#i'll get high sure but i have the dignity to do it Responsibly

[vcod1n]

i wonder if i can placebo my brownie into an edible

[theredofoctober]

SPITE— The Boys fic, Billy Butcher x reader, crossposted from AO3, reader uses she/her pronouns

TW: Violence, noncon

The super villain known as SPITE (reader) has been stalking Billy Butcher. He captures her, and chaos ensues...

Read after the cut

---

"You little cunt."

The words lose their meaning quickly in the lurching dark through frequent repetition.

Their first utterance is a hiss against your ear as you're dredged from the street to some rank basement, roiling in your captor's grip like a sturgeon all the way down.

The second usage of the phrase errupts in a catankerous grunt as their speaker attempts to bind you to a chair, a gyre of your tulle and satin costume half-smothering him as you thrash, and kick, and bite.

"You little cunt," snarls Billy Butcher, for the third time, as you clip his jaw with your forehead.

Then, with a vicious grin, he spits a gout of his own blood into your face.

"Like that, do you, you fucking supe slag? Don't worry, there's plenty more where that came from."

His shackles your throat with his fist, smirking as you flinch from the red razors of his teeth. He wears a mask of revulsion, the whites of his eyes within it shocking, horrible.

You can't seem to look away.

"Not so brave, now, are you, flower?" asks Butcher. "See, I've been following you, and just picture my fucking surprise to find out that you've been trying to do the same to me. And just me, that is; you've kept well out the way of my Boys. You've been very clever about it, I'll give you that. I doubt they even have a clue who you are."

He releases your throat and wipes his hand on the garish fabric of his shirt with a laborious theatricality.

"So," he continues, "either you were trying to kill me off—which you are absolutely shit at, by the way—or there's something else you're after. Wonder what that could be?"

Butcher kicks a chair leg, and you rock upon it like a bowling pin.

"Look at ya," he sneers. "Running around here, dressed like some clown's tart— sorry to tell you, love, but the circus ain't in fucking town."

Swallowing dryly, you attempt to scrape the chair backwards, inch by inch, across the floor, putting space between yourself and the man with the coarse velvet of murder in his voice.

Butcher watches your retreat, shaking his head.

"Where are you gonna go, sweetheart? You can't use your fucking fairy magic powers when you're all tied up like that, so don't get any ideas. You're cosied up with me for a bit. So let's have a chat, shall we?"

With your voice obstructed by a makeshift gag you merely widen your eyes in response.

"Well, love, I'm glad you asked," says Butcher, with an acid sarcasm. "There's only two ways you're leaving here tonight: either as strawberry slushie at the bottom of a fucking rubbish bag, or all in one piece, except for your dignity, that is. Better make up your mind. I don't have all night."

He pauses, pretends to consider.

"Well, I do, but I wanna spend it cracking open a couple of beers with the lads, not down here chin-wagging with a bleedin' Supe."

Butcher's gaze is thick with the dregs of an old and bitter madness: you feel more than undressed by it, skinned, rather, your muscles flayed from the bone.

"Look at you," says Butcher, coldly. "Sitting there in all that pink bollocks looking like something Piglet shat out after a mad one in The Hundred Acre Wood. What's it all about, eh?"

He kicks suddenly at your calf, his boot rending layers of candyfloss fishnet thread with a blow that will surely bruise.

"Nobody's making you wear this shit; Vought won't touch you with a bargepole after all the stunts you’ve been pulling on the sly. Your own kind don't want anything to do with you. You're a loner. So what were you doing prancing about in this silly fucking get-up? Waiting for me to notice?"

Butcher shunts your chair back against the wall, tipping it at an angle that, at his high vantage, likely allows a view that is particularly obscene.

"Don't be shy," he leers. "Every time you threw a kick at me I could see right up at your knickers. And they're fragile little things, ain't they?"

You strain against your bonds, bucking with such an indignant gusto that the ropes start to fray against your muscles.

"Oh no you fucking don't," says Butcher, and slaps you so hard across the cheek that you're still again in an instant, your ears sirening from the blow.

"You don't wanna piss me off, darling," says your captor, grimly. "See, I could really fucking hurt you, but I don't wanna manhandle you more than I have to, savvy? Then again, I think you're gagging to be roughed up. Didn't put up much of a fight, did you, and now I've got you right where I want you—"

You mumble your objections into the wad of lace against your teeth, but Butcher ignores you, caught up in the rhythm of his spiel.

"—Seems like you're desperate for me to give you a good seeing to. Well, don't worry, love. Daddy's here."

He's being ironic, you think, but as a strange combination of want and loathing twists his countenance you begin to change your mind. 

"I can't stand your sort," Butcher mutters. "Filthy mutants, the lot of you. But seeing you in this mess I might have it in me for a pity fuck."

He shoves a thumb into your mouth and pulls free the gag, wincing as his fingers come away wet with drool.

"Well," he says. "Speak up, love. Do you wanna shag, or die?"

"Neither," you rasp. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Butcher's smile is blood and ice.

"See, I thought you'd say that. So I took the liberty of popping all the security footage I've got of you onto a nice little pen drive so I could play it back to you, remind you how many times you’ve tiptoed around me about in your glorified stripper wear without finishing the bloody job. Let's have a gander, shall we?"

He fumbles for a remote, and a vast television screen illuminates in the centre of the room, revealing picture after picture of you tracking Butcher across the city by night. You recall taunting him with your proximity, enjoying the game; it's how you always hunt your targets, hounding them until they go mad with paranoia, an end hastened by hallucinations cast like spellwork from your fingertips, each more awful than the last.

Butcher, however...

He had been difficult. He'd barely seemed to respond to your assaults, no matter your pressure upon his mind. 

"In case you're wondering, I saw your poxy visions," he announces perceptively, rapping the television screen with his fist. "But you underestimate the level of fucked up I've witnessed in my life. I've seen scarier shit in my morning routine."

The screen flickers, and you're faced with a shot of yourself standing in Butcher's shadow, so close to him that your breath is almost on the back of his neck. How smug you'd been in the thought that he hadn't known you were there, that you were so extraordinarily clever, and daring.

Humiliating to think that Butcher had followed you with equal stealth, despite his limitations.

"Tell me why you picked me to wind up," he demands, "and not Frenchie, or M.M., or any of my mates. Why am I so special? You've heard my theories. Now it's your turn."

You don't immediately answer, keeping a mutinous silence.

Butcher approaches you with a slow, heavy tread, a killer's prowl, and leans into you, smelling of beer and cologne, and his own congealing blood. You wonder what he makes of your own scent: sweat and sugar, the remnants of perfume, petty irritants for his rudimentary human senses.

Smirking, you say, "You despise us all so much, Billy. I wanted to see what your face would look like when you realised that a Supe had killed you."

"Nah," says Butcher, shaking his head. "I'm not convinced. I reckon you wanted to know how hard a 'normal' like me could hate-fuck you when you got caught in the act."

He shunts a knee between your thighs—each lashed to either side of the chair, conveniently apart—and grinds an apex of bone against you, forcing a reluctant shiver through your core.

You're afraid to move, lest you provoke him; you can't be silent lest Butcher thinks he's won.

At last you settle to hiss between your teeth, "Why don't you just do it? Like you said, I can't use my powers with my hands tied like this. So what's stopping you? Why don't you just do what you want, Mr King Shit of Fuck Mountain?"

"That's not my style," says Butcher, with a sneer. "I want you to ask for it. Beg like the pathetic cunt you are. I'm giving you a choice."

"I'm tied to a chair, genius. I don't have many choices."

"You were trying to murder me, sweetheart. You're lucky you're getting any options."

"You could just let me go."

"And put up with you tormenting me for another bloody month? Not likely."

You burst into sudden laughter and Butcher freezes, his face clouded by sheer loathing. 

"Shut up," he snarls. "Shut up right fucking now."

Butcher makes a fist, and you wonder what he means to do: violet an eye, shatter a tooth, break bone like a glass in some grimy pub. As your laugh continues he aims a punch and misses as you weave your head aside, splitting his knuckles on the back of the chair.

"Shit!"

"You're a hypocrite," you say, as he wipes off the blood. "I know all about you. Your hard-on for killing Supes. You act like you think you're better than us, but really? I think you're a jealous little fanboy."

"Who's the fucking fan here?" snarls Butcher. "Admit it. That little stalking act— you've been flirting with me."

You wrinkle your nose.

"You wish."

"Don't have to wish. I reckon if I was to feel that snatch of yours right now you'd be wet through."

The laughter dies in your throat, and you edge about in your seat, attempting to shimmy your skirt further down over your hips.

"Wouldn't mean anything," you mutter, at last, and Butcher gives you a cunning look.

"Only that getting smacked about by a man who wants to kill you is your cup of tea. And I'm starting to think it is."

He shrugs off his vast coat, throwing it aside. Veins stand out on the backs of his hands and arms, and you realise, suddenly, that he is serious in what he means to do, entirely so. You could die tonight, and the worst of it is that no one would care.

"Make your mind up, Spite," says Butcher. "You know what's on the table. You pick, or I will. I don't think you'd like that. My crowbar wants to make friends with every one of your stupid fucking Supe bones."

The peril of your situation is unavoidable. You move your lips, the sounds escaping at such mite softness that Butcher cranes his ear towards your mouth.

"What did you say? Speak up, darlin'."

With a sudden lunge you snap at Butcher's earlobe and latch on with grinning teeth. Blood crests your tongue in a grisly baptism, and as the man wrenches from your grip you see how badly he wants to hurt you.

"Oh, you sneaky little fucker!" he barks. "That's it; I've had enough of that mouth."

In a punishing scuffle Butcher stuffs another wad of torn fabric between your jaws, thrusting it so far down your throat that you almost choke. Then he drags your hips forward on the chair and scrambles for his zipper, his face murky with rage. 

"You wanna play, Supe? Then let's have some fucking fun."

His fingers pierce your core, twisting deep, and you writhe like a halved worm around them.

Butcher drives his face so close to yours that your foreheads knock together, his eyes the very black of death.

"So I was right. You're making a proper mess, poor little thing."

You attempt to remain defiant, scornful, but you can barely maintain the artifice when Butcher's hand is so deep within you, each rough twitch of his fingers inducing a further slickness. Desperate, you wrench your arms against the ropes that hold them fast, hoping to wear through your bonds.

"Pack it in," snaps Butcher. "Or I will really bloody hurt you."

You believe it, but don't cease your struggling; you never relinquish a fight, whatever the cost.

Cursing, Butcher wraps a fist around your throat, squeezing until you gargle in pain.

"Now you be a good little trollop," he says, "and take my fucking cock, alright?"

He's so hard as he enters you that you see, in his expression, a dark, aching relief, as though soothing a terrible burn.

How long as he thought about this, tortured by your figure twisting and dancing around him through the rain-lashed streets in a miasma of summoned dreams? How close did he come to splaying you across a wall in some filthy alleyway, crushing you like a butterfly under his boot?

Now he has you jailed from your powers he makes you feel weak. How exhilarating that he is capable of this, a man born entirely without super abilities.

With each violent thrust the chair bangs against the wall, swinging a blade of pain up through your middle. Butcher's hands rip at your costume, tearing it between your breasts with an animal malice.

"You're tight," he says. "So fucking tight..."

He kisses your stuffed mouth with a clash of teeth, and the assault sparks the flint of lust in the secret part of you that has yearned to be dismantled by his stark hatred.

Even as you'd schemed to kill him you'd thought this man handsome, admired, coldly, his brutal methods, imagined standing over his corpse, admiring the loss of homocidal life as you might a sun beam in broken glass.

Now you are such fragments in his handling Butcher has no mercy for you. The man is out of control, taking, by instinct, in a berserker state, knowing nothing but the satisfaction of violence.

His cock jars you like a slaughterer's bolt, knifing your warmth with his ever greater heat. There is no talking, for a time, only the fever of his vengeful need. The room resounds with exerted grunts and the squeak of the chair beneath your struggling bodies; the angle of fucking is awkward, and you notice Butcher glancing at your bonds, evidently considering whether or not cutting you loose is worth the risk of you killing him.

At last he barks, "I'm gonna move you. Try anything stupid and you can kiss your kneecaps goodbye."

You nod limply, and Butcher pulls a blade from somewhere and hacks at the ropes with a careless malice, unflinching as he nicks the skin beneath. Keeping only a knot around your wrists he wrangles you over a couch and ruts you, face down, upon it, his fist in your hair, straining its roots.

"This what you thought it'd be like, you fucking brat?"

You try to brace a leg upon the floor, but your foot skids, and Butcher presses you harder against the couch cushions, smothering your ragged breaths.

"Supposed to be superior," he grunts. "Can't even put up a proper fight."

You twist under him, throwing him off onto the floor in a landslide of churning limbs, and as he staggers up after you again he's grinning widely.

"That's more like it."

As he comes for you again you vault yourself over the back of the sofa and roll into a dark corner, loosening the rope across your hands. When Butcher seizes you by the ankles and hauls you towards him you steeple two fingers at the man's forehead and flex.

What you put into his mind is the vilest image your thoughts can conjure, so corrupt that he drops you swiftly and flinches back, his face paling. 

"Fuck me."

For a moment you think that Butcher might vomit, and scrape yourself further across the ground, towards the door, waiting for the inevitable heaving to give you time to run. But he only turns his head and spits a clot of plegm into the dust, his countenance wrenched by a savage glee. 

"I knew you Supes weren't right in the head, but you're really somethin,'" he breathes. "Can see why all your quarry end up bashing their own brains in against the nearest wall. Not me, though, love. You've picked the wrong bastard."

A rare fear eats through you as you dump the last of the rope and scamper up the stairwell towards the street. As you barrel your shoulder into the door at the top it resists you, barely splintering despite your harshest efforts. 

"Supe proofed," says Butcher, smugly, as he comes up the stairs behind you. "At least against half-baked cunts like you that don't even have decent powers."

He slams you against the door, dizzying you in the blow. The next thing you're aware of is being dragged back down to the basement, and although you rail him with blows and waves of toxic thought Butcher manages to lumber back over the threshold again.

"I'm not finished with you," he says, and lets out a yelp as you sweep a foot under one leg, bringing him down onto the concrete floor with a resounding boom.

Spitting out the gag, you snap, "Go on, kill me, fuckface. I'm waiting. Make it good for me!"

"I'll make something bloody good, that's for sure," Butcher retorts, and he pins you on your back, arms trapped beneath you. "I never leave a job half-done."

He kisses you again, his tongue gilding your throat, and you feel his hardness between your legs again, undetered by the fight, likely strengthened by it. This is a man who feeds on brutality: why should his fucking be any different?

This time when his cock enters you his right hand follows, finding your clitoris with a nimble ease. You loathe the way he makes your body jump to his touch, the stupid, whimpering moans that pass your bleeding lips with the ruthless beat of his thrusting.

You detest how easy it is for him to mould your obstinance into something needy and mewling, as though he knew this potential was there from the beginning.

"How's that feel?" asks Butcher, thickly, a devilish blaze in his eyes. "Tell me. Is that good, you little cunt?"

"Yes!" you blurt out, and hate him for making you say it, for the fact that it is true. "God, don't—"

You attempt to bring your knees together, to dislodge his hand, but you can't shift Butcher's weight, only trigger him to fuck you deeper, rolling his fingers between your heaving bodies until you're slick as an eel with perspiration.

"Go on, make some noise," croons Butcher, "'cause you're gonna come so hard you'll forget how much you hate me."

Your mouth opens to protest, but to Butcher's grinning satisfaction you can do nothing but let out hoarse, quavering cries, all rational thought simmered to steam on the pinnacle of your ecstasy.

You've never known pleasure so sharp, so clean. You're still in the throes of it when Butcher bucks against you one last time, flattening you beneath him as he fills you with his groaning release.

He rolls off and lies beside you for a minute, seeming to gaze at the ceiling, with something between disgust and a quiet smugness. 

Then he says, into the lull, "You want a drink?"

You sit up slowly, disliking the precarious wobble in your arms as your brace yourself.

"Why," you say, slowly, "the fuck would I want to drink with you, Butcher?"

Getting to his feet he shrugs, and fumbles about on a table for a bottle of something murky and likely possessing the qualities of turpentine.

"'Cause you're still sat on your arse rather than trying to kill me again, so I reckon you need a bevvy. And I know you ain't got anywhere else to go."

Butcher pours you a shot of the dark liquid and eyes you with a cagey interest when you don't immediately take it.

"I'm the only one of your marks that isn't a Supe," he says. "I haven't figured out your M.O. yet. Be easier to pick your brains when you're pissed. Might loosen you up a bit."

"Not a good idea," you mutter. "Might realise we've got more in common that you think."

You outstretch a hand and pluck the glass from him, sniffing the contents suspiciously.

"Ain't poisoned, Spite," says Butcher. "Be fucking rude, after what we just did."

"It'd be bang on character, then," you reply, coolly, and drain the glass in a wincing swig. "Christ. How do you drink this shit?"

"I've got a strong stomach. Or kidneys. Take your pick. So, now you're watered, speak up. Why did you come after me?"

You wind your arms around your knees and look at Butcher sideways, thinking, with some annoyance, how much your answer will stroke his ego.

"A lot of Supes out there are afraid of you. I just wanted to know why."

[togglesbloggle]

What to Watch at the End

I've been happy to run in to a couple pieces of media back-to-back over the last week or so- plenty of down time, since I have that bug that's going around. They make pretty interesting companion pieces to one another, actually. With the end of the world so close now, we're starting to get a bit more genuinely thoughtful art about the subject, stuff you really can't say until you have this kind of vantage point.

They are The Power Fantasy (written by Kieron Gillen), an early-days ongoing comic of the 'deconstructing superheroes' type, and Pantheon (created by Craig Silverstein), one of those direct-to-streaming shows that get no marketing and inevitably fade away quickly; this one's an adult cartoon with two eight-episode seasons, adapted from some Ken Liu short stories, with a complete and satisfying ending. I'll put in a cut from here; targeted spoilers won't occur, but I'll be talking about theme and subject matter as well as a few specific plot beats, so you won't be entirely fresh if you read on.

Pantheon is a solid, if wobbly, stab at singularity fiction, with more of a focus on uploaded intelligence than purely synthetic (though both come in to play). It's about two-thirds YA to start, declining to about one-fifth by the end. The Power Fantasy, by contrast, is an examination of superpowers through a geopolitical lens that compares them to nuclear states; I'm not as good a judge of comics over all (particularly unfinished comics), but this one seems very high quality to me.

The intersection of the Venn Diagram of these two shows is the problem of power, and in particular the challenges of a human race handing off the baton to the entities that supersede it. They're both willing to radically change the world in response to the emergence of new forces; none of them even try to 'add up to normal' or preserve the global status quo. Both reckon with megadeath events.

I'm a... fairly specific mix of values and ethical stances, so I'm well used to seeing (and enjoying!) art and media that advance moral conclusions I don't agree with on a deep level. I used to joke that Big Hero Six was the only big-budget movie of its decade that actually captured some of my real values without compromise. (I don't think it's quite that bad, actually, I was being dramatic, but it's pretty close.)

Pantheon was a really interesting watch before I figured out what it was doing, because it felt like it was constantly dancing on the edge of either being one of those rare stories, or of utterly countermanding it with annoying pablum. It wasn't really until the second or third episode that I figured out why- it's a Socratic dialogue, a narrative producing a kind of dialectical Singularity.

The show maintains a complex array of philosophies and points of view, and makes sure that all of them get about as fair a shake as it can. This means, if you're me, then certain characters are going to confidently assert some really annoying pro-death claims and even conspire to kill uploaded loved ones for transparently bad reasons. If you're not me, you'll find someone just as annoying from another direction, I'm sure of it. Everybody has an ally in this show, and everybody has an enemy, and every point of view both causes and solves critical problems for the world.

For example, the thing simply does not decide whether an uploaded person is 'the same as' the original or a copy without the original essence; when one man is uploaded, his daughter continues thinking of him as her dad, and his wife declares herself widowed, and both choices are given gravitas and dignity. He, himself, isn't sure.

This isn't something you see in fiction hardly at all- the last time I can think of was Terra Ignota, though this show lacks that story's gem-cut perfection. It's that beautiful kind of art where almost nobody is evil, and almost everything is broken. And something a little bit magical happens when you do this, even imperfectly, because the resulting narrative doesn't live in any single one of their moral universes; it emerges from all of them, complexly and much weirder than a single simplistic point of view would have it. And they have to commit to the bit, because the importance of dialogue is the core, actual theme and moral center of this show.

The part of rationalism I've always been least comfortable with has been its monomania, the desire to sculpt one perfect system and then subject all of reality to it. This becomes doomerism very quickly; in short order, rationalists notice 'out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made', and then conclude that we're all very definitely going to die, once the singleton infinite-power system takes over, because it too will be flawed. (e.g. this joking-not-joking post by Big Yud.)

And don't get me wrong, I do take that concern seriously. I don't think I can conclusively, definitely convince myself that rationalism is wrong on this point, not to a degree of confidence that lets me ignore that risk. I don't at all begrudge the people devoting their entire professional lives to avoiding that outcome, even though I don't take it as given or even as particularly likely myself.

But it is precisely that monomania that is the central villain of this show, if it even has one. Breakdowns in dialogue, the assertion of unilateral control, conquering the world for its own good. The future, this show says, is multipolar, and we get there together or not at all.

That's a tremendously beautiful message, and a tremendously important one. I do wish it was more convincing.

The Power Fantasy works, quite hard, to build believably compassionate personalities into the fabric of its narrative. It doesn't take easy ways out, it doesn't give destroy-the-world levels of power to madmen or fools. Much like Pantheon, it gives voice to multiple, considered, and profoundly beautiful philosophies of life. Its protagonists have (sometimes quite serious) flaws, but only in the sense that some of the best among us have flaws; one of them is, more or less literally, an angel.

And that's why the slow, grinding story of slow, grinding doom is so effective and so powerful.

In a way that Pantheon does not, TPF reckons with the actual, specific analysis of escalation towards total destruction. Instead of elevating dialogue to the level of the sacred, it explores the actual limits and tendencies of that dialogue. It shows, again and again, how those good-faith negotiations are simply and tragically not quite good enough, with every new development dragging the world just an inch closer to the brink, making peace just a little bit more impossible. Those compassionate, wise superpowers are trapped in a nightmare that's slowly constricting around them, and they're compassionate and wise enough to know exactly what that means while remaining entirely unable to stop it.

It's most directly and obviously telling a story about the cold war, of course, not about artificial intelligence per se. The 'atomics' of TPF are just X-Men with the serial numbers filed off, and are therefore not constructed artifacts the way that uploaded and synthetic minds are; there's some nod to an 'superpowers arms race' in the AI sense of the term, but it's not a core theme. But these are still 'more than human' in important ways, with several of the characters qualifying directly as superintelligences in one way or another.

The story isn't complete (just getting started, really), so I don't want to speak too authoritatively about its theme or conclusions. But it's safe to say that the moral universe it lives in isn't a comfortable one. Echoing rationalists, the comic opens with an arresting line of dialogue: "The ethical thing to do, of course, would be to conquer the world."

In his excellent book Superintelligence, Nick Bostrom discusses multipolarity somewhat, and takes a rather dim view of it. He sees no hope for good outcomes that way, and argues that it will likely be extremely unstable. In other words, it has the ability to cloud the math, for a little while but it's ultimately just a transitional phase before we reach some kind of universal subordination to a single system.

The Power Fantasy describes such a situation, where six well-intentioned individuals are trying to share the world with one another, and shows beat-by-beat how they fail.

Pantheon cheats outrageously to make its optimism work- close relationships between just the right people, shackles on the superintelligences in just the right degree, lucky breaks at just the right time. It also has, I think, a rather more vague understanding of the principles at play (though it's delightfully faithful to the nerd culture in other ways; there's constant nods to Lain and Ghost in the Shell, including some genuinely funny sight gags, and I'm pretty sure one of the hacker characters is literally using the same brand of mouse as me).

TPF doesn't always show its work, lots of the story is told in fragments through flashbacks and nonlinear fragments. But what it shows, it shows precisely and without compromise or vagueness. It does what it can to stake you to the wall with iron spikes, no wiggle room, no flexibility.

But all the same, there's an odd problem, right? We survived the Cold War.

TPF would argue (I suspect) that we survived because the system collapsed to a singleton- the United States emerged as the sole superpower, with the Pax Americana reigning over the world undisputed for much of the last forty years. There were only two rivals, not six, and when one went, the game functionally ended.

In other words, to have a future, we need a Sovereign.

So let me go further back- the conspicuous tendency of biospheres to involve complex ecosystems with no 'dominant' organism. Sure, certain adaptations radiate quickly outward; sometimes killing and displacing much of what came before. But nature simply gives us no prior record of successful singletons emerging from competitive and dynamic environments, ever. Not even humans, not even if you count our collective species as one individual; we're making progress, but Malaria and other such diseases still prey on us, outside our control for now.

TPF would argue, I suspect, that there's a degree of power at which this stops being true- the power to annihilate the world outright, which has not yet been achieved but will be soon.

But that, I think, has not yet been shown to my satisfaction.

Obligate singleton outcomes are a far, far more novel claim than their proponents traditionally accept, and I think the burden of proof must be much higher than simply having a good argument for why it ought to be true. A model isn't enough; models are useful, not true. I'm hungry for evidence, and fictional evidence doesn't count.

It's an interesting problem, even with the consequences looming so profoundly across our collective horizon right now. TPF feels correct-as-in-precise, the way that economists and game theorists are precise. But economics and game theory are not inductive sciences; they are models, theories, arguments, deductions. They're not observations, and not to be trusted as empirical observations are trusted. Pantheon asserts again and again the power of dialogue and communication, trusts the multipolar world. And that's where my moral and analytical instincts lie too, at least to some degree. I concern myself with deep time, and deep time is endlessly, beautifully plural. But Pantheon doesn't have the rigor to back that up- this is hope, not deduction, and quite reckless in its way. Trying to implement dialectical approaches in anything like a formal system has led to colossal tragedy, again and again.

One narrative is ruthlessly rigorous and logically potent, but persistently unable to account for the real world as I've seen it. The other is vague, imprecise, overconfident, and utterly beautiful, and feels in a deep way like a continuation of the reality that I find all around me- but only feels. Both are challenging, in their way.

It's a bit scary, to be this uncertain about something this consequential. This is a question around which so much pivots- the answer to the Drake paradox, the nature of the world-to-come, the permanence of death. But I simply don't know.

[dr5amatic]

A DEADLY EDUCATION ,

a sentence starter prompts list comprised of quotes from a deadly education by naomi novik. please be advised that this list may involve topics including, but not limited to, murder, death, and violence. change verbiage as needed.

i love having an existential crises at bedtime, it's so restful.

i ran the fuck away.

i decided that you needed to die after the second time you saved my life.

was i starting to feel evil? yes.

i think that after a certain number of evil choices, it's reasonable shorthand to decide that someone's an evil person who oughtn't have the chance to make any more choices.

the more power someone has, the less slack they ought to be given.

you're nearly dead and you're still the rudest person i've ever met.

given that you're at least half responsible for this situation, i refuse to thank you.

i got an affinity for mass destruction.

my anger's a bad guest, my mother likes to say: comes without warning and stays a long time.

you have to ration sympathy and grief in here the way you ration school supplies.

there was only me to save me, because no one else cared.

oh, how i'd enjoyed all that sweet crisp righteous anger, my favorite drug: i'd nearly ridden the high straight into murder.

i am reasonably sure that my one tried-and-true method of being aggressively rude isn't actually how normal people make their friends.

hope is a good strong drink, especially when you can get someone else to buy it for you.

most people can get through lunch without urning it into an act of war.

do you think that everyone is always trying to sit with you for your amazing personality or something?

it always mattered a lot to me to keep a wall up round my dignity, even though dignity matters fuck-all when the monsters under your bed are real.

i don't have a very good idea of how people behave with their friends normally because i've never had one before.

i've got quite well-developed willpower when it comes to doing necessary work. i just have very little willpower when it comes to indulging petty resentment.

the only chance they're really giving us is the chance to be useful to them.

you don't actually want to date me, do you?

i'm delighted to report my repaired door slammed shut on his heels beautifully.

i'm trying not to get kicked out of your life.

my darling, i love you, have courage.

now i'm worried i'll be turned into the dark side by too much crochet.

just because it's a forty-sixth order derivative equation or something doesn't mean that i can't work out which side of that equation is the guilty one.

it's too easy to call people evil instead of their choices, and that lets people justify making evil choices, because they convince themselves that it's okay because they're still good people overall, inside their own heads.

we all get the illusion of a chance.

i was five, ice cream was my only motivation for wanting power.

i'm going to bash your head in with a brick!

only a boy would date somebody for two weeks and not mention it to them.

[formula1fanfiction]

Lewis Hamilton / Carlos Sainz

Title: I guess my seat is yours

Pairing: Carlos Sainz/Lewis Hamilton

Characters: Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton,

Prompt: Can you write Lewis/Carlos please, where the FIA makes Carlos submit to Lewis for his seat. Carlos has no choice and is a little bitch about it but turns out he actually enjoys it.

!! Dubious consent !!

The FIA rules fucking suck, Carlos having to submit to Lewis because Lewis taking his seat. How is that fair? Shouldn't Lewis submit to him? Not only does he lose his seat, he loses his dignity too. If Lewis thinks he's going to go down easy, then he's got another thing coming.

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way Carlos." Carlos removes the arm covering his eyes and looks at Lewis, who is staring at him, with his hands on his hips. "Nah, I'm not a bottom."

"Come on Carlos, I don't want to do this either, let's just get it over with." Lewis walks over to the bed, like a man with all the confidence in the world. "Come on man, you won't get a seat anywhere else if you don't."

"If I go to Mercedes, does that mean I get to fuck you?" Carlos sits up, smirking a little bit. "No, my seat is already empty, you know that's not how it works." This game is no fun, Carlos has no idea where he's going to go right now.

"I'll go gentle on you, I promise." Carlos laughs in response. "I'm not going to lay back and take it like some little bitch, you can have me, I will submit to you but I want it to hurt, I want it be nasty." Carlos stands up, enjoying those few inches he has on Lewis' height.

"Fine, if that's how you want it."

"Take your clothes off, Sainz." Oh so it's Sainz now and not Carlos, oh two can play at this game. "Only if you do, Hamilton." Something darkens in Lewis eyes, he gives a small nod. Lewis rips of his ridiculously expensive clothing in record time, while Carlos accidently on purpose takes the piss, removing each item taking as long as he possibly can.

He's only just got his boxers off, when Lewis growls strong hands digging into his shoulders and pushing him back onto the bed. Lewis straddles him instantly, wait Lewis has something in his hands, Carlos' own belt.

"What's that for?" Lewis takes both Carlos' wrists and binds them together, before securing them to the headboard. Carlos would have put up more of a fight if he wasn't so shocked by or it.  

"I don't trust you to behave."   

Lewis' cock is beautiful, it's big and it's glistening at the head with pre cum. Carlos gets lost in his own head for a moment. "Let's see if this petty mouth can suck as much as it complains." Lewis lets out a wicked laugh as he feeds his cock into Carlos' mouth.

Lewis thrusts inside slowly, feeding Carlos an inch at a time until the tip bumps against Carlos' throat. Lewis waits for the gag to come, but it never does. Hey, he said he never bottoms, not that doesn't suck cock.

"I thought you didn't bottom." Lewis eyes lock with his own, it's almost like Lewis can read his mind. "You look so cute like this Carlos, with my massive cock buried down your throat." Carlos tries to tell him to fuck off but it only causes vibrations on Lewis' cock who moans in return.

Lewis doesn't waste any more time, just takes a handful of Carlos' silky hair and starts thrusting into his throat, it hits the back of the younger mans throat with every thrust, which forces tears to his eyes. Carlos can only sits back and take as Lewis furiously fucks his throat.

"I'm close." Lewis growls, Carlos can taste all the salty pre cum running down his throat, before his head is dragged down and held, his nose pressed against Lewis' dark pubes as the salty cum fills up his air ways. "Make sure you swallow it."Not like he has a choice really is it? Lewis holds him a few more seconds before letting up.

"Aren't you supposed to fuck my ass, not my mouth?" Carlos wants to wipe the cum off his face, but he can't thanks to his bound hands. Lewis is looking at him like he's prey, smirking at him.

"I'm a high performance athlete Sainz, you think I can't get it up again?"

"Well, I know old people have trouble getting it up, forgive my mistake." Carlos is feeling really proud of himself for that comeback, until Lewis roughly raises his hips and places a hard slap against his ass, the sound of it echo's across the room.

Lewis reaches over and takes the tube of lube from the night stand and slicks up his fingers. "You'll regret that comment, Sainz." Lewis nudges two of his fingers against Carlos' ass and pushes them inside. It hurts of course he does, he hasn't bottomed to anyone since his f2 days. Lewis twists and turns his fingers, while roughly fucking into him.  

"Fuck." Carlos growls as Lewis' fingers, sink that little bit deeper and brush against his prostate, the wave of pleasure hits him like a freight train, he can't help but moan and close his eyes in pleasure. Lewis adds a third finger just for good measure, then slips them out. "I think you're ready."

Lewis grips Carlos tightly by the hips, placing a pillow underneath them to keep his hips raised only then does he press the head of his cock against Carlos' glistening ass. "Ready to become my bitch, Sainz?"

"Fuck you."

"oh you'll find, i'm the one who does the fucking." Lewis laughs as he pushes inside, Carlos can't help but groan as he feels himself stretch open to accommodates Lewis. The older man slides into the hilt easily, then stalls. Carlos clenches then unclenches around him, this really isn't as bad as he thought. "You're accepting me easily enough, sure you're not a little cock slut, Sainz?"

"Stop talking and fuck me, already." Lewis says nothing, his eyebrow just raises slightly, as he pulls all the way out, only to slam back inside of him again. Lewis holds Carlos' thighs for leverage as he brutally fucks into him, with a frenzied pace.

"I bet I can make you come, without touching your pathetic little cock." That's rude, Carlos' cock is a pretty decent size thank you very much, laying neglected and leaking against his stomach.

Lewis lifts up Carlos' legs, opening him up even more and sinking deeper inside of him, until he finds his prostate once again and slams into repeatedly reducing Carlos to a moaning, withering mess underneath him. Lewis fucks into Carlos with all his might, skin slapping against matching the high pitched moans falling from Carlos' throat as his prostate is battered with every thrust.

"I can't, I'm coming." Carlos raises his hips high off the bed in ecstasy as his orgasm rips through him, spurting his load over his own stomach. He's never had a orgasm his powerful of pleasurable. He can barely concentrate as Lewis continues to pound into him.  

"Just like a little bitch, Sainz." Lewis pants, he slows down his thrusts a little bit as to savour the feeling of Carlos clamped down tightly around him. He only manages a few more thrusts, until following suit and filling Carlos to the brim with his red hot seed. Lewis slips out of him and reaches over to untie Carlos' bound arms.

"I guess my seat is yours then."

[charlie-fabray]

Presents from Charlie:

Sir, I think this time of year is magical and I love being able to to get presents for the people I love. But in the end none of that matters as much as the gift of just having you in my life. I love you my life, my love, my Sir, my Ivan. Merry Christmas this year and for all the years we will share together. Love and submission, Charlie

@domivancarvalho

Dearest Teddy, From the first day I have met you, I have known that no matter what happens in this life, that I am safe and loved. I hope that you know the same. I will do anything to keep you safe and want you to know that I love you. When you touch this necklace it will send a vibration to mine and vice versa, like a long distance hug when we can't be right next to each other. Love for forever, Charlie

@teddycohenswitch

Duck, I think this has officially the best year of my life. And I big part of that was because you found Miss Gwen and found a path for yourself with her. I love you brother of my heart. I saw this pot and it looks like the one that MeeMaw had. I hope you can use it to make all the food that you love. Love, Charlie Bear

@fabray-austinsub

Dear Matty, I'll say what I said to Austin, y'all made this the favorite year of my life. I feel truly blessed because you're safe, but not just safe. You're safe and happy. I picture you and Sir Jughead happily snuggled up together while you read a book. Have a beautiful holiday with your Dom. Love, Charlie

@matt-fabray

Dear Faith, You coming to school is the cherry on top of an amazing year for me. I'm so happy you are here and so happy you got the Dominant mark you so deserve. You are going to do amazing things with your life and I will be here cheering you on. This jade plant is a baby of one of the first plants I got after I left home. It's my version of our family legacy. Love, Charlie

@faithfabray

Dear Kurt, I know that things have been hard lately. All I could want for you is to be happy, safe, and loved. Know that I love you very much Sir and will always be here for you. Keep hope. Love, Charlie

@switchhummel

Sweet Kyle, Well I feel slightly embarrassed giving you all of this, but I told you I would. Just remember that with great power comes great responsibility - chafing is real. But seriously, you were like a sweet and silly tornado coming into my life and I wouldn't have it any other way. Along with these physical gifts, I'm giving you a years worth of hugs and cuddles. I can't wait to see all of the wonderful thing this year brings for you. Love, Charlie

@kylekellers

Dear Sir Sebastian, I have learned so much about dignity and class from you. I couldn't think of anything with more dignity and class than a red rose. This gift also comes with the offer to come and care for it when necessary. Thank you for your advice and guidance throughout this whole year. Love, Charlie

@dom-bastiansmythe

Dear Sir Parker, Hope you have a fun and exciting new year. Happy Holidays, Charlie Fabray-Carvalho

@partyboyparker

Dear Miss JB, I couldn't let the holiday go by without gifting you this knife set. I've been holding onto it for you. I hope you have lots of opportunities to gift some lucky submissives with the rare high of your skills. Happy Holidays, Charlie Fabray-Carvalho

@jbjonesxdomme

Dear Jughead, I'm so happy to be welcoming you to the family. I'd say thank you for keeping Matty safe, but what I'm really grateful for is something even more important - his happiness. I'm learning his happiness is so much more important and is what made sure that he would be safe. This plant is a baby of one of my favorite and oldest plants and is kind of my way of saying welcome to the family. Love, Charlie

@thejugheadjones

[autolovecraft]

I'll never get the picture out of my head as long as I live.

Three coffin-heights, he reckoned, would permit him to reach the transom; but he could do better with four. His head was broken in, and everything was tumbled about. God, what a rage! He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. The narrow transom admitted only the feeblest of rays, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. In this funereal twilight he rattled the rusty handles, pushed at the iron panels, and wondered why the massive portal had grown so suddenly recalcitrant.

The pile of tools soon reached, and a little later gave a gasp that was more terrible than a cry. He confided in me because I was his doctor, and because he probably felt the need of confiding in someone else after Davis died. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. The day was clear, but a high wind had sprung up; and Birch was glad to get to shelter as he unlocked the iron door and entered the side-hill vault. Birch, being by temperament phlegmatic and practical, did not shout long; but proceeded to grope about for some tools which he recalled seeing in a corner of the tomb. It was generally stated that the affliction and shock were results of an unlucky slip whereby Birch had locked himself for nine hours in the receiving tomb of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. Birch were sure—absolutely sure—of the identity of that top coffin of the pile; how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer. It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. There was evidently, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. Birch? It was just as he had recognized old Matt's coffin that the door slammed to in the wind, leaving him in a dusk even deeper than before. As his hammer blows began to fall, the horse outside whinnied in a tone which may have been just fear, and it may have been mocking. Then he fled back to the lodge and broke all the rules of his calling by rousing and shaking his patient, and hurling at him a succession of shuddering whispers that seared into the bewildered ears like the hissing of vitriol. The undertaker grew doubly lethargic in the bitter weather, and seemed to outdo even himself in carelessness. His thinking processes, once so phlegmatic and logical, had become ineffaceably scarred; and it was pitiful to note his response to certain chance allusions such as Friday, Tomb, Coffin, and words of less obvious concatenation. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. The tower at length finished, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom. Birch returned over the coffins to the door. The hungry horse was neighing repeatedly and almost uncannily, and he vaguely wished it would stop. To him Birch had felt no compunction in assigning the carelessly made coffin which he now pushed out of the way in his quest for the Fenner casket. Finally he decided to lay a base of three parallel with the wall, to place upon this two layers of two each, and upon these a single box to serve as the platform. It must have been midnight at least when Birch decided he could get through the transom.

His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. The borders of the space were entirely of brick, and there seemed little doubt but that he could shortly chisel away enough to allow his body to pass. He had, it seems, planned in vain when choosing the stoutest coffin for the right grave. In the semi-gloom he trusted mostly to touch to select the right one, and indeed came upon it almost by accident, since it tumbled into his hands as if through some odd volition after he had unwittingly placed it beside another on the third layer. In this twilight too, he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep.

He was merely crass of fiber and function—thoughtless, careless, and liquorish, as his easily avoidable accident proves, and without that modicum of imagination which holds the average citizen within certain limits fixed by taste. That he was not perfectly sober, he subsequently admitted; though he had not then taken to the wholesale drinking by which he later tried to forget certain things. Certainly, the events of that evening greatly changed George Birch. Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago.

[atangledfate]

Truthfully she'd keep Poppy away from as much royal affairs as she could. But as her consort there were many things she would be responsible for as well. Especially the Balls and Banquets were unavoidable, and there was much she would have to learn. But she was confident she'd handle it with dignity and grace. Her smile only brightened at Poppys affirmation to protect her. She could handle that herself but it was that willingness to do so that made her smile all the same.

" Yes well, i am sure we can discuss such affairs in the future. None of that will be prudent anytime soon. It will be some time before we are ready to make the announcement. I'd like to give you and Lilly time to adjust... Sol is a very different world i am sure "

She gave Poppys hands another gentle squeeze before releasing them finally.

" As for protecting me... Thank you... but let us hope trouble of that nature never comes to our doors. "

She sighed her ears folding to the side as she wished to tell Poppy more of her mother. There strained relationship, and explain why she had to leave so quickly. It was not however a story for now, not with Lilliana listening over her shoulder not to far away. She'd talk to her about it soon though.

" Do not worry about mother... I know she means well. As I said there is much we must talk about later. For now though, i think it is best if you and Lilly return to the Palace with Gardon. "

She smiled at Poppy looking to the silver dust and back again.

" The effect is unimportant, but it served its purpose and was more cautionary then anything else. "

Blaze pulled her robe close about her and looked more tired then ever as she was feeling the effects of the Ceremony now. It was clear to her she needed to sleep, recharge herself and address Lilliana more directly as she was sure the Sheep was fuming right now. She wasn't a bad woman far from it but this was clearly not the way it was meant to go at all. Poppy staying was one thing, but becoming her bride? Lilliana would have some choice words she was sure.

" I must retire for a time, the Ceremony has drained my energy ... its quite taxing. However, would you and Lilly care to join me for dinner tonight? Is much i am sure you wish to speak with me on. Much i must speak with you about as well. "

She turned to Lilliana who was waiting most patiently, though it was hard to read her emotions at the moment.

" Lilliana, i will speak with you as well before i depart. Gardon will you please escort Poppy and Lilly back to the Palace grounds. "

She did kneel down to Lilly and placed her hand on the small ones cheek with a bright smile.

" I promise, no scary soldiers... but would it be ok if i hire you a Nanny? I'll even get your mom to help me pick one, so i'm extra sure you'll get along with them. How about that? "

Gardon had many duties and as much as the old Koala would likely love to spend his days with Lilly. Blaze knew that he had a palace to run so, they would need to hire a proper nanny. For now at least, Gardon was the only choice she had---or perhaps she could ask Amy to do it. She did love children.

The Koala Offered a warm smile to blaze and Poppy he motioned for the to follow him.

" If you would ladies... let us leave the Princess to her duties, and i will see you back to the Palace. I suppose i should refer to you as highness now Ma'dam Poppy, though i suspect that would not sit well with you "

he laughed as he pat Lilly on her head like a loving grandpa

" and perhaps princess Lilly--- it does have a distinct ring doesn't it "

He jested with the two ladies as he lead them back down the long path to the palace. Blaze's eyes never left poppys as she left either. Her smile was so warm and full of life, she almost looked sad to see Poppy go. Yet she turned to face Lilliana--- her duties yet awaited.

Poppy was a bit thrown back when Blaze took her hand, making her blush rather deeply hearing her words. "Aw, geez, ya really know how to make a gal feel special." The opossum was certainly easy to fluster at times despite how calm she is most of the time, even with heavier subjects.

"If ya mean all the royal business then I'm sure I can handle it. I mean, I know I ain't too smart, though I should be good following your lead on things." Poppy may have never been this close to a royal, though they were extremely common in Flora so had heard plenty of stories about what dating one is like Mainly from her sister who joined the royal guard in the Feline Country.

"And if anyone wants to try and mess with me, I'll just punch their lights out." Poppy was no slouch in the strength department so doubt any wannabe trying to pick a fight with her to get to Blaze wasn't going to work out very well for them. Helps magic doesn't work on her.

"Still didn't like the way she talked to ya, though I guess you know her better than me." Poppy wasn't going to push the subject if Blaze seemed fine, and she knew it was just her short temper getting the better of her a little bit. "Hoped my anti-magic didn't cause any problems. Zero idea what that silver dust stuff did, though if it helps then it helps." The opossum might want to check up on it later.

"Sounds good to me, just as long as we get someone to look after Lily." Poppy was fine going back just to get her stuff, though would rather have Lily stay here where she knew it was safe. The opossum knew just how easy it was to run into someone who could hurt any opossum at the drop of a hat just to be a jerk. She was also just completely ignoring the fact everyone was staring at her now.

"If it's okay with Mr. Gardon I'd be fine with him watching me. The guards are kinda scary looking." Lily was fine with them when she was with her mom, though not so much when she seems them passing by and she's by herself. "Maybe we can play tag again."

[trinoxtrinox]

Hope over fate?

Ectoberhaunt 2022, Side Order. Prompt: Hope

Summary: Clockwork and Pandora have a strained conversation with each other.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

“Clockwork”

“Pandora”

With the way that both ghosts were looking at each other and the venom that was spouted when both of them said the other’s name, one would think that a fight would be about to begin in this place, and as any sane ghost, every single being that was present within 25 kilometers of the confrontation ran away with their tails between their legs as fast as possible, some animal ghosts and ghosts with tails literally doing so. The only thing that might’ve been keeping the both of them from fighting was probably the fact that the Acropolis of Athena was within said radius, but that doesn’t mean anything when 2 Ancients are willing to fight over something they have yet to talk about, simply on the grounds that they don’t like each other.

“What brings you here?” arms crossed, Pandora remained as non-confrontational as she could while in the presence of a fellow Ancient she didn’t like and was normally hostile against… That wasn’t easy, as could be seen by her tense posture while crossing all of her arms and having her weapons at her beck and call.

“I’ve come here to ask you a favor.” Clockwork said, holding tight his staff ready for the most likely inevitable fight that was about to take place.

“Oh really? And what would that favor be?” the lower pair of arms unfolded, once again venom could be felt dripping from her voice.

“For this your box wi-” “Absolutely not.”

“*sigh* Would you let me finish speaking first?” Exasperated Clockwork asked, dignity still present in his voice and posture.

“Sure, but the answer will remain the same.”

“Your box will be needed. Another ghost will come to your maze and take it in the future, and in order to create the best timeline they’ll need to be able to get it undisturbed.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’ll let my box to be taken from my watch.”

“Hence why I came here to ask this favor of you in the first place.”

“And what made you think that I would accept this from you?”

“Because that would ensure the best possible timeline.”

“Hah, you know that won’t work on me Clockwork, I’ve changed the timeline multiple times already despite your meddling, what makes you think this time it’ll be any different?”

“Because this time I bring to you the result of said timeline.” Clockwork waved one of his hands, opening a blue portal that opened with the assistance of a clock hand towards his own lair. “Shall we go?”

“I won’t be leaving behind any of my weapons.” Pandora floated slowly towards the portal, unsheathing all her weapons and having them at the ready in all of her arms, before finally crossing over and finding herself in Long Now, Clockwork’s lair. “Well, what do you want to show me, oh Ancient Master of Time?” The sarcasm and vitriol in her voice was palpable, the tensions high enough that it reached the endless skies of the Infinite Realms and strong enough that not even one of Pandora’s swords would be able to cut it.

“This way,” in the shape of an infant Clockwork lead the way, moving slowly but surely between all of the mirrors he kept in place until finally arriving at the desired one, “the reason I know you’ll accept my plan, Ancient of Hope Pandora, is because this timeline will be in it’s final phase in shaping Phantom into a figure of Hope, Protection, Space, Responsibility and allow him to properly claim the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage.”

“Do you truly think I'll believe your words alone on that?”

“You don’t have to, here’s his mirror of his current timeline and how he’ll end up in the future should my plans come to fruition.” The ghost in an elderly form stepped aside, letting her fellow Ancient watch the mirror as it began materializing what Danny was currently doing, which was his homework in this case; static filed the surface of the mirror as now a battle between Danny and Skulker was being shown, and despite fighting in the center of the city, Phantom still managed to throw in random shields in order to make sure no one got hurt from the fight, and finally the mirror showed his back sitting in the throne room of Pariah’s Keep, except this time he was wearing the crown and a furred cape, and the doors to the room were open, letting any ghost come and go, seeking an audience with their king.

“Well, would you look at that. That ghost truly is being shaped into a figure of Hope, wouldn’t be surprised if he’s one already actually.” Pandora let herself relax, if such a figure was going to become their king, then the future of the realms really was as brilliant as it could be. “...Is my box really necessary for this to come true?”

“It is, you won’t have to worry though, that’ll be the time where you’ll meet Daniel.” A coy smile came across his face as he changed forms into his adult shape.

“Well, maybe I won’t even have to let my box go. If he’s such a hopeful ghost already, then who’s to say he won’t get the same ability as mine to change the timeline.”

“Oh, he does have that one already.”

“Really? How come you never told me that then?” a smirk was in her face, but even with her dislike of Clockwork and the slight anger in her voice, her happiness at the aspect of another hopeful ghost was getting to her. Sue her for being hopeful on the prospect of meeting another ghost similar yet different from her.

“Because you’ll never stop pestering me about the details on how he managed to change his timeline now.” he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching his nose. “All I can tell you is that he needed my help when the Observants asked something of me.”

“Well then, I’ll just Hope I’ll be able to meet him soon.”

“Please don’t, your Hope always makes things more complicated in the timestream.”

“Too late, and would you look at that?” Pandora asked as she turned around and found herself in front of a natural portal, “just as I was hoping for an easy exit as well.”

“*sigh* Goodbye Pandora, please don’t break the timeline”

“I make no promises, also goodbye.” And with that Pandora left the premises and returned to her lair, preparing some stuff with the box in order to make it noticeable and let the first ghost to come here to steal it.

[1252291]

Miche.... mmmmmm cockwarming miche... him whining about it because he wants to fuck you already but his whining isn't high pitched and elongated words, it's huff and puffs and blow your house down and squirming to make sure you feel his cock shift in you

🥴 onyx my dear fellow miche fucker. you have provided so much for me, so pls. sit down on miches cawk and lemme provide for you!!

minors dni or i'll send a gremlin to eat ur toenails.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭ㅤ1.4K 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬/𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐬ㅤcockwarming, exhibitionism, no protection. female bodied reader, but non-binary. I also wrote this and edited it on my phone so if there are any mistakes, please lmk!!

A surprised hmph gets pulled out of you when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you into one of the offices that line the hallway. Your eyes are wide—curious, and your head tilted up to look at Miche's back as he pulls you wordlessly to the office chair inside.

It takes one glance around to know you'd been pulled into the commanders office.

"What're we doing?"

You really hadn't expected more that a little grunt in return, did you? Miche turns, his body settling into the wooden chair that Erwin usually sat. His hand let yours go as eyes raised to yours expectantly. Your fingertips ran across the smooth wood, body buzzing with the soft knowledge of what he wanted.

"Here?"

Miche gives a curt nod, then smiles a little. When he reaches out, you step closer. His fingers are skilled; unbuttoning your pants quickly, and tugging them down until they're pooled around your ankles. Be it your dignity, or his laziness, Miche doesn't pull your underwear down with them.

You stand on display for him. Shivering as he sits up again, pressing his fingers along your inner thighs teasingly. "Miche." He glances up with his brow quirked in question.

You communicate withouts words; you never need any with Miche. Don't you think Erwin's going to need his office again?

He shrugs, then stands.

It's easy to forget how he towers over you when he's sitting—equally as easy when Miche turns you so that your hips hit the desk in front of you, and your upper body is shoved down against it.

A shiver erupts through your body, legs spreading a little as Miche's fingers slip underneath the fabric of your underwear. Maybe you should be embarrassed by the way your cunt glistens underneath the light leaking in through the window, but you know he could smell it before he saw it. He lets out an amused sound, and speaks for the first time, "so god damn pretty."

You shiver again, only because of the way his fingers trace your drooling pussy, dragging slick to your clit to make the way he teases it easy.

"We don't have time," you remind, pressing up onto your elbows to get a better look at the door. Again, he says nothing in response, but his fingers slip inside of you.

Cheeks burn a little. What the two of you were doing was more real this way. You wondered for a moment if this could get you dismissed from the scouts if discovered but the thought quickly leaves when thick digits curl inside of you. You're still pliant from this morning, but rock back against his fingers with a soft whine anyways.

"Please–"

You can hear him snorting, and if he hadn't pressed his hand on your back to push you back down to laying flat against the desk, you would've looked back at him.

The word doesn't need to be repeated. He unbuttons his belt and pants. Intricate belts stop him from doing more than working his cock out. It's all he needs though. The fat, pink head of his cock presses against your entrance. He's thick, and long—matching the build of his body—soft curve to the left that always drags inside of you deliciously.

You rock back against his cock, legs knocking a little more as your fingers scrape across the desk for purchase. When he slips in, it feels like you're being stuffed full instantly.

"A-ah. Shit," you swear softly. Your body works to suck him inside. Your walls fluttering around the intrusion, before relaxing. Miche lets out a soft grunt, settling with his hips against the plush of your ass, waiting for the way you nod.

The second he's allowed, his hips pull back, then snap forward again. He's quick to build a steady rhythm, splitting you open on his cock each time it slams inside of you, dragging across velvety walls that are always quick to drive him to his peak. He throbs inside of your cunt. Miche's hand runs up your back until his arm is hooking under your body to pull you up. Your back flush to his chest as he fucks up into you.

It happens so quickly that it's dizzying. You don't cum. Instead, you find yourself seated on his cock and your stomach against the wood of the desk, pressing you close still to the wood.

Across from you, Erwin is standing with the doorknob still in his hand. His brows are raised in surprise to see you both there—gaze flittering from your own surprised expression, to Miche's unwavering one.

Miche, who had settled a hand against your waist, and the other to the desk so that you were pulled close—concealing where you were connected together from curious eyes.

"You're here for the next expeditions plans?" Erwin's expression flattens into his regular one. "Or–"

You nod, "we're here for the plans, commander."

"Good."

The man underneath you grips a little harder at your waist. His cock is buried to the brim inside of you, leaking pre steadily–mixing in with your own slick despite the way he's stilled inside of you.

If Erwin thinks it's strange you're sitting in his seat, he doesn't say anything about it. Merely settles into the chair across from you. Miche pulls closer to the desk, his knuckles white with the grip. When Erwin starts talking, unravelling the map he had of outside of the walls, your mind wanders away to the way Miche is adjusting to sit up further. It finds a new angle inside of you, and takes everything inside not to let a soft moan escape as he brushes past bundle of sensitive nerves.

With your fist in front of your mouth, you drop your other hand to where Miche has snaked his arm around to settle his hand against your stomach. His palm presses against your abdomen—right where his cock is settled inside.

Big, you think. Probably would've told him if the commander wasn't seated across from you.

You take a deep breath. Against your neck, Miche has buried his face. He takes a deep breath himself, though his sniffing goes dismissed by Erwin who keeps speaking. He doesn't look up at either of you, even when Miche starts letting short grunts escape, and huffs of annoyed breaths.

You're not doing any better. Your face is burning, and you're trying to stay quiet despite being stuffed full.

"We'll have to make it around this—"

Erwin's voice fades into background noise. You're so impossibly wet that when Miche shifts his cock inside of you, pressing against the nerves again, you can hear it. A soft squelch that makes your gaze drop to the desk.

You cough to try and cover the sound. Miche snorts against your neck, but it's short when your walls tighten around his cock. That asshole did it on purpose, so you naturally got back at him; walls flutter around his cock—relaxing, then tightening until Miche was fighting against the soft puffs that would have been dismissed anyways.

"As always, we'll need your squad to be at the outer of the formation," Erwin informed, looking up at Miche.

The man lifted his face away from your neck, "understood." You nodded along with his claim, though your brain was foggy from the way he squirmed underneath you. Miche wanted to fuck into your tight cunt until he was spilling inside. Erwin wasn't his commanding officer right now, he was his cock-blocking best friend.

Erwin only gave a short nod. It had been twenty minutes since he started his explanation. The entire time both of you had sat there silently listening. Slowly, he spoke, "I have a meeting I have to go to." Then, he got up to leave with his maps. Miche pulled close back to the desk again. His hand came around your body in a fist, saluting Erwin over your chest as his lips curled into a smirk.

Erwin didn't say anything or do anything other than a vague salute back. Your eyes came up to look at him, and for the first time you realized how flushed he looked. Pale features were light pink, and you really hadn't meant to let your gaze drop lower to the way his cock strained against white uniform pants.

Around Miche your walls tightened. And Miche only nuzzled against your neck with a soft sniff, and rocked his hips up to hit against your g-spot once more in front of Erwin. This time, you moaned.

thank you for reading!! if you liked it, any feedback is really, really appreciated!! i thrive off of reading tags ngl. okay, take care!!

[star--anon]

3 Times Wilbur Was A Lee + No That's It, That's The Post

Heyyyyyyy~! I left Tumblr for a little while, but don't worry! I'm back! And I've finally written the prompt that was sent to me over 2 months ago! Yay!

"Listen, I'm sorry, alright?" Tommy huffed out, resting his head on Wilbur's shoulder. "I didn't mean to! Honest! You're just being a big bitch about it!"

Wilbur didn't say anything back. He simply stared at the front door, waiting for Phil to come home with his fixed sweater.

While watching Tommy parade around the house in Wilbur's favorite orange sweater was, to some degree, amusing, it was not amusing when Tommy ripped the soft fabric. And although Phil had gone to get the sweater fixed, Wilbur was still incredibly upset with the seventeen-year-old idiot. He stuck a Post-It on Tommy's forehead with the words, "I am an idiot and Wilbur Soot does not talk to idiots," scrawled on the yellow paper in messy handwriting. He then resigned himself to the couch and waited for Phil to come home, ignoring Tommy's attempts at getting his attention.

It seemed like Tommy wasn't exactly on board with his idea, judging by the way he plopped himself next to Wilbur and began poking his shoulder, repeating, "...Answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me..."

It took every fiber of Wilbur's being to not whack Tommy on the back of his empty little head.

"...Answer me, answer me, answer me, answer me..."

The words, "Shut it", weighed heavily on Wilbur's tongue, and it took a massive effort to not let it slip from his lips. He had told himself that he would not talk to Tommy, and he was going to keep that promise.

"...Answer me, answer me, answer me, not gonna stop until you answer me, answer me, answer me..."

Gradually, as Wilbur remained unresponsive, Tommy's poking became quicker and more aggressive until he missed his mark. Instead of poking Wilbur's shoulder, he ended up poking his ribs. The older started and swallowed a squeak of surprise. He hoped that Tommy hadn't noticed, but that hope quickly sank when he saw him grin widely.

"I saw that jump, don't try and hide," said Tommy, poking his ribs again. As impassively as he could, Wilbur reached out and grabbed Tommy's wrists tightly. He never spoke a word and kept his eyes on the front door. He was trying to ignore the kid, after all. He squeezed Tommy's wrists and let go, hoping that the boy had gotten the message.

Don't poke me, he silently said.

Unfortunately, Tommy was never good at listening. The moment his hands were free, he immediately returned to poking at Wilbur's ribs, this time with renewed energy.

"Ahaha-!"

Wilbur cracked.

He dropped the ignoring act and squirmed away from Tommy. In his desperation, he made the mistake of falling off the couch and onto the ground, allowing Tommy to sit on top of him and poke him more.

"G-Gehehet ahahaway!"

"I knew it! I knew you were just ignoring me!"

"Tohohommy, gehehet ohoff!"

"Nah. I'm having a lot of fun."

"T-Tohohommy, Ihi'm seheherious!" Wilbur tried to flip over to throw Tommy off him, but he quickly abandoned the attempt when Tommy dug between his shoulder blades. "Juhuhust gehehet ohohoff! Plehehease!"

Although Wilbur's thin shirt was doing nothing to protect him from Tommy's poking, the blonde still decided to take it up a notch. He slipped a hand underneath the shirt and rapidly squeezed his ribcage. Wilbur just about shrieked, frantically and jerkily pushing at Tommy's chest. His arms flailed around; Wilbur was stuck between trying to push Tommy off him or covering up his red face to preserve what little dignity he could save. The younger grinned widely, easily grabbing Wilbur's hands and pinning them down high above his head.

"TOHOHOMMY, WAHAHAIT! I-IHI CAHAHAN'T BREHEHEATHE!" Wilbur was bluffing and Tommy knew it.

"Calm down, you're breathing just fine."

"GEHEHET OHOHOFF!"

"Awww, is this a bad spot?" Tommy made an exaggerated sad face. "This is a bad spot for you, huh? Your ribs are ticklish? Is that what this is? Hm?"

Wilbur whined at the teasing, turning a deep shade of red.

"TOHOHOMMY!" he complained. The squeezing and pokes to his ribs made it difficult to think, so he couldn't get out much more. Given the opportunity, he might have been able to formulate a proper and cohesive argument and rationalization to persuade Tommy into halting his petty actions.

He wasn't given the opportunity.

The laughing on his behalf and the tickling on Tommy's seemed to weaken Wilbur because he was finding it incredibly hard to do anything but lie there and take it. Take the digging nails between his ribs, the occasional raspberry on his ribs, the random squeezes and pokes and prods and wiggles and skitters and rubs on the bones and gently scratching...

"TOHOHOMMY! PLEHEHEASE, YOUHU'RE GOHOHOING TO KIHILL ME!"

"Calm down," scoffed Tommy. "I'm not going to kill you."

Still, he relented and stopped his attack, letting Wilbur (finally) take a breather.

"Are you okay?"

"Y-Yeheheah..."

"Cool."

"Cahahan youhu get ohohoff mehe?"

Tommy blinked. This was the first time in memory that Wilbur had asked for something — and politely too.

"Hm..." For a moment, Tommy considered it. Wilbur hadn't flipped him over and taken brutal revenge yet. He had asked nicely to be let up. It looked like he was sorry for ignoring Tommy. Well, then again, it only looked like he was sorry.

"Maybe if you apologize for ignoring," offered Tommy, "I'll let you up."

Wilbur glared at him. It was obvious he was trying to gain authority and control of the situation by activating his Big-Brother mode, but it was less effective when he was at Tommy's mercy.

"Fuhuhuck youhu," Wilbur snapped. "Let me up."

Tommy just shrugged. "Your funeral," he said, scribbling his fingers over Wilbur's ribs. The brunet screeched in laughter and immediately gave in.

"OHOHOKAY! OHOKAY IHI'M SOHOHORRY! SOHOHOHORRY!"

Huh. Well, that had worked out better than expected. Tommy made a mental note about Wilbur's ribs. What? It was valuable potential blackmail for later!

"Very sorry?"

"YEHES! V-VEHEHERY SOHOHORRY!"

"And you promise that you'll never ignore me ever again?"

"YOUHU SUHUHUCK!" Wilbur whined through his laughter.

"I don't hear you saying it~"

"NOHOT SAHAHAYING SHIHIT!"

"Don't think you have a choice here, Wil," Tommy murmured. Once more, he switched tactics, going from dancing his fingers around to digging in between each of Wilbur's ribs. Every once in a while, he'd blow a raspberry and smugly grin when he heard Wil shriek. "I think you better say it."

"IHIHI PROHOHOMISE IHI'LL-" Wilbur broke off with a high-pitched squeal as Tommy blew a raspberry on a particularly ticklish rib. "AHAHA-! NOHOHOT THEHEHERE!"

"Go on," coaxed Tommy. "Say "I'll never ignore you again, Tommy", and I'll let you up."

"DA-DAHAHAMN YOUHU!

"Say it!"

"IHIH'LL NEHEVER IGNORE YOUHU AHAHAGAIN, TO-TOHOHOMMY!" Wilbur managed to babble out.

Finally, finally, Tommy stopped. This time, with no intention of starting up again. "Really?"

"Yehes," Wilbur breathily replied. His chest rose and fell as he greedily sucked in some much-needed air. "I forgive you, okay? I'll stop ignoring. I don't think you're an idiot. I don't care about my sweater." At first, Tommy thought he was just saying it so Tommy wouldn't tickle him again. But that thought quickly left when Wilbur reluctantly grumbled out, "I love you. And I'm sorry."

"Awww! Thank you!"

"Now get the fuck off of me."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*

"Y'know, Tommy had a lot of fun telling me about his own tickling story with you," Philza helpfully informed, shifting slightly to better access Wilbur's underarms. He noticed that kneading circles made Wil's laughter go high-pitched, so he made sure to knead as many circles as he could. "But honestly, I think I'm having more fun than he did."

"AHAHAHA! PH-PHIHIHIL! PHIHIL IHIHI CAHAHAN'T! PLEHEHEHEASE! IHI- EEP!"

Phil grinned at Wilbur's reaction. He blew another raspberry on his neck and got the same response: a short, high-pitched shriek.

"You what? What is it, Wilbur?"

Wilbur simply shook his head, laughing too hard to be able to form coherent words. Had he not been sitting in Phil's lap, his arms held up with one hand and his underarms being tortured by a hand and a wing while another wing was running over his ribs, he might have been able to form a proper word. Phil noticed this and decided to give the musician a small break.

"...h-hehehe," Wilbur softly giggled. The tickling had stopped, but he still jerked and flinched and laughed like there were still fingers and feathers on him. "M-Mehehahaha..."

"What?"

"...mehahaha..."

"A-Are you okay?" asked Philza, starting to get worried. He hadn't taken it too far, had he?

Finally, after his breathing calms down and enough air gets into Wilbur's lungs, he whispered, "...m-mehehercy..."

"What's that?"

"H-Hahahave mehercy, Phihil." Wilbur shook his head once more, his giggles beginning to start up again. He tugged at his wrists, which were still held high above his head, and rocked side to side, almost like he was trying to evade poking fingers. The only thing was that Phil wasn't doing anything. "Cahahan't tahake ihit..."

"I'm giving you a break right now," soothed Phil. "I'm not an asshole."

"Yehes you ahahare," Wilbur cheekily said.

"Hey," said Phil. He ran his nails over Wilbur's ribs, earning a loud shriek. "I would be careful if I were you," he warned. "Don't forget, I know two of your spots now, and I fully plan on abusing my knowledge."

Wilbur squirmed in the avian's lap, his light-hearted threat forcing a whine out of him. His cheeks only got redder when he finally processed something that Phil had said earlier.

"Did he really?" he meekly asked.

"Did who really what?"

"Did Tommy really tell you about tickling me?"

Philza barked out a laugh. "You think Tommy's the type of guy to offer help in unloading the groceries?"

Wilbur flushed, his cheeks now a deep crimson. "Guess not," he grumbled. He had thought it was weird that Tommy was suddenly so eager to do a task that nobody liked doing — unloading the groceries — but he had just assumed that Tommy felt awkward around Wilbur after tickling him. He hadn't thought that... Wilbur kicked his legs as best he could and whined loudly.

"I can't believe you just stood there and willingly listened to Tommy talk about how he... how he tortured me to earn my forgiveness," he huffed.

"Torture," Phil snorted. "He didn't torture you. You make it sound like he had a knife and was drawing blood. According to him, all he did was tickle your ribs."

"W-Well, my ribs are very ticklish!"

"I noticed," Phil remarked. He dragged a single finger up Wil's ribs and smirked when Wilbur burst into sweet lil' giggles. Feeling a little evil, he added, "You know, he also told me get flustered easily~"

This, of course, flustered Wilbur. He buried his head in the crook of his arm, trying — and failing miserably — to suppress a goofy smile.

Phil took it as an invitation to continue.

"He also told me your laugh was adorable."

"Did he really-

"He told me you get all giggly when someone lightly rubs your ribs."

"Wh-What-"

"And that you get really red when someone tickle you."

"I don't-"

"You do, actually," Phil noted, eyeing the brunet's red face.

"Look," he said, booping Wilbur on the nose, "even your nose is red."

"I-"

"You look good though," Phil reassured. "Cute and a little messy, but good."

"St-Stop cutting me off!" spluttered Wilbur. The fact that Phil hadn't let him go yet probably meant that he planned on tickling him more, and Phil's constant interrupting wasn't helping Wilbur ease his nerves.

Phil's eyes widened at his outburst. "Well, there's no need to shout at your old man," he murmured. "I was just curious, that's all."

"S-Sorry..."

Phil hummed again, and the two fell into a comfortable silence — although Wilbur's nerves still didn't ease. Just as he was about to be asked if he could be let go, Phil said, "Aight, break's over. Let's start."

"Wait, what're you- AH! PHIHIHIL! NOHOHOT AHAHAGAIN!"

Phil cooed softly, drilling his wings into Wilbur's underarms while silently counting his ribs with his free hand. "I think Tommy was right; your laugh is adorable."

"FUHUHUHUCK YOUHUHU!"

Phil frowned at the vulgar language. He tugged Wilbur's arms to the side a little and began blowing raspberries on his ribs. Just as Tommy had told him, Wilbur immediately shrieked.

"AHAHAHA! WAHAHAIT! SOHOHORRY! PLEHEHEHEASE, IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY!"

Phil noticed that vibrating his fingers deep into Wil's underarms made him laugh louder than when he blew raspberries on his ribs. "Hey, I think your armpits might be more ticklish than your ribs!"

"PHIHIHIL!" Wilbur whined. "YOUHUHU'RE SOHO MEHEHEHEAN!"

"Me? Mean?" Phil gasped in mock offense. He ran the tip of his wing over Wil's left underarm while drilling circles into his right. The harsh contrast between the two sides was driving Wilbur insane! "I'm hurt, Wilbur. I'm genuinely hurt."

"IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY NOHOW STOP TIHIHIHICKLING MEHE!"

"Lemme sleep on it."

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*

"No, that wouldn't work either," Wilbur dismissed. He leaned back in his chair (or some stairs, depending on how you wanna look at it) and gazed out the window, a half-amused smile tugging on his lips as he watched Tommy and Tubbo assemble and reassemble a large pyramid puzzle. To Technoblade, he said, "Think of something better."

"I'm trying!" Techno frustratedly snapped. "You've been rejecting every idea I've come up with! Plus, you haven't come up with a single idea yet!"

"Yeah, because good ideas take a long time to think of!"

Techno rolled his eyes. "Yeah? Good ideas take a long time to think of? Seriously? That's your excuse?"

"It's not an excuse! I'm trying to focus, but you're distracting me!"

"I'm helping."

From downstairs, Phil tiredly sighed, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Wilbur and Techno were arguing. Again.

"What else is new," he muttered under his breath before sipping his coffee.

Sometimes, the avian questioned his decision to introduce his adopted family to Technoblade. At times, it was good to have his friend around; he was always happy to have a helping hand in organizing the family. Techno was a good big brother.

There were, however, some problems. Even though Technoblade was over a thousand years old, Nether piglins tended to live for millions of years. By piglin standards, Techno was barely a toddler. His youth — and therefore inexperience — caused some (read: a lot) of chaos and unnecessary bickering around the house.

For example, it was Tommy's birthday, and Techno and Wilbur had been assigned to give him a gift. Phil had initially thought it would be a nice team/brother bonding moment, but it just ended up being another excuse for the two to argue.

"What if we made him a giant cobblestone tower?" suggested Techno. "I have enough. We could build it all the way to the height limit. It'd probably make Tommy happy; he likes cobblestone towers of powers."

"No."

The piglin blinked at Wilbur's bluntness. He waited for an explanation. When none came, he prompted, "...Because...?"

"I just don't like the idea," Wilbur replied.

Techno threw his hands up in wordless fury. "You are impossible to work with," he stated. "Absolutely impossible."

"Think of some good ideas and maybe I'll be easier to work with."

Finally, Technoblade snapped. Wilbur had been rejecting every single one of his ideas with no satisfying explanation. It was honestly starting to get to him.

Making sure Wilbur was still distracted by something outside the window, he slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out a book and quill. Flipping to page thirteen, he slowly trailed a finger down the paper, quickly reading all the bullets.

- A video where he's singing incredibly off-key - His secret drawer of photos of Sally - The one page in his diary where he talks about how amazing Tommy is - A video of him strumming an air-guitar like he's at a rock concert - That one time he accidentally encased himself in obsidian and I had to get him out - That time he started talking about how incredibly Tommy was before realizing I wasn't Philza

None of these help, Technoblade thought, slightly crestfallen. Usually, his book had all the blackmailing information necessary for any situation. But none of the bullets were helpful in this certain scenario. Eventually, he reached the final bullet on page thirteen, the page specifically dedicated to potential blackmail on Wilbur Soot.

- Ticklish ribs The words, "+underarms", had been hastily scrawled underneath.

Huh. Technoblade glanced up at Wilbur, who remained oblivious to his growing evil scheme.

"Alrighty then," the piglin sighed, standing up. "Villain arc time."

"Oh yeah?" Wilbur absent-mindedly murmured. "What're you gonna- AH!"

He yelped, caught off-guard, as Techno just about pounced on him and hauled him off his chair. He crashed into the piglin, sending them tumbling to the ground, each fighting for dominance. Though Techno was quite well-known for his strength and cunningness, Wilbur found it incredibly easy to wriggle his way out from his grasp.

Just as Wilbur had thought he had managed to get away, Techno "accidentally" hiked his shirt up and began squeezing at his ribcage. Wil immediately crumbled to the ground, feebly beating Techno's chest with a clenched fist.

"Ack! T-Tehehechno! Youhu cheheheater!"

"I win!" he triumphantly cried, flipping Wilbur onto back and settling down on his legs. Anytime Wil tried to resist, Techno would simply rub his top rib bones and watch (smugly) as Wilbur fell back down, giggling up a storm.

"Youhuhu cheheated!" Wilbur protested. "Thahat's not fahahair!"

"Hush," shushed Techno. Wilbur did not "hush". In fact, when Technoblade delved his fingers into his underarms, his laughter only grew louder. In mock exasperation, Techno snapped, "Pay attention, Wilbur, I'm showing you my really good idea."

"Thihihis ihis youhur idehea?!"

"It's good, isn't it?"

"Ihihit's ahabsolute shit!"

Techno's eyes widened.

"You take that back!" he demanded, not caring how childish he was being. It seemed like laughter truly was contagious, for Wilbur's loud cackling brought out a few chuckles from himself. Techno was glad that Phil had suggested for Tommy and Tubbo to go outside, because it would be very hard to explain why he, Technoblade, a deadly piglin who earned his title "Blood God", was currently sitting on top of a human and tickling him senseless, all the while wearing a large, goofy smirk.

"My ideas are great and you know it. Just admit it already."

"Fuhuhuck ohoff! Ihihi-" Whatever Wilbur was going to say was cut off by his own raucous laughter when Techno pushed his sweater up and blew a raspberry on his ribs (a trick he learned from Phil, who learned it from Tommy). "FUHUHUCK! WAHAHAIT! WAHAHAIT, TEHEHECHNO PLEASE! STOHOHOP!"

Technoblade did not stop. As a matter of fact, Wilbur's pleas only seemed to spur him on. Through slightly teary eyes, Wil weakly batted at Techno's shoulder as the pinkette blew raspberry after raspberry on his ribs. The hits didn't do much — Techno barely noticed — but it did throw him off a little when Wilbur missed his shoulder and whacked him in the face. Luckily, no one was hurt, but it made Techno flinch, and instead of blowing a raspberry on Wil's ribs, he blew one on his navel.

To which Wilbur screeched.

"NOHOHO! NONONONO! NO! PLEHEHEASE! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHERE! ANYWHERE BUHUT THEHERE!"

Technoblade grinned. He gave Wil's underarms a little break and moved to attack his tummy instead, skittering his fingers around the soft skin, occasionally dipping into his navel to lightly scratch around.

"Oh? Is this a new spot?" asked Techno. "Is your tum-tum ticklish? Is it? Is it so tick-tick-ticklish? Hm?"

"STOHOHOHOP!" Wilbur tried to demand. His squeaky cackles weren't really helping him make a point. He pursed his lips together and attempted to put on a mean, stony face. Techno dipped a thumb into his lil' button and vibrated it around, and his facade immediately crumbled. He squirmed underneath him, frantically trying to get free. "PLEHEHEASE! CAHAHAN'T TAHAKE IHIT!"

The piglin caught the strain in Wilbur's laughter and sympathized with him. He hadn't been tickled before, but Wilbur always tried to keep a strong, impassive reputation, and Technoblade doesn't know what he would do if somebody tickles him and reduced him to a red puddle of giggles.

"Alright, alright," he murmured, decided that Wilbur had had enough. "Just wanted to have my revenge for a little while. It gets annoying when someone keeps rejecting my brilliant ideas, y'know."

He slid off of Wilbur and walked back to his chair, where he had originally been sitting before he had gotten the random idea to tickle Wil. Before he could see what Techno was doing, the piglin quickly jotted down "+belly and navel" on page thirteen of his blackmailing book. He said nothing else — no apologies, no consolation, no explanation. Nothing. Zip. Zero. Nada. Goose eggs.

The moment Wilbur got enough air into his lungs and strength in his limbs, he staggered back onto his feet, face bright red and hair a mess. He ran a hand through his ruffled brown curls — like that would help — and sank into his chair, breathless.

"Ihi still thihink your ideas a-are shihit," he mumbled. He hugged himself around the stomach, ghost tickles still dancing on his sensitive skin. Technoblade glared at him. He had forgotten how annoying Wilbur was while he had been tickling him. He grabbed the first thing he could find — a marker — and pointed it at the brunet.

"I'll tickle you again if you're not careful," he threatened.

"I can take it," Wilbur arrogantly responded, eyeing the marker warily. His bluff was called, however, when Technoblade stood up and he squeaked. "AH! Sorry! Didn't mean it! I-I was just joking!"

Techno grinned. "You wanna admit that my ideas are good now?"

"No."

For a split second, Wilbur's stubbornness irritated the piglin. But then, after studying the marker in his hand, Techno's grin only widened, another equally wonderful idea popping into his head.

"Alright, I've got an idea I bet Tommy'll love," he said.

"And I bet it's shit."

Technoblade didn't say anything, simply grabbing Wilbur's wrists and raising them high above his head, which scared him.

"What're you doing?" he squeaked, voice high-pitched in terror. "D-Don't tickle me again! Please! I'm sorry!"

"Calm down," Techno soothed. "I'm not going to tickle you."

Wilbur relaxed a little. That is until Technoblade began pushing his sweater up, to which he shrieked, "What're you doing?!"

"I'm going to use this marker," was the pinkette's simple response.

"T-To do wha- EEP! Tehehechno! Nohohot ahagain!" whined Wil. "Plehease! Ihihi'm seherious, I cahahan't tahake it!"

"What? Seriously? You can't take a marker? Not even a marker?" teased Technoblade, more surprised than anything else.

"Ihihi'm tihihicklish!" the brunet defensively giggled.

"Well, that's good, because I won't tickle you all that much. Just stay still. I need to write something on your stomach. It'll be easier if you don't struggle."

"Ihihit tihihickles!"

"I know, but just stay still."

Wilbur tried — he really did! — but it was incredibly difficult to not laugh while Technoblade was writing something on his stomach with a black Sharpie. The soft tip of the marker was surprisingly good at tickling him, especially when it came close to the rim of his navel.

"Whahat ahahare yohuu even dohohoing?" giggled Wilbur. He couldn't exactly read whatever Techno was writing. It's hard to read upside down.

"I'm writing "TICKLE HERE" all over your stomach. And don't look at me like that," Technoblade added when the other gaped at him. "I know you're ticklish on your stomach, but I'm willing to bet Tommy doesn't~"

"Youhu wouhuhuldn't!"

"I would, actually," Techno replied. "Plus, I bet Tommy would love it. Admit it, Wilbur, it's a good idea."

Although Wilbur would continue to insist that Techno's ideas were shit, Tommy actually found Techno's birthday gift for him incredibly entertaining and enjoyed it immensely.

("Come on Wilbur, it's very rude to not sing me happy birthday~" "Ihihi'm tryhyhyhying!" "Try harder! Try to stop laughing. It might help." "Youhuhu suhuck!" "I wouldn't say that if I were in your position~" "ACK! WAHAHAIT! IHIHI'M SOHOHORRY!" "Don't forget to try his navel too." "FUHUHUCK YOU BOHOTH!")

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ*

I don't know why this prompt took me so long to do but I'm so fucking sorry Jesus Christ ᜊࡇᜊ

Also I'd just like to mention brag that the word count is 3,909 words.

-🌟

[seeuonadarknite]

freak — yandere oikawa tooru x f. reader

warnings: noncon, bullying, degradation, creampie, hickeys, exhibitionism

Milk bread? Check. Coffee? Got it. Gum?

"Shit!" The sound of your school loafers pattering against the sidewalk resonated throughout the desolate road as you hastily detoured back to the gas station. You were probably the store's first customer of the day, and here you were ever so graciously returning because you forgot something as minimal as chewing gum.

Any sane person would forget the gum and continue their journey towards the school. But you were far from that. You had to have a few screws loose if you willingly took time out of your day to cater to your high school bully and buy him a few of his favorite snacks. Hell, his friends have even dubbed you as his little admirer due to your obedient nature.

But you weren't catering to his needs like some sort of servant because you wanted to impress him. The only thing that kept you from smacking him across the face and calling him a stuck up jerk was pure fear. You're not some masochist that enjoys being taken advantage of by someone with a power imbalance over you all because of his stupid social status, but your options are limited.

It's either play along with his brutal torment for the rest of the last semester, or try and defend yourself and place a giant target on your back for his vicious fan girls. And even if you tried fighting him back, you wouldn't even need to be outnumbered by his friends to lose. We're talking about the Grand King here. He'd take you down by himself in a matter of seconds.

As hard as it was being seen as a freak that embraced Oikawa's torment, you'd much rather lose your dignity rather than your own safety. If Oikawa told those girls that you tried laying a pretty little finger on him, he'd be throwing you into a pit of rabid wolves to shred you apart and eat you alive.

Plus, you weren't as bad as everyone made you out to be. If there was anything Oikawa was better at other than playing volleyball, it was lying. He could spread a rumor about you robbing a damn bank and not a single person would bat an eye at his impossible claim. The fact that he has the entire school body in the palm of his hand is more than unsettling. Saying you weren't interested in testing his immeasurable power was an understatement.

Sprinting over to the spot behind the school that Oikawa was oh so keen on meeting you at, your heavy pants soon turned into wheezes. God, you were only three minutes late but you were shaking like a leaf. If anything positive came out of this situation, it was that you learned that it'd be a good idea to bring a grocery list next time, and maybe some water.

"You're late, [y/n]. Care to explain?" It wasn't hard to miss the irritation that laced the normally cheerful male's tone. Lo and behold, Oikawa was already stood at your regular spot, looking as cocky and smug as ever. There was nothing that excited him more than watching your face visibly drop at the sight of his presence. What, did you really think you'd get by with being even a second late? Time was precious, and you weren't going to get away with wasting his.

Oikawa basked in the way you powerlessly trembled as he made his way towards you. You didn't even bother trying to cower away, it was priceless! Placing a hand on your chin, he forcefully tilted your head upwards and rubbed a thumb over your lower lip. "I-I'm sorry! I.. I forgot the gum.." He shot you a glare. "B-But I went back and got it! That's why I'm a little late.." You could barely even muster up a coherent response, you were so nervous.

Judging by the way he ripped the grocery bag out of your hand and began rummaging through the contents of the bag, he was not buying your excuse. Picking up the can of cold coffee you had specifically picked out for him, his eyes narrowed in disgust. "You got me the kind with creamer. Are you trying ruin my perfect body image?"

Diverting his gaze from the coffee to you, he sent you an expectant look. If you didn't come up with a reasonable excuse within the course of a few seconds, Oikawa would make you regret waking up this morning. "This was the last one left! I'm sorry—" Lies. You cut yourself off as you felt a cold, sticky substance run down your chest and seep through your school uniform.

He was pouring the coffee you had paid for all over your chest, wearing a sickeningly sweet smile while doing so. You couldn't tell what was more discomforting, the feeling of ice cold coffee sticking to your skin, dripping all the way down to your bellybutton, or the unsettlingly lustful gaze Oikawa held on your figure. He had to be joking. Sure, he was a jerk that got off on making your life a living hell, but he never took it to such perverse extents.

"Aww, you look so cute with your tits covered in coffee. You must be freezing! I'll warm you up." Somehow the idea of him warming you up sent chills running up your spine. There was no way in hell he was about to do something thoughtful like giving you his jacket or helping you clean up the mess he deliberately made.

Forcefully grabbing you by the shoulders, Oikawa shoved you onto the cement with ease, watching your face contort into a cringe. You could already feel the rough texture of the ground scraping at your skin through the thin fabric of your uniform. Was he about to beat the shit out of you? Why was he looking down at you like a starved carnivore?

Instead of answering the questions rapidly flowing through your head, Oikawa straddled your waist with both lanky legs. However, instead of trying to fight him back, you stare at him with a dejected look in hopes of him hurrying up whatever the hell he planned on doing.

"Now, I'm sure you're not big on getting attacked by my loyal fans. So do me a massive favor and be quiet, alright?" You wanted to wipe the stupid smirk right off of his face as he basically threatened you. This man was about to use you for his own personal pleasure and there was nothing you could do about it.

Glancing down at your glossy eyes one last time, Oikawa basks in the fearful expression that adorns your face. Making quick work of your coffee stained uniform, he popped open the buttons, giving himself a clear frontal view of your sticky cleavage.

A small smirk tugged at his lips as he glanced down at the lacy bra that adorned your body. "Not only have you decided to wear such a lewd piece of clothing, but you wore the kind that snaps open in the front? Ahh, you must want me to fuck you."

Oikawa wasted no time in snapping open your bra, allowing your breasts to spring free. Both of your tits were on perfect display for the setter's hungry eyes to gaze at. You felt powerless and small under his primal stare. It couldn't possibly get any more worse than this.

Maybe the rumors were right, maybe you were a tad bit unhinged. Any sane person would've seen this coming from a fucking psychopath like Oikawa. "P-Please.. don't do this.." You gave pleading one last shot as you stared pathetically into his chocolate brown eyes that gleamed with amusement.

Unfortunately for you, your doe eyes only seemed to egg the cocky brunette on as he roughly clasped your breasts with each hand. Although the uncomfortable, yucky feeling of coffee sticking to your skin still lingered, the only thing you could zero in on was your tormentor's working hands as he squeezed your hardened nipples in between his slender fingers.

He was squeezing and fondling your sensitive mounds like stress balls. Did he forget that you were a human just like him? Has he really amounted you to a mere plaything for him to toy with whenever he pleased? With the way that his hands kneaded and pulled at your breasts like dough, you were beginning to think that your theories were correct.

His half lidded eyes flicker up to yours for a split second, allowing him to witness the deliciously mortified expression you wore. Within a fluid movement, Oikawa leans down and traps your lips in a ferocious kiss. It started off with just Oikawa forcefully merging his lips onto yours, but with the squeeze of your breast you regretfully gasped, allowing passageway for his wet appendage.

It's hard to decipher what's more uncomfortable; the feeling of Oikawa's tongue swishing around yours, rendering it nearly impossible to breathe or the obvious hard on he has rubbing up against your skin. When he finally pulls away, his breaths are heavy and uneven.

Hooking his fingers under the waistbands of your skirt and panties, Oikawa tugs the elastics down, watching as your slick strings down along with your panties. Crimson shaded your cheeks as you averted your gaze from Oikawa's. If there was any possible way of coping with the mortifying situation at hand, it'd be closing your eyes and pretending to be anywhere but where you were.

Unfortunately for you, sight wasn't your only sense. Shutting your eyes wouldn't stop you from hearing the sound of Oikawa's belt buckle clinking, and it wouldn't prevent you from feeling his hardened cock running across your thigh. Opening your eyes, you couldn't help the audible gasp that escaped your lips as you gazed at his cock. It was as big in girth and in length as all of his fan girls had claimed. You really hoped that they had been bluffing.

Oikawa seemed to appreciate your unwavering eyes, as he prodded the tip of his cock at your hole. "Wait! Please, don't.. At least use a rubber." You pleaded, trying your hardest not to let any lewd noises to escape your mouth as he began easing his head into the walls of your cunt. However, all your pleading did was evoke an amused chuckle from the man top of you.

"Aww, that's all you're worried about? Don't worry, I'll pull out," He coos, grabbing the curves of your hips to steady himself as he pushes himself further inside of your pulsating hole. As uncomfortable as the foreign feeling of Oikawa's massive cock pushing your walls apart was, you felt a small wave of relief wash over you upon hearing his response.

He seemed to notice the look of relief taking over your features, because he sent you an ear to ear grin that put the cheshire cat to shame. With a forceful thrust that would surely leave you sore, Oikawa finally pushes the rest of his length into the constricting walls of your cunt. "..after I cum inside of you!" He grabs onto your legs and folds them into your chest within a fluid movement, making it easier for his cock to reach spots your measly fingers would never be able to find.

He either didn't notice or decided to ignore the the way your body physically tensed at his response. He was joking. Right? Sure, he obviously knew no boundaries and had no problem using and abusing your body, but you assumed he had the smallest bit of self control. Maybe you were thinking too highly of him.

Rearing his hips back a fraction, Oikawa thrusts back into you, already kissing the tip of your cervix with the head of his cock. His pace starts off slow and steady, allowing your insides to memorize each and every curve and vein on his cock. If you weren't so upset with him for doing this against your will, you would've been appreciative of his benign thrusts.

Glancing up at the clock that hung from the back of the school, Oikawa cringed. He had to make this quick. His comfortable, languid pace quickens as soon as you can relax. The once quiet spot behind the school is soon filled with sounds of grunts, moans, and ear deafening slaps. Any regard for your personal comfort is gone out the window, as he thrusts in and out of you at a rapid, unrhythmic pace.

He nestles his head into the crook of your neck, running his lips over the sensitive skin whilst his hips smack against yours at what feels like one hundred miles per hour. "Maybe I'll mark you. Nobody else will be allowed to fuck you like this, only me.." If your mind wasn't zeroed in on the feeling of his balls slapping your rear at full speed, you would of picked up on the hint of possessiveness in his tone.

Eyes trained on the skin of your neck, Oikawa began sucking and nibbling, leaving a trail of purple bruises starting from your neck and ending at your chest. It was a mystery how he managed to create love bites and brutally fuck your hole at the same time.

Just the twitch of his cock causes your insides to squeeze at his length like a snake constricting around its victim. "Fuck, you're really tight, huh?" He grunted in your ear, basking in the way your insides devoured his throbbing cock with each and every thrust.

As Oikawa somehow managed to fasten his pace, he moved his hand down south, placing the pads of his fingers onto your swollen nub. If you weren't close before, you definitely were now. With the pressure of his fingers working absolute wonders on your clit, and his throbbing cock desperately pushing at your cervix, your body begged you for release. A small knot formed in your abdomen as his movements quickened, and your plushy walls began clamping down on Oikawa's cock.

With one last harsh hit to your cervix, you come undone, gushing your juices all over his twitching cock. As soon as you reach your well awaited climax, your vision begins to spot and your brain starts to fog. You were far too dazed to focus in on Oikawa hooking his arms over your thighs and slamming himself into your aching hole at a ferocious pace. "Aw, what a little baby! You came so fast." He taunted in your ear, half lidded eyes trained on your figure as he pummeled into you with hostile thrusts.

Although he teased you for releasing so fast, he felt his own climax arise with the way your innards hugged his cock. All it took was one last final thrust into the milking clutch of your cunt before he reached his end, hitting your swollen cervix one last time to shoot his load into your womb with a drawn out groan. God, he didn't regret ditching his condom for a second. Seeing his hot, thick fluids seep from your quivering hole boosted his already inflated ego. Only he was capable of leaving you like this.

Sliding his cock out of your dripping cunt, Oikawa watched as you sat up from your spot on the cement and began buttoning up your shirt. Cute, now coffee wasn't the only sticky substance splattered all over your skin.

After pulling his pants back up and fixing his disheveled hair, he helped you up from the ground. It would've been a kind gesture, if he hadn't followed it by forcefully tugging your panties back up with a condescending grin. "Don't go to the bathroom or wash up. If you do, I'll fuck you again and cum inside of you twice. Don't forget, I have eyes everywhere." His voice was disturbingly cheerful for the unsettling words that came from his mouth.

Sending you one last signature grin, he flashed a peace sign at you like you were one of his fan girls asking for a picture. It baffled you how two faced he could be at times. "See you later, slut!" He giggled before leaving you alone at the scene, drenched in all kinds of different liquids.

Whoever told you that high school was going to be easy was lying through their teeth.

[the-chicken-or-the-banana]

Hi! There's a headcannon that has been circulating that I never saw fully written, and I love how you characterize the foxes! Basically, Andrew living the setbacks of being short (either privately or publicly), getting frustrated, and Neil comforting him

THIS IS SO FUNNY SKDJFHK also i have always wanted to write a 5+1 so tyvm for this (again, this ended up so goddamn long but. what else is new.)

read "shortcomings (honestly, fuck you tilda)" on ao3 hereeeee

———

1.

Andrew gripped the edges of the counter. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Eye on the prize.

He squinted at the offensively orange mixing bowl that Kevin had placed far too high on the shelf earlier that day. He had planned on baking cookies (for no reason other than that he was bored), and that bowl was his lucky one: every baked good he made using it always rose perfectly.

Andrew had tried everything — stretching as far as he could, trying to move things with his mind, even going as far as going on his toes (after a cursory glance that no one was around).

He eyed the step-stool on the other side of the kitchen. He could always use that and put it back and no one would be the wiser. But no. Andrew was a fully capable adult with a reputation to uphold and he would get that bowl down by himself, dammit.

Andrew had been through hell and back, and then some. He would not be bested by cabinetry.

He rubbed his hands against his shirt before placing them back on the counter and took a running crouch. Andrew bounced lightly on his toes, mentally counted to three, and leapt up, hand reaching forward to grip at the bowl.

For one glorious moment, it really seemed like it would work.

Then the counter whacked Andrew in the gut, he smacked his head against the cabinet, and he slowly slid down to the floor, no bowl in hand.

Hmm. That wasn't supposed to happen.

He jerked his head up to glare at the stupid bowl and promptly felt extremely dizzy, slipping even further until he was collapsed entirely on the floor, limbs splayed.

That wasn't supposed to happen either.

Oh well. If he couldn't ruin his health with cookies, he might as well do it by laying on the most unhygienic piece of property he had ever seen. He supposed this was an acceptable way to go.

Andrew lay there on the dorm floor for a solid 15 minutes, willing the bowl to come down, until he heard the dorm room unlock and the sound of Neil's quiet humming filled the room. He didn't have the energy to get up though, so he flopped his legs around as Neil passed the kitchen to catch his attention.

"Oh, hey Drew," Neil shuffled further into the dorm after giving Andrew a quick glance and smile. A few seconds later, the humming stopped and Andrew saw the outline of Neil's body slowly move back into the kitchen doorway. "Um. Can I ask why you're starfished on the floor?"

Andrew sluggishly pointed upwards. "Bowl. High. Jumped. Fell."

Neil nodded knowingly. Andrew stared at him purposefully. Neil blinked.

Idiot.

"Get it for me," Andrew scowled with a well-aimed kick at Neil's ankles. Neil's eyes widened before filling with mirth. He walked forward and sat down next to Andrew's side, running a hand through his blond hair. Andrew hated himself for leaning into the touch.

"Aww, what's wrong?" Neil cooed. "Can't reach it?"

What a fucking asshole.

Andrew shot Neil a glare — he could admit that it probably wasn't super effective considering that he was on the floor with his not-boyfriend carding his fingers through his hair, but it was the thought that counted, okay! — and Neil gave him an amused look before pushing himself off the ground.

He shuffled around Andrew's limp body before giving an exasperated sigh.

"Andrew."

"Junkie."

"There is a stepstool right here."

"Yes."

"You didn't use it."

"No."

"... Why?"

Andrew shrugged in response.

He heard Neil grumbling under his breath and, a few seconds later, was rewarded with Neil's gross socks in front of his face as he went on the tips of his toes to grab at the bowl. Andrew glanced up and noticed that Neil's shorts were delightfully loose around his thighs.

Nice.

He indulged himself in the view until Neil dropped back down on the balls of his feet, holding the bowl proudly.

"Got it!" he grinned down at Andrew and flopped back down on the floor, pulling Andrew into a sitting position. Neil pressed up against him after a quick 'yes or no?' and handed over the bowl so Andrew.

"That was not fair," Andrew grumbled after a few minutes of calm silence. "You did that so easily. You're barely taller than me."

Neil nudged his shoulder and planted a kiss to the side of his head. "It's okay," he gave an annoyingly soft look. "I'll always be there to help you, whenever you need it."

Andrew huffed. "I did not ask for sentimentality, Josten. Just a bowl."

Irritatingly, this caused Neil to laugh a bit. "Okay, okay, I'll leave you with your precious bowl." He moved to get up and pressed a chaste kiss to Andrew's lips. "But for what it's worth, I think your size is perfect."

He left Andrew missing the warmth of Neil's body beside him before his brain caught up to what Neil just said.

"Josten. Josten! Was that a fucking dick joke?"

2.

There were moments where Andrew desperately wanted to burn Neil's clothing. He understood that they were remnants of past habits that were hard to break, but surely having this many gray and brown shirts had to be criminal.

Andrew refused to be seen kissing such a heathen in public but he really only knew how to put Neil in hot club clothes rather than hot casual clothes. And so, for the sake of humanity (and his dignity), he swallowed his pride and met up with Allison Fucking Reynolds.

Their plan to snatch up Neil from the Exy court to take him shopping at the mall appeared to be going well. So far, they'd bought him some shirts, artfully ripped jeans, denim jackets, and an actually functional pair of shoes. Neil, for all his stamina, looked like he was about to collapse from the weight of the bags, so Allison and Andrew took pity on him and decided to take a lunch break.

The three of them reached the food court and made their way to a noodle shop (after Andrew extracted a promise that he could get some ice cream afterwards). He and Allison sat Neil down on a bench to guard their massive pile of bags before going up to order.

By the time they were at the front of the line, Andrew was fully prepared to stab Reynolds in the middle of the mall. In a span of five minutes, she had managed to ask him about his and Neil's sex life, when they got together, what Neil's exact sexuality was, and had Andrew ever painted his nails?

He resolutely refused to answer any of those questions, on the principle that she didn't need more money from bets than she already had.

They ordered quickly, Andrew eager to get away from Reynolds, when the cashier said something that made him stop in his tracks.

"We actually have a discount right now for kids under 12!" she said smiling. "Is that something you'd be interested in?"

Andrew squinted. Why the hell would they—

Oh. Oh no, no, no.

Allison seemed to come to the same realization that he did, because she smiled wide and tapped her nails against the counter.

"Oh, that's just perfect!" she exclaimed. "Aaron here just turned 11 a few months ago. We'll take the discount."

Aaron?!

Andrew was going to kill her.

He was still planning bloody murder as Reynolds brought their tray of food to the table. He sat down with a scowl, and though Neil shot him a curious glance, he didn't push it.

Stupid considerate junkie.

Andrew muttered a percentage under his breath and proceeded to poke Neil in the cheek with his chopsticks. After a few moments of this, Neil turned to him with a scowl.

"Andrew," he grumbled. "What are you doing?"

Andrew glared at Reynolds.

Neil gave a resigned sigh and turned to her. "Allison. What happened?"

Reynolds smirked. "Oh, nothing much. Just that the cashier thought that your boy was a literal child and gave us a discount for kids 12 and under. I told her that it was great because Aaron over there," she jabbed a finger towards Andrew. "just turned 11."

Neil looked like he was biting back a laugh but then frowned. "Okay, but arms."

"True," Reynolds conceded. "However, consider this: tiny."

The two idiots nodded like they'd figured out some indispensable secret of the universe.

Frustrated, Andrew went back to poking Neil's face; when he finally glanced back, Andrew nudged his arms and shuffled a bit closer. Thankfully, Neil actually got the hint for once and scraped featherlight fingers into Andrew's hair.

"It's okay," Neil tried. "I mean, at the end of the day, all of us are just broke college kids—"

"I'm not," Allison interrupted.

Neil rolled his stupid, pretty eyes. "Okay, most of us are broke college kids—"

"Don't you have a bunch of mafia blood money and stuff?" Reynolds asked.

"Beside the point," Neil huffed. "Fine, Andrew, you are a broke college kid—" "Gee, thanks." "— and so you should be grateful that your height is saving you some money."

"That is dumb."

"You're dumb."

"How creative."

Neil scowled and tugged on Andrew's hair. "Shut up. Drama queen."

Andrew stabbed a piece of stir fry into Neil's mouth to close that damn mouth and resolutely ignored the click of Allison's phone camera.

3.

This was proving to be a problem.

Andrew stared at his $150 jeans, the bottom of the legs frayed and pale. He had just bought these two weeks ago. What a waste of money.

There really was only one thing left to do.

Minutes later, Andrew slammed open the door to his brother's dorm and dragged him out with Aaron demanding to know where they were going. By the time he had wrestled his idiot doppelganger to the car, Andrew was reaching. his. fucking. limit.

"Andrew, if you don't tell me where we're going, I swear I'll bite you. I'll push Neil off a treadmill and dump a bucket of mud on him. I'll throw all your ice cream in the trash. I'll—"

That last one was simply too far. He'd have to give Aaron some ground.

"Get in, loser," Andrew glared. "We're going shopping."

Thankfully, he managed to keep Aaron quiet until they reached the mall by letting him pick the music (it was country! Southern heathen). What a child.

Rich coming from you, a voice told him snidely. You can't even buy clothes for yourself properly.

Shut up, he scolded himself.

"Andrew," Aaron sighed exasperatedly when they reached the parking lot. "Can you finally tell me what we're shopping for?"

They got out of the car and Andrew raised an eyebrow as he faced Aaron. "Sex toys."

"WHAT THE FU— "

Andrew watched his brother's face turn red as he sputtered, before noticing the amusement in his face.

Aaron deflated. "Asshole," he grumped.

"Yeah, that is generally where the dildo goes."

"Shut up. I'm begging you."

Andrew decided to take pity on him and stabbed a finger towards Aaron's legs. "When did you buy those."

Aaron squinted. "My jeans?" At Andrew's nod, he looked confused. "Uh, like three or four months ago maybe. Why?"

Three or four months?! That was simply unacceptable.

"They are still in good quality," Andrew said slowly.

"...Yes?" Aaron looked lost for a few moments before his face brightened with pure, evil glee. Andrew hated the world more in that moment than he ever had before. "Oh my God. Oh my God. Are your jeans too long for you?"

"Be quiet," he snapped. "You just need to show me where you buy yours and never mention this to anyone or I'll stab you."

Aaron didn't seem as concerned as he should have been. "I don't need to do anything, dumbass. Why don't you just cuff them like me?"

"I refuse to look like a bisexual disaster."

"Hey," Aaron looked mildly offended. "That's not a bisexual thing. Right?" At Andrew's blank look, his eyes widened. "No. Oh shit. Is that why guys keep hitting on me at Eden's?"

Andrew actually blinked at that. He had not realized that his brother was really that stupid. "Aaron. Eden's is a gay bar. Obviously men will hit on you."

"Wait, it's a what— "

"Be quiet. You are coming with me now." He dragged his brother to the mall entrance as Aaron bumbled along behind him, swearing incoherently.

They weaved their way through what seemed like a million stores until Andrew walked out hours later, finally satisfied with his new haul of jeans that Aaron had oh-so-considerately helped to pick out, a few hundred dollars poorer, and two churros and an iced coffee fuller.

Andrew trudged up the stairs to his floor (perhaps this was a workout he should regularly implement in his exercise regime) while Aaron split off to find some study group or other.

By the time he reached his dorm, Andrew felt far more exhausted than the situation warranted and he blindly chucked the bags on the sofa, belatedly realizing that Neil was already sitting where the bags would land. Oops.

He sat down by Neil like the throw was entirely intentional as Neil sputtered when the plastic smacked him in the face.

"What's all this?" the junkie questioned. For fuck's sake, why did his eyes have to be so blue?

Andrew just gestured for him to take the clothes out and saw as Neil's face grew confused when he saw what he was holding.

"Jeans? Didn't you literally buy some like a week ago?"

"Two," Andrew corrected, because he was a petty bitch if nothing else. Neil rolled his stupid eyes at that but waited for Andrew to provide an explanation. Andrew heaved a regretful sigh. "The bottom of them are all frayed now"

"Frayed?" the striker's brows furrowed before his face cleared and a shit-eating smirk crossed his face. "Wait, wait, wait. Are you saying you were too short for your jeans?"

Andrew nearly stabbed him right then and there.

"Shut. Up."

"Oh my gosh. Andrew. Andrew."

When Andrew got up (not grumpily. never grumpily. (okay, maybe a little grumpily)), Neil tugged on his shirt sleeve with an apologetic grin. "Sorry, sorry, I'll stop making fun," but his eyes were squinted as he tried not to laugh and his face was flushed and his lips were red as he bit on them, and honestly, how was Andrew expected to stay annoyed after seeing that?

"I mean," Neil continued. "You're paying with whatever you have left of Tilda's life insurance, right? And it's technically her fault you're so, uh... vertically challenged because of the drugs and shit. So you buying all these jeans are like a big "fuck you" to her!"

Andrew blinked slowly at his not-boyfriend's not-cute not-endearing hand-waving and decided he could take a hit to his reputation if it kept Neil glowing like this. "Josten. Are you saying that being short is literally in my jeans?"

"Holy shit, yes."

4.

To be fair, he had been warned. This was probably his own fault. Which he would never admit, but whatever.

It had started fine enough.

Andrew had been smoking by the windowsill as he waited for Neil to come back from his class. It was raining heavily and he felt a comfortable laze settle in his bones, so he didn't bother to open the window, despite Kevin's complaints.

"Andrew, stop smoking in here. If you want to destroy your lungs, at least do it away from me."

"Shut up and watch your damn Exy, Day."

He shut up and watched his damn Exy.

Andrew let the sounds of the game wash over him as he let his eyes droop (when did Exy become... relaxing to him? That was moderately concerning), so by the time he realized that there was an incessant beeping sound in the background, everything was too far gone to not have gone to shit.

His body finally jolted into action when he finally registered that the smoke alarm was blaring in their dorm and he heard yells coming from outside in the hallway, which probably meant an RA or some other Foxes were about to burst in and see him smoking where he wasn't supposed to. For the third time this month.

Crap.

"Day. Day! Get off your fucking computer and turn off the alarm," he hissed as he (gracefully) scrambled to the kitchen to find a towel.

"Hmm?" Kevin hummed blearily. "Oh. That. Well, I told you so."

Andrew simply could not believe it. (Well, maybe he could a bit. Kevin was just that kind of asshole frie— person.)

By the time he dampened a towel (wow, they really needed to do the dishes sometime soon), the shouts were right outside the door and he heard keys jingling in the lock. Quickly he scrambled up the table, but in his haste, kicked over a glass of water (vodka? Sprite? whatever).

He tripped over slightly and his foot splashed into the puddle on the table, causing him to cringe internally. His sock felt horribly wet and tingly, and it was nearly enough to distract him from the creaking of the door opening. Quickly, he reached up, flapping the towel near the smoke alarm to turn it off.

It wasn't enough. He couldn't reach the alarm.

In a split-second, he decided to just fuck it and leapt up to see if that would work. However, the uncomfortable feeling in his feet and the stupid smoke alarm and the fucking banging of the door made him severely misjudge his strength.

Andrew jumped a lot further forward than he expected. He flew through the air, one foot catching on the top of a chair, the other stabbed by the edge of the table. In a futile attempt to gain his balance, Andrew flailed his arms around, but that just caused the towel to smack him in the face.

Eventually, gravity took hold of him and he (and the chair) crashed into the floor, the towel mockingly flopping on his hair. Blearily, he raised his head up and saw Neil and their RA staring at him concernedly from the doorway.

Well, this was awkward. At least the beeping had stopped.

Their RA, an unfortunately attractive tennis player named Richard Addams (Nicky found it hilarious that their RA's initials were R.A.. Andrew called him 'Certified Dick™'), stepped in cautiously. "Andrew, everything okay?"

"Just peachy," he grumbled.

Neil ran to Andrew's side at the sound of his voice and pushed his blond hair out of his face. "Why peaches? They're honestly not even that good; I can only stand the really big and thick and juicy ones."

Andrew froze and even Kevin closed his laptop that. "Neil," Certified Dick™ said slowly. "Do you know what peaches are?"

"Duh," he rolled his eyes. "Fruit. That's why Nicky has a peach next to my name in his contacts. Because I like fruits."

Idiot.

"It means 'ass,' " Andrew informed him. Neil gaped.

"It means wha— "

"Okay," Certified Dick™ exclaimed cheerfully. "I'm gonna leave y'all here. Andrew, I'll assume you weren't doing anything against the rules because you are a kind person who always listens to what I say."

"Of course," Andrew said blandly. "I am a wonderful student." He fingered the edges of his armbands.

Certified Dick™ slowly backed out of the room.

Neil let out a breath and blew his hair out of his eyes. "Okay," he started. "We'll talk about the ass thing later. But first, what the hell just happened?"

Andrew pointed up at the smoke alarm.

"Well, yes, I got that, but why were you jumping around like an absolute idiot?"

"Kevin is useless," Andrew announced.

"Not true!" Kevin protested immediately. "You just never listen to me. It's not my fault that I'm always right."

Andrew glared at him and turned back to Neil. "I couldn't reach the stupid smoke alarm," he finally gritted out, bracing for someone to mock him.

It never came.

Instead, Neil gave him a cheeky grin and a wink (at least, Andrew assumed it was a wink) and turned to Kevin with a faux-annoyed stare. "Seriously, Kev? You didn't help him?"

"He got himself into his own mess," Kevin shrugged.

"Okay, and what if someone had caught him? They might have not allowed him to play Exy for a bit! Or maybe while he was trying to shut off the alarm, he could have really hurt himself!" Neil was really laying it heavy on the dramatics, brandishing his arms wildly.

Kevin's eyes widened in horror at his words. "Shit."

"Yeah," Neil nodded graveley. "Us Exy players have got to look out for each other. How else will we live to our potentials?"

Kevin looked like he was going to be sick. Quickly, he whipped open his laptop and began muttering questions on how to secretly disable smoke alarms.

"Junkie," Andrew muttered to Neil. Neil just hummed and pressed a kiss to the crook of his neck.

"Yeah," he whispered a few moments later. "Only for you."

5.

Hmm. This was nice.

Andrew never could have imagined he would be the kind of guy to stumble over furniture while kissing his way through a room, and yet, here he was, crashing into tables and upturning chairs and tripping over bags.

He had Neil's fingers intertwined with his and was dragging him through the dorm, the kisses constantly pausing because Neil kept breaking off into small smiles and laughing into his neck. Every few steps, Andrew would take a look at his flushed junkie and absolutely forget about his plan to reach the bedroom, choosing instead to kiss him ferociously right there.

They were lucky that no one else was in the dorm.

When Andrew realized that it had taken them a solid seven minutes to walk about 15 feet past the door, he realized they would probably never reach an actual bed at the rate they were going. He told Neil as much and was rewarded with a shrug.

"I literally don't care where we end up," Neil said breathlessly before pulling him into another heated kiss. "I just wanna kiss you."

Andrew nearly snorted at that. How predictable. "I got that" he muttered. "But what do you want?"

Neil raised an eyebrow and deepened his voice mockingly. "I want nothing."

"You are actually so insufferable."

"Yeah, yeah," Neil waved him off and latched his mouth on Andrew's neck. Fuck. "Hmm," he said a few moments later. "Carry me?"

Andrew resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Ever since the junkie had seen how much he lifted at the gym a few weeks ago, this had become one of his favorite requests (and really, who was Andrew to deny him?).

Nevertheless, he leaned down and grabbed both of Neil's thighs, pushing him up until his legs were secured around Andrew's waist and Andrew could comfortably hold him up, his body flush against Andrew's.

Yeah, he got why Neil liked this so much.

He wasn't sure how long he'd be able to hold Neil up for though, considering that they actually had a game tomorrow and he didn't want to put up with Kevin's annoying complaints if he didn't try at least a bit. Andrew glanced around for a second before his eyes caught on the perfect place.

He adjusted his grip on Neil, causing him to let out an oof in surprise and carefully made his way to the kitchen (with only a slight amount of kissing in the middle). Andrew messily deposited Neil on the island counter and was promptly faced with another problem.

Neil was up there. Andrew was down here. How the hell were they supposed to make out now?

Andrew frowned slightly and tugged at Neil's collar. "Lean down," he commanded.

Neil complied and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, tugging at Andrew's hair, but too soon he pulled back.

At Andrew's 'yes or no?' Neil smiled down sheepishly. "It's a yes, but this angle's going to end up destroying my back."

That made no sense — whenever Andrew sat on the counter, he never had to lean down that much. He reasoned that the weight of being an Exy junkie was finally catching up to Neil's spine, though.

"Well," Andrew huffed. "I'm not going up on my toes."

"Why would you need to go on your toes?" Neil looked genuinely confused as Andrew frustratedly gestured at the air between them. "Wait, wait. Can you not reach me if I'm sitting up here?"

Andrew's thoughts came to a halt.

He pulled back (well, as much as he could while still staying in Neil's arms) and squinted suspiciously at his not-boyfriend. "Can you normally reach me when I sit up?"

"Well, yeah," Neil blinked. "I mean, I have to stretch a little bit but it's usually fine."

What.

Unceremoniously, Andrew yanked Neil off the counter and sat himself up (he pretended not to notice the stare that Neil gave when he flexed his arms). He hooked his ankles around Neil and dragged him closer, coming nearly forehead-to-forehead.

Forehead-to-forehead. Neil could reach him.

Andrew let out an uncharacteristic groan and dropped his head on Neil's surprisingly comfy shoulder. Neil snorted quietly and patted his head.

"It's okay, Drew," he said, his voice muffled but teasing as he pressed a kiss to the top of Andrew's head. "Maybe next time we can get you a stool or something. That'll be real attractive."

Andrew scowled and kicked him in the leg.

Neil's voice softened as he lowered his arms to rub soft circles on his back. "But I'm serious Andrew, it's okay." He pressed a soft kiss to Andrew's collarbone, the underside of his jaw, the corner of his lips. "Does this feel good?"

Andrew swallowed. Hiding from Neil was a fight he knew he'd lose, and there was no point prolonging the inevitable. "Yes."

"Then that's all I need. Making you feel good makes me feel good," he whispered. "I really like this, what we do right now. And if you want, we can still find more positions that feel really good. Don't stress, we have time."

"Hmm," Andrew said a few moments later. "That is all fine and well, but actually, we now only have about 20 minutes until Kevin comes back from class, and I would highly appreciate it if you could get me off sometime soon."

"Asshole. We were totally having a moment."

"Next to a bowl of apples."

"Rude. I bet those apples appreciated the conversation."

Andrew rolled his eyes at Neil's idiocy, but kissed him hard to convey everything he felt: you care, you listen, you are okay with me, you are safe for me. Neil seemed to get the message, because his body softened under Andrew's grip as he kissed him back eagerly.

When they finally pulled apart, Andrew felt heavy and sated and secure in the way he only associated with Neil. He looked into Neil's blown-out pupils, the blue peeking brightly at the edges of his eyes as he slowly brought Neil's hand to the waistband of his jeans.

"Right," Andrew tried for a nonchalant tone. The slight voice-crack may have betrayed him, but whatever. "Take off my pants now?"

+1

South Carolina winters were shit.

Growing up in Oakland meant that he was pretty used to cold winters and hot summers, but usually things only got unbearably chilly at night, when he could pile tons of blankets on himself. Unfortunately, winters in the South brought biting wind and snow. All day long.

Andrew hated the cold (sure, he could walk around with a blanket draped over him like a cape in his dorm (he did. occasionally), but alas, he actually had a reputation to uphold)

And yet, when Nicky and Dan enthusiastically told Neil about their stupid plan and Neil had sent a stupid questioning gaze to Andrew's stupid face, he sure as fuck couldn't use "the cold" as an excuse to deny those eyes.

So he bundled up into a turtleneck, a sweater, a thin jacket and a snow one, a beanie, a pair of gloves, leggings and then sweatpants, and his warmest socks (Andrew decidedly ignored Neil's snickers, who was annoying dressed in just a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. how rude.)

The so-called Monsters trampled down to the parking lot outside the Tower, boots sinking deep into the snow. Andrew shivered at the sudden wind and if he walked a little closer to Neil's hot warm body — well, no one needed to know.

Within seconds of their arrival, Andrew was regretting coming out.

A massive snowball soared through the air and slammed into Aaron's face, who promptly fell on his ass from the force of it.

"What the fuck?" he sputtered, wiping snow out of his eyes.

"HA!" Reynolds hollered. "Take that!"

"Oh dear," Neil muttered. "I didn't expect this much violence from the start."

"We are Foxes," Andrew scoffed. "Violence is the whole point."

"Actually, there's this one piece of shit in my Stats class and he tried to tell me I was wrong — I wasn't, by the way — and instead of punching him, I just very mathematically proved how incompetent he was and I told him that his parents' miscalculation when it came to conceiving him evidently got passed on to him in the form of his nonexistent math skills. So. No violence."

Andrew wasn't sure if he should kiss Neil or smack him. "Right. Because verbal annihilation is a very tame response."

"Since when have you been such a peacemaker?"

"Renee."

"You two literally beat the shit out of each other every week."

Andrew shrugged. "Semantics."

"I really don't think— "

Their conversation was rudely interrupted by Matt throwing a snowball mere inches away from Andrew's face. At his glare, Matt promptly ran behind a car.

"Neil," Andrew sighed. "I hate you."

"I didn't force you to be here," Neil pointed out. "Could've said no. What did Nicky call you? 'Whipped.' So ha." With that profound statement, Neil ducked and dumped a handful of snow down the back of Andrew's shirt.

"Ha," Andrew said back smugly. "Layers." Neil looked betrayed.

"Layers. I forgot."

"I didn't."

"Asshole."

"Yup."

Neil scowled and kicked at Andrew's highly sturdy snow boots petulantly. Andrew refrained from rolling his eyes turned towards him. "Yes or no?"

"Oh," Neil perked up. Junkie. "Yes, yes."

Andrew jabbed him in the stomach and when Neil keeled over groaning, he pressed a kiss to his lips and shoved his head under Neil's chin.

"Personal heater," Andrew explained. Then he grabbed Neil's arms and tucked them around his waist. This was good.

"Right," Neil snorted. "Naturally. I can't wait until someone throws a snowball at your face and you get all cold and wet."

Andrew scowled. How rude.

"Oi, Minyard!" Dan called and Andrew sighed before wiggling around until he was facing her, back flush against Neil's front. "This is for drawing mustaches all over the pictures in the Court!"

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "You have no proof— "

His protests were cut off with the sight of a snowball hurtling full speed at him. He made to jump out of the way (maybe Exy was good for something after all), but Neil's arms around him proved to be a real hindrance.

As it was, he got jerked back into place, the snowball inches in front of him. Andrew shut his eyes, hoping he could use this as an excuse to drag Neil into the dorm to warm up, when he heard an "oof" from behind him.

Andrew twisted around to find Neil's face covered in an explosion of snow, water dripping down his shocked expression.

His eyelashes were nice. Hmm.

"Wh- What?" he shivered. "How is there snow on my face? Wasn't it supposed to land on you?"

Oh.

Andrew brushed off some snow that had settled on his cheekbones before stepping back a bit (still in Neil's arms. that was necessary). And Neil was right, it was odd, the snowball was supposed to hit him and instead, it had smashed itself on Neil.

"I believe," Andrew said slowly. "My height has proved to be advantageous."

"Advan— you mean you were so short the snowball literally missed you and hit me?!"

"Yup," Andrew felt extremely self-satisfied. "See, had you been shorter, this wouldn't have happened. Alas, there's just more of you to hit when you're tall."

"That— I— Andrew!"

"That's my name."

"Ugh. I am cold and wet and very much not liking this," Neil grumbled.

"Bet you wish you had as many jackets as me, huh?" Andrew crowed.

"You could always give one of them to me," Neil said as he yanked Andrew back against him.

"I could. Not feeling it, though."

"Bastard."

"Just a little," Andrew agreed. He tilted his head up to look at Neil and oh, that angle was good, his lips were right there, how did Andrew never notice that Neil's eyelashes framed his eyes so nicely?

Hmm. If this was the view, maybe his height had some... unforeseen perks that extended beyond snowball fighting.

"I win," Andrew told Neil seriously. At his confused expression, Andrew was forced to sigh out an explanation. "You are very pretty from down here."

"Oh?"

"Shut up."

"I think you're pretty too."

"198%."

"Kiss me?"

"Ugh, if you insist."

Andrew leaned up to press his lips to Neil, dutifully ignoring the cheers from behind him, as Neil placed a hand under his chin to tilt him up further, which felt very nice.

Yeah, Andrew was living the good life. He had a maybe-boyfriend who was the perfect height and a brother and cousin who might actually stay, and he was content and safe and— really fucking cold because there was a ball of snow sliding down his neck what the fuck what the fuck what the fu— .

"NICKY."

"Shit. Sorry!"

[diaco1968]

Let me down slowly

Dabi x reader smut

Warnin! Smut/ hairpulling, biting, riding/sex, a little degradation, very little angst that gets resolved quickly

You were his sin and you were his salvation. He loved you cause you were what he had always wanted to be, he hated you cause you were what he never was. Though he'd only freely admit to the latter in his late night and early morning drunk bickerings with you. Jokingly of course. You were no easier than him to read when it came to emotions. But he knew you were much colder than you let on. Freezing cold was in your nature after all.

Damn as much as it bothered him he would never dream of letting you know how he really felt about you and risk meeting your rejection. Deep down however he hoped you were as sharp as you sometimes accidentally let on. That your little sly self knew how he felt, how despite his shit talk, he was a slave to your will. That you knew, and would consider that before leaving him. If you ever decided to.

~don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me in the waste~

When his 'accidental' brushes of his shoulder on yours or even how by 'coincidence' he would stand too close behind you, turned into playful gropes and squeezes, you didn't mind, and it was a relief to him. When you started to reciprocate them equally as playfully by your own sneaky groping of his crotch while you were behind the bar, even as Shigaraki sat on your other side, Dabi was ecstatic. At the time he considered that particular part of his feelings being returned by you when he asked you to be his friends with benefits, no strings attached, as an absolute win. He was content with owning your body.

He was wrong.

~ I once was a man with dignity and grace~

You clutched his collar in both hands pulling him down to you as you backed yourself into the wall, smirking. His lips chased yours, kicking the door shut behind him as he pressed your back more against the wall, his hands gripping your hips to hold your body tightly against his. You could feel his already half hard erection press against your stomach and you gasped, mocking him "oh my, I just barely touched you Dabi." You rolled your eyes as he growled in your response "yeah, only after you've been shooting me nasty little looks and dirty slutty texts all night. From across the room." He lightly kicked your legs apart bringing his knee up and rubbing it between your legs roughly, making you muffle a particularly high pitched exhale. "Don't you even dare hold back those sounds. You had no problem earlier when Dust boy was reading the dirty shit you kept sending me, doll." You opened your mouth to protest "what?! Shigaraki was- " you were cut off with his lips crahsing into yours with a low growl, hand fisting your hair and angling your face up to hold you in the kiss forcefully to shut you up, pushing hismelf further onto you, his other hand sneaking up under your shirt and gripping your breast roughly, a squesk leaving your lips, and he drank it up like wine. When he pulled back you were both panting breathless "you say his name one more time and I'm gonna leave you here high and dry. Got it?" Your eyes flashed with excitement as you bit your lower lip and nod your head "good. Now show me," he nudged his knee between your legs one last time as he stepped back pulling you with him to the bed. He plopped down, pulling your pants down and lightly slapping your rapidly dampening clothed heat before he sat you down straddling his thigh, "show me what a needy little bitch you are."

You hummed finding it thrilling how his usual passive friendly behaviour changed to this. You snaked one of your arms around his shoulder and reached back with the other on his knee to balance yourself as you moved your hips making sure to grind down on his thigh as hard you could. His hands were both resting on your hips now, eyes staring back into yours, when you not so 'accidentally' brushed your knee against his erection, you looked down as he hissed. He knew what you were doing though, he gripped your jaw and made you face him "eyes on me, toy." He demanded, wanting all your attention. You moaned in his face tugging on his hair but he didn't budge "what you want now?" He said sarcastically as you groaned annoyed "kiss me damnit..." you had come to like the sharp cold tingle of his staples on your skin, face or hips didn't matter. "That's no way to ask for something now, is it?" You narrowed your eyes at him "please." He was surprised how easy that was to draw out of you, and if that meant you wanted him that desperately... the pleasure surged down his form and straight to his cock, twitching in reponse "well damn, can't deny you when you're so polite now, can I?" He pulled you over him with his hands cupping your ass, so you were straddling him properly as he leaned back on the headboard, urging you to pull his cock out of it's restraints, kissing you as he rocked you down over his length with his hands still on your ass, squeezing your cheeks. You gasped and whimpered loudly feeling him just slide between your folds with ease, missing where you wanted him most every. Damn. Time. You clawed at his shirt hissing in his mouth and the bastard just chuckled "what a desprate little whore." He mocked looking at your flushed aroused face. Now normally he would tease you. Till you were shaking and begging him to just fuck you senseless after you've already cum at least two times on his tongue or fingers. But he couldn't now. He wanted you as much as you wanted him and he couldn't even pretend to hide it.

"Fine then, do what you want." He carefully burned away your panties, the sharp inatke of breath in reaction to the sudden heat on your cunt not going unnoticed as he smirked in response. He grabbed your hand and tightened your fingers around his length, lifting you up with his other hand looking at you expectantly. You shot him a half glare "... the audacity..." he rolled his eyes as he tugged your shirt up and rolled it shoving the hem in your mouth so you were providing him with the view he wanted "I have better uses for that nasty little mouth of yours but that will have to wait for the next round." You shivered at the dark tone of his promise, teeth clenching down on the fabric of your shirt "now fuck yourself on my cock, princess." You whined, giving his length a few strokes before aligning his tip with your entrance, slowly and carefully lowering yourself. He wasn't patient enough for that as he grabbed your hips and slammed you down onto him. A short shocked scream ripped through you as you jolted forward, releasing the wet shirt from your teeth the saliva pooling in your mouth trickling down your chin, chest now pressed to Dabi's face as he let out a satisfied breathy groan in appreciation. Both at the hard clenching and twitching of your tight gushing pussy around his cock and at the sudden treat provided to him. He let his tongue drag harshly over your perked bud, his piercing strangely pleasant as he pushed against it, before sucking a considerable amount of your soft mound into his mouth. You could not move your upper body at all with the way one of his hands was gripping the back of your neck tightly and firmly holding you in place and keeping your chest in reach of his mouth. You clutched his shoulders, slowly beginning to move your hips, moving all the way over his lenghth till his tip was barely sheathed inside you before rocking back onto him to the hilt feeling his balls. "Taking your time, (y/n)?" He growled after he let go of your abused nipple with a pop "move faster!" He barked, his mouth not remaining idle for long as he moved up and sunk his teeth right above your collar bone. You gasped and your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged harshly, him complying as he tilted his head up to meet your eyes with a smug smile, satisfied with the angry red forming over the purple indents of his teeth on your skin.

He loved it all. The way you looked so needy for him. The way you were desperatelly rocking your shaking thighs over him. Most of all the way you yearned for his kiss, demanding it like that. He traced your jaw moving his hand from the back of your neck to trace your swollen lips, wiping the saliva off before pushing his thumb into your mouth, letting you suck on it, moaning as you looked at him, pleading. "Say it and I'll give it to you baby girl." You whined doing your best to keep up your pace over him but your legs were beginning to cramp. He pulled his thumb out of your mouth dragging your lower lip down with it. "Fuck... Dabi..." he couldn't stop himslef, he really wanted to hear you say it "Touya. Call me Touya."

Somewhere in the back of your lust filled mind you knew what a big deal this was. He just told you his real name, didn't he?

"Please t-Touya! I need you!" His eyes closed savouring the face you were making as his name rolled off your lips like honey. "You need me to do what?" He pressed on holding your glazed over gaze, you groaned "I need you to fuck me. Touya please!" You hissed which turned into a wanton moan as you called out to him. His response was immediate as he leaned in kissing you deep and rough, tongue pushing past your lips forcefully letting you play with the piercing with your own tongue only after his was shoved halfway to your throat already. His hand that was squeezing your ass bruisingly tight up untill now, let go, snaking around your waist and holding you down to him firmly. You only realized you were trapped when it was too late, mewling and moaning loudly in his mouth as he started thrusting up into you fast and harsh, him swallowing all your sounds. You pulled back from the kiss having to brace yourself on his shoulders by the way he was pounding up into you, but only managed to hug him tightly around the shoulders as he kept you flush against him with his chin resting on your shoulder. You could barely breathe as his cock was rearranging your gut only managing ragged noisy huffs and gasps, and he was getting close to his limit hearing you make these sounds, getting sloppy and throbbing inside your fluttering gushing cunt violently. Turning his head he rasped in your ear "cum all over me princess." That was the shove you needed as your orgasm washed over you like a violent wave as you came undone over him with a not at all muffled wail, the clenching and clamping, milking and draining him inside you. He slowed down letting you, and him, ride your peaks with a couple of deep slow thrusts. You went limp over him, panting to catch your breath. He let his hand trace over your spine, gentle, light. You shivered nuzzling your nose in his neck whispering in his ear playfully "stop it Touya." He rolled his eyes and gave your ass a sharp slap making you jolt and whine in protest, him only chuckling and rubbing it soothingly as you grumbled about what an asshole jerk he was.

~now I'm slipping through the cracks of your cold embrace...~

He knew he had fucked up when he watched you getting chatted up by that shitty dust boy earlier. He had tried to give you subtle hints and you had gotten them and deflected all, shrugging them off with a simple excuse "I'm not even flirting. But, even if I ever am, it doesn't concern you as long as it's not physical, right? Friend?" You had said playfully. He was not in the mood so he just stomped off. Now a few hours later he was sitting on the far corner of the room and leaning on the bar on his arms, uncharacteristically staring at his hands instead of his usual glass of whiskey. "Hey fren!" You chirped as you slipped your arms around him from behind making him jerk out of his miserable trance. He quickly gained composure "oh shut up (y/n)..." he groaned leaning back on the bar and trying to get away from your death grip "listen T- Dabi," oh yeah you had made it a habit of calling him by his name when you were alone. Which was a lot of the time. And as much as he loved hearing it from you, he hated when you almost slipped like this when you weren't alone. He never told you to stop though. "I've decided, I fucking hate it when you're grumpy... so, fine. I won't be 'flirting' with no one but you, ok? Even though I really wasn't." You still denied flirting as being 'overly friendly' but you leaned in mouthing the shell of his ear before pecking his jaw. He smiled as he felt the familiar standing of his hair on end, turning his head and meeting your lips with his.

He still loved and hated you. Loved you cause you knew him and as much as you tried to pretend otherwise, you cared for him and had his back. Hated you, cause he hated that you made him love you so much.

~so please, please~

[godstaff]

I have to say- it's way too shallow of you to bash out on a respected character, and I really gotta ask-have you no shame? Ship whomever you want. No one gives a damn! But getting as frustratingly low and insulting Lois Lane is too shallow. Do you see clois fans trashing on the iconic character that is Diana on a daily basis? We may not like the pairing, BUT we respect her. Everyone comes with faults, and no one is perfect. Or are you under the impression that you are blessed with such God/ Goddess like calibre that entitles you to the privilege of insulting anyone who comes in the way of a ship, huh? Stop being lamely insecure and immature(Oh, sorry maybe you should- coz Clark Kent ends up with Lois in any version, anyway!). Half of the insulting stuff that you propagate here in this blog of yours has no proof to back it up.( I can't elucidate now, I'll throw light upon that later, don't worry! )You could've at least shown the dignity to stop spreading inept lies. Just because you are a die hard fan of a ship doesn't mean you have to insult the lady who- because of such delusional people like you got herself involved in a triangle which DOES NOT even exist. You may start demanding why I am so obsessed with a fictional character, in turn- I ask you- WOULD YOU NOT GO AHEAD AND MAKE SURE TO PICK ON EVERYONE WHO EVER HAD, IN ANY BLOG INSULTED YOUR REVERED ROLE MODEL? Some people do consider her a terrific idol, FYI. GET USED TO IT! They may look upto her bravery, valor and courage in any situation (with or without Superman) to shield her when you simply, without considering anything else label her a "Damsel in Distress". Some understand that her cynical, sarcastic nature is a mask which comes from building up walls so high to cover up her gentler, humane side on experience with a strict childhood as an army brat. All I am asking you to do is- RESPECT THAT. Everyone wishes to spread positivity and love, not hate and bitterness. I GOT ANGRY BECAUSE ALL THAT BOILED UP FRUSTRATION OF INSULT UPON INSULT NEEDED A VENT!

I'm glad you took it off your chest. Hope you feel better now.

TBH, no: I have no shame.

But I'm not going around other blogs I don't like bothering the owner, a real person, defending and justifying a fictional character.

BTH: I've never said anything about Lane I couldn't back up. I have no responsibility on the writers doing a poor job with her.

Finally, you can use some of that "bravery, valor and courage", instead of hiding behind the anonymity Internet provides you.

Cheers.

[r-romanoff]

Photon Blasts & Spider Webs

Chapter: 1 Part 2

Peter Parker x Male Reader

Master list

Chapter Summary: Cliches are seeming kinda frequent come your second day, and Bucky honestly can't say Sh*t

September, 23, 2019

"So, any new friends?" Wanda asked driving the two of you home. Yes actually. A girl Named Betty and some of her friends I think, I'm not really sure I don't know if they like me yet. Oh and this one weird kid Peter although he's more of an acquaintance though. I'm still getting to know him, kinda strange seeming." I then begin to explain my whole day and how it unfolded. "Look at that I'm so proud of you!" She smiles and laughs in a joking way. "Just don't blast any kids in the face this time." The burnett begins to chuckle even more, earning an embarrassed response. "Hey I was seven! I'm still mad Natasha told you. May she rest in peace." " "Amen. So wanna stuff our faces with food until we pass out" "Do I!!!"

September, 24, 2019

"Ok um... where to put you" the chem lab teacher mutters to himself. Then comes a somewhat loud voice. "There's an empty seat next to Peter." A random student sitting herself seemed like he didn't want anyone else sharing his space. She had wavy brown hair and a light mocha skin color, and she was wearing mostly black. "Good idea, wait. Where is Parker?" The teacher answered back, looking around the class room I quickly scan to see if the Peter I meet was to be seen. If it was that Peter was at all, "I'm here sorry I'm late Mrs. Watterson." Yup it was that same weird Peter from physics, and the hallway. "Good Y/N will be your partner from now on." The teacher concluded, as Peter began to walk to his desk I decided to fallow behind when it happened. I tripped.

Better yet someone had tripped me with their foot. As I fell I feel myself accidentally knock over some of the tubes and substances from desks nearby. Trying to cling on to my dignity, while accidentally bringing down Peter Parker with me. Both unwillingly but instinctively clenching on to his sweater Turning him around hoping not to fall we hit the ground, me landing on top of him, him laying there to cushion my fall. Unfortunately not doing the same to all I had knocked over glass beakers and cylinders crashing to the ground. Substances mixing in the air as I finally landed on him. Both of us cover in what ever it was that fell. Still in shock from what had seemed like the longest fall of my life all I'm able to mutter out while still grasping onto the boy was; "uh i-I." The situation getting a whole lot worse with my classmates beginning to open their mouths. "Aw My Shoes!" One kid yelled; "My Jacket..." an other complained seeming just as shocked as I was.

Speaking of shocked as the chattering increased the whole class began to lose control at what happened. No longer delaying the inevitable I look up at Peter, his face painted with shock, disbelief, and cluelessness but I couldn't really blame him either. And then it happened again; "Hey look Parker's got a boyfriend!" Shit it got worse. My face flushed pink in embarrassment, I immediately let go of Peter leaving visible marks on his sweater from where I was holding on, on his are and chest. Attempting to stand up I begin to stumble on my own two feet trying to avoid stepping on Peter sparing us any moment embarrassment, I storm out of the classroom my shirt dripping in what ever the mixed liquids were. All I could hear now were the faded noises of the chemistry lab and the teacher calling after me.

It wasn't until about thirty seconds later that I now realise someone is following me. I instantaneously come to a halt and begin to hold onto my elbows, hugging them when I realise who it is. "I'm sorry." I pout looking down at my feet feeling tears begin to leak, water beginning to glisten trying to hide behind the brim of my eye my nose beginning to sniffle. "I just came to make sure you were ok, um... are you cry-never mind. You probably don't want to clean up we really don't know what any of this is." He kindly walks over. "I'm in shock that's all I- um yeah that sounds nice, but I don't have any other clothes." I try to explain still sniffling. "I have spare clothes in the locker room. We could head over there if you'd like. By the way don't listen to anything Flash says he's kind of a dick to everybody." He mentions the name of the jerk who probably made the off hand comment. The for some reason really got to me. Resting his hand on my shoulder, slowly lifting my head I wipe the tears from my eyes. "Lead the way please." I faintly smile trying to look on the bright side that I didn't go crazy and photon blast anyone who was talking.

Following Peter at an extremely close distance to the locker rooms I feel six. I feel helpless, like before I discovered my powers that I barely use. I feel like the clingy 6 year old that would cling onto Tony's or Natasha's jeans when I was scared. The six year old that wouldn't leave Fury's or Maria Hill's side whenever we went out, or were at some secret base. The same little boy that loved having conversations with Maria Rambo about mom. Now that I've been 17 since April I still feel kind of the same, always asking Wanda for advice about things while watching Netflix with Sam and Bucky. "We're almost there" Peter says snapping me out of thought only to bring them to him, he seems really nice. Although I still can't shake this feeling that when we first met it was kind of forced in a bad not so good way.

He's definitely sugar coating something right, or am I just being paranoid. No he definitely seemed like he was looking for me, like he already knew who I was. "And we have officially made it." Peter snaps me out of my thoughts, holding the red door open for me. "Thanks, so um... you get into these situations often" I ask while he opens his locker not wanting our whole time to be spent in silence. "Well these situations specifically no, flash being a dick yes." He answers passing me a shirt with a printed photograph of the Avengers from a while back. "So which one is flash exactly?" I don't recall seeing who made the comment. Examining the black shirt more closely I see; Thor when he still had his old hammer, Wanda, Vision, Clint, Tony, Natasha, Rhodey, & Sam. Wow if I put this on I'll never hear the end of it when I get home. "He was the one that tripped you, that's Taylor Swift right?" What? Giving him a confused look he points to my now ruined shirt. Running my hand through my h/c messy hair, I look realizing the shirt I'm wearing had the initials T.s. with seagulls on it. And a faded blue and pink sky background that was now stained. "Oh yes 1989" I smile, only faintly however now seeing that my shirt is most likely not gonna clean out. "You're gonna put that on? Right?" I look back up only to find Peter half shirtless finding out he's refereeing to your shirt. Blushing intensely at his um... you know, I quickly turn around taking off my shirt and put the one he gave me on as quickly as possible.

Taking one last deep breath before turning back around to see him what I think is intensely staring. As my blushing intensifies I accidentally let words slip. "Were you looking?" "What! Um no, were you um, looking" he fumbled a bit "no." I mumble a bit feeling a bit insecure. Not that I wasn't fit I mean I had a little bit of muscle but I'm not fit-fit if that makes sense. "Um thanks a lot, I really appreciate it" I look at his shirt with an the school logo on it than looking back up at his face. Smiling he responds, "It's ok really we should do that again. No I mean not getting into that situation sorry! I mean hang out, I mean we didn't talk much but what I'm saying is I'd like to get to know you! If that isn't weird." He panics mildly earning a small giggle from me. "It's not funny." He frowns a bit; "No I'm sorry I'd like to hang out to, your cool. Exchange numbers?" I ask pulling out my cell phone. "Yes!" He does the same us giving and receiving each other's phone numbers. "We should probably head back to class to." He reminded me that the last thing I want is call home considering my current guardians.

As the rest of the day goes on I finally make it to lunch. Navigating the hallways again Betty finds me looking extremely concerned. "Y/N, thank goodness I found you are you ok. I heard what happened and the rumors being spread are awful." My heart immediately sank, rumors. Ok this is exactly like some shity coming of age high school movie now and I hate it. Rumors, what rumors? "I don't- what? Tell me what is going on" is all I'm able to say before pulling her into an empty hallway for an explanation. "People are going around saying that you're gay. I know it may not be a big deal and all but some people are taking it seriously, and I don't know what to tell people who ask about it." The blonde quickly whispers, my face becomes shocked and confused at the same time. "Well?" Betty almost asks waiting for a response. "It's half true, I'm bi. I think, I'm pretty sure." I whisper in a barely audible tone not wanting her to judge me as I rush into trusting a girl I've known for a day. "You know what, if you don't want anyone to know it'll probably blow over hopefully." She says smiling awkwardly "I'll help you get through this just don't worry we'll just hang out and ride out the storm ok. You still up for the mall tomorrow?" She grabs my hand trying to make sure I was calm. My facial expression having not changed since she told me the news. "Yeah I'm up I guess, let's just not comment on the rumors ok. I could care less currently I just wanna let things play out naturally, ok? It's just I don't want to be defined by my sexuality for now that's all. You're right anyway let's just relax and hang out after all it's currently not a big deal unless we make it one. And thanks a lot Betty." I lean in for a hug the blonde opening up her arms for an embrace. "No problem." She squeezed a bit tighter.

LATER THAT DAY

"Listen kid I understand I'm great and all, but you don't have to wear that shirt around if all you wanted was an autograph." Sam said with a cocky smirk as he sat down on the couch along with Bucky, and Wanda earning chuckles from you three. "Be careful Sam, if your head fills up with anymore air you might leave the atmosphere" Bucky begins to laugh with Wanda and I. "Or he could do us a favor and pop" I begin to laugh harder despite the fact that we were watching Bird Box. After a while of comebacks from Sam and Wanda we all eventually calm down. Watching Sandra Bullock and the kids making it down the rapids without Tom when all of a sudden. "Wait What!?!?" Wanda seems to have realized something as Bucky seemed to have pointed something out. Barns seems to be about to spit it out as well with a squinty smirk on his face; "Hey kid." I look at him and the others confused not knowing what to expect. "Who's shirt is that?" What, what does that oh... I can feel my ears heat up as Wanda and Sam's smirks grow. Bucky's eyes squint a bit more as his face looks like it's jokingly saying 'You little bastard.' Implying that he's thinking something dirty and at this point I really regret not showing and changing as soon as I got home because honestly I'm fucked.

Previous Chapter/

An: So I feel like my story is better a bit rushed if so please tell me. This also wasn't revised I forgot so feel free to correct any errors. Don't feel so good about it. May not be my best work.

Also the first paragraph of the chapter was ment to be the ending of the last chapter

Please give opinion I would love you here your thoughts on the second chapter also I think the reader in this is gonna be bi as in most stories the reader is usually full on gay regardless it doesn't matter because it is an x Peter Parker fic so yeah

Ps there may or may not be foreshadowing about something that's going to happening in the future of somebody's relationship

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