#so maybe that implies more flexibility??? idk.

[bsaka7]

not sugarcoating anything are we 😭

[slytherinshua]

TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE

genre. angst. a little fluff. warnings. infidelity. and breaking up lol kill me. idk how good this is cause this might actually be my first time writing breaking up angst so sry if its bad. not proofread. pairing. hyunjae x reader. wc. 1.6k. request. requested by @hursheys for #15: "why?" "because i love you." and #53: "why does this sound like goodbye?" "because it is." a/n. uhm fuck you vesper no one likes you i hope u stub ur toe and embarrass urself at the tbz concert like i hope you don't have enough gas to get there and miss it (jk have the best time at the concert u deserve it <33). divider by @/chilumitos. net. @deoboyznet

“I’ve been trying to find a decent roommate for months. I don’t know. Maybe I’m the problem? Maybe no one wants to room with me. I’m just tired of hunting, you know?” You sighed, drumming the pads of your fingers over the warm cup of coffee your boyfriend had treated you to.

“If they don’t want to room with you, then they’re the ones missing out.” Hyunjae said simply, sending you a smile. Your lips lifted and you relaxed your shoulders. You hadn’t felt so relaxed and easy for weeks now. 

After your disaster of roommates last year, you wanted to find good ones for the last year at university. It was proving to be a lot harder than you thought. You weren’t even sure what you were doing wrong. You were fairly tidy, and flexible with rooms and schedules. You didn’t even mind if they wanted to bring over their boyfriends, so long as they limited the visits. As for yourself, you always preferred meeting Hyunjae outside or at his place. It just felt nice to have a break from your place.

“You think so?” You breathed, flashing a grin at your boyfriend before standing up. You grabbed the coffee with one hand and Hyunjae’s hand with the other, starting to walk towards the park. “It still leaves me without a roommate and rent that’s way too high to pay for the whole year. And my classes are too intensive for me to pick up another part time…” 

Hyunjae squeezed your hand sympathetically, glancing up at the sky before he opened his mouth, “You know, Sangyeon’s moving out at the end of the month. He wasn’t sure if things would work out with his new job, but he got the position and found a place closer to his work. I’d have an extra room anyway…” He trailed off, implying the offer with a twinkle in his eyes.

It seemed almost too good to be true; switching from roommate hopping to living with your boyfriend. You were hesitant for a few seconds, running through the logistics of it all. You enjoyed every second you spent with Hyunjae. He always treated you so well, he was truly the most perfect man you had ever met; almost too perfect for your brain to fully comprehend at times. Living with him seemed like an ideal situation.

“Are you sure? Didn’t you say Juyeon was looking for a place to stay while doing his scholarship?” You asked, wanting to eliminate any other factors that would make you feel guilty for going with the offer. You really didn’t mind hunting for a bit longer or even living with a roommate that pissed you off half of the time. You only had half a year left of school, anyway.

Hyunjae just shook his head, “I wanted to offer it to you before anyone else. You need it more than he does, anyway.”

You smiled, “Why are you so good to me, Hyunjae?” 

He laughed, pulling you closer into his arms, “Because I love you. Now, are you going to move in with me or not?”

It had been several months since you moved in with your boyfriend. You graduated university and found a steady, decent-paying job. Your hours were long, and you came back home exhausted most days. Thinking about your future was constantly on your mind. Where your relationship with Hyunjae was going, whether you would be able to save enough for a downpayment on a house, if you could even afford to think about the possibility of kids, etc. It was stressful, to say the least. It felt like you were the only one who was even trying to plan. 

Hyunjae’s routine was the same as when you had first started dating him. He would go to work everyday with his steady 9 to 5, sometimes arriving home later when he went out to drink with his coworkers. Weekends were for relaxation or meeting up with friends. It seemed like everything was perfect, but you couldn’t help but feel like something was slowly going wrong. He felt distant— like now that you were living under the same roof as him, he no longer had to make any effort. You didn’t even go on dates anymore. 

“Hey, babe, can we talk?” You said as you walked into the room, taking a seat on the couch, eyes trained on your boyfriend in the kitchen. 

“I have something to get to in a few minutes, but go ahead.” He hummed, prompting you to go on.

“Is something going on at work?” You asked him, wondering why he had to go somewhere at almost 8pm on a Sunday. 

“No? Why?” 

You sighed, deciding to not question him about it for now, “I don’t want to jump to any conclusions. I want to communicate with you, but I feel like I’ve been the only one making any effort in this relationship. I miss you. We live together, but I barely see your face anymore.”

Hyunjae shook his head, “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. I’ve been trying my best too. It’s selfish of you to say that I’m the only one not putting any effort in.” 

You stood up, “I said it because it’s what it felt like. You never take me on dates, you barely even tell me about your day or ask about mine… hell, it’s been weeks since the last time we even kissed each other. Do you really not feel the difference?” You did your best to stay calm. Yelling at Hyunjae was one of the last things you wanted to do, especially if it was all just a misunderstanding. 

Hyunjae was about to say something in response when his phone rang. You watched him tense up, and your brain was quick to think of possible reasons why. Was he hiding something? Or was he just tense from the accusations and sudden noise? 

You slowly walked to pick up the phone, as he had left it on the coffee table face down, closer to you than to him. It felt like your heart lurched in your chest as your eyes scanned over the caller id. A female’s name; Seunghee. You slid the button over to answer, hesitantly raising the phone to your ear. 

“Babe, you said you would be here 30 minutes ago. What’s taking you so long?”

You made eye contact with Hyunjae, and everything clicked. Why he had been so distant, why he never took you on dates or showed you affection, why he had been staying late after work so often and so hesitant to tell you about his day. He had been lying this whole time, cheating on you with another woman. 

You pressed the contact on the phone, the call still running although you didn’t say anything. Just as you expected, the chat was full of flirtatious texts. They mirrored the kinds of messages that he used to send you when you first started dating. You started to wonder if he had already been dating someone when he asked you out over a year ago. You hung up the phone, deciding you didn’t want to get involved in whoever Hyunjae had chose to cheat on you with.

“Are you going to explain yourself? Or are you running 30 minutes late to your date?” You asked piercingly. If looks could kill, you would’ve shot right through Hyunjae’s head by now.

“No, wait— Y/n, baby—”

“Don’t call me that.” You felt suffocated, and started to walk towards the door, hoping to get some fresh air and clear you head. Hyunjae caught your wrist before you could leave.

“Don’t listen to her. I would never cheat on you.” He insisted. You tried to shake off his hand, but his grip was too strong.

“Lying now too, are we? Let go of me.” 

“Y/n, just let me explain.” He pleaded.

“There’s nothing to ‘explain’, Hyunjae. I saw everything already. Let go of me.” You said harshly. 

“So you’re just going to leave me? After everything?” His voice was grating. 

“After what? The months you’ve been actively cheating on me? You threw this relationship away before I did. Now let me leave—” 

Hyunjae finally dropped your hand, the weight of your words finally hitting him. He had rarely been scared of things in his life. People often described him as fearless and brazen. Things had always turned out alright for him no matter what he did. Mistakes rarely came with consequences, but right now he felt like he had just made the biggest mistake of his life, and the consequence was losing you.

“Why does this sound like goodbye?” He asked quietly, for once a hint of fear seeped into his tone. You were stunned. The entire time you had known Hyunjae, he hadn’t feared anything.

“Because it is.” You left without another word, not wanting to hear whatever convincing Hyunjae would try in order to get you to stay.

It didn't take long for Hyunjae to regret his actions, as the next week you received a series of desperate texts. You blocked his number the same day, and, after retrieving your things from the apartment on a day you knew Hyunjae wouldn’t be home, found a new place to stay. You realized over the next weeks that Hyunjae had simply been too good to be true. His façade fooled you for months, but it was impossible for his imperfect self to give a flawless performance. In the end, he was merely a faulty copy of perfection.

↳ the boyz taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @blossominghunnie,, @cosmicwintr,, @weird-bookworm,, @haecien,,

@lecheugo,, @seunghancore,, @heavenfilm,, @recordsfilm,, @bananabubble,,

@talking-saxy,, @cupidslovearrows,, @hursheys

[smeraldo-heart]

Young Cal absolutely KILLS me.

He was with Master Tapal when the older spoke to Anakin, shortly after the latter became a Knight.

He is described as precocious 😭 because of how he rarely struggled, but he was also kind and generous. He couldn’t deal with failure and that was the whole reason why he was assigned to Master Tapal.

He froze when he saw a droideka out on the battlefield and his Master had to save him.

He was close with his clones, high-fived them and even had a rematch planned with one of them (which implied he regularly played games with them).

Master Tapal made him run drills of escaping through the maintenance shafts.

He trusted his Master until the end.

We need more fun so I’ve got little headcanons for him:

He didn’t like tea until Master Tapal got him drinking it. He more so enjoyed the comfort it brought and the memories of his Master than the actual experience but he still liked experimenting with the different flavours. His favourite is one of Master Tapal’s blends from Lasan.

This is precisely why he doesn’t like tea now. It reminds him of too much, but he’ll drink it for Greez if the other wants him to. The comfort the Latero brings reminds Cal of something he used to have.

He kept a collection of trinkets with good echoes around his room. One of them is the holocron he keeps near his bed.

His blanket was a lifeday gift from the battalion, handmade.

He was still scared of the dark even one year into his apprenticeship. A mission gone wrong where he was stranded on an unsafe ship and had to use the dark to hide in quickly cured him of this though.

He still had a soft toy to sleep with, even just before order 66. He often hid it in a secret compartment in his room because he felt like he should be over that attachment, but later future Cal still wishes he had it to bring him comfort.

He particularly liked adding beads and strings he found on missions to his braid, decorating it not only with accomplishments but also echoes from jobs well done.

He was incredibly flexible and also incredibly energetic. It was tough to get him to sit still, let alone not to race off and start climbing everything he saw. Master Tapal had to teach him not to run off very quickly into their apprenticeship, but he never quite cured him of the latter habit.

Another habit Cal was never cured of was his curiosity, leading him to sneak around exploring places a lot and touching echoes he really shouldn’t have.

He really didn’t like needles or medbays. He would never go near either on his apprenticeship, but this aversion was quickly cured on the uncaring planet Bracca.

He actually had to be told by Master Tapal to stop giving everything he owned as gifts to everyone on board since his quarters were becoming quite bare. Cal did so anyways because he liked giving gifts and making others happy.

He let the clones paint his face in the battalion’s colours once and refused to wash it off for hours.

He had to get a rabies shot one time because he insisted on helping an animal that ended up biting him. He doesn’t regret it for a second though.

He made a little scrapbook of all the clones, what their Force signatures looked like and their names so that he could remember who was who even with the helmets on. He knew exactly who shot at him and who died by his Master’s hands after order 66.

Idk man.. this guy. This tiny little guy. He makes me very sad.

Psst!! HEY! If you want more of this kind of mushy stuff about Padawan Cal, maybe you should check out my fanfic… it’s literally the escapades of Cal and his clones except with a little Diathim twist..

[hollybell51]

In this timeline

Navigation

Trevor Holden (0115) x Philip Pearson (3326)

Travelers (2016)

Word count: 11.5K

Summary: Philip has made some bad decisions. This isn't one of them.

Content: Smut, hurt/comfort, bit of fluff (I guess?), Philip is horrendously down bad, Trevor is too, making out, hickeys, hand jobs, blow jobs, anal, fingering, dirty talk (like a tiny bit dw), Trevor calls Philip "man" during sex, top Trevor/bottom Philip in an attempt to avoid Trevor's accidental twinkification (I fear this may have backfired), (there are honestly switchy moments too so idk if I'd label it as anything other than a healthy flexible dynamic), Philip's hallucinations, the age gape is mentioned but just in passing, implied/referenced drug use (guys c'mon it's Philip), everything canon typical. This takes place after s3 e3. I may have missed some things so lemme know if I should add anything xx

Notes: Happy valentines day! What even was season 3 honestly these two are so fucking whipped for each other it's stupid. How can anyone look at them and see anything but a married couple who are deeply, disgustingly in love with each other. Honestly. I'm so upset that this got cancelled (even though I lowkey liked the ending) so my insufferable ass is probably gonna deal with that through taking matters into my own hands. Also side note this is the first time I've posted m/m so don't be too mean I actually don't really know how men work so... yeah. Shit's been rough lately, breakup and car crash in the space of two days so I actually haven't proofread this sorry (there might be mistakes but that's ok because to err to be human <3) and also I’m literally a (queer) girl and I know nothing about gay (man) sex and it shows. You have been warned.

Philip had woken that morning (morning? Or afternoon? He can’t remember. It doesn’t feel like it had been morning when he’d finally swum up out of Marcy’s sedative) with Trevor in his bed. Well, it wasn’t Trevor, not really, but it was still nice. Not Trevor was smiling at him, wriggling closer, his hand finding Philip’s and pulling it towards his chest. Philip had blinked and he had shimmered, dispersed into light, reformed. He’d blinked again and Not Trevor was gone, and then the real world was flooding in and he half wished he hadn’t woken up at all. 

It’s been happening more and more often lately. Philip looks up from the computer screens and Not Trevor is already smiling at him. Not Trevor interrupts him with a kiss as he walks past. Not Trevor pads barefoot with a towel wrapped around his waist out of the bathroom and winks as Philip watches him go. Philip kneels next to the couch to pick up a ball bearing he’d knocked off the table from under its edge and when he looks up Not Trevor’s legs are either side of him and he has his head tilted back, shirt discarded and he’s panting hard. Philip has no doubt what that particular version of himself had just been doing. On the flip side, he pushes his chair back to take a break and Not Trevor grins up at him from between his legs, he leans over Philip from behind and slides his hand down his front, braces himself against the shower wall, tells Philip to turn around and get on his hands and knees and a million other things and Philip curses the update because none of those images are ever going to leave his head. 

Philip’s not too proud to admit when he likes someone. He’s human, after all, even if some days he doesn’t feel it, and Trevor is beautiful. It’s not just his host, either, although it probably helps to have been blessed looking like that, but there’s something about what 0115 and Trevor Holden have become — Philip’s Trevor, the team’s Trevor, 0115’s own Trevor — that pulls Philip in like a magnet. His joy is addictive. His enthusiasm for life, while it sometimes grates on Philip’s considerably less enthusiastic nerves, is infectious and maybe what people say about opposites attracting each other is right. Not even opposites, really — Philip doesn’t think they’re opposites, but he knows they’re not so-called twin flames — but something about Trevor balancing Philip. Pulling him out of those particularly dark little holes he knows it’s all too easy to get stuck in. Hell, he fell into one last night.

So Philip’s been peeking into other timelines and it’s been fueling the Trevor thing and now he’s waking up and half wishing that what he’s seeing is real. He wants to reach out and grab Trevor and never let go. He wants to stay in this bed with him and never have to do another mission again and just be and let humanity save itself. But, he tells himself firmly as he swings his legs over the side of the mattress and pauses, letting his body stabilise and adjust, that is not going to happen. No amount of wishing will make it. 

Carly and Marcy have explained, as best they can, and he really does feel bad for pulling that kind of shit when they’re all under stress, when nothing feels like it’s going right for anyone and they all have their own bullshit to deal with (he knows all about that, thanks to the update), but Aleksander’s face is still on the computer screens and Philip also knows Mac and Trevor will follow through. And that is where his brain snags for the second time today. Trevor, who found him on the floor and called Marcy over, “panicked” is the word the medic used, and then took off to kill a kid — to help Mac kill a kid. Trevor has faith in the Director, in the Grand Plan, Philip knows that as well as anyone, but he still cringes at the thought of what his roommate — because calling Trevor friend doesn’t quite feel right when he’s seen what he looks like when Philip is not going to complete that thought, they’re past coworkers, and he doesn’t feel like the other guy’s teammate anymore — must be thinking and feeling and doing right now. 

But then, after a few hours of Marcy and Carly doing their best to help him and Philip doing his best not to scream or break something or walk out the door and never come back, the Messenger comes through and just like that it’s all ok again. Marcy and Carly are relieved. Philip is relieved. A massive weight has been lifted off all their shoulders, so why does he still feel so heavy? 

He walks through erasing Mac’s memory like he’s walking through a dream, manages not to stare too long at the insubstantial vision of Trevor’s hand on his knee as they take their leader back to his house and (not uncarefully) deposit him in his bed. They leave. They drive back to ops. Marcy asks if he’s alright and he nods, doesn’t miss the way she says something too quiet to make out to Trevor as she heads back to David. Carly stays for longer, cleans a gun, then makes her exit with a firm hand on Philip’s shoulder and a tight smile. Then they’re alone, and Philip is staring at the screen with a cup of something (he thinks it might be tea, but it’s not hot anymore) he doesn’t remember getting in his hand.  

He doesn’t even hear Trevor approach until the engineer sighs, settling himself next to Philip’s shoulder. 

“The mother even speaks Romanian,” he says, steaming mug cradled in his hands. 

Philip glances at him and he shrugs. “Well that’s great, I’m obviously happy about that.” And he is, he really is. The woman smiling in the photograph looks like a kind person. She doesn’t have the sharpness about her eyes that Aleksander’s previous foster parents did, and maybe the familiarity of the language will help. He knows it did when they rescued the boy in the first place. The word rescue, even just in his mind, leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He could have avoided the whole mission — putting Trevor and Mac through that — if he’d just stuck to what he was supposed to. There’s no way that this wasn’t some sick lesson. But still… “Why didn’t we start there?”

Trevor pauses before he answers, eyes still locked on the computer screen, brow furrowed. “That wasn’t the path he was on.” 

Sometimes Philip forgets how old Trevor — 0115 — is. He doesn’t act like an old man, as much as the others (Philip included) call him that and joke about it, as much as Trevor himself is open and just as willing to talk about the fact. But there are moments like these when Philip can see 0115’s plural lifetimes of experience and knowledge and wisdom poking through that barely adult face, and it catches him off guard. He’s not put off by Trevor’s age, Truth be told, he’s not sure if anything could put him off Trevor, but it can still be a little unnerving. 

“You don’t need to explain that part to me.” Philip tries not to sound annoyed, because he isn’t. Not really. “What I'm asking you is why we didn’t get a mission to change his path in the first place.” 

Again, Trevor shrugs, and on anyone else the gesture would look flippant. Not him, though. Nothing’s ever flippant with Trevor unless he wants it to be. “Maybe we did. The Director has to thread the needle on billions of possibilities happening to billions of people in a billion different places all over the world. If it seems hard to understand the steps that lead to a particular outcome, it’s because it’s literally impossible for any of us to understand that.” 

Philip can feel Trevor’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t look up. “I hate that.” 

There’s a pause, and he feels Trevor shift infinitesimally closer. “Yeah,” he says. “But you can’t argue with the results.” 

This time Philip does raise his eyes from the screen, turning in his chair to face his roommate. The other guy is perched on a filing cabinet, and Philip has the distinct urge to tell him to just get a chair. He looks a little ridiculous; elbows on his knees, feet resting against the desk (he really wants to tell him to get a chair), cup in his hands and that look that’s so sincere he’d laugh if he saw it on anyone else. It’s so… him and Philip can’t look away. 

Trevor sighs, leans forward and sets down his cup, his feet slipping off the desk as he twists to face Philip. “It wasn’t your fault,” he tells him. 

Philip shakes his head, looking away. He wishes he could believe Trevor, wishes he had just an ounce of his conviction. “It was. By definition, Trevor.” 

“You were trying to save him.” 

“And I made things worse. The Director was teaching me a lesson, I know it was. I know… I know I shouldn’t have tried to interfere.” 

“Hey, hey.” Trevor’s hand is firm and warm on Philip’s shoulder. “You tried to do what you thought was right. And yeah, it didn’t really work out, but it’s in the past. We can’t change that.” He stops, as if realising the irony of his words, then, “Nobody blames you, Philip.” 

“They should.” I do. 

Trevor is close enough that Philip can see the evening sun gilding the tips of his eyelashes, and his voice is so gentle it hurts. “What good is it gonna do now, huh? How is holding onto all that shit and dishing out blame and responsibility gonna help anyone?” 

Philip doesn’t have an answer for that, but he’s not sure if that matters. Not sure if he could speak even if he wanted to, because Trevor is still touching him and Philip must have slid his chair closer because he doesn’t remember the gap between them being this small. Trevor is searching Philip’s face, and he can practically see the cogs ticking behind his eyes — which, up close, never fail to suck Philip’s focus like a vacuum. 

“It’s not your fault. It was never going to be your fault, Philip.”

Philip swallows hard, tongue darting out over his lips. It’s too quiet and too loud all at once, and he wants to look away and he never wants the moment to end. The world is blurry, all he can see is Trevor, his skin is too tight and Trevor’s simultaneously too close and not close enough and then he is leaning the last few inches and all Philip can think is that this has to be another timeline. Things like this don’t happen to him, at least not this him, and—

Oh. Oh. 

Trevor’s lips are soft against his own, the hand that had been resting on his shoulder sliding up to hover almost hesitantly at his jaw. Philip can feel his own heart beating at a million mph, his blood rushing in his ears, and without even realising it he’s kissing Trevor back, tilting his head and pressing closer, Trevor’s skin so warm against his. 

The thing about what Philip sees — hallucinations, illusions, visions, whatever he calls them — is that he doesn’t feel it. He didn’t process the warmth of Not Trevor’s hand when it had been resting on his leg in the car or against his own that morning. He hadn’t felt the press of Not Trevor’s shoulders between his thighs, hadn’t felt the rush of breath over his skin when Not Trevor had laughed and kissed his cheek. And he certainly hadn’t felt the slick softness of Not Trevor’s tongue brushing over his lip. 

Oh, is all Philip can think again as he lets Trevor part his lips, the barest hint of his tongue sliding against his. A question. A warning. A test. Of course, the answer is yes. Philip knows in his soul that the answer will always be yes for Trevor, no matter what timeline they’re in. He feels himself sinking, floating, and when he pushes back against Trevor and slips his own tongue into his mouth, he can taste the tea he was drinking. Trevor is warm and sweet and Philip has never tasted anything so good and now his hand is moving, fingers tangling in Philip’s hair and if it weren’t for the rushing in his ears he could have sworn that Trevor gives a pleased little hum.  

Philip wants to stand, wants to crowd closer and take Trevor’s face between his hands, stand between his legs and feel the press of his body against his own. He wants to feel Trevor’s skin on his, wants him under him and on top of him and everywhere he can think of. He’s pretty sure that Trevor’s knee is blocking him from getting any closer, that and the fact that he’s still sitting in his chair. 

So, as much as it pains him to do so, Philip pulls back from Trevor’s mouth and pauses, heart still thundering, breathing hard, and looks at him. Trevor’s lips are kiss swollen and still parted, his eyes dark and locked on Philip and Philip alone. His hand doesn’t leave Philip’s hair, thumb moving in a tiny arc over the skin under his ear and he knows that even if he wasn’t a Historian, even if he wasn’t hardwired to remember everything, this moment would be ingrained in his brain forever. 

“Are you…?” Trevor starts, watching as Philip pushes himself to stand, his eyes following his every move, head tipping back. He wavers, and for a moment he’s shirtless and sweaty and his cheeks are flushed pink. Not Trevor tilts his head to the side, teeth digging into his bottom lip, and Philip blinks. His Trevor is still watching him, a hint of concern marring his face. 

Philip just nods, watching Trevor’s hand trail down over his chest, coming to rest right over his heart. He wonders if he can feel how hard it’s beating. He looks so serious and sincere, and Philip still can’t believe that this isn’t just because of the update. This is real. This is happening here and now. 

“Philip,” Trevor murmurs, voice thick. God, Philip could listen to that all day. 

He dips his head, and he’s sure that Trevor is smiling as their lips meet again. Philip is painfully aware of where his legs aren’t quite touching him, just resting either side of his hips, but that doesn’t matter because Trevor’s hand is sliding down his torso to sit feather light on his hip, not quite on the waistband of his pants but close enough that Philip feels blood rushing quickly downwards. He places  his own hands firmly either side of Trevor’s face, feels the muscle there twitch momentarily, the mechanism of Trevor’s neck and jaw sliding smoothly like well oiled machinery as he kisses him deeper, harder. His fingers curve perfectly around the back of Trevor’s neck, and this time he’s sure when he hears the little sound slip from the engineer, muffled by his own tongue. It is going to drive Philip insane. Trevor is going to drive him insane. He already is. 

“Philip,” Trevor says again, and Philip really can’t help but push closer. The edge of the filing cabinet is hard against his thighs, the metal cold through his jeans and somehow that is what brings Philip’s spiralling, out of control, too-much-too-fast brain back to the present. And then it clicks, and a stone sinks deep in his stomach. Trevor is distracting him, taking his mind off a truly terrible day because Philip did something stupid last night and Trevor found him this morning. He breaks away, breathing hard for an entirely different reason now. 

Trevor’s hands stop him from going far, his eyebrows furrowing into that familiar concerned frown. “You alright?” 

“I…” Philip stops, takes a breath, swallows. Yes, he’s alright. He’s more than alright with Trevor kissing him, with kissing Trevor. But here and now… Philip isn’t sure how to voice that. He knows Trevor wouldn’t judge him, not after Jenny. Trevor isn’t someone from the 21st, where sex is currency and intimacy is a completely separate thing. Trevor, like most from their time, knows that there’s more to it than that, he knows about Jenny because Philip has told him about Jenny and that whole mess and he trusts Trevor not to ignore all that. But…

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Trevor says, and Philip unfreezes. “I didn’t think it through. I know it’s been rough, and I don’t wanna rush you or—” 

“Are you trying to distract me?” 

Trevor stops, his frown deepens and he shakes his head. “Not really. Maybe a little.” He sighs. “I mean, I didn’t kiss you to distract you. But if I am… is that a bad thing?” He takes a deep breath, his fingers curling on Philip’s hip. “Do you want me to stop?” 

“I don’t…” He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to make of that. It’s not what he wants to hear, but it's not what he doesn’t want to hear either. Truth be told, he doesn’t even know what that is. All he knows is that Trevor means more than 21st century sex and he is in way too deep here. 

Philip does not consider himself brave. He knows people in the future who would say he is just for being here now, but the truth is, they don’t know what they’re talking about. He is not brave, he simply exists. He is a piece in a machine and there is nothing brave about that. But this is different. This is Trevor, and Trevor has always made Philip feel like more than that. Like he’s a person, and more importantly, like that person is worth something. And no, Philip doesn’t want Trevor to stop. He would be happy to live in this moment forever, and that’s the problem. Philip swallows. He will be brave. 

“I don’t want you to be a distraction.” 

Trevor draws back, a tiny wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. “What do you want me to be?”

Philip almost curses, swallows again, looks at his hands. “I want you to be you. You… You mean something to me, Trevor. I want this to mean something.” 

Philip isn’t brave enough to look back at Trevor, but he doesn’t have to be. The other guy’s hand is on his cheek, tilting his face back towards his, and when their eyes meet all Philip can see is the familiar warmth and understanding and joy that Trevor somehow carries within himself no matter what. “It does,” Trevor whispers, and kisses Philip again. 

This kiss tastes different. It has to, Philip supposes as Trevor inches forward on his perch, gripping his shoulders, his arms, his waist, his hips. Trevor really does mean something to Philip, more than he ever would have guessed he could. It’s not because of the visions, and it’s not because Trevor is kissing him now. It’s everything else. It’s Trevor bringing Philip a fastfood meal after he’d been shot. It’s the wordless hands on his shoulders when he’s the first to arrive at the garage and the last to leave. It’s the undiluted wonder and awe in his face when he looks outside. It’s the insistence that he’ll come with Philip, even if it’s because he doesn’t fully trust him — because whatever the reason, Philip likes that he doesn’t feel alone. The reminders that Philip is human, just as human as Trevor, because sometimes that is the hardest thing to remember. 

And Philip really does feel like shit for this morning. For last night, when he’d seen the mission come through and he’d sat there, frozen, and debated calling out Trevor’s name just to see another face and hear his voice, feel another person touch him and remember. But he hadn’t been brave last night. He’d run, and had left Trevor to find and clean up the mess he’d made. He feels his chest tearing apart, ripping violently right down the middle. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, tearing himself away from Trevor’s mouth. 

“What for?” Trevor frowns. 

Philip swallows. “Last night. This morning. All of… that.” 

The understanding is so clear in Trevor’s eyes, followed quickly by sadness that hits Philip like a punch. It resolves and shifts, and Trevor’s lips twitch into something that could be called a smile. “You scared me,” he says. 

“I know. I didn’t mean to.” An eyebrow raise at this, and Philip goes on, “I wasn’t trying to. I just… I don’t even know. I was going to tell you when it first came through but I just… I just couldn’t. You know?” 

Trevor nods, and Philip knows he means it. This is the guy who interrupted Grace Day’s TELL, for God’s sake. He doesn’t blame Philip for Aleksander. Things might get murky and complicated sometimes, but at the end of the day Trevor understands when it matters. “I wish you had,” he tells him. There’s no blame or resentment in it, just a statement of fact. “We could have worked something out together.” 

Now it’s Philip’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Worked something out?” 

“Ok,” Trevor concedes, “maybe not work something out. But you didn’t have to be alone. You don’t have to be alone, Philip. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” 

It’s so much. It’s too much, and Philip is too heavy for this. So he just nods, watches as Trevor slides off the filing cabinet and stands before him. Philip lets him put his hands on his face and can’t stop himself from leaning into the touch. It doesn’t matter how small it makes him feel. Doesn’t matter that Trevor’s breath hitches in his chest when Philip keeps going and kisses him again, doesn’t matter that he can’t even begin to express what’s swirling in his update-addled, over-full and under-nourished brain right now. They’ve got time. Philip can untangle it all later. 

He pulls Trevor closer, so close he wonders if he can feel the beating of his heart against his own. He can feel his breathing, the expansion and contraction of his lungs and the rush of air on his cheek, the heat of his body and oh, yeah, ok, Trevor’s hard. The thought of that alone has Philip aching, hips pressing into Trevor’s, their jeans hard and rough between them. Something just this side of a moan slips from Philip as Trevor presses back, his hands once more finding Philip’s hair and commanding him to kiss him harder, kiss him longer, kiss him deeper. Philip is only too happy to oblige.

Trevor hums into his mouth as Philip reaches between them, fingers skirting the hem of his shirt. Trevor gives him an insistent nudge and that’s all Philip needs to slide his hand under the fabric, run it over the hot skin of his hip and the planes of his stomach, bunching his shirt up like it’s nothing. Philip wants to map out every cell of Trevor’s body, commit every curve and dip and hollow to memory like he’s memorised every TELL and candidate and major event. He passes his hand over Trevor’s ribs, up the centre of his abdomen, higher to his sternum and back down again to grip his waist. Touching him isn’t enough. Philip needs this man. 

Trevor’s grip on his hair tightens momentarily when Philip’s lips move from his own to his jaw, down the column of his neck. These kisses are wet, open mouthed, not quite careless but hardly neat, and if he goes any harder he’s going to leave marks. He isn’t sure if that’s something Trevor wants, but the other man’s head is tilted to let Philip continue, so he sucks — oh so lightly — at the spot where neck and shoulder meet. 

“Fuck,” Trevor hisses, fingers curling, hips grinding against Philip’s. Philip can literally feel his brain emptying of all thought except that he needs to make Trevor do that again. 

“Hm?” he asks, just in case (just in case what? He doesn’t know), and Trevor nods. So Philip does the only rational thing and sucks again, moves his head and does it to another spot, and now that he can see the darker patches of skin on Trevor’s neck, he never wants to stop. 

“Philip,” Trevor whispers, voice cracking. His throat moves as he swallows, hard, and Philip pointedly grazes the spot with his teeth. He tastes like the cheap soap they keep in the bathroom, and even though it’s the same one Philip uses day in day out, on Trevor’s skin and up this close it is somehow more. It’s Trevor, and Philip isn’t sure he’s ever going to be able to casually use the stuff again without this moment flooding his overly accurate historian brain. As desperate and insane as he knows the thought is, even as he has it, Philip wants to lick every trace of that soap off Trevor. But his shirt is still bunched around his chest and Philip can only reach so much of his skin around it. 

“Off,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to see Trevor’s tongue dart over his lip, his eyes dark.

His voice is husky and raw when he speaks. “You too.” 

“Here?” The realisation that they’re still at the desk seems to strike Trevor the same moment that Philip fully processes it, eyes darting around the room. 

After a moment, Trevor shakes his head. “No,” he says, untangling himself from Philip enough to take his hand. “No, come on.”

Philip has never been led into his own bedroom. He’s never watched someone else’s hand pull at his, met someone else’s eyes over their shoulder, stumbled to keep up with someone else through his own door. Never been pulled onto his bed by someone else. He’s been pushed, which was exciting and fun and hot at the time, and he’s done the leading, and the looking back and the steadying at the inevitable stumble, but this is new. If Philip is completely honest, it’s a little unnerving. 

But then Trevor is facing him, reaching for his shirt and pulling it over his head and all Philip can think is holy shit because all that football pays off. Trevor’s mouth curves as he steps towards him, like he knows exactly what Philip is thinking. Which wouldn’t be that hard, since Philip isn’t exactly trying to keep a straight face. 

“You tryna catch flies, Philip?” Trevor asks him, and Philip feels his cheeks heat. He hadn’t even realised his mouth was open. 

“Sorry,” he mutters, eyes locked firmly on Trevor’s face. His smile. The collection of red marks dotting his neck. 

Trevor just shakes his head, stepping closer. “Don’t be.” His hands settle on the hem of Philip’s own shirt, his fingers barely brushing Philip’s skin. “But,” he goes on, “this isn’t fair.” 

“Oh, fair,” Philip echoes, raising his eyebrows. But he’s already taking over from Trevor, shrugging off the shirt and dropping it like it’s nothing (and it isn’t really, not when he has Trevor standing before him like this). “Better?” he asks. 

Trevor looks away from his face, and Philip can almost physically feel his eyes sliding over his torso, stopping at his chest, lifting back to his face and gleaming with something that he can only describe as incredulous excitement. “What’s that?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“Piercing.” Because that’s what Trevor’s looking at, and if Philip’s completely honest, he feels a little… proud? He’d had his doubts when he’d first discovered the ring through his nipple, and had been more confused by it than he had by the ear and nose piercings. He can understand jewellery where people are going to see it. He’d done his research on piercings and tattoos outside of the training on 21st century behaviour they’d all taken, at the same time as he’d taken a deep dive into tattoo symbolism (he’d been suddenly consumed by the fear that his host’s tattoos meant something he should know about, which hadn’t really been the case but Philip still thought that it was better to know than not). He hadn’t found much to convince him that the solitary ring through his nipple of all places was a particularly groundbreaking way to modify the body, but now… Now he thinks he might get it. 

Trevor is shaking his head, eyes still glued to the little piece of metal. “That’s so���” 

“Weird?” 

“No, it’s—” He stops, laughs, grins at Philip. “It’s really hot.” 

Philip can feel his eyebrows shooting up his face. “You think?” 

“Yeah, I… I don’t know why.” 

“Oh, ok.” That’s… unexpected. Philip knows that his host isn’t bad to look at, and he knows that some of the reasoning behind piercings is for attractiveness. He’s studied the face that he now calls his in the mirror a thousand times, he sees the body that he now inhabits every day and as far as 21st century guys in their late twenties go, it’s really not bad. Of course, there are the track marks and the occasional (lately more frequent) shadows under his eyes, stubble if it’s been a particularly rough few days (Trevor’s newly almost-permanent presence helps with that, even if he doesn’t know it), but hey, if Trevor’s standing here right now he knows he’s got something going for him. But the look in the engineer’s eyes when they meet Philip’s again makes him feel like a damn artwork. 

Trevor’s grin broadens, and before Philip can even begin to reconcile what that’s doing to him Trevor’s lips are on his once more and he’s being pulled hard against him, skin to skin, heart to heart, Trevor’s hands roaming over his shoulders and his back and his waist and his ribs and his chest and Philip is moaning into the kiss like… he doesn’t even know what. 

They’re moving, almost tripping over each other and it’s a miracle either of them can keep their balance, but then Trevor’s knees hit the edge of the bed and they’re half falling onto it, a little uncoordinated but does that really matter when Trevor is still pulling Philip close, smiling even as his tongue dances alongside Philip’s? He’s all too aware of where his body is, where his leg presses between Trevor’s and his arm is locked, holding his weight off the other man. 

Trevor, however, has both hands free. Gooseflesh prickles across Philip’s chest and stomach as he trails his hands over his body, electricity sparking when his fingers skirt the waistband of his pants. He feels Trevor smile again, and his breath hitches in his throat. Shit, he’s never going to be able to kiss anyone else again. He doesn’t even want to kiss anyone else. Ever. 

“Do you want this?” Trevor murmurs against his lips, the tips of his fingers just dipping below his waistband and oh fuck he hadn’t realised just how badly he wanted that. 

Philip nods, then groans when Trevor palms him because even through his pants his hand is a million times better than his own. The other guy curses, does it again, and Philip’s teeth dig into his bottom lip. His eyes are dark and sincere, flicking between Philip’s own and where his fingers are curling gently around his clothed cock. 

“Can I?” Trevor asks. Philip has never nodded faster. He’s not even entirely sure what Trevor’s getting at, but he’s happy to let him touch him however he wants, wherever he wants, and he trusts him completely. Of course he already knew that — you kind of have to trust your team, after all — but he’s only just realising that he’s trusted Trevor as more than a team member for quite some time. Probably right alongside everything else that’s become more than a team member with Trevor. 

Philip isn’t wasting time philosophising, his attention fixed firmly on Trevor’s hand which is back at his pants and oh that’s what he meant. He helps out, shoving his pants down and off with less grace than he’d like, underwear following suit. The air is cool on his hot skin, and for a moment he feels oddly exposed. Then Trevor is pushing at his hip, tongue darting over his lips again and there’s almost an urgency to his movements. 

“C��mon, just— Hold on a second—” he says, still attempting to manoeuvre Philip. 

He almost laughs at his eagerness. “Trev, give me a second, man. What’re you tryna do?” 

Trevor pauses, his thumb running in a tiny arc over Philip’s hip bone — he’s not sure if he’s even doing it consciously. “Swap.” He nods to the mattress, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Maybe it is and Philip’s just lagging behind. 

“Oh, ok.” He shrugs, half climbing and half rolling sideways. “You could’ve just said that.” 

“Yeah, I know, I…” He sighs, rubs a hand over his forehead. “I keep getting caught up. Sorry.” 

Trevor getting caught up in him? In Philip? He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that, so he just shrugs again. “I’m that irresistible, huh?” 

The look Trevor shoots him is anything but joking. “You have no idea.” 

Philip opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head in awe. Who would have thought? “C’mere,” he tells Trevor softly, and the gravity is lifted as he smiles and practically bounces down beside him, pressing his lips to Philip’s. They’re getting better at this. Not that they were bad, of course, but they fall into the easy rhythm of each other much more quickly now. There’s no fumbling or searching or exploring, it’s familiar and Philip never wants that to end. 

Trevor’s hand is resting on Philip’s chest, warm and firm and now Philip is sure he can feel how hard his heart is beating. He stretches up, chasing Trevor as the other guy pulls away, but he can only do so much. Trevor smiles and gives him another quick kiss, almost chaste, the kind that Philip definitely doesn’t imagine he’d give him when their day to day paths cross in the garage. When he leaves to get food. When he comes back again. 

But that thought is wiped away before Philip’s mind can snag on it, because Trevor is spitting into his palm and wrapping his fingers around Philip’s dick, gentle and slick and warm and Philip curses softly. It’s almost almost perfect. 

“Like this?” Trevor asks, eyes fixed on his face. 

Philip swallows. His voice sounds odd even to his own ears, husky and strangled. “Uh, little harder.” 

Trevor squeezes, and it’s all Philip can do not to fall apart right there as his grip tightens and his hand moves. “This?” 

He feels the breath catch in his throat. “Yeah. Fuck Trev, that’s perfect.” And it is. It really is. There’s only so much his mind can come up with, he thinks as he takes in Trevor’s strong arm and large hand moving rhythmically over him, feels the heat of his body where it presses against his own and listens to Trevor’s breathing and soft hum of appreciation in response to his own moan. No matter what the update lets him see, no matter what he manages to dream up by himself, it won’t compare to this. 

Trevor is leaning closer, and Philip shivers as his breath hushes over the skin of his shoulder, his neck, then practically gasps as Trevor kisses the hollow under his jaw. He makes to turn his head, meet the other guy half way, but Trevor doesn’t let him. He kisses his jaw again, nudging him away and Philip just lets him. He even turns his face, just a little, but Trevor notices and his chuckle sends molten heat shooting straight down his spine. Trevor’s lips are moving, up over the muscle of his neck, tongue darting out to taste his skin. Philip gets it now, and then Trevor is whispering “this ok?” and he’s nodding (how could it not be?). 

“Fuck,” he breathes as Trevor sucks at the spot, and Philip really gets it. It’s not like hickeys are foreign to him, but this is something else altogether. Trevor’s hand is still moving firmly on his cock, maybe a little slower than he himself would go but damn is it good, and now he’s working his way down Philip’s neck to his chest. The tiny burst of almost-pain followed by the soft heat of Trevor’s tongue has Philip arching towards him, hips jutting shamelessly into his hand as he does his best to stop the embarrassingly desperate sounds he’s on the verge of making from escaping him. 

“Philip,” Trevor murmurs to his clavicle. 

“Hm?” Philip answers, lifting his head enough to meet his gaze. He half wishes he didn’t, another blazing hot spark of pure need rushing through him.

Trevor either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He presses his lips to Philip’s skin yet again, gentle and oddly tender given that he’s still jerking him off, looking at him through his lashes (Philip wonders if he’s doing that deliberately. If he knows what it’s doing to him). “You don’t have to be quiet,” he says softly, and there’s another kiss. Lower this time, on his pectoral.

“I’m— I’m not—” Philip breaks off in a rush of air when he feels Trevor’s teeth graze his skin. 

“Not what?” 

Philip doesn’t even know what he’d been getting at, but it sure isn’t important. “Doesn’t matter,” he breathes. 

“You sure?” 

“Mhm.” Then, as Trevor’s thumb slides over the sensitive head of his cock, “Fucking hell, Trev.” 

“Is that—” 

“Yes. Yes, oh my— Fuck—” 

Trevor’s mouth has found his nipple. Maybe it’s a little weird, but Philip is hardly in any condition to be thinkin about that. Trevor’s tongue is flicking over the ring cautiously, gently, and it feels really good. Better than it has any right to.

“Ok?” Trevor asks, kissing the sensitive spot. 

“Yeah.” Philip swallows, bites down on a moan and then remembers Trevor’s words. You don’t have to be quiet. 

This time, when Trevor’s hand tightens and moves over his aching cock, he groans, and feels Trevor’s body shudder against his. Philip brings his hand up to run across Trevor’s strong shoulders, down over his spine and back up again. He hums, and his hand speeds up every so slightly. 

“Oh fuck,” Philip moans, “fuck, Trev, keep doing that.” 

“Yeah, don’t worry.” Trevor’s voice is low and rough, his chuckle little more than a breath of air. “I’m not… I’m not stopping.” The engineer raises his head, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he studies Philip’s face like he’s trying to memorise it. Philip is torn between holding his gaze and looking away, heat coiling low inside him, and again he jerks in Trevor’s hand. Trevor laughs again, moving hard and fast and if he keeps that up Philip isn’t sure he’ll last another minute. 

“Trev,” he gasps, gripping his shoulder hard enough that he almost feels bad. “Fuck, fuck.” Yeah. Philip’s really articulate when he chooses to be. He wants Trevor inside him, wants to be inside Trevor. He doesn’t care where, exactly, he just knows that he needs to be closer, deeper, needs to feel their bodies blur into one, but right now he isn’t spending particularly long dissecting that thought. He’s got time. 

“‘Salright,” Trevor murmurs, as if he knows exactly what Philip’s thinking. “I got you, man.” 

Philip feels himself tremble and tip, bliss rolling up through his spine. He might be saying Trevor’s name, might be cursing, or the sounds might be just that; wordless and primal and torn from deep within him. Trevor works him through the high, and as the electricity coursing through Philip cools to static, his hand slows and finally withdraws to rest on his stomach. They don’t speak for a moment, their breathing and the ticking of the clock the only sounds in the room. Philip doesn’t look down, he knows his stomach is a mess, and chooses instead to turn towards Trevor. 

The engineer grins, then drops his eyes pointedly to Philip’s stomach. He feels his cheeks heat, but before he can say or do anything Trevor is bending and sliding down the mattress and Philip thinks he knows what he’s about to do but he doesn’t know what he thinks about what Trevor is about to do. Then his tongue is flicking over Philip’s abdomen and his skin is twitching, a small sound that’s half shock and half pleasure catching in his throat. Problem solved, he supposes. 

“Alright?” Trevor asks as he withdraws. 

Philip just nods, pushing himself to sit up. Trevor smiles and leans closer, his lips soft and gentle against Philip’s. This kiss is almost chaste, reassurance and a kind of confirmation (of what, Philip isn’t sure) all at once. He’s only too happy to reciprocate, his body pleasantly warm and heavy and buzzing with Trevor, Trevor, Trevor, whose chest is pressing against his own. 

Philip pulls him closer, hands sliding over the smooth muscle of his arms and shoulders, cupping the back of his neck as he slips his tongue into Trevor’s mouth. He can taste himself on the other guy’s tongue, a thought that has his brain spinning excitedly out of control and his stomach launching into an olympic level acrobatics routine. Does Trevor like the warm saltiness still clinging to his tongue? Is that what Trevor would taste like? God, Philip wants to find that out. 

Gently, he shifts and nudges at Trevor’s shoulder until he gets the message (faster than Philip had earlier) and lets him push him onto the mattress. His legs fall apart easily when Philip pushes his own between them, and when he moves and his thigh comes into contact with Trevor’s crotch he practically arches off the bed. Philip stifles a laugh. 

“Something funny?” Trevor asks, eyebrow raised when he ceases his assault on his mouth to look at him. But he’s smiling. Flushed, eyes dark and shining, lips swollen and pink and still parted as he breathes hard, but smiling. Philip can feel his brain going into overdrive to store that image perfectly. 

“No,” Philip shrugs, letting his eyes trail lower over Trevor’s torso (the guy has actual abs, which Philip is going to be thinking about for a long time). 

“No? What’s that look for?” 

He debates it for a moment, then, “I’m memorising.” 

Trevor frowns. “Memorising what?” 

Philip presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “You.” He pushes his leg firmly in between Trevor’s, basking in the breathy little moan it draws from him, “That.” 

“Fuck, Philip,” he whispers as Philip moves his hand down his side to his hip, across the faint V under his belly button to skirt the waistband of his pants (why the fuck is he still wearing pants?). Philip isn’t even sure if he means to do it, but Trevor’s grinding against his leg and looking up at him like he’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. He thinks he might just cum again, right here right now. 

“Can I?” he asks, already dipping his fingers below the line of fabric. 

“Yeah, yeah sure.” Trevor seems almost surprised by the suggestion, as if it’s the last thing he expected. 

Philip pauses, frowns. “You sure?” 

This time, Trevor’s voice is firmer. “I’m sure, Philip.” 

Philip nods, breath hitching in his throat. Trevor’s eyes are fixed on his hands, but he can’t look away from the engineer’s face. He gets Trevor’s pants undone, pulls them down, finally tears his gaze from Trevor’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes and parted lips and— 

“Jesus, Trev.” There’s a sizeable wet spot on Trevor’s underpants, the outline of his cock clear and hard and fuck, the dude is big. Philip’s mouth waters.

Trevor doesn’t seem to know what to say to that (which is doing things for Philip that he doesn’t want to even begin to address), but it doesn’t matter. Philip eases his underwear off, and, softly and with plenty of opportunity for Trevor to stop him, wraps his fingers around his length. 

“This ok?” he asks, watching Trevor’s face carefully. 

“Yeah—” Trevor’s voice cracks, and he tries again. “Yeah, that’s… that’s good.” 

“This?” Philip moves his hand, ignoring the little thrill that goes through him as his fingers come into contact with the moisture already gathered on Trevor’s tip. 

“Yeah.” 

“How about this?” Philip squeezes, watching Trevor’s teeth sink into his bottom lip and his head fall back as he whispers something that sounds like a “yes”, and holy shit has he got a jawline. He’d almost be jealous if he wasn’t so caught up admiring Trevor like this. If he wasn’t so far gone on him. If he wasn’t busy sliding down Trevor’s body, his face now level with his hand. 

“This?” 

“F—fuck,” Trevor gasps as Philip licks the tip of his dick, head whipping up to stare at him. 

He pauses, waiting. “Ok?” 

“Yeah, yeah that’s… that’s fine.” Trevor’s throat moves as he swallows. “You don’t have to, though.” 

“I want to,” he shrugs. “Do you want me to?” 

Trevor nods fast enough that in any other situation it would be comical, and Philip can’t help but smile. He bends, places a soft kiss at the junction of Trevor’s hip, then licks him again. 

Trevor moans, his hand drifting up to wind through Philip’s hair. 

Philip just smiles and flicks his tongue over the sensitive slit. 

“Stop teasing,” Trevor whispers. 

“I’m not.” 

“You are,” he protests. “It’s not fair.” 

“Fine,” Philip shrugs, and before Trevor can say anything else he’s opening his mouth, relaxing his tongue and taking Trevor as deep as he can. 

“Oh fuck,” he says, his fingers tightening momentarily in Philip’s hair. “Oh, you— Jesus.” 

The room could collapse right now and Philip wouldn’t notice. His senses are narrowed and focussed to the hot weight of Trevor’s cock in his mouth, the smell of his sweat and skin and his own spit (not pleasant, not exactly, but addictive nonetheless), his half stifled moan and the faint saltiness of precum. His hand works what doesn’t fit in his mouth, slow and firm and sliding easily with his makeshift spit-lube. His tongue swirls around Trevor’s cock, mapping every curve and ridge and vein. 

Philip raises his eyes as he hollows his cheeks and sucks, relishing the almost-whine that slips from Trevor. Again, he sees the engineer as he had been on the couch — chest heaving, gleaming with a light sheen of sweat, head tipped back and eyes closed. But this is better, because this Trevor — his Trevor — is already looking down at him, biting his lip, the unfairly defined muscles of his stomach tense and moving in time with his rapid breathing. A groan reverberates through his chest, and it’s all Philip can do not to smile. 

“Wish you could see yourself,” Trevor whispers, the hand that isn’t tangled in Philip’s hair twisting the sheets. 

In lieu of speech, he raises an eyebrow. 

“You’re a fucking wet dream, Philip,” he pants, and that is not what he expected to hear. It catches him off guard enough that he falters, his own surprised half moan making Trevor’s hips stutter up against his hand. His mouth. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says quickly, but Philip is shaking his head. Don’t worry. It’s ok. He gives what he thinks is a reassuring suck, his free hand settling on Trevor’s hip — as if he’d be able to do anything if he decided to face fuck him. As if he’d want to. 

Trevor curses again, softly, his eyes not leaving Philip’s face. He’s trying to be gentle, Philip can tell, and he feels something inside him melt because of course he would. Even as he whispers “fuck” like that and moans like that he’s still trying not to hurt him — as if he ever could. Philip doesn’t even know if he’d really care at this point. 

“Hm?” He doesn’t stop, moisture pricking behind his eyes as he relaxes his throat even further and practically swallows Trevor’s dick. His hand is sliding so easily now, slick and a bit messy and maybe it should be gross but nothing is gross with Trevor, who was licking Philip’s cum off his stomach just before and has seen him at his worst and has clasped his shoulder and pushed him through. He moves faster, a little harder, and Trevor’s hips buck up again. Before he can apologise, Philip’s thumb moves in a tiny arc over his hip. He hopes Trevor understands. 

“Fuck, fuck, yes,” he gasps. “Please, Philip, I—” 

He can’t stop himself from moaning, an embarrassingly desperate sound. He could listen to Trevor forever, feel him like this forever, replay the movement of his body and the rough crack of his voice and the delicious tension of his fingers still gripping his hair until the Earth stops spinning. He wants to, future be damned. It’s a feedback loop, Trevor’s body jolting towards him as he tips his head back, Philip’s own need surging hot inside him, and he’s gripping Trevor tighter and taking him deeper, revelling in Trevor’s moans and gasps. 

“Hold on,” he says suddenly, and Philip freezes.

“You alright?” he asks, withdrawing with a wet “pop,” his hand still resting on Trevor’s hip. 

He nods quickly, his hand slipping from Philip’s hair to rest against his jaw. “Yeah, I’m fine. Better than fine.” 

“Ok,” he frowns, “then what’s…?” 

“Do you…” He pauses, thinks, swallows. Tries again. “Do you want to go… further?” 

Philip feels his heartbeat quicken, mind racing with the possibilities. He’s never taken that particular step, but if he wants to with anyone, it’s Trevor. And hell yes he wants to, wants to go as far as is humanly possible and never come back. He’s seen so many variations of further now, he can’t pick what this could possibly be, and not knowing is oddly thrilling. 

“We don’t have to,” Trevor is adding hastily, his hand sliding down to clasp Philip’s shoulder. “It’s ok if you don’t—” 

“I do,” Philip interrupts. “I really, really do, Trev.” 

Trevor nods, shuffles backwards before pushing himself to his knees. Philip follows suit, steadying himself against Trevor’s shoulder. His hair is falling into his face now that Trevor’s not holding it back, and he half wishes he had an elastic band with him. Even if Trevor seems to like putting his hands in it. 

“It’s hot when you do that,” the engineer says as Philip pushes his hair out of his face. 

He arches an eyebrow. “I think you’re biassed.” 

“Maybe a little,” he shrugs, “but I’m not wrong.” 

Philip really needs to learn how to respond to this kind of thing, because at some point simply kissing Trevor isn’t going to be sufficient. But it’s working for now, so he’s got time. Trevor hums softly when he pushes closer, his skin hot in all the places it’s touching Philip’s. Philip cups Trevor’s neck gently but firmly, his tongue sliding easily between Trevor’s parted lips and he wonders if Trevor can still taste himself in Philip’s mouth the way Philip can. He shifts, electric heat surging through him when he feels Trevor’s hardness press against his hip, blood rushing downwards in sympathy. 

Trevor moans, grinding lightly against Philip, the kisses rapidly descending into something too messy to be called a kiss at all by any stringent definition. It’s more like Philip licking into Trevor’s mouth, Trevor licking into his, a whirl of tongues and teeth and lips that somehow has Philip moaning too, striving to get closer to Trevor in any way he can. He knows exactly what he wants now, and, as if Trevor is reading his mind, his hand is sliding down his side and around his hip to rest on his ass. 

“Is—?” 

“Mhm.” Philip gasps as Trevor squeezes, just gently, but God he wants his hands everywhere. If Trevor touches every inch of his skin, he thinks, it still won’t be enough. But damn, this is a good start. 

“Turn around,” Trevor murmurs against his lips, drawing back enough to make eye contact with Philip. 

He doesn’t waste time, as much as it pains him to break away, but when Trevor’s voice is that low, that husky, that raw with want, it’s worth it. Trevor’s hand doesn’t leave his hip, half guiding him as he faces the headboard. 

“Holy shit,” Trevor says, and Philip glances over his shoulder to see the other guy’s eyes locked on the tattoo sprawling across his shoulder blades. “I didn’t know there was more.” 

“Uh, yeah,” he laughs. “Neither did I at first.” He shivers as Trevor runs his hand across the inked skin, tracing the points and whorls of the design. He’d actually forgotten about it, as he does most of the time (until he has to do a double take when he catches sight of it in the mirror), but something about the awe and fascination tingeing Trevor’s expression makes him think that that’s not going to be a problem in the future. 

“Fucking hot,” he proclaims, bending to kiss right between Philip’s shoulder blades. He does it again at Philip’s sigh, then again, then lower. He traces the line of his spine with kisses, fingers curling over his hip, and Philip’s not sure who it is who moves close enough that Trevor’s erection presses against him. Either way, it doesn’t matter because Philip is definitely the one who pushes further back against him, and Trevor is the one who pulls him to do it again. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, because now that he’s feeling the hot hardness and the size of him against his ass, Philip isn’t sure if the spit still coating Trevor’s dick — copious though it may be — will actually be enough. 

“You alright?” Trevor asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Philip.” Trevor rubs his shoulder, gentle but insistent. “Why’re you so tense?” 

Philip sighs, rolls his shoulders, forces them to relax. This is Trevor, who is not going to hurt him, and who he trusts with his life. More than his life. “I’m fine,” he says, “I just… haven’t done this bit before. And you’re kinda big.” 

Trevor chuckles at that, shuffling around so he can see Philip’s face. “That’s ok,” he assures him. “We don’t have to—” 

“I want to.” 

“Then I’ll go slow.” 

That… is actually really reassuring. The tension leaks from Philip, and he offers Trevor a smile. “Ok. Thanks.” 

“You’ll tell me if you wanna stop, yeah?” 

Philip just nods, then Trevor is moving again and he has to twist over his shoulder to catch his smile. He leans into Trevor’s touch as the engineer’s hand skims his arm, his shoulder, his back, up his side and down again to his ass. They move together, slowly and carefully, and Philip feels the last vestiges of his nervousness slide away. 

“Can I?” Trevor asks, fingers slipping lower. His voice is soft, but Philip doesn’t miss the way his breath catches when he nods. Trevor’s fingers are wet with spit, and when he pushes one inside Philip there's only a little resistance. “Ok?” 

Philip nods. It’s an odd sensation, and he isn’t entirely sure if he likes it yet, but he trusts Trevor. He makes himself relax, focusses on Trevor’s free hand where it rests on his hip because he knows he likes that, and lets him move. He doesn’t mind it, he decides, especially when Trevor bends and kisses his shoulder. There’s a bit of pressure, a slight burn and stretch, and now there are two fingers inside him. 

“Ok?” Trevor asks again, and again Philip nods. He’s starting to think that he might like this, and Trevor’s still going slow but now his fingers are curled and yeah, Philip likes this. 

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s good.” 

“You sure?” Trevor whispers against his skin, and this time when he pushes into Philip it really is good.

“Mhm,” he breathes, teeth digging into his bottom lip. Almost involuntarily he rocks his hips back onto Trevor’s hand, and feels the other guy smile. 

“Alright.” He continues for a moment, and Philip’s more than happy with that, but then when his fingers withdraw they go all the way and Philip actually misses the feeling. Misses Trevor inside him, even if it’s just his fingers. He hears Trevor spit, another sound he’s all too familiar with, then something bigger than a finger is poking him and his heart skips a beat. 

“Ready?” Trevor asks. 

Philip swallows and nods for what feels like the millionth time today. “Yeah.” 

Trevor pauses. “Ok, bend over a bit? And maybe…” He pauses, then, “Do you wanna, uh, hold onto something?” 

That’s probably not intended to turn Philip on this much, but it does. He does as Trevor says and leans forward, bracing his hands on the wall, spreading his legs when he feels the pressure of Trevor’s hand between his thighs. “Like this?” he asks. 

Trevor’s voice is husky when he answers. “Yeah, perfect.” Then he’s pushing gently into Philip, who presses his lips together because Trevor feels bigger than he looks. It’s not really painful, and he’s going slow, and the spit lube helps, but it’s still more than his fingers and Philip can’t help the way his breath catches in his throat. 

“I’m alright,” he assures Trevor before he can ask. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, just… gimme a second.” 

“Tell me when.” 

Half of Philip wants to turn around and kiss Trevor for that, the other half wants to shove himself backwards and just take it from there. But he’s got enough of his brain left in his head to know that that would be a terrible idea, so he breathes deeply and waits until the faint burn fades and all that’s left is the pleasant stretch and fullness. “Ok,” he says after a moment, “you can, uh, keep going.” 

He half expects Trevor to do just that and push deeper, but instead he feels him pull out. He spits again, and this time the slide is easier, softer, further. Trevor curses softly, does it again, and now they have a rhythm. It’s slow and measured, careful, and Philip finds that it’s easy to relax into the movement of their bodies, to let Trevor rock into him and just brace against the wall — which is not even bracing anymore, more like stabilising. 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Trevor murmurs, the words sending Philip’s mind spinning. 

“So do you,” he replies and revels in the tightening of Trevor’s hand on his hip. This time, when Trevor thrusts into him, he does push back and meets him halfway, something between a gasp and groan falling from his lips. 

“Alright?” Trevor slows just a little, concern clear in his voice. 

Philip thinks he might melt on the spot, but instead he smiles. “I’m fine, Trev. you don’t have to be so… careful.” 

“You sure? Cause I don’t mind. I said I'd go slow.” 

“Well…” Philip pauses, glances over his shoulder. “Can you go a bit harder?”

“Yeah,” Trevor answers, and maybe it’s Philip’s imagination but he sounds a bit breathless. “Sure. Tell me what feels good.” 

Then he’s moving again, pushing deeper than before, and Philip is telling him that that feels good and Trevor is doing it again. It’s not much faster, but it’s somehow more, and Trevor’s gripping his hip damn hard now. Philip hopes he’ll have bruises. 

“Fuck, Trev,” he moans, arching into it, dimly aware of the bedframe squeaking faintly. “Fuck, that’s— that’s fucking great.” 

“Yeah? Not too — ah — fast?” 

“No,” Philip assures him. Then, “Faster?” 

“Shit, ok.” Trevor speeds up, and now he’s hitting something deep inside Philip that has him stumbling over Trevor’s name and pulsing with need. Before he can do anything about that Trevor’s strong arm is sliding around his torso, pulling him back against his chest and his hand is wrapping around Philip’s dick for the second time today as he continues to rearrange his guts. Philip knows he isn’t going to last long. 

“Fucking hell, Trev,” he gasps, because that’s really all he can do. He’s surrounded by Trevor, the engineer’s mouth warm and wet on the skin of his shoulder, his hand firm — just how Philip likes it — around his cock, Trevor’s own cock stroking what feels like every inch of his insides, his warm chest damp with sweat and pressed to Philip’s back. If he died right now he’d go out with a smile on his face, because he’s pretty sure it doesn’t get better than this. 

“Oh God,” Trevor groans. “You feel like fucking Heaven, you know that? You’re Heaven.” 

Philip didn’t know that, but he probably could have guessed from the desperation of Trevor’s combined fist and hips. He feels the words against his shoulder, feels Trevor’s warm breath stirring his hair and it must be all that damned football because he hasn’t faltered once. Philip can’t wait to make him. “You’re talking,” he manages, but any impact it might have had is lost in the unsteadiness of his voice. Maybe he’s still sensitive from his earlier orgasm, maybe it’s just that this is so much more intense, but he can already feel the tight coil of pleasure building low inside him. 

“Yeah, I’m — fuck, Philip — I’m talking.” He gives a particularly hard thrust, and it’s all Philip can do not to collapse right then and there. Trevor is going to be the death of him, and he’s going to say thank you when it happens. 

“Don’t stop,” he pleads — fucking pleads. “Shit, Trev, don’t stop.” 

“‘M not,” Trevor pants. “Don’t worry, I’m not fucking stopping.” And he isn’t. If anything, he’s going harder. “I’m— shit, fuck, fuck, Philip I’m gonna— Philip, where do I—?” 

Oh, is all Philip can think. “In me,” he blurts, because protocol 4 isn’t going to be a problem and this is the 21st century. 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’m sure. Fuck, Trevor I’m so— I’m gonna—” 

Trevor is groaning deeply, spilling hot and thick inside Philip and with that, white hot bliss explodes through his body. He’s dimly aware of Trevor’s chest heaving against his back, his own name being chanted like a prayer, an incantation, and Philip’s never loved the sound of it more than he does right now. Right now it really is his name, and he knows he’s never coming back from this, and that he doesn’t want to. He thinks he says Trevor’s, too, over and over and punctuated with curses, but how is he supposed to do anything else when it feels like this? 

Trevor’s movements slow eventually until they stop altogether, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing and the rustle of the sheets and Trevor pulls out and flops onto the mattress. Philip mourns the loss of the feeling of fullness for a moment as he adjusts to the sudden emptiness, forcing his arms to unlock and relax, his legs to shift — he hadn’t realised they were shaking, but now that he has he can’t stop it — and collapses next to Trevor. 

“God, Philip,” he whispers to the ceiling, then raises his head and smiles. 

“You alright?” Philip asks. Idly, he traces a circle over Trevor’s heart. 

“I am so alright,” he sighs, breathes a laugh, turns to lie on his stomach and looks at Philip over the muscle of his arm. “You?” 

Philip smiles too, his whole body heavy and satisfied. “So alright,” he echoes softly, and if he wasn’t so completely boneless he’d lean over, press his lips to Trevor’s, soft and careful. Instead, he stretches out alongside Trevor. He can feel his cum leaking out of him, and the rational part of his brain says that’s gross and he should clean it up — along with the mess on his stomach. The irrational part of his brain that had his heart speeding up when he watched Trevor lick him clean earlier says it’s hot. Either way, Philip is not getting out of this bed any time soon. 

“What?” 

He blinks, jerks out of his thoughts. Trevor is frowning, still turned towards him and close enough that when Philip extends his pinkie finger it meets warm skin. “Nothing,” he says. Then, because he’s not brave enough to say what he really means, “Do you wanna stay?” 

The wrinkle disappears from between Trevor’s brows and he pretends to think. “Do I wanna get up, get dressed, walk up the loft stairs and try to go to sleep by myself while I know you’re down here?” He scoffs like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and maybe to him it is. But he still asks, “Do you want me to?” 

“I just want you,” Philip breathes. It doesn’t quite sound right and he’s not even sure if it’s really what he wants to say, but it’s close enough.

“You just had me.” 

“No,” he sighs, “I mean this. I want this.”

“Oh.” Trevor’s face softens. “Right. Well, you’ve got it, Philip.” Slowly, he wriggles his hand close enough to lace his fingers with Philip’s and pulls their hands towards himself, lips brushing his knuckles. Philip thinks his heart is going to burst, and since when is he such a sap? Must be something about Trevor that makes his brain fly out the window. 

He slips his hand from Trevor’s to run it down the curve of his spine like he’d wished he could this morning, mapping every vertebrae as if the world is depending on it. And maybe his is. He watches the smooth motion of muscle and bone and ligaments and skin as Trevor shifts infinitesimally closer, mesmerised by the simultaneous complexity and simplicity of the movement. The dying light cascades over Trevor’s back and neck, glancing off his hair, pooling on his cheek, catching on his eyelashes as he blinks and suddenly he understands artists. 

Philip has always appreciated art in a practical sense (if there is one), as a historian, admired the richness and depth of the maker’s mark on the world, their cry to be seen and remembered. But in that moment Philip understands the need to capture and render, share, immortalise. For the first time, he doesn’t know if his memory is enough to hold Trevor as he is now, smiling softly and extending his arm, his own hand sliding over Philip's torso. He blinks and the feeling fades enough that he can move to accommodate the engineer as he shuffles across the space between them and drapes his body over Philip’s, lips pressing oh so gently to his pulse point before he lays his head over his heart. Philip knows he’ll never be able to capture this, and for a moment he wonders if how much is lost is equal to how much is preserved. If it’s greater. If it’s less. He swallows, turns and kisses Trevor’s temple, decides it doesn’t matter. He has this now, and he is determined to take it for all that it’s worth. 

“Memorising?” 

“What?” 

Trevor shrugs, shifting closer still. “Are you memorising me again?” 

Philip can’t begin to explain, but Trevor’s on the right track so just smiles and says, “yeah,” sliding his arm around his shoulders and holding him close. 

“Me too.” The engineer's body jerks with a soft chuckle, but he presses against Philip anyway, his breathing deep and even and his arm heavy across Philip’s chest. Then, “Can’t believe you’ve just been walking around with this.”

Philip cranes his neck, looking down at where Trevor is staring at his chest. Or rather, his piercing. He almost laughs because of course that’s what Trevor’s stuck on. 

“Doing missions with a ring through your nipple,” he goes on. “I can’t believe I didn’t know.”

“That’d be a weird conversation,” he snorts. “‘Hey Trev, wanna see this random bit of metal through my fucking nipple?’” Because Philip is aware that it’s weird, and that’s part of the reason he hadn’t exactly shown it off. Not that he would have had any excuse to, or wanted to, but still. 

Trevor tsks. “Yeah, but… I don’t know. Does it hurt?” 

“Uh… no?” He thinks for a minute, frowns. “Sometimes, a little. Sometimes I forget it’s there and it gets stuck on stuff.” 

“Jesus. 21st century, man, I’m telling you.” 

“Yeah. I know.”

There’s a beat of silence, then Trevor’s lips are pressing against his chest and he’s whispering, “I still think it’s hot as fuck,” and Philip, despite himself, is smiling. Whatever he sees in other timelines, and whatever else happens, he’s glad he exists here and now. He’s glad he woke up, and he’s glad he’ll wake up tomorrow — and this time it won’t be to an illusion.

Note: guys I'll be real for a sec I have no idea if this is any good. It feels ok right up until butt stuff gets involved so maybe this is a sign that gay porn specifically isn't my calling and I should just stick to YN shit (which is so sad cause I wanna write destiel smut and I wanna write more about these two silly little dudes). I wrote this originally where Philip just sucked Trevor off and they called it a day but it just genuinely did not feel right and it would not leave me alone and it just kept playing out in my head (something) like this so I wrote it and I'm not feeling the itch anymore but what I am feeling is really unsure. Any feedback at all would be so so appreciated (I feel like that ant with the bindle)

[saturns-cryptid]

Never got to share some of my headcanons for the hfr characters but here we go:

Chai is a blind mf (near-sighted) and needs glasses. Like, right now.

I don’t really know what glasses to give him though. Maybe like John Johanas has. Those could probably suit him.

Korsica is sporty, without a doubt, all about that daily exercise and healthy nutritious diet. What sport would she do though? I think boxing, like with Macaron, would probably suit her, yet I’d also think of kickboxing and maybe some jogging on the side.

On that note, Chai seems extremely flexible, almost if not outright gymnast levels. It remains a mystery for how long Chai had his right arm the way it was before the implant. Maybe he had it like that since he was a baby, but I can imagine him somehow injuring it in his early years, and it was just so severe that he couldn’t get its fine motor skills back. Like, maybe Chai has a degenerative disease that either runs in the family or only affected him due to him being a gymnast.

Or he’s just that naturally flexible and jumpy idk

Another headcanon for Korsica (me fine woman) is that she actually used to play drums and it’s not just a motive that she has in the game with her batons. Maybe she was part of the school orchestra and would only play simple tunes in there, while actually being good enough to pop off any minute. I instantly remember that video “When you’re overqualified for the job” when I think about it.

If the groups were to start a band, then Macaron would def be a piano guy and Peppermint the bass girly.

OKAY i'm gonna go down the headcanon list ting bc i love your takes and i want to respond to all of them properly TEE HEE

would NEVER have thought chai to be blind or in need of glasses tbh, though i'm here for it!! i personally think he would've been more far sighted bc of his ability to snatch onto magnets and grab enemies and stuff... (the thought of him squinting the entire game and hitting any moving robot looking blobs in his field of vision is pretty funny though tbh LOL) ... also i looked up john johanas and it's been a hot minute since i've booted up the game but i SWEAR the ones with the thick black frames are an actual pair of glasses you can get in the shop for chai and i am SOOO doodling that if i have the time

korsica is absolutely sporty. proof: sporty fit in shop. also she's head of security she literally HAS to stay in shape to spin that thang around. (also idk if it's just me but it's implied her batons are pretty heavy bc there's this one specific scene during her boss fight when the game is like "okay scratch parrying everything!" where she strains JUST a little bit to get into the spinning motion so she is SOOOOO absolutely muscular). ALSO did not think about korsica and macaron sparring!! macaron doesn't seem like the type to spar at his age LOL... but maybe he'd be up for it occasionally post game :0!!

i definitely think he would've tried to stay limber growing up all things considered, he has WAYYY too much stamina if he can beat up all those robots LOL but now that you mention it, he DID practically fold in half at the very end of the first stage... BUT i personally hc he has monoplegia as a result of an accident when he was really young as opposed to something he was born with. i'm by no means a medical expert, but it sounds... medically inaccurate for a degenerative muscle disease to stay in one arm? (if you ask me tho, i think he would have a brachial plexus birth injury IF he were to be born with it, but again) take that with a fistful of salt, i'm not a doctor and i don't know shit

i don't have much to say for the last two, i agree with you for the most part BWAHGAHGW i love the idea that if someone asked korsica about why she chose the weapons she chose, she'd just say something like "hitting drums, hitting people. same difference." and shrug BWAHWBJAHGSHJF

[mcl38]

lmao i had to unfollow a mclaren moot because they took the "twink" thing to an extreme and were pointing out how he's just oscar's little twink and would always be fragile and small instead of big and strong and fit like "broadscar" and i really just had to. 🤦‍♀️ fit? FIT? lando was the only driver not on the brink of fainting after qatar, not everything in f1 is about how "broad" and "muscular" you seem. i wanted to give the benefit of doubt at first but when the fetishizing gay relationships turned into pushing these bodyshaming stereotypes onto a literal professional athlete i was out.

i mean its so wild bc half of them seem to give the twink descriptor to both drivers and half specifically pin it on lando because hes smaller than oscar & make it into a whole Dynamic of lando being sooo toppable or whatever. which just shows that there isnt actually any weight to 'twinklaren' at all and it rly is meaningless, bc surely if it was clear cut and obvious these differences wouldnt exist ykwim? like its just about what serves their fandom purpose in that moment

idk i think as much as the term broadscar is unfortunately quite funny to me, f1 fandom discussions abt weight and bodies r kind of bound to become problematic (real sense not 2014 tumblr sense) bc of the requirements of the sport. the way lewis has said that hes not allowed to bulk up because it would make his weight balance too lopsided (as a side note u guys do not know how ready i am for post retirement bicep BEAST lewis hamilton. the only way im gonna survive him retiring) etc like its not just about appearance for them.

in terms of how lando is fit like ur 100% right - stuff like qatar shows that he (and jon) has been doing his due diligence w preparing for these conditions. u can also just see in that last quadrant video how hes obviously very physically fit and ready for the season. its just that bodies have natural differences between them - oscar is genetically taller, lando is genetically more flexible; oscar is naturally broader around his arms, lando is naturally broader around his back, etc. and its not necessarily an issue to point these things out or even joke about them (when ppl say daniel's got birthing hips it still makes me laugh and its been years since i first heard it) but at some point it does start to show a fundamental misunderstanding of what f1 drivers do. like do i need to pull up the real sweat im a high performance athlete clip or what

so thats on the body stuff. re: the twink stuff i think the reason it rubs me, you, many ppl wrong even before we consciously realise it is like. a twink is a type - not just a body type, a *type*. in the gay male* community, you identify yourself as a twink (or bear, otter, etc) because some people are particularly attracted to twinks, bc they have a type. then obviously because the gay community is way more than just sexual attraction & has a lot of cultural capital, the term twink gained connotations and cultural history etc and grew past that. but the origins are still very much in gay male* attraction. so now that the term has become accessible to ppl who arent in that community, and therefore arent *participating*, identifying someone by their physical characteristics (and maybe implied penetrative sex preference) no longer has the subtext of appeal, but of derision. because no longer is it implied that everyone involved is a gay man*, which means calling someone a twink also implicitly calls them gay. and i think 'twink' specifically gained traction compared to other types also bc of its association w femininity in one's physical appearance - which, again, ur just derogatorily calling someone feminine and gay. even if, say, ur a member of the lgbt community who isn't a gay man*, it still carries the subtext - like anon u completely correctly identified the condescending undertones of whoever ur talking about. which is why i say we should just bring back fag #justsayfag

[smol-grey-tea]

From my knowledge of Nameless, combined with @alwaysminiatureking 's knowledge of dolls - I've crafted a list of headcanons for the dolls' joints ^^

From what Will says, ball-joint dolls tend to have elastic joints, which become looser the more the joints are used, so these ideas are generally based on how much their joints have been moved before they came to life. Good joints mean their human joints would be a bit stiff; bad joints would mean that their human joints are very double jointed, bendy and clicky, maybe even a bit painful

As far as I remember, it had been about a year since Eri's grandfather's passing at the start of the game, and Lance had been with Eri before his death, so I'm going to headcanon he'd be at least two, maybe two and a half years old. I think his joints would be used a bit, since he was Eri's first doll and she may have used him to play with before she used him to dress up and display:

So I think his joints would be ok, not that bad but not perfect either

Yeonho was bought after the grandfather's death but before Yuri was bought, so Eri had owned him for at least a year before the start of the game. I'm gonna say that his previous owner would have owned him for a year at minimum to be honest. Probably more like a year and a half to two years then, so in total, I'd say he's at least two years or so old:

Considering just how recklessly his previous owner played with him then, I think he'd definitely be double jointed and flexible, with maybe a bit of joint pain

We have a specific date for Yuri's purchase, as Eri bought him for herself as a Christmas present - therefore, he can't be a lot older than nine months at the start of the game; I think Eri wouldn't really have played with him much, but would have dressed him up and displayed him more:

So I think in his human form, he wouldn't be double jointed at all and wouldn't be that flexible either

Tei, I think, was bought quite soon after Yuri, so Eri could only have had him for less than nine months before September 2013. However, I think that he had been with his previous owner for at least two years imo. The way he describes his owner telling him the same thing every day over and over, describing it as being like a curse, makes it sound like he had been hearing it for years, plural. The longer he keeps hearing about how wrong it is to be dirty, the more and more he internalises it and really believes it.

He says that he was only taken out of the box once a day for about half an hour before dinner. I don't know particularly what his owner would have been doing with him for that half hour, but I really don't think she would have been fully playing with him. I think she'd have just been hugging and talking to him without moving him much.

Because of this, I don't think he's double jointed at all, but I do like the idea that he would have some pain in specifically his damaged knee.

I thought at first that because Red was made specially, he would be quite high quality because of him being the most limited of limited edition dolls. However, Will said that prototype dolls aren't really intended for the general public, so the quality elastic would be reserved for the other dolls; meaning, Red's joints would be very low quality.

He's definitely double jointed. I don't know if I'd say that his joints are painful though? Cuz it's not like his joints are like that because they were damaged, they were just made like that. Idk..undecided!!

Nameless, being a teddy bear, I think would be flexible and floppy. I think of @moonlit-sweet-dreams ' post about their doll forms more literally translating into their human form, and how I never properly considered before until they pointed it out, how it implies that his left arm is ripped off.

I'd personally interpret this to meant that he just has a lot less dexterity and blood circulation to his left arm. Idk if I'd say it's painful, but definitely a lot more numb than the rest of his body. I think he is probably blind in the one eye and might have some pain or numbness in it

A stupid disclaimer tho....is that I'm not 100% on the accuracy of it having been a year since Eri's grandfather's passing. She says in the prologue "Grandpa, it's already been over a year. Time flies by really fast, doesn't it?" which implies it's been just over a year since his death

However. She says before that "The most recent dream was... Right, it was then. It was when Grandpa died, about three years ago from now."

Bro huh.....

If it had been 3 years since her grandfather's passing, that changes a couple things: Lance is now at minimum 4 years old, and..... Well, it's kind of impossible to tell how old the other dolls are. We know that Yuri was bought at Christmas, but it's not clear which Christmas. Eri says that she bought Tei after Yuri because a second-hand doll was all she could afford after buying a first hand doll, so we know Yuri's purchase would've been a bit recent, but still, we can't tell how much.

Ik in my head the order the dolls were bought in, but don't even remember how I found that information. I think I did find out how I did but I've forgotten, again. I think it's understandable thru process of elimination: we already know that Lance is first, we know Yuri was for Christmas and Tei was bought because of being low on expenses, and it just makes logically way more sense for Red to be last and Yeonho to be before Yuri. So.....cool...........

In the timeline that her grandfather had died in 2010 then, here's my theory for it: Lance was bought first in 2009; Yeonho was bought very soon after the grandfather's passing in 2010, like an impulse buy; Yuri may have been bought for Christmas of 2011, Tei then bought very early 2012; then finally, I want to say that Red was bought very very close to the start of the game in 2013, some point before August, I just really like the idea of him being brand new, with how much he still isn't too knowledgeable of the world by the time the game starts

I really really really really really really don't prefer the "three years since Grandpa's passing" thing but if it really is the case, I can't imagine it working in any way other than this. The one year worked much better, since I really really don't like the sound of Eri waiting that long to get more dolls. More than a year between buying Tei and buying Red? Man..... Maybe it's a translation issue, maybe she said three years about something else. I'm not sure. I just know I prefer the one year timeline

@cheritzheadcanonz ◡̈⋆ʜᴇʟʟᴏ(●’◡’●)ﾉ ily (๑`✪̤◡✪̤)◞ღღ <333333 (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡ ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁)(^з^)-☆Chu!!,★⌒ヽ(●＾､＾●)Kiss!。･:*:･(✿◕3◕)❤(✿ ♥‿♥)(♥ω♥*)(∿°○°)∿ ︵ ǝʌol◌⑅⃝ᵐᶦˢˢ(꜆˘͈ෆ˘͈꜀)ʸᵒᵘ⑅⃝◌(๑'ᴗ')ゞ(●'▽'●)ゝ(✿❛◡❛)ヾ(❀╹◡╹)ﾉﾞ(✪ω✪)/♡(*´ω｀*)/♡(♥´∀｀)／(*＾＾*)//(๑ت๑)ﾉ(*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡(*´˘`*)♡ヾ(´︶`♡)ﾉ(∩•ω•∩)♬♡♡♡♡(´｡•ㅅ•｡`)(((o(♡´▽`♡)o)))(*´˘`*)ー❣❣*´ㅅ`)ﾞ♥(♡´▽`♡) ok that's enough

[frenzyarts]

No prob if this is too personal to answer, but what does being nb mean to you? And do you also id as a woman (so, a nonbinary woman)? Bc I know some afab nonbinary people describe some aspect of transition (I totally respect that you didn't have one, not implying that you're wrong). I'm just wondering what being non-binary means for you, bc that label in particular is (for obvious reasons) so flexible. I'm a cis gnc woman and have always understood myself that way for context.

It’s kind of hard sometimes for me to talk about my gender but I want to try 🤔 sometimes I feel like a woman and sometimes I feel like not a woman (but not a man either). I don’t call myself trans masc because I don’t really feel like I want to be super masculine. I want to be able to go back and forth between presenting as A Woman™️ and A Person Of Indeterminate Gender.

I’ve got the woman part down but I still haven’t mastered the androgynous part. And I don’t really want to “transition” to anything because I feel like that describes a state of starting as one thing and permanently transitioning to another thing. But I don’t want to permanently be anything. (Obviously transitions are different for everyone, this is just how I currently view my own stance on what a transition would be for me. Maybe in the future I’ll find a way to live that’s more comfortable and my stance will change idk🤷‍♀️)

I hope this makes sense 🤔🤔🤔 I feel like there’s still a lot I don’t know about who and what I want to be and look like because I’ve been in the mental health prison for years. I’m slowly exploring this stuff now 💃

[samuelroukin]

re gazprice dynamic, I def agree dom/sub doesn't fit them well, price in particular doesn't have the right life setup to get off on being a dom imo, and after all one of the great horny truths is that people almost never want more of exactly what they're getting in their vanilla life in bed and like, doming is his day job lol, I think the #1 thing he wants is probably to fucking relax for once, but I can't see him being comfortable with anything that looks like submission from the outside

gaz I could see being a little more flexible bc hes not shoved so hard into a particular social role by circumstance, but even so I think submission is more something hes capable of enjoying than something he is, and tbh I think the rule of reversals would have him going the other way - something that strikes me about his dialogue is how fucking fast he is on the uptake, like he never seems to break a sweat coming up with an instant reply and almost everything he says is elquoent, measured, he gets emotional sometimes but he's never out of control, hes funny but he's not trying to get people in stitches. there's a lot of moments where you can see him thinking but he doesn't say much. which is interesting, bc that level of control implies he could be running conversational circles around the others if he wanted to, but thats not what he chooses to use it for. the why of that is up to interpretation, but my vote is for deliberate restraint, like he knows exactly what he's doing/not doing and its on purpose, and that is exactly the sort of thing that sets someone up to enjoy letting loose a bit in bed

all of that feeds into an indulgent daddy kink thing really well so like, yeah absolutely sold on that. personally I think there's maybe a bit of corruption kink in there too, like bc that seems to be a pretty significant element of their working relationship and I can't imagine they don't have feelings about it, but I think it could go a lot of different ways, and either of them could be in the drivers seat for that one (price orders gaz to get blood on his hands, gaz responds by taking another thing off prices 'never have I ever' list when they get home), but I'm also partial to the classic 'I fucked that old man (smug)' and 'and I enjoyed it (guilty)' vibe

(sorry so much of this is like, saying what you said with more words, I went and actually watched bits of the game for the first time so I'm just like, confirmed via independent research and I think you're right sfgdfsgsdfgd)

if you're willing to entertain more questions, I am stuck on trying to figure out how much and what kind of experience price has and what his relationship with being gay is - thoughts?

YES to all of this! i'm actually super glad you put it into words way better than i ever could, especially about gaz being so deliberate in his words and actions.

also this "the classic 'I fucked that old man (smug)' and 'and I enjoyed it (guilty)' vibe" like. Yeah. yeah. like to me i can't see price completely giving up control and reversing their dynamic when they're together but the. allowing gaz to do what he wants...

to me, price is like a 2 (maybe 1.5) on the kinsey scale. comfortable being attracted to men occasionally but with his job it's easier to separate personal and private if work is (mostly ofc) where he doesn't think about men like that, and i like the added layer that brings to him being into gaz. not so much a 'ew i don't like men' reaction but 'i'm his superior and i'm not supposed to feel like this at work' if that makes sense. (like yeah he shouldn't in general, but idk.) as you can tell i don't do deep thoughts, just vibes lmao

so i think he def has some experience, more when he was younger, although he gets more attention now, but it's not something that comes up a lot

[fallen--leafs]

Evil month info post - please read!

🎶 it started off as a penguin post, how did we end up like this- 🎶

Hi! In February, I would like to experiment for a bit! This energy has been building up and it has to mmmm Go Somewhere. Or this charade will break clean in two pieces.

In February, I will be playing a more evil Declan.

The Plot seems to be Going There, so I will take the time now to test if the character works that way, if he is interesting to play then, and if I can stomach playing that ooc. Which, is very much on the fence still

What does this mean?

It means we need a couple of extra rules

Interactions in February are semi-canon. Meaning if I do pick the evil route, they are cannon, if not, then not.

If you want me to tag anything, please let me know. I will do my very very best. (more on potential topics at the end)

If under these conditions, you choose not to interact with Declan, that is completely fine! I will keep a list of people I will leave alone completely, or leave alone with Plot Shit, etc. (and unfollowing me is always okay anyway, I never check that lmao)

Please do not Ask current rp partners about plot developments if they haven't interacted with them! If they have chosen not to interact with this, I would hate to see them dragged in. My character is not theirs to control, so forcing their comment on it would be ehh,, please don't.

The views of this character are not those of the mun behind it!! (always true, but deserves reiteration here)

Topics

Given the current plot, these themes may show up more often:

Human trafficking

Dehumanisation

Anything Sabbat, probably

That said, lines I will not cross:

(topics that will not, will in fact Never show up because I don't want to deal with that)

Sexual violence of ANY kind, implied or written out

Real-world discrimination (homophobia, transphobia, racism etc)

Finally I DON'T ACTUALLY KNOW HOW THIS IS GONNA GO. There might not be any Actual changes because I miscalculated the situation. I might call it quits a week in, or a day! Maybe I'm being overly cautious! Idk, I've never done anything like this before! Wah! I am asking for a little extra patience and uh. Flexibility on what is and isn't cannon while I figure this shit out. Again, if you don't wanna interact during that time, that's perfectly fine! Just shoot me a message. I'll definitely post updates as I figure shit out.

I'm probably overthinking this by a long shot. Hhhhhhh. But yea! If you've read this far, thank you!! I appreciate you immensely!!

[bisluthq]

I laugh when people say taylor’s partner or ex “isn’t that hot” or whatever description they want to use as like a way of fact checking her lyrics lol because to her, they were EVERYTHING. KOMH sweetly implies it’s the best sex ever, that alone would make her find them more attractive. ITHK is again, a tame song, but she’s fully enamoured by all his features but his hand around a cold glass is doing things to her.

No one ever says about paper rings “I’m with you even if it makes me blue” that she shouldn’t be blue for someone else (I don’t think that’s what she was going for anyway but oh that theme did persist 😬). Or so high school, no one is talking about the risk of car sex when she is so famous and physically they’d need a limo because he’s a tree, or maybe very flexible idk lol. Like why fact check who she finds hot? There’s not just one type of hot person or like 80% of the worlds population are just pretending to think their partner isn’t dog ugly yk?

RIGHT? I’m p sure we all think our partners are hot lol??? I’d be crazy offended if like someone I was dating didn’t think I’m very pretty not because I’m delusional enough to think I’m like Angelina Jolie but like because if the person I’m dating doesn’t think I’m hot then why the fuck are they dating me right like that doesn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense lol.

[fredrickzoller]

Interesting take! But I rewatched scene last night and maybe it’s effects of your fanfics but I just noticed how he trying to touch Hugo and Archie every chance he can. He literally patted Archie's cheek??? Idk how he can get away with this🙂he also doesn’t seems to be interested in Britget that much. I doubt Tarantino was implying that Hellstrom is gay or even implies something about his sexuality but Hellstrom definitely on of the characters who gives a GAY from him lmaaao

LOL yes, i agree, like... on one hand I know Tarantino's been quoted as saying he's very aware of the gay subtext in Reservoir Dogs so I don't think it'd be beyond him to imply a character's sexuality but from what I gathered (and someone can correct me if I'm wrong), that all arose from how Tim and Harvey portrayed White/Orange, not what Tarantino wrote going in. Also Basterds is more about the story he's meaning to tell and the characters being used to do so (I know he's particularly enamored with Landa, Shosanna and Fredrick and their roles, and it shows)... so no, i don't think he was going for anything with any of the characters' sexualities, but it's difficult to not read into certain characters (Hellstrom, with how he acts towards Archie + Hugo, and then Aldo, too - since he's not Jewish, I don't think it's a huge reach to assume part of his beef with the Nazi regime could come from being queer.) But yeah, so in other fandoms I'm in, I'm pretty flexible with different sexuality hc's... but Basterds I'm very set in my sexuality hcs. I can't see Hellstrom as anything but 1000% gay and pairings of him with female characters, be it canonical or original, heavily squick me. I have a sexuality hc grid here btw that's supposed to be more geared towards the retail au but it also applies to my canon opinions. (Other than Shosanna, who I hc as straight in canon!verse.)

[writ-in-violant]

Hmmm

Vivian has a wiggly moral code but a strong impulse to help other people; generally, they'll hurt other people if a) those people have hurt them first or are trying to hurt them (or people under their protection), or b) if it seems like the absolute only option to get to their goals. Still, most of the time they try to find a third option to make everyone happy. The one major line they have that they won't cross is that whatever happens, everyone needs to have informed consent about it (this may seem self-evident, but I mean more in the context of 'giving people black wings absinthe' or 'telling someone new to the neath to check out something dangerous' or 'not giving all the information in a deal," not just the most common arena to talk about consent). They're not a fan of slipping people stuff they don't know they're taking or getting people into situations they don't understand. They're....well, "okay" is an overstatement, but they'll tolerate people getting them in over their head, to a point. It's when it happens to other people that Vivian draws a line. They also, perhaps consequently, are tend to believe in taking responsibility for your actions -- although that can bend in favor of their general desire to find compromise.

Blake doesn't have a strong moral code but what he does have he is ironclad in. If you betray him, you die. If you kill someone's loved one, you die (and if he kills someone's loved one, they're within their rights to try to kill him, he'll just fight back). And, less high-stakes but still important, he will not have another romantic relationship, even if he's just acting as a honeypot for a plan or something similar. He doesn't have super strong feelings around fidelity when it comes to other people, but he refuses to even pretend to be interested in another person. He is, after all, still in mourning -- and he takes that extremely seriously. But other than that...the man is a spy. I feel like he may grow morals, but on the other hand...maybe his desire for revenge will continue to overshadow that. Idk. Play to find out.

Art has a stronger moral code, although given that he's in Bag a Legend there's uh. A decent chance that it will crumble. But he grew up raised to be moral but with a general love of fighting, so he's developed a code of sorts. He generally tries to be a good person -- only stealing from people who can afford it, not hurting people for the most part, not helping the Neddy Men, that kind of thing, but that is flexible if he's desperate. His major code, though, is that he doesn't fight things that can't fight back. He tries not to start fights at all, but when it comes to hunting or fighting people, he fights those who have a chance of defending themselves (a certain degree of wealth automatically counts as a chance of defending yourself, to paraphrase the code of the Discworld Assassins). But yeah; generally tries to be a good person, in particular by avoiding fighting those who can't fight back.

Celestine...uh....yeah, very few morals on that one. She would scoff at the idea of her having a moral code--it's pretty words that people use to cover up their own crimes-- but as that implies, she does in fact have one. She does her best to avoid anything that would hurt children in particular, and people who have nothing to lose. She is fine with lying to and conning the rich but has qualms about conning the desperate. It's wiggly -- she'll do it if she has to, or if it's the easiest and most expedient option -- but she does try to find alternatives.

Weekly OC Prompt (9-9-23)

What does your character's moral code look like? When can they be flexible depending on the situation, and what are the lines they won't cross?

[needleandhammer]

From Simmer to Score

Pairing: Soft!Curtis Everett x Reader

Summary: Curtis is good with his hands. And other stuff.

Warnings: 18+ only, explicit, smut, oral sex, penetration, fingering, dub con breeding, unprotected sex, breeding kink sort of, size kink, petite!reader, Curtis' fingers

Word count: 4k

A/N: This doesn't really fit the prompt i chose from @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge: "You hire a local handyman to help you with a few home projects." But the prompt still inspired this. I wanted to take the prompt somewhere more explicitly dark but once again my contribution to this challenge turned marshmallow soft. This is an au, non-apocalypse au, normal life au, idk. Just self-indulgent. Also, it was a struggle finding a gif of clean Curtis. Because he's clean in this and not living on a train, i swear.

“Try again. Very good. Let’s have you run through the exercises and then we’ll take a look at the new homework."

At your smile, the little girl nods and quickly turns to concentrate on coordinating her footwork on the pedals of your old Altenberg while reading the notes in front of her.

You back away, heading to the kitchen for some iced tea. You nearly forget your other guest who sits at the table.

This is the third time he’s accompanied Wendy for her lessons. For a man of his size, Curtis makes no sound except the faint swish of pages turning in his book. Like before, he arrived with Wendy, nodded a greeting at you, waited for your invitation to the kitchen, and then spent the entire hour silently reading.

You pull the fridge door open and pour tea into three glasses. You quietly slide one towards him. Curtis’ eyes flicker up to you, brilliantly blue, and he gives you a low murmur.

“Thanks.”

You’re about to return to Wendy when you hear your name in Curtis’ smooth baritone.

He nods to the notepad left on the table. “I, uh, noticed your reminder to call for maintenance. Something wrong?”

“Oh.” You tidy up the table, sheepish at being caught procrastinating house chores. “Just needed a second look at the water heater. The repair company came by and we tested things out when they were done, but the next day I had no hot water.”

You grimace, thinking of taking another cold shower.

“If you’re okay with it, I can grab my tool bag from my car and take a look,” he says.

You’re not prepared for the offer. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

He shakes his head, no hesitance. “I don’t mind at all. As long as you don’t.”

“I mean. I-I would really appreciate the help.”

Your time with Wendy ends after you review practice goals with her until her next lesson.

Curtis joins you two. “Hot water is running again.”

Your jaw drops and you skip to the kitchen. Hot water pours out of your faucet. You return, unable to resist grinning widely at him.

“Thank you, Curtis. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Curtis taught my dad everything about fixing houses!” Wendy chirped. He offers her a crooked smile.

“Do you have everything?” you ask your young pupil.

While Wendy thanks you and you help her pack, Curtis watches on with a faint curve to his lips.

“Edgar’s changing over to late shifts for the next couple of months. I’ll probably be driving Wendy to lessons again.”

You nod. “Sounds good. See you both then.”

After they leave, you enjoy a glorious steamy shower and then you settle onto your couch with a plate of leftover grilled veggies and fish.

Reviewing your schedule, you consider taking on one or two more students. It was years ago that you gave private lessons to help pay for college. Nearly a decade of moving between a few jobs, you are now in a quiet suburb working with a team of digital designers. The job allows you to work from home half the week, a flexibility you take great appreciation in. The professional stability encouraged you to return to music and to helping others develop their musical interests.

Wendy is your only student at the moment as you want to ease into taking on this additional responsibility. You smile, recalling your initial meeting with Wendy and her father, Edgar. Her father’s bubbly energy is such a stark contrast to Curtis. Edgar opened up quickly, sharing that he and Wendy’s mother were no longer together, that he would support whatever Wendy wanted to do. There was a perpetually youthful vigor to the room when Edgar was present.

Wendy calls Curtis, Uncle, and his adoration for her is clear. He barely said two words when he was here the first time. It doesn’t bother you. You get the impression Curtis purposely tries to not draw attention to himself, and you can empathize with that preference for tranquility.

_ _ _ _

It’s a windy day, heavy with rain clouds, the next time Wendy and Curtis are over.

“I saw your screen door was down. Planning on replacing it?” Curtis asks when you wrap up with Wendy.

“Nah. I was just going to look up what I would need and try fixing it myself.”

“It’s kind of heavy.”

His tone doesn’t imply any skepticism aimed at you and you’re not offended. You’re used to people calling you ‘small,’ though you’re not small so much as you’re short. You like to think you take up ample space. You also admit strength is not something you have in abundance. Your whole life you relied on family and friends for a lot of literal heavy lifting. But Curtis already helped you out once.

“I could fix it up.”

“I won’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no bother, really. I’m happy to help out.”

He promises to be quick about it. While he works, Wendy happily practices on your piano.

“I have Oreos,” you announce.

She pauses to grab a cookie. “Thank you so much for letting me practice longer.”

“Of course, dear.”

She chats a bit about her upcoming birthday plans, as children are wont to do.

Curtis pops his head in. “All set. Do you want to take a look?”

You follow him out back. Swinging the screen door on its hinges, you nodded appraisingly.

“I suppose it passes inspection.” You look up with a cheeky smile, pleased to see Curtis’ lips twitching. “Thank you. Really, Curtis. I do wish you’d let me pay you.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Besides, you’re great with Wendy. I’m grateful for that.”

You can tell he loves Wendy just as much as if he was her father. “In that case, I shall give Wendy her next lesson for free.”

He blinks at you, trailing behind as you make your way inside and calling out to Wendy.

Curtis has resigned himself to a quiet, bare life. He doesn't think he wants anything much. He has Edgar’s loyalty, a result of the brotherhood he formed in his impoverished teen years. They survived together, looked out for each other. Once Wendy came along like a little star burning in a smoggy midnight, Curtis counted himself lucky to witness the little girl growing up. A chance to help nourish one seed.

The first time he arrived with Wendy at your home, Curtis couldn’t help listening in on the entire lesson, making no progress in his book. Your clear voice, your generous encouragement. You, light on your feet moving so swiftly. You, barely reaching his shoulders yet mighty in spirit, curvy and sensuous. Curtis had an urge to lift you in his palms to be stored safely in his pocket.

_ _ _ _

And so things follow. Wendy diligently learning and Curtis primarily accompanying her, taking his place at your kitchen table. You come to enjoy his steady, grounding presence just a couple steps away from you and Wendy.

Now and then, he’ll notice some upkeep you’re doing – a leaky faucet, a box of new light bulbs on your counter – and volunteer his assistance. You are reluctant to put him to work, sure that he spends enough of his days working and doing chores in his own home and besides these are tasks you can handle even if you find them tedious. Curtis is always gentle in his offers, always obtains your permission first. As time goes by and you grow less shy about accepting his help and he grows more comfortable in your space, you realize working with his hands is second nature to Curtis.

It doesn't take long for Curtis to admit to himself he wants to be near you.

Curtis doesn’t meddle. He doesn’t mingle. He doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. He is aware you thrived on your own for a long time, just like him; and like he has Edgar and Wendy, you have a small close-knit group of friends. Lending a hand to you doesn’t count because you are like him.

Maybe this is why he lets his guard down under your roof. There is something kindred in your calm nature that his soul responds to. Under your roof, no silences need to be filled; no pretenses forced upon him. Your invitation to rest is unspoken – he hears it and almost weeps. The more time he spends with you, like two wavelengths in tune, the stronger his urge to insert himself. To fix, or in some way leave his mark on your home. Curtis doesn’t have any interest in widening his social circle. Lending a hand to you didn't count. Until he cannot help it. He doesn’t reach out for you, doesn’t try to prove you’ll curve perfectly within his arms; but he’ll ensure your softness can curl up in a sturdy home and delight in simple pleasures.

One evening, when Edgar works later than usual, you ask if Wendy and Curtis would join you for dinner.

“Nothing fancy. I have some noodle soup and salad. Curtis, can you call Edgar to meet us here?”

Wendy sets the table. Curtis assists with the food.

He’s quick to cup your hand in his when it's nicked with a knife. You can’t help leaning into him as he runs your finger under water, wraps it in clean paper towel. He finishes with the salad, making you sit at the table.

Edgar joins you all, tired but quickly gaining energy with food and a few sips of wine. You are full and warmed by their company. While Edgar cheers on Wendy while she practices from her book, you feel Curtis’ fingers curl over your hand. His thumb brushes over your cut. You share a smile with him.

_ _ _ _

You settle into your little Toyota only to find it won’t start. It stumps you because you never had issues with this car before. You have no experience with car maintenance and don’t know the first thing to check for an engine that won’t wake.

Calling Curtis to see if you can reschedule, he insists that he can swing by to pick you up.

He had called you, his voice almost shy. He wanted to surprise Wendy for her birthday with a piano and asked for your help.

You direct Curtis to the string instruments shop in the city’s downtown area. The two of you are greeted by a sales staff upon entry. When asked, Curtis looks to you, wordless, so you do your best to describe to the salesperson what you're looking for.

There are several options of acoustic and digital instruments. You give little demonstrations on a few pianos that you consider reasonably priced.

“Curtis, check this one out.” Your hold on his sleeve is loose and propels him towards one of the upright Baldwin pianos.

“I think any of these would suit Wendy. The sounds are clear, and they don’t take up too much space. The salesperson said this one is second-hand and it’s in really good shape.” You press a few chords, then look up at Curtis with a smile.

He looks at you, gaze gentle. “I’m not worried about price. I’ll take whatever you recommend.”

That was his general response when you asked his opinion during your time in the shop: he was up for anything you recommended. Other than that, he trailed behind you so that the salesperson assumed you were the primary purchaser. Much like in your house, Curtis seemed to try hard to not draw attention. Oddly, you didn’t think anyone in the same room with him could help noticing him. Even with the dark apparel he favored, Curtis’ reserved nature can't hide all the intensity and strength just thrumming beneath the surface of his tall imposing build.

You convince him to sit beside you on the bench. He’s never played before, but humors you and tries random combinations of thirds with you. You watch his hands – clean, wide, with thick fingers – hover and slide along the keys.

He nudges you.

“Sorry. I was just impressed your sausage fingers are quite nimble.”

A half-hearted glare. “Thank you. For coming with me.”

“If I say you’re welcome, will you take a look at my car when we get back?”

He stays for dinner.

It starts raining and you have to rush out to gather hanging linens. He helps and you both run back inside. You're giddy at his eagerness to assist, resulting in damp clothing on you both.

“Oh, let’s dump it here. I’ll fold it tomorrow.” You are happy to leave the laundry in a pile on an armchair, in too good of a mood to care.

You catch him with his attention on you, a look so soft you have to look away, walk blindly a few steps. His touch is on your arm, turning you around just as you reach the piano.

He dips his head low to press chapped lips to yours, capturing your lips more, closing in to envelope you in his heat.

Curtis’ hands grip your hips with a quick jostle against the piano, prompting a slur of bright notes ringing from the keyboard that you are pressed against. And then he’s hitching you further up and firmly in his arms. His tongue licks against yours. You slant your open mouth, inviting him to taste, to devour you from the inside out. Your legs wrap around his waist like you belong there, tethered to this point in time. There’s no past or future, only Curtis, only feeling safe and real in his arms now now now.

You barely register Curtis moving, tipping you onto the couch cushions to hover over you so close. You can’t remember burning for someone like this. You can’t remember much of anything, focused on Curtis, solid and unyielding between your thighs, muscles buzzing with raw strength.

You want so badly to know more of him. Your hands wander shamelessly under his shirt, sliding up his wide back, grazing under to squeeze appreciatively at his pecs only to be called south by a narrowing of hair that leads you on until you bump his belt buckle.

You’re distracted by the tease of hot kisses he drops along your neck. There’s something sweet, vulnerable in how you allow him access to the delicate skin there. It makes Curtis bury his nose against the crook of your jaw, a long moment for him to whisper something like a prayer, before his tongue swirls and he nibbles your ear lobe. Your high pitched gasp hastens his desire. Your shirt is gone. Your bra untangled from your arms. Your breasts, oh, Curtis takes a mouthful of one fleshy breast, sucking greedily when you moan, breathless and aching now.

You claw at his shirt until it too disappears. You wriggle to help Curtis pull your pants and underwear off. Your legs want to yank him back to you, but he braces himself to allow just a bit more space between you both than before.

“Let me.” It’s almost a growl, and you want to say yes, but you want to kiss him more. You’re clinging by his neck, drinking from his soft lips, until you both part to draw breath.

His hand caresses your cheek, sliding over to slip two fingers into your slack mouth. Your tongue swipes at them, lips close to suck them in, eager to touch and taste any part of him. Jaw tight, Curtis pulls his fingers away and down. Down. His hand spans large over your curves and you hold your breath, grit your teeth. One finger saturated with saliva, sinks into your cunt. You swear you can feel more arousal dripping from you to soak his hand and he adds another finger, drawing short whimpers from you as his fingers withdraw and plunge in. God, you won’t ever tease him about his fingers again because they’re perfect. Agonizing in their quest to undo you.

His voice is husky groans, wanting so bad to feel your oh so tight cunt around his cock. Soon.

He tortures you, adds a third finger. You’re riding them, whimpering as he pumps them in you and parts the digits to stretch you. His weight slides away and you can only grasp at his hair, you’re barely glimpsing his head between your legs before you arch high when his thick wet tongue swirls and licks your folds, dialing up the white hot blooming inside you. His fingers curl just enough inside to press that patch against your pelvis that strings you tight as a bow. Pressing insistently, scratching with finger pads, until you burst and all you can do is chase more of that pulsing pleasure, humping against his face. Your hips quiver while Curtis laps at your slit.

His sucks grow gentle, thumb teasing your bud, helping you come down from the intense high.

You sigh his name.

“I’m here.”

“I want you.”

His arms wind around you, holding you tight while he kisses you. You can’t remember feeling anything better than being cradled like this as Curtis languidly kisses you.

He’s not rushed to move from you, so you cling to him and he loves you for it. Yes, he’s hard, but he wants to savor this. Already high on the sensation of your soft flesh underneath him, your thick thighs tight at his waist, your quiet hums of pleasure the evidence of his thorough work.

He ran from his past, from early years strife with despair, washing away those memories like dust and grime. He thought his life of isolation was one that moved him forward; but he has been stuck all this time.

Seeing you care for Wendy, Curtis realized he wanted that. He wanted what his friend had. He wanted you, and the precious something conceived between two souls that sing for one another. Soon. He’ll make your sweet little body his to protect, to warm through the nights.

_ _ _ _

“Thanks so much for having us for dinner,” Edgar says. He was been watching Wendy run around your humble backyard, chasing butterflies and searching for little frogs. He turns to you with a toothy grin. “And for your help with the gift. Wendy’s going to flip. I’m lucky to have you and Curtis both around.”

Your smile is just as affectionate. “Happy to have you here. Although,” your smile turns sly, “I’m a little disappointed that your special lady friend didn’t join us.”

“Curtis,” Edgar mutters under his breath. Curtis is washing dishes at the sink and pays no mind to any half-hearted curses directed at him.

Your brow arches, urging Edgar to talk as he can't help an embarassed grin.

“Well, she was traveling for work, unfortunately. But I know Wendy doesn’t mind her.”

The girl has whispered to you that Edgar’s girlfriend is beautiful and she wished she would become her new mom; this you keep to yourself, not wishing to embarrass or pressure your friend further.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

Edgar’s eyes slide sideways, quiet for a moment before he jumps out of his seat and heads to the door leading to the backyard. “I’ll just…uh…” He exits, trailing off without finishing his sentence.

You sigh and take another bite of your cake, indulging in the moist chocolate flavor. Glancing up, you find Curtis watching you. His attention is singular, a warm simmer in those bright blue eyes, causing you to freeze except for your tongue that finishes sweeping over your upper lip. His gaze narrows, grew weighty, tracking your tongue as it retreats into your mouth. He pushes away from the counter, steps close until he is able to drop to his knee beside your chair. One strong yank has your seat turning so you face him.

The door creaks open again.

“Well, the sun’s getting low so I think we’ll head home and wind down.” Edgar announces with his daughter close at his side. He has a boyish grin on his face, pulling Wendy towards the front of your house. "Wendy, say good bye.”

“Isn’t Curtis leaving too?”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll leave when he’s ready.”

“Have a good night, you two,” you say, walking with them to the front. Though Edgar is still cheerfully thanking you for the meal and insisting you stay inside and not see them off.

“You go on and just have a good time, both of you.” He sends a wink your way. You shake your head at him. “Curtis! You be a gentleman now.”

Quick as he can, he has Wendy secured in the car and they are on their way.

“Huh.” You lock the front door before turning to find Curtis. You can tell he wants to roll his eyes at Edgar’s antics. Instead, he closes in on you.

“Are you worried about me not being a gentleman?” he murmurs. His fingers hook under yours loosely.

You smirk. “I’m worried about you being too much of a gentleman.”

That smolder returns to his gaze. For a second, your body shivers, overwhelmed and you side step him, if only for a moment’s relief from the heat of his eyes.

You reach out. He takes your hand.

Once you’re down a layer, he grows even hotter seeing the mesh and lace number you have on. A tantalizing tease with the hard peaks of your nipples veiled in barely-there maroon. Just daring him to unwrap you. So he does.

His mouth leaves a wet trail seeking sensitive spots on your neck, you breasts, your thighs. Even as he moves, he still covers nearly all of your body, his heat and weight drowning you in want.

Your shudder has him grazing his beard up the inside of your thigh so that you arch and plea for his touch. God, all your uninhibited responses spur the blazing hunger in him. Curtis peels the mesh underwear down, impatient for a taste of you. His mouth waters, catching wafts of arousal and then he’s sucking and lapping your wet pussy. His rumbling groan is like a physical nudge that bows your back, and you remain rigid in the air at the sensation of his thick tongue pushing into you. Wide shoulders part your legs, shifting until your thighs rest on vast muscles.

You rock against him, keen at the hard sucks. Two fingers dip into, fucking you and rubbing with a dizzying rhythm that brings you over the edge.

With little effort, he holds up your hips and you feel a pillow slide under you to angle you higher. Then his muscled arms hook under your knees and he finally lines up and rocks forward. The tip of his cock parts your folds. Your breath hitches. His cock slides in, forcing your walls to stretch, to mold tightly to his girth.

“Curtis” – your hand was going point to the little bedside table with condoms.

Instead, you’re gripping a blanket. Gasping as he withdraws and your pussy tries to hold him in.

You mumble against his lips, incoherent. “The…inside..”

And then he feeds you his length again. And again, that delicious, addicting friction.

"Yes, inside," he agrees softly. "Like this."

With every pump, the spark catches and blazes higher. Curtis rises onto his knees, thrusts harder, watching your eyes flutter open and shut. He’s panting with the pretty picture of a needy you. He grips your thighs. As if his life depends on how tight he clutches you. Concentrating hard, his eyes drop low. Fuck. He can see your pussy clench, your puffy outer lips suckling his cock. Curtis swears your little body is refusing to give him up, and you’re wet but your cunt squeezes him so tight he has to drive harder into you to avoid slipping out.

You’re not even aware of your breathy moans, so turned on by his groans, the rough thrusts he gives you. There’s no grinding. Curtis can tell he’s rubbed against your g-spot and he keeps his snapping hips angled just right, one callused thumb circling your clit too lightly. And then your breaths stutter, your legs seize, your back arches. Curtis grits his teeth, keeping the exact same pace, draws out the storm of your pleasure. It’s so consuming, you lose your voice.

Just as you are able to breathe again, able to sense the physical realm around you, Curtis speeds up, bucking hard with low grunts, powering into you.

A high gasp – you feel him flood you. He drops to press his chest to you, still pumping his release into your clenching walls; and it’s too much, his cock merciless within your sensitive channel. He can’t help it, even as your legs start writhing with his unrelenting stimulation, even as he hears your hitched whimpers.

He finally stills. His lips find yours, tongue stroking deep.

Long moments later, his name is gentle, falling from your lips. “We didn’t use protection.”

Curtis nuzzles you, rubs his nose along the planes of your cheeks. Returns to suck your bottom lip. “It’s okay,” he whispers.

There’s a soft frown upon your brow that he kisses, and then scatters more kisses on your face.

“But, what if?”

“I want you. I want everything with you.”

You’re barely able to react as he nips hard at your collarbone and then rolls his hips. He’s half-hard inside you. You’re quickly losing yourself in Curtis, overwhelmed by the combination of his hungry mouth on your skin, unyielding clasp on your thigh. His thrusts persist, pins you in place, lights you up and scorches you. You’re right where he wants you, whining for more more more.

Now with each beat of his heart, Curtis has his mind’s eye on the prize. He’ll have you over and over. And you’ll grow a piece of him inside you. You are the way forward. You are his.

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

A/N: Hurrah, this one felt like it took forever. I blame Curtis. He didn't give himself up to me easily. Let me love you, ya broody boi! Thank you for reading!

[trailshome]

What age ranges are the MC’s?

I imagined child MC 5-6, Teen MC 16-18 and Adult MC early 20’s but idk if any of that is accurate

//I've already answered this twice(?) -- but because of how indecisive I am and how flexible the mc is, I'll answer it again! Keep in mind that this is the most up-to-date info on MC's ages, anything prior to this post is outdated.

----

A child mc can be five at the youngest, but anything younger starts to make less sense in context, and as old as nine, maybe ten. It can be implied in a few sections of the updated demo (TBA) that mc is, at the very least, young enough to still mimic the people around them. In Lesilfae's 'interrogation' you are presented with a few choices, two of which are:

# I furrow my brows, "Huh? I'm human! Do you want me to spell it for you? I'm great at spelling!" Bryn always told me I was super smart, and now he'll know it too!

# "That's a dumb question. I thought you knew things...?" I cross my arms like Ingrid does, trying to show him how disappointed I am.

There's also a moment in the prologue where mc can pick up a letter addressed to their mother (maybe). If the mc takes it, they note that they can read their mother's name, but if the mc doesn't, it's implied that they can't read it. This could be due to inexperience or simply the inability to read their uncle's poor handwriting.

The 'teen' mc is actually a young adult, but I think it's possible for them to be sixteen. I don't remember if I explicitly say they're in college, but it could very well be they were sent to a private school. I mention dorms once or twice and a cafeteeria (once?), but that could easily belong to a private school with on campus living. So, while I imagine them to be eighteen at the youngest and in their mid-twenties are the latest, they could easily be a little younger or older.

The older mc is a full blown adult who's been striking out on their own for a while. They can be anywhere from their late-twenties and up, but they cannot be younger than that due to Gale and Holly's romance being exclusive to older, hypothetically more mature, MCs. I wouldn't stop you from making them younger but then you start to enter a territory where context begins to break apart and where I start to become uncomfortable with the romance dynamic.

So, all of this is to say, imagine MC's age as you'd like! Just make sure to assess whether or not the relationships that mc can engage in are appropriate. No teenage or twenty-two-year-old MCs dating 57-year-old Hollond and 42-year-old Galeon, you know? And no 30-year-olds trying to smooch Greta who's in her supremely early twenties at the oldest.

[makerofmadness]

For the ask game... How about Meta knight Kirby (+_+)

favorite thing about him

The fact that he is simultaneously a decently chill dude and kinda apeshxt (He will try to beat up a child and lose).

least favorite thing about him

I can't really think of anything tbh. At least not right now. Maybe the lack of answers given to things about his past in the anime adaptation (though that's its own universe separate from the games. It's an adaptation and it came out I think two decades ago? but hey Kirby is Kirby so since it's a piece of official Kirby media I'd say it counts), like we never get to know why he knows so much about Kirby.

favorite line

I'm trying to hurry this so I can get back to doing homework so I can't get the line but it's probably that part of the Battle Royale novel where he talks to Kirby and Bandee while they're both unconscious after he loses to them in Flagball.

brOTP

With Kirby, Bandee, and Dedede.

OTP

With Dedede probably (tbh I feel like I've kinda... slided out of shipping this to just really liking it? Idk)

nOTP

With Kirby (for some reason that ship is really common in the Japanese fandom?? And I don't know why???? I mean as far as I'm aware in most media Kirby is portrayed as being at least young [in some cases, an actual child] and Meta Knight... isn't).

also really with any character I firmly view as a minor, like Bandee. (I say "firmly" because with some characters I mostly just don't know what to think and can easily see why someone would think something else. Like with Magolor I honestly don't even know what to think. I think I lean more toward viewing him as a teenager or something? Idk. He's an egg. I'm flexible with him).

Oh yeah and any of his Halberd crew (or with Sword or Blade). Really I just don't like it, I don't even really have a reason, I just... don't. Though I don't think I've ever seen anyone ship them wish him anyway, just felt like mentioning it because it probably exists. I think my dislike of it may have to do with the way I see their relationship with each other but even without that it just feels... weird to me??)

Oh yeah and Metasusie because I think that one loading screen in Star Allies implies that she's still interested in mechanizing him so I feel like a relationship between them just... wouldn't be healthy (idk I just get bad vibes from it). if it weren't for that I'd be fine with it I guess.

random headcanon

He's like a father figure to the Meta-Knights.

unpopular opinion

I like his smash bros voice and i don't like applying his anime personality and backstory to the games. I like my chill-yet-feral sphere bat and I do not need copious angst fics to appreciate him (not bashing anyone who likes meta angst, I just never really liked it that much personally).

song i associate with him

ナミダ by MARETU (my translation here)

favorite picture of him

I don't have time to find one rn, probably something from the light novels. Crap.