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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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Fandom: Traffic Series (Limited Life) Relationships: John Booko | BdoubleO100/ZombieCleo Additional Tags: Limited Life SMP Setting, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Stitches, Wound Tending, Zombie ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), She/Her and They/Them Pronouns for ZombieCleo (Video Blogging RPF), Femdom, Mommy Kink, Pegging, Mild Sexual Content, Praise Kink Summary: Bdubs takes care to patch up Cleo after a fight and offers to prove that he's better than Scar. Cleo takes him up on it. ao3 link

My pitch hit gift for @ker-the-tardigrade for @mcyt-winter-of-mf ! I couldn't resist writing some cledubs!

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"Careful Bdubs. You're going to get the stitching all wrong."

"I'm being careful!"

"Don't give me lip," Cleo teased, glaring over at Bdubs. He opened his mouth and then shut it again without saying anything. There was a look of mild annoyance on his face, but it wasn't difficult to see the light blush on his face too. He focused on his work after another moment. Several of Cleo's stitches had come undone during a fight earlier. She managed to make it out of it without too much trouble - no loss of time or anything - but it had left them injured and upset. Bdubs was the only one around at the base. When he noticed her wounds, he had asked them what had happened. She had flopped down on a chair, making a gesture with her hand towards a nearby chest. Bdubs caught on quickly as he opened it and retrieved the items required to start patching Cleo back up.

"How are you feeling?"

"Frustrated."

Bdubs laughed in response. Not at Cleo, he wouldn't dare, but more in agreement. But then Bdub fell silent, still working on patching back up Cleo's arm stitch.

"I don't think he meant to do it."

Cleo scoffed, but didn't respond.

"I mean it didn't seem like he meant to hurt you."

"He attacked me Bdubs! Pretty hard to believe that Etho didn't want to hurt me when he cut me with his sword."

Bdubs didn't respond. Cleo could see that he looked troubled, but was trying to hide it. He wasn't doing a good job, but they let it go for now. He was focusing on his task after all and after messing up at the start, he was starting to do better. She might not have to worry about falling apart immediately once he was done. Cleo waited for a few more minutes, glancing at the door to make sure that Scar wasn't going to suddenly burst in and ruin the mood. This was probably one of the first time it was just them and Bdubs in here.

"I don't want to make you choose between us."

"I'm not! This isn't about choosing between you two, I just." Bdubs let out a huff. "I just don't think he wanted to kill you. He let you go once he saw how bad you were."

Honestly she hadn't been in that bad of shape. Not in the way someone who had intended to kill her and take her time might have left her. Cleo did agree with Bdubs to a degree. They had come across Etho randomly while trying to get some food and they had started chatting. Etho's attack had come across as sudden and random, out of nowhere. If Cleo thought about it, they might have considered that something had motivated Etho's attack, but they didn't want to think about it. It didn't matter to her why he had done it, just that they had been having a civil conversation with one another and then his sword was coming down on her.

"If he needed time, he could have asked. I might have helped him."

"You would?"

Cleo smirked, finally laughing. "No, absolutely not! I mean maybe. He'd have to beg me for me to really consider it."

"What about me and Scar?"

"You two are my kids. Of course I'd help out." Cleo reached out and placed a hand under Bdub's chin, making him finally stop. He was basically done with her arm at this point. He leaned back on his heels so that he could look up at her easier. Cleo liked that. He looked nice like this, on his knees looking up at her with adoration and anticipation. The blush on his face was there again.

"Really? I'm sure you'd help Scar out. He's your favorite after all."

Cleo clicked her tongue, hand tightening on Bdub's face.

"Scar would offer to kill Etho for me. He wouldn't defend him."

Bdubs tried to protest. Cleo could make guesses at what he'll say. She wasn't entirely sure how committed Scar was to their allyship, to this "family". He was the one who started calling her mom, slotting them into these roles. He was chaotic and excited to get kills. He might kill Etho not just to get a kill. Regardless of why, her reasoning for bringing up Scar was to make Bdubs upset. He looked so indignant, trying not to glare at Cleo. Trying not to look hurt. Cleo returned his stare with her own cold expression.

"Am I wrong?"

"You are. You know I'd do anything for you too, right?"

He was so eager. Maybe she didn't hold the same place as Etho did in his heart, but that didn't matter. He was here with her right now. He was here looking at her with a mix of anger and pleading. Cleo leaned down closer to him, her grip still firm on his chin.

"You should finish your task then. Maybe if you do a good enough job you'll be my favorite son."

Cleo gestured down to her leg, the thigh stitch needing to be redone. Bdubs nodded, shifting his position from at her side to in front of her. She watched him as he settled between her legs, reaching out to touch her leg gingerly. There was the blush again, more pronounced on his face. Cleo shifted so that her head was rested on one of her palms, trying to look like she was bored. She wanted to coax Bdubs further. Make him more desperate for her approval. Make him earn it. He was doing a great job already of it, getting all worked up over Scar being her 'favorite'. Maybe he was, but Cleo would never do this with him. No. If someone was on their knees for them, then she was glad it was Bdubs who was here.

Bdubs fell silent again as he started to move the needle in and out of her leg, his grip on her thigh tighter than it needed to be. He couldn't look at her face anymore, unable to hold her gaze for more than a brief second. She could tell he was nervous, stumbling a little bit as they closed their legs just a bit, pressing Bdubs between them. He cursed and then muttered an apology. Instead of responding to him, Cleo patted him on the head, dragging her fingers through his hair. They made sure to dig their nails in against his scalp, causing him to curse again and nearly stab her instead. He had to stop what he was doing, just taking in the mix of pain and pleasure from their petting.

"Don't stop. You're not done yet."

Bdubs nodded. He took a shaky breathe, trying to refocus on his task.

"What a good boy you are. See? You're already doing a great job in becoming my favorite. He'd never be obedient like you are. You know your place."

Cleo praised him, still raking their nails through his hair. Bdubs hands were shaking despite his best efforts not to mess up. She really needed this after what had happened. Maybe Bdubs was right and Etho hadn't meant to really hurt her, but really they were just upset that they didn't get the chance to do any harm back. But here right now, she had control. Bdubs was willing giving it over to her, being her obedient son. Cleo wasn't really one for that kind of roleplay normally, but right now it felt right. She didn't mind playing into it if he didn't.

"You are my good boy, aren't you?"

"Yes, of course! I'm the best."

"I don't think you're done proving it to me though."

"What else should I do?"

Cleo's hand traveled down to the back of his neck, gripping it with the same tight hold as she did his chin earlier. They tilted pulled back, tilting Bdub's body backwards, forcing him to look up at her. They tightened their legs around him, keeping him held there.

"You want to be good for your mommy, Bdubs?"

"Y-yes. I'll prove I'm better!"

"You did a good job with my stitches. You even tried to make me feel better." Cleo dragged a hand down the front of his chest, their nails catching on clothes. If only they could shred them with their nails, but sadly they weren't that sharp. The thought of giving Bdubs some matching stitches flashed through their mind, but Cleo brushed them aside. They didn't want this to go that way. They had other plans in their mind for him. "I know you can do a great job and finish this. Make me feel better. Then we can get our revenge."

Bdubs nodded, eager still. Ready to do what she told him to do. Good.

Cleo tossed Bdubs away from them, towards the chest they had sent him to earlier. He looked a little wounded when she tossed him aside, but it only made Cleo smile. She couldn't give him all carrot right now. No, he needed the stick too or he'd never learn. She gestured at the chest and Bdubs returned to it.

"There's a box inside. It has some items I think we should use. If you really mean it."

"Of course!"

Bdubs retrieved the box. He looked from it to Cleo and then back again. Deciding it was better to give her the box, he handed it over. Cleo smiled approvingly at him. Then they retrieved what was inside. First they set down a bottle of lube, which caused Bdub's already wide eyes to go wider. He went practically bug-eyed at the second item Cleo placed down. A very large, ribbed dildo. He looked from it to Cleo and then down to her lap. She knew what he was imagining, the red on his face finally bright and burning. Lastly, Cleo brought out a harness. Cleo stood up, steadying herself as she tested out her leg that had been cut. The stitching held perfectly. She'd really put it to the test soon.

"You know if my leg comes apart during this we'll have to stop. You'll have to do it over again. But there will be no second testing."

Bdub's expression faltered to concerned. "I am sure it'll hold!"

"I'd hate for you to disappoint me after all. You did say you were going to prove to me how good you are, how much better. If you can't stitch a single wound, then maybe I'll have to throw you out and live here with just-"

"No!"

Cleo yanked Bdubs' forward, for his interruption, but also to get him back into a position where she could move him as she'd like. "Don't interrupt your mother. Or else I might have to punish you instead. Do you want to be punished?"

"N-no. I'm sorry... mom."

"Good boy. Now get me all ready. Then get yourself ready. But don't take too long." Cleo left out the 'or else' feeling like that part of it was implied. Bdubs looked at Cleo again and then to the harness. Deciding on if he should undress her or not. In the end, he moved to pull down her bottoms, shifting down the leggings but not removing those. He made quick work of getting the harness strapped onto them, trying not to focus on their naked pussy for too long. She mentally praised him for remaining on the task she gave him. Perhaps once this was done, they'd reward him, but really Cleo felt this was even better. Bdubs placed the dildo onto the harness, trying not to stare at how his hand didn't wrap all the way around it. He must have had a lot of conflicting thoughts on the girth and length. Cleo knew what he could handle. He'd be fine. As he lubed it, they even leaned forward, whispering into his ears, reminding him of their safeword, of the ways to stop this if he wanted it, if they wanted it over. Bdubs nodded. They had done this before and beneath it all, they trusted each other.

Finally it was Bdubs turn to ready himself. He placed himself hesitantly on the chair Cleo had vacated, pulling off his own bottoms and getting his legs up. Cleo watched him, observing Bdubs as he fingered himself open, ready as he could be to take them. Cleo could barely wait as he pulled his fingers free for the final time, staring up at her and nodding.

They yanked him from the chair and then bent him over it.

No one bothered them the entire time it took for Cleo to fuck Bdubs until he was a blubbering mess, so compliant under them. It was incredible, watching as he took the large dildo, slowly at first and then seeing it slam into him over and over as Cleo praised him, telling him how good he was being for her, how their mind was being changed. How no one else could make Cleo feel like this and how he wanted this from the get-go. How he had upset her just so that he could give her this comfort now, her pathetic son. How good he looked on his mommy's cock and how she only wanted him. Not anyone else.

Sadly, the stitch didn't last, but Cleo could bend her rules for him. After all, he was her favorite.

#mcytwinterofmf #vampiricmycelium #mcytnsfw

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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Hi @astrifer0us! I hope this was worth the wait, I picked it up as a pinch hit and had a blast drawing them being soft <3 You can find the full image here on AO3.

Made for the @mcyt-winter-of-mf exchange!

#chorussfruit #mcytwinterofmf #mcytnsfw

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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My gift for @lilliana17 for @mcyt-winter-of-mf ! Hope you like it <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63947218

#mcytwinterofmf #rutellingmeashrimpfriedthisrice

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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Before everything...

My gift for @kitefactionofficial for the @mcyt-winter-of-mf exchange! I really hope you like it! This was such a treat to make!

#belovedgamers #mcytwinterofmf

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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A (late) gift for @carosbee for @mcyt-winter-of-mf ! Giant wife rights

Plus non-veil version!

#mcytwinterofmf #cosmic hypnotic

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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All Dolled Up

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Pairing(s): Grigem (Grian/GeminiTay)

Summary: Gem gets jealous, which happens to perfectly coincide with Grian finally thinking thoughts he's been putting off.

Word Count: 1,503

Extra Details: This is a gift for @rutellingmeashrimpfriedthisrice for @mcyt-winter-of-mf and is 18+!

Link to AO3!

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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A stained glass that was made to honor the marriage of the Copper King to the River Goddess. Totally symbolic marriage, mind you. After all, many centuries have passed since she appeared to the mortals in the flesh, and monarch before him participated in this ritual without anything happening....

But what if it turns out that Shadow Lady is back? That she is alive and a very much human ruler of the neighboring kingdom? Well, congratulations, Pix. You're now... married?

The funny thing is, I picked it up because of Lizzie/BigB prompt, realized I've misread it horribly, and I was sad. But then. Then this came to my mind. And while I didn't write anything (the fic kept turning into messy poly Pix/Lizzie/Joel ship), I hope you like this stained glass art. It was such a fun prompt to do!

_______________________________________

So, this is a thing I did for @belovedgamers as a pinch hit during @mcyt-winter-of-mf exchange.

#kerrosin #mcytwinterofmf

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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Roadtrip!!

My Gift for @grimaussiewitch For the @mcyt-winter-of-mf !!! Sally and Tommy are on a LONG roadtrip

#graysontheslime #mcytwinterofmf

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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I'll wake you up when we get there

>>> ao3 link <<<

gift for @di-diwata as part of @mcyt-winter-of-mf!

Fandom: Hermitcraft Words: 3,661 Rating: General, No Warnings Characters: Pearl/Etho/Tango, Pearl&Etho&Tango Additional Tags: Post-Apocalypse, Modern with Magic, Slice of Life, Casual Affection, Hypno and xB are mentioned Summary: Pearl, Etho and Tango are off in a delivery expedition, and as usual, the night offers some interesting things to them. This time, in the form of a familiar storm and an odd gas station.

[fic under the cut]

“Y’know what I can’t believe?”

Etho glances at the rear-view mirror, Pearl twists and perches her arm over her seat; both of them looking at Tango with open curiosity.

“xB and Hypno,” Tango starts, playful hums on his lips as he carefully makes his way to the front, pushing up the folded middle seat. “They– I can’t believe they live together now. I thought they would never find each other after the whole—” He gestured vaguely with his hand, though they all knew without explicit highlight; still, a soft buzz from his prosthetic made Etho perk up and pay attention. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

Pearl smiles, resting her cheek on her arm as she looks at Tango with a certain sparkle in her eyes. “How so, Tango? What do you mean by that, huh?” Tango looks at her with little suspicion, a little squint in his eyes to Pearl’s delighted crinkle. “Everyone knows they have been looking for each other since forever, and you are surprised that they found each other and now live together?”

Tango stutters, words coming out in that broken, endearing Tango-way. Pearl giggles. Etho just smiles under his mask, eyes flicking from the mirror to the darkness illuminated in front of him.

While Tango fumbles to explain why two people—who clearly care for each other and went through one end of the world to the other to find each other—would live together, with Pearl seamlessly breaking his argument, Etho refocuses on the world outside of them.

Two hours have passed by since midnight, which is not a lot considering they still had another twenty-two hours on the road, but it does make Etho wonder. They will be passing by Skyhigh settlement, and just a little further live Hypno and xB—which explains Tango’s sudden topic of conversation, he supposes. Though a bit of a detour, which added an hour to their original time, they already made plans to pick up some inventory from Skyhigh and drive it to them—still, a good seven to eight hours until then, which will be morning by then.

Sunny, hopefully. Anything that will give them more vision than the van’s headlights.

They should probably make a stop in Skyhigh for a quick van check-up, he notes mentally before joining the conversation, now about Hypno and xB possibly moving closer to Hermit. Hypotheticals from both, but a general consensus that it will be good for them, and very likely safer than being out there with a stranger settlement. Friends, he thinks to add but Pearl gets ahead of him.

“Plus, I’m sure Xisuma and the others miss them a lot. How long has it been? Four, five years? That’s a long time to not see your friends.”

“And Beef!” Etho adds, a small giggle at the end, almost proud to have finally joined the conversation.

“It’ll be a big move,” Tango hums, more to himself, probably thinking about the logistics of the move. Truth be told, the last time they saw the pair was seven months ago—and as they know, that is a long time to settle down and carve a space in the world for themselves. “They have many things,” he continues, fighting off a hum at the end of his words to not drift off into solo thoughts, “maybe they’ll want to leave it all behind? At Skyhigh, or something. Heh, maybe make it a summer home.”

“With bandits going around?” Etho points out.

And Tango only smiles, wide and bright, “With bandits going around.”

The light air between them breaks for a moment, halting future conversation with the awareness of exhaustion. A simple yawn, from Pearl as she cuddles up into the crook of her arm, eyes fluttering close into peaceful rest. Her expression is relaxed with a smile, a couple strands gently gliding down her face, though she does not bother to fix it.

“It’s late,” Etho says, like it is not obvious to everyone, “you two should catch up on sleep now. We can’t all sleep in the morning.”

There is a light teasing tone in his words, ending with a small laugh that the other two reciprocate. He casts a look to his side to see Pearl beginning to curl up on her seat, looking incredibly small despite her long and slender figure. Behind them, Tango also breaks with a yawn, stretching his arms above his head, then slowly folding them behind him, sighing as he rolls his head and shoulders. Etho spares him a glance too, an amused smile on his lips under his mask at how easily they trigger each other’s states.

He holds back a yawn of his own, of course.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right,” Tango muses, rocking slightly on his seat. “We’ll be off, then.”

Pearl hums, a smile forever on her lips as she sways standing up—Etho slows the van some, though he doubts either of them can tell the difference as they bump their way around. Not too far back, just where Tango was sitting. Clumsily, they slide the spare back-seats behind the front seats, opening up the middle space to unlatch the folded-into-the-walls beds. Slowly easing them down before pulling in together to make a full bed. Through the mirror, Etho can see the sheets and bedding are still a mess—he rarely remembers the last time they actually made the bed, despite Pearl’s intentionally-feeble insistence.

The pair try to crawl into bed, though it just looks like dragging themselves into position once their bodies touch the sheets. Tango lays on his back, half sprawled under the blankets while Pearl lays on her side, curled up into Tango’s side to hug him. They fall into pieces together, almost out the second they tuck themselves into bed. Breathing slowly from the get-go, chests raising and falling in tandem, at peace, almost mesmerizing to watch even through the mirror.

Etho smiles under his mask, then sighs, slumping back onto his seat now that he can drop the persona. He relaxes, though he never eases his hold on the steering wheel, but he does let his eyes drift ahead of him. To the sides, where there is darkness for miles and miles—he thinks about the packages in the back, rattling together in the trailer. He daydreams a little, throwing random scenarios into his mind to watch them play out—with nothing else to do, he allows himself the chance.

Before he can settle on anything, a quiet, sleepy voice makes him perk up.

“G’night, Etho,” Pearl says, softly. Gently. Tanks of affection behind a simple phrase, a tone of voice he is already accustomed to.

He replies in kind, “Sleep tight, Pearl.”

There is some rustling behind him, of sheets and bodies adjusting, weight and pressure being let go. Then easily, slowly, everything stops and the breathing continues—peaceful, safe. Etho gives it a couple more minutes before he accelerates, back to their usual speed down the empty highway. He slouches, dropping his hands to the bottom of the wheel, irresponsible despite being in charge of keeping Pearl and Tango safe.

The most important people in his life—just two, which is plenty enough in his books. Sure, he cares about more than two people; and sure, there are more people he cares about, but level of importance?

Not very hard to tell apart.

Still, he sighs, turns his head to the sides, wondering how much longer he could go before pulling to a stop to crawl over, joining the pile of limbs and sheets. Tempting, very, but the sooner they get the delivery done, the sooner they get to do, well, nothing. He flicks through the calendar in his mind, through the mental notes, half-heartedly swiping away the potential jobs, ending with an empty time block. He thinks about the things they could do, the places to visit—not very far, in their current situation, but maybe they could take their bikes and some resources, ride a bit far from the Hermit settlement and just be by themselves. Not quite getting back in touch with nature, with all the undead and infected and sculk going around, but some time apart from the whole community—time away for themselves, even though these deliveries technically fall under time away.

“It’s nice to get away.” Etho remembers Tango saying once, sitting on the edge of the van’s trailer after the people unloaded their new fabrics and sacks of grains, while they waited for the exchange items—Tango kicking his legs and grinning wide when Pearl joined him. “Getting bored of the same route, though. Any chance for detours?”

And then, Pearl had rocked to the side, bumping their shoulders, giggly—Etho watched them, fondness in his eyes and hidden under his mask; he still looks at them the same, months and years since. “Maybe we should join the clean up crew,” she giggles, even more when Tango makes a face, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

“And get in the middle of that yucky stuff?”

Pearl and Etho had burst out laughing, while Tango gagged. They did not talk about it more the rest of the day, but the conversation had stayed in Etho’s mind, and theirs, because they would occasionally bring it up only to go in a round-about or a dead-end.

Still, Etho fixates on Tango’s arm, bones and flesh, bleeding red inside. Not quite the same now—pale skin replaced with a golden case, and hisses where crackling bones should be. He tries to not think about it, and he tries to not think about the world outside. The consequences, the things they lose—he re-focuses on their breathing, in tandem, and he wills his heart to follow them. At peace, safe, together.

Etho coughs before straightening, fixing his mask—briefly, he considers taking it off, but he looks into the darkness and decides against it.

Nothing out there needs to know what his face looks like.

So they go on, Etho at the wheel while the other two rest behind him. The seconds forming minutes, gathering to become hours—his eyes flick between the road and the digital clock on the dashboard, cringing between blinks. Surely time must be passing, even if the clock says otherwise. Hours, a handful of them should have gone; he feels it on his bones, exhaustion dragging him down the seat and seeping into his bones, but the clock marks only twenty-five past four, which is nowhere near enough time.

Not right. Much like the dimming headlights and the darkness slowly creeping in.

Etho jumps up straight, hesitating between slowing or accelerating, fixated on the road ahead rather than the edges of his vision. But he knows it, how it looks, how the shadows eat the corners of his vision, propagating inwards on the windshield. Like hands and vines, crawling and reaching, covering every inch of the glass to dim the few lights.

The road outside stretches for miles, no landmark in sign, and no clear signs of their speed. His eyes fall onto the dash, flickering between the darkening outside and his speed—faced with stillness, everything frozen, unsure if they are moving or not. If he is speeding or not.

He hopes they are.

Though it makes no real difference as the van falls into darkness with only a synched breathing, the gentle rumble of the engine, and the distant rattling in the back to keep him company.

A chill runs down his spine as his hands tighten on the wheel. He faces forth, unwavering, driving in complete darkness. The headlights light up nothing ahead of them, and the few lights inside dim.

Etho is not sure how long he has been driving in this state—for minutes or hours, time melting together in his exhaustion and sudden awareness, making a mess of his usually sharp mind. His breath is hot against his mask, burning against his skin, almost suffocating enough to tug it off. He knows better, so he just presses his lips together tight, then catches his bottom lip between his teeth—the pain keeps him aware, awake, but the thundering of his heart makes him tremble.

The bed creaks behind him.

And it sounds reassuring.

Just as he is ready to call it a night, pull the blinds and raise the coverings, and head to sleep, a flicker of light catches on the corners of his eyes. Lighting in the middle of a storm, with rumbling in the form of an electric buzzing he can feel from within. Although he knows better than to check it out, he swats the turn signals lever and begins to slowly turn towards the flicker of light.

The van inches to it slower than it should, unsure if anyone could be behind him. Although he had not seen anyone miles back, he could never be sure inside the storm.

It clears some as they approach, until he enters the ‘safe zone’ and finally regains some vision.

A gas station, not at all run-down but it has definitely seen better days. Though with the way things are, he wonders if it ever had.

When the van and engine come to a stop, he throws himself back onto his seat, closing his eyes as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh. With practice, he pinches the fabric of his mask by the bridge of his nose, fixing it onto his face. Exhaustion sinks into his bones, dragging them down slightly before he opens his eyes, seeing the storm swirling outside of the safe zone, sparking on the edges.

There is a quiet groan behind him, prompting him to sit up and turn around, perching his arm on the backrest to see the silhouettes and shadows shifting around before something emerged—slowly, Tango sits up, rubbing his eye with indistinct mumbling.

“We there?” Tango asks with a quieter grumble.

With a simple word, Etho has Tango’s awakened attention: “Storm.”

While Etho undoes his belt, Tango gently nudges Pearl awake, the pair slowly waking and stretching their limbs. Etho sees them in the rear-view mirror, groggy expressions and confusion. They pry the blankets from each other, leaving them to shiver in the sudden chill.

“I’m gonna go inside,” Etho announces, softly, hoping they would go back to sleep. Instead, they stretch their limbs, inching closer to the edge of the bed, looking around ditzy for coats. “You don’t have to.”

Pearl yawns big, lips curved into a smile. “Whaddaya mean, Etho?”

Though playful, Etho wishes they would go back to sleep. He shakes his head, deciding to not fight them, knowing better. It comes with the years, he supposes, learning which battles to fight and which to fold—this one, he decides as he steps out of the van onto jelly legs, is not a worthwhile fight. Something else zaps the playfulness, making the hairs from his arm raise—the electricity in the air.

He takes a step forth and closes the door, waiting for the other two to make their way around. With slapping bunny slippers and a copper throw-blanket on his shoulders, Tango gets there first—his features are sharper and heat emanates from his paler skin, dark eyes with a white dots for pupils, sharp teeth flash when he yawns, and his claws poke when he pulls his blanket tighter on himself. Not too far behind, Pearl bounces over like a shadow to Tango, like him, still in her pajamas—there is a certain sparkle to her, like a mist of stars around her, and a waxing crescent moon covers the left side of her face.

Etho pinches his mask then gestures to them to walk.

A bell dings when the doors slide open at Etho’s approach, but the other two walk in first. He spares a glance to the van, to the storm behind it, surrounding them before making his way inside too. He follows the same path as the other two, down the same aisle with items he does not particularly care about. Above the shelves and between the items, he cannot help looking outside.

“How many snacks do we need?” Pearl asks first in their line.

Tango chuckles, grabbing another bag of bacon-flavored chips, “All.”

On the third aisle, though, Etho finally pries his eyes to the pair in front of him. Tango has taken steps closer to Pearl, both of them carrying snacks by the armful, comparing their treasure. They beam with childish grins and giggles, pride in their faces. He smiles, smitten and fondly while they juggle their things.

“There were baskets,” he says as he approaches. He slides his hands into his pockets, spinning the keyring with his thumb.

“Yeah, but,” Tango laughs, spinning to face him with a smile, flashing those sharp teeth, “self-control! Can only get as much as you can carry!”

Behind him, Pearl grins, a strand of brown hairs falling to her face but her hands are busy. She tries to flip it back, only for it to fall forward again—Etho steps around Tango, reaching out a hand to tuck her hair back, lightly touching her star-tingling skin. She smiles at him, and he returns a nod before gesturing to the counter with his head.

“Not getting anything?” Tango asks, bumping Etho’s arm with his shoulder with a smile of his own. Etho can see his eyes, dark but the same as he knows him, all this time. “C’mon, get something. Treat yourself! Energy drink, probably.”

“With my money?”

Tango turns to Pearl, his smirk reflected on her first quarter, the twinkling stars on her bright eyes. In sync, they reply: “Of course.”

Etho huffs, flicking his wrist to the counter. The pair giggle away as he follows, eyeing whatever items are on the way. The words are barely readable, and the images are melted together into a goop of colors—not appetizing, but he cannot really judge what they decide to get.

As they drop their treasures into the counter, Etho tosses a bag of strawberry looking sweets. He stays near while the other two shuffle away to the fridges and drink stands. In the meantime, Etho looks up, the attendant walking out from the back. An ordinary person, at first glance, but he keeps his eyes on them, the joy gone as his eyes sharpen.

No words are exchanged between them, only uninterest glances and judging eye-rolls, as the attendant scans the items. The dings echo loudly against the buzzing of the lights above them, only now becoming loud. Tension fizzles in the air, zapping the exposed skin on his face.

“Oh, these too.” Pearl brings over a case of fizzy cans, pushing some of the bags over. The attendant looks up to Pearl’s bright smile, only holding eye-contact for a moment before Etho grabs her elbow lightly. She looks back at him, a waxing gibbous, with a smile.

“Get your snacks.” Etho rolls his eyes, but there is too much fondness behind it—even then, Pearl knows him better. She just smiles and complies, Tango behind her to grab the rest.

They talk behind him, about their lengthy travel, while he tosses some bills on the counter after glancing at the total. Still, no words are exchanged, not that he cares for conversation—not when there is something off about them, not that he cares to know details.

He grabs the case of drinks and the change, pushing the other two out, feeling the eyes on his back. The doors open before they get close to it, a cold breeze rushing in, then a shadow turning to the left as they had. Then one more shadow, and finally another. Following the path they had taken, down to Etho’s pauses. Pearl and Tango pay no attention to it, but Etho eyes it, glancing to the mirror on the corner of the store, watching the shadows move.

They make their way back to the van, emptying their newly acquired goodies into a basket. Etho goes back on the driver seat, kicking the engine on to pull out of the gas station—back into the storm.

It takes a moment for them to settle, Etho notices—going from animated conversations back to yawns, until Tango is falling against Pearl, both of them returning to slumber. Not laying down, Etho sees through the mirror, so he finally makes the decision, pulling to the side of the road, still surrounded by the storm, and turns the dim lights above.

He works quickly, pulling the blinds of the seat windows before covering the windshield. A different kind of darkness surrounds him then, something warmer and more familiar. Carefully, he climbs to the back, shrugging his jacket to drape on the front seats.

Kneeling on the edge of the bed, just admiring the other two, he is overcome with a sense of belonging. All warm and safe and right. He thinks about mentioning it to them one day, but decides against it for now—something to ponder later on those quiet nights when he has nothing but his thoughts. For now, though, he gently tugs them to lay down, tucking them in.

He pulls Tango’s shirt to cover his stomach. And he tucks Pearl’s hair back again. They are mostly back to normal now, their features softening but not losing any of their spark and warmth. He takes his mask off as he watches them, sighing in relief and content.

Pitter-patter touches the roof and his side of the van, like little knocks but Etho pays them no attention—choosing to lay down instead, facing the ceiling with an arm behind his head. Slowly, the lights turn off, and he counts the seconds on the timer as his breathing slows, matching the soft snoring beside him.

And when he finally closes his eyes, he drifts off quickly, sleeping with the soft knowledge that he will wake up safe in their arms too.

#mcytwinterofmf #pancho pinto

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mcyt-winter-of-mf · 5 months ago

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Mexican Dream x Mamacita for @ghost-likes-drawing for the @mcyt-winter-of-mf event!

(They were my first DSMP ship, so writing this was pretty nostalgic!)

The movie was still playing in the background, but the remote was lost somewhere underneath the couch a while ago. The soundtrack and muffled dialogue had faded into background noise as Mamacita gasped, clutching the back of her boyfriend’s head as he kissed her throat.

[NSFW UNDER READ MORE]

“Clothes off,” she said, pulling her shirt up over her head.

“Easy girl, easy, I’m goin’ as fast as I can,” Mexican Dream said, already kicking his pants off.

Mamacita giggled, unbuttoning her pants and shimmying out of them. “Easy? I’m not a horse.”

“Nah, nah, I know.” He approached, and hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her panties. He pulled her closer, pressing his body against hers. “You’re a cowgirl, yeah?”

Mamacita grinned, looping her arms over his shoulder and watching his gaze flick between her cleavage and her biceps. “Born to ride. And you’re my favorite stallion.”

“Freaky.”

Mamacita laughed, pulling him with her towards the bed and dragging him down onto it with her. He barely resisted, halfway into her lap as he pressed his face between her tits, tickling them with his goatee. His hands, pinned underneath her, kneaded her ass as he kissed her tits, making her gasp and whine and arch up off the mattress when he sucked on the sensitive bud.

As she caught her breath, she gripped Mexican Dream’s ass, pulling him even closer. His cock was a hard line straining against his boxers, pressing against her thigh.

He sighed, staring down at her. “How the fuck did I get so lucky, man?”

“You’re cute.”

“No, no, for real? How’d I end up with such a hot piece of ass? You’re so fucking sexy, and I get you all to myself?” Mexican Dream ran his hands down her sides, staring at her.

Mamacita laughed, reaching up and cupping his cheek. Mexican Dream turned his head to kiss her palm, and in the low light his dark eyes were hungry. He kissed the thin, delicate skin of her wrists, following the tendon down into the muscle of her forearm, and past the easily-bruised skin of her elbow to gently bite her bicep, leaving his mark.

Mamacita watched him closely, running her fingers through his hair as he left kisses all the way to her shoulder. He whined in the back of his throat, almost lunging forward to kiss her again, as if he couldn’t bear to be away from her lips for too long.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he panted, grinding against her thigh.

Mamacita laughed, gripping his legs in return. His muscles moved under her hands, and she encouraged every roll of his hips by pulling on his thighs. “It was just an 8 hour shift.”

“You know what I mean,” he said as he left a hickey on her neck. “It was like a whole fuckin’ lifetime without you, Mamacita. I couldn’t wait to get back home and fuck you.”

His hands wandered to her tits, kneading them as they lazily frotted.

“Eat me out?” she asked, tugging his hair just enough to get his attention. “Then we can fuck.”

“Yeah, of fuckin’ course,” he said breathlessly.

Her muscles fluttered under his lips as he kissed his way down to her stomach, and she stifled giggles as his hair tickled her skin. Where there was fat padding the muscle, he left hickeys, marking her as his. He looked up at her, his eyes wide and pleading as he reached her underwear.

“You’re so fucking hot, Mamacita. Please?”

“Not yet, babe.” She stroked his hair, then pushed him further down until his nose brushed her thigh. Without a word he latched on, sucking a mark into the skin of her inner thigh. His hands slid down her hips to push her thighs apart, and she threw one leg over his shoulder as he kneaded the muscle in his hand.

“You’re gonna kill me, girl,” he groaned, looping his arm over her other thigh, holding her against his neck.

She laughed. “Yeah, I think I could.” She locked her ankles together, pinning his head and shoulder against her. She reached down and grabbed his head with both hands, ever so gently twisting. “And then I could just snap your neck.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed against her thigh as he swallowed, staring up at her with wide eyes. His hips jerked against the mattress, an attempt at escape turned into a search for relief. “Please, Mamacita?”

She pretended to think about it, finally relenting when he whined like a puppy.

His grip on her waist loosened as he pulled down her panties with his teeth, and he slipped his hands under the curve of her ass to pull them all the way off. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, girl, I swear.”

Pushing her hair out of the way, he bent his head and licked, rubbing her clit with his thumb as he dragged his tongue up her folds. He reveled in her gasps, and how her thighs tried to close around his head as he sucked on her clit.

By the time Mamacita pushed him away, his beard was soaked with slick, and she ached for him. “Now, about that ride…”

Mexican Dream nodded eagerly, rolling off of her and shoving off his boxers so she could climb into his lap. He stared up at her as she straddled him, placing reverent hands on her waist.

She sank down, and he buried his face in her neck with a satisfied groan, arms pulling her even closer. One hand found its way to her ass, but the other clung to her back, like he couldn’t bear to be any further apart.

She pushed him down, driving herself back on his cock in a way that made him beg for mercy and cry for more in the same breath. She moaned as he fell apart inside of her, and soon followed him as he licked his own cum out of her.

As they curled together under the sheets in the afterglow, Mamacita kissed the scar on his neck, thankful she’d never lost him.

#peearrdee #mcytwinterofmf

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