#this is why I struggle doing heavy brain work probably

[oobbbear]

My art: ✨🖼️✨

My brain during the making of said art: “Hello everybody my name is Markiplier and welcome back to-“

[spatialwave]

"my ambition" - part one

pairing: jayvik x fem!reader word count: 1k tags: mdni! semi-nsfw, fluffy, poly relationship, reader has a chronic illness, no use of y/n, not beta’d. notes:no summary bc it’s very short n sweet and mostly just some fluff!! will probably write a part 2 to this or use this fic as a base for future one shots hehe. reminder that my ask box is open! 🩵 credits: art by @/shuploc & divider by @/cafekitsune on tumblr!

part 2. ->

“No, no, this doesn’t make sense.”

The flickering flame of several candles lit up the darkened apartment as Jayce sat over a scattering of papers. His back hunched, eyes tired, stubble unshaved and fingers tracing over the writings on the parchments. Forever studying and analyzing ways to work with the hextech, to improve upon it and use it to help others. To help you, and Viktor.

“Sleep is good for the brain.” A tired voice spoke from behind him.

There was a quiet groan that erupted from deep within his chest, a reprieve from the chaos in his mind, as he rested back against the wooden chair that creaked beneath his weight. Your hand, a delicate touch, trailed over his bare shoulders as he worked late in only his nice pair of trousers that were gifted by the Kiramman family.

He hadn’t taken a single moment of rest since a meeting with Viktor and Heimerdinger earlier that day to go over progress of the hextech research. They had hit a roadblock, having advanced so far, yet still struggling to find ways for it to help the people, rather than just Piltover.

Hextech was more than a tool to better run the city and improve upon its trades within Runeterra. If only he could find a way to stabilize the crystal.

“You’re overworking yourself, Jayce,” you continued, arms now wrapping around his shoulders. Your chest pressed against the back of his head, hands palming against his muscled chest.

“I’m this close to a breakthrough,” the man sighed, finding comfort in your touch as he leaned back and let his eyes flutter closed, sleep heavy in his head, “Progress Day is three months away, and what do we have to show for it? An unstabilized crystal?”

Jayce was worked up like this more often than not, the work with hextech had taken the forefront for years now. Recently it had begun to consume him, but you were the recipe to keeping him sane. 

You were his rock, as he said.

“Hexgates, airships, robots,” your posh accent chimed as your body moved and you’d managed to sneak your way onto Jayce’s lap — ultimately severing the line between him and his work. 

Your chests pressed together, faces only a few inches apart as you stared into those honey-coloured eyes.

“Why do you always get so down on yourself?” 

Jayce stared at you, strong calloused hands settling on your hips as you straddled him. He had no ambition to answer, knowing very well that he was his own worst critic and you were his biggest supporter. 

“You’ll get there,” you continued, head ducking as your lips pressed to his jaw. The roughage of his stubble prickly against your lips as you kissed, trailing from under his chin to underneath his ear, “now, I haven’t had a chance to have you in over a week. I think I’m rather deserving.”

That roused a chuckle from him, a toothy grin on his lips as he allowed himself to relax under your touch. 

“I want to do this for you,” he murmured, head lulling back as you kissed down his neck, “something to help.”

“I know,” you soothed, one hand palmed at his chest as you pulled back, a finger touching his chin and tilting his face back to you, “I’ve made it this far, haven’t I?”

Jayce’s eyes opened, and it was like seeing you for the first time all over again. Beautiful and glowing.

Your sickness was well-hidden, a struggle you dealt with behind closed doors. Pain that erupted through your veins, left your muscles weak and skin burning. It came in flares — aches so painful it left you bedridden for weeks.

Once an Academy all-star, now confined to your apartment. You were thankful for Jayce and Viktor, the two most important individuals in your life.

“Now come to bed. I can’t remember the last time you’d managed to stay up later than Viktor,” you smiled, shifting off of his lap. Two quick breaths blew out the candles, and you’d managed to pull Jayce along behind you like a lovesick puppy.

You dropped the robe that had covered your body, revealing your half-naked body save for the underwear that hugged the curves of your hips. The mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled in next to a sleeping Viktor, who had retired to bed with you a few hours earlier.

He rolled onto his side toward you, a slender arm wrapped over your waist and bony fingers pressing into the skin of your hip. You pressed yourself against his frail chest, face buried as you inhaled his scent and Jayce slipped under the blankets on the other side of him.

“Finally wrangled him?” Viktor hummed, half-asleep, as both yours and Jayce’s warmth kept him tired.

“You’ve let him beat you again. You’re losing your drive for all-nighters full of bright ideas,” you murmured, nuzzling against him.

“I’ve long lost that spark,” Viktor mumbled, burying his face in your hair and sighing as he felt Jayce’s hands slide along his bare skin, “I’m a tired old man now. I can live with that.”

Jayce snorted, “I do it for the both of us then,” he murmured into his lover’s ear, breath warm and tickling his skin. A shaky breath trembled out from Viktor’s lips, tensing his arms around you.

You were quick to join in on the fun, lips attached to the base of Viktor’s throat as you left a trail of feather light kisses along his skin. One hand reaching down between his legs and into the briefs he wore.

“Can’t a man get rest?” he breathed out, squirming between you two. 

“No,” Jayce huffed, lips pressed to Viktor’s shoulders as he assaulted him with a flurry of open-mouthed kisses to his skin, teeth and lips dragging against him.

“Sorry, love,” you whispered, licking a line on his neck before suckling on the skin, “I may have riled him up in the kitchen.”

“How awful,” he sighed, though, there was nothing Viktor enjoyed more than having two lips and two pairs of hands traversing his body. 

He melted into the touch as the three of you consumed each other. Hands traveling over skin, lips connected, tongues lapping at each other and clothes ripped from bodies.

The three of you were the embodiment of love. On the worst days, there were no thoughts of giving up. You were each other’s ambition.

[revelboo]

Do you have any thoughts on Cliff jumper? I think he's neat in a totally healthy way 🫣

Never tried to write for him…

TKO

Cliffjumper x Reader-accident

• “No,” Cliffjumper growls, servos flexing against the urge to snatch the weapon back from the engineer, who’s not even listening to him. Hasn’t been listening this whole time. “I don’t want it improved. I just want it to stop overheating. That’s it.” From the corner of his optic, he spots the human. Wheeljack’s little…pet? Friend? He has no idea. It’s staring at him, though, that scrutiny unsettling. Why anyone wants something so squishy and just weird around is beyond him.

• “Sure. Right,” Wheeljack murmurs in that tone he knows too well. The engineer’s lost in his own world and is not only going to frag up his gun, he’s probably going to completely destroy it. “I’ve got this.” Sure. Swallowing a growl as he gives up and stalks out of the lab, he’s aware of the human watching and just can’t get why it’s kept around, allowed to roam the halls like it belongs. It’s just a weak, little organic from this miserable mudball they’re all trapped on.

• There is one thing he enjoys about this world. Leaning into a curve in the road later that day, he soaks in the quiet. Sometimes he just needs to get away from the noise of the Ark, let the solitude of this world sink into him. Prowl and Red Alert still insist on patrols even though he’s never seen any sign of the Decepticons this close to base, but he’s not complaining. It wouldn’t matter if he did. There’s so many Autobots stranded and he’s never been the biggest or strongest. Always there, always overlooked no matter how hard he works.

• He sees the truck on the side of the road ahead, the two humans standing outside it. The bigger one throwing his arms up as the smaller one walks away. Some petty human argument. He’s almost to them when the bigger one grabs the smaller human’s arm, wrenching on it as the smaller one struggles, longer hair catching the sun. Yanking loose as the other lifts its free hand in a fist and stumbling back. Falling into the road in his path.

• He transforms without thinking, peds leaving the road as he throws himself over that little body and slams into the dirt, rolling and swearing. When he lifts his helm, the bigger human is gone, that truck speeding away. The other one is still sprawled in the road staring at him with wide eyes and frag, he remembers Optimus’s decree that if they’re seen, reveal themselves to a human, they can’t let them escape. Can’t hurt them either. One of them is long gone, growing ever smaller in the distance. But the other? Frag him. One is bad enough, but he can’t let two of them see him and get away.

• Laying sprawled in the road in frozen horror, your brain just keeps bouncing from the fact that your boyfriend just left you to the giant, metal monster slowly regaining its huge feet. And you can’t move, can barely breathe. The sound of those heavy feet approaching finally breaks through your shock. Because a huge hand is reaching for you and nope. Not happening. Rolling, you’re scrambling to your feet, lunging to avoid those huge fingers swiping at you with a frustrated snarl. Then you’re running flat out in a blind terror, because that thing is chasing after you.

• Primus, it’s fast for such a tiny thing. Screeching nonstop as it races off into the desert. And oh, it’s tempting to just let it go. The sun’s baking him, surely a fragile, little organic wouldn’t last long out there. Problem solved and he wouldn’t be saddled with the thing. It’d get lost out there and probably never be seen or heard from again. Not his problem to deal with.

• He keeps chasing after it, anyway. Guilt spurring him on. He doesn’t want a human to look after. Doesn’t need this mess to deal with. Ahead, it stumbles and this time he manages to get a grip on it, almost dropping it again in surprise at how disturbingly soft that little body is in his servos. It screams out again, thrashing like a mad thing even though it must know it can’t win. That doomed, desperate struggling is impressive in a way. Refusing to give up. Wild eyes stare up at him as he adjusts his grip on it to make sure it can’t wriggle free and get accidentally dropped to its death. He can feel that little heart pounding so quickly against his servos as it keeps fighting, screaming out for help that’s not coming. “Sorry, but you’re not going anywhere,” he sighs. You’re both fragged.

Next

[exhaslo]

Corruption Ch3

(Villain!Miguel x F!Hero!Reader)

Ch1, Ch2

Warning: Minors DNI, smut, mentions of sex, violence, blood, murder, twisted thoughts, experimentation, language, wannabe fluff, established friendship?

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

Four months, twenty days until D-Day

Finally, it took you ten full days to understand your abilities and make your suit. It did feel somewhat shameful by how much of a struggle it was to get everything ready. You had to rely on a close friend to make your suit and beg them to not say anything.

You were finally going to start your life as a super hero. Your secret identity had to be top secret. Mainly, because you were afraid of how Miguel would react if he saw you. You loved the man, but you were terrified of his villainous nature.

"Alright, suit is kind of tight, but it will have to work." You whispered, staring at yourself in the mirror.

The suit was tight against your skin, showing off each of your curves, breasts and ass. It almost felt sexual, but what heroes in the past wore baggy suits? Unsure if you wanted to do that research, you knew that you needed something that won't get your snagged on a flag or something.

Patting down your skirt, you glanced at the zipper you had custom made in case for an emergency bathroom visit. Honestly, it made you chuckle since you thought of such a thing. Miguel would probably laugh at you if he ever found out.

"Alright, now for the scary part." You inhaled deeply.

Opening your window, you took deep breathes. You were terrified, but without this leap of faith, how were you ever going to bring Alchemax to justice? How were you going to show Miguel the light in his heart?

"I can do this." You whispered before shooting your web and swinging into the city.

----------

Miguel hissed lowly as he sat in his apartment. There were a million things going through his head. One of them being how to perfect his spider genetic splicing DNA. He wanted to create the ultimate human. The superior human race.

Unable to think in the comfort of his own home, Miguel decided to take a walk around the city. He did need to buy a few things anyway. As he left his penthouse, Miguel grumbled lowly as he avoided the people around him.

How disgusting. All of these regular humans trying to smile and cozy up to Miguel. None of them had what it takes to be at his level. Unless they were willing to place themselves on his metal table for experimentation.

"Miguel, you won't believe this." Lyla appeared on his watch. Miguel lazily glanced towards his AI,

"Won't know until you say it."

"There are reports of a Spider-woman swinging across the city. People are in shock and whispering that the age of heroes might be making a comeback." She explained. Miguel scoffed,

"I'll believe it when I see it. Don't bother me with such nonsense."

Age of heroes his ass. Miguel knew better than to believe that such a time would revive. As he made his way into his local well-off supermarket, Miguel couldn't help but wonder why such reports would come to be.

A spider-women none the less. Miguel hadn't experimented on any women yet and everyone he did had perished. As he grabbed a cart, Miguel hissed to his ignorant thoughts. He shouldn't allow his genius brain subcome to such foolishness.

"Ah!!!" Someone screamed.

With a heavy roll of his eyes, Miguel glanced behind him. His eyes twitched as he saw a fire break out. Just his luck. Making his way to the checkout, Miguel ignored the people's screams, continuing his purchase.

"Sir! You need to leave! It's dangerous!" One of the workers yelled. Miguel just ignored them,

"Dangerous?" Miguel resisted a chuckle as he finished his purchase.

Right as he left, there was an explosion. His eyes widen as he felt the wind push him down. Surprised, Miguel let out a soft groan as he slowly got up. As he did, Miguel felt another wave push him back down.

"I got you!" A woman yelled out.

Furrowing his brows, Miguel saw someone approach him. He grunted, feeling himself being lifted up. Which was quite a surprise since Miguel was a tall and heavy man. Glancing towards the brave fool who came to his rescue, Miguel's eyes widen in shook.

"Spider-woman?!" He nearly gasped in shock. You smiled softly towards him,

"The one and only!" You chirped.

Miguel felt nearly flabbergasted as he observed you. The one thing he had been trying to recreate was right in front of him. There was a surge of emotions coursing through his body.

"Are you alright?" You asked, patting Miguel off as you escaped the building with him.

"Allow me to have a blood sample," Was the first thing Miguel said. You flinched, taking a step back,

"Haha, that's a....uh, unusual request, but I'll have to decline." You said, trying to hide your nerves. Miguel grabbed your shoulders,

"You don't understand. I've been trying to create someone like you for years. Please, I need to know how-"

"Perhaps if we bump into each other at another time, I can give you an answer, but I really must go. Take care of yourself and don't get hurt, okay?"

Miguel reached out to you once more as you swung away. The look in his eyes were one of desperation and frustration. How were you here? How did he not notice such a fine, perfect specimen in his city? This whole place belonged to him....

Including you.

Grabbing his items, Miguel hurried back to his penthouse. He needed to research on you. Miguel needed to find out more about you. Miguel needed you in his lab!

----------

Finding a good building to land on, you let out a small squeal. You had been swinging around doing little things here and there and finally, finally, you managed to do something heroic. Best of all, you had saved Miguel.

Trying to cover the blush on your cheeks, you recalled the warmth of his body pressed against yours. The look on his face was something else too. You've never seen him so shock, so amazed. If only he looked at you like that and not Spider-Woman.

"Mhm, but he just had to ask for a blood sample. I almost gave in too! I have to be careful!" You whined.

Sitting at the edge of the building, you glanced down at the messy, beautiful city below. You were going to have to get better at Super Hero stuff if you wanted to make any real change.

That, and you would have to control your emotions better if you ever wanted to change and heal Miguel. He was far too talented and smart to fall down the same fate as his father.

"I will save him."

----------

Miguel was on a man hunt. He had gotten Lyla to pull up anything on this new Spider-Woman, despite there not being much. He had to know who you were and where you came from.

Unable to retrieve much, Miguel decided to do things the hard way. He pulled up every single file on women who lived within or near the city. Miguel was determined to know who you were. Even if he had to do things the long and hard way.

"Let's see. Judging by her body, she is defiantly within the age ground of twenties to thirties. Let's start removing everyone else."

"Yes, sir." Lyla replied, shorting the age gap.

Miguel grunted since the list was still quite large. At least, whoever you were, you didn't cover your hair. Just a cute little mask that covered the top half of your face. Narrowing the list shorter, Miguel just inhaled since it was still a hefty list.

"Is speed dating out of the question?" Lyla asked with a grin. Miguel let out a rare laugh,

"Highly."

Wondering how to approach this, Miguel started to pace around his living room. He needed you. He wanted you. You were the key to creating the ultimate human race. If Miguel couldn't find you naturally, then he would have to make you come to him.

"I will make her mine."

----------

It was going to be another rough day at work. You had entered Alchemax with two large coffees in hand. Clocking in, you let out a heavy sigh as you made your way to Miguel's office. He had been blowing up your phone all morning.

"Miguel, could you maybe now tell me what's going on?" You asked softly as you opened his door.

"(Y/N), finally! We have a BIG day ahead of us!"

"We do?" You questioned as Miguel approached you, taking his coffee out of your hand, "Ah-Are we doing the seahorses?" You asked innocently.

"Ha!" Miguel chuckled darkly as he patted your head, "What am I to do without your blissful innocence."

"Awe, are we going back to spiders?"

"Always." Miguel hummed as he drank his coffee, "Have you heard about the new Spider-Woman in town?"

You felt a nervous sweat run down your back.

"I-I have! Was that...not your doing?" You asked, knowing that it sort of was, but Miguel didn't need to know that.

"No, and that's what infuriates me." He spat, placing his drink down, "I need to know how she came to be. I will not be stopping my spider experiments anytime soon. Not until she submits herself to me, or I recreate her very existence."

"Miguel...You can't have someone submit themselves to you like a trophy. You'd have to understand them...and honestly, if she really is a hero...I don't think...she will like...what you're...doing...here." Your voice kept getting lower and lower as Miguel slowly approached you.

"(Y/N), do you think what I'm doing here is wrong? Trying to advance us measly humans into something greater?" Miguel asked, twisting his views into yours. You bit your lower lip, holding your tablet close to your chest,

"N-No...I-I think the idea...is right..."

"Oh, (Y/N), try not to think too much, okay?" Miguel hummed as he casually stroked your cheek, "Remember, our work here will be one for the history books."

You tried your best to calm your racing heart as you leaned into Miguel's touch. How could such cruel words come out through his sexy mouth. His low tone just made your brain fuzzy. And his touch? Oh, you were feeling that down to your panties.

"Okay," You whispered, giving into his demands, "What will we start with today?"

It was going to be a long road, but if you couldn't change Miguel as you, perhaps you had to change him as Spider-Woman. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel will listen to you with the mask on. It was a slim chance, but you wanted to save him so bad.

"While I start collecting more spiders, I want you to find me more willing test subjects."

"B-But Miguel, y-you know...how I feel about going to the prisons." You whimpered, tugging against his sleeve. Miguel just chuckled, lifting your chin and leaned towards you,

"You can do it." He hummed and saw the tears about to spill from yours eyes, "I'll have Lyla accompany you. Does that help?"

"I guess," You whimpered once more. Miguel let out a heavy sigh as he had Lyla downloaded to your watch.

"Off you go. I want you to be back to file down each of my spiders."

"Yes, sir."

Shaking as you hurried out of Miguel's office, you tried to calm down. Miguel was being extra touchy today...and cruel. The only good thing about you leaving was that you could finally see the prisoners in a new light. As a hero, you needed to learn what villains think like...aside from Miguel.

"Are you ready to go, (Y/N)?" Lyla asked, appearing before you. You just smiled towards the AI,

"Yep! Let's go!"

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Next Chapter

@tojishugetiddies @miguelsfavwife @foulsharkheart @club-danger-zone @ivkygirly @jollystrawberrycycle @amber-content @weirdothatwritess @smartyren @mangoslushcrush @nyxzoldyck6 @migueloharastruelove @chaoticlovingdreamer @sukioyakio @killjoy-nightshadow @heyohalie @the-pan-liquid @bokutosprettylittlebimbo @kpopscoups17130000 @pochapo @killerwendigo @barbiecrocs

[g1rld1ary]

a little manpower - neighbour!james potter x reader

wc: 1141

cw: none? reader moving into an apartment and meets james

an: i wish it was summer here so bad I'm struggling!!! what are 1 degree mornings!!!!

Why did nobody tell you it was so bloody hard to move out? Like, everyone talks about the money and the forms and all the confusing adult things, but why did no one tell you about the actual pain in the arse it would be to have to physically move everything you own into a flat three floors up? You didn't consider yourself the fittest person ever, not by a long shot, but you worked out and you didn't think you were weak. Yet there you were, panting like a dog after carrying another box up to your new home.

And of course, it was just your luck that you'd planned your big move-out during what may be Britain's only hot day in the whole year (only slight exaggeration). Still, you felt bad complaining. Your parents had helped you in the morning, moving in some of the IKEA furniture you'd picked out and had a good go of assembling some of it too, so you did have a bed to sleep on. Plus, a college friend had stopped by for an hour or two to keep you company and lifted some boxes with you.

So you didn't have much of a reason to complain, except that you didn't want to be doing it anymore. You were tired of walking up the bloody stairs and your arms were aching from the over-filled boxes. Plus, you had one armchair you'd found at a vintage store that had been sitting near the entryway all day, waiting for you to develop the motivation to drag it upstairs.

When your full-length mirror (deceptively heavy) had you almost in tears you decided enough was enough and it was time for a break. Not brave enough to sit in the woefully unpacked flat you trudged down the stairs one more time, crumpling on the grass nature strip until you were lying on your back.

Everything seemed a bit calmer like that, grass surprisingly cool on the back of your arms and legs. Your muscles relaxed for the first time in hours and you thought if you were in a cartoon you'd probably start fusing into the earth. The only thing that would make the moment nicer would be the peace of mind of knowing your belongings were all safely away in your new flat. And maybe an ice cream.

"Alright, love?" A male voice came from just beyond your head. You tilted it back to crack one eye open. A man was standing a few metres away, more shadow than human because of the positioning of the sun.

"It's hot," You said, "And I'm tired. And my limbs don't work anymore." You knew you probably sounded a bit like a child, but who were you trying to impress? The man laughed and it didn't quite match his silhouette; carefree and juvenile juxtaposing the muscles he clearly had.

"Understandable." You could kind of see him running a hand through his hair, "You must be the new tenant, right? I heard you were moving in soon. We heard you drop something heavy before... and cry a little." Sensing the conversation probably wasn't going to end with that, you sat up and turned to face him, still squinting from the sun.

"You heard a girl cry and didn't do anything about it? What a gentleman."

"I came out here, didn't I?"

"And you're not on the way out somewhere?"

"Touché." He had the decency to appear a little sheepish, at least from what you could see of him. He held his hand out for you, pulling you to your feet effortlessly. It was easier to see him now, the sun not being at such an uncooperative angle, and you tried not to look so surprised. The man was gorgeous, tall and muscular with dark curls, but his face was so friendly you couldn't help but smile. He was physically intimidating, but in the way that you knew he wasn't trying to specifically gain muscle, it was something he'd gotten through activity, like a sport or trade.

You stood for a minute, face to face but both silent. You wracked your brain for something to say.

"I'm sorry about the big old armchair blocking the entry hall, I can't lift it on my own and I just need a little extra manpower but I couldn't get any friends over to help today. I promise it'll be gone by tomorrow," You said, glad for both something to say and to get the guilty feeling off your chest. The man's face broke out into a wide smile.

"It's no worries," He assured you, "The people here hardly ever leave their apartment, I doubt they'll even notice. Don't you worry about it." Something about the way he spoke calmed your nerves, both about the chair and moving into the building as a whole. It was your first time properly living on your own, and you wanted to find somewhere quiet but welcoming. If this neighbour was anything to go by, you'd made a good choice. You smiled in return, weight lifted off your shoulders.

"Right, thanks. I guess I'll see you around..."

"James," He finished, shaking your hand firmly in a way that you didn't expect. You introduced yourself in return and you both hesitated, unsure of how exactly to end the conversation.

"Right, well, I've got training," James said awkwardly, gesturing to the kit bag around his shoulder. You nodded, starting to step back towards the door to the building.

"Have fun with that," You said, giving him a small wave. You waited until you were safely inside before cringing at your attempts at conversation, sending a bitter glare to the armchair as you passed it.

You didn't leave the apartment until the next morning, opting to peck at whatever you had in the pantry for dinner before passing out on a half-made bed. But you had to pick yourself up and decided you did need to grocery shop and actually fill up the pantry you'd just acquired, so you laced up your Converse and picked the keys up from the temporary table next to the door.

And there, waiting outside your door, was the old green armchair, waiting for you as if it had been there all along. You smiled, rubbing a hand along the velvet slowly. There was only one answer as to who it could have been, and James was clearly honouring whatever higher being gave him all that muscle by using it for good. You decided you'd have to make him cookies to thank him and set off for the shop.

[honeykaes]

dark red

kaveh x reader II 2.0k

warning: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, afab!reader with no set pronouns, heavy angst, character death, hurt no comfort, implied severe depression and untreated mental illness, face-sitting, cunnilingus, body-worship, praise, masturbation, unhealthy coping mechanism, implied alcohol use, unedited

synopsis: kaveh feels as though his life is completely falling apart when he is greeted to a cold and empty home after work, only for you to appear with a smile.

❝ 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐩, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐮𝐩 ❞

Kaveh couldn’t remember the last time he genuinely smiled. His head felt as though it was spinning as he trudged his way back from meeting a client all day; night full present in Sumeru City. His brain pounded against his skull in loud thumbs that matched his heartbeat. He dug through his pockets, fumbling to feel the familiar cool metal of his key before pulling it out.

Tears pricked at his eyes, overwhelmed by everything and everyone at the moment. His shaky hand struggled to put the key into the hold multiple times before it slid. He lifted his arm to wipe the tears that didn’t go away from his brisk blinking. Trying to blink them away as some managed to escape and cascade down his sun-kissed cheeks, he turned the knob and opened the door.

Silence and darkness greeted him. Not a pin-drop, not a footstep, not a breath beside his own.

Who would have guessed that the most famous architect in the region had a soulless home for himself?

Kaveh let out a sigh as he turned to close the door and flick the switch of the room on. With one deep breath, he turned around to see you in front of him, smiling and head tilted to the side in curiosity.

As if it was magic, just seeing your eyes made him feel lighter—your smile like the sun of the desert soothing the darkness that wanted to consume him. His eyes softened, slowly walked up to you before letting his arms wrap themselves around you. 

“Archons, I missed you…” he murmured, face pressed against your hair spelling the slightly familiar scent of your hair products. You chuckled, returning the gesture.

“How was your day today sweetheart? You don’t seem like you’re in the best of moods if I’m being honest,” you admitted. Kaveh huffed—letting himself stop holding your body—moving to attention on your hands as he felt them tenderly.

“No, just my client. Rich and egotistical as the last one. Every conversation with them is: ‘give me the most expensive thing’, like that’s the most important thing? Practicality and beauty have to work harmoniously,” he scoffed, eyebrows creasing in annoyance.

“I think they just want to sell it off after I work on this building for probably double the price! I would have dropped this case already but…I need the money,” he groaned—closing his eyes—feeling your hand slipping away from his grip and brush against his cheek. He leaned against the touch, slightly pouting.

“They sorta remind me of someone we know…” he scoffed. You let out a laugh, patting Kaveh’s firm chest at his response.

“Come now, you got to give your old roommate some slack. He moved out and let you have this place to yourself. Alhaitham couldn’t have been a monster if he did that for you,” you reminded. Kaveh pouted and sighed dramatically once more, lifting his hands in defeat.

“Fine, I’m not going to talk about him tonight. I got enough stress as it is,” he muttered. Smiling once more, you leaned over placing a kiss on Kaveh’s cheek as his eyes softened once more at your figure.

“Why don’t you go ahead and eat something? Knowing you, you probably haven’t eaten all day again haven’t you—”

Kaveh hummed momentarily pondering your suggestion, letting his hands reach out and travel to your waist, before interrupting you. 

“Honestly, I’d rather get my fill from you. Work was…difficult. I could just use you in my arms for a while,” he revealed. He leaned in as your noses brushed against one another, before slowly moving to claim your lips. The sweet bitterness of booze was on his tongue, as your heads tilted to get closer to one another. His hands pinched at your waist, as he felt your lips curl upwards in the kiss.

When you two leaned away, your lips were glossy—a string of saliva connecting the two of you.

“So please…indulge me for a little while…”

The two of you made haste to the bedroom. You sat on the bed, grabbing onto part of his cape to bring him closer quickly. Your hands made their way under his firm, feeling the cool, smooth skin of his body before helping him lift the shirt off of him. Kaveh hummed, feeling your fingers graze from his pectorals down to his abdomen, tracing the defined curves of his V-line.

Kaveh shivered as goosebumps coated his body, cock beginning to brim with life as it pressed against his black slacks. As your hands settled on the waistband of his pants, Kaveh gently grabbed them to stop them from going further.

“Not this time lovely. Like I said, please let me indulge myself,” he cooed. With a gentle touch, Kaveh slowly began to peel the layers of your clothing off of it, letting them fall and adorn the tile floor.

He slowly crawled on top of you, letting his lips brush against the various curves and imperfections of your body. His touch was delicate, tracing around any freckle, any mole, any birthmark as if to say he noticed and loved them too.

“You don’t know how lucky I am to have you in my life. I’m so grateful for every inch of you,” he whispered, lips making their way to your neck. He smiled, feeling your body trembling, as his thumb grazed against your slit. He could feel the wetness beginning to pool from your cunt.

”Think you can do something for me joon-am…” he whispered in their ear. You curiously nodded as he plopped himself on the bed, hand stroking at your thigh.

”I’m going to need you to sit right here for me darling…” gesturing to his smiling face. You snorted, feeling your face as your laughter filled the room. His cheeks reddened, yet he couldn’t bother to focus on his embarrassment when your laughter sang out as a song to him.

”So that’s what you meant by meal…” you replied. Kaveh chuckled, slightly embarrassed as he rubbed the back of his shoulder nervously. 

You shifted your body, so your hips hovered above his face. You saw you shiver as his hot breaths stared at your wet puffy folds, begging to be savored and appreciated. His hands snaked up to your waist as he opened his mouth wide before you gently let yourself sit on top of it. 

A gasp is ripped from you as Kaveh’s tongue swirls against your drooling slit, lapping up any bit of your slick that managed to fall in his mouth. He flattened his tongue against your clit, swiping the muscle from side to side. You grabbed onto the sheets as your hips shifted and ground on his face, desperate for any more friction.

Kaveh's hips bucked, as precum began to smear, causing a spot on his pants to darken in color. You guide his hands from your waist to the mounds of your chest. He slightly squeezed them, rolling your pebbling nipples with his thumb as he continued to lap you up. 

His lips circled against the sensitive nub, sucking on it while he let his tongue roll fast circles on it. Another loud moan is ripped from your lips—your pitch getting higher and higher. He knew you were getting close.

He sucked, letting the loud noise of slurping your essence to join the sinful harmony of your moans before continuing to suck and toy with your clit. Your thighs pressed against his cheeks, nails raking against the satin sheets of the bed before your back arched.

“Kaveh. Kaveh! ‘aveh. Kav-ah…!” you babbled out, shutting your eyes tight. Your body trembled, finally reaching your high as you continued to squirm on top of his face. He pushed through his jaw hurting to continue to slurp and drink your essence as if he was starved.

As you let out a shaky sigh, recovering from before, you lifted your hips greeted with the dopey smile Kaveh had on his face; the lower half smeared with your slick. You get off of him, allowing him to take a few deep breaths before wiping his face with his hand, and lapping the excess slick clinging onto him with his tongue.

“Satisfied?” you asked him, propping yourself to the side. Kaveh’s scarlet eyes flickered up to you, grinning.

“Of you? Always,” he murmured back. He let his hands run themselves along the curve of your body, pressing kisses against your neck. With his free hand, he slowly removes his soiled pants and underwear, letting them fall to the group. His cock pulsated, twitching on its own, as it leaned against the globe of your ass. It smeared some of his precum budding at his flushed tip. 

Kaveh’s thumb pressed against your puffy folds, pressing one to the side to give him better access. He watched as your hole pulsated before moving his tip against it and slipping inside. He groaned deep in your ear, slowly seething his cock inside of you before he bottomed out. He moved his hand away, resting it between the globe of your ass and your waist.

“Archons, I never want to forget this feeling,” Kaveh whined, leaning in closer in a desperate attempt to get even deeper inside of you. He slowly thrusted, as he continued to wander and appreciate your form. He could feel their warmth sucking them up, urging him to plow harder and deeper inside of you.

He grunted, lifting your leg to satiate part of his urges, watching his cock continue to disappear inside of you—glistening in your essence. Your hand dipped down, grazing against your overstimulated clit as you rubbed tight circles against it. Kaveh could feel your body quiver as you leaned your head further against the pillow, beginning to lose yourself.

“More…Kaveh, please!” you begged out. His cock brushed against your walls. Your body jolted as he rocked himself in a certain spot, walls fluttering and tightening against him. He moaned, continuing to fight the urge to thrust faster. 

He wanted to make love to you, not just to fuck you.

Your body began to shift once more as Kaveh’s hand pressed you firmly against him. With a cry, your walls caved down, reaching your high once more. As your walls clamped down against him, his pace grew slightly faster before he shoved his face in your nape. With a muffled groan of your name, his hips bucked one final time.

”(Y/n)...(Y/n)....(Y/n)!”

As white-hot pleasure flashed throughout him, snapping his eyes shut, his hips rocked as ropes of cum shot from him. He sighed, staring down at his hand tightly wrapped around his softening cock.

The once euphoria that hit him seemed to be gone in an instant, the familiar cold and dark house back here again.

How long had he been hallucinating you to cope? How many months has it been since you passed?

You would never be there to greet him from work as he complained about clients, his old roommate. You would never be there to motivate him to take better care of himself. Remember to eat, not drink as much, not take life as seriously, and enjoy the moment.

As Kaveh sighed, moving his head to press against your old pillow, tears began to welp in his eyes once more.

Your scent that once kept him okay seemed completely gone now. He tried so hard to mimic your old oils and lotions but it was always off. Why couldn’t you have left him with that at least? At least he could fall asleep better pretending you were sleeping soundly next to him.

It never was that same scent you used when you were alive, lying next to him without a care in the world…

…And a smile on your face.

His bloodshot eyes flickered to a picture. A photo of you and him, smiling brightly underneath the ornate sugar cloth at your wedding.

He couldn’t hold back the tears anymore

Kaveh curled in a ball, tears pouring from his eyes as if it were an endless faucet. His body trembled, hands covering his face—exhausted and incomplete; alone and so lost without you.

After all these years, it seemed he finally understood his mother.

❝ 𝐎𝐧 𝐦𝐞, 𝐈 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 ❞

[hexxedghost]

Uhh bsky seemed to like this thread when I posted it, so thought I might put it here too.

It's the only smut I've written (and man am I in awe of people who can just write smut all the time, I was in struggle town lads)

Top!Ghost, Bottom!Soap. Little hint of praise kink, I just want Ghost to call Soap a good boy and have Soap's brain melt over it.

Good Boy

In Soap’s defence, it had never happened before. He’d been praised for his work. 

A clap on the back and a ‘Good work, son’ from Price.

A cheeky grin and a ‘There’s a good lad.’ from Gaz

It felt good to have his work recognised. It left a warm, comforting sense of pride in his chest.

But when Ghost rested a heavy hand on his shoulder, leaning over with hot breath against his ear to say: “Good boy, Johnny.”

It nearly takes him out at the knees. The blood rushes south so fast, he nearly blacks out. As he walks away he can feel Ghosts eyes on him, face hot as the stumbles the first few steps.

The prick looks amused. Fucker.

It could have been fine, though, a one-off oddity that he can safely ignore until he’s in the privacy of his bunk.

But it wasn’t just once.

He swears Ghost is doing it just to fuck with him now.

He's sly about it, never saying when it's obvious or going to draw attention.

It's almost like he waits until Soap feels like he's back on solid footing before he casually drops it into conversation.

It was a quick murmur as they leave the helo after a mission, the sound of the chopper blades drowning out everything else as the hand on Soap's shoulder sears him like a brand.

Or an offhand comment when they've gone for a smoke, the words cheeky as Soap hands over the rolled cigarette.

The others don’t notice, too used to tuning out their banter by now. The addition of the occassional 'Good Boy' blending in with all the other colourful commentary they normally keep up.

Which is probably why Ghost feels ballsy enough to pull that shit during a mission.

After Soap has a frantic few seconds disarming a tangle of trips rigged to blow the building out from under them.

"Building safe, copy." he radios out, hands still shaking from how close that call had been.

“There’s a good boy, Johnny.” comes the heavy rasp crackling over the speaker.

On comms for fucks sake! Soap wants to fuckin throttle him.

Ghost is doing it just to get a rise out of him. And he hates that it's working.

Even when they’re at mess afterwards, hail and hearty with a successful mission right behind them, he can't seem to help teasing Soap.

“Nice job on that last one, Tav.” Gaz slaps him on the shoulder as he takes his seat.

“Youngest in the SAS for a reason.” Soap says around a mouthful of food, winking as Gaz pulls a face.

“Was well handled, nicely done, Soap." Price murmurs behind his mug.

"Proper good boy aren't you, Johnny?" comes the rumble at the end of the table.

His cheeks burn as Gaz and Price laugh. They don’t mean anything by it, they figure it's just being lads and taking the piss.

Soap risks a glance at Ghost and sees his eyes trained on him, a glint of something burning and dangerous peeking through the mask.

Christ he was so fucked.

-

It’s later on, past midnight, when he decides that something has to be done about it.

His can't focus when they’re on mission, either fuzzy with lust or trying to walk in a way that doesn't give away he’s hard enough to punch through wood.

He's not putting his squad at risk just because he's tenting his shorts like some hormonal teenager.

The sound of his knuckles rapping against the door feels louder in the late night air.  There's no answer at first, and he wonders if he's made a mistake, should just go back to his bunk.

But then the door opens, Ghost blinking languidly at him.

“Took you long enough.” he rasps.

“Piss off, ye feckin reprobate.” Soap shoulders his way past the door into Ghost's room and throws himself into a chair and feeling a little pissy he’ll admit.

Across the room, Ghost leans against the door, arms crossed and looking at Soap expectantly.

This was going to be like pulling teeth, and he can tell the bastard is amused by it all; eyes seeming to brighten under the mask.

“So, what's your reason, then?” he finally gets out.

“For?” Ghost asks, tilting his head.

Of course, the cunt was gonna make him say it. Part of Soap wants to just give up, storm out. Just go to his room, wank himself unconscious to be done with it.

But Ghost was blocking the door. On purpose, Soap would bet.

“Why do ye keep callin' me a fuckin good boy, eh?” he presses

Ghost holds his gaze and blinks slowly, “Morale”

Fuck it, Soap is leaving, he’s not playing this fuckin game. Even if he has to wrestle the man out of the door. He shoves at the big bastard to move.

“Telling me you didn’t like it, Johnny?” Ghost asks, barely moving from the force of the push Soap gave him.

Soap growls, frustrated, “No’ about that, is it? You dinnae call Gaz or feckin Price that. Is only me you do that to.”

“S’right. Only you.” Ghost counters.

He looks up at Ghost to find that gaze burning into him. This feels dangerous.

“Feelin a bit singled out is all, LT.” he mumbles, hand coming up to awkwardly rub at his neck.

He feels like he's on the wrong foot now, not sure where's safe to step in this minefield of a conversation.

Ghost pushes off the door and moves toward him. It feels like being hunted, and Soap is very quickly learning that apparently he likes that.

He stumbles as the back of his knees hit the bunk and suddenly Ghost is looming above him.

His blood feels molten, too close to his skin and rushing through him. There’s a buzz in his ears and his throat clicks when he swallows.

This close, he can feel Ghost chuckle, feel the hot wet breath on his neck when he leans down.

"D'you want this?" he asks, voice low.

Soap's tongue seems to stick to his mouth, unable to form words.

The prospect of finally getting to have the thing he'd been obsessing over for weeks.

The thing he'd spent the dead of night fucking his fist too, face hot with the shame of it.

It left his head spinning.

Eventually he manages to choke out,   

"Yes. Fuckin' yes, Ghost, pleas—"

He cuts off as Ghost grabs him by his hair, pulling just enough for his scalp to prickle as he growls in his ear.

"Good boy."

The whine that comes out of Soap should be embarrassing, but he's too gagging for it to care.

Ghost lets go of Soap's hair and stands back, just out of reach.  

"Get your kit off then, or do I have to do all the work?"

“Shoulda known you’d be a nasty bastard.” Soap snarks as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“Reckon you like that, Johnny.” comes the smug reply.

Soap ignores him, fumbling for his belt, shoving his pants down to his knees.

His head falls back, groaning lowly as the pressure on his cock finally lets. He goes to take a moment to collect himself. But instead there's rough hands tugging them the rest of the way, boots yanked off and tossed into the corner of the room.

"Impatient aren't we LT?" he jokes weakly, heart hammering in his chest.

The words die out as the bed dips. Ghost straddles him, settling on his chest heavily.

Soap feels like nothing exists beyond him, the way Ghost fills his vision. Calm and collected as he casually unzips and takes himself in hand.

"Done this before, Johnny boy?" he asks lightly, as if he wants to know the weather and not whether Soap's sucked cock before.

"Dinnae flatter yersel' Ghost. No' my first." Soap eventually rasps out, eyeing the thick length in Ghost's hand.  "I can take ye."

Ghost chuckles at that, "We'll see about that."

He taps the heavy head of his cock on Soap’s lips.

“Open up.” he orders.

God fuckin help him, Soap does, and tries to ignore the way his blood fucking sings at the single huff of approval out of the man over him

His head swims at the scent of hot skin and musk, mouth flooding with saliva at the taste of salty skin on his tongue as Ghost steadily feeds him his cock.

Part of him wants to drag his teeth against the tender flesh, just to be a brat, but there are strong hands in his hair and his eyes fall half closed.

Ghost hasn’t even taken his gloves off, still practically dressed.

At the realisation, Soap feels himself moan around the length in his mouth, Ghost's hands tightening in his hair.

“Knew you’d be good for me.” Ghost says, his voice is dark, and eyes bright in the dim light of the room

Soap can feel the sticky pool on his stomach from his cock, already angry red and steadily leaking.

“With me, Johnny.” Ghost demands.

Soap tears his eyes back to the man above him, the lighting making it seem like Ghost's eyes are molten gold.

He can tell under the mask he's smiling.

“There you are sweet'eart.”

He can’t stop the groan that comes out of him, stomach clenching at the petname.

Ghost adjusts his grip on Soap's hair, testing how much he can take before adjusting and rocking his hips forward.

“Just take it, there you go. There’s my good boy, eh?”

He relaxes his throat and breathes deep until his eyes start to water and his head swims with it. He’s already so close and he hasn’t even been touched yet, cock twitching each time Ghost bottoms out.

There's a moment, which his nose buried in the coarse hair at the root of Ghost's cock that he looks up and locks eyes with him. It's like staring at glowing coals, flickering embers held in the dark with a smouldering heat that scalds his blood.

Soap's feels his cock twitch in warning, he's so fucking close, he feels his eyes start to roll back.

But then Ghost smoothly pulls out of his mouth, leaving Soap gasping and blinking away the tears. Lightheaded and dizzy from the sudden rush of oxygen into his lungs.

“Not bad. Reckon there's room for improvement.” Ghost says, chuckling at the frustrated sob Soap lets out against his thigh. There's the soft touch of a hand through his hair, before Ghost moves away, sitting at the side of the bed. Soap throws an arm over his eyes, chest heaving with each breath.

There's the feeling of a gloved hand trailing over his stomach, making him jump.

“Nearly made a mess of yourself, though.” he hears Ghost tease.

“Fuck off” Soap's voice cracks, Christ he sounds wrecked

He looks at Ghost from under his arm, seeing his eyes trace the same path as his fingers had.

“Ye could get more comfortable, ye know?” he grumbles, causing Ghost to look over at him. As much as it had been exciting, he's starting to feel awkward completely starkers while Ghost could zip up and be ready for the tarmac.

“I look uncomfortable to you?”

The bastard is grinning, Soap can tell.

“Ye look like yer dressed for a fuckin funeral.” Soap quips, looking at the ceiling, heart still beating too fast.

“Can’t have you dying before I’ve had my fun.” Ghost teases as he gest to his feet and  strips off.  The pale flesh and scars are devoured by Soap’s hungry gaze as his eyes are drawn back, like a moth to a flame.

As he drops the last piece of clothing to the floor, he looks over to Soap on the bed.

“Mask stays on.” he says, the rest of him bare.

“I dinnae care.” Soap lies.

Both of their eyes tracking how his cock jumped at the idea.

Ghost laughs, not unkindly, “Slag.”

The bed shifts under him as Ghost settles at the end of it. Soap sits up on his elbows, suddenly nervous.

He's no stranger to casual dalliance, to a quick and dirty release stolen in a pub bathroom or if he's lucky someone's flat if they're generous.

But it's Ghost.

It matters. It's not something he leaves in the early hours, hidden in cigarette smoke and strangers mouths. What if it ruins everything?

"Johnny?" Ghost is looking at him, a hand circled around Soap's ankle.

"M'fine," he says without thinking, scrambling for an excuse for his sudden silence, "was jus' wondering how ye want me?"

He goes to roll over, but there's a sudden fierce grip on his hips as Ghost tugs him down the bed, keeping him on his back.

"Wanna see you." is all Ghost says.

Soap feels like his heart is lodged in his throat, as Ghost rummages around in the bedside table.

"You've done this part before, haven't you?" it's a genuine question. But there's that teasing tone to it that has Soap rolling his eyes, falling back into the rhythm of their banter.

"Oh aye, I'm a fuckin blushin virgin." he jokes, kicking out and catching Ghost in the side. "Chaste as a priest, I am."

Ghost glances up at him, the heat still in his eyes.

“Better start praying then Johnny. Won’t be after I’m done with you.“

Soap feels his breath catch at the threat. “That a promise, LT?”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead just clicks the bottle of lube open, pouring some onto his fingers and pressing two into Soap. There's an intensity to his focus as he presses deeper until they brush against the spot that punches a groan out of Soap.

"There we are."

"Hurry it up will ye?" Soap growls. He'd been trying to ignore the dull ache of being stretched open. But now there was a steady building at the base of his spine, his breath coming in shallow, cock filling out again after flagging.

"Patience is a virtue, Johnny." Ghost murmurs.

Soap winces at the feeling of Ghost removing his fingers, looking down as there’s a pause.

“Ye alright?”

He can't help but ask.

He gets a nod in response.

“Well, come on then. Show me how nasty ye are.” he wiggles his eyebrows and revels in the small huff of a laugh from Ghost as he lines himself up.

“Might regret that, Johnny.” Ghost says, locking eyes with him.

“Regret you takin yer fuckin tim-” he cuts off in a groan as Ghost smoothly presses the head of his cock in, his other hand tightly gripping Soap's waist.

“Fuckin hell, coulda warned me.” he says to Ghost's shoulder.

Ghost hums. "Could’ve.”

“Prick.” Soap lets his head fall back. He relaxes into the feeling, letting his body adjust. Ghost waits until Soap gives him a nod before slowly sheathing himself to the root.

That lightheaded feeling is back as Soap rests his head against Ghost's sternum. That languid bloodwarm feeling of being full trickling up his spine.

“You solid?” he hears from above him.

Soap shifts a bit, feeling the ache of how stretched he was. “Aye.”

“Good.” is all the warning he gets before the first thrust knocks the breath out of Soap’s lungs. His hands come up to grasp at Ghost's biceps, groaning at the drag of skin on skin, wet heat and rushing blood.

It's not gentle, he’s sure he’ll have bruises on his hips to hide for weeks from the whiteknuckle grip Ghost has. But he could tell the bastard was holding back.

“I’m no’ made of glass, Ghost, I can take it.” he bites out.

Ghost laughs in his ear. “Careful Johnny, or I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

The response is automatic.

“Ye already have.”

Ghost stills and Soap feels immediate panic he’d overstepped.

They hadn’t spoken about what this was.

Whether it was just a bit fun to left off steam or something more that they'd been dancing around for years.

Before he can scramble to come up with an apology, a joke to lessen the seriousness of what he’s just let fall out of his mouth, Ghost gives a snarl.

He snaps his hips forwards and Soap can swear he feels it in his throat.

The grip on his hips tightens so hard it nearly hurts as Ghost drives into him. It feels primal and possessive, heady and addicting as he rakes his nails down pale flesh, urging for more.

Ghost grabs the back of his neck, pulls him forward so he can growl in his ear.

“Made for this aren’t you, made for me.”

It isn’t a question, though Soap thinks he’s nodding. He feels dizzy with it, how much he wants this, how much Ghost wants him.

“Gonna be a good boy for me, Johnny?”

Ghost voice sounds raw, eyes burning as the meet Soap's.

“Fuck.” Soap sobs, it sounds more like a plea than an answer.

“There you are, sweet'eart, show me how well you take me.”

Soap falls back on the bed, Ghost's hand drifting from the back of his neck down to his thighs. He can feel the rough calluses on his skin, feel his teeth nearly rattle as Ghost slams into him.

It’s too much, just on this side of painful and he never wants it to end.

There's a dizzying feeling every time he feels Ghosts cock drag against him in just the right way. There's bruises blooming on his hips under the near deathgrip Ghost has on him.

“Thought about this a lot. How good you'd be for me.”

Soap doesn't have it in him to respond, he feels like he’s sinking deeper into a calm. His body goes lax and boneless, mind buzzing at the pleased growl from Ghost when his body just submits.

“Love seeing you like this Johnny, fucked brainless and still fuckin desperate for me.”

That pulls a whine out him, clenching down around the cock still driving deeper into him. He thought Ghost would be quiet, but each word of praise fills him like warm honey, mind swimming.

“Show me you can come like this, sweet'eart.”

Soap can already feel himself hurtling towards the edge, wrapping an arm around the back of Ghost's neck and pulling him close.  

"Fuck, Ghost, please." he pleads.

He hears Ghost's voice in his ear, raw and rough, “That's it love, be pretty for me.”

That does it.

Soap's entire body seems to lock up for a moment, pleasure sparking through him and settling into the base of his skull with a blistering heat. His cock pulses, untouched and painting his stomach.

“There’s a good boy.” he hears Ghost murmur. He bites down on the meat of Ghost's shoulder to muffle the whine that threatens to make its way out, hearing those words.

As he comes down, dizzy still, his head lolls forward, like his strings have been cut. He dimly registers the twitch of Ghost’s cock inside him, and softly groans at the feeling of it slipping out of him spent.

Soap slumps on the bed without Ghost’s grip holding him, body heavy and lax after the orgasm that was wrung out of him. He should get up, he knows the routine. He should leave so he isn't intruding.

Instead, his eyelids grow heavy and he drifts into darkness.

When he comes back to himself, he's been cleaned up, blanket pulled over him to keep out the chill. There’s a solid weight beside him.

“Back with me?” Ghost asks.

“Solid.” his words sound slurred, but the laugh from Ghost isn’t cruel. Soap pushes himself up so he's sitting, before Ghost speaks again.

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" There is a weight to his words, even though he's clearly trying to keep the tone light.

"Reckon me hips'll have a few bruises. I dinnae mind that though." he glances down at the purple on his side. It's not quite a handprint but enough of a suggestion of one. Showers were going to be fun.

He jumps as Ghost trails a finger over one, gentle and completely at odds with what had caused them.

"I'll keep that in mind." Ghost says. There's something about his voice that's off, doesn't feel like it's hitting Soap's ears like it normally does. He looks over to ask him if he's alright. It takes Soap a moment to realise what’s different.

“Ye weren’t lyin. Yer a bonnie bastard beneath the mask.”

He gets a smirk in response, and his heart fuckin clenches with it. He still hadn’t asked what this meant, for them. He suddenly feels vulnerable, naked and tucked into the covers of Ghost’s bunk.

"Eh, sorry for passing out on ye at the end there," Soap mumbles, his ears burning.

Ghost shrugs, "S'fine. Don't mind."

Thre's a quiet, but the buzzing unease under Soap's skin doesn't settle. Just like before, he doesn't know where to put his feet, worried he'll detonate whatever this is between them.

"Do ye want me to leave?" he asks like an idiot.

“Got somewhere to be?” Ghost raises an eyebrow.

"You reckon there's somewhere I should be?" he counters with another question. It's the same dance they've done for years, always toeing the line but neither crossing. Strange to have the feeling after they've fucked like they'd die without it.

Ghost sighs after a moment, and Soap readies himself for the pushback. The return to status quo.

Instead, Ghost grabs him by his chin, holding his gaze steady.

"If I wanted a quick fuck I've got more than enough offers, Johnny. Wouldn't have risked this."

He rests his forehead against Soap's.

Their breaths merge in the space between them,

"Fucking said before, didn't I? Only you." he says softer this time, thumb absently running along Soap's jawline.

It feels like the minefields behind them. Throwing caution to the wind, Soap moves forward and kisses him.

Something in him settles when Ghost's hand shifts from his chin to cup his face, a warm feeling in his chest that burns brighter than pride as he drags his teeth and gets a nip back in retaliation.

It feels just like the normal back and forth in a strange way that makes him laugh, Ghost grumbling a bit.

"Was enjoying that." he murmurs into the crook of Soap's neck.

"Was enjoying not doing missions half mast, but ye ruined that ye fuckin bastard," Soap counters, frowning as he feels Ghost smile against his skin. He shoves him.

"Ye can't be calling me fuckin good boy in front of the others." he says seriously. As much as his blood sings with how good this all feels, he doesn't want it to effect the team, or his ability to do his job.

"I won't." Ghost says, and actually sounds like he means it. 

He pulls Soap close to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pressing his face into his neck. Sleep doesn't make them wait long.

[rotthepoet]

Could I please ask for some smut w Lorenzo & either Theo or Matt?

Where they’re usually real mean to the reader, but one day heard a rumour bout reader being intimate with someone else, and get all possessive saying that he’s theirs and stuff? Basically punishing em for going out with someone else, and readers just confused cause he thought that they hated him??

It’s totally okay if you don’t do this!!!! I’m really sorry if you don’t

–🦙

OMG POOKIE NO NEED TO BE SORRY YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL BRAIN AND THIS IS DELICIOUS‼️‼️‼️I’ve already written a theo/enzo threesome and i’ve been itching for more Mattheo requests so i hope you dont mind me picking Matty 🙏 hope you like this king 🥰

Warnings: Amab!reader(he/him used), Oral, Degradation, mean!lorenzo and mean!mattheo, reader creams his pants oops!

Because why the fuck is Mattheo dragging you out of the Great Hall, Lorenzo coming in hot right behind them. With all the struggling youre doing against Mattheo, trying to tug your arm from his iron grip(because Mattheo is a big, scary dude. Hot. But genuinely intimidating), Lorenzo comes right to your side, hooking his arms under your left arm. Mattheo adjusts his grip and now they are quite literally dragging you down the hallway despite your protest.

You’re thrown onto the bathroom floor, looking up in fear at the two towering men. Mattheo locks the door with the flick of his wand, and Lorenzo grabs you by the collar of your shirt, lifting you up off the ground.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, hm? Trying to make us jealous?” He scowls at you, and by this point youre probably shaking in fear and half in tears.

“Listen- I don’t know what I did but please just— i’ll do anything if you just let me walk out of here.” You plead, but it falls upon deaf ears.

Mattheo stalks towards the two of you, slinking behind you as you turn your head to try and follow his movements. Lorenzo grips your jaw, tugging you back to face him. “Eyes on me, i’m not done with you.” He snaps, and you nod obediently.

Mattheo’s hands untuck your shirt from your pants, and despite the fear coursing through your veins, you cant help but feel pleasant shivers run down your body. When your shirt is untucked, warm, ringed hands run over the soft skin of your stomach, trailing up to your ribs. A soft gasps escapes your lips, and as much as you will it to stop, blood rushes down between your legs.

Lorenzo hasn’t let go of your chin, forcing you to keep direct eye contact with him as Mattheo explores your chest, pressing wet kisses to the side of your neck. What the fuck is happening?

“You think you can just go around with whoever you want? Do you know how embarrassing that is for us? For our boy to be off fucking some nobody?” Lorenzo finally releases your chin, and your head falls slightly right as Mattheo gnaws at the soft skin between your neck and shoulder.

“Our… our boy?” You croak out, head dizzy from the continuous switch ups. Mattheo smirks against your skin, his strong hands groping your waist.

“Yeah… our pathetic boy, all whiney and needy.”

“Thought you…” A pleased sigh slips past your lips as Lorenzos hand starts to unbutton your shirt, and runs his hand from your chest to the hem of your pants, “I thought you hated me…”

Lorenzo scoffed and Mattheo suddenly pressed his hand down on your shoulder, heavy enough to force you down to your knees in front of Lorenzo. “Hate you? Who put that idea into your head?” Mattheo asked, his fingers combing into your hair and tugging on the strands, forcing you to look up as Lorenzo unbuckles his belt, letting the leather fall to the tiled floor.

His fingers worked swiftly, and within seconds his aching, red tip was at your quivering lips. “Think we gotta make sure he knows his place, yeah?” Lorenzo looks up at Mattheo, who forces your head down onto Lorenzo’s tip. Your eyes go wide at the intrusion past your lips, but you cant deny how fucking hot it is.

Their conversation becomes nothing but background noise as Mattheo sets your heads pace, fucking your throat on Lorenzo’s cock. You gag around him, drool flooding from your bruised lips and dripping down your chin. Embarrassingly, on hand reaches down to palm your aching boner, moaning around Lorenzo’s dick. Your other hand reaches up, cupping Enzo’s heavy balls and squeezing gently, eliciting a pornographic groan from his lips.

Tears prick at your eyes as youre forced further down, Enzo’s fat dick hitting the back of your throat while Mattheo holds you down, chuckling as you gag and whine. Lorenzo’s head rolls back as he releases into you, filling your throat with hot seed, so much that it spills past your lips.

Finally, youre pulled off of Lorenzo, eyes half lidded and pants stained from your own premature release. Enzo barely regards you, patting your cheek before he pulls away. You try to stand up again, but a firm hand holds you in place as Mattheo replaces the spot Lorenzo had once stood.

“Where do you think you’re going? You’re not done apologizing yet.”

[robin-the-enby]

Hello!! Could I request some sweeney todd x reader heavy fluff please? thanks!

Marked by an angel

Pairing: Sweeney Todd x gn!reader

Smmary: A chance meeting of two strange people on Fleet street. What started just as part of your job lead you to finding a new friend and perhaps...a lover.

Warnings: hints of murder (it's Sweeney, c'mon), unfair boss/employee dynamic, description of getting robbed and bruises (1 blackeye)

A/N: After what felt like an eternity, I am back! I am so glad I finished this. I was dealing with mental issues, financial struggles, work and uni so I had no time and time or energy to do anything. But I am very happy to post this! Maybe it's not as fluffy as you wanted and for that I am sorry, but I feel like it is as true to the character as possible :) I'll gladly hear your feedback on this piece and all likes, but especially reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! Also, if you'd like to hear some bonus stuff about this oneshot, feel free to shoot me a message!

There are many men in the world. And yet you can't say you've ever met anyone the likes of Mr. Todd.

The quiet barber from Fleet street. With his pale complexion, white streaked hair and dark eyes that held the depths of the ocean that surrounds Britain. He had captured your attention the very first time you made an appointment with him for your boss. The recommendations for his shop floated around your part of town and all the gentlemen could not seem to praise his skills enough.

Your boss had ordered you to find him a new barber, since his old one was ripping him off on money. Not that you blamed the poor bloke, times were tough, prices high and it wasn't like your boss couldn't spare a few pounds, especially since he liked to have his hair and beard trimmed once a month. Luckily, you managed to talk him out of getting the authorities involved, knowing that if the man was to be jailed, it would take a massive toll on his family.

Your job as an errand person, a sort of secretary, was simple enough in theory. You followed your boss around, a businessman dealing in produce from a few farms that he owned in the countryside. All you had to do was carry a notepad and a pencil with you to scribble down tasks that had to be managed and appointments that had to be made or dealt with. But in reality your legs were probably stronger than most people's, with how many steps you walked every day. Even though it wasn't in your job description, you did everything your boss didn't want to, went everywhere he wasn't exactly needed. You swore that the lazy bastard would have you walking to the latrine instead of him, if it were possible.

That was one of the reasons you liked the visits to the barber's, because you got to just sit on a chair by the window for an hour at least, quietly listening to the conversation made between your boss and the man grooming him, only occasionally having to scribble down one thing or another. But ever since your boss started to frequent Mr. Todd's shop, the rest wasn't the only reason accompanying your boss there was enjoyable or you.

Mr. Todd was an enigma. Mostly silent during work and outside of it, you learnt to appreciate the sound of his voice and to study his body language, little quirks that gave off pieces of his personality. The way his eyes flitted around, scanning the face of his customer for any imperfections that needed to be dealt with. His hands were steady, working seemingly without relying on his eyes or even brain, with a level of discipline you haven't seen before in your life. And from time to time, his eyes would flick up to meet yours, for a fraction of a second, before falling back down to your boss, lounging on Mr. Todd's intricate chair. You wondered why it had to be so intricate, compared to other barbers you've seen in your career, but you didn't question it, just as you never questioned the way the man's eyes would inevitably get stuck on your boss' neck every once in a while for some reason that had yet to reveal itself to you.

Maybe it was morbid curiosity or some other strange pull that made you want to find out just what was the cause of the deep emotion swirling behind Sweeney's eyes. The kind of pull that made sure the mysterious barber did not leave your mind for longer than a few hours. So you started to come around to the meat pie shop right under Mr. Todd's. The shop owner, Mrs. Lovett, was a sweet and terribly lonely woman, whose meat pies were, also, quickly gaining popularity around its part of town, and it didn't take long for her to take a shine to you as soon as she recognised you as one of her regulars.

While making a new friend wasn't your primary goal when you started hanging around the pie shop, you didn't mind how Mrs. Lovett warmed up to you. She was a sweet and funny woman, in her own way, and you soon recognised she was also dealing with romantic feelings towards Mr. Todd, as she confided in you one day. These feelings were unreciprocated, as far as you knew, although Sweeney visited the shop every night, coming down to fetch his dinner, for free of course. He usually came around after closing his own shop, sometimes even later, when even Mrs. Lovett closed down for the night. He would walk past you two sharing a glass of wine and exchanged a quiet and smooth, although cold 'good evening', before taking a pie and disappearing upstairs again.

But the longer you kept visiting Mrs. Lovett, the more Sweeney started to notice you. Once in a blue moon he would share a glass of wine with you both as you would more or less listen to Minnie ramble about this and that. After some time, one night, when Sweeney was upstairs and you were spending an evening at the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett told you cheekily that Mr. Todd asked about you, how you and her met and why you were around so much. Despite her mischievous smile you felt as if he was wary of your presence here, which puzzled you, but it did not deter you from wanting to get to know the man more.

In the end, it was him who made the first move, and you didn't even realise until much later. One time, when you were accompanying your boss for his monthly trim, Sweeney suggested that he should come around more often, at least every two weeks, because it would do wonders for his hair and beard health. It was evident your boss had no idea whether that was true or not, so he looked at you for confirmation. You shared a look with the barber, through which you tried to communicate to him that if he was planning to swindle your boss, it would be on your head, but something in those dark eyes of his made you trust him, so you confirmed to your boss that yes, coming to the barber more often would not only be beneficial to his hair, but it would also be good for appearances.

From that point on you got closer with the barber much faster than you could even register. One night, as you were sitting at the table in the pie shop across Minnie, nursing your second glass of wine and venting out frustration from your job, Sweeney came down to get his dinner. Before he left though, he stopped in the door to the kitchen, where the pies were made, and stared at you for a while, gaze calculating, but not as cold as you were used to. With the alcohol flowing through your veins you called him out on it, to which he simply replied "Your hair. It would do good with a trimming." before turning around on his heel and walking out. Mrs. Lovett cursed his lack of etiquette and assured you that you looked fine, although getting a trim wouldn't be a bad idea. She knew that given what your job was, you didn't have much time left to treat yourself.

The next time you accompanied your boss to his barber appointment yet again, Sweeney brought up the subject as your boss left you to pay. "Have you thought about my offer?" You blinked up at him, not knowing for a second what he meant, before his eyes shifted to your hair and you understood what he was implying. Feeling the heat rising to your cheeks, you tried to keep your cool as you asked, just to be sure "You meant that you would trim my hair?" You didn't want your voice to come out as unsure and surprised as it did, but if Sweeney noticed it, and something told you he did, the barber didn't mention it or let it show. He only smirked the slightest bit, making you wonder later if you didn't just imagine it, and replied "Well, at this point I would be offended if the first person you tasked with such a job wasn't me. Or do you deem my skills inadequate?" he raised his brow as he jokingly asked, knowing well what your answer would be. Feeling as hot as a boiled potato, you quickly settled the date of your appointment before you were out the door, so that your boss wouldn't scold you for dilly dallying.

When the day of your appointment came, you felt strangely nervous, your legs slightly shaking as you walked up the stairs to Sweeney's dark shop. For some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling of cattle being herded to a butcher. You chalked it up to your crush making you nervous, but that feeling only intensified when Sweeney positioned the barber chair you had sat on, so that you were half laying down. And yet when he tended to your locks, his touch was soft, quick and precise, never wandering where it didn't need to and leaving as soon as he was done in one area, moving swiftly to another. What came as a surprise to you was that he made small talk with you the entire time you were in that chair. Maybe it was because he sensed your nerves, but maybe not, you really couldn't tell. He asked you where you came from, why were you in London of all places, he even asked about your job and your family. The last topic he brushed upon quickly, which made you suspect it was a tough subject for him, an information you filed away safely in your brain to mull over later.

The last thing he told you when you were done and admiring yourself in the mirror he provided was to not tell Mrs. Lovett who cut your hair. You nodded softly and made your way home, feeling like a brand new person. Although the next time you set foot in the pie shop, Minnie's first question was "Did Mr. Todd cut your hair? It looks wonderful, darling!" You didn't confirm nor deny her rhetoric question, only smiling a bit bashfully before Mrs. Lovett insisted on opening 'the good wine' for the occasion. You didn't mention the fact that he refused to take payment for the service...

And as if that wasn't enough embarrassment in the short amount of time, this night at Minnie's pie shop turned out to have gone on much longer than any other one. Mrs. Lovett insisted you stay a bit longer any time you brought up going home for the night. Her reasoning being that since you finally did something for yourself after what must've been quite a long time in her opinion, you deserved to treat yourself some more, because when would an opportunity like this arise again?

And so you stayed seated in the dimly lit pie shop that smelled of baked meat, the likes of which you have never smelled before, and a mixture of herbs that reminded you of a memory long buried in your mind.

The conversation flowed freely and as the alcohol made its rounds through your bloodstream, your tongue became looser, as well as did Minnie's. She told you how her attempts at wooing Mr. Todd were progressing, or rather, were stagnating, with the man ignoring any and every romantic gesture or hint made towards him by his friend. That brought you to joining her in her admiring words for the handsome barber, leading to many laughs and jokes. Maybe it was because of her tipsy state, but you were surprised Mrs. Lovett took your admission of your crush on her upstairs neighbour better than you expected.

Your conversation then moved elsewhere and you were both so engrossed in it that neither of you heard the quiet footsteps leading to the shop. Sweeney's brows rose a little as he opened the door to a peculiar sight. The two people he had allowed closer to himself than anyone else since his return to London were sitting huddled at a table, which wouldn't have been that unusual, if it wasn't for the nearly empty bottle of old and undoubtedly strong wine. Both of your glasses were somewhat filled, the precious liquid spilled here and there in small amounts on the table. If Sweeney wasn't such a gentleman, despite his cold and often ruthless heart, he would say you were drunk. And not just a little bit.

Announcing his presence with a gruff cough, both your and Mrs. Lovett's heads snapped around to face him and he fought the small smirk that grew on his face at the sight. "Mr. Todd! We haven't even noticed you were here!" Minnie quickly addressed him with her signature friendliness. You stayed silent, instead opting to just admire the way Mr. Todd looked in the dim lighting in the shop. You felt you were seeing him completely differently than the other nights you spent there. His eyes reflected the light, making them look even more mysterious and alluring than usual and his normally pale face seemed more livelier. You would have spoken up, offered him some wine, but suddenly, being brought out so suddenly from your conversation with Minnie, your tongue felt big in your mouth, the weight of lead and you just did not have the energy to move it. Or open your mouth for that matter. Somewhere in the back of your mind crossed a thought that maybe you have had a bit too much to drink.

"It is quite late, I am surprised to catch you awake." Mr. Todd pointed out in a neutral tone, despite the playful mirth he was feeling. "Oh but the same could be said about you, Mr. Todd." Mrs. Lovett retaliated cheekily "Besides, we have a good reason to drink into the night! It is my friend's birthday, after all." she announced with an air of pride. You blinked at her a few times, not knowing where she had gotten that information from, because you were pretty sure today was not your birthday at all. Perhaps Minnie has forgotten the reason you were celebrating altogether and her drunken mind just made up a reason on the spot. As you were pondering when actually was your birthday, Mr. Todd spoke up again "Is that so? Well in that case-" and in a few strides he was at yours and Mrs. Lovett's table. He grabbed her half full glass of wine and before you could start wondering if it wasn't half empty, he raised it, grabbing your hand. "Happy birthday." he smiled slightly while you stood up, because you were being congratulated and you didn't want to appear rude, even though there wasn't actually a reason to congratulate you. Mr. Todd downed his, previously Minnie's, glass in one gulp before setting it down again.

Turning to Mrs. Lovett, he addressed her "I need to discuss something with you." he then turned his attention towards you "But it seems there is a more pressing matter at hand." he smirked as he gave you a once over. You felt your cheeks flush, knowing he was right. Standing up was the last straw before your alcohol fueled downfall. You were barely standing, your body swaying side to side slightly to keep itself balanced. Mrs. Lovett studied you for a while as well, before standing, with only a slightly lesser difficulty than you. "Oh I'm so sorry, dear, it seems that I have gone overboard with the drinks." she apologised and you couldn't help but smile softly at her sad tone. "'S alright, Minnie. 'M not mad." you shook your head with a small smile "I best be off though..." mumbling to yourself, you bid your friend a goodnight, not really paying attention to Sweeney, assuming he was waiting for you to leave so that he could discuss whatever it was with his neighbour.

Stumbling away from the table, you were surprised when a hand gripped your upper arm, supporting your weight and grounding your otherwise spinning world. Tracing the arm the hand was attached to with your eyes, you found Sweeney's already looking at your face. You said nothing, in the case that he only supported you in your struggle to weave through the tables in the shop, but as he continued to lead you out of the old building, Mrs. Lovett having gone in the back already, you were confused by this act of chivalry. Not that you took Mr. Todd for a brute, you just didn't expect such a gesture aimed at...yourself. The fact that this was also the first time he has touched you in any way while not necessarily needing so, unlike when he gave you your haircut, did not help your inebriated mind from running wild with conspiracies.

The crisp night air helped clear your head a little bit and you gulped it greedily with deep breaths when you walked out, arm in hand, with the barber. He stood, patiently, right next to you, his secure, but not tight grip on your arm never faltering. If he noticed how you took your sweet time collecting yourself, he didn't mention it, his eyes instead trained on the silver moon hanging in the sky like a lamp, blurred slightly by the infamous London fog. When he sensed you move more into the street, however, he tugged you back towards him slightly, as if he could not let you stray far.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone devoid of emotion and yet his eyes shone in a particular way that you couldn't exactly put a finger on in your state. The smirk that once rested on his handsome face was gone and you were perhaps more confused than before. "Home?" you half answered, half asked, unsure of what was the problem. Mr. Todd shook his head sternly "I cannot send you home alone at this time of day and retain a sound mind." he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. You couldn't help but laugh at his statement. Where were you supposed to sleep then? Inside the shop? Sliding your arm out of his grip, you grabbed your stomach, your laughter gaining in volume, making you double over. "Oh, you're funny, Mr. Todd!" you wheezed, not caring the man you were addressing was looking at your drunken self with a completely neutral expression, not understanding in the slightest what was so funny "I have to go home! Where else would you have me spend the night?" you asked when you caught your breath, your laughter simmering down into tired giggles. Drunk laughing was hard, but really fun at the same time, you thought.

Sweeney reached out to take your arm again, turning you around to face the stairs like a puppet and started leading you to his home. "You can spend the night upstairs. If I sent you home, alone, you're sure to get robbed...or worse." his voice was cold and harsh and yet you had the sense this sudden change of tone was not due to anything you said. Not taking any chances, just in case, you kept your mouth shut and let him lead you up the stairs while you could feel your face heat up. It felt awfully wrong to just...invade his space like that. If there's one thing you learned about Sweeney, and let's be honest, there weren't many to choose from, it was that he was a very private person. At the same time, he invited you here. If he didn't want you in his space, he could've just let you stay downstairs with Minnie, she would take good enough care of you without a doubt. But what did all this mean?

You said nothing else as you let the barber move you along, much like a puppet, while trying to focus on every confusing thought and feeling that ran through your head. But your energy was quickly dwindling and you couldn't help but to succumb to sleep as soon as our head hit the pillow.

Regaining consciousness again was...unpleasant, to say the least. The first thing you registered was rain. Not very unusual for London though. The next thing was a piercing headache, that threatened to split your skull in two. Groaning, you flipped over in bed. That's when you noticed the smell. This didn't smell like your sheets... Slowly, but surely, the events of the previous night came back to you, even the less than appropriate ending of it. Blinking open your eyes, you let yourself get adjusted to the lighting of the room, before taking a look around. You were, in fact, in Mr. Todd's small abode and you were very probably in his bed too. You could feel heat creeping up your neck as you registered the all too familiar objects of the barber shop, now from a brand new perspective. There was the barber chair, as ominous as ever, the normal chair to the side, where you usually sat, now occupied by the master of the house.

Polishing and sharpening his blades, Sweeney sat by the window, seemingly uninterested and unbothered by basically a stranger waking up in his bed. His unwavering focus was only on his blades, a focus so intense it would send shivers down your spine, if you weren't so engrossed in your own embarrassment. Only when you began to sit up, your arms threatening to give out underneath you, did the barber tear his gaze away from his tools. You tried to get up to your feet as quickly as you could, manners all but forgotten, your only desire was to get out and never return to Mr. Todd's barber shop or Mrs. Lovett's meat pie establishment ever again. But your knees were wobbly and you felt in your body like a newborn fawn, so your quick escape proved to be harder than you thought.

Sweeney looked at you inquisitively and it seemed like he wanted to say something, but you beat him to it, the thought of anything he could and probably would have said making bile rise in your throat. Fighting the nausea, you pushed yourself off the bed and lightly stumbled before standing in front of the barber. "I am so sorry for what transpired yesterday, Mr. Todd." you apologised first and foremost after clearing your throat "You should not have had to witness any of that." looking awkwardly to the side, you continued "However I am very grateful for everything you have done for me yesterday." And with those last words, you bee lined it for the door, only briefly noticing the 'closed' sign on the door that should have been turned around probably hours ago. It wasn't until you were in the middle of the journey home that you realised you didn't even know what time it was, nor did you at least have the decency to make up the bed after you have slept in it. Which brought forth a question...Where did Mr. Todd sleep? There didn't seem to be another sleeping area nor any kind of furniture suitable for such activity in his living/working quarters. You weren't sure what made you blush more, the possibility that you shared a bed or the possibility that he stayed awake somewhere in the same space as you were the whole night. Both seemed strangely...intimate.

For the next few weeks, you avoided Fleet street like the plague. Luckily for you, your boss wasn't in need of a trim anytime soon, even though you did convince him to visit the barber's more than he did previously. But whenever you thought about the mysterious gentleman residing above the pie shop, hot embarrassment flowed through your body like lightning. And so you didn't remind your boss to upkeep his appearance and as usual, the big oaf wouldn't think of such thing himself. He had money, so what if he looked a bit disheveled? Everybody was saving up on everything they could, the rich and poor alike.

Mrs. Lovett was especially vocal about your absence. She worried that she really did offend you or did you wrong somehow during that a bit too wild night. Whenever Sweeney would appear in the shop to fetch his meal, she would bombard him with questions, if he had any news of you, your whereabouts, your wellbeing, or whether your boss' appointment was coming up anytime soon. She regretted now never asking for your address, with how much she'd come to like you in the time you've spent together. You brought a normalcy to her life that she's dreamed of oh so much.

And while Sweeney wasn't pretty much vocal at all towards your sudden absence, when he closed down for the day and looked out of his window, overlooking the grey London sky and dark and gloomy rooftops, he wondered where you could possibly be. What were you doing? Were you alright?

You had came into the vengeful barber's life unexpectedly and while at first Minnie's obsession with you irritated him, making his goals, his work, that much more dangerous, he couldn't help but notice your good nature. Not only towards his neighbour, even though with how strange the woman could be it was surprising in itself, but towards him, even towards your boss. It wasn't that you were naive, no, he could see in your eyes that you knew exactly how cruel and unjust this world was, and yet you still chose to be kind. Despite all the hardships he knew you were dealt by destiny, no, by other people, the biggest monsters on this earth, you still remained with your heart open to others. And he admired that. Your presence on Fleet street was like a beacon of clean light in the constant grey fog, when he sometimes glanced at the street below him and you happened to be there, he always recognized you, as if you shone more brightly than others.

The lonely man spent many a night pondering on what was it that made you occupy his mind so much, what made you so special. He still loved his wife, and his daughter, wherever she may be, that much he knew. But sometimes...sometimes when he looked at you, your face, as you were laughing with Mrs. Lovett about this or that, he could see her smile. And it was so reassuring, as if Lucy herself was sending her mark upon you, signaling to him that you were someone he needed to protect. And when he came to terms with this revelation, he swore to himself that that was exactly what he was going to do.

So of course it was no problem for him to let you spend a night in his bed. He found your drunken antics and your embarrassment the next morning quite endearing. If you would've paid more attention to him and your surroundings that morning, you would've noticed the small smirk on his face as he watched you clumsily apologize, even though he saw no reason for it. And you would've noticed the two cups of coffee, along with some painkillers standing prepared on the table near the bed. But Sweeney didn't think his actions would've driven you away from him and Mrs. Lovett like that. He knew there was nothing that he could do except wait for you to come back, although he didn't like the idea of something happening to you without him knowing it, being able to prevent it. And he didn't even want to think about the scenario that you would never be back. He saw the way you looked at him, studied him, the confusion in your eyes from the way he behaved so often and now he wanted nothing more than to tell you everything and sort things out. Even if he wasn't sure how exactly to do that. Benjamin was good with words, but Sweeney? Sweeney was all about action, because unlike Benjamin, Sweeney Todd knew just how little weight words could hold in the world.

It didn't take long for you to start missing Fleet street, with your two favourite residents, Mrs. Lovett and Mr. Todd. You contemplated when should you pay them a visit and how you would explain your avoidance of them, until after one night, when that became irrelevant.

It happened in the evening. You were let go from work for the day and while you were on your way home, thinking mostly about whether you had any leftovers from yesterday or if you had to cook dinner from scratch and not paying much attention to your surroundings, when you were jumped. Two men, none of which you knew, cornered you against a wall of a building along which you were walking, asking for some money. You, not wanting any more trouble than necessary, pulled out your pouch, where you kept all the change you needed, but it wasn't enough for whatever they were planning. With two figures towering at least a good head above from you, demanding you do what they say, you didn't dare look them directly in their faces, so you knew little of what they looked like. But they smelled awful and faintly of fish. When they asked to show them what more you had in your bag, yo asked them to leave you be, that you've already given them everything important you had on you. That proved to be a mistake, since one of them grabbed you roughly by the arms from behind, while the other ripped your bag from your hands and turned it upside down. You struggled to get away from the bastard's bruising grip and started calling out for help, which was another mistake. The guy that was going through your things, most of which were only daily necessities, such as your keys and whatnot, suddenly sprung up and hit you in the face, gruffly telling you to shut up, if you valued your life. It was at that point you noticed his voice was slightly slurred.

Luckily, an officer must've been patrolling nearby, or someone must've taken pity on you and called him over, it wasn't that late in the evening after all, because as soon as you heard the distinct sound of a bobby whistle, the first guy let you go while the second one hastily grabbed your notebook and both of them booked it down the street, weaving through the city's intricate alleyways. The officer quickly asked what happened and told you to stay put while he chased after them. But it wasn't even five minutes before he was back, informing you that he lost them and he asked you to accompany him to the police station to give a statement on what happened and they would see what could be done.

The next day, you showed up to work with a nasty looking black eye, without your notebook or a single penny. The police officers told you that with the limited description you provided they weren't sure how much could be done. After telling your boss what happened, he surprisingly took the matter quite seriously. Not only did you write down ever single appointment he needed to attend to in your notebook, but some quite serious and important information, codes to safes, finance tracking, different information having to do with sales and so on. He asked what police station you went to yesterday and said he would get in touch with the officers, since it wasn't impossible that the attack wasn't planned ahead and the notebook was exactly what someone was after. You didn't need or want to know anything more than that. Your boss also gave you two weeks off, to let your eye heal, commenting how it would seem weird if you accompanied him looking like that and he didn't need any more rumors being spread about him, like physically abusing his personnel. He gave you your money back, saying it was going from your next paycheck until the police got your original money back, plus some more to buy a new notebook. As incompetent as he could sometimes be, he was still a businessman, and even though his motivation for these choices was questionable, you were still glad he made them.

As soon as you were outside again, your legs immediately took you in the direction of Fleet street. Still quite shaken up after the incident, the thing you needed the most at that moment was a friend and something told you Minnie would not turn you down.

And you were not mistaken. As you took a step inside the pie shop, Mrs. Lovett's arms were around you, her worried and apologetic rambling reaching your ears as soon as they got used to the buzz of the busy establishment. As soon as the woman pulled away from you, her relieved expression turned to one of shock as she carefully cradled your cheek where the bruise was, asking "What in god's name happened?" Immediately she brought you to the back of the shop and fetched the cleanest rag, which was then promptly soaked in cold water, so that you could relieve some of the ache of the black eye. And she had you remain there until closing, spending her time between serving customers and preparing pies chatting with you. She informed you that she wasn't mad about your sudden disappearance, that she was just very worried and then she promptly asked you your address "In case you want to pull something on me like that again." she reasoned with a cheeky smile.

After Minnie closed down in the evening, you both could sit uninterrupted in the main area, with the businesswoman cleaning up here and there and re-wetting your rag. Anytime you tried to offer her help as a thank you, she would just sternly order you to sit back down and not even think about work, since you've been given 'a sick leave'. Just as she was done with cleaning and was about to head out to get rid of the dirty water, a person you were still dreading to meet walked into the room. You immediately knew who it was by the way Mrs. Lovett's eyes brightened, her face blooming into one of sweet happiness as she cooed out a greeting "Oh, Mr. Todd! Look who decided to join us today! Poor thing got mugged yesterday, can you believe it?" she shook her head, carrying her bucket out the door "So nice of you to join us, there are some pies hidden in the oven in the back for you!" she called behind her as the door clicked close after her.

There was nothing for you to do but turn around, your face heating up again, only praying Mr. Todd wouldn't pay attention to it. But to your slight surprise, he only stared intently at the black eye adorning your face, like a joke of a monocle the more posh men liked to wear when out and about. With a few quick strides, the barber was next to you, his hand under your chin, tipping your head upwards, so he could assess your wound better under the light. His face was contorted into a frown, but his eyes were nothing but gentle as he murmured "Who did this to you?" His voice was ice cold, but somehow you knew you didn't need to be scared. "I don't know." you whispered "The police are after them now." You both said nothing as you only continued to study each other.

When the sound of a door being opened could be heard, Sweeney gently let go of your chin and took a step back from you, but not quite leaving your side. Mrs. Lovett trotted happily back into the room, taking the seat across from you and looking up at her neighbour, she patted the chair beside hers. Not waiting for him to comply, which was good, because Sweeney did not move an inch from where he stood, she asked you, her expression concerned "Darling, do you think it'll be okay for you to walk home alone at this hour?"

Looking out of the window, you saw the street was getting dark. It would not take much more time for night to completely settle over the city. You felt so safe and comfortable, that you completely forgot about the passage of time. Surely there will be little to no people out at this hour. And those who will be outside roaming the streets are definitely not the kind of people you want to associate yourself with. And while you had no problem walking on the bring of darkness alone before, after yesterday's events, you couldn't help the cold shiver that ran down your back at the thought of the many alleyways you'd have to pass before getting home.

Seeing your hesitance, Mrs. Lovett placed her hand softly on yours "It's alright, love. You can stay here for the night! I'm sure there's plenty of room for one more person in the house." her smile was so reassuring, you couldn't help your own taking over your face. But you shook your head "As much as I appreciate your offer, I have to go home. The officers might need me for more questionings, it's best I don't stay out of the house too long." you explained with a small smile and got up from your chair. Surprisingly, it was Sweeney who spoke next "I'll walk you home. If you wouldn't mind, that is." he offered, his eyes flickering between your face and the table during the latter part. "Oh, Mr. Todd! Such a gentleman!" Minnie squealed adoringly, standing up as well "Trust me, love, with Mr. Todd, you're in good hands." something about the way she looked at the barber when she said that made you feel strange, but you had no reason not to believe her or the quiet man standing beside you. So you nodded and looked towards the window again "Best we head off though, I wouldn't want you to have to return when it's completely dark." you muttered, more to yourself and then looked at your companion for confirmation. The dangerous glint you caught flashing through his eyes made you shiver again, but you ignored it.

After hugging Mrs. Lovett goodbye, you were on your way. The first few minutes passed in complete silence, you had no idea what to say and Mr. Todd wasn't one for many words. Sighing, you decide to be the one to break the ice "I...I'm sorry, once again, Mr. Todd. For running out on you like that. You've done so much for me and I repaid you horribly." your gaze was set on the stone path as you apologised. For a while, the barber said nothing, which did not help your nerves at all. "Sweeney." That was the only thing he said. You whipped your head around to look at him, your mouth hanging agape in confusion. "I'm sorry?" Sweeney then looked at you, a single chuckle escaping his chest through his smirking lips. In the dim night lights of the London street, he looked possibly more attractive than ever before. "My name. I feel like we don't have to keep up such formalities, since you've spent a night in my bed already."

You couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, your face heating up. "You make it sound like something much more serious." you pouted. He chuckled again. This was the most you've heard him talk or just express himself in any way since you've known him. "And it wasn't? I don't let just anyone into my bed, you know." It was clear as day he was enjoying this. But his words held an underlying meaning, one which was much more deeper than the lighthearted teasing. Sweeney slowed into a stop and you followed suit beside him. The last street lamp was now behind him, leaving his face covered mostly in shadows. And yet you could see his eyes, vulnerable in a way he probably hasn't been in a long, long time, you could feel his intense gaze on your face, studying your every small reaction. "What are you saying?" you breathed out, your heart in your throat. Sweeney took a step closer "What I'm saying is that you've grown to be quite important to me. After that night..." he stopped, searching for the right words to continue "I realised many things. And I've realised...that I want to keep you close. To protect you. To know you and to allow myself to be known by you. If you'll let me, that is." and he slowly reached for your hand, holding it in both of his oh so gently. "Do you deem me worthy of knowing your heart? Your soul?"

You could feel your breath hitch in your throat as you were overwhelmed by sudden conflicting emotions. But the one that stood out from all of them was... "As long as you'll deem me worthy of knowing yours." you replied in almost a whisper. And with those words, that one sentence, it was as if the tension in the air disappeared all at once. Sweeney stood beside you once more, this time offering you his arm to take and after you've linked your arm through his, he continued to escort you home. Not just as an acquaintance, not as a friend...but perhaps not yet as a lover. But there was time for all of that. Right now, there was the chilly London night air, you and him. And you could figure out the details, such as breaking the news to Minnie, or discovering why exactly there was a trapdoor behind the barber chair, some other time. Tonight was just for you.

[loonybun]

Check Up

hi. guess who wrote. aren’t you proud. anyways these are like. my favorite ocs. if you’ve known me for very long you know i will never shut up about them ever and have character blogs because god they’re in my brain constantly

contains: med whump/lab whump (not sure which this would classify as. sort of in the middle there.), creepy/intimate carewhumper, doctor whumper, does vian deserve his own mention here yeah he’s a warning all by himself, condescension, restraints, recapture, former living weapon whumpee, magical/sci-fi setting, references to addition and drugs, mentions of brainwashing and memory erasure, betrayal, needles, implied self harm, self harm being weaponized.

i think that’s all but let me know if i’m missing something. this one’s a bit of a doozey. fun for the whole family.

——————————————————

“You look like you slept well.”

He was barely even awake. The room felt like it was spinning, the all too familiar fluorescent lights inducing a dizzying nausea.

The shock of the cold metal on his back forced him into reality. Shit. This was happening. There wasn’t any way out of it. Not an obvious one, anyways.

Koi’s eyes drifted back over to the doctor, who greeted him with a soft smile. Right. Why was he here? Why didn’t he have—

“I took off that little cuff of yours, hopefully you don’t mind. I’ll probably have to answer for that later, but oh well. I figured you’d want to enjoy your last few moments of lucidity.” He murmured, pity crossing his face. “I know you’re not really capable of what they think you are. Poor thing. They think you’re a killing machine! A terrorist! It’s a little funny, actually. I mean, you’re…”

His eyes trailed over Koi for a brief moment. “…Harmless. Completely harmless like this.”

“—I mean, I’m not a big fan of killing people. Kind of why I was trying to avoid this place.”

“Yes, yes, and that’s exactly my point. I guess capable isn’t the right word, is it? I mean, you’ve done it before. I suppose what I’m trying to insinuate is that you’re just unfit to be the monster they’re going to try to break you into.” The doctor hummed, gently ruffling his hair.

“…It’s nice to see you again, by the way. I really did miss you. I know we were never close, but— You were always one of my favorites.”

Koi scoffed. “Enough of a favorite to let out of these restraints? C’mon, it’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

“…You know I can’t, Koi.”

“…Right.” He went quiet for a moment, letting the air grow heavy. Well, might as well rip the bandaid off. “So uh… What are they gonna do?”

And just like that, he was back to his giddy state. “Oh— Yes, I forgot, you like it when I explain these things.”

“You’re uh, not annoyed by it, right? I know a lot of the scientists were and uh—“

“No, no! Not at all. I appreciate your enthusiasm. I always have. People here are just so incredibly impatient.”

“…Oh, uh, thanks. Alright, then yeah, give me the rundown.” Koi already had a good idea about what was going to happen next. They’d throw him in a nice, big cell, give him the whole “You have a purpose here” spiel, and then keep him in there until he either gave in or escaped— not like the former would ever happen.

Vian’s eyes seemed to sparkle as he began to explain. “Well, you see, we figured that since you’re going to be here for a while, we might as well work out that little… Issue… With your magic.”

“And then they’ll expect me to join ‘em again?”

“…Well— Actually, you won’t have much of a say in the matter. They’re planning on wiping your memories. It’ll be like your little runaway incident never happened. You won’t remember the experiments either, of course. None of those silly traumatic things.”

Shit.

“Until then, I’m supposed to keep you hooked up to an IV containing a drug I’ve developed. Just something to keep your mind in more of an agreeable state. You won’t lose your ability to think, of course, you’ll just… Struggle with comprehending those thoughts. I like to say it’s like water slipping through cracks— Nicer imagery leads to a much less stressful experience.” Vian smiled cheerfully, giving Koi a little pat on the head.

He felt sick. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. “—Wait, wait, wait. Can’t we talk this out? I mean— You don’t really want me to lose my memory, right?— What about— What about my friends? My life?”

At that, the doctor chuckled. “Koi, we should really move on with the examination. I have a job to do… Maybe if you’re good, we can talk a little more about your options afterwards.”

Despite the bile in his throat, Koi nodded. Maybe there was a chance that the doctor would take pity on him. He just had to get through this.

Vian lifted up the thin sleeve of his hospital gown, staring down his arm while he fixed a cuff on his shoulder.

“…Now, I know we didn’t give those to you.”

“What?”

“Those scars.” Vian traced a cold finger along one of the countless cuts lined over the withered skin. “Those are new. Lined up so poorly as well. Goodness, you really haven’t been doing well for yourself, have you?”

Koi shot him a small glare that quickly faded into something a little more pitiful. He had to remember what was at risk if he fucked this up.

“Yeah, well, what can I say? Apparently having a guilty conscience has consequences.”

The doctor’s eyes flickered with mild amusement. It was an unsettling look on him.

“We both know that’s not what this is.”

“Didn’t you say you had a job to do?”

The pressure on his arm began to increase, then released all at once. The cuff went off just as quickly as it had been strapped on. Vian stared at the readings for a brief moment, then looked back at his patient.

“And who are you to say that a wellness check wouldn’t be part of it? I won’t tell, I promise. Now, you were always good with needles. Are you alright if I draw some blood?”

Koi nodded hesitantly. It would be better not to argue with the only person who might be willing to lend a hand to him. He wasn’t that stupid. It’s not like he had many other options.

The needle sank into his skin, and he reflexively let go of the tension in his body. He could have sworn he saw Vian smile at that.

“Good. You’ve always so good with these things. I believe that’s most of what I needed— We’ll do a drug test too, just to be sure. You’d be surprised hearing all of the rumors some of the scouts have come up with about you. Meaningless gossip, really. They claim you’re some worthless street junkie now.” Vian hummed, brushing Koi’s bangs out of his face. “Then again, I wouldn’t be totally surprised. You’ve been hung out to dry. We can lose ourselves, sometimes.”

He couldn’t help but lean into the soft touch. If it weren’t for the backhanded conversation, he probably would have felt genuinely relaxed.

“Yeah, right. I’ve totally got the spare change to shell out for that.”

“Mhm... Like I said, meaningless gossip.”

He needed to break the silence in the air. He could practically feel Vian’s gaze on him. Cold and scrutinizing. “Well, uh, is that all you needed me for?”

“Oh— Yes, we should be done for now. You said you wanted to talk about your options, didn’t you? This would also be a decent time to ask me any extra questions.” The doctor snapped his eyes back to focus, a smile quickly reappearing on his face.

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds good. Uh, so is there any way I can convince you to help me? I mean, I know we were never friends, but—“

“You’d like to be. I know.” He didn’t even let him finish. “You mentioned that once. It stuck with me for a while… I think I’d like that too. You’re one of the few people I can actually tolerate here.”

“So uh… You’re willing to get me outta here?”

Vian’s eyes narrowed, and his grin faltered. “…Well—“

“Well what?” He snapped.

“You don't really have options here, Koi. Let’s just think about this for a moment. I could let you go right now, send you on your way back home… And for what? For you to be miserable the rest of your life? To keep this up?” He gestured towards the lines across his arm. “You lived in a rotting shed. If anything, keeping you here is a favor.”

His blood ran cold.

“You can’t be fucking serious— Vian, please— I… I can’t stay here. They’re gonna make me hurt people. I can’t do that again.”

Vian’s sympathetic expression was looking faker by the minute. He ruffled his hair, earning him a desperate expression. “…Oh, yes you can. The war’s been over for quite some time. It’s not like you’d be used very often anyways. Don’t you want to feel like a hero again? Didn’t you like that?”

Koi began struggling against the metal bands holding him down to the table, desperately thrashing back and forth. “I— I won’t forgive you if you do this. You know that, right?! Didn’t you say you wanted to be friends?”

“I did. And I still mean it. You’ll soon find that you won’t remember any of this, and you’ll be more than happy to spend time with me.” He hummed. “Let’s be honest, sending you back would be plainly unethical! It’d go against my oath. You’d have a fresh start here… There’s really not a downside.”

“Stop— Please—“

“…I think it’s about time to hook you up to that IV. Thank you for your time, though. I can’t wait to get to know each other all over again.”

[undertheopensky]

Forging Tired

Whumptober Day 26: Working To Exhaustion

Characters: Four, Blue, Sky

Trigger warnings: None

Read on Ao3!

---

Sky doesn’t realise it until after dinner, but Four hasn’t banked the forge fires.

“I’m not done yet,” Four waves at the admittedly intimidating pile of repair work yet to be done. A couple of plates from Time’s armour probably need to be replaced entirely, they have such large holes in them.

“It’s getting real late. Don’t stay up too much longer, you need to get some sleep.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Body’s not tired.” Four flexes one arm and gives him a grin that looks so much like Wind Sky’s eyes cross.

“Maybe not,” they sure hadn’t done much physical stuff today, just run around the village resupplying and gathering information, “but your brain still needs rest.”

This time Four snorts. “The brain is fast asleep, but that’s okay, we don’t need it for this.”

No one asks any more why Four sometimes refers to himself in the third person or plural. At best, he’ll pretend you didn’t say anything, and at worst, he’ll look at you like you’re the strange one. The closest they’ve gotten to an explanation is an offhanded, sympathetic “Yeah, we get it,” when Time first told them to stop asking about his timekeeping, because it was a holdover from a quest too traumatic to describe.

So, slightly weird, probably a Quest Thing, doesn’t seem to affect him day-to-day.

That said Sky’s a little concerned about him working with hot metal with his brain asleep.

“Are you sure? We can wait another day or two before setting out, I’m sure Time won’t mind. We don’t want you exhausting yourself over this.”

Four makes a rude noise, which is out of character enough Sky blinks. “I think I know my limits well enough, featherhead. Besides, forging’s not that hard. I wanna take advantage of actually having all my damn equipment for once, and goddess knows we probably won’t be here long. Our shit needs a lot of maintenance done. Don’t worry about the noise. The forge’s been soundproofed since we were little. Go away and sleep, featherhead, you need it more than us.”

He shoos Sky from the forge, polite but implacably firm.

Sky can’t exactly argue. Four is the smith here, and he knows himself best. If he says it’s fine, Sky will just have to believe him.

And as promised, as soon as the heavy door swings closed, the sounds of the forge muffle to almost nothing.

---

With Sky finally gone, Blue feels the tension ease out of him. Finally, some peace and quiet. He loves his brothers, and he supposes the heroes they’re travelling with aren’t TOO bad, but sometimes he just needs time alone in the quiet with his own thoughts and his own projects. There’s not a lot of privacy on the open road, or in a head crammed full of four distinct people.

Vio struggles with it, too, Blue knows, as he sets up the next few pieces of metal to heat and shovels fresh coke into the fire. But unlike Blue, the nerd is soothed by late nights spent reading or taking the darkest hours of watch, where Blue needs to do things to calm the itch in his brain. Armour and weapons maintenance is great for that - but it’s not always quiet. And waking everyone up with his activities would very much defeat the point.

Then, once he’s got things set up, Blue sits down at the bench with pliers and wire.

The worst thing about Sky’s mail is that the links are an eighth of an inch larger than standard - than literally everyone else’s. Blue had had to make a winding rod specifically for his damn mail, and has to double check every time before starting repairs to make sure he’s pulling from the right patch of spares.

If he had more time, he’d just make him a mail shirt from normal links. Standardise them across the board, and improve Sky’s resistance to piercing claws. But he doesn’t - they don’t - and besides that when this is all over Sky will be going back to his home in the clouds with its stupid mail measurements and its barely-there monster attacks and he’ll have no use for the close-set rings of modern mail and they’ll never see him again -

The forge fires burn hot enough that Blue can pretend it’s the air making his eyes sting.

Mending mail is busywork, stuff to keep his hands occupied while he waits for things to heat. It needs doing, and if he does it here then he can rivet the rings shut properly instead of the temporary road fixes (shit he needs to check Twilight’s mail he knows he put in a patch at one point but doesn’t remember riveting it in, need to do that before they leave) but some things can only be done at the forge. Like the plates of steel he’s got resting to the side, waiting to be turned into a new piece of Time’s armour.

He should probably get started on that actually so Blue puts aside the mail and reaches for his tongs. A lot of this is just shaping, forming the metal to the exact dimensions and curvature of Time’s body, and then adding buckle straps and point anchors so it can actually be attached. This is the loud part, metal-on-metal ringing and echoing in the enclosed stone room and making his vision swim just a little. He has to pause to blink it away. Does his head actually hurt, or is it just more echoes from the hammer?

Doesn’t matter; he’s got work to do. Blue checks the first piece for fit and moves on to the second; best to get this heavy work done before he gets tired. Working the steel cold takes more effort, but makes it less brittle in the end. Kind of important, that the metal sheets guarding someone’s body don’t shatter under a stiff blow, turning them from a defense into a hazard. You can get away with working horseshoes and stuff like metal fittings hot and then quenching them down, but it’s not worth it with plate armour.

Once he’s got the base curve in place, he checks the lines he drew earlier before his vision started to wobble, then hunts down the blunted chisel he needs. This is the fiddly bit. Blue sets the metal down on the wooden block with the groove specifically for this task, lining it up with the drawn lines, and starts hammering out the ridges.

It’s time-consuming, but the raised metal redirects weapons to less vulnerable points. Blue’s seen a sword swing into an arm then slide off into empty air, instead of an armpit or elbow, because of these ridges. They’re useful.

Time didn’t have any, originally. And while he can’t say for sure - Blue suspects that if he’d had them on his armour that first time a moblin got the jump on him, its spear wouldn’t have slid past the plates into his side quite so easily.

Four’s been quietly upgrading it piece by piece ever since.

The vambrace is harder, more of a curve to force the steel into, but he’s long practised at getting stubborn materials to cooperate. Once it’s done, and added to the pile he’s making of Time’s shit, he pulls the pattern steel Red had spent all day folding and forge welding from the fire. Already the basic shape of it is there: the tapered tip, the length of the blade, the narrow throat and tang. Once it’s finished, it’ll be a dagger for Hyrule. His current one has been sharpened so many times it’s thin enough to use as a lockpick, and they want him to have something good-quality to replace it, something that will last him.

(Will last him beyond this time of portals and black blood, because getting new equipment in his time is so, so difficult and they never want him to go without ever again, and one knife isn’t much in the grand scheme of things but it’s something they can do, and they’ll do their goddess-damn best work on it for him.)

It still needs some more shaping before it’s ready to go under the whetstone, though, so Blue tucks it back in the fire and picks up Wind’s knife, the one with the loose hilt. How the sailor expects to get anything done when he has to hold his entire hand at right angles to keep the thing straight Blue doesn’t know. Apparently he’d been stuffing it with fabric scraps to stabilise it, which, great, now Blue has to dig them all out before he can decide if the hilt is at all salvageable.

It doesn’t help that his fingers are a little shaky. Shit. Maybe he needs a water break.

He sets the dubiously-fixable knife aside while he drinks. He doesn’t feel thirsty. Dry-eyed, maybe, and his throat aches from the forge air, but the water doesn’t really help. Still, hydration’s important.

A sudden clank makes Blue drop his cup, water scattering on the floor as he spins. The fire flares - oh. A coal had - split, or settled, and the still-dull blade of Hyrule’s dagger had shifted and struck the edge. It looks about ready to go again anyway, so Blue grabs it - with tongs! He’s not an idiot! - and starts hammering an edge into it.

As the blade flattens out and becomes more knife than bar of metal Blue takes care to bevel off both edges neatly. He flips it, to make sure he gets both sides, then flips it again to even it out. He wants the balance on this thing perfect, and if it takes a bit of fiddling, all the better. That way he knows it’s good. Blue holds it up, eyeing the straightness of the blade from the side, and then down the length of it, and nods to himself, moving to set it. Good. He’ll let it cool a little before heating it again, and -

Blue stumbles. The blade clangs down on the bench he’d meant to set it on gently, spinning away from the tongs and fortunately not hitting any part of him with the still red-hot metal. Fuck, he’d forgotten to pick up his cup. It’s a good thing it’s so hot in here that all the water evaporated off or he might have slipped. Fuck.

He checks the blade - fuck, he dinged it - puts it back in the fire, then picks up his cup to set it back beside the water barrel. The metal handle is painfully hot under his fingers. Although - he could do with more water. His eyes are stinging again.

Blue drinks, long and slow. The water tastes metallic, or maybe that’s just the forge air coating his tongue. It settles uneasily. Doesn’t matter - his stomach will get over it.

He fixes the dent made when he dropped the half-made dagger, hammering until metal fills the gap and then hammering it out even again to repair the edge. He also spends more time carefully squinting at it to make sure it’s still straight, so long that the metal goes dark and cold.

Then back in the fire it goes.

Blue gets back to mail repairs, working rings into place, then riveting them shut with scraps from broken links. He considers, as he works, if the long-handled riveting pliers could be made to fit into their tool pouch. They can’t bring along the whole forge, that would be silly, but this one thing? They already carry the cutting pliers to make links with so it’s not like they need anything else for the rivets, and it doesn’t need heat treatment -

He pinches a fingertip with the pliers and swears loudly, shaking it and resisting the urge to shove it in his mouth - his hands are covered in oil and coal dust. Squinting at it - no real damage - he shakes it one more time and picks up the mail patch he dropped. It stings a little, to apply enough pressure to hold the metal fabric. Actually -

Checking the dagger, he pulls it from the fire and rests it on the anvil to cool. This is always time consuming, heating and cooling the steel to normalise it before the final edge can be put on. Heat it, then cool it, then heat it again; all part of ensuring the blade isn’t brittle and will hold its shape and its edge for as long as possible. It’s familiar in a way so ingrained he can almost touch it, watching the metal change colour. Fading from yellow, through red, down to the still blisteringly-hot but normal appearance of steel.

Blue blinks, and finds himself sitting on his preferred stool, metal still cooling in his tongs. Shit. When did he sit down? He’s wasting time, here. Back in the fire, back to work, fingertip still throbbing faintly.

Half the plates on Time’s tassets got ripped off during the fight with the iron knuckle, which are fiddly and annoying but not hard to replace. Once he’s got them shaped and punched Blue is tempted to just hand the lot off to Time for the old man to stitch them in place. Teach him to get distracted watching Twilight’s sword form. Shit, there’s so many of them, too. Time’s lucky his leg was in few enough pieces that Hyrule and Warriors could put it back together.

Blue hammers out scale after scale. Get the curve right; adjust the tongs, hammer out the part they’d hidden; set the edge, set the ridge, set it aside, and grab the next one. He piles them up on the metal workbench; they’d be less annoying to work with if he could just pile them in a coal shovel and dunk them in the fire to soften them, but even if they’re small they’re still armour and he needs to keep them as supple as possible.

And speaking of it’s time to pull the dagger again. The tongs grab it, fumble it, dump it back in the coals, then grab it agin. Blue is very careful as he sets it on the bench. He has no desire to set his own boots alight. This is the last cooling phase, though, so he can let the forge fire die down. Finally. His eyes itch and ache in the hot, dry air. He’d rub them if he wasn’t - still - covered in forge leavings.

Punch the holes for Time’s tasset scales; set them in his pile to deal with in the morning. Finally get the hilt off Wind’s knife and decide it is salvageable, actually, if he glues in a wedge of cedar to fill in the split that was letting it get loose in the first place. How did Wind even do that? Rewrap it in leather strips and it’ll be done; another job for the morning. When his hands aren’t so shaky. He’s getting glue everywhere, ugh.

…does he need to pull the dagger again? No, wait, it’s already on the bench. Does it need to go back in the fire? …no, he already decided it was done. He reaches to grab it, half-intending to measure it up for the hilt and crossguard, but hesitates at the heat radiating off it. Right. Fresh from the forge. Doesn’t look hot, but definitely is. He’ll leave it for an hour or so.

Blue shakes himself, hard, feeling the pull of it in his neck and his forehead. His head aches, behind his eyes. There’s a fine grey fuzz at the edges of his vision. Right, with the forge fire dying, he needs a bit more light. Where’s Vio’s lantern…?

By the too-pale magical light, Blue works, and works, until there’s nothing left to do but wind more wire into chainmail rings and weave them into the cuts and gashes left by enemy claws and weapons, tamp down rivets and move to the next section until he needs to wind out more rings -

It’s endless and monotonous and he can feel the screaming under his skin finally starting to cool, as the fire burns itself out.

Something they do need, he thinks as he pulls out the temporary patch he’d put in Twilight’s mail tunic, is a store of fully-finished rings. Hammering out their linking points and punching rivet holes is best done on an anvil. Then, as long as they have a stock of scrap wire for rivets (inevitable, they’re constantly damaging mail), the cutters and the riveting pliers, they can do repairs that are just as strong as the original work itself. Once they run out of wire, well, that’s more of an issue. The drawing plate is much too heavy to bring along with them.

Blue seals up the last ring in Twilight’s mail and sets it aside, then hops off the stool to go in search of the metal rods he needs to make wire. He knows they left a whole stack of them somewhere.

In truth, most forging doesn’t require a lot of raw strength. The weight of the hammer and the drag of gravity does a lot of the work, and all you need to do is direct it. Blue’s got more muscle from wielding a warhammer, honestly. The exception, he thinks distastefully, is wire drawing. That does need some force, since you’re dragging a piece of metal through smaller and smaller holes, not stretching it so much as drawing it out longer and longer and thinner and thinner, and of course it’s metal, it doesn’t want to do that.

Blue finally finds the basket of rods on a low shelf behind a huge box of half-finished nails - Red’s doing, surely - and carries it to the draw plate. There’s certainly no moving the thing to anywhere else. It weighs more than he does at least twice over, solid iron plate set into a heavy stone base.

Choosing a rod, Blue hammers out a quick point, feeds it through a hole that’s just a little smaller than its current size, clamps it, and starts to pull.

His eyes burn. His head aches. His fingers sting, all the little places where slips and cuts and burns have piled up over long hours. Without his mind keeping track of eight timers at once, it’s free to focus on the physical, and oh, he feels so heavy -

Blue breathes deep, metal and coal dust and ash, and feeds the wire into the next hole.

---

Sky is unhappy but unsurprised to find the patch of floor allocated to Four empty.

Weak morning light streams through the curtains. It’s just enough to see by as Sky checks that Legend’s unmoving form on the bed is just due to stiffness and exhaustion, not something more worrying, and tiptoes around scattered bedrolls. Twilight cracks an eye as he’s stepped over.

“A’right there?” he checks, voice low.

Sky smiles. “Just seein’ who’s up.”

Twilight grunts and to all appearances goes straight back to sleep. For all he wakes with the dawn on the ranch, he does enjoy his sleep, when he can get it.

Sky empathises but he’s got a mission.

Through the shop windows he spots Wild outside, running through the carefully prescribed stretches that kept his scars limber. Once he was done with those, he’d be all up in Four’s kitchen, eager to make food more complex than could be managed over a simple campfire. Four even had an oven, which Wild had been very excited about.

Still, breakfast will come later. The forge door still stands closed, just as it had last night after Four kicked him out. Moving slow, Sky eases the heavy door open, hoping to find him passed out in a corner somewhere.

Instead Four is sitting upright at the workbench. The winding rod in his hands is familiar, though he’s moving far slower than usual, and his hands shake when he reaches for the pliers.

“Four, have you slept at all?” Sky asks, disappointed.

“Huh?” Four turns to look at him, and there’s a distinct pause before recognition flickers. “Oh, Sky. I’m nearly done with your mail. Or…” He squints at the links on the table. “No, mail’s finished. Spare rings. We’re always running out.”

“Sleep, Four,” Sky stresses. “Goddess - have you been working all night?” He eyes up the frankly ludicrous pile of mending that now sits on the other side of the bench from where it started, separated into neat piles by owner. And Four is still going - slowly cutting rings off the spiral, one by one.

“‘M fine.”

He changes tacks. “Four, c’mon. It’s time for breakfast. Wild will sulk if it gets cold, you know he will.”

Four blinks at him, visibly hazy with exhaustion, and finally, slowly, drags himself to his feet. He looks worse, upright. He’s pale and a little haggard, swaying slightly just standing in place. Goddess. He’s going to be an utter wreck today, and they’re supposed to head out for the Castor Wilds later. Maybe Sky can convince Time to wait until after lunch and Four will revive some after a nap -

The smith’s feet tangle. Sky lunges to catch him -

Four catches himself with a quick shake of the head. “Phew, close one,” he mutters. He brushes past Sky into the rest of the house, steps suddenly quick and sure. “C’mon, Sky,” he calls over his shoulder, “help me keep Wild from dirtying every pan I own, I do not want to do dishes today.”

He still looks distinctly unwell over breakfast, but the shake in his hands, the sway in his step, the dull slowness of his eyes and responses - all that is gone like it was never there. He even smiles and keeps up with the conversation. Sky doesn’t know what to make of it.

(In the back of his mind, though, he wonders.)

[ashleyloob]

Hi!

From someone who is disorganized and discouraged, I would love advice on weight-lifting/building muscle. Would you share your understanding of building muscle and the breakdown of diet?

If possible, could you share how you apply what you know to yourself? If you use any tools to help you?

Struggled with working out, gaining weight, and eating my whole life. Thanks!

prefacing this with some important info for fellow disorganized scatterbrains!!!!

the main reason why ppl have trouble sticking to a lifestyle change is because they try to make very drastic changes too quick, and you get overwhelmed and it becomes unsustainable. this is especially an issue for neurodivergent folks, and since it's Tumblr I assume a good chunk of y'all are (me too dw)

DON'T immediately overhaul ur diet and hit the gym 5x a week from day 1!!! hitting tiny goals consistently is also more rewarding than working towards one very large arbitrary goal that you might not reach, esp when it comes to working out. start veeery small if u need to, such as only 10 bodyweight squats per day like i did and go from there. you wanna program ur brain into feeling accomplished to keep you motivated. patience is key!!!!

ok!! now onto the more detailed info below

Disclaimer: I'm still a newbie myself!! only consistently lifting heavy for about 3 months as of this post. I did a good deal of excessive info diving on lifting using the power of Sheer Autism, and my main gym buddy is very experienced & taught me a good chunk of this shit so shout-out to my pal for making all this possible xoxo

so good news!! "building muscle" is very easy for beginners starting from zero. newbie gainz are absolutely real. at this stage you can do just about anything at the gym and get stronger bc u can only go up. BUT!! if you structure it, you can make the process enjoyable and much more efficient. if you're goal oriented (lookin at u ADHD menaces), you'll love the concept progressive overload.

PROGRESSIVE OVERLOAD & SETS/REPS

wikipedia defines progressive overload as: a method of strength training and hypertrophy training that advocates for the gradual increase of the stress placed upon the musculoskeletal and nervous system. in layman's terms, it just means gradually adding more weight as you work out to increase the difficulty as you get stronger. progress is VERY easy to track because of this, and you'll be hitting PRs pretty much every week for the first couple of months and that shit feels fantastic because you physically feel yourself getting stronger so rapidly. I use the app Strong to track my workouts. so, how do we structure progressive overload? that's through sets/reps. A rep is a single execution of an exercise. 1 squat is one rep. 2 squat is 2 reps. and so on. A set is a collection of reps. The format is Sets x Reps, for example: 3x5 means 3 sets of 5 reps. You will rest between sets, and it's typically anywhere from 1 minute all the way up to 5 minutes depending on the level of exertion/type of training you are doing. Heavier weights mean longer rest periods and vice versa.

WHERE DO I EVEN START??

For those interested in barbell training: the r/fitness beginner routine is pretty good! I also recommend 5x5 stronglifts. both are very straightforward, but also note the typical olympic barbell is 45lbs. If this is a weight you struggle with, you can begin with bodyweight exercises, dumbbells, or machines at the gym which are all very BEGINNER beginner friendly. especially when it comes to legs you're probably much stronger than you think. Most people can squat 45lbs first try. don't be afraid -- you're standing on those things all day, they can support hella weight. Like I mentioned earlier, don't be afraid to start veeeery small and work your way up from there. I started at home with doing only bodyweight squats without the barbell, then added on benching with light 7lb dumbbells after a week, then impulse signed up for a gym membership a month later and began to go there to use equipment and now i'm deadlifting over 100lbs as a tiny girl that previously was too weak to even lift a 40lb dog. it snowballs quicker than you think once you gain confidence in your own body and its abilities!

WOAH I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SQUAT/DEADLIFT/BENCH/THIS IS SCARY AND IM FUCKING UP

If you can, i highly recommend getting a personal trainer to assist you, or tag along with a gymrat pal to show you the ropes. This page is also a good resource to learn specific lifts. otherwise, youtube is your best friend. you can record your sets and compare your form to form tutorials on youtube, and actively take notes on what to change the next time you work out. Be an active learner!!! be aware of what muscles are engaged when you lift and how your body feels. almost NOBODY gets it right the first time, esp with barbells. we've all made fools out of ourselves at the gym as beginners it's chill. i find people at the gym are very nice and willing to help you out if you're struggling, and people don't judge at all-- it's very easy to get in your own head in these spaces but most humans there are supportive and want you to succeed, especially since it's a hobby they are also passionate about. the more you do it, the less anxious you get. exposure therapy is very effective!! Also, almost all the barbell exercises can be replaced with smaller dumbbells, and you can do them at home if you get your own set + a workout bench (pretty cheap if u get secondhand, check facebook marketplace/craigslist). i got mad social anxiety myself so i understand sometimes you just can't, and this is an option for those that find public spaces overwhelming.

DIET

I personally don't think specialized diets/precise macro tracking is super duper important for newbies/casuals, only moderately important (spicy take for some but whatever). but you probably naturally will take an interest in diet once you realize it'll help you perform significantly better in the gym. the only macro i track is protein. You can use a TDEE (total daily energy expenditure) calculator to roughly estimate the amount of protein you need for maximum gainz. it's usually around .7-1g of protein for every pound of lean body mass (weight that isn't fat mass). Imma be real it's pretty hard for me to hit the recommended protein goal and most days I don't because my appetite just can't kick in for the amount it demands, and protein is super filling. I found that if i decreased the amount of carbs i eat, i am able to consume more protein bc i guess there's more room in my stomach lol. i eat a fuck ton of greek yogurt, chicken, fish, and tofu. when i started working out, i begin cooking a lot more and found i naturally craved less processed junk foods and snacks because the protein was keeping me full all day which is a plus! Even when im not regularly hitting my protein goal my gym progress is still going well and I think it's simply because my diet is A LOT better than what it used to be in my gremlin days. I also eat a lot more now that i've gained a bit of muscle, so do be prepared for food costs to go up as your metabolism increases and demands more energy to upkeep your gainz.

HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE FOR ME TO LOOK LIKE A MUSCLE MOMMY????

a whileeee. over a year, probably, unless if you're on anabolic steroids (dont ever do that u will quite literally die). and physique is mostly from diet since it's dependent on your body fat percentage, the saying "abs are made in the kitchen" is true. its why you see hyper skinny terminally indoors gamer dudes with abs, even if they'd snap in half if you farted in their general direction. those mfs barely eat they too busy being gamers i am no longer interested in lifting for aesthetics personally since i get more joy from hitting PRs and i'm pretty content with my body image, but ik physique is the reason why most people get into lifting so i'll touch on it. Weightlifting on its own will not make you lose weight or fat. Again, it needs to be supplemented with a healthy sustainable diet (DO NOT DO CRASH DIETS THAT SHIT IS GARBAGE) and a form of cardio. I actually gained 8lbs since I began lifting from water retention & new muscle mass (muscle is more dense than fat, your body retains water when repairing muscle after a gym sesh) but my measurements and pants size have remained the same. I'm short, so something as small as a 5lb increase usually bumped me up a pants size but it didn't this time bc im gettin swole :') if you want to track physique changes, measuring your waistline & progress pics is a better way to do so than the scale. If you want bigger muscles, look into hypertrophy training. it's a tad different from strength training, mainly because you do higher reps at a lower weight.

[trashogram]

It's even worse for Crimson as being a villain, he's completely wasted. Given how Moxxie acts, personality wise and the like, he has the ruthless side of him(with killing) yet he's intelligent and caring. You'd think these would come about due to his upbringing by both of his parents.

But then we finally get around to it and we see Moxxie's mom is dead and not recently either and Crimson....is a complete dumbass and also an asshole.

This would have been a good side story, to showcase that Moxxie comes from a grey morality family, which is why his personality is the way it is.

His mother is that kind and sweet caring figure, his father is that ruthless and hardass figure, yet somehow, someway the two still love eachother. I feel this also would actually add to Hell as far as the daily life goes and struggles between morality.

The Mafia/Mob, while obviously there's a bunch of assholes within it, that doesn't mean that's all there is to these guys. They wouldn't have gotten anywhere near the power that they had in the 20th Century, if they weren't smart about what they were doing, if they didn't have some sort of code or honor system. As ruthless as Mobsters can be, not all of them are assholes...for the sake of being assholes.

There are laws that had to be followed(different from policies that each Family may have had, so those varied between). Michael Franzese is a huge, good source on the Mafia life and it's a lot more complicated than one might realize.

Crimson comes across as a dumbass, because he didn't check Chaz' finances...when they were in his car, unlocked....on the property. He's head of the Mob and doesn't do the most common sense thing ever, checking someone out before you take their word at face value.

It also comes across as such, that this is somehow the ONLY way to get money. ...Crimson...my guy, HOW are you head of anything in Greed?

No one becomes the Head of the Mafia, if they are so stupid that they don't have fingers in the pockets of...just about everyone they come across, if they don't strategize and have many, many, many different ways of making money.

They introduce us to Crimson as if he's some big shot, with the huge house, the helicopter and all the goons....and yet all that is thrown away when we learn that he's in heavy debt. So how are you paying all your men? How are you paying for any of your supplies? But then they take it a step further with Crimson being a dumbass, by forcing his son to marry Chaz(who he hates) and is just taking the latter's word that he's rich....so you're not going to check the guy who you HATE and make sure he's telling the truth? Crimson you have no right to be pissed at Moxxie, for you being an idiot.

Didn't mean to go on this long spiel I guess, I'm just now worried for when we get into Hazbin...in how Angel's Mafia Family is going to be portrayed, especially when we know it'd at least be early 20th Century of when they were alive. Which means, they should be well organized and have significant power.

....Also Moxxie's mother deserved way better than being killed. I wanted her alive, there was so much potential to have this contrast between Millie's parents and Moxxie's parents and....we didn't get that. ...Also I WANT HER OFFICIAL NAME!

GIVE MOXXIE'S MOM AN OFFICIAL NAME!

Crimson is so deep in debt that he had to take out his brain and put it up for collateral.

It’s the only way to explain why he’s such an audacious idiot that I have to assume failed upward. Or we could blame it on the real problem, which is that Vivienne Medrano decided one day that she wanted to turn a gay wattpad fanfic into an episode of Helluva Boss regardless of how dumb the idea was and no one stopped her.

Exes and Oohs hurts my brain with how preposterous it is, dude. How does marriage work in Hell?? Why the fuck are there priests in Hell that can officiate marriages?!

As for Angel Dust — God, is being from a mafia family even part of his character anymore? Oy vey we’ll probably find out before we spend anymore time on Charlie in Hazbin Hotel.

(I’m gonna call Moxxie’s mom Marzia. It’s cute. Not holding out for the show to actually give her a name.)

[goldenempyrean]

A Lesson in Self-Care

〚 Day 1 - Hopelessly Bad at Self-Care 〛

〚 Pairing - Wanda Maximoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - When you don't know how to look after yourself, Wanda steps in. 〛

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“Oh, darling how did we get into this position.” A quiet soothing voice lulled as you struggled to stay awake against the seemingly endless pull of exhaustion tugging at your body. You were hot, far too hot. Wanda was trying to best to keep you cool as she gently dabbed a wet cloth to your forehead and cheeks, every so often dunking it into the cool vat of water beside her. 

You managed to crack open your eyes, the room appearing blurry and hazy. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by the fever coursing through you. The soft glow of Wanda's powers illuminated the room, casting a comforting light as she continued to tend to you. 

“I... don’t know?” You croaked out, your throat felt like it was lined with thousands of tiny shards of glass, each one tearing into your raw flesh with every word you spoke. Of course, you knew why – it was beyond obvious. 

You tried to recall the events leading up to your current state. It started with a mild headache a few days ago, which quickly escalated into body aches, chills, and a high fever. You had hoped it would pass, but it only worsened with each passing day. Now, you were confined to bed, weakened and unable to do much for yourself. Maybe you should’ve taken it easy... those brutal training sessions you’d forced yourself through as a test of endurance probably weren’t a good idea in hindsight. 

Wanda dipped the cloth into the cool water once again and wrung it out, then placed it gently on your forehead. The soothing sensation brought some relief to the burning heat radiating from your body. You closed your eyes, letting out a soft sigh. 

“This is why we have to take care of ourselves, we could’ve avoided this, couldn’t we darling?” She sighed, as her hand came to enclose your own. 

"I'm sorry.” You managed to whisper; your voice barely audible. Guilt gnawed at you, knowing that your reckless actions had not only affected yourself but also burdened Wanda with the task of nursing you back to health. 

Wanda's thumb gently stroked the back of your hand as she said, "There’s no need for apologies, my love. I just wish you’d look out for yourself the same way you do for others.” 

You tried to nod, but the effort was too much. Instead, you squeezed her hand weakly, trying to convey your gratitude and understanding. Wanda always had a way of calming you, even in the worst of situations. 

You tried to nod, but the effort was too much. Instead, you squeezed her hand weakly, trying to convey your gratitude and understanding. Wanda always had a way of calming you, even in the worst of situations. 

As the night wore on, you drifted in and out of consciousness, delirious with fever. Wanda stayed by your side, never leaving, her powers continuously working to ease your discomfort. She had created a small barrier around the bed, ensuring no one would disturb your rest. After all, you’d done it for her countless times already and despite your hopelessness at taking care of yourself, there was nothing wrong with returning the favour. 

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[cryptidcircuswrites]

Controlling You Makes Me Better (THIS HURTS)

Dead dove- Do Not Eat || MINORS DNI

!!- drugging, rape/non-con, manhandling, degradation, manipulation, kink discovery, PIV sex, physical violence (one slap), use of “cunt”, PIV sex, FtMxM

That last drink was definitely a mistake, Brian decided.

Alex had invited him out with a couple other friends. Brian didn’t know any of them that well, but he was welcome anyway because Brian was friends with everyone.

That beer Alex had handed him, though. He felt off. He hadn’t even had that many, but maybe his tolerance was lower for some reason…?

He didn’t know. He was zoned out on someone’s couch, whose house was this? Why was he even here, he didn’t enjoy parties as much as he pretended to— they were too much work. He had to bite his tongue about everything, he had to be perfect and polite and act like he wasn’t bored out of his mind by the small talk of people who were objectively less interesting than him.

He was ruminating, he realized.

He didn’t normally do that, not unless—

“Bri,” Alex grabbed his shoulder, making him lose his train of thought. “You feeling okay? You look off.”

Brian wracked his brain for an excuse. “It’s getting kinda late,” he ignores that it’s only midnight. He hopes Alex will take the hint.

“Yeah, I think it’s probably time to head back. I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

Thank god.

•••

Brian thanked Alex several times for being such a good friend.

“Seriously man, thanks. I don’t think I could’ve got home on my own, I think i overdid it. Thanks. You’re a good friend, Alex.”

Alex just chuckled awkwardly as Brian stumbled a bit. “It’s really not a big deal.”

Brian dropped his keys four times trying to open the door before Alex offered to open it for him.

Brian leaned against the wall for a moment, running a hand through his hair. Something was wrong, he could feel it. Something was off about that last beer, but what…?

His head wasn’t clear enough to tell.

Alex almost looked nervous as he led Brian inside. Brian chalked it up to him also noticing something wrong.

Brian chalked it up to concern.

He didn’t think it could be something else until it was too late.

Alex sat him on the couch, helping Brian kick off his shoes // helping Brian out of his jacket // pulling Brian further down onto the couch to make him more comfortable.

Right?

When Alex started tugging at his shirt he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Alex?”

Their eyes met.

“What’re you doin’? Wha’s goin’ on?”

“You don’t remember? I’m taking you home,” Alex lies flatly.

“Takin’ me home,” Brian slurs. “Don’t need to take my clothes off for that…?”

Brian didn’t like the blank look Alex gave in response.

He struggled as best he could through the haze while Alex continued stripping him.

“Alex, stoppit! What are you doing?!”

“Shut up,” Alex snaps, breaking the zipper on Brian’s jeans.

Brian felt too heavy, like he was underwater. He struggled, but got nowhere. He felt his waistband drag down his thighs to his knees.

Much to Brian’s dismay (and Alex’s delight), he was already half hard from being manhandled.

Alex tugged his own pants off, wiggling his hips while trying to hold Brian down.

“Just knock it off already! You clearly can’t stop me and no one will believe you anyway!” He pushed Brian’s wrists to his chest, pinning them there with one hand while he slipped his already damp panties to the side.

Brian whimpered at the warm slick flesh as Alex slid onto his cock. A few tearless sobs managed to escape him as he fell heavier into his daze, unable to even protest anymore. Brian hoped they were in fear or protest, not a sign of the growing pleasure as Alex rode him.

He said a few more things, none of it registering to Brian. He was fading out of consciousness fast.

Yet another unexpected thing happened. Alex slapped him.

Alex and Brian had fought before, but he’d never hit him before.

Brian didn’t have time to get over the sharp sting before Alex gripped his jaw. “Stay awake. I want you awake for this.”

If God was real, he must have been feeling particularly cruel tonight. One of his closest friends was assaulting him, sexually and physically, on his couch, and for some sick reason when Alex’s jagged nails dug into his face,

Brian moaned.

Or he tried to. It came out broken, half choked by a whimpering sob as his cock hardened inside of Alex.

Alex whimpers, speeding up and using his friend for his own pleasure. His cunt clenches and spasms around Brian, fingers tightening as he grips his jaw again.

“Fuck, I can see why you always have some girl after you now, if I’d known you felt this good I’d’ve drugged you sooner,” Alex whined. Brian’s hips jerked reflexively, the drugged haze heightening the pleasure. Definitely the drugs. Not the way Alex’s nails dug into his skin or the way he was being used like a fuckdoll or the way Alex was talking and moaning like that.

And it absolutely wasn’t the way Alex’s core and cunt clenched at the same time as he orgasmed on his cock.

It wasn’t the heat and the friction, but he was so close anyway. Because of the drugs.

He felt like he was going to snap. Alex didn't look like he was going to stop. He tried to slur out a warning, failing miserably.

Alex grinned down at him. "I know. I can feel how close you are, fucking whore, getting off on this." His breath hitched, hips stuttering slightly as he rode past his orgasm. "You're letting me rape you, you're not even fighting back. You think anyone will believe you since you didn't fight back? You're fucking pathetic."

God wasn't the only cruel one, it seemed.

Brian liked Alex being cruel, though.

Brian liked it a lot.

He went over the edge, practically screaming as he shot his load into Alex.

Fuck, had Alex slipped a condom on him? He didn't know. He knew nothing as he slipped into unconsciousness with the drugs and the exhaustion...

•••

Brian woke up, shirtless, pants still around his ankles, and hungover.

Clearly the bits and pieces he could remember from the previous night hadn't been a dream nightmare.

Alex had been kind enough to clean him up, though he missed a couple spots.

Brian wasn't sure how to feel as he slipped into the shower. Upset? Numb? Kind of... excited? That wasn't right. That was some kind of trauma response. It had to be, the slight jolt in his gut at the thought of Alex gripping his jaw and telling him nobody would believe him wasn't at all something he was truly interested in.

Just a weird body reaction.

That was all it was.

Brian tried to convince himself that was all it was, even when a week later, he went to a sketchy gay bar a few hours outside of town,

and went to the bathroom with his drink unattended.

•••

Alex sat in a bathroom, waiting for the timer to finish on the little plastic stick he'd just pissed on. He mentally kicked himself for not thinking to slip a condom on Brian.

And now his period was slightly late. He hoped to whatever God was out there that it was just the testosterone, but he couldn't be sure.

So he waited for the test.

[ideas-4-stories]

Inspired by the "buggy gets stabbed with a seastone knife but defeats the assassin" anon and subsequent post.

Buggy really would have had SO MANY SCARS. He's immune to cuts and chops and slices. Not blunt force trauma, burns, bullets, whips, etc. Also he was a pirate apprentice on GOL D. ROGER'S SHIP!! He ate that devil fruit young, sure, but he was still a pirate before then and I highly doubt that that, nor whatever his early life was, would lead to pristine, unblemished skin.

Also - freckles. Give Buggy Freckles 2024.

Anyway, yeah, Buggy would have a MOSAIC of scars and tattoos - many of which have meanings the likes of which are lost to most. Also projection, but Buggy has a medusa tattoo somewhere on his person. Yes the one who did the tattoo for him was on the crew, and still is. Yes they are also the defacto therapist on the island. It's good pay and they get to add Names to the I'll Kill Them One Day list ((it's a whole book. With five volumes. It's on going.))

I have... an angry idea. For Buggy shrugging off seastone wounds and using his own injury as an opening. Roger would have wanted the boys STRONG but happy and safe. He saw so much of himself in Shanks that the attention was perceived as preferential treatment. Shanks was the heavy hitter with potential and skill and charisma -

Buggy was the supporting cast.

Rayleigh, unable to help Roger through the illness, through so many things, projected that onto Buggy ((Very Pearl + Connie, if you know Steven Universe, before Steven stepped in to set that record straight)). Ray would make sure Buggy was strong enough for Shanks. He put that kid through the WRINGER, and it was arguably hell. Buggy came out stronger but also far more terrified - so much so that he struggled to even utilize that strength in any true way. Rayleigh declared it a failure. Apologized to Buggy for 'failing to make him good enough'.

This did a number on him.

One thing that lasted was his frankly unsettling tolerance to water and seastone. He still works on it, and he never quite dropped it. He always has at least one seastone earring in because it's both smth he HAS to do and also it slows down his brain a little, dulling the edge of his normal panic. Like a crystal girlie but far more literal.

This isn't his first rodeo with seastone weapons either - he may have been in the East, but he was still a decently renowned criminal with a hefty bounty. He's an old hand at this!

Still hurts like a bitch though.

He'd absolutely make the dumbest puns too. "Don't worry, I'm in STABle condition! :oD"

"You need stitches, you utter buffoon."

"That wasn't very- hnn- knife of you."

"Please pass out from bloodloss."

"You cut me so deep, Hawkyyy- OW?!"

"Seas save me"

Crocodile is fighting between yelling louder, committing three felonies, laughing, and shutting the clown up. Be it by choking him or kissing him is up for debate. The doctor, used to Buggy's antics, just hands him a fidget toy. "Don't touch the wound, my supplies or try to move yet. Solve the rubix cube before you even consider getting up."

"Boring-"

"I'll tell the kitchen to make hotdogs if you do."

Buggy is now very focused on the pretty color cube.

Oh, referring to this post gotcha!

Yeah, Buggy totally would because he’s a chemist, working with all those bombs and the guy looks like he would trip sometimes while working. Buggy has to have burn scars (I’m pretty sure somewhere, someone said that Buggy has star-shaped, firework burns on his hands. Part of the reason he hides his hands away, I like that idea even that means Buggy got hurt) Now it an idea that I got when I was half-asleep, that I read in the morning with confusion… a cannonball… I don’t why my sleepy brain decided that, but now thinking about it would have to be a ricochet cannonball that he survived from (to be honest Buggy seems like a person who would survive a cannonball to the head, like some Monkey family we know) Then with probably the logical route of bullets, whips, etc… are from being hunted by marines and enemies of the Roger Pirates before he somehow blends into the background and people forgot about him.

I would say Buggy would have eaten his devil fruit around nine years old, for the AU I’m trying to writ… Also freckles… HELL FUCK YEAH!!! I love that idea; it would be so cute on him!!! Scattered all around his body, totally seen him connecting them into shapes and patterns when he’s bored and has nothing else to do.

Definably, he’s a pirate, of course he has many scars, and Buggy having at least 10 tattoos ranging from large too small. I don’t think Buggy ever has sat someone down to explain them, or maybe he has and stopped because people not understanding. Ooooooo, I look up what the Medusa tattoo means, I like to think it’s for survival and strength. With my idea for two long tattoos, I think they would be a mixture of different flowers with hidden things between them - like hidden treasure to find, those tattoos have meanings as well as some funny ones around his body as well. Because it’s Buggy, of course, he will at least have one fucking funny one.

I love an idea their defacto therapist, I think I’ve already have a OC for the job and yes, love the book called I'll Kill Them One Day list. Love that it has five volumes, you know some of those names are crossed off and it continues to grow.

This is an angry idea indeed, poor Buggy… as we see that Buggy is not supporting cast, with his followers (they are like cult followers in a way) and his crew. Basically pushed to the side for Shanks to be the one in the spotlight as the “leader” of the two (I definitely doubt that Shanks didn’t look up to Buggy during sometimes when they were cabin boys)

Oh fuck, no wonder why Buggy hasn’t talk to Rayleigh and makes my idea of them meeting as cold and awkward. Like Rayleigh would greet with nicknames from long ago, expecting the same as what he remembered last of Buggy, only to have Buggy to greet him coldy. Either, with Dark King Rayeleigh or Slivers Rayleigh instead of nicknames that he use to call Rayleigh.

Why…why projected his problems onto Buggy! Like of course that did a number on Buggy, ecspeaily after Ray apologized to Buggy for ‘failing to make him good enough’... You can’t say that to a fucking child, you know they will think it’s all their fault! I mean look at Buggy, he already has enough problems with his self-esteem, he doesn’t need anymore!!!

Poor Buggy, going thtough hell because Rayleigh wants him strong like him to keep Shanks safe because he’s being as stupid as Roger. It makes sense that Buggy can’t use his strength because of being afraid and worrying so much (Buggy is definitely a worry-wort)

I agree with Buggy has an high tolerance to water and seastone, I mean Buggy seemed to of been a really good swimmer from how angry he is from Shanks scaring him and making him swallow the Bara Bara fruit (if not, then it’s a headcanon for me that he’s a really good swimmer before he swallowed the devil fruit) You think he would just stop going into the water? I mean I can see Buggy finding those small pools of water on a beach… I forgot what they are called, anyway you think he wouldn’t go in them to feel the sea? I think Buggy would.

Oooooo a seastone earring or some other type of seastone jewelry on his body. That’s interesting, I’ve never thought about it. The seastone helps him corrals his chop chop powers from doing all the time as well. Calming his brain, dulling the edge of his normal panic is a clever way, bro probably found how much seastone he needs to do so. From this post, Buggy has to have some edibles mixed into brownies or some other type of pastry (it’s now a headcanon for me) Dude has to have some drugs to calm down with the stress that Crocodile and Mihawk have put him through.

Yeah, it's definitely not Buggy’s first rodeo with seastone weapons, I can see Buggy being hunted by people during the time after Roger was killed and I see that’s the time where most of his seastone wounds came from. I wonder now if Buggy hordes the seastone weapons that people attacked him with?… I’ve decided yes, Buggy would keep them.

I stand for Buggy making the dumbest and baddest puns when he is hurt, especially when he gets attacked by seastone weapons. It takes his mind off of the pain they give him (Also the banter between Buggy and Mihawk you made is chefs’ kiss)

Both Crocodile and Mihawk just being done with Buggy and quite disturbed by how Buggy handles his pain. Mihawk wants him to shut up and sit still, while Crocodile is fighting between screaming, committing felonies (like he hasn’t committed felonies more than enough), laughing his ass off, then wanting to either choke Buggy or kiss him to shut the clown up. That’s so them, and Buggy is getting a little shit like always.

This doctor is just like the doctor OC; Kuo-Lee, I’ve created to be the Buggy Pirates medic. Really, being done with what Buggy does and uses things to keep him still. This is so right, handing him a fidget toy, saying that if he is good than he’ll tell the kitchens to give their captain is favorite food. Yeah, that will make Buggy sit as still as he can, to be honest, Buggy isn’t one to sit still.