#let me know if there's anything else i should tag

[missfrustration]

to teach a captain - part 2 (luffy x reader 18+ fanfic)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7

rating: 18+ explicit, minors do not interact!

tags: pwp, nsfw, smut, sexual content, masturbation, first times, self discovery, cluelessness, luffy is a curious guy, sub!luffy, dirty talk, "good boy," some praising, reader is a member of the crew, post-time skip, second-hand embarrassment, you will cringe, no use of y/n

A/n: the real spice starts now. I got carried away and wrote like 6k words for this one. Luffy, ur my goat forever. on ao3 here!

words: 6.1k

“Talk to me? About what? I find it hard to believe you would end your time out there just to talk to me.”

Without a beat, Luffy tilts his head. “You didn’t answer my question earlier, and I wanted to know why,” he says, crossing his arms.

“What?” But you didn't need to ask what he meant—you knew exactly what he was talking about—but that didn’t stop your entire body from freezing. 

“You had your clothes off, making noise, and had that thing. At first, I thought you were in pain, but then when I came in, you seemed… good. I have no idea what happened.”

You swallow thickly, only looking at the deep brown of Luffy’s eyes. You feel a heavy blush form on your face as you struggle to find any words. 

“I’m sorry, Luffy, but I don’t think we should talk about it,” You say. “I don’t think it’s appropriate.”

“What? That’s not fair.” Luffy whines.

“What’s not fair?”

“You were having a good time, and I want to know why. The way you talked… you looked like you were having fun.“

Your body tenses into a rigor mortis level of shock.

“You want to know what you saw?”

He nods adamantly.

“Luffy, how long were you watching?”

He shrugged it off like it was no big deal. “A while.”

You blink. Luffy definitely saw everything then. The feeling of him seeing your bare form pleasuring yourself with no guilt is enough to make your face light on fire. You cuss at yourself for not closing the door like you should’ve.

“How old are you again, Luffy?”

“Uh… 19?”

“That‘s what I thought,” You mumble, sighing so hard you groan. “If you don’t know, I can’t imagine you know other things— anything about…” a pause, “ do you know where babies come from?”

Luffy scratches his chin.

“Isn’t it a giant bird? I think Grandpa told me that once.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’d thought you would say. Okay, we both need to sit down for this one.” 

You rustle some stacks of clothing off your bed onto Nami’s bed to the right of you before you sit on the edge of the sheets. Luffy plopped onto the edge beside you, kicking his feet against the bed frame.

“If this were anyone else on the Sunny, I wouldn’t need to think twice about entertaining this,” but of course, it’s Luffy. You sigh. “So, we can talk about it, but no relaying ANYTHING about this to the crew, got it? This conversation cannot get to them.”

Another shrug. “Sure, that’s fine.”

You sigh and rub your face, watching Luffy through your fingers for a moment before sliding them down and crossing your arms.

“You can ask away then.”

Luffy perks up and grins. His mind was off to the races.

“What was that noise you were making?”

How you painfully grimace at the first question tells you how much you’ll enjoy this conversation.

“Well, that’s what happens when you, uh, when people do what I was doing?” Your voice turns into a question by accident. If this was anyone else but Luffy, you would’ve tapped out here, but you know Luffy would never let you hear the end of it.

Luffy hums, reflecting on your answer.

“What were you doing?”

Yep, we are going there.

“Uh, I was making myself… feel good. It’s called masturbating, or…pleasuring oneself.” You cringe at the informative tone in your voice as you mull it over.  “Like you said.”

“What were you using?”

“Using? What do you mean—” Before Luffy answers your question, you realize he meant your dildo. “Oh, it was… a tool.”

“A tool? Like, to help fight?”

“No, it’s to help me feel good. It’s called a toy.” 

Luffy looks around the room.

”Do other people need that?”

“For what?”

He briefly thinks about the question, scratching his head like the words are right there.

“If they want to feel like that too.”

“Hardly,” you snort. “Guys never have it that rough; usually, hands work fine. Women may. It just depends on whether they need some extra help.”

As far as you know, you recall Nami telling the girls she gets her pleasure from men on different islands and usually her hands if we’re stuck on the sea for a while. Robin doesn’t mention her individual sex life, but you’d assume Franky takes care of her whenever she needs a pick-me-up.

”Then why do you need a toy?” Luffy asks.

”Man, Luffy…” You mumble, arms supporting you as you fall back on your bed. “This is a lot for me.”

When you look at him, his pout says it all. You pinch the bridge of your nose with the strength that could knock you out of this nightmare, yet disappointed that you’re still here.

“Okay, okay, fine. Sometimes, during these moments, it’s harder for me to reach the same… conclusion than it is for others, so I need the assistance of a toy to help me. I don’t know much about the others–that’s not really something people talk about to each other.”

Luffy perked up at your last sentence.

“Huh? The others do it, too?”

“Well, maybe. That’s not for me to know.” You say. You try to shrug it off–thinking about it too much will make you want to knock on every door you need to open on the Sunny.

“Why can’t the crew just help you next time?” Luffy asks.

Suddenly, the bed no longer offers support as you sit straight up. You didn’t need to say anything; Luffy saw your concern screaming before you could open your mouth.

“We’re nakama! I would do anything for you guys. The others feel the same.” He says with a smile. Luffy’s words make it seem like the easiest answer, practically beaming at a newfound resolve. It just makes you sink into the mattress more.

“That’s not exactly… something that requires you guys. People don’t usually help each other with this…” You stop before you explain only people who are very close can, but you know Luffy wouldn’t know how close that is unless you explain it.

“Does that mean you won’t tell me how to do it?”

“Tell you?” You ask. Luffy nods, and you only widen your eyes more. “Wait, you want me to tell you how to masturba-“ you clear your throat before finishing, “tell you how ?”

“You said it felt good, right? I wanna know how, then!”

Your captain is a nice guy, giving you a clean, optimistic smile after his words. To him, this is practically like learning a new combat skill–the way he fights for his nakama means he always wants to learn how to get stronger. You guess this is just another skill for him. To you, this obviously crosses intimate boundaries. 

You sigh, “You wanna know that bad, huh?”

Luffy nods.

You gaze at Luffy, wondering how you should go about this. You know he’s a loose canon when it comes to anything in the realm of keeping things private. He couldn’t keep Mr. 0 a secret even when their lives depended on it! On top of that, Luffy is the type of guy to pester you about something he’s curious about until he finds out or flatlines. If you tell him no, he could possibly keep asking until everyone on the ship hears about it. Your mouth opens to deny him, but it’s lost on your tongue.

If explaining to him how to please himself is all it is, maybe you can rush him through the steps and have him out the door shortly after. After all, he is seriously uneducated, which may help him in the long run. For what exactly, only God knows. You’re just a girl.

“If it means you keep this all a secret.” You relent, “Promise? Like, really promise. I know you’re horrible at keeping them, but I need you to just this once.” 

It makes Luffy perk up, crisscrossing his legs and resting his hands on his ankles. “Promise!” He says with a toothy grin. He’s ready to listen.

“Okay, you know your…penis-“ another cringe, “between your legs?”” You ask, gesturing to his crotch. You have to find a baseline about what he even knows in the first place. 

“What, the family jewels?”

Wow, off to a great start.

“… yeah. that’s what a man has with their penis—it’s your version of genitalia—whereas women…. it’s a long story… but I'm sure you saw the difference.”

He nods again, making you groan. You realize he really did see all of your pussy this morning, not to mention in excruciating pleasure. Judging by his face, he doesn’t seem confused as to what you mean when referring to his junk. That at least helps the awkwardness of this.

“Alright, y’know how sometimes you wake up and you’re hard?”

“What do you mean hard?” Luffy blinks.

“Hard means when your dick, or penis, y’know, is hard. When you wake up like that, it’s called ‘morning wood.’” You cringe at yourself again, but less severe.

“Oooohhh, yeah, you mean when it’s hard to pee!” Luffy says.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I’m talking ab–”

“You mean like this!” Luffy smiles, reaching for his pants. He unbuttons his shorts and pulls the hem of his boxers down.  

“W-what the hell are you doing?” You squeak, scrambling around.

By the time you think to turn away, you see Luffy’s hand pop out from his shorts, followed by…

“See?” 

His dick is in his hands semi-hard. It’s flush against his fingers, almost the exact same color as his skin, except for a tinge of pink that lightens the more you travel towards the tip. Your eyes bulge out.

“Woah, you’re already hard… that’s surprising.”

“Yeah, it's like this a lot.”

For some reason, his words send a strange spark in you. Of course he has working bodily functions–that makes a lot of sense–but you suppose it surprised you. At first, it seemed like Luffy was completely oblivious, his body included.

“You're very red,” He says, his other hand starts waving in your face, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m fine,” You say with a nervous laughter. “But you don’t just whip it out like that, man.”

“Oh, sorry, I figured I could since you’re teaching me.”

You look down at his dick still in his hand, except this time, it’s grown to what you guess is his full length. Compared to others you’ve seen in the past, his length is a little smaller. You can’t tell completely without staring it, and you don’t feel like gawking would be that nice.

“It’s fine. We can work on courtesy later, but it’s super important you know about consent. Just know you’re allowed to stop whenever you’re uncomfortable with this, or by me, alright? When you talk about—or do —topics like this, it’s important to know this if you’re overwhelmed or if you don’t like what’s happening, understand? That’s called consent. Are you okay to keep going?”

 “Yeah,” He smiles, “so, what do I do now?”

You shift a little, trying to scan the room for literally any answer that would get you out of this situation without your face feeling on fire—at the very least without talking about his penis again—but you cannot find a single reality. There is nothing but the goddamn wall of the girl’s dorm looking back at you.

You hope your face isn’t red anymore, or else you’ll think you’ll die from high blood pressure. 

“Okay, go ahead and put your hand on it like this.” You do a hand demonstration, lightly grasping the tips of your fingers together to form a lazy ‘O’ and gesturing for him to do the same. Luffy grips the middle of his shaft on the second attempt after floating his hand around the head. 

“Then you’ll want to pump into it a few times.” You pump your hand ring into the air, one that he followed suit around his dick.

His movement is stagnant and uncoordinated, imitating your motions with a waver. His hand shakes in all different directions, making his dick shift like a goddamn joystick. But it’s enough to start stimulating himself.

Slowly, his shaft begins to grow a little more.

And more. And more. And…

…Holy shit.

“Like this?” Luffy asks.

“Y-yeah, Luffy, it’s working,” you say, slack-jawed.

If the “D” in his middle name didn't stand for “dick,” you don’t know what would.

His hand gripped around the base of his shaft is now a fraction of the entire length, whereas previously, it covered everything but the head. Maybe his dick was still flaccid when he took it out. If that’s the case, bro was packing a fucking monster this whole time??

And you realize how much you’ve been staring.

“What now?” Luffy’s voice puts you back to reality.

“Well, there's one more thing that helps.” You get up slowly, your legs trembling a bit. You shake it off and walk off to the side to reach into the confines of your drawer again. What you pull out after rustling through the clothes is the small bottle of lube, almost empty from this morning’s events. You shake the bottle back and forth before popping the top open and reaching for Luffy’s hand. Although he looks at it quizzically, he obliges to give you an outstretched palm when you reach for it. You squirt a quarter-sized amount, which slowly spreads around the surface. 

You motion for him to close and open his hand, making him spread the lube to the rest of his palm and fingers. He grimaces at the sight, watching the sticky substance break apart into small strings before separating, but he still looks back at you for more directions.

“Good, okay, go ahead and do what you did earlier.”

He nods, eyes now filled with determination for a newfound purpose. With one hand toying with the fabric on his clothed thigh, the other hand encircles his girth again, now barely touching fingertips as he starts to move up and down the shaft. It doesn’t take long for the lube to spread across his length, leaving small beads that move everytime he glides over them. 

“This is feels different. This feels,” He trails off, but you can tell by the fluidity in his arm that the stimulation feels better…

You’re really gawking now. You rip your eyes away and stand up from the bed.

“Well, you keep doing that until, you know… alright, I have to leave, I hope you—”

Luffy whines your name. You feel a hand grab your wrist gently, immediately removing his grasp when you turn around.

“Wait.” Luffy's eyes set on where he touched you, then back to your eyes.

“What is it?” You ask. You look down to see his dick still in his hand, stroking up and down. You swear there’s a pink tinge dusted on the apples of his cheeks.

“I need to know if I’m doing it right!” 

“Yeah, Luffy, but God, you want me to watch you while you do it?” You ask.

“Is that such a big deal?” Luffy gives you puppy dog-like eyes, almost offended that you don’t want to look at him. “I thought you said you were gonna help me.” Luffy says sheepishly, lowering his eyebrows.

Obviously, it is a big deal, but he’s so innocent for his own damn good that you can’t even argue with him at this point. He really doesn’t want you to leave, but you’ve wanted to keep his privacy as a top priority. Regardless, you know your say on things won’t get you anywhere, now. You swallow a lump down your throat.

“I guess it’s not.” You sit back next to him. 

His feet sit firm on the plush pink carpet, he continues.

“So?” You hear his breath hitch, seeing his lips purse a little. His voice is quiet now. “Am I… doing it right?”

“Yes, you are.” You say. “If you need to, you can also control the pressure by squeezing or loosening your grip, slowing down or speeding up your hand, too.” You do some more motions with your hand, pumping it in the air with different speeds. He nods before focusing on his hand. 

He changes his pace, you see his hand lose tension around his member and go slow for a few pumps as he tests the feeling. You watch your captain languidly pump his length back and forth, before he hums his disapproval. You see his hand start to speed up now. Small veins from his hand to his arms start to peak out from the firmness of his grip.

Luffy’s breath hitches again, this time at the change of pace, brows now furrowed a little.

“Okay, how long do I go for?”

“As long as you want to, but usually, there is a good stopping point. You’re trying to cum–uh, climax, which is where it feels the best, but you’ll know when that is when your penis… well you’ll see,” you shift. You hope it’s not too long. Luffy is a guy–a beginner–, so you’ll assume he won’t last long for his first time.

You realize the words sound crude coming out of your mouth, but if you could figure it out by yourself years ago, Luffy can too with a rudimentary explanation. The whole time, Luffy focuses on your words in agog, fully digesting each part. He goes right back to pumping himself with a firm nod.

“That means I’m doing it right?” He asks.

“Yes, Luffy, youre doing it right.”

“Okay.”

You’re limited in what you should say at this point. His vest is unbuttoned, revealing a chest that heaves after each firm thrust of his arm. He’s starting to throw his head back slovenly, the lids of his eyes lowering until they shut tight together. You don’t think you can look at his face anymore. At least without having a deep pool collect in your stomach. This is purely for Luffy and his educational purposes, after all. It’s stupid of you to feel anything more than that.

Your eyes nail to the wall, the very same place you chucked the bottle of lube at when Luffy first found you, trying to stifle the urge to stare. It’s futile, however, all you can hear is the small shallow huffs from the side of you. Luffy notices your sudden disassociation, however. 

“You can keep looking.” He says quietly.

“R-right.”

You look down at his hand, which moved from the shorts on his thigh to the mess of the sheets between you two. There are the veins on his skin you only see when he’s fighting, popping out from his forearms to the back of his hand. 

One particular pump makes him whimper loudly, whipping his head back more and parting his lips. Then another, one that makes the whiny groan in his throat linger in the air, until his legs dart wider apart, clacking his knee against yours. The quick force of it makes you jump in your skin, letting out a squeak that snaps his head forward. His brown eyes search for you, darting between you irises with low lids.

Something strange has been setting you off.  

With you specifically. You squirm in your place on the bed, only a few inches from your captain jacking himself off, feeling his pleasure so well, so vocally , and now looking at you with the eyes he has after being starved and seeing a feast. Dark, enticing, needy hues, but this time, so aroused . The musk from his body is so— 

“Hey,” Luffy calls out your name again. His voice has a waver in it now, a sound not lost on you, and one that is dripping more with the feeling of desire, of lust , that you certainly detect. The entire time you’ve known Luffy, you’ve never heard his voice have such a neediness in it. You never would’ve guessed it was possible. Your thighs shift together subconsciously, creating some space between your once-grazing legs.

 “Am I doing it good?” He whines again. Its so breathless, so lovely. That voice so coaxed with fervor. Each word lingers a little bit more in the air the more he speaks, making your face hot and body hotter.

“Yes. Yes Luffy, you are.” You whisper. “Do you feel good?” A small sound comes out of Luffy’s mouth after your words come out. It’s almost like a hiccup, one that erupt throughout his body as his hips jut forward.

“I, think so,” He says, he looks all over your body, “Yeah, I do feel good.”

Your breath hitches. There’s a pause that feels like hours have replaced seconds.

“I feel good when you say that,” Luffy whines. “I think.”

Your chest swells as you look into his eyes. You see they’re staring right back at your face, looking at each individual feature like it’s the first time he’s seen you. Like, really seeing you. 

“What do you mean, Luffy?” 

“When you tell me I'm doing a good job. Hahh ,” Luffy moans. You see his eyes dart to your lips which you didn’t realize until now that your biting between your teeth. “Am I still doing it?”

“Yes, Luffy, so, so good.”

Is it wrong for you to enjoy seeing this? His hand palms the sheets more, head whipped back again from firm, languid pumps to his dick, and he’s whining from it now. He sounds so desperate for release, so welcoming for every tinge of pleasure he receives from himself that builds up more towards an awaited ecstasy.

His head lazily tilts towards you, his eyes open and on you, drinking up the very essence of you.

It almost feels like you’re naked. 

“Please...” He mewls out, which commands your attention from whatever haze it’s in. 

“‘Please’ what, Luffy?” Your voice is a thin veil of what it was prior, with an airy breath that crashes with the impermeable heat radiating from his body. 

“I don’t- mmph!-“ Another delectable whine escapes his lips. He continues, “I don’t know, just–ahh, please – “ 

The hand previously entangled in the sheets finds purchase on your shoulder, his needy fist grasping the strap of your tank top. The abrupt move causes your stance to falter due to his inadvertently tugging you down closer. Your eyes are level now, with your noses just a hair from touching. Your hands land on his thighs, and Luffy’s pace falters while his breath hitches at your touch. 

Luffy stares at you, and your senses are overwhelmed; His brown eyes seem to swallow your closest features, the hot breaths and hiccups that escape his mouth ghost upon your lips, and the downright filthy sounds his lubed hand makes against his cock have you reeling. He never takes his eyes off of you, even as his expression shifts to desperation and his whines evolve into needy whimpers.

“Tell me… mngh that I’m doing good, I’m still doing good, yeah?” You notice his fingers flex in the grasp he has on you. For a brief moment, you wonder how it would feel to have even one of those thick fingers inside of you. 

“You’re doing…so good. You’re so good at touching yourself, Luffy… good boy .” The rational part of your mind is shocked at the words coming out of your mouth, but the way Luffy’s leg twitches and breath wavers at the sound of praise from your lips silences any rationality you may be harboring. 

Almost under his breath, he murmurs out a reply whilst his gaze flicks from your eyes to your lips; “Yeah, I’m..” he begins, “...your good–“

Before you can even muster a reply, He whimpers in a voice you never heard, your name wavering on his tongue, instantly stealing your attention and giving you a bellowing heartbeat. 

“I feel something.” He says, letting his words faded out with a breathless huff. “Something new , hahh, I don’t…”

“Yeah, I–I know that.” 

“What do I… do I do?” His lids are low when he looks at you, pleading for an answer in the colors of your eyes. Your chest feels tight from his small voice, encompassed by a lit flame inside that compels you to speak.

“If you want, please keep going.” You breathe, a horribly devious idea coming to your head. It’s a want to push him further to the edge. “You’re doing so good, Luffy.”

“ Mmmh. ”

You don’t know what’s worse: In the beginning, when Luffy revealed to you and only you his desire when watching you touch yourself, or hear his lustful whines and moans that only elevate because of you. Your voice being the thing your strong captain, with a bounty of countless berries, needs right now. His pleas and wants make you want to see the end of this. 

Luffy pants more now, loosened hair clinging to his forehead, tongue peaking out to moisten his lips as his eyes start to squeeze shut. His pace is faster now as he groans in delight, quickly learning a pace and intensity that he needs . It’s an instinct of his he never knew, a yearning programmed in his brain that compels him to stroke his length faster, it’s a yearning you share as you watch thick beads of precum drip out. 

It was extremely enticing. His plush lips once encased in smiles now slackjaws in stuttering breaths. His chest is heaving in a way you’ve never seen in his fights—whereas his chest hollows out in deep, robust pillars of breath during a battle, it’s now unsure, uncertain, but so daring to steal another fading breath. 

Watching your captain build this unsteady breathing tempo, the way his arm juts around as his eyes languidly blink, and most of all, the way his hand grips and pumps onto himself. You can see from his jutting hips and louder huffs that he’s close, and you can practically see his way to climax. But you know something is very off.

As his arm starts to shake a little more each time, just as Luffy mewls his loudest, starting to hitch his breath, starting to garble unintelligible things, closer and closer to a sweet release. Suddenly, he releases the grip from your shoulder, fingers unclench as it wavers, flinching up and down in the air. In an instant, he grabs onto your plush thigh with such strength you do more than flinch. You moan loud. Luffy doesn’t notice your voice, though; he’s too preoccupied with the fireworks that are going off in his head.

That’s when you register what’s wrong.

You hear knocks on the deck above you. It’s footsteps of people.

It’s the crew.

Your uneven breathing once aroused and whining from Luffy is now panicked in fear. You look to him; he’s so close now you can see his lids flutter.

There’s no way they won't hear him. You huff against him, seeing him teeter, hand gripping on you, moving closer and closer to your crotch. You decide to do something you didn’t think twice  about until you moved in towards Luffy.

“ I, I’m …— mmf! ” Luffy pants, but is swiftly cut off by you. Your lips bury themselves against his, so rugged and rough that Luffy’s eyes widen against it. Your hand latches on to the side of his head, intertwining the fingers with his black hair as you push into him. You feel his whole body jolt, going so stiff except for his rapidly moving arm until it suddenly stops. 

Luffy moans against your lips, pushing against you so hard you feel the vibration of his vocal chords. His lids lower, eyes unfocused as he starts to helplessly whimper into your mouth. 

You feel small, warm ropes of liquid sputter onto your arm, your shirt, reaching all the way to his neck as he whines again and again. All tries to moan his orgasm are stiffle by your mouth against his, the sounds muffling enough that you know they won’t hear. 

You move you lips away, seeing a small string of saliva before it quickly breaks, and you realize how fast you need to act before the crew comes.

When his moans are replaced with breathy huffs, and his hands lay comatose at his sides. You spring into action. Your shirt is already covered in ropes of cum, so it’s the first thing you decide to change. You rip off your shirt, revealing your chest to Luffy right next to you. You cover your hand with the fabric and wipe down the cum on your arm in one fluid motion. You rub the stain off of your neck. Luffy’s body follows suit. A frantic apology leaves your lips as you clean his chest, arm, and hand with your shirt. You toss it, immediately grabbing for a clean shirt from the neglected pile of laundry. Once its shimmied on, you whip to Luffy, another apology as you lift the hem of his boxers, trapping his half-hard member inside before hiking his boxers and shorts back up, buttoning and zipping up the fly with speed that Luffy doesn’t say anything.

In Luffy’s daze, you rush him out of the girls’ room to the hallway. You straighten his back out, make sure all of his clothes are straight on him, and try to act as normal as possible. Normal like you didn’t just teach your captain how to jack off. Or kiss him.

Almost on cue, some of the crew appear into the hall. Smiling when they see you and Luffy. All except Ussop, who immediately clamors to Luffy as soon as he registers him.

“You!” Ussop points to him, stomping over to Luffy with a vengeance. “Where the hell were you? I was looking for you everywhere, man!”

Luffy just looks at him, partially confused, partially still in a post-nut delirium. 

Ussop is hammering into him something, you honestly aren’t paying attention, as you see the other crewmates walk down. The girls come next, both carrying comically large numbers of shopping bags. Sanji is following them, practically hovering behind them as he asks them about their time. You see a patch of moss-colored hair and some bones too, they wave their salutations before heading to different areas of the ship. 

You smile and wave back at everyone, putting on a curt smile. 

“So? That doesn’t give you an excuse to ot say anything before you leave. Jeez, what am I gonna do with you.”

Luffy manages to shrug, the larger half of his indifference showing towards Ussop, but you are at least relieved to see he’s starting to use some braincells. Ussop starts to sniff in the air when he catches a whiff of something. He steps towards Luffy.

“Ew, Luffy, you reek like…” Ussop stops, pauses for a second to look at you. You’re only a few feet away from them, but with his puzzled glance it feels like your seeing things through a wide lens. His attention immediately jumps back to Luffy when he breathes in, wrinkling his nose a little as Luffy tries to step back. Ussop doesn’t let him, gripping the front of his shirt. “Dude, you need to take a bath anyway. It’s been way too long.”

“What? No way? I hate that tub, I get all weak and stuff!” Luffy groans. For his last attempt, he pries each finger off of his vest, but Ussop turns to him and jerks both of his hands around the nape of his collar. 

“You’re going now!” Ussop shouts, walking away and hauling Luffy with him.

“Nooo. Help me! AHHHH!” Luffy screams, kicking his legs against the floorboards as his hands scramble at his collar. With no luck, Ussop drags him down the hall with immense irritation. It’s honestly surprising how well Ussop can manhandle the captain. They disappears around the corner of the hallway, but not without Ussop giving you a glance and following. The eye he gives you sends a chill down your spine. Does he know what happened? 

Oh God. 

You attention is immediately stolen as a mop of blonde hair whisks you around to face his figure. The cook takes your hands in his so gently.

“Ah, mademoiselle, I hope you’re doing alright.” Sanji kisses your hand. “Was it alright being on the ship by yourself?”

“Yeah! Um, it was, uh… things were okay, I guess.” You spit out. In your mind, you curse yourself for sounding so obviously not okay, but it doesn’t seem like Sanji notices.

“Ahh, if only I hadn’t promised Luffy to take him to that restaurant, I would’ve spent it with you.” He cooes. “That idiot captain barely stayed with us before he disappeared to wherever God knows. I wasted my time instead of pampering a delicate lady.”

So he really did sneak away. was it really all because of you?

“Oh, I see, maybe next time.” You plaster on a not-so-convincing smile, but it was just enough for Sanji, as he let go off you and instantly ran towards Nami, who was walking towards you too.

It seems that Sanji had flailed his arms wide open to try and embrace Nami before he was promptly shut down by Nami’s right hook. He falls head first on the floor.

“Hey girl!” Nami says, entirely ignoring Sanji’s limp body as she steps over him, as ruthless as ever. “I got you some things.” She smiles, rustling through her loads of bags in hand.

A humongous gift bag with pretty tissue paper poking out of the edges is put in your hands, you look at her quizzically.

“Thanks, Nami! But what’s with the fancy bag?” You ask. When you take it, your arm almost gives out from the sheer weight of the contents. What the hell is in here? You think.

“Just a little something I think you should have,” she wries. Nami has one of those grins on; the one where you know she’s up to mischief. “Tell me how you like them,” She says before scampering off, almost stepping on Sanji’s twitching body in the process.

Robin comes up behind you and giggles. “She said you need a wardrobe change soon when we start shopping. I couldn’t stop her.” She smiles, now hold up a small bag of her own from a slew of other ones she had. “Here, take this.”

“Aw thanks!”

“No problem, it’s just what you asked for, by the way.” She winks, before also walking around you. 

You hear the hinges creak behind you, meaning she’s opening the door to the girls’ dorm. Robin’s footsteps stop, making your heart drop to the goddamn floor.

“You seemed to be busy in here.”

You turn around, remembering the state you left the room in. The girls’ clothes that were once neatly stacked on your bed are either knocked over, greatly disheveled or both. Robin looks back at you with minor confusion.

“Oh!” Your voice cracks as you shimmy past her figure in the doorway, rushing back to the bedside. “About that. The ship was… rocky earlier.”

“At dock?” She asks with her usual soft smile, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, um. I’ll fix it up, sorry for the mess.” You look down at the edge of the sheets, now noticing the small beads of bodily fluids from earlier. You quickly fold over the wrinkles formed on the sheet to cover it up. Robin’s on the other side of the room at this point, setting down the bags and sorting through them.

“I don’t mind it at all. Just make sure Nami doesn’t see her clothes on the floor. I don’t think I can help you there.” Robin giggles.

You look between you and Nami’s bed, seeing a pile of her baby tees toppled off the bed and lay unfolded on the floor. You yank it back onto the bed immediately.

“Right.” You say. Jesus, how much sweat is on your face at this point. From how wildly embarrassed you’ve reacted, she must think something is up.

Thankfully, Robin seems to have not noticed, or at least dropped the subject. She’s now in the corner of the room. Taking the things out her and Nami’s bags and hanging them up on the closet while she hums a soft tune.

“Cute shirt, too.” Robin softly says. 

In horror, you look down, realizing the shirt you threw on was Robin’s old Galley-La shirt.

“Thanks.” You stammer.

Robin is almost a decade older than you. She’s in a relationship, and you hoping to God she doesn’t realize what you’ve been up to. Ussop’s questioning glance towards you tells you they both noticed something. Your heartbeat was frantic now.

You excuse yourself as you slip yourself out of the girls’ room, frantically scurrying to the deck. You need some fresh air. Now.

At the deck's side railing, your feet brush on top of the soft bed of grass of the Sunny. You watch the waves brush up against the hull, gently lapping up against the wood before dispersing into the air. Tashini's shoreline is only a few yards away, greeting each ebb and flow of seawater.

You take a deep breath of the night air, releasing it with a languid sigh. Your hands have stopped shaking at least, but a feeling of morose still creeps into the back of your mind. Your heart beats at a regular tempo but with an echo that confuses you. You take a deep breath again.

You should probably change out of Robin's shirt now.

[always-just-red]

@lunariadew asked: 'Can you write a poly fic maby like a feel good fic or date night or something with all the boys! I’m greedy and I think there’s not enough poly fics as there should be'

Nothing profound this time around! Just some good old-fashioned shenanigans. I've wanted to do a fic with all the boys for SO long (Infold, hire me to write a sitcom-style show for the guys, PLEASE) I've kept it platonic since it's early stages; it's open to interpretation about how many sparks are flying and between whom exactly..... 👀 But if ppl want more of this, I'm all over it. Platonic or romantic? I'll play it by ear!

Game Night

L&DS Boys X Reader

Summary: The most important men in your life can manage one evening together, right? For you? Please? Pretty please?

Genre: Fluff + humour

Warnings/Additional Tags: f!reader, some swearing, a lil conflict, non-canon (I know some of the guys probably know each-other but we're pretending they don't 😇)

| Word count: 4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Rafayel… what do you think this is?”

The artist stands at your open door, wearing a self-assured smile and one of the flashier outfits you’ve seen him in, and that’s really saying something. Between you is a bouquet of lilies, petals curled like frozen licks of fire that compliment— deliberately, if you had to guess— the warmer fires within his eyes. Those eyes narrow at your question.

“What do you think it is?” he says suspiciously, lowering the flowers.

“…Game night?”

You’re not sure why you phrase it so tentatively. You know what it is; you’re the host. You open your door wider, stepping aside to give Rafayel a better view of the apartment behind you, and the remainder of his smile sinks.

“Hi,” Xavier calls out, and you don’t have to see him to know he’s giving a wholesome sort of wave.

“Hi…” Rafayel answers, barely more than a whisper as his eyes flit between everyone else in the room, because he’s the last to arrive. “Game night, yeah,” he nods assertively, “I knew that.” Then a deep breath: “Can I, like, put these somewhere—”

“Kitchen counter,” you gesture.

“Got it.” He doesn’t have to be told twice.

Closing the door behind him, you watch as he skirts past the lounge and makes for your kitchen, where another bouquet already lies waiting. He zeroes in on it. “Looks like mine’s not the only heart you’re breaking tonight, huh, cutie? What are these—” he pokes at a petal— “daturas?”

“They’re her favourite,” speaks a distinctly low voice.

Rafayel doesn’t look up. He plonks his bouquet on top of the other and winces: “They’re really not, though.”

“He’s right,” you chip in, giving Sylus a sheepish smile, and now Rafayel looks up, beaming.

“She likes roses,” Zayne says, with the calm confidence he’d quote a medical journal. On the sofa beside him, Xavier nods, and you grin at them both.

“Noted,” Sylus chuckles.

Rafayel’s less convinced. “Since when?!”

“Since forever, Raf. I like lilies too, so I didn’t say anything, ‘kay?” You beckon him back to the lounge, ignoring his splutters of disbelief. “C’mere, let me introduce you to everyone.”

The man slinks to your side like a reluctant shadow, and your hands find your hips. “This is Zayne. Xavier,” you point out, putting faces to names; Rafayel’s heard stories about each. Then you nod towards Sylus. “Over there’s Skye.”

From his place by the window, Sylus lifts a hand in greeting.

“So… yeah,” you finish. Oh, wait! “Guys, this is—”

“They know who I am,” Rafayel shrugs, his fame apparently heavy on his shoulders. He glances around the room for validation, but he gets none, so he tries again. “You do know who I am, right?”

“Sorry,” Xavier admits with an awkward smile, glancing back at Sylus: you?

The man has to think about it. You know for a fact he’s traded more than one of Rafayel’s paintings for a profit, but he smirks and gives an even more exaggerated shrug than the artist himself.

Really?

“You’re Rafayel,” Zayne states plainly.

“Yeah! See, I told you, cutie—”

“You slipped on a paintbrush and checked yourself into Akso, right? The nurses still talk about it.”

Rafayel’s enthusiasm drains. He looks conflicted as he mulls over the additional information. “In, like, a good way?” he hazards.

Zayne stares back at him, wielding silence like a scalpel before cutting deeper with a: “…sure.”

You bite back a smile. Leaving the two to discuss the finer details of Rafayel’s notoriety at the hospital, you wander over to the kitchen, where you fish out a vase from the back of a cupboard. You fill it, set it down on the counter, then reach for Sylus’s bouquet. There’s a black satin ribbon; you untie it.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sweetie?” asks the man himself, joining you discreetly.

The others can’t really hear you— they’re still talking. “What,” you smirk, retrieving your scissors from a drawer, “you worried Xavier’s gonna arrest you?”

Sylus laughs lowly, quietly. “That’s adorable.”

“Good.” You pick up a flower and trim a leaf from the stem. “Because even if he wanted to—” you wave it, just short of his face— “I’d protect you, ok?”

He regards the flower beneath his nose. Smiles smugly. “These can be toxic, sweetie.”

“Really? Whoops.” You put it down, then snatch up a lily from Rafayel’s bouquet. “En Garde!”

“These too.”

“What the hell?”

The flame-red flower drops from your fingers, and Sylus laughs more sincerely. “Stick to roses, kitten. Or…” He moves his hand over his deconstructed bouquet, his Evol pruning the rest of the leaves from the stems. A tendril of it gathers the flowers, delivering them to him so he can hold them out to you with a flourish. “Live dangerously. Who am I to judge?”

You take them, then plop them into the vase. “Cute.”

“I’m here all week,” he grins. “You’d better wash your hands, hmm?”

With a hmph of agreement, you turn to the sink. You spend half a minute, rubbing soap and warm water over your hands, and when you turn back around— still drying them— something is different. The lilies are gone. Sylus is looking at you, innocuous.

“Real mature, Skye.”

He makes no effort to defend himself. You’re about to tell him that his magic better extend to making flowers reappear when your attention is whipped back to the lounge. The voices from that side have raised, so you lean forward on your kitchen island, watching their owners in a sort of stakeout.

“I take it you have a plan,” Sylus whispers, leaning with you.        

You look at him. He looks back. “The plan is for hosts,” you scold, “not guests.” He’s much too close so you step away, reaching for the vase of daturas and holding them threateningly out, like you’re not afraid to use them. “Go back to the guests, deserter.”

Sylus lifts his hands in surrender, smirking in a way that says he knows he’s met his match. You shoo him further, back into enemy lines, then resume your stakeout. Xavier is sharing his own “embarrassing” medical story— talking about a time where he once passed out from exhaustion while fighting at your side, and you think it’s supposed to make Rafayel feel better.

It doesn’t, of course, and even Zayne is gazing down at the floor, self-conscious.

Sylus meets your eyes across the room, signals with a tip of his head: now's a good time for that master plan, sweetie.

Right. Your plan. Your master plan, yeah.

…

“You should have picked the doctor.”

Sylus’s words are near-silent: for you, not anyone else, and you pretend you don’t hear them. “But no,” he carries on, because he knows you can, “you just had to have the artist.”

“It’s Pictionary!” you snap, drawing all eyes in the room.

Lounging beside you, Sylus feigns an amused surprise, as though he hasn’t just been trying to illicit that exact reaction. On the other sofa, Zayne and Xavier stare, taken more genuinely aback. You give a smile of apology.

“Guys, concentrate!” Rafayel clicks his fingers at you. He’s stood in the centre of the space by a large drawing pad, and he goes back to frantically sketching on it. The drawing is… interesting. Abstract. Maybe even beautiful? But you don’t have a clue what it is.

“Thirty seconds,” warns Zayne, studying the little egg-timer he’s guarding.

You tilt your head at the drawing. There’s maybe a— wait, where did those extra colours come from? Where did he even get those pens? Anyway… there’s a circle. “A globe?” you guess. “Earth! No? Umm… oh! The sun! The moon!”

Rafayel shakes his head with every suggestion, adding even more intricate, unhelpful scribbles. Is that a fifth pen?! You nudge your other teammate, calling for back-up.

Sylus regards the drawing listlessly. “A unicorn.”

“What?!” Rafayel’s tone has reached a pitch that almost makes you wince. “No! C’mon, are you even trying?”

“No,” Sylus lilts with a pleasant smile, lifting the drink he’s been nursing to his lips.

You kick his foot. “A bowl of fruit!” you exclaim, determined to make up for the lack of enthusiasm. “A plate? A plate with food? Breakfast! Lunch! Dinner!”

“Time’s up,” Zayne interrupts, and it’s a mercy, really; you deflate with a sigh.

Rafayel puts his hands on his hips as he takes a step back to observe his work. He tucks four fine-liners back into his pocket— purses his lips as though he really can’t see a problem— and he’s keeping you all in suspense.

Sylus is up in an instant, stealing a card from where it’s been discarded on the coffee table. He reads the answer, then rolls his eyes. The original pen was also abandoned, so he plucks it up, then strides to the drawing pad.

He draws an oval. Then a triangle.

“A fish! A fish!” you cry out.

“You’re good at this, sweetie,” Sylus grins. He puts the lid on the pen with a click before dropping it into Rafayel’s hand.

“Is it my turn?” Xavier asks, trying to relieve the tension of the room. He gets up and smiles as Rafayel passes him the pen. “Your drawing is pretty. The composition is really—”

“Don’t,” Rafayel says. “Like, thanks? But don’t.”

“Fair enough,” Xavier chuckles.

You all prepare for the next round: Zayne handing you the egg-timer, Xavier re-organising the stack of prompt cards. Sylus takes a photo of the drawing pad before ambling back over— a moping Rafayel in tow— and they both sink down either side of you. You glance at the latter, giggling. “A fish, Raf? Really?”

“So I didn’t just wanna draw you some basic fish, ok?” The artist crosses his arms with a pout. “But fine, enjoy mediocrity, I guess.”

To your left, Sylus raises his glass in toast to the notion. There’s a noise: Xavier tearing the used page from the pad. You look up. “Xavier, can I have that?”

“Sure.” He brings it over to you.

You look at the drawing again, holding it at arm’s length and rotating it experimentally. You’re seeing a lot, but nothing that screams ‘fish’. There’s a circle, still. Oh! “It’s a fish bowl! Wait, wait, wait— is that Reddie?”

“Yeah!” Rafayel beams.

“Aww!”

The renewed team spirit drops off with Sylus; he’s on his phone, not paying attention. He seems to sense your scrutiny because he peers up, gives a ghost of a smile, then returns to whatever he’s doing. Meanwhile, Xavier is ready for his turn, so he signals for you to start the timer. You give him a thumbs up as you turn it over. “Go!”

He starts drawing.

“A car,” Zayne guesses after all of five seconds. Correct. Next. “A river? No. Oh. A snake.” Yes. “A cupcake?” Also yes. (In fairness, he was never going to struggle with that one.) “A person? Ok. Oh, a scientist, no? Ah, a doctor.” Yes again, and really— what?

Zayne continues to list correct answers, though thankfully, that’s the last of the coincidences. You watch on, vaguely in awe, until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You check it casually, aware that Sylus is next to you, looking down at it too.

It’s a text from him: The drawing… Can I have it?

You glance up at him subtly, meeting his eyes and giving a discreet yet firm shake of your head. He frowns. You’re not having this debate here, now, so you let your gaze return to the drawing pad while idly retrieving your drink.

A few seconds later, there’s another text: Found buyer

Then another: Quarter of a mil

You almost choke on that drink.

“Umm… cutie?” Rafayel asks, poking you. He points at the timer you’ve left on the coffee table, and the top half is empty.

“Shit, yeah. That’s time!” you call.

Xavier stops drawing. The small, crude sketches behind him have reached double digits. He looks really proud. “Great! How many was that?”

His eyes find you. Zayne and Rafayel’s, too. Were you supposed to be counting? Uh—

“Eleven,” says Sylus, and it’s way too smug to be a lie.

“Awesome!” Xavier flips the drawing pad over to where you’ve been tallying point totals. He adds eleven marks to one side. “That’s—” he counts both— “ah, thirty-three to nine.”

A silence falls over the room. Unsure of what else to do, you give a half-hearted round of applause and Xavier laughs awkwardly, still humble, despite it all. “I think we’re kinda done with Pictionary, yeah?” you suggest, rising from your seat. “I should probably get started on food, anyway.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that.”

The insistence came from Xavier, and you freeze suspiciously; he’s never turned down free food.

“You’ve already done so much,” he explains, “setting this all up for us. You should relax, really! Leave it to me.”

The word ‘relax’ is not synonymous with the image of Xavier anywhere near your kitchen, but he’s looking at you so earnestly, blue eyes brimming with warmth, and what are you supposed to say? No thanks, Xavier— I value my life? Everyone’s watching you. Gods help you. “That’s really sweet, Xavier. Thanks.”

Your fellow Hunter’s smile widens even more. He heads off to the kitchen, a spring to his step that makes your heart sink with dread. “Actually—” you glance at your ex-teammates— “could you two go help him? Zayne and I’ll tidy up over here.”

Rafayel and Sylus do as they’re asked, even though their expressions remind you that cooking is not, typically, a three-man job. It’s tactical, though. You wanted a moment alone with Zayne. “Are you ok?” you ask, once the others are out of earshot. “I know this must all be a lot. The guys can be, well… yeah.”

He knows what you mean, right?

Zayne has slipped away from the couch; he’s crouched on the floor, collecting a few prompt cards that have wandered astray. He glances up at you, pushing his glasses back on his nose. “I’m ok,” he assures with a fond smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” He hands you the cards and you slot them back into their deck. Then you turn to the drawing pad. “You and Xavier make a good team, huh?”

The doctor straightens to his full height. “Mmm. It helped that we didn’t spend the entire game comparing the size of our… drawing abilities.” 

You laugh unashamedly. The pen’s still at-hand, so you pick it up— reward another point.

Zayne chuckles.

“Food’s gonna be a while.”

You both turn, following the voice back to Sylus, who has apparently decided he’s had his fill of kitchen duty. What was that— a minute? He seems to have anticipated your dissatisfaction, because he’s brought a bribe with him: the box of chocolates that had come with his bouquet. It’s already open and he holds it out, tempting you.

He’s right— you don’t know when you’ll next be eating— so you select a heart-shaped chocolate, popping it into your mouth with a smile and a muffled: “thanks.”

Sylus smiles back. Then he holds the box out to Zayne. “Doctor?”

It takes a nod of encouragement from you to prompt Zayne into taking something. He chooses a white chocolate truffle, mumbles his own thanks, but Sylus doesn’t relent— not yet. He shakes the box slightly, incitingly, and he doesn’t move it away until Zayne takes two more.

Your physician shoots you a surreptitious smile as Sylus falls back onto the couch, content he’s won your hearts, and that he won’t be sent back to the kitchen anytime soon. His long fingers lift another chocolate from the box, and he meets your eyes as he slips it slowly past his lips, humming likes he’s enjoying himself.

You cross your arms, unimpressed. He gives you the least convincing look of innocence you’ve ever seen.

There’s an exclamation from the kitchen: “Hey, where did my flowers go!?” 

Shit. You hastily push the drawing pad aside then scurry over to assist Rafayel. You don’t have a plan, exactly; it’s not like you can help him look for them. “Umm… they’re around, Raf. I moved them somewhere safer, that’s all.”

“Where?”

“Uh—”

“Does it matter?” Sylus speaks from behind you, because he and Zayne are close at your heels. “She said they’re somewhere safe.” He leans on the kitchen island. “Don’t you trust her?”

Rafayel scoffs. “I trust her plenty.”

“So prove it. Drop it.”

“Skye,” you caution, “stop.”

Sylus does stop, but not because you asked. He’s done enough already, hasn’t he? Rafayel is bristling with indignance— a lit fuse— and behind him, Xavier sneakily checks the trash can, looking relieved at what he doesn’t find. He gives you a subtle glance: Where actually are the flowers?

You lift a shoulder an inch: Beats me!

There’s a soft, almost imperceptible crackle, and it draws your eyes to the vase of daturas between you all. They’ve caught light— their petals twisting, darkening, within larger flowers of fire.

“Rafayel!” you gasp. “No, no, no, the fire alarm!”

The torched flowers are encased, all of a sudden, in a fine layer of shimmering frost. Sylus blinks down at them, unmoved by their destruction. Zayne’s hand is still outstretched, snowflakes etched over his palm. Then something… odd happens. The ice doesn’t stop. It spreads over the rest of the kitchen island, to all of your bewilderment.

“Zayne?” Your voice is fraught with worry, but you don’t give a damn about your kitchen.

The man winces, and you so rarely see him out of control. The silver-white patterns have crawled up his wrist, and the ice continues to spread; even Sylus steps back. Sharp, jagged crystals start to form— inching out towards everyone.

“Zayne!” you try again.

His chest rises as he drags air through his teeth; it looks like it hurts, but the ice does stop. The others are still, suspended by momentary uncertainty, and you rush to Zayne’s side, taking his hand.

“What the hell was that?” Rafayel remarks, shaking away his surprise and thawing an icicle that’s way too close for comfort.

“He wouldn’t have needed to use his Evol if you hadn’t used yours.”

It’s Xavier, strangely— you would have expected Sylus. The Hunter’s tone is gentle as always, but there’s something behind it, this time: a frustration that lends an edge.

Rafayel hears it too. “Hey, I’m not the one who started this!” He points to Sylus. “He—”

“Has been lighting fires all evening,” Xavier finishes. “But at least his were only figurative.”

Sylus laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh where you just know he’s vying to make things worse. “Look at that,” he says, “the boy next door can bite.”

Xavier’s eyes sharpen. Beside you, Zayne slips his hand from yours. It’s an instinct you know well. This moment is volatile, and you have to be ready. It could go a dozen different ways; it’s just waiting for a spark.

“Guys,” you manage to get out, “please, just… everyone, take a breath, ok? Everything’s fine, we just have to—”

A spark.

There’s smoke. Actual smoke. “Xavier, behind you!” Zayne alerts.

It’s creeping out of the oven and Xavier turns— eyes wide— to open its door before any of you can stop him. Thicker smoke billows out, filling the air, and you all scramble away from it. The fire alarm triggers. You think Rafayel’s shouting something, but you can’t really hear him. Then Sylus is shouting. Maybe even Zayne. The alarm is piercing your ears and making you dizzy— or is it the smoke?

You feel a hand on your shoulder and suddenly everything changes.

There’s cool air, brushing over your skin, and it’s dark; you’re outside the building. You can still hear the alarm, shrill but further away, and your window is easy to spot: there’s a red light flashing behind it. Sylus leans into your vision, saying your name.

“Stay here,” he tells you, “alright?”

He’s gone in another moment, lost to a flicker of crimson-black darkness.

Gods, you’re so stupid.

…

You sit on a short wall outside of your building, and the street is full of people. You recognise most of them: neighbours. Every single one is mad at you. You’re all waiting for the alarm to cut out— for the all-clear to be given. The fire wasn’t that serious in the end, but there’s still a procedure. You would know; this isn’t exactly your first evacuation.

The guys are safe, which is good, because it means you can kill them later. They’ve all gotten lost in the throng, and your neighbours can keep them. Maybe they’ll kill them for you.  

“Hey, cutie.”

You were staring down at your feet, but you look up at Rafayel’s voice. He’s coming towards you, evoking a sense of déjà vu, because he’s clutching a bouquet of flame lilies. That’s… the bouquet of flame lilies. How?

“Skye gave ‘em back to me,” he explains, chuckling at your expression, and he’s close enough now to hold the flowers out to you. “I don’t know where he was keeping them. His Evol’s weird, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say timidly, taking the bouquet and gazing down into the petals; they still smell sweet.

Rafayel sits next to you, shuffling close, and he leans his head on your shoulder with a tired sigh. You want to be mad at him. You really, really do— but you’re suddenly not.

“I’m sorry, Rafayel.” The admission barely makes it out of your throat.

You feel his head lift. “You’re sorry?”

“I know it was just a misunderstanding,” you speak into the flowers, “but tonight… wasn’t what you were expecting, I get it. I mean, I kinda threw you into the deep end with all this. You didn’t know you were gonna be around other people, and I—”

“Whoa— cut that out, yeah? You’re killing me, cutie. I spend the whole evening causing trouble, and you’re gonna take all the blame? Nope. Not happening. It was a collaborative effort at least, ok?”

You giggle. “Ok.”  

“Good.” His head slumps back down on your shoulder, and yours tilts to rest against it. “Thanks, though. Really,” he whispers, so quiet you almost don’t notice.

Footsteps and familiar voices draw you from the intimacy of the moment. The others are wandering back to you, having finally escaped the veritable mob of your neighbours. They all look tired.

Xavier settles down on the other side of you, and Zayne sits beside him. Sylus takes a seat next to Rafayel with a huff, but he’s not half as unhappy as he’s pretending to be.

All of you sit in silence, gazes flitting between your window— where there are still glimpses of moving figures— and everyone else who’s been evacuated. For the first time all evening, the quiet isn’t tense. It’s peaceful. Easy.

“We’ll do better next time,” Zayne speaks softly.

Next time? You scoff. “Do any of you actually want there to be a next time?”

“I had fun,” Sylus chuckles. He’s taken his coin from his pocket, and he flips it, amusing himself.

“I had fun too,” Xavier grins.

“Cooking again, Xavier?” quips one of your neighbours, as they happen to pass by.

The man beside you laughs, but you can tell it’s forced. Your hand finds his; you give it a little squeeze, letting him know that it wasn’t his fault. His heart was in the right place. It’s always in the right place.

You nudge Rafayel away from you so you can sit up straighter, your free hand rubbing your arm, caressing prickled skin. You’re about to ask for a jacket when something heavy drapes over your shoulders. It’s a coat— still warm— and its owner is stood behind you; you didn’t even notice him get up.

“Thanks, Sylus,” you smile.

All eyes turn to you. What are they—?

Oh.

[firstkanaphans]

RE your tags on the bromance thing - I think I allowed myself to get a little panicky earlier when seeing a few people talk about there potentially being more, and whilst there are a few points made that I can understand, I do feel like the amount of worry I’m seeing it maybe a little preemptive?

Like, I do agree that it feels stupid to put TayNew in a bromance series; if they wanted two actors that are close & have worked together before, why not Tay and Off or New and Gun or something? BUT I did see that Tay and New actually wanted to do a bromance series together, so there’s part of me thinking that this was THEIR choice to do this series and not give it to some other actors. (And let’s be fair, I don’t think there’s anyone else who could have made this show so warm, angsty, and lovely.)

I feel like GMMTV has really been embracing their BLs a bit more if I’m honest, and sure, they do queer baiting in their non-queer shows, but who doesn’t? You can watch anything on Netflix or whatever and find ‘bromances’ that are severe queer baiting.

I kinda feel like sometimes people pile on GMMTV a bit much, all because they’re kinda like the biggest company in the drama community that does decent queer dramas? I don’t know if that’s just me being blind to their flaws, but I sometimes think they get a little more hate than other production companies and not always deservedly? (I mean I know they aren’t perfect and I call out their bullshit myself, but I feel like sometimes it’s ‘cool’ to hate on them?)

Sorry if none of this makes sense and I’m rambling - it’s almost 2am and I really need to sleep 🤣

In my opinion, these claims that GMMTV is going to pivot to bromances because they’re less gay and more profitable are absolutely baseless. Bromances are not new to GMMTV. They’re not even new to TayNew as I believe I’m Tee, Me Too was a bromance as well. Like you said, P’Dome explicitly stated that TayNew wanted to film a show together that was not a BL. Should they not be able to? And weren’t these same people complaining just days ago that CPs are never allowed to act outside of their CP? Now, they’re mad when they do.

What people are losing their marbles over is literally just the cast and crew having a good time with the fans. Did they play into the shipping aspect both onscreen and off? Of course they did! What writer worth their salt would have passed up such a perfect opportunity? But to me, it didn’t feel malicious. It felt like P’Dome was just having fun and giving Polcas a little nod. I almost feel like it would have been more strange if he hadn’t.

People certainly don’t have to like bromances, but it’s like We Are all over again where people were saying its very existence was indicative of the fall of the genre as we know it. And that’s just utterly ridiculous. This isn’t a queer story where the queerness was censored. In fact, there were explicit queer themes throughout. This is just a platonic love story and a lot of people who may not be interested in romantic relationships have found immense value in that.

Like I said in my tags, P’Aof is the Director of Content Production at GMMTV, meaning he is literally the one in charge of what content is being produced, and I’m choosing to trust the gay Thai man who has dedicated his career to this. He has such a passion for telling queer stories. Why would he stop now?

But like you said, it’s become hip to hate on GMMTV. And look, I don’t like corporations either, but let’s not pretend like GMMTV isn’t really fucking gay. Because they are. This is not a company that has ever shied away from explicitly queer content and is actually making more of it than ever before, so I’m not going to fault them for adding a few shows for the straights too. And if they have to make het stuff, I would much rather sit through a bromance than anything else.

I mean Jesus Christ. Peaceful Property was fun. I had fun. And it was also really good—easily my favorite offering from GMMTV all year—so if they want to make a hundred more bromances just like this, I’m certainly not going to complain about it. Some people just don’t want to enjoy anything.

(And go to sleep, Pip! It’s late 😂)

[romana-after-dark]

Our Gentle Sins: Part 9

Thank you so so so much to @plasticbabies for making this beautiful header!!!! we finally have a good one!

Dark!Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Series Masterlist : Main Masterlist : Logan Masterlist

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Chapter summary: Past. You aren't good enough for Logan. Present. Logan makes you feel good.

Warnings: This fic features non con, pregnancy, and themes of religous trauma. I will not be saying everything that happens to warm you, by clicking read more you are prepared for extremely dark themes and that you at 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Before

“Please stop worrying about me.”

“You’re hurt.”

Logan reached up and took your wrist gently. “Everything is literally already healed, Dolly.”

You look down at him, eyes wet with worry and anxiety as you dabbed at his forehead with a wet washcloth. Since getting back inside, you hadn’t stopped fretting over him. “I know… but you got hurt because of me, please let me just do… something?”

Logan acquiesced, letting go of you so you could clean him. “You didn’t get hurt because of me, doll face.”

“But you did.” Logan took a few tumbles fighting Scott, leaning him fine, but bloody. You’re thankful Logan did hurt Scott for touching you, Scott doesn’t have healing, and you know Logan would feel horrible hurting or even killing Scott over a misunderstanding.

There was silence as he let you care for him even though he was healed. It was for your own sanity, to know you weren’t completely useless. You clean off his handsome face, taking the blood off his skin, even cleaning his hairline and beard with tender touches despite his rough skin. He closed his eyes, leaning into the touch, and you even heard him humming.

You couldn’t meld the two Logan’s in your head, couldn’t make sense of what you saw this evening with the kitty purring in your arms right now. He had been vicious, ready to kill Scott for sliding your dress a mere inch to the side. Yes, it was embarrassing and you didn’t like it but it wasn’t worth disemboweling him for. Logan, the Logan you knew was a gentle giant, soft enough to cradle the duckling on the side of the road you saw while driving home from church with him and taking it to the pond with its family. Your Logan offered to take you to a nondenominational church in the first place so you could pray. Your Logan only hurt you in the throes of a nightmare.

“It wasn’t your fault, Logan. You didn’t mean to hurt me.”

But he shook his head as you sat by his side. ”Not meaning to doesn’t erase the fact you have scars on your back now.”

He was right, it didn’t, but you didn’t really care. “Lo… that doesn’t matter to me. Honestly, it doesn’t. You were having a nightmare, sometimes-”

“I almost killed Rogue. During a nightmare. She came to check on me, just like you did, got stabbed right through the chest.”

Your heart clenched at yes, the thought of sweet Rogue in such pain, but also how much guilt Logan carried around.

“She touched me and was able to absorb my powers, make heal herself… but if that had been anyone else, if that had been you?” He shook his head. “I’d skin myself alive before I hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

And you nod, because you do. Logan wasn’t like Mark. “I know… that’s why you fought Scott, to protect me.”

Logan chuckles lowly. “I wasn’t just foughting him, Dolly. I was gonna kill him for laying a hand on you.”

This makes you frown. “It wasn’t that serious.”

But he catches your wrist, eyes snapping up to you with a burning intensity you rarely see in the calm brown eyes of his. “You are that serious to me. Scott should know to keep his weasley hands off you.”

You make no attempt to pull away. “But it was a misunderstanding!” You protest. “He thought you hurt me, he wanted to-”

“Scott doesn’t want anything other than to prove he was right about me all along. If it was about the claw marks I wouldn’t even care, because baby doll if I had seen that someone hurt you, they’d be dead.” He stands, imposing height and broad frame should be fearful, but you didn’t fear Logan. Instead, you simply stare up at him. “You hear me, Dolly? Fucking dead. But that’s not why Scott cares. He doesn’t care about you, not like I do. He just hates me.”

You try to make sense of this information. You knew Scott wasn’t fond of Logan; they never interacted outside of necessity, didn’t get sent on missions alone together. Remy was sent on one once because the skillset fit Logan and Scott best, but Remy was there just to function as a peacekeeper, a buffer he said. Still, you didn’t think it was that bad. Scott was kind, friendly, and caring. Logan was the sweetest heart you knew.

Taking his other hand, you prompt him to continue. “Why, Logan? When you’re so…”

“So what?” Logan chuckles. “Insane?”

“Good.”

The words hang in the air, soaking into his skin as if he hoped you could speak it into existence. He didn’t believe it, but you truly, truly did. You’d spend forever making him see what you saw in him.

He simply shakes his head, looking down but not at you. “He’s got a right to hate me, baby dolly. ‘Fraid I’m not the good guy in this story.”

“Logan.” You emphasize his name, pleading with him for clarity. “What happened between you?”

“It ain’t gonna make me look very good in your sweet little eyes. ”A deep breath and a long talk later he told you what happened, how he came to Xavier institute with Rogue, how he fell in love with Jean Grey. That part shocked and carved a pit in your stomach, because she was always someone you compare yourself to, with her beautiful red hair and soft eyes, her thin but strong body curving in a beautiful wave. And she was a mutant. You always fretted about not being a mutant, if that was a turn off for Logan that you were weak, useless, needed to be protected.

Logan laid it out for you, how he knowingly and willingly began an affair with Jean, that she cheated on Scott. This also surprised you. Scott was someone you liked a lot, seemed like a loving husband. He clearly adored Jean. Why would she cheat? Still, you were disappointed in Logan. He knew what he was did.

“Well… you’re right. You are the bad guy here…”

“I know.”

“But Lo… she made her own choice. I mean, it wasn’t good of you, especially to Scott-”

“What do you mean, ‘Especially Scott?” Logan’s voice held scrutiny, and you couldn’t help smirk a little at him.

“I mean he’s kind, Logan. I know you can’t really see it, you don’t like him, but he is.”

He relaxes. "Sorry... old habits die hard, I guess..." Logan's hand reaches up to cup your face, thumbing gently over your cheek. His eyes held worry as he searched yours for answers. "Does that ruin things, dolly?"

Heat creeps up your body, warming your neck. You and him... you never addressed what this was between you, and you wanted to keep it that way. You loved him, of course you loved Logan, you loved him in a way you'd never felt for your husband. What you felt for Mark was teenage infatuation of a child who didn't know she was being taken advantage of. This was real. Logan was sweet, he was kind, and most importantly to you he was gentle.

Your parent's followed the teaching of the Pearls, their book, "To Train Up a Child" was second only to the bible in your household, and you remember watching in horror as they smacked your younger siblings to prevent them from leaving a laid put blanket. When you protested, your mother asked "so, you want Grace to go to hell?" You didn't know what to think of that, so you couldn't protest anymore, because of course, of course you don't want your sister to go to hell! So it was hell or aggression? Was gentleness a sin? You were conditioned to accept abuse as love, that domestic discipline was your husband teaching you because he loved you, he wanted better for you.

His hand leaves your face when he notices you shrink back.

"Lo, I'm... I'm not right for you."

His hands drop to his sides, bewilderment clouding his face. "Is this about not being able to have kids? Dolly, I want that with you, of course i do but... a baby that doesn't even exist yet isn't more important to me than you are... dolly I lo-"

But you backed away. Shaking your head in your now-dirty dress, hair falling out of it's pins, you looked so sad, like you were falling apart. It broke his heart.

"I don't just mean that."

He blinks. "It is the pants thing?" You mentioned it early, that he deserved someone who doesn't cry when they try on pants. "baby, I don't care if you can't wear pants or drive or, or whatever it is you think is wrong with you. I love you as you are! I want to help you, me and Remy, we can help you get better but if i have to drive you around for the rest of our lives..." He chuckles wryly, hands stretched out in pleading, begging for you to fall into him the way you wanted to. "Well, you won't hear me complaining. Whatever it takes to have you in my life."

But he didn't know you. He thought the only worries you had were the leftover weird little habits you had from your upbringing and nothing could be further from the truth. "I'm not who you think i am, Logan. there's- there's something wrong with me. Something very, very wrong and I'm a bad person who-"

"Dolly..."

"I DESERVE EVERYTHING BAD THAT HAPPENED TO ME!"

You're cry echoes off the walls of the school hall, and you can't even bare to face him. He will just try to tell you that you didn't deserve it, that you are good.

But that is only because he doesn't know you.

If Logan knew the truth, he could never look at you again.

You turn around and ran away.

After

The sound of prom flowed in through the window, your students laughing and having fun to the music. You were glad, even if you couldn't see. Everything those kids have worked through, the trauma they experienced gets to go away for a night. They don't have to be mutants. They don't have to be the freaks they were called by the ones who were supposed to love them. They were just teenagers.

Logan held you in his arms, his body radiating heat and strength and protection you couldn't help be drawn to. Maybe it was the pregnancy, a biological urge to have someone who is going to protect you. Maybe it was your body being drawn to it's father. Maybe you were just weak.

"Let me take care of you, Dolly..." He whispered against the corner of your mouth, lips ghosting over yours like they were asking for permission. "Won't let no one hurt you again, you and our baby... we could be so happy."

Flashes of his abuse flicked, the way you held your arms over your eyes because you couldn't make sense of Logan being the one doing this to you. because it was easier to pretend it was someone else. How you sobbed. How he slapped you... How he held you so sweetly after, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry...' but as soon as they were came, they left when your hand on his shoulder grazes his collarbone.

So warm.

You couldn't do this alone. You were terrified, terrified of having a baby, of having a baby out of wedlock, of the shame and embarrassment and the questions. There would be so many questions. Scott knows, so who else does? Has Remy figured it out? Remy wouldn't hate you for having a baby with a man you weren't with, would he? Of course not, but your old beliefs creep in.

"I'll marry you, Dolly." Logan whispers. "My little wife... my perfect girl... You'll never have to worry again..."

It sounded nice. it sounded safe. It sounded like your Logan, the Logan you trusted...

"We're both a little fucked up, aren't we?"

You remember. you remember the things you'd done. The story you trusted to Logan before he did what he did to you...

"you can't ever do that again, Logan..." You say, hesitantly, and you can feel him smile against your lips.

"Never. I'd never hurt my baby doll."

He wouldn't hurt his baby doll. His girl. his wife. The mother of his child... Logan had given you what you wanted, your baby... you could have it all again. A happy family. A husband. A good life here at the school... all you had to do was forgive and forget.

It was what the bible taught, wasn't it? He confessed his sins. He was forgiven by god, so who were you to hold out?

"Okay." You whisper and nod. "I forgive you. Just..." Your eyes meet his, and there's a hope in there you haven't seen for months. "Just don't fail me this time."

"Never." The lips that had been so clos you could feel the lines finally collided with yours again, and it was like the damn had broke. Hands pawed at skin and you kissed Logan like you were trying to swallow him whole, a communion of two bodies pulled together. Logan picked you up, pressing your back against the wall as he ground his hips against your pubic bone, your legs and arms wrapped tightly around him like you'd wanted to do for nearly a year.

Don't fail me, Logan Howlett

"Taste so pretty" Logan murmurs, shuttering as his erection pressed against you. He wasn't exactly making sense, so lost in your that words came out messy and jumbled and god, did it make your head spin. He was drunk of you.

He carried you to your bed, laying you down so gently he cradled your head until it hit the pillow, soft as his lips on your neck. Your dress rucked up around your thighs, falling down when he spread them to loop at your core. You wore tights, of course, but Logan was not hindered. One claw came out just enough for him to cut through the black material, revealing the wet spot of your cotton panties. You should feel embarrassed, honestly, that you weren't wearing the sexiest of clothes, but the way Logan looked at you all of that dissapeared.

Guilt crawled under your skin, a creeping feeling in the back of your head that this was wrong, that this was something god frowned on, that you were bad for doing this...

You wish you knew him before it felt like like a sin.

Logan's mouth was warm over your still-clothed cunt; he mouthed over it, his licking adding to the wetness pooling until sharp teeth tore at the material, masking you gasp once and then again when he dove into you.

Mark never touched you like this.

He never loved you like this.

Logan's tongue on your pussy was unlike anything you'd experienced before, his fingers so much thicker than your own and god, nothing had ever felt so good before.

"Want you to cum, baby doll." he whispers to your cunt. "give it to me, cum on my face." His arm wrapped around your leg, holding you down as you squirm and pleasure and all the overwhelming sensations. "You can do it baby. Let me taste you."

Your hands card though his hair, gripping him; when you cum, you pull so hard on the dark waves for a moment you think you've hurt him... but when he finishes lapping up your juices, his head pops out from under your skirt... he's grinning.

That ear to ear, shit eating, boyish grin you loved so much about him before, before it all got so complicated.

When Logan slid inside you, it didn't hurt. you felt a stretch, sure, but not pain... still, there was an aching inside you, a pain that screamed out SOMETHING IS WRONG! ITS WRONG! ITS WRONG! but you shoved it away. It was just the guilt, that's all. It was guilt from a religion that tore you to shreds, that stripped down every essence of your being until you were a shell, a community of people dependent on thought crimes and martyrdom that somehow never applied to men the way it did to you, and made you feel dirty for wanting to feel pretty. That's what it was.

This with Logan, it wa right. That's why God gave you a baby, right? You were being rewarded. Mark wasn't the one, Logan was. it was fine. it was good.

And he made you feel so, so good.

Logan fucked your body with a passion you didn't know what possible, his hands wandering and groping and feeling, just needing to know every single inch of you, learning what made you gasp and moan and what made you tense and uncomfortable. He drove his cock so deep inside you that you saw stars, an intense sensation of being full, so fucking full. All the while, he was gentle with your stomach, always touching it in some way, needing to be close you know, knowing he was the reason you had stretch marks and he was the reason you swelled with a child.

"Mine." Logan growled, claiming your mouth with fervor and passion as he hips slammed inside you. "You're mine, dolly, and no one is ever going to take you away f-from me, FUCK!"

You didn't care who heard you, if anyone left the party early and came to the rooms. Remy's was the closest, and he certainly wouldn't care.

You let your pleasure me known, moaning his name as your fingernails clawed up his back faster than he could heal. Logan like the pain, smiling when you drew blood. It made you feel good to make it smile. It made you feel good to make him hurt.

You thought he'd cum inside; you were already pregnant so there was no other risk. Logan remained unpredictable.

After he makes you cum so hard you bite through his skin, Logan pulls out with a 'pop!' and flips up your dress. You watch in aw as he jerks himself off, strong body, soft muscles, and the absolute look of lust on his face as he stared directly down on your cunt, painting it with rope after rope of white cum. He was filing it away for his memory, the way his seed covered you, sticking to the public hair and contrasting against your skin.

Once he was sure he'd never forget, and every last drop was pulled from his softening cock, Logan's tongue cleaned you.

THEY FUCKED!!!!!!

we're not at the end though, tee hee! still more!

My tags have not been tagging??????? s be careful and make sure youre caught up!!! also if you wanna join my discord to keep up, let me know! it is a fully leftist group, pro queer, anti-zionism, leftist etc etc

check out these events!

1000 follower fundraiser game!

dead dove december

@multiversed-daydreamer @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @del-ightfulling @miraclesabound @hindi-si-ikay @samsamsantos @madamerubrum @shybluebirdninja a @hornystan @rogueinmymind @accountforreading123 @yawnetu @princessanglophile @and-claudia @new-genesis1000 @teaganthemorningstar @oldloganslittleslut @zaggprincess2 @bugsinmyeyez @groundclueless @cosmolight

[hippolotamus]

Fuck it Friday 🔥

tagged by my beloved @bidisasterevankinard @tizniz 💖

putting the Fuck in Fuck it Friday with something of a throwback. Every fic that I write has parts that get cut. Stuff that I adored but just didn't gel with the rest of the story. So I keep all that in a notes file because you never know when it might be useful for something else. here's a smutty snip that got cut from Eddie and Buck's drive in date in whatever may come (your heart I will choose)

Buck shimmies himself to the floor, wedging in the space in a way that can’t possibly be good for his leg. “Should you—” “‘M fine, promise,” he insists, looking up at Eddie like he’s near begging and hoping he won’t be told ‘no’. “Just wanna make you feel good, baby. Let me do that. Please?” For all the space he takes up, Buck seems small by the time ‘please’ spills out. Like he’ll only feel worthy if Eddie agrees. His fingers are already on Eddie’s belt, ready to unbuckle it the moment he’s allowed.  They’ve talked about it some, the way Buck feels the need for approval. How he seeks out validation through sex, even now that he’s past his 1.0 stage. Eddie’s still not entirely sure what that means, but he’s learned enough to tell when that’s what Buck is looking for or when he’s simply trying to discipline himself for some perceived wrongdoing. Right now, it seems like a bit of both.  “Sweetheart.” Eddie tips Buck’s head up, so he’s forced to make eye contact. “Remember what I said. There’s no earning here. We can go back up front, watch half the universe disappear, and that’s more than okay.” “I know. I just- please, Eddie. I just want everything to be perfect.” 

He could say something like ‘it already is’, but he knows how much planning Buck would have done to put tonight together. All the behind the scenes work of coordinating schedules, persuading Bobby to let him off early if it was possible, making sure Christopher would be well cared for. Something like ‘it already is’ might sound too placating. He chooses to respond with something 16-year old Eddie never would have considered, let alone done. 

Eddie carefully cards through Buck’s neatly gelled curls. “It is. You are. You did so well.” He can see Buck already beginning to absorb the praise, wearing it like a blanket, sinking into it. “You put this all together for me. For us. I never had to say a thing, you just did it. Because you’re always thinking of other people. Christ, I don’t know how I ever got so lucky with you. You’re always so damn good for me.”

Buck’s fingertips are absentmindedly toying with the clasp on Eddie’s belt, making a light clinking noise. Eddie keeps talking, giving Buck what he needs.

“And, fuck, you’re so gorgeous. All the time, but especially right now. Those beautiful blue eyes and perfect lips. So fucking pretty.” Eddie lightly scratches over Buck’s wrists, his knuckles. “Look at you, so desperate already. Just waiting for me to tell you it’s okay.” 

“Mmhmm.” Buck nods emphatically in agreement. A small whine escapes and his breaths become faster, a little more ragged.

The personality shift always amazes him. As if chatty, exuberant Buck fades away, leaving a version that is a different type of attentive, blindly trusting whatever Eddie tells him. Eddie doesn’t personally understand, but gets that it works for Buck. And he’s not saying anything just for Buck’s benefit, he means every bit of it. 

“You can’t though, can you? Can’t wait to get my dick in your mouth, down your throat. But you have been waiting so patiently even though I know you don’t want to. Because you’re so, so good for me, and I haven’t given you permission yet. Should I?”

Buck pleads. “Eddie, I- please. Gonna be so good for you.”

“I know you are.” Eddie rolls his hips up into Buck’s hands, wants Buck to know the effect he’s having. He flicks his gaze down to his belt buckle, making sure Buck notices. “Go ahead then.”

The three words are barely out before Buck is undoing Eddie’s belt and zipper, opening his jeans just enough to get where he wants. Buck’s breath is warm and damp, mouthing at Eddie’s cock through his boxers, making Eddie’s hips jerk in response. Buck hums, nosing along the thin cotton, teasing like he’s making up for the minutes Eddie made him wait. Finally, he’s parting the slit in the fabric, swirling his tongue around the head, taking Eddie down in microbursts of time. Eddie grips Buck’s hair, not to force him down, just to show his appreciation. 

“That good, baby? Want more?” 

Christ, it’s infuriating how quickly Buck can slip into his cocky side, all smooth and velvet that could make Eddie do anything. “Fuck you. You know the answer.”

“Oh, I do,” he chuckles, adding a series of teasing licks around the head and over the slit. “I just want to hear you say it.”

Eddie waits until Buck is shallowly sucking the head and thrusts up into Buck’s mouth, only once, feeling drunk on the surprised moan it earns him. “You mean you want to hear how fucking talented you are? Because you know I love when you’re all sloppy and desperate, sucking me off like you’re fucking starving? How I can’t wait to come down your throat and watch you take all of it? That what you wanna hear?”

Buck gives a deep, throaty hum in response. The vibrations carry down Eddie’s shaft, making him even more wound up every time Buck’s head bobs, taking Eddie deeper. In the dark, he can’t see the way he prefers. He can’t watch the way Buck’s irises shift between shades, how his pupils dilate and the black dances at the edge of the blue. Even so he can still see the way Buck looks up at him through his lashes. Can feel the warm, wet pressure of Buck’s mouth surrounding him, pressing his tongue to the underside. And the light offers just enough so Eddie can see the slick shine on Buck’s lips. 

“Jesus, do you even know how hot you look like this?” Eddie growls, stroking Buck’s cheek. “How fucking perfect you are? Christ, you’re doing so well for me, being so good.”

He knows he should, but Eddie can’t bring himself to care about the other cars nearby. Not when the windows are dark enough and nobody can probably see them anyway. Not when Buck is sucking harder, and moving faster in response to Eddie’s praise coming out in words and grunts. Especially not when the pressure – pleasure – is coiling tighter, building until he’s digging his fingertips into the underside of his thighs when it all peaks, crashing over him and he can only hope no one else hears the cry that spills out. 

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, content and boneless. “Definitely never had anything like that in high school.”

“Always happy to be of service.” Buck smirks and drops a kiss to Eddie’s softening cock before putting him back together. 

Eddie lazily grabs for Buck, pulling him up into his lap. “Now, what about you?”

“Oh, I can think of a few things.” 

They kiss, deep and slow, Eddie’s fingers tracing swirling patterns along Buck’s spine while he tastes his release on Buck’s tongue. 

“Think you can wait until we get home?” 

“I, uh, I guess?” Buck squirms a little, looking confused and trying to hide his disappointment.

“Perfect, because I have plans for you.” Eddie presses his lips to the tip of Buck’s nose, his cheek and chin, and finally a nip to the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. “How fast can you get us there?”

“Now?”

Eddie relaxes against the headrest, feigning indifference. “I mean our drinks are probably all watered down and your popcorn is gonna be gross now, but we can stay if you really want to.”

“We’ll be home in twenty,” Buck answers, already scrambling to get to the front, thankfully using the doors this time. 

It may not be what Buck originally planned, but, yeah, this is going to be a fun night.

np tagging @diazsdimples @stereopticons @theotherbuckley @daffi-990 @actuallyitsellie

@epicbuddieficrecs @loveyouanyway @diazheartsbuckley @saybiwithme

@spotsandsocks @dr-shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @dangerpronebuddie

@kitteneddiediaz @your-catfish-friend @thekristen999 @filet-o-feelings @wikiangela

@rainbow-nerdss @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @dorkydiaz @bi-buckrights

@bucksbiawakening @bekkachaos @beyourownanchor6 @lemonzestywrites @monsterrae1

@statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @thelikesofus @wildlife4life @eowon

@rewritetheending @bucksbignaturals @swiftiefirefighters and anyone else who wants to 😘

[exols-silver-christmas]

So I can't be the only one who's noticed the decline in fanmade exo content here on Tumblr. We've gone from a fandom who's new posts could be measured in hours to a fandom who's posts have days....to weeks....to months....to even years for some specific tags.

We have had 6 solo album comebacks this year, 3 fancon tours, 2 solo concert tours, a myriad of festival concert appearances, youtube videos, magazine shoots, instalives, etc. Yet if you go to the exo tag it's mainly populated by archive blogs. And the nude bots, which....that's a whole other problem on its own. I digress. My point being, the tags, at least from what I've seen (I admit I haven't looked into the shipping tags) are being filled by the same handful of blogs yet given the high amount of source material, no one seems to be doing anything with it beyond archiving it.

Again this could just be because I didn't delve too deep or too far back, but it does have me wondering if part of the reason participation this year was down was simply because there's hardly anyone left.

There's been instances in the past where others have attempted to inject new life into the fandom so to speak, with....varying...level of success. The exo revival project being the first and most successful that comes to mind. I'm wondering what everyone else's thoughts are on the matter and if holding new fandom events might be a way to involve more people year round because I really do want to continue holding this event next year but if things keep going the way they have been there won't be anyone signing up.

Let me know what you think, ideas you might have, reblog this and tag your mutuals to get them involved in the discussion. I have a few ideas that I've pilfered from other fandoms, watch alongs. Fic bingo. Theres valentines exchanges. Fandom sleepovers. Heck I'd set up a Tumblr based scavenger hunt if I thought people would play. Like....we dont have to be monoliths in a placid sea of we don't want to. Fandom can be fun. It should be fun.

[maxheart]

day 15, horror

[shepscapades]

[Pt 1] [Pt 2] [Pt 3] [Pt 4] [Pt 5] [Pt 6] [PART 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Nobody Anymore Nobody Anymore

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction. This part concludes this comic, but this moment doesn't end here: Don't Let it Reach the Heart will be the title of the fic that will follow the end of Destruction!]

[thatsleepymermaid]

Quick post on what's happening in Atlanta right now

So there's this beautiful trail in Atlanta called the South River Forest Trail. As we all know, Atlanta Georgia is renowned for their tree cover and historic forests. 

The City of Atlanta and corporations like Delta, AT&T and Amazon are funding a massive police training center that will destroy the forest.

Dubbed ‘cop city’ by many protesters, this will cost about $90 million  to build. This will be used to further militarize Atlanta’s police leading to more incidents of police brutality in the city. 

On January 18th indigenous activist Manuel “Tortuguita” Teran was shot and killed by the police for defending this historic forest from destruction. Their reason? “He did not comply” (Tort went by They/them/it but report said “he”). Many protests have been going on in Atlanta to defend this forest.

Since Tortuguita's death, the situation has quickly deteriorated

This forest is very dear to me but I am unable to physically protest at the moment, so I am handing this off to Tumblr to spread awareness. Rebloging this may help this tragedy become part of national news instead of just an Atlanta problem.

Donation and petition links to stop cop city

https://www.gofundme.com/f/stoptheswap2020

https://act.colorofchange.org/sign/no-cop-city-atl/

https://defendtheatlantaforest.org/solidarity

[amarguerite]

I think maybe my take away from this national nightmare is that American voters are on average trapped on the first level of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs l. and the price of groceries is literally the make or break issue for most, to the point where it doesn’t matter why the grocery bill is higher or who can control that or how it can be controlled

[decideroffacts]

hey nice heart stardust can i have that

[flygefisk]

happy mother's day oolong is your mom now

[teeth--king]

I gotta make more dynamic/story telling art, so making some of my boy Elliot. He gets some suffering as a treat.

[solarmorrigan]

Requested by @westifer-dead (I think?? I hope that was directed at me)

This probably wasn't what you had in mind, but in my defense, it absolutely was not what I planned on writing. It sorta snuck up on me. I hope this is okay, though <3

🖤 kissing while crying / goodbye kiss / desperation

Prompt from this post

Tags/CW: transmasc Steve, fairly explicit depiction of menstruation, resulting mentions of blood, mentions of dysphoria, Steve's internal dialogue is rather unkind to himself in this one (soft ending, though??)

-

Steve’s first, horrified thought when he wakes feeling an uncomfortable amount of damp sticking his boxers to his skin is that he’s somehow managed to piss the bed.

The immediate wakefulness caused by that thought, however, is enough to give him a second one – particularly when he feels the ache low in his gut and spreading down his hips as he rolls over to toss the covers back and reveal the red stain on both his underwear and the sheets.

Fuck.

He’s early.

His period shouldn’t have been along for another couple of days, at least, and Steve hadn’t even thought about putting on a pad before getting into bed—he glances at the clock—two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” Steve hisses.

He’d gotten home from the world’s most frustrating late shift sometime after midnight and had actually managed to get to sleep by one, and now his body is pulling this shit on him – waking him with pain and mess at three in the goddamn morning, days before it had any right to. And now his boxers are probably toast, and the sheets might be salvageable but he’s going to have to get up and change them right now, and he’s so fucking tired, and it’s three in the morning, and when he shifts to sit up, he’s caught for a moment by the sticky-slick feeling of blood drying against his skin.

He does his best to swallow back the feeling of nausea that creeps up on him at the sensation,  but it’s something he hasn’t had the stomach for since being covered in Eddie’s blood after hauling him out of the Upside Down, and the cramps really aren’t helping.

It’s for all these reasons that he’s probably less gentle than he could be when he reaches over to shake Eddie awake.

“Eddie, wake up.”

Eddie groans and rolls over, curling up with his back to Steve.

Steve huffs and gives him a shove. “Eddie.”

“S’early,” Eddie grumbles. “G’way.”

Normally, Steve doesn’t mind Eddie’s steadfast refusal to wake up for anything less than three alarms and the promise of coffee. Sometimes he even has fun with it, seeing how quickly he can rouse Eddie with other sorts of promises. Right now, though, he has less than no patience, and he grabs his pillow and whacks Eddie in the side with it.

“Wake up!”

“Whatthefuck,” Eddie gasps, bolting upright and glancing around the room for his assailant.

Later, Steve might feel bad; for now, he only drawls, “You awake now?”

“Did you hit me with a pillow?” Eddie demands, eyeing the weapon in Steve’s hands.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Steve says. “I need you to get up for a minute.”

“What? Why, what’s– oh.” Eddie much catch sight of the mess as Steve twists to shove the pillow back behind himself. “Shit.”

Steve’s face heats with embarrassment. “Shut up,” he snaps. “Just get out of the bed.”

Clumsily, Eddie moves to obey. “I didn’t mean–”

“It’s– never mind, I shouldn’t have snapped, sorry, just–” Steve sighs. “Just let me change the sheets.

He strips the comforter from the bed and rolls it up to toss it into the chair in the corner of the room to be put back on when he’s done, but he doesn’t make it much farther before his body betrays him with another wave of squeezing cramps and a dribble of blood sliding down the inside of his thigh from under the loose leg of his boxers.

He swears and lunges for the tissue box on his bedside table to catch the drip before it can hit the floor, and he can hear Eddie hiss a breath in through his teeth – it’s probably in sympathy, Steve recognizes distantly, but in the moment he still feels like he might die of shame.

“Let me– let me get cleaned up. Just a minute,” Steve mutters, balling the tissue up in his fist and making for the dresser. “Then I’ll finish with the sheets.”

“Why don’t you go take a quick shower?” Eddie suggests quietly. “I can finish the sheets.”

Yanking a pair of briefs out of the dresser, Steve slams the drawer shut. “I can clean up my own damn mess, Eddie.”

“I know you can, but you don’t have to,” Eddie says, much more patiently than Steve probably deserves. “I’m betting you’ll feel ten times better if you get the chance to rinse off, so go ahead. You know how much I love wrestling with the fitted sheet.”

Steve should probably say no. It’s stupid to make Eddie clean up after him when he’s perfectly capable of doing it himself.

He should say no, but he doesn’t want to.

He glances back at Eddie, who looks nothing but sincere in his offer, and nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and Eddie gives him a little smile and a nod in return.

In the bathroom, Steve makes the water as hot as he can stand it and pops two Advil before stripping and shoving his boxers straight into the trash. If he tried hard enough, he might be able to get the stain out, but he doesn’t have the mental fortitude to contemplate doing that right now. His t-shirt has been spared any blood, but he puts it in the hamper to be washed, anyway. It just feels dirty now.

There are some months where Steve’s period comes and goes without any fuss; it’s an inconvenience and a bit of a drain, but hardly worth comment. Then there are some months that shove Steve headfirst into ten different stages of dysphoria and various neuroses for no apparent reason.

This one feels like it’s going to be the latter.

Even once he’s standing under the shower spray, the blood already sluiced down the drain, Steve doesn’t feel like he’s ever going to be clean again. He knows it’s his shitty brain lying to him, he knows that the feeling will go away in a few days—a week, at most—but that doesn’t help him now.

He wastes an extra ten minutes in the shower, trying to convince himself he’s only staying in because the hot water is helping his cramps (only partially true; he’s so tense that they haven’t really abated, and in fact have crawled up his sides now, seizing on the scar tissue from his bat bites and yanking his whole abdomen in tight, but he’s hoping it will help with his cramps), but he does eventually manage to force himself out and dry off.

With the fuck-off-biggest pad he owns shoved into his underwear, Steve heads back to the bedroom and stops short inside the door.

The lights are still dim, and Eddie is waiting up for him, sitting against the pillows with his book. He’s not only changed the sheets and fixed the comforter, but he’s laid out a pair of pajamas for Steve – the exact pair he prefers when he’s having a particularly bad day. And for some reason, that’s it for Steve.

The tears hit before he can even try to choke them off, and Eddie must not be very immersed in his book, because the first ragged breath is enough to alert him to the fact that something is wrong.

He looks almost wounded when he catches sight of Steve standing in the doorway like a weepy idiot, and Steve would feel bad, but Eddie’s already up and out of the bed and coming towards Steve with his arms open in offering.

And with anyone else, Steve would shy away; this isn’t a part of him that anyone needs to see, this weakness and inability to cope. But from Eddie– even as stupid as Steve feels right now, he knows he doesn’t have much that he needs to hide from a man who will help him clean up his own blood and then offer to hold him while he cries about it.

He accepts the hug, allows himself to be led back over to the bed and sat down, and then lets himself be held.

Eddie presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and then swipes his thumbs over Steve’s cheeks, wiping away whatever tears fall and kissing him there, too, like he can replace the evidence of his distress with love.

And hell, maybe he can.

In a while, Steve will want to get dressed and they’ll both need some actual rest, but for now, Steve thinks he’s more than willing to sit and let Eddie try.

[ghastlyaffairs]

for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of

also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut

the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)