speckled with spots of black that remind Scar of rich, dark soil. He runs gentle fingers through the nearest plumage, carding out debris and straightening feathers knocked out of place.

The repeated motions are comforting, like petting a cat (and gosh, does he miss Jellie, but he’d asked her once if she’d wanted to accompany him, and she’d meowed back with what he’s pretty sure meant no, thank you very much, death games would be terrible for my coat, and that was that), and after he finishes the section he’d been working on, he runs a flat hand over it appreciatively. Grian very generously allows about three seconds of this, punctuated by a slight shake of his shoulders and heavy sigh, before shrugging Scar off.

Moving on to the next part, Scar asks, “How’s life been with Etho and Cleo?”

Scar can see Grian’s slight smile where it raises part of his cheek. “It’s good. They’re weird, but, like, in a good way. Chill.”

“Sounds like them,” Scar says, and murmurs an apology when he plucks a broken feather. Grian hardly flinches, and Scar knows why it must be done, but he can’t help but feel the slightest bit of guilt every time. “So the Wither, it was your task?”

“Yep,” Grian says, popping the p. “Me and Etho’s, actually. We had to set up a boss fight between the Wither and warden. Definitely didn’t expect it to lock in so heavily on you, though. Sorry about that.”

“A task’s a task, right?” Scar says. “Thanks for saving me, back there.”

The rift Grian had pried open in the server’s code had left a gash without taking hearts; Scar has the ripped sleeve to prove it. Floating between worlds is hardly pleasant, however anchored he’d still technically been to Secret Life, and solid ground upon his return had been a relief. Even more immensely relieving was spotting the Wither on Scott’s tail instead of his own.

Scar doesn’t know why Grian did it. Though friendly enough, they aren’t teamed.

“It’s the least I could’ve done,” Grian answers, and releases his other wing from where he’d been preening it across his lap. “Are you about finished?”

“Almost.” All that’s left are the tiny feathers at the juncture of Grian’s wings and his back, sprouting from the open panel of his shirt. They’re not particularly out of place, but when Scar smooths them down, he’s rewarded with a shiver that reverberates down the length of Grian’s spine. Grian whacks Scar with a wing. “Hey! You’ll mess up my work.”

“Should’ve thought about that,” Grian says primly before he twists to face Scar and pulls his legs up onto the bed. “It’s nap time, anyway.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Scar says, and collapses sideways, pulling Grian down with him.

The outpost feels all that less lonesome when Grian’s tucked into Scar’s side beneath a blanket of feathers. Grian’s warmth is soothing against Scar’s pains, and for all the questions that still buzz behind his eyes, Grian’s presence puts Scar’s somnolent-syruped mind at something close to ease.

Grian traces slow patterns into Scar’s arm. Scar falls asleep trying to decipher what they could be.

—☾—

The footsteps that pad up the mountain long after Lizzie and Jimmy have passed out are a surprise. What little remains of the reputation board still smolders a mere few blocks away from Scar, and his yellow life sits fresh in his chest. He’d assumed their little arrangement had drawn to an explosive end.

“Come to take your revenge?” Scar asks the shadow over him. “It’s against the gentleman's code to kill a guy in his sleep.”

If Scar admits it to himself, he’s happy to see Grian. From nearly the first second Scar had made his bed, Grian had claimed half of it as his own, and Scar would be reluctant to give up his nightly company, with what ease they slot together in and how warm Grian is looped around him. Scar’s teammates have long given up their protest, but Lizzie declares a continual disregard of principle if Grian’s still around by the time she rises from her own slumber.

“I’m still mad at you,” Grian says, and though he can’t see it, Scar can hear his scowl. “Move over.”

Scar graciously complies, and Grian shoves beneath the blanket. He keeps his back towards Scar and his legs curled firmly away, a display that’d achieve more of an effect if his head wasn’t a breath away from Scar’s on the bed’s single pillow. His feathers are ticklish where they brush lightly against Scar.

“You’re about to fall off,” Scar observes.

“Shut up,” comes the grumbled reply. Grudgingly, Grian scoots all of an inch inwards. “It’s none of your business if I choose to sleep on the ground, anyway. It’d be more tolerable than your company.”

Grian would do no such thing, and they both know it. Still, Scar says, “But the thud, skip, and squawk would definitely disrupt my beauty sleep, so it’s really in my best interest to make sure you don’t go tumblin’.”

“I’ll go tumbling if I want to,” Grian answers, tilting his head to the sky to glare at Scar from the corner of his vision, “and it’d be your fault when I die from fall damage. Again.”

“We’re even!” Scar says. “That’s all in the past.”

“We are not even, and that was like, five hours ago!”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” Scar challenges.

“That’s different,” Grian says, flat.

Scar pauses. He doesn’t want to antagonize Grian into actually leaving, not really. The steps to their dance have worn well into his soles, and the shape of his partner is familiar between his arms.

He’d missed Grian. For all of their posturing, twirling the line between enemy and friend, to have him by his side once more beneath the winking moon’s light is a gratifying reprieve.

“A truce, then,” Scar eventually says, “if we’re not even.”

“A truce,” Grian agrees. The anger in his voice has faded like lips pulled over once-bared teeth. Scar can’t quite make out what replaces it, but through the tiredness that seeps in along Grian’s edges, Scar’s fairly certain he’s not about to be bit.

“And friends?” Scar teasingly tries. He can envision the scrunch of Grian’s nose as clear as day when he huffs in reply.

“Not friends,” Grian says. “But beyond someone’s cheap shot, we’re not really enemies, are we?”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” Scar says. Something surges out with aching fingers from the cavity between his ribs where two hearts had once beat in tandem. It’s fun to rile Grian up, but what side he stands on hardly matters in stopping Scar, anyway. It’d be nice, he thinks, to not be enemies.

“Though you’re still dead to me,” Grian says, “we’ve had plenty of practice being enemies before. We can stay affably neutral here if you don’t go taking any more dirty kills.”

Scar shrugs and nods, but he can’t help his grin. “Gotta keep it fresh.”

Grian clicks his tongue in the same way he always does when they’ve reached the same conclusion. Scar’s sure that, if he’d been watching Grian instead of the stars above them, he would’ve caught Grian’s accompanying wink.

“Goodnight, Grian,” Scar says, and closes his eyes.

“Goodnight, Scar.” Grian turns fully back onto his side. He scoots in another inch. The blanket undergoes a considerable amount of rearranging before it adequately covers them both.

After everything’s been sorted, Scar reaches out. Grian’s hand meets his own halfway across the mattress. Their linked fingers are awfully close to honesty, and a shared pillow is the nearest Scar’s ever been to trust.

A truce hums behind Scar’s eyelids, and he lets the darkness pull him under.

“And we’re best friends?”

“We’re best friends.”

The sun is shining and the morning feels ripe with opportunity when Scar wakes. Grian’s hold on Scar is fierce even in sleep, and Scar takes a moment to bask in it.

It’s all a bit hard to fully wrap his mind around. They’re allies again—no, better yet, friends. The sensation is apricity against frost-nipped fingers. It’s the light of a campfire and the jaunty melody of the song shared around it. It’s home.

After a tick or two—Grian’s never been one to let too much of the day’s beginning go to waste—Grian shifts and blinks the bleariness from his eyes. Scar’s chest feels impossibly aglow with fondness.

“Hi,” Grian says when he lifts his gaze to Scar’s face.

“Good morning,” Scar says, and, just to make sure: “Best friend?”

Grian snorts. “I meant it. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

There’s a mace tucked away somewhere in his inventory, and a thousand things piled between them. Scar remembers sand, and wood, and stone; he remembers sleep-warm skin and linens as soft as a death game can afford beneath his fingertips.

Scar kisses Grian, once, just to feel his startled laugh against his own mouth. They rise in staggered tandem, and Grian pressed his lips to Scar’s temple before disappearing down the mountainside to rejoin his team.

Smiling, Scar stretches his shoulders with a satisfying crack, and goes off to find his own.

[pondermyorb]

Scented Candles

You were sitting at home, watching TV. It was a typical Tuesday, work had been hectic but manageable. You were happy to be home at last, able to relax a little on your comfy couch.

The door opened and you heard your boyfriend enter, bags rustling as he placed down his shopping on the table. “Hey baby!” He called from the kitchen “How was work?”

“Tiring” You reply, not wanting to get up from your cozy spot, but hoping he’ll come greet you soon. “How was your day? Find anything good at the store?”

He pops into the living room a second later, grinning that adorable grin of his, then leans down and kisses you deeply. Your face in his hands, lightly lifted from the couch as you hang on, you hardly remember you asked a question when he breaks the kiss to answer. “Also tiring, but I did find something I think will help us both relax”

He places a large scented candle on the coffee table in front of you, before going to find a lighter. Once lit, he steps back, waiting for you to admire the candle. “It’s called Oblivion, it’s supposed to be an incredibly relaxing scent”

You chuckle a little, watching the candle flicker. “Oh honey, I hope you didn’t pay too much for that. I love scented candles as much as you do, but there’s only so much they can do to help relax us”

“No no I promise this one’s special!” He says, stepping behind you as you lean back into the couch. “Come on can’t you feel it? The scent is already filling your nostrils, isn’t it relaxing?”

He was behind you completely at this point, hands on your shoulders, lips by your ear. And he was right… it did smell good. You couldn’t quite place it, but each breath you inhaled of it sent a warmth coursing through your body. It felt… nice… was he talking still..?

“… just letting it relax you, each breath taking you deeper into a warm, comforting relaxation. Let your eyes focus on the pretty flame as it flickers, drawing your attention with every movement, every flash, finding it harder and harder to look away the longer you stare”

The flame was pretty… And his hands felt so nice on your shoulders, his voice sounded so good in your ear… why would you want to look away? Why would you ever stop staring at the beautiful flame as it twisted and flickered and glowed so comfortingly in its glass container. Better to just stare and let your mind drift, let your thoughts empty from your head. You don’t need to think, you just…

“…need to obey. Drop for me. The deeper you go the better you feel. The better you feel the deeper you go. Obedience is pleasure. Pleasure is obedience. These words will repeat in your head until there’s nothing else. Your thoughts are gone, all that’s left are the thoughts I put there. It feels good to be blank, it feels good to be mindless, it feels good to do as you’re told, it feels good to obey your Master…”

It feels good to obey your Master. It feels good to be blank. It feels good to be mindless. It feels good to do as you’re told. It feels good to obey your Master. These are the only thoughts swimming through your empty head as you continue to stare at the candle.

“That’s right, so deep for me, dropping further with each breath in. The candle has your whole attention, focus on it and my words and let everything else slip away. Breathe in deeply, little doll, remembering this scent with every breath. This scent fills you, whenever you smell it, with a heat like the candle’s flame. A burning, throbbing arousal starting in your cunt, growing in intensity with each breath, spreading further and further, until your whole body is burning hot with arousal. Just a whiff of this aphrodisiac laced scent will make you soaked, make your mind fuzzy, and the longer you breathe it in the stronger it’ll become. Five minutes will leave you nothing but a cock drunk slut desperate to get my cock inside of you. And look at that, you’ll have been breathing it in for exactly five minutes in five… four… three… two… one… *snap*”

Cock… you need his… cockk “cockkk” is all you can make out, you’ve never felt so arises in your life. But you can’t look away from the flame… need… He steps between you and the flame, your eyes trying hard to focus on the flame before you notice the cock in front of your face.

Eagerly, desperately you take it into your mouth, sighing contentedly at the taste as it fills you. Making it hit the back of your throat again and again as you take it as deep as possible, needing it more than oxygen, leaving your face a drooling mess, your worship of his cock the only thing on your mind. When he finally cums down your throat, holding your face so you can’t back up even as you hold his ass so he can’t do the same, you start to notice a thought or two bubbling to the surface.

At some point he had blown out the candle, the scent of it slowly dissipating. It was almost completely gone now, and with it the trance he had put you in so deeply. You started to blush, even as he collects you in his arms, holding you protectively and lovingly, swaying back and forth with your head buried in his neck.

“You did such an amazing job for me, Doll, you were a perfect subject and the sexiest little cock slut. I can’t wait to burn that candle again” you could hear the grin in his voice, and you couldn’t help but get wet at the thought of him using that candle on you without your knowledge.

For now you both forgot about the candle, as he carried you to your bedroom. You had plenty of other triggers installed in that head of yours, and a Master who wanted to reward you for being such a good subject. Many, many orgasms later you both lay there, cuddled together, and as happy as you could be in each others arms.

You were cleaning the kitchen, maid costume on, no panties, high heels, and he still hadn’t come to fuck you! It’s been at least 15 minutes, is he just being cruel? Maybe you’ll make him wait when he does come to give him a taste of his own medicine. Maybe he’ll only get to watch you today, as punishment for making you wait for his cock.

Finally, you feel him grab your hips from behind, a gasp escaping your lips as you feel his hot breath on your neck. You try to keep cleaning, how dare he make you wait so long then not even mention it, but fuck he smelled so good, is that a new cologne..?

“I need to clean, Sir, you’re distracting me” you say, trying to sound like you aren’t soaked from his touch. “You’ll have to wait until I finish” God he smelled so good, fuck he’s grabbing my hips so tight I can feel them bruise.

It continued like this, you trying to ignore his touches, for a few minutes. He kept kissing you, making you moan softly as you refused to look at him, hands caressing your body. Fuck why did he have to smell so… so… was that scent familiar..?

You turned around sharply, looking towards him for the first time since he started. You instantly recognized the candle burning on the kitchen island, you look over at him to tell him off but then *ding*.

You fall to your knees, mind filled only by his cock, as the five minute timer he set goes off. Mouth open, eyes glazed over, looking up at your Master, desperate to be filled in any way he sees fit.

Without a word he bends you over, pressing your face into the floor. He takes out his cock and fills your dripping cunt, fucking you hard and rough, each thrust pressing you harder into the ground, and all you can think of is how good it feels to be filled by his cock. The scent of the candle has already gotten you so wet, so worked up that it only takes a few thrusts to push you over the edge.

Mind blank, mouth open, panting and drooling like the good little fuck doll you’ve been turned into. All you can do is moan as he uses you for his own pleasure, dumping load after load into your tight cunt. Slapping you, bruising you, stepping on your head as he fucks you into oblivion.

After he’s had his fill, he takes you by your hair, dragging you to his desk, and tosses you on the dog bed set up beneath it. Placing the candle right by your head, he sits and begins to work, leaving his cock out for you to worship whenever he wanted. You sit there, head full of fluff, the only thoughts you can manage are those about obedience, arousal, Master, Cock… A firm tug on your head pulls you to your obsession, and you begin to lick and suck and kiss with single minded devotion. His cum shoots down your throat and you greedily swallow every single drop before settling back on your bed, waiting for him to use you again. As you sit there, a single independent thought manages to bubble its way to the surface…

“I should buy him more of these candles…”

[scarletwinterxx]

benefit of friends - kim mingyu imagine

god really made this man to be the most perfect one😭 how to get your own kim mingyu (asking for a friend) lol anyways hope you like this one!

for my other svt fics, check them here

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All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pic not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You’ve always been good at compartmentalizing.

Work is work. Fun is fun. Feelings? Well, they’re like those receipts stuffed into your wallet... you’ll deal with them later.

Your arrangement with Mingyu, your ridiculously handsome coworker-turned-“friend-with-benefits,” was supposed to fall neatly into the “fun” category.

No strings, no expectations, no messy emotions.

But tonight, at the company dinner, you’re beginning to realize that neatly labeled boxes have a way of getting jumbled when Mingyu’s around.

The restaurant is buzzing with chatter, glasses clinking, and the hum of soft music in the background. His deep, warm laugh carries over the noise, drawing glances from everyone at your table. He’s always been effortlessly charming, with his broad shoulders, that perfect smile, and a sense of humor that’s impossible to resist.

And right now, someone else seems to have noticed.

A junior marketing associate, her name slips your mind, but she’s all bright eyes and flirty giggles. She's leaning just a little too close to him. Her hand grazes his arm as she laughs at something he said, and you swear you see her fingers linger there for a moment longer than necessary.

Your chest tightens, and you quickly take a sip of your wine, hoping the bitterness will drown the unfamiliar feeling clawing its way up your throat.

Jealousy.

It’s ridiculous, really. You and Mingyu aren’t together.

You’ve both made it clear: this is casual. Easy. No messy emotions, remember?

So why does it bother you so much when he leans in to whisper something to her, his grin widening as she laughs again?

“Are you okay?” a colleague asks, pulling you out of your spiral.

“Yeah, fine,” you reply, forcing a smile.

But your eyes can’t help darting back to Mingyu.

Later, as the group begins to thin out, people leaving one by one, you make your way to the bar for another drink.

You need something. Anything to steady your nerves. You’re swirling your glass idly when you feel someone slide onto the stool beside you.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight,” Mingyu says, his voice low and teasing.

You don’t turn to look at him immediately. “I’m just tired,” you lie.

“Hmm,” he hums, leaning a little closer. You can feel the warmth radiating off him, and it makes your heart race.

“Tired? Or… distracted?”

That gets your attention. You glance at him, and he’s watching you with that playful glint in his eye, like he already knows exactly what’s on your mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning indifference.

“Oh, don’t you?” He grins, and it’s infuriatingly attractive. “You’ve been glaring daggers at poor Mina all night.”

So that’s her name. Mina.

“I wasn’t glaring,” you snap, a little too defensively.

He laughs softly, leaning even closer until his shoulder brushes yours. “You were. And, for the record, it was kind of cute.”

“I wasn’t jealous, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Really?” His voice drops, and suddenly the air between you feels charged. “Because it looked a lot like jealousy to me.”

You turn to face him fully, ready to argue, but the words catch in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you—intense, his eyes flicking briefly to your lips before meeting yours again.

“Mingyu,” you start, but your voice comes out softer than you intended.

“Relax,” he says, smirking. “I wasn’t interested in her, anyway.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and you hate how much that admission makes your pulse race. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, turning back to your drink.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice warm and teasing, “but you like me anyway.”

The car ride home is quieter than usual. Mingyu insisted on sharing a ride, though you suspect it’s less about convenience and more about prolonging the teasing

As the car pulls up to your apartment, you hesitate for a moment. You should say goodnight and leave it at that.

But when Mingyu’s hand brushes yours as he moves to open the door, your resolve wavers.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice casual, though your heart is anything but.

He smiles knowingly. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Your apartment feels smaller with Mingyu in it. The tension that’s been simmering all night seems to boil over as he follows you inside, his eyes lingering on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

“You know,” he says, his tone teasing but softer now, “if you’re going to get jealous every time someone flirts with me, we might have to renegotiate this whole ‘just friends’ thing.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” you say again, though even you don’t believe it this time.

“Sure,” he says, stepping closer. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but before you can come up with a retort, his hand cups your cheek, and suddenly you forget how to speak.

“Mingyu,” you whisper, but he cuts you off with a kiss—soft at first, almost tentative, before it deepens. His other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

You don’t remember moving, but somehow you end up against the kitchen counter, his lips trailing down your neck as your hands tangle in his hair.

“You’re impossible,” you murmur, though it comes out more like a sigh.

“And yet,” he says, his breath warm against your skin, “you keep me around.”

His lips find yours again, and this time there’s no teasing, no games, just the kind of intensity that leaves you breathless and wondering how you ever thought you could keep this casual.

Later, as you lie tangled together on your couch, his arm draped lazily over your waist, you realize your carefully labeled boxes have completely unraveled.

And maybe, just maybe, you’re okay with that.

It starts at a casual get-together with some of your friends. Mingyu wasn’t supposed to come. You invited him half-jokingly, figuring he’d have better things to do on a Friday night. But to your surprise, he’d shown up, effortlessly sliding into the group as if he’d always been part of it.

And now, you wish he hadn’t.

Not because you’re upset he’s here.

Far from it.

Mingyu has a way of making everything more fun. It’s just that you’re too aware of him, standing across the room, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds like he’s keeping tabs on you.

You’re talking to a guy.

what was his name again? Jae? Jin? Mingyu thought to hinself.

The guy has clearly been angling for your attention all night but you don’t notice. You’re oblivious to the way he leans a little too close when he speaks or the way his hand brushes yours unnecessarily as you reach for your drink.

Mingyu notices, though.

From his spot by the makeshift bar, he’s gripping his glass a little too tightly, his jaw clenched as he watches the scene unfold. He tells himself it’s fine—you’re not his, and he has no right to feel this way. But when Jae-or-whatever laughs a little too loud at something you’ve said, leaning in like he’s about to touch you, something snaps.

Before he knows it, he’s crossing the room.

“Hey,” Mingyu says, his voice smooth but laced with an edge as he steps between you and Jason, casually sliding his arm around your waist. “Didn’t realize you’d made a new friend.”

“Mingyu? What are you doing?” You blink up at him, surprised

“Just thought I’d check in,” he says, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. His gaze shifts to Jason, who suddenly looks less sure of himself. “Who’s this?”

Jason clears his throat. “Uh, I’m Joon. We were just talking.”

“Talking, huh?” Mingyu says, his smile sharp. “That’s nice. But I think she’s good here.”

“Mingyu—” you start, but he’s already steering you away, his hand firm on your lower back.

You glance back at Joon, who’s standing there awkwardly, but Mingyu doesn’t let you linger. He leads you out onto the balcony, where the cool night air hits your skin.

“What the hell was that?” you ask, spinning to face him.

“What was that?” he counters, his voice low and tense. “That guy was all over you.”

“He was not!” you protest. “We were just talking.”

“You’re so oblivious sometimes, you know that? He wasn’t just talking, he was hitting on you.”

You cross your arms, irritation bubbling up. “And what if he was? It’s not like you get to decide who I talk to.”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Then he steps closer, the tension between you crackling like electricity.

“Maybe I don’t,” he says quietly, his voice dangerously calm. “But I didn’t like it.”

Your breath catches. His proximity, the intensity in his gaze—it’s overwhelming

“Why do you even care?” you ask, though your voice is softer now, less sure. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and suddenly the world feels smaller, like it’s just the two of you on that balcony.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Your heart pounds as he leans in, his forehead resting against yours

“I care,” he murmurs, his voice rough with something that feels too big to name, “because you’re mine.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and undeniable.

“Mingyu—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, his lips crashing against yours with a desperation that leaves you breathless. It’s not soft or tentative like before—it’s possessive, claiming, as if he’s trying to prove something to both of you.

You don’t resist. Instead, you pull him closer, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his shirt as his hands slide to your waist, gripping you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

When you finally break apart, both of you breathing hard, he rests his forehead against yours again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know we said no feelings. No strings. But I can’t help it. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else having you.”

Your chest tightens, and for once, you don’t push him away. Instead, you reach up to trace the line of his jaw, your touch soft.

“You’re an idiot,” you say, but there’s no heat in your words. “But I guess you're my idiot.”

His smile is equal parts relief and triumph. “Damn right I am”

Back inside, the party continues without you, but neither of you cares. You end up in your apartment again, the tension between you finally boiling over.

This time, there’s no hesitation, no teasing. Just the two of you giving in to what’s been building for weeks. His hands are everywhere, mapping every inch of your skin like he’s memorizing you, and when you pull him down onto the couch, he follows without question.

“Say it again,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice rough and low as his lips trail downward.

“Say what?” you manage, your breath hitching as his hands slide under your shirt.

“That you’re mine,” he says, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, hidden beneath all the confidence.

You cup his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I’m yours,” you whisper, and the way his expression softens makes your heart ache.

“Good,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “Because I’m yours too.”

And this time, when he kisses you, it feels like a promise.

[pillowspace]

Same anon, thank you for the explanation! Fun fact, I used to read y/n fics while I was in the undertale fandom while back, who also uses second person for some of their fanfictions. Sadly I stopped reading y/n fics when I got into isat because the fandom is barren of y/ns and I would love to start reading them again! Do you have any recs? For y/n fics or aus or comics

Do you mean for the DCA fandom?

If so, I do have a fic rec list!

I won't be the best at remembering what all the major AUs are, but if you'd like to know about artists who either currently are or formerly were in the fandom and you want to search certain people's blogs for DCA content (searches would be dca, dca fandom, sundrop, moondrop, fnaf sun, fnaf moon, etcetera, maybe accompanied with whatever their art tag is), there'ssss....

bamsara, paper-lilypie, opudont-donut, oobbbear (oobbbear also draws for ISAT if you recognize them), shandzii, venomous-qwille, garbagechocolate, pinkiepig, maudiemoods, spadillelicious, xitsensunmoon, sorveteir, suntimeswolliw, vurelly, castercassette, itty-bitty-sunshine, starrspice, sinnabee, craykaycee, strawbubbysugar... Okay, there are SO many more people than that, I just realized I'm too tired to list everyone actually 😭

Feel free to let me know if I misunderstood thoughh

[schrijverr]

Go Ask Daddy, Bud, I’m Napping for a Bit

Divergence from chapter 23, where when Buck is tired in the lead up towards Christmas, he accidentally refers to Eddie as daddy to Chimney. It’s just automatic due to Chris, but it gets some weird looks and attempting to explain doesn’t make it sound better. In trying to defend himself more comes to light.

On AO3.

Ships: Buddie (pre-slash)

Warnings: discussions of sex

~~~

Christmas is drawing near and Eddie and Buck have been alternating on taking extra shifts, as to not throw off their schedule too much while still saving up.

You never realize how expensive holidays are until you’re an adult. And those expenses increase exponentially when you have a kid. They still don’t know Chris’s Christmas wish, so they’re making sure they have enough for whatever it will be. The kid deserves not to be disappointed.

Right now, however, Buck is exhausted and slightly grouchy about it. His extra shift is a 48 hours that is a 24 hours for both A and B shift. So, his first 24 hours with B shift have rolled into the next with the A shift and he is so, so tired.

He thinks someone on B shift must have said the q-word, because they’ve been running all over town all day. He’s hoping that the curse won’t last into this new one, because that will suck ass. Of course, he’d do anything for Chris, but by god does he want this shift to be over.

The others ribbed him a little about it when they came in, but five calls later, they’ve slowly eased off of him.

They’ve just come back from their latest call and Buck has collapsed onto the couch, fully prepared to take a nap and too lazy to walk all the way back down after climbing the stairs to get a snack. He likes napping on the couch and listening to the hum of the station anyway.

Buck is already halfway asleep, vaguely listening to Eddie and Hen chatting at the kitchen table, when he is interrupted by Chimney asking: “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

And later, Buck will totally blame the curse for the way he gestures in Eddie’s general direction as he grumbles: “Go ask daddy, bud, I’m napping for a bit.”

He would have dropped off in the immediate shocked silence that came after that, were it not for Chimney loudly exclaiming: “Daddy?”

It startles him and he blearily tries to open his eyes as he sits up, going: “Wha?”

“You just referred to Eddie as daddy,” Chimney informs him, a mix of gleeful, confused and a little weirded out. “Unless you have opinions about Hen that you didn’t share with the class.”

The words break through the exhausted fog and embarrassment floods through him at the realization of what just happened. The sweater thing was just such a Chris question and he’d been on his mind, due to the Christmas present conundrum, so it had just slipped out as natural in the sleepiness.

A bright blush paints his features and he’s sure everyone can see. Still, he tries to deflect: “Are you sure, man? Pretty certain I said Eddie, you must’ve misheard or something.”

“No, you said daddy,” Hen speaks up and Buck looks over to her. She is raising her brow at him, then at Eddie, who is across from her, also blushing. She continues: “And Eddie here looked over at it without missing a beat.”

“So, it’s normal for you to call Eddie daddy, is it? Hm, curious,” Chimney accuses.

“You’re making it weird,” Buck protests.

“And it’s not?” Hen counters unconvinced.

“No, it’s not. It’s not a thing,” Buck says as confidently as he can anyway.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Edmundo. You’ve been awfully quiet,” Chimney directs himself towards Eddie, who’s been quietly trying to disappear into the background. Buck feels guilty about that, Eddie didn’t ask to be caught up in Buck’s stupid brain fart.

“Uh, I thought he said Eddie,” Eddie defends himself after a beat that last too long to be believed.

“Hm, you thought he said Eddie, did you?” Chimney hums in a knowing tone, which irks Buck to no end. It’s not like he’s wrong, but he doesn’t have to be smug about it, or make it a sex thing – ironic coming from him, he’s aware.

“Oh shut up, it was just a slip of the tongue. I’m tired,” Buck says.

“Freudian slip,” Hen coughs and Buck glares at her.

“I’ve been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot,” Buck tells them stubbornly. “He calls Eddie daddy, so you start doing it when talking to him and my brain got it mixed up. You two are making it something it’s not.”

Chimney squints at him, clearly trying to discern whether he’s lying or not. In a way, he isn’t. He has been hanging out with Chris and Eddie a lot and he does refer to Eddie as daddy when talking to Chris because of it and his tired brain did get mixed up.

However, Hen doesn’t buy it, asking: “Really? You say to Chris things like ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad?’ You don’t do that with Denny. Or Harry.”

Fuck, busted.

“Uh…” Buck starts dumbly, unsure where to go from there.

Before he can say something more incriminating, Eddie comes to save him. He says: “It’s not that big a deal, you guys are really taking this and running with it for no reason.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees immediately. “Like, what do you even want me to say? Want me to confess me and Eddie are having steamy, kinky sex? We’re not. And despite my daddy issues, I don’t actually have a daddy kink. That’s not necessarily how that works.”

His need to please has translated more into being a service switch and having a massive praise kink, but he decides to keep that to himself for now. He doesn’t want to turn the him and Eddie conversation into a sex conversation more than it already is. Buck is pretty sure he will explode if it does.

Chimney and Hen pause at that, likely trying to think of why they’re pushing this the way they are. A part of Buck doesn’t want them to think about it and doesn’t want to think about it himself either. What if they picked up on the way he’s in love with Eddie and that’s why they thought they were onto something?

“You’re sure?” is what Chimney finally says, suspicious eyes going between Buck and Eddie.

Scandalized and annoyed, Buck exclaims: “Chimney!”

“What?” Chimney says defensively.

At that point, Bobby comes up the stairs from where he’d been filling out his reports. He has heard some of the ruckus and when he comes upstairs to find Buck glaring at a defensive Chimney, while Hen and Eddie are spectating – though Eddie with less amusement and more embarrassment than Hen – he asks: “What’s going on here?”

Before anyone else can speak, Chimney answers: “We’re trying to figure out if Buck and Eddie are fucking after Buck accidentally called Eddie daddy.”

“I told you, it’s because I’ve been hanging out with Chris and it’s not like that,” Buck exclaims. “You’re making it something it’s not. We’re not fucking!”

“And we said that it’s a little weird that you went ‘go ask daddy’ and not ‘go ask your dad,’” Hen reminds him.

“Yeah, and you two are being very defensive about it,” Chimney adds.

“Of course we’re defensive, you’re making a brain slip surrounding my kid weird,” Eddie grouches. “And throwing around accusations.”

Bobby hums thoughtfully as he tries to decide how to proceed. All of them hold their breath while they wait to see whose side Bobby will pick, and if he’ll even pick a side or will just walk away and distance himself from it.

Finally, he says: “No one in this house would judge you two, you know that right? If you want to keep things private, that is fine, but you will need to fill in the proper paperwork.”

Outraged as a result of the embarrassment and feeling exposed, Buck cries out: “You too? Why do all of you think we’re fucking?”

“Maybe because you two are making heart eyes at each other every day?” Hen snorts.

“What?” Buck squeaks, because, yeah, he is making heart eyes at Eddie and he kind of gathered he probably wasn’t hiding all that well, but what does she mean ‘you two’?

“Huh, what are you talking about? I’m straight,” Eddie frowns in confusion.

Hen looks taken aback by that. “You’re straight?” she asks disbelievingly, clapping her hand over her mouth the second it slips out.

“Yes!” Eddie says defensively, before his voice gets a slightly vulnerable edge as he adds: “Did you- did you not… think that?”

“Uh, no, I thought you were just low key about being gay,” Hen admits a little sheepishly, looking like she feels bad about bringing it up.

“Wait, but if Eddie’s straight, then why are him and Buck always eye fucking? What have we been witnessing these past few months?” Chimney interrupts loudly.

“Us being friends?” Buck suggests tentatively, unsure if he wants to risk it, but not wanting to make anyone think it’s something other than that.

“And there’s nothing else going on between you two?” Chimney asks suspiciously.

“No, no. No, definitely not,” Buck quickly assures him.

“You’re lying,” Chimney accuses, finger jabbing in Buck’s direction. “We all know you can’t lie for shit, Buckaroo, and that, was a lie! You two are fucking.”

“We’re not fucking!” Buck yells, face as red as a tomato. He’s still embarrassed by the daddy comment, then embarrassed by everyone seeing through him and pointing out how much he wants to fuck Eddie, and on top of that uncomfortably reminded that Eddie will never want him like Buck wants him.

“Then what is going on?” Bobby asks in that kind concerned fatherly manner that Buck usually loves, but right now makes him feel like he’s being cornered.

“Why do none of you believe that there’s nothing going on?”

“Because you’re a shit liar,” Chimney says.

“I can lie,” Buck says defensively, crossing his arms.

“Sure, you can,” Hen agrees patronizingly.

“I can!” Buck protests, before he lets it go, it’s not the point right now anyway. “And even if I can’t, I’m not lying now. There is nothing between me and Eddie.”

“Nothing, huh?” Chimney still doesn’t believe him, but lets him be for now, instead turning to Eddie again and asking: “And what do you have to say for yourself?”

“That you guys are being ridiculous,” Eddie offers. “Me and Buck are friends. Good friends. He’s been a huge help with Chris and he was just tired. It happens. You’re all just seeing things.”

“Hmm,” Hen hums as she studies Eddie closely with squinted eyes. “I can’t tell if he’s lying.”

Eddie sends her deadpan look. “I’m not lying.”

“You see, I want to believe you, but something makes me feel like there is something you’re hiding from us,” Hen tells him as she leans over to look intently at his face, scrutinizing him.

Unimpressed, Eddie also leans over the table so he can look right back at her. “Okay, do tell. What do you think I could be lying about? What are we hiding? Because we’re not fucking, I can tell you that much.”

Buck doesn’t know what Eddie is doing, challenging Hen like this. Eddie is the better liar between them, but inviting them to dig deeper when they’re already uncomfortably close, doesn’t seem like a smart idea. However, Buck isn’t going to get the attention on himself. If anyone is giving it away, it’ll be him. Best to keep to the background.

“You’re either really good at lying, or incredibly codependent with Buck to the point of you two acting married,” Hen finally says. Buck doesn’t see what Eddie’s face does at that, but everyone can hear Hen exclaim: “Oh my god, why did your face go pink when I suggested you two were married?”

Chimney whips his head towards Buck and immediately asks: “You two are married?”

“Noooo?” Buck says, cringing the second he does, because that sounds like a lie even to himself.

“You totally are!” Chimney has wide eyes and his mouth gapes slightly at it.

“That is something that you should have definitely disclosed way before it got to that point,” Bobby frowns.

“Come on, when would we have the time to get married?” Buck deflects, hoping for the best. “Don’t you think you would have noticed us getting married?”

“Right now, I don’t trust anything anymore,” Chimney says.

“Yeah, it could have happened at any time. Bar for that first shift you two have always acted like this,” Hen agrees, then her eyes grow wide and she points between the two of them. “Wait a minute, you’ve always acted like this.”

“What are you saying, Hen?” Bobby asks.

“That they’ve been married this whole time?” Hen suggests, sounding as if she can barely believe what she is saying herself.

“Are you sure? We saw them meet,” Chimney says skeptically.

“Yeah, Hen, that’s ridiculous,” Buck says.

“Then why was Eddie blushing?” Hen counters.

“Because you called our friendship incredibly codependent?” Buck offers.

“Which I only did, because he asked me what you two were hiding after you guys started being weird about us pointing out you two were close,” Hen says. “And the only reason I’m even entertaining this absurdity right now, is because you don’t sound convincing at all when you deny it.”

“Hey, come on now,” Buck protests weakly.

Bobby’s hand appears on his shoulder and he looks up at him. There is a mix of hurt and confusion in Bobby’s eyes as he genuinely asks: “Just be honest with me here, Buck, are you and Eddie married?”

And Buck hates this, because it’s Bobby, who is asking and Buck is already bad at lying, but he’s even worse at lying to Bobby. This whole scheme depended on them not being suspicious enough for anyone to ask directly and now he’s being asked directly. All because he accidentally called Eddie daddy. He’s never going to live this down.

“Okay, fine. Yes, we’re married,” he admits after a beat.

“Buck!” Eddie calls out, as if to ask ‘what are you doing?’

“You know I can’t lie!” Buck defends himself. “He’s just looking at me and I- I just couldn’t.”

“Wait you guys are actually married?” Chimney asks.

“Yes,” Eddie sighs, “we are.”

“But you’re straight?” Hen asks in a tone that implies isn’t sure she’s buying it.

“I am,” Eddie glares at her, heckles raised. “It’s a marriage of convenience.”

“So the Buck calling you daddy is…”

“Just like you calling Karen mommy when talking to Denny?” Eddie fills in. “Yeah.”

“That makes you a father,” Bobby suddenly realizes as he looks to Buck.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Buck says, unable to help the prideful smile on his face. “Chris is a great kid. Love him to death. I mean, you met him, you know how amazing he is.”

Bobby’s face does a weird thing at that and Buck can’t place it. It makes something twist inside him, what if Bobby disapproves of him as a father? What if he thinks Buck can’t do it?

However, before he can ask Bobby what he’s thinking, Chimney butts in: “Okay, but how long have you been Chris’s dad – which, kind of weird, not going to lie – because I’m still confused about when you guys met.”

“Yeah, and when did you get married?” Hen also asks.

Buck looks over at Eddie, trying to communicate if they’re going to come clean about the whole thing now that the cat’s out of the bag. Eddie seems resigned and embarrassed by the whole situation. Buck can relate, but he feels bad about Eddie also feeling like that. However, Eddie sends him a reassuring smile, which makes him feel slightly better about the whole thing.

“Well, we got married in 2016,” Buck answers Hen’s question, since it kind of automatically answers Chimney’s question too as being not during their first shift together.

The room explodes into noise at that, which is fair enough considering what they just shared. However, Buck still kind of leans away from the yelling. It’s mostly variations of “2016?!?!?” and “What the fuck!” and “Why would you lie about that?”

When the yelling dies down, because it’s not getting results, since there is no space for them to speak, Buck clears his throat and says: “Yeah, uh, 2016. We did lie about that.”

“Why?”

“What part exactly?” Buck asks, just to be sure.

“Why you lied,” Bobby says at the same time Hen says: “Why you got married.”

“So we can work together,” Buck answers, while Eddie says: “For Chris.”

“Okay, we need order,” Chimney says. “I ask the questions, if anyone has another question, they raise their hand and I will give you your turn.”

“Are you a school teacher?” Hen smirks in amusement.

“No, I’m showing leadership,” Chimney corrects her. “Now, Buckley, tell us why you two lied about being married. Hell, about even knowing each other?”

“Uh, well, we wanted to work together,” Buck explains. “Eddie had gotten the offer from Bobby and we figured that offer would be retracted, if he knew we were married, even though it’s not like that, so we decided not to say, but then we thought it would be weird for me to just randomly know him and not have mentioned him before and then you all would ask questions and I can’t lie, so we thought it would be best to just start from scratch.”

Everyone blinks at him for a second, so he adds: “We realized it was a dumb idea, but by then it was kind of already too late and we’d gotten in too deep.”

“That… is actually very in character for you,” Chimney finally says.

“But not for you,” Hen says, directing herself at Eddie. “Why did you agree with that?”

“Hey, I was doing the questions!”

“Oh shut up, Chim,” Hen rolls her eyes. “So, Eddie. Why go along with it?”

“Uh,” Eddie looks away, cheeks getting redder, as he admits with a mumble: “I came up with it.”

“What?!” both Hen and Chimney choke and even Bobby makes a weird noise. They’re so shocked at the idea that Eddie can be dumb too, which Buck gets, but it’s also so funny and he can’t help but burst out into laughter.

“Don’t laugh!” Eddie exclaims, but Buck can hear he’s starting to crack up too. That makes him happy, he didn’t like embarrassed, walls up Eddie from before.

“It’s funny,” he manages to get out between peels of laughter.

“It’s not,” Eddie says, but he lets out a huff of laughter of his own.

“You came up with it?” Chimney finally finds his words.

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie nods, biting away his grin. “It was a strategic sharing of information where relevant.”

“God, you’re just both stupid,” Hen mutters under her breath. Both Eddie and Buck choose to ignore her, because she’s not wrong, but they don’t have to acknowledge that.

Bobby clears his throat and says: “Well, informing me of this, would have been relevant. And I will be informing HR about it and figuring out the paperwork, any disciplinary action, and if you two can continue working together at this house.”

That settles a stone in Buck’s stomach. After the embarrassment of calling Eddie daddy in front of everyone and then the lighter atmosphere of the questions, the real reasons they never told and tried to lie had moved to the background. Until now.

He sees Eddie tensing up and he is off the couch before he knows it. He implores: “Bobby… I- I know, you have to do that. I do. But can you- can you wait until after Christmas? We’re trying to save up for gifts and the holidays are expensive.”

Immediately Bobby’s eyes soften, a melancholic note playing in them, as Buck waits with bated breath to see what Bobby will say. After a moment, Bobby says: “Of course. I can wait.”

“Thank you so much,” Buck says gratefully.

“Yes, Cap, thank you,” Eddie also says.

The atmosphere has changed now and they’re all just awkwardly standing there, until Chimney says in a hushed tone: “I think we just witnessed dad Buck for the first time.”

“I think we did,” Hen agrees, a smile breaking out on her face.

Buck blushes a little, unable to help the flush of warmth that goes through him at being acknowledged as Chris’s father. He distracts from it by playing at offense and swagger as he says: “Hey, I’ve pulled out the dad Buck before.”

“Really? When? You’ve never been mature a day in your life before this, Buck-o,” Chimney grins. It’s playful but gentle, as if he knows he’s handling something fragile here and just acting his role as the comedic relief that he likes to cast himself in.

“I once told you to eat your greens,” Buck reminds him – a mortification from his probie days that, at the time, he thought he would never recover from.

“Oh yeah, you did do that.”

“And have none of you guys ever paid attention to Buck when on calls with kids?” Eddie asks. He’s gotten up and is now near Buck, bumping his shoulder lightly as he grins: “Definitely the papi I know from home.”

“Papi?” Bobby asks, only slightly butchering the word.

“Yeah, Chris calls me that,” Buck says, the blush returning slightly. “Eddie was already daddy, so growing up in a Mexican household meant that labeling me as papi was only logical to his five year old brain.” He shrugs. “It’s become so normal, I don’t even register it as odd anymore.”

“Five years old?” Hen does the math, “That must be right after you gotten married, right?”

“It was. He told a teacher about it and that’s what prompted it,” Eddie says. “Before that it was Evan, though I’m half convinced he’s forgotten that was ever your name.”

Buck nods in agreement.

“So how long were you Evan?” Hen asks curiously.

“Two years,” Buck says. “I met Chris when he was three. I worked on a chicken farm in El Paso and they bought eggs there. I babysat first, then met Eddie a year later when he was back from tour. We started co-parenting because Shannon was out of the picture and I offered to help.”

“And you two got married for Chris, you said. Why? I mean, it might provide a more stable home, but if you’d been co-parenting without it for a year already, why do it? It’s quite a big step,” Hen asks.

They all look at them curiously and Buck looks over at Eddie again, silently asking how much to share about the whole situation. Wordlessly, Eddie tells him to go ahead and just tell everyone. Eddie himself has never been the talker between them, so Buck happily takes the lead in explaining.

“Chris had to have surgery and that’s expensive, so the bills got too high. Eddie re-enlisting was the only way to keep our heads above water, but I didn’t have any legal basis to keep Chris. We were scared he’d get taken and placed with his grandparents,” Buck explains, not trying to go into too much detail about why they would not want that. “So, we looked into me adopting Chris and stepparent adoption was the quickest. We planned to get divorced, but just didn’t get around to it. We have a mortgage, you know. And private school is expensive.”

Everyone is sharing looks that Buck can’t full decipher, he looks over to Eddie, but he seems equally confused.

However, none of them say what those looks are about. Hen just nods as she gets it, saying: “Hence the marriage of convenience.”

“Uh-huh.” “Yup.”

“Daddy and papi,” Chinney shakes his head after he looks between them. “That’s gonna take a bit to get used to.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us,” Bobby says, putting a hand on both their shoulders. “You are two fine young men and I am proud of you both, even if I’m disappointed in you for lying. I know you can be professional, so just continue the way you’re doing and we’ll sort everything out come January. That sound good?”

“Yes, Cap.” “Thank you, Cap.”

“Alright,” Bobby gives them a satisfied nod.

Then the bell starts ringing and Buck groans. He’s still exhausted and he never did end up getting his nap. However, as he rushes to the rig with everyone, he does feel a little lighter than he did before. It feels good to not be lying and continuously live with the feeling of getting found out at any moment.

Still, he could have done without it being revealed the way it did. If he thought he wouldn’t live down the ‘eat your greens’ comment, he’s definitely never going to be able to live down the ‘go ask daddy’ moment.

At least inviting Maddie over for Christmas will be easier now…

~~

A/N:

This is so fucking stupid, but it came to me and I just couldn’t help myself. It’s so funny to me and I just had to. Like, I love them <3

[adamaramma]

Hear me out, guys, this is going to be kind of a long post, but I’m about to start cooking right now.

(spoilers for the manga btw sorry)

Okay, so we all know how Loid/ Twilight looks. If you scroll down, I’ve included some pictures of him (yes, I edited them).

Notice how he’s almost always drawn with angular features such as his jawline. (as seen by the red lines)

This is effective in showcasing his age and his experiences. Those angular features aren’t just for show—they subtly hint at his overall sharp personality and demeanour.

I mean, when is he NOT drawn with that iconic chiselled jawline?

But I do want to draw your attention to something.

We all (manga readers) know the story of [REDACTED].

And we all know that iconic heart-breaking panel of him crying once he realises his childhood friends survived the attack on his home town.

But look at this...

These three panels were all taken from his backstory arc, and notice how instead of his face being very angular and sharp, it is now rounded and softer than his usual jawline.

He almost looks like a child in these drawings, especially the first one where his face is considerably shorter.

Kinda like a squishy version of Loid.

When 'Loid' was reunited with his friends, it took him back. Back to a time when he didn't have to worry about the war, only playing pretend. For a moment, he was [REDACTED] again. For a moment, everything was ok.

And when he was drafted for W.I.S.E, (middle picture), he was finally able to leave the battleground, but he looks noticeably tired and young.

It only makes sense. His entire childhood was stolen from him. He became an orphan at presumably Anyas age, forced to raise himself from the ground up before joining the war at only 16 years.

His brain may have aged, but his body sure didn't. He's basically a 30 yo trapped in a body years too young for him.

Now, I expected people to say, "Well, of course, he looks younger. He's only 17/18 years old compared to his age in the main story."

Then take a look at these.

Both of these scenes happened before the previous ones, proving that it is not his physical age that contributes to the change in his face, but his mental age.

and to further prove my point i photoshopped squishy loids face on [redacted] to show how childlike he looks

like, you CANNOT tell me that isnt a literal child be so fr

(also expect like two more posts about loids backstory arc bc i have wayyyyy too many thoughts hahahha)

[otiksimr]

mimikyu…but worse

Too tired to draw rn so have an idea instead.

I want to think like some puppet esk creature. Maybe like a possessed wooden doll. You know those ones people use for puppet shows? A marionette I think it's called. There's this really good video of a some amazing puppets + puppeteering.

Those kind of serve as inspiration for this. They have the strings and all, but there's no visible hands moving them. Maybe a faint ghostly outline if you look hard enough. And maybe those with a keen eye can see the hands moving the strings :)

Instead of wanting connection like in-game Mimikyu, they just want to put on a good show for people. Groups of them are called a Theatre :)

[bandsofmarv]

Venomous hearts

Mattheo and Theo have both set their sights on you igniting a rivalry.

I might make this a series.

No warnings.

The Slytherin common room was dimly lit, the emerald glow from the fireplace casting an eerie shimmer over the cold, stone walls. You sat in your usual spot by the window, attempting to focus on the Potions essay Snape had assigned, but the atmosphere in the room was far too tense for concentration.

Mattheo Riddle lounged across the couch, his dark eyes locked on you like a predator watching prey. He twirled his wand lazily, but his jaw was clenched, betraying the storm raging beneath his cool exterior. Across the room, Theodore Nott leaned against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His icy blue eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, his expression unreadable yet charged with unspoken challenge.

The tension between them had been brewing for weeks, and you, the unwilling centerpiece of their silent war, were caught in the crossfire.

“Is the essay really that interesting, love?” Mattheo drawled, his voice dripping with a mixture of arrogance and irritation.

You glanced up, trying to ignore the way his lips curved into a smirk, though his eyes held a sharper edge. “Unlike some people, Mattheo, I prefer to pass my classes.”

Theo let out a soft scoff from across the room, drawing both your and Mattheo’s attention. “Maybe she just prefers spending her time with people who don’t treat everything like a game,” he said coolly, his tone a deliberate jab.

Mattheo sat up, his smirk vanishing. “Careful, Theo,” he warned, his voice low and dangerous. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

Theo pushed off the wall, taking a step closer. He looked calm, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands twitched at his sides. “What are you going to do, Mattheo? Hex me because she’s tired of your theatrics?”

“Guys—” you started, but your voice was drowned out by Mattheo’s sudden rise to his feet.

“You don’t get to talk about theatrics, Nott,” Mattheo snarled, his wand now pointed at Theo. “You’ve been circling her like a bloody vulture for months. I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

Theo didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head, his lips curling into a taunting smile. “And what about you? Acting like you own her, like she’s some prize to be won. That’s not affection, Riddle; that’s obsession.”

Your heart pounded as you stood, placing yourself between them before things escalated further. “Enough! Both of you!”

Mattheo’s eyes flicked to you, softening slightly, but his grip on his wand didn’t loosen. Theo, however, stepped back, though his gaze lingered on you.

“You’re not some pawn in their game, Y/N,” Theo said quietly, his voice laced with an unexpected vulnerability. “You deserve someone who sees you, not someone who uses you to stroke their ego.”

Mattheo scoffed, but you caught the flash of hurt in his expression. “Don’t act like you’re some kind of hero, Theo. We all know you’re no better than me.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension and unsaid words. You looked between them, your heart aching at the pain they both carried, the pain they were now projecting onto you.

“I’m not a prize,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside you. “And I won’t let either of you turn this into a competition. Figure out your own issues before dragging me into them.”

With that, you grabbed your essay and stormed out of the common room, leaving them both behind.

As the door slammed shut, neither Mattheo nor Theo moved. For the first time, they were forced to confront the truth: their feelings for you weren’t just a game, but the scars they’d leave might be too deep to repair.

[low-senka]

I'm obsessed with Arcane so here some headcanons:

HAVE SPOILERS PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T WATCH YET

Jinx->

Jinx is sensive and a little afraid of touch, the ones who can touch her without worry are Ekko and Violet

Still don't like Caitlyn, but feel bad for it because she don't want to fight with the woman her sister love

Her hearing ability is getting lower because of her explosives and she's afraid of turn deaf

Is the best hairdresser of all Zaun, but almost no one trust in her with a scissor

Never feelt romantic feelings before Ekko

Is demi-romantic and also bissexual

Sees Sevika like a badass auntie but never will admit it bc she's shy of it

Is a door with people, don't even can notice if a smile is real or nervous if she don't know the person REALLY well

Have nightmares with loosing everyone again

Want's really bad being in a relationship with Ekko, but know that she can't stuck him with her

Starts to taking notes of future projects instead of try to remember all

Still using Firelights and friends simbols in her clothes

Her passive active when she sneeze.

Caitlyn->

She spends time doing maps of the air pipes and planning to do more for help Zaun

Receive a hard scold from Ekko after they talk about what happen

Don't like to sleep with blankets because her body is always too hot

Barely eat in her normal days, but really don't eat when she is working and Vi needs to bring her food

Ironically is alergic of flowers except violets

Total cat person

Keep and care of Jinx little monkey head, but don't let Vi or Ekko see it

Become a close friend of Ekko and most part of the Firelights

Always take care of Vi after a battle or just a bad day

Go sleep so late that sometimes the sun is rising, some days Vi literally takes her at the room in her shoulders

Still being a shooter even having just one eye because she refuses to rest and change her ocupation

She makes draws with a Moongose, a Oil thing and a Raccon. Guess why?

Violet->

Still crying about Jinx dead, but never in front Caitlyn because she's tired of the conversations

See Ekko like a little brother and accidentally calls him Powder a couple of times

Thinks of get out of Piltover and go look for Jinx, but she can't leave her unique garantee family behind

Visits Vander's secret local when she needs space and never talk about it with Caitlyn

Have dreams where Jinx and her can live a normal and happy life

Have chronic pain in both hands for carrying a lot of weight and fight

Have anger problems, but it just reflects on her

Don't really like kids, but they love her for some reason

Have a bad relationship with Caitlyn's dad

Start to learn how to use a gun, Cait thinks it's because of her, but it's to remember her sister

I THINK I will keep this tomorrow or in this week, welp good night! Have a good sleep!