#dwarf loop

[personinthepalace]

Prince Merlin's solo fight scenes - Red Shoes and the Seven Dwarfs

(the youtube link is sadly blocked in the UK and Ireland :/)

[anonymocha]

sharing leftover energy bars with the doctor’s dogs

this ost on loop btw

[a-literal-toaster-wtf]

i don’t think the red dwarf fandom talks enough about how jarring it would’ve been to suddenly be “alive” again after being hit in the face with a massive radiation leak and dying nearly immediately. liek boom hi you’re alive again and your sole purpose is to keep your roommate sane good luck ! i would simply pass away (squared)

[freshmangojuice]

The fact that in Dear Dave, Lister says "If [Hayley Summers] had my kids..." implying an assumption that she would have twins. And accounting for Jim and Bexley being twins. AND how in BTE the figures representing Lister and Kochanski as a family have two kids...

Do we think Lister has a predisposition to father twins?

Y'all what if Lister himself was a twin, but two babies weren't viable in the artificial incubation system they had on Starbug?

AND what if THIS GUY from Inquisition...

... Is the twin that wasn't born???

[beej-machinations]

[hobe-bryant]

I think it couldd be really funny and cool to do a d&d or other tabletop game where everyone's characters get gender swapped immediately right at the beginning, but I also don't think you could possibly ever do it without getting cooked by your group over it being a fetish thing

[loop-lover-central]

Well of course! as a little treaty treat!

Still thinking about my interpretation of Siffrin's pallet

Warm little beast.

To me.

[celestialclock]

Spoilers for all of In Stars and Time

Black Hole Fantasy is such a Loop song:

"The months blur together

I watch the ceiling buckle, I wonder when it's caving in

There's a black hole in the living-room floor

I keep standing on the edge and looking in

And on the other side is another life

A version of me with a spark in her eyes

That I don't have

And now she's laughing

And it's killing me that I cannot see

What's making her laugh from where I'm standing

And I have to know

So, I'm going in

I'm going in

Let's try this again"

And considering that black holes are what happens to (high mass) stars that essentially use all their fuel and "die"...

[a-literal-toaster-wtf]

??????? AND WHO WAS GONNA TELL ME ABT THIS.

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[deviltownresident]

thank you for the tag!!

tagging. oh idk. the people @silasintheprairie @thekittyburger @chickenwaffles17 @faithandmisery @weedle-testaburger @iiep-wop @mystrothedefender @optimisticrunawaygalaxy and anyonee else before my phone crahses

Tagged by @materassassino ty ty

Rules: without naming them, post a gif from ten of your favorite films, then tag ten people to do the same.

oug God I don't have ten favourite films hold on

:] @airlocksandaviaries @chiffchaffinch @silasintheprairie @theclownfromdowntown @thechaoticfanartist @springcatalyst @doublechocolate @24-guy @transmascsnearyou @funkyphonophorae @deviltownresident @omittheanomalie @its-kinda-snowy @justanothercatastrophe :]

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Doing Time 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, threats, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: you try to keep your brother safe in jail but put yourself in danger along the way.

Characters: con/ex-con!Steve Rogers

Note: Happy Tuesday🐵.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Marta still insists she isn’t responsible for ordering the toner...” you shrug and sigh. You shake your head at the petty office argument. 

Before you can laugh, the guard calls time up. You blink, brought back to the present. Your account of the printer tirade seems even more silly now. 

Your eyes come into focus and you find Steve’s entirely on you. He might not admit it, but you suspect he is lonely. In some way. He’s all but confirmed that he doesn’t get any other visitors. It makes you think of Vaughn. How he must look forward to those days. They might not be the same but they both drew the same lot. 

You go to get up as the guard signals with a tap on his watch. 

“Wait,” he pulls away defiantly, keeping hold of the receiver. You keep yours by your ear. “Will you come back, sweetheart?” 

Your lips part. You’re surprised by the question. The man knows how to keep people off-balance. “What?” 

“You already gotta come all the way here for your brother so why not? I mean, if you really wanna thank me for saving his neck. I’m sure he’ll find a dozen other ways to get himself in a bind,” he shrugs. 

“Rogers,” the guard warns. 

You weigh the hint of a threat in his tone. You don’t think he’s serious but he’ll never say aloud the truth. He’s all by himself in there, even if he moves the rest of them like chess pieces. The urgency of the guard makes you sputter. 

“Sure, uh okay, I’ll try,” you say. 

“Alright,” he surrenders, a glimmer of disappointment, as if he expected more. “See ya next time, then.” 

He hangs up and the guard unhooks his cuffs from the loop. He stands, dwarfing his keeper easily, and follows him away. You’re grateful for the barrier for the first time. 

You get up and you’re led out yourself. What did you just do? You don’t have to see him again. Now you do. You made a promise and a man like that won’t take kindly to breaking it. Shoot. Why did you do this? He’s a criminal and you still have no idea what kind. 

Your heart clenches as you get to the counter and fill out your form. 

“If you really wanna thank me...” his words echo. 

You ask for another form. You don’t want to take the chance that you made things worse for Vaughn. The novelty will wear off. He’ll lose interest and hopefully, he also forgets about your brother. 

You sign the forms and pass them over. It’s a different guard. They don’t react as they read it over. They merely dismiss you as the pit deepens in your stomach. 

⛓️‍💥

You don’t tell Vaughn. If you do, he might be mad. Not just at you, but Steve. If he lashes out at someone like that, you might never see him again. That��s your worst fear. 

The thing about your brother is he might know exactly how things go, what to expect, but it doesn’t keep him from messing up. Even if Steve is watching him back, it wouldn’t stop him from feeling slighted and turning around and breaking his own spine.  

You can only imagine his reaction to your chatting with his fellow inmates. Vaughn only listens to what fits his own narrative. He wouldn’t hear you out, he’d just go off and get himself hurt. 

You attend your usual sibling commiseration. He’s looking better. You’re mostly quiet. You wait for any mention of Steve. Dread it even. He only tells you how the other guys are scared of him. You’re not so sure it’s him making them stay away. 

You say your usual good byes and love yous and you stay put. You wait. Steve appears sooner than the last time. He takes his seat and lifts the receiver. He’s just as stony as before. 

The glimmer in his eye has you reaching for the phone on your side. You gulp. You don’t know anything about him. Only the one thing that should’ve kept you away. He’s a criminal. 

“Hey,” you eke out. 

“Sweetheart,” he greets evenly. 

“It’s... your turn." You state shakily. He lifts a brow and he chuckles. You clear your throat. “I told you about me, now I wanna know about you.” 

“Oh?” He tweaks his head. 

“Look, I’m not going to keep talking to you if--” 

“You’re threatening me?” He challenges. 

“N-no, I just--” 

He laughs again, “oh, sweetheart, you’ve been thinking a lot about this, haven’t you? You miss me already?” 

You frown, “don’t call me that. I didn’t come to be laughed at.” 

“Uh huh, so why did you come?” 

You don’t know how to answer. He knows. He wants to hear you say it. 

“We both know why. That brother of yours is reckless. I can barely keep him on a leash.” He looks you up and down, “does he know you’re here, huh? I don’t think so. Think if he did, he’s be at my cell door getting his neck broke.” 

“Hey, don’t--” 

“No, you don’t, sweetheart. Don’t tell me what to do. And calm down.” He waves away your distress. He glances over towards the guard then back to you. “You’re funny when you get all worked up but don’t go ruining this. For baby brother’s sake and yours.” 

“Please, don’t hurt him,” you murmur softly. “Please.” 

He snickers and rests a hand on the desk, the other on the receiver. He pushes and leans back, his chest puffing out. “Fine, what do you wanna know? I have mess at eight with all the other bums in here and I do about two hundred pushups after dinner.” 

You rub your lips together. His gaze follows the movement. “How long have you been here?” You stare at him, gripping the phone for courage. 

He rolls his tongue against the inside of his lip and shifts the receiver in his hand. He crosses his other arm over his chest, gripping his large bicep. 

“Six years.” 

“How long do you have left?” You follow-up quickly. 

“Ah, is that it? You’re anxious to get rid of all this,” he eyes the glass. “That’s sweet--” 

“I just want to know,” you blurt out. Six years isn’t too much but fifteen or more says it all. 

“A long time. The rest of my life unless the board has a change of heart.” 

You watch him, waiting. For a crack, for a tell. He didn’t flinch at all as he tells you he’s stuck there forever. Whatever he did must be bad. 

“For what?” You breath, running your fingers up and down your throat. He watches the nervous gesture before he meets your eye.  

He prickles and sets his shoulders, “You really wanna know? You gotta do something for me first.” 

You blink, “just tell me.” 

“No, that’s not how it works. You do me a favour and I’ll tell you,” he retorts. 

“What? What could I possibly do for you?” 

“You add your number to my roll on your way out.” 

“My... number?” You echo. 

“Lot of time between visits. I get antsy. When I get antsy, I do stupid things. Start fights... so?” He leans forward. He knows he’s won. 

“Fine, you tell me and I’ll do it.” 

“Deal,” he points at you, his elbow on the table. “And don’t test me. I don’t like people who go back on their word. Not even sweet things like you.” 

“I said yes,” you sniff. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he smirks. “But what they say I did...” he shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “murder. Court’s a joke, you know? Lawyers only steal your money. They’ll make more on the appeal. So they let me go down when the other guys say I killed my wife. The interviews for TV pay them better.” He snorts. “Far be it from me to go against the verdict. Especially in here. Better to let people thing I’m a stone-cold killer.” 

You chew on the answer, mulling it with his expression. You can’t tell if he’s lying. Does it matter? He’s still in this place and according to Vaughn, dangerous regardless. If he wasn’t before, he is now. 

“You believe me?” He asks. You don’t answer. “Ah, don’t worry about it. Doesn’t matter either way. We got lots of time for you to figure it out.” 

A frown tugs at your lips, “yeah...” you rub your neck and once more he stares at the movement of your hand. He’s so stoic, you can’t read whether he’s bored or annoyed. 

“I’ve banked lots of phone time,” he swirls his fingers on the desk. “I look forward to our little chats. Be a nice after dinner treat, won’t it?” 

You bit down and twist the phone cord, “why do you want to talk to me?” 

“I’ve been in here six years with stinky men. A nice little bird like you singing to me, that’s something to wake up for. It'll make the time pass,” he says. “See, I’m being honest.” 

You nod and inhale slowly. You drag your hand off the desk and wipe your sweaty palm on your jeans. You’re too far in now. There’s not going back. 

⛓️‍💥

“...so this guy tells me it’s his turn at the bench but I just got on. He didn’t appreciate me testing his strength when I dropped the weight on his jaw,” Steve laughs as you chop celery, his voice crackling from the speaker of your phone. The prison lines are fuzzy at times. He stops and silence rises. You almost think the call cut off. “Why’re you so quiet, sweetheart?” 

“I’m just making dinner,” you answer. “Listening.” 

You don’t like his stories. They’re always violent and you can’t always tell when he’s telling the truth or just trying to scare you. Vaughn said he has other guys do his dirty work. 

“Oh? What are we having?” Steve asks. 

“Stuffed chicken breast with rice,” you reply as you pour the celery off the cutting board. 

“What’s wrong?” He intones. 

“Nothing,” you lie.” 

“What? You don’t seem impressed.” 

“Well, Steve, I’m not a very violent person. I guess I don’t see much to laugh at.” 

He scoffs, “I’m sorry, sweetheart, I was a bad boy.” 

“Steve,” you say. “I just... I don’t like to hear that stuff.” 

“Oh, you worried about me? I can take care of myself.” 

“It’s just not very nice,” you mutter. 

“Not nice? That’s how the yard works. I can’t help that. I don’t like it either but you gotta do that stuff. To survive.” He explains, “but Vaughn, well, we both know he’s no good with change. That’s why he needs someone like me--” 

“I asked you nicely not to mention him,” you say. “How much time do you have left?” 

“Couple minutes,” he drones. “Didn’t mean to get you worked up.” 

“I’m not worked up. I just... I worry.” 

“I know you do, sweetheart. Look, I’ve been here a while. Don’t you worry about me or the baby boy,” he drawls; you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

“Mm,” you hum. 

He mimics the noise, “you’re not amused? Sweetheart, tell me what you want to hear. How can I make you happy?” 

You cluck, “it’s just... I don’t like it... when you put on a front like that. I’m not an inmate. I... I’d rather you just be honest. I never liked men who can only talk about violence.” 

“Oh, and what kinda man do you like?” 

You look at the phone, “I don’t have a type. Not that it matters.” 

“I can be your type,” he purrs. 

You pause as you reach into the bag of bread. You’re taken aback by his statement. You shake your head. 

“Steve, I should get this in the oven.” 

“Right, time’s running out,” he exhales. “Well, good night sweetheart.” 

“Good night, Steve,” you say pointedly and reach to hang up with your knuckle. 

You sigh and tear up the bread. You can’t believe how far this has gone. He calls every night and you dread it every night. No matter what you do, he doesn’t let up. When you’re quiet, he makes you speak. When you’re curt, he makes you gentle. He demands it and you have no way to deny him. 

It’s hard at times to stomach. He can be patronizing when he wants to. When you don’t perform for him. He always mentions your brother at exactly the right time. To remind you of his power over you or to remind you of your own guilt for lying to your own family. 

Well, he has a whole life sentence ahead of him. He has to get bored eventually. Besides, Vaughn will be out in another two years on good behaviour. 

[lonleyhumanbeing]

Random Mechanisms moments I love:

I refuse to listen to DotM so this is incomplete, and terribly formatted.

"Wasn't it the aristocratic one with all the knives?" "Ah yes, the Marquis de AlltheKnives,"

Ashes has a lot of gold on board, 'for tax purposes'.

Jonny "I got a prescription of 1/2 an ounce of lead to be injected directly into the brain. AND IT WASN'T A PRESCRIPTION FOR ME!" *bang* d'Ville.

The first time we canonically meet Jonny he commits patricide, murder, and arson.

The card taps in One Eyed Jack scratch my brain so well.

The fact that Oedipus is called a motherfucker. Multiple times.

Guinevere's verse in Blood and Whisky being faster, because she is the fastest draw.

Seriously I’ve listened to the song 50+ times and I still get so happy thinking about the faster tempo.

“We’re not pure of heart but we’re sure of aim,”. These three I swear.

All the Suits turning up in pinstripes.

The entirety of Gunpowder Tim vs. the Moon Kaiser. It's getting its own post, and I have listened to it 27 times since 12/03. That's 270 minutes, or 4.5 hours.

The dwarf Dopey just being General Tuco DOPED up on drugs.

The Toy Solider.

The fact that, even for a moment, love won in the end of High Noon Over Camelot.

How creepy Holder of the Grail is.

The Riddle of the Sphinx’s answer is man. The riddle of the sphinx virus was also man, taking the life force for themselves.

10 caliber= X-caliber= Excalibur.

The sellguns on Fort Galfridian are the same as freelances in medieval times.

Baldur was killed by Missle Two.

“Any window with a hammer can be an emergency exit”

Tim and Brian during the tea party in Alice.

The entirety of Alice, actually. I feel like it’s a hidden gem.

Lost in the Cosmos :(

In Drunk Space Pirate, Jonny calling himself first mate is the best way to show his character growth.

Ivy died in a library fire. Her last name is Alexandria. As in the Library of Alexandria. Which burned down.

Marius “mom says hi” von Raum in the UDAD live version of Favored Son.

Orpheus being called a borderline child in UDAD live show, but in the fiction he’s like 27.

Jonny playing the drums in the UDAD live show during Sirens. Very flamboyantly/pissily

Actea and Lyssa. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it discussed but it is one of my favorites. The vocals are so so good. And the fact that Actea thought that they were both running from the Hunter, only for Lyssa to be the thing she should have been running from.

The bass line in Cinder’s Song? So good.

Once you start to notice Ivy’s music in the back you can’t stop listening. I feel like it really pulls everything together.

“Also he fought a bear…” in Hereward the Wake. Such a random line and I love it.

All of Odin’s vocals in TBI. They really said “just do whatever.” And I’m thinking specifically of Odin and Ragnarok 2.

Seriously have you tried hitting the high notes in Ragnarok 2? Impossible.

How the hell did Brian get his prophetic powers? Both as the Hanged Man Merlin and in the City.

All of the live whistling is so impressive.

I just realized that Ulysses has their own motif in UDAD. It’s the piano from My Name is No-one and also repeats in ‘Olympians’ and Torn Suits at least.

I know it’s been mentioned but Lost in the Cosmos’ melody in the background of ‘The Tower’ is such a good foreshadowing moment.

Prometheus was punished for giving the people of Ilium a FIREwall. It’s so good it loops around to being bad.

The church bells in Gunfight at Dolores Guard signifying that it’s noon.

In the DTTM records by of Hellfire Jonny pauses right before ‘flock’. To gain control of the crowd, like a preacher would.

The Mechanisms are hated in-universe. So much. You can’t tell me that Lyf was the first Inspector to have to talk to them. The others probably all quit.

[ervotica]

𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

request; Hello I was wondering if you could do a Liam Mairi x reader where involving the side-effects of having bonded mated dragons pair so they absolutely go feral with eachother while using the prompt "That's it, fuck, that's a good girl."

synopsis; you and liam discover the trouble with mated dragons when you wind up in his bed. hidden feelings threaten to come to light.

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; smut (18+ only), p in v, soft sex w feels

word count; 2.6k

Reaching out blindly until your hand snags against the soft fabric of Liam’s sleep shirt, you take a shuddering breath as a surge of arousal locks you on the spot, every muscle coiling tight when you press your forehead to the wall and tug him closer. His thighs are bare and they flex when he stumbles towards you, bracing himself by means of a hand either side of your head, corded biceps caging you in when a ragged pant rips through you and you grit your teeth.

“Easy,” he murmurs, though his voice is strained, the veins that wrap the lengths of his forearms like vines protruding from the creamy skin. You suppress a pathetic little noise that bubbles from the base of your throat, tipping your head back as Liam’s hand makes contact with the skin there. “Shh, shh.”

“Li-“ you whisper through gritted teeth. “I need you to tell me to go away. I can’t- can’t control myself.”

“No-“ he says, quickly – too quickly, desperation lining his every syllable. You’re all too familiar with the feeling, the panic that seeps into his voice at the prospect of you leaving in search of another man’s bed. He’s not too proud to beg you. “No. Stay, please.”

The thought of you leaving is near unbearable now he’s close enough to touch you — feel you. Close enough to smell the shampoo in the wisps of hair that fall around your flushed face, close enough that the scent of you cloys in his nostrils and throws all inhibitions out the window.

His body presses against yours and the contact sets every nerve ending you possess alight. You tremble when he glides steady fingers - much steadier than you’re feeling right now - over your half-bare shoulder where your t-shirt has slipped downward, coming to a halt over your skittering pulse. His head falls forward into the juncture of your neck.

“Fuck.” His voice is rasping, barely there in your ears as Deigh does something Áine particularly likes and a crusade of need slams through him.

You thread your fingers through the blond tresses that tickle at your skin, pointedly ignoring the obvious disparity of your bodies, how his dwarfs your own, the way it makes your head spin with the need to get closer, to claw your way into his skin and feel every inch of him.

“Liam,” you whine softly, arching into him as those thick arms twine around your waist, pulling your torso flush to his own. He squeezes you, hands slipping beneath the t-shirt you’re clad in, palming and groping at every bump and ridge, every hill and valley of flesh he can reach. He ventures lower; your fingers tense where they still lay in his soft hair, and when his palms flatten and tap firmly at the backs of your thighs, you know what he wants.

You oblige the clear instruction, pushing yourself up from the balls of your feet until you’re in Liam’s arms, legs looped around his waist and ankles crossed at the base of his spine. Your back hits the wall as he surges forward to nose at your jugular. His lips part, tongue flicking forward to lave at your balmy skin. As his head dips, trailing a hot, wet path of half moons in the wake of his lips, you shudder.

“I know, my girl. I know,” he coos, sympathetic. His words slur and jumble, each sound melting into the next as though he’s drunk from the feel - the taste - of you alone.

The pet name would be enough to have you melting with affection under usual circumstances— now, it’s enough to have you whining, craning your head to slant your lips hungrily over his own, uncaring if it’s messy or filthy or downright sinful. Your only mission is to feel him, to get closer, to roam every inch of him with your ravenous tongue and teeth and lips— greedy for his touch.

If anyone were to walk in they’d certainly blanch at the sight; you pinned against the wall closest to the door of Liam’s room, his eager fingers splayed over your ass as you breathe into each other’s mouths. You’re unconsciously grinding down into him in quick, fervent bursts, and he reciprocates the movement appreciatively, letting you slide down the cold wall until the thick length of him presses to your wet cunt— hindered only by the fabric of his boxers and the lace of your panties.

The material is almost translucent, soaked through with your arousal. Liam coos something sympathetic that you can’t quite decipher for the fog that clouds your every nerve ending, for the hand that slips between your bodies until his thumb is rubbing tight circles into your swollen clit through the ruined fabric. Tears burn at the backs of your eyes and you tremble round him, the pleasure everything you need and somehow nowhere near enough, all at once.

“Shh, shh,” he murmurs. “‘ve got you, angel. ‘S okay.”

You gasp wetly against his kiss-bitten lips, the only warning you give as you begin shuddering against him, your climax ripping through you before you even have time to think. Everything is so sensitive, every brush and graze of his skin against your own amplified tenfold— it’s too much but still, you greedily accept everything he’s willing to give you, teary eyes trained to his throat that works around a swallow as he watches you cum with heavy lidded eyes. Babbling around a sob, you part your lips from his in favour of sinking down into the juncture of his neck, your hot cheeks searing against the cooler skin that greets you like a soothing balm.

“That’s it, fuck, that’s a good girl.”

“Liam,” you hiccup, grabbing large fistfuls of his t-shirt, the flimsy material the only thing that separates you from miles of toned skin and muscle. That lopsided grin cracks across his face, a dimple cratering onto the centre of his cheek as his teeth flash in an amused smile; his chest heaves, even more so when you slip your hands underneath his tee to palm at bare skin.

Setting you down on shaking legs, his hand encircles one of your wrists and tugs, leading you until you’re perched at the edge of the bed. He turns, elbows flaring wide as he pulls at the neckline of his shirt and drags the material over his head in one fluid motion. The planes of his back are bared to you, each individual muscle rolling and moving with one another as though they’re cogs in a well oiled machine. You want your mouth on every inch of that skin– no corner, no crevice left untouched.

And then he’s on you, prowling with a predatory glint in those cerulean eyes as his pupils swallow the bright hue of his irises; all he sees is you– the way you shrink and tremble at the fervent way he surveys you.

A wide palm slips beneath your own tee and curls around your ribcage, frantically rising and falling with every laboured breath. He shucks the fabric upward to expose your soft breasts to the cool air of the room, and watches with rapt fascination as your nipples harden into peaks under his attention.

You shift until you’re propped up on your elbows to allow him space to discard the item of clothing, complying when he nudges you until you’re flat against the mattress, legs hooked over his hips. Your head turns, face burning at the wolfish way his eyes rake over you, a great contrast to the flattened hands that scrub sweeping lines over the tops of your thighs to soothe your nerves.

“Don’t hide from me, angel,” he murmurs, folding at the waist to smear a kiss against the curve of your jaw. His next words are a rumble against your skin that seep into your pores, into your very bones. “If it gets too much for you, all you have to do is tell me. And we’ll stop. Okay?”

His cadence is low and rasping, and the feel of the bridge of his nose pressed to your cheek sending a wave of affection through you that knocks the breath from your lungs. You nod.

“Words, sweet girl.”

“Okay,” you croak.

“Good girl.”

Your pussy aches with a sharp throb when he reaches down to press his thumb back to your swollen bundle of nerves; you whine, hips canting up into his touch unconsciously as he slips the wet material down your legs and discards them somewhere behind him.

He presses a kiss to your tummy, your knee, your ankle, and then pushes your legs up and back until they’re folded atop your chest. You gasp when his warm breath fans over your bare sex.

“Liam.”

“I know, angel,” he grunts. His voice patters out into breathless silence as you part your thighs, splaying a hand across his thrumming pulse to wrench him upwards and towards you. He doesn’t resist, putty in your hands. Absolutely, wholly yours.

“Please,” you whisper; his nose brushes yours. “Need you.”

He parts your lips with his own, slaking his hunger on you. He revels in every noise he pulls from your slick lips, every whine and gasp and plead for him to give you what you want. He swallows them all greedily and when - and only when - he’s decided you’ve begged him prettily enough, does he free his weeping cock and line up with your entrance.

He sinks in slowly, every thick inch of him splitting you wider than the previous. He’s thick, cock twitching against your cunt as the flushed head practically begs to be buried inside of you. The colour bleeds from your knuckles as you clutch his biceps, leaving crescent moon indents in the wake of your cruel touch; he hisses, and when he’s fully sheathed inside of you, he sweeps down again to press wet, ardent kisses to your face and neck. He hooks your legs up against his hips, pulling back to rock back into the tight clutch of your cunt with slow, rhythmic movements.

He hits every spot inside of you without trying, the spongy head of him rubbing continuously over a particular spot you haven’t discovered yet; it has you keening, sobbing out a broken moan against his balmy cheek as he coos gentle praises against the shell of your ear.

His entire focus is fixated on him desperately trying to not blow his load at the first feel of your cunt clasping him, breathing deeply through his nostrils as he props a forearm either side of your head.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he gasps, picking up his pace as your enthusiasm starts to peak, your shaking fingers tangling in the short hairs at the nape of his neck. Your body arches beneath him, head tipping back when a soft whine spills from your swollen lips.

The lewd sound of slapping skin and heavy breathing encases your senses, drives you further to that edge that you’ve been aching for since you entered the room.

He’s so beautiful like this it sets you alight with adoration— and arousal: blond hair mussed and falling over his eyes, face flushed as he dips down to brush his nose with your own, plush, pink lips parted into a gasp when you clench around him.

“‘M so close, Li,” you croak, tightening your fingers where they’re carding through his hair.

“I know, angel. I know.” Deft fingers slide between your bodies as he works over your clit rhythmically— sweeping movements that alternate between tight circles and up and down motions as he places pressure on that bundle of nerves.

A sweet, quiet little gasp spills from your lips, and Liam doesn’t miss the way you tense, clinging to him harder as you shatter.

He coaxes you through it, movements never slowing as you ride out your peak, whining against his lips when he swallows your sounds with his mouth.

He doesn’t stop until you’re squirming and writhing beneath him, kicking your legs feebly to push him away; he shudders at the movement, back bowing in the centre until he’s spilling into you with a groan. He braces himself with his head buried in the juncture of your neck, arms hooking around the base of your spine to hold you flush to him.

You both collapse in a haphazard mound of limbs and you roll onto your side to face Liam, his cheek still pressed to yours. He brushes the bridge of his nose along the length of your cheekbone, his smile imprinted into your skin as you hum and needle your way closer into his chest.

You don’t know what to say— neither does he. This silence is comfortable regardless, the gentle, lulling energy encasing the pair of you in this bubble.

He brushes a stray lock of hair from your sticky forehead, smearing a kiss along the crown of your skull. Your lashes flutter, body soft and lax against his own as you greedily seep up his warmth. You’re weightless, your head pleasantly blank when he pulls the blankets over you, pressing a final kiss to your cheek before he’s pushing himself out of the bed and to the bathroom.

There’s some shuffling and then emerges seconds later, clad in a clean pair of boxers and clutching a t-shirt for you to take. You’re still how he left you, laying on your side and dozing, cheek smushed against the back of your hand.

“C’mon, angel,” he murmurs, hooking an arm beneath your shoulder to hike you upright, handing you the tee; you rub at your heavy eyes with the backs of your fingers, swiping the fog away. He settles himself between your legs to clean you up, swiping a tissue between your thighs.

“You don’t have to do that, Li,” you croak. “‘M okay, I’ve got it.”

You make to loop your fingers around his wrist to halt his movements, but he only tuts and swats your hand away with a smile. Affection rises in your chest, hot and fast and blinding.

“I’ve got you, my girl.”

There’s that name again. My girl. You’re melting, sure you’re nothing but a pile of mush following those two little words; he surveys you with those cerulean eyes, laced with nothing less than adoration.

“Liam,” you whine, protesting.

“Oh, hush.” He presses a kiss to the curve of your kneecap before pushing the blankets back over your legs.

You pull the oversized tee he’s pushed into your hands over your head appreciatively, resisting the urge to bury your face into the fabric and inhale at the scent of him that cloys the room, that swirls around your face in tantalising tendrils.

You love him, you realise. The admission isn’t terrifying as you thought it would be, but rather a calm wave that washes over you and grants you a newfound clarity. You want this all the time with him. You want everything.

The bed dips as he returns to your side, an arm around your waist until you’re both propped against the headboard, your face resting in the dip of his collarbone. You feel his cheek pressed to the top of your head.

Your chest feels as though it might cave in at any moment, the sheer volume of love you hold for this boy too much for your body to hold onto. You brush your lips against his shoulder, blinking slowly in your haze. The rumble of his laugh carries right down to your bones.

“You’re beautiful,” you mumble, already half-asleep.

“You’re more beautiful,” he whispers back as though it’s a secret. Private words shared between the pair of you, for no one else to hear.

You’re asleep before you can respond, draped lazily over his torso. He shucks the blankets up until they’re covering you right up to your shoulders. Your nose scrunches unconsciously.

Fuck, he loves you.

[rainbowangel110]

I think my mutuals who have seen Vanessa's design will understand why I'm breathing heavily rn

What’s your next story about?? I keep seeing asks mentioning it but I can’t find a post where it’s first announced/mentioned

I’ve just posted some images on Instagram and twitter. But it’s basically about bird boys who are forced to fight giant monsters in the sky. Here’s some early designs of the main characters:

[robo-writing]

Cockwarming with the MK1 boys

Kuai Liang

Cockwarming? Never heard of it.

You have to explain it before the visual clicks in his head, and it’s only then you see him nod in agreement.

Surprisingly receptive to the idea, it doesn’t take him much convincing. He enjoys the idea of close intimacy.

When would you like to start?

“Now? If you say so, little bird.”

There’s a peace that blooms in him, despite the salacious position you’re in. Hands rubbing into your bare back, nose buried into your neck as he inhales your scent, the hitch in your breath as you adjust yourself on his length.

It would be relaxing, if the feeling of your pussy wasn’t currently driving him up a wall. Everything is heightened this way, every breath making you clench against him, every movement making him shudder in bliss, a repetitive loop of sensations that keep the both of you trapped in each other’s embrace.

You move, he follows. You whimper, and he tastes the sounds on his tongue. You stay like that until you fall asleep, where he wakes up and the first thing he feels is the warmth of your cunt.

Bi-Han

Confusion is painted on his face when you tell him your idea.

Eyebrows raised, he didn’t know you to be the type to be so forward, surprised at just how eager you were.

“Hm, seems simple enough.”

At first he didn’t understand the appeal—if you wanted to have sex he could easily hold you hostage to the bed.

But fine, he would indulge you.

As it turned out you are far more creative than he gives you credit for. He might enjoy this newfound position more than he thought.

Every time you squirm, it’s another slap to your ass. The sound rings loudly in your ears, the clash of skin only dwarfed by your whimpering.

“Bi-Han, please—“ you beg, arms wrapped around his neck, scared to move anymore in fear of your husband’s wrath. “Just a little bit, I need more—“

Another hand comes down on your backside. You jump in response, then shiver when Bi-Han’s cold hands soothe the aching flesh.

“You decided the rules darling, no moving.”

You almost want to argue, but the look in his eyes freezes you in place. You’re forced to obey, shaking with anticipation for the moment Bi-Han finds you ready and fucks you like you need.

Tomas

“You want to what?”

Poor Tomas, his face turns a shade of red you’ve never seen before. He has to ask you to repeat yourself to make sure he heard you correctly.

When you do he becomes even more flustered, but it does spark a certain…curiosity.

He’s open to anything when it comes to you, and he would be a liar if he said otherwise.

As sweet as Tomas can be, it’s like he’s a different person when you’re like this—possessive, greedy even. He holds you by your ass and refuses to let go, kissing at your face when you shudder at the feeling of his cock inside you.

So big, so fucking full.

“Is this what you had in mind?” He grunts, barely stopping his hips from forcing you to bounce on his length. You can see it in his eyes, the barely-held back urge to dig his fingers into your skin and fuck you like he wants to, it’s only your pleas that keep him complacent for the time being.

You see shades of the sweet man you’ve come to love, almost overshadowed by the lust that pools in his very being. He wants to cum so bad, but more than that he wants to be good for you.

Johnny Cage

“You’re not kidding right? Please tell me it isn’t April.”

He’s over the moon, he’s actually thought about it before but was worried you wouldn’t be up for it.

But hearing you ask for it? You’ve given him far too much freedom, and you might regret that in the future.

Safe to say that it becomes his new favorite pastime.

Johnny was the one who invited you over in the first place, something about “needing to focus on his newest script.” A very obvious lie, but you suppose that hindsight is 20/20, especially where your boyfriend is concerned.

Instead of focusing on memorizing his lines, he instead memorizes what makes you tick, what buttons he has to press before you’ve become a writhing mess in his arms, how far you fall on his cock before your legs start shaking.

“Can’t help it baby,” he says, rutting into you softly. “You’re just feel too damn good.”

You almost want to beg him to fuck you, but you know him better than anyone—if Johnny says he’s going to keep you on his lap, he means it. So even if he’s barely focused on the script in his hands, you can be sure as hell you’re going to be sat on his cock until he’s had his fun.

Kenshi Takahashi

He laughs a bit, entertained at the thought.

You, sat pretty in his lap? It makes his heart beat faster.

He asks if you know what you’re getting yourself into, asking him a question like that, but your excited nod is enough of an answer for him.

“Okay then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Kenshi feels the heat that spreads through your body, a benefit of losing his sight. He knows all your weak points, his heightened senses aware of every reaction you have to his touch.

He knows you better than you know yourself, even without sento he knows how desperate you are to move.

“This is what you wanted, right?”

He coos in your ear, tattooed hands rubbing circle against your shaking hips, a gentle squeeze reminding you to keep still. You nod in reply, but it doesn’t stop the soft noises leaving your lips.

Raiden

Turns into a shade of pink you didn’t know existed

Lost for words, it takes him a moment to register what you’ve said before responding

“Well, if you’re interested, I wouldn’t mind…”

Poor man, he doesn’t know how to express himself, but he is very on-board!

He tries his best, really he does, but how exactly is he supposed to stay still when you pulse around him so deliciously?

He knows he’s supposed to enjoy this, but being unable to move is driving him up a wall. You have to scold him like a child every time his hips try to move higher.

He stares at the ceiling, head tilted backwards in an attempt to calm down his racing heartbeat, afraid that even the sight of you will make him lose control. In, out, his breathing is labored, your voice doing nothing to quell his urges.

“Relax baby,” you say, running your fingers through his hair. “We still have the rest of the night.”

Kung Lao

You’ve never seen him smile that wide before.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

If you didn’t ask him, he would’ve. He’s just glad you saved him the effort.

The moment you two walk into the bedroom he’s pawing at your pants. He’s impatient, and can you blame him?

“Kung Lao, calm down!”

You try to plead with your boyfriend, but it goes in one ear and out the other. What was meant to be a relaxing past time is now a struggle to keep his wandering hands to himself.

“Come on, don’t you want me to touch you?” He teases. His lips find their way to your nipple, lapping at the pebbled nub while his fingers slide between the two of you.

“This wasn’t the plan,” you whine in response, unknowingly pressing yourself into his greedy fingers. “I wanted us to enjoy this…”

“And we will,” he promises, circling your clit with a twinkle in his eye. “Just want you to feel as good as possible baby.”

Liu Kang

He’s heard of the act before, but never really gave it any thought.

“You sound like you’ve thought about this often, darling.”

He can’t help but tease you a bit, but he’s completely in agreement.

When he has a moment of free time he invites you to sit on his lap, grinning when his fingers dance across your skin.

For a god, Liu Kang sure can be a tease.

In his private quarters he keeps you close to him, one of the rare moments where he has no obligations and can simply enjoy himself. You thought this would be a perfect time to act on your little suggestion, and he thought the same.

Where you erred however, is misjudging a god’s patience.

Two hours ago you eagerly stripped for your husband, and in those two hours you’ve been left teetering on the edge, every time you close your eyes for a moments peace Liu Kang finds it fit to let his fingers remind you of where you are.

A repetitive cycle with no end in sight.

Your clit throbs with an incessant need, but you’re unable to do anything except take what he gives.

Syzoth

Beg your pardon?

You literally see his pupils dilate at the thought

“Really? Are you sure?”

He has his own misgivings about the idea, still ashamed of his ancestry as a Zaterran. It took him a while to become intimate with you but this…

You assure him that this is something you want, and he eventually agrees.

You gently coax Syzoth onto the bed, making your hips flush with his. You can see the doubt begin to flood his mind, until you drag his hands from the bed and onto your body.

“There’s no rush baby,” you murmur, resting your head on his chest. “Let’s just stay like this, hm?”

You hear his heartbeat return to its natural rhythm, his hands slowly brushing against your spine. Tentative, testing the waters, as if you’d shatter if he held you too tight. As the minutes pass he becomes more comfortable with your position, the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

“I admit, there is something very peaceful about this…” he hums. You make a noise in agreement.