#this was just a springboard; it's really not about him

[selfchiller]

I do think it's really interesting that Harry can say the same things to Kim that he said to Jean before Jean left him in Martinaise, but I think it speaks more to Harry and his current state than it says about their dynamic. Sure, it's contentious, we know this. Jean is clearly upset and bitter about it, but it really has nothing to do with him, does it?

Harry can run the same script on Kim because these are his weapon words. This is the self isolation script. These are the words that demonstratively WORK to drive people away from him. So he can finish killing himself. Even if he doesn't remember that's what he's doing.

Because it's about spinning the same tape again and again. Cycles he can't break. Dream the same dream over and over. Obliterate yourself, wake up, remember, obliterate yourself again. Drive your partner away. Now drive your new partner away. Decide to kill yourself. Change your mind, embrace the world. Be beaten down and decide to kill yourself again. Wake up. Remember.

After life--death. After death--life again.

He is the infernal engine, cycling eternally.

Unless, somehow, this time, he can escape. And this starts here, maybe. Kim will not fuck off. Kim would be glad to cramp his style. He actively enjoys style cramping, even.

(It starts in other places, too, of course.)

[marshbarks]

i need to rewatch all of south park i need to become one of those people who screenshots every time the two guys i like are standing near each other

[jichanxo]

sunday six!

thanks for the tag @passthroughtime and @four-white-trees i'm just going to be perpetually late to these aren't i lol here's something way lighter compared to my last post. yagami gets hurt and that means everyone is just gonna have to deal with kuwana being weird about it. sorry higashi and sugiura about.... all of that... you know how they are... anyway here's a little something of sugi and kuwana :D

Kuwana had probably come as soon as he’d heard, jumped on the first train over. All because he’d heard Yagami was hurt.

Yagami saying that there was nothing between them had been nothing but lip service for a long time now.

When Kuwana smiled and waved at him, Sugiura smiled and waved back. Relationship with Yagami aside, he was a pretty nice guy most of the time. Sugiura was just glad he didn’t have to be in the room when the two of them saw each other again.

“Sugiura-kun!” Kuwana greeted. “How are you? You’re not hurt, are you?”

Sugiura felt himself relax at his fussing. “Like I said before, I’m perfectly fine. It’s just Yagami here that had a little slip-up.”

“So it seems. Yagami’s getting a little too old to try and act like hot shit, keeping up with you.”

“Aren’t you older than he is?” Sugiura laughed.

“Yeah, but I’m not stupid enough to misjudge my limits.” Kuwana grinned.

[makoodles]

ミ stay for something

🍓 pairing: kyle 'gaz' garrick x fem reader

🍓 tags: nsfw, ex-boyfriend!gaz, unprotected vaginal sex, lack of communication, jealousy, 'just the tip' trope, sex with feelings

masterlist

reblogs are always enormously appreciated!

You hate wasting a Friday night on a first date, but you had genuinely high hopes for this one. You had made such an effort, too; pretty sparkly eyeshadow, strawberry-flavoured lipgloss, a new little black dress.

You look good. You feel good. 

It’s just a shame that the guy is a bit of a moron. 

He talks about himself a lot over dinner. Like, so much. You sit and smile and pretend to listen, your gaze wandering, and wonder if he’s going to ask any questions about you. He does (eventually), but they’re short and perfunctory and he seems to just take your answers and use them as a springboard into his next topic of discussion.

It’s a little tedious, but hey. First dates usually are. You weather it, your polite smile turning a little stiff as you sip your wine. Truthfully, you have ulterior motives here.

You’re not proud of it, but you don’t think you can handle the dry spell you’re going through anymore. You crave touch, affection, some kind of connection. You’re okay with being single, but god you’re so hungry for intimacy that it’s led to you agreeing to a date with a guy that you honestly wouldn’t have normally been into just for the chance of getting some action.

Ben is a nice enough guy, and he’s certainly good looking; neatly groomed hair, straight white teeth, a nice physique. He’s in good shape, though you can’t help but subconsciously compare him to— 

No, you think sternly to yourself, Don’t do that.

When he leans into you at the end of the date and asks in a low, sultry voice if you want to continue the night with him, you agree a little breathlessly. God, it’s been a long time since you were touched.

Your place is closer, and you can’t help but feel a little illicit thrill as you lead Ben back. You never usually bring guys back to yours, especially not on the first date, but you’ll be the first to admit that you’re needy tonight. 

The weather is getting colder as winter creeps its icy fingers through the air, but you’re wrapped tight in your coat and kept nice and warm as Ben wraps an arm around your waist, kissing heatedly at your neck as you try to open your door.

You giggle, the wine from dinner making you all loose and happy and eager. You tilt your head to give him more of your throat, and he eagerly takes the opportunity to introduce teeth and tongue as he kisses the line of your neck. You fumble with the key, clumsy as your body heats up.

When you finally manage to turn the key and get the stupid door open, Ben grabs you by the hips and spins you around so that he can pull you into a proper kiss. The guy might have been a dull conversationalist, but you’re delighted to find that he’s a good kisser.

The two of you stumble through the door, your arms locked around his neck as he holds you by the waist. It’s a little embarrassing how eager you are for a guy that you really aren’t even all that into, but you guess that’s just where desperation has gotten you.

“Shit,” Ben hisses when you nip at his lip. “Fuck, you’re so hot. C’mere, take this off.”

He starts tugging at your coat, and you pull back just enough to shrug it off, letting it drop to the floor. He lets out a throaty sound of appreciation, before grabbing at your waist again and leaning in to trail another set of hot kisses along your neck and shoulder. 

You tilt your head back, thunking lightly against the wall, and your eyelids flutter at the nipping kisses along your sensitive skin. 

“Oh, god…” You breathe, blinking your eyes open again.

But then… you pause. For the first time, you notice that the lights in your entryway are on. Why are they on? You hadn’t turned them on when you came in, and you know that they weren’t on when you had left. 

Ben is still groping eagerly at your hips, one hand reaching around to squeeze at your ass, but now you’re distracted, on alert. Your eyes dart around, and fall on a pair of Adidas Superstars set neatly by the front door, and a big puffer coat that’s been hung up on the hook in the hall.

Oh no. No fucking way.

As if to confirm the path your thoughts had just taken, your eyes catch on a figure in the doorway to the living room, leaning casually against the doorframe. Just watching.

A scream catches in your throat, and you grab Ben by the shoulders in an attempt to stop him. He doesn’t seem to understand, because he just keeps squeezing at your ass, pulling your hips closer so that he can slot between your legs and grind against you.

The brief spark of arousal that shoots through you when he grinds his hard-on into the seam of your cunt through your underwear is significantly dampened by the awareness that someone is already in your home, watching you, and you already know who it is.

“Hey, baby,” Kyle fucking Garrick says, lifting a mug patterned with little cartoon cats to his mouth. “Had a nice night out?”

“Jesus Christ–” You hiss, shoving at Ben’s chest. This time, the push isn’t needed, because Ben has rocketed up straight at the sound of another man’s voice in your house calling you ‘baby’.

“What the–” Ben starts to say, his brow furrowing into a bewildered frown when he catches sight of Gaz standing in the doorway watching you.

“Kyle, what are you doing here?” You snap, mortified. You grab at the bottom of your short little dress, pulling roughly at it to try and make sure you’re not flashing anyone.

Gaz watches you, amusement shining in his dark eyes. He’s not even trying to hide the way his gaze is drawn to your legs, lingering where your dress has ridden up your thighs. He sips his tea, a poor attempt at concealing his smirk.

“Home from deployment earlier than expected, love.” He says, calm and casual as if he hasn’t just broken into your goddamn house to destroy any hope you had of getting railed that night. “No time to find accommodation. You don’t mind, eh?”

Ben’s head is swinging between the two of you, his expression blank as he tries to work out just what exactly is happening. He’s straightened up entirely, the presence of Gaz obviously putting him on edge. You can’t blame him for his confusion; Gaz is currently looking at you like he wants to fucking eat you alive, and you’re beginning to get hot and flustered under his stare.

“Are you–” Ben starts, his head still on a swivel as though he can’t decide who to address. “I’m sorry, who is this?”

Gaz doesn’t even bother to reply at once. He sips at his tea, and tilts his head as he lets his eyes wander over Ben lazily. It doesn’t seem like he’s all too impressed by what he sees, though he’s smirking as though he’s amused.

“Sergeant Kyle Garrick.” He says at last, with a nod.

You huff. You know what he’s doing – he never introduces himself by his rank unless he’s trying to make a point.

Ben goes stiff. He’s still pressed against you, and you can feel every ounce of tension down the line of your body. It seems like he’s just now clocking Gaz as a proper threat, and you take a breath as you realise that he’s about to split and leave you here.

And sure enough–

“I– Listen, I don’t know what’s.. what’s going on here, but I don’t want any trouble.” Ben says, finally pushing himself away from you. He’s holding his hands up by his shoulders as though he’s being held at gunpoint, and you roll your eyes impatiently at his dramatics.

“No trouble, mate.” Gaz says, his voice still cheerfully amiable. “Door’s behind you.”

“Gaz–” You hiss, incensed, but it’s pointless. 

Ben is already scrambling to open the door, heedless of the way you grasp onto his coat in protest. You sigh heavily as he tumbles out into the cold night, and the door slams shut behind him so loud it makes your head hurt.

You stand alone in your entryway, shivering a little in your tiny black dress and heels from the icy breeze that was let in from Ben’s escape. Your jaw is clenched tight, and you take a deep, deep breath as you turn to face your ex-boyfriend.

Gaz is still watching you, his deep brown eyes staring at you from beneath his long dark lashes. You try hard to ignore his expression, which is unmistakably hungry.

“You look good, baby.” He says, staring pointedly at the way your breasts are all pushed up in your tight dress. 

“Don’t call me that.” You grumble, teaching down to unbuckle your delicate heels. You cast them aside and kick them over so they’re laying beside Gaz’s runners.

Gaz just snickers, turning to follow after you when you march your way to the kitchen. Irritation is burning hot in your veins, your lips pursed as you struggle to bite your tongue. It’s so fucking typical that the exact night you try to have some cheap, meaningless sex with some stranger, Gaz has decided to land right into your home. It’s like he has a fucking radar for when you’re about to get laid.

“You could have gotten a hotel.” You snap over your shoulder as you make your way to the kettle. It’s already hot, but you flick the switch again anyway.

“Nah. They’re all booked out. Busy season, you know.”

God, he’s so full of shit. You both know he never even considered staying anywhere other than with you, just like the last few times.

Still, you persevere.

“You could have stayed with one of the guys.” You say, turning around and folding your arms over your chest.

Gaz glances down, and you realise that you’ve inadvertently pushed your breasts together and up. You hastily drop your arms again, and settle instead for planting your hands on your hips.

“Could have,” He admits, leaning against your kitchen table in a way that’s infuriatingly casual. “But they never offered.”

“Neither did I–!”

Gaz doesn’t even seem to hear you. He just steps towards you, reaching to grab an empty mug from the cupboard above your head. The movement brings him so close to you, close enough that your next inhale is scented with his fresh-sweet cologne, the one you always loved, and you find your eyelids fluttering as your muscles relax without your permission. He smells so familiar, so comforting. You hate it.

“Go get changed,” He murmurs, keeping his voice low like he knows the moment is delicate. “We’ll watch a movie.”

You’d love to get fired up, to shove him or curse at him, but it’s all you can do to find the strength to step away from him instead of melting into him. You’re pretty sure he deserves an ass-kicking for this stunt of this, but you decide to pick your battles. Or at least, to postpone them.

You waver another moment, debating over whether you should try to get the last say, but Gaz has already turned away to continue making the cup of tea that you had started. Recognising that the moment has passed, you huff a sigh and march out of the kitchen, making your way to your bedroom.

It takes quite a bit of wiggling to get out your dress – it might look good, but there’s an inordinate sense of relief when you finally tug it over your head and feel as though you can breathe unimpeded again. You unclip your bra and toss it aside, rolling your shoulders and sighing as your breasts are freed. 

Once you're dressed again in a worn-out massive t-shirt that drowns your body and some loose sweatpants, looking decidedly unsexy, you pad to your bathroom and start washing your makeup off. Now that you’re alone, that disappointment and frustration is settling in properly. Ben might have been boring, but if his kissing was anything to judge by, you might actually have had a perfectly enjoyable night with him.

Bare-faced and dressed for lounging in bed, you trudge back downstairs to your ex-boyfriend. It’s far from the way you wanted to end your night, but you’ve resigned yourself to your fate. You can hear the muffled sounds from the television as you make your way downstairs, and you redirect yourself towards your small sitting room.

Gaz is sat sprawled on the couch, his legs spread wide as he makes himself comfortable in your home. Something twists in your stomach at how comfy he looks, as though he belongs there. He looks around when you walk in, though your footsteps are quiet and muffled by your fluffy socks.

You look far from sexy right now in your ugly old loungewear and bare face, but Gaz brightens up at the sight of you.

“There she is.” He crows, though there’s something soft in his gaze that you can hardly face. “C’mon, love. Want to pick what we’re watching?”

You just look at him tiredly. He’s as handsome as ever; the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen. He must have come straight here once he’d gotten back from deployment because his eyes are dark and exhausted and stubble is a little more overgrown than usual. You hate that he’s able to come into your space like this so easily – like he’s never left.

“Gaz–” You start to say, but you’re cut off when he reaches for your hand.

He tugs you towards him, and you put a knee hastily up on the couch to prevent yourself from falling flat into his lap.

“Shhh, c’mon. Just sit with me.” He murmurs, looking up at you with those damn pretty eyes.

You waver, but then you turn your head to the side and catch sight of the second cup of tea sitting on the coffee table. Gaz has made it just how you like it, and in your favourite mug too. You crumble almost instantly. 

“Stick to your side of the couch.” You grumble, before dropping yourself down heavily onto the sofa next to him.

Gaz hums, and you can already tell that he has no intention of following that order. His arm is already sprawled over the back of the couch; it’s not touching you, but you have no doubt that he’ll try to before the end of the night.

He sticks on some stupid movie on Netflix. You don’t pay attention. It’s a rom-com, which is typical. He always pretends he chooses the sappy romantic films for your benefit, but you’re not fooled. You see the way he watches them with avid interest, the way his toes curl in his socks when the big love confession scene comes on screen. It’s always been something that you’re impossibly fond of.

The two of you are silent for a while, but it’s not uncomfortable. Part of you wishes that it was awkward – it would be easier, you think. But he makes it so simple, sitting with him like this as the cheesy film plays in the background. You’re still a little tipsy from the drinks you’d had at dinner, and you melt into the couch beside him a little quicker than you think you would have otherwise.

“You ruined my night, you know.” You say at last, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.

To your surprise, he’s already looking at you. You glance away hastily again, not wanting to make eye contact.

“Nah,” He says, and you feel his arm dip down a little. He’s cupping your shoulders now, and you should probably move away, but you don’t. “If anything, I saved you from having a long, disappointing night with some tosser you agreed to pity-date. He didn’t exactly look like your type, darling.”

“He was a perfectly nice guy.” You bite out, crossing your arms defensively over your belly in your big t-shirt.

“Nice guys don’t end the first date by groping your ass and humping you up against your wall in your own house.” He says, and if you’re not mistaken you’d say he sounds a little bitter.

You cast a sideways glance at him. He’s sitting up, watching you closely and leaning just slightly towards you. He’s so intense about the way he’s looking at you, his arm dipping low so that he’s holding you properly.

“Stop it.” You say. It hardly even sounds like a proper protest. You’re so tired, still a little floaty from the wine you’d had at dinner, and desperately disappointed by the lack of sexual satisfaction you had been hoping for.

There’s a pause, and then Gaz gives a small shrug. He pulls his arm back to give you space, but he still has that stupid smirk on his face. You can’t even be angry about the cockiness of his expression when his eyes are that soft though.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” He murmurs. “I’m not being fair, am I?”

“No,” You say petulantly. “You’re not.”

He huffs a noise that’s almost a laugh, only he manages to stifle it so that it comes out as a cough instead. 

“Mm. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your big date night, especially when you got done up so pretty for it,” He murmurs, his voice low and sweet as honey trickling down your spine. “Let me make up for it. Come on, get over here.”

You hesitate, but Gaz isn’t really giving you an option. He begins to shift, one of his strong muscled arms looping around your waist as he pulls you into him. It takes you a long moment to realise what it is that he’s trying to do. He lays back on the couch and pulls you with him, encouraging you to pull your legs up onto the sofa so that the two of you are laying on your sides, with Gaz spooned up against your back. 

It’s definitely a bad idea to cuddle with him on the couch like this. You’re trying to set boundaries, to make it clear that you’re just friends (if you can even call it that) after your breakup. And yet… you don’t offer any sort of protest at all.

“Relax,” Gaz sighs from behind you, and you feel his nose nuzzle against the back of your neck. “You love cuddling.”

You roll your eyes, turning your head slightly so he can see the unimpressed expression on your face. 

“This isn’t enough to make up for being such a dick.” You grumble. Despite your griping, you don’t actually make any attempt to get out of his arms.

He was right, after all. You do love cuddling. It was your favourite thing to do when you were together. 

But you’re not together anymore, and it’s hard to ignore the gnawing guilt that you’re letting this grow into something that should be avoided instead of nipping it in the bud. You and Gaz had broken up months ago, and it was a perfectly amicable split. You can’t even say that he was at fault for any of it; the strain of the long distance part of your relationship while he was on deployment just grew too much for you, the space his absence left filling with brambled loneliness that pricked incessantly at you. You had known what you were getting into with this relationship with him, and yet when it came down to it you got too greedy, wanting more of him than he was able to give. 

Tonight was a moment of weakness for you, and though your hopes for sex may have been thwarted, you can’t turn down the soft familiar intimacy of Gaz’s strong body cradling you close against him.

Maybe it’s the wine you had at dinner, but you find your muscles relaxing a little as one of Gaz’s arms loops around your waist, his big hand coming to rest across your belly.

“Mm. I’m being selfish, love.” He murmurs, and you fight a shiver as his warm breath ghosts over the delicate shell of your ear. “This is more for me than for you.”

You’re not altogether sure that’s true. It’s certainly doing an awful lot for you right now. Gaz is in just a t-shirt, the muscles of his biceps bunching up under his bare skin as he tries to subtly nudge you closer to him. 

You’ve missed being all wrapped up in the warm embrace of him; he cuddles with his whole body, the front of his thighs all pressed against the back of yours, his strong chest moulding to your back as his face nuzzles against the back of your neck. You always feel so safe when he holds you like this, like he’s blocking out the rest of the world for you. You can only guess he feels the same – he holds you that much tighter every time he gets back home from his missions.

You grumble quietly, but soon settle down. The repetitive stroking motion of his thumb over your hip is more soothing than it should be. You take deep breaths, trying to be subtle about it, because all you can smell is Gaz and his citrusy sweet aftershave and you just want to drown in it.

“You can’t keep doing this.” You mumble, though all the fight has gone out of you. “It’s not… helpful.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Gaz shifts behind you. His arm tightens around your waist almost imperceptibly, as though he thinks you’re going to push him away. But you’re being selfish now too, comfortably wrapped up against his chest.

“We said we’d stay friends,” He says at last, and he’s so close that you can feel his lips move against the back of your neck as he speaks. “Nothin’ wrong with some platonic cuddling. You should see how close me an’ Soap have had to cuddle to conserve heat when we’re out on the field.”

You huff a small laugh, which is obviously what he had been hoping for. Platonic cuddling. This certainly doesn’t feel platonic, but you can’t bring yourself to push him away. You’ve been craving this kind of closeness for months now, so you just let yourself reluctantly enjoy it. It would have been so much easier if you were able to enjoy it with Ben, with someone who meant nothing to you and wouldn’t have brought with him such a complicated web of feelings and history, but there’s a real sense of comfort in the familiarity of Gaz’s presence.

The film Gaz had chosen to stick on is a stupid one. It’s half action, half love story, with a strong rugged hero and a too-beautiful love-interest whose main role seems to be throwing out quips for comedic relief. You’ve seen a hundred versions of this plot play out in other films, though Gaz is predictably glued to the screen. He’s always loved these stupid films.

You’re comfortable enough that you fall into a light doze, uninterested in the television as you relish the heat from Gaz’s chest. He’s like a fucking human radiator, so hot that you can feel a thin dew of sweat begin to break out along your spine. It chases away the chill of the night and makes you so sleepy.

You’re almost asleep when movement from behind you jolts you back to wakefulness. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve imagined it. Then Gaz moves again, and this time it’s unmistakable.

Gaz is hard, the thick ridge of him impossible to miss as he presses against your ass. You’re awake instantly, the slight tipsiness from dinner vanishing into thin air. You’re on high alert, eyes darting back to the television to see what the fuck has aroused him, but there’s nothing of note happening onscreen. It’s just a conversation between characters, exposition setting up the next stage of the plot.

“Gaz,” You say, and your voice comes out louder than you had intended. “Stop humping my ass.”

You’re half-expecting him to deny it, but he just huffs a quiet snort, his nose nuzzling against the back of your neck.

“Sorry, love.” He says, though he doesn’t sound sorry in the least. “Can’t help it. Missed you loads.”

You can feel his cock even through the layers of your clothing, and you swallow hard. God, you’ve missed it. You’ve missed him, though it doesn’t seem like the right time to admit it. How are you ever supposed to get over each other if he keeps coming to stay with you every time he gets back from wherever in God’s name he’s been, when he holds you so sweetly and talks to you like you’re still his girl?

His hips rock into you in a movement that’s almost imperceptible, except you’re waiting for it. His hands are gripping your waist, his fingers curling into the soft flesh there. He’s always enjoyed the way your body yields to him, so much softer than the hard planes of muscle that make up his own, and it’s no surprise that he goes straight back to holding onto his favourite parts of you even as he ruts against your ass.

“Jesus, Gaz–” You start to complain, but your voice is a little too breathy to be convincingly angry.

“Stop that,” He murmurs, his lips pressing against the side of your neck. “You never call me that.”

That is true – after the breakup, calling him Kyle just seemed too intimate. It’s a name that usually falls from your lips with care, in soft whispers made for dark rooms and quiet moments. His callsign offers distance, reminds you both that what you had is in the past. Or that it should be in the past, at least.

“Kyle,” You concede tiredly. “You dickhead.”

He just hums. He knows you well enough to know that you’re not really angry; you’re not even attempting to move away from him, though you know you should. The film is mostly forgotten in the background, though you’re vaguely aware that the two characters onscreen have now progressed to confessing their love before the big final battle. You just sigh; this little romantic film moment is only going to encourage Gaz even more.

Yet still, you don’t move.

The way he’s grinding his thick cock against the swell of your ass is making your blood run hot. The pressure every time his hips roll lightly against you and the way that he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back against him is making your brain all stupid and fuzzy. It’s the only reason you can think of to explain the way you shift, the way you allow your bum to brush back against him. It earns you a soft little grunt that’s mostly muffled by the way he’s mouthing at your throat.

Oh, it would be so easy to slip the sweatpants that separates the two of you down, to allow him to slide into you. A little woozily, you think it would feel like he was coming home.

But to actually have sex feels like too much of a commitment, too confusing a step to take when things between you two were already muddled and confused enough. You’re almost afraid to even turn around to glance over your shoulder at him, as though making eye contact might mean you’ll both wake up and stop.

Gaz’s cock has gotten even harder, filling out thickly as he slots against the clothed groove of your ass. He’s not even touching your pussy, and yet your knickers are slick and sticky. It’s embarrassing at your age to be laying on the couch, watching a movie and getting dry-humped like a fucking teenager, and yet your skin feels as though it’s been lit aflame.

Then rustling fabric breaks the silence, and Gaz shifts a little behind you in an odd motion as the insistent pressure on your ass is finally relieved. In its absence, you’re almost disappointed. 

You tilt your head, just barely turning it, just enough to see that he’s just pulled out his cock.

“Kyle–”

“Sorry, baby,” He says again, panting against the side of your neck and making you shiver. “– ‘m just too hard, getting uncomfortable. Ignore it.”

Ignore it? You think, a little hysterically. The gentle rocking of his erection into your ass was one thing, but how the fuck are you supposed to ignore the fact that your ex is all pressed up against you, still holding you by the waist with one hand as the other fists at his cock.

You glance behind you and down before you can help yourself, your self-control as lacking as ever. Fuck. You’ve missed the sight of that. He has the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, even if right now it’s flushed dark and angry and painful looking. Your mouth waters. He was obviously telling the truth when he said it was getting sore, and you feel a reluctant swell of sympathy.

“Been thinking of you for months, baby.” He murmurs, placing a wet, messy kiss on your throat. “I can’t even fucking cum properly when you’re not around, it’s not the fucking same. God, even missed the way you smell–”

As if to punctuate that, he presses his nose in your hair and inhales deeply. You know you smell like the sweet perfume you had sprayed earlier, your favourite one. You know from experience that it’s also Gaz’s favourite one. You tell yourself it’s a coincidence.

“Why didn’t you fuck someone else then? Get it out of your system?” You say, and it comes out a little harsh, a little raw. It reveals more than you want to; you feel a little ill at the thought of Gaz with some faceless girl, holding her and making her laugh, her hands touching him like you do.

If Gaz picks up on the bite in your voice, he’s kind enough to ignore it. He just huffs a quick snort like the suggestion is ridiculous, his sloppy mouthing at your neck turning into a chaste affectionate kiss that feels totally at odds with the desperate motions of his hand pumping at his cock.

“Why would I do that when I had a girl waiting for me at home?” He asks, his voice so soft with you. “Never wanted anyone else.”

Your toes curl, guilt coiling in your stomach. You hate that you feel pleased that he’s waited for you, that he doesn’t want anyone else. You’re not being fair – it had been you who had broken it off, after all. He should be able to get with whoever he wants to. Conceivably, he is allowed to. Yet you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t have been sick to your stomach if he admitted that he had. 

God, you feel like such a hypocrite. Here you are, admittedly all too happy that Gaz has stayed faithful to a relationship that isn’t even intact anymore, and there he is, having just witnessed you come home with a stranger’s hands all over you.

“We’re not together anymore.” You whisper, when what you want to say is I’m sorry.

“I know.” Gaz replies, and it sounds like For now.

It’s not a surprise when the hand on your waist slips around to your belly, and then lower again as it slips beneath the waistband of your bottoms. You try and fail to suppress the wet gasp that’s pulled from your throat when his long fingers coast over the front of your knickers, finding your clothed clit with unerring accuracy.

“Oh, lace, baby?” He says, his breath catching in his eagerness before realisation seems to set in. “Oh. This was for your little date, eh?”

The guilt again, gnawing in your chest. You arch your back, simultaneously shying away and crowding your ass back up against him. It’s mortifying, being caught with your fancy underwear beneath your baggy unflattering sweatpants by your ex-boyfriend and having him know without a shadow of a doubt that you intended them to be seen by someone else.

“I was–” You start to say breathily, but Gaz doesn’t let you finish.

“It’s alright, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips ghosting along the shell of your ear. “I know, I know. But he didn’t deserve it, didn’t deserve you. Jesus, he didn’t even know what he fuckin’ had, ran like a coward–”

“Gaz–” You try again. You can’t help but feel as though you need to explain yourself, like the two of you should talk this through.

“You’re so soft, Jesus Christ.” He mutters, the side of his hand rubbing at the squishy flesh of your thighs as he strokes at your clit. “Were you always this soft?”

It sounds as though he’s trying to remember, desperate and wanting. You swallow thickly, closing your eyes as that familiar pleasure licks up your spine. He knows you so well, knows every part of you and exactly how to touch you, and you can hardly believe you ever entertained letting anyone else put their hands on you.

“I got a new body oil.” You breathe, distracted by his touch. “It’s– it’s vanilla scented.”

“Yeah,” He groans, and you shiver helplessly when you feel his tongue on your neck, licking a hot stripe up to your earlobe. “I can smell it.”

His index and middle fingers are so firm on either side of your clit, rolling circles around it without actually touching you properly. You sigh, back arching, but before you can actually enjoy it his hands are pulling away.

“Wait–” You gasp, your body crying out in protest as Gaz stops, pulling his hand back out of your pants.

Gaz just grunts, kisses your neck once more, then tugs your sweatpants down. You lift your hips up immediately, thoughtlessly, and then kick your sweats and knickers off impatiently. It’s a little embarrassing, especially when the cool air hits your slick, sticky thighs and you shiver.

“Oh god, fuck,” He groans, his plush lips dragging along the sensitive skin at the back of your neck. “You’ve ruined yourself, baby.”

It’s embarrassing to admit it, but it’s true. The dry spell you’ve experienced since the breakup has been little more than a mild inconvenience for the most part, but now it feels like your body is charged like a live wire. It feels like you’ve never been touched before, and you squirm backwards in an attempt to get any kind of friction again.

“Kyle–” You start to complain, but you don’t get to finish because then Gaz is slotting his cock in between your thighs.

He groans, taking a breath as he shuffles his hips closer. His pretty, glistening cock is wedged between the soft pudge of your thighs, the head of it nudging against the wet folds of your cunt every time he twitches.

“Let me put the tip in, baby.” He says, his voice gruff and wanting in your ear. “Literally just the tip, that’s it, huh? It’s not like actual fucking, right?”

In this moment, you think you’d agree to anything to get his dick into you. You had been all kinds of wound up even before you had come home to find Gaz waiting for you, but it’s like your body had some kind of Pavlovian response to Gaz’s touch because now you’re practically panting for him.

He’s right, after all. It’s not really fucking. It means that you can maintain the flimsy thin pretence that this means nothing.

“Okay.” You manage to say, though it comes out humiliatingly breathy. “Yeah, okay, the tip–”

Gaz’s cock is pressing into you before you can even finish your sentence, bullying into the wet grasping tightness of your cunt and making you gasp. 

You’ve gone long enough without getting laid that there’s a slight sting as he presses into you, but it’s overshadowed by the breathless relief. God, you’d forgotten how fucking good his dick felt inside you. He knows just how to use it too, and you wheeze slightly as he rocks an inch inside before pulling back again.

“Oh, fuck, baby.” Gaz moans throatily, the vibration of it rumbling right down your spine. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, you’re so tight.”

“Mph,” You manage to make a muffled sort of sound against the couch cushion your face is pressed against, your mouth hanging softly open as you pant for breath.

True to his word, Gaz just presses the first inch or so inside. You almost hold your breath, waiting for the rest to slide inside and split you open, but he doesn’t. He just rocks back and forth, just missing hitting the spot inside that makes your nerves sing.

You wish, stupidly, fervently, that just this once Gaz would go back on his word. That he’d abandon his promise to just stick that first inch of his cock inside, that he’d slam home and stretch you wide and let his cock brush against the nerves just a little deeper inside you. But that’s not Gaz’s style; you know he’s not going to give you any more unless you beg for it.

Gaz rocks his hips in teeny tiny movements, just enough to have you squirming in frustration. You’re so wet that you know he could slide deeper with ease if he only just tilted his hips right, but he remains doggedly steadfast in pumping just the barest inch into you, groaning with the effort it’s taking to stop himself plunging fully inside.

“Oh god,” He breathes, sounding wrecked in your ear. “You feel even better than I remember.”

You don’t know how he can even say that when he’s barely even inside you, but no matter how much you wiggle and squirm, he just won’t slide any deeper.

“You’re such an asshole.” You slur out against the fabric of the couch, your cheek squished against the cushions. Your chin is a little wet – are you drooling?

Infuriatingly, Gaz doesn’t even argue.

“Mm.” He grunts, kissing the curve of your neck. “What’d I do this time?”

The fact that he has the gall to ask only irritates you further. You let out a quiet, grumbling noise, but his hand grips at your hip and stops you from writhing.

“Just… just put the rest of it in.” You say, craning your neck to try and look at him. 

Your eyes are wide and wet, pathetically teary. You’ve been craving intimacy like this for weeks now. Maybe longer, if you’re being honest with yourself. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve only ever gotten from Gaz, and you wheeze as your body opens up under his touch. God, you don’t know how you thought anyone would ever be able to fuck you like Gaz does.

“Mm, you sure, baby?” He murmurs, nosing against the back of your skull. “Thought we were just cuddling.”

“Don’t be a dick.” You snap, your patience reaching the end of its tether.

He just laughs, a breathless sort of amused gasp, before snapping his hips forward in one sharp movement and seating his cock inside you. Though it’s what you had been demanding, the abruptness of it startles you and you yowl, your back arching.

“Sh, sh, shh, sorry, love.” Gaz pants, before sighing in wordless contentment as his broad chest curves around your back, his strong arm looping around your belly. “Oh, fuck. Missed this so much, you have no idea. I swear you were made for me, I couldn’t fit as well inside anyone else.”

“Just– just move.” You whine, a little plaintive. It’s humiliating how desperate you are, but there’s no turning back now. “Please, Kyle–”

Gaz pitches into movement instantly, as though he’s got something to prove. Or maybe he’s just worried that you’re going to change your mind. His hips pull back then snap forward again, and again. 

He’s so strong, his rhythm steady enough to rock you wildly back and forth on the lumpy couch cushions. You clutch at the fabric beneath you, gasping as his arm pulls you back and keeps you pinned against his hot, hard chest. 

“Oh.” You breathe, tilting your head back with a pathetic little whimper as he fucks into you from behind, the two of you plastered together like sardines in the tiny can that is your sitting room couch.

This is just what you needed, you think a little wildly. God, you’ve been craving physical touch like this for months, since the last time you had seen Gaz. It’s galling to admit that any other man is a poor substitute, unable to fill the void that your ex-boyfriend has left in your life.

“Kyle,” You whine, searching for something. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, but Gaz is as patient with you as ever.

He just hums, leaning in over your shoulder and pressing hot, hungry kisses along your jawline where it’s exposed as you lean your head back. The arm that’s been wrapped around your belly coasts lower, until his big lovely hand is pressed against your cunt. His fingers search for your clit and find it easily, confident and familiar enough with your body that he barely even has to try to make you feel good. 

Gaz coos soothingly at you and rolls your clit between his fingers as his thrusts begin to come faster and harder; he builds up a steady rhythm, one that lets him sink as deep inside of you as possible and quickly renders you speechless. The living room is soon filled with wet slapping sounds from where Gaz is pounding into you from behind, the grunts and pants and moans that both of you make rapidly drowning out the stupid action sequence playing out on the television from the long forgotten film.

Unbelievably, you feel a sweet stirring in your lower belly already. It’s with a sense of tired resignation that you acknowledge you’re going to come on Gaz’s dick, despite your original intentions for the evening. Typical. 

But he���s not going to last either, judging by the strained moans in your ear.

“Shit,” He curses, and then his teeth sink into the side of your neck. You shudder, the feeling of him sucking a harsh hickey into your throat sending electric sparks racing through your nerves.

You think, judging from the desperate edge to Gaz’s humping into you from behind, that Gaz has been yearning in your absence in the same way you have for him. You’re biting on your lip hard in an effort to stifle the plaintive, wanting little moans that are threatening to spill over, but your attempts at quieting yourself are mostly unsuccessful. It makes you feel a little crazy, but Gaz doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, the evidence that you want him too only seems to encourage him. 

Your eyes are half-closed as you fuck your hips back on Gaz’s cock, relishing the satisfied little cries he’s emitting into the back of your neck. You clutch clumsily at the strong arm he has wrapped around your belly, crying out yourself as the head of his cock hits that one spot inside you that makes you feel gooey inside. Your toes curl as your head tips back, your skull neatly cradled in the space between Gaz’s head and the couch cushions as he peppers kisses along the side of your neck.

The wet slapping of your bodies colliding is obscene in the quiet of the room; the stupid film still playing does nothing to drown it out. Your body is as limp and relaxed as a doll, allowing him to fuck into you from behind in a frenzy. Right now, you can’t even recall why you ever would have tried to deny yourself this pleasure in the first place.

His hips clap against your ass, those wet sounds getting even louder and more obscene than ever. Gaz is viscerally pleased with the way your ass bounces every time he fucks into you, because he moans and picks up the pace as if he just wants to watch your glutes jiggle every time his hips slap against you. 

That familiar ball of tension starts tightening in your abdomen, your body winding up for a long-awaited and much needed release. It’s so typical that this orgasm feels like it’s going to be a big one too, as though your body needed Gaz to be there to guide you through it in order to achieve proper satisfaction.

But then, in a move so infuriating you almost burst into tears, Gaz pulls out and leaves you high and dry.

“No!” You blurt, and it comes out almost as a wail. “What are you doing?”

“Sorry, baby.” Gaz says a little breathlessly. “Need you to turn over. Want to see you.”

As soon as you realise that he’s not trying to stop and that he’s just trying to reposition you, you’re quick to roll over so that you’re facing him. It seems like that’s exactly what he wanted, because he grins wide and reaches for your hips, eagerly pulling you closer.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He mumbles, his eyes like warm caramelised honey as they track over your face. 

You’re pretty sure he’s full of shit; you’re panting like you’ve run a marathon, you’re sweaty, your hair is dishevelled, and you’re still wearing the ugly sweatshirt you had put on earlier. Yet, even still, Gaz’s genuine little compliment has your heart flipping in your ribcage.

You can’t help but think that you and Gaz are like feral little animals right now. You can barely keep your hands off each other; now that you’ve rolled over to face him, his hands are roaming over your hips and ass like he’s trying to memorise the feel of you by touch alone. 

Embarrassingly, you’re no better – you lunge forward to kiss him, taking advantage of your new position, and he kisses you back hungrily.

Lying sideways on the couch like this is cramped, but Gaz uses his hand on your ass to tug you closer. Then he reaches down, long fingers gripping at your thigh before he pulls it up so that your leg is hitched over his hip.

Oh no, You barely have time to think it before his cock is pressing into you again, the slide made easy this time. Too intimate!

The panicked thought is swiftly dispelled the moment Gaz starts moving again, because goddamn this position is so much better. It’s almost difficult to tell where Gaz ends and you begin, so intertwined are your bodies. Gaz barely even allows for an inch of space. He fucks into you almost as soon as he’s pulled back, making for a fast, frantic pace that barely even gives you a chance to breathe.

You squeal, but your noises are half-moans as you rock your hips mindlessly into his rough, almost animalistic thrusts. Your leg hitched over his hip means that he’s grinding into you deep, deeper than you thought was possible. 

The way the two of you are fucking feels a little bit unhinged, rutting and humping your bodies together in search of mutual pleasure. It should be clumsy and graceless, yet somehow it feels good, as though your body remembers exactly how good Gaz has always treated you, as though your whole being is having a Pavlovian response to his touch. Pleasure burns in your gut, tight and hot, and you moan stupidly as Gaz pounds into you.

“Oh god.” You say without meaning to. The sound of your voice shocks you; you sound wrecked, as though you’ve been fucking for hours. It would have been embarrassing to reveal just how affected you were if Gaz wasn’t also clearly just as eager for it.

“Yeah,” He says, a hybrid of a groan and a gasp muffled against your lips as he clutches at your ass and drives into you wildly. “Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

You are too, you realise wildly. You’re struck by how quickly you’ve both gotten to this point. This whole encounter has been frenzied and feverish, as though the poorly stifled desire between you had turned explosive. 

Gaz kisses you again, and his teeth clack against yours slightly as he licks into your mouth. It’s messy and wet, and it sends a delicious throb of pleasure shooting through your belly. He’s acting so possessive that it’s making your head spin. It should definitely be sending warning bells ringing in your head, or red alarms flashing in your minds eye – it can’t be a good thing that your ex-boyfriend is currently fucking you on your couch like he’s trying to claim you. But you’re apparently a little stupid and very weak, and Gaz has always known how to fuck you dopey and thoughtless. Instead of worry, you get the edges of an orgasm beginning to fizz in your peripheral awareness.

Your pussy must flutter or tighten around him as that lovely sweet promise of release edges closer, because Gaz moans in anticipation and his eager thrusts take on an edge of purpose. You almost protest when he breaks off the kiss, but then you realise that he just wants to be able to focus on keeping his rhythm steady. It’s frenzied and hot, and you swear the air itself is crackling as he kisses sloppily at your neck and fucks you hard.

“Love you,” He slurs in your ear, breathless. “Love you so much, baby.”

His thrusts turn more shallow and far more forceful the closer he gets. Little moans and whines escape his lips between kisses, the sounds ratcheting up in intensity as the two of you rut together.

“Tell me you love me,” He pleads, “Please— tell me you fuckin’ love me, baby. I know you do. I know you—”

You shouldn’t say it. You can’t say it. Yet his cock is fucking you sloppy and stupid, and your mouth moves before you even register that you’re speaking.

“Love you too,” You whimper like a pathetic little idiot, revelling in the exquisite feeling of him grinding against your g-spot just right. It feels so good, you know you’re so, so close to orgasm.

The ache in your abdomen persists— you clench tightly around his cock, your body straining as the muscles in your core clench, trying so hard to push yourself closer to the orgasm you know is coming. You’re so close, so so close— it burns, aches, drives you mad. All you can do is mewl, wrapping your arms around his muscled shoulders as he pounds into you despite the awkward angle.

You can feel your clit throbbing, pulsing, your entire body trying so goddamn hard to climax that you feel like you’re about to cry. You’re burning beneath your skin and all you want to do is gnash your teeth into the elegant line of Gaz’s throat, to leave some kind of indelible mark on his lovely smooth skin.

“Please, please, please— yes, fuck— oh, Kyle,” Your words come out on the breath of an uneven gasp, stuttering with each movement of his hips, perfectly synchronized. 

His voice is low and hot in your ear as he pants, “Let me come inside you, baby— let me, please— fuck.”  

You should say no. Every logical part of you knows that you should tell him to pull out, and yet the wires are crossed when it comes to your actual response. Your leg tightens around his waist, heart seizing in protest at the idea of him pulling out.

“Yes.” You gasp, continuing your streak of impulsive decision-making. Your own hips twitch forward in weak little humps in an effort to fuck yourself onto his cock, your clit grinding against the dark curls at his pubic bone. “Yes, inside, please–”

Your breathy, eager permission seems to give him a burst of energy. He picks up the pace, his body curving into you as his arms wrap around you in a tight embrace. It feels as though your entire world has been narrowed down to Gaz, his broad shoulders blocking out your view of the rest of the room. You cling to him, breathless and messy as you whimper like a loser, your body trembling from the toe-curling zings of pleasure that keep shooting up your spine.

“Oh, oh.. Kyle, please–” You practically sob, your fingernails digging harshly into his shoulders. “Love you, love you, oh my god, I’m gonna come–”

Gaz grunts, obviously eager as his movements grow thoughtful and determined. He knows exactly what you want, what you need at this moment. His abdominal muscles tense and flex with every calculated, deliberate thrust. There is no way to escape the length of him moving hard and thick inside you – not that you want to escape so much as a second of it, of course.

“That’s my girl, always so fucking perfect.” He snarls as your body eagerly takes every dirty roll of his hips, palming at your thigh where it’s hitched over his hip. “Fuckin’ Christ, I’ve been dreaming of your cunt for fucking months, never wanted anything else–”

It makes no sense. Absolutely no sense, that those bizarre, lust-crazed possessive words are what drag you trembling, screaming over the crest of an orgasm so intense the walls of the room white out, each sweeping pulse leaving you unable to do anything but clench and shudder and arch beneath him.

Gaz fucks you like a damn machine; he gives you long, deep strokes over and over as you’re falling apart. Your body seizes around the hot flesh of Gaz’s cock, your mind going white as your cunt spasms, your hole clamping down and pulsing with every desperate, loud moan torn from your mouth. 

You feel like a sloppy little slut, your hips jerking towards him instead of away even as your orgasm washes through you and leaves your body tender and oversensitive. It feels so damn good to feel your mind washing blank and clear, not a single thought taking hold. 

When the toe-curling height of pleasure subsides, you find your nerves frayed and hyper-sensitive. A plaintive whine breaks out of your throat as Gaz keeps fucking you, beginning to thrust up frantically into your twitching pussy. Your body falls limp as Gaz bounces your pliable, warm body up and down his cock as he groans into your ear.

It’s like the rhythmic tightening of your drooling, creaming cunt has him losing his mind, because he grabs the meat of your hips and begins jerking your limp body back towards him. The slap slap slap! of the impact is so loud that every slap makes your breath catch.

“Fuck. I'm—” Your hands slap clumsily at his shoulders, reaching for anything to hold on to, but he doesn’t stop. "Kyle. Kyle—" It’s just your voice, hoarse, breathless, and Gaz bearing down on you, the sound of your bodies somehow growing sloppier, messier as he fucks you and it’s uncompromising, just skirting the edge of painfully overwhelming—

He breaks, shoulders trembling, head bowed into the curve of your neck as he lets out a long, desperate moan. It’s a drawn out, rough groan that is more sob than pleasure, and then you feel him inside you, spilling red hot and wet. Your own orgasm still isn’t fully finished, rolling leisurely through you in little aftershocks, your body still tightening and shivering, and it goes on and on and on.

He holds on to you throughout, as if he’s worried he’ll blow away into the wind without anchoring himself to you. His hips slow, but don’t fully stop. He rolls his hips into you slowly, leisurely, as though he has all the time in the world as he shivers in his come down. You blink, waiting for the colour to bleed back into your vision and for the ringing in your ears to stop, and for the first time all night you’re not thinking about anything at all.

“Please, Kyle.” You slur out stupidly. You have no idea what you’re even asking for; there’s just some vague, barely formed desperation floating around your painfully blank mind as you search for something.

“Mm.” Gaz hums. It feels like he’s everywhere, his broad chest filling up your sight and enveloping you. His hands roam over your body: the backs of your thighs, squeezing as his hands drift over your ass, up and down your back, your neck, his fingers catching around the thin strands of hair and the back of your neck, until finally he settles his fingers on your cheeks.

His palms stay there, just cupping your cheeks as the two of you struggle to regulate your breathing and regain your composure. That antsy sense of desperation eases a little when he leans in to nuzzle fondly at your face, dropping sweet little kisses along your cheeks and nose.

Gaz’s chest rumbles with a low, lovely laugh, his voice gravelly from his climax. “You’re overflowing, sweetheart.”

You let out a careless little sigh, before relaxing experimentally. You can feel a gush of warm seed begin to ooze out around Gaz’s cock, spilling out of your entrance and coating his balls. You wriggle lazily, cunt still pulsing as your wildly beating heart gradually slows to a lazy flutter.

You think you should probably be panicking now. You’ve just fucked your ex, told him you loved him, then let him come inside. With no condom. God, you’re stupid. But the wave of horror you’re expecting never comes. You feel too floaty to care; you suspect if it was anyone other than Gaz, the mortification would have knocked into you like a sledgehammer. 

“You’re gonna get cum on the couch.” You complain, the words coming out clumsy on your tongue.

Gaz just snorts. He makes no effort to pull out, and you have no desire to push him away. The intimacy of your sweat-slick skin pressed together is enough to take your breath away, and it’s only further compounded by the sensation of his cock gradually softening inside you.

“I’ll get it cleaned, love.” He drawls lazily, leaning in to kiss your swollen lips. “Or pay for a new one. Whichever you want.”

When you kiss him back he sighs fondly, one thumb stroking over your cheekbone. You’re still limp in his arms, boneless and spent as you wriggle greedily into his arms. His cock is still lodged inside you, and you’re sure he must be getting uncomfortably sensitive but to your relief he just moans in quiet appreciation when you try to worm your way closer.

“You made a mess.” You mumble against his lips. 

You’re being a little unfair, considering your own slick is coating your thighs and Gaz’s lower belly, but Gaz has always rolled with even the most unreasonable attitude you’ve thrown his way. So he just chuckles, and you feel a little insane as you wonder if anyone else would ever be as patient with you.

“Think we both did, doll.” He murmurs fondly. He leans in and catches your lips with his again, kissing you slowly with a lazy, lewdly open mouth. One hand curls against the nape of your neck, the other hand reaching up beneath your sweater and curling possessively against your left tit, sweeping over your sluggish, sated heartbeat.

You feel practically brainless after your orgasm, relaxed and loose in Gaz’s arms. There’s something to be said for how safe you feel with him, as much as you’d like to deny it, but reality is starting to slowly sink in.

You pull away from his mouth to try and collect yourself, unable to think when he’s kissing you like that. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, closing your eyes with a sigh. It’s slow, but you’re finally starting to think again. “We shouldn’t– we should have used a condom.”

Gaz’s eyes are lidded with fond amusement as he watches you quietly. His hand kneads at your breast absent-mindedly, as though he’s forgotten that he’s groping at you. 

“Don’t overthink it,” He murmurs, kissing your forehead again. “I saw your box of pills in the bathroom. And I’m clean. Haven’t been with anyone but you.”

You tremble a little at his admission, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You feel like you’re losing your mind. Gaz is the most beautiful man you’ve ever met, funny and sweet and always so caring. You love him, even if it kills you a little to admit it, and you don’t know how to respond to his admission that he’s been faithful to you during the long months you weren’t together.

Gaz misinterprets whatever expression is on your face, thumb stroking soothingly over your cheek again. “We can get you a morning-after pill, if it’ll make you feel better.”

You don’t bother correcting him. You’re not that fussed over the morning-after pill – you’re careful when it comes to your birth control, and Gaz had always cum inside you when you were together. The weight of his cock inside you is comforting almost, the wet slide of his cum dripping out of you makes you feel as though you’d never been apart in the first place. You wonder how you could ever have been thick enough to think that someone else could fill Gaz’s place in your life.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Gaz’s lips twitch. “That pillock you brought home would’ve been such a disappointment, darling.”

You can’t stop your eyes from rolling, exasperated. 

“You don’t know that.” You grumble, though you don’t pull away. You’re still all curled up against his chest, skin still slick and sticky from rapidly cooling sweat, your leg still slung over Gaz’s hip to keep his now-soft cock nestled inside you.

“Sure I do.” He says, and that cocky arrogance that both drives you mad and makes you swoon is rearing its head. He reaches down, and his thick fingers roll over your much-too-sensitive clit. “She missed me, gorgeous. Don’t think she would have liked some strange tosser pounding away at her with no idea how to please her.”

The way he talks about your pussy as though it has its own thoughts and feelings has you rolling your eyes again, though your cheeks burn with embarrassment. To your immense irritation, you think he might have a point. You haven’t come that hard in months, not since the breakup.

“Oh, shut up.” You sigh tiredly.

He snickers, and then shifts. It takes you a moment to realise that he’s pulling his hips back preparing to pull out. Your brain stalls, and you wrap your arms around his neck and shoulders in protest. You’re not ready to feel the invasive, aching emptiness that will no doubt throb through your core as soon as he’s not filling you up. 

“Stay.” You say, and it comes out as an embarrassingly breathy little plea.

Gaz goes practically limp, as though your hoarse request had taken the wind right out of him. You’re not expecting the way he brings both arms around your waist before rolling over onto his back, hauling you up to lay over his chest. His cock remains firmly lodged inside you, though the movement has resulted in his white creamy spend leaking out onto your inner thighs.

“Not going nowhere.” He mumbles, one hand stroking over your flank to soothe you. “I’m on leave for at least a month.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.” Gaz hums. He must sense that this is a delicate moment, because he doesn’t make any ribald jokes about having all month to fuck you like you’re expecting him to. He just presses a tender kiss to your temple, his lips lingering gently.

Usually, you’d probably be a little embarrassed by how clingy you’re being. You had been so damn determined not to fall into bed with Gaz after the breakup, but you’re so, so weak. His stupid honey brown eyes and gorgeous dimples and crooked grin is enough to send you to your knees. You rest your forehead against his chest as he holds you close; at least like this, you can’t see his stupid handsome face.

He’s obviously pleased with the way you’re snuggling into him, because his chest rumbles as he hums in satisfaction. He’s holding you tight like he thinks you’re going to slip away the moment he blinks.

“You okay?” He asks quietly.

You don’t answer immediately. There’s no way to brush this under the carpet, or to go back to pretending at detached disinterest. If you had wanted to play this off as just a bit of stress relief, then you should have rolled away from him the second he’d spilled inside of you rather than cuddling with him on the couch. There’s no way that you can claim that this was just a case of needing to get laid; you’re still clutching at him like a limpet, the two of you intertwined so tight that it’s difficult to tell when your limbs end and Gaz’s begin.

“I’m tired.” You sigh eventually, sidestepping the conversation that you know you’ll have to deal with eventually.

No doubt Gaz notices your not particularly subtle avoidance, but he doesn’t comment. He seems quite happy to indulge your every whim; he probably wants to avoid the this-was-a-mistake-and-we-need-to-maintain-boundaries conversation even more than you do.

“Let’s get you to bed then,” He murmurs, and then he surprises you by sitting up. You’re still laid out across his chest, which means that when he shimmies up into a sitting position, you end up sitting sprawled in his lap.

You’re still speared a little awkwardly on his soft cock, the sensation of him inside you making your eyelids flutter a little. You feel satisfied, your muscles still watery and weak, and you sigh a little mournfully when Gaz finally pulls his cock out of you. You ache, a deep throb that both stokes and settles you. It’s like a comfortable little reminder that Gaz was here, and that he left his mark on you.

You can feel the way he leans back just to get a glimpse of his spend trickling down the inside of your thigh. You pout and bury your face into his throat, your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders still as you try to hide your sudden self-consciousness.

But Gaz isn’t interested in giving you a moment to hide. You feel the edge of his teeth ghost the shell of your ear before he speaks, just low enough to make you shiver.

“Let me take you out tomorrow, sweetheart.” He says, and beneath his usual cocky countenance you hear the edge of a plea. “I’ll make up for ruining your date tonight. You can wear that little dress from earlier for me again.”

You feel exposed, stripped bare as you perch in Gaz’s lap. His hand strokes evenly over your spine, waiting patiently for your response.

“I want a fancy dinner.” You mumble, your fingers curling around his shoulders. “At a nice restaurant.”

You hear a shaky little exhale, and Gaz’s arms tighten around your waist. It strikes you that he’s relieved, and you feel your heart tremble in response. The knowledge that he wants you still is enough to have your own lungs seizing in response; you can’t quite bear to wonder if you’ve been wasting time for these past few months that you’ve been broken up. 

“Whatever you want.” He says it like a prayer, tilting his head in search of your lips again.

The kiss is easy, the months that you’ve been apart dissolving into nothing. You’re a little too stubborn to give in entirely and beg for him back just yet though, but you doubt it matters. You’ve already admitted your weakness for him in the middle of shagging, and you’re not stupid enough to hope that he’s somehow forgotten it. You’ve been trying so hard to shove all those feelings down deep, but you’re not too surprised that they’ve all come bubbling out. He’s got a month of leave. You have no doubt that he’s going to use that time to change your mind. You find that you don’t mind the idea as much as you thought you might; you suspect that you can be swayed all too easily.

You peek up at him, only to come face to face with his sweet, hopeful deep brown eyes. He’s not pushing, but you can see the weight of desire and yearning in every inch of his face. No doubt it’s mirrored on your own. You don’t think you could ever look into his pretty face and deny him anything.

You hum, then whisper the only answer you could ever give.

“Yeah. Okay. It’s a date, then.”

[thesiltverses]

Ended up in a mildly hellish, panic-inducing situation at work today and had to employ some Coping Strategies and found myself thinking “the Last Word tells me that I am safe and capable.” You’ve created a narrative device so compelling that it found its way into my affirmations! Thank you so much for creating this world and this story, it’s really been a source of joy and comfort to me in a weird time of life and it’s just so so good. Carpenter and VAL in particular really altered my brain chemistry. Hope you and yours are doing well!

(Side note: I had my partner proofread this to make sure it wasn’t too cringe and he said “alternatively, you could pitch him a new podcast: the stilt verses. It’s the same as the silt verses except everyone is mysteriously very tall”)

Thank you so much for writing in and I agree with your partner, it isn't cringe at all! People find the nicest ways to springboard off our weird and horrible little show as they move through their own lives and it's always delightful to hear about. (Also, that sounds like your success more than anything to do with the Last Word or Val, so really well done on the coping strategy and getting through it, and hopefully everything gets a bit less weird-weird and a bit more good-weird for you)

[fairytsuk1]

mile high club | (smut)

pairing: alex quackity x reader

words: 1.9k

warnings: sexual content, surprise visit, riding, quickie, couch sex, mild femdom, mild sub!alex, unprotected sex, pre-established relationship

summary: "Sooo, What about Quackity dating someone who lives in a different country, and since both of them have been really busy they haven't seen each other in person in a couple months, so he decides to give his s/o a surprise visit?"

It was as normal of a day as ever. You’d woken up early and greeted Alex, who happily called you while you brushed your teeth and washed your face.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” and you can hear the smile in his voice.

“Good morning,” you yawn, rubbing your eyes, “what have you been up to?”

“Oh, you know,” he avoids the question, “just getting on with the day. You have your little morning voice right now, so cute, you know.”

Your laugh rings prettily into the phone as Alex blatantly flirts with you. He still made you feel like a teenager, all giddy with excitement and want. Plus, you miss him. It feels like eons ago that he would pull you closer to his chest mornings like these, firm arms snug around your waist as he curled around you like a mama bear. Your heart ached at the thought, even just sharing breakfast or coffee felt special.

“Well, whatever! I just woke up and gotta start my morning routine. But seriously, what are you up to? It sounds kinda noisy?”

The mild hustle and bustle cuts through the phone's static. It’s too muffled to hear anything, and you’re too sleep-addled to decipher it, “it’s nothing, baby. I’m just at the store. It’s crowded today, but I need some groceries.”

“Oh, right, Target?”

Alex pauses, “Yeeeah. I gotta go, honey, but I’ll talk to you later!”

Something feels off, but you swallow your worries.

“Yeah, we’ll talk later! I love you.”

“Te quiero mucho.”

There’s a quick click and then silence. Usually, Alex was more carefree with his thoughts. He had no problem freely expressing himself to you; he even told you that you were someone who made him feel like he could. But maybe you’re just being an overly attached girlfriend! You’re just thinking too hard about this. It’s probably fine, right?

You brush your teeth hastily with vigor, and you make record-breaking time on your skincare routine. The faster you get your day started, the bigger head start you have against those anxious thoughts.

It was an extreme relief when you received sporadic texts from Alex.

[lex <3]: what’s up babe??

[lex <3]: I’m thinking of youu

[lex <3]: te quiero verte pronto <3

It made your heart race and make you want to look bashful and hide underneath your lashes because he was so charming. You eagerly reply to him with a plentiful amount of hearts and kisses. Just knowing he was thinking of you made you feel good. It uplifted your day as you flicked on mascara and tied up your New Balances. 

Things were average that day. The loud ringing doorbell broke you out of your TV rewatching reverie. You’re expecting some religious fanatics; damn, they could be so annoying. No packages you ordered that you knew of, no plans left forgotten, who could it be—

You’re absolutely taken aback. The breath in your lungs seemingly dissipates into the air, condensing into invisible wispy strands. What’s this? Alex stands before you with a bright smile. His jacket is black and puffy, and he’s got his striped beanie that turns beautiful wild locks of hair into a shape resembling an egg. It’s your boyfriend. He’s suddenly materialized on your doorstep with rolling luggage and smooth words, “Are you gonna invite me in?”

“Alex! Oh my god,” you fly into his arms, darting into them like the floor was a springboard, “this isn’t real. How are you here? This is insane!”

“I flew here; I had to see you,” he says earnestly, “I’m so fucking glad to see you.”

“I’m glad to see you, Lex!”

The two of you are locked in a cozy embrace. Your arms cradle Alex's head like he’s a baby, your baby, as you pepper soft, freckled skin with kisses. He tries to tell you to stop and tries to squirm away, but you aren’t letting go now that he’s here in your hands. 

"You totally lied about the grocery store!"

"Come onn, I couldn't give away the surprise!"

Alex holds you by your waist and takes deep inhales in your neck. Something about your scent and knowing that you’re there in his arms makes him feel high. That makes him feel more than elated, indeed in a near-delirious state of love.

Both of you adjust to him being back. His luggage is left haphazardly in the bedroom while he kicks his shoes off to get comfortable. You can’t help but hang off of him and touch every single part of him as if this is a dream that could not be possible. He preens, feeling your hand smooth down the expanse of his back, covered with a fit Planet Duck t-shirt that made him look so delectable.

You were always attracted to Alex; there was no question about that. However, the combination of not having seen him for long, along with his freshly cut hair, was doing things to you. The experience of being in his space was sending your pussy into overdrive. Even the first shared kiss the two of you have leaves you wanting more as your clit quivers. Alex seems like none the wiser to your needs as the two of you settle down together.

“What do you wanna order, pizza?”

“Whatever you want, handsome,” and your nails scratch at his forearm just to feel his goosebumps prickle up.

“Handsome? Why thank you,” he smirked, giving you an Eskimo kiss. “Are you sure you don’t have a craving for anything?”

“I think… the only craving I have is you.”

“Wow, you must really want me to be begging like this,” he teases, bringing his face so close that his breath hits your lips, “what do you want?”

“I want my boyfriend, who I haven’t seen in months, to fuck the shit out of me. Think that can be arranged?”

“Absolutely,” Alex brings you into a kiss.

His hands weave into the hair at the back of your neck. When he brings you closer, the tension of the pull makes your jaw drop in a gasp. Alex takes advantage of your blatant thirst through your lips by slipping a slick tongue to toy with yours. He tastes like mints, and you fist your hand in his jacket with a crinkle. Both of you sway, shifting first to lean back before you press your lips against him harder and swing a leg over his wide legs. 

It feels sweltering when the two of you pull away with panting breaths. You’re perched high in Alex's lap, and his hands possessively hold the curve of your ass. His lips are pink if slightly bitten, as they swell. You’re sure yours aren’t any better, but it hurts in the best way when you rejoin your lips together for another kiss.

“Extrañe tanto tu cuerpo, quiero comérmelo,” he rasps and rolls you further into his chest, further against his hardening cock.

His words leave you shivering as you roll your hips against him again.

“Wanna ride you first, I’ve missed your cock filling me up sooo much.”

Alex blushes at hearing your praise. Your hands caress his shoulders soothingly as he relaxes more on the couch, “I think about you all the time. Fisting my cock pretending it’s your pussy, fuckk, but it’s never the same.”

“My fingers never do it like yours do,” his sweatpants are expertly undone and tugged down.

“Oh, I know. I always make you feel good,” his hips lift as you lower his boxers to reveal the tan skin of his thick cock.

Your mouth instantly waters at the sight of him. His head is dark and weeping with pre-cum as it twitches in the cool air. Spitting on your hand, eye contact is captivating as you begin to work your hand up and down his cock. Your wrists twist, and Alex lets out a high-pitched moan, hand digging into the plush cushion of the couch. He only whines sweeter and pants heavier as your slick up his dick, working him up till he feels his balls churning with the need to release.

Alex whines when you let go, hands pawing at your waist to align your dripping hole with the head of his cock. His mouth is fast to latch onto your nipples or to lightly nibble at the soft skin of his tummy.

“Be patient,” you lightly chide.

“Can’t, need you too bad,” he moans as delicate fingers touch his cock, “I wanted to surprise you, so now you treat me.”

“What a demanding boy.”

“Ah! Oh, fuck. Fuckfuckfuck,” your soaked pussy sinks down on his fat cock.

He’s not impossible to take, but the stretch still makes your stomach quiver after such a long time. It’s welcoming, though. Your pussy is carved to take Alex, to be fucked relentlessly by him as he makes your tongue loll out your mouth.

“God, fuck! I missed this so much, Lex,” your eyes are teary as you wetly rise and lower yourself on his dick, “making me feel so full.”

“You’re amazing, riding me so well. Hah, ah, you always make me feel good!”

You’re preening and crawling closer with faster hips as Alex wails for you. There are lewd smacking sounds that reverberate through the room as you fuck yourself on his dick. Things heated up so fast that everything felt as though the intensity of your fucking had been turned up to eleven.

His cock curves in your gummy walls. Every downstroke leads to the tip pressing against the spongy spot inside you; it makes your hips seize desperately as you pound yourself against Alex. He’s moved to lightly jerking his hips, mouth suckling on your tits and leaving gentle marks on your back. His nails are blunt, but the sting makes the coils inside you grow tighter and tighter with tension.

You feel so wet, wet, wet. Your walls are squeezing Alex, desperate for every single drop of release, and his orgasm is about to slap him in the face, “I-I’m getting close, oh shit. Babe, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum inside me, Lex. I wanna feel it, breed me,” it comes out in a whine as you grow closer and closer to your peak, “gonna cum all over this cock, papi. Fuckkk, you own this pussy! Oh, oh!”

Alex cums first. His hot ropes fill you like warm lava, filling your pussy to the brim with his seed as he groans out from under you. He was at your mercy as you milked him through your orgasm, milky walls squeezing his dick for all it’s worth. Your thighs ache in the best way as you sink into his lap. 

His cum leaks out of you lewdly around his softening cock. Both your eyes meet as you regain your breath. He looks a mess, and you know you do two as your sweaty bodies rest against each other. A flicker of fondness turns into a full-blown flame, “I-I love you. I missed you so much.”

“I love and miss you too, a ton,” he whispers, “and I’m glad I came to surprise you.”

You smile at him with watery eyes, “Yeah, me too.”

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt: Danny goes to Gotham and meets a dead Robin.

There are options for ways to approach an unfamiliar ghost–especially a baby ghost, and from the look of him Robin can’t be more than three or four years dead, if that–but since Robin is a superhero, Danny takes the obvious one. He sticks Tucker’s ghost-proof GPS into his chest or a pocket dimension or some cross between the two and then he glides down through Gotham’s smog and starlight and lets the invisibility and intangibility drop to give the kid a light little greeting swat. Very light–it only knocks Robin halfway across the roof he’s racing across. Which might be a little patronizing, but sue him, the kid is tiny. 

Lady Gotham croons, mournful and adoring, and her Robin tumbles through a roll and pops up alertly out of the bat-winged shadows that surround him, doing a perfect flip to land right on top of one of the gargoyles at the edge of the roof. His eyes are wide and white-lensed behind the domino mask, and the moment he sees Danny he laughs. 

stranger stranger, careful careful, gonna tell my daaaaad, Robin’s core sing-songs, bright and shiny and secure in that threat, and Danny’s mouth quirks in wry amusement. Yeah, definitely a baby ghost. But it’s nice to see Batman’s kid feels safe with him even dead; is still confident in his protection no matter what. Apparently Batman is a little more down with ghosts and spirits than Danny’s own parents started out, but really, of course he is. He is Lady Gotham’s boytoy, after all. 

show me what you’ve got, Danny hums back through his own core–the traditional ghost-introduction for any haunt, even with a baby ghost. Honestly, it’s more impressive a ghost this young has a haunt, but given how thoroughly Lady Gotham’s favor surrounds him, it’s not exactly a surprise either. 

Danny’s surprised Robin ever managed to die at all, though, considering how much Lady Gotham loves him. 

Robin springs forward across the roof and Danny side-steps his attack and tries to trip him, but Robin flips right over his leg sweep and throws a fistful of–what are they, batarangs, Danny guesses? batarangs, sure–right at his face. Danny goes intangible because he just does not have the reflexes to dodge that from this close, but the second he phases back in gets a double kick to the gut. 

Robin is definitely a trained fighter, yeah. A trained fighter with experience. 

Nice, Danny thinks, and grins as he zaps a tangle of tiny ecto-blasts at the kid in playful mimicry of those batarangs of his. Robin cartwheels out of the way and then darts in low and leaps up into Danny’s face. 

Very nice. 

Danny inspects Robin’s core thoughtfully as the kid tries to roundhouse-kick his head off his shoulders with another bright, cackling laugh, which is frankly adorable, and it’s actually really impressive? Like–Robin is a surprisingly strong ghost for his age, glowing with faith and shining like a beacon in the dark, and since Danny’s never heard anyone call him a ghost before, he’s gotta at least be strong enough to manifest in a way where he can pass for human when civilians and other heroes are around. 

Which, understandable, really. Danny would also not let anyone know his kid was a ghost if he were Batman, after the Anti-Ecto Acts debacle and how long that’s been taking to clean up. Tall Dark and Paranoid would never let the government know his baby was dead, with that kind of nonsense going on. 

He smashes the kid into the roof–gently, because he doesn’t want Batman getting the wrong idea if he’s in the area, but also not too gently because he doesn’t want to offend Robin by giving him the impression that he’s not taking him seriously. Robin yelps, then kicks him in the chest with both feet and actually knocks him back while simultaneously using him as a springboard to flip backwards and get some distance. 

Talk about parkour, damn. Danny really is impressed. 

not bad, he lets his core rumble approvingly, because Jazz has had some things to say about encouraging the baby ghosts–Jazz has a lot to say about encouraging the baby ghosts, in fact–and Robin’s thrums with laughter and delight and too slow too slow, keep up! Then the kid darts forward again, ducks under his arm, and twists around to elbow him in the back of the head. Danny lets out a snort of laughter and throws him off the roof. Robin laughs, and all those bat-winged shadows embrace him as he vanishes in a twist of the dark.

Not even the shadows. The dark. 

Danny is definitely impressed, yeah.

[shellem15]

This has been commented on many times in this fandom, but I'm using it as a springboard for my own brainrot Raphael really is just like his daddy. There's the obvious stuff—the narcissism, the dramatics, the convoluted plots and just the general messy bitchery—but there's also the stuff under the surface. Both have massive inferiority complexes, both are extremely envious and power-hungry (Mephistopheles in particular for the envy part, but we'll touch on that later), and both act extremely obsessive towards certain tools, goals, and—most relevant to this post—people.

Now Raphael is definitely weird towards Tav/Durge, but it's a bit more ambiguous as to whether he's obsessed with them in particular or just sees them as a means to an end. The situation with Hope, on the other hand, is quite explicit. Raphael is obsessed with her, even naming his home after her, but there's not really anything material he gets out of her. Him imprisoning and torturing her is not a means to an end, he just does it because he's a sadist. He wants her attention, he is entertained by her defiance, he wants to break her—he both loves and loathes her.

And what do you know! Raphael's thing towards Hope is kinda similar to how Mephistopheles acts with his object of obsession—Asmodeus. Now, if you need to know anything about Mephisto's character, it's that he's envious. Envious towards his peers, envious towards his betters, even envious towards his inferiors—he resents that others' have what he does not. Even Martinet, Asmodeus' unflappable constable, thinks so: "Were Mephistopheles to become the King of Hell, it would take him less than an hour to start wondering why he wasn’t also ruler of Mount Celestia." (Guide to Hell, p. 45)

The #1 target of Mephisto's envy is Asmodeus. The man is capital-o Obsessed with him, ya'll.  Asmo is on his mind 24/7, haunting his every thought. He lives rent-free in Mephisto's head.

Mephisto is the silver medal to Asmo's golden 1st place. Eternally living in his shadow, the Starscream to Asmo's Megatron. He is always one step behind him—like, Mephistopheles has been trying to become a god for a while now, and just when he was about to succeed, the spellplague happened and Asmodeus ate the god Azuth like an energy bar, snatching up godhood by sheer luck. And then, of course, Mephisto's godhood plan fell through so now the power divide between them is even greater than it was before.

Bro tries so hard and it just doesn't work. Like, when Mephisto was going through his rebrand phase as the Lord of Hellfire, he changed his appearance to that of the "quintessential devil". But all that ended up doing is making mortals confused about who exactly he is—a lot of mortals straight up think he is Asmodeus. Like, to the point that Asmo just went "you're the manager of my cults now lol", so now the distinction between the two is even more blurry. Also, Mephisto's wife is straight up closer to Asmo than she is to him (see my Baalphegor post), which is just another spit in the face. Bro cannot win. (This ties into another similarity between him and his son; Raphael clearly got the loser gene from him.)

Now, obviously the situation between Raphael and Hope is very different than Mephisto's relationship towards Asmo—Hope is Raphael's captive, while Asmo is Mephisto's boss; Hope's life has been upended and tormented by Raphael, while Mephisto is at most an annoyance towards Asmo (bro has repeatedly told Asmo to his face that he would usurp him and Asmo is just like "whatever, dude")—but the level of obsession is similar. Raphael hates hope but is also desperate for her affection, Mephistopheles loathes and envies Asmodeus but is also his greatest ally. Both are desperate to fu—*ahem* both are psycho-sexually obsessed with them.

So, yeah. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

TLDR: Raphael inherited his psycho-sexually obsessive tendencies from his daddy lol. Also you should really read the lore about Asmodeus and Mephistopheles' relationship because it's actually insane y'all. Like this shit was made for the gays people.

[crikitune]

thinking timbern thoughts tonight... particularly how well they match each other's freak. i pull a lot of my bernard characterization from robin (1993), and in that he was a smarmy little conspiracy theorist! which fits so well with tim's personality! wild conspiracy theorist x supposedly normal but actually wild in a different way??? peak dynamic.

tim may not flaunt his craziness a lot of the time, but i like to think that whenever he's around bernard, he gets about 80% more silly and acts totally different to when he's on missions. like he totally does a 180 whenever he sees bernard, from -.- to :D! in a second.

and he always loves to indulge bernard's theories! i like to think bernard uses him as a springboard for his theories so tim will just say random nonsensical shit that somehow ends up making the theory even more batshit then when it started.

i love the dynamic they have because bernard really allows tim an outlet to just relax and be silly!! whenever he's on patrol or a mission he has to be generally pretty serious and focused, he has to keep that level head. but whenever he's with bernard he can just be goofy and not worry about the pressure of being the reliable vigilante!!!

sorry this got a lil long... timbern rattling around in my brain rn!!!

[kairilov3]

Liv morgan x female reader

so ive been thinking maybe you can write something where the reader is dom’s sister but they haven’t spoken since dom betrayed their dad. The reader is part of damage control and when iyo wins the number 1 contenders match shes very much in the middle wanting to be happy for one of her close friends but also wanting her girlfriend to keep the championship, but when kota returns and iyo decides to get involved in the tag match, the reader is quick to get involved not wanting iyo or liv to hurt each other, this leads to tensions rising between iyo and the reader leading to her having to make the choice of liv of iyo ultimately she chooses liv but not without speaking to dakota first. her choosing liv ultimately results in her and dom reuniting in front of all the fans and everyone being happy that the mysterio twins are back together.

Back to OG

Liv Morgan x F!MysterioReader

Wn; Betrayal, Angst

The crowd is electric on this night of Monday Night Raw, the spotlight set on the Women’s World Championship match: Liv Morgan vs Iyo Sky. Tensions are high, and emotions are boiling beneath the surface.

Backstage, you stands beside Dakota Kai and Iyo Sky. You speaks calmly but with heaviness in her voice.

>“I’m not going out there. I need to watch from the back tonight,”

you lies.

Iyo gives a small nod, placing a hand on the your shoulder. Dakota smiles, understanding—or so she thinks.

>“We trust you,” Dakota says simply.

But as soon as the bell rings, the your heart starts pounding. Watching Iyo fight Liv is like watching two parts of you world clash. Iyo—a sister in arms from Damage CTRL. Liv—your girlfriend, your heart, the champion. And you knows something: you can’t let Liv lose tonight.

---

The match grows intense. Liv fights with everything she has, but Iyo is faster, sharper, and more dangerous than ever. A springboard moonsault. A running knee. Liv is fading, and Iyo’s about to end it.

Suddenly, from the crowd—

Dominik Mysterio appears at ringside.

He hops up on the apron, shouting at the referee. Referee turns to stop him, yelling for Dom to back down.

The distraction is perfect.

You bolts from backstage, sliding into the ring just as Iyo is poised to strike. Iyo stops, confused, as you runs at her— and then throws her arms around her.

A hug.

But then—

BAM! ANGILIST DDT!!

The crowd explodes in shock as you drives Iyo into the mat with her finisher—hooking both arms and spiking her with impact. Iyo’s body goes limp.

You slides out of the ring, breath heavy, mind racing.

Dakota Kai, wide-eyed, storms down the ramp.

“What the hell was that?!”

Dak reaches the floor and comes face to face with you. There's a flicker of regret in the your eyes—but it vanishes.

ANGILIST DDT! AGAIN!

Dakota is laid out cold on the floor at ringside. The betrayal is complete.

Liv sees her moment. She crawls toward Iyo and throws an arm over her.

Dominik drops down from the apron. The referee turns—seeing only the cover.

ONE!

TWO!!

THREE!!!

“AND STILL! YOUR WOMEN’S WORLD CHAMPION... LIV MORGAN!!”

Liv clutches the title, unaware of everything that just happened—only that she survived, and retained.

---

Backstage, you walks alone through the hallway. The lights seem colder now. The air heavier. You left your friends broken, and your loyalty with your love.

But just ahead, standing near gorilla position...

Dominik.

For the first time in what feels like forever, you looks at him not as a traitor. Not as the brother who turned his back— but as family.

He walks up slowly. The tension is heavy.

“You really did that...”

“You helped Liv,” he says softly.

“You distracted the ref,” she replies, voice tight.

“Guess we’re even now.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, without another word, Dominik pulls her into a hug. For the first time in years, the Mysterio twins are back together. The crowd watches on the titantron and erupts in cheers.

But then—

Liv Morgan steps into frame, still holding the Women’s World Championship. Her hair is tousled, her makeup smudged, but her smile—bright, genuine—is all for the reader.

“You okay?” Liv asks softly, touching the your face.

“I am now,” you breathes, pulling her close.

Liv glances at Dominik, who just smirks and says:

“Took you both long enough.”

The three of them stand together, a powerful image on the screen.

The Mysterio twins reunited.

Liv Morgan still champion.

And you... finally free to love, to choose, and to stand between two worlds no longer.

Sorry if it looks weird. But now I'm back!

Sorry for making everyone wait so long.

I still have to adjust a lot. My skills have dropped a lot.

[nagichi-boop]

I saw a post about Movie!Maria and Game!Maria about how the tragedy of Maria in the game is that she would have died to her disease if she wasn't shot, and how the tragedy of Maria in the movie is that she could have lived a full life and didn't get the chance to.

Perhaps that's the reason for the erasure? Either that or they simply couldn't figure out how to portray it.

Okay, am finally getting around to writing this. Hopefully you dont mind me using this ask as a springboard to address some thoughts I’ve seen on the matter? It’s something I’d like to explore and I figured this would be a good opportunity for it. /lh

I will preface this by saying that although Maria’s illness being removed in the film was a bit disappointing to me, I’m not deeply offended by the choice either. I also don’t think it ruins the films by any means and I still really enjoyed it. I just want to share my thoughts as someone who is disabled and finds Maria to be a refreshing source of representation.

Spoilers for Sonic 3 (ofc)

I’ll start with the point you mentioned in your ask. (I haven’t seen the post you referred to, but hopefully I’ve understood what the perspective is.)

“Movie!Maria’s death is more tragic because she isn’t terminally ill and so had her whole life ahead of her”

I can definitely see this perspective, though I’d argue it’s not entirely true. Dark Beginnings gave a bit more information on Maria’s condition. For one, her symptoms were in remission because of the low gravity on the ARK. That means, to my understanding, that she had more time to live, even if a cure wasn’t found. The other thing is that Gerald was still working on a cure, so she still had the hope of being cured one day. Whether a cure would’ve been found we don’t know because her life was tragically cut short and the research stopped. The tragedy in her death was that she had hope of a cure to finally go to earth, but her death wasn’t even caused by her illness in the end.

Movie!Maria arguably had a better chance of a more fulfilling life given she was able bodied and lived on earth. But as far as I can remember, we don’t really know why she was living at the GUN research facility. I guess it was to be with Gerald? I suppose you could argue that she never had the chance to figure out who she wanted to be, but her backstory isn’t super developed in the films. I understand given they had the rest of the story to tell, but ultimately we don’t really know much about how her life would’ve been.

I think either way her death was tragic. Neither one to me feels more or less tragic than the other.

“They didn't have time to write her as being sick”

That assumes that they had to make a big deal of her being sick. There are a few easy tweaks that could’ve been made to hint at her being disabled without making it a huge spectacle. Maybe when she first shows up, they comment how she is there because Gerald wants to monitor her condition. Maybe there’s a scene where she is using a mobility aid. Maybe in the scene where Shadow is having tests done on him, Maria is too. It would also be a way to show that being disabled isn’t her entire identity, it’s just a part of her life.

Shadow’s backstory also wouldn’t really need to be changed in my opinion. Maybe his presence has nothing to do with providing a cure for Maria. Or maybe in the midst of testing his DNA, they find there may be a way to cure her. His backstory of being from a comet wouldn’t need to change at all.

“It’s too sad for a kid’s movie”

I don’t really get this one if I’m being entirely honest. Maybe they didn’t want to show a disabled girl being killed, but they still ultimately killed a child on screen which is tragic in itself. They also killed multiple other characters throughout the films, so they’re not shy to it at least. I don’t know that her being disabled makes killing a child more tragic? As I said in my previous point, they didn't even have to heavily depict her disability. I don’t have much to say about this point and I’m not sure how to properly articulate my thinking on it, but I don’t think a disabled character dying would be much sadder than her being able bodied and dying. She is still a young girl being killed.

One argument I saw was that they might have removed her sickness because of the COVID still being a fairly recent event. But I really hope that wasn’t the thinking. I get that it was - and still is - something that causes distress, but erasing a character’s sickness because of it feels a bit silly to me. Also a love of people, including teenagers, were disabled by COVID. It would almost be like saying “hey so we don’t want to think about that, so we are gonna just make this more palatable for the people watching.” I highly doubt this was the thinking, but tiptoeing around the idea of disability because of COVID kinda feels like the opposite of what should be happening.

“Killing a disabled character is cheap”

Eh, I’d argue erasing a character’s disability is worse. At the end of the day, they’re still killing a child, which in itself could be argued as being ‘cheap.’

“The writers didn’t know about her in-game lore/the information from Gerald’s Journal wasn’t available at the time of writing”

This one I can kinda understand. I can’t verify it, but I did hear that the whole NIDS thing was apparently only mentioned in guide books or something released a while after the games were? I can’t remember the specifics of what I was told. If that is the case, the writers not knowing about her being sick makes enough sense to me. I’d argue that if they were about to implement references from Sonic 06 and even include Sanic that they could read the wiki page on Maria and quickly see she was at the very least chronically ill, but I don’t know their process.

I feel like I had other points I wanted to discuss, but I can’t think of them right now. Hopefully this at least expresses my viewpoint on things. Again, I am not deeply enraged or offended that they changed her backstory. There are a lot of things I actually like about her depiction in the films. I do really like the playful and friendly dynamic they have in the movie. They’re friendly in the games, but we only ever really see Maria as being an emotional support to Shadow. In the movie, that comes after we see the silly interactions they share.

I think I’m more disappointed than anything. I was really happy at the disability representation in Dark Beginning’s and Generations/Gerald’s Journal, especially with regards to invisible and dynamic disabilities. I suppose at the end of the day, the movies are a separate canon from the games, so if they can change the backstories for other characters like Sonic and Shadow, they can change Maria’s. I suppose I was just looking forward to seeing a chronically ill character on the big screen.

Thanks for the ask! I’m glad to have hopefully been able to explain my thoughts on the matter, even if you don’t agree with them.

(I really do hope this makes sense. It’s pretty late as I’m writing this and I haven’t really proofread it.)

[itstobias149]

New York Steal in the Ring

So I decided Marie’s son, Motel’(Mut-tul) aka New York steal, would have a trash talking problem- big time. It’s why he’s looses (he also cheats) Motel’ isn’t just a dirty fighter—he’s an artist when it comes to cheating. He knows how to bend the rules just enough to get away with it, and if he ever does get caught? He’ll talk his way out of it like a pro. Here’s a breakdown of the different ways he cheats in the ring:

The Star of David Imprint (Metal-Laced Gloves)

His signature trick. Hidden inside his gloves are thin metal plates shaped like a Star of David, which leave an imprint on his opponent’s skin upon impact.

• Why It Works: Looks like a regular bruise at first—by the time anyone notices the pattern, the fight is already over.

• How He Hides It: His gloves pass inspection because the metal is hidden under layers of padding. The plates are thin but dense, making them hard to detect. Plus it outline his hid by the Star of David leather stars on his gloves.

• Why It’s Brutal: His punches feel twice as strong, and if he targets the same spot repeatedly, it makes injuries way worse than they should be.

The Weighted Wraps Trick

Before his gloves even go on, his hand wraps are laced with extra weight.

• Why It Works: The ref checks gloves—not wraps. By the time the gloves come off, the evidence is gone.

• How He Hides It: His team removes the weighted wraps before anyone can inspect them. If questioned, he plays dumb.

• The Risk: If Marie ever saw his wraps up close, she’d definitely know something was off.

The Vaseline Cheat (Slick Dodging & Illegal Hits)

Motel’ takes a trick from old-school cheaters by rubbing Vaseline on illegal parts of his gloves.

• Why It Works: If he swipes at an opponent’s eyes, it blurs their vision—without looking intentional.

• How He Hides It: He applies it just before the bell rings, wiping off any excess so it’s not noticeable.

• Extra Dirty Move: He might even swipe Vaseline on an opponent’s gloves mid-clinch to mess up their grip.

Thumb Hooking (Blinded Opponents)

Motel’ knows the value of a “legal” dirty move—thumb hooking.

• What It Is: He pretends to go for a legal clinch, then subtly hooks his thumb into an opponent’s eye to mess up their vision.

• Why It Works: Looks accidental—most refs don’t catch it unless they’re really paying attention.

• How He Hides It: He immediately apologizes and backs off, acting like it was unintentional.

The “Accidental” Low Blow

Motel’ knows how to land a low blow without making it obvious.

• How He Does It: He aims just above the beltline but makes sure his opponent’s movement causes their cup to shift—making the hit way worse.

• How He Hides It: If the opponent reacts badly, he throws his hands up like “Whoa, that wasn’t me!”—and keeps fighting while they’re in pain.

The Phantom Stumble (Fake Knockdowns)

When things get tough, Motel’ fakes getting hit harder than he actually was to buy time.

• Why It Works: If he goes down just right, the ref has to start a count, giving him time to breathe.

• How He Hides It: He makes sure it’s believable—throwing his head back, staggering, and selling it like a pro.

• Bonus Cheat: If the opponent gets too close while he’s “recovering,” he might grab their leg to trip them as he gets up.

Illegal Rope Tricks

Motel’ treats the ropes like his personal weapon.

• Pulling Opponents: If he’s in a clinch near the ropes, he subtly pulls them forward to mess up their balance.

• Springboarding Off the Ropes: He’ll lean back, using the ropes as momentum to throw a harder punch.

• Illegal Rope Grab: If he’s about to get knocked down, he’ll briefly grab the top rope to keep himself standing—only letting go when the ref turns back around.

Talking Trash to Distract Opponents

His mouth is just as dangerous as his gloves.

• Why It Works: A pissed-off opponent fights sloppy. Motel’ keeps running his mouth until they make a mistake.

• How He Hides It: He keeps his insults low enough that the ref doesn’t always hear.

• Bonus Trick: If the ref does catch him, he acts all innocent—“What? Me? I was just saying good luck!”

Spit in the Glove Trick

One of his nastiest cheats—spitting in his gloves before a punch to make the impact sting more.

• Why It Works: Saliva burns when it gets into cuts, making injuries more painful.

• How He Hides It: He does it subtly between rounds, pretending to adjust his mouthguard.

• Why It’s Filthy: It’s not just dirty—it’s insulting. Nobody likes getting punched with someone else’s spit.

Gaslighting the Ref

Motel’ isn’t just a cheater—he’s a master manipulator. If he gets caught? He talks his way out of it.

• Deny Everything: “What? My gloves are normal! You’re just seeing things.”

• Fake Innocence: “C’mon, ref, would I cheat? Look at me!”

• Blame the Opponent: “I think he must’ve done something. Check his gloves.”

• If All Else Fails—Fake a Complaint: If the ref is suspicious, Motel’ flips the script—“Ref, my opponent’s been fighting dirty all night!”—and suddenly, they’re distracted checking the other guy.

How He Gets Away With It

Motel’ is good at cheating because he doesn’t just throw cheap shots—he manipulates the entire fight.

• He times his tricks perfectly—never too much, never too obvious.

• He blends legal and illegal tactics to keep refs confused.

• He plays the underdog so nobody expects him to be a dirty fighter.

• He NEVER gets caught red-handed. If the evidence isn’t clear? It didn’t happen.

Marie doesn’t know about Motel’s cheating for several key reasons, all carefully orchestrated by Motel’ himself and the WVBA.

The WVBA Banned Her from Working His Matches

• Why? The WVBA likely suspects he’s cheating, but as long as it doesn’t become a scandal, they don’t care.

• Marie is Too Honest: If she saw anything sketchy, she’d call it out immediately—which would be a problem for Motel’.

• How He Uses It to His Advantage: Since Marie isn’t allowed ringside, she only sees the fights from the audience or on TV, where the dirtier details aren’t obvious.

Motel’ Doesn’t Talk About His Fights

• Keeps Everything Vague: He’ll give her the bare minimum—“Yeah, I won. It was tough. Anyway, what’s for dinner?”

• Avoids Showing His Gloves: He takes them off immediately after a fight and never lets Marie examine them.

• Deflects Suspicion: If Marie does question him, he plays the annoyed teenager card—“Why do you always assume the worst? Can’t you just be happy for me?”

The Bruises Disappear Before She Sees Them

• The Star of David Imprints Fade: Since bruises take time to fully form, by the time Marie gets a close look, they’ve started to blend in with normal bruising.

• Fighters Cover Them Up: If a boxer does notice the imprint and complains, Motel’ gaslights them—“Dude, that’s just a bruise. You ever been in a fight before?”—and most of them drop it out of embarrassment.

• Marie Doesn’t Get Access to Fighters Post-Match: Since she’s banned from working Motel’s matches, she never sees the full extent of the damage his opponents take.

Other Boxers Don’t Rat Him Out (Yet)

• Shame & Ego: No fighter wants to admit they got wrecked by a 19-year-old kid—let alone because he cheated.

• No Solid Proof: Even if someone suspects foul play, they can’t outright prove it without catching him in the act.

• Fear of Retaliation: Motel’ has a reputation for being smart-mouthed and scrappy—nobody wants to deal with his nonsense outside the ring.

If Marie Ever Got Close to the Truth, Motel’ Would Gaslight Her

• “You really think I’d cheat?” (Plays the hurt and disappointed angle.)

• “You know the WVBA would catch that, right?” (Shifts blame onto the organization.)

• “What, you don’t believe in me Ma ?” (Guilt-trips her into backing off.)

• “You’re just listening to rumors. People always hate when someone young’s on the rise.” (Classic deflection.)

If all else fails? He’d fake outrage, storm off, and refuse to talk about it—knowing Marie wouldn’t push too hard because she doesn’t want to drive him away.

The Only People Who Might Tell Her Are the Wrong People

The only people bold enough to spill the truth are guys like Bald Bull or Aran Ryan—two of the least trustworthy guys in the WVBA.

• If Bull told her, she’d assume it was just him being bitter.

• If Aran told her, she’d assume it was a joke.

• Even if someone respectable said something, Motel’ would just say “Oh, they’re just mad they lost”—and it’d be easy to believe.

The WVBA Might Be Covering for Him

• If Motel’ is bringing in money, the WVBA may look the other way—as long as he’s not getting caught too blatantly.

• They could even doctor footage or keep certain angles off TV to keep things from being too obvious.

• They keep Marie out of his corner because they know she wouldn’t stand for it.

How Long Can He Keep This Up?

Motel’ is slick, but he’s not invincible. The moment Marie sees a clear imprint or a fighter publicly calls him out with proof, the jig is up. And when that happens? He won’t just be dealing with an angry WVBA(if it makes it to the media)—he’ll have to face his mom. And that is way scarier than any opponent in the ring.

Why Motel’ Cheats

Motel’ isn’t a bad kid—he just sees the world as unforgiving and believes that if he plays fair, he’ll end up with nothing. He cheats because, in his mind, it’s the only way to get ahead and provide for Marie, the only person who has ever truly believed in him.

He Wants to Support Marie

• He knows she struggles financially. Marie works hard, but being a cutman doesn’t pay much. Motel’ wants to earn enough so she never has to worry.

• He sees it as repaying her. She took him in when no one else would, and in his eyes, he owes her everything.

• If cheating means more prize money, so be it. If winning gets him bigger purses, better sponsorships, and a real future, then he’ll do whatever it takes.

He Doesn’t Believe in “Fair Fights”

• Life never played fair with him. Growing up an orphan, he learned quickly that nice guys finish last.

• He’s seen what happens to honest fighters. He’s watched guys with real talent get chewed up and spat out by the WVBA. If you don’t have an edge, you’re just another name on someone else’s highlight reel.

• In his mind, everyone cheats—he’s just smarter about it. Maybe they don’t use metal plates, but they take dives, throw fights, and bribe officials. Why should he be any different?

He’s Terrified of Losing Everything

• If he starts losing, the money stops coming in. The boxing world moves on fast. If he gets written off as a has-been, Marie’s stuck struggling again.

• He doesn’t want to be a nobody. He’s seen guys who once had promise end up back on the streets. He refuses to be another washed-up fighter begging for scraps.

• Winning is the only way to secure a future. And if it takes a few shortcuts to get there, he can live with that.

He Knows Marie Wouldn’t Approve—So He Keeps It from Her

• She’d never take money earned from cheating. If Marie knew the truth, she’d tell him to stop—and he can’t risk that.

• She still believes in hard work. Marie might struggle, but she still holds onto her values. Motel’ thinks that’s naïve.

• He doesn’t want to disappoint her. He tells himself he’s doing it for her, but deep down, he’s scared of what she’d think if she knew the truth.

He Thinks He Can Get Away With It

• He’s careful. Motel’ isn’t reckless—he cheats just enough to win but not enough to get caught.

• He’s cocky. He genuinely believes he’s smarter than the system. As long as he keeps playing it right, he thinks he’ll never get exposed.

• He tells himself it’s temporary. “Just until I make enough money.” But deep down, he knows once you start cheating, it’s hard to stop.

It’s Not Just About the Money—It’s About Proving Himself

• He’s tired of being underestimated. People see him as some punk kid, and he wants to prove he’s more than that.

• Winning means respect. If he becomes a champion, nobody can look down on him again.

• He wants a legacy. He’s an orphan—he doesn’t have a family name or history. Winning means he gets to make one for himself.

What Happens When the Truth Comes Out?

Motel’ thinks he’s doing the right thing—but Marie won’t see it that way. The moment she finds out, he won’t just lose her trust—he’ll break her heart.And the worst part? He knows it’s coming. He just doesn’t know when.

Motel’s Smart-Ass Trash Talk

Motel’ has a sharp tongue and zero filter, making him one of the most irritating (and funniest) boxers in the WVBA. His humor is dry, sarcastic, and often personal, targeting everything from his opponents’ fighting styles to their personal lives.

Against Glass Joe:

“You ever thought about, I don’t know… quitting? No shame in retiring before your next fight’s against a strong breeze.”

“I’m not even gonna throw my right hand. You don’t deserve both.”

“Oh, wow. You actually landed a hit. Should I fall down to make you feel better, or are we both just pretending that didn’t happen?”

Against Von Kaiser:

“Man, you’re like a history book—full of old, outdated techniques that no one cares about.”

“They got you teaching the kids how to fight? Damn, that explains why the next generation’s got no hope.”

“I get it, you’re old-school. But maybe try throwing a punch that doesn’t look like it came from a silent film.”

Against Aran Ryan:

“I like how you fight like you’re in a bar brawl, but somehow, I’m still the one cheating.”

“You ever shut up? Or do you scream at your reflection when there’s no one around?”

“Keep grabbing me like that and I’m filing a restraining order.”

Against Don Flamenco:

“Your footwork’s not bad, but I think your ego’s the real heavyweight here.”

“Are you boxing or ballroom dancing? ‘Cause I swear I saw that move in Dancing with the Stars.”

“You’re too pretty to be taking this many hits. Maybe step it up before I ruin your modeling career.”

Against Bald Bull:

“Oh man, another Bull Charge? So scary. You sure you don’t wanna throw in a jump scare too?”

“You land one punch and suddenly you’re King of the Ring. Calm down, big guy.”

“Not gonna lie, I see why my mom liked you—you really know how to throw a tantrum.”

Against Soda Popinski:

“You sure it’s soda in that bottle? ‘Cause you’re fighting like you mixed it with something stronger.”

“If I win, I get to take one of your drinks, right? Just wanna see what the hype is about.”

“You punch like a guy who’s never had a hangover. Must be nice.”

Against Super Macho Man:

“Dude, I swear your muscles get bigger every fight. You inflating those things backstage?”

“I see more flexing than fighting. You sure this isn’t a posing competition?”

“Man, for all that muscle, you sure go down easy.”

General Smart-Ass Remarks:

“That’s your best punch? Wow. I almost felt that one.”

“You keep swinging like that, and I’m gonna start charging you for missing.”

“Tell me when you’re done warming up so I can actually start trying.”

“Man, you’re really making me work for this win. Kidding. I’m barely sweating.”

“I’d say ‘nice try,’ but I’m not in the mood to lie.”

How Do Other Fighters React?

• Glass Joe: Mortified. Cries in French.

• Von Kaiser: Deep sighs. Internal crisis about his life choices.

• Aran Ryan: Loses his mind. Starts screaming back even louder.

• Don Flamenco: Visibly offended. Throws a punch out of spite.

• Bald Bull: Gets angry, but it only makes him sloppier.

• Soda Popinski: Laughs it off—kind of likes the kid’s attitude.

• Super Macho Man: Over-the-top offended, but doesn’t stop flexing.

Motel’ fights just as dirty verbally as he does physically—his opponents don’t just lose, they leave pissed off.

Motel’s Below-the-Belt Insults

Motel’ doesn’t just talk trash—he gets personal. He knows exactly where to hit to make it sting, and he has no problem digging into insecurities, failures, and personal lives. If his opponent isn’t mad before the fight, they will be by the end of round one.

Against Glass Joe:

“I should be arrested for elder abuse after this.”

“You’ve lost so many times, I think they just keep you around for charity.”

“They let you in the WVBA out of pity, right? Ain’t no way you earned this spot.”

“Your last win was when? Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Against Von Kaiser:

“Man, how’d you go from training soldiers to getting beat up by kids?”

“You fight like your best years are behind you. ‘Cause they are.”

“You got a whole classroom full of students? Bet they punch harder than you.”

“Didn’t you have, like, a breakdown last time you got hit? Hope you got a therapist on speed dial.”

Against Aran Ryan:

“Damn, you fight dirty and you’re still not a champion? That’s just embarrassing.”

“You got all that energy but still couldn’t take a title. I’d be mad too.”

“Your whole country’s watching you right now. Probably shaking their heads.”

“You’re real good at screaming. Shame that doesn’t win fights.”

Against Don Flamenco:

“Bro, your ex is ringside. Hope she enjoys watching you get knocked out.”

“You spend more time fixing your hair than training, huh?”

“You keep dodging like that, and people are gonna think you’re scared.”

“You’re real pretty—wonder if you’ll still look like that after I’m done.”

Against Bald Bull:

“Did my mom dump you, or did you dump her? ‘Cause either way, it’s funny.”

“You hit hard, big guy, but all that muscle’s wasted when you keep missing.”

“Oh no, he’s charging again. I’m soooo scared.”

“What’s heavier—your punches or your ego?”

Against Soda Popinski:

“You drink ‘soda’ the way I ‘follow the rules.’”

“You sure you’re not still tipsy? ‘Cause you’re swinging like you are.”

“If I win, I get one of your drinks, right? Just wanna see if it’s actually soda.”

“You’ve built your whole career on drinking and punching. Real inspiring.”

Against Super Macho Man:

“Bro, just admit you’re on steroids.”

“You flex more than you fight. Kinda embarrassing.”

“You’re the biggest guy in the ring and still get dropped like a sack of potatoes.”

“Man, you should’ve stuck to Hollywood. At least there, you can fake being a winner.”

General Below-the-Belt Trash Talk:

“Your family’s watching this. Hope they aren’t too embarrassed.”

“Your career’s hanging on by a thread. Wanna quit before I cut it?”

“I bet the crowd’s placing bets on how fast I drop you.”

“You ever thought about a new career? ‘Cause this one ain’t working out.”

“You’re the warm-up. The real fights happen after you’re gone.”

H ow the Boxers React:

• Glass Joe – On the verge of tears. Contemplates life choices.

• Von Kaiser – Fights like he has something to prove, but it just makes him sloppier.

• Aran Ryan – Loses his mind and fights even dirtier.

• Don Flamenco – Gets visibly pissed and starts swinging wildly.

• Bald Bull – Shakes his head and pretends he isn’t mad, but he is.

• Soda Popinski – Laughs it off, but definitely punches harder afterward.

• Super Macho Man – Offended, but still tries to act cool. Might flex harder out of spite.

Motel’ doesn’t just win fights—he destroys egos.

[queenofhearts7378]

“So this is Jake's fault, right?” Randy asked.

Danny made a noise of agreement as they continued running down the hallway, red flashing against their eyes and alarms ringing through the air.

And okay, it wasn't really Jake's fault they were being chased by a killer robot after breaking out of some holding cells.

Ever since Jake had turned 16, he'd been getting more duties outside of New York, really stepping up into his role as the American Dragon. NYC was still his home, his main area of protection, and the main capital of the magical community; he wasn't leaving anytime soon.

But occasionally a smaller community would reach out, asking for help with bigger problems they couldn't handle and he couldn't answer over the phone or e-mail. So Jake began traveling (through mundane or magical means), and solving the problems in person.

And occasionally dragging his out-of-town friends along with him.

Which is how the four of them ended up here: in an off-the-books government facility in Horrible, Arkansas, and made up of the same branch as the GIW.

(Danny had groaned out loud in his and Rand's cell, thunking his head against the bars when he heard that.

The agent that was interrogating them gave him a weird look.

“He's from Amity Park.” Randy said solemnly, patting Danny’s shoulder.

The agent went white so fast Randy honestly thought he was about to pass out before fleeing the room.

“Wow,” Randy said, “Y'all's city really is a curse.”)

The four of them had literally stumbled onto the grounds, got searched and had most of their stuff taken away, and thrown into holding cells where agents would periodically come to interrogate them on how they found the place and who else knows about it.

Danny had phased them through the back wall as soon as they were left alone, and accidently ran directly into a wall of weapons that fell on top of them both. Randy only got a sore shoulder, but something zapped Danny and he hadn't been able to transform since.

Which was when the alarms went off.

And when they discovered that the facility used killer robots as security and were all too happy to shoot a couple of teenagers.

Now they were running for their lives trying to find their stuff and their friends without getting shot by the robots or the agents.

They skidded around another corner, and Danny grabbed open the nearest door, throwing it open to check for their stuff.

Instead they were met with two startled agents in the middle of grabbing their weapons.

Randy didn't waste the chance and spun around Danny, landing a kick in the first man's diaphragm and then bringing his knee up just as the man bent over to gasp for air.

(The ninja suit let him be faster, stronger, more bouncy, and protected him from hard hits. The lessons and training of 800 years worth of ninjas were pressed into the fabric enabling him to fight when he had never done it before. He still had training though. He spent hours in the Nomicon practicing the moves and katas his brain knew but his body didn't. Following the footsteps and marks the Nomicon drew out around him, mirroring the poses the illustrated samurai and dragons went though. And lately, following along next to the First Ninja as he performed the moves next to him, occasionally fixing his posture, as Plop Plop chattered nearby.

Being the Ninja wasn't all cool flips and awesome weapons. Even without the mask, Randy was still a ninja.)

Danny took the chance to leap onto the other agent's back trying to get his weapon, throwing the man off balance right as he tried to shoot Randy.

The shot went wide and hit the wall, leaving a faint scorch mark on the white plaster. Randy dived under the shot, rolling forward right past the agent. He kicked his leg out, catching him in the back of the knee, right as Danny yanked the weapon out of his grasp and leapt off the agent's back. Between the teenager using him as a springboard and his leg giving out on him, the agent hit the floor hard. Danny didn't give him the chance to get his bearings and swung the weapon, clocking him over the head.

He swayed for a minute before hitting the ground. He wasn't unconscious but he wasn't getting off the floor anytime soon.

Randy and Danny high-fived before fleeing back out the door.

“Randy, that was awesome!” Danny exclaimed as they checked the other doors for their stuff. “I didn't know you could do that!”

“I know, I know, I'm the Bruce McCheese. Hold your applause,” Randy bragged as he opened the last door in the hallway to reveal yet another supply closet. Running past Danny, he punched him in the shoulder, “I'm still a ninja without the mask Casper.”

“What was that? I couldn't hear you over your ego getting in the way!” Danny laughed as he turned the corner, only to catch a metal leg in his stomach. His back hit the wall and his stolen weapon went flying away from him.

“DANNY!” Randy screeched, knowing he wouldn't get there in time as the security bot charged up to fire.

His feet and hands moved before he could think about it.

‘Separate - Gather - Free’

Randy could feel the energy pool through him, starting with his feet (“Your stance grounds you,” First Ninja said, “It centers you. It's the most important part of using the spells.") and surging upwards through his body in a way he's never felt while in the suit. Randy could feel the air thicken in his palms and he thrust out his hands just as the energy hit his palms and the top of his head.

“Ninja AIR-FIST!”

He could see the ninja magic hit the security robot and smash it into the wall. All the energy that had surged through him faded out, leaving Randy feeling like he just played Grave Puncher for two days straight.

He swayed for a moment, exhaustion hitting him like a brick, before he stumbled over to a gob-smacked Danny.

“Since when could you do that?” Danny asked as he scrambled to his feet.

Randy braced himself against the wall, “Uhhhhhhhhh……now I guess?”

Danny looked at the dented wall, then back at Randy. “Can you do it again?”

“Nngh….think I'll pass out if I did.”

“Alright, last resort then. And I still can't go ghost.”

Randy groaned. “Man we are shoobed.”

“We just need to find the others…..and our stuff.” Danny crouched down in front of Randy. “Alright hop on. You look like you're about to pass out now.”

“Pretty sure it'd just slow us down.” Randy said, even as he wrapped his arms around Danny's neck.

“Dude it's like I'm holding a couple of grapes. What are you, 80 pounds soaking wet?”

“Screw you too.” He dug his heel into Danny's thigh, “Giddee up. I think I hear the others breaking things up ahead.”

Jake and Adrien were indeed in the next hallway over, both transformed and absolutely wrecking anything they came across.

“Hey guys!” Chat grinned at them, impaling the last security bot with his staff. “We were looking for you!”

“Yo Ribbons! What happened to you?” Jake flew over to hand them their backpacks.

“Turns out Mister Ninja over here can use his ninja magic out of the mask.”

Jake blinked at them, “You can do that?”

“Apparently,” Randy said as he slid off Danny's back, “if I want to feel like I went ten rounds with a hoard of robo-apes.”

“Oof.” Jake shook his backpack at them as Randy pulled on his mask. “Well we found the main computer room, stole a bunch of hard drives that I'm going to give to Spud and Tucker, and Chat broke like, everything in there with a Cataclysm so no need to worry about cameras.”

“And we found out what they are called.” Adrien chimed in, “Beings Under Government Surveillance. They had a sign.”

“Bugs?”

“B.U.G.S.!”

“No wonder the GIW are such pests!” Danny and Adrien said together, high fiving. Randy snickered at the pun.

“Yeah, you're all comedians, can we go? The missing fairies are running loose and I've got to figure out if they need to move, or if they'd be fine with some more magic barriers around their town.”

“And I really gotta talk to the Nomicon. It's wack they didn't warn me about this.”

~~~~

Later in the Nomicon:

First Ninja stared at him in disbelief, “You did what.”

[firesnap]

Tubbo saying Wilbur's dsmp character is his favorite has really stuck with me -- particularly as we have now passed the anniversary for Wilbur's first dsmp appearance and approach the anniversary of the first big L'Manberg era streams.Like, man carried that server even when he wasn't doing lore actively. He advised, acted as springboard, became a secondary character if needed and created concepts and ideas for people to build on his entire time on the server. His fingerprints were everywhere and people spent their entire time on the server trying to chase the high of the shit he built in a few months.

I think about the little ways he showed you could do character building through both absence and Minecraft books and trying to embrace the mantra of "assume canon unless someone says it's not" and I lose it. I think about how he adopted little mannerisms and phrasing just for the audience and actively used audience POV to both hide and explore different little details about what was going on. Like think about how he used Tommy's POV (and lack of POV) to tell you things about his own character in multiple arcs. It's just a step beyond breaking the fourth wall to give a us a cheeky wink and actually using the fourth wall and POV bias to control what the audience is expecting.

Ugh. He did so well. I miss it. I miss him roleplaying so much.

[blueikeproductions]

Y’know thinking it over, I think one of the reasons TFONE failed, after looking at other comments, is it ultimately did nothing new. The marketing didn’t help, but I’ve noticed a lot of people be irritated at the modern 13 Prime concept and the more modern political bent (no longer Cold War inspired, but instead some mild identity politics and heavier ideological differences that modern audiences have notably struggled with) persisting, and this movie does little to change that.

The Bayformers films, love ‘em or hate ‘em, ultimately tried new things: The Allspark, reinventing the Prime mythology for its canon, Sentinel Prime as the best villain the series had, a group of ancient Autobot Knights that Optimus was apparently part of alongside the Dinobots, and so forth.

What did TFONE actually offer that was new?

Well.

Not much.

It was a complete retreading of the Aligned backstory we’ve been given for the past decade or so: Optimus and Megatron were former friends that overthrew a corrupt system that Megatron kept rebelling against, starting the Great War.

The same story that Prime did, that Cyberverse did, that IDW did, that Netflix WFC did, sure a few things were reshuffled but it’s the same, slagging story. TFONE even recycled Sentinel Prime as the main antagonist again, his motives not that dissimilar from his Spock adjacent counterpart.

People complain about the Great War being over done, but that’s clearly not stopping people eagerly tuning into Skybound’s version of it as of typing. General audiences, like it or not, vastly prefer the war between the Autobots and Decepticons, they don’t care about Grunkle Vegeta Megatron, his younger years as D-16 and his tumultuous friendship with Orion Pax.

The only thing new TFONE technically did was better establish Optimus and Megatron as being good friends originally. Aligned and the other series did a terrible job with this, with it ping pinging between Megatron already being power hungry and insane, he just hid it better, to him and Optimus being written as a couple who had a bad break up but can’t get over each other. TFONE still leans towards the later, not helping current situations but at least you do legitimately feel bad this time the friendship fell apart. The friendship was actually believable, that was the strength, but alas most people don’t really like the idea of Prime and Megs being friends.

It’s why I still feel the upcoming Age of Primes toy line will struggle, because once again, the 13 Primes are not a well known aspect of the lore, and modern shows haven’t done a great job at fleshing out Solus or Quintus, and stuff often falls back on Alpha Trion, a character from the old cartoon that people simply are more familiar with.

We desperately need to flesh these characters out better, we need to go back to a Vector Prime befriends the modern kids and Autobots plot for each Prime to make sense of them going forward. That’s the only way new fans will get to know them better and actually care.

As for TFONE, with current problems at Hasbro and Paramount, it’s not looking likely this story continues, but whether it inspires cartoons and comics after EarthSpark anyway we don’t know. Clearly the plan was to use TFONE as a springboard for future content, but it simply didn’t make money to justify it. If Hasbro is satisfied with it doing well on Paramount+, then maybe it evens out, but I legitimately believe the core problem has been trying to make the Aligned canon stick to most modern media when it clearly isn’t. I think we need a new approach, keep the Primes if you want, but don’t slavishly have it be the EXACT same story with them in each movie, comic or cartoon. TFONE DID modify the Prime backstory so that’s a good step, but whether they take that for future cartoons we don’t know.

[nikethestatue]

Having been in this fandom for a long time, I think what's become apparent--and I think that's where most of our problems stem from--is that PERSONAL INTERPRETATION has become the default thing to fall back onto, and consequently, it's been used over and over again to negate or disregard the author's INTENT, because it doesn't align with personal preference. Consequently, people began being duped into believing that a reader's personal interpretation of text is 'right' and that canon doesn't matter and that SJM's own intention don't matter as well.

Here are some examples:

Did SJM INTENDED for Cassian to be a terrible mate who will sell Nesta for a chicken nugget if Rhys tells him to? Was the intent to show how poor Nessian pairing is?

OR

Is it just that Cassian did not live up to the readers' own expectations of what they wanted for Nesta? And is their interpretation of Cassian as an awful match for Nesta, who doesn't care about her, only cares about sex, and would never stand up for her or support her, actually correct?

Did SJM INTENDED for Gwyn's scenes in ACOSF to be romantic towards Azriel? Was her cutting the ribbon or climbing or running a prelude to the great Gwynriel romance novel?

OR

Is it that Gwyn was created to be a springboard for Nesta's self-discovery and healing? Someone who accepted, supported and encouraged Nesta when Nesta was at her lowest? And did many readers' animosity towards Elain's characters drove them to willfully interpret absolutely non-romantic scenes as romantic in a futile hope that somehow, their personal wants would translate to page?

Did SJM intended for Rhys and Feyre to be viewed as ignorant despots who hate their own people, only care about wealth and power, and don't give a damn about anyone but themselves and their five houses?

OR

Is Rhys's love for Feyre the driving force behind many of his decisions? for example giving her an extravagant house? Does Rhys really want to trample on everyone's rights, or is he allowing some of his subjects the freedom of autonomy and self-actualization? Is the intent to show that he is a thoughtful and imperfect leader, who cares about the welfare of his people, or is that he is a dictator who gave his lover an empty title?

While SJM's execution of certain topics isn't perfect, I think that wilful ignorance and the desire to see something that isn't there, and something that SJM didn't intended at all, is really the cause of all the shipwars and the IC hate.

Is SJM REALLY in love with Lucien and is excited to write his book, or is that the fantasy of his stans? Whereas SJM's never been particularly complimentary towards Lucien and his character in interviews or in canon?

Will Tamlin's elusive 'redemption arc' REALLY be something that SJM is interested in writing? Or her calling him a 'douchebag' is kind of indicative of her feelings towards him?

"Elriels are obsessed with canon'. We heard this again and again and again. Being obsessed with canon' simply means that we are paying attention to what SJM's intentions are and what she wants to convey through her words. Elriels, just like everyone else have headcanons about Elain, and Az, and Elriel. But we don't discard the actual books and writing in favour of our headcanons.

I feel that lack of consideration towards 'intent' is really leading some people down a very slippery road, where at the end of it, they'll find a lot of crushed dreams. Because most of the time, 'black' is just....black. It's not white. It's not even opaque. It's just, black. I think people should remember that when they do their 'analysis'.