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azullumi · 3 days ago

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IN THE DESCENT OF MADNESS CALLED LOVE !!

premise — he’s going to die in this place; he will be trampled on and reduced to nothing, and the only thing that will ever be remembered of him are those hues of skies that glimmer like stars in their wake and hair that mirrors falling snow, and the only one who will remember is you; alternatively, phainon is everything warmth and kindness embodies, and when he stumbles upon you, a person who just wants to get out of this very hell but can’t, the both of you get caught up in the mess created by your very own hands. content tags and warnings — pairing: phainon x gn!reader | alnst!au, kind of a toxic relationship, graphic descriptions of death, wounds, and blood, cynical and hater reader meets golden sunshine boy, a lot of physical touching and intimacy, religious themes and metaphors, love is cannibalism, some things about anakt garden is up to assumption, comfort/fluff if you squint, rocky start but they get bad before they get better then worst, angst, not proofread | wc: 5.0k

note from me — i did not write this with a sane mind at all but its fun exploring this kind of dynamic lol also this week i learned that i have scoliosis ?

i.) cast the flames and shatter your heart, you are nothing without the ache of your hands

Anakt Garden is ugly.

It’s suffocating and abhorrently quiet despite the echoes of laughter and feet stomping and stumbling on the grassy grounds. It’s detestful how some humans treat it as paradise when it actually is a warm embrace before death takes you, a preparation for something equally repulsive as the lights on stage or the collar on your necks.

You’ve stopped caring about it, about everyone else.

You’re a few minutes into your granted free time, and you’ve decided to sit by the trees near the lake—not a lot comes here, after all, so you can finally have some peace.

You’re halfway through sketching a single fish when a shadow looms over you. You don’t look up, disregarding the presence as another measly child who is simply too curious.

You finish the sketch, take out the crayons, and begin coloring. Minutes pass; you hear some shuffling and rustling, then finally, a voice, gentle and clear as the crafted melodies you have sung.

“Can I color too?”

You look beside you where the sound came from, where you see a blur of blue and white. It’s a boy—there’s a boy sitting right beside you and peering over your sketchbook and you cannot see his face.

Either he had mistaken you for a close friend of his or it’s normal for him to be this friendly to a total stranger.

“No.” You simply answer, before scooting a little away from him and resuming your work. You add details to the fish on the left, adoring it with sparkles and a reddish pattern.

The boy follows and keeps the same distance.

“Why not?” You don’t answer, so he pursues like a relentless fire. “I’m not going to ruin it.”

This time you finally look at him and you see it—hair, the reflection of snow, and a pair of eyes that holds the skies within. It’s a beautiful blue, adoring and soft; the kind of hue you have heard your provider tell you when she mentions this place called ‘ocean’. You’re sure you can see yourself in them too as he keeps his gaze on yours.

“It’s not about ruining it.”

“Then why?”

“I don’t know you.”

Not like you know anyone here, though. You’ve always kept your distance from everyone, nothing good is going to ever come out of making bonds in this grand play of life and death. You look back to your artwork.

Silence falls in the small space between you and him, in the gap between that can be easily closed if he were to push a little closer, but he seemingly abates and you’re about to let out a sigh (of relief?) when he speaks once more.

“I’m Phainon.” He beams a grin at you when you look at him again. “Nice to meet you!”

It feels like there are floating flowers and stars surrounding him when he speaks, and you’ve come to realize and accept the fact that this stubborn child is not going to give up. So you simply just relent and give him the boxes of crayons, bringing the sketchbook closer to him.

You don’t see him but you feel it—the sparkle in his eyes and the utter warmth that clings to his smile. You think you never want to see it.

“Ah, you smudged it.”

“Oh, wait. Let me fix it quickly.”

“You ruined it even more!”

“Oops, sorry.” He looks at you while scratching the back of his head, his somewhat insincere face completely rendering his apology useless.

“Don’t look at me like that. We can just do this,” he picks up a different crayon, one that stands out from the background, and begins doing whatever he is planning while you watch. It’s not like you don’t have the energy to stop him—and maybe you actually do—, but curiosity triumphs over you as your eyes follow the movement of his hand. “Ta-dah! I present to you: Fishnon!”

There’s another fish standing beside the one you have drawn now, except this one looks a little messier—mixed in the blur of colors and blue, laid on top of the hues like a coveted stain, but it stands out in the array of pigments, nevertheless.

“Fishnon…?” You don’t know why you question it nor what you are even questioning for, but your eyes are glued to the paper, specifically to the newly-added fish with a sword. Oh, and the two fishes are now holding hands.

“Yeah, Fishnon! It’s Phainon and Fish combined.”

He’s rather enthusiastic. And it’s stupid. Like extremely stupid.

Phainon’s art skills are not much developed compared to yours and his fish persona looks ridiculous standing beside the one you have drawn. But for some reason, the tight knots in your chest eases just enough to make you breathe again. You don’t realize you’ve been holding it.

“It looks just like you.” You say, adding details to Fishnon.

“As it should.”

And somewhere between here and there, in this moment under the carefully drawn skies, he calls for you in a kind tone (you don’t recall ever telling him your name) and you can feel something shift deep within you. Something soft, warm, slowly unraveling itself.

It’s high time in noon, meals are being served, and it feels like a curse has been cast on you.

Ever since then, your eyes betray you—always seeking blue, and whenever you find it, it’s already gazing back.

The thing that has you scratching your head and wishing to slap yourself is that it always follows with that stupid smile—that stupid grin with that dumb face and those annoying eyes that crinkles into crescents.

You stab your fork harshly on the pea that it scratches against the plate’s surface. It bursts under the tines, its guts smearing the porcelain. The poor vegetable colony probably cripples in fear of being the next victim.

“Is this seat free?”

You don’t look up. You don’t need to. His voice is unmistakable—honeyed and light, like the choir’s song before they curdle into screams.

“Yes.”

“Can I sit beside you?”

This is why you never try to know anyone. Not only is it a waste of effort but it will do nothing but harm. Bonds here are rotten fruit born from a splendid tree, dangling from a branch just to be plucked and crushed underfoot. The Garden’s love is a slow poison, and Phainon gulps it down like communion wine. You’re not sure who to blame here, but is there really anyone to do so? Was this a sin?

But when you open your mouth, what comes out is:

“Go ahead.”

It all feels so foolish. Like pull-your-hair-out stupid, what-the-hell-did-i-get-into foolish. Despite averting your eyes away, your gaze only returns to him soon after like a pair of magnets that can never be separated—and perhaps he simply was just like that, how irritating he may be even if doing nothing. There was a certain fascination in how he can remain rather optimistic and happy despite the circumstances he is in.

Your gaze drags back to him. Always to him.

Phainon eats like someone who still believes food is a gift, not fuel. He peels the crust off his bread, arranges his carrots into a smiley face, hums between bites. Alive. Too alive.

“Are you always eating alone?”

You shrug, “I’m used to it.”

He leans in, elbows on the table, breadcrumbs clinging to his lips. "Let’s always eat together," he declares, as if it’s that simple.

He’s going to die in this place; he will be trampled on and reduced to nothing but another pretty corpse onstage, and the only thing that will ever be remembered of him are those hues of stolen skies that glimmer like stars in their wake and hair like falling snow, and the only one who will remember is you.

"Suit yourself," you mutter, but your hand is already stealing a carrot from his tray.

He laughs, bright and startled, and you hate how it settles in your ribs like a second heartbeat.

ii.) let it consume you, it must consume you, allow your body to return to ashes

You’ve noticed this before but Phainon is really well-cared for.

In every moment he had pestered you —leaning into your space with that infuriating grin, humming off-key hymns—and in every moment that you had indulged him, you have never seen him unkempt clothes or tattered fabrics. He appears to be pampered, meticulously attended to and looked after—it almost feels like every joint of his are strung, his movements controlled and calculated. Everything about him is so well-maintained it practically exudes that he is beloved by the aliens.

But not now.

Not with the bruise blooming across his cheekbone like a stain, not with his shirt torn at the collar, rust-brown blood smeared down his chin, dripping on his pristine-white shirt.

Your eyebrows knit into one, “What did you get yourself into?”

He had never struck you as someone who would get into meaningless squabbles.

Earlier, whispers slithered through the halls: A scuffle near the dorms, a group of boys throwing punches against one another, a chorus of gasps. You ignored it—until you couldn't and you found yourself with your hand on his wrist and running away with him. And so here you are, inside one of the vacant art rooms—your art room, the one reeking of turpentine and stolen solitude—tending to his wounds with a careful efficiency like handling a porcelain vase.

You dig through the kit that you retrieved from your room: half-dried alcohol, cotton balls pilfered from the infirmary, bandages fraying at the edges. Supplies you’d hoarded for yourself, for the days when the weight of the Garden’s hymns threatened to crack your ribs open.

You’ve never thought that you were going to use it in this way. I mean, sure, they are eventually going to be used to clean up wounds, cuts, or whatever, but you’ve only done it to yourself.

Doing it for someone is different. This—closeness and something unnamed that sinks into your bones, that engraves warmth in your lungs, that makes your hands tremble—is different.

He laughs—a nervous and embarrassed sound as he darts his eyes to the side. His collar is red. “Let me explain.”

You work in silence, dabbing at the split skin of his lip and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“They started it.”

“That’s not helping your case.”

“They called you a freak.” Your hand doesn’t falter, even as your pulse stutters.“They called me one too, but that’s whatever. Then they dragged you into it, said you were—”

You press particularly hard, shoving the cotton into the gash of his knuckles. squeezing alcohol out of it that seeps directly into his wounded skin. He yelps.

“—OW! Okay, okay! Mercy!”

“Don’t do that ever again.”

Don’t make it so easy.

Don’t let them see you bleed. Don’t let them hear you care. But he does, he always does, and that’s what makes it devastating—like a tragedy waiting to be written with the ink of your blood and papers of your flesh.

Phainon’s smile is lopsided, a fractured thing, too bright for this rotting world. Blood is still trickling from his lip. "Worried about me?"

You want to strangle him. You should have let him bleed out on the floor, should have let the surveillance catch him and apprehend him, you could have.

You tape the bandage over his knuckles too tight, relish the way he grits his teeth. "I’m worried you’ll get us both in trouble."

He leans in, close enough that you taste copper on his breath. "Too late for that."

Outside, the tree’s shadows stretch long across the fields, and for a heartbeat, you let yourself loathe him. Loathe the way his lashes catch the light like gilded wire. Loathe the way his pulse jumps under your fingertips, alive and reckless and his. Loathe that he’s here, now, ruined—for you.

He is a cosmic masterpiece carved by the stars themselves.

A divine joke, what a terrible sense of humor the universe has. A boy built from sunlight and sonatas, now bleeding onto your hands because he thought your name was worth defending.

You press your thumb to the bruise on his cheekbone, smearing the violence deeper. This is how love feels, you think: like swallowing a shard of glass and calling it sacred. Like watching a god kneel in the dirt and knowing you are the blasphemy that brought him low.

“What are you thinking?” His voice is soft, mingling with your tangled breaths.

“Nothing.” You say, closing your eyes and inhaling the scent of the crushing abyss that awaits for your fall.

You will remember the exact shade of red his blood makes against your skin, long after the stage burns his voice from the light.

“Did it hurt?”

Your fingers curl into the collar of his shirt, wrenching it aside to reveal the jagged letters carved into his skin. PHAINON—a filthy scar that glares at you, one that should have never existed.

You were subject to an excruciating procedure of having your names burned into your skin, a brand that will forever remain in your being, a foul stain. You don’t like it, you don’t like the pain, the screams that only the walls and machinery can hear; everything about it was disgusting.

Phainon tilts his head back so you can see the engraving better. “Not really,” he simply says, like he’s discussing the weather. “I didn’t feel anything at all.”

“You’re a bad liar, Phainon.” Your thumb gently glides over the engraving and his breath hitches—just once—when you trace the A, the I, the N, as if you could rewrite him with your hands.

“Okay, yeah. It hurt a lot.” A shadow flickers across his face—there and gone, like a fish darting into deeper water. “But it’s just skin anyway,” he murmurs.

Just skin. As if the both of you don’t know that skin is the first thing they take from you.

You release his collar with a sigh, “Whatever.” But he catches your wrist before you can retreat, his hand wrapped around right above where your name is engraved. He smiles, tilting his head like a curious hound: “Why do you care?”

The question hangs between you, sharp as a guillotine. You could lie. You could say it’s disgust, that it’s nothing else beyond the warmth that spreads on your skin that touches his, that it’s fear and repeated nightmares of his blood on your hands.

“I resent you.”

His thumb strokes your inner wrist, right over the vein. “I know.”

Of course he knows. He’s always known.

You resent the way he grins through bloodied teeth, the way he hums and runs around like everything is just a mere game. You resent that he chose you—a hissed sit with me, a crayon shoved into your hand, a thousand tiny violations of your solitude that you allow anyways.

Hatred, you’ve learned, is the closest thing to love this place allows.

This rotten land doesn’t teach you how to cradle someone’s face gently—it teaches you to bite. It doesn’t teach you whispered confessions—only how to carve your devotion into flesh, letter by letter, until the wound never closes.

"You’re disgusting," you say, and your fingers dig into his engraving like you want to peel it off his bones.

Phainon laughs, breath hot against your cheek. "Yeah." His other hand slides up your spine, nails catching on fabric. "You too."

It almost feels like a vow.

You hate him. You hate the way his breath hitches when you claw at his back. You hate how he licks the blood off your skin, how he steals food from the cafeteria trays to leave in your room, how he burns brighter every time you try to push him away.

Most of all, you hate that he’s right—that this is love, here in this rotting cradle.

Love is teeth breaking skin, it is holding someone’s heart just to feel how hard it struggles, it is watching the aliens mark him for slaughter and thinking, Mine, mine, mine.

“You shouldn’t have followed me that day,” you mutter.

“You were drawing a fish,” he says, as if that explains everything. Maybe it does.

The air between you is thick with the scent of something cruel and soft at the same. His grip tightens, not enough to bruise, but enough that you feel the ridges of his fingerprints like another brand.

“Does yours still hurt?” he asks suddenly.

You could lie again. Instead, you yank your wrist free and press your palm to his chest, right over his heartbeat. You lightly push him away, glaring, “Yes.”

He exhales, sharp, like you’ve stabbed him. Then he leans forward until his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven. “Good.”

Phainon does not believe in love the way they tell it, in the way endless adoration and worship is tangled into one golden thread that ties you to another person, but he believes in you, in this anger, hatred, warmth, in the way your nails dig into his engraving like you want to peel his name from his flesh and swallow it whole.

It’s ugly. It’s his.

And that’s close enough for him.

(He will adore you for a very, very long time.)

It’s starving, gnawing.

The guilt is a living thing inside you—a parasite with needle teeth, chewing through your ribs, gorging itself on the soft pulp of your shame. It festers in the hollows of your lungs, swelling with every breath, until you choke on the stench of your own rot.

You want to claw it out. You try—digging your nails into your sternum, as if you could peel back skin and snap your bones apart to reach it. But it’s slick with bile, writhing deeper every time you grab hold, leaving your fingers glistening with the proof of your sickness.

Every thought is a crime.

You should have pushed him away harder.

You should have let him hate you.

You should have been cruel enough to save him.

But you weren’t. And now, the competition looms like a guillotine blade, and all you can taste is the sour tang of regret on your tongue, the way it coats your teeth like rust. You want to scream. You want to vomit. You want to tear your own skin off if it means escaping the weight of what you’ve done—what you’re still doing—by letting him stand this close, by letting him believe, even for a second, that you can protect him, that he can protect you, that you are safe in this tight space you have molded for yourselves.

“You’re not going to die!”

This was the first time Phainon has raised his voice at you.

It cracks through the air like a whip, raw and desperate, and you flinch like he’s struck you. His hands are fists at his sides, trembling, his knuckles white with the force of it. There’s something wild in his eyes—something terrifying, something alive—and it makes your stomach twist.

"Say it," he demands, stepping closer. His foot knocks against yours and your vision spins as you fall back into your bed, your body welcomed by the soft mattress. He hovers over you, hands caging the sides of your face: "Say I’m not going to die."

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.

The silence is worse than a lie.

Phainon’s breath hitches, and for a single, horrifying moment, you think he might cry. But then his jaw sets, his shoulders squaring like he’s bracing for impact, and he laughs—a sharp, broken sound that scrapes down your spine. It dies like a record slowly breaking down and he pulls you up in his arms, cradling you close to his chest, his face buried in the crevice of your neck.

“I can never understand you at all.” His words vibrate against your neck, warm and damp with something too close to tears.

You chew the inside of your cheek until copper floods your tongue, your hands trembling by your side instead of embracing him too. You don’t offer any words of comfort but you allow him to pull you close, let him hold you—you allow this. This fragile, fractured closeness where your shadows merge into one grotesque shape on the wall, a two-headed creature bound at the ribs but never at the hands.

Yet it is not enough, it feels like you’re still far from him, like you could easily slip away from his grasp, and it makes him scared.

“Do you want to leave?”

“But where do we go?” There’s nothing else for you out there. Perhaps there was a time, a spur-of-the-moment decision when you had run away with him, slipping through the cracks to be greeted by crimson skies, vastly different from the perfect cerulean illusion you are used to seeing. You'd run until your lungs burned, Phainon's hand welded to yours, both of you laughing like the world couldn't catch you, but that was it.

“Anywhere.”

“There’s no ‘anywhere’ for us.”

“Then the rebellion, I’ve heard—”

“And what, Phainon? What happens after that?” Your voice cracks like dry earth. "What happens after that? We trade one collar for another? Die faster?"

The words linger between you, sharp as the scent of ozone before a storm.

Phainon's fingers dig into your waist, his breath hot against your skin he begins trailing his mouth up your neck, like he’ll eventually meet god at your lips. A salvation, a small prayer.

"We could fight."

"We are fighting," you snap. "Every single day. And look where we are."

The competition looms in three days and you can hear the ringing in your ears, the humming, and you cannot ignore it. You will lose yourselves one way or another, and that is a tragedy, a certainty, that had loomed over you, that had awaited you.

The only thing you could do was to lie there, tangled in each other but impossibly separate, his heartbeat thundering against your chest where yours should be answering.

Phainon's hand slides up your spine, pressing you closer like he can fuse your skeletons together. "Tell me to stay," he breathes.

"Why?"

"So I have a reason not to go."

Your fingers finally move—not to push him away, but to clutch the back of his shirt, twisting the fabric until your knuckles bleach white. The cotton stretches taut between you, threads straining like the last fraying ties to sanity. His warmth seeps through the thin material, burning your palms, but you hold tighter—as if you could stitch him into your skin with just your desperation alone.

"Stay," you whisper.

It's too much. It's not enough.

There’s a wet, broken sound—and suddenly his arms are crushing you against him, his face buried in your hair. You feel the exact moment his resolve shatters; the tremor that runs through him, the way his shoulders curl around you like he's trying to shield you from the world, from himself, from the inevitable.

You are so terribly, devastatingly alive together.

Alive in the way open wounds are alive—raw and pulsing and too tender to touch. Alive in the way a noose is alive when it snaps taut. Alive in the only way the world has allowed you to be: achingly, horrifyingly, beautifully alive, even as death crouches in the corner.

iii.) until the world stills, until you weave your hands into mine, until death embraces you

Inherently, every human is afraid of dying.

You’ve watched him on the big screen as he performs, as he tramples over every single person he is faced against, as his numbers rise higher and as it declares his win; his victory flashing as he smiles—that brilliant, broken smile—and bows like the good little performer they've molded him to be.

But you always see what they don't.

The way his fingers twitch at his sides when he thinks no one's looking. The barely-there tremor in his shoulders as he walks offstage. The single bead of sweat trailing down his temple that has nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the knife's edge he's balancing on.

He does the same for you, he watches every single one of your performances with a glimmer in his eyes, like pride and adoration, but something else also stains the hues—fear, anxiety, and everything that makes his fingers tremble and his mind muddled. It’s raw and rancid.

It's in the way his breath catches when you hold a high note a second too long. In the way his lips move silently, mirroring your lyrics like a prayer. In how he searches and reaches for you after every round of yours, his trembling fingers skimming your wrist, your jaw, the pulse at your throat—as if to remind himself that you’re still here and alive, and the knowledge sits between you like a third body in bed.

The screen glimmers, your profile and his beside each other blinks mockingly. It’s like a death sentence. No, it is a death sentence.

The air hums with static as you walk toward the stage, each step heavier than the last. Anakt Garden's constraints had been suffocating, but this is akin to drowning in open air.

You've always thought Phainon would die under these lights. That his blood would be the one to stain the stage crimson, his final note ringing through the speakers as the audience cheered his demise. You'd imagined it so often the scene played behind your eyelids every night—his blue eyes going dull, his snow-white hair matted with red, his hand slipping from yours as the life left him.

Perhaps you’ve changed by now.

The bars of your scores compete against one another, numbers flashing across the screen in a cruel mockery of choice. You’ve cut your lines short, fallen into a note lower than you’re supposed to sing; you'd practiced this for weeks in empty rehearsal rooms—how to make imperfection look accidental, how to falter just enough.

Then you feel it—something cold punching through your neck, sharp and sudden. A gasp tears from your throat as warmth spills down your skin.

Phainon's eyes widen in dawning horror as your fingers twitch in his grasp; you swear you could hear him calling your name out in panic. He sees it before you do, before you even realize what is happening—the dark bloom staining across your clothes, the way your lips part to speak but only blood spills forth. Your knees buckle, and he moves without thought, catching you as you collapse against him.

Oh, you think, distantly amused. You’re dying.

And, oh, you are dying. The realization comes with startling clarity, with something almost like relief, and it feels euphoric like warm honey flooding your veins. It makes your chest ease as if you could ever breathe again—like the time he had shown you his ridiculous art piece with pride. Because you are the one dying, because you are the one bloodied and the crimson staining the stage is yours. You are dying, desperate and violent, but it’s you.

His arms tighten around you, his breath coming in ragged bursts against your temple. The audience's cheers fade to white noise as he presses his forehead to yours, his tears mixing with the blood on your lips. "We're okay," he chokes out, the words a desperate incantation. "We're okay, we're okay."

You can feel his heartbeat where your chests press together, wild and frantic and alive. So alive. More alive than you'll ever be again. The thought should terrify you. Instead, it settles in your bones like peace.

You kiss him instead of answering. His mouth tastes like the candy he stole from the cafeteria, like the salt of your shared sweat, like last chances. And when you pull away, his sob cracks through you like gunfire. You want to tell him it's alright. You want to tell him to run. Instead, your fingers find him, twining together one final time as the world narrows to the blue of his eyes, the warmth of his hands, the sound of your name on his lips.

You and him could have done so much more if you were on earth, instead of whatever rotten, disgusting stage this is. The thought comes unbidden, sharp as the pain radiating through your chest.

You could have had lazy mornings in sunlit kitchens, his humming drifting over sizzling pans. Could have traced the constellations on his skin without counting the scars. Could have stood before stained glass windows, vows spilling from bloodied lips not in desperation, but devotion.

Instead, you get this: his tears hot on your cheeks, his voice breaking around your name, the metallic tang of your last breath clinging to his tongue.

You don’t want to die, you never wanted to die—perhaps the feeble attempts of not caring whether you’ll end up bloodied either on stage or on dirt were simply just things to lessen the growing void of fear that gnaws at your heart, to make it painless. But it hurts, it hurts so bad, you can feel it; your body feels cold, everything feels cold, your eyes are becoming blurry, and everything around you is fading into nothing. You don’t even feel Phainon’s arms wrapped around yours, gently cradling your existence within his grasp as if you’re going to slip away—because you are.

It all dawns on you. You feel selfish, you’re being selfish. Stupid, reckless, selfish. You’re going to leave him alone in this hell, with nothing but the memory of your blood on his hands and the echo of your voice in his ears. The realization claws up your throat, bitter as bile. You want to take it back. Want to scream. Want to beg for more time—just one more second, one more breath, one more chance to tell him—

“I know,” He presses his lips to your forehead, lingering like he could imprint himself there. “You’re not being selfish, I know.”

Of course, he does. He’s always known you like the back of his own scarred hands—known the way your bravado cracks at the edges when the lights dim, how your "I don't care" always meant "I care too much." Known that beneath all your sharp edges and bitten-off words, you were always the one who would throw yourself into the fire if it meant he could stand in the light a moment longer.

“Please,” You plead for the first time in your life, and it hurts to speak but you still do, fingers tightening weakly in his shirt. “Forgive yourself.”

The both of you had made this decision knowing it won’t end well.

And you murmur it: the three words that have caused all of this mess, the confession that started your slow descent to madness. They taste sweet as stolen sugar on your dying tongue, bittersweet as the candy he used to slip into your palm. His arms tighten around you like he could rewrite fate through the sheer force of his embrace, and he wishes he could.

PHAINON WIN.

BRO IS NOT MIZISUA

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occamstfs · 14 hours ago

Text

Bard Turned Barbarian

After critically failing a roll, Darius' DM forces a reclass on him and for the first time the IRL musician feels true rage. Won’t be the last time either as every step thereafter leads to him truly embodying a mindless barbarian.

Mostly out of game TF of a musician into someone who couldn't dream to read sheet music, not that he'd care anyway- got a body to build. Hope you enjoy this musk filled, mind numbing TF! -Occam

“Roll a con save.” Darius could plainly see the smug grin on his

Mike’s face as he issued the command. Obviously he has no grounds to protest the forever DM, nor would he get a straight answer if he asked what the save is for. The only recourse available is simply to roll

The eyes of everyone else in the party look to his little box on Discord and await for him to announce what number comes up. With a sigh his themed d20 clatters into his small dice tray, as soon as it leaves his hand he’s filled with grim certainty that it’s going to be a critical failure. There is no surprise when it indeed lands face up on a one. Clenching his jaw, Darius opts to keep that card close to his chest, a fail’s a fail. Michael doesn’t need to know.

“Ugh, yeah that’s definitely not gonna do it. What happens to Derry?” Mike’s eyes light up and his expression twitches into a smirk, “Failed how? What was the total? It wasn’t a nat one was it!?” Crossing his arms, obviously not thrilled by how excited the DM is at his rolling a natural one, Darius squirms in his seat before owning up to the critical failure.

Mike laughs a little too long after getting the confirmation given the generally cooperative nature of their game. After he catches his breath, and an awkward second of him cuing up some dramatic lute music that usually accompanies the Eloquence Bard’s big moments, the DM steeples his fingers. Changing the backlighting, Michael clears his throat and begins his monologue.

“Derry. You see Nerizath the Consumer tap his Staff of the Magi on the ground as he stretches out a hand, pointing a gnarled finger straight at you. There is no chance for you to react. Everyone watches as a noxious ray shoots from his stretched hand and hits you straight in the chest. You try to stand firm, cast counterspell or cutting words, anything, but it’s too late. Nerizath clenches his hand into a fist and all at once the plumes of smoke enveloping Derry fly back at once. Everyone roll a perception check.”

Interrupting his dramatic moment, Mike waits for a success from one of their party before continuing, “Lorna, you see as the wave of energy retreats from Derry, there are some gold strings embedded in it. You can almost hear the sound of Derry’s lute fading as it seems some kind of spell energy is drained from your bard.”

Turning back to Derry he finally explains the effect of Nerizath’s action, “Darius, as of right now, Derry loses access to all his class features. No bardics, no spells, no silver tongue. Derry is no longer a bard.” Darius’ mouth falls open as he feels his face burn red from anger faster than he thought possible. He tries to speak up but as it turns out Mike has server-muted him in preparation that he’d have some, obviously earned, complaints. Almost as if he were trying to rile his player up, as if he was trying to enrage him.

Mike waves him off before letting him speak again, telling him that there’s an upside, though the same glimmer of laughter that hid under his speech when he heard Darius roll a nat one remains. The DM has Nerizath teleport away as soon as he does this and the session goes straight into a long rest afterwards.

All his party members try to comfort him both in game, and moreover his friends try to do so IRL, though all are obviously relieved that it happened to the poor bard rather than themselves. Hoping against hope that Michael’s little scheme has ended he has Derry try to play a Song of Rest for his party before being interrupted by an ‘um actually’ from his DM. “Speaking of, Derry, as you try to play your lute, it’s almost like your fingers are clumsier on the strings. You try to strum one of the first songs you learned on the instrument, and instead you fully snap a string.”

Jack of all trades, he goes for the flute and shawm in his bag and is promptly told the same, and in fact Mike reminds him he is no longer a jack of any trades. With every word that spills from his DM’s mouth, Darius just finds himself getting angier, and angier.

Derry had always been something of a self-insert character for Darius, as the name implies. Something of a virtuoso musician and song writer himself, when his friend group started up a DND campaign he was more than happy to simply live his real life fantasies to the extreme. Truly change the world with the power of his music. And now that’s been taken away.

Mike ends the session shortly after, reminding everyone that the next session will be in person. The party drop like flies from the discord call, all clearly able to tell that Darius wants a word with their DM. Before he can find said words, the usually articulate player stumbles and is swiftly interrupted as Mike tells him to chill, it’s just a game, just wait until next session. And then he hangs up.

Darius is vibrating with irritation. Blood running hot with anger the likes of which he’s never felt. He can almost feel the throbbing rage in his head, but then he takes a deep breath. It is just a game. Bullshit as the session was, it’s not like it affects him personally. Just a game. Looking down at his smooth, shaky hands Darius calms down as much as he’s able before he realizes that he can instead use this rage.

Bumping into his desk as he stands too quickly, he pays no mind to Derry’s character sheet as it flitters to the floor, stamped into the ground as he rushes to his makeshift studio. While life offers its fair share of petty annoyances and trivial inconvenience, the anger he feels at Michael’s overreach is something else altogether. Something more primal.

At first he goes for his guitar, searching for some chord that calls for him, one he’ll know when he hears it. Usually he’ll be humming along a melody and strumming out rhythms at the same time, easily finding it all in one go. Music flows through him as naturally as the blood through his veins.

At present however, it’s as if his guitar is fighting him? His pick gets caught on strings or he flubs his hand position, simple mistakes plague him like a novice. Never does he get close to jamming, even as his hands brute force find their way his strokes and progressions are juvenile, sloppy. And with each misstep he feels that anger, that rage only just pushed down, beginning to pulse once more.

“This is stupid.” He drops his guitar to the floor with no affection, hearing it clatter he just sneers. It’s his backup, whatever. He’ll just work on lyrics instead. This was a great mistake. If melodies were slow-coming, at least they were coming at all. Staring at his blank journal, it was as if the empty lines were taunting him.

He’s had writer’s block before, but this was something far worse. The pathetic rhymes he was able to scrawl could scarcely begin to capture the complexity of how he feels. Like a child’s poem. Absolutely unusable. Every scratched out line only makes it all the worse. Heightening his frustration. Every shitty attempted verse made it all the more difficult for him to truly write. Every half-formed idea a worse go at explaining just how intense his anger is. How rage more than he can understand burns within him.

There’s no decision made as he hurls his notebook across the room. It is simply something that has now happened. Stumbling through crumpled up balls of its pages, Darius kicks it to the side as he wanders to his bedroom. He’ll just sleep it off. In the morning he’ll be fine. In the morning he’ll just text Michael, like an adult, and he won’t be angry anymore.

He flops on the bed and in spite of his troubled mind sleep comes easy. Far too easy. Living alone, no one hears as his usual light breathing gives way to unbecoming snores. Drool drips onto his bedspread as he curls into a ball. He’s always been quite an active dreamer, but the images that find him tonight are vivid enough as to be real.

He is Derry. Looking around he sees his adventuring party, it’s not the first time he’s dreamed about DND, in fact it’s quite a common well for his subconscious to draw from. Happy to find creative reprieve here at least, the bard reaches for the lute on his back. Then the world shudders. Looking down, his enchanted instrument is broken at his feet. Realer than anything he feels the splinters in his hand from tearing the instrument asunder himself.

Seeing this reignites his anger. As he stirs in bed, Derry begins to hyperventilate in the dream. His leather armor is too tight, falling to his knees he pounds the earth. Each reckless swing leaves a deeper indentation into the packed dirt. Turning his gaze upward, he looses a bloodcurdling scream into the sky, the world around him shrinks into nothing as every inch of his form burns, like he’s bursting from his skin.

And then Darius wakes, panting and lying in a pool of his own sweat. Bolting up he gags at just how musky it smells, like he’s just run a marathon. His eyes flicker around the room as he feels on the edge of an anxiety attack- or no, that’s not it, he’s just filled with energy. Jumping to his feet, Darius almost reflexively begins jogging in place.

Ignoring the unmade, sweatstained bed, he feels a desperate pang in his stomach as its rumblings demand his attention. Man he shouldn’t skip dinner if he’s trying to bulk. There’s no chance for him to acknowledge how strange the thought of him bulking is as it’s dispatched by another powerful grumble from his stomach.

Carelessly yanking open his fridge, his mouth waters like a dog’s as he grabs every ingredient he can find to throw into an omelet. Usually he’d keep it light to start the day but now the idea isn’t even humored. He’s lucky to have a pan large enough to handle the six eggs he scrambles in with barely enough patience to keep out eggshells. Probably what leaves him with no bandwidth to actually cook an omelet.

Just as soon as he begins, Darius finds the process not worth the effort and instead throws everything he’s set aside into the pan to instead make a scramble. As he watches bacon and sausage cook at totally different rates, he realizes how brash he’s being, how he’s not acting like himself. I mean, even after skipping a meal this is far too much food for him- but when the scent wafts into his nose he forgets himself once more.

Impatient foot tapping, it’s not long at all before he deems the mess in front of him edible enough for consumption. Too quick he goes for a test bite and severely burns the roof of his mouth. One would assume that would prevent him from immediately trying again, but a second bite earns a pound on the table as he powers through a bite of burning egg and meat.

After devouring more calories than his usual daily consumption, he fights back a burp and somehow finds himself with even more energy than before despite the hearty meal. Faced with a fresh day ahead he wonders how he shall spend it. Standing still for half a second his body acts for him as he falls onto his hands, thankfully not throwing out his back as he almost reflexively starts doing push ups.

He hadn’t even tried to do a single push up in years, but as he hits the ground and does his first, why, he may as well do another. In no time he’s more than doubled his previous record of twenty. The burning strain in his arms only drives him further. Up and down. Up and down. Sweat that had barely dried from his unpleasant waking drips freely once more, coursing onto the floor beneath him and almost covering the scent of his fragrant breakfast with heady musk.

After losing count he hears his phone chime and goes to check it. Despite never doing a single one before now, his body automatically tries to shift into one-hand pushups causing Darius to slip into his still-building sweat puddle with an uncharacteristic “Fuck!” Seeing that the message is from Michael does little to soothe his ire.

Heyyy so I was chatting with the rest of the crew and they thot you might be a little upset about the game-

Darius made it exactly this far into the wall of a morning after text sent by his DM before seeing red. The white knuckles of his sweatstained hand clench hard enough to send searing pain into his wrist. It takes serious effort to not simply throw the thing across the room, as is seemingly becoming his default reaction. Staying his breathing after a moment he finishes reading the appeal and merely tosses the phone aside.

He is not going to be playing a barbarian. It’s not him! Grinding his teeth and stamping his foot, Darius tells himself he doesn’t even get angry. He doesn’t like being angry. God! And yet each appeal to himself only causes his blood to boil more. Looking down the hall to his impromptu studio, he longs to return, to write. Music always helps him blow off some steam. He takes the first few steps towards the room before his mind flickers back to last night.

It has also always come naturally. Recalling how awkward his instruments felt in his hands seems like reopening a wound. His skin itches with the anxiety of experiencing that wretched discomfort once more. All the while his heart continues to race, energy within him continues to build. His legs begin to drive him towards the door before a stray thought even suggests that he go for a run to burn off some of his energy.

Haphazard hands grab for a heavy gym bag that Darius wouldn’t remember having at all, let alone packing. Venturing outdoors in the same outfit he has drenched in sweat twice over now, anxieties only just quieted prickle up once more before his mind forcefully derails that train of thought. Something within him demands all focus instead hone in on his body and how he moves rather than these hypothetical, pathetic fears.

Focus instead on the beat of his feet on the pavement, as they speed past a jog and into a sprint. No direction in mind, none needed. The whooshing of the wind in his ears soothes his spirit as he gives into the mindless thrill of physical labor. Every so often he catches a whiff of his musk and rather than concern and embarrassment that should fill him at producing such an overpowering stink, he instead longs for another whiff.

He imagines what passersby might think after smelling such a strong man, such a virile- His sprinting feet come to a halt as he finally realizes that his thoughts have been increasingly been edged out by these strange ideas that are not his own. I mean, he’s always been the more soft sensitive type?

Looking down at his arms, his body needs no convincing to fall into a flex. His face already red from the effort of his sprint blushes further as he sees his biceps dance under tight skin. There isn’t even strain from his push ups earlier… Before he can even fight the rising urge to fall to the ground and do push ups to failure, Darius takes in his surroundings and finds himself standing at the entrance to an outdoor gym.

Smirking as he wanders in, new neurons fire as some of his most frequented pathways shut down ever more. He quips some half-formed lughead joke to himself that he doesn’t even hear as the clanging of weights inundates his thoughtless mind like a balm.

Every stray thought in his mind is ignored as Darius’ entire focus is on ensuring perfect technique on these machines, with these weights. Lying back on a bench he produces weights he didn’t even know he was running with before doing dumbbell flyes and presses like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Eyes closed, just lifting weights up and down. Up and down. Creative roadblocks and fumbled fingerings are nothing to him. This is the only rhythm that matters. With each repetition, with every laborious measured breath, he begins to give into this mindless new self. And his body begins to grow.

In no time his biceps that had already peaked higher than ever before post-push ups surge larger. Transforming from sticks with some muscle to nigh-footballs of meat that would put envy in the heart of any man who is starting out at the gym. Between his built new arms a chest that truly never held any strength puffs up like a muffin.

Barely disguised by a his sleepshirt that has morphed into a stringer, pecs pound larger on his chest as nipples round out into half-dollars that bring He-Man to mind. Beyond the sheer increasing strength however, so too do other aspects of his masculinity begin to increase as barely perceptible pit hair thickens in his pits, giving his musk even more staying power.

When some vaguely athletic man wanders close to the park, Darius can’t quite stop himself from looking down on him. Despite the man being clearly bigger than Darius was when he woke up this morning, as he only continues to grow he feels an urge to show this man intruding on his work out who’s in charge.

Lucky for both men, he takes one look at the brute mean-mugging him and reconsiders staying. When the wind shifts and the newcomer smells how the barbaric bro seems to be more musk than man he leaves even quicker than he came, almost gagging at the scent. Darius’ scowl then shifts to something far more sinister at the idea that he overpowered a fellow man with nothing more than presence alone.

He won. It felt right, good. More him than he’d felt since, uhh? He can’t really remember? Perhaps more pressing than a trip into an increasingly foggy memory lane, at so thoroughly dominating that man he feels the most true show of his masculinity begins to demand attention in his pants.

Already struggling for room between his two bloated thighs, his ‘little’ Derry has surged into an unmistakable bulge. It twitches as he looks down and Darius can clearly see a vein through his shorts. Biting his lip and crossing his eyes as more stubble coats his strong chin with every throb, Darius knows he’s gotta get home. Obviously not caring enough to wipe down the used equipment, Darius begins sprinting home.

While his strained shorts and tank have grown enough to at least hug his form, not long at all into his return trip do his feet sting with pain as his tennis shoes are pushed to their limits. Seeing red as blisters almost instantly begin to form, barely altering his stride he tears them off his feet and immediately gets back to his sprint.

Darius laughs to himself as his bare feet patter on the pavement, each one leaving a slightly larger sweat stain than the one that came before. His guffaws leave no impression other than that of a brute. His massive chest bounces almost as much as the package that is clearly free-balling in his too-tight shorts.

Finally returning home, Darius struggles to remove what is barely a shirt covering his suddenly bulging upper body. Taking a deliberate moment to force his head into his pit for a deep sniff, he sighs as his thick musk brings him comfort. Further emptying his now neglected mind. His own pheromones encourage his descent into thick, simple mindlessness as a sweat-covered strand of pit hairs tickles him enough to elicit a bovine guffaw.

He goes to the fridge and pulls out a massive pre-made protein shake from a line of its brethren. Throwing his head back he downs the shake as if it were nothing before releasing a glass shaking burp for the ages. Burrrrrrrp- Scratching his glistening abs as his fingers play with a new treasure trail, he takes a beat before laughing at the burp and patting his stomach.

Looking around at his home, which itself is at some half-state between that of an artsy songwriter he can scarcely recognize and the barbaric gym bro he can’t tell he’s becoming. On the edge of revelation, he looks around at his possessions in their transient forms. Finding this shred of resolve, he hones in on some scrawled sheet music next to a fitness magazine.

Something is out of place and his wide hands go for both, first his eyes fall on the muscled pecs of some fitness influencer. Everything within him demands he compare himself with this dude, this chump. Bouncing his pecs he smirks as he remembers he doesn’t need to. He knows he’s better than that preening sellout.

As he asserts this, knows this- every inch of him surges larger. Tears race down every piece of clothing that remains hugging his form as pecs balloon to create an unmissable overhang above his build abs. Stretchmarks are painted down his back and across his shoulders as his body expands quicker than the blink of an eye as traps bulge larger and his biceps grow to a size that may never be covered by sleeves again.

Feeling the burn of years, decades of growth in an instant his mind begins to depart for good. But then he hears the faintest melody and looks down to find that shred of sheet music still clutched in his heavy hand. Mouth lolling open he tries to read it, he could read this right? Darius’ eyes begin to glaze over and he sets the sheet down as frustration begins to give to anger.

As soon as it’s out of sight however, it is evermore out of mind. Looking around as he has the faintest idea he was doing something. Scratching his sweaty hair like an ape in the hopes it’ll jog his memory, it allows him to appreciate his noxious musk once more. Smiling, he then feels a burp begin to rise as his protein shake sends its regards again Buurrrrrup, huhuh- His thicker brow lowers as he feels like he shouldn’t be laughing at his own burps. But burps are like, funny?

Clear as day he remembers being out with his nerdy friends and chugging a beer before burping out some song or another. Right? Mouth ajar, as it now almost always is, Darius vaguely remembers that he wanted to write a song or something about last night’s DND session. His mouth squirms as the idea is resoundingly alien to him. But he’s no bitch. Popping his now calloused hands, he wanders back to his little studio and immediately fills the room with his presence.

His little piano bench creaks under his weight as he thoughtlessly leans back onto the keyboard before picking up his guitar, shockingly small in his hands. Sweat drips onto the spotless plastic of his Yamaha as he takes a deep breath and starts warming up. Oh so quickly do things begin to fly off the rails.

Off reflex alone, he falls into singing the same song he always warms up on. He knows it better than the alphabet. His voice cracks immediately as he struggles to even find the key. “We alWAYs- Ugh? Ahem, wE Al- fuck!” He clears his throat a few times to no avail, each one only making his voice rougher, deeper. Notes that he could hit in his sleep are now totally unreachable. His jaw widens as he clenches it in irritation. Clearly he’s just got a cold or something. Yeah.

Turning his attention to the instrument, only then does he notice that his struggling vocals were the least of his concerns. Only just now does he notice that his hands are arbitrarily thrust on the guitar. He tries to adjust to how he naturally holds it but the position is uncomfortable. His biceps can’t quite reach, his chest is in the way, his fingers are unable to fall into place as should be their second nature.

And with each readjustment, each irritated sigh, that anger he forgot begins to return. Now so well accustomed to general vacant mindlessness, his anger has new depth, or rather, lack thereof. Every mistake his chest holds more tension, his breathing strains. As veins throb and he begins to see red, Darius for the first time in his life is overcome with what can only be described as a mindless rage.

What the fuck is he doing!? He doesn’t know how to play this stupid thing- His hands clench the neck with enough fury to send splinters into his rougher skin as the body produces an uncomfortable twang from the snapping of its frets. He doesn’t hear it though. The only thing Darius hears is the overpowering sound of blood rushing in his ears as his massive back heaves from primal breaths. And he raises it to swing.

Drool drips from his jaw as he for half a moment tries to find any recourse to calm down, to not do what he’s about to do. But this is what he’s good for, this is who he is. Faced with a problem that he cannot overcome, Darius does what he does to all problems. What a barbarian is good for. He beats it into submission.

Screaming enough to render the soundproofing of his little suite absolutely useless, Darius flies into a rage. The guitar in his hands is almost evaporated as he swings it into a music stand nearby. The bench that so valiantly held up his massive weight snaps in two as his monstrous foot slams on top of it. One meaty palm grabs each side of the keyboard and he bends its hard plastic with an ease that seems impossible, individual knobs ping off as shards of its black shell and plastic ivories shatter and scratch against his arms.

Darius revels in the destruction of this place that was once his sanctum against the world, this place that was him. Was. Now he is this, something far greater. Primal man itself. Scars and stretchmarks decorate his powerful form as with each instrument destroyed he inches closer towards his final self. The barbarian he is to become.

After minutes of destruction, his veins throb with exertion as his rampage finally slows to a halt. Heaving breaths, he looks down and flexes for himself as is his prerogative at nearly every juncture. This causes his cock to throb as it adds to the pre-stain that already decorates his dripping gym shorts. After a moment pawing his cock and rubbing his burning abs, he turns to leave the room destroyed.

Looking at his new home, messy and barely decorated, he wonders why he’s so beat. Scratching his pit and sniffing his hand as he thinks as well as he’s now able. He guffaws once as he realizes that he’s literally walking out of his home gym, turning back to look in he sees equipment scattered, mirrors steamed from his sweat alone, and the hole in the wall from where he punched it most recently.

At the edge of his mind something tries to call his attention, some shred of the past begging him to remember. Some forgotten medley or crumb of some unassertive self. But as he stretches and feels that soothing burn accompanied with the heavy, well-earned workout musk he sighs and his mind goes blank.

Then an alarm goes off and he remembers he has a meeting with a client this morning, rushing to his computer he flexes at his reflection before hopping on a call with one of his many proteges. He laughs and apologizes for being a little late, taking care to show off his own bicep and watch as his trainees eyes can’t help but be glued to it. Fuckkk that’s what it’s all about.

Underneath it all though, there is a glimmer of something else. While countless young men follow his footsteps, trail behind him on the path towards barbarism- he can’t quite feel as if he’s not finished. He knows there’s always more room to grow.

One week later, it’s time for the next session. The first hosted at Michael’s in quite some time! The DM is only slightly on edge as Darius has been a tad stand-offish since last session, if not completely out of sorts? But he’s sure the player’s over it, he needed a break from Derry anyway, try some actual roleplaying for once. In the meantime he’s taken care to make him a new character sheet, sure, maybe Darius wouldn’t have sunk so many points into strength, but that’s what barbarians are all about.

Never could he expect to meet the behemoth he had crafted.

Darius fists pound on his door like a hammer to an anvil, causing the DM to flinch despite being two rooms over. Half-wondering if this is a break in, he sheepishly wanders over to the peephole and almost falls over in shock at the beast he sees. Michael’s hands scramble to let him in with haste, desperately needing to see the whole picture, “D- Darius?! Is that you?”

Having only continued to grow in the lead up to this session he doesn’t quite remember scheduling, Darius nods at the little punk that greets him and wanders past him into the kitchen. Doesn’t matter where he is, it’s time to eat if he wants to stay massive. On the way he flexes in every reflective surface that he passes. Finally asserting himself over the man who wronged him, his body begins its final metamorphosis.

Michael chases after him, face burning with blush from being in the sheer presence of the man. He doesn’t notice as the character sheet in his hand continues to change, strength continuing to rise as intelligence and wisdom continue to decrease. He watches as the man’s brutish back widens enough to render the strained tank top obsolete as a few dense curls begin to creep up his back.

Hearing some lesser approach, Darius turns to take in the worship. Over a foot taller than he was since they last met, his pecs hang over Michael’s head as he bounces them with a sly smirk. At the same time they’re coated in a blanket of curls as his defined abs begin to push into a gut built for strength over aesthetics.

The dungeon master stammers as he watches the man grow, almost drooling as he sees stubble push out into a beard on the barbarian’s face. Apathetic to whatever the little man says, Darius tilts his head playfully as he’s able and readjusts the massive rod in his pants. His voice rumbles enough to vibrate Michael’s chest as he looks down at him, “Speak up little dude.”

Clearing his throat, the DM mutters something about a character sheet which Darius can almost recognize, “Ohhhhh- that what I’m doin here huh?” He scratches his jaw, not even noticing that he’s sporting a beard. Man as he is stubble’ll burst onto his face if he goes five minutes without shaving.

Downing half a protein shake that seemed to appear in his hand he pats Michael on his back, taking care to do it with the hand slightly sweaty from playing with his crotch, “Sure sure little man, I’m game.” Michael stays behind to reboot, mind desperately trying to understand what happened to his friend. Though something deeper within him is even more desperate to discover what this new brute can do.

Darius’ musk announces his presence to the rest of his party well before he makes it into the living room where they are to play. DND all but wiped from his mind now almost solely focused on putting on more meat and increasing his brute strength, he instead looks at the mousy crew before him. No one can avoid staring at the behemoth that enters.

Taking time to appraise each one of them, he sees them adjusting their own pants as they can’t help but be swayed in their way by his simply standing before them. He certainly can’t blame them. Smirking he offers only half a bicep flex and sees every one of them twitch from need. Taking in their small frames and baggy clothing, Darius wonder what they’d look like if they spent a little less time reading or playing these games, and instead joined him on the path towards strength.

There’s a faint sound of pencil scratching in the room as every class is suddenly written over with Barbarian. Darius smirks as instantly he sees their demeanor begin to change, he smells their nervous sweat shift to something more primal, something more powerful. He still isn’t quite sure whatever he was doing here, but all of a sudden he knows this’ll be a session for the ages.

#male tf #mental change #dumber #musk tf #reality change #personality change #muscle tf #male transformation

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not-maggie · 1 day ago

Note

hi my love you should do a spencer agnew x reader but based off that one reddit story with the two friends who are secretly in love with each other and then the sperm donor thing. because thats cute. you should do that.

Baby Fever

Spencer Agnew x Reader

A/N) I just got this request and cranked it out because it's so cute! Hope I did it justice! Thanks anon <3

Baby fever hit almost every girl in the world, and unfortunately, it was hitting you hard. Every video on your feed, every post you saw, all contained adorable videos of babies. You wanted a baby, a child of your own, someone to love and watch grow, a person to raise and see their life build around them.

One small problem, you were single. Painfully single. Like, no chance of finding a boyfriend anytime soon, let alone someone to start a family with. So, like any smart woman living on her own in L.A, you looked into sperm donors. Is getting pregnant on your own while living in one of the largest cities in the U.S a smart decision? Probably not, but your chances of finding the one aren’t looking too good right now, and you’re a smart, capable woman. You can do this, right? You have the Smosh family to help, they’re not the most traditional family, but they’re yours.

Just one issue, the sperm donor. Do you really want to go to a bank and get some random college guy’s jizz who probably only did it for the money just so you can have a little you? You don’t even know who the donor is, the child would be yours, yes, but the father…that's a special connection you want your kid to have. Someone you trust, someone you know, someone like Spencer. Oh, Spencer. Your best friend since you started at Smosh. You two started around the same time as editors and quickly grew close, bonding over games and movies. You became the dynamic duo of chaos, where one was, the other wasn’t far behind. You liked Spencer, like more than ‘you’re my best friend and work husband’ liked. You loved him, and who’s better to be your sperm donor than your best friend, right? It’s just because you trust him, not because you’re totally head over heels for him and would love to start an actual family with him, that would be crazy.

And that’s how you pitched the idea to him. It was a Saturday night, movie night at Spencer’s. You were both lying on the couch, you tucked against his side, under his arm, as the credits for some dumb movie rolled on the screen. “Hey, Spence,” you began softly, not wanting to break the cozy quiet. He let out a small hum, prompting you to continue. “I’ve been thinking, and y’know, I finished college, I have a good job with Smosh, I’m at a comfortable place in my life right now.” He tilts his head to look at your face, you pick at your nails as you talk, a nervous habit you formed, and he always picked up on. He gently takes your hand in his to stop your fidgeting, “and…?” he knows there’s more, he always knows, he can read you like a book. “And…” you continue, “I think…I think I want a baby, I want a little me, y’know. So, um, I was thinking, since I obviously don’t have a boyfriend or fiance or anything…would you…would you be the sperm donor? I mean, obviously you don’t have to if you don't want to, and it’s totally up to you, and you don’t have to answer now. But, um, I trust you, and honestly I’d rather have you be the father of my kid than some rando…”

Spencer’s brain dies, fully, 100%, shuts off. Here you were, in his apartment, on his couch, curled up into his side…asking him to be the father of your child, and he has to pretend that it’s because your best friends and he’s not totally in love with you. god you two were terrible Someone pinch him because he has to be dreaming. “I- um, yeah.” He finally answers after a moment of silence, “yeah, thats…thats a huge honor, (y/n/n). I…if you want me to, then I’d love to…” And there it was, the agreement, the details needed to be planned out, but Spencer was going to be the father of your child.

Monday morning rolled around and Spencer entered the Smosh office, finding Shayne talking to Courtney and Angela. “Talk, now, please,” he immediately grabs Shayne’s arm and drags him away. Shayne gives a confused goodbye to the other two as Spencer drags him into an empty conference room. Shayne knew about Spencer’s crush on you, having heard it originally after a long day of filming and Spencer’s tired ramblings. Shayne was a support for Spencer, since he knew a thing or two about liking a coworker, he offered advice to the poor gamer. The door closes behind the two, “What’s going on?” Shayne immediately questions.

Spencer leans against the table, face buried in his hands“(YN)askedmetobethefatherofherchildandIagreedtodoit.” He quickly mumbles out. “Uhh…what?” Shayne didn’t catch any of that. “(Y/N) asked me to be the father of her child and I agreed,” Spencer repeats louder. Shayne freezes, “holy shit! Did you two….y’know? Did you at least tell her you like her?” Spencer’s face burns at his questions, “no we didn’t y’know,” he rolls his eyes. “And no…I didn’t tell her…” “Dude, why the hell not? She’s asking you to have a kid with her!” Shayne eyes widen at Spencer pure stupidity (lovingly). “It just didn’t feel right! What was I supposed to say, ‘yeah I’ll have a kid with you, by the way, I’ve been in love with you for three years’?” “Uh yeah, actually, that’s what you were supposed to say,” Shayne deadpans. “Look, dude, what do I do now?” Spencer sighs in defeat. “You gotta tell her man.” Spencer knows Shayne’s right, any idiot could see that Shayne was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. He knew what he had to do, “fine,” he relents, “I’ll talk to her.” Shayne gives him a smile and a pat on the shoulder, “let me know how it goes.” WIth that Shayne leaves the conference room to return to his previous conversation with Courtney and Angela, leaving Spencer alone with his thoughts.

You were at your desk editing a Pit video when you got a text from Spencer, “Can you meet me by the parking lot?” You quickly save your work and throw on your Spencer’s hoodie and make your way outside. You find Spencer leaning against the side of the building, “hey,” you greet quietly, sensing his nervous demeanor. “Hey, um listen…I need to tell you something,” he runs a hand through his curls, yeah, he's nervous. You nod softly, prompting him to continue, “So, um…You asked me to be the sperm donor for you…and um, obviously I would love to…but I…I need to be honest with you.” He braces himself, “I’m in love with you, I have been since we started working here, and I assumed I would never be able to get you so I was content with just being your best friend. But then you asked me that, and I…I would love to start a family with you (Y/N), but the right way, y’know? Together, as a couple…”

You stare at him in stunned silence for a moment before you smile, “Spence, I asked you because I love you too. There isn’t anyone in the world I’d rather start a family with. I guess I could’ve just asked you out, but in my brain this seemed easier, I dunno why.” You admit bashfully, embarrassed at your own stupidity. Spencer lets out a relieved sigh, “so, do you…want to go on a date? Do this the real way?” He asks softly. “Yeah, yeah I’d love to,” you agreed with a small giggle. Maybe you would be able to have a real family of your own, a weird, nerdy, but true family.

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh #send reqs #fanfic #spencer agnew x you #spencer agnew fluff #spencer agnew fanfiction #spencer agnew imagine #spencer smosh #smosh x reader #smosh cast #smosh imagine #smosh games #smosh fanfiction #this req is so cute #i love this idea #im too young for a baby

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jovialsongdefendor · 5 hours ago

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Why I Don’t Think Kris Hates the Player – At Least in the Pacifist Route

I’ve seen a lot of people saying that Kris from Deltarune outright hates the player, that they resent us for controlling them. And I get where that idea comes from, after all, there are moments when Kris clearly pulls away from our influence. The way they rip out their soul in the opening sequence is undeniably unsettling. But personally, I don’t fully believe that Kris completely hates the player, especially if you stick to a more pacifist approach.

I think it’s too simplistic to say Kris automatically hates the soul in every scenario. If you consider that the player is essentially an outside force taking control of their body, it’s natural that Kris would be wary or uncomfortable. But being uncomfortable isn’t the same as hating. Over time, especially if you play kindly, I believe Kris at least comes to tolerate and maybe even rely on us a little.

Some of the warmest moments in the game (like when Kris quietly follows along as Susie and Ralsei bond) feel almost like they’re letting us help them navigate a world they don’t fully understand alone. It feels like a fragile partnership rather than pure hostility.

One of the little moments that shows Kris doesn’t totally resent the player happens during the quiz scene with Tenya in Deltarune Chapter 3.

It’s such a small detail, but if you pay attention, it’s very telling. When Tenya asks what Kris’s favorite food is, the possible answers include “Chocolate” and “Pie.” Most players automatically think it’s chocolate because it seems like the obvious, I mean kris like chocolate. But if you wait before selecting, Kris actually coughs softly, almost like they’re trying to get your attention.

That cough is a clue. It’s Kris’s way of subtly nudging you toward the real answer: Pie. This is what their mom, Toriel, bakes for them. It’s part of their identity and their memories.

The fact that Kris helps you here, even just by coughing, says a lot. If Kris truly despised us with no nuance, why would they bother giving any hint? Why not let us embarrass them in front of Tenya and Susie by picking the wrong answer?

I think this moment shows that Kris is willing to cooperate sometimes. They don’t want to be completely misrepresented or misunderstood. Even if they’re not thrilled about being controlled, they’d rather give a little signal than have you say something that feels wrong to them. It’s one of those scenes that makes me think Kris’s feelings about the player are way more complicated than simple hatred.

Another moment that really shows how layered Kris’s feelings about us can be happens in the secret minigame from Chapter 3.

If you’ve played it, you know what I mean—when you enter that hidden arcade cabinet, you control a tiny pixel version of Kris inside the screen. It’s a funny, almost nostalgic moment. But when you finish the game and the little Kris sprite pops back out, something happens: Kris drops the controller.

At first, it just looks like they’re surprised. But if you don’t move right away, you’ll see their expression change. Their face loses color and goes this pale bluish tone, almost like they’re scared or sick. It feels like they’re genuinely afraid of what you’ll do nex, if you’ll make them pick the controller up again, or force them into something they don’t want, or kill them.

But here’s the detail that sticks with me: if instead of approaching Kris, you quietly walk away from the scene, Kris doesn’t go pale. They don’t back away. They just stand there, like surprise? We dont know.

It shows that Kris is always bracing themselves for the possibility that we’ll push too hard. They’re prepared to shut down or recoil if we don’t respect their space. But when we choose to step back and give them time, their fear doesn’t fully take over.

To me, this scene proves again that Kris doesn’t automatically hate us. They’re scared, yes, but their fear seems rooted in uncertainty, not just resentment. It’s like they’re waiting to see if we’ll be kind or invasive. When we respect them, we avoid making them feel that cold, trembling dread. Is like they call us for something in the begining of the game, but scared of what we will do.

Moments like this are why I think Kris’s feelings about the player are complicated. It’s not pure hostility. It’s a cautious, wary hope that maybe, if we’re gentlesharing control doesn’t have to be so frightening.

After Kris get back to taking control, assuming you didn’t walk right up to them or force them into anything, Susie comes into the room. She looks at Kris for a second and then asks, almost casual but with a hint of curiosity:

"You into these kinda games?"

If you didn’t scare Kris before, they won’t look pale or frightened now. They just stand there, calm but a little tense, waiting for what you’ll choose. It’s a big contrast to how they react if you invade their space, they don’t flinch or drop their gaze.

Then, you get a choice: you can tilt Mini-Kris’s sword cursor to “Yes” or “No.”

If you pick No (by turning the blade away) Susie shrugs, walks over, and unplugs the arcade controller herself. She says:

"Then don’t play it."

And the mini kris disappears.

This moment connects to something bigger: the relationship between Kris and the player. The question isn’t just what we want, it’s what Kris wants, and whether we’ll ever respect that boundary.

And this idea comes back again during the Spantom fight later on. When Spantom gets his strings cut, he collapses limp—like a puppet whose master lost interest. It feels unsettling, because it makes you wonder:

If we ever get bored of Kris, if we let go of the “controller” or decide we’re done, would they fall the same way?

Just another empty body, waiting for someone else to pull the strings.

Nobody really knows the answer. But the way the game sets up these parallels, Kris’s fear of being forced, Susie stepping in to unplug the controller, Spantom’s body hitting the floor, makes it clear that being controlled is something that haunts Kris, what if we get bored of them.

And it’s why I don’t believe Kris hates us outright. They’re scared of what happens if they lose themselves completely. They’re scared of if we complete deltarune, they will stop existing all togueter.

Maybe the scariest part of that scene—and honestly, of Deltarune as a whole—isn’t just Kris’s fear of being controlled.

It’s the fear of what happens if we stop.

When Susie unplugs the controller and tells Kris, "Then don’t play it," there’s a strange, heavy silence. For a second, it feels like Kris is relieved, like maybe they have a little more say in their own life. But right after, when you remember how Spantom falls, a worse thought creeps in:

What if Kris doesn’t only hate losing control, what if they’re terrified of having no purpose at all? Remember the boss in this secret minigame that sayed a part of kris enjoyed this?

Spantom’s body drops like a lifeless doll the moment its strings are cut. It’s not struggling. It’s not resisting. It’s just gone.

That image echoes something unsettling about Kris. If we, the player, decide to close the game, to turn away and never come back, what happens to them?

Does Kris stand there forever in a blank room, waiting for someone to move them again? Do they feel their consciousness fading like Spantom’s, becoming nothing but an empty shell? Or are they trapped in a half-dream, aware that we’re gone but unable to act?

So, in my view, while there’s always an undercurrent of tension between Kris and the player, the pacifist route suggests that a small level of trust can grow if we’re careful not to push them too far.

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redfuzzysocks · 23 hours ago

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The complicated answer to the third question Luo Weizhao asked Pei Su in ep16.

Just my thoughts....

That is a long complex answer, so it is unsurprising PS didn't answer it. Like, seriously, how could he?!?! PS touches on the jist of the answer as he leaves AGAIN in ep20. The parallel of older PS leaving with flashbacks of younger PS with the cat in the box and him sitting outside on bench in both instances. That was done on purpose to show you that now is the same reason as then. It is happening again!

That heavy conversation in ep21 is LWZ responding to PS's fears/concerns/hang-ups and telling Pei Su WHY he should STAY. The simplest way to explain it was 1) lack of trust and 2) Pei Su sincerely believes himself to be a monster that doesn't deserve trust. This is why PS didn't really fault LWZ for acting that way….he felt it was just expected since he is an apath/monster. But I think it is also painful for PS to be around LWZ knowing this (especially since he really likes LWZ). It HURTS to be around someone that has no faith/trust in you. PS thinks that if LWZ finds fault with him then maybe his struggle to NOT be a monster is hopeless….that no matter how hard he tries/struggles, that he will still fail and hurt others in the end. PS already hates himself...and then this just adds more fuel to the fire. That is why LWZ told PS in ep21 how much he regretted it. He has learned that PS takes what he says/does to heart. That his younger self was an idiot, wasn't observant enough and failed to notice PS's silent cries for help. LWZ is wiser since he aged some and he is FINALLY making it clear to PS that he failed to explain himself properly in the past….that 1) he DOES believe in and trust PS and that 2) PS is NOT a monster....he is a good person. And this is what changes PS's world and self perception for the better.

I also want to add that this is why early in the series, PS also had his dark, I-am-a-monster mask on whenever he talked to LWZ. Because PS believed that this is what LWZ thought of him, he just played it up to the max. He was punishing both himself (self harm!) and LWZ. Since you think I am a monster, I will act like one. The change started at end of ep4 after they saved the mother from jumping off the building: LWZ found PS on the bench alone and he APOLOGIZED to PS.

This totally caught PS off guard and confused him. You can see his mask slip off a lot here because this is an unfamiliar situation for him and he doesn't know how to respond. He ended up floundering, telling LWZ that he didn't need to apologize since even he didn't know who he was.

I LOVE THEIR GROWTH OVER THIS SERIES!

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

#jitd #justice in the dark #pei su #luo weizhao #jitd spoilers #too many thoughts cluttering up my mind #gotta get them out #monster #i love the evolution of characters over time #cdrama #Pei Su desires trust yet thinks he is unworthy of it #Pei su desires love yet he thinks he is unworthy of it #Pei Su's is a walking contradiction

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spidermans-l-o-v-e-r · 1 day ago

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Burn Baby Burn

Pairing: Buddie x Reader

Word count: 10 freaking K

This is the second half to Disco Inferno

Notes: When I tell you I am FIGHTING to write this month. Man, I’m just fighting to stay awake. Chronic fatigue has not hit this hard since I was a teenager. I have literally been asleep for most of 2025

P.S I feel kinda bad I couldn’t get my goal of 5 fics and a strawberry chapter done this month….. but this is 10k so hopefully it makes up for that 😂😂😂

You lug your bag to the front steps and drop it before ringing the doorbell. The fact that Buck and Eddie had planned this entire thing was literally crazy. Okay well, not really you’re not surprised but it’s still annoying.

You were an adult; you didn’t have to be watched like some baby, but Buck needed the peace of mind that you were okay and that no freak spontaneous fires were going to break out that he wasn’t around to put out.

So you reluctantly agreed to this because Eddie offered (bribed) to make you his Tía Josephina’s famous enchiladas and elote on his day off this week. And how are you gonna turn that kind of offer down?

“Coming!”

The door swings open and immediately you know this was a mistake. He’s standing there in a freaking towel. Water droplets cascade down his hard chest and through the dips and curves of his body.

You let your jaw drop as you stare completely and honestly disrespectfully because Buck talked Eddie up so much and you just thought it was him hyping his best friend as he should but none of that did this Adonis any justice.

Eddie leans against the doorway, legitimately the front door in a whole ass towel, and just watches you back. Because the way you’re short-circuiting is about to cause a whole new problem in a few seconds.

One he and Buck absolutely want you to see.

That’s what all of this was for actually… was it a little sneaky? Yeah definitely but god who cared if it paid off in the end? Buck was into Eddie, Eddie was into Buck which was plain as day but then Buck ended up with you…and apparently their mutual attraction didn’t just end at occasionally finding the same superhero hot. One day at work Buck cornered Eddie and very openly asked him if he had a thing for you and in the effort of being honest with himself for once in his life, Eddie told Buck the truth.

He was very into you.

He promised him he wouldn’t try anything and he was just happy being your friend… but he could just see the damn hamster wheel spinning on all cylinders and a week later Buck came to him with a (and he did the rainbow hands) grand master plan to get all three of you together and Eddie was on board in a heartbeat.

“You good? You got enough or would you like me to remove the towel too?”

That breaks you out of your embarrassing stupor and you shove his chest out of the way and leave your bag on the step for him to bring in. He stumbles backward and laughs, holding the doorframe as you storm inside and wait for you to come in to grab your bag.

Oh, Elle Woods would be proud. He’s not doing the snap part, although Buck made him practice it because his pecs were glorious but you know what the bending part was just fine in his opinion and he waits a second until he knows you’re looking and bends over to grab your bag.

He shuts the door behind him and you’re concentrating very intently on everything but him. He winks when he walks by and you roll your eyes, feeling the flush creeping up your neck and begging it to just freaking go away.

“I’ll go put some clothes on and leave your bag on the bed. I made space in my dresser and closet if you want to unpack.”

“Uh- th-thank you. Thanks that’s nice.. thank you.”

“You’re welcome”

Eddie leaves you with a “Make yourself comfortable” and goes to get changed and you’re… left to be comfortable.

You snatch your phone from your back pocket and immediately text Buck, your fingers hover over the keyboard trying to decide just what to freaking say… hey bro Eddie totally answered the door in a towel! He’s got the fattest ass I’ve ever seen! and it turned me into the biggest puddle ever haha!!

Passenger Princess: Hey I made it to Eddie’s

Smokey The Bear: Okay ❤️ how’s it going?

Passenger Princess: Fine…

Smokey the Bear: Wow that sounds fine! 😀😀 I believe the words you have texted me!!

Passenger Princess: Die.

Passenger Princess: So like. Does your best friend just always like answer the door in a towel

Smokey The Bear: Literally genuinely actually yes. This is just something he freaking does. Did you see that man’s b o d y?

You stare at the text for a second, and you know Buck is waiting for those stupid little bubbles to stop bubbling but like- Yeah. Yeah, you did see it. And like-

Passenger Princess: Yeah

Now you’re watching those three dots and suddenly your phone starts ringing and fuck why is he calling??

“Hey, Buckykins” You hold your phone out and smile at him. He’s on his bed, buried in his squishmallows with a plate of nachos.

“Hey, bunny. So honestly you did not have the reaction I thought you would and I realized that cornering you like this is definitely the answer.”

You roll your eyes and crumple into the fluffy throw pillows behind you, slapping a hand over your face.

“Evan…”

“Eddie is the hottest guy I know and for you to be having zero reaction is wild”

“How do you know I was having zero reactions?”

“Because the last time we saw a hot guy together we literally had to calm each other down in the car and you had to stop me from going to get his number for us. So. Make with the reactions.”

“Okay fine!” You hiss under your breath, flapping your hands. “Okay!! Okay yeah, he’s- he’s???”

“Drop dead gorgeous.”

“That’s an understatement!! That’s the under-iest understatement! He bent over Buck, He bent over and I nearly had a heart attack. A heart attack!!”

He knows when you start repeating yourself you’re flustered. Like beyond flustered and suddenly his fingers are flying across the keyboard now as he listens to you ranting about how you could bounce a quarter off that ass or take a big ole bite out of it.

You’re just getting into detail about the exact way you’d convince him to let you peg him when your head snaps up to the sound of the bedroom door opening.

“I gotta go!” You whisper and Buck also scrambles to hang up. He blows you a kiss and promises to call you later and you giggle and hang up.

“Hey was that Buck?”

Eddie looks like a slut. Okay, that wasn’t nice but god did he look like a slut. You firmly believed men should never have stopped wearing crop tops. Like, ever.

His shirt stops mid-torso and you’re practically drooling. His sweatpants hang low on his waist, his slutty slutty little waist.

“Do you wanna take a picture?” He flexes his arms playfully and you hold your camera up, just spamming the button.

His head tips back when he laughs at the sound of the shutter and you keep going. Buck is going to eat these up.

“Anyway. Jesus, how many did you even take?” He comes over and takes your phone, scrolling through the camera roll to like 50 pictures of him standing there. He rolls his eyes, typing a couple of things, and then hands it back.

“You’re ridiculous” He tilts your chin up, kissing your forehead before letting you go and walking into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? I was gonna make myself like a sandwich or something”

“A sandwich sounds fine!”

You fall back on the couch, kicking your legs and starting a new album to share with Buck, who immediately starts blowing up your phone and adding his own pictures to your new Eddie album.

Eddie smirks at your badly concealed squeal and tosses some cheese down. He’s squeezing chipotle sauce on the top bread when a loud bang startles him and he turns toward the living room.

“Uhhh Y/N?”

“….Yeah?”

“You uh- you good there?” He sets the bottle down and puts on the top pieces of bread.

“Yeahhh…”

“Okay…” his voice trails off and he grabs two sodas from the fridge “You want some chips?”

“Sure sounds great!”

“Uh-huh. Are you off the floor yet so I can come in? Or do you need a minute?”

“….I need a minute.”

Eddie is relentless with roasting your ass for rolling off the couch. He can’t help himself when he comes into the living room with the food and sees you sitting nicely on the couch with your hands in your lap. You have to get up and snatch the plates from his hands before he drops them.

He falls onto the couch still snickering and you slap at his thighs trying to get him to just shut up it wasn’t that freaking funny! Your cheeks are so pink with the embarrassment seeping through your pores and he tries his best to reign it in but you’re so cute when you’re like this and he eventually reaches out and pulls you into him.

“Awww I’m sorry okay okay I’ll stop I swear I’m done”

His chest is hard against your cheek, you can hear his heart beating under your ear, and his shallow pants from laughing so hard.

His bare skin is hot against yours, it’s smooth and even and sends shivers up your spine. He purposely arranges you so you’re pressed flat against him. He spreads his legs like the slut he is and you’re the one settling between them.

“Comfy?”

Oh, you just wanna slap that stupid grin off his face. Especially when his hands slide down over your side and splay flat across your back. He not so freaking subtly pushes you down against him, and you gasp, feeling the outline of his cock pressed into you.

“You ready to eat?” His hands slide further down your hips and rest on your ass, he ruts you against him and you shoot up from the couch and scramble off of him.

“Yup! Yeah! Uh huh sure.” You opt to sit on the floor and hand him his plate. You pop open the bag of Doritos and position them in the middle of the two of you and Eddie opens your sodas.

“Anything you wanna watch?” He’s still smiling when you look back to grab the remote from him and quickly turn back around.

“Uhhh sure I can look around…”

You turn on Jennifer’s body and in an almost hilarious turn of events Eddie doesn’t know whether to look at Megan Fox or you and you seem to be having the exact same problem, occasionally catching his eye and quickly turning away.

He convinced you to sit on the couch with him again and the one seat cushion between you two feels like seven thousand.

He’s been periodically texting Buck, who has been using this time to help come up with a ✨Super Secret Seduction✨ plan. Which starts with Eddie getting your ass back over to him.

He casually stretches out across the couch a bit, his leg draped on the couch next to you. He notices you take a peek before turning back to the movie and he grins.

He toys with the edge of the throw blanket slung over the couch and gets up.

“Hey, do you want a drink? Maybe some popcorn?”

“Uh- I’ll take a water if you have it. I don’t think I’ve drunk any today.”

He frowns because of course you freaking haven’t and shakes his head.

“Seventy-five waters coming up”

“Oh teehee,” you flick him off.

He goes into the kitchen, grabs a couple of waters from the fridge, and comes back in, but not before making a cute little stop at the thermostat.

He flops down on the couch and tosses you your bottle before turning his attention back to the movie.

“Can I use this?” Twenty minutes later you’re curled up tight in the corner of the couch. Eddie looks up at you for a second, just making out the dangerous silhouette of your body in the dark.

“Yeah… wait, here.” He pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and finally gets you to close the freaking gap between the two of you. He opens his arms and you easily come into them, settling into his side and he puts the blanket over the two of you. You’re too cold to think about the precarious position and he quickly plays the movie to distract from it even more.

Eddie's fingers trace over your arm, enjoying the soft skin. He draws little shapes and you snuggle deeper into him while watching the movie. You’re not sure when you take his other hand but suddenly it’s in yours and you’re cuddling and he’s so hard and warm and you’re so soft and cold and you fit together so nicely.

You can feel your heart racing in your chest as you start to pull away and sit up. He pauses the movie and the blanket falls from your shoulders. He looks at you, the movie screen highlighting the shadows on your face. He reaches out, cupping your cheek and rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone.

“You’re so pretty, you know that?”

Your cheeks immediately flush and suddenly he’s sitting closer to you. You can feel the heat from his body, and smell the minty scent of his toothpaste.

When did he brush his freaking teeth?

He smirks, coming so close to you that you start to lean back slowly away from him. He looks like a predator stalking his prey and it sends your pulse into orbit.

“I have a boyfriend…” You mutter, your breath catching in your throat and Eddie smirks, his eyes lazily trailing from your lips to your eyes.

“Yeah so do I”

“Oh!”

“Mhmm… But something tells me we’re talking about the same man…”

He leans in, his breath ghosting across your lips. He’s giving you a moment to pull away, a minute to maybe gather your thoughts. But he’s doing that thing he does, where he’s just so effortlessly Eddie and there’s not a single thought running through your brain.

When he sees you’re not moving away from him he finally leans in all the way. It’s a simple kiss, just kind of a test really. He slots his lips against yours, tangling his fingers in the back of your hair and pushing you just the littlest bit closer to him. He counts the seconds between him guiding you and when you actually finally get around to kissing him back, the shock finally wearing off.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he lays you back on the couch. Your hands are all over his chest, feeling him and his hands are feeling over your sides and you’re both just trying to feel as much of each other as possible.

He can’t get enough of you, he doesn’t want to stop, but he knows he has to. He and Buck made a plan and it’s going way faster than they expected it to. You taste so good, so sinfully good and he’s starting to wonder what else he could get away with tasting.

Eddie finally pulls away from you, panting harshly and trying to catch his breath before diving right back in when you finally break.

“O-oh, my god. I shouldn’t have just done that- no no no fuck. Shit.” You slide off the couch from under him trying to run from the living room and Eddie chases after you, grabbing your wrist.

“Wait wait wait” He pins you to the wall and you’re struggling against him, he can feel the panic flowing through you like it’s starting to transfer over to him.

“No! hell no!”

“Where are you even going?” He pins both your hands above your head and pulls his phone out. He holds it up to his ear, watching you trying to yank your wrists away and it crushes him.

“Hey! So- ow! Quit it!” Eddie uses his body to block your legs while you try to kick at him.

“Fuck just talk to your girlfriend! Please!” Eddie puts Buck on speaker and you stop.

“Buck?! I’m- I’m so sorry I-“

“Did you kiss Eddie?”

You swallow thickly and nod, unable to say anything and Eddie sighs into your shoulder as you start to melt against the wall in tears.

“Baby no- no it’s okay- fuck. Here.” He FaceTimes Eddie who passes you the phone. Buck’s face immediately crumples and he shakes his head, This was so not what they had planned and he’s starting to feel like this might have been a mistake.

“No please don’t cry no- this is not what we wanted! We just-“

“We?? Buck, what are you talking about?” You sniffle and wipe at your eyes and he sighs loudly. Eddie sits on the floor next to you, hesitantly scooting closer to you, your knees touch and the electric jolt that runs up your spine nearly makes you sick, sick from the way he makes you feel, from the way his cologne floods your senses the closer he gets.

It’s still sticking to your clothes.

“Y-you weren’t supposed to kiss him…yet” Buck admits shyly and you glare at the camera and Eddie sighs and leans back on his hands.

“So…we kinda planned this…” Eddie bites his lip “We thought that maybe… we could kinda convince you that uhhh… it might be you know a little fun if-“

“If you know the three of us kinda had a teeny tiny thing?” Buck finishes sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You weren’t supposed to kiss him this soon, actually, in all honesty, we were really hoping you would anyway. Kinda make things a little smoother.”

“We just uh- didn’t anticipate the whole freak-out thing,” Eddie adds and now you’re left with their confession and deciding what the hell to do with it.

“You mean the entire reason Eddie has been being a total slut today-“

“Hey!”

“Is because you wanted me to fall for him so that way the three of us could be a thing??”

“Well, when you put it like that” Buck scoffs and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“You guys realized you could have just asked me right?? Buck, you do realize you could have just asked me? Instead of trying to seduce me?!”

“Well?! Are you??” He gestures and your jaw drops

“Now you decide to ask?! Now?!!”

“We wanted to romance you! Honestly, Y/N we wanted to romance you and seduce you and get you into a little stupefied ball and then fuck you together.” Eddie just spills the entire plan now because there’s no point in holding it back anymore especially since you’re already upset with them.

“Only you know it was gonna have way more finesse! Plus I was supposed to be home… we had an entire plan and then I got sent here. This was supposed to take a couple of months where I would then bring it up” Buck explains further and you’re absolutely reeling. You give the phone to Eddie and get up from the floor, brushing your legs off.

“I think I need some time to… process”

“Y/N?” Buck and Eddie say, but you walk into the bedroom quietly and shut the door behind you

“So I think she’s mad at us” Buck sighs and Eddie’s head smacks against the wall behind him.

“Yeah. I think she’s mad at us.”

Two and a half hours later there’s a soft knock at the door. You sigh and roll over on your side, facing the door.

“Go away, Eddie”

It’s quiet for a second before he knocks again.

“Eddie please N-not. Not now” You sit up, looking at the door. It was nice that he didn’t just come in anyway considering it was his home and his bedroom.

He knocks again and you roll your eyes and slide off the bed.

“You know you’re almost as freaking pushy as-“

Your breath catches in your throat, Buck is standing in the doorway. He looks exhausted nervous and fidgety.

“Evan?” Your voice cracks and he rushes into the room, his hands cupping your face and pressing his lips to yours. He kisses you messily, desperately shoving all his feelings and emotions into it. You stumble backward and your back hits the wall. He’s got your shirt off so fast it gives you whiplash and eventually you’re working on the button on his jeans.

He kicks them to the side, the sound of his belt buckle sliding against the floor not breaking the spell that seems to have a hold on you now. He yanks your skirt down your hips and it joins his clothes in a heap in the corner of Eddie’s room.

He picks you up and brings you over to the bed. The way he drops you on the bed finally knocks some sense into you and your hands slam into his shoulders as he climbs onto you. His weight settles, comfortable and warm between your legs and you can feel the heaviness of his cock pressing into your thin panties.

“You could have just asked me.”

“Please don’t break up with me.” Buck whimpers and your elbows bend. His chest falls against yours and you let out a little “oof”

“Please, please, please don’t break up with me. I should have just come to you, but- but it was supposed to be over a long period of time! We wanted to take it easy with you and give you time to even consider it! But I know it was wrong”

“You wanted to romance me?” You raise an eyebrow with a little smirk and the deep pit of dread in Buck’s stomach lightens just a little bit.

“Our whole plan was for Eddie to start hitting on you, it would just be soft and subtle… and when he’d come over for you know dinners and movie nights he was supposed to sit close to you and put his arm around you…”

“Until eventually I caught feelings?” You scoffed lightly and he nodded

“Y-yeah? I knew you would. I know you better than you know yourself… I just- didn’t think you already had them? I’m not mad you do! Cause… clearly so do I…”

“So what? You want to date Eddie and me??”

“It doesn’t need to be like that if that’s not what you want… Eddie is perfectly content just being our friend and I’m okay with that too… is that what you want? For it to just be me and you?”

“This was a very very sneaky plan, Evan Buckley.” You scold him and he whines and literally just crushes you with his body.

“Please don’t break up with me.”

“And don’t hate me?” Eddie stands in the doorway and you sigh with a little smile and hold out your hand, inviting him in.

“You drove two hours to come see if I was okay?”

Eddie settles on his side on the bed, his fingers coming up to write lazy shapes against your skin.

“Uh- n-not exactly” Buck Stammers “See- I didn’t… drive here”

“You should see the mountain of sweets he brought home with him,” Eddie mumbles and you look up at Buck again.

“How did you get here?”

“I uhhh… called in a favor from my ex-boyfriend? I baked like a madman and then made him come get me real quick.”

“How many times is he going to steal that helicopter” Eddie mutters and you stare at Buck with wide eyes, your mouth pops open and he smirks, closing it with one finger.

“He wants to meet you sometime, and if you’re gonna be hanging with the team while I’m gone you probably will at some point…”

“We don’t like him anymore” Eddie whispers and you nod along, Buck rolls his eyes.

“Thank you both for your support… anyway. Yeah, things didn’t… really go as planned but they also kind of did? Because this was the outcome we wanted but you know in a good way not in the accidental shitty way we created”

Buck finally stops squishing you and lies to your side, mirroring Eddie’s relaxed stance and Eddie.

“Please don’t hate us”

“I don’t hate you… I just. This was stupid and admittedly I feel really guilty for kissing Eddie and-“

Buck reaches out and grabs Eddie’s shirt, yanking him almost against his chest while they both hover over you. He kisses Eddie, letting their tongues tangle for a moment before pulling away from him and pushing him back across the bed.

You stare between the two of them, not even attached to your body anymore and just floating around in the empty space in the room.

“Now we’re even” Buck shrugs. Oh boy if that’s all it took to take your guilt away…

“We’re even?” You repeat and he takes your hand, his lips ghosting over the back of it.

“Yup. Like I said-“

Eddie kisses the back of your other palm and your head bounces over to him now.

“It was our plan.”

Suddenly the fact that you and Buck are both very much almost fully naked comes back to mind.

Suddenly Eddie is wearing too many clothes.

You look over at him, your eyes softly lidded and he gets up from the bed, removing his shirt and letting it drop to the floor. Two pairs of eyes are glued to him as he hooks his thumbs in his waistband, running his thumbs along it before turning around and sliding them over his ass.

He turns back and he’s left in those stupid boxers that do absolutely nothing to hide the raging hard-on in his pants. God, he’s big, so, so big, and you and Buck are left drooling over him.

He turns around again and stares you in the eyes, giving you both the perfect view of his ass, and slowly slides his boxers down with a little wiggle of his hips.

“I’m like 90% sure I just came” Buck gulps and you nod along with him.

“Same.”

Eddie grins and slowly turns around for you, revealing his aching cock. It stands so thick and hard at attention, dripping precum onto the floor.

“Like what you see?”

Eddie climbs on the bed, slowly crawling toward you and you scramble backward, crashing into Buck’s chest. He laughs and wraps his arms around you, locking you in place.

“Let me go!” You squeak and Buck manhandles you into his lap properly, sticking you between his thick thighs.

“Why? When I could watch you be tortured?”

“You are such a cuck” You hiss as Eddie approaches and he snickers.

“Damn straight”

He holds you with one arm and takes your bra off, grinning wolfishly at the way your tits bounce. He lifts your hips enough for Eddie to slide off your panties, he looks at them, admiring the damp spot left there, and inhales deeply.

“Fuck you smell so good” He groans deeply and holds them up for Buck who sniffs them too.

“Good enough to eat”

“You’re both perverts!” You huff and Eddie rolls his eyes.

“And you talk too much”

He stuffs the panties in your mouth and you thrash in Buck’s arms again, tasting yourself with every shake of your head.

“Would you settle down already!” Buck shakes you lightly and you whimper and push yourself against his chest.

“There you go baby girl that’s it, just relax. Daddy’s gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

Buck twitches against your back and you look up at him with your eyes narrowed.

“What?! You liked it too…” He mutters and you giggle around the panties in your mouth.

“Don’t worry, Daddy will make you feel good too” He pats Buck’s cheek and you snicker when you feel him melt against you.

Eddie instructs Buck to spread your legs over his and he does eagerly. Your heart pounds in your chest, your entire body open and on display for Eddie. He stares down at your pussy hungrily, his mouth-watering.

He leans forward on his hands and knees, settling down on his elbows, and nuzzles his nose between your lips. He brushes your clit and your hips jerk against his face involuntarily. He chuckles deeply at the blush on your cheeks and Buck’s hands slide over your torso and cup your breasts. He kneads the soft skin in his hands, bouncing them in your face and tugging at your nipples.

You’re so overwhelmed by the pain that turns into pleasure that you don’t notice the hitch in Buck’s breath. You don’t notice him tensing until suddenly he’s inside you, your head falls weakly back against his shoulder and Eddie grins, sliding Buck’s cock deeper inside you.

“Don’t you look so pretty with Buck’s cock inside you? Oh, you’re such a pretty little thing.”

You wriggle in Buck’s lap, your clit throbbing as you whine and grind your hips down on his cock. He gasps and thrusts his hips and you shudder, Eddie is a mess watching the two of you trying to be on your best behavior for him.

“Fuck this is better than I thought it would be”

He’s done talking and teasing now. He kisses your pussy with an open mouth kiss. He hums deeply against your clit, letting it vibrate through your hot core.

Eddie enjoys every noise he pulls from you. Your sweet little moans and whimpers, he could feel the way your fingers tangle almost desperately in his hair, holding him closer as he eats you out like his favorite meal.

He was so different from Buck, not that that was an issue in the least, but he just was. He was slow and methodical, categorizing each stroke of his tongue and what kinds of sounds he could get out of you. His favorite was the sound you and Buck made together when he sucked on the point where the two of you met with him buried deep inside you.

“W-what about you?” Buck whimpers and Eddie looks up into your eyes, watching them roll back in your head.

“You think you could handle a different position, pretty girl?”

He pulls the panties from your mouth and tosses them to the floor and reaches up for you. Buck helps maneuver you down so you’re lying across Eddie’s torso. He gets on his knees, sinking further inside you and you shudder, grinding your hips down.

You squeak, coming into contact with Eddie’s waiting mouth. He moans and grabs your hips, yanking you down harder.

“Come on baby girl, use me. Use my face for your pleasure.”

You roll your hips again, a little harder this time, and moan, letting your head fall forward. Your cheek brushes against his cock and you look at it, hard and glistening with precum. You reach out and slowly stroke it, just feeling him, hot and heavy in your hand.

“Go on” Buck encourages you “Fuck I wanna see you swallow his cock. Please, Bunny? Please?”

How could you say no to him begging like that?

You blow on the tip gently, the cool air making Eddie’s hips twitch. You smirk and lick a long, slow stripe up the center of his cock, softly kissing right before the tip and moan, rolling your hips more.

He lets out a low moan and you make out with the tip, kissing it sloppily and sucking it. The feel of your little pink tongue teasing his slit is almost too much and his hips jerk into your mouth.

You make a garbled-choking noise and struggle for a second, swallowing around his cock and he melts into your mouth. Now he’s rolling his hips with yours mimicking your moves and fucking your mouth.

You’re not sure who you’re more distracted by, Buck or Eddie but your eyes roll back in your head and Eddie holds you down harder and you’re sure you’re suffocating him and he does not fucking care, he would happily die between your legs.

Your body shudders and your hips start to lose their rhythm and Buck slams into you, shoving his cock in as far as he can and cums in you, he starts to fuck you faster chasing his high, and pulls away quickly.

You choke around Eddie’s cock again and dig your nails into his thighs, your entire body grinds against him as you cum on his lips. He lets out a guttural moan, licking up every last drop and messily kissing your pussy. Your thighs shake from the overstimulation and he smirks, grabbing your hips and suddenly rolling you over so he’s laying on top of you now, he fucks your face, shoving his cock down your throat as far as he can, and his balls cover your nose while your claws hook into his ass.

He keeps cleaning you up, licking all of your and Buck’s combined juices while he uses your face now. The sound of you choking and struggling to take him all sends him over the edge and he’s coming down your throat. He gasps raggedly, swearing and saying your name over and over like a prayer until he’s empty.

He falls over onto the bed, kissing your thigh and Buck leans over and tilts your head up, kissing your sore neck and cooing sweet praises before you pass out.

When you wake up, Buck is gone. Eddie has his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his face nuzzled into your neck.

You blink sleepily, stretching out your arms and legs like a dog on its side, and relax. There’s a pink note on the pillow next to you and you reach for it, unfolding the heart origami with a giggle.

You hold the note to your chest and turn over in Eddie’s arms to lie on your back. He whines and buries his face deeper in your neck, throwing his arm over your torso.

“I’m not ready to wake up” His voice is so deep and gravelly in your ear it sends a shiver up your spine. You reach out and wrap your arms around his neck and he buries his face in your chest. His hand feels your side, gently kneading it. He places soft kisses across your chest and you smile, running your fingers through his hair.

“Good evening” You purr and he looks up at you, resting his chin on your chest.

Fuck he’s pretty like this.

“Good evening…How’re you feeling?” He rests his head on one of your breasts and your cheeks flush a bit.

“Fine…kinda sore not gonna lie. Geez you two put me through the wringer. What time is it anyway?”

“Like one or something. I wanted to be gentle… I wanted to take my time with you, show you how pretty I think you are.”

“Even if you weren’t treating me like a precious flower, I still felt really pretty and really really good”

Eddie listens to you, his eyes softly closing again with a contented little smile on his face. He reminds you a lot of a cat, especially when he’s practically purring while you’re massaging his scalp.

His soft moans are so freaking cute you don’t want to stop. You continue to rake your fingers through his hair and he sighs dreamily.

“You wanna go take a bath?” You ask quietly and he opens one eye

“A bath?”

“We have to clean up anyway… and I can shampoo your hair for you. I’ll even condition it afterward.”

“A bath it is”

It’s when he’s in the tub, lounging in your lap while you run the shampoo through his hair, Eddie realizes he’s embarrassingly touch-starved. And you realize that all the product he puts in his hair hides the soft waves that he has.

He leans back into you, enjoying your plush body up against his, and the relaxing warmth of the water surrounding him. It’s moments like these he could just float away when he can’t hear his head telling him he’s stupid to get involved with you and Buck and that it’ll just end in heartbreak.

It’s so easy to ignore those thoughts and listen to what his heart wants… what did his heart want? For sure for you to never stop touching him, to never take your magic hands away and leave him feeling cold and ill at ease.

But what about Buck? They’d made this entire plan sure, but what did he want from him? Maybe the same thing? Maybe this bath didn’t exactly feel quite complete with a third of his heart missing.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

You break the silence with your soft voice and Eddie is transported back to the bathroom. You’re washing his chest with a loofah and he realizes he has no idea when you rinsed his hair and moved on.

“I think I really like you and Buck. I think I want this” He admits, and something in him, deep down and buried away seems to just- leave. Suddenly he feels lighter and safer? Maybe? He doesn’t know but for the first time in a long time he’s being honest with himself and he’s okay.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be my decision? If I wanted this too? I thought you two had already worked this out.”

Your tone is lighthearted and so he decides that you’re being playful and he doesn’t allow that deep-seated panic to rear its ugly head.

“Okay well-“ He starts “Technically we did decide but… You know when you said you felt guilty? And Buck kissed me to make it even?”

You pour water over his chest “Yeah?”

“That was our first kiss”

You flinch and accidentally pour the water on his face and he splutters and sits up, running his hand down his face and flicking the water away.

“Jesus-“

“That was your first kiss?!”

“Uh yeah? We knew we wanted to be together too but we needed to know how you felt first… like I said. I was perfectly okay with us all still just being friends if you weren’t.”

“You mean to tell me-“ You put your hands out “that you and Buck had your first kiss right in front of my salad and you didn’t think, “Hey let’s tell Y/N so she can get the camera ready”?!”

Eddie stares at you for a minute before he bursts out laughing.

“Seriously?! After all of this, that’s your issue??”

“The two hottest men I know, who are my official boyfriend’s kiss for the first time and you think I didn’t want to savor that?!”

“Oh I’m so sorry, would you like me to make sure our next make-out session is on camera?” Eddie sasses you and you splash him

“With mood lighting!”

He reaches out and grabs your waist, pulling you into his lap.

“I promise next time I’ll film it for you, and we’ll make it extra hot just for you.” He nuzzles his nose against yours and you giggle, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Okay cool, I trust you”

“Good girl” He growls, cupping your face and kissing you and you lean into him, nipping at his bottom lip and getting him to open his mouth. He stares at you, his eyes wide open and you blink, your heart racing in your chest as you stare into his eyes.

He keeps his tongue tangled with yours, lapping at your mouth and your face heats up so quickly that you yank away from him and squeak.

“Eddie!!”

“Awwww you don’t like eye contact? Poor thing”

He doesn’t sound very apologetic and it makes you crinkle your nose at him and flick him off. He grins wickedly and captures your lips again, this time cupping the back of your head and keeping you right where he wants you.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy you sleeping over so often.”

It’s been another month, and having to live two hours away from your brand-new boyfriend and sort of brand-new girlfriend is just about the worst form of torture there is probably.

Especially when they’ve taken to sending you videos.

All.

Day.

Long.

They were cute at first, adorable even! Eddie sent him videos of you doing a little happy dance over your enchiladas, one where you’re curled up tight and hiding behind a pillow when he made you watch a horror movie. His favorite is when you’ve got your head in his lap, and he’s gently stroking your hair while you sleep.

That’s where the cuteness ended.

Because this morning he woke up to three videos from Eddie, and he didn’t have time to open them before work so he just oh so innocently, opened them during his lunch break.

You’re splayed out on the bed, your back arched while Eddie slowly thrusts in and out of you. The sounds of his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy nearly has him cumming at the table.

Your soft moans break him out of the absolute trance your cunt has him in and he shrieks, his phone bouncing from hand to hand before clattering to the floor.

“Uhhh, you good Buckley?”

Jeremiah looks at him as he walks into the dining area, salad in hand.

“I’m fine!! Fine-fine-fine!” His voice cracks and he falls to his knees, reaching for his phone under the table. You’re moaning louder now, and he can just hear Eddie praising you, calling you a good little girl, and teasing your clit.

“Are- are you watching-“

“No!! No, it’s not! Fuck shit f-“ He smacks the phone with his hand, willing it to just shut up, and eventually gets the video turned off.

He shoots up straight as an arrow and puts his hands on his hips.

“I’m good”

You and Eddie receive a very long, very embarrassed text from him later that evening.

Buck walks into his stupid, cold, lonely apartment and throws his bag down. He sighs and crashes onto the fluffy couch with all the squishmallows he’d been moving around and slaps his hands onto his face.

Just a few more weeks and he’d be back home.

He didn’t like being alone like this, it gave him way too much time to think, and lowkey he didn’t mean for his mind to wander to the things it did but what could he do?

Because as much as he loved himself now and his friends and you, he was worried that like… maybe you guys would forget about him. Maybe you’d think hey we’re not really lacking anything in our lives with ole Buck gone!

And even if he knew that wasn’t true and that this was definitely just his insecurities screaming at him… it still really sucked.

“You’re such a baby? You really can’t be alone for more than a week huh?” Eddie scoffs and Bucks' eyes shoot open. Eddie is leaning against the wall, watching his little pity party on the couch.

“Eddie? Oh god. Oh my god, am I seeing you? Did I lose my mind?!” He whispers, his hands feeling his face.

“OOoOooOo I’m gonna haunt youuuu”

He deadpans and you pop out from behind Eddie.

“It’s me!! Y/N! As a human, not a ghost!!”

He throws his arms open and you tackle him backward onto the couch. He laughs loudly and squeezes you tightly, Eddie comes over and tilts his head up, kissing his nose and he smiles at him.

“How did you two even get in?!” He presses his lips to yours and you moan, attacking him back and running your fingers through his curls.

“You didn’t know your girlfriend could pick locks?” Eddie grabs you by the waist and tosses you onto the couch and you scream.

He pushes your head back when you try and tackle him and straddles Buck’s lap, that stops you cold for a minute and he smirks at you before cupping his cheeks and kissing him.

They hadn’t had much time together after that night and he was going to make up for it as much as he could in that moment. You fall back on your butt on the couch and Eddie winks at you.

“Might wanna get that camera out sweet girl”

“Wait why would she-“

Eddie cuts him off, pressing his lips against Buck’s. The sexual tension between them escalates to an overwhelming extent as their tongues clash. Eddie tilts his head, lifting his body a bit higher, and grinds down on Buck’s cock.

Buck whimpers into his mouth and grabs his hips, pulling him down against him harder as Eddie rolls his hips.

Your jaw drops and you fumble for your phone, leaning back on the couch armrest and filming your boys with wide eyes.

Eddie is a passionate man, because he’s also Hispanic and that doesn’t surprise you in the least. The way he holds Buck close to him, moaning into his mouth and occasionally muttering about how gorgeous he is… You can feel yourself dripping just watching them.

“I love you” Eddie blurts out, and Buck freezes for a second, smirking.

“I know”

Buck tugs at the hem of Eddie’s shirt and he smiles, easily pulling it over his head Buck gasps quietly, biting his lip as he takes in the soft expanse of his beautifully tan skin.

“Fuck you’re the second prettiest person I know” Buck mumbles and Eddie snorts.

“Who’s the first?”

“Genuinely hurt you’d ask him that” You scoff and Buck blows you a little kiss making Eddie laugh.

“You should take your shirt off” Eddie smirks at you resting his head against Bucks.

“Why would you tell her to do that?” Buck whines and you giggle and set your phone down

“I’ll do you one better” You take off your shirt, letting your bra come with it, and settle back in.

“Now let’s see how long he lasts” You purr, grabbing your phone again and Eddie turns back to a distressed-looking Buck.

“You gonna be our good boy baby? You gonna be able to control yourself?”

“When I thought about being with the two of you, none of that involved me being tortured like this!”

You look up from the camera “Wait really? Not one of those fantasies were Eddie and I working against you and admitting he loved you??”

“I’m pretty sure they were all of us working against him” Eddie mutters against the shell of his ear before kissing his neck. Buck melts into the couch with a pretty sigh and his grip on Eddie’s hips tightens.

“Yeah okay 73% of them was definitely this” He admits and you kick at his thigh with a laugh.

“We should take this to the bedroom” Eddie drags his tongue along the vein in his neck and Buck ruts against him.

“O-okay”

You shriek in delight as Buck stands up with Eddie in his arms and carries him toward the bedroom, they both laugh at you while you do a little shimmy because Jesus Christ you could just stare at them all day.

“You’re a mess” Buck laughs and tosses Eddie onto the bed and you shut the door, leaning against it.

“When I give you this video? You’re gonna be doing the exact same thing”

Buck watches you walk across the room and over to a tripod. You click on the ring light and he splutters, his mouth falling open.

“When?!”

“When we broke in” Eddie shrugs like it’s freaking nothing.

“We thought it would help ease those lonely nights” You giggle and turn on the first camera, positioning it toward the bed.

“We’ve already filmed the first part for you” You wink and Buck melts into the bed dramatically.

“And now we’re here to finish the movie” Eddie reaches out for him.

“If you’re comfortable with this. If not we can just get rid of this entire thing” You turn on the second freaking camera on the other side of the room and Buck is spinning.

“No-no! It’s okay! I’m sooo okay with this oh god. You two are serious about this.” Buck settles on top of Eddie, kissing his neck and Eddie slides his hands down his hard back, feeling his muscles and gripping his round ass.

“Of course we are… this is just a little something to help you get through being here without us… we can make a new one every time we come visit if you’re up for it.”

“And when you come back-“ You let your skirt drop and Bucks eyes go wide as saucers. The tiny thong you’re wearing doesn’t even fully cover you, he can see your slick glistening on your thighs.

“We can use my studio to make better quality videos”

“That okay with you?” Eddie reaches down and starts to unbutton Buck's jeans. You help him out of them before crawling onto the bed behind him. Your arms wrap around his torso, your hands splaying over his pecs.

“We just want you to be comfortable” You kiss his shoulder blades and he whimpers, grinding down on Eddie.

“J-just- Jesus fuck just tell me what to do. I’ll do anything”

“That’s my good boy, my sweet Evan.” Eddie praises him and you giggle and slide your hands down, and take his cock in your hands. You stroke him slowly, running your other hand over his balls and squeezing them lightly.

“I told you he gives in easily when you’re pushing the right buttons.”

He can’t even be mad at that because you’re so painfully right he can’t even be embarrassed about it. He tilts his head back, letting out a low moan when Eddie circles his cock around Buck’s puckered hole, just teasing him while you work his cock in your hands.

He leans over, planting his hands on Eddie’s chest and panting. He ruts into your hands and you bite your lip and take one hand away and grab Eddie’s cock now, stroking the impressive length in time with Buck’s.

“You think you can take him?” You ask quietly and Buck nods eagerly

“I can do it, I’ve- I’ve been uh-“

“Oh we know” You whisper “You still have it stuck to your shower wall you know”

His cheeks flush a deep pink and he buries his face in Eddie’s neck with a shy whimper.

“Oh come on!”

“I swear I’d only gone in there to pee!!” You laugh and take Eddie’s cock, stroking it again before patting Buck’s ass.

“Turn around baby, I want you inside me at the same time.”

A shiver goes through his body and he shudders, turning around like you asked him and looking up at you for a second. You smirk and pull him closer to you, rubbing your tits against his face.

“Fuck you’re such a little bitch” Eddie pants, running his hands over his hard ass and smacking it. Buck yelps and he does it again, enjoying the way it jiggles.

“Good boy Evan… now go on, show Y/N how hard you are for her.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t just say mommy” Buck snickers and it makes you snort with him.

“I would have busted before we even got started.”

He helps you lie down, dipping his head down to lap at the mess between your thighs, cleaning you up sloppily and leaving your legs shaking.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Buck kisses up your body, enjoying the salty taste of your skin, and the heady scent of your perfume. Eddie positions himself behind Buck and drags his cock between his cheeks one last time before lining up with his hole.

“You ready?” He asks both of you and Buck copies Eddie, dragging his cock between your folds and coating it in your juices before lining himself up with your dripping pussy.

“I’m so ready” He purrs and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him flush against your chest.

“Ready,” you say and suddenly Eddie is slamming into Buck which makes him slam into you even harder and you all moan loudly together.

“Jesus Christ you’re so tight” Eddie stumbles forward a little, pushing deeper into Buck who pushes deeper into you and your legs come up, locking around his waist with a soft keening noise.

Eddie grabs Buck’s hips, gripping them tightly and pulling him back onto his cock. Buck whimpers in your ear, placing wet kisses along your jaw and down your neck and you lift your hips meeting each of their thrusts.

There’s almost too much going on for you to really focus on so you’re left in a dazed little heap with both men over you and they can practically see the little heart’s radiating in your eyes.

“Fuck you look so pretty” Buck coos, kissing the valley between your breasts “Look at you pretty baby, you like it when we fuck you stupid? You want me to cum in you? Would that make you happy?”

Your blatant incoherence drives Eddie wild, nothing but soft moans and little mewls come from you and the more condescending Buck sounds the harder Eddie thrusts into him and soon you’re all moaning and he doesn’t know how much longer he’s going to last.

How much longer any of you are going to last.

“Such a pretty little cocksleeve” They sloppily make out and it sends Eddie over the edge. He groans loudly, pounding into Buck and shoving his cock in as deep as he can go. You shriek under them both, your back arching high into Buck’s body and now you’re cumming with Eddie.

Buck loses all sanity the second he feels Eddie shooting his cum deep inside his tight ass and your pussy gripping him like a vice, milking him for all he’s worth. He knows he’s gonna get a noise complaint from his neighbors, these walls aren’t too terribly thick.

Eddie kisses the scratches you’ve left on Buck’s shoulder blades before pulling out.

“Ohh my god” you whimper breathlessly feeling Eddie’s cum sliding from Buck’s hole and dripping down to your pussy. You feel it mixing with Buck’s cum sliding down onto the bed and you cum again, your body writhing against Buck’s.

Eddie falls onto the bed next to the both of you, panting and reaching out for you. Buck falls away and you drag yourself into Eddie’s arms.

“I feel like I say this too much. But I don’t think I can feel my dick.”

You giggle into Eddie’s shoulder and Buck wraps his arms around your waist, snuggling with you.

“He’s not wrong” Eddie runs a hand over his face “Fuck I need an ice cream cone”

“I thought it was supposed to be a cigarette?” Buck snickers

“Literally none of us smoke” You flick his hand and he takes yours, kissing the back of it dramatically.

“But…yeah I could go for ice cream.”

“So we’re getting ice cream? That’s the plan?” Buck takes his phone from the bedside table and starts looking for places and you turn around toward Eddie now, pushing your ass back against him and he smirks and holds your hips

“I’m kinda hungry too”

“Okay, so burgers?” He taps on his phone screen and Eddie nods

“Burgers. Did you want to go out or should we go get it and bring it home?”

“Bring it home” You pout “There’s no way I’m getting out of bed for at least three hours”

“I’ll keep that in mind too” Eddie smirks and kisses your nose “Love you pretty girl” He mumurs against your lips and your eyes widen.

“I love you too” You whisper back, You reach for Buck’s hand, pulling it to your lips.

Buck fake sniffles, wiping little crocodile tears.

“I love you too bros”

“I can’t believe you’re making me watch this”

Once they come back with the food Buck brings you into the living room wrapped up in a blanket. He sets you up with a little tray of your food and surrounds you with another fluffy blanket and three of his squishmallows.

They’d gone to your favorite diner and Eddie had to fight you not to ruin your appetite and have dinner before dessert. If the burgers weren’t so good you would have crawled over to the freezer yourself and gotten it out anyways.

Buck was very much for watching you crawl on your hands and knees.

Eddie sits next to you, getting comfy and handing you the remote and you scroll through Hulu while you wait for Buck to get his stuff together.

“You know what you should put on?” He comes into the living room with his food and plops down next to you.

“Already looking”

You wriggle excitedly and press play and Buck pops a fry in his mouth.

“Are you shitting me” Eddie watches the opening to Dirty Dancing playing and you and Buck both laugh at him.

“It’s our favorite!!” You squeal and Buck reaches over and gives him a fry for payment.

“She carries a watermelon!”

Eddie pretends for all of 20 minutes that he can’t stand that you’re both making him watch this movie. He acts like his feet aren’t tapping to the beat and like he doesn’t enjoy you and Buck mouthing almost every single freaking line.

Eventually, he’s got a pillow in his lap and he’s studying the screen intently.

“Oh god she cannot dance” Eddie cringes and you and Buck give each other a look. He’s totally hooked.

“Does Penny die?”

“We’re not telling you” Buck sips his drink.

“Wait- so?? Robbie’s an asshole?”

“Oh definitely!” You lay your head on his shoulder.

“….Does Penny die?”

“We’re not telling you! Quit asking!” Buck reaches over and shoves him away and Eddie shoves him back.

Eddie won’t admit his favorite part was when they’re dancing together and how their relationship changes during it, how he bites his lip thinking about having you pressed into his body like that because lord knows you dance better… How it reminds him of how much your relationship has changed.

By the end of the movie, Buck has spilled the beans on Eddie’s dancing background and now he and Buck are preparing to do the lift.

“If you don’t catch me I will actually kill you” Buck warns him, his back against the front door.

Eddie looks around at the space they’ve cleared and shrugs.

“If I don’t catch you you’ll be dead. Now shut up and run.”

Buck has to fight the urge to Naruto run, and jumps into Eddie’s arms.

You’re screaming, Buck is screaming and Eddie is spinning him around.

“Tell me you’re getting all of this” He yells, his arms out like he’s flying and you’re absolutely losing it while holding up the camera.

“This is the coolest thing ever!!!”

Eddie sets Buck down and he immediately collapses to the floor.

“That was the single greatest experience of my entire life.”

You go to sit on him and Eddie grabs your hand, spinning you away from him and pointing you toward the front door.

“Your turn Baby”

After both Buck and Eddie finally coax you into doing the freaking lift and Buck was right it was the greatest experience of your life Eddie forces you all into bed. Because it’s almost two in the morning and you two planned a surprise day with Buck.

Buck crawls into bed and lies out like a starfish, waiting for you and Eddie to come into the bedroom.

He couldn’t have dreamed of a better way to come home from work, than getting his brains fucked out. He can’t wait for this kind of thing to happen on the regular.

Sometimes Buck thought about the beginning of the three of you being together. He should have just asked you outright, he still apologized whenever he thought about it…. But now you three were here and in this moment together and he knew it was love.

The best part was knowing you two felt the same way.

Just as soon as he’s home he’s forcing you to move in with him so he can pin you to the bed and take you whenever he wants. Come to think of it… Eddie’s house place had more space…

“Penny for your thoughts?” Eddie’s got you on his back, he carries you over to the bed and dumps you onto the bed in a little pile. You giggle and set your stuff up on the nightstand while he walks around to the other side.

“Only a few more weeks” He smiles brightly, looking at you and then at Eddie and you smile softly, The love and adoration pouring from his soul makes your heart skip a beat.

Eddie hits the lights and you snuggle into his side putting your head on one half of his chest and draping your arm across his torso. Eddie gets into the same position and you reach out, tangling your fingers in his hair.

Buck sighs softly, looking at the two people he loves the most in this world… if you guys were so dead set on visiting every chance you got maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

“I promise.”

#words by rhys #rhys writes #911 x reader #eddie diaz #911 fox #eddie diaz x reader #911 show #911 abc #evan buckley #evan buck buckely #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #buddie x reader #buddie

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