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salemoleander · 2 years ago

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solving counting sheep webweave

MCYTblr AU Fest Summer 2023 // sources under readmore

Created as a treat for the absolutely stunning fic by @theminecraftbee!

Pt. 1: The Specialist’s Hat, Stranger Things Happen p.63 / Kelly Link ◆ Requiem Angel / Daniele Valeriani via @satanasaeternus ◆ Maschera Venetian Joker Mask / Atelier Marega Mask ◆ Macbeth 1.5.57-61 / Shakespeare ◆ Watch / Carol Milne ◆ Excerpt from Salt Is For Curing / Sonia Vatomsky via @geryone ◆ Carved Damascus Steel Bird Knife / Robert Mayo ◆ Excerpt from STOP ME IF YOU’VE HEARD THIS ONE BEFORE, Calling a Wolf a Wolf / Kaveh Akbar ◆ off to finish it at the source / @catcrumb ◆ Excerpt from The War of Vaslav Nijinsky / Frank Bidart ◆ Having a cat is great tweet / @premeesaurus ◆ Secrete / Kate MccGwire via @snailspng

Pt. 2: I am asking you to endure it. / @intactics (Deactivated 12.31.21) ◆ Hi! You have great eyes / @illness (Deactivated 3.25.18) ◆ Taste for Independence Cat / @alisonzai ◆ Support Mental Health pin / @snailspng ◆ A Barn at Kronetorp, Skåne / Gustaf Rydberg ◆ Living: There is a period when it is clear... / Jenny Holzer via @funeral ◆ Neighborhood Plague, Fjords I / Zachary Schomburg ◆ Ugly, Bitter, and True / Suzanne Rivecca ◆ It just keeps happening / @mothcub ◆ Shepherd with Flock of Sheep / Anton Mauve ◆ No Longer Evil cat / @b0nkcreat ◆ Excerpt from All Our Futures / Jody Chan via @geryone ◆ Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stitch / Carol Milne via @knithacker ◆ Deep Dark Fear (9.29.2013) / Fran Krause @deep-dark-fears

Pt. 3: Read more pop-up / @screenshotsofdespair ◆ Combination of Painter Javier Palacios and Enoch 18:14 / @mountainqoats ◆ Wandering Albatross ◆ Diomedes ◆ Forgive dead players: OFF / @screenshotsofdespair ◆ Inktober52 Angel / @lastmousequeen-blog ◆ The Heavenly Host / Violet Oakley ◆ Excerpt from No Rush / Todd Dillard ◆ I will not go gentle magnets / @carpethedamndiem ◆ Excerpt from cain / José Saramago via @ilumark (Deactivated 2.5.22) ◆ Excerpt from Salt Is For Curing / Sonya Vatomsky via @geryone ◆ Purple / @ungfio via @sosuperawesome ◆ Excerpt from Lessons on Expulsion / Erika Sánchez via @geryone ◆ The Practical Companion to the Work-Table, Containing Directions for Knitting, Netting, & Crochet Work / Elizabeth Jackson via @knittinghistory

Pt. 4: Excerpt from A Ghost is a Memory / GennaRose Nethercott via @tolerateit ◆ What’s done is done / @thatsbelievable ◆ Excerpt from Ante body / Marwa Helal via @geryone ◆ Minor Resurrections / Elisa Gonzalez ◆ Mirror ◆ Coming back / @ungfio ◆ Candlestick ◆ Flame

#webweave #solving counting sheep #salem art #web weave #mcytblr #three #mcytblraufest23 #mcytblraufest2023 #do not remember which of those tags is correct lol #ALSO I believe tagging someone multiple times only alerts them once. if that is not the case a preemptive apology to geryone #i debated including panel 4 at all or under readmore or whatever #but honestly i feel like even if its not as pretty it says something I really want to say

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strifetxt · 4 months ago

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divergent evolution, a solving counting sheep fic

a.k.a. as a Christmas gift for the inimitable @theminecraftbee, I wrote an ordinary, more canon compliant Watcher Grian meeting Three! This was an idea I've wanted to write for over a year, and I'm delighted that it finally came to fruition :D

———

This is the last season he’s going to spend messing with extradimensional portals, Grian thinks. Grumbot was one thing, and the people from Empires were friends, but a complete stranger turning up out of the blue is something else entirely.

The interloper’s face is entirely obscured by a gaudy harlequin mask, decorated with bright patterns of red and gold. Strangely, the eyes of the mask are filled in with dark fabric, but Grian still gets the sense that he is being intently stared at as he nervously inputs the request for Grumbot to reverse the Rift and send the unwanted guest home.

Grumbot’s digital mustache wiggles, and a note is dispensed.

RIFT INSTABILITY DETECTED. TIME NEEDED TO REPAIR MALFUNCTION: UNKNOWN.

Great. Just what he needs.

“So, er.” Grian does his best to look apologetic. “It seems as though you may be stuck here for a little while until Grumbot gets the Rift sorted. In the meantime—” He gestures idly around the basement lab. “Hello, my name is Grian, and welcome to Hermitcraft?”

It is deeply uncomfortable, not being able to gauge any expression from his guest with the mask in the way. All he gets is a stiff nod and a simple statement of, “Yes. I am familiar.”

Grian raises his eyebrows. “You are? With me or with Hermitcraft?”

The guest takes a long pause, clearly considering the question, before landing on, “Both, though in different ways. I am also from Hermitcraft.”

“Oh, good, more alternate timelines.” Grian sighs and rubs his temples. The existential weirdness of Grumbot Prime’s universe was already bad enough. “Well, do me a favor and don’t tell me about alternate me’s inevitably ominous circumstances; I think I’d rather not know at this point.”

Three stares at him another long moment, then slowly nods. “Yes. Complying.”

———

“Well, this is the base,” Grian says. “Feel free to make yourself at home.”

Three stares down into the gaping hole beyond the birch floor of the entryway, then up into the cavernous space above, where the inner faces of the hollow rocks are dotted messily with torches to prevent mob spawns. “I see your habits regarding interiors appear to have remained consistent,” it notes.

Grian squawks, indignant. “I— okay, nice to know that I’m apparently the same everywhere, but also, hey!”

“It was not intended as judgment,” Three says judgmentally.

“Okay, listen,” Grian explains, doing his best to sound rational and not defensive, “the point of this build isn’t to be livable, it’s just to make a cool set piece! I don’t need a fancy interior when I’m happy keeping my storage and spawn outside.”

This logic does not seem to appease Three. “I do not see why you bother to build a base, if not to live in it.”

“Well, you know.” Grian waves a hand vaguely. “It’s just nice to have a big project going on in the background. Something to flex the building skills! Like I said, it’s mostly about making something that looks cool.”

“And if a day should come that you are no longer here?” Three asks. “If you were to somehow vanish from this world, and the only things left behind in your wake were empty set pieces, containing no traces of who you were, or how you lived. What then?”

And, well. Grian has no idea what to say to that.

He settles for changing the subject. “How about we find you somewhere else to stay?” he says weakly.

“That is probably for the best,” Three says.

Strange that even without visible eyes, the weight of its gaze still feels so heavy.

———

“Here we are,” Grian says as they touch down at their destination. “This is the Empires Christmas Village.”

Grian catches an odd motion ripple over Three’s skin, but it passes too quickly for him to make out any detail. “Are the players of Empires also on this server?” it asks.

“Well, not anymore. We had a crossover event where they came over to visit.” Grian gestures at the houses that ring the snowy basin. “They built this village while they were here, and I figured, hey, since it worked for the last otherworldly visitors...”

He leads them along the path around the Christmas tree, only for Three to come to a sudden stop. Grian follows its gaze to the scene on the hillside above, where various Hermits and Emperors mingle and play in the snow.

“It’s all posable armor stands,” he explains. “Do you have ZombieCleo on your Hermitcraft?”

“I know Cleo, yes,” Three says, “and I recognize their work.” It climbs up the hill towards the statues in the back corner of the scene, where it then crouches down to be level with their miniaturized faces.

Grian follows, bemused. He squints at the statues, trying to look at them with fresh eyes. Joe and Jimmy’s tiny heads are tilted towards each other in a facsimile of conversation, and they share cocoa and cookies with bright, relaxed smiles. It’s cute, Grian thinks, but he can’t see why anyone who already knows Cleo would be so fascinated. Maybe Three is just an armor stand fan?

“She’s very good at what she does,” Grian says, mostly to fill the silence. “It is a bit uncanny though, the way the heads still look exactly like the Players she got them from.”

Three does not look away from Jimmy’s face.

“Uncanny,” it murmurs. “Agreed.”

———

After the initial hiccup of getting it settled, Three proves to be a shockingly elusive guest. Grian does not encounter it again until several days later, when he happens upon it in his basement lab, writing a message for Grumbot Prime.

“Checking on the Rift?” he asks.

Three shakes its head, but otherwise continues to write. “Only initially,” it says. “Now Grumbot is telling me about himself.”

Grian blinks. “Have you not seen Grumbot before? I thought you said you knew me?” His eyes widen as a horrifying scenario dawns on him. “Wait. Do you not have a Mumbo?”

This makes Three fix him with a sharp look. “Of course I have a Mumbo,” it says.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Grian sighs. “But then, if Mumbo and I are both there, how is there not a Grumbot?”

Three’s head tilts curiously. “Is it a given that if you and Mumbo exist together, the two of you will create a child?”

“Well, obviously.”

“I see,” Three says. “Perhaps for the best, then, that you never met. You are a terribly neglectful parent.”

Grian sputters. “I— Look, Grumbot can take care of himself just fine! It’s just, when you make a lovable robot son with your best friend, and then later you get stuck with an alternate version of your robot son who doesn’t like you very much, it doesn’t make for the best conversation!”

Grian catches that strange ripple along Three’s skin again, only now he realizes it’s not skin at all; it’s feathers, bristling and flaring with some unknown agitation.

“I’m sure I wouldn’t know,” it says flatly, and before Grian can respond, it equips its borrowed elytra and rockets off, leaving Grian to blankly stare after it.

“Hang on!” he shouts. “What do you mean, Mumbo and I never met?”

———

“Can I ask you a weird question?” Grian asks.

“Sure,” Mumbo sighs, resigned. “Not like this build was getting done anyway.”

“What would you be doing if we never met?”

Mumbo frowns, considering. “Huh. I guess I’d still be on Hermitcraft, but— gosh. I can’t imagine what it’d be like, not ever knowing you.”

“See, that’s what I thought!” Grian says.

“A lot more productive, I bet.”

Grian laughs. “You know you need me distracting you from time to time.”

“Unfortunately,” Mumbo sighs. “Go on then. Any other existential questions while you’re here?”

Grian fidgets, thinking back on Three’s ominous hints. “If I were to disappear one day,” he asks, awkward and tentative, “what would you remember me by?”

Mumbo raises his eyebrows. “Wow, really pulling out the big guns.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Probably all the trouble you’ve caused, if I’m honest.”

“Hey!” Grian elbows him in the ribs. “I’m being heartfelt and vulnerable here!”

“Ow— No, I’m serious!” Mumbo says. “I mean, when I think ‘Grian’, I remember things like— like chickens in my message system, or breaking Sahara with a potato. All the different tag shenanigans. Your ridiculous death games. The way you’ll have an idea, and then suddenly half the server is having a grand time covering Doc’s perimeter in dirt.” He nods. “Yeah, that’s what I’d remember. You, pulling people together.”

Grian’s chest blooms with warmth. It’s really miraculous, he thinks, the way Mumbo so often melts his doubts away. “Aww!” he croons, dramatically throwing his arms around Mumbo’s waist. “You do like me!”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t let it get to your head.”

(As the conversation shifts to playful banter, Grian feels a prickle on the back of his neck fade, as if a pair of watching eyes chose that moment to look away.)

———

“Alright,” Grian says the next time he encounters Three, “I’ve decided I want to know. What happened to me in your universe?”

He knows enough now to spot the way Three’s feathers shift in response. “Are you certain?” it asks. “It is, as you’ve surmised, not pleasant.”

Grian shrugs. “Better to know than not? Especially if it’s something I can avoid.”

Three shakes its head. “I doubt it will be a concern for you,” it says. “Grumbot tells me you survived your time with the Watchers, and that they are no longer an active threat.”

This draws Grian up short. “How does Grumbot even know about— Right.” He sighs in annoyance. “Omniscient interdimensional hivemind. Just giving out my backstory to total strangers. Great.” He rubs his temples. Even now that he’s reached a sort of tentative peace with them, the Watchers still aren’t his favorite subject in the world. He much prefers to ignore them whenever possible.

“So,” he says, “I suppose that means in your universe they killed me instead of just, er.” He fidgets awkwardly with the hem of his sweater. “Taking me in and changing me, I guess? Is that it?”

Three visibly hesitates. “Yes,” it says slowly, “and no.” It squares its shoulders. “Perhaps it will be simpler to show you.”

And then it removes its mask.

Grian’s jaw slackens in shock. The hair is longer, the feathers that mimic skin are paler, and the eyes are squeezed firmly shut, but—

“You’re...me?” he stammers out. “I— How are you me?”

He sees Three’s mouth twist in a grimace before the mask is quickly replaced. “If I have learned anything from my time in this universe,” it says, “it is that I most definitively am not.”

Grian’s stomach feels cold. He swallows. “Explain.”

And Three does.

———

Grian feels himself trembling.

“After I left the Watchers,” he says, “I had to try very hard to remember that just because they changed me, it didn’t make me a different person. Even now, some days I forget.” He clenches his shaking hands into fists. “And you’re telling me there’s a world out there where I’m perfectly happy not being me at all?”

Three’s feathers flare. “I am not you,” it insists. “I had to try very hard to learn to become a person who was myself, and then had to try very hard again to remain that person, even when others wanted me to be you. Even now, when I sometimes suspect they would still prefer I was you.”

“Are you sure you’re not?” Grian asks, desperate. “I’m not in there at all?”

“I have been told we share similarities,” Three says, “but, meeting you, I have observed far more differences. You lack the commitment to complete projects—”

Grian sputters. “Hey!”

“—you avoid responsibility whenever possible—”

“Okay, that’s just—”

“—and, you have the ability to move people, in a way that I cannot fathom,” Three says. “I am glad that a world exists in which you are alive, and where your friends do not have to miss you. I understand more, now, why they would. But I am more certain than ever that I am not you, and that I do not want to be.”

Grian can almost envision his own face behind Three’s mask, and the resolute expression he would be wearing in its place.

He takes a shaky breath.

“It’s a bit unfair,” he says. “You spent this whole time learning things about me, while I know almost nothing about you.” He smiles tentatively. “Tell me about yourself?”

Three’s shoulders relax. “What would you like to know?”

———

The next day, the Rift reopens.

“Sure you don’t want to stay longer?” Grian jokes weakly. “You could build the interior to my base.”

Even with the mask, the look Three gives him feels scathing. “Far be it for me to diminish your lack of hard work,” it says.

“Ouch!” Grian laughs. “Probably for the best anyway. I, ah, imagine it’s probably been weird for you, being here, and you’ll want to be getting home.”

Three takes a moment to dutifully deposit all of its borrowed and scavenged items into an empty shulker box. Only when it’s done does it look up at Grian to respond.

“It was good,” it says, “to meet you. I had thought before, based on the way others remembered you, that I might have liked to be your friend. You are not quite what I expected, but I am glad, I think, to have had the chance to learn that.”

Grian’s smile wavers.

He considers being honest, considers saying, I can’t begrudge you who you’ve chosen to be, but all I can think about when I see you is the idea of being hollowed out so thoroughly that irrevocably that the only thing that’s left is a stranger walking around in my skin. You’re my worst case scenario, you’re everything I was scared I might become, and now I have to live with the knowledge that somewhere out there, in some other world, you’re real, and I don’t know what to do about that except add it to the list of things that keep me up at night.

Instead, he nods and says, “It was good to meet you too.”

If Three picks up on the lie, it says nothing; it merely inclines its head in a nod, steps through the Rift, and is gone.

#lei writes #solving counting sheep #watcher grian

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seawaveleo · 2 years ago

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your honor they're silly

#(‘who is three?’ well certainly not a crowd that’s for sure)#(this is totally canon btw it happens in chapter 18)#(kidding lol)#martyn inthelittlewood #itlw #grian #mumbo jumbo #evo smp #evolution smp #solving counting sheep #hermitcraft #(?? i guess??)#mcyt #mcytblr aufest #digital art #fanart #art #waveleoart

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cuteiemonster · 2 years ago

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my SECOND piece for the @mcytblraufest !!

this time, for @theminecraftbee 's fic, [ SOLVING COUNTING SHEEP ] !! i had so much fun trying to settle on what scene to draw that i ended up with uh. Major Spoilers. dont worry about it! youll know it when you see it.

was genuinely an honor to work on this with Second, @seawaveleo, and @strifetxt !! o7

#Solving Counting Sheep #EVO smp #Evolution SMP #jimmy solidarity #solidaritygaming #martyn inthelittlewood #inthelittlewood #grian #in the wise words of lei strifetxt. '' the presence of grian in the art is a matter of philosophy ''#mcyt au fest #mcytblraufest23 #no little blurb from the story this time. youll see it in like. looks at calendar. 9 days?#anyways. go read it if you havent already PLEASE god its so GOOD AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #im definitely going to be drawing more for this fic i just. i need a min once i finish my 3rd piece #on my hands and knees. this artist can only take so much and does not ever remember his limits

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boxbug · 2 years ago

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who is a person who is three?

fanart for @theminecraftbee ‘s fic ‘solving counting sheep’ which i read in a single sitting. me when stories about identity <3

also fun fact i had another version of the watcher’s mask up until the finishing touches basically. the reason for this was that i misread ‘plain white oval with a symbol on it’ as ‘with a plain white oval on it’. somehow. i may be dumb

i now know the mask is supposed to be black on white but i’m not repainting the whole thing </3 the harlequin mask barely looks like a harlequin so we’re taking some liberties here anyways

#solving counting sheep #mcyt #my art #illustration #not sure what to tag tbh… tagging as grian would kind of go against the entire point wouldnt it #this piece was a STRUGGLE #from trying to remember how to draw faces to trying to remember how colors work i did not have an easy time with this #for reference i started it over a week ago and have just been picking at it every day since #pretty happy with where it ended up though #anyways #go read solving counting sheep (and second’s other fics for that matter)#they make me feel shrimp emotions 👍

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couthking · 2 years ago

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The counting sheep fic by @theminecraftbee is making me insane

I NEEDED to make a design for Three so here it is! (although I don't think it's anywhere close to canon haha)

#we love our horror abomination characters <3 #solving counting sheep #evo smp #grian #three #couth art

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ebby172 · 2 years ago

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“I made you a scarf,” it tells Martyn. Both Martyn and Jimmy turn to Three. It holds out the scarf. It’s red and green. “Do not get Watcher blood on it. It is not designed for that, and it feels as though it would harm the gesture, if blood like mine was on it.”

Little fanart for chapter 8 of @theminecraftbee 's fic "solving counting sheep" because it's consumed my thoughts and I just had to draw Three handing over the scarf in the middle of that argument

I also used cutiemonster and seawaveleo's designs for the fic (or as close as I could get) because their own art were absolute bangers

Anyways go read the fic pls it's very good

#my art #evo smp #evolution smp #solving counting sheep #solidaritygaming #martyn inthelittlewood #grian #< the way I agonized over tagging him or not but he's tagged in the fic and technically There #even if you don't consider Three to be him he's absolutely haunting the story #also why is Jimmy so hard to make recognizable

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gaytimeswith-scar · 2 years ago

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chapter 14 of @theminecraftbee ‘s solving counting sheep thoroughly fucked me up and i could not sleep till i drew it and 4 hours later i have a quick animation!!

below the cut bc 1) huge eyestrain tw!! (i abused the glitch tool so so bad), 2) equally huge flashing lights tw!!, and 3) spoilers for solving counting sheep

yeag enjoy :]]

#ant art #solving counting sheep #grian #eyestrain #evo smp #evolution smp #grian fanart #Flashing lights

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haveyoureadthisfanfic · 1 year ago

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Summary: Blade-Three, also known as Three, is the living weapon of the Watchers. Conditioned to follow orders, it is meant to use its considerable strength, combat abilities, and total loyalty to obliterate the enemies of the Watchers. Of course, the "following orders" part comes first, which is how, when Listener agent Martyn InTheLittleWood comes along with the right command words, he manages to steal it. Now, instead of missions that make any sense, Three must navigate as Martyn and his roommate Jimmy attempt to teach it how to be human, or at least enough of a person to be itself. It would help if either Martyn or Jimmy knew how to be human either, and if they weren't falling apart at the seams after the death of an old friend. (And of course, there's the matter of Three's original identity, a question no one thinks to ask...) Or: in which Evo had a bad end, and five years later, the pieces that were left behind start to accidentally fall back together.

Author: @theminecraftbee

Note from submitter: I love an exploration of media mechanics inside fanfic, especially when the medium is video games! Also, the way identity and self is examined and re-examined really appeals to me.

#official fic poll #haveyoureadthisfic #pollblr #tumblr polls #fanfiction #fandom poll #fanfic #fandom culture #internet culture #solving counting sheep #evolution smp #mcyt #minecraft #no romantic relationships #ao3

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strifetxt · 1 year ago

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Scar nods. "Were you more of a creative builder before?"

"No," Three says. "I was the Watchers' Blade."

"Oh, right," Scar says mildly.

A treat written for @mcytrecursive based on @theminecraftbee's incredible fic, solving counting sheep! In which Three joins Hermitcraft and has a first encounter with one GoodTimesWithScar.

#lei writes #solving counting sheep #hermitfic

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seawaveleo · 2 years ago

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ah and before i forget, here’s the design for three!

#solving counting sheep #evo smp #evolution smp #mcyt #grian #(again. a matter of philosophy)#fanart #digital art #art #waveleoart #scopophobia tw #(for the mask jic)#(nick pspsps you wanna post your jimmy ref so bad JKJK only if you want to)

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avoidthings · 8 months ago

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kitchen’s closed | t. richmond

About: Terry catches you in the kitchen late at night and has his own idea of a midnight snack. [word count: 2.1k] Warnings: Explicit language. 18+ Readers Only. Oral (female receiving), Unprotected PIV (wrap your willy, pls). I had concepts of a plot.

It was well past midnight in North Carolina, and you could hear the crickets and other critters abuzz outside of your bedroom window. You stared at the sliver of moonlight cast between your curtains, realizing the clutches of insomnia had sunk its sneaky fingers in you yet again.

Your boyfriend, Terry, rarely stirred in his sleep, and kept a hefty arm draped over your waist every night. Being that he was ex-military, it was sort of ironic how heavy of a sleeper he was. Some evenings you tried to count the rise and fall of his chest instead of sheep, but rather than lulling you to bed it just disgruntled you. You wanted to poke the bear awake and damn him for leaving you so smitten.

The room was quiet aside from the bustle of the outdoors, and you thanked God your man didn’t snore or else this would feel like a torture chamber. You flipped through the rolodex of your thoughts and landed on recapping your day; you went to work, Terry picked you up and made a stop at Kroger, then you two watched some sitcom reruns for a bit. House rules were to grab takeout after grocery shopping so neither of you had to bother with cooking something.

All that thinking of food must’ve sent a reminder to your stomach. You exhaled as it grumbled. While very cute, you would rather not see Terry’s grumpy face should he discover his miso soup missing. You perked up at the memory of slipping a pint of ice cream in the shopping cart earlier.

It was counterproductive, solving sleeplessness with sugar, but you hoped Ben & Jerry’s would be your saving grace tonight. You peered over your shoulder to find your boyfriend as sound as ever, eyes fluttered closed like a saint.

After a silent prayer, you wriggled from his hold and toed out of bed. You pattered around the twilight of the room, starting your mission to the fridge. Past the master bathroom, the thermostat, (which nearly broke the two of you up), and to the far right of your living space was your destination. Thankfully, the range hood light was on so you weren’t too sore of eyesight.

You opened the freezer and plucked out your reward. After grabbing a spoon, you settled in, sitting on top of the counter. The granite was cold against your bare thighs, your body only blanketed by a worn t-shirt that hung off your shoulders.

That first mouthful was instant gratification and you nearly rolled your eyes back in delight.

“Baby, what are you doing up this late?” You were startled by Terry’s voice, the tone more gruff from the interruption of his slumber.

You were caught red-handed, spoon in mouth, so you shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted something sweet.”

He hummed. Terry made his way closer, no longer a distorted shadow in your peripheral vision. He had come to bed in only his sweatpants and socks.

Terry had a glow about him, even in the dim of your surroundings. He slipped comfortably in your personal space, stepping right between your legs. You relished in the warmth.

You had to look up even with the extra height the counter gave you.

“Sorry to wake you. I know you have to go for your run in the morning,” you said.

Terry gave you a lazy smile and shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. Everythin’ okay?” You nod wordlessly.

“Hey!” You protested when he nabbed the pint from you, his hands quicker than your reflex to reach for it back. It was a battle you would more than likely lose anyway.

He successfully hushed you by taking a scoop from the container to raise to your lips.

“Open.”

You held his gaze as you took what was given, inciting a groan that rumbled low in his chest.

Terry obliged you once more and made notice of your tongue swiping to the corner of your mouth to catch what you missed. His own hunger dwelled in his underbelly. Between your job returning to the office and his growing trucking business, you haven’t made much time for intimacy as of late.

“I think I’m in the mood for somethin’ sweet too.” The spoon and tub clattered by your side and he disappeared from your view.

“Terry--”

“Open,” he demanded once more, kneeling toward your feet, causing fire to crawl up the back of your neck. He did not take kindly to being ignored, and you wanted this to be an easy night, so you let your legs spread apart.

He tossed one behind his shoulder, mumbling something inaudible to you. A kiss to your ankle, the inside of your knee, then your thigh.

A yelp pierced the air when Terry’s large hands claimed the curve of your hips, tugging you closer to the counter’s edge. Your clammy palms braced themselves on the flat surface beneath you. You could feel his smirk and goatee rubbing on your exposed skin.

Your breath quickened with the anticipation of what was next. His mouth ghosted over your center, blowing on your clit through your dampening panties.

“Oh, fuck,” you shuddered.

He was a merciless man, dropping open-mouthed kisses to your clothed center. He retreated as you tried to furl into his touch, reaching underneath your shirt to roll your nipple for more stimulation.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Terry inhaled your scent without shame. Finally, the cotton of your undies was torn from your pelvis to who-knows-where. You felt the coolness of the air over your exposed skin for a brief moment, the absence of touch not lasting long.

You jerked, feeling his tongue swipe a slow strip up from your wet entrance, gathering your slick. He lewdly spat it back over your clit and sucked until you cried out. Terry ate you without abandon, with little regard for any manners, overtaken by his own greed. --

“I missed how you taste, baby.” Voice muffled in between your legs, his eyes flitted up at you, earnest as always. Terry’s grip maintained the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread so he could continue to steal all breath and sense from you.

“Oh my God,” you moaned. Your brain and your body sounded an alarm, reeling with the increasing need for release. His name fell like a chant from your mouth.

Two fingers pushing into you caused the band to snap, Terry immediately seeking the button that left you gushing. He was unaffected when your heel dug deep at his shoulder, urging his face further in your pussy as if it was possible. His fingertips sped in pace, turning your mewls into high-pitched squeals.

Soon enough, your back bowed with the intensity of your orgasm. He tightened his hold, keeping you steady as the current flowed through you. “That’s my girl,” he kissed and licked you through it. Pleasure never reached a precipice when you were under his care, and you shouted to the heavens.

When your legs eventually deflated, your hands found his ears, rubbing behind them gingerly. A grunt slipped from his mouth.

Terry staggered to his feet, hooded eyes glazed over your heaving body. His teeth nipped between your breasts over your shirt, up to your collarbone and your neck. You hooked a leg around his waist, pulling him in to feel his erection prod at your inner thigh.

Instinctively, he rutted up against you and you sighed. You were warm all over, sheeted with sweat and clenching around nothing, wanting only to be full of him.

His lips left your jawline and found your mouth, luring you into a mind-numbing kiss. You cradled Terry’s face in your hands and took control, allowing your tongue to slot against his. It felt all the more indulgent, the lingering taste of chocolate on your lips mixed with your own arousal.

He was still rubbing on your leg and it only intensified your need for connection. Like a minx, you curled into him, purring in his ear. “Terry, I need you. Please.”

Your hands lowered to explore the solid planes of his body, all of its beautiful ridges and scars. He leant down so his forehead was touching yours. “Fuck, I need you too, baby. Been losing my damn mind about you,” he breathed.

Terry yanked at the waistband on his joggers and his dick sprung free. You two didn’t usually forgo protection but your cycle was around the corner, and desperation made your judgment very foggy.

His fingers splayed under your shirt to grasp at your plush waist, thumbing the folds of your belly from where you sat. Terry pushed his way inside, coating himself to about half of his length. You sighed into his hold, legs locked at his torso, trying, and failing to meet him in the middle.

Without much effort, he stilled your movements. Terry pulled out slowly, and slapped himself over your clit twice, leaving you to squirm pitifully. “Stop teasing and just fuck me, already,” you whined.

Terry did as told and burrowed into you in one, deep thrust. You ate your words in a choked gasp. His head cocked back as he felt your walls squeezing him, putting the cords of his neck on full display.

Tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, you tried desperately to hold on to the thread of resolve you had left. Terry trampled on it when he set a brutal pace, drilling in you like you owed him something. Your ears were ringing with your own moans and the sounds of skin slapping against each other. It all felt like too much, far too soon.

You pressed a hand to his chest feebly and whimpered. Promptly, he grabbed your trembling forearm and kissed the inside of your wrist. “I’m fucking you like you wanted, huh? Why you tryna run from me?”

“It’s t-too, m-much,” your words were slurring and you frowned through the pleasure, hoping he’d give you relief from his punishing strokes. That all too familiar storm brewed in your belly again and you couldn’t stifle any noise that left your lips. Each thrust brushed against that sensitive spot within you, and you try your might to stave off your climax.

His stare was focused on you, utterly enamored by your carnal state. “Terry!” You wailed, slapping the countertop behind you and shifting to scoot away. The crack of his hand on the side of your ass rang loud and welled your eyes with fresh, salty tears. Terry landed a sweltering kiss on your lips to pacify you.

He gripped you by the coils at the nape of your neck, and you blinked at him, huffing out shattered breaths. You wanted to ask him why he was fucking you like this, and what did you ever do to deserve it. But your brain could only compute expletives. You clenched and unclenched around him greedily, and his teeth clashed at the sensation.

“Stop holding back, I can feel it. Let that shit go.” And under his spell, you did, surmounting to a shaking ball in his arms. Your toes curled at his sides and his rhythm didn’t falter, his own release not far behind. You keeled with overstimulation, the air feeling sticky on your skin.

Terry’s hands abandoned your waist to cup your ass, bouncing you on his dick in hardy, final thrusts. You bite down his shoulder so you don’t scream loud enough to wake the entire neighborhood. His head is buried in the crook of your neck now, sweat dripping on your collar.

“‘Gonna make me cum all in this tight pussy, fuckk,” he groaned, ropes of his release starting to spurt inside of you. Your body was taut around him as his hips slowed to a halt. You were filled to the brim.

“My pretty baby did so good. So perfect for me,” Terry was panting like he just finished a mile-run, and still chose to sing your praises. He softened and pulled out, a part of you now missing. You sat there for a beat to catch your breaths, limbs still tangled together.

“Mm..’can’t stop shaking,” you whispered.

His actions had left you exhausted, drowsiness coated in every blink of your eyes. Terry separated from you for a second and he had his pants back on, scooping you up in his arms. You latched onto him like a bear, nuzzling into his chest.

If it was up to you, you’d pass out right there and crawl to bed in the morning. Something squished against his foot on his trudge out of the kitchen.

“Shit, my socks are wet…what is that?”

Ice cream.

Author’s Note: Just wanted to drop my contribution to the Terry Richmond industrial complex.

P.S. This was supposed to be Trainer!Terry but my hormone monster won.

As always if you made it to the end, thank you bunches!

#chantal writes #terry richmond x reader #rebel ridge fanfiction #aaron pierre #terry richmond

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