#upgrade your leftovers

[anaktoria-of-the-moon]

At work plagued by thoughts of a mech bigger than you can imagine.

She starts like most of them do, a Titan excavator rig modestly sized for their line: maybe a house or thereabouts, a big house. (Doesn’t matter why she signed up - perhaps a breadwinner, a lone mother or eldest sister, a daughter of aging parents nobody else will take; doesn’t matter what site they sent her to, Earth or Enceladus or Venus or Europa. She’s there, and she lets them strap her in and adapt her for the piloting interface and pump her full of protein ooze and electrolytes and hyperstimulant cocktails as obediently as the next laborer.)

Upgrades come, from big house to bigger, with shovels like hillsides and treads like highways. Still she remains in the cockpit, out only for one day every six months to say hello to her burgeoning family, who have moved nearby to make it easy on her, to meet the baby nephews and nieces whose names she doesn’t yet know.

War comes. The facility hunkers down. It just makes sense to retrofit their biggest digger with shields, to expand her arsenal a little more, give her a better engine, pour all their leftover resources into making her a great guardian, and she rises to the occasion, shielding them from orbital rays, absorbing the energy and taking the pain of it up into her own engines. When the corporate rats who own the site finally turn tail and run the workers and their families band together and do the needful repairs themselves. Her nieces and nephews grow up learning engineering by the light of oil lamps from stolen Old Era textbooks and jailbroken datapads. She hardly ever now glimpses their faces with her own two eyes from within her steel shell but it is a worthy sacrifice to her, to them, for both parties know she is still there, still with them, embracing them in a great steel hug and watching through a thousand glass-lensed eyes.

Years pass. The brightest of her nieces works out how to modify the nutrition cocktail going into her cockpit so she will never age, never die, never fall sick. Somewhere in there all the metal and ceramic encloses her ever-sleeping body like a lotus flower around the benevolent, immortal form of a bodhisattva.

The outpost survives the war, somehow. Refugees hear of the little town on the colony that could, guarded by a goddess the size of a temple, and flock there. It makes sense to add to her control, among her array of sensors and actuators, the new city’s power generation and delivery system, its wall defenses, its waste management, its communications mains. Nowhere is anything safer than with her.

With all these new additions come techs and custodians to keep her in good care. They build modest crew cabins nestled amongst her treads (now rusty from disuse) so they can be close to her, the better to help her.

Slowly more and more falls under her purview, new cabins, then mezzanines and stairways and platforms between them; each generation has their own superstitions that they add to those of the last before them, so paintings crop up on her metal panels now, in nooks and crannies, often crude symbols that promise good oil changes or swift code updates, or simply depictions of their goddess, of the war she survived. Still she watches.

Her nieces and nephews are all dead now, and their nieces and nephews look on through rheumed eyes as the city attains new heights, heralded everywhere on every planet that still lives as an oasis of peace and prosperity. Still she watches.

A new company comes, enticed by the stories. They want to buy her. Buy her! The people scoff. As if you could just buy a person! - A person? asks the representative from Acher Spaceways, perplexed. - We heard she was your goddess.

She is both, of course, the goddess who lives, the goddess who is one hundred percent flesh and one hundred percent machine.

Acher doesn’t like this. They send machines - zero percent flesh, entirely drones - screaming down from the stars for a more insistent negotiation, one phrased in metal slugs and incendiary fire.

So your goddess rises up to meet them.

It is over in a short day. The drones lie in pieces; Acher, from orbit, licks their wounds, and the goddess rebukes them with a single laser blast, modified from her very first mining waymaker photonic drill.

The blast is precise and surgical. It tears apart the whole platform, spinning central axis to annular habitat space, which supernovas into a blossom of shining proof in the night sky at which the citizens below cheer.

But the pieces are falling, and soon they will pepper the surface below with molten debris, kick up dust into the atmosphere and make it all but unbreathable. The people could leave, the goddess advises them through short-wave radio bursts. They could use her emergency shuttles to escape gravity before it is too late, or they could go underground and salvage her rarest and most precious resources to survive until the surface is safe again.

Here is the thing - every pilot is augmented, and most augments are for the benefit of the plainly physical, for strength and speed and stamina and sharpness of perception. When her people augmented her, they augmented something else entirely. With every new module, every sensor upgrade, every painted symbol and hidden shrine, they gave her a superhuman capacity not for stamina or speed or strength, but for love.

It is her love that saved them, so they must save her back.

For two days they work tirelessly, the whole city, while above them the shattered pieces of Acher Spaceways looms ever closer. When they are done the treads are gone, the cabins dismantled, only the little drawings carefully preserved under coats of abrasion- and heat-resistant paint. And under her, their city, their Haven, lie rockets, ten of them, repurposed from the old all-ore crucibles, fit to move an asteroid.

She’s out there somewhere by Orion now, they say, the fourth jewel in his belt. And she has only grown: from three thousand then to three hundred million. Creatures from all over come to pay her their respects, or to visit lovers, or to live there themselves. There is always room in a body that is ever expanding, like the cosmos itself. Over all of them, she watches, eternal.

Among all the stories they tell of her, they repeat this one the most - how she tore apart a whole space station for the sake of her people, knowing she would die if she failed, for how can a whole city hope to flee? She guards them, and in turn they do not abandon her. They are two halves of the same whole, they say reverently, love manifest - the people and their city; this pilot, this great machine. This Haven.

[custardtartsfan]

Jason Todd head canons that have accumulated over time

many thoughts about the boy constantly rattle around my brain and i would like to share them ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) nothing hanky panky ish for i do not like to think about that

general bullshit ᝰ.ᐟ

he doesnt trust modern technology. he has a Motorola razr. no he will not upgrade, stop asking

has VERY messy hand writing. straight chicken scratch. barley legible

smoked during his late teens (post resurrection period, he was going through it). tried quitting in his early twenties, he bought a menthol flavour geek bar but threw it out cause Roy made fun of him

it wasnt even one of the cool ones with a screen. smh

he has a weird nostalgic affection for the thrift

it reminds him of being a kid, in the rare moments that his mother was sober enough to take him somewhere. and it was nice, his mom was conscious, all was well

and he could get whatever he wanted! he wanted a toy? sure bud, its only a dollar. why the hell not?

he recently walked into a Goodwill and damn near burst an artery when he looked at the tag on a pair of pants. it was NOT like this back in his day

his hair is like wavy, like not curly but wavy. however, he has no idea how to really care for it. shits dry is what im saying

i think hes very competitive about stupid shit

not like he gets pissy about mario kart, he will race you to see who can fold their socks the fastest

largest of the batfam. vertically and horizontally. hes a beefy dude. a brick shithouse

i think hes also the kind of dude that needs to know someone very well before he could consider dating them. id even go as far to say hes somewhere on the aro spectrum

i think he has a very high spice tolerance. like youll pry his siracha out of his cold re-dead hands. he LOVES African curry (yes this one is based off me) thats like his perfect kind of spice

back to his hatred of technology, he collects cds to listen to instead of streaming

he has one of those hip disk players with the headphones. Red Hood has been seen with a walkman

also hates tv, but will watch the news willingly. he will sit down and watch Wolf Blitzer of his own accord

romantic (୨୧• ꒳ •)=:♡

remember when i said he has the handwriting of an 18 month old toddler? yea well thats a little unfortunate cause he LOVES leaving notes for his lover. when he has to slip out the window for a job in the middle of the night, he writes a little note - “had to take care of something, be back soon. with bagels. love, Jay :)” but its written so janky his lover is spending the whole time hes gone trying to decipher it

dont tell him that though, he might cry

hes not a talker particularly. words tend to come out wrong in his experience. instead, he likes gifts acts of service to show you he cares

shopping with him and youre eying a particular top for a while? guess what’s mysteriously appeared in your laundry basket

lowq doesn’t have motion though..soo it might have been Bruce card. but honestly? money is money who gaf

what he occasionally lacks in funds he makes up for in willingness to let you do whatever you want to him

he will waddle after you in sephora, freaking out the occasional employee cause holy FUCK who invited the punisher, letting you swatch whatever you want on his hand

if you’re concerned about the milk in the fridge being yuck, give it to him to taste. he’ll let you know

there is no mountain to high, no dubious forgotten leftover too unhappy looking

cannot cook for SHIT. but he loves to eat

he will mention wanting food and stare at you longingly until you go to the kitchen

hes not gonna be playing fortnite while you’re cooking though, he can chop stuff. you may not want him within 50 feet of a place where food is prepared but he will offer

bless his heart

runs hot like a furnace. probably because hes a large meaty boy

he will grumble like a pensioner when you tuck yourself into his chest at night when its cold, but we both know damn well hes gonna be giggling and kicking his steel toed boots when he tells Roy about it later

he had pretty mixed, strewing negative opinions, about his little white tuft of hair at the front. hes tried cutting it, it grew back the same. he bought box dye, it doesnt take. so hes stuck with it. and he cant say hes happy about it

until you came along, all full of love and life, telling him you loved it. you though it framed his face perfectly and suited him great. you and your fancy affection fuck you

(he was cheesing for hours)

okay lets get sad now

hes got BADD anxiety about hurting you without meaning to. its a reasonable concern, hes a big dude. and these hands dont do a lot of cradling as a rule, more beating heads in

he needs to be reassured, but would rather roll around in broken glass then swim in lemonade than let that be known. hes more of a stare at you until you sooth him

he likes to be kissed and cuddled and cared for. so what? hes only incredibly ashamed. it doesnt matter how many times you re iterate that he has no reason to be, hes a stubborn bitch

thats all ive got! i hope you enjoyed reading my real time jason todd related word association. most of these were typed in a fury on the mobile web app on the subway so..if the formatting is yucky thats up to god (-.-;)y-~~~

[chugging-antiseptic-dye]

18+ MDNI

m: wonwoo wc: 0.4k genre: fluff, bf! wonwoo being a nerd, mature concepts, no smut

making out with wonwoo was always fun. but when you are straddling his hips, your legs spread over his thighs, and you know sexy times are ahead, then making out got upgraded to a whole new degree. just as you were about to suggest that both of you move to the bedroom, wonwoo’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he scrambled to check the notification. whatever he saw made sheepishly ask to be excused while laying you down gently on the couch. still out of breath and aroused, you didn't realise that he was not even in the same room as you until a few minutes passed. at the point, you were beyond pissed. what was so important that he had to leave in the middle of getting you off? you swore to yourself that if it was not an emergency company thing (half of seventeen getting food poisoning again from leftover ramen), wonwoo was going to be banished to the couch for a whole week. getting yourself back into your skinny jeans (you loved how your ass looked in them) was a workout and a half which you were adding to the list of crimes your boyfriend committed against you (yes, there is a list. there is always a list). however you would have to find said boyfriend in order to get your revenge. after looking through the whole house thrice, you were convinced that wonwoo actually had to go out because of something important. however a muffled scream inside the linen closet caught your attention just that moment. and what did you find? your loving boyfriend who has closeted himself (literally) to play a match three game. specifically the new game he helped develop for carats to cope with his enlistment. it took you more than an hour to wrap your head around the fact that puzzle seventeen was more important to wonwoo than having sex with you. unbelievable. it did not help his case when he explained that the ‘heart recharge rate’ was too slow and he wanted to prove to his fans that this game was not too hard to complete without top-ups. slamming his door off, you told yourself that you won’t date a gamer boy ever again. ever. you were done. (it’s a lie. you forgave him when he came to your place later with sushi and a promise to make you cum at least three times that night)

[lovebugism]

fictober idea (if ure up for smut): eddie & reader go to a haunted house. eddie, obviously, gets a boner bc hes a weirdo. reader notices & begs to touch him right here, right now even tho theyve never done anything in public before. so, eddie finds a place to *kinda* hide & reader gets him off, but ofc, eddie cant let reader go without cumming as well.

thanks for requesting :D — eddie gets turned on protecting you at a haunted house, and you obv have to reward him for it (smut 18+, 1.5k)

fictober leftovers (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Eddie’s been called a freak his whole life. He knew he was different since he could understand what being different meant, and if that made him a weirdo, then so be it. But now he thinks everyone might’ve been right about him. He’s a complete, utter, and total freak.

He walks with you through a haunted house, surrounded by creepy masks and fake blood and your screams, and he’s hard. His dick’s as stiff as a rock and throbbing with a distant ache when most people are scared out of their minds.

It’s all your fault, honestly. You’re clinging to him with an ironclad grip and using him as a shield every time something jumps out at you. Eddie can’t even be scared with you because all he can think about is how masculine he feels protecting you like this. Metalhead freaks like him never get to feel this way — all manly and muscly and brave.

And even though it’s hard to walk while adjusting his pants every five steps, Eddie thinks he’s hiding it pretty well. Well, he was, anyway. Until your ass brushes against his lap, and you clock him immediately.

Trapped in a secluded area of the haunted house, lit up red and blaring the Halloween theme song, you spin around to face him. “Are you hard?” you ask him over the music, face twisted in confusion. You’re not weirded out by it exactly, just genuinely puzzled.

Eddie freezes, chocolate eyes wide. He plays coy despite being caught red-handed. “No.”

You shoot him a deadpanned look, brows raised as you peer at him through your lashes.

He caves. “…Yes.”

“Does scary shit turn you on?” you wonder, laughing softly.

“No!” he responds with a dramatic drawl, sounding more offended than he should be. He is standing rock-hard in the middle of a haunted house, after all. He shifts his weight on his feet and stammers for an answer. “I just… I like being able to protect you and… everything.”

“Aw…” you hum, melting into a puddle at his feet. “That’s kinda sweet, actually.”

Eddie’s visibly surprised by your response. He was prepared to get made fun of at best — slapped and dumped entirely at worst. But here you are, all but admiring how much of a freak your boyfriend is.

“Wait, really?”

You shrug. “Yeah. Especially considering last Halloween, the guy I was dating left me behind at a haunted house.”

“Pussy…” Eddie grumbles under his breath.

“Exactly,” you giggle. “So this is definitely an upgrade.”

Your palms smooth up his chest and over his shoulders. Your fingers entwine behind his neck, halfway embracing him in the middle of the haunt. His hands settle warm and wide on your sides. He squeezes you gently there and lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m just glad you don’t think I’m a total freak,” he confesses with a forced chuckle. 

“Oh, I definitely think you’re a freak,” you retort in a monotone, then flash him a sickly sweet smile. “I’m just too obsessed with you to care.”

Eddie nods and tries not to smile too wide when you lean in to kiss him. “Noted,” he murmurs.

You do a whole lot more than just kiss him, though. You open his mouth with your own and lick inside with a confident tongue. You take the breath from his lungs with little effort, leaving him more breathless than he has been all night.

“Wanna suck you off,” you murmur, slurred and muffled against his mouth.

He jerks away from you on instinct. He couldn’t hide his shock if he tried. “Huh?” he wonders in a tone that borders on cartoonish. His soft features twist in confusion.

“I need your cock in my mouth like I need to breathe,” you confess with an unabashed groan.

Maybe he wasn’t the freak after all. Maybe this whole time, it was you.

“Well, that’sa tad bit dramatic, but—” You cut off his teasing by fussing with the buckle of his belt. His eyes widen in shock, but he doesn’t try to stop you. “Whoa. Okay. This is… This is great and everything, babe, but there’s— there’s people around. Someone could walk in.”

You look to your left, then to your right. There’s no one here but you and Eddie in this small square room, filled with a fiery red like the warmth swirling in your belly. You blink at him with doe eyes and shrug innocently. “I don’t see anyone.”

Eddie breathes out a laugh, one mixed with amusement and disbelief. “I just don’t wanna us to get caught, babe,” he tells you, smoothing wide palms up and down your arms. “Don’t want you to get in trouble.”

“Do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“Good,” you hum with a smile before sinking to your knees in front of him.

Eddie’s too stunned to stop you. He doesn’t want to stop you.

Bathed in a sinful neon red, you unbutton his pants and free his half-hard cock from the confines of his jeans. You tug at the hem of his underwear until his heavy balls hang over the plaid fabric. 

“Shit,” he mutters when you press a sweet kiss to his weeping tip. He bites back a moan when you swirl your tongue around the bulbous strawberry head. “Shit— you’re so fucking hot.”

You worship his cock like it’s not just some random Tuesday in the middle of a haunted house. You don’t mean to, really, but he’s making such pretty noises for you — little puffs of tiny breaths and small whines he tries desperately to hide from you. 

His thighs twitch every time you run your tongue over the veins on the underside of him, going slow to feel the rapid pulse there. His fingers crawl in your hair, palms settling on your temples — not pushing you or pulling you away, just holding you as you suck gently at his aching cock.

His pink lips are parted, airing out little moans of ecstasy. His chocolate eyes are dark and glazed over in a honeyed look. His hair hangs over his face, wild and desperate to be pulled.

You let his tip linger in your mouth, drool pooling around him and soaking his twitching cock. The feeling makes him moan — a deep, hearty sound that stems from his chest. 

When his lolling head drops back, you take him in your fist. You don’t bother to work him up to a rapid pace. Using the lubrication of your spit, you jerk him with an expert hand and lick away the pearly beads of pre-cum he leaks for you.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, eyes rolled back before he squeezes them shut. “Oh, fuck, babe—”

You’re already opening your mouth for his cum before he can warn you it’s coming. You know him too well. You notice all the telltale signs before you think he does — the whimpers, the shaking thighs, the rambled moans, the way his balls draw slightly upward. You’re ready to accept his warm, salty loads the second he gives them to you. 

Eddie cups your warm cheek with a ringed hand. He tries to tell you he’s cumming, but his whines get in the way. He grunts quietly, tilting his head backward and holding tightly to you as cum pulses weakly from his slit. 

The tang dribbles over your tongue and mouth. You take it all with ease. You make a big show of it, too — lolling your tongue out of your mouth and letting his cum drip onto the softening pudge of his head. Eddie’s whole body twitches when you take his sensitive cock in your mouth again to swallow it down, like a goddamn lightning strike up his spine.

“How’d I—” His voice is hoarse, so he has to stop and clear his throat. You smile, lips swollen and spit-slick, as you tuck his soft cock back into his jeans and button them again. His eyes are half-lidded and darkened when you rise to full height. “How’d I get so fucking lucky with you, huh?”

You make a vague I don’t know sound and shrug your shoulders with an innocent grin. You lean into his palm when he puts his ringed hands on your jaw. 

“Jesus fucking christ— you’re so pretty, baby— fuck.”

He’s just rambling now, still a bit dazed from his orgasm. He kisses you harder than anyone’s ever been kissed before, stealing the air from your lungs with ease. It’s like he’s amazed by his own adoration for you — the sheer intensity of it — the way it makes him stupid enough to let you suck his cock in a poorly hidden spot of a haunted house.

You don’t get caught, though. 

Not really, anyway.

There’s a security camera in front of the door you leave from. You make sure to give it a little wave on your way out.

Eddie holds your hand the entire way back to his van, opening the door for you like a total gentleman. It’s not the passenger side door, though, but rather the one in the very back. 

“What are you doing?” you wonder, all innocent like you still don’t have the taste of his cum in your mouth.

Eddie just grins at you, lopsided and pink and boyish. “Gotta return the favor, don’t I?”

[chlorinecake]

𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐊 - a yjw oneshot 🕹️

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: a fun gaming session with your bsf leads to a night full of steamy shenanigans

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: gamer!roommate!jungwon x reader

𝐜𝐰: swearing, kissing, teasing, hickeys, y/n gets her boobies fondled, oral (f. & m. receiving), mentions of other enhypen members

𝐰𝐜: 3k | not proofread, written quickly

You sighed, “I wish more people in the world cared about Roblox… it saved my life, bro.”

“That was easily one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard you say.”

“What?”

“I said-”

“EVER! Wanna play COD Mobile instead?”

“Bruh, that game is so mid.”

You scoffed at his remark, bringing a flared hand to your chest. “I’m goated at COD mobile, averaging like 100 kills per match. People praise me for that.”

“Because it doesn’t take skill?” He made it sound like a question, when he was really making a statement.

“Mkay. I bet I’d still whoop your ass on console, but we don’t have to go there.”

A hint of ambition sparkled in his eyes at the challenge. “Oh yeah? And what are we betting here?”

“Hmm,” you thought for a moment, “If you win, I’ll fix you a victory snack.”

He nodded at the enticing offer, “And if you win? Which you won’t, but-”

“The bragging rights will be enough for me, but you could always fix the broken shower head in my bathroom so I can stop using yours,” you interrupted confidently.

Jungwon forgot all about how you broke your shower head last week. You told him it was an innocent mistake, but his mind obviously wandered to other places once you told him. By now though, he had already gotten used to sharing a bathroom with you, so he didn’t feel any urgency to repair it. Still and all, he understood how you might want your private space back. “Ok. Fair enough,” Jungwon agreed.

He handed you a controller, waiting for you to join him at the loading screen. Setting up your gear and choosing what weapon you wanted, the match eventually started. Needless to say, you didn’t stand a chance against Jungwon and his team of CPU’s, feeling sore from defeat.

A prideful smile waved over his features, showcasing his prominent dimples. “Sooo,” he began, “I would like your leftover Twix bar from the fridge cut up over two scoops of vanilla ice cream. Don’t forget the sprinkles.”

You pouted, handing him the overheating controller. “I’m not fixing you a damn thing. You probably cheated!”

His eyebrows raised, “First of all, cheating is for weenies. Second of all, a deals a deal!”

“Ugh, fine. I’m charging tips, by the way.”

“Not a chance, crook. Unless,” he caught your attention as you got up from the living room couch, “you wanna go for another round?”

“No, that’s alright. I think I'm gonna just watch you play the game for now. You could invite Heeseung, too, if you want.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be back, okay? I gotta use the bathroom real quick.”

Walking into the bathroom, you closed the door behind you, taking off the bra that had been killing your back for the past 12 hours. You didn’t know where else to put it, so you hid it under Jungwon’s bathroom cabinet before leaving.

“When do you ever wanna play games with me? Are you with Riki or something?” Heeseung asked from the headset.

“No, I’m with ____. She needs some testosterone in her life and wants to watch us play I guess.”

“I can think of a few ways to help her with that,” Jungwon could hear the smirk in Heeseung’s voice.

“Shut the fuck up and join me already.”

“What? It’s not like you’ll ever have the balls to make a move on her, anyway,” Heeseung chuckled. “How long have you know her for again?”

“Since the first day of college.”

“Damn, and you’ve barely even grazed first base.”

“She’s still sacrificing her free time to hang out with me, so I don’t see the loss here?”

“Look, buddy. Your rizz needs an upgrade. These cute little gaming nights you have every weekend needs an upgrade. Your wardrobe needs an upgra-”

“I get it, asshole.”

You came back with the snack he requested, eliciting a dramatic applause from your goofy ahh friend.

“Your majesty,” you bowed playfully, placing the bowl of ice cream on the desk in front of him.

You filled in the space next to him, resting an elbow on the arm of the sofa, your nipples now on full display through your thin shirt.

“Are you cold,” Jungwon asked, eyes not quite meeting yours. You meant to reply, but he was already reaching his hand out to grope your chest, using a thumb to smooth out your hardened buds with his warm touch. You eyes widened in shock.

“Woah- mmm, n-no, I’m okay” you stuttered, Jungwon smirking at how flustered you appeared.

What the actual fuck was that!?, you thought to yourself.

He went back to casually talking with Heeseung again as if he didn’t just rub your nipples…

You usually enjoyed watching Jungwon play the game, but now, you couldn’t take your eyes off of Jungwon’s pretty hands. The way his delicate thumbs maneuvered the joystick of the controller sent your mind into a daze.

“Hold up, Hee, I’m gonna put you on mute for a sec,” Jungwon said, handing you his controller before mouthing the words “play for me” with a catty smirk. He adjusted his headset over your head, bringing a finger up to your seal your lips. “Shhh,” he warned.

You knew Heeseung wasn’t actually on mute because there was an open mic symbol on the corner of the screen.

What’s he up to now?, you wondered.

Kneeling between your legs with greed, Jungwon’s fingers tiptoed to the waistband of your shorts. He paused before asking, “is this okay?," and you simply nodded in response. He smiled, tugging your shorts and underwear past your hips, knees, and ankles, stuffing them under the sofa.

He gawked at your wetness, your lips swollen with need. Heeseung started the match, and that’s when Jungwon started taking kitten nips at the sensitive flesh between your thighs, leaving a few marks. He blew at your heat before finally using his fingers to explore your folds.

“Cute,” he must’ve noticed the way your pussy pulsed in anticipation. Attaching his lips to your throbbing clit, he sucked it into his mouth, alternating with his fingers when breaking for air. He hummed at your taste, adding to the pleasurable sensations.

You tried focusing on the game for Jungwon’s sake, but you couldn’t resist the urge to reach for a handful of his hair and gently grind against his face.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby, just stay focused,” he said in between slurping at your wetness that never sounded so foul til now.

Did he just call me baby?

He inserted a finger into your tight hole and started pumping in and out of you, curling up to stimulate your g-spot. You were struggling to keep your moans in, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as he finger-fucked you. He looked up, noticing that you had fully abandoned the controller. “Keep playing or I won’t let you finish,” he purred.

“Fuck,” you panted quietly, how do you expect me to do that?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, ____.”

You picked up the controller and started playing again. Heeseung was now swearing over the mic like a madman. “Bro, you’re really not helping out our stats here by letting the enemy clap your cheeks,” he scolded, but you weren’t really paying attention to his voice anyway. Jungwon dove back into your heat, licking rough stripes against your clit as he inserted a second finger. “Mngh,“ you mumbled dizzily, clenching around him.

“What?” Heeseung asked confused, having heard your noise.

You reached to mute the headset, but Jungwon gave you a look that told you not to test him. You gave in, and succeeded in holding back your whimpers, but your heavy breathing continued.

“Dude, I’m literally never playing the game with you agai- HOW THE FUCK DID I JUST GET DIED?”

One last thrust of Jungwon’s fingers, and you were finally coming undone, shaking from the intense wave of pleasure that washed over you. Slender fingers glided in and out of your needy hole, his knuckles adding to the delightful stretch. The match ended shortly after you came down from your high.

Jungwon licked his fingers clean of you and swapped the controller back. “Sorry about that, hyung. I was eating and didn’t wanna disturb you,” he lied, readjusted the headset on himself.

“Well, I hope it was worth it. Our team forfeited on some elite rewards.”

“You’re welcome,” he teased, which you didn’t know if it was meant for you or Heeseung, because he leaned in to kiss your lips softly, before going in for another match.

Still feeling your orgasm fresh in your viens, you reached under the couch to grab your shorts and underwear, putting them on and getting up from the sofa.

“Hey, what’s up,” Jungwon asked while taking a spoonful of the half-melted sundae into his mouth.

“I-I’m just gonna shower... and maybe go to bed after.”

“Alright. Me and Hee are gonna play one more match and I’ll be in after you. Don’t take long!”

"Dude, you’re abandoning me already? I thoughtyou were gonna help me take these punks to skill-ville," Heeseung whined over the mic.

"You need to immediately repent for saying that," Jungwon cringed.

You made your way to his bathroom with a change of clothes, closing the door behind you.

You entered the shower, trying to wash off the growing heat between your legs and any dirty thoughts associated with your roommate. A few minutes in, you also decided to wash your hair as it had been a week since that last time you did.

That’s when you heard the door open and close, followed by the sounds of clothes being removed and tossed on the bathroom floor. You peeked from the shower curtain, only to find a naked Jungwon standing right there. He didn’t notice you looking, so you pushed the shower curtain back.

“The shower is occupied at the moment, Wonie!”

“I know,” he smirked, entering the shower from the opposite end as if this was yet another casual ordeal.

“May I,” he asked, pointing to the spot you were standing at in the shower. “Oh, sure” you replied, trying not to make things awkward. He reached for the bottle of shampoo and started lathering the honey scented product in his hair and skin. You tried to avoid taking anymore peeks at his toned body so you busied yourself with a loofa and cleansed your skin for what felt a hundred times. By now, you sat idly in the corner of the shower, with bubbles waiting to be rinsed from your body. “Here,” Jungwon motioned for you to return to your original spot. “Thanks,” you said. “Would’ve been nice if you said that earlier,” he poked.

Oh shit.

“Here, let me help you,” he offered, rinsing off the soapy suds that painting your shoulders and back. Somehow, this gesture relaxed you. “Now turn around for me.” You faced him with a chest covered in bubbles. He quickly rinsed your breasts before lowering the shower head to your private, adjusting the water pressure from low to medium.

You could hardly stand up straight from the pressure building up at your center. The throbbing sensation between your legs travelled up to your quivering lips. You moved a hand to cover your mouth, hiding your lewd sounds. Jungwon didn’t mind though, because your squirming is what excited him the most. “Hold still, ____,” he teased, putting the water pressure on high.

Bracing your balance with his free arm, his soft lips met your damp neck, nibbling at the skin. The sensation was so sweet that you finally let your moans out. Developing a mind of its own, your hand reached down to stroke Jungwon’s hardness, a lustful look staining his features.

He groaned into your ear, making you feel more than half crazy. You felt your climax creeping up on you as it became harder to stand up or keep still. Starting to pump him faster, both of you were now on the verge of bussing.

A little voice in your head slapped you back into reality.

This has to stop! He’s my roommate!

You turned the water off from the faucet on the wall, retreating your hand from his member as if it tased you. Grabbing a towel from the curtain rod and covering yourself, you left Jungwon alone in the bathroom.

You went to your room and started to dry yourself off. You couldn’t quite wrap your head around what was happening but a part of you liked it and another part knew it was inappropriate.

You just touched Jungwon’s dick, and yes, it felt really fucking nice, but the thought will likely haunt you til the day you die. He was a good friend of yours, and you didn’t wanna let fleeting feelings ruin it.

You put on the scented lotion from your nightstand followed by your clothes before plopping in your bed. You didn’t bother locking your door because you never had you to worry about Jungwon intruding your privacy. Or at least, that was before today.

You buried yourself under the covers before a trail of footsteps made their way from the bathroom to your bedroom door.

Creak.

The door opened and closed.

Click.

He locked it.

Walking over to your bed, Jungwon sat behind you.

“I know you’re awake, so stop pretending,” he whispered in your ear.

Annoyed, you threw the covers off your head, giving him an exhausted look.

“What do you want, Jungwon? Huh?”

“I could always just show you,” he said, flashing you the sluttiest eyes you’ve ever seen on a man.

“You could’ve waited for me to finish up in the shower before barging in like that.”

“No, I really couldn’t.”

“We’re roommates, Won! Hell, we’re friends!”

“And? What does that have to do with anything?”

“You can’t just fondle my tits whenever you want to, or eat me out on the couch when you’re bored, or join me in the shower because you’re impatient.”

You let that sink in for a moment.

“Did you not like it when I did those things to you? Did you not like the way I made you feel,” he inquired, inching closer towards you on the bed. “Because the way I remember it, you never told me to stop.”

The room fell so quiet that your heartbeat sounded loud.

He reached over to grip your thigh, leaning in for a kiss before shoving his tongue past your lips, but you pulled away.

“Jungwon stop!” You reprimanded, turning your head from him.

He grabbed your chin and proceeded to kiss you.

“Jungwon, I said stop...”

“I can tell you didn’t mean it.”

He continued kissing you, shoving his hand into you panties and going straight to your pussy, sliding his digits up and down your moist folds, sending an ache through your stomach.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so wet for me.”

He called you baby. Again!

He didn’t waste any time to rub circles around your sensitive bud, causing your hips to jerk toward him.

“Stop it!” You raised your voice, pushing him away by his throat. Your hand never looked so small til now.

“Then make me.”

“What?”

“You know I don’t like repeating myself, ____.”

Darkness waved over both your features as you pressed his back flush against the bed, reaching for his drawstring and pulling his sweat pants down. He wasn’t wearing any boxers, so his pink tip sprung up, clear fluid leaking from the tip.

You grabbed his dick, giving it a firm stroke before grazing your teeth down his shaft, eliciting the prettiest whimper you’d ever heard from his mouth. The texture of his veins ran against your tongue as you took half of him into your mouth, using your hand to stimulate the base.

Your head bounced up and down as Jungwon grew dangerously desperate. Tapping your cheek, he guided you off of him to take a breath. Cradling your head in his grasp, he slid you back down until your lips reached his pelvis. “Hollow your cheeks for me, and breath through your nose,” he guided before using your head to please him. Your eyes began to water as his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag a few times, but he ignored it.

“I’m so close, baby, just keep taking me,” he nearly begged, chest heaving as he screwed his eyes shut, “Be a good girl for me, mmm,” he grunted, picking up the pace.

You were getting used to being called “baby” by now.

“F-fuck,” he whimpered, bursting his load into your mouth. He lifted your head from his throbbing heat, using a thumb to wipe the cum that dribbled from the corner of your mouth. You went back down to taste his release, only for him to guide your head away.

“Don’t eat that, ____,” he giggled, but you swiped a finger to collect some of his cum anyway.

“It’s only fair, Wonie. Now we’ve both tasted each other.”

You went to the bathroom to wash your hands, coming back with a few tissues to help clean him up. Something about this dirty moment seemed so pure. So right.

“Okay, I’m going to bed for real this time, see you tomorrow,” you smiled, getting under your covers.

“You don’t expect me to go back to my room, do you,” he asked, giving you a look.

“Well, tonight, I’ll let it slide, but if you end up breaking your bed, don’t expect visitation privileges.”

“Thank you,” he let out a breath, smiling as he snuggled under the covers beside you.

“Jungwon?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think Heeseung has any idea about what we did?”

Ding.

Jungwon’s phone vibrated in his pocket:

Text Message from “Heenis” — Jake ditched me for a hoe 👍🥲 wanna call?

A mischievous smirk poked at the corners of Jungwon’s lips, “He can find out.”

“WONIE, IF YOU COME ANY CLOSER, I SWEAR YOU’RE SLEEPING IN YOUR OWN BED TONIGHT!”

❁ if y’all can’t tell already, i am dangerously jungwon biased…

❁ anyways, thanks for reading “Joystick” by @chlorinecake! be sure to check out more works by me on my enhypen bookshelf!

[rainba]

Here it is... The fic where Luka kidnaps both his darling and Kairos.

TWs/tags: human furniture, dubcon, kidnapping, slight depiction of violence, pet play, NSFW, mind break, cucking (?), dark content, use of shock collars

Reader is GN, however, there is one paragraph where the reader is gendered. The asterisk* will mark the paragraph with afab reader, and the one in parenthesis is amab. :3c)

MDNI! 18+

In one previous post, I mentioned that Kairos and Luka do live in the same universe and city– and in a few other posts, I mentioned that they’d never share their darling. If one of them tries to kidnap darling, they’ll just report the other to the police. 

Then another idea came up, a way that Luka could circumvent that predicament: Luka figures that Kairos would instantly report him if he kidnapped his darling. So… In order to stop that from happening…

Luka would kidnap both you and Kairos.

Luka’s house is definitely big enough to keep both of you. In the beginning stages, he’ll keep Kairos locked up in the attic while he keeps you in the basement. The basement is much cozier– meanwhile the attic is all dusty, hot, and muggy.

Between you and Kairos, Luka will be much, much nicer to you. He’s (quite literally) obsessed with you, so of course you get the better treatment. He cooks your favorite meals and feeds them to you by hand. He gives you plenty of water and always showers you in attention– sometimes he’ll even place a TV down in the basement and let you watch random stuff. You know, just so you don’t get too bored. He wants you to feel at home–! When you learn to accept your new life, he’ll spoil you rotten.

But for Kairos..? Luka is absolutely brutal.

Luka will rub in the fact that he beat Kairos in “winning you.” He’s simply just the superior man– the superior partner. Luka loves you too much to ever let you go. After all, you're the only person that has ever made him feel anything at all. And he really drives in the fact that you belong to him, and that Kairos will never have the chance to even touch you.

Luka will walk circles around Kairos as he mocks him relentlessly.

“Nobody is looking for you.”

“You’re pathetic. Disgusting freak.”

“They’re all mine, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

Kairos will scream, squirm, and cry as much as he possibly can– but nobody can hear him. Luka is right: nobody is looking for him. Kairos doesn’t have any family. He doesn’t have any friends. He’s stuck in this hell forever.

To keep Kairos alive, Luka gives him his leftovers. He dumps it onto the dirty ground and drags Kairos next to it, commanding him to “eat up.” Kairos is forced to pathetically writhe on the floor and eat without his hands– all because Luka refuses to untie him. As for water, Luka forces Kairos to drink out of a dog bowl.

Most of the time, Kairos can’t hear anything. Luka’s house is eerily quiet at night. And during the day, Kairos can sometimes hear the sounds of children laughing and playing outside, or he’ll just hear Luka casually going about his day as if there aren't two people locked up in his house.

It’s torturous.

Over time, Luka will get you to warm up to him– call it stockholm syndrome kicking in, if you will. Or maybe you already loved him and he just needed to build trust with you. Either way– you eventually upgrade from the basement to his bedroom. And that’s when things get infinitely worse for Kairos.

He’s not just listening to Luka going about his daily routine now– no, now he has to also listen to the two of you fucking multiple times a day. The way you’re moaning out another man's name… The sound of the bed creaking and banging against the wall… Kairos finds himself choking and sobbing as he’s stuck tied to the chair. Sometimes he starts to dissociate and pretends that he’s somewhere else.

Most of the time he pretends that the two of you just got married, and he’s playing out different scenarios of honeymoons in his head.

After a few more weeks or months go by, Luka will grow bored of keeping Kairos tied up in the attic. If he’s gonna keep a hostage, he might as well put them to good use. So what does he do with Kairos?

He uses him as human furniture. Forces him to also be a pet.

You’re horrified as you watch Kairos crawling around the house with a gag in his mouth and a leash attached to his throat. If Luka feels bold enough, he might even have the words “Luka’s Bitch” decorated on the collar. Oh– and it’s not just a regular collar, either. It’s a shock collar.

Any time Kairos acts out and disobeys Luka, he earns himself a shock so powerful that it causes him to seize and collapse onto the floor.

…This entire time, you thought it was just you in the house. You didn’t know there was another person. You’re not alone.

It makes your stomach churn.

And Luka encourages you to use Kairos as furniture as well. Use him as a footrest, use him as a table or a chair– do whatever.

Over time, deep down, incomprehensible and guilty thoughts begin to appear in Kairos’ mind. Things that made him once want to throw up now make him feel… Funny. He’s so happy that he gets to see your face again–!! He’s finally reunited with the love of his life, it’s just a shame it’s under such horrible circumstances.

Kairos doesn’t mind if you use him like furniture. It’s okay if you do it. But he loathes it when it’s Luka who’s using him.

The difference between you and Luka is like night and day. While Luka berates and degrades him, sometimes even depriving him of basic necessities, you always sneak around and give Kairos lots of love and extra food. 

Kairos always breaks down and cries in your arms when you show him kindness– he’s so very thankful for it. But be sure that Luka doesn’t catch you. If he sees you being sweet towards Kairos, he’ll harshly punish Kairos and then fuck you right in front of him. Every time.

Kairos always feels so pathetic as he's forced to watch you getting ravaged by Luka. The way you're moaning under his touch... The hot, sticky sound of Luka's cock sliding in and out of you... All of this happening while Kairos is tied down and unable to do a thing. He's so fucking hard, and there's nothing there to relieve him. Luka punishes Kairos if he dares to look away.

In order to gain more privileges, both you and Kairos need to work to gain Luka’s favor. If the both of you prove that you’re capable of being trusted, he might give you more freedom. He’ll let you look out the windows every now and then– might even let you use the kitchen. He's much more open to giving you privileges than he is to giving Kairos any.

Except, of course, he always hides all of the sharp objects in the house. He doesn’t want you two to have access to weapons. And if you try to poison him even once, he’ll immediately make the kitchen permanently off limits when he's not around to watch you.

Also, over time, another funny thing happens. Luka doesn’t really like punishing you outside of sex- he'd much rather shower you in rewards. He’d rather save the roughness and punishments for more intimate settings. After all, he’s trying to earn your love– not make you hate him. So, what does he do instead?

Every time you act up, he’ll drag Kairos by his leash and punish him in your stead. After all, he knows that you care about Kairos and his wellbeing, so he uses that against you.

Oh, you just tried to break out of the house? You tried to poison Luka? Well, that deserves a proper punishment. Luka will tie you to a chair and force you to watch as he brutalizes Kairos. Whips him with a belt, kicks him in the stomach, takes away his food privileges for the next 48 hours... It’s horrible.

And in a way… This would cause Kairos to start policing you, too. Which is exactly what Luka wants. Kairos really, really doesn’t want to get punished. I mean, deep down, he’s absolutely happy that he gets to take the beating instead of you– it’s like he’s your hero!! …In some weird and twisted sense. But also, he really doesn’t want to get punished, so… Please don’t act out.

However, when the months keep rolling in, Luka will slowly warm up to Kairos. All of the punishments will grow less severe– and sometimes, Luka just lets you all off with a warning. It’s obvious that a big change has happened when instead of Luka just fucking you in front of Kairos, he lets him join in on the fun.

Except Luka doesn’t really want to touch him– so, he’ll let you touch Kairos instead. It’s what Kairos always wanted– Right?

Kairos should thank him. 

Luka will tie his arms behind his back and keep him firmly locked to a chair, completely naked. Kairos feels so ashamed that he’s hard– but god, he can’t help it. He’s so excited to finally be able to touch you, his darling, the person that should’ve always been his–!

And Luka will make sure it’s enjoyable for everyone. Luka will strip you of your clothes, but he might put you in a cute pair of thigh highs, just for the fun of it. Luka will grab you by your hair and push your face into Kairos’ lap as he utters one phrase, “suck it.”

You’ll do as you’re told– you don’t have much of a choice. Kairos’ eyes instantly light up as you wrap your lips around his sensitive cock.

Finally– his dreams are coming true…! 

Sort of.

As you suck him off, Luka will lift your ass into the air and he’ll fuck your tight hole. He’ll keep his right hand on your hip while his left hand grabs the back of your head, lacing his fingers into your hair. He doesn’t care if you can barely breathe– he’ll shove your head all the way down on Kairos’ dick as he bottoms out inside of you. Occasionally, he’ll lift your head up and lean in to kiss you on the lips.

It’s all so hot– but ultimately, it’s all for you and himself. Luka will always make sure you cum, that’s his top priority. His second priority is to make sure he gets to fill you up. As for Kairos? Well… Luka doesn’t care all that much.

If Kairos doesn’t cum? That’s too bad. It’s Kairos’ own fault that he didn’t come undone. But if he does cum? That’s alright too. 

However, don’t expect Luka to make you stop sucking. Kairos will be squirming in his chair whining like crazy as you overstimulate him, his body trembling from the sensation, but you can’t stop until Luka says you can stop.

The second scenario is much more likely to happen than the first. The moment Kairos looks down and sees your fucked-out face choking on his length… He’ll cum right on the spot– every single time, without fail.

After the first instance of Luka letting Kairos join in the sex, he earns a lot more privileges. He can finally sleep in the same room as you two–!! But he’s not really allowed to rest on the bed. He’ll be forced to curl up and sleep on the floor– but hey, it beats the attic any day, right?

Luka also takes off Kairos' shock collar. Since Kairos has proved himself to be a good boy, he's now allowed to roam around freely. Hell, sometimes Luka will pet Kairos and give him some praise. It... Makes Kairos feel strange, but in a good way.

Kairos is also now allowed to cuddle you sometimes. When you’re simply sitting on the couch and trying to relax, Kairos will immediately hurry over to your side and rest his head in your lap– desperate to feel even an ounce of affection from you. He might ask you to stroke his hair and kiss the bruises Luka left on his skin.

* If Luka is at work and Kairos knows there’s no cameras around, he might beg to suck on your tits– you know, for comfort reasons! It would really make him happy to have them in his mouth– it would be therapeutic, even.

((And if you’re a guy, Kairos will instead beg to frot you. While it’s a lot more dangerous and the punishment for getting caught is heavy, Kairos is willing to risk it all. Don’t worry–! You can just sit there and relax; Kairos will be the one doing all the work with his hand.))

You know how stressful and traumatizing this whole situation has been for him… He needs to be comforted so badly… So.. Pretty please?

In some sick and twisted way, over time, Kairos grows to like the way things are– perhaps his mind does this as a way to cope. He tries his hardest to find all the positives in living this kind of life:

> He gets to spend every minute of every day with you!

> He doesn’t have to worry about talking to strangers.

> He doesn’t have to work and maintain a job.

> He doesn’t have to cook and clean for himself.

The list goes on. Kairos gains all of these benefits, and all he has to do is give up most of his basic human rights and submit to another man…!

Okay, Kairos still admits that is pretty bad. But… At least he has you…! That’s all Kairos really cares about in the end!

For Luka? He’s satisfied with the way things are. Not only does he not have to worry about Kairos ratting him out to the police, but now he has both the love of his life right by his side and a fun little pet to take his stress out on. 

So… Everyone… Wins? In the end? ❤️

[rileyslibrary]

hello! So you know about those like music boxes with the ballerinas on top? what if reader has a plain music box and decides to put a mini painted simon riley on it and reader gets caught playing with the custom music box

Please and thank you!

There you go, anon! Hope you like it!

———————————————————————

You recline on your assigned bed, head cradled in one hand while the other fiddles with the box in front of you. Work has been sluggish lately—a good thing, considering the nature of your job. Yet, despite the break, your hands ache for the action they’ve been accustomed to—pulling triggers, disarming bombs, rescuing comrades and civilians. Now, they remain idle, bored, and without purpose.

For that reason, you finally decided to address a long-delayed project you’ve postponed for ages: restoring your grandmother’s worn-down ballerina music box. Time has taken its toll on it, with splinters jutting from the once-smooth surface. The paint, once vibrant, had either chipped away in places or surrendered entirely, leaving bare patches to the sides and on the lid. Even the ballerina inside, once gracefully twirling, had been frozen in time. It begged for your attention and care.

And that’s exactly what you did.

You fixed the mechanism inside, stripped away the original paint, sanded the box down and diligently repainted it, using whatever colours you managed to salvage—some leftover black varnish that had been used to paint the fence around the base, green paint from the mechanics who use it for the military vehicles and a ghastly olive hue colour you have no idea of its purpose, nor you want to know.

As you turn the key, the music box releases its familiar melody, drawing your attention to the figure twirling within. Gone is the ballerina’s delicate face. Now it’s replaced by a meticulously painted skull balaclava closely resembling Ghost. The once pink bodysuit has transformed into a scaled-down tactical vest with detailed features, mirroring the real deal—knives, magazines, and even a tourniquet secured on the shoulder. The ballerina’s bare legs now sport camo leggings, and her ballet shoes have been upgraded to sturdy combat boots. The tutu couldn’t be removed since it was part of the ballerina’s body, so you left it as it was and painted it black.

You turn the key again and let it go, watching the lieutenant twirl. Your gaze is fixed on the figure as you find yourself entranced, occasionally poking at the lieutenant’s hand to halt the motion and releasing it to begin twirling again.

And as you do it one more time, the door opens, and the real, life-sized lieutenant pokes his head through the opening. He scans the entire room until it settles on you

“Is it you making that noise?” he asks.

“Noise?” you ask back. “That’s Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky.”

“I don’t care what it is,” he replies. “Either turn it off or turn the volume down.”

“Well, I can’t turn the volume down,” you say, pointing at the box.

“I gave you two options if I remember correctly,” he says, tilting his head to the side. He narrows his eyes, now focused on the box, and approaches the bed with his hand extended towards you. “Give me that.”

“No!” You retort and hug the box close to your chest. “Why should I give it to you?”

“Because I said so,” he whispers, pointing with his finger. “Now. Give. Me. The. Box.”

You sigh and roll your eyes but comply with his demand. You close the box, which triggers the music to stop and hand it over to Ghost.

He holds it to his side for a second, then lifts it to his eye level. He looks at it all around and, with a swift motion, lifts the lid.

The music starts playing again, and the mini-lieutenant resumes his little dance. Ghost stands there with the box in his hands, watching the figurine until it stops moving. He looks at you, then at the box. He turns the box towards you so you can look at the figurine and points at it.

“That’s me,” he states, triggering three nods from you.

“I was bored,” you explain, shrugging, “so I decided to refurbish my grandma’s antique ballerina box with whatever I found at the base.”

“I can see that,” he whispers, turning around the box. “Maintenance support didn’t have a colour closer to fuchsia?”

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply, following his sarcastic tone. “They ran out.”

“Poor grandma and poor ballerina,” he says, pointing again at his mini-self. “Why did you turn her into that?”

“What do you mean ‘into that’?” you ask, pointing at the box. “That’s you.”

“Exactly!” he exclaims, turning the box around to look at the figurine better. “Plus, it doesn’t look like me at all.”

“Why?” you ask, wincing. “Is it the tutu?”

“No,” he says, slowly looking at you and tilting his head. “What gave you that impression?”

You chuckle at his response. “What is it then?”

He holds the box to the side so you can look at the figurine and himself.

“Look,” he says, spreading his other hand to the side. “It’s too skinny to be me.”

“Hmmm, I can’t tell from where I’m sitting…” you murmur, scratching your chin as you examine both of them. “How about you make a quick pirouette for me?”

“How about I make you pirouette all the way to the Captain?” He asks, as he lifts one eyebrow and closes the box.

He motions with his other hand at you to stand up. “Get ready for training,” he states and shakes the box. “This comes with me.”

“No, Lt.!” You shout, “That’s mine!”

“Well, it has my bloody face in there, doesn’t it?” He says. “Plus, I can’t have you playing that music in the base; it’s scaring the others.”

“Scaring the others?” You protest, and your eyes widen. “I’m scaring grown-ass men who kill for a living?”

“Not you,” he replies as he walks towards the exit and lifts the box in the air. “But that bloody Tchaikovsky is.”

———————————————————————

[pneumaticshift]

I just read the latest chapter of BLP!! SO GOOD. Hal’s quiet resignation is such a mood haha. He’s in it for the long haul, unfortunately. It also made me think of a prompt if you’re interested.

What if established batlantern featured a Hal that was a master guilt tripper? I feel like the bats are so emotionally repressed that open emotion or, dare I say, even open crying from Hal would immediately give him an upper hand against most of them.

Now who could fuck up enough in the family that the normally chill Hal would use this power for evil? Who’s to say haha.

Love your stuff! Hope you’re having a good day :)

Ahh, thank you so much!! Really glad you're enjoying it.

I had a lot of fun with your prompt. I feel like Hal's not much of a dick to be emotionally manipulative for big serious things, but he'd definitely use it to be the petty little shit he was always destined to be. I hope you like it 💚💚🦇

———

Jason liked to limit his time in the manor, mostly because he didn’t want Bruce to get the wrong idea. The last thing he needed was the old man to think he was on the verge of some grand, heartfelt return to the family. He certainly wasn’t planning on moving back in or, god forbid, partaking in some kind of formal reinstatement into the fold. 

No, obviously Jason wasn’t here out of any sense of comfort. It was all strictly practical. Maybe his safehouse had a busted boiler. Maybe his internet was out. Maybe Gotham was just particularly miserable tonight and he still hadn’t fixed the window in his apartment.

Then again, there was something about the quiet hum of the Batcomputer that made his shoulders loosen just a fraction. Not that he’d ever acknowledge it, out loud or otherwise. He leaned back in his chair, boots propped up on the console just to annoy Bruce in absentia. Jason planned to be gone way before the old man came back from whatever corner he was brooding in, but Jason liked to believe he’d feel a vague sense of irritation by proxy. 

He wasn’t staying, obviously. He’d just come to borrow some gear. A few upgrades, maybe a couple of batarangs. Not because he needed them, but because stealing from Bruce had always been a real satisfying hobby. Sure, he might have taken a detour to the library to swipe a few of Bruce’s first editions, too. One of them had even been bookmarked, which made it infinitely more enjoyable to take.

Now he was sprawled out in front of the Batcomputer, making a dent in some leftover sesame chicken straight from the container. He didn’t know who’s it was, but Batfamily law decreed that if it had been in the fridge for more than a day, then it was fair game. 

Jason had been in the middle of watching a blurry video compilation of Cursed Gotham Sightings — which included at least three separate clips of himself when he was still running about in his more homicidal phase, and one video of Bruce eating shit after his grapple broke — when the Batcave’s security gave a low, lazy chime. That meant someone with clearance had entered. Which, in turn, meant that Jason didn’t have to shoot them. A shame, really. 

He barely had enough time to decide on his excuse for being there when Hal Jordan floated in like he belonged. 

And, okay, technically he did these days, and that was something Jason was still struggling to wrap his head around. Hal had been dating Bruce for a while now, long enough that Jason stopped expecting it to be some elaborate prank or an undercover operation that Bruce had neglected to inform the family about.

Somehow, against all logic, rhyme or reason, the Green Lantern actually wanted to spend time with Bruce. Voluntarily. Without, like, an ulterior motive. And Jason had yet to determine if that meant Hal had some kind of latent head injury or if he just really enjoyed the suffering that came with a man who’d rather break a bone than express any kind of positive emotion. 

Hal took one look at Jason, then at the takeout box in his hand. "Is that my sesame chicken?”

Jason paused mid-bite and very deliberately glanced down at the takeout box. There was a smudge of sauce on the lid, a logo he hadn’t bothered to look at before, and something suspiciously close to Hal’s name scrawled on the side in what was probably Alfred’s neat handwriting.

He looked back up at Hal. “...Dunno. Might be.” And then, because committing to the bit was a family trait, he popped the chicken in his mouth and chewed nonchalantly. 

Green Lantern was well known for deliberately being a dick when the situation called for it, so Jason had been expecting some pushback. He’d seen the guy bicker with Bruce enough times that it was fairly reasonable to assume Hal would at least attempt some petty retribution. At the very least some half-assed back-and-forth that would pass the time before Jason inevitably got bored and left.

He really, really didn’t expect for Hal’s entire body to slump mid-air. Hal just, like…deflated. His shoulders hunched, his mouth opened a little like he didn’t know how to continue, and his mask fizzled away so Jason could see the very specific kind of disappointment that would’ve been more apt on a kid that just got its favourite toy taken away. Hal blinked and his feet drifted down to the ground with all the enthusiasm of a man being lowered into his own grave. 

“Oh,” Hal whispered, his voice so alarmingly soft. “Oh, okay.”

Jason panicked. This wasn’t in the script. This wasn’t how arguments were supposed to go. He could handle a petty quarrel or a physical altercation, but this… this was new, and Jason really didn’t like where this was going. 

And Hal just stood there. He wasn’t exactly a short guy, but he suddenly looked so small. He was radiating wounded sorrow and his eyes — god, his eyes. They looked moist. Not quite full-on tears, but the kind of damp, glossy sheets that made it very clear that Hal could cry if he wanted to. 

Jason felt a cold sweat start to form. He couldn’t handle tears. 

“Uh…” he started, shifting uncomfortably. “Are you—”

“No, no.” Hal waved him off, his voice too steady. Like he was holding something back. “I get it. It’s fine. I just…”

“Dude. It’s just chicken…”

“Was chicken,” Hal corrected tiredly, looking deeply, viscerally wounded. “Was mine. And now it’s—-” He cut himself off and inhaled sharply like even saying it was too much. His head shook slightly, eyes fluttering shut like he was physically stopping himself from falling apart right then and there. Jason had seen people die with less drama. “It’s gone,” Hal finally whispered.

“...I don’t—”

Hal let out another long, shuddering sigh and he tilted his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “I thought you were different,” he continued, almost to himself. “I believed in you.”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“Serious?” Hal let out a humourless laugh and he looked back at Jason, eyes filled with pain. Jesus Christ, was he being legitimate right now? Jason felt something foreign and incredibly uncomfortable curl in his chest. Guilt. Actual guilt. Over takeout. This was not his natural state of being. “Jason, I dreamed about that chicken.”

“Oh my God—” “I held on,” Hal continued, placing a fist dramatically over his chest. “Through asteroid fields. Through alien war zones. Through deep, endless space.” He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut again. “And I told myself, ‘One more day. One more patrol. And when I get back home, when I finally, finally touch down, it’ll be waiting for me. Warm. Safe. Loved.’” His voice cracked on that last word. “You’re messing with me, right? You’re not actually…upset about this, right?”

Hal made a wounded noise. “I trusted you man,” he murmured, just loud enough for Jason to hear. And those were exactly the words that always made him crumble, because trust was such a beautiful, sad commodity in his life. Hal proceeded to make it even worse by slamming the final nail in the coffin. “I thought we were family.”

And god-fucking-damnit, that was what broke him. 

Jason clenched his hands into fists around his chopsticks. This was a setup. He knew this was a setup. Hal Jordan simply didn’t break down over something a stupid as food. He didn’t break down, period. The guy had dealt with way too much shit in his life to let takeout dictate his emotional state. 

But Hal looked so goddamn broken. He just stood there with his chest barely rising with each soul-crushing sigh, and his big hazel eyes were dim and devastated. He looked like Jason had personally ripped his heart out and stomped on it. And that was dangerous.

Because Jason was used to the cold. He was used to the sharp blue eyes of his family and the way their gaze straight up cut. His dad — uh, Bruce (goddamnit) and his brothers had disappointment that was quiet and knife-like, slicing just deep enough to leave a scar. He knew how to brace against that, knew how to fight against it. 

Hal wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the family, though. Hal didn’t cut. He ached. His disappointment was soft, open, an exposed wound bleeding out realtime, and Jason didn’t know how to deal with that. 

“It’s just takeout, man,” he tried weakly in one last ditch attempt at retaining some kind of control of the situation. 

“You don’t get it,” Hal murmured, shaking his head. His voice was quiet. Too quiet.

And Jason was apparently a weak fucking man, because he hissed an impassioned “Fuck you,” under his breath, and shoved himself away from the Batcomputer so violently that the chair nearly toppled over. He stormed out of the room before he could let Hal see just how much he’d won.

Exactly twenty-seven minutes later, he came back. He shoved a fresh box of sesame chicken onto the console, slamming it down with force. If he was doing this, he was gonna do it petulantly. 

“There,” Jason growled. “Happy now?”

Hal, now lounging on the chair and watching the compilation videos Jason had left open on the Batcomputer, didn’t even flinch. He just blinked at the box, tilted his head a little, and then — then, like he hadn’t just emotionally manipulated Jason into doing his dark bidding, grinned brightly. 

“Oh, sweet, thanks, buddy,” he said casually, already opening the lid and digging around for the chopsticks.

Jason stared at him. He just...stared. Mute, disbelieving, a little put in his place. 

When did he become so easy to manipulate? How in the hell had he let this happen? More importantly, why — why, why?? — was a small, twisted part of him actually impressed by the gall of this bastard. Jason kind of wanted to fight him.

Hal, chuckling at a grainy video of Batman falling out of a window, barely even acknowledged his crisis. He just hummed happily around a mouthful of chicken, clicked through another video on the Batcomputer, and without looking up, said, “So, you staying for dinner or not?”

Jason opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Sighed deeply. And, so completely resigned, he muttered, “Yeah, fine. Whatever.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Hi! I have been reading you for a long time and would like to ask you something for the first time… The last message flow to the Lethal Company from the Nutcracker was WILDLY SWEET, however, it hurt me from the bracken that was shot through the lytic…. May I ask the bracken and the reader where the bracken constantly goes behind the reader's back…. JUST TO HUG! Someone from the team warns about the danger and the bracken gently takes the reader in his arms to his lair for even bigger hugs!

Bruh you have no idea how soft i am for brackens hfghhs (when I first started playing LC, they were ALWAYS killing me...but now they just like to pop out and scurry away when I look at them, so I consider us to be pretty chill)

Anyways woe Bracken fluff be upon ye <3

.....

Of all the creatures you've encountered during your time with the Company, Brackens were certainly the most complicated.

Even though there's been countless documents and reports of employees scanning, studying, and dying to these aliens...they were still seldom understood. The data on the terminal said so.

There was one in particular who had such a unique behavior pattern that remained a mystery to you.

And he lived on Experimentation, which was supposedly the "safest" moon to land on and gather scrap from.

Most of the time, however, that was a load of bullshit...as you and your crew had many encounters with aggressive lifeforms such as hoarding bugs, Thumpers, spiders, and turrets that were placed in the most inconvenient spots...

Hell, even an Earth Leviathan showed up and nearly consumed your entire ship.

As of right now, though, you were on-track to making the third profit quota's deadline. So a trip to Experimentation was an order, as you could grab minimal loot and still gain enough leftover money to buy some much-needed ship upgrades and tools.

Or maybe new suits or jack o'lanterns.

None of you were good at managing your budget.

But during this trip, you were less focused on getting loot and more eager to see....a certain someone.

Hopefully, he hasn't forgotten about you or mistook you for another random employee.

While two of your coworkers headed into the facility's main entrance and one stayed behind on the ship, you ascended the stairs leading up to the fire exit--armed with nothing but a flashlight and a walkie-talkie.

[Nearby activity detected!]

"Oh come on...can you be anymore vague?" You huffed, slightly annoyed that your scanner displayed the message before you could even touch the damn door.

"Activity" was awfully broad and could mean literally anything was waiting for you on the other side..

It could be a bunker spider or snare flea waiting to drop down on you and catch you by surprise.

It could be a Hygrodere spreading itself all over the floor, anticipating you setting one foot into it before drowning in its slimy body.

It could even be a simple turret ready to turn you into swiss cheese.

However, there's the possibility that it could also be the one entity here who didn't wanna give you a painful death, and you hoped to god you were right.

So you took a leap of faith and entered.

Surprisingly no danger was immediately present, although you did find a lot of good loot inside the room and smiled. "Oh sweet!" You grabbed the rubber ducky and Rubik's cube in the nearest corner, pocketing them. "This should set us way above-"

"Something's behind you!"

"Huh-?!"

All of the sudden, a pair of large arms wrapped around you from behind, pulling you back and causing your oxygen tanks to be pressed against the creature's chest-

Wait.

You only knew one Bracken that did that, and you couldn't help but laugh. "Oh my gosh, you scared me! You know you can't keep doing that!"

"Krrrrrr.." The entity purred softly, nuzzling his face against your neck as its leaves rustled with happiness.

With a chuckle, you patted his arm affectionately. "I've missed you, too, buddy. I told you I'd be back."

Knowing it was this Bracken, you felt safer than ever. He had a habit of greeting you this way: by sneaking up behind you like the rest of his species typically did, and attacking you.....not by snapping your neck like a twig, but by embracing and nuzzling you.

Of course, nobody in your crew believed that you've got a dangerous alien predator on Experimentation who always waited for you. Who loved you like a dog and would kill a Thumper for you.

If only they could meet him...but then again, he was shy.

"Don't tell me it's that damn Bracken again...did you tame it or something?"

The staticky voice of your coworker over the walkie-talkie startled the poor Bracken out of the hug, as it dropped you and flared its leaves out, wondering where they were.

"Relax, we're cool." You huffed, annoyed that they spooked your friend. "I gotta conserve my battery so...signal me when it gets close to midnight."

"....fine. Just don't die. Over and out."

After switching off the device, you turned back to him and smiled apologetically. "Don't worry. They're far away, so they won't bother us." You removed your helmet for the moment.

He nodded in understanding, crouching down to get a better look at your human features.

For some reason he never minded prolonged eye contact with you--and that was a good thing....otherwise, you would've been dead a long time ago.

You smiled and patted the top of his head, before he suddenly sprung up and scooped you up into his arms, lifting you completely off the ground. "Woah! Hey! Where are we going?" You asked as he carried you out of the room, taking you somewhere further within the facility.

Considering the Bracken knew his way around, you weren't too concerned with getting lost.

On your way to this unknown destination, you spotted a hoarding bug skittering down the hallway, eyeing the brass bell attached to your belt.....only to freeze as the leafy entity glared at it.

Luckily it understood the appropriate time to make eye contact with a Bracken, as it eventually looked away from him and decided to leave for another part of the facility.

It seems most of the creatures were knew who was the alpha.

'Man, whoever's tracking me must be so confused right now..' You thought to yourself as he continued walking.

Eventually you both arrived at a place many employees dubbed the "Bracken Room": a large open illuminated space with yellowish walls that looked out of place in the facility.

After setting you down on the floor, you looked at the Bracken with confusion, wondering why he decided to bring you here....until he brought you into another hug, wanting to sit down and have you in his lap.

You just smiled and wrapped your arms around him, giggling as he tucked his head underneath your chin, wanting to listen to the sound of a human's heartbeat.

Now you understood.

All he wanted was to take you to a quiet, safe place away from all the other monsters and employees. A place where he could have you to himself...at least for a couple more hours, anyways.

You knew the ship wasn't leaving anytime soon, so you didn't mind keeping him company.

While other Brackens are among the top three reasons employees hated their job...this one made you love it.

You feel so lucky, you'll consider buying a lottery ticket if you ever returned to Earth.

[hesthermay]

𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

PAIRING: tech x gn!reader

SUMMARY: "when i met ana, i knew; i loved her to the point of invention." -sarah ruhl

WORDS COUNT: 1.1k

RATINGS + WARNINGS: general audiences. fluff. valentines day blurb. use of y/n. au where everyone is happy on pabu.

NOTES: bada bing bada boom this is 4 days laaaaaaaaate so sorry humblest of apologies please love it

STAR WARS MASTERLIST

“Tech?” 

“Yes?”

“...what is that?” 

Life on Pabu was breezy. Safe, protected, warm, and happy; Pabu was cut from a different cloth than the rest of the galaxy, light despite the unrelenting weight of Empirical oppression. Thus was why the Bad Batch had chosen it to hunker down and perhaps create some roots somewhere not centered around war and pain.

With the entrance of the Batch on Pabu, came the entrance of Tech into Y/N’s life. 

Peculiar, that one was, but you couldn’t help but find yourself enamored by him. Naturally, it was a slow progression between the two of you, with a friendship forming before the man even started processing the second layer of your relationship. Even with the ever so gracious help of Omega, Tech was oblivious to the little hints, the tension that organically formed, and could not fathom why you would go out of your way to do the simplest of things for him. 

Tech was more than capable of feeding himself, yet from time to time dinner was brought over with claims of having extra. He knew there was no way you, who lived alone, would have this much leftover food for one meal yet the possibility of you intentionally making this just to bring it to him was unrealistic—and even further, impossible. 

It had been Hunter who had let him in on the not so hidden fact that dinner nights with you weren’t really meant for them all. Yes, you were all of their friend—but those visits, that thought and care was for Tech. He had argued, of course, and it had been Omega this time who informed him that that was just what you do. 

“What they care for someone, they do things for them,” she explained as if it was the most obvious thing as she tinkered with some gadget. “Y/N makes dinner for all of us, but they always make your favorites, Tech. You know,” she turned, grinning at her brothers, “they always carry a cloth in case you need to clean your goggles.” With that, the girl stood from her seat, gathering her things and exiting the room, leaving behind an air of wisdom of someone much older than her. She did that often, and that was why Tech slightly believed her. 

Upon further research, Tech discovered what was known as a love language. The dots, how ever he missed them before, finally connected in his mind in the late of night. 

Rules he upheld with his brothers and Omega, he was more lax with you. Your presence when he was not in the mood to socialize was more tolerable than the rest, and he recalled all the times he had observed and factually stated that you were beautiful to himself. Beauty, though subjective in nature, was a natural occurrence in life. And Tech was not afraid of the truth, and the truth was that you had been beautiful all along, and he had thought of you slightly more special than most others he knew. 

That was what had led them to this moment. Tech had stayed up all night, working into the wee hours of morning on as many projects as he could manage. And then, waiting until he knew you would go about your usual tasks of the day, he trekked to your home and installed every creation he had produced. 

“You complained that the cover over your walkway floods your garden when it rains, so I created a funneling system to redirect the waterflow elsewhere,” he answered, pushing his goggles up his nose. “And you mentioned a draft because your front door would not close all the way, so I fixed it. And the side window that was previously cracked has been replaced with an upgraded version.” 

Your heart squeezed in your chest as you watched him rock ever so slightly on his feet, glancing at you here and there but not keeping his eyes on one thing too long, and it struck you that he must have been nervous. While Tech was known to fidget, nerves were not something he displayed signs of hardly ever, and heat gathered in your cheeks. 

The sun was warm, Tech was as handsome as ever, and your smile could not have been any larger. “An upgraded version, huh?” Your eyebrows raised playfully, voice light as you took one step closer. 

“Yes, upgraded,” he affirmed seriously before continuing, beginning to walk away. “As per your complaints, the window offered no privacy nor did it—” he cut himself off, stopping in his tracks when he noticed you hadn’t walked off with him. Instead of grumbling or giving a sarcastic quip, as he was ever inclined to do, he backtracked until your hand was grasped in his. He tugged your arm lightly, beckoning you to follow him as he resumed his explanation. “As I was saying, nor did it filter any of Pabu’s natural light in your home, so…” he trailed off until the two of you were planted right in front of the said window on the side of your house. 

It was your bedroom window to be exact, and true to his word, it was no longer cracked.

But instead of regular transparasteel, the surface had been frosted over. You could no longer see right into the room, but instead see little designs in the glass, swirls and such riddled all over the place. “I made this last night,” he offered, looking between you and the window, voice much softer than before. “The light, it will not be as harsh on you, and you now have privacy while still having the effect of an open window, which…” he exhaled ever so slightly, the weight of your hand in his heavy on his mind as he looked over at you once again, “which I know you love.” 

He was right. You had mentioned that the solution to your problem was as simple as some curtains, but then that would eliminate the natural light as a whole and that was the opposite of what you wanted. You had not had the skills or the mindset to create the solutions to these problems, though not detrimental in severity, but for some reason Tech had taken it upon himself to be the one to remedy them. 

“Tech…” you whispered, looking at him with a tender love he was not used to receiving. It made his heart rate accelerate in his chest, as he thought back to all of the acts of service you had done for not only him but his family as well.

You had loved him to the point of service, and Tech had realized that he loved you to the point of invention. 

“No need to mention it,” he whispered back, unable to fight off the blush in his cheeks as you smiled at him. “That is just what people do when they care. You taught me that.” 

all works on this blog belong to hesthermay.tumblr.com: do not copy, repost onto other sites, or claim my work as your own.

[scekrex]

Hey could you by chance do an Adam x reader who dies their hair all the time? Like one month they have blue hair, the next it's pink, then black, then red, and there's no real way to tell what color is next besides maybe a "I think people with *insert hair color here* look super cool", thanks and have an amazing day/night!

I fucking got you, as someone who used to dye his hair every 4-6 weeks, I feel reader's vibe

Pretty Boy Swag

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam,” you called out for your boyfriend from the bathroom. It only took him a few seconds to open the door and lean against the door frame, his arms were crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes was critical. Even though he was very much enjoying the view of you sitting there only dressed in boxer shorts in order not to mess up any clothes.

In annoyance he sighed, “What color this time?” Like don't get him wrong, he didn't mind that you dyed your hair regularly, he thought it was fucking badass, but he didn't like helping you because no matter how careful he was, he would always get that fucking hair dye on his skin and it would take days to fade. Your lips curled into a playful smirk as you put on your gloves and squirted some dye onto your plastic covered palm. “First bleaching, then purple,” you replied. Adam's eyes flickered up to look at the faded neon green that your hair currently was and decided that purple sounded like a fucking great upgrade. “Alright, gimme the gloves,” he continued to act all annoyed as he stepped closer. The brunette stopped behind you and took the gloves you held up to him. Once his hands were safe, he took the bottle with bleach inside from you. Bleach was fine, it burned a little in his eyes and it smelled absolutely horrible, but bleach didn't stain his hands for days so he could live with that. As long as none of it got onto his or your wings, that was.

The bit of bleach that you had squeezed onto your hand you roughly applied, only for Adam to bat your hand away, “You want me to help so you're gonna sit fucking still and let me do my fucking thing.” He would never admit that he secretly enjoyed your little hair dying sessions. It was relaxing, really. “So why purple?” the first man hummed as he made sure the bleach covered every inch of your hair. “Y’know, because extermination is in a couple days and your battle robe is mainly purple so,” you shrugged as you watched Adam through the mirror in front of you, “So you thought it would be a nice fucking match, huh?” he finished for you. “Damn right. Whatcha think?”

Adam thought about it for a moment, “Do you have golden dye?” You raised an eyebrow at that, curious on what his plans were. “Yeah, in the back of the cabinet is a bit of leftover gold, why?” Adam however, completely ignored your question and continued to cover your hair in bleach silently.

Once he was done the two of you decided to order food and something while the bleach was working its magic. A thing Adam didn't calculate was that the food would take some time to arrive so when it did, it was already time to wash out the chemicals. So instead of immediately eating, you two went back into the bathroom to finish your job.

“So you gonna tell me what you need that for? I asked for purple, not gold,” you were about to complain but Adam pushed you down on your shoulders until you were sitting on the chair you had placed there before you had started to mix the bleach. “Split dye babes, if you wanna match colors, we're gonna do it fucking right.” You liked the way he thought. So he used the golden hair dye on the left and the purple on the right side. Once the color was applied, the two of you finally got to eat.

“Remind me to let you pick my hair color every now ‘n’ then, big guy, because fuck you have taste,” you mumbled with a mouth full of sushi and a shit eating grin on your lips. “Did you ever doubt that?” his voice was playful as he raised an eyebrow at you, a silent challenge. “Maybe, I mean gold and purple? C’mon, that's clearly a you-thing.” If he could, he would've tackled you and wrestled you down onto the floor, pinning you down. But he couldn't because that would cause a fucking mess, not only on the floor but also on your head. So he didn't.

-

Well at least until you had washed it out, because the second you had turned off the sink, he wrapped his hands around your waist, lifted you up just to carry you on his shoulders like a large bag of potatoes. “The fuck?” you squeaked in surprise as Adam carried you out of the bathroom and right into your bedroom. “Adam my hair's still fucking wet!” Not that he cared. He dropped you onto the soft mattress and leaned over you within a blink and for a tiny moment you felt dizzy by how quick he had moved. “Shush bitchboy, you look absolutely fucking glorious and I take that as my sign to fuck you stupid.”

[toptierteaser]

Office Fatty

It's your job to get fat, fatboy...

I mean, literally. It's what you get paid to do here. See? It's right here, on the contract you signed. See the fine print. It's within your career expectations. "The employee is expected to eat a minimum of three snacks hourly...the employee is entitled to have his chair replaced quarterly...the employee will be paid a stipend for any upgrades in wardrobe that he should find necessary, including expansion of waistbands and upsizing of shirts, pants, etc."

See, it's all right there for you thiccums. Plain as day! Heh, why else do you think we were so excited to hire you on? What, you thought it was your smarts? Haha! We saw you come in here, a thick handsome dude who was starting to pudge out around the edges. We needed an office fatboy. And here came one, waddling in, ass busting out in those tight chinos, belly starting to quiver, eyeing the snacks. We've really enjoyed watching you grow this last year. Plumping out, ass filling up your swivel chair. The number of times we see you jiggling off to go stress eat in the breakroom. Buttons straining on that big belly of yours!

You thought you were being sneaky, didn't you piggy boy? You thought we didn't notice you sneaking away to pig out on the leftover donuts? Wake up, fatass! We LEFT them there for you to find! And you ATE, big boy! Came back with jelly stains on your shirt, toddling in like no one would notice. Well, we noticed alright! We noticed how much you were sweating, the fact that the seam on your butt was barely hanging on by its threads!

What? You want to quit? Now? When you've been doing SUCH a good job being our tubby fatty boy? When it's almost time to give you a raise? You want to waddle out on us? Haha, don't delude yourself fatass. You know you can't stay away from the snacks. You've been enjoying it too much! All the food we cram in to your face! All the leftovers we pack into your stomach after work lunches! All the attention you get around the office...when the guys rub your tummy. All the ass pats you get from Ryan and Jake. All the belly pokes you get from Dmitri and Demarcus. All the teases you get from Mason and me. Oh, don't think we don't know...you LOVE it, fatty. You LOVE the teasing most of all. Otherwise, why would you be sneaking off to binge in your cubicle every time we poke fun at you? Huh, fatty?

No, you like it too much. So you're gonna stay. And you're gonna work. And you're gonna EAT. And you're gonna GROW! You're gonna bust out of those pants and the pair you buy after THAT! You're gonna break that creaking chair fatboy! You're gonna be the center of attention, blushing as you waddle off to run copies and gobble down the next dozen donuts! You'll barely be able to contain your excitement, fatass!

You're our designated office fatty. And you're only going to get FATTER by the day...

[aloysiavirgata]

(if you are accepting prompts!) what iffffff you wrote a soft gentle little fic in which Scully has a spectacularly unlovely head cold and after some grouching Mulder looks after her? There are so many moments of peril on x files that sometimes it’s nice when the enemy is just a simple rhinovirus, lol.

He doesn’t even attempt to make it himself. Calls ahead to Loeb’s with his order, which he accepts from a stylish young Mexican man whose name tag reads Pierre.

“A sheynem dank,” Mulder says, echoing the grandmother who called Samantha a shaineh maideleh.

Pierre nods. “Bitte, baby,” he says. “De nada.”

***

Mulder clomps up her stairs with Puritan determination. He feels that since he did not cook the food himself he must exert some other effort for it. His soul is at eternal war with itself.

He doesn’t knock; lets himself in with the Home Depot key Scully had made for him around the time that Tooms wanted into her pants for all the wrong reasons. It sticks a little still, even after so many years. He’s rarely had to use it - when aren’t they together?

A hacking noise from her bedroom, something wet being coughed. Spat.

Mulder helps himself to a bowl, a plate, a spoon.

“I’b arbed,” she rasps from down the hall. “I’b a Federal Agent.”

“Don’t shoot,” Mulder calls back, hunting down a napkin. “I am a poor boy from a poor family.” Her mother wears Revlon and his wears Guerlain.

He tips some soup and two of the matzo balls into a bowl, wedges one of the challah rolls next to it. He puts the leftovers in the fridge.

Mulder carries the plate down the hall, the nearly-full bowl sloshing dangerously atop.

He enters Scully’s bedroom. She’s been upgrading over the past couple of years, replacing her IKEA basics with good secondhand finds in cherry and walnut. The candle she’s lit smells like white flowers with thick, creamy petals.

Scully is tucked into bed like an Austen heroine, all delicate pallor and genteel unhappiness. Her nose is pink-tipped and raw, hair in a ponytail. She’s wearing a gray sweatshirt instead of her usual pajamas.

Mulder sets the food down on her nightstand, next to a vase of dried roses and her Yaqui slide holster. A speed loader. There’s a well-framed Monet print over the bed.

Pat Conroy’s Beach Music is open face down on her lap, surrounded by crumpled tissues. She doesn’t look happy to see him, her purple-shadowed eyes narrowing a bit.

“Go away,” she says. Sneezes.

“Brought you some soup,” he says, unnecessarily. Points at it, also unnecessarily.

“Bulder,” she sniffs. “Go hobe. I don’t like being fussed over. I hab a cold, dot Ebola.”

“Too bad,” he says. “I’m going to. Do you have Vick’s Vapor Rub? You really should have Vick’s Vapor Rub.”

She closes her eyes. Pinches the bridge of her nose, centering herself. “It’s dot your fault I’b sick,” she says, looking back over at him after a moment.

“I dragged you into the woods again. You fell down a hole full of corpses! You’ve been in remission for like…twenty minutes.” He jabs the spoon at her.

She rolls her eyes. “You don’t get a cold frob being in the woods. Or frob being chilly. You get a cold frob a virus.”

He feigns outrage. “Excuse me, but are you contradicting noted excellent mother-slash-world-class-epidemiologist Doctor Teena Mulder MD?”

This sends Scully into a flurry of coughing. She swats at him in annoyance. “Ugh,” she says at last. “You see why I can’t hab you here, you’re a lousy durse.”

Mulder takes her hand, pale as a kid glove. He shoves the spoon into it, squeezes her fingers about the handle. “Eat the soup or I’m calling your mom. I’m calling BILL.”

She narrows her eyes again. “You wouldn’t.”

“I think you’re well aware that I’m capable of being overly dramatic when the wind is southerly and the fancy strikes.” He holds the plate before her like an offering to a goddess.

Scully considers him. “You did get us out ob the teabwork sebidar,” she observes. “Techdically.”

“I did,” he agrees.

“You bade be sing,” she adds. Reproachful.

He grins. “The angels all were singing out of tune, And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon, Or curb a runaway young star or two.”

Scully looks at the spoon in her hand for the first time, as though wondering how it got there.

“Byron,” she says, a little smile. She picks up the roll, examines it. Peers at the soup. Sneezes again. “Mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”

“Caroline Lamb,”Mulder replies. He doesn’t point out that Caroline Lamb had been Byron’s lover, that she’d sent him a clipping of her pubic hair in the mail. He certainly doesn’t think of the juncture between Scully’s thighs at all, whether it matches the drapes, whether it tastes like kettle corn and Vineyard whitecaps in July. Lobster rolls and saltwater taffy.

He’d meant it, about the sleeping bag. He wishes there had been a sleeping bag and he is so, so grateful there was no sleeping bag.

Scully sniffles again, defeated. “You got be batzo ball soup?”

He thumbs an escaped tendril of hair back from the sweep of her extraordinary cheekbone.

“I did,” he murmurs back. He sets the plate down between them. He peels the roll open, yeasty and fragrant, and dunks it into the golden broth.

He raises it to her mouth.

Scully sucks at it, draws it past her lips. She bites. Chews, swallows. She holds his eyes with hers. She catches an escaped droplet with her tongue.

“Good,” she mumbles. Watches him dip the dry part back into the bowl. “Thank you.”

He feeds her another bite. Her mouth opens like a snapdragon, like an oyster in the tide. She drops her gaze this time. Her guard.

They complete the entire roll this way, and one matzo ball. Silent, slurpy. Scully’s lids droop, her lashes brushing her cheeks.

“Sleepy,” she mumbles, curling onto her side. Her paperback falls to the floor.

Mulder returns the food to the night table. He strokes her hair until she’s out cold, snoring a little. He curls into the bed as well, his nose to hers. He touches her philtrum with his pointer finger. He traces the tender pink whelk of her ear.

They sleep for hours until she coughs awake, gasping, her thin chest heaving. Mulder rubs circles between her scapulae.

“Go hobe,” she says, knees drawn, leaning against his chest. “You deed to sleep.”

He puts his arms around her, drops a kiss on her tangled head. “Okay,” he agrees.

She’s out again in moments. He holds her upright until he drifts off as well.

They sleep until morning. He feeds her soup for breakfast, calls into work with a case of Ebola.

[antirepurp]

there's a certain magic to sonic 06 that you can't really find in other games, at least not very easily. it feels like a game that's somehow forbidden, that you shouldn't be playing it, when the physics get a little weird and the menus aren't all that smooth and upgrades are implemented and spaced out so oddly. you play the game and feel like you should be reporting your experience to someone, give them feedback on the things that are jank and weird so they can change things around and make the game better. but there's no one to report to, it's just you and your tv and your console running the game

it's not a game that is finished and you know it, but you bought it and it came in a case with an instruction manual that talks about a shield powerup you can't find anywhere in the game. the little things pile up into bigger things, some that frustrate you, others that amuse you, and even so there's a core of a compelling game in your hands. you watch the cgi cutscene with beautifully rendered fire and detailed models, before you're spat back into a hub world that feels barren and looks desaturated. the soundtrack makes its way into one of your playlists and reminds you of how long it took you to figure out the boarding physics in white acropolis. time muds the memories and makes you forget how awful radical train is two thirds of the time; you can only remember the relief when you finally made it through

games like sonic 06 don't get released anymore when greater care is put into the development process and post-release patches and dlc exist to address the leftover bugs and glitches and unwanted jank. it's a time capsule just as much as it's a proof of concept, a beta version you weren't supposed to ever hold in your hands. it is broken and it is unfinished and it is so, so beautiful

[ryanguzmanscowlick]

BuddieTommy/Polyfire Fic Preview

"You should just join us in the garage next time I go over to Tommy's and spar." Eddie pushes his damp hair back from his forehead and tugs his shoes on. He's fresh out of the shower, no longer covered in soot. His white tank clings to his damp skin. Buck sees the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smirk right before he says, "No way you two will be able to get distracted with me in the way."

Eddie has been listening to Buck's humble-bragging about never getting down to those Muay Thai lessons because he keeps getting distracted by how hot his boyfriend is five minutes into their sessions. Poor guy keeps getting laid.

"Uh, I don't know if that's true." If Buck could see the ruddy pink flooding his cheeks, he'd probably make up some bullshit excuse about the shower steam.

Eddie stabs his finger at Buck. His eyebrows are in stern dad mode and his mustache completes the vibe perfectly. "Don't tell me we gotta tie you down just so you'll keep in your pants. I thought Buck 4.0 had some self-control."

All of Buck's air rushes out of him. It takes him a second of blank staring at Eddie's hand to reboot. "4.0? Did I miss my own upgrade?"

"You don't think discovering you have a Big Bi Thing for Guys counts?" Eddie rolls his eyes. "And that's not even mentioning this new plant whisperer thing you've gotten into."

Buck can hear the capital letters in theflair Eddie puts on the words and it makes him laugh. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

Eddie stands up and claps Buck on the shoulder. "So, Muay Thai? Getting a demo before you dive right in might even set you up better when you finally manage to stop ogling your instructor for a whole session at a time."

Buck covers Eddie's hands with his and squeezes. "Y-yeah. That sounds good"

"Good. I've missed having guy time with all three of us anyways." He squeezes back before he drops his hand. Buck tries not to immediately miss it. "Any of those steak and quinoa bowls you made leftover from yesterday? I'm starving."

Panic flits through Buck's eyes. "We should find out. Now. Before Chim gets to it."

They both take off running to the kitchen.

[littlebluentebook]

Alastor x Sewing! Reader pt.3

A/N Thank you everyone so much for reading! I am so happy to know people are enjoying the story- it makes me kick my feet and giggle out of excitement!!

Chapter 4

Saturday was an incredibly busy day for you. Lots of new orders and clients. New dresses to make with matching ties, suits to alter and dresses to hem. There were a few quilt orders, even with spring on the horizon people needed blankets to ward off the cold. As for the formal attire, the city was having a popular band play and hosting a dance. You didn't really know the details but going to Mimzy's was more than enough for you. You weren't sure how much of your comfort zone you wanted to reach out.

Alastor's coat turned out wonderfully. You used a crimson red lining trying your best to match it to the vest he was wearing from memory. The outside of the suit had the matching red thread to discreetly tie his uniform together. It turned out wonderfully! There was even enough leftover material for you to make an inner pocket.

Today was Sunday. That meant absolutely no touching any of your work. This is the one boundary you had set with yourself. If not for it, you would completely burn out. Burning out was not an option, your job was your craft. Instead, you spent the day tidying up and running to the store to prepare your meals for the week. Living alone made your weekly resets easier and also gave you plenty of time to work on your sewing when necessary.

The day went by smoothly from cooking, to cleaning, to reading and pampering yourself you were ready to fall asleep as soon as it became dark. Plus, you had a sweet plan for in the morning.

Getting up extra early, you set towards the kitchen. Last night while falling asleep you had the idea to bake him something while delivering his coat. Unsure of what he enjoyed, you made a family recipe. Brie and raspberry preserve rolls were always a hit no matter what occasion you made them for. They were incredibly simple to make and you were done as the sun finished rising.

Getting ready to go, you packaged the rolls in a wicker basket. There were plenty of them littered around your home and the shop. Every Sunday when you went to receive produce for your weekly grocery run you always came back with one or two to carry all of you belongings.

You beat Alastor to work, slightly disappointed hoping to say thank you again. You left his items at the front desk and made your way back to your shop ready to start another busy day of sewing.

_____________________________________________________________

'My sincerest apologies for keeping your coat, I hope it is okay that I went ahead and matched your kindness. Thank you generously from the bottom of my heart.'

Alastor read the letter with a smile of his face. How lovely! He didn't expect you to fix his coat. Undoubtedly you felt his attempt at making it fit properly. It fit him better than his own work. He was impressed with both the fact you tailored his suit that well without as much as a measurement as a guide but the new upgrades you gave the suit as well. He would admit that it was much more comfortable now with the nicer material and lack of pins.

Today, Alastor was the happiest broadcaster in the world, his smile sounded through the radio. He would have to stop to thank you on his way home after work and compliment you on your skills.