#push him in a pool of lava

[supd00dle]

Some future metal sonic doodles from my drafts

[chocum]

WY@ !

— “even i know you ain’t no good for me, but you feel so good to me” feat. toji fushiguro & nanami kento (separate)

WARNING. you know you shouldn’t be messing with them, but fuck it feels good. femreader (she/her) v in p, dirty talk. missionary, hatefucking toj, namis ur boss, corruption kink kinda in nanamis, pervy nanami, ( 1.3k ) note. kindaaa ib wy@ by brent faiyaz mhm. thank you all for the support, hope u all enjoy bc i genuinely enjoyed writing this !!

TOJI FUSHIGURO — YOUR EX

“look at how fucking wet you are f’me baby. making a mess all over my fingers. i know you fucking miss me. cmonnn, come back to be, doll”

you’re trying so hard to mask the raw, carnal desire that pools and swirls deep in the pit of your core, refusing to stroke at his overgrown ego any further because being here, pressed up against his stupidly muscular frame after yelling hitting, and swearing to the heavens down to hell that he’d never see you again is already more than enough.

“n-no” you spit, an attempt to sound firm but it only comes out as a little whine making him erupt in laughter as he brings his dripping, slicked-up fingers— they’re glistening, covered in your mess, to your face, spreading them in front of you to make you watch how you web and coat every inch of his thick digits, “dunno why you’re tryna act all hard ‘s obvious you want me. pussy’s basically talkin’ ta me.”

“shut up and fuck me already” you never fail to bite.

“only ‘cause you asked soo nicely,” but he always bites back.

now he’s folding you over, pushing against the backs of your thighs so he can bully his thick cock into your more than welcoming pussy— he’s fucking into you like he hates you, knocking the air out of your lungs with every stroke, his pelvis brushing up against your clit because he’s soo deep, reminding you who your walls belong to.

“shiit toj’ it’s-“

“oh, now i’m toj’, hm?” he tilts his head, black hair hanging to the side, raising his pitch to mock your whiny tone. you hate him. originally you had only came over to pick up some clothes you had left when you first moved out. it all happened too quick, the argument starting over something so small, you were bound to forget some things.

you told him you were coming over to get your things; he knew. so the lack of a shirt, the towel that loosely wrapped underneath the deep cut of his v-line was no coincidence. one second you were looking through his drawers for your stuff, the next— well, now you’re getting the shit fucked out of you.

each time he drags his heavy cock against your walls stuffing your little pussy, each time he calls you his, tells you how dirty you are for him, you slowly start to forget why you broke up with him in the first place.

“playin’ tug a war with my, dick baby. shits so tight fuuuuck, nobody been in it since me, huh?”

you shake your head against the sheets, your resolve now dry and gone thanks to his cock pressing your sweet spot over and over and over, moans flowing past your slack jaw, “no. no one”

“good fucking girl. you know nobody can fuck you like i do. who pussy is this?” he’s grunting out straight filth and he’s got that stupid smirk on his face, teeth flashing underneath the characteristic scar.

but you don’t want to give into him— fighting till the end, so you mumble a “yours” your head falling to the side to avoid his dark eyes, opting to stare at the blank walls that have heard your scream for him time and time again.

but he stops, fully plugging you up, making your body tense and keen. “can’t hear you, doll?”

you truly do hate him, “‘m not movin’ till you answer my question. you can lay there and warm my cock all night, ‘s fine by me.” with every fiber in your being.

but still, you whine out a desperate “‘s yours” a little louder, heat spreading and scorching every inch of your body like waves of molten lava. because you need it. so bare and exposed for him, so vulnerable.

“who?”

“your’s toji! your pussy, all yours!”

he loves breaking you down like this, pounding you to a pulp, leaving you so small and empty underneath him to pick up and glue back together.

“there you go” he hums, “wasn’t so hard was it?” before rocking against you again, finally, finally scratching that itch so deep in your cunt only he can reach it. he knows it and with how you keep coming back, he knows you know it, too.

KENTO NANAMI — YOUR BOSS

mr. nanami, or kento as he repeatedly encourages you to call him with a sweet honeyed smile, has a thing for the cute, bright-eyed new girls that come into the office. he’ll fuck em a few times, dump out his warm cum, empty his balls then move onto the next.

but with you, it was different.

you didn’t stumble into his office as hurriedly as the others, didn’t pick up on the subtle hints he would drop, brushing his hand against your shoulder, grazing your blouse or squeezing your arm with his large hands, reassuring you when worried about your workload like a good boss should.

but you never got it. and it made him want you even more.

so he decided to make it painstakingly obvious. saying he needed you to stay later than everyone else that night to fill out some very important paperwork you missed when you were first hired.

walking into his office .. felt different, he felt different. its dark and most importantly, his desk is empty, not a single sheet of “important paperwork” in sight on the brownish wood that raises and decorates his modernly adorned office.

“sir?” you chime, grabbing his attention because he was lost in thought, adjusting himself against his black office chair with a grunt.

he smiles at you, sweetly, to hide his hunger. like a big bad wolf in sheep’s clothing “yes, come in. over here. next to me”

you shuffle over to where he sits, his back to the tall windows that loom and overlook the city, perched up on the top floor.

“come sit” he’s humming, patting at the large bulge in his lap making you gulp. but you obey with a shaky, “o-ok”

he’s your boss after all.

you sit, your thighs opening, spread for him on either side of his, making your tight pencil skirt rise and bunch up around your ass. his hands move to map your now exposed upper thighs, a smile growing on his lips.

“you’re such a hard worker. always turning in high-quality work. on time, too. i wanted to give you a reward.”

he moves higher, higher, and oh.

you’re not wearing any panties.

.. which is odd because he peaked earlier when you were bending over to pick up some dropped papers— could'nt help his curious eyes, and he could’ve sworn you had on cute little thong. yellow. his favorite. did you take them off? just for him? fuck, you know exactly how to drive him crazy, maybe you weren’t so innocent after all.

“would you like that?” he pulls you in closer, your bare cunt now flushed against his unfortunately clothed cock, drooling onto the cottony fabric of his dress pants.

and you smile, “i’d like anything you give me, kento.”

the way you say his name goes straight to his dick. twitching against you as he unbuckles his pants, the sound of metal clacking filling your ears and making you squirm against him, your pussy clenching around nothing needy for his thick cock.

he barely pushes them down, just enough to let his cock spring out, hissing when you move forward to press your sloppy, messy cunt against him. then he groans, grabbing at the back of your neck underneath your hair to make you watch as he slides in, forcing his cock past your puffy lips into your tight little hole.

you’re already hooked on the stretch. your jaw slacking open at how he fills you all the way up. your perv of a boss, slicking your walls with his precum.

“how — fuck, how long have you wanted to fuck me, hm?”

you press your hand against his chest, using it as leverage to roll and rock your hips against him.

“since i first laid my eyes on you, sweetheart”

[nouearth]

hear me out.

dick grayson x male reader.

summary: dick pushes you to your limits in the gym, and your animosity towards him slowly transforms into unexpected admiration (and unlocks months of concealed pining).

wc: 7.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!dick, dom!dick, bottom!reader, bottom!reader, sub!reader, one sided rivalry (reader's end), enemies to lovers(?), brief fighting, reader and dick are working out, physical fighting (with boxing gloves), envious!reader, insecure!reader, hotheaded!reader, uncut!reader, public!sex, gym!sex, dirty talk, praising, guidance, handjob, fingering, kissing, spitting, lots of sweat, body worshipping, reader will be walking funny for the next week.

Your shoes squeaked after every thump from landing on your feet. One foot chased after the other in a pursuit, and your knees raised past your navel as the cable rope cut through the air with a turn before hitting the ground. You huffed after every snap of the rope, a burn scalding the muscles in your thighs and wrists with every rotation, tensing as if you’d been hit, as if your coarse throat would feel the remnants of the whip afterward. 

“Five…Four…Three…” 

Sweat dripped off your forehead, off the locks of your bouncing hair, in anticipation of a merited water break. The water bottle sat on the seated stationary bench, pooled by its own condensation. You could taste it with your eyes, a ravishing sight that pushed you harder. You sped up, raised your knees higher, and endured the pain for ten seconds more. Your gut was sucked in, engaging with your core, and your breathed out in methodical puffs, your chest rising along with it. Everything was burning, muscles tightening into flaming knots that would render you frail by tomorrow morning. If the floor was lava, your body was the volcano erupting it. 

Holy bells rang once you finally counted down to zero, and you immediately came to a halt, the weight of your gratification breaking your movement with an echoing thud as you instantly marched forward to quench your thirst. 

“Fuck.”

Your nostrils stung more than usual. Flared with every inhale as you were catching up to your breath, and more so when you cooled down with several sips of water. Breathing had never felt so good, an absolute fiend you turned out to be after every workout.

You’re getting weaker. Breathing harder. Quicker. You’re losing control on your breath. How are you going to keep up with the team? If you feel this fatigued after a warm up? You let them down last time. Got knocked out and Dick—

He was getting to your head. Again.

Dick. 

The name rolled off your tongue bitterly. A foul taste of metal and battery acid lingered in your parched mouth before it was drowned out by another gulp of water. Another. 

And another. 

And another, as the aforementioned man across from you halted his ropes, stopping in his tracks. 

He’d been doing this since you’d arrived. Mirroring you like a reflection, copying your every move as if you were an instructor. If you were doing strength training, he stopped his cardio to take the machine next to you. Pushed when you pushed, groaned—louder—when you did. 

Needed to stretch your hips? He made some lame excuse about how his legs were too tight, and felt the need to join you on the floor, stretching himself beyond the limits of what you could achieve. It colored you impressed, but you would never say that out loud. Though, you did silently admire the view of his ass, and that especially, would be kept a secret between you and the floor.

Now, it was with jump-roping. The two ropes swung from either corners of the gym like the gears working silently in your head. There was a need to compete with you for some reason.

A satisfied smirk rolled a drop of sweat off his face, and seized his naked torso with glitter as he took a step under a light that lit his body like a podium, or—and you hated to admit it—like one of the sculptures you remembered fawning over in Art History. From his broad build, you could tell that Dick was sturdy, toned, and undoubtedly beautiful. 

His fringe clung onto his forehead, but you could see the gratification he got from outlasting you, smiling while he squeezed a stream of water into his mouth. You noticed how much more capable he was with the calmness of his breath, and felt his adrenaline pumping through the room. In turn, it possessed you—his energy–maneuvering you to the center of the room where a foam mat was placed, and to which Dick expectedly trailed after you.

“Wanna have a go, partner?” Dick said while rolling his shoulders back before picking up a pair of boxing gloves, then another without your confirmation. 

“Seriously—“ He tossed the other pair towards you, an accurate shot that landed into your arms. “Are you going to be doing this all day? Copying me?” You silently thanked him because you began kneading one glove like a stress ball, the rubber foam absolutely gratifying with every scrunch of your hand, as well as consoling as it kept you sane for a little longer.

“I don’t see the problem—“ You began approaching him with the gloves fitted snug over your fists. “Well, actually. I do see the problem. You’re not training hard enough.” Marching with heavy stomps, your nose flaring with every breath that he casually spat out. 

“You give up as soon as you feel tired. I mean, no amount of water breaks are going to help you. You think we have the time to sip water when we’re rescuing a town? A city? The world?” 

His voice, soft and smooth yet it was grating to your ears. The constant talking. Rambling. It gave you a headache. It made you see red. Hearing him berate you. Mock you.

“You’re breathing too hard too, which is taking up all of your energy. And your emotions? You need to control them better. Not only does it affect your combat, but your relationship with your team. You shut yourself off when you don’t do well on a mission.” 

“What are you, my therapist now?”

“Listen, it does no one any good if you’re—“

And it stopped with a strong swing towards his left cheek. His head snapped to the side when the rubber foam smacked him like a whip. 

If red hadn’t blurred your vision, you would’ve noticed the tiniest smile he mustered up from the corner of his lips. A crooked, slanted one that was followed up with a chuckle.

“Not exactly fair play, but…” He raised a hand to rub at his cheek before adjusting the gloves onto his wrists, cracking his neck and stretching the muscles in his back with one more shoulder roll before positioning himself like you were: knees bent and fists raised with the gloves fencing off your face. 

“I’ll give it to you. You can throw a good punch. Beginner’s luck?”

The comment made you swing at his left, and he snapped his head to the right. You missed. There was a precision to his move, something that you lacked in as he snuck a punch to your right cheek. A grunt was stifled, and then let loose in a cough when you felt another beat to the left of your abdomen. Sputtering breath, when Dick scored another hit to your jaw. 

“Fuck—“ Your eyes locked on him while he held your gaze. Your perception seemingly widened, heightened as you’d noticed the smallest movements from Dick, twitching upon instinct as if he was about to strike, but there was nothing. Just the taunt of his arms, and Dick’s teasing smile to garnish, to taunt.

He was circling you. You were circling him. It was the same movement, following each other like two predators unwilling to share the last morsel of food. You felt as much as a leader as Dick was, but from the outsider’s perspective, it was telling who was following the other’s lead. 

Who was the experienced leader of the two sparring men.

Dick feigned a punch with a raise of his arm, and you immediately buckled, jerking back to nothing but a bluff of a hit. You were then greeted by an obnoxious chuckle before he landed a successful sneak to your head, a hit impactful enough to rattle your knees and knock a scoff out of you.

“Be observant. I punch better with my—”

Another swing to his left cheek. Successful, and harder this time, as it managed to stumble him from his stance. You could feel the impact of your fist on Dick, even if it was cushioned by foam. 

It was exhilarating.

“Fight better with your mouth closed too.” You spat, raising your arm to strike the same cheek again. Dick detected it before you could attack, and ducked lower to the right, where he met a sudden fist to his jaw, a calculative undercut that sent him falling onto his back.

“Shit—“

Something unleashed in you. The red in your vision had scorched, burned blue as it reached its highest temperature. You immediately seized the opportunity to straddle him, to face the source of your belittlement, to look at the leader that everyone on your team had silently wish you were, that everyone had admired, to somehow stare and pierce him long enough with your eyes that you were able to tear into his body and take his incredible abilities and mold them into your own, becoming that someone that you had undoubtedly admired as well. 

You threw another blow to his face, enough to knock a groan out of him. It was pleasing to your ears, the low trembles of his voice because of your touch, they twitched with gratitude. But you needed more, a beg from Dick, a plea for you to stop. You threw another punch, and then another as you became blinded by rage. It was out of your control, your arms had a mind of their own as they continued wailing on Dick, even if he had shielded himself with his arms for the last minute now.

You breathed hard, tossing your gloves off as you held him down for a stronger grip and prying his arms from his face. A need to touch him, to feel the impact that your gloves had been restraining you from. You pinned him by his bare and sweaty shoulders that made the grasp all the more slippery, but you nonetheless held him anywhere you could, by his biceps now, and stared into him. You peered into those brown eyes that mysteriously settled your fury until you’d succumb to the beautiful tranquility of his orbs, quietly pacific compared to his mouth.

Dick’s chest was rising. Up and down like your own, recovering from the pummeling you had given him. His eyes were widened as he watched you—studied you. No marks on his face, thankfully due to the cushions you were begging to be replaced with stone a tantrum prior. 

It was humiliating to prove him right, about your emotions, and you sat still, on his lap, breathing. Your fists had stripped you of the little energy you had left, and turned it into mush, but you found support in the warmth of Dick’s body, still breathing. Your grasp had loosened, but remained on his biceps. Warm skin, and ever slightly kneading because of your own envy of Dick’s strength.

You felt your eyes closed, shutting yourself off of the supply of Dick’s silent consolation as the adrenaline pumping through your veins had slowed. “I can never be you, can I?”

“Who says you have to?” Finally, Dick’s voice hadn’t grated your ears like it had in the past. It was gentle as ever, but this time, there was a warmth to it that you wished you could be bundled up in if it had a physical body. A spirit that could temper you with just its warmth, rather than the toxic heat that had just boiled your rage.

“Because—they’ve seen you, Grayson. They know how you operate with the Titans. I can see it, you know? The way they look at you, then the way they look at me. It’s just…”

“You know, my team looked at me like that when they saw how Bats ran the Justice League.” 

“With disgust? Contempt? Disdain? All of the above?”

“No,” He laughed, gathering himself half-way up with the support his elbows. “with... relief?”

“That’s… not helping?” You rolled your eyes, and then felt yourself flush upon coming to realization upon your current position on his lap when he sat halfway up. “Sorry—“ Without making eye contact, you brought yourself off Dick’s hips, but found yourself suddenly pulled back by the waist.

“No, no. What I meant was…” He cleared his throat, sitting up as he positioned you back on his lap again. His hands interlocked against the small of your back, a devise to keep you from abandoning him on the lone mat, but to also pull you closer, hip to hip. 

“Batman… is impressive. You’ve seen him, right? How he has this presence that automatically appoints him as leader. Commander, really. I don’t know anyone that can plan better than him, but that’s not to say that he doesn’t have his faults. He’s all business, little relations. So are the others. You’ve seen them too. Supes, the Lanterns. I respect it. They respect him because of that, and vice versa. But… that’s not how my team works. Not the Titans.”

“I see…” You shifted, nodding every now and then as you listened.

“It’s just… My members are more than co-workers, you know? This isn’t some nine-to-five job that you’ll probably quit after five years. It’s… our lives now. And with them, they’re with me every step of the way. So, they’re more than co-workers. You don’t protect co-workers. Not saying the Justice League don’t care about each other… But what you do protect are friends, families. Yeah, they’re my family, so I treat them as such. And maybe… that’s why they seemed relieved they were part of my team. And…”

“I just have to find what works with my team?”

“Yeah. I mean, you guys are just starting out. Everyone’s still adapting, still getting to know each other, still figuring out each other’s powers, right? Things are bound to be a little more destructive in terms of chemistry.”

“I don’t know… I just… I don’t know if I can lead them like you guys can. I’m not like you guys. In terms of skills, in terms of leadership, in terms of—“

“Then work on that with your team. That’s what a good leader does, they seek out help from their teammates and let them know that their opinions and help are valued.”

It sounded absolutely simple. Something that shouldn’t have taken you this long to figure out, but Dick was right. Rather than seeking for your team’s help, you thought you had to endure whatever situation had arisen on your own. It weighted heavily on your shoulders, until you couldn’t muster up the strength to push your own weight. And in turn, that affected your team. You needed them, just as much as they needed you. 

“And here you are…” Dick continued, suddenly bursting with a smile. “Instead of spending time with your team, you’re with me. I know I’m quite charming, but geez, (M/N), can a guy get some alone time?”

You scoffed and lightly punched at his chest. “Did we forget that you were the one joining me in the gym when you have your own in the tower? Copying my every move? What’s up with that?”

He shrugged, kneading nonchalantly at your sides. “Knew you’d be alone. Knew you were probably blaming yourself, moping around. Thought I would give you a little push.”

You shifted again, your hands keeping close to yourself as you couldn’t muster up the strength to complain about his wandering hands.

Or rather, find anything about his hands to complain about.

“Push as in to annoy me?”

“Well, I was supposed to be teaching you some things, but, uh… you were playing whack-a-mole with my head earlier.” 

“That’s because—“ You sighed, dropping your head low in embarrassment. “Sorry. I don’t know. Everything started happening so fast and—“

“No, it’s fine. It gives me the perfect opportunity to introduce you my first lesson of the week.” He was sincere, smiling up at you, almost as if he had mistaken your brief fit of rage as a game of tag.

“What’s that?” You asked, meeting his eyes once again.

He pondered for a moment,, pursing his lips as he was lost within his thoughts before speaking again. “How To Communicate To Your Team 101.”

“How is that even going to—“

You felt a sudden press to your lips. A softness that awakened your five senses by tenfold, and a desire that you had kept vaulted in the back of your mind; now beginning to unlock to its freedom the longer Dick had his lips on you. It wasn’t right. No, it wasn’t like it was morally wrong, it was just…

You hesitated, conjuring up all the reasons in your head on why kissing Dick wasn’t a good idea. But it was futile. Everything had been resolved within this moment; the way he let you use him like a punching bag, the way he didn’t spare a single second to share his empathy for your concerns, the way he tended to your wounds days prior despite your brazen disregard to his kindness. 

You were being selfish again, guarding yourself off with ice like you had done with the others. When in reality, you wanted him. 

No, you desperately needed him.

You felt him open up his mouth, assuming he was about to speak, but you seized his breath with a slot of your lips, and kissed him. One hand came up to rest on his cheek, to finally feel the slight scruffs you had delivered on his skin, and you caressed tenderly across textured skin, to the slow rhythm of your lips, whispering, “Sorry… again.”

“Don’t be. Without it, you wouldn’t have been on my lap. And… I wouldn’t be kissing you right now.” Dick muttered, a satisfaction to his voice like he had gotten his wish fulfilled. He ran a lone hand up your back, then back down your spine, bone tingling once he repeated again under your hoodie, and gazed across your bare skin.

“What are you doing to me…” It was a genuine question, something you wished could be answered because you didn’t know yourself. And yet, you were scared of the answer if Dick was to ever give you one. It’d been a while since you felt like this, with someone else.

For the past few months, you hated him. Couldn’t stand the sight of him. And now, you feel like you couldn’t tear yourself apart from him. From the softness of his lips and to the warmth of his body; the longer you endured him, the more you realized you had been captivated by Dick all along.

“I don’t know, but… I like figuring you out.” Dick’s speech was slurred from dragging his lips down to your jaw, nipping at your sweaty skin. “Like how you push me away, but you can’t help but tolerate me whenever I’m in the room.” He breathed you in, sucking at the corner of the sharp bone. You pressed your head into his neck, silently letting him take you. “How you’d sneak glances at me and roll your eyes, only to keep on staring… and staring… until you hadn’t realized that I was looking back at you. Because you were too busy looking at me.”

Nothing but the truth came out Dick’s mouth. Remarkably candid, because you thought you were more covert about your conflicting feelings for him. It brought a bloom of heat to your cheeks, and you hid your face inside his neck, groaning because Dick began licking at your neck, and because you felt stripped, absolutely vulnerable.

“Dick…” Something was rising in your shorts, tightened around the center. Warm and pulsing, even when Dick had unzipped your hoodie and thrown them to the side. A chill was felt across your bare back, most likely a draft from the vent, and Dick held you closer, sandwiching the heat, and suddenly your erection, between his body and yours.

“I knew you never hated me.” There was something about your chest that he loved. How smooth it felt. A few hairs had grown at the center, raised from the feelings Dick was supplying to your body. They tickled his cheek whenever he rubbed himself against it until they were then flattened with a long, fluttering lick as he maintained eye contact with you. “Always right.”

The taste of your sweat was salty yet delicate on his tongue.

“Hate is a strong word...” Your fingers threaded through Dick’s locks, scrunching them into your fist when he started toying one nipple at a time with his tongue. The wet muscle flicked deftly, then he suckled, and then tugged, like he had known your body, like he had explored your body before. It was strange, how he knew the right thing to say, and the right thing to do.

Maybe he was ‘always right.’

“Whatever it is, it’s not stopping you right now.” His hands dropped to the waistband of your shorts and he pulled away from your swollen nubs. It was unwilling. You could see it in his eyes, the thirst to ruin, and it compelled him to bring another suck to your nipples, a few seconds more that almost pulled a dangerous whimper out of you before he ultimately paused. “Nor is it stopping me.” 

With a gentle push on your chest, he leaned you back onto the mat while lifting your hips up, smoothly sliding your shorts off. They joined the pile containing your hoodie soon after, and then your briefs to top.

“R-right here? Aren’t there cameras or something…?” Your hands instinctively came down to cover yourself, cupping that embarrassing erection that Dick was thirsting for. The head of your cock peeked out from your clumsy gasp, and his hands instantly came up to pry your hands off.

Dick had that same look in his eyes when he was circling around you earlier. A rapacity blaring the pupil of his eyes. His piercing gaze alone kept your hands from coming up to cover yourself again. You knew you wouldn’t stand a chance against his strength.

“I doubt anyone is watching the gym… Private for a reason.” Your legs were then wrapped around his waist after pulling you by the ankles. His presence was commanding. You knew to keep your arms to your side, hands forbidden from obstructing the view of your hard, throbbing cock.

“No wonder you’re so stressed. Look how hard you are.” Dick muttered, seemingly speaking his inner thoughts because he was too distracted by the veins of your erection. Thick and pulsing as he wrapped a hand around you, and stroked, fascinated by the stretch of foreskin unfolding from the head of your cock when he pulled back, then rolling back up when he pulled forward. “This okay?”

“Fuck—Yeah… Feels good.” One arm was raised to wipe the cold sweat off your forehead,  but it then rested against your forehead, shielding yourself from Dick’s gaze as he slowly pumped you back into breaking another round of sweat.

“No,” He paused, suddenly squeezing your foreskin over the tip of your swollen glans. You whimpered. Not only did he squeeze you tight, stripping you of a friction that you desperately had been needing more of. But Dick was teasing, threatening with the dull movement of his thumb as he pressed and rubbed into the fold of skin, polishing the head of your cock  in a thick sheen of pre-cum as his grip would draw out a generous amount from beneath. “I want to see you properly. Look at me.”

You reluctantly met his demands, only after you felt the tip of his thumb prying into your slit. Was this supposed to be a punishment? Because you could’ve allowed it to go on for longer, knowing how much Dick marveled at how much pre-cum you were leaking out.

Your body felt hot, and your hands—they needed something to hold, something to grip. When Dick began resorting to quicker strokes to your cock, you were clawing at the mat at first, etching your presence with indentations of your nails as your warning came in vain. “I’m going to cum if you keep doing that, Dick—“ 

“Use your words I’m telling you.” He spat in his palm after a millisecond of a break before lubing your cock in his own spit and churning you into the tight, yet slippery friction of his fist. Dick’s gaze had been fixated on you, never once had it torn away to look at something else. Not even a peek at your cock deliciously fucking into his fist. Because in case you forgot, he liked figuring you out. “Gotta communicate with me.”

The stoicism you had worn with pride, only ever fragmenting from anger upon defeat; Dick had discovered another facet to its escalating submission, and it was delightful watching you unravel in real-time. The slick of his hands; one beating off your cock while the other massaging your balls; your expressions had given yourself away on how to break you down. Maybe it was because you had given up keeping up the facade. Or maybe it was because it was Dick, who has done more than enough to earn your trust, that you found yourself nearly crumbling.

He had studied you, his hands continuing to wander, explore every part of you while silently cataloging the right spots to make you crack. You were close, hanging off the edge with one hand, nails dulling over a cliff as you desperately prevented gravity from pulling you down under. When his hand had left your balls in favor of suddenly pushing a finger inside of your tight hole, Dick knew you had completely submitted.

Your body was writhing, hips desperately thrusting in the air despite Dick pinning them down to properly stretch your hole and fill you up with another finger, and another. Your expressions were ravishing, conflicted with pleasure and tension, and your mouth opened to politely tell Dick to stop, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to utter the demand. Instead, all that came out of your mouth was a whimper of his name, a stutter that rang delectably in Dick’s ears when he interrupted you with a deep push of his fingers, curling and then pumping in and out of you, and another whimper would secure the deft removal of the rest of his shorts and briefs. All because he couldn’t contain himself anymore. 

He had absolutely no right to teach you about control, for the reason that he was on the brink of losing it himself. You looked absolutely wrecked, all from the stubborn grip around your cock, the tight fit of his fingers, and Dick couldn’t imagine what you’d look like if he was in you, his thick cock fucking you, making love to you.

“Seriously, Dick—I’m about to—“

You couldn’t help it. Dick’s demand to control yourself was absolutely absurd with his reign on your body. The wet, sticky sound his spit made as Dick’s fist was being screwed by your pulsing cock drove you nuts. And then came the view of Dick’s thick cock, throbbing, pre-cum dripping heavily off of his swollen head as he watched you untouched, begging to be touched. You swore you almost surrendered had it not been for his wrist slowing down, a delicacy you begged prior, but now desperately wanted to vanish.

“God, you know I always loved it whenever you accidentally let a smile slip. But this? You’re so beautiful like this, (M/N).” He paused despite your silent pleas for him to otherwise. Though, all was forgiven when he leaned forward to kiss you on the lips. Sweet and bountiful like his words had made you feel, and you kissed him right back, an eagerness compared to his own movements, but then gratefully countered with an impatient swipe at your crack. His cock, plump and heavy, then wet and sticky as he smeared his pre-cum over your hole. Your legs remained wrapped around his hips, but Dick pushed his body weight forward until they folded with your knees touching your chest, his cock dangerously pressing at your entrance.

Dick spat in his palm again, reaching down to coat himself in the sticky layer of spit, and you felt him press. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, anticipating with an accelerating drum of your heart as he teased, slicking your pucker with the gentle, smooth circling of his tip.

“Please… I need it.” You had a gentle grasp around his nape, pulling him down until his forehead rested against yours. You’ve never seen him like this, so up-close and intimate. A mole, a freckle on his face that you’d never noticed, and you instantly yearned for what could’ve been all this time, had it not been for your stubbornness.

“What do you need? You need me inside of you?” Dick clarified against your lips, a whisper into your mouth as you parted them open to welcome his tongue. Hot and heavy, you let your tongue wrap around his for a tingling moment before pulling away, a string of spit webbing a path between your lips and his. “Use your words.”

“Need your cock, need you… Need everything. As long as it’s you.” You marveled at Dick, drunk off of the mutual endearment you have for each other. He regarded you with a warm smile, followed by a dazzling glint within his gaze, then relayed the turn of his mouth to yours with another kiss, a gentle warning, before Dick pushed his hips forward and slipped his cock inside of you.

“Good boy.”

“O-oh, fuck.” 

Your body tensed as soon as you took the first inhale of breath since he’d breached you, sharp and abrupt, just like the pain that had jolted the muscles in your body to squeeze around him. You were playing defense, impeding the foreign introduction inside of your body with a clamp, yet Dick resisted. Rather, he thrived on your strain, adoring the suctioning feeling of his cock as if you were conflicted about inviting him in or pushing him out. It didn’t take much to figure out that it was the former. During the meantime you were adjusting to his cock, Dick was thrusting the few inches that had slid inside of you. Small and short movements to aid in your stretch, and then eventual pleasure as he gradually pushed himself deeper until you’d blossom completely open for him, like a bud in the Spring.

“Fuck, you’re so tight… So good, your ass is so good.” He was satisfied with half of his cock inside of you, rocking into you slowly until you felt comfortable enough to have him harder, faster. Till then, it was perfect like this. Breathing in your whimpers, holding your face like it was the last vestige of your sanity, before kissing you again, sweet on the mouth, tender with your tongue, to hold a fragment of your sanity within him and sealing it where no one could ever take it from him.

“T-too big, Dick—Fuck…” You whimpered again, closing your eyes from the uncomfortable detection of already feeling completely full, yet you and Dick both knew it wasn’t a complaint. Rather, it was a simple observation that had rendered you speechless, an inkling you’d disappoint Dick for not being able to take him properly, to not let him in like you had done for all these months.

“You’re doing great, baby. Doing so good… You can take it, I know you can.” His words were so warm, so kind, so gentle in your ear, low and sinking in your neck as he marked you as his with constant licks and kisses, and immediately, he dialed up your confidence by tenfold. You felt yourself relaxing, the tension in your body melting the longer he rocked half of his cock into you.

Just breathe. Breathe. You found it helpful following Dick’s breathing pattern, exhaling when he pulled out, inhaling when he pushed in, and gradually, you felt yourself opening up for him, taking him in longer strides, with little breaks, faster, harder, until you felt thoroughly plugged when he pushed once more to cork his cock inside of you, balls-deep.

“S-shit, Dick—Fuck—So good—“

Dick trembled with a moan sinking into the underside of your jaw. His cock had never felt so wanted, so warm in another’s body. You took him in without a single complaint, and it was a spectacle, an absolute wonder when Dick leaned back to watch himself completely unsheathe out of you like a dagger out of its scabbard. 

“Look at that… Fucking beautiful.” Your hole was gaped open with the diameter matching the girth of Dick’s cock. Blinking, puckering desperately as it painfully endured the loss of heat, the loss of his desire. You’d never felt so exposed, completely powerless as Dick had you bending your legs further back with one hand, and the other spreading your cheeks apart to further see how much more you could stretch. 

The color of your flesh was enthralling, and if the marks on your neck had not been telling that you were Dick’s; he pressed a kiss to your pucker, gentle nibbling and licking at the puffy rim before abruptly spitting inside of you, and another for good measure, the glorious designation would remind you now.

“Dick—No more, I need you, please—“ You reached down to spread your pucker with the spit dribbling out of you using two fingers, then pulled back to taste him, sucking on them before your craving for Dick would return with a vengeance, body-writhing and mind-numbingly so.

“Tell me. What do you need, hm?” Dick tapped his cock against your hole. The plump head slid smooth over the spit-covered flesh, mixing with his pre-cum, while he watched you with a grin, each swipe of his cock taunting to pull completely away unless you spoke.

“Need you. Inside of me. Fucking me. Holding me. Kissing me. Touching. I don’t know—Please, please. Just need you.” Your wishes were long-winded, but sincere. The gaze you had given him, an imploring look that Dick would take a moment to hold for a little longer despite your begging.  Cherishing it, not knowing if this would be a fluke you’d later regret down the line, but in the end, all that mattered was that  you let your guards down at the mercy of Dick’s guidance. Then utterly defenseless, when he gave into your wishes, a chaste kiss to your lips while doing so, and pushed himself deep inside of you with one smooth thrust.

You stiffened in Dick’s arms when they slipped around you, digging your nails into his skin. Squeezing his waist with your legs, you held onto him when he pushed the rest of his body weight over you, bending you further while keeping his lips connected to yours. He was stabilized on the tip of his toes, thrusting into, past, and against your inner muscles all at once. You clenched around his cockhead, the pleasure unbearable to resist as each dip of his hip successfully knocked a gasp from your mouth. 

“So good, so tight like this…” Dick’s cock was in heaven, burying you deep until his heavy balls pressed flushed to your taint. He would stay motionless whenever he did; to catch up on his breath, to draw out his nearing high for a little longer, and to feel you, luxuriate in the warmth of your walls squeezing him tight, pulsing with dilemma, and ultimately refusing to let go. “Think I can come just like this, you squeezing my cock…”

He looked down at your face, a brief check-up. Your lips moved as if you were about to say something, but no sound came out. Only a stutter of a gasp, little sounds that Dick found incredibly magnetic, to which he found increasingly difficult to keep his lips off of you. He failed with little effort on his end, in hopes to steal those tiny sounds and keep it for himself. 

Your pupils were blown when they weren’t rolling back from the smallest movement of Dick’s hips. In addition, with your lips swollen and lids heavy, you gazed up at Dick like he had saved your life, as if he had guided you towards a better place. Your life seemingly were in his hands as he held your cheeks and kissed you once more. Sweet again, rocking into you steadily, sweat sticking his skin to yours. 

And maybe he did.

“Say something. I want to hear you.” A merciful demand upon your lips. You were trembling, barely swallowing down moans while Dick continuously impaled you with his cock—up into you now, when Dick leaned back until he was sitting up, and brought you back onto his lap like before, pushing your hips towards the rate of his thrusts.

Mesmerized by Dick, your mouth parted open and your throat immediately began emptying itself of all the harbored moans and groans that you had been holding hostage. “F-fuck me, keep fucking me. L-like that. No—Harder, harder—“ They rattled in volume, bouncing in sync with the way your ass had been doing against Dick’s cock, and then louder, because your marvelous sounds emerged an addiction out of Dick.

Sweet Jesus. He couldn’t stop. Watching the desire in your beautiful features, hearing your pleas reflect your want, stroking your cock awaiting for its release, marking every flesh of your skin his mouth had come in contact with. At the level of intimacy; from the pull of Dick’s hair, the sloppy, open-mouthed kisses you two shared, and the mutual passion you had for each other; you no longer felt like his disciple, but rather, an equal to Dick’s being—a derivative blessing, that would course correct each other’s life.

Your hands could barely hold onto his shoulders, but you worked with your strength, the slip of his skin, and locked your hands around his nape. Forehead to forehead, you and Dick breathed moans into each other, heavy and thick with yearning as you two pressed close, stuck to each other like glue. He cataloged the tiniest details on how your face contorted with pleasure; the scrunch of your nose, the roll of your eyes, the part of your lips. Your fist tightened around your cock, pumping it rapidly to the pace of Dick’s thrusts, churning it until your biceps had distractingly flared with veins. 

You did the same. You watched Dick’s mouth agape with rapture. The scrunch of his brows when he fucked into you faster and to the root. The clench of his jaw when you squeezed tight around him, suctioning his cock until he sounded delirious with pleasure. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, and you knew he found you beautiful as well, the beautiful loss of reality from the mutual pleasure, and that was all it took to make you spill your load without a single warning. 

You smashed a guttural groan to his lips and unraveled your fingers, leaning your body back to let your cock release where it pleased to afterward. “Oh, fuck—“ 

“Holy shit.”

Thick shots rained on Dick’s sweaty body. Three spurts to the center of his chiseled chest, and then another four splashing high in the air when Dick powered up on the sight of your cum alone, and drilled you harder, your cock dribbling in cum as he did so. His nails dug into your ass cheeks, spreading them apart, then cushioning them back around his cock to somehow press your walls against every vein pulsing through the thick of his erection.

Dick fucked you like you’d begged him to. Long, strong thrusts, to the brim on each stroke, undoubtedly hitting your prostate at every turn from the way you would jolt forward with widened, rattling, yet blissful eyes. A sight Dick would have forever ingrained into his memory, because you were officially, utterly, and completely wrecked.

It was heaven. The crown of Dick’s cock sliding over the spot, the depth of his cock rendering you immobile and dazed. Again, he’d repeat. A new addiction, surging powerfully through his veins. You let out a sob. 

Again. You squeezed your eyes shut. 

Again. You dug your nails into his shoulders. 

And again. Dick smacked your ass at the delirious state he was in. He had completely breached inside of you, explored every inch of your hole with the circle of his hips. A thrust. A slam. A rut. He had traversed through every option to dismantle you, and like clockwork, your snug hole all but sucked on his cock, begging for him to come inside.

He couldn’t hold it anymore.

“Baby, baby…” Dick’s large hand smothered his warmth around your throat. You could feel the callous in his palm, a gentle abrasion to your smooth skin, and he rubbed your seed all over your body, then his. He fucked harder to the sight of the sticky sheen layering your body. The smell of musk. The stick to his hands. Filthy. Your body and his were filthy together. Filthier, when pleasure burst from the base of his shaft, and in turn, flooded your insides with a large load. He moaned, and you arched into him, into the stick of his body, anticipating for the rupture of your doing. 

Your cock throbbed once, straining forward with its swollen head aiming towards the ceiling, and you spat thick shots of white seed into the air, eventually course-correcting to land on your body and Dick’s.

It was wonderful. You could feel Dick’s cock pulse as his seed rushed up the shaft and buried you deep into your guts with thick and heavy shots. Upon impulse, you squeezed as well, clamping around the peak of DIck’s orgasm until it must have crested with the stillness of his breath. “Don’t pull out.”

“Wasn’t planning on it…”

If he hadn’t thought it enough, you were beautiful, he was keen on calling it a mantra because it meant that he was still here, on this very earth, breathing and witnessing your very existence. Your body was weakened, barely mustering the strength to hold your chest up without the aid of Dick’s arms around you. Limp, after your second orgasm. All of you, you were so beautiful. From your rim hugging the base of your cock, your softening cock dripping, your swollen nipples, the smooth planes of your cum-stained chest, and parted lips. You were a banquet to Dick’s eyes, a feast that could muster up another around to have at you, to have you completely devoured if he had really wanted to.

But no, this was perfect. Watching you in silence, surveying up at you while you peered down at him, panting, breathing slow, in a case of wonder of how one could have such an effect on him without a morsel of effort. 

“So… lessons? You always do this to new recruits?”

“Only if they absolutely suck at their role.” An exhaustion in his smile, you wanted to capture it in between your lips, and replenish him with gratitude.

“Hey— Asshole…” You muttered, a gentle knock to his chest, to which he laughed off, and then held on, to pull you in for a blissful kiss.

With the way you fit into his arms as if you’d always been meant to be there, warm where he was cold, and cold where you were warm, he knew he didn’t need his question answered.

“Kidding. Let’s just say… it was curated for a special someone. And hopefully, they liked it as much as I liked teaching it.”

“I have a good feeling that they did.” 

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[alchemistc]

how the turntables

an: my drunky bf got home from the bar last night, played me seven songs that reminded him of me, and then demanded i tuck him into bed, spoon him, and give him back scratchies until he fell asleep. this was supposed to be about that, but it got away from me, a bit this could technically be buddietommy, if you squint, even if that wasn't necessarily my intention.

Buck has had his fair share of drunken revelry. He has done his time in the trenches, and puked in Hen's bathroom trashcan once or twice to pay for it. He knows how quickly things can go from "just a few drinks" to crying on a park bench with a potential hookup turned babysitter.

The sight that greets him when he pushes open his apartment door is unexpected. Not because he hadn't known that Eddie and Tommy would be hanging out while he babysat Jee for the evening, but because he is almost positive they'd said they were going to be at Tommy's place, and if they'd gotten waylaid somewhere along the way, Eddie's place is still closer.

He's also pretty positive they'd said they were just gonna spar and then catch the Kings game, maybe.

"Baby," says Tommy, eyes going wide, cheeks rippling like tide-pool waves, ears scrunching up in their wake, and from his spot parked on top of the island counter top Eddie grins too.

"Buck!" he says, more excitable than Buck has seen him in a while. They're both hammered. Buck has a sneaking suspicion that if he were to get within five feet of them he'd be able to smell the Jameson wafting off of them.

Eddie throws an elbow up on Tommy's shoulder, ruffles his hair, and gets a large palm with fingers outstretched planted in the meat of his face for his trouble.

Tommy and Eddie are both tactile, when they're drunk. Buck will be the first to admit, if only to himself, that he has definitely taken advantage of this on more than one occasion. From his spot across the room, as they get into a squabble that has Buck immediately cataloging how many different injuries Eddie could sustain falling off the counter, he has to firmly remind himself that he and Tommy have had this conversation, and that the touches Eddie and Tommy share are not the same as the ones he shares with Buck. Still, though.

"Is that my secret stash of pizza rolls?" Buck asks, loudly, while Eddie tries to get Tommy in a headlock and Tommy fully lifts Eddie off the countertop like he's five seconds away from executing a firemans carry across the loft.

(Which he absolutely could, Buck has intimate knowledge of how easily he could do that.)

Tommy is the first to yield, setting Eddie back down and staring back up at Buck while he does some practiced, if a little sloppy, move with his arm to break the hold Eddie has around his neck.

"We ordered Eber-üt's." His face scrunches. "Eber-üts."

Oh, Buck is absolutely going to tease the shit out of him tomorrow. Once he's nursed the hangover off of him.

"Eber-üt's," Eddie echoes confidently, before his own expression morphs into confusion. Buck stares back at them, biting his lip - he's never been sober enough to really experience the majesty of either one of them three sheets to the wind.

"Okay. How about you both let me handle the hot oven and the lava filled snacks."

Eddie pouts. "We were gonna use the air fryer."

Which Buck doesn't have. He has three ovens, he doesn't need an air fryer.

Buck hangs his keys up. Rolls up his sleeves, and ignores the way Tommy's eyes go a little dark at the sight. When he rounds the kitchen island, he is fully intent on breezing past them both for the cabinet full of plastic toss-away cups he's been collecting for when Jee gets the hang of cup-drinking, but Tommy waylays him with an arm snugged around his waist and a nose pressed to his neck.

Yeah.

He's gonna be sweating out Jameson for the next ten hours.

But Buck can also smell a hint of his aftershave, woodsy and warm, and Tommy at least has the decency to keep his hands mostly in Eddie-approved areas. (Eddie has threatened to give his spare back multiple times, at this point, despite reminders from both of them that a courtesy call wouldn't hurt, once in a while.) "Hi," Tommy murmurs into Buck's neck, lips ghosting along his pulse point, and Buck ignores the hand drifting daringly close to the band of his jeans, reaching a hand of his own to grip Tommy's chin, thumb in his cleft as he angles his head.

The look in Tommy's eye does the opposite of cooling, which is Buck's mistake, absolutely, but he presses a quick peck to Tommy's lips before he dances away, back on mission to get these two idiots some water.

Eddie blows a raspberry at Buck's retreating back. "Is that the quivering loins inducing kiss you were talking about?" Eddie asks, clearly not talking to Buck, and when Tommy doesn't answer right away Buck dares a glimpse over his shoulder. Mistake. Tommy's eyes are firmly on his ass, and rather than being faux-disgusted by their honeymoonish antics, Eddie is biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too wide.

"Quivering loins?" Buck asks, while he fills two cups of water and grabs for the pain killers he keeps in his spice cabinet.

Tommy looks anything but embarrassed as he shrugs his shoulders, but Eddie is still following that thread. "Some guy was aggressively hitting on your boyfriend tonight, Buck." The thrill of that word hasn't quite died down, yet, but he's pretty sure he hides it okay as he passes off the cups to his two unexpected guests. "But he handled it like a pro. The phrase was used."

"The...phrase," Buck repeats, while Tommy tips his head back and takes obscene gulps of the water. "The phrase...quivering loins?"

Eddie nods, and takes the daintiest sip of his own water that Buck's ever seen.

"So maybe kiss him better than that. The guy was like, a solid LA nine."

Eddie is way too drunk for them to get into the question of why he's suddenly comfortable openly ranking the attractiveness of men now that he's got two queer male friends. Buck tables it.

"Do you want your pizza rolls, or do you wanna see me and Tommy make out?"

Eddie's gaze gets a little distant. Buck continues to table it.

"You told an LA nine that I quiver your loins?" Buck asks instead, and Tommy's grin goes a little dopey. It's not exactly the worst feeling in the world, seeing the irrefutable proof of how much Tommy likes him splashed plain as day across his face, and Buck gives, a little, swaying into Tommy once he's checked that the oven is preheated and tucked the tray of pizza rolls in there. This kiss lingers, just a bit, though Buck keeps his tongue firmly in his own mouth, even though drunk Eddie apparently doesn't have the same qualms as sober Eddie does.

"He was a seven, at most."

"He was a dick," Eddie concludes, now staring at his still full cup of water. "He thought I was your date, and he still went for it."

"How'd you guys go from a quiet night in to... sloppy drunk in my apartment at eleven-thirty at night?"

Tommy's hands are warm against his waist as he shoots Buck a careful glance. There's a weight of significance in the look, and Buck wonders at it for all of a moment before Tommy raises a brow. "Eddie wanted to go to Micky's."

Eddie doesn't seem remotely concerned by that reveal, even though the only reason he knows about Micky's is because he'd listened to Buck wax poetical about Tommy taking him to his first gay bar, months ago now. So. Maybe he shouldn't table that conversation for too long, actually.

Buck only has to smack their hands away from the pizza rolls about three times while he lets them cool, and in the ten minutes it takes for them to eat the whole bag of them, plus the three bags of corn nuts each, he's set up the couch for Eddie, laid out bottles of Gatorade in the living room and the bedside table on Tommy's side of the bed, and found a pair of sweats for Eddie to sleep in. The food is doing the hard work of reminding them they're not in their twenties anymore, and it only takes some gentle coaxing to usher Eddie to the bathroom downstairs, and Tommy upstairs.

It isn't until Buck is crawling under the covers, teeth freshly brushed and in far more clothes than he's used to wearing with Tommy in the bed next to him, listening to the gentle snores drifting up to the loft from the couch, that he tugs Tommy in for a proper kiss.

Tommy melts into it, which isn't exactly abnormal, but there seems to be some extra tension that gets released this time, as he presses his nose into Buck's cheek and curls his tongue over Buck's teeth, torso rolling forward to meet Buck's, palms skating over Buck's hips, fingers digging and pressing into the grooves of Buck's waist.

This isn't remotely the first time Tommy's had to question what exactly there is, between Buck and Eddie, and he's good at keeping a level head about it, at not making assumptions, at talking about his own insecurities without blaming Buck for them. This isn't the first time Buck has made it a point to reassure him, with touches and gestures and words, when they're needed, that he's in this with Tommy.

"Hi," Buck says, when they finally come up for air. The snores are still steady, below, and Buck knows from experience that it'd take a klaxon to wake Eddie, at the moment, but he keeps his voice low as he cups Tommy's jaw. Tommy nips when he thumbs at his bottom lip. "Micky's?"

Tommy's pursed lips dance, as he works through what he wants to say. "We -- I've got pretty blanket permission to talk to you about it, but -- in the morning?"

Buck tips his head, pressing their foreheads together, and Tommy's eyes get a little crinkly around the corners, like they always do when Buck does something intimate that's not a lead up to sex. "Turn over," Buck tells him, and Tommy's eyes sparkle at the words, because as often as they end up curled around and over each other in sleep, he can never seem to get enough of being the little spoon.

Tommy isn't shy about getting himself situated exactly the way he wants, hitching his ass back into the cradle of Buck's groin, pressing the backs of his knees firmly into the bend of Buck's legs, back to chest and tugging at the arm under their now shared pillow until they're both comfortable. Drunk Tommy's a bit of a brat, honestly, now that Buck's the sober one, and he is absolutely going to remind him of this at some point, but for now, he skates his fingers up Tommy's arm, angles his palm in so that he can trace the pattern of moles across his shoulder blade and up his spine.

Tommy sighs, and tilts just enough to give Buck room to continue the aimless journey of his fingers across the breadth of Tommy's back.

For as much as Tommy loves this, in the quiet moments when they get silly and argue about who gets the back scratchies for the night, Buck will never admit it, but he almost prefers it this way, being able to give this, being the person Tommy will accept this from. He's desperately enamored with the idea that they get to be this, for each other, for as long as they both still want it. Forever feels like a long ways off, and neither one of them has said it, in as many words, but it's there, in the way Tommy laughs at his dumb jokes; in the way Buck tucks his hand into Tommy's, fingers interlaced; in the way they fit together in heated gasps and soft groans, in quiet sighs and soft murmurs.

"In the morning," Buck says, while Tommy's breaths start to slow, "after you beg me to crack open the Pedialyte and try to kill Eddie with your hangover glare," Tommy grunts, shoulder knocking back in consternation, "I'm gonna make you tell me exactly what you said to the LA seven about your quivering loins."

Tommy huffs a soft laugh. "Scratch my back until I fall asleep, Evan, and maybe I will."

[hiding-in-the-vault]

The cave au ^-^

CAVE AU.

This AU that I've kept in the back of my mind came purely from wanting to put the blorbos in cool low-lit atmospheres. The general idea behind the plot came from me deciding that because of the fantastical nature of the source material, I can really do whatever the heck i want. So I decided that the ground is growing!

Yeah, the surface is growing upwards, eating up whatever is built on it. For example, Tommy's little hill house doesn't get pushed higher up the hill; the ceiling stays where it is, but the ground below it grows around-- eventually the hill is much higher than the roof, eventually dirt and stone begins to consume, and eventually its gone.

It grows too fast for them to rebuild. Lakes are risen and walls crumble, causing massive floods. Ravines form and cave in on themselves, lava pools turn into volcanoes, all in the span of a few days. (magic™) It's sudden and violent and confusing, and there is no time to ask How or Why.

I compare it in my mind to how strangely and quickly mushrooms grow, which have always freaked me out lol

The prison fares much better and Sam holds out the longest, but eventually it too begins to get overwhelmed. Certain walls near the cell begin to bow in and the elder guardian system gets affected and suddenly it's a real security concern. He'll just build a new one underground : )

With how the ground is growing, the caverns below remain in-tact. They get much bigger, and expand much deeper than before. But the people above aren't the only ones having to adapt.

As I said in my last post about it, everyone travels primarily in one big sectioned group, at least until they find a relatively safe area to settle. The plan is to recreate some sort of hub as they had before, and people will be able to venture out from there if they wish. That includes Dream being forced along with the prison guards. But it does Not include Techno, Phil, and Niki. (Ranboo sticks with the big group- power in numbers!)

They go underground as well, but they do so separately, deciding tensions are bound to get high and wanting no part of it. But even as they enter the caverns from wildly different areas, Techno still catches wind of Dream being pulled along with the others, and starts working on a plan to give him a chance to escape.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

I hear you at night

Requested: No

Warnings: Suggestive talk, mentions of masturbation, flirting, extremely bad dialogue because I don’t know how people talk

“How often do you cum while thinking about your Lieutenant?”

You blinked at Ghost, your eyes wide and disbelieving, your hands starting to shake by your side. Completely taken off guard by the sudden and intrusive question. “What?” You ask, not even sure you heard him right. You must be mistaken. There was no way your superior would say something so bold, so crass, out of nowhere like that.

“How often-” He leaned in, caging you against the wall, his hands on either side of you, ensuring you couldn’t just run off and avoid his prying eyes and words. “Do you cum while thinking about me, Sargaent?” He repeated, eyes sparkling with delight at the mix of discomfort and slight arousal that was playing across your face.

“Never.” You say, back straightening and hands clenched tightly at your sides, trying to give off an air of confidence to hide your obvious lie. Trying not to think back to just last night when you had your fingers shoved up your lubed hole, panting out his name as you came. “That is a rather inappropriate question, Lieutenant. Especially for you.”

Ghost simply hums at your answer, tilting his head to the side ever so slightly, eyes crinkled in a way that tells you he’s holding back laughter. He doesn’t believe you, clearly. And you can’t even blame him because the words sounded like a lie even to you. No real conviction behind them, weak and hesitant. Of course Ghost would see right through them.

“Never, huh?” He whispers, one gloved hand coming up to rest on your throat, applying only the lightest bit of pressure against your trachea. “So last night in the safe house, when I couldn’t sleep and all I could hear was the sound of you fucking yourself while moaning my name, that was never? Or have I finally lost my mind, just hearing things in the middle of the night?”

You could feel your cheeks heat up at his accusations, fists clenching tightly into the fabric of your loose pants as you struggle to respond, his elation only growing at every second that passes without a peep from you. The way you avoid his eyes, avoid his entire being really. Staring down at your feet like he wasn’t even there.

“I’m not complaining, Love. Might’ve just been the hottest thing I’ve ever heard. You fucking yourself to the thought of me. Bet I could outdo any little fantasy you have built up in your head.” He tells you, his hand giving the faintest squeeze around your windpipe, sending molten lava through your veins to pool in your belly and between your legs.

He could make it good. You know he could. Ruin you for any other man. Wrap his hand around your throat just like this as he fucked your hole until it was loose and sore. Like it was made for him. Make you dumb for his cock and his cock only, just like you imagined late at night in your bunk, trying to keep quiet so the other soldiers wouldn’t hear your soft whines and the sound of wet skin as you fingered yourself.

You wanted it.

But not if he didn’t want you just as badly as you’d been wanting him.

Steeling yourself, you smirk at him, giving a mocking tilt of your head as you meet his eyes. “And how many times have you cum while thinking about me, Lieutenant?” You asked, watching his brown eyes widen before narrowing at your boldness.

“Lost count, Love. At least once a night every night since you came to base and I saw that pretty ass of yours when you were doing push ups.” He says with a hum, trailing his fingers against your sides before pushing his hand behind your back, resting on your lower spine, fingertips lightly playing with the waistband of your pants. “Thought about you beneath me, on top of me, fucking you with my cock or fingers until you cry. Thought about eating you out for hours, making you dumb in the head til you can’t think about anything but me.” He practically purred in your ear, sugary sweet but so rough as well. You didn’t want to talk about what that voice of his did to you, but you were pretty sure he already knew.

“Yeah?” You whisper, turning your head, your nose brushing up against him, an intimate gesture that had you shivering. That look in his eyes burning through you. “You wanna know what I think about at night, LT?” You ask, biting into your lip to keep from giggling at how his eyes darken.

“I’m not opposed to hearing it, Love.” He says, pulling you closer, the fly of his pants dragging against your skin, the zipper cold and hard, scraping roughly. “So go on, tell me what you think about when you cum on those pretty fingers. Tell what you gets you going so much that you gotta cry my name just to get some relief.”

You hum, teasing him with silence for a few moments, running the tip of your nose up and down his crooked one, puffing soft breathes against his lips, so close that if you leaned just a little closer then you’d be kissing. The temptation was strong, but the need to mess with him was stronger.

“I think about you.” You start, feeling his hand on your back slip to your hip, trailing over it before gripping it tightly, bunching up the fabric. “Think about you above me, in me. Fucking me like you own me.” You say, his breathing picking up against your lips, yellow tinged teeth bared the slightest bit. You decide to kick it up the slightest bit, reaching up to trail your fingers along his jaw, the beginning rumblings of some pleased noise vibrating through his chest so hard that you could feel it. “Think about….your big fingers stretching me open. Too much too soon, it hurts a little. In that achy way that feels so good. Think about you kissing me when you fuck me, grabbing me, tossing me around like I’m a doll.”

“Quite the imagination, Love.” Ghost interrupts before you can keep going, dragging his teeth across your bottom lip, one hand on your waist and another on your hip, lifting you up before you can even think. “But like I said, I can do better.”

And you believed him.

[tubbytarchia]

Jimmy wing and wing clipping headcanons because I don't think I've ever written it down on here but. You guys ought to know by now how insane I am about his canary wings as symbolism so here goes yippee

Sometimes I like to imagine Evo Jimmy with little chick wings, all white and fuzzy and stuff because that's adorable. But moreso I stick with the idea that his wings very suddenly sprouted in Third Life (the canary curse did start with traffic) which alarmed both him and Scott. Jimmy would have been somewhat excited but mostly nervous. Scott wouldn't have shown too much care until he realized how fast the wings kept growing, serving as an unpredictability. And Scott doesn't like unpredictability. He needs to be able to pave his path the way he sees fit to fulfill the tragic love story he seeks. And so he starts to clip them, to halt their growth and keep them from becoming encumbering, and it doesn't take much for Jimmy to just let him because it's for his own wellbeing - what Scott claims anyway

Without Scott in LL, he keeps clipping them on his own, but it's hard and he never quite gets used to it. He very much accidentally cuts into blood feathers too

By DL, his wings are pretty neglected and he ultimately asks Tango to clip them for him, however hesitant he is to let Tango in on it or to request such a task. Tango is horribly nervous of messing up but he's willing to do it for Jimmy's sake. Every step of the way he'd ask for assurance that he's doing this right and I'd like to imagine that it's in that process that Jimmy's forced to grapple with the fact that maybe he doesn't like his wings clipped. They stop before he can break down too much and neglect to bring it up again much - Jimmy doesn't, and Tango wants to respect that. So he just walks around with one partially clipped wing for awhile, new feathers eventually growing back and his wings start to get decently bigger again for awhile

Some people like to imagine that the avians have their wings bound etc for fairness in the games. I like to imagine that their wings get magically clipped for the duration of each game - Grian's do, but Jimmy's never do, because he wouldn't be able to take flight anyway. Grian doesn't realize though, and is often too preoccupied, but when he and Jimmy team up in LimL and he learns that Jimmy would clip them voluntarily, he's appalled. This further encourages Jimmy to ditch clipping and Grian, the proud Avian he is, can't help but dump a bunch of wing care advice on him. Jimmy decides to try and follow it, and maybe eventually even be able to fly. But he'd fall to his death by the end of it anyway

This puts a damper on his confidence, but nonetheless he keeps trying in SL. He practises for hours on end at the Big Dogs' diving pool, but he ends up pushing himself so hard that, though no longer clipped, his wings get neglected again and his feathers poke every which way from the prolonged and frustration induced practise. He might let Martyn try and preen them but Martyn wouldn't be much good at it

Welp that's it for traffic though, for now... Jimmy's wings as a represntation of his mental wellbeing whoag!!! The way he's happier in DL with Tango - lets his wings grow for the first time. And how much Scott tries to get at them - reinforced by seeing Jimmy cease to clip his wings. How Jimmy remains in a good space with LimL but gradually gets both a little more hostile and anguished with SL (eg taking enjoyment out of hitting Scott around, trying to push Martyn into lava and then running away from home thinking he can never go back now. Contrast to LimL for example where he and Joel voiced a similar sentiment together in relation to Grian when they failed to get a kill with their Enderpearl tactic, but there, he had Joel by his side). How he's gradually dismissive of Scott's approaches in LimL, very straightforwardly so in RL (as debatably canon as that is to me) and other non-traffic instances - he no longer clips his wings. But he's wings still aren't in great shape because he's not yet content with himself

I'm a firm believer that things need to get worse before they get better but. Eventually... Eventually his wings will be well cared for again and he'll stop pushing them and himself and it'll be reflective of Jimmy's growth... dreamy sigh... one day

I also like to imagine that his wings involuntarily curl around himself when he doesn't want to be perceived etc. Like um like when he had to dance in a maid outfit in SOS. cough. The trauma. I drew it once before too but eugh he'd apologize too, for his wings doing that. Because he's prone to apologizing when he's the one being hit around or having disservice done to him. He's started hitting people back a bit though... I hope he keeps doing it. Please Jimmy please start murdering people

Also I ultimately don't take the canary wings as an actual sign of the canary curse. That's just psychological horror he and others around him subject him to in my head lol. His wings resemble his unworthiness - why he's at the bottom of this cultural food chain. Not only are they useless, flightless, but also have that canary curse label put on them, keeping him reminded of his tendency to die first any time of day. When really, those wings are no burden even if he never gets to fly... Still, they'd be his... Still, they'd frame his figure like a sun following him everywhere he goes. The moment he can accept and love them despite this is the moment he accepts and loves himself, too

Im tired eepy. If there's typos or anything, oops. Love Jimmy always. Pray for my son

[definitelynotamhafan]

Bound (Fear pt.4)

You were choking. Fire, water, whatever it was, shoving itself down your throat in the void. You wanted to scream, but nothing came. It wasn’t painful. If it was, you would’ve pushed the god off of you long ago.

Atum-Ra’s burning hot hands gripping your throat, and then, kiss after kiss, brought you back. And then fire lit your blood up, flaring inside your veins. Your fingers clutched onto the creator’s hair, pulling and tugging as your own lips sought life into his own. Kisses after kisses, more and more heat sparked your souls.

“Amheh.” Your name, off of his tongue. “You’ll never leave me, right? You promise?”

The heat pounding in your head, along with the lightheaded feeling which his addictive lips gave you, barely allowed you to process his words. But when you did, you barely managed to slur out a:

“Never.”

Before white hot, searing pleasure brought its tendrils around you again, as Atum-Ra’s hips molded into yours for the nth time that night.

It felt so good. So right, up until you’d felt his warm smile fade, into a psychotic grin.

“Swear it. Amheh. Amheh. Amheh! AM-“

___

“-HEH!” Seth’s voice startled you awake as you jolted up, sweating and panting.

“M’ awake! ‘m awake!- ow.” Your head hit the wooden beam of Seth’s bed with a smack.

“You alright? You were screaming in your sleep.” His voice took on a teasing tone as you rubbed your head in absolute silence.

Great. Even in your sleep you couldn’t escape your filthy and possessive ex.

“M’fine…” you mumbled, voice sore and hoarse with grogginess.

You sat up, propping your back off of the cold floor with a hand, the floor on which you had insisted to sleep on the night before, assuring Seth that beds were of no comfort for you, since you used to sleep on obsidian slabs and in pools of hot molten lava. You may or may not have regretted that decision, because you definitely felt your back crack with a wince.

“Told you.” He said, as if knowing what you were thinking. “Was it good?”

“Was what good?” You shot back as you pulled yourself together hard enough to stand up.

“The sex.”

You almost choked on your own spit, wheezing out a: “JESUS CHRIST.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind.” You answered, shrugging off his confusion. “And that.” You said, referring to your private affairs. “Is none of your business.”

Seth’s smirk only tugged up further, turning even as smug as possible, for someone who’d gotten carried to bed by yours truly.

“C’mooooon. I heard you.” He teased. “Oh, Ra, please! Harder~! Harder~!”

You grabbed a nearby pillow and smacked him on the head.

“Bold words coming from you, Mr. I-fell-asleep-on-the-couch-so-Amheh-can-carry-me-like-the-princess-I-am!” You retorted, frowning.

After the entire charade involving hiding from Horus in antique pottery you had stayed up late, enjoying Seth’s yapping about other gods, laughing at how he mocked them and trash talked them, and eventually ended up watching him doze off on the couch. You had carried him back to bed, and when he stirred awake, he had tried to persuade you into joining him, which you refused. Multiple times.

He may have been one of the only people you’d be close enough to consider family, but that didn’t mean you trusted him any more than the venomous viper Ra was. For all you could know, this could’ve been a setup, to get you to admit to the crimes you’d been accused of.

“What’s your deal?” You suddenly blurted out.

“What?” Seth asked, suddenly confused.

“Why are you here?” You questioned, raising a brow. “Didn’t the council curse you to be a demigod? Last I checked, demigods don’t have temples, let alone ones this big-“

“How do you know about that?” He asked, suddenly aggressive. His eyes drifted to yours, blood red eyes meeting your light speckled ones.

“Oh please. You think I’m stupid? Even I, on my millennia long trip, managed to hear what kind of crap you shoved yourself into.” You chastised, half mocking, half annoyed.

“To answer your question, I was a god once.” He retorted, mirroring your tone.

“Was.” You corrected.

“…” he paused. “Your point?” His brow quirked, lips pursing together in annoyance.

“Why would Ra let you keep your temple? Let me tell you this. She wouldn’t.” You said, suddenly suspicious of him. “Did she set this up?”

“What do you take me for?! A fool?” Seth suddenly jumped, like an aggressive hound at the throat of a hare. “Of course not!”

You went silent, but eyed him suspiciously as you sat back down. He was too jumpy. Too quick to shut you down. Something was up.

Silence. It was deafening. It filled your mind, flitting and jumping in between traitorous thoughts and excuses for not believing him. It wasn’t the quiet, serene silence. No. It was the kind which upheld tension, almost suffocating when your brain’s buzzing with so many questions.

“Are you hungry?” Seth asked, breaking this silence.

“What?”

Seth? Offering you food? That was new. But then again, everything was new. You’d been gone millennia. He could’ve changed…

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Nevermind. He’s still the same angry sandcat he once was.

“I won’t.” You replied, defiantly.

“Fine.”

“Fine!” You insisted.

“Fine!” He mirrored.

Silence, again. This wasn’t how you wanted to start your day. In fact, you didn’t even feel like staying in his room anymore.

“I’m going out.” You said suddenly, standing up abruptly, getting ready to leave.

“No.” Seth refused.

“What do you mean, no?“ you whipped around to face him.

“I mean no. You’re not leaving. You’re supposed to be under my surveillance, remember?”

Oh great. Just great. This was what you needed. And it only fed your suspicions further. He may have only wanted to help, but knowing Seth…. There was also an ulterior motive.

“Too bad, sandcat.” You answered, heading for the door.

“What did you just call me?” He asked, stopping you in your tracks, his teasing smile gone, like the moon behind a cloud.

“Sandcat. It’s only fair that I get to call you that since you mistook me for that bastard Heh.” You stated, moving towards the exit, again.

“Cute. But still no.” He said coldly.

A wisp of sand coiled around your foot, keeping you pinned. He had. You knew that much. Demigod or no, his control over sand was much too better than any demigod you’ve encountered. That means, someone had granted him a temporary godhood. And you had a few people in mind.

“Seth.” You said firmly. “Let me go.”

He took in a deep breath, rubbing his hand through his long red hair.

“I can’t.”

You knew he couldn’t, for you could finally see the marking on his lower back. A small eye, in a thin circlet of sun rays, representing your one and only Sun god.

“You lied.” You stated.

“I did.” He replied, smirking sadly.

You paused. Your mind spiraling into too many questions and thoughts of betrayal.

“How much?” You asked. “How much do you have to keep me here, for you to gain your whatever he- she promised you?”

Seth went silent, his lips pressing into a thin line, he looked at you, and then at anything but you.

“A fortnight.” He answered.

Shit.

HEYYY GUYS. SO SORRY I HAVEN’T POSTED IN SO LONG, I’ve just been busy with school stuff and catching up on some missing assignments! Hope you enjoyed this part, and I’ll make sure to try and write the next two parts faster!

[crystalflygeo]

Oral fixation bf x Sensitive nipples gf ft Zhongli + fem!reader

cw/tags: nipple play, slight bondage, blindfold, mention of nipple clamps and piercings, Zhongli has a dragon tongue, dirty talk, praise kink, Dom/Sub undertones, consensual non-con??? (color system is used)

notes: I literally just saw a post that was just the title above prompt and had a massive brainrot. Nips are so fun to tease and good lord I would let Zhongli do anything to me afsdfbgjk <3

There were so many ways Zhongli could tease your cute little nipples, sometimes he’d just rub and poke at them between his fingers until they were bright red and sore. With or without his gloves, the sensation was electrifying.

Sometimes he would press down on you against the mattress, making your tits rub and grind on the sheets a he claimed you over and over.

He would sometimes even flick his fluffy tail tip all over your chest and abdomen, featherlight and soft, making you squirm.

Oh, but he had a preference for using his mouth, a bit of an… oral fixation, if you will.

And you had certainly developed an addiction to his wicked tongue as well. The long serpentine appendage would tease your skin with wet licks leaving no inch of your body unattended, reach deep inside your core teasingly, or slip down your throat, gagging and fucking you with it not unlike his cock.

Perhaps it was simply in his dragon nature to bite and mark and lick and devour.

Either way, it seemed to match perfectly well with your sensitive nipples…

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

The ex-archon had been licking and sucking at your breasts for what felt like hours now, leaving trails of saliva over your soft skin like a feral creature. Only to then softly blow at them raising goosebumps and pulling sweet noises from your lips.

You squirm in place, your arms bound tightly behind your back with red rope, pushing your chest forward and leaving you deliciously at his mercy. A dark cloth over your eyes acting as a blindfold and completing the look, like this, all your other senses felt hyperaware. A slight dip on the bed, the subtle shuffle of clothes coming off… and your own heart rattling in your chest.

His fangs lightly graze your skin, nibbling at your neck and shoulder, warm lips descending to your soft mounds before brushing your hardened nipple. “Zhong-Ah!” His draconic tongue circles your areola slowly, reverently, making you keen and twitch before curling around the peaked nub and tugging softly, pulling a long shuddering moan from you.

Heat pools down your gut and your hips buck involuntarily as he continued his ministrations. Soft like honey and searing like lava, Zhongli’s motions are slow and dragging. “Divine. You look…” He sighs affectionately, pressing a trail of kisses on your chest, “So perfect for me, my love…” He takes one of your rosy nubs into his mouth.

"Zhongliiii..." You moan wetly.

He hums and you feel the vibrations rush your whole body. He plays with it for a few seconds, lapping at it, suckling softly. Finally, he released the little nub with a wet ‘pop’, long sinuous tongue licking his lips as he saw how red and abused it was. His heated gaze darting to your face seeing you tremble in anticipation due to the blindfold.

Like this you couldn’t see him, you couldn’t expect his next move...

Which is precisely why he gently nibbled at your other neglected little peak, front teeth applying the slightest bit of pressure mindful of his sharp fangs, making you gasp and let out a high-pitched moan. Your entire body shaking.

“Zhongli, please, fuck- I’m-”

“Patience.” He says simply.

You whine.

“I love to see you like this.” Zhongli kisses your shoulder, soft “So eager, so willing and pliant.”

“Please.”

"Hmmm what do you say we adorn these..." Zhongli’s big hands cup your breasts, softly caressing the underside and slipping towards your ribs, massaging your sides softly before going back up, his thumbs circling your puffy nipples "with some pretty little clamps?"

You gulp.

"Or…" He suddenly whispers in your ear "Even some piercings. Have your cute nipples accented with some cor lapis beads so I could gladly apply some... resonance" His hands rest at your hips and you dare let out a small breath of relief. Feeling slightly more at ease knowing exactly where his wicked hands and mouth are.

He noses at your neck, warm breath ghosting your skin. Your head lolls to the side to give him more access, thankful for the break on your sensitive nipples. "Would you like that, hm? Having my claim on you…" His voice came almost as a growl. Possessive and slightly feral.

You nod hazily, feeling him nibble at the spot where your jaw meets your neck.

"Words, dear, I want to hear you say it."

"Y-yes…" You mumble.

“Yes what? Are you even listening? Or are you that overwhelmed already?" He chuckles.

One of his hands leave your hips, the burning skin suddenly cold.

Then his finger flicks your left nipple and you squeal.

"I... I'd like having your claim on me, my lord! P-please!"

"Oh?" You can practically hear the smirk in his voice "Such a devoted little thing..."

"Zhongl, my lord... please. It's too much. I c-can't anymore..." You sob, a few tears running down your cheeks and dampening the blindfold.

His hands rub at your thighs, gentle, grounding. He takes a moment.

“Color?”

You bite your lip, and he sees your cheeks reddening.

“Green.”

"I see… Then allow me to indulge, my love, just a little bit more."

"No n-noooo..." You hiccup feeling that sinful tongue go back to play with your chest, teasing your sensitized nerves "Please not there... t-too much... Ah!"

You knew he would not rest until your chest was covered in his marks…

[herbivorp]

Some Eggpire stuff, tw for body horror

sooo I wanted to dive into Skeppy and his recovery after dying in the lava I am soooo so normal about the eggpire arc and wrote a bit about it here:

When bad pushed him you could see the instant realization of pure unfiltered horror grace his features followed by him reaching out and almost grabbing Skeppy in time but just barely missing by an inch In shock he hesitated for a split second before lunging to scrabble through the lava pool for the peices (yes peices) of Skeppy, gaining the burn scars on his own arms (demons are resistant but not immune to lava damage) to eventually pull him out in a horrifying disfigured clump The first thing that caught his eye were the shimmer of Skeppy's diamonds spread over most of his (remeaining) skin as a defense attempt from his own body, and next, how Skeppy was staring at him with his eye while the spak in it started to die out The worst part was seeing how the vines on skeppy's skin started to creep and try to incase and consume him in his dying state Bad was able to apply a totem just before Skeppy's last bits of life ran out and carried his living but disfigured body from the egglair I can imagine how broken Bad would be like utterly speechless and horrified as he carried him and dont get me started on the other's reactions upon seeing them Bad sat by his bedside for months without eating but eventually left on his boat to look for any kind of reconstruction magic he could use to help Skeppy You see where I'm going with how indescribably traumatic this was for both of them and it never went away Bad still sees that face in his nightmares and Skeppy was left with the memory of quite literally dying and being bedridden disfigured and suffering for months After the whole mess of Bad killing several people they pretend like everything is all fine and dandy Bad is the last one with the egg's influence and Skeppy stabs and kills him with a sword & uses a totem to get rid of the last of it After both are physically healed and several months after the dsmp fell apart and the egg was gone, they decided to make the best of what happened to them both and it made their bond stronger than ever They are still not even close to recovering mentally and may never be Annnnd the cherry on top is them getting seperated bc of the qsmp.. like fucking imagine I need them together again rn I'm not even silly hahah goofy anymore I will die if they dont

Anywayyys yeah I love c!skephalo with all of my being and will continue to scream their story from the rooftops even if nobody gives a fuck anymore

[writememysticfalls]

Dive In | Stefan Salvatore

Summary: You're about to have sex with your boyfriend Stefan for the first time, but he can't get his ex-girlfriend out of his mind.

Pairing: Stefan Salvatore x reader

Genre: Suggestive, Shirtless!Stefan, angst

Word Count: 1k

Stefan followed you up the stairs to your bedroom.

You were going to have sex for the first time tonight. Stefan would be lying if he said he hadn't fantasised about it.

“So… your aunt’s at a conference. Your brother is at a friend's house,” Stefan said. “What's the catch?”

“No catch,” you said, shutting the door and grinning at him. “Just us.”

You sat on the bed facing your mirror, and kicked off your shoes. You pulled your vest top over your head.

Stefan lay back on the bed, resting on his elbows, admiring the way the light caught the little spots of brown in your hair.

“As soon as my clothes are off, I'm diving under the blanket, okay? God, this part’s always so awkward,” you said.

But Stefan wasn't listening. A shiver ran through him. Cold sweat pooled at the base of his spine. He had spotted a brown mole, right in the centre of your back. Katherine had a mole on her back, too.

Suddenly, it was 1864 again.

He heard the sputter of the gas lamp in the corner. Katherine swept her curls away from her back, revealing the mole he loved - and angry red bite marks on her neck.

Stefan leapt forward, touching the marks.

“I see you've noticed my battle scars. Your brother has quite a nasty mouth,” Katherine teased.

Stefan felt only horror as he remembered that vampires healed within minutes. Katherine must have come straight from his brother’s room.

“Stefan,” you said, straddling him, and playing with his hair. “You okay?”

He nodded quickly. “Fine. Sorry. You're beautiful.”

You smiled, but your eyes were serious. “You do… want to do this, right?”

Stefan nodded, plastering on a smile. How could he explain the truth - that he was disturbed by how much you reminded him of Katherine?

He had felt this way a few times before. He would notice something - the way your voice got higher when you were annoyed, or your smirk when you told an innuendo - and he would feel a slight shiver of deja vu. But it had never been this bad.

You bit your lip, looking down, your body leaning over his.

Stefan noticed that your dark eyes still had that shyness of adolescence, which Katherine’s had never had. You were nothing like Katherine. Slowly and gratefully, he kissed you.

You kissed him back, then kissed a trail down his jaw and to his neck. This time, when he shivered from your wet lips, it was a good feeling.

And then, like a red wave, the memories flooded back.

Katherine, her lips on his neck. Suddenly, sharp teeth as she bit down into his flesh, sucking his blood. At first, the sting was bearable, but then it became an ache, spreading through his neck and to his chest. He imagined bleeding to his death, right there in his bed. He felt his eyelids flutter, panic making him drowsy.

“No,” he mumbled. “It hurts…. It hurts…”

You frowned at him. “Stefan! Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No, no…” he said.

Stefan was getting angry at himself. Why should his life be ruined by a crappy relationship 150 years ago? Immortals couldn't get PTSD, for god’s sake. Katherine was in his head, in his bed, just when he was trying to connect to you. It wasn't fair.

He would just have to push through the fear and get over it. The first step was to make the situation as different to 1864 as possible.

Stefan lifted you with one hand and manoeuvred you so his body was on top of yours, a position Katherine never allowed.

Already, the panic of a moment ago was fading like a distant nightmare. Screwing his eyes shut, he kissed you again, with a passion that would silence all of your worries.

In a few minutes, your naked bodies were rocking to an even rhythm. Stefan felt a sense of victory bubbling up in him like lava. This was almost over. He could master his trauma from Katherine. He could be your man, in every way you needed him to be.

Then, he heard himself moan, from deep in his throat. Strangely, that was what reminded him of 1864.

“I love it when you moan for me, Stefan” Katherine said. His back was pressed against his bedroom wall, and Katherine’s mouth was all over him. Katherine’s lips brushed his ear as she whispered, “I can tell that Damon is listening just through that wall.” Stefan tried to stifle the sounds coming from his mouth, panic filling him, but Katherine only laughed. “Don't be afraid, darling. He loves the shows we put on for him.”

Stefan opened his eyes, forcing himself to look at you and see your wide, youthful eyes, so different from Katherine’s. However, the flashback remained.

Gasping for breath, Stefan rolled away from you, curling up into a ball. He had failed. Katherine had got in his head, and he hadn't been able to stop her.

For a long time, you just lay there by him, slowly stroking his back.

Finally, you said, “It was Katherine, wasn't it?”

Stefan turned, stunned. “You knew?”

You shrugged. “I guessed.”

“Do you wish I was more like her?” you said quietly, and Stefan could hear that you had avoided asking this question for a long time.

Stefan turned to you and took in your beautiful eyes and thick, wet lashes. “No. I promise you, if there is one thing that can save me from the memory of Katherine, it's you, Y/n. You're kind, you're selfless, you would die for your family - you're everything she wasn’t.” Stefan smiled. “We just might have to take things slow for a while.”

You kissed Stefan’s hand. “You can tell me things, you know. I might be young, but I've lived through stuff too.”

Stefan smiled. “I know.”

​—

MAIN MASTERLIST

Let us know what you thought in the comments or on anon! 💋

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

in your earlier ask you said that yves is pretty much anti child so is he also anti pet? or maybe anti puppy/kitten/baby animal? when you described yves pretty much conditioning reader to dislike kids it reminded me when i got my kitten when she was three weeks old. it was during the lockdown so although i was there 24/7 i was lacking sleep because she refused to sleep on her own and i had to feed her every two hours and when she got older she got hyper and i needed to play with her so she could chill out a little more. i remember as i put her to sleep in my lap for the third time i thought to myself “is this what babies are like? but worse, dirtier and for a longer time?” as much as i love my little fur baby i don’t think i could go through that again so i wonder yves’ thoughts on pets. he gives off those vibes that he hates fur everywhere and can’t stand barking lol. but then again if reader wants a pet im assuming he’ll accommodate somehow.

Pets that need his constant attention like most mammals and noisy animals like the majority of birds are a big no for him.

However, he doesn't mind having reptilians as pets. As long as they're big enough to not lose them. He is indifferent to fishes, but he sees them more as home decor than actual living beings. Something akin to owning lava lamps.

He especially likes snakes. It fits with the aesthetic of his house and they're one of the lowest maintenance pets there is. He would meet all of its physical needs, but other than that, he wouldn't care to spend more time with it than necessary. The snake will be locked up in its enclosure at all times, unless you want to interact with it and he knows that your personality wouldn't lead to trouble. He knows everything there is to know about the snake, yet he sees it as a mere display piece for his living room.

Yves despises insects, he uses the presence of them as a sign that the environment isn't clean, and he does not appreciate having to think his house is filthy. No matter how much research he does on them and how many results show that insects do not necessarily equal dirty, Yves just could not accept them.

He is not squeamish, though. Yves despises them but he is not afraid of them, he knows how to handle a tarantula gently and keep calm when it decides to crawl under his turtleneck. If you threw a bucket of cockroaches on him he would not scream or flail, he would dodge it gracefully before dusting himself off. If any got onto him, he will just pick them off his clothes as if they're paper stickers. Yves will not beat around the bush and try to find a roll of newspaper or a bug spray, he is squashing that colony of spiders with his bare hands.

The way he could simply grab a handful of mealworms without hesitation makes the world think he loves bugs. He doesn't, not one bit.

You could simply shove him in a vat full of writhing maggots and he would come out as if he took a leisure swim in the pool, combing his hair with his fingers to get rid of any leftovers.

Yves would be annoyed more than horrified, lecturing you that pushing him into ponds of worms is rude while he jerks his head to expel the ones that are stuck in his ears.

Not to say he is inept at taking care of them. Yves can be an excellent caretaker for any and every animal. His research skills are unbelievably godly and he loathes the idea of him being perceived as incompetent in anything.

Yves also has a strangely high tolerance for all things disgusting and vile, he could clean up the most brutal bloody murder scene complete with mutilated bodies, decomposition, faeces, urine, vomit and other bodily fluids without wearing gloves or a gas mask; and still have an appetite to eat lunch immediately after. Vacuuming fur and sifting through the litter box is nothing to him. He just does not find much fulfillment in owning a pet. Hence, a pet becomes a parasite in his life, and he detests all things vermin.

If you wanted a furry companion so badly, he will hit the books and review the patterns in your life again.

Do you really want a pet or are you actually just bored? If it's the latter, he could effectively fill your time and make you forget about your desire for an animal companion. He could also negotiate his way out of this too.

Are you someone who hyper fixate on something or someone, then lose all interest after a few months? Then, he could wait it out. Taking care of your newest breathing toy as he counts down until you finally decide to abandon it and move on to greener pastures.

Are you someone who easily gives up at the first encounter of a problem? Maybe all it takes for you to drop the interest entirely is a meow that's too loud or a nip that's a bit too painful. He's going to train the animal to misbehave around you.

Are you someone who is susceptible to peer pressure? He is going to train your pet to misbehave around your loved ones. Manipulate your friends and family into thinking that you're an abusive or neglectful pet owner. He doesn't have to say a word to you, everyone is doing the pressuring for him.

Maybe you would fold under his dour glare and stern words, he can be quite scary at times. That generally reduces anyone into a shivering, crying mess that will not bring up the things that displeases him. This is usually the second-last resort to anything.

Perhaps you're a fierce animal lover and have a strong portfolio of being a cat or dog owner. You wouldn't give your beloved four legged friends up for the world, you will fight for them till your very last breath. Someone with unbreakable maternal/paternal instincts towards your precious fur babies. Giving them up is not in the equation.

Well, he is not above traumatizing you for life.

When push comes to shove, you might find your trusted non-human companions betraying you by lacerating your extremities to the point of no repair. Puncturing your throat with its sharp canines and claws, leaving you to breathe on a ventilator while Yves takes care of you in the hospital.

Or he could direct the attack to someone else, make you liable for lasting damages and having to put your seemingly rabid pets down. You would also have to live with the guilt of knowing you're mainly responsible for disfiguring that poor child's face, changing his life for the worse, just because you "didn't" train them well.

He warned you not to test him. Yves has been lenient and his patience has reached its limits. He may love you and want the best for you, but he is also very, very selfish.

[azsazz]

Bloody Knuckles and the Songs of Death (Part 4)

Azriel x Reader

Summary: Reader is everything that Azriel is not. Opposite feelings but equal death in the end.

AKA: Half a rewrite of chapters 43-47 of ACOWAR where reader is now there as part of the Autumn Court, excited to meet Azriel. The other half are my own ideas.

Warnings: Major themes of death, ACOWAR spoilers, blood, gore, mentions of abuse, smut.

Word Count: 1,621

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part 3)

_________________________________________

Beron shields barely fast enough to block Feyre, but the wake singes Eris’ arm–right through the thick, emerald cloth. And the pale, lovely arm of Amaretto.

The others shout, shooting to their feet, but Feyre isn’t stopping yet. Her point hasn’t been made, and her wild gray eyes are consumed by the inferno she’s wielding at the flame master himself.

She stands, instead sending a wave of water from the reflection pool to encircle Beron and his chair. A bubble without air.

Flame pounds against it, turning water to steam, but she pushes harder.

She looks like she might kill him, and although you’re slightly disappointed it’s not the shadowsinger to take his life, you’re very happy at the sight before you.

Beron’s flame barrier slams into her water one, hard enough that ripples begin to form, steam hissing amongst them.

She bares her teeth and sends a fist of white light punching into that fiery shield–the white light of Day. Spell-breaker. Ward-cleaver.

Beron’s eyes widen as his shields begin to fray. As that water pushes in.

You shift onto the edge of your seat, eager eyes unable to look away. The taste of his panic is sweet on your tongue.

Rhysand stands before her, capturing her face in his soft hands. “You’ve proved your point, my love,” he says to her. “Kill him, and horrible Eris will take his place.”

She doesn’t say anything aloud but he answers her as if she had. 

“As interesting an experiment as that might be,” Rhys croons, “It would only complicate the matters at hand.”

It’s silent for a long few heartbeats. 

And then she lets go of her magic.

Beron’s flames explode like an unfurling flower–and bounce harmlessly off of the shield Rhys had thrown around them.

Not to shield against Beron.

The other High Lords are now on their feet.

“That was how you got through my wards,” Tarquin murmurs.

Beron’s panting so hard he looks like he might spew lava. His heated gaze turns on you in a silent command to kill them all, right here and now, but you’re too busy watching what the others are saying.

Helion rubs his jaw as he sits down once more. “I wondered where it went–that little bit. So small–like a fish missing a single scale. But I still felt whenever something brushed against that empty spot.” A smirk at Rhys. “No wonder you made her High Lady.”

“I made her High Lady,” Rhys says simply, lowering his hands from Feyre’s face but not leaving her side, “Because I love her. Her power was the last thing I considered.”

Helion asks Tamlin, “You knew of her powers?”

Tamlin only watches Feyre and Rhys, his declaration hanging between them. “It was none of your business,” is all Tamlin says to Helion. To everyone.

“The power belongs to us. I think it is,” Beron seethes.

Mor levels a look at Beron that would send lesser males running.

The Lady of Autumn is clutching her arm, angry red splattered along her moon-white skin. No glimmer of pain on that face, though. Feyre says as she reclaims her seat, “I’m sorry.”

Amarettos eyes lift towards her gray ones, round as saucers.

Beron spits, “Don’t talk to her, you human filth.”

Rhys shatters through Beron’s shield, his fire, his defenses.

Shatters through them like a stone hurled into a window, and slams his dark power into Beron so hard he rocks back in his seat. Then that seat disintegrates into black, sparkling dust beneath him.

Leaving Beron to fall on his ass.

You truly do like the Night Court.

Glittering ebony dust drifts away on a phantom wind, staining Beron’s crimson jacket, clinging like clumps of ash to his brown hair.

“Don’t ever,” Rhys says, hands sliding into his pockets, “speak to my mate like that again.”

Beron shoots to his feet, not bothering to brush off the dust, and declares to no one in particular, “This meeting is over. I hope Hybern butchers you all.”

But Nesta rises from her chair. “This meeting is not over.”

Even Beron pauses at her tone. Eris sizes up the space between Nesta Archeron and his father.

She stands tall, a pillar of steel. “You are all there is,” she says to Beron, to all of us. “You are all that there is between Hybern and the end of everything that is good and decent.” She settles her stare on the High Lord of Autumn, unflinching and fierce. “You fought against Hybern in the last war. Why do you refuse to do so now?”

Beron does not deign to answer. But he does not leave. Eris subtly motions his brothers to sit.

Nesta marks his gesture–hesitating. As if realizing she indeed holds their complete attention. That every word matters. “You may hate us. I don’t care if you do. But I do care if you let innocents suffer and die. At least stand for them. Your people. For Hybern will make an example of them. Of all of us.”

“And you know this how?” Beron sneers.

“I went into the Cauldron,” Nesta says flatly. “It showed me his heart. He will bring down the wall, and butcher those on either side of it.”

Truth or lie, you can’t tell. Nesta’s face reveals nothing. And no one dares to contradict her.

She looks to Kallias and Viviane. “I am sorry for the loss of those children. The loss of one is abhorrent.” She shakes her head. “But beneath the wall, I witness children–entire families–starve to death.” She jerks her chin at her sister. “Were it not for my sister…I would be among them.”

“Too long,” she continues. “For too long have humans beneath the wall suffered and died while you in Prythian thrived. Not during that–queen’s reign.” She recoils, as if hating to even speak Amarantha’s name. “But long before. If you fight for anything–fight now, to protect those you forgot. Let them know they’re not forgotten. Just this once.”

Thesean clears his throat. “While a noble statement, the details of the Treaty did not demand we provide for our human neighbors. They were to be left alone. So we obeyed.”

Nesta remains standing. “The past is the past. What I care about is the road ahead. What I care about is making sure no children–Fae or human–are harmed. You have been entrusted with protecting this land.” She scans the faces around her. “How can you not fight for it?”

She looks to Beron and his family as she finishes. Only the Lady and Eris seem to be considering–impressed, even, by the strange, simmering woman before them.

Beron only says, “I shall consider it.” A look at his wife and sons, and they vanish, leaving you and Eris in their wake. 

Eris is the last to winnow, something conflicting dancing over his face, as if this was not the outcome he’d planned for. Expected.

The look he gives you is an order. One that has your stomach twisting with both excitement and nerves. He knows that he himself cannot stay here, not while Beron is beyond himself with anger, so he’s telling you to stay, to talk to the Night Court for him.

You nod, and he disappears.

Kallias asks Feyre quietly, “Did you master the ice?” 

She gives him a shallow nod in return. “All of it.”

Kallias scrubs at his face as Viviane sets a hand on his arm. “Does it make a difference, Kal?”

“I don’t know,” he admits.

But Tarquin says, “You saved us Under the Mountain. Losing a kernel of power seems a worthy payment.”

“It seems she took far more than that,” Helion argues, “If she could be within seconds of drowning Beron despite the wards.” 

Helion’s power, warm and clear, brushes against their shield, trawling through the air between everyone. As if testing for a tether.

Thesean declares, “What’s done is done. Short of killing her,”–Rhys’s power roils through the room at the words–“There is nothing we can do.”

Feyre stands, staring Thesean in the eye. Then Helion. Tarquin. Kallias. Even you, the representative for Autumn, exactly as Nesta had done. “I did not take your power. You gave it to me, along with the gift of my immortal life. I am grateful for both. But they are mine now. And I will do with them what I will.”

Her courtiers have risen behind her, now in rank, Nesta at her left. Rhys steps up to her right, but doesn’t touch her. He lets her stand on her own like Eris is letting you, to stare everyone down.

She says quietly, but not weakly, “I will use these powers–my powers–to smash Hybern to bits. I will burn them, drown them, and freeze them. I will use these powers to heal the injured. To shatter through Hybern’s wards. I have done so already, and I will do so again. And if you think that my possession of a kernel of your magic is your biggest problem, then your priorities are severely out of order.”

The High Lords and their retinues say nothing.

But Viviane nods, chin high, and rises. “I will fight with you.”

Cressida stands a heartbeat later. “As will I.”

Both of them look to the males in their court.

Tarquin and Kallias rise.

Then Helion, smirking at Feyre and Rhys.

And finally Thesean–Thesean and Tamlin, who did not so much a breathe in her direction, had barely moved or spoken these past few moments.

All eyes turn toward you. You cannot speak for the High Lord that you serve, but you can for yourself. For yourself and for Eris, you stand, and nod, pledging your allegiance.

“I will also fight with you.”

[fountainpenguin]

I think the fundamental thing about Ep. 1 Martyn-Cleo [Zombiewood] dynamic IS that it's about misunderstanding... but in an interesting way.

Martyn spends Episode 1 mostly in the mines (getting armor; not unusual for Day 1), but he and Pearl do search the Overworld. They run into several people, but not their soulmates.

Once Martyn has a water bucket and finds a lava pool, he opts to go to the Nether because he wants potion resources, which would set him and his partner up well.

- In the previous season, the Southlands (Martyn's allegiance) struggled because they didn't have a brewing stand for most of the game, so they tried to steal one from Team BEST (iirc). - He says in Episode 2 (granted, after he's had a week to come up with a defense) that he wanted to bring his soulmate gifts so he wasn't showing up emptyhanded, because that's rude.

So, decent reasons to go to the Nether: he'd taken the time to get armor and now he's after an item he'll regret not having if the other teams start brewing potions later. It would only take one jerk breaking the blaze spawner to limit potion access for everyone else.

But Martyn going to the Nether is super confusing to Cleo, who gets the notification that he's gone into the Nether, but remembered potions were against the rules that season.

- Cleo is acting under the assumption that Martyn also remembered potions were forbidden, so they're flummoxed as to why he would go somewhere he has 0 chance of meeting his soulmate. Clearly, he is goofing off for no reason. - Further confusing for them, Pearl entered the Nether right behind him, implying they're allies. Cleo cannot fathom what possible reason Martyn has for what he's doing- Just that he doesn't seem to care about having a soulmate and seems to have picked Pearl as his buddy instead. - Write him off, king. You don't need him.

When the "potions are banned" reminder dropped in chat, Martyn panicked. At that time, he'd been trying to barter those resources to Bdubs and Impulse, but when he got the reminder, he hurriedly closed the deal and scored unlimited access to their cows.

- In his mind, he messed up, but recovered well and came out with a great deal; that's gotta be worth something, right?

In my mind, when Cleo figures out in later episodes that Martyn forgot potions were forbidden, she's more willing to see his side. This is why she apologizes to him in Episode 3 for judging him harshly.

- Cleo makes comments throughout the season that she's willing to take him back if he apologizes. - She recognizes his mistake and stops holding it against him, but wants him to indicate he's willing to work through things with her. She can't put her trust in him until she knows he'll work with her without resenting her. - She remains emotionally aloof, but doesn't push him away. Scar sets her and Martyn on a date and she tolerates it. She plays along with Martyn and they lightly try to mug Bdubs on their walk home. - She even invites him to stay in her base after Etho and Joel grief his and the warden drops down in Ep 3, and Martyn says he might take her up on that- after he killed her that episode. [Martyn POV 49:04]. - In the end, she even shares stuff from her Red Life base. She keeps a wall up, but stops begrudging him so harshly.

Martyn, I think, is slower to come around to Cleo's POV that the items were useless. I think his vision is "It was a risk worth taking. It didn't work out, but if that HAD been allowed, I would have set us up for success and it would've been a gamechanger."

- It didn't pay off, but he has no regrets and sees no reason to apologize. - If his early Episode 2 dialogue is to be believed, Martyn is convinced that Cleo cheated on him first. He says this to Jimmy 14 minutes (in his "When is she going to think about mending OUR bridges?!" rant). And to be fair, Cleo was already living with Scott and calling him her chosen soulmate when Martyn finally met up with her, so you can see his confusion. - Martyn does apologize when he wants to. He goes from 0 to 100 apologizing after accidentally killing Cleo by punching them off a cliff and losing their first life, because he legitimately and completely knows he messed up. - He also apologizes to Pearl for breaking up with her, which was a heat of the moment decision he made after Cleo dumped him. He just ?? refuses to apologize to Cleo, because he doesn't get it. - And b/c he's probably playing the divorce quartet bit up, but shhh...

He wasn't there to see Cleo when they were confused about why he ran off to the Nether. I think Martyn focuses on "Cleo is mad at me for getting hurt, which is stupid because I came prepared with food and armor and was trying to be careful. Yeah, of course I got a little hurt- I was fighting blaze and ghasts! She expects me to be perfect, and I'm only human. She expects me to read her mind; she's so high-maintenance."

- Martyn's also so mean to Cleo in Ep 2 and that's worth pointing out. They're both victims of misunderstanding, but they're also petty and mean. - It's very funny how much he insists to the audience that "this is all Cleo's fault currently" - either because his character is refusing responsibility or is genuinely confused - and it's wild how much he lays into Cleo by telling her she's being "childish, immature, and really selfish." They are such a mess <3 Terrible job, everyone /jk - He just so badly wants to distance himself from blame (and be in the right) that he's not focused on if this hurts them or burns his bridge...

After Cleo cuts ties early on, Martyn does try to "be a good partner" while staying outside their house. He just... shows his efforts in comedically terrible ways, like building a giant heart in front of their door or watching them through his spyglass.

- Shout-out to Martyn in the dead of night hiding in trees and watching Cleo until he's determined that "she seems safe, she seems happy, she seems healthy" before he goes to do something else. I'm not saying stalking is good, I'm just saying it's hilarious for his clingy ex persona. - Just rewatched and it's Martyn who's the first to tell the audience he's putting his heart on the line and Cleo can connect back up with him if they ever want to. I thiiink Cleo in Episode 3 seems to think she was the first to have the idea of symbolically connecting their bridges - seeing as she tells Martyn later that he needs to put in the work to meet her bridge halfway - so that's kind of funny. They're on the same page, so close yet so far; I want to shake them-

In Episode 2, he defends himself by claiming he was "providing" and "putting food on the table," and he's probably still proud of the fact that he scored unlimited cow access despite accidentally pursuing banned items.

- Up until Cleo corrects him later in Episode 2, Martyn operates under the assumption that Cleo might take him back, but Scott is whispering in her ear and warning her not to. He tells the audience that "He doesn't like it" and that he's "going to wait until they've parted ways to do anything else." Yeah... How'd that work out, buddy? - Interestingly, Martyn cites Scott as a bad partner because "He's all about building cottages and flowers while meanwhile [Martyn] is trying to get the most powerful items in the game." - Side note, but Martyn's stress levels going up when he sees Cleo's outdoor furnace is my everything. it's so funny. "Take it inside! Look, he's ruining you!" He has such strong opinions about outdoor safety... - Martyn seems to be operating under the assumption that Cleo's already turned her back on him and won't really forgive him unless he proves he's a good ally. He clings to things that will make him [and Cleo] stronger and safer, so he offers to enchant Cleo's gear while he's heading down to the Deep Dark to enchant anyway, even though they're on poor terms. - Which is so... ahughuggh to me because Cleo asks him why he'd even want her and says "What do I bring to the table? I mean, really. I bring rubbish PVP skills and pithy one-liners" and Martyn's immediate response is that he loves pithy one-liners and doesn't care if she's bad at PVP because he'll handle it. "I bring the skills, you bring the vibes." Just?? Lovely dialogue, fantastic improv; no notes. - EXTREMELY funny to me that when Cleo and Martyn part ways, he tells the audience that 1) He thinks it went well and they're actually genuinely on the same page, 2) He's convinced he misjudged her at first, 3) He believes Cleo is scheming to trick her allies into protecting her, and 4) He's going to play up his broken heart base design and pretend he and Cleo are more at odds with each other than they actually are to fool the other teams... ... meanwhile in Cleo's POV she's like "Yeah, I had to talk to him about strength and the value of having allies in a way he'd understand so he'd go away" sdfklj. She reads him so well there and Martyn is... like that.

Anyway, when Martyn and Cleo talk early on, Cleo pushes this idea that Martyn went to the Nether, got hurt, and it was annoying because she had to use her food to save his life (especially when she saw no purpose in him being there and probably thought he wasn't taking the game seriously).

But I think the core of her hurt is more along the lines of "I can't fathom any reason why he'd be in the Nether unless he straight-up doesn't care about finding his soulmate."

- Which!! what I'm trying to say is, Martyn doesn't get why this is her conclusion. His thought process seems to be "Of course I care! That's why I'm trying to get valuables so we'll have an advantage in the game!" He and Pearl defend themselves by saying they DID look for their soulmates. - Cleo and Scott focus in on "Why did you go somewhere with no people, then?" They knew potions were banned and (judging from their Ep 1 convos) don't seem to consider the possibility that such a thing was forgotten. Thus, it's upsetting their soulmates left them for no perceivable reason and paired up with each other.

Martyn I think focuses more on "My soulmate thinks I hurt myself" - In Episode 3, he claims he "hasn't been dangerous since then," and Cleo acknowledges he's been better at not taking damage. But it's not about the hurt... it's about being ditched.

- There's a certain level of being ditched that Cleo can take, which I think is why she's more accepting of him after finding out he forgot potions were banned. She's not mad he wanted good resources- she was mad that she saw him go to the Nether because to her, going somewhere with 0 people meant he had no interest in finding his soulmate. - She forgives him after she realizes he made an honest mistake and wasn't being malicious. She keeps a safe distance, but she tolerates his presence and even forms a secret alliance with him. - And I think Martyn understands and acknowledges that Cleo is frustrated... for taking damage, or for taking so long to find her (which he'd probably chalk up to bad luck since he and Pearl did wander that map looking for people). - But instead of doing the one thing she asks him to - apologize - he tries to show what a useful ally he is... while Cleo's looking for evidence that he can be emotionally self-aware, so she can put down that wall and trust him. - Also they attack each other and it's great. Martyn walks off and insists he killed her as a joke, this would hold up in a court of law despite Cleo's giggled protests, and he's now banned from pudding for two weeks... very silly.

tl;dr - I have so many thoughts about them and wanted to put my interpretation into words :p

They counterbalance and play off each other so well, and it's a shame (in a beautiful storyline kind of way) that they came crashing down. But I love it so much... The mortifying ideal of soulmates passing like ships in the night.

[breakfastteatime]

Today's Survivor request is "Abandoned" for an anon :)

It’s not sneaking out if you’re an adult in control of his own choices. That’s what Cal tells himself as he leaves the saloon’s basement. He does leave a note for Greez who will undoubtedly go charging in first thing in the morning. The guy never learned boundaries about not waking Cal up at the ass crack of dawn. BD huddles close and doesn’t make a sound until they’re clear of the Outpost.

BD has a lot to say once they’re clear of the Outpost.

“Shhh!” Cal can’t believe how far sound travels at night here. “We’ll be back before Greez can really work himself up to a panic.”

BD scoffs. He actually scoffs at Cal.

“If you’re gonna be like that, you can stay behind and explain where I am to Greez yourself,” Cal tells him as he grabs his nekko from the barn.

And how could BD tell Greez anything when even he doesn’t know where they’re going?

Cal chuckles, gently urging the nekko out into the night and across the fields of Koboh. “We’re going back to the old Jedi ruins. Above the literal lake of lava. And before you ask, yeah, I’ve got some cold drinks to go this time.” He pats the straps of his rucksack loaded down with cooling supplies. He’s in no rush to repeat last time’s heat stroke. He’ll take the back way too, higher up and less likely to roast him. “And like I said, I left a note. If Greez really gets himself worked up, Bode can fire up the jet and come get us.”

Not that Cal wants Greez or Bode to come and find him. This is a private thing he needs to do. Wants to do. Has to do. Koboh’s High Republic ruins are the closest Cal has come to real Jedi architecture in a long time. There are so many echoes, and he wants to throw himself into them and just bask for a moment in what once was. Maybe, if he does that, he’ll better appreciate, better understand, the work Cere is doing on Jedha.

He’s really missed Cere. All that angry talk about abandonment and quitting feels so foolish now. Cal’s a little embarrassed by his past self…

…maybe Cere has some regrets too.

They’ll talk soon. He’s ready. He wants to. They made a good start on clearing the air…

You never asked.

…and it won’t hurt to work on it a little more, if he can just understand everything that was lost. And he does get it, on some deep, disconnected level. He’s painfully aware of his personal losses, has a good sense of the scale of loss for the galaxy with the Jedi Order gone, however, what it means for the Jedi themselves that their history is fading, lost, annihilated? That he doesn’t quite get. It’s the nuance he’s missing.

He’s so lost in thought, he nearly misses the turn into bog where he can take the back way to the grand courtyard. Before, he’d focused on memories of Tanalorr, pushed away many more. Now, he’ll let the rest of the past speak to him, as much as he can take.

The sky is full of stars tonight, not a cloud to be seen. It’s warm too, even before they get close to the lava pools. Once quick relter ride later, Cal is on the fractured plaza, moving through all that remains of an old Jedi temple. He runs his hands over holobooks and furniture until the past takes hold and he’s there with the Jedi, clad in their grandiose robes. So much colour, so many design choices. Padawans race by, accepting admonishment from their masters with smiles and waves. What’s broken in the present becomes perfect in the echo, the soft scent of incense wafting through the air. Peace, serenity, and yet under the surface a feeling of disquiet, maybe even discontent.

The Council seems less dedicated to the mission now. Strange, when the Nihil still present such a danger to the galaxy. What, then, has all their work and training been for?

Ah, but they are Jedi, and they are subject to the will of the Force, not the other way around. And their work here cannot be for naught, for they are watching the Padawans learn and grow, have developed new methods of training, pushed themselves beyond old limits and found the new ones, improved engineering capabilities, pushed science and exploration further than ever…

It’s the middle of the day when the sky ignites and the moon shatters.

There is no time to escape.

There is nowhere to go.

Cal releases that memory before the inevitable, having no desire to watch more Jedi die. He wants to go back further, and he does, using memories from what must have once been a library.  It’s early in the mission, the library under construction, hope and excitement thrumming through the air. Their work has meaning here. They are going to expand the Republic’s frontiers, bring a new age of peace and prosperity that even the Nihil won’t be able to stop.

Another memory – small, contained – meditating in the dawn’s sunlight.

Another  – a Padawan plucking at her lyre, a gentle melody singing in the Force.

Another.

Another.

Another.

But none powerful enough to open the past and let him in. Not like Dagan’s dreams and memories.

The sun is up before Cal is finished, his head aching from all the other lives he’s dipped in and out of. He’ll never know these Jedi, never tell them that their work wasn’t for nothing, and in fact may be the greatest work the Order ever accomplished, even centuries later. Cal will finish what they started, create a haven for all those in need. That’s what the Jedi Order did best.

A gentle nudge from BD brings Cal back to the present. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m okay. Could use some caf and – ”

His commlink activates and the next thing he knows, Greez is bellowing loud enough to be heard from Pyloon’s without the tech.

“You get your butt back here right now, or so help me I’m sending Jetpack out to find you and put a bell on you so you can’t sneak out!”

Wincing, head thumping, Cal nevertheless can’t contain his smile. That’s Greez – ever the worrier. “We’ll be back soon.” Together, he and BD head back to the Outpost. They have a mission to accomplish.

[ereardon]

It Was Never Him

Summary: You catch your boyfriend Rooster making out with a girl at the Hard Deck and only one person can comfort you in the aftermath: Bob Floyd. 

Pairing: Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Reader x Bob Floyd 

WC: 3K 

Warnings: Cursing, cheating 

This time was different. 

Bradley had the brain cells of a starfish sometimes and he always managed to find himself in the most precarious of situations. 

Like clockwork, Friday rolled around and you were at the Hard Deck. It wasn’t even a question anymore, just an expectation that you would be there. You’d been dating Bradley for almost a year. During that time, his friends had become your friends. His hangout spots had become yours. 

Without realizing it, you had let your entire life blend into Bradley’s. More accurately, you had let his life and preferences take over your own. 

It was not much of a surprise when, after an hour or so at the Hard Deck, you saw a girl try to make her move with Bradley. You were used to it. He was attractive and gregarious, chatty and fun to be around. He was the life of the party and he knew it. 

Sometimes they flirted with him at the bar, placing a manicured hand on his bicep. 

Others took it further, pressing their bodies against his side. 

Once you saw a girl have the audacity to lick his ear. That time you caught Bradley’s deer-in-headlights look across the room as he quickly evaded her grasp.

This time, he didn’t seem so keen to push her away. You hadn’t even spoken to Bradley all night, instead staying in the corner with Bob, one of the other pilots. 

Maybe he didn’t realize you were there. Either way, you felt bile rising in your throat as you saw Bradley hoist this other girl into the air in his arms, carry her to the piano bench, pull her in, straddling his lap, as he reached for the ivory keys. Your eyes felt like melting lava as you watched this girl run her fingers through Bradley’s hair, his smile beneath the aviator sunglasses as he looked at her. How when the song ended, he pulled back, resting his hands on her hips, and she grabbed his face, pressing her lips to his. 

How he didn’t stop her. 

How his fingers dug into her sides. 

How the rest of the team’s eyes darted over to where you sat, frozen, in the corner. 

You didn’t realize you were up and out of your seat, running to the bathroom, until you had closed the sticky door behind you. A few moments later there was the sound of loud footsteps, and banging on the door. 

“Y/N? Baby open up, it’s Rooster.” He paused. “Honey, Y/N, I’m sorry, OK? She put the moves on me. I should have stopped her, but, I fucked up. Forgive me? Baby, please.” 

You stayed silent, slumped on the ground near the sink. He tried talking to you through the door for a few more minutes before finally giving up, his loud footsteps growing softer until you heard him round the corner back out to the bar. 

You weren’t sure how much time passed before you heard another knock. “Y/N?” It was Phoenix. “Can I come in?” You didn’t want her to see you like this. There was only one person you were willing to see. 

“Can you,” your voice broke and came out hoarse, “can you get Bob?” 

“Of course,” she said softly, and her footsteps retreated. You didn’t even bother wiping the mascara that had pooled underneath your eyes. 

“Y/N? It’s Bob.” 

Shifting forward, you got to your feet, unlocked the door and pulled it open slightly. The dark blond stood with his hands in his pockets at the door, eyes wide with concern. “Come in,” you said quickly, pulling the door open wider and shuffling him in. You re-locked it behind him before sliding back to the ground, pulling your knees to your chest, not caring that it made your sun dress ride up around your thighs. 

Bob looked at you for a moment before sinking to the ground next to you, staying a few feet away, in a cross legged position. 

For a few minutes, neither of you said a word. Finally, you raised your eyes to him. “It’s over, isn’t it Robert?”

You were the only one who called him Robert. What you didn’t know was how much he liked it. How every time you walked into the bar alone there was a small part of him that wished you were his. That instead of searching around for Rooster, you would be looking for him. That it would be him your smile landed on. His hair tangled in your fingertips as you stood between his legs while he sat perched on a bar stool telling a story. 

So when Phoenix said it was him that you had asked for, his heart skipped. And then fell. 

He didn’t want to just be your friend. But he would be, if that’s what you needed. Even though he wanted more.

Bob nodded silently and you tipped your head back against the cold tile wainscoting of the bottom half of the wall. The tears slipped out, faster and faster until you had to wipe them away with your fingertips. Bob reached up and grabbed a handful of tissues, and pressed them into your palm, and you blew your note. 

When you looked up, you saw the way Bob was looking at you. You reached out your hand and grabbed his. It was delicate, but strong. You had never held hands with Bob before. It felt as natural as breathing. 

“It’s over,” you said softly, speaking the words into existence. Finding closure in the confines of the Hard Deck bathroom. 

“Are you OK?” he asked, then shook his head. “Sorry, that was stupid. Of course you’re not OK.” 

“Actually,” you murmured, squeezing his hand in yours. “I’m OK because you’re here.” 

His eyes darted up and locked with yours. 

“I don’t think Rooster was right for me, ever,” you whispered. “We didn’t make sense.” 

Bob didn’t want to misread the situation. He didn’t want to hurt you or make assumptions. But you were looking at him the way he had always hoped you would. The way he had dreamt all of those nights at the bar. “Why did you ask for me, Y/N?” he asked softly. “Of everyone here.”

Your eyes filled with tears again and he instinctively shifted closer, pulling you into his arms as you both leaned against the cold tile wall. “You’re the only person I trust,” you sobbed into his chest, his fingers brushing softly over your back. 

“It’s OK,” he whispered, rubbing his hand over your back. You dug your fingers into his neck, staying there until the tears dried. 

Looking up at him through tear-stained eyes you asked, “Can you take me home please?” 

Bob nodded and stood up, holding out a hand to pull you to standing. Without thinking, you threw your arms around his neck, clinging to him. 

“Thank you,” you murmured against his chest. 

“Of course, Angel,” he whispered back and you felt him freeze a little the moment the nickname left his lips. You smiled against his chest where he couldn’t see you. When you pulled back, he gave you a shy look. “You ready?” 

Bob pulled the door open, peeking his head out first. Your heart swelled in your chest to know that he was looking out for Rooster, trying to shield you. You were halfway down the hallway, Bob’s hand warm in your own as he led you toward the door, when you froze, tugging on his arm. 

“Robert,” you whispered softly. He turned. “My purse. It’s still at the bar.” 

“Wait here,” he said, dropping your hand, but not before giving it a reassuring squeeze. You watched his dark blond head weave through the crowd, back toward the bar. He had his hand on your purse, about to turn away, when you saw the crowd part, Rooster’s head swiveling above the crowd, looking for you. Phoenix put herself between Bob and Rooster, but it was no use. He spotted you in the distance, his eyes locked on yours. Instinctively you pressed back against the nearest wall, watched in slow motion as Bob rushed after Rooster, along with Phoenix and Hangman. 

“Baby,” Rooster said, breaking through the crowd and you winced at the nickname falling out of his mouth. “Y/N, please, I gotta talk to you.” 

“Not right now, Rooster,” Bob said, coming in on his tail, swerving around Rooster carefully and coming to stand at your side. He put his hand reassuringly on your lower back, and Rooster’s eyes flickered down. 

“Get your hand off my girl, Floyd,” he whispered tightly, teeth gritting together. 

Bob’s fingers dug into your back, grounding himself. “I’m not your girl anymore, Bradley,” you whispered and you watched the tension sink into his tanned jaw. 

He stepped forward as Hangman put himself between you and Rooster. You shifted into Bob, flattening yourself against him until your mouth was pressed into the crease between his arm and torso, his arm now fully wrapped around you. You watched as Bradley’s eyes lit up in anger, Hangman’s hands held out to stop him from inching closer. 

“Don’t do it, man,” Hangman said quietly. “Let her go.” 

You watched Bradley’s face fall. Everyone was silent. For a moment, the air was thick with tension and all you could feel were Bob’s fingers on your waist, Bradley’s eyes on yours, the horrid anticipation that filled every inch of the bar as you awaited Bradley’s next move. 

Finally, he let out a sigh. 

“Fine,” he said, leaning back. And then he left, and you slumped a little in Bob’s arms. He caught you with surprisingly strong hands, holding you upright. 

“Are you OK?” he whispered in your ear. You pulled back a few inches and nodded. 

“Yeah, I’m alright.” 

“Take her home, Bob,” Hangman said. “Before Rooster changes his mind.” 

Bob nodded. You reached out and pressed your lips to Hangman’s cheek. “Thank you,” you whispered softly. His fingers ghosted over your waist before he nodded and walked back toward the pool table. Phoenix leaned over and gave you a quick hug. 

“Text me later, OK?” she asked and you gave her a thin smile before she followed on Hangman’s heels. 

Bob slipped his hand back into yours and you let him lead you out of the bar. You could feel Bradley’s eyes searing into your back as the humid San Diego air pulled you into its embrace. 

In his truck, Bob turned to you. “I don’t actually know where you live.” 

You leaned back into the seat. “Can I go home with you, Robert? Just for tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

He pulled the truck into drive. “Of course.” 

The roads were dark. Somewhere along the way he reached over and pressed his hand to your thigh in reassurance, and you felt a flutter in your chest. You looked up at him but he kept his eyes on the road. When his fingers started to pull back, you rushed to put your hand on his, keeping his fingers firm against your bare thigh. 

Finally, Bob slowed to a crawl before throwing the truck into park outside of a small rambler. He pulled his hand away, hopping out of the driver’s seat and running around the front of the truck to open your door. You smiled, taking his hand as he helped you down. 

Inside, you saw that Bob kept a neat house. Everything was tidy and it smelled fresh, like lemons. He excused himself to go get water from the kitchen, and you flopped onto the couch, tugging off your sandals and tossing them on the floor. 

Bob emerged with two bottles of water and took a seat on the other end of the couch, toying nervously with his hands in his lap. 

“You can take my room,” he said softly after you took a sip of water. 

“God, no,” you said, reaching over and pressing your hands onto his knees. “I don’t want to kick you out of your own room.” 

He blushed. “I don’t mind.” 

You smiled up at him, stifling a yawn. 

“Follow me,” he said, standing and you grabbed the water, close on his heels. He opened the door to reveal a quaint bedroom, dark gray duvet on a queen sized bed. Bob opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers and a t-shirt for himself. “Uh, if you want to change you can wear these.” You looked down at the thin material of your blue sundress, realized that you had been sitting on the bathroom floor in it, and nodded. He grabbed a pair of pajama bottoms and shirt and pointed to a closed door. 

“There’s a bathroom through there,” he said quietly. “I’ll just be out in the living room if you need me, OK?” 

You smiled. “Thanks, Robert. For everything.” 

He nodded, a small smile creeping over his features. “Anytime, Y/N.” 

In the bathroom, you changed into Bob’s clothes, pulling your hair back into a braid, brushing your teeth with your finger and rinsing the rest of your makeup off in the sink. The bedroom was cozy, but sliding under the covers it felt empty. Despite everything, the adrenaline of the evening’s events kept your mind in a constant buzz. 

After a while, you slipped out of bed, cracking open the door. The hallway was dark, and you tiptoed out into the living room to see Bob asleep on the couch, one arm hanging over the side. He was tall, too tall for the couch, and you could see how scrunched up he was on his side. 

“Robert?” you whispered quietly, hovering in front of where he sat on the couch. “Robert?” 

He woke up with a start, hand gripping your calf tightly and you gasped, which only served to make him shoot up to sitting, eyes wide. “Y/N? What is it? What’s wrong?” He stood up quickly, his fingers on your cheek. “Is it Bradley? Is he here?” There was a thread of anxiety in his voice, and a warm layer of protection. It made you squirm inside. 

You reached up and pressed your fingers against him. “No, it’s nothing. Nothing’s wrong. I just couldn’t sleep.” 

“Oh,” he said, dropping his hands to his sides. “I, uh, I should have some melatonin somewhere around here.” 

“I was wondering if you would stay with me?” you asked quietly and you heard the breath catch in his throat. 

“Stay with you?” he repeated. 

You nodded. “Please? I hate sleeping alone and I just can’t shut my brain off. It’s going a million miles an hour and being alone is just making it worse.” 

“Um.” He seemed to hesitate. You know he and Bradley were friends. Not the best of friends, but teammates. He probably felt like it was overstepping boundaries. But you weren’t Bradley’s anymore. Bradley had made sure of that.

“Please?” you begged softly and he heard the pain in your voice. 

“Sure,” Bob replied and you slotted your hand into his, leading him down the dark hallway into the bedroom. You slipped under the covers and watched Bob as he took a deep breath before pulling off his glasses and setting them on the nightstand, crawling in next to you, laying stiff as a board on his designated side. 

“Robert?” you whispered quietly, lying on your side to look at him. He turned his head so you could see his slate blue eyes in the moonlight that poured in from under the curtains. “Why did you stand up to Rooster for me?” 

“He didn’t deserve you,” he said softly and it was the first time you had heard the WSO say anything negative about someone. But you knew he was right. 

Bob reached out a hand, pressed it against your face, thumb only a few inches from your ear, the other fingers digging into your hair. 

“You should be with someone who makes you feel like you’re the center of their world. Because you are perfect.” 

“Robert,” you murmured and you watched his eyes soften as you said his name. 

“It’s late, Y/N,” he said softly. He wanted you to say it. The words that were on the tip of your tongue. But he wanted them to spill out of your plump lips in the daylight. When you didn’t wear the stench of such an awful night around your shoulders. When you didn’t feel obligated to him. 

He wanted you to say it because it was true. 

“You should try to get some rest,” he added, pulling his hand back. 

You looked at him before scooting closer under the covers, running one hand over his hair and down his cheek. Finally, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. His hand came out and gripped your waist, tugging you in tightly. He was stronger than you had imagined, and his lips were pillowy soft, gentle. He applied just the right amount of pressure, before you pulled back and smiled. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you confessed. 

Bob grinned softly. “Glad we’re on the same page.” 

You turned around onto your side, grabbing Bob’s arm and pulling it around your body. You felt him nestle in closer, forming to your every curve, one large hand pressed tightly against your lower stomach. He felt warm and familiar. 

“I should have known from the start,” you said softly, the edges of your thoughts beginning to fade, sleep wafting in quickly. 

“Known what, sweetheart?” Bob murmured, his hand pressed tightly against your stomach, pulling you in deeper. 

“That it was you,” you whispered. “It was never him. It was always you.” 

Bob pressed a small kiss to your shoulder. “Tell me again in the morning, honey. And when you wake up, I promise, you’ll never have to worry again. I plan on showing you just how much I love you.” 

“Love?” you giggled, sleep still pulling you into her embrace. 

Bob’s lips grazed the side of your neck. “Honey, I’ve loved you from afar for months now. Now go to sleep. Sweet dreams, Angel.”

You fell asleep curled tightly in Bob’s arms. He laid there and watched you sleep softly, until the sun began to rise and flood the room with soft pink lighting. Hours passed, but he had no need for sleep. 

You had already made his dreams come true.