#milk writes

[milkteamoon]

The first and only girl Martin goes out with is openly bisexual.

He doesn't know if she counts, if he's being honest — it wasn't a crush, he knows that, and years down the line, when he thinks back to it, he can't remember them ever having a proper conversation about the whole status of their single-night relationship. He knows she had short hair, and sat in front of him in math class, and needed a date to the fall semi-formal so she'd asked if he was busy that weekend, and he'd said no, and then she'd asked if she could borrow a pen, and he'd said yes. He couldn't remember her name if he tried.

He does remember the pink and blue bracelet on her wrist that she'd worn to the event itself, and then to get ice cream after, where he'd sat on the curb of some old parking lot at the edge of town with her and her friends and her friends' boyfriends and her friends' boyfriends' friends, none of which were his friends, because Martin didn't have many of those. Except maybe the girl whose name he couldn't remember. Though he's not sure if maybe-probably-not-girlfriends count as friends too when you're in high school.

"D'you like it?" she'd asked once she'd noticed him staring, holding up her wrist and not seeming to care as ice cream dribbled down her spoon and fingers.

"It's nice," Martin had said, because he's nothing if not honest. "Did you make it?"

She'd nodded. "It's a bi flag," she'd explained. "I'm bisexual."

"Oh," Martin had said.

"You know what that is, right?" she had asked. "Like, when you like boys and girls?"

"I know," Martin had said, even if it had maybe slipped his memory until she'd brought it up. "That's cool."

And then she'd nodded, and ate her ice cream, and Martin had taken her home with as little a fanfare as he had picked her up earlier that evening. And then winter break had rolled around, and she'd been put in another class the following semester, and then life and bills had finally caught up with him and there wouldn't be another semester after that. He'd never seen her again, so he'd never got a chance to ask. Never got a chance to choke down that knot in his throat when he'd left her house that evening, unable to get the words out.

He doesn't remember her name anymore, but he does remember the jealous ache he'd felt at her certainty.

Martin's first boyfriend is definitely gay.

That's how they meet each other, really — in a gay bar, where Martin has met plenty of other men (testing the waters, he's been telling himself; no harm in a little exploration) and gone home with them, except this one asks for his number afterward, and this one calls him back, and this one actually seems to want to go out for drinks the next week, and the week after that, and before Martin knows it he's quite certain that he's dating this man. It's wonderful, whirlwind of an experience. It's exhilarating.

It's bloody terrifying.

And it's not being with a man that sets his anxiety on edge. Martin...Martin likes men. That's definitely a part of his identity that he's been able to sort out, over the years. Martin likes men, and he likes dating men, and he likes having sex with men, and he'd probably even marry a man, if he had the chance, if that's where one of these loose and languid relationships end up.

It's just—

It's just that—

It's just that Martin always seems to be the odd one out in these groups. It's just that when Martin meets up with his boyfriend's friends at the bar, when they're all laughing and sharing jokes and clinking their drinks together in some toast that Martin had missed the dedication to, they all just...get it somehow. They know who they are. They all have some special word for themselves that fits them like a tailored suit: Jacklyn is a butch lesbian, and Lee is trans, and Tom is a bear, and Jordan is gay and genderqueer and Collin is a drag performer and—

He's a few drinks in, to put it lightly, when he leans over to his definitely-boyfriend and asks him how he knew he was gay.

"How did I know?" he echoes, taking a sip from his fizzy drink. "Easy, I liked men." And then he laughs like Martin has just told a funny joke, and maybe he has and doesn't realize it, so he tries to laugh along. Tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

Martin wishes it were that simple. And when the two of them break up, Martin wishes that he ached just as badly over the relationship too.

Tim and Sasha are bi. Well, no, Tim is bi, and Sasha is—

"Pansexual," Sasha says through a mouthful of reheated spaghetti. She holds a finger up as she chews, swallows, and then adds, "Well, I mean. It's like the same genus, I guess."

"Like a leopard and a cheetah," Tim chimes in, leaning over to put an arm around her shoulders. She puts a hand against the side of his face to put some space between them, knocking his glasses askew.

"Leopards and cheetahs are different genuses," she tells him. "You're thinking of leopards and jaguars."

"Nuh uh."

"Uh huh."

"Nuh uh nuh uh—"

"Uh huh uh huh uh huh—"

And it's—

He likes Tim and Sasha. They're easy to exist around. They don't make him feel like he's not welcome at the end of the lunch table, or like he has to be anything more than simply himself in their presence. Call it bonding over the shared trauma of all being trapped down here together. Tim's jokes about Jon never letting them see the sun are starting to feel less like jokes these days, and more like statements of fact.

Then Tim leans over, seating his chin in his knuckles, and says, "So, Martin, you going to pride this year?"

And then all of those nice, floaty feelings suddenly come crashing out of solution and dropping down into the pit of his stomach. It must show on his face, because Tim's smile falls as he backpedals.

"O-or not!" he says, holding his hands up peaceably. "I mean— geez, sorry, I usually think I'm pretty good at noticing these things, but if you're not—"

"What? Oh, no no, you're fine, I'm definitely—" There's something on the tip of Martin's tongue that he can't put a word to, hasn't been able to put a word to for a long time. "...not straight. Er, I— I like...guys, at least...?"

A smile curls across Tim's face — amused, but not cruel. "Hey, that's at least one thing we've got in common," he says and holds up his fist for a bump. The spark of anxiety hasn't quite fizzled away, but it's pushed far enough down that Martin feels he can humor him.

To his equal relief and horror, Jon strolls into the room not a minute later and sticks himself firmly in the crosshairs of Tim's sights.

"Boss-man," he greets.

"Tim," Jon greets back, neutrally. He strolls over to the kitchenette, digging out a tea bag out of the cabinet.

"Are you going to pride this year?"

Martin chokes on his drink.

"No," Jon says, retrieving a tea bag and filling his mug as if Tim had simply asked him about the weather.

"C'mon," Tim purrs. He reaches over and gives Jon a tug by his belt loops. "You're just gonna sit at home all weekend and leave us to have all the fun?"

"I don't particularly find crowds 'fun,'" Jon retorts, batting away his hand. He picks up his mug. "You'll have to suffer without me."

"How will we ever go on," Tim laments.

"You'll manage," Jon says, then promptly retreats to his office.

Martin simply sits there with his mouth hanging open, only daring to speak once he hears the final click of the door pulled shut. "...Jon...?"

Tim looks over to him, eyebrow quirked. "What?"

"Jon."

"Oh." A smirk tugs at the corner of Tim's lips. "You didn't know?"

"Wh— no!" It's not even that Martin has ever really assumed that Jon is straight. It's just that, out of people in the office to be open about their sexualities, there's Tim and Sasha, and then there's Jon. It's just— it's Jon. "Did he tell you that?"

Tim shoots a look to Sasha. "Well, no," he admits, "but you know how it is, you work with someone long enough and you just sort of...get a vibe, yeah?"

Sasha nods at this assessment. "Plus the fact that he did agree to go on a date with David that one time."

"Oh god, haha! I forgot about that."

"He's gay, right?" Sasha says, looking to Tim.

"I'm pretty sure he mentioned an ex-girlfriend once," Tim notes, poking his fork into his salad. "Bi, maybe...? I'm going to go with bi."

"Could also be pan," Sasha notes.

Tim thinks on this for a moment. "Mm, no, definitely bi I think. My bi-dey senses are tingling. Sorry Sash," he concludes, earning him a light kick to the shin from Sasha at the pun. He shoves a forkful of salad in his mouth before redirecting his attention back to Martin. "So, Martin. Pride, yay or nay?"

"Uh—" Martin blinks, viscerally aware of himself once more. He's not sure how to put I've never really thought about going into so many words that doesn't make him sound incredibly lame or formerly catholic, so in the end he decides on a redirect. He clears his throat. "I'm...not sure? Haven't really decided."

"That's fine," Tim says with a half shrug. "Though we'll be there, so if you do end up going, just text us and we'll meet up, yeah?"

There's a little plant inside Martin, something green and budding, but never able to bloom — always pruned too early, or watered too late, or bitten off by the frost. But some days, he thinks about opening the curtains and letting in the sun. Some days, he thinks about letting it bloom, finally, fully—

"Yeah," Martin says softly, looking up from his open palms. "Yeah, that'd...that'd be good."

And despite himself, he smiles.

Martin is—

Martin is quite certain he has never been sweatier in his life.

It's a wonderful time. It's bright. It's beautiful. He's seen so many colors and grins and glitter on more people than he can count today. People holding hands and people kissing and people dressed in outfits he can't even begin to describe, genders he can't even begin to put names to, flags he can't even begin to guess the meaning of. His heart feels so big in his chest he could die, pushing on the bars of his rib cage with each resounding thu-thump, and it's wonderful, wonderful, wonderful—

(And so very isolating. So very lonely when he feels like he's not meant to be there, like he wasn't invited, like he's invading this space carved out in neat rows of labels that he can't even straddle properly to get in line. He doesn't— he can't—)

Martin finds a moment of shade just as he feels he's teetering on the edge of heat exhaustion. He stumbles under the awning, smearing the sweat and residual glitter out of his eyes as he leans his head back against the wall. Music hums from the street over, voices carry on the warm summer air. He really needs to find something to drink, so he can appreciate it more instead of focusing on the way his shirt clings to his skin. He really should find Tim and Sasha, before they get off into any trouble.

Someone lets out a huff next to him as they lean back against the wall, and Martin peels open an eye to look.

And then both his eyes snap open at once, double taking at the man standing next to him. He doesn't seem to notice him at first, too focused on fanning himself with some pamplet he'd snagged along the way, but then his gaze shifts sideways, and the pinched expression smooths out into one of blank bewilderment.

Jon blinks, wide eyed. "Martin."

Okay, well that at least solves the issue of whether or not Martin is supposed to be pretending not to know him or not. He clears his throat, trying to smile. "Jon...h-hi."

It's not even the fact that— okay, well, yes, seeing Jon at a queer event is pretty weird, but seeing Jon outside of work, in jeans no less, is certainly not helping the sensation that Martin might very well be hallucinating this interaction. He looks him up to his thick-lensed glasses, down to his plain sneakers that have seen better days, and even pinches himself for good measure. Jon doesn't move. Martin isn't sure that he himself would be able to move either, even if he wanted to.

Then Jon's brow furrows, and he looks around. "Are Tim and Sasha around...?"

"Oh, n-no, they went off," Martin gestures vaguely in the direction he'd last seen them, "somewhere."

"Ah."

"Mm."

"Right."

"...What...are you doing here, exactly?" Martin finally asks in some burst of unsourced courage.

Jon's winces, red-handed. Not that Martin would ever say anything to Tim or Sasha about their boss going to pride without them on his own time — it's honestly none of his business — but he also knows that if the two of them suspect something is up, they'll never let either of them live it down.

Jon sighs, shoulders drooping. "I...an old friend, she— she didn't wish to come alone this year, and apparently I'm the only other queer she knows that doesn't enjoy getting plastered off my arse at these types of events, so—" Jon shrugs lightly.

There's something about the way Jon says it, the only other queer, that leaves a funny, prickling sensation in the center of Martin's chest, and it's not just the heat giving him a rash. It's just...it's nice. It's nice the way he says it, all casual like he's just giving Martin another report to follow up.

Jon pushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, giving Martin a sideways glance up and down. He redirects, "You know, I would have thought you'd be more, er..."

"More...?"

"...Well, dressed up, I suppose?" He gestures to Martin's outfit — a pair of khaki shorts with pockets stuffed to the brim in emergency snacks, a green t-shirt with the local football team logo, an old pair of sneakers he really needs to replace — in a vague enough gesture to slip just under the line of insulting, but still enough to make Martin feel horribly seen. Granted, Jon isn't much better in his plain blue polo, but the fact of Jon being in jeans at all is currently eclipsing the fact that he's a tad underdressed for the event.

But—

But it's not that Martin doesn't want to. It's not that Martin doesn't want to be a part of this moment, this moment, this microcosm in the middle of London of so many people like him. It's something he's always wanted. Something he's always dreamed of, something he'd thought about all the way back in his high school bedroom when he'd had all these feelings knotted up in his chest that he couldn't put a word to, still can't put a word to, doesn't know how to put a word to even though it's right there in front of him if he could just stretch out his fingers—

"I thought about it," he admits with a shrug. Tim and Sasha were each dressed in a blinding shower of color and glitter, and he knows they'd never make him feel out of place. "It's just...there's too many—" He stops, takes a deep breath, and tries to ignore the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "There's too many words, I guess?"

Jon pauses his lazy fanning, looking up at him. "Too many words?" he parrots.

Martin wets his lips. "Like— like— like, everyone has a word for themselves, y'know? They have a flag, they have a group, they have— have people that they can relate to, and then you feel like you find something that almost right, but it's not perfect, and you— you—"

And you don't fit in, Martin doesn't say, because the rushing stream of words has suddenly stopped up in his throat, choking him. And you definitely aren't straight, but you aren't queer like everyone else is. You aren't queer in the right way.

Jon looks at him for a considerable moment, and suddenly Martin is all too aware of his body, his bones, his sweat, the itchy prickling of his skin—

Jon sighs as he gives him a half shrug. "So don't be anything."

The music from the street over lulls into a faint hum.

"What?" Martin says.

"So don't be anything," Jon repeats, enunciating as if he thinks that Martin misheard him. He frowns as he chooses his next words. "I'm not...it's...I..."

Martin waits quietly.

"I..." Jon says, "I guess when I was just starting to— to figure things out, I was certain I was gay. And then I went to uni and I had...a multitude of other things to address, and then for a bit I was...straight? I guess? And that was a whole thing, and then I was bi, and— well, I guess I'm technically still bi, but it's not...not exactly correct—" He frowns, looking up at him. "I guess...it just doesn't really matter to me? You don't...have to be anything."

Martin opens his mouth. He closes it. "But—" he says, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, "but—"

But then I have to be me, he doesn't say, even if the words are trying to push out past his teeth. But then the only thing I can be is me.

"...But that's scary," Martin says without meaning to, only hearing the words as they pass through his own lips. His eyes blow wide as he looks down at Jon (at his boss), and knows the simmering heat flushing down to his chest has nothing to do with the weather.

Jon stares at him for a quiet, considerate. And then he turns his head away and lets out a very undignified snort.

Martin feels his world tip onto its side.

It had to be a snort. It can only be a snort, even if Jon doesn't snort because Jon doesn't laugh, and Jon doesn't laugh because Jon doesn't smile, and Jon doesn't smile because Jon is typically too busy snapping at him over some stupid mistake he's made for the umpteenth time—

Jon looks up at him again, and he's downright grinning. Martin is quite certain he needs to be doused over the head with a bucket of ice water, or pinched hard enough to draw blood, or sent off to the hospital to get his head checked out because what the fuck. What the fuck.

"As my grandmother was so fond of reminding me, 'if it weren't scary, everyone would be doing it,'" Jon says finally, peeling off his glasses to wipe the sweat from the lenses onto his shirt. He places them back on his nose, then pushes himself up. "You should find Tim and Sasha," he says. "And I should find Georgie before I get left here. Again."

"Uh," Martin says, still trying to mentally recover from the fact that Jon smiled at him, and now everything feels like its been knocked into an alternate universe slightly to the left. His head feels weird. His chest feels weird. "Right."

"There's a—" Jon points a thumb behind himself, "a place we can cut through, if you want to—"

"Oh. Oh, yeah! Yeah, lead— lead the way."

It's not perfect, Martin thinks.

It's not perfect, but it's close. It's close when they step out of the alley back onto that crowded street, when the colors all bleed into a mess of a million different rainbows as far as the eye can see. It's close when they both get sprayed with glitter, Jon scowling and swearing as he tries to get it off himself and sending Martin laughing so hard that his sides ache. It's close even with the heat, even with the noise, even with the shouting because there's laughter in between laughter in between laughter again—

"Would you like a button?" a girl with green hair asks as she sits behind a table of every flag Martin has ever seen and then some. He takes a moment to look over each one carefully. Jon wanders up beside him, looks them through, and carefully selects a pink, purple, and blue one, to which he silently deposits in his pocket.

Martin picks up a plain rainbow one, considers it, and then pins it to the left side of his shirt.

It's not perfect, he thinks, but it's close enough.

[milkywaydrabbles]

Rindou loves fingering you. 

He loves how creamy you get his fingers, how two fingers is enough to throw you over the edge. He loves how he can control your body just how he wants it, how he can edge you over and over again without having to break a sweat, just with his hands. He loves how, if he tries a little harder, he can have you squirting all over him, juicy pussy making a mess, he loves how sloppy he can get you. Haitani Rindou’s a nasty man when it comes to you, he can keep you underneath him forever. Rindou will finger you whenever he can--in his car, out at a club or bar, when he’s on the phone, hell even when you’re on the phone. (He thinks his favorite is whenever you have to keep it together, pretend like he’s not finger fucking you in public.) He loves the sticky feeling of you cumming on his fingers, how you suck them back in, how when he spreads them out your cum creates a webbing between them. He really, really, can’t get enough of it. Sometimes he prefers that over fucking you with his dick. It’s rare, but sometimes, he’ll do it. Just fuck you over and over again on his fingers until he has you crying to stop--and then keep going. 

Tonight, he thinks is one of those nights. 

Rindou’s had you under him already for the last hour, hearing how nasty your cunt is, squelching and creaming around him. You're sniffling, tears streaming down your face as he pulls another orgasm out of you just with his fingers. "Baby, you look so fucking good just like this." He coos, pulling his fingers out with a squish, and laughs. "Love fucking you on my fingers baby, n so fucking juicy" he's talking to himself, enamored with looking between your legs and seeing the mess you've made for him. Rindou is dipping his hand between your thighs again, pushing the same two fingers back into your wet heat and adding a third, and you whine. "R-Rin, so full, fuck." Your face is hot, body covered in a sheen of sweat and all you can do is lay there with your legs open and take it. When he's in one of his moods he won't stop until he gets it out of his system, which means sometimes you end up sweaty and sticky and overstimulated for hours under him. "You can take my fingers, right pretty girl?" And you nod, squirming as he slowly pumps his three fingers into your sloppy cunt, seeing your cum oozing around his hand and pooling in his palm. 

He's hard, painfully so, but he can't seem to care about his own hard on when he's got his little baby crying like that. His free hand wipes away a stray tear, while the other starts fucking into you quicker, curling his fingers up to hit that gummy part of your walls that has you crying even more. "Rin, m'so close, please, please—!" You're begging, pleading with him to let you cum. You think it's too much, especially with each last one he pulls out of you. But he proves you wrong over and over again with each buildup and you crave it each time. It feels like you can't breathe without him letting you catch that high again. Stronger than any drug he could have given you. "Give it to me baby, come on you can do it." He works you through it, hitting exactly where you need it each time he fucks up into you. Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, it has you crying and shaking and grabbing at Rindou's arm like some saving grace. Electricity shot through your veins, your nerves on fire as he ripped another orgasm out of you. You babbled away as your juices covered him again, and he could only smile as you shook. "Good girl, such a good girl" he would praise, leaning down while still stuffing your cunt full of him and kissing your face, smothering you in affection to distract you with how overstimulated you're feeling. "My pretty baby is doing so well" Rindou's fingers stilled for a moment, and taking the time to make sure you were cognisant enough to give a real answer when he looked into your eyes and asked: "do you trust me?" You sniffed and nodded, but he simply clicked his tongue. " I need you to answer with words baby. Do you trust me?" It almost concerned you how serious he was being knuckles deep in your pussy, but you answered anyways. "Yes Rindou, I trust you." Your voice was shaky, and hoarse with how much you've been crying, but you trusted him with your life.

Slowly, Rindou added a fourth finger into your abused cunt, and it felt like your lungs were stuffed full of bricks. You choked back a sob, eyes rolling to the back of your head and you bit your lower lip to stop yourself from screaming. It was overwhelming, feeling 4 of his fingers stuffing into your now swollen pussy, curving into themselves to make a point inside of you. Rindou twisted his wrist, hearing the messy sounds coming from your hole, seeing you dripping and oozing onto the mattress below you. He stayed a slow pace, feeling all the small bumps and ridges of your pussy up against his fingers. "It's okay baby, I got you, I got you" he'd whisper, repeating himself over and over while you caught your breath. You never stopped trembling from your last orgasm, teetering on the edge with each lazy thrust Rindou gave. You couldn't speak, broken phrases and words spilling from your mouth as he quickened his pace. Rindou's breathing got heavy, pupils dilated and zeroed in on your cunt sucking in his fingers with each thrust. You were doing so well for him, while he played with you, stretched you out the most he's ever done. He kept whispering so nicely to you, how good you were, how pretty you were with his fingers stuffed inside your sloppy pussy, how much he loved you. Your head was spinning, you were fucked dumb already and Rindou was making it so hard to even think for just a second. "Fuuuck, baby—making such a mess on my fingers, love you so much, you got another one in you right?" You were panting, nodding furiously with your eyes locked onto his. He didn't even need to curl his fingers with how well he was hitting all the right spots—pumping harder in and out and in and out of your mess of a hole, and before you could wrap your head around it you were squirting, covering him in your essence. You heard a laugh, though your eyes were unable to focus at all. "Fuck, baby! So fucking pretty when I got you squirting like that." It sounded like a tease, but you knew he meant it. He told you all the time, he loved how your face would scrunch up during the build up, and letting go with pretty pouty lips making an o shape, tears falling at the corners of your mouth. (He even recorded it once, so you can see how pretty you looked.) 

"I got you baby, it's okay, you can let go." He whispered, closer to your face now than he was just moments before—kissing your forehead as you practically convulsed in his arms. His fingers were pulled out, along with your cum that dripped from his digits. A trembling hand latched on to his shirt, unable to control yourself in this moment and just cried. Giving yourself to him fully was such an intimate experience for you, that you couldn't help but sob in his arms afterwards. He'd hush you with gentle words, smoothing over your hair with his clean hand and kissing your temple. "You did so good for me, pretty girl—I love you." You stutter out that you love him too and latch onto him more.

He’ll take good care of you after that.

[rottingcheng]

ok jiang cheng renaissance time. back to basics. hard-edged steel-grade-dignified turning-up-his-nose jiang cheng who spits venom takes names and doesn't care to be outwardly soft because it was never his strong point anyway. a jiang cheng who's gruff and starts fights with anyone who'll try him, yes partly because he's standing up for his sect but at this point it's mostly because he just likes to yell and incite fear and he doesn't need a noble reason to be a bitch he can just be an argumentative asshole because he wants to be and he's got the flourishing sect to back him up on it now.

i want him to be in the wrong sometimes and never sorry for it. i want him to use a nasty tone and not give a fuck and not change himself because he's already succeeding as the person he is and hell if he'd lower his head to anyone for old luxuries like closure. time was his closure. he's done, he's mean, he's allowed to be. he was born full of barbs, grew up full of barbs, and flourished full of barbs. if he feels fulfilled and satisfied as he is, why should he ever change? he can fix his problems in his own way. he can find peace without sanding down his edges. he likes his edges. so what? so what? who says his happiness is wrong just because he doesn't fold and become sweet and gentle upon finding it? he'll do whatever he wants and that might include making you cry and never apologising for it. so what? so what? that's jiang-zongzhu to you.

[mielkae]

Flower ranchers has my whole heart but consider

Scott and Tango becoming besties over a shared love of Jimmy

like, they start out awkward. They've never shared a server, never even teamed during the death games. They know each other purely through reputation and the chance of being a part of the same giant friend group. To tango, scott's the husband jimmy was always talking about during double life, he won the second death game and has been a consistent finalist. On top of that he has a reputation for loyalty, he's carismatic, genuinely a nice guy and did he mention the part where he's jimmy's husband???

to scott, tango is a friend of a friend. Apparently a brilliant redstoner, though he always came off as humble to him. He's the guy whose hair sparks when he's excited who's always hanging around impulse and skizz. scott's pretty sure they've never had a one on one conversation until this point.

Then double life happens.

And suddenly tango's the soulmate. the guy his husband hasn't been able to shut up about, not that scott minds. and he learns things about tango he never would have known otherwise, how he's sweet, and considerate, and really, really funny. How he has such a nice laugh, and yeah, scott's never really noticed it before but it's bright and kind of contagious and so evidently tango.

and scott tells jimmy to go for him.

I don't think tango and scott would interact much even after they're both dating jimmy.

Like they never saw each other outside the death games, and besides those times when scott walks jimmy to the hermitcraft portal where tango is waiting to guide him through, they still don't really see each other.

(Watching the loves of his life awkwardly wave as he passes between them, jimmy feels a bit like a kid with divorced parents before his weekend at Dad's.)

Then they're in limited life.

the funny thing is, it isn't even jimmy who brings them together, not intentionally at least.

Tango tries not to be mad about it. its just that the Lore latches onto Jimmy's "bad boy" bit, and he knows it's not his fault. He's part of a story right now, and his mind's not entirely his own.

it still hurts like hell though.

And it's a stupid idea. They aren't even allies, but tango's angry and hurt and his boyfriend won't even look at him. But there's one person on this server who might get it.

And right now that's what he needs.

There's a possibility, he knows, as he approaches the Mean Gills' island, that someone (probably martyn) will kill him.

He can't really bring himself to care. He wants out of this game, has since Jimmy first started giving him the cold shoulder.

To his credit, Scott doesn't even look surprised to see him.

They end up talking for hours.

"he wouldn't-" Scott swallows roughly, "he wouldn't say "i love you" back"

"i know," tango says quietly. "he wouldn't say it to me either."

Scott looks at him for a long moment, then swipes at his tears and turns his head. Tango's never seen him look so lost.

"the sun's gonna be up soon," Scott says. "the session will be starting. You should get to TIES tower. I can't promise you'll be safe here much longer."

He nods. The others will be worried for him. They know how badly he just wants to go home.

"Come visit me again?" Scott asks. And there's something there. Something there hadn't been before.

"yeah," he says. "yeah, sure."

[mommysmilk]

Word for ren drabbles: ruined

🔪Ren Hana x Reader🔪

”You’re fucking crazy! Don’t touch me!” You screamed while trying to kick your captor. He jumped out of the way, growling, his ears flattening against his head.

”It’s been weeks. I’ve given you my love, fed you and treated your wounds, what more could you want?” the fox sighed, agitated.

”The wounds you inflicted on me, you psycho! I don’t want your fucking lov-” ”DON’T SAY THAT!” He screamed and pressed the button that sent shocks through your whole body. You screamed in pain, slumping on the floor. ”You were supposed to love me! I just wanted to feel loved. He loved me.”

”I’ll never love you. I’d rather die than love someone like you.” You coughed out, still on floor.

”Shut up. SHUT UP! YOU’VE RUINED IT. YOU RUINED IT ALL.” Ren started pacing around while tugging at his hair. ”You’d rather die than love me.” He muttered under his breath. ”Well fine then.”

You flinched as he took off into the direction of the kitchen. He was back in less than a minute, now holding a knife. Your eyes widened in fear. ”What are you doing? Don’t come any closer!” You started panicking. His face was completely different, teeth bared and eyes narrowed into slits. You almost missed the look of ”adoration” he had on before.

”I’m just giving you what you want.” He charged at you and you tried to scramble back but you weren’t quick enough. The knife stabbed straight into your heart.

The last thing you heard was the slick sound of the knife pulling out of your chest.

[alexluminosbucket]

another feesh au for dca!! yum yum With a fic that is to be coming soon "H20 Please No More Water"

[foldingfittedsheets]

Does anyone want to hear how I ended up using soap made of my betrothed's exes breast milk?

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

real talk having the 2nd worst new years eve yet 🤢🤢🤢 (throat infection, twisted neck, banged-about-foot, ego AND the rest o' me all bruised like misjuggled peaches 🍑🍑🍑)

im bent outa shape and suspectin the universe owes me 8 buck if anyone wannsa chip in

[legendary-cookies]

I've been working on this on and off for like a long time and honestly I kinda hate it now, but this is like a revamp of these but with the Beasts too lmao

This also has a headcanon I have of if the Legends had virtues like the Ancients and Beasts

Also yes I'm aware Fire and Moon might fit more if they switched but I have lore reasons leave me alone

[jellywalker-apocalypse]

HOW DOES A JESTER DREAM ?

[quantum1mmortality]

Rubatosis;

The unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat

•Captain Curly x reader

Chat bare with me I'm trying out a new aesthetic because I'm sick and tired of my blog being UGLY and CHAOTIC so I'm using dividers and sticking to a color scheme for the first time don't judge me pls

Summary; Winter storm, blackout, no heater; the worst things that could've happened on your only weekend off. Luckily, your boyfriend Curly knows how to keep you warm.

Tw/cw; Afab!reader, pre established relationships (you guys are dating), cursing, the word 'radiate" is used like 20 times don't mind that chat, no use of y/n just curly calling you various pet names, no prep like at all(slight fingering????), curly whimpers, the smut is actually really unnecessary but ignore that too, piv, pwp??, unsafe sex, cumming INSIDE!!!, praise kink, curly talks you through it (I think)

Not proofread

You curl up with as many blankets as you can, shivering and watching your breath become visible from the cold. You can feel your body go numb as all you can do is wait for your power to come back on. It's been out for the past hour, and with the awful snow storm that just rolled through your town, you can tell it isn't coming back on anyime soon.

Sounds come from outside your window, sounds that you can barely hear over the cold chattering of your teeth. A car parking in your driveway, a car door opening and closing, and heavy feet making their way to your front door, shaking the doorknob while trying to open it.

The door creeks open, followed by the sound of heavy winds. You can hear footsteps walk into your house, closing the door, and walking towards the bedroom you now reside in.

"Sorry about the wait, love. I tried to leave work as soon as I heard about the power outage, but thought it would be best to stop somewhere to get some things to warm you up." It was your boyfriend, Curly, who you had no idea was coming over. Yet here you are, shaking in a cold bed as he roots through the bags he brought with him.

As he digs through the bags, seemingly looking for something specific, he throws miscellaneous items on your bed. Chocolates, a candle, a box of matches, more chocolates, and a bottle of wine. "Since we're basically trapped in here till the storm is over, I thought we could make the most of it. Have a romantic weekend or something.. I tried getting things I knew you'd like."

Just then, he finds what he was looking for; hand warmers. Ripping open the packaging, he walks to your side of the bed, handing you all that was in the box. The heat radiating from them was almost hurting you, but burning doesn't feel so bad when you're freezing.

Curly leaves the room for a moment, coming back with two wine glasses in hand; placing them on your bedside table. He takes off his work uniform, leaving him in only an undershirt and pants. You hold out your arms to him, signalling that you want him to be in bed with you. He smiles, lifting up the blankets and laying next to you.

You shiver, feeling his warm hands touch your cold body. "Poor thing.. I wish I could've been here sooner, maybe prevent you from getting to this state." He says softly, kissing your forehead as he raps his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"I'm glad you're here.." you say, dozing off. The warmth Curly radiates was more than enough to make your body become less tense. Your hands make their way to his chest, pressing gently as you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

"I know you are, love, and I'm glad to be here, too." He whispered softly, hands traveling from your waist to your hips. He lifts your shirt up slightly, moving his fingertips to your now exposed skin. "Fuck, you're freezing." You could hear the concern in his voice, switching from just his fingertips to his whole hand. "Does that feel better? Are you warmer now?"

You nod. Everything about him was warm, a stark contrast from how cold you currently are. Any part of him that was directly touching you was doing wonders for your current state. "Use your words, love." Even when you're freezing, Curly will still find a way to tease you. This world is so cruel.

You sigh, "yeah, that feels better. Thank you." He smiles, happy with your answer. He pulls your body closer to his, your chest flush against his own. His fingertips move in a circular motion, trying to keep you calm. Which, to his credit, is working.

With the warmth of your beloved boyfriend mixed with the light musk scent of the cologne he always wore, you were falling asleep quickly. He could feel your eyelashes flutter shut against his neck, followed by your soft breathing hitting his skin. He presses a small kiss on your forehead, pulling you just the slightest bit closer to himself before dozing off.

Your eyes slowly open, groaning out as you realize it's still cold in your room. You try to back away, but Curlys grip on you tightens. He shifts slightly as he begins to wake up, hands moving from your waist, to his eyes, to your waist again. "Good morning, beautiful.. lovely seeing you here." He says in a raspy tone, indicating he just woke up.

You smile, curling back into his grasp. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up." You say in an almost hushed voice. He chuckles, placing a small kiss on your cheek.

"No worries, love. Just more time I get to spend with you." He chuckles, burying his head in the crook of your neck; kissing every bit of exposed skin he could in the process. You laugh, squirming in his arms, but his grip on you only tightens.

"Curly- stop-" you get out between giggles.

He lays one final kiss just below your ear, letting out a heavy sigh; now out of breath. He places one of his hands on your chest, just below your collar bone. His fingertips trace up the skin of your neck, stopping to grab your chin, lifting it up slightly.

Your eyes meet with his and he leans in for a kiss. It was soft, gentle, everything he was condensed into a simple act of affection. It was perfect. His hands fully cupping your face, pulling you in so he can deepen the kiss further.

Your hands their way to his scalp, his hair curling between your fingers as you gently pull. His mouth opens for a split second, letting out a small whimper at the new sensation. His kisses become slightly sloppy as he begins to sit up, flipping you so your back is now pressed against the bed. He places himself between your legs, breaking the kiss so he can trail small kisses and nibble down your neck.

As his hands wander down your chest, to your waist, and eventually to your hips, he sings small praises to you in-between each mark he lays on your neck. His fingers go under the seam of your panties, slipping them off of you with ease. With one hand keeping your legs open, the other traces up your inner thigh, slowly inserting one of his digits into your aching heat.

"Curly~" you gasp, your hands locking behind his neck as a way to ground yourself. Just then, he slips another in. The feeling of his cold fingers curling inside of you sent shockwaves through your body.

Curly takes his fingers out of your cunt, lifting his head from your neck to lick off the slick that remains. You whine at the empty feeling, small tears forming already. "Crying already, love?" He says with a smile. He lines his cock to your entrance, the tip prodding at your hole. He lowers his body back down to yours, "forgive me, dear. Sorry if this hurts." He whispers in your ear.

Your hands go back to his neck, going up to grab his hair again. You cry out as you can feel him stretch your insides, pulling at his hair even more in the process. Curly grips the sheets beneath him, his hand quickly moving to your waist to hold both you, and himself down.

As he can feel you reach your limit, he stops, holding still for a moment. "Are you alright? You're not too hurt, are you?" He says, raising his head to look at you.

"Y-yeah.. it just hurts a bit.." you trail off. He sighs in relief.

"I know, love. It's going to. I wish there was more I could do, but I promise it'll be worth it. Alright?" He smiles, kissing away the small tear lines on your cheeks. You smile back, coming your fingers through his hair gently before moving your hands to rest on his back instead.

He takes a deep breath, slowly moving his hips backwards before meeting with yours again. His steady thrusts help you adjust to his size better, but it only leaves you wanting more.

"I'm gonna go faster, alright?" He says, nearly out of breath. You nod. He increases his speed, going faster than you had anticipated. You cry out his name, digging your nails into the skin on his back. "I know, love, I know." He whispered.

More tears stream down your face as the pain quickly turns into pleasure. You moan with each thrust, nails still digging into his back. Curly whimpers at the feeling, "fuck- just like that, you're doing amazing, love~" he says in a soft, out of breath tone.

You can feel yourself getting closer as your legs instinctively close around his hips, inadvertently pushing him deeper inside you. You try to speak, but the words just won't come out. "Curly- I-" you stutter, not being able to think straight because of the pleasure.

His pace doesn't falter, though. His hands move to your thighs, holding onto them with force in an attempt to not go any rougher than he already is. Your cries and moans become louder, chanting his name as if it were a prayer. You feel the knot in your stomach come undone, your back arching and head thrown back. With one final moan, you can feel a wave of pleasure wash over you, followed by your slick soiling the sheets beneath you.

"Just a little longer, love. You've done so well for me this far, I'm sure you can hold out a bit more." Curly praised, continuing his pace. His hands grip your thighs tighter, leaving crescent shaped marks on your flesh. With one more deep, rough thrust, he moans out your name, releasing inside of you. He collapses on top of you, his head resting on your shoulder as you both try to catch your breath.

"Are you.. still cold?" He whispered softly.

You smile, "no. Not at all."

A/N; this would've been out two days ago but the new stardew valley update came to console and I've been GRINDING that shit. Also, the title was supposed to make an appearance in the fic. Right before the smut starts, when curly puts his hand on YOUR 🫵 chest, I was gonna add some dialogue like, "your heart is beating fast.. do I make you nervous?" But I thought that was cringe and cut it out.

[milkteamoon]

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Tags: @jonmartinweek day 6

And he could leave it here. He could. He could smoke his cigarette in silence until he went back inside and returned to the whole mess of files he’d been attempting to organize spread across his office floor, and Martin wouldn’t push it. That’s something he likes about Martin. That’s a reason why he thinks he and Martin get along easier than a lot of other people he knows. Jon clears his throat. “Do you ever— do people ever make assumptions about you based on some very limited piece of information, and they’re not exactly wrong but they’re also not not wrong, but you can’t correct them because you aren’t even supposed to know about this information in the first place?”

If anyone asks, Jon doesn't smoke.

[milkywaydrabbles]

They already asked for breeding and dubcon separately, with Alucard and I wanted to ask for the same thing but both Indications for the same Alucard Castlevania. If it's not possible anymore, I still liked the ones you made. You have talent!

A/N: breeding and dubcon for Alucard equals babytrapping in my head, so that's kind of the direction I went with this! I hope this is okay, and that you enjoy!! MWUAH

Dubcon/breeding x Alucard

“Nng, Alucard wait--aah.” The dhampir had you pressed into the bed, face smothered within the pillows as he plowed into you from behind. His fangs were dripping with saliva, dragging against your skin. Alucard was already too far gone as he fucked you, hands gripping at your wrists with his entire body covering yours. “Don’t you love me, darling? Don’t you want me happy?” He’d taunt you, knowing you couldn’t say no to him. You’ve never been able to say no to him, not when he saved you from a life of torture and being used as a blood bag from a small collective of vampires. How could you say no to your savior, the one who lets you stay in his big castle, keeps you fed and clothed and bathed? 

Alucard tried hard, he really did, to not let his lust for you consume him. But it was so difficult, when you kept telling him you’d thank him in any way, begging him to let you do something for him. It was so hard, to not take you then and there, instead slowly building up to the perfect moment to capture your lips. He’d give you small and slow touches here and there, fingers lingering longer than they had to, eyes roaming your body so obviously he saw the heat settle on your features. He’d capture your lips one night, letting you feel in control, just this once, asking for a taste of your blood as you rode him in his bed. You nodded, exposing your neck to him as he drank--enough to get you lightheaded, but keeping you alive all the same. He fucked you harder after that, now understanding why those vampires wanted to keep you for themselves. It was the best meal he’d ever had--he didn’t drink blood, rather disliked the taste if he was being honest--but you were different.

He’d never let you go after that.

You whimpered under him, but pushed back to his thrusts as best you could, forcing himself deeper into your hole. “So good for me, sweetheart--making me so fucking happy.” He growled in your ear, feeling you clench around him with each sweet word that dripped from his tongue. He licked and suckled at the juncture of your neck that always stayed bruised with how often he fed from you. “You don’t mind if I indulge in your blood, do you my love?” You whined, but exposed yourself further to him, wincing when you felt his fangs pierce through your skin. You’ve learned that it hurts less while he fucks you, though the pain still throbs your veins after. 

Alucard leans back on his knees and brings you up with him, hands exploring the span of your body, finding purchase on your tits as he thrusts in and out of your pussy. “So good to me, always letting me do as I please, what a good girl.” He would whisper to you, to keep you riled up and feel you tighten around his cock some more. He slowed just enough to grind into you, pressing you deep onto his dick, nearly kissing at your cervix with his length. You whined against him, hands flexing as you gripped onto nothing. “Do you know what would make me the happiest, my sweet girl?” He teased, fingers pinching at your nipples as you gasped.

“Let me make you a mother, darling.” 

Your eyes flew open (when had you closed them?) and you felt panic shooting up your nerves. “Alucard, I-I don’t think I’m ready for tha--aah, fuck!” He began bucking his hips harder into yours again, hands coming down to hold onto your hips and fuck you down to meet him. One hand trailed back up, fingers wrapping around your throat cutting off most of your breathing as you were pounded from behind. “Of course you’re ready, you take care of me so well already--you’ll be a wonderful mother. I know you will.” He cooed, licking over the still bleeding wound of your neck. 

It was hard to argue with him, not when he was so kind to you outside of the bedroom, not when he spoke so sweetly to you as he fucked you so well. How could you argue, when he never asked anything of you, except to make you a mother? “You’ll let me, right darling?” He wasn’t really asking, he’d do it anyways. He’d convince you later if he had to. But he didn’t need to, not when you were nodding and clenching around him--ready to milk him dry. He groaned, tightening on your throat as he humped into you like a dog, climbing closer and closer to release until he was spilling deep inside your cunt, praying it made it directly into your womb to catch. 

He would keep you plugged up, day in and day out after this. You’d never be able to leave now. Not when you carried his child, not when he would protect the both of you. You’d be his forever.

[rottingcheng]

in my chengxian feels ruminating on how they precariously complete each other. criticism on jc for not doing more to help the wens (which i personally don't agree w) and criticism on wwx for not having better political self-awareness (which i am on the fence about). but i'm thinking of how, to create change within a system, you need both types of people. people who can work within the game and negotiate it, and people who aren't afraid to step up and shake things up, even disastrously. if not for the circumstances (golden core) they might have been an incredibly formidable duo. still, precarious. but something that could make sense. something that could teeter and seesaw and change things so long as they both reigned each other in and loved each other and those they are responsible for.

[mielkae]

First chapter of my Flower Court Fic is Out!

Summary:

Third Life hadn’t given Martyn what he’d wanted.

—

Jimmy resolves to start carrying makeup remover.

—

Tango's pretty sure his new boyfriend is dying.

—

Scott only knows one player who writes all his correspondence in orange glitter pen.

Alternatively: 3 times Scott’s friends and partners were too preoccupied to notice his crushes, and one time they realised he was in love.

Title from Crush by Tessa Violet

[mommysmilk]

Strawberry

🍓Fox x Reader🍓

(warning for mention of throwing up and general wound and scar talk yall know the drill)

”Wash these for me, darling. Don’t get your bandages wet.” He hands you a container of strawberries, your favorite kind. They’re red throughout and their sweet aroma is filling the kitchen. You’re tempted to reach out and pop one of the berries in your mouth, but his voice interrupts your thoughts. ”We don’t have all day, pet. You’re wasting water.”

You quickly apologize and start rinsing the strawberries under the running water, being careful to avoid the fresh bandages. Some blood is already seeping through the gauze, the cuts too deep to fully stop the bleeding. You’ve learned to love the scars he leaves on your body, even requesting for him to not stitch all of them up.

”I didn’t go too hard on you today right? You lost a lot of blood and still seem a bit out of it, sweetie.”

You grin down at him, finding his concern cute but unneccessary. ”You’ve done worse, Foxie~. Remember the time you made me eat your chicken hearts? I honestly thought you were going to kill me.”

He grimaces in disgust, ”Please don’t remind me, I can still smell the spot you threw up on.”

”I’m glad you started to give me strawberries for our movie nights after that.” You laugh while hopping down from the kitchen counter. You get a little dizzy from the sudden movement and have to lean on the countertop for support. He’s at your side immediately, taking the container of strawberries from your hand and helping you to the living room. You sigh in relief as you crash down on the couch. As much as you love your streams together, they’re still very taxing on your body.

After choosing a cd titled ”Guillotine” he inserts it into the player. It is one of your favorite streams of his. He sits down next to you, his tail curling around you while he starts the "movie". His hand caresses the heart shaped scar on your back and you snuggle closer to him when he starts feeding you the strawberries.