#if i get asked about them its like laser focus

[movedtodykedvonte]

What mega Minecraft theory?

Ok, so it's my theory that the player characters in Minecraft were the original humans that inadvertently caused their own extinction through a selfish desire to harness the arcane/mystic arts of the Minecraft world. I started making this theory before the mobeastiary came out and ever since I've just been expanding on it with the book's lore and each subsequent update to the game that seems to just support it more and more. Under the cut cause, oh boy is this long:

I believe that ancient humans discovered the existence of magic through villagers, clerics specifically, and became interested in using it themselves.

However, villagers were adamant not to, knowing how the misuse of magic could lead to dire consequences. Illagers and ravengers their prime examples. Still, humans were stubborn

through research they found out about other dimensions, starting with the nether. The nether was a hostile and inhabitable place that had valuable resources such as netherite, potion materials, and all the other reasons we regularly venture there.

Realizing that they were outmatched in sheer numbers and knowledge of the realm by piglins, the wither plague, and the general terrain, humans retreated, abandoning these fortresses and bastions indefinitely until they could create the means to conquer them.

This leads to my theory on creatures of the overworld. Creepers were man-made, designed specifically to blend in with their surroundings to sneak up on enemies before igniting, hence why their insides literally have like TNT in them.

They were dumb and didn't account if these things bred and became feral so... Thank them for these silent bombers.

Strongholds and what we find underground

Once they realized they could not control these creatures, the remaining humans began moving to the only safe place, underground. This is where strongholds first started. In hopes to combat the beasts they created, they began studying and exploring magic and potion arts even more, hence the libraries and materials found in them. Trial tests yielded successfully; potions of leaping or healing proof they could use this to possibly win back their world.

However, there were detractors, ones tired of their reliance on means that continued to doom them. efforts of sabotage yielded potions of harming and slowness, attempts to prove how easy yet another venture into mysticism could hurt them.

The detractors were proven correct when the unstable potions had unexpected effects. Early healing potions did in fact keep you going once wounded... even if mortally. The properties of these early tests led to what we know as zombies and skeletons, humans kept alive but rotting, mindless, and violent as their soul rots with their flesh.

This, along to contain criminals, is why there are prisons in strongholds

Due to how many people had these potions, it was inevitable that zombies and the undead would not overrun the place, people being turned through attacks or other causes, and the strongholds becoming tombs for those

In a ditch effort, they used their last option, the unknown dimension only known as the end. Ones that didn't want to risk it, fled deeper into the earth in hopes it'd be enough

Those that did neither continued to live in the world, creating mine systems to get around and survive until they too died out. Some even ventured back up tired of living in fear and determined to fix what they had done to themselves. Igloos with Z.Villagers were labs by those trying to rectify the past.

The End and Cities

those who went to the end were met with the fucking dragon of course. The reason this dimension was so unknown was that those who went never came back.

Very few people survived, those that did having used the fountain to escape, sealing it with magic that would only break when the dragon was slain. However, they were not sent home.

They were sent to the end islands, a deeper more secure but mostly barren level of the end. Having a source of food and the little resources they brought, they set up a way of life, hoping to figure out a way back, eventually...

Cities and sky fleets were made. One for stability and the other for exploration in hopes to find something in the vast nothing.

I believe they found shulks and phantoms... or what phantoms were in the end. I believe membranes fix elytras cause they were the wings of the phantoms in the end dimension before being cut off by desperate and selfish humans. Hence why they haunt players in the overworld.

Based on the bestiary, Endermen are oddly similar to players' own constructs, besides the obvious. My theory is spending too much time in any dimension warps you to meet that dimension's standards, the humans needing longer limbs to reach the strange fruit of the trees, bigger and tougher jaws to crack the shell, and even taking on priorities of the fruit itself (warping to other islands)

Effectively, it was a rapid evolution, one that saw many of these altered humans forfeiting their old ways of life and abandoning the cities and sky fleets they had made, and returning to the main end zone.

Strangely, the dragon was docile to them and they began to coexist, those that missed their home and had not seen the overworld for years used their new abilities to return home, collecting pieces of their old world in a sad way to feel at home

Ancient Cities, the Warden, and the portal

Those that went deeper just repeated what they did with the strongholds but better, creating entire structures and ecosystems to mimic their old lives and trying to learn from past mistakes.

Still, hubris continued to plague them. They too heard of another unexplored or really known dimension. One that alluded to something great and powerful that they hoped

When they built and activated the portal what they got was the skulk. Too fearful of what the portal yielded no one ever actually went in, simply keeping it open to let more of the odd substance in. Curiosity killed the cat

At first, they just explored its properties, it worked much like the mycelium on the mushroom islands but was more... fleshy... sturdy, and practically indestructible. They believed it could be used to reinforce their defenses in case anything attacked. In believing this they covered the area with it.

No one knew what to do when sensors or shriekers appeared, or when the odd substance made people sick or when their deaths from the mysterious illness made the substance grow, feeding off the life of those it claimed.

No one knew what to do when the Warden showed up, a creature seemingly made of the lost souls and rotting bodies of their lost, held together by the skulk. The Warden seemingly full of the hate of those brought back, was vengeful in a way no one could have prepared for

As long as the portal was open the warden didn't despawn, hunting down and killing the leftover humans in mass until precautions to avoid it were taken. They discovered it was blind, relied on all other senses, and used wool to navigate around it

Still, they were dropping until only one was left. They didn't last long either but they did close the portal, stopping the spread and allowing the warden to dispel with time, nothing to feed on. They also destroyed any documents on how to activate the portal to ensure the beast would never be able to reign free again. (This is the collective story I pieced together with discs 5, 11, and 13)

Other Stuff

Our player is simply a human who either has amnesia or escaped the horrors and is simply trying to survive in t world that it now knows will show no mercy to it

Spiders are that big cause I believe humans did something trying to create mega flora and fauna to expedite/enhance farming and backfired immensely with these bugs.

This also explains why guardians are like that as they are a horrid mix of every underwater mob with none of their benefits.

It is unknown if anyone did really make it into the portal in the ancient cities as there was no way they were coming back with the warden about. Then the portal was closed

This doesn't fit anywhere but endermen get mad when stared at cause they envy the innocence in the eyes of those who did not share their fate. Also, their hearts are the pearls, calcified by the effects of the fruit and years in the end realm.

If there's anything else that's not clear or needs explaining please tell me! I have so many aspects explained in journals and docs over the years and I'd hate to have something be confusing cause I was excited to share!

[hotyanderedaddies]

Trying to Ignore a Yandere Demon Who Wants to Claim You

[Yandere! Demon x GN! Anxious Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

"Whatever you do, do not-- I repeat: DO NOT acknowledge the demon in any manner. If you do, then he can latch onto you and take you."

The words of the psychic you'd contacted for help kept filtering through your head as you stared blankly forward, forcing your eyes to laser focus in on the bright colors of the TV. The volume was on full blast as you attempted to drown out the sounds of him.

"Darling," that eerie, deep voice echoed out. Its user was so close that could feel its hot breath wafting over your cheek, but you refused to give the slightest indication that you'd heard it.

"If a love demon decides that it wants you, then it'll follow you around nonstop like a lovesick puppy. It'll do anything to get you to notice it..."

The demon playfully ran one of his fingers through your hair, his skin hot to the touch. He completely dwarfed you, looking like he outweighed you by fifty pounds of pure muscle and was taller by at least two feet. His demonic proportions made him look hulking and menacing, yet whenever he looked at you, his mouth pulled into a large smile.... full of razor sharp teeth.

"Will you look at me, Darling?" he asked, sticking out his lower lip mockingly. "I love you. I only want to talk to my darling."

"Don't look at it. Don't listen to it. Don't react to its movements. The slightest indication that you're aware of its presence is a sign the demon takes that you've agreed to be theirs..."

The demon huffed, irritated. He stomped his way in front of the TV and glared at you with his glowing eyes. "I know you see me," he accused.

You refused to stop glancing forward, pretending that you could still see whatever show you were trying to watch.

The demon tore his shirt away from his body, showing off his impressive chest muscles. He held his arms out, as if to show off to you. "Check it out, Darling," he announced, "I'm bigger than most of the other love demons. So I can protect you and take very good care of you."

He slowly approached the couch.

"Because a love demon makes its presence known to only one person: their darling."

"I love you so much, Darling," the demon cooed, placing both of his hands on either side of your face.

You winced internally and tried your best to look deadpan, avoiding the demon's glare with all of your might.

You refused to break, because if you did, then you'd belong to a demon for all eternity.

But damn it, he was persistent.

Ever since he'd made his presence known to you last week, the demon followed you around everywhere you went, trying to get you to acknowledge him:

He'd cause a ruckus in class, throwing textbooks and chairs around, leading to the other students thinking that you were out of your mind and throwing them yourself.

He'd follow you into the shower and jerk off as you bathed, talking about how he couldn't wait to touch you himself.

He'd sing soft lullabies to you as you tried to sleep. And he would frequently get under the covers with you too, snuggling you from behind.

He'd follow you whenever you went grocery shopping, threatening to push one of the elderly shoppers in front of one of the moving vehicles in the parking lot. But you couldn't warn the other person unless you wanted to be taken by a demon. RIP.

He'd even gone so far as to set your dinner on the stove on fire, and you had to mutter loudly that you'd foolishly forgotten to turn the gas off.

He was growing impatient.

"Darling," the demon growled, baring his large teeth at you, "all you have to do is notice me, and I promise that you'll be all mine. All mine, and no one else's. Doesn't my sweet baby want that?"

He bit down on his lower lip for a second before perking up.

Before you could guess what was going on in his mischievous head, the demon pressed his warm lips against yours. They were soft to the touch and warm thanks to his high body heat.

It felt good at first, until he playfully bit down on your lower lip--

With a loud gasp, you jerked back and made eye contact with the demon out of shock. Oh shit...

"Finally!" the love demon laughed as your heart fell to the floor.

He lunged forward and wrapped both of his arms around you, yanking you deep into his embrace as if he were a cage. The temperature seemed to rise rapidly in the tiny living room as the demon began to transport you to wherever he dwelled, and to wherever you knew he'd never let you leave.

"W-wait!" you tried to beg.

"It's too late for that, Darling," the love demon laughed. "You're mine and I'm going to enjoy my prize all night long. I love you, Darling, thank you so much for accepting me."

"If you acknowledge the love demon, they'll take you away to be theirs forever, with no hope of ever escaping them or their crazed love..."

[hbdttg]

Part 1 / tag list below the cut

“I’m quitting,” Eddie declares, “I’m out. Call me a tree, ‘cause I’m leaving. Call me a banana, ‘cause I’m splitting. T-t-t-t-that’s all, folks!” he adds, doing his best impression of Porky Pig’s signature stammering.

Chrissy’s laser focus doesn’t stray from her monitor, even when Eddie bodily throws himself into the chair across her desk with a long, strangled groan. Wordlessly, she raises her left index finger at him in a silencing gesture. With her brows furrowed in concentration, she drags her mouse around on its pad and double-clicks something on her screen before nodding decisively to herself. After another few clicks, she finally lowers her finger, raises her eyes, and meets Eddie’s gaze.

“Would you mind grabbing what I just printed? Please?” she asks, smiling at him imploringly.

Chrissy could ask Eddie to bleach his hair and shave off an eyebrow and he’d do it. She’s actually who he has to thank for landing such a cushy job with HHH—a referral from a trusted associate like her goes a long way in a place like this.

And despite Eddie’s many complaints about becoming a corporate sellout, he can’t deny that it certainly has its perks. The office is only a ten-minute commute from his apartment, the compensation agreement he signed amounted to more money than his last two jobs combined, his benefits package is frankly ridiculous, and he gets to work with one of his best friends in the world. Overall, not a bad gig.

Even so, he makes a show of sighing, loud and longsuffering, before doing as Chrissy asks, leaving her office to grab her job off the printer. Eddie knows she works in HR and some of her stuff can get pretty confidential, so he doesn’t even try to skim the contents of the page as he walks it back over to her.

“Here,” he says, thrusting the paper at Chrissy facedown.

“Thanks!” she says. She makes no moves to take it from him. “That’s for you, actually.”

Curious, Eddie takes the paper back and flips it over. In the center of the page is a graphic of safety sign one might find in a cartoon factory, though Chrissy had edited the original from “[___] Days Since Last Accident” to “[___] Days Since Eddie Last Threatened to Quit His Job”. There’s a big red zero in the counter box.

Eddie tries to glower down at Chrissy, but it’s sort of hard to maintain when she bursts into laughter. It’s been years, but the sound of Chrissy laughing like this, all bright and breathless and unrestrained, never fails to transport him back to his (third) senior year of high school, when they first became friends over a failed drug deal.

“Don’t be cute,” Eddie says with a laughable lack of authority, dropping heavily back down into the chair.

“Do you know who you’re talking to?” Chrissy counters, brow raised archly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, crumpling the page into a ball and lobbing it in between them.

Chrissy lets the ball land harmlessly on her desk before sweeping it into the trashcan by her feet.  “Just so you know, I’ve had that saved on my desktop since Monday—and I haven’t had to edit the days count a single time.”

Eddie scoffs, but it’s hard to defend himself when this current visit marks the fifth day in a row he’s floundered into her office, vainly announcing his resignation. “Yeah, well,” he says weakly, “printing it seems like a gross misuse of company resources.”

“What are you going to do, report me?” Chrissy says with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

“Let me guess: you’re the one who receives those reports?” Eddie says dryly.

“Yep!” she says cheerfully. “Now, go on and tell me about your latest trainwreck of an interaction with Steve Harrington.”

“Christ, Chris!” Eddie hisses, leaping to his feet and immediately spinning around to check if anyone was around to hear her damning words. The coast is clear, luckily, but he still scrambles to shut her office door before falling back into his chair. “You can’t just go around saying his name all willy-nilly.”

“He’s not gonna suddenly appear if you say his name three times, Eddie. See, watch. Steve. Steve. St—”

“Don’t risk it!” Eddie squawks loudly, cutting her off.

“You’re an absolute mess,” she says through a laugh, shaking her head at him.

And well, Chrissy’s not wrong.

Eddie’s been a mess since Monday morning, when he unknowingly produced, directed, and starred in The Roast of Steve Harrington. He blames his shitty memory for forgetting what floor his new office was on—if he’d known he was sharing the elevator with someone he could have potentially worked with (let alone someone whose surname made up a third of the company name), he wouldn’t have opened his big, fat mouth in the first place.

When he finally gathered the courage to make it back down to the fifty-second floor and show his face at the HHH office, he kicked off his onboarding with Chrissy with a strangled, “I know it’s my first day and I technically just started ten minutes ago, but I quit. Thank you for the opportunity and good-bye forever.”

Chrissy, the traitor, spent a full five minutes laughing in his face over his shamefully recounted story before patting him twice on the head and informing him he wasn’t allowed to quit for at least six months. The overly saccharine tone of her voice alone told Eddie there was no room for argument there.

Still, that didn’t stop him from following her into her office after the all-hands meeting on Tuesday, all the while whining in her ear, “I can’t thrive in these conditions, Chrissy. Please, I beg of you—accept my sincere and humble resignation from this cursed hellscape.”

‘These conditions’ consisted of any rooms and/or conversations that contained Steve Harrington. Eddie hadn’t been expecting to see the guy doting over the catering when he walked into the conference room that afternoon, and he certainly wasn’t expecting his supervisor and trainer, Murray, to lead him over to Steve to introduce the two of them (though that was likely just an excuse to head straight for the sandwiches that were laid out for the meeting).

While Eddie choked on his own tongue trying to spit out some generic, inoffensive greeting, Steve merely watched him with an amused smirk before thrusting his hand out and offering a perfectly friendly “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie, I’m Steve”, as if Eddie didn’t have Steve’s name and face (and stupidly fit body—who the fuck looks that good in a pair of khakis?!) burnt into his memory from the day prior.

Afterward, Murray, who most assuredly did not have a filter of any kind, bluntly commented on Eddie’s awkwardness, then spent the next five minutes trying to determine if it was normal, strangers-meeting-for-the-first time awkwardness, or something more sensational. Eddie stubbornly kept his mouth shut until the meeting started.

Wednesday followed a similar pattern, with Eddie flouncing into Chrissy’s office with a dramatic “I choose to break my blood oath. At this point I’d welcome the sweet release of death if it meant I didn’t have to work here anymore.”

Chrissy just corrected him, patiently explaining that he was employed at-will, rather than by blood oath, and that if he left before his sixth month, she’d personally skin him alive. Eddie had to pause and weigh the pros and cons of being skinless. Surely it couldn’t be worse than his latest exchange with Steve—via email this time, mercifully.

He’d just learned how to field helpdesk tickets and received one from Steve Harrington himself. It was a simple enough software request ticket, so he assigned it to himself and replied with next steps, asking Steve for a code so he could remote into his computer and install the program.

Steve replied back, asking where he was supposed to find the code. It was an innocuous enough question, but then Eddie noticed something a little off about his email signature: his last name was bolded.

Eddie ignored it, assuming it was a stylistic choice—nothing to read into, surely—but then Steve sent another email shortly after to let him know to disregard his last email; he’d found the right app and was just waiting for it to generate a code. This time, Harrington was bolded and at least two sizes bigger than his first name.

Then, in Steve’s third email, sent not a minute later with the requested code, Harrington was bolded, two sizes bigger than his first name, and highlighted yellow—a tactic Chrissy found so hilarious that she had to shoo Eddie out of her office with tears in her eyes so that she could compose herself and actually get some work done.

Thursday was a blessed reprieve from Steve’s unique brand of psychological warfare, but Eddie still somehow managed to royally humiliate himself in front of him. After he slunk into her office and silently pushed a scribbled-on napkin across her desk—

Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from my position as Systems Analyst II at HHH, effective immediately. Effective yesterday. In fact, I’ll pay you back the entirety of my wages earned if we just forget I ever worked here.

—Chrissy tutted at him sympathetically before taking the napkin and reaching over to dab it at the large wet stain on his shirt.

He’d been walking back to his desk from the breakroom when he rounded a corner and bumped into Steve in the hallway. Literally bumped into, bodily contact and surprised yelps and everything. And it probably wouldn’t have been such a big deal, really, if not for the fact that he had a newly refilled mug of coffee in his hand.

“Eddie, oh my god, are you okay?”

No, Eddie wasn’t okay, because he just splashed himself with hot fucking coffee and now Steve Harrington was worriedly fussing over him and tentatively trying to mop up the liquid with his own fucking hands for some reason, and he was embarrassed (and a little turned on?) and he had to get the fuck out of there now.

“I’m okay, sorry, it’s fine—” he managed to squeak before whirling around and scurrying to the bathroom.

So yes, Eddie’s been an absolute mess the past few days, and today is no different.

…Actually, scratch that. Today is different. Today is worse.

“Okay, now spill,” Chrissy says. “What happened?”

With another drawn-out, pitiful groan, Eddie sinks down in his seat and lets his neck hang off the backrest, blinking up at the ceiling.

“Talk to me, Eds,” Chrissy says, concern starting to bleed into her voice. “If he’s actually bullying you, you can file a complaint. I have a form here somewhere.”

Eddie hears her open one of her desk drawers and reluctantly sits up. “He’s not bullying me, Mom,” he says with a huff. “We actually…we talked.”

“You talked?” Chrissy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, about the elevator. Buried the hatchet and everything. I said sorry, we laughed about it, it’s over and done with.” Eddie’s gaze darts around Chrissy’s desk, searching for something to distract him from the warm and fuzzy feeling growing in his stomach at the memory of their conversation.

“That’s great, I’m so proud of you!” Chrissy says cheerfully. “But wait, if you two are good now…”

Eddie doesn’t want her to ask what she’s about to ask, because the answer might be more embarrassing than all of his other Steve stories combined.

“Why are you still going on about quitting?”

Eddie drops his face into his hands, feeling totally and utterly pathetic. “Um, because I think I’m sort of, kind of, just a little bit…in love with him?”

-------------------------------------

tbh I didn’t think I’d be writing a second part, but if strangers on the internet validate me enough, I guess I’ll do anything~

Y’ALL. I’m blown away by the response to part one of this silly lil au. I didn’t reply to any of the lovely comments or tags, but please know if you engaged in any way (or even if you just read the fic and snorted a little through your nose at a bit you found funny) I love you with my entire heart and you’ve made my entire life.

[Now for the tag list, which I’ve never done before. Sorry if you didn’t actually want to be on here! Or, sorry if you’re stumbling upon this post on your own after asking to be tagged and I missed you oops.]

@messrs-weasley @n0-1-important @bornonthesavage @thing-a-ling @eddiemunsonswife @changenamelater @ispyblu @thesuninyaface

@invisibleflame812 @4nemo1egend @ikolanatari @mavernanche @songbird-garden @trashpocket @original-cypher @over7joyed 

@commonxsenss @justdyingontheinside @mojowitchcraft @maya-custodios-dionach @justmiiriam @imzadidragonfly @lillemilly @gay-stranger-things @child-of-cthulhu @bleedingoptimism @lemanzanabizarra @melaniehere91

@iswearitsjustme @silver-snaffles @csinnamon-fox @paint-music-with-me @epicsteddieficrecs @sweetcreaturetm @hxneyfarms @bossyknow-it-all @vecnuthy @stevethehairington @anything-thats-rock-and-roll @nburkhardt

@gayngerthings @patchworkgargoyle @violetsteve @henderdads @2btheanswertothequestion

[unbidden-yidden]

Ok so I can't screenshot so I'm putting this in the asks but people are talking about netanyahu because he's getting the attention right now. And that's because he's genociding Gaza right now and nothing else of that scale happened since. So of course he's the it girl rn.

Like I wholeheartedly agree with you, we shouldn't be saying people "deserve to die", I just want to point out that I don't like it whenever people go "but why are people talking about this figure (who's getting all the attention right now) and not these other figures? (Who aren't getting attention)"

But TLDR netanyahu's doing some fuck shit that's getting reported on so obviously he's getting talked about the most generally.

To bring it back to the original conversation, people were talking about Putin when the Russo Ukraine war was going on. I saw people get excited at the idea that he might have cancer when that lump on his face showed up. Putin was the it girl and now it's netanyahu.

Look I'm sure you don't mean it this way, but the original comment I was responding to was antisemitic and your comments excusing it are microaggressions.

[Original post for reference]

There are a few things going on here:

1. People are giving a hugely disproportionate amount of attention to Israel's military response to the October 7th massacre in Gaza because they are antisemitic. There have been plenty of humanitarian crises affecting Palestinians in Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and Egypt, yet the world literally only cares about them if they can use it as a cudgel against Jews. Obviously it's a humanitarian crisis and it deserves attention, and Israel deserves scrutiny and accountability for its actions. But the laser focus on Israel and only Israel belies the true motivation.

2. There are numerous other humanitarian crises happening right now that affect substantially more people, and which are unquestionably genocide. Can you name them? Can you tell me the relevant major players by name? Can you tell me the number of people murdered? Why or why not?

3. Specifically naming Bibi out of every possible vile human one could name, to me, specifically, a Jew - that's extra sus. Taken in combination with the previous points? Yeah, it's antisemitic.

4. The genocide of Ukraine by Russia is still ongoing, and ignorance about it is leading to dwindling support to such an extent that Ukrainians are having to ration bullets to defend themselves with. This one isn't meant as a scold, by the way — the plight of Ukraine is getting intentionally buried. Please don't stop talking about Ukraine, they need all the help they can get.

[And in b4 someone thinks I'm trying to say you shouldn't pay attention to what is happening in Gaza: please DO keep paying attention to Gaza and keep holding Bibi's feet to the fire. He's awful, his policies are awful, and he's encouraging the absolute worst members of Israeli society for his own selfish reasons. The people of Gaza are going through hell and need our help. Just please, for the love of G-d fact check things first and make sure you're not "supporting Palestine" by being antisemitic. Also make sure you are holding Hamas responsible for its part in the humanitarian crisis.]

[sugar-petals]

𝖘𝖚𝖇!NCT ; { 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚍 | 18+}

[ # 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚜. ] domme/sub. oral sex. kinks. toys. breath play. semi-public sex.

⟨ AUTHOR’S NOTE. ❌ here’s to a 9-part hc, this time it’s the neos! 5k words total — at this point, i might just name my blog oral fixation central instead of pretty boy central. i picked members who i thought would suit the scenario best, from power bottoms to innocent subs: pick your preference from the little ‘feat’ list below ⬇︎ and if you like what i do: interact and/or reblog ♥︎ enjoy! x

[ + PAIRINGS.] crop top!mark, shy!taeyong, poly soft sub!shotaro, hard sub!yuta, experienced!jungwoo, tease!yangyang, trophy bf!xiaojun, service sub!johnny, pro!ten x femdom!reader respectively

| masterlist | 

| read it on ao3 | 

⇢ MARK 마크 - All about the eye contact while hugging your thighs. You’re comfortably reclined, playing with his soft flowy bangs. His shampoo smells so. Fricking. Good. He’s kneeling there, ass up, one hell of a sight. Why have one nice thing when you could have two at once? Mark eating your cake, you can check out his cake — and spank it later — it’s a win-win. Mark is the kind of guy who blurts out a thousand thoughts per minute, but when he eats you out, the laser focus he’s known for when rapping returns to its full glory. As if he could read your wants and wishes out of your gaze. If you want clit kisses, you get them. Still, Mark often confuses himself in typical style („Hold on, hold on! The towel goes here below, wait, I got it wrong!“), but! He is not confused by you. It’s more about figuring out his technique. Was more cautious at the beginning already, however not because he thought you were unapproachable or mysterious. Mark loves you very much and thinks you’re beyond hilarious. Which is why eating you out is constantly interrupted by mutual laughing fits, no surprise there. His tunnel vision can only last for so long! You make your boyfriend cry tears by making funny faces. He’s caught off guard. It’s good to lighten the mood. Being funnier than Mark is hard to pull off, which makes it even more rewarding to make his face glow from heat, thigh squeezing, and grinning. One hand on his cheek if you can reach, the other at the back of his neck. Mark has the softest peach fuzz on his nape, so satisfying to stroke. What starts out hasty or confused turns into comfy relaxation and trust, Mark knows how much it soothes you.

One scenario became his and your definite favorite. Mark got his driving license, parked in front of your home, honked, and had the audacity to sit there behind the steering wheel with a purple crop top on such a fine evening. Horny and intrigued immediately, all you did was stare during your drive to the take-out spot you like so very much. His hair had gotten pretty long, it was so cute. But Mark’s body was just as inviting, you wanted to touch and ravage and wreck him so damn badly. Mark barely made it halfway through the city that you asked him to drive off the main street. Innocent mind he is, your baby assumed you knew a shortcut through the traffic. Mark winds up stopping the car incredulously somewhere close to an empty laundromat store, this area of the city was fast asleep and abandoned. When you whispered you wanted to fuck him, Mark’s jaw simply dropped. A perfect exercise for what was about to— come. Perfectly sat on his face, you were deepthroating a whiny Mark laying on the backseat seven minutes later, sucking him off in a proper rhythm, seamless, with Mark nipping and dipping his way into your heart from behind. Mark was ready to die fulfilled by getting crushed. He came down your throat so fast, you had to wait until you could ride him hard: A perfect opportunity to enjoy some more chaotic rapper tongue action before, and moaning out loud when you came on his face. Since you were only getting started but Mark was dizzy with love, you took matters into your own hands and went for the ride of your lives.

read it on ao3

⇢ TAEYONG 태용 - Insecure and shifty-eyed at first, both hands trembling in the pockets of his grey hoodie. Leader Taeyong mode: Disengage. Listening well is his guideline here, he relies on bits of praise and your instructions („More to the left — yes… feels good“) to know what works. Sub training is the word. Since he’s more of an intuitive lover who prefers not to jump right into it, Taeyong will build the scenario rather carefully with your orders in mind. Morning, noon, or night, doesn’t matter. The time spent gearing up, arranging his room with the right lights and a movie to watch first, the mood at the moment, that’s time well-spent. Impressionable Taeyong is a perfectionist of staging something in every sense of the word. His tendency for theatrics and hot as fuck eyebrow expressions extends to licking you up when his new mixtape plays. Even when he’s fucked-out from the day, he still reserves this energy for his one and only. Getting better and to the point as he progresses is always the bar. The hoodie stays on. The inhibitions come off. Once he gets going and the playlist switches to Baekhyun, Taeyong sucks your clit like it’s your birthday. You reach the point of no return in one minute flat no matter how slow or fast he goes. Your sweet sloppy sub is well aware where the most sensitive nerve endings are and caters to your every throbbing, pulsing, and twitching of the legs. And if you’re insatiable, horny at 7 in the morning again, Taeyong will drop everything he does and climbs back into your bed to play with your wetness at the tips of his fingers, sucking them rigorously like the true cumslut he is. The scent of his crisp aftershave will make you cum in no time, he smells so fucking good and masculine. This handsome man’s all yours.

Recently figured out how mommy cums as soon as he moans her name. So, he has to use it diligently, not too early, not excessively. You help him place his hands on the outer point of your hips, use his bubbling spit as lube, and show your boo how to angle his glorious jaw. Sooner or later, he almost looks like he’s posing in an expensive photoshoot, that’s how physical he is. Subspace is always just around the corner, so you make a habit of reassuring him that he sucks you off right, that you love this way of pleasure, that he’s good at it. Which is no lie. His tongue is flexible and versatile, to say the very least. And his room isn’t the only place where your little encounter goes down. Taeyong once drove you out to see his old school — you both just wanted to revisit the empty building for some memories. Taeyong got nostalgic, plus he loves to show you forgotten aspects of his life that few other people know. The sports facilities in particular. But eventually, you pressed Taeyong against a locker, heavily made out, and within a blink of his pretty doe eyes, his head was between your legs on an old bench. Your dirty talk was off the fucking charts. The pet names you were peppering him with, too. Three minutes after you hit the peak, Taeyong gladly heard the janitor’s keys click in a close-by room, so you just wound up hiding behind some trees of the school’s baseball field. Out of breath, the two of you. Jeez, did he dress you in record time, and jumped up, and showed you the door out. Those reflexes. While you wait for the janitor to leave, a very amused Taeyong shows you pictures of himself when he was enrolled on his phone… as if he didn’t swallow your every drop just minutes earlier. Yeah, he’s fascinating.

read it on ao3

⇢ SHOTARO 쇼타로 - Kissy lips, kissy face. Squeals with absolute joy when you offer him to have a go — don’t underestimate how much he worships your body. And how much he loves sex, long as it’s not too rough. Shotaro doesn’t like hard subbing, gentle femdom sounds more like it. He won’t risk anything… yet. Wait one or two years and he might as well be super freaky. Until then, no experiments, Yuta’s kinky influence has not corrupted him, but he won’t stop to take a breather either. The perfect mix of commitment and flirt, batting his puppy eyes at you constantly with a very careful mouth at work. Shotaro’s friendly impression is not going to be blown away all of a sudden, that’s not even reserved for moaning his soul out when you peg him. The only time the sweet smile wanes is when your baby feels like you’re not into it — before you even voice it to him. Shotaro is concerned concerned. „Wait! Should I do it differently?“ is the panicked response, and you cool him down for a solid minute with head pats. Making mistakes is what he fears most: Looking pathetic, degraded, embarrassed and unskilled. Needless to say, he’s not the type of submissive who likes humiliation, more points to soft subbing. You say, you’re Shotaro. How could you go wrong. You couldn’t look awful if you tried. Although `going with the flow´ is a washed-out phrase that’s far too simple as a motto, a little bit of calm and laissez-faire really works for him. Not interrupting himself, not checking if absolutely everything is done right, but going ahead and just working his tongue to get some feedback later.

Where he clearly excels is a polyamorous dynamic, romantic and/or sexual: Hear me out. Naturally, he needs no experience with it. He fits right into the mix, acting as a mediator and mood-maker between three parties. Three is good, although four or five is too much for Shotaro to handle, even if the pairs kind of split into couple units within one room. Like two here, three there, or something like that. It’s better to focus and galvanize all the attention on you without distractions or further chaos that would just make the situation uncomfortable. So, three it is. Not a gangbang, just a triad, and if it’s two girls he’ll pleasure at once, he’s right at home. Shotaro is so amicable, his winning smile could put anyone at ease. As I said, despite his lack of experience, he’s a natural. One girl gets to relish his gentle fingers circling and rubbing, the other girl will see his mouth do wonders at the same time. Actually, Shotaro is more confident with a third party around, it’s puzzling. Until you remember he’s part of frickin’ NCT: Their collective buzzing hive mind has likely programmed every member to be good at poly should they choose to try it — don’t ask why, just enjoy. Being around so many people made Shotaro a little awkward in a one-on-one setting, which doesn’t diminish his affection for his main partner, mind you. But you can definitely tell he thrives on poly dynamics, it feels like protection to him. Shotaro’s number one prowess of being able to please will come through immediately, and he’ll do anything to set up the room as romantically as possible. Scented candles, warm blankets, music. Everyone feels secure, and it’s a night you’ll ask to repeat soon. He’s the absolute sweetest, I know.

read it on ao3

⇢ YUTA 유타 - Enjoys you spitting on him beforehand. Properly. Degradingly, with no hesitation, anywhere across his face. Wastes no time submitting to your sadistic, tormenting deeds. Any viable spot in your living space will serve as a theatre for a great scene. Even the cold basement: You, facing any wall standing, Yuta chained and squatted between your legs to eat his meal from behind-below, begging to be crushed, suffocated. Rest assured you’ll feel warmed up in just two minutes. Nastiest groans between loud slurping noises ever. Moves his head side to side a whole lot. Other people around? „Don’t care“ — Yuta wants everyone to know he pleasures your clit superbly well. Likes, wants, craves the aid of ultra-fancy battery toys. Where’s the excitement, the literal buzz? He’s not happy if you don’t get one hell of a show, whipped cream included (yes, his secret weapon). And, you know… him wearing a red rope harness, even thin heels, hard to balance on as the extra challenge. Dressed for the occasion. Always knows, observes, notices when you love it and when you don’t, or if you think some technique is just eh, mediocre, maybe „time for an upgrade“. The upgrade is more tongue-flicking, by the way. Mister Quick & Sloppy knows what’s good. Yuta shows up carrying a little vibrator collection 70% of the time, some very handy electrical friends that he’s gonna use one after the other while you can just relax. Why just one toy when you could have even more sensations? Alternating with his energetic tongue, it’s an interesting method mix, freaky and experimental. So much more intense, and new. They didn’t lie when they said Yuta had vibes. The things he’s smuggled through crowded hotel lobbies with a stone-cold face just to get you off. And: The toys he ordered online, where Taeyong picked up the package, so Yuta lied it was just another boring game he bought to pass the time.

Looks at you very intensely with his head between your legs, and you wink back by habit. It actually flusters him profusely. Don’t underestimate Yuta’s ability to become extremely shy, this man has such a soft spot for his domme. Especially after she destroyed him totally… he loves it, going past his limits all the time. A cane is all you need to break him, only to get all the head you want with Yuta crying. Hard and mischievous shell, soft and whimpery core. One of the best pleasers, knows you inside out. Yuta has his intricately detailed knowledge about the ladies down. Plus his power bottom tendencies equal the amounts of sheer masochism he possesses: Mercilessly smack him across the face between streaks of sucking, right after he catches a breath, and he will be yours. Yuta will plead you to do it again and again. Never cared about shallow orgasms, wants to make you cum for real, it’s the same with him wanting to scream. Wishes there was a way for you to choke him out while he’s doing down on you, but your hands would reach him awkwardly, preferring to pull on his hair anyway: So he just clamps down on his own neck with one hand, circling your nipples with his spit-covered fingers using the other hand, that fucking perv. That Yuta is crazy you already know, but that he likes to pile on several sex techniques at once is a revelation. That he has the skills to do it is not. Sex god. Your nasty boy deserves to be ruined.

read it on ao3

⇢ JUNGWOO 정우 - Prince of chapstick, he feels super smooth. The face, the same. So soft. The prettiest. Prettiest boy to ever pretty. Long as it’s a chill environment and it’s mostly vanilla, he’s down for anything, your goofy sweetheart. Don’t laugh, you could even put on a random Sunday soccer match on his laptop. If there’s no intense penalty shootout and it’s a little monotonous, both teams equally strong so nothing really happens, that’s perfect as a relaxing backdrop with all the occasional commentary and fan chants, volume turned down by 80%. It would sound weird with any other guy, but Jungwoo makes it work. It could be any sports event, in fact. Ice hockey, billiards, whatever. Or music. Or him wearing a silky jersey himself while he goes down on you, his sporty side is such a turn-on. But no stress, no edge, just being sweet together and flirting a lot. He’s cute and hot and kind at once — the amount of facial expressions you’ll see is astounding. Likes the occasional deeper dive if you know what I mean, though not as in, ambushing you with crazy tongue twisters and whatnot. Deliberate is the word. Is not content staying all too superficial or messy, it has to be rhythmical and make sense, making you comfortable. You thought he would be chaotic, but Jungwoo knows exactly what to do, how to dip, so you don’t worry. Except that you’re an immensely possessive domme behind a generous exterior — with eagle eyes, for that matter.

Since your lil’ pup acts like he has done it before a couple times, and Jungwoo confirms he has experience, you feel a bit jealous and even go on bantering. „Enjoyed it?“ Yes, even if you wish you weren’t, you’re jelly. Jungwoo reacts with a sheepish and embarrassed face, he doesn’t want to spill the beans. What’s done is done, he protects the privacy of his exes, evades questions. You eventually calm yourself to take it easy, it’s none of your biz, although saying his past is his past doesn’t really work as a catchphrase for you: You have to make it crystal clear, have him close in, make him say „I am“ when you ask „are you mine, then?“ Despite his seductive come-hither gaze being a masterclass and his humor being outrageous, Jungwoo is a surprisingly patient lover, hating to just rush it or be inaccurate with his plush tongue. You can feel his adoration. And he’s upbeat. A reassuring smile makes your day, it helps you rid yourself off the stress. Every word you say is appreciated. He hates when someone walks all over their partner, it just isn’t right to him. Listening is more important. Jungwoo hates you being pent up, hates you worried or preoccupied. At work, he can deal with himself. At home, he will vent quickly when there’s a bigger problem, but he’d rather tune into you first. He’d do anything to make you feel like you got rid of your problems, he’s your escapist fantasy turned real. Jungwoo has no problem being considered just that. In fact, he wants it, knowing you can take it out on him in gentle ways: Hands in his soft blonde hair, swaying your hips, cumming when he kisses you.

read it on ao3

⇢ YANGYANG 양양 - Eating you out as his signature move? Well, well. Yes and no. Because seemingly, he does anything but: At first. It’s 99% endless teasing everywhere else on your body. Until, completely on edge, you guide his shoulders and have him get to work. With permission, of course, knowing he enjoys it. You wouldn’t hurt this cutie at all costs, though he likes his head controlled by you like this to begin with. So don’t worry too much, he isn’t made of cotton candy, even if his hair color sometimes suggests that. Ironically, it’s the other way around. He wants to taste your cotton candy. With your hands around his temples, holding him in place. Which makes for a sexy POV from both of your positions. Yangyang is working hard, why is he still so immensely eager, how much energy does he even have? It’s admirable how he can tease your body for so long with ghosting kisses and suggestive eye contact. Yangyang being the master of stamina might come as a surprise, but you know how it goes with Libra men. Pleasers till the end of time. That’s exactly why he indulges you so much in prep. Edging is his thing, though you tend to take back control by cussing him out for licking your ankles like a maniac. „What are you, a deprived Victorian man? You sexy fucking sucker, you, God damn…“ Insults make him squeal and laugh, and soon he’s back to the main event, anyway.

Now seriously, why does the cutie trail off so much? Which, granted, makes you even hornier. Propped onto your couch, Yangyang is humming and licking your thighs with that seductive, way too infuriating grin. Even munching on them when he’s extra cocky, up until you say you’ll fucking spank his soul out if he keeps on smiling like a devil. You’ll mark him up at full capacity, slap his butt, pinch his nose, swear you’ll tickle him until he taps out. But kinky Yangyang is not stopped by any threat of punishment whatsoever. What are you gonna do, smack his ass and hope he stops nibbling on your legs for good? If anything, he gets even more riled up and ready to stimulate you even more. Shit, your body’s on fire from all the attention it gets. So, good luck with this sheer untamable brat. He kisses your belly, sucks on your chest at random. Your fingers, too. The neck. The entire palette. Even the fucking ears. Yuta would be proud of Yangyang’s utter depravity. Little did you know it’s all a tastemaker. In your world, he’s increasing the suspense. In his world, he’s courting you, paying attention to all body parts, showing off what he can do with his lips. Oral sex? Nope, kissing first! Holy fuck, he’s absolutely fucking peppering you. You thought Yangyang was too intimidated to go down on you and delayed it, turns out you misunderstood. Guy is just the king of foreplay. And out of all head squad members? Surprise! His oral fixation is the most unruly and developed.

read it on ao3

⇢ XIAOJUN 샤오쥔 - Okay, prepare yourselves. Xiaojun is a little extra with those kind of things, to say the least. Not kinky, just particular. In fact, he is the type to use his whole damn face. Yep. Very deliberately, slow-mo, so you can see and feel everything. Yes, chin and all. His entire technique would appear lazy, uncoordinated and weird to an outsider, but from your perspective, he’s just nasty, he’s giving it his all: Which is exactly what you like. Xiaojun knows that you’re obsessed with the beauty of his otherwordly features from outer space, and he’s always generous with it — „I’m yours, that’s why“. So why not give it a shot, his mouth can only do so much! Does Xiaojun look down on anyone who sticks to the basics? Probably not, he’s too busy in his own relationship. Being perfect, being hot, being all you need, he goes the extra mile for everything. And that happens to include cunnilingus. The cheekbones, the nose, the forehead, even… You get to feel it, too, not just the lips doing their thing. He’s brave, he’s naughty, he’s sensual all at once. Wants you all over him, after all. Slathered up in your wetness, is this Xiaojun’s new makeup routine? It sure looks like it. The man is glowing for all the right reasons. 

There is a bit of vanity in his style. He’s your designated trophy boyfriend, after all. Gotta look and act the part, doesn’t he. Swipe his hair back while he licks you, put up mirrors for sexy time, doll himself up beforehand with soft and pretty clothes, even a few necklaces. No mediocre. Xiaojun is like Narcissus between your legs, but really, he’s just conscious of how he comes across: And who can blame him. That’s not a boyfriend. That’s a masterpiece. Xiaojun doesn’t need beauty standards, they need him! Few people can handle his awesomeness. Knowing you want his body, his fucking soul, he is all the more eager to satisfy your heated desires with no regard to form: Come as you are. Your PJs, work or uni clothes, naked, near-naked, whatever. He’s the one to look at. Xiaojun puts great emphasis in slow-paced presentation that matches some tender music in the background. It could go on for hours if you wanted. Dejun could do the juiciest and unusual things while a ballad is playing in the background, but you’re into it. Because it’s not torturously done, but well aware that you think he’s stunningly handsome, so he’ll indulge you. Looks good in any position, as one would expect. Enjoys it if you sit on him lots because he likes to be below, this overpowering angle. The same idea applies here: Torturously slow is the key. You’re a strict and controlled domme, that suits him the very best.

read it on ao3

⇢ JOHNNY 쟈니 - Sassy, sassy boy. Talks a lot at the beginning, 100k words friends to lovers. Is this Youtube? Johnny needs to know exactly what you want and how he can achieve it. Fair enough, he wants the juicy intel, all of your boundaries and soft limits, your ideas, your sweet spots, your no-gos and best ways to make you comfortable. And hey, that’s a smart and normal thing to do: He just does it all at once, like an essay. Wow. You can tell he thought about everything and wondered about everything. A caring boyfriend, if you think of it. The whole shebang is kind of cute. Johnny has no business being ignorant; nor does he like to disappoint his girlfriend. He already caught your attention with his tight shirt, in fact, he distracted you while you were going through your phone, so now he, um, takes responsibility for his banging body being so hot. „Do you want any snacks before, something to drink? Probably some water, right. Wait a minute, I’ll get it for you. Do you want warm water or cold water? Okay, cold, right. With a slice of lemon or without? Should we turn on the TV or some music? Which blanket do you prefer today, the lighter one or the heavy-duty?“

On it goes, it’s the service sub in him. This is like fucking Hotel Johnny Seo. He wants to be like a personal butler to you, except that said butler has some impressive dancer glutes and no suit on. Johnny really does leave nothing to chance and you appreciate it: Circumspect, as ever, and it’s important to be comfy before getting down to business. Johnny knows it always makes a difference when you’re warm and hydrated, so he keeps on asking questions to make sure it’s all set. But once he is engrossed, lips on your labia… the opposite is true. Why does he stop talking out of literal nowhere, what on earth is going on. Johnny’s dead silent, focused, in a different mindset. Unrecognizable. He barely even moves his body, even if there’s a lot to move indeed. God, is he fucking tall — a bit difficult to drape and position himself on the sheets, but he’ll manage. Kind of folding himself in half will do the trick. You already blew his literal back out with your strap the day before, so his spine’s like jelly anyway: Bending, not a problem. Once he kneels properly, it’s all tunnel vision. Although to be fair, he moans every now and then — which is very stimulating, to say the very least. Puts his spectacular lips to good use and, if he’s honest, wants to be „nothing but a sex toy“ (his words, verbatim!) that you can bend around to your delights. You were kind of confused by what he meant, so Johnny explained it. The point is that you can adjust him however you like and he’s there to give you a good time.

read it on ao3

⇢ ten 텐 - Red alert, the final boss is here. Let's make tonight your birthday. Ten’s piping hot sexual style puts any existing man, no matter how experienced, to a literal devastating shame. Because he has what? The flavor. It’s exceedingly difficult to put his energy into fitting words. Similar to Yuta, he flaunts some seriously rapid flicking tongue movements, but knows when to slow it down for a minute: Nuance! It’s exactly what does the trick. Despite his quick and accurate manner, he won’t overstimulate or overtake you. Overtaking in a sense of, being faster than the pleasure can arrive, which is a mistake he knows is frequently committed. Ten knows that going too hard doesn’t feel good, so he refrains from going on for a second round right away especially. „Fifteen minutes rest is due,“ is what he’ll say, laying down face to face on his side with you. Presenting his cute puffy lips, and also for a chance to look him in the eyes properly. Those cat eyes. They’re magnetic. After enough tension builds and you’re impatient, Ten dives off between your thighs again. Patience (with stamina) is a virtue and he has it. Paired with the most graphic dirty talk you’ve ever heard, Ten is fully in his element, hands in the right places, hair falling the right way, lips promptly sucking you up. If you know his Instagram, you know which bedroom eyes will await you. On the majority of days, Ten is the type who will crawl up to you from the edge of the bed like a feline. You don’t know what’s first to touch. Grab his ass? Cup his face? Pinch his waist? Fuck it, just do everything at once.

Not a fan of 69, he’ll dedicate himself fully to you. Twisting himself around is his job on stage, but he’s remarkably still once chest down in bed. Or the edge of the bathtub, whatever you fancy. Few angles are too awkward for ten. Talk about bathroom sex: He’s probably the only person on earth who mastered giving head in the shower. Even without a mat or towel under his knees, which is crazy. He stays stable as if by sheer magic, the floor being painfully hard and slippery doesn’t bother him, though you insist he use at least a small towel to kneel on when it’s not spontaneous oral. Ten is only focused on his task, nothing else fazes him. He trusts you with the temperature control, and if he’s getting waterboarded from above with the shower on? Then he’s getting waterboarded. Ten won’t care. He’s the goat, he knows he can breathe somehow, and he doesn’t want you getting cold — „just turn the valve, honey“. You often take precautions and turn on the bathroom heating way before, but Ten insists on his ways and can clearly see your goosebumps. Your right leg over your shoulder, your boyfriend eats you out from below with the water stream trailing right over his face. The divine baptism! You can squeeze, grind, and fuck his face stupid in the most erratic thrusts on the bathroom carpet ten minutes later for a solid round two. He wants to be completely at your mercy, laying there on his back, dripping wet long dark hair, getting you off hands-free. This guy lets you do anything. Any-fucking-thing. Ten is a legend.

read it on ao3

// FINAL NOTE. leave some feedback if you liked it 🍒 and for more content like this, browse my rec blog’s specifically dedicated sub!nct tag. have fun! 🙌

| masterlist |

similar posts: multi version /// bts version /// exo version

© 2017-2023 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

[fanficsformyfaves]

I Can See You

Loki Laufeyson x Fem Avenger!Reader

WARNING: SMUT 18+, Semi-Public Sex, Oral Sex (R Receiving), P in V Sex, No Protection (This is fiction, you are not, WRAP IT UP), Choking (R Receiving), Fraternizing Between Co-Worker, Mentions of Loki Being Able To Read Minds, Secret Relationship, Mentions of Hickeys, Jealous!Loki, Mentions of Masturbation (Reader), Mentions of Loki getting slapped, Mentions of Alcohol, Drunken Confessions, Reader has Dark Humor

PREFACE: Loki and Reader were the newly recruited Avengers, who everyone thought just hated each other, but unbeknownst to them, they were a lot friendlier when no one was watching

A/N: Flashbacks In Italics!

Earpiece Monologue In Bold and Colored!

Loki changed after the events of Avengers 1 and gets recruited in this A/U!

"So sweet", he groaned against my cunt,

Pounding his fingers into me, as his free arm wrapped around my leg to hold me in place. How we ended up in the janitor's closet was actually quite the story.

"Don't stop, please!", I whined,

"Oh, I don't plan on it", he grinned.

Loki and I met a few months ago, when we were both recruited into the Avengers and at the beginning, we actually didn't get along.

All I'd heard about the God of Mischief prior to meeting him was that he invaded and nearly destroyed the city of New York, so to say I wasn't his biggest fan would've been an understatement.

"Welcome to the team, kid", Steve nods,

"Thank you", I smiled,

"This is great! Now we have two extra sets of hands to help with the work load!", Thor roared,

Causing me to look back at him in confusion.

"Two?"

That's when the original six turn to each other, awkwardly.

"Well, go ahead, Captain Thunderpants, it was your idea", Tony snipped.

My eyes meet Thor's, curiously.

"Well...there may be...a new recruit"

"Really? Who?", I questioned,

"Uh...", he looks to his friends for help,

"Don't look at me", Nat refused,

"Not a chance in hell", Tony also declined,

"Steve? Banner? Barton?"

"We're good", Bruce answered on behalf of the other men.

"Oh, come on, how bad could it be?", I asked.

Just then, the door slides open, revealing the devil himself.

"Team", he greeted,

Letting himself in, before his eyes fell upon me. My head snaps back in Thor's direction, who had already taken three steps back.

"Loki?!"

"Yes?", he answered.

After letting out a deep exhale, I began walking up to him.

"I don't think we've officially met-"

Unable to control my anger, I slap him hard across the face, bringing shock to all parties in the room.

"That was for New York!"

Smirking, he turns back to me, before looking over at his brother.

"I like her", he teased,

Making me groan in disgust.

For the next following weeks, I tried my best to avoid him at all costs and my plan was going according to how it should...till that the damned mission.

I was fighting off one of the Ultron bots and failed to see one charging up at me. Just as I was about to be blasted by the ray of its laser, I was pushed out of the way and pinned to the wall, left to watch another building collapse from it's lethal impact.

I turn to see who it was and there stood Loki, holding me in place by the small of me waist.

"You alright?", he questioned.

His eyes pouring into mine with such concern. All I could focus on was how little distance there was between us. My lips barely an inch away from his.

Once I realized what was happening, I snapped out of it.

"I'm fine", I said dismissively,

Before getting back to work.

Tony: Pretty cozy lookin', you sure we didn't interrupt something?

(Y/N): Shut up, Tony

Later that night, I found myself restless and unable to fall asleep. All I could think about was him and how his body felt...right against mine. How his lips were just right at my own, almost brushing against them.

I knew it was wrong, but the more I thought about how intense that moment was and how willing he was to risk his life for mine, the less I grew to despise him.

I touched myself all night to the image, till I was all tuckered out and able to drift peacefully off to sleep.

A day later, during the blowout celebration for destroying Ultron, I decided the only way I could ever face Loki again was to drink.

Sure, one or two shots would've sufficed, but alas, I got carried away and ended up somewhere near ten. Don't ask.

"Okay, you're cut off", Steve says,

Trying to take the shot glass away from me.

"Boooo, what are you my dad?"

That's when the captain's eyes widen.

"Oh shit, he's dead", I say,

Right before bursting into laughter.

"That calls for another shot!", I sing cartoonishly,

"No-"

"I've got this", a low voice says from behind me.

I look over my shoulder and roll my eyes, groaning. This man was just always somehow at the right place, at the right time.

"You sure?"

"I am, thanks", Loki reassured,

Steve nods and walks off.

"A water, please", he asked the bartender,

"I don't need you to babysit me", I slurred,

"Well, stop acting like child and I will"

"Pffft, you're lucky you're as hot as you are. I wouldn't take this shit from anyone else", I accidentally confessed.

The moment I saw his eyes widen and his fine lips curl up into a grin, I felt the realization of what I'd just done hit me.

"Don't you dare tell anyone I said that!", I warn,

Leaning forward to point, when my elbow slips off the table. Luckily, he caught me before I met the hard floor.

"Alright, let's get you to bed", he struggled,

Before throwing me over his shoulder and using his free hand to keep my dress from rising.

If it hadn't been for the loud music and crowd of people dancing, the team would've seen us and gods knew, they'd never let me live it down.

I wake up being greeted with a splitting headache and the sun shinning impossibly bright through the gap in my curtains. I was beyond relieved to remember that it was Saturday and I could take my time recovering from this hangover.

Pulling the comforter off me, I noticed that I hadn't taken off the dress I wore the night prior. As a matter of fact, I couldn't even remember how I made it to my room.

I groan to myself, eventually getting up and heading to the kitchen, but as I did, I find Loki making himself a cup of coffee. He turns to face me and grins at my less-than-stellar state.

"Morning. Care for a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks", I snipped,

Making him scoff to himself.

I grab a bowl and began pouring in my cereal, before adding the milk and taking a seat at the dining table.

Once Loki's was done stirring his coffee, he takes the chair, right across from me. As inappropriate as it was for me to shamelessly stare at his toned arms, I couldn't seem to stop myself.

"Enjoying the view?", he remarked sarcastically,

Snapping me out of my daze.

"Bold of you to assume I was enjoying it"

He shakes his head, smiling to himself.

Curiously, my brows knit together, as my eyes narrowed at his reaction.

"What?"

"Nothing", he coyly replied.

Something was off. His once-passing glances were now longer and focused on places I'd never seen them on before. My lips, my collarbones...my chest. I couldn't help but blush at the sudden attention.

Not wanting to delve too deeply into it, I brush it off and avert my attention back to the breakfast before me.

"So?"

I look up from my bowl of cereal.

"Are we going to talk about it?", he questioned,

"Talk about what?"

"The delicious little confession you made last night"

"What are you-"

Fuck, I thought to myself.

"Ah...so you do remember?"

"I don't know what you're talking about", I rushed,

As I got up and abandoned the bowl, trying to escape the awkward encounter.

"Oh, I think you know plenty", he challenged,

Trailing behind me.

"I was drunk, obviously what I said didn't mean anything"

"Oh, darling, try as you might, I know it to be true"

I turn to tell him off, when I was met with him being closer than I anticipated. He brushes a stray hair from my face, causing a breath to hitch in the back of my throat.

"You've thought about it. You've thought about all the dirty little things you wish I'd do to you. The only person denying it...is you"

I was at a loss for words. All I could do was focus on keeping my knees from buckling, as he spoke to the deepest parts of my longing. He leans forward, now holding the side of my face and pouring his baby blue eyes into mine.

"These walls may be soundproof, but your thoughts...they're just so loud", he brushes his fingers down my arm,

"I couldn't help myself from taking a little glimpse into that pretty head of yours...do not get in the way of your own pleasure", he whispers.

My skin was on fire and my heart was threatening to give out. Any sense of reason disappeared the moment his hands abandoned my warm cheeks and trailed down to the sides of my waist. With no reservations left in mind, I grab him by the back of his neck and crashed my lips onto him.

I was then thrown into the air and my legs instinctively wrap over his hips. My tongue darting out, meeting his in a heated exchange.

"Just this once", I pulled away.

Well...lets just say that was a blatant lie.

We met almost every night since that day and neither side had any complaints. In each other's rooms, the showers, the kitchen island and couches when no one was in.

It felt almost impossible to keep our hands off of each other. He was a god after all and he sure did fuck like one.

But not all was fair in love and war.

He always felt the need to mark his territory. For instance, the Hickey incident, when Loki left one the size of an orange on the side of my neck.

"Steve was on my ass for this today", I say,

Trying to conceal the mark with makeup.

"He could only ever dream of it"

I playfully rolled my eyes, continuing to cover it up.

So, it should've come as no surprise to me, when I was yanked into the closet, after being overheard playfully flirting with Thor by Loki. Unbeknownst to him, that was my plan all along. To get him so frustrated, that he was left with no choice but to screw me out of my mind as a lesson.

He was always so possessive. Not that I minded.

As a matter of fact, it turned me on more than anything, knowing that it drove him up the wall, seeing me receive attention from anyone, other than him. Call it evil, but I liked the power I had over the god and it seemed like he was more than okay with giving it to me. Even MORE okay with taking out his frustrations on me during our intimate moments.

After effortlessly making me come undone on his skilled tongue, I was immediately flipped onto my stomach with no chance of catching a breath. I hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled and his pants hitting the ground around his feet.

"You just love how riled up I get over you, don't you? Purposefully throwing yourself at my brother of all people, simply to get a reaction out of me? Not a smart move, pet", he groaned,

Before finally impaling me in one thrust. I gasp at the sudden fullness and his hand reaches from behind me, using my throat to hold me taut against his expensive white button up shirt.

"Now now, we wouldn't want anyone to find you in this compromising position, now do we? With your hair a mess, your lipstick smeared and my cock buried deep inside you?"

He pulls away slightly, only to thrust back inside me with a newfound harshness. Not that I minded, but this time felt...different.

His pace was brutal and desperate, like he had something to prove. The angle allowing him to fill me to the hilt.

I could feel the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting me right where I needed it to.

"Loki", I quietly moaned into the air,

"Such a sweet girl. Letting me ruin her right next to our co-workers", he groaned against the skin of my neck.

The coil in the pit of my stomach began to heat up and tighten. The closer I was to my next climax, the more wanton cries of pleasure began escaping my lips.

"I feel you pulsing around me, darling. Let go for me. I'm close", he grunted against my ear.

With his hips faltering and going faster and faster, I was left at the mercy of my climax overwhelming my senses and rendering me weak and limp.

Within the next few seconds, Loki paints my clenching walls with hot ropes of white, moaning into the shell of my ear.

Once I had somewhat come down from high, I caught my breath.

"They definitely heard us", I exhaled,

Causing him to chuckle tiredly.

"Good. At least now they'll know who you belong to"

[kaitokitty19]

Pandora AU: Home pt.1

Snippet written for my Pandora AU where Kaito became immortal and he travels around with Hakuba. In the following part, Hakuba’s around his 40s.

———

"Don't you ever want to settle down somewhere?"

Right now, Kaito was curled up next to Saguru's body, which always generates heat like a furnace. It's chilling despite the heater. Kaito instinctively moved closer to the heat source.

In response, Hakuba only petted his hair absent-mindedly and gave a distracted hum. He was busy perusing the file marked "URGENT" Interpol had forwarded earlier that evening, interrupting their dinner. The file had been printed out into a thick stack of paper – getting along in his 40s, long screen time had started to tire Saguru's eyes out quicker; they’re always red and watery after staring at his monitor for a long case, hence the printing.

Always bringing murders and terrorists and whatnot horror into their bed, that bastard. But Kaito could hardly find it in him to complain; not when Saguru is this dastardly handsome with all his fine lines and glasses and laser focus. His juvenile cockiness might have dulled somewhat in age, but his eyes remained as sharp as ever. Kaito imagined he could be cut through with a look. God, he wish he could age with him.

"I already am."

"Huh?" Kaito startled, forgetting that it was him who asked.

"I said ‘I already am’," Saguru reiterated, eyes still glued to inked black and white and free hand waving vaguely around as if that alone should make sense, "settled, that is."

Kaito followed the directions of his wild gestures. Yes, their apartment is nice and all: a tasteful cream-colored motif, delicate plaster ceiling rose, high windows and ceilings, spacious, with a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. The Hakuba Corp spared no expense in making sure its young master was happy, and this was no exception. From the most cutting-edge technology to the most beautiful antique furniture, everything seamlessly pieced together in a coherent harmony of livable space. Everything was at his fingertips. Kaito could spend all day mopping around the place without feeling an ounce of claustrophobia. And he did, occasionally - on which days Kaito felt more like a spoiled cat than an actual person. That Hakuba would come home from whatever businesses he tended to, shrug off his trench coat and shoes before bending over the sofa and spoil him with indulgent kisses certainly didn't help the case.

Even if he were to nitpick, there was nothing to bemoan about. But they had scantly been there 5 months. Kaito was sure there were suitcases at the bottom of their closet that had yet been unpacked. 'Settling down' wouldn't be how he would describe it. Nor would it apply to any of their previous many relocations.

"That's not... I mean, don’t you get tired, of moving around like this? Hardly get to see your friends and family? Never allow yourself to take root somewhere? Isn't it suffocating building your life around me?"

This had Saguru's attention. He lowered the case file and turned those keen eyes onto Kaito. The way Kaito's breath hitched was completely involuntary.

"Does it bother you?"

"It doesn't matter, does it? I don't have a choice." There was no use talking around it. With Pandora, Kaito could hardly stay anywhere longer than a handful of years before his unchanging appearance raised a few eyebrows. "But you do. Wouldn't you rather have a home to come back to instead of hotel rooms and new fancy penthouses every other year?"

They were already getting looks as they were, from the way master Hakuba always had a young twenty-something draping over his arm. There had been hushes and whispers that Kaito knew that Saguru feigned oblivion to, only to quietly have them moved within the week.

He hadn't noticed he had been fidgeting until Saguru took hold of his restless fingers, the warmth of his hand effectively stopped his anxious tingle from spreading from his fingertips.

"Kaito," Hakuba sighed, exasperated but firm, like he had said what he was going to say next a thousand times before and had absolute faith in it. And maybe he had. Kaito just couldn't quite bring himself to believe him, "as long as I am with you, I'm already home."

[agoodfictitle-shadowban]

From Vormir, With Love - Part 1

Summary: As you're being chased you crash on Vormir. So far, so bad. But things take a turn when you come face to face with a marooned Black Widow.

Tags: strangers to lovers, love in space angst on earth, slavery mention, alien abduction, post Endgame, will add as we go on

Word count: 3.4k

A/n: I hate tumblr and its stupid shadowban function, but i love you guys too much so here you go! Hope you like that one

Taglist: tbd

You look up from the helm, where the lights are flashing warnings. Shit, that's bad, you think, the thrusters are about to die.

"Y/n! You need to finish that shit NOW!" You hear the voice coming from behind you, a metallic clang the only indication that your co-captain is trying to keep your spaceship afloat. "The thrusters are gonna crash in two minutes, top!"

Definitely bad, you remarks uselessly in your mind. You almost look back to tell her that you're doing your best but the ship shakes under a new hit from the enemy, and so, you keep your mouth shut for now.

"Alright, alright…" you mutter as you navigate closer to the planet.

It's a barren rock with bodies of liquid across the land, and a sun constantly eclipsed. You'd never been here before, but as you approach, you feel a profound dread knot in your stomach. You ignore the feeling and focus on the descent.

You feel the winds change around the ship as the resistance increases, and you find cover from the next burst of lasers that breaks some rocks clean off. You're far from it already when the rumble of the mutilated landscape reaches your ears. You fly through a narrow pass before the opportunity you were looking for presents itself. You shot two blasts towards the ground where steam escaped from rocky cones. The crusty dirt flies around you and heavy plumes of steam escape from everywhere under the sudden pressure and destruction, offering you cover and scrambling the heat sensors of the enemy ship. You make a brutal turn to face them once you reach the other end of the geysers' field, and as it appears in front of you, you fire, destroying it and flying through the debris it leaves behind.

"Hell yeah! June! Have you seen that?!" You turn around, and your eyes go wide when you notice black ashes appearing in the cockpit. As it happens, the thrusters start to fail.

"We're gonna crash, Y/n, look at the damn road!"

"There are no roads in the sky!"

There is screaming, and you manage to stabilize your ship before it finally crashes. You groan, feeling like every bone in your body is about to break, and you look around you.

"Everyone okay?" You ask, and you're answered by various sounds and confirmations that no one is hurt. "Perfect. Now." You get off your seat and unholster your blaster, pointing it at the head of one of the newly appeared people. "What the fuck just happened?"

The newly appeared people you don't recognize, but you know what they are. Aliens. Slavers. And now the question is: will you have to fight for your life, because those assholes look very well equipped, better than you and June after you spent years in space with little resources. You look in the fully black eyes of the alien with long saber-tooth cats-like fangs.

"You tell us, human," he answers. "We're just the maintenance crew."

"Very well armed for a maintenance crew," you sass and he growls.

"This is just a vacuum." As he says that, he reaches for the weapon strapped to his back. "Look." He pushes a button and the very distinct sound of air being aspirated resonates between the walls of the ship. Your brows knit together, but you put your weapon down.

"Weird place to keep a vacuum but okay…" you mutter as you look at the rest of the crew in overalls. They seem harmless enough, besides from the predator teeth guy. You offer him a hand and he takes it to help himself up. "My name is Y/n."

"I'm Tim," he says in a rumble, and you frown.

"Tim? That's a very human name."

"Don't insult me. It means great warrior in my language. Tim."

"I swear, it's a human name."

"Are you sure your translator isn't broken?" He groans and shows his teeth, his ears falling flat against his cranium, so you decide to drop the subject. No need to antagonize your new guests.

"Anyway, guess you were taking care of the ship when you got dusted."

"Dusted?"

Oh boy. You had to catch those aliens about everything that happened, that was going to be a pain in the ass, so you decide your best course of action. "JUNE!"

There, that should get you out of trouble. Your best friend and crewmate finally emerges from the ship's entrails and looks around. "What the–"

You shrug. Her problem now. You let yourself fall back on your seat while you consult the star map.

LMC-H 13g.

Or at least that's what the translation is giving you. In any case, it clearly isn't Earth. You let out a deep sigh, and it gets the attention of someone in the ship that you barely noticed until then. One of the aliens that reappeared stops listening to June's explanation and approaches. She's less threatening than the others, with a tall body but frail members with three joints, like those of a praying mantis. She also sports the features of an insect on her face, and you suspect she might not be as frail as she appears. You eye her suspiciously, her fully black eyes staring at you with a chilling intensity. You can't help but put your hand on your weapon.

"I don't mean any harm," she reassures you with a raspy, almost tantalizing voice, mandibules clicking around her mouth. "I just want to know where we are."

You still your hand, but don't move it away, simply orient the arm on which the coordinates' screen is suspended to show it to her. You don't even want to attempt to pronounce it.

"Vormir…" she whispers. You feel the fear in her voice, see it in the way her mandibules move nervously.

"Vormir?" You ask back, looking for information. During the last few years, you learned that information held lots of power. Before that, you thought it was a saying that only made sense in books while you lead a peaceful life on Earth.

Her black scleras and irises turn back to you. Her lateral lids close in a microsecond. "It's a bad place, I heard whispers of people disappearing around this system, or weird frequencies coming from here. We should go as soon as we can."

"Wish we could, but the bastard after us fried our thrusters. We're gonna need to get them working again."

"Are people after you?" You wince at her question, but nod. The insect-like alien nervously rubs her eye with her arm as she looks away. Not the most disturbing sight you witnessed before. "Who?"

You point at the insignia on her overall, a circular patch with a blue 'x' with a white star on each bronze section it makes. It's the flag of an alien race living on the edge of known space and civilization, nomads slavers with barely anything to scrap by because they are chased around by most known authorities.

"Those guys." You decide to keep the reason why to yourself, since you know nothing of your stowaways for now. "We bought something under their nose and they didn't like it," you lie. The alien's mandibule seems to nod at the explanation.

"Explains why you threatened us. But we're nothing like them."

You adjust your position and the screen you moved earlier as a sign that you were getting back to work. "We'll see about that."

The conversation is over, she understands, and you look at the star chart. This was supposed to be your last mission before you could get back to Earth, so of course you had to get unlucky. You let out a new sigh and got up to grab your exploration material. The ship already told you outside was safe to breathe, but the gravity was slightly higher than on Earth. Seems like I'm getting my workout in, you think and giggle to yourself before covering it with a cough.

With that, you equip your toolbelt and your protections, in case an enemy survived your attack and subsequent crash.

"I'm gonna check the enemy crash site," you tell June who is recounting to the others what happened the previous five years. The door's pneumatics hiss when you press the button to open it, and soon you have a platform to get outside. When you touch down on the ground, you look around. This place really is just a rock with a few big puddles. That's going to make walking around a lot more annoying.

You set out into the unknown.

Walking around the planet is hard, but you quickly get used to it. You find a good rhythm and settle into it, which allows you to arrive only after twenty minutes to the other crash site. Bits and pieces of the ship litter the ground around you, some on fire, along with some body parts. You approach a charred body and give it a small kick, almost to make sure it's truly dead, before you keep walking around. It's easy to find an opening inside the ship through a hatch. The metal floor resonates under your feet when you land inside, and you look around. The dying lights flash like a gas station neon tube about to surrender, so you get your flashlight on before you set to look around the silent ship. You see a few more bodies around, and after taking anything useful they have on them, you keep walking. You're quick to find the command room, and once there, you approach an operating workstation. It takes a few minutes for you to get it running - after working with that technology for five years you're used to it now - and you navigate the applications, where you find the one giving you the general state of the ship. You save that information so you can bring it back to June, and if you're lucky, it will save you time on repairs.

After a quick round on the ship and no enemy in sight, you go back to your own ship.

*

"A week," June announces, her eyes on schematics you can't even begin to comprehend.

"We don't have enough resources to survive a week here," you whisper to her. "Not if we have to take care of those guys too." You point your finger to the sleeping aliens in the ship. They had to find whatever spot was available, as there were five of them, and only four beds - two belonging to June and you.

"Why are we even helping them? You've seen their uniforms, they're the enemy," she comments and finally looks at you.

You look at them.

"I mean, they're not really like them, so, they were probably slaves too. And they haven't been hostile."

Your friend sighs, and you shrug. She always says you have a soft heart, and maybe she's right, but right now what else were you supposed to do? Leave them there to their own device? They would die.

"I looked at the other ship's schematics, their rations should have survived the crash. At least their water."

June opens a plan for you to look at, and you lean closer to get a better look. You remember walking by the door she's showing you, but it was locked and you had no way to open it.

"Alright, I'll go back tomorrow to open it." You declare. "Or at least try to," you add, less assurance in your voice while the plan disappears in favor of some ship's part.

But as you discuss repairs with June, you fail to notice the slitted pupils staring at your back.

*

The feeling of dread never goes away, no matter how long you're staying on the deserted planet, no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it stays at the back of your mind, like an itch you can't scratch.

The good news is that with some of your new friends you manage to salvage enough resources to repair your ship. The bad news is that you keep failing at opening the food compartment, and your rations are dwindling way too fast. After three days, you're starting to see the end of it and the urgency to open that damn door is weighing heavily on your shoulders. You kept working on it the last few nights, and tonight you're going back to it. You're now used to the small trek across the wasteland and can do it without any trouble, but as you do this time, you feel like someone is staring at you. No matter how much you look around, you don't see anyone, so you put it on the account that you're tired and walking at night. You reach the crashed ship, then the door, and to your surprise you find it open. Immediately you reach for your weapon. The now familiar weight in hand, you take a step inside the room.

Packages of dehydrated food litter the room, with some jugs of water. They probably fell from the shelves during the crash, but they still seem intact. You look around, your heart beating against your ear and your breath heavy with adrenaline despite your attempt at not making any noise. You reach a corner at the end of a line of shelves, putting your back against the left one before you surge in the corner, weapon pointed in front of you to look both right then left. No one is there, and you let out a sigh of relief.

"Guess whoever was there already left," you tell yourself in an attempt to regain your composure, letting your weapon lay low. You briefly wonder who else could be there. Was the planet inhab–

You swallow hard when you feel the cold metal at the back of your head.

"You guessed wrong," the cold, feminine voice rings in your ears. Fuck. You should have been more careful, now you're fucked. But not dead, you think as the firearm recedes. "Put your weapon on the ground, your hands up, then turn around, slowly."

You do as you're told, slowly reaching to the ground where you put your weapon, before you stand up and put your hands in the air. With fear in your guts, you turn around. The stranger is in the shadows, and you can't see her beside her silhouette.

You finally gather the courage to speak. "Who are you?"

Despite your best efforts, your voice shakes slightly when you talk. The woman steps forward, out of the shadow, and for a second you forget all your fears. Not only are you surprised to see she's human, but she's also gorgeous. Her red hair is tied in a braid, the strands degrading to blond towards the end. She has the bluest eyes you've ever seen before, and her face is perfect, with a pretty nose and full lips - too bad she is frowning and pointing a gun at you currently. You can't help but feel like you've seen her somewhere before.

"I'm the one asking the questions," she says, and you're not in a position to negotiate, so you nod. "What are you doing on Vormir?"

"I was on a retrieval mission, but I got tailed and now I'm grounded here," you answer, leaving out the small detail that you aren't alone. "I'm just here to get some supplies."

You know you have to look as little of a threat as possible if you want to get out of here alive. You see the cogs turn in her head before she speaks again. "What happened to the ones who were after you?"

Your eyes wander away from the woman. "They're a bit everywhere around us," you answer with a grimace. So much for looking harmless. She squints her eyes at you.

"Does that mean you have a ship with you?" You can see where she's getting at, and you frown. You answer with a simple nod right before something moves at the corner of your eye.

Suddenly, a massive form tackles the woman in front of you and pushes her against a shelf in a roar, her gun being thrown away in the impact.

Tim. Did he follow you here? Shit. You don't have the time to say or do anything, the woman is throwing Tim away with barely any difficulty. One of the shelf topples and you have to jump away so you don't get crushed. You look around and see she's reaching for her weapon. By reflex, you jump on it and grab it before she can reach it, pointing it at her. She kicks it out of your hands in the air and her hand reaches up, but before she can catch it Tim is back up and charges at her. She has to put one hand on his shoulder before she jumps above him and falls back on her feet gracefully, almost like a dancer.

You flap your hand once or twice, to shake off the pain, looking at Tim and the mysterious woman having it out. She clearly has the advantage, but if Tim manages to actually hit her even once he would probably do a lot of damages. You have to find a way to stop them, because you were pretty sure the woman just needed a ride, and Tim intervened only when he saw she was a threat - but was she, really?

You grab your own weapon while no one is paying you any mind, and fire a round to the ceiling. It bounces back, almost grazing you. You manage to keep your face calm and barely avoid a yelp, but still you clear your throat.

"Okay, that's enough you two!" They pause, Tim his claws up in the air, ready to strike, the woman in a low, close to the ground fighting pose. You point at Tim. "First, what are you doing here?"

"I followed you. You were acting suspicious," he explains, and you sigh.

"I was looking for food, trying not to have people panic."

"You did so good…" he mumbles sarcasticly and the redhead snickers. You send him a glare.

"You, do you need a ride? Cause if so, no need to threaten me. Sheesh." You roll your eyes, and she arches an eyebrow.

"I had to make sure you wouldn't try to kill me."

That makes you groan and you pass your hand on your face, bringing your loose strand of hair back only for them to fall around your face again.

"I think I can try to contain myself," you say with a hint of sarcasm while you holster your weapon. "Tim?"

He groans and crosses his arms, ears still halfway flattened on his head. "I won't attack you again." There is a growl coming from the back of his throat, but it seems to be more out of annoyance than a threat.

"Perfect. Everyone grabs as much food and water, and we're going back to the ship."

You turn your back to the both of them and start throwing everything you can in your backpack and pockets. The other two follow suit while they avoid each other. As you're stuffing your pockets, you feel a presence next to you and then hear the woman playing with a crackling packet.

"What's your name?" She finally asks, and you scoff.

"An apology first would be nice," you mumble, then sigh. "Y/n Y/ln. What about you?"

"Natasha," she answers simply, and that's when it clicks.

She's Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. Shit. Fuck. You decide to play it cool and not reveal right now that you know who she is.

"What are you doing on this rock?" You decide to ask, even though you feel she won't give you an honest answer. "It's not exactly a great holiday destination."

"Tell me about it." Something flashes in her eyes and you barely catch it before it's gone. "I was trying to find something here."

"What were you trying to find?" You find yourself pushing.

"Solace." Her eyes navigate the darkness in front of her, but you feel like she's contemplating a very different one, something inside of herself. That makes you tilt your head, and you decide not to push much more. You close your now full backpack.

"We should head back now. Tim, you got everything you could?" You ask when you find him between two rows of shelves. He linked a few jugs of water together and is now carrying them around with his muscular arms.

"Water for weeks." He eyes the redhead. "What about you, humans? Found anything?"

You nod. "Let's get back to the ship." You start to walk towards the door. "June really won't like what I'm going to tell her," you mumble to yourself as you exit the ship.

[piratefishmama]

OK, au where Eddie survived,

Its 1990, Steve hears this song and decides to drunkenly serenade Eddie with it

https://youtu.be/wv-34w8kGPM

Steve had had maybe… four beers, maximum, maybe one little fruity cocktail, and a shot of something that tasted like apple but that was it.

He wasnt even thirty yet and already his alcohol tolerance had gone to shit.

It was new year’s though! They’d hit the big Nine-O! The kids were allowed to be there, to celebrate with them as adults! They’d made it to ADULTHOOD, They’d, against literally all odds, survived the eighties and all the horrors that came with them.He was allowed to get a little white girl wasted in his and Robin’s apartment.

He was allowed to be free and silly in his own space surrounded by only his people.

No strangers to be seen in that apartment. Sure there were a few friends of the family, but he knew them, he knew them well enough that they knew him. The new and improved him, not the douchey high school him they once sort of knew. There were no strangers.

The music was loud, the track list riddled with cheesy pop, glam metal, rock, one or two reasonable metal tracks that the CC boys wouldn’t ridicule because Steve had been adamant that he wanted them (Eddie) to enjoy themselves, a few Madonna tracks, Queen, Bowie, plus, Dustin had brought a karaoke machine, in the hopes that Jonathan would capture something stupid on the fancy video camera Hopper got him for Christmas.

Wasted Steve was happy to accommodate as the something stupid.

Happy to be the first person brave enough, or drunk enough, to turn that silly little machine on because he was the only one just drunk enough to not care about embarrassing himself for fun. He was happy to peruse the list of songs Suzie had managed to acquire for it like a wine list at a fine restaurant, feeling excited eyes drawn to him. It was happening. Someone was going for the Karaoke.

Who better than Steve.

Who better than the King?

Who could switch from kegs to karaoke so seamlessly that it felt effortless, Steve. That’s who.

They had a projector screen for the words, but Steve didn’t need them, he’d been humming that damn song under his breath for weeks, having heard it on the radio driving to work. He related to it is all. Having a stupid crush that wouldn’t go away on someone who clearly didn’t seem to feel the same, but he couldn’t get over it.

He didn’t want anyone else.

Who else could say they’d understand the trauma they’d been through? Who else could be woken up in the middle of the night by screaming nightmares and just get it without having to ask? Who could he even talk to without breaking several NDA’s?

That issue alone had lost him a few partners since ’86. Who wanted to be with someone who couldn’t tell them the truth?

He hadn’t gone through a whole goddamn bisexual crisis in ’88 when he REALISED his crush was an actual sexual sort of crush and not a ‘he’s just pretty Robin, it doesn’t have to mean anything!’ appreciation of another man’s ridiculously pretty face. Honestly what the fuck was up with his big doe eyes, his laugh, those lips, he made facial scars look so damn good, and—

The music was starting, he found Eddie’s eyes from across the room and locked on them, laser focus, go big or go broke! Worst case scenario Eddie punched him, he could probably take Eddie in a fight.

Maybe. Eddie was scrappy. But Steve had back up. At least a fight would probably shut his crush up.

“I love myself, I want you to love me When I'm feelin' down, I want you above me—” Jonathan’s camera was ON him.The kids mortified, like they were watching a train wreck in motion, unable to look away. Eddie was just staring at him, wide eyed and flush cheeked. Or was that his usual big ol doe eyed stare and the alcohol hitting his cheeks? Steve was too drunk to know for sure, but he felt seen. He felt warm, full of liquid courage!

“I search myself, I want you to find me I forget myself, I want you to remind me” Eddie wasn’t moving, so Steve, in his infinite white girl wasted wisdom, decided to take a step from centre stage, to cross that distance and hope those pesky bandmates of Eddie’s didn’t get in the way. They didn’t. they moved out of the way actually. Leaving Eddie to gaze up at him from his seat while onlookers stared in amazement.

And maybe a little horror on the kids part, Dustin especially.

Those were his dads. His male role models. His big brothers. His dudes.

One of which was damn near sensually lowering his pretty self down into the other man’s lap, straddling it as if they were the only two people in the room. They were not. Steve didn’t care. “I don't want anybody else, When I think about you, I touch myse—”

“Alrighty that’s enough of that!” And the music was gone. Leaving Steve to awkwardly look over his shoulder at the culprit who’d turned off his thing. Eddie’s hand had landed on his hip to steady him, which was nice. Warm. Big. Grounding. He liked it.

Didn’t mean he was gonna focus on that instead of the culprit. “Dustin you shit! That was my big MOMENT!”

“That was horrifying beyond anything I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve seen. Some. Shit. No dry humping our DM at the GROUP New Year’s party! Do that in your own private time! In your own room!” At least he wasn’t saying not to do it. just. Not in public. Got it.

“Boy you have no idea what dry humping is, you’re like twelve.”

“I do TOO!”

“Do not!”

“Do too!!”

Robin chose that moment to turn the normal music back on to drown their bickering out so the party could continue around them. It did. There were no strangers at that party. No matter how surprising Steve Harrington serenading Eddie Munson with a sexy song was, there were no strangers at that party. They were family.

Even the other Corroded Coffin boys were family by association. Nobody would start shit in that apartment.

They’d be outnumbered.

That hand was still on his hip. Squeezing to get his attention back from where Dustin had managed to claim it. Whatever words he’d been yelling in a failed attempt to get over the music dying in his throat when he looked down at the man he was still straddling. He knew that look. Recognised it from days long since passed. Want.

Desire, lust, need, Steve swallowed his own saliva, then licked his lips to dampen the drying skin.

“You touch yourself a lot, Harrington?”

“Mmnhm, I’ve been needing a hand with it actually, you offering, Munson?”

“Bedroom, now.”

Nothing quite like bringing in the new year with one hell of a bang.

[autisticlancemcclain]

i want it to last forever (all the magic and fun at sea) -- beachisode zine fic!

-- -- --

The screech of the comm knocks Keith out of his laser focus. He barely manages to dodge the blow from the Gladiator, aimed for his face, throwing himself to the side at the last second. He calls out for the simulation to end as the comm buzzes and crackles with static, wincing at the feedback. By the time it settles into something that doesn’t hurt to hear, he’s gulped down three water pouches and sips slowly on his fourth, catching his breath.

“No it’s — my — Pidge, let go, it’s my turn!”

“Nuh-uh! You get to announce all the time! I want to!”

“I’m just better at it!”

“Liar! Let — Hunk, I am going to taze you!”

The sound of their squabbling makes him snort. He won’t be hearing any announcement for a while if they’re like this, so instead of waiting around for instructions he just scoops up his comm, tugs on a shirt, and heads to the bridge.

As expected, the sounds of scuffling only escalate. Keith can’t tell for sure, but he’s reasonably certain that Hunk and Pidge have graduated to actively trying to claw the intercom mic away from each other. He thinks he even heard the buzzing of Pidge’s bayard, as threatened previously.

As he’s walking past the kitchen, he hears static again, and then a clunk followed by brisk footsteps. Hunk and Pidge’s whining quickly follows.

“Aw, Coran, no fair!”

“C’mon, you always let Allura announce stuff! We never get a turn!”

Seconds later, another voice fills the radio waves, prim and proper and positively dripping with smug satisfaction:

“All paladins please report to the bridge, we’re receiving a foreign call.”

Keith snorts. Hunk and Pidge should have known it was a lost cause. There are only two people on this ship who Coran blatantly favouritizes, and it is neither of them.

He sees the exact scene he expects to see when he walks into the bridge — Hunk and Pidge sulking in their chairs, scowling at the Princess and each other, and Allura sticking her tongue out at them behind Coran’s back. As Allura mentioned, a calling code flashes up on the screen, dialling into their non-emergency line.

Keith walks over to his own chair and sits down, pulling up the number to look at its diagnostics.

“You smell like a gym bag,” Pidge complains, wrinkling her nose at him. Keith considers throwing his sweat-soaked shirt at her just to hear her scream. She turns to Shiro, who has just walked into the bridge. “Shiro, make him change.”

“Do not even think about it,” Shiro says immediately, looking at where Keith has his hands curled around the hem of his shirt. He rolls his eyes and makes a show of letting go. “And Pidge, stop being dramatic. He’s not even sitting anywhere near you.”

At once, Pidge in Keith are allied again, if only to look at each other and roll their eyes as hard as they can as Shiro watches, hoping to make him as exasperated as possible. Judging by the weight of his sigh, it works.

They smirk at each other. Success.

“So what’s this call?” Shiro asks, sitting in his own chair. He presses a button on his dash and the ringing noise accompanying the flashing notification mute.

“We were hoping one of you would know,” Coran says. “The call came in ten doboshes ago. It’s not a recorded number, and it’s encrypted, so none of us know where it’s from. The closest star we can triangulate to it is BX-SD78R3.”

All three present humans stare at the advisor blankly. He holds up a finger, ruffling through some papers until he finds a folded one, unfolding the thing like a map and staring at it intensely, forehead creasing as he tries to decipher the rudimentary Altean characters.

“Ah. The Road Work Ahead Star.”

“Ohhh, okay,” Hunk says. His understanding is echoed in the rest of the paladin’s expressions. “I know that one.”

A couple years ago, now, Lance got fed up with all intergalactically recognised names for stars and systems. He was not the only one. Try as they might, none of them were capable of memorizing thousands of strings of alphanumeric codes, especially not when they were translated into Terran characters. Hunk helpfully described it as hearing the letters but only static happening in his brain. The codes simply didn’t /mean/ anything, the way that words did. The whole thing was just a mess, and it made it hard for the team to strategise, because the Alteans would name a star or system, and the humans would shrug helplessly at them until they pulled out a map or pointed out the nearest planet they recognised.

Lance, of course, was the first to handle the problem. He spent weeks writing out a list renaming every single star or system to something the humans could understand, with their intergalactic names right next to them so everyone could translate. Many of the names were relevant, and made sense — names like Arus for the Arusian planet, Space Mall Moon for the space mall moon, on and on — but many systems simply weren’t occupied, or didn’t have an easily determined name, so Lance just named them after random pop culture things.

Whatever works, honestly.

“Did they send a message?” Pidge asks, clicking through the lines of code of the encryptions.

“Nothing. It’s just a call.”

Hunk hums, squinting at the calling code like it will turn into answers at his behest. “Do we think it’s Galra?”

“It’s a possibility,” Allura agrees. “If it were a call to our emergency line, then answering it would be worth the risk — many planets are just hearing of us and do not know our proposed safety measures. Besides, that line has all of Pidge’s anti-Empire tracking and encryption software. This line not so much. If we connect it and it’s an Empire infiltration, then we’ll get tracked, and we’ll have to prepare for an ambush.”

Keith whistles. “High odds.”

“Yes. So we’ll have to come to a decision, then. I sent the mice after Lance, he should be here any —”

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m not late!” As if summoned, Lance comes barrelling into the bridge, soaking wet, nearly braining himself on the ground as he slips on water and fails to catch himself since the mice are cradled carefully in his hands. Undeterred, he scrambles back to his feet and slides into his chair, grinning sheepishly at everyone else. “Sorry! I was swimming laps and my comm was in my clothes. Plus the castle signal is iffy in there. I didn’t know there was a meeting until the mice came to get me. Thanks, by the way.” He turns the full power of his beam towards Allura, who visibly softens, raised eyebrow turning into something more amused than annoyed. “Anyways. I’m here now. What are we doing?” He turns to his screen and notices the flashing call code. “Oh, hey, that’s Plaxum’s area code!”

Before anyone can stop him, strangled shouts ringing through the bridge, he slams his hand down on a button on his dash.

Keith hears Shiro’s loud “FUCK!” from behind him, which usually would make him gasp really loud and shout something about virgin ears, just to irritate his brother, but his lungs are currently occupied with the breath he is holding in them, waiting as the call flashes twice and connects.

Luckily, the face that comes into focus is not a smirking Galran officer.

Unluckily, Lance is right — the jellyfish-hat-clad face of a grinning mermaid, blue-skinned and bright eyed. Plaxum.

Lance has mentioned her once or twice in passing. He’s mentioned that he keeps in contact with a lot of people from the planets in their alliance, the mermaid planet included. He had not mentioned that he is in contact with Plaxum so often that he has her area code memorized.

Something gross and bitter churns in Keith’s stomach.

“Lance!” Plaxum — and Keith has never met her, but Lance has made it pretty clear who this person is — shouts, loud enough that it’s clear even through the long-distance static.

“Plax!” Lance shouts back. His beam has gotten ten times brighter, if at all possible. “How are you?”

“Lance,” Shiro interrupts before they get lost in their conversation, “maybe ask what’s going on, kiddo. We didn’t recognize the calling code, we thought it might have been Empire. Scared us when you answered.”

The brightness in Lance’s brown eyes dim considerably. Despite Keith’s distaste for it before, as horrible as that is, he’s sad to see it go.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean — sorry, guys, I should’ve checked. I didn’t think.”

“All good, lad,” Coran assures, clapping him on the shoulder. “You did think, after all. You recognised the calling code. Next time let us in on it, but your judgement was sound.”

As he always does, Coran has said the perfect right thing, some of the guilt vanishes from Lance’s expression. He smiles at the advisor before turning his gaze back to the mermaid.

“Why did you call the Voltron line? You usually just call me.”

“‘Cause you lost your comm again, dummy,” Plaxum explains patiently. “You stopped answering after your last mission. I called to make sure you were alive. And because I needed to ask you something.”

Lance huffs, matching her playfulness. “Right, let me just ask Zarkon to hold off on attempting to blow me up so I don’t keep losing comms to laser fire.”

“It would be grandly appreciated, thank you.”

“Uh huh,” Lance snorts. “Anyways. Is that the only reason you called? You said there was another reason.”

“Oh yeah!” Plaxum shifts her gaze slightly, pupil-less eyes looking at all the team members. “You are all cordially invited to the Ice Break Festival!”

Lance gasps in delight. Keith is relieved to see he’s not the only one who has no idea what’s going on.

“I thought your planet was completely covered in ice,” Hunk asks carefully.

“For most of the year! But for one small portion, we are close enough to the sun that the heat skyrockets. Enough of the ice melts that we can swim to the surface, and that our plants can receive the sunlight they need to keep alive during the rest of the year.”

“And beaches?” Lance asks hopefully.

“Dozens,” Plaxum replies with a grin. “Actually, the Great Heat hits pretty suddenly, so it melts much of the ice around the shallowest parts of the oceans in the first day, pulling the ice sheet away from the beaches. The water is freezing, but the air is nice and hot. We’ve never had land-dwellers on our planet before, so I don’t know how it would be, but you’re welcome to come a day early and try, if you like.”

Lance is not the only one to immediately turn pleading eyes towards Shiro. Allura has joined in on Lance’s wistful retelling of sitting by the beach on numerous occasions, having many of them on Altea. Hunk grew up on a surfboard as much as Lance did. Pidge has fond memories of visiting the Lake Michigan beaches with her family.

Keith has never been to a proper beach before. But there was this tepid little man-made lake in a provincial park in Arizona. It was hours away from the Garrison. But once a year, every summer like clockwork, Shiro and Adam would drag him out to it, kicking and screaming usually. As much as the water smelt stale and the picturesque sand was replaced with uniform grey rocks, he has fond memories of that, too.

“I’d like that,” Keith says quietly, among the sounds of his friends’ shameless begging.

Shiro raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Keith shrugs. “Vacation’s a vacation.”

Shiro doesn’t need anymore convincing (his softie ass never needed it from the beginning, honestly). “We’ll leave first thing tomorrow,” he says.

The team erupts into cheers.

———

Lance is practically buzzing from excitement. He’d taken off as soon as Plaxum had hung up yesterday afternoon, hollering something about getting everything packed. He’d been nothing more than a blur from then until late in the evening, rushing from the kitchen to the storage rooms to his own room and to everyone else’s room, too, making sandwiches for lunch and gathering towels and even digging around with Allura to find swimsuits for everyone. He’d spent forty minutes lamenting about sunscreen and how Alteans never invented it and how they were all going to get melanoma before Pidge had snapped and stomped off to go invent some. The whole thing had been very amusing, until Lance had marched into Keith’s room and starting bossing him around (“You can’t wear your boots to the beach, Keith! It’s the beach!”).

As the castle approaches the blindingly white sandy beaches of the usual icy tundra, Lance’s excitement builds in the air, and soon everyone is grinning, clutched onto their towels and beach bags and coolers and pails and volleyballs (or the Altean equivalent, at least.) By the time the castle just barely touches the ground, the anticipation is so great it feels like a balloon blown so wide and stretched so thin it’s a hair’s breadth away from exploding. Keith isn’t sure if he’s even breathing.

The second the ramp extends to the ground, they’re racing out the door, screaming with pure excitement.

“It smells like the ocean!” Lance cries. He’s legitimately jumping up and down in excitement.

“I am going to have such a good nap,” Shiro sighs.

“There are seagulls,” Pidge says gleefully. Keith considers telling her how much she looks like an unhinged toddler, especially with the giant hat Lance “Mother Hen” McClain made her wear, but reconsiders when he notices she is the one holding the pointy beach umbrella.

“Yeah, I’m fighting the urge to call her one too,” Hunk whispers to him.

Keith snorts. He follows the rest of the team down to the waves, carefully committing all the new sensations to memory in his head: the smell of the seawater, the burning sand beneath his bare feet, the weight of seven beach chairs in his arms, the wind whipping his hair all over his face. His favourite feeling of all is the tangible joy in the air, the almost sweet relief of a sunny, well-deserved break, where for once they are all sure that nothing is going to go wrong. It’s a naive assumption, and they’re smarter than it, but they leave their bayards in the bottom of the bags anyway, keeping their heads turned to the sun.

Coran picks them a nice spot to set down their things — close enough to the water that no one will lose sight of any swimmers, but far enough that no one will get wet. They’re pretty close to some rock and cave formations too, which will be a nice shelter from the sun as they say stretches on. Fun to explore, too.

The second everything is set down and settled, everyone gets right to whatever activity they’re looking forward to most. Shiro fluffs out his towel, has Keith slap some sunscreen on his back, then passes the fuck out on the sand. Allura curls up next to him, adjusting her floppy pink hat, sliding on her comically oversized sunglasses, and cracking open her book. Coran, Hunk, and Pidge bust out the pails and shovels and the blueprints they drew up last night to start building their sand replica of the castle. Lance straps a pair of dorky, bug-eyed glasses to his face and turns to Keith, sticking out his hand. On reflex Keith grabs it, curling his fingers into long, thin ones. It’s not the first time he and Lance have held hands (that was once a punishment of Shiro’s; something he would force them to do when their arguing got on his last nerve), but it’s the first time Keith feels his naked palm, rough and calloused all over, press against Lance’s soft and smooth one, no leather between them.

“Come find shells with me!”

Keith couldn’t even dream of saying no.

He follows as Lance pulls him into the water, stumbling after him as he sprints. Lance yanks him into the waves faster than he can process, and he’s up to his knees before the cold sets in, and it startles him so badly he laughs, loud and sudden.

They dive into the next big wave, and Keith forgets to hold his breath, coming up sputtering and coughing. Lance cackles, splashing water at him while he chokes because he is the worst. Keith is so painfully endeared that it’s actually humiliating, and to redeem himself he tackles him into the waves, revelling in his shrieking laughter and his later complaint of saltwater up his nose.

At some point, at what Keith imagines is Allura’s insistence, everyone else joins them in the waves. They immediately descend into a game of chicken. Pidge scampers up Hunk’s shoulders like the little rat that she is (Keith makes sure he’s out of biting range when he says that, and unfortunately does not expect a clump of sand to the head), Allura gleefully throws Shiro on hers, and Lance doesn’t even ask before climbing up Keith’s hip and settling behind his head like a particularly aggravating monkey (something Keith is happy to tell him) thighs bracketing his head and ankles crossed at his abdomen.

Keith goes so violently red that he’s genuinely kind of shocked that he can turn that colour.

“Squeeze any tighter, Lance, and Keefers over there is going to evaporate the entire ocean,” Pidge says drily.

Keith does not wait for her to get situated on Hunk’s shoulders, or for Coran — who’s refereeing — to tell them go. He charges.

Despite his brain relaying a constant stream of Oh God Lance’s thighs are wrapped around your head holy shit he’s sitting on your shoulders and he’s barely dressed his fucking legs are so long why are they so long does he have to be this attractive is that even possible what the fuck is the deal with that, he manages to put his full attention into going absolutely ham. He charges, dodges, leaps and bounds, intent on being the winning team of this ridiculous but admittedly fun game.

Obviously, considering who they’re up against, Keith and Lance are the first ones out. One mighty shove from Allura sends them careening towards the icy waves, shrieking at the top of their lungs.

With Lance’s calves a healthy distance away from Keith’s face, however, he regains his ability to function, and as such he thinks they accept their loss with grace. (Wherein Keith means they complain immediately about the game being rigged and dramatically profess how they are going to ditch everyone’s cheating asses. All in good fun.)

“C’mon, Keith,” Lance says, somehow finding their hands linked again, “let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

They run away to their friends’ teasing booing, sprinting to the sand and ducking past the rocks and out of sight, giggling to themselves.

“Oh, hey, look!” Lance points to a small pool of water surrounded by the same beige-ish rock of the rest of the caves. “A grotto!” He bounds over to it leaving Keith to quickly follow, sliding in as soon as he’s close enough. A sigh leaks out of him as he settles in, water up to his neck. “Oh, God, it’s sun warmed.” He turns to face Keith, flashing a smile. “Come in.”

Helpless to disobey and well aware that Lance could be full of shit, pranking him, Keith does. To his peasant surprise, however, it’s warm, but not hot, like bedsheets on a cold morning. Keith can actively feel the stress leeching out of his body as he leans against the rock.

“God, that’s nice.”

Keith hadn’t realised he’d closed his eyes, but he opens them again when he doesn’t hear Lance’s response, and quickly behinds to panic when he doesn’t see him.

“Lance?” he shouts, making no effort to hide his fear. “Lance? Where the fuck are you?”

Heart pounding, he pushes off the edge of the little pool, craning his neck over to the side, but he doesn’t see a mop of brown curls or a flash of white teeth or a long, flailing limb.

“Lance? Lance, answer me! La —”

“— I can’t believe they have these shells here, too, I mean —”

“Oh my God,” Keith chokes out to himself, hand pressed to his chest as Lance swims out from around the bend, eyes trained on his cupped hands. “Oh my God, I am going to smack you. Come here.”

“Huh?” Lance looks up from his shell, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He quickly understands when he reads the tenseness of Keith’s shoulders, the naked relief in his face. “Oh.” He smiles apologetically. “My bad. Saw something shiny.”

If it weren’t for the wobble in his voice, evident of choked back laughter, Keith would believe his apology. Instead, he glares at him, splashing him with an endless barrage of water until he pleads for mercy.

“Stop, stop, okay! I’m sorry for real!” He curls a hand around Keith’s wrist, squeezing, pulling it towards him so Keith can’t use it. His grin is wide and so so breathtaking. Keith can’t help his own smile in return.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Lance whispers when the water settles again. His grin has softened into something small, buttery and sweet. “Plax was telling me about this place. I couldn’t wait to bring you. It’s been all I was thinking about since we got the call.”

The horrible thing that had settled in his chest, that he had largely ignored since they touched down this morning, begins to dissipate. As Lance links their hands together, floating over next to him, it dissipates entirely.

“Thanks for bringing me,” Keith whispers back. He squeezes Lance’s hand, and he squeezes back, and the sound of their friends laughter echoes over the waves, and he’s warm and settled and happy, and everything is so, unbelievably good.

[yennasun]

Something to live (die) for

Tw: mentions of attempted (failed) suicide

The first few weeks had been a blur, one big blurry smear of disbelief.

He could hardly believe it...no, he couldn't believe it.

The shield of denial had soon shattered, leaving the cold, hard reality to scald at the grieving man's psyche.

They were gone

And he couldn't do anything about it...

"No....no!" His denial of the event had turned to denial of the situation...and soon turned to blame.

He was angry...at the workers, at the game, at himself...

"Should've done more...should've done something" he sobbed into his hands.

He took another drink...then looked at their photo, and took yet another.

All this was leading up to something big.

Weeks after, his denial had turned to pure despair...he made it, only for everything he cherishes to be ripped away from him in one, terrible year.

Now he had nothing, nothing left of his family save for photographs depicting "good old times". He had nothing left to strive for...nothing left to live for.

Despair had left him in shambles, metaphorically flayed alive.

It turned his days into weeks and his weeks into months.

it turned him to skin and bones, a physical and mental husk of his former self.

He took another drink.

The alcohol had begun to take it's toll, the world spun and shifted.

Now onto his plan; a heavy piece of cold iron, with one bullet.

He reached for it, his hand shook as he did.

He took several deep breaths, the reality of what he was about to do crashed into him.

As he brought it up, He felt resistance on his arm. The voice was ironically trying to stop him.

Stop!

It hissed

He pushed through the resistance.

Stop now!

It growled in his ear.

He heaved and swallowed the lump in his throat. He brought it into his mouth and angled up to remove any possibility of survival.

His teeth chattered against the barrel. he was scared, terrified even.

Deep down, he didn't want this...but he saw no other way out of this hole he was in.

He felt the resistance of the trigger, the revolving chamber had begun its revolution until...

Papa!

Click!

The click had nearly rang out in tandem with a faint echo of his lost child, shouting for joy when they were found by him after getting lost in the woods.

It was quiet and harmless, far from loud and deadly as he'd planned.

A small miscalculation, so simple it would've gotten a chuckle out of him if he wasn't so busy reeling.

He dropped the gun, and it clambered against the hard wood floor.

He leaned forwards with his head in his hands yet again, heavy breathing matched the anticipation from before; heavy and rash.

He whimpered, in anguish and fear...he couldn't try it again, he only had the courage for this one time.

He looked up with eyes blurred by tears and could barely make out one thing.

A poster.

The poster for his lost child, of the game that had so remorselessly taken their life.

And right then, anguish had turned to rage. Burning bright hot, endlessly.

His vision went blotchy and red, before he knew it his hands had exploded in pain that he cared little about.

He swore he'd get revenge, for them.

He started work, his laser focus had taken an even bigger toll on his health.

He pushed through it all. He cared little for his own health after all.

Before long, small purple stick figure had interrupted his work.

He barged towards the door, ready to rip into them.

Until he realized they were there to help him.

He let's them in, advising to watch their step amongst all the old, broken steel.

They pry at the photo that kept him going. He tells them to ignore it and not ask about it again.

This wasn't the time for talking anymore, his plan was in motion and this time...

This time, he'd wouldn't go out like a coward. No, he'd take this damn game with him!

---------------------------------------------------

This one's shorter, mainly because I wanted to get something out since it's been awhile.

[teagballs]

hands! | gob bluth x reader smut

authors note: crawls towards you hi im back. for my fellow hand enthusiasts. this has been in my drafts for like a MONTH finished it today. still taking arrested development requests but now i also that its always sunny and what we do in the shadows and beetlejuice.... yeah. love ya enjoy <3

cw: smut obviously. first person perspective hand kink. gob teases alot because he is an ass. clit play, fingering, hickies. written with fem reader in mind and they have a vagina.

nsfw under cut

-------------------------------------------------------

My boyfriend, Gob, had an interesting hobby. Magic. Not the most attractive or accomplished interest, but it was his and I loved him so I went along with it. Coming to his shows, helping him learn new tricks, even being a stand in for his assistant in some cases. I always tried to support him.

Now, I sat in his kitchen, watching as my boyfriend performed a card trick. And it wasn't all that enticing, he kept getting it wrong and dropping his cards all over the table. His dedication was cute. I smiled a little and tried to hold interest. But slowly, my mind began to drift. The way his long fingers glided over the edge of the cards, and how they flicked through them to pick out a select amount. I had always had a thing for hands, and it was seemly arising again now.

"Now, watch I'll get it this time, pick a card." Gob said, laser focused on the cards. I hummed in acknowledgement and picked a card. As he ran his nimble fingers over the deck and shuffled once more my mind began to wander. What kind of dexterity would a magician hold in his hands? Trying not to get flustered and attempting to lock this thought away, I crossed my legs as if to hold back my arousal and sat up straighter. 'Sexualising your boyfriend's innocent hobby? Perv,' I thought.

I tried to focus solely on the trick but that seemed to make things worse. God, he had nice hands. Lengthy digits, veins that ran on the back of his hands, was I blushing? Gob looked at me again, ready to ask for my card back to shuffle into the pile, but he seemed to pick up that my focus had shifted. Maybe he had gathered from my upright form and fidgeting that something was off and I wasn't fully present.

"Hey, are you paying attention?" He groaned childishly.

'Yes. Definitely, I am." I replied quickly, tensing a little.

"You're not. You look all distracted." Gob replied. Shit, he had picked up on it. I couldn't tell him the truth - the reason I wasn't fully focused was because his hands were really fucking turning me on.

"No I am really! It's just that, I.. um," I struggled to find an excuse, hoping the ground would swallow me up. If I wasn't flustered before I certainly was now. I settled on just awkwardly looking away from him, hoping he would either move away from the subject or figure it out on his own.

"What's up with you? You're all... oh." The pin dropped. Gob realised why I was so distracted. My hand grazed my face, trying to decide if he gotten there from context clues or if the blood had rushed to my face.

"So, what's got you so riled up?" he teased. The switch from showman to flirtatious dick was fast. He leaned over the table now, lowering his voice and tone.

"Riled up? What are you talking about?" Gob might be a little stupid, but he could still tell I were lying.

"You're blushing, that impressed by my magic?" He questioned. His ego was showing. There was no escaping this. I sighed and gave in.

"No its not your magic its... your hands." I admitted shamefully. Gob raised an eyebrow, confused.

"I've always had a thing for them. I find them, like, attractive, like you'd find ass or tits attractive, they just.. they make me think about what they can do, what'd they'd feel like on me, inside me." I babbled, trying desperately to explain my weird attraction.

To my surprise and relief Gob understood? He hummed in acknowledgement. "I get it." I could feel myself growing wetter.

"I guess you doing a magic trick... it made me think you know, cause your a magician, what else can you, um, do with your hands." I told him, looking anywhere but at him.

Gob smirked at this, filled with pride. "Well, how about you find out?"

I lifted my head to look at him, "...What?" I mumbled.

"Why don't you find out how good my hands are at other things?" His smirk grew.

Gob made his way over to me and kissed me. He grabbed onto my shirt to guide me out of the room. He moved his hands to my face as the kiss grew deeper stumbling out of the kitchen. The whole situation had made us both so desprate, essentially eating eachothers faces now. The pair of us stumbled onto the sofa, pulling away briefly to catch our breath with a string of saliva connecting. This time when we reconnected, Gob began to work the button of my jeans. I whimpered in anticipation. Gob's hand made its way into my jeans. Gently, using his ring and middle finger he felt my wetness through my underwear.

"Fuck. You really must like hands huh?" He chuckled goofily.

To help with ease of access, I began to shimmy my jeans off. Now, Gob was able to pull my underwear down. The cold air on my pussy made me arch my back. Gob hovered above md, hands on either side of my face on the communal sofa, which was about to be desecrated. He ran his index finger up my now exposed slit. He started slow, painfully slow. I twitched and bucked my hips, antsy for more. He repeated this movement until he gathered a sufficient amount of wetness. Finally, he ran small, steady circles around my soaked clit. This caused me to mewl out. I was a little embarrassed at how loud I were for such a small movement, though, this only seemed to encourage Gob. He continued his slow pace, but this definitely wasn't enough.

"Please Gob, please go fucking faster," I grunted out of frustration. Ever willing, Gob increased the speed. I grinded my clit down on his finger. In response, Gob switched to two fingers and started kneading my bundle of nerves an accelerated speed. Fuck. He was gifted with his hands. This new pace was overstimulating. He maintained it as I loudly moaned praises and a string of obscenities.

"Fuck! Gob- so fucking good- m'gonna-" was all I could get out before cumming.

Gob was full of himself now. Shocked at his own abilities. "Wow. And I haven't even touched here yet," he said, plunging his fingers in my drenched entrance. This action caused me to emit another loud sob to Gob's delight.

"Shouldn't waste anymore time." He mused and thrusted two fingers into my pussy. I arched again. A little awkwardly, Gob repositioned us both. Now he was sitting on the sofa with me in his lap, his fingers taunting me by hovering above where I needed them most.

"Please," I mumbled. He smiled before placing his two fingers in and out of my wetness. It was too slow. Not deep enough to feel any pleasure. My hole clenched around his fingers, my body's way of revealing yearning with using my words. He began a pace of moving his fingers. I needed more, needed him to go deeper, faster. Gob found my eagerness all too amusing. Once he reinserted his fingers to my drenched pussy again, he curled them. This action caused me to let out a long moan.

"Fuuuuuck." I groaned. Gob smirked against my neck, growing more and more proud of his ability to please. He attached his mouth to my neck, gingerly sucking love bites and kissing me gently as he continued to guide his fingers in and out of me. Gradually, he increased his pace. He began to pump in and out of my pussy, continuing to curl his fingers. He kept this up until he was fingering me at an excruciating pace, I wasn't going to last much longer.

"Fuck! Gob, m'gonna cum soon." I sobbed. Gob took this as a challenge. How quick could he make me cum? He reached his other hand down to my pussy and began to rub my clit again at a ferocious pace. This, combined with the attention to my neck was more than enough to send me over the edge and bring me to an orgasm for the second time.

I fell against my boyfriend, my head found its place in the crook of his neck. Exhaused. I look up to find Gob, licking the result of his labor off his fingers. I whimper a little at the sight, fuck that's hot. But I'm too tired to go again. Gob chuckles, "Did they live up to your expectations?" He asks, wiggling his hands in a sort of 'jazz hands' motion. I groan. I'm never going to hear the end of this. Cocky bastard.

[deadlysoupy]

Faultline

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Brainstorm/Perceptor, Brainstorm & Perceptor, Brainstorm & Nautica Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Fluff, Mind Manipulation, Happy Ending

Perceptor is a hard mech to handle when it comes to his patience with Brainstorm. Thus, after Brainstorm gets his load of Perceptor's fury, the Ship's Number One Genius takes matters into his own hands — and attempts to make Perceptor fall in love with him.

It goes in the exact opposite direction.

my Secret Solenoid gift for @elmonstro !!! thank you @secretsolenoid-revived for hosting the event and being so very patient with me!! first time doing anything like this event and i had,, troubles. also huge shoutout to @trashhole who beta'ed this mess i wouldn't be there without them!!

posted on AO3 (requires an account) or under Read More for easy access!

It’s quiet in the lab today. Not a good quiet, not the kind of quiet that makes Brainstorm excited to get going and create something incredibly genius, and slightly explosive. Not the kind that makes him focus and drift from reality itself in search of the unexplored, to make the unreal, real.

This quiet had him slightly tilting his back to throw a look at a laser-focused Perceptor and envy the fixation he has had with his own project. Because he, as it stands, cannot get the anti-gravity blaster to work. Try as he may, re-wire, calculate from the beginning – nothing seemed to help. He considered banging his helm on the table, but that would only damage the equipment. 

After a while of struggling, Brainstorm decided to seek assistance. Two heads are better than one, obviously – even if one is more genius than the other. 

Which had been a bad decision from the start. And he should have known it, too, because whoever distracts Percy from his work is to be stricken with a fiery glare and such a passive look it could kill the desire to ask in just about anyone. Anyone but Brainstorm.

“Hey, Percy, do you think I should re-adjust this or leave it as it is? It isn’t working right,” Brainstorm says with a half-finished component in hand, its insides dangling in the air when he swings it. He slides into Perceptor’s line of vision, occupied by a biocell beneath his microscope. It leaves a silence hanging between them. 

Perceptor doesn’t even blink, let alone vent in his general direction. So, Brainstorm tries again, the tone of his voice slightly more rough around the edges. 

“He-ey, ships’ genius number two! Get out of your head, it’s begging you to dissect it, c’mon!”

His lab partner’s faceplate shifts from cold concentration to a slight frown, one you wouldn’t notice if you hadn’t looked hard enough. He notices it anyway. 

“Brainstorm, whatever complication it is you have right now, I assure you, it can wait until I’m done.”

“Waiting would require patience! I’m kind of at the brink of my own discovery here – at least tell me if you think it needs work?” Brainstorm pleads, shifting his approach, his optics round, but Perceptor is unrelenting. 

Brainstorm’s optic-ridges furrow.

“You’re mean, you know that? A real stick in the mud. A stubborn mule. A…” Brainstorm gestures his free servo in search of a new expression to throw. His vents get hotter.

“Are you done?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” Brainstorm’s wings flutter in exasperation as the air inside his mask gets a little too warm. “My work is important too, if you didn’t know! And I would love it if you could pull your helm out of your aft once in a while!”

Perceptor’s shoulder plates answer Brainstorm as he straightens up and looks at him with such a fire in his gaze that burns Brainstorm’s insides. His mouth a perfect line, but the sharp edges of his optics and the brilliant light behind them are what turns Brainstorm’s entire resolve around. 

As he backpedals, Perceptor’s watchful optics follow him until he’s at his desk again, and only then does the scientist turn away to chip away at his work once more, as if nothing had ever happened.

Brainstorm has trouble forgetting the incident even hours after. 

Truly, it is Perceptor’s fault. He is the one missing Brainstorm’s potential, his drive. Now his gun sits alone, it’s insides full of holes, and Brainstorm tosses it a look more than once like it had personally offended him.

So he does the best thing he can – he drowns himself in the work that most would call “unethical” and “useless”. What else is he supposed to do, really? It would not hurt to put his other work on a pause until he deals with his more pressing problems. Mainly – his lab partner being an uncooperative aft.

Days later, Brainstorm stares at a flat metal plate, its silver and smooth top reflecting his faceplate in a morphed and grotesque image, his servos firmly planted into the workstation. It had nothing Brainstorm-like in it – which is what makes his cords uneasy, optics never settling on one detail of the device.

Despite all of his efforts, despite the drive that went into his work, he couldn’t put it to use. He’s not that kind of bot – not even when he’s full of sadness and bitterness. 

So, he puts it away in their lab, far from the prying eyes; he burrows it under the pile of other failed experiments and fried chips to be long forgotten. 

At least his honour is saved.

That is, until someone else finds it.

Brainstorm never liked Whirl much. If it wasn’t him, then it was Whirl who could turn everyone's attention to himself, a chaotic force of nature. And sometimes – or most of the time, really, – he tended to cross the line.

“Oh, hey, what’s this thing?” he says, putting an eerily familiar disc in his servos, its shiny surface glinting in the lab’s bright lighting.

Brainstorm’s never run faster in his life. He does almost trample over the scrapped projects Whirl’s been digging through, but he catches himself in time.

“That,” he grunts while gripping one side of the machine to pry it away from Whirl’s claws, “is none of your business.” 

“Stormy, you should know by now – everything is my business,” the menace answers back, his optic glimmering and squinting. The device is then pulled, but Brainstorm has a good grip on it, and he tugs right back. 

Brainstorm dares a quick look to his left – Perceptor is too engrossed in his documenting to pay attention to them – which, in the heat of the moment, gives Whirl an advantage. 

He pinches on Brainstorm’s pede and blunt pain betrays his reflexes. Whirl manages to pry away the machine and hold it above his frame while he helplessly reaches for it; his efforts in vain. 

“‘Make-Perceptor-love-me machine’? Seriously?” Whirl reads out loud while Brainstorm struggles against his hold to snatch the device away. Out of all the things to label, he decided on that one?

“Wait, Whirl–”

“Oh, this is gold,” his optic shines with malice and Brainstorm only has two solid seconds before he can hold Whirl’s pedes to stop him from going straight for Perceptor.

They both topple down like cards, and Percy’s definitely noticed the fight by now. He peers from the table they usually keep the scraps behind, a little too close for Brainstorm’s comfort. 

He pulls Whirl’s impossibly tangly pedes away from Perceptor – because the aft is long too, curse his impossible build – and Whirl huffs in effort, but Brainstorm notices the device is still in his pincers. 

“Whirl, I swear to Primus, if you don’t stop I’ll–”

“Got it!”

Brainstorm gives Whirl one last pull and collapses on the floor backstrut-first. Tangled in a web of pointy joints, along with a couple of wires from the pile. 

What he just heard could not have been anything good. 

He grunts as he scrambles to his feet, some forgotten wire still stubbornly stuck on his servo, and looks up at Perceptor. 

The disc looks tiny in comparison to their joints, but Brainstorm spots it on Perceptor’s pede as his lab partner pulls the device away, definitely making contact. Brainstorm doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not; at least he can test it.

The reaction is delayed by two seconds, but Brainstorm catches the barely noticeable tremor and electricity running through Perceptor’s frame, starting at his pedes, and ending at his processor. Presumably, of course. Brainstorm’s wing twitches. 

“Uh… hey, Perceptor, are you okay?” Brainstorm asks in a surprisingly small voice he doesn’t remember having. 

He regrets ever having the idea of making such a machine in the first place.

Perceptor’s cold, unwavering stare gives him a chill. A loud thud makes Brainstorm’s frame jump as his machine is thrust into his servos. He scrambles to hold it properly, a stare etched into him. 

“Get out of my lab. Now.”

Percy’s voice booms, echoing through the whole lab – their lab, as Brainstorm had priorly thought. 

His processor can come to only one conclusion: he had invented the complete opposite of what he had intended to. Not this aggressive ignorance, not this hatred. He wanted admiration, not hate – not again.

He has no time to make sense of that revelation as he scrambles for the exit, pushing away the bots who had probably heard the commotion and came to poke fun at him. 

He continues to his habsuite, the device close to his chassis, a slight fog creeping into the edges of his vision that doesn’t leave until he’s slamming the door shut. 

Brainstorm slides down onto the floor, pulling the machine closer, almost crushing it with his servo – or hoping to, at the back of his mind.

The silence fills his processor and ugly static pours out. 

How could he think it was ever going to work? He’s no manipulator. Making guns, weapons of destruction, and something that would twist reality and emotional stability of a mech is a night and day difference. He shouldn’t have invented this cursed thing, should never have been this angry, this pitiful, and frag, everyone was watching him, how is he supposed to prove he was good at something– 

One, two knocks at the door tremble his frame as he presses against the door. A muffled “Hey, Stormy, it’s Nautica” beyond the door causes Brainstorm to shift in his seat. 

No knocks come after, but Brainstorm’s emotionally aware enough that his amica endura is still there. Waiting to put a comforting servo on his shoulder – one he doesn’t deserve. 

He manages a sigh that trails through his entire frame. Then he gets up and shuffles to the berth, his servos pressed tight against its flat surface.

The door creaks open, Nautica’s purple paintjob standing out from the shining light of the outside corridor against his dim room. “Hey, Stormy. Can I come in?”

He gives her a look that she reads as inviting, closing the door behind her. She takes a seat next to him, still servos on her lap.

“You know I’m here for you, right?” she says after a few minutes of silence. Brainstorm stares at the floor. “Whatever you need. And I’m sure Perceptor didn’t even mean it back there, you know how–”

“He did, though,” Brainstorm croaks out. Nautica’s frame leans closer to his. “I– I messed up. I wanted an easy way out, but I messed it up again. What kind of a scientist am I if I can’t even make a mind control device work properly?”

Nautica moves a little closer to him and puts her servo on his. “At least it worked, right? And we know the problem, so we can fix it.”

“But he hates me, Nautica.”

“You don’t really know that. I’m sure we can convince him to cooperate on a project with you. Until then,” she removes her servo that seems to leave the warmth on his plating well after their talk, “try and get some rest, okay? We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

She leaves him with a tender smile, shutting the door behind her, and letting him and his thoughts linger under the shadows of his unlit walls. 

In the meantime, he figures out his next steps.

Next day doesn’t come easy, but Brainstorm is considerably more determined to mend the broken trust. His processor doesn’t scream profanities at him, at least, and he would consider it progress. 

Nautica catches up to him in the hallway when he’s on his way to the lab.

“Brainstorm! Do you actually know what you’re going to do? This needs a plan or… something.”

“Nah, I’ll figure it out when I get there,” he says, waving his free servo that isn’t holding the culprit of his problem.

Nautica steps forward before he can enter the lab, his cool demeanour slightly broken. “Okay, wait, I have to confess something. I’ve already talked to Percy the night before: he agreed to help you with one project, as he’d said.”

Brainstorm arched an optic-ridge. “Wait, really?” 

“Yeah, but only one. So you have one chance, got it?” she says, as sternly as she can, yet Brainstorm can’t help but smile at her worrying. 

“Aw-w, thanks, Nautica! You always know how to help out a friend.”

She rolls her optics with a fond smile before cycling and pushing him into the lab.

“Hello,” Perceptor and his carefully folded servos, along with the best passive-aggressive look, meet him right at the entrance, and Brainstorm has to take a step back to regain his footing. “How may I be of assistance?”

Brainstorm coughs into his mask. He vaguely registers the door behind him sliding closed, Nautica’s work wide and proud. “Well, now that you’ve mentioned it,” he dawns, peeking into Perceptor’s personal space despite his better judgement; the scientist leans backwards only slightly, to Brainstorm’s delight, “there’s this tiny little thing wrong with my newest invention. It is imperative that we work together to mend it, as a lot, and believe me, a lot, depends on its success. So, what do you say?”

Perceptor’s field shifts from passive observation to open disgust as Brainstorm talks. And it stings, of course. But, somehow, in the moment, he understands it. The loathing, unease, hatred, – those aren’t new concepts to him. 

What truly intrigues him after a few seconds, though, is the cool response Perceptor gives him. 

“Alright, then. Let’s get this over with.”

Because… huh? Perceptor, in his twisted mind, under the direct intention of outright hating Brainstorm’s cords, agrees to help. Brainstorm’s inner core dances to the feeling of appreciation, of simply earning Perceptor’s attention and kindness which he has always possessed.

They work in silence once Brainstorm expresses what needs to be done with the machine to “fix” it. Each on their own little workshop, pouring familiarity over Brainstorm’s processor, yet swirling with alienation. 

He knocks a fragile chip off the table while fidgeting with the casing, his wings fluttering in desperation, and the sound bounces off the walls of the soulless lab. Perceptor only tosses him a look, but a look that Brainstorm will have to push to the back of his memory cords to make peace with. 

He never wants to earn that look again. It makes his resolve to complete their work as fast as possible all the more potent. 

Just two hours after, they have their pieces done and assemble the machine together. Their shoulders pressed close, but not touching, the invisible gravity pulling Brainstorm closer.

Staring at them is their own reflection, the two of them this time, the bottom of their faceplates inflated as if in a ugly mirror. 

“Now, what are you going to do with it?” Perceptor wonders.

Brainstorm sighs as he takes the device in his servo with careful precision not to grip the wrong side. “Fix my mistakes.”

And he thrusts his servo into Perceptor’s chassis.

It does not have the same effect as Brainstorm has hoped. Instead, Perceptor catches his servo, but doesn’t squeeze it or draw it away. 

So Brainstorm lunges at him. They fall to the ground, knocking some lab equipment on the floor, the sound of their frames making contact loud in his audio receptors. Brainstorm has to reach out in order not to collapse on Perceptor’s flat chassis completely. 

Before any of them can adjust to this position, Brainstorm on top of Perceptor, their pedes inbetween one another, Brainstorm sticks the bottom of his doom on his partner’s chassis. 

Perceptor has his optics closed. Until he shutters them on and off, letting the silence fill both of their cords. Another, familiar shock courses through Perceptor – Brainstorm can taste the electricity this time. His frame catches heat from underneath, and his own vents shorten.

A subtle sigh pulls Brainstorm out of the trance. “What did you do this time?”

And, Primus, how quickly his world can become right again. Perceptor’s voice is even, but Brainstorm catches the light in it, the teasing and love behind it. The notion almost makes him outright giggle – but he doesn’t have time for that. He smiles wide behind his mask anyway, Perceptor’s tiny smirk reflective. 

“Oh, nothing, just goofing off. As usual.”

“You do not ‘goof off’, Brainstorm. On the side note…” his optics dart around, “why, exactly, are we on the floor?”

“Oh, right!” Brainstorm pulls his pede from underneath him for support and deftly stands up. He reaches a servo out for Perceptor, who takes it with a warm smile. 

Brainstorm takes both of Perceptor’s hands once they’re up. He stares into his blue, genius optics, and his spark melts. 

“Percy, I’m… sorry. I know you weren’t angry at me when you said those things, I know it because it’s right, but logic goes out the window when you’re… me. I’m sorry for trying to control you, for having those betraying thoughts. You’re the best lab partner anyone could ask for, and I’m very grateful to have you after so many mistakes. Will you… forgive me?”

Perceptor soon brushes his digit over Brainstorm’s servo. His faceplate warms, and Perceptor’s gaze is kind on him. “I will. I appreciate you telling me the truth. In honesty, I was not aware I hurt you. I apologise for that. In turn, would you be able to express your feelings more… genuinely next time? To let me know when you’re hurting.”

Brainstorm registers his wings flying up. “Oh, of course! Or, well, I can try, but that counts too, right?”

They laugh together, and soon find themselves taking apart the “Make-Perceptor-love-me” machine. Brainstorm flushes more than once. He doesn’t miss Perceptor’s shoulderplates nudging him, precariously. 

Staying up until late, they walk past a lab table with Brainstorm’s failed experiment in complete disarray, wires and bolts pulled apart. Brainstorm doesn’t mind it. Not when he has the real thing right beside him, their servos interlaced.

[mintytealfox]

Hiii! Just wanted to ask what means you think Alice would use in order to bring Norton back down to earth whenever he's fool's gold?

OOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOOOO 👀🤌🤌🤌🤌🤌Yesssss this is so fascinating to ponder about AH! This is where my mind ended up going:

I think Alice would be studying Norton closely, especially after realizing that he needs help to get out of that Fool's Gold mode, ready to rescue him when needed 👀

Actions definitely speak louder than words for him (and Alice also honestly) So for anything to work there would have to be plenty of action before the words start being heard. I also think it would have to be a process of multiple things cause of how hard Norton has to battle with himself, it would have to take a few things to get him to finally listen.

My thoughts kept going back to that coin he had. I wonder if he still has it or if its lost forever in that mine he blew up. But if he still has it then Alice could find a way to get it and make sure he can see that she has it. That would bring in that laser focus towards that coin and getting it back. This would ensure that he is following her and Alice can get him away from everything else and somewhere she can corral him and try to get him to get his mind right again.

I feel like fire would get his attention, especially if its that Oil-Wick Cap Lamp of his. Seeing that ignited again might make him pause and stare honestly. Cause the last time it was lit was likely from that explosion, whoops. But before all that it was with him in every scene of that trailer, as his light, so he can study and work and do all the things that he believes will lead him to a better life. But Alice illuminating her own face with that light could then get him to look at her and potentially begin to realize THAT light is illuminating HER. and maybe thinking like 'that is where I want to be, wherever she is going, that is a better future'.

Then whenever the opportunity shows itself, Alice can finally give him some proper physical touch and words about loneliness and how he doesn't need to be lonely anymore (bringing it back to that coin and those tear stains ahhhh) and stuff like that. Which makes him finally fully come to, with him just relaxing into her touch.

Alice finally able to breathe and relax and just lets Norton lay curled up on his side and resting his head on her lap *at her insistence), still in Fool's Gold form cause I think getting out of hunter form could take a bit sometimes.

So I guess to summarize this lol Alice may use things that are important to him then topics that get him to stop and think about what he is doing and the ONLY REASON they work is because its her.

I think if anyone else tried to do this he might get so PISSED OFF LOOOOOLL like who are they to touch his stuff and talk about such things LOOOOL

There is also the possibility that Fool's Gold is having fun, and Alice needs to make it NOT fun and by smacking his past in his face that would get his head back on right pretty well pff

I feel like I have so many other thoughts and DIFFERENT thoughts but I am having trouble articulating them well enough, so this will do for now~

This was COOL! THANK YOU FOR THIS 👀🤌🤌🤌🤌👏👏👏👏👏👏👏💖

[unhelpfulfemme]

book ask: 3, 4, 12

I'M SORRY THIS IS SO LONG :( Anyway, this post was for my book ask, everyone else reading it feel free to join in!

3. What were your top five books of the year?

Hoo boy, if I were perfectly honest they would all be Lymond Chronicles books. Those books are PERFECT, they literally have everything I've ever wanted: operatic drama AND Ocean's 11-style competence porn AND meticulously researched historical battles AND a morally grey manipulative messy depraved bisexual protagonist who ends up breaking down into a puddle of mental health issues at several points AND really well-rounded strong female characters. However, for fairness's sake, I'm going to pretend that I can only put in one book in a series, so here goes:

Pawn in Frankincense by Dorothy Dunnett (Lymond Chronicles book 4/6) - I only read this at the beginning of the year and I've already reread it twice. It has all the content warnings, the lushest writing you'll ever see, and it will make you fall in love with it and then break your heart. Two bisexual Scottish noblemen, one of which is Depraved and the other one Repressed and Catholic, travel the Mediterranean in search of the bastard child of one of them, which is held hostage by a sadistic knight Hospitaller. They are accompanied by a maybe-sister of one of them (it's a mystery if they're related and how!!) and a perspicaceous fifteen-year-old girl who can't be convinced to leave even though everyone agrees it's inappropriate for her to be there. As everyone around them dies in increasingly gruesome ways and everything starts feeling like some kind of orientalist fever dream, they bicker constantly due to their shitty personalities and the mounting UST between several of them. The main draw of this series as a whole is that most of the characters are simultaneously manipulative cunning chessmasters and very mentally ill, and you are left wondering (alongside their friends and family) whether their current breakdown is part of some elaborate byzantine plot or if they're just genuinely losing their mind <3

Prince's Gambit by C.S. Pacat (Captive Prince book 2/3) - it maintains a laser-sharp focus on the characterizations and character dynamics (and the characters have many layers to unpeel) while rolling out a pretty twisty and well-constructed military/political plot in the background. Also full of lush, sensorial writing and sordid personal drama, just as I like it <3

The King's Shield by Sherwood Smith (Inda tetralogy book 3/4) - literally the emotional payoff of the previous two books, as this series follows a group of military school friends as they grow into their aristocratic roles and here they finally meet up after having spent a book and a half apart. Amazing nuanced and realistic exploration of how growing up in a very militaristic, macho, almost proto-fascist society impacts various types of personalities, amazing unique and detailed worldbuilding that makes you fall in love with the local culture (despite the almost-fascism), complex realpolitik, amazingly lovely and realistic depictions of healthy male friendships, a subplot about defending a castle from an invasion that's harrowingly historically realistic AND makes you realize the practical utilities of why the culture is The Way It Is. MORE PEOPLE SHOULD READ THIS SERIES IT HAS 8 FICS ON AO3 FOR CHRIST'S SAKE!

The Player of Games by Iain M. Banks (The Culture book 2/10) - wide-scope heavily left-leaning reflections on various properties of culture and society and its purpose and a very... literary fiction-esque approach to characterization, almost, smack in the middle of a book that hinges entirely on sociological storytelling. Very cool mix! And the plot is, just like I like it, filled with cool twists and moves within moves within moves, so it's not like you'll get suffocated by plotless philosophical considerations of the Evil of Imperialism - it's still a really exciting, fairly plotty book!

Memory by LoisMcMaster Bujold (Vorkosigan Saga book 10/16... I think? The numbering of these books is Complicated, okay?) - This is a series that's like 80% fast-paced madcap plotty fun but the characters feel like icebergs in that you get constant hints of the 70% that's below the surface. This book is a cut above the rest because it leverages the gradual buildup and reader goodwill accumulated over the previous 9 books and uses it to swerve into a character study of the protagonist, his flaws, how they were shaped by his environment, and his deeply-seated mid-life crisis while ALSO delivering a decently fun mystery plot.

4. Did you discover any new authors that you love this year?

Absolutely! Technically I discovered Dorothy Dunnett last year, since that's when I started my first read of Lymond, but I finished it this year and am on my second reread currently so I think it counts.

C.S. Pacat is another new favourite - he had Dunnett as a major influence but I feel like they're two very different beasts in many respects - Pacat's writing is less chaotic and more deliberate in its exploration of the characters' inner lives. Dunnett's characters feel like deranged children screaming in the back of the car (in the most deliberate and best possible way), while Pacat's feel like fine, carefully constructed clockwork. Dunnett also embeds her characterization in a sprawling complex plot that can be compared to something like Game of Thrones, Pacat leaves the plot in the background (although it's still complex enough!) and hones in on the character dynamics.

12. Any books that disappointed you?

I am gonna get shit from the Beloved Mutuals for this I think but I HATED The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison. I hated it so much, and I had heard so much hype about it before I read it. Like, I literally have a bunch of notes with evidence of it botching literally every aspect of writing/storytelling that I consider important, it's fascinating to me in how I am convinced of it doing literally everything wrong and yet it's so popular? Like I consider it worse than ACOTAR, and I was even thinking of writing up a long post dissecting what I consider are all its flaws, but so many people on here seem very attached to it and I wouldn't like to ruffle any feathers.

Honourable mention to The Secret History by Donna Tartt - technically I'd read it over 10 years ago but I remembered nothing from it so this year I did a reread because a person whose tastes I respect a lot heaped lavish praise on it. But I also hated it and thought it was a fake-deep book for people who like nonsense fake-deep Facebook quotes and Old Money Quiet Luxury (tm) aesthetic boards :S

[thewritingstar]

Pls do a story of bc and butch with kinda nsfw🙏💕

Merry Christmas! I hope all of you had a wonderful holidays and hope the new year treats you all well. This might be the only fic I posted this year (ik ik) but for some reason when I saw this ask, my fingers danced across the keyboard and I didn't think twice about things. It felt freeing and fresh and I haven't written like this in such a long time, I had almost forgotten that I could.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy this. I will say it is very slight nsfw, I may not even consider it that either. But this is where my mind took me. I was looking at a more fluffy approach to their relationship so I do hope you like it. (if its not what you had in mind, send in another request)

I hope everyone enjoys reading this and I hope I can continue to post more next year because I do love writing. Requests are always open :)

Rating: T (some sexual themes implied)

--

Hummingbird Heartbeat

Adrenaline, it makes you do crazy things.

It was one of her favorite things. Doing crazy things to get that sensation that ices over your body and your heart pounding. It was rare that her hands would get sweaty from anticipation or that her heart beat a little too fast. However, she tried anything to get that feeling.

Maybe she was a junkie for it. Maybe it wasn't that healthy to want to feel that way. It wasn't like she wanted it constantly, but when you can fly and shoot lasers and see the world in a different way, your standards become a little higher.

Rollercoasters were one that most people did. So Buttercup and her friends would fill up in Mitch's shitty van and go to the nearest theme parks to get that adrenaline coursing through their bodies. It was satisfying for a moment but she needed more.

Once Butch became part of their pack in high school, thats when it got good. They would race each other in the sky and throw chunks of buildings at each other. Sometimes they would fly up to the top of a skyscraper and free fall until they were an inch from the ground and see who would fly first.

They were always getting into dangerous situations but never involving their other friends because Buttercup might be fearless, but she wasn't stupid. Sometimes these things were just for the two of them.

But even when she would close her eyes and gravity would take hold of her, that anticipation still wouldn't get the smallest itch out of her system. She was afraid that she never would get that feeling.

She had told him of this stupid idea in her head about not getting to feel a rush beyond the usual. Perhaps it wasn't possible. He would listen and then suggest deep diving into the ocean or running though a fire. She said no to the latter.

Then one night in the summer after they had graduated, they went to the forest. They came here often enough that she had memorized a few of the trees wood patterns.

It was just the two of them. It was normal for them to hang out but lately she's been wanting it more. She loves her friends but there was something about being around someone who knew your mind before you've even spoken a word.

She thought it was gonna be one of those nights where they float above the trees and gossip about everything and nothing at all. It could be a serious talk night where they share their troubles and let them soar until they reach the stars.

When they got to their spot, Butch took out a bandana that had a dark green swirly pattern on it. Buttercup raised her eyebrows.

"What am I suppose to do with this?" She questioned.

He only laughed and approached her. He spun her around so she faced the trees and covered her eyes. His chest was against her back much closer than they had been before. His fingertips brushed some of her hair and he was gentle as he tied it.

"Fly." He whispered in her ear.

They say that your other senses get heightened once one is removed. Right now all she could focus on was the smell of his cologne. Pine and campfire, a slight smoke to him that she desperately tried not to take a deep breath to smell him better.

Her heart pounded when he told her to fly.

"I can't see." She whispered.

Why was she whispering? Why did she feel small when they were the only ones here?

She could feel his laugh on her neck.

"No shit. I'm gonna tell you where to go so you don't smack into a tree."

"Promise?"

She had never heard him so serious.

"I promise." He whispered to her.

Slowly her feet came off the ground. She wasn't as scared as she was worried. She didn't want to crash but the trees were so close to each other that she wasn't sure if flying through them with her sight would have her not have a scrape or two.

But instead of coming back down, she bolted into the trees. She could feel the wind in her hair and Butch calling behind her.

"Right! Left" Left! Right"

Even though she couldn't see, she didn't feel anything but the rush. Sometimes she would turn over or do a corkscrew and hear Butch laugh behind her. If a tree branch did hit her, she didn't feel it. She only felt alive.

"You're doing great, Doll!" She could hear his voice.

Doll. That was the nickname he had for her. It didn't suite her. Not like the other ones. Sugar for Bubbles was common for most people to use. It lost any sliver of endearment and Butch liked to called that usually when he was being sarcastic with her.

She once asked him why he called her doll but he only shrugged. He said something about not even realizing that he did it. She dropped it after but she noticed every time. She also would call him doll in spite of him, but he never seemed to mind.

Her heart picked up and she wasn't sure if it was the thought of connecting with a tree in a millisecond. So she kept going for a few more minutes until Butch told her to ease up and they came across a small clearing.

Her feet connected to the ground and she took off the blindfold with a smile.

"That was crazy!" She jumped up. It was definitely a rush she had craved. "I've never felt more alive!" She shouted to the open sky.

"See told you I wouldn't let you crash." He smiled as he join her on the earth.

Maybe it was the adrenaline pumping through her and maybe it was a mix of emotions. Maybe it was the way the moonlight captured his face. Maybe it was the way her heart always seemed to beat around him. Maybe, just maybe, she craved something more.

And maybe she grabbed the front of his black shirt and yanked him until their lips smashed together. Maybe it was the way that he didn't hesitate for a single second and pulled her closer. Or maybe it was the way that when they pulled a part for a single second he whispered,

Finally, against her lips.

Somehow her back was against a tree and she didn't mind the slight roughness. Her hand found his hair and her legs found their way around his waist.

Sometimes she would lay in her bed and stare at the ceiling while her sisters were asleep and think about his eyes. How they were a dark velvety green but the light could capture them in a way that would make her lips part slightly. She would think about what would happened if she admitted something she didn't believe herself. She would mostly think about how it would be to kiss him.

She didn't wonder anymore.

It was warm and felt perfect. One of his hands stabilized him with the tree and the other held was holding her up at her ass. Ever so often his lips would turn up into a smirk when he gave a small squeeze and a noise she would never let anyone else hear except him would escape her.

They made out for a while and her hand slipped under his shirt and traced against his abs. She wanted more. She wanted this to not be some flimsy make out session in the woods where they would never speak about it again. She didn't want to go to college in the fall without her hand in his. She didn't want anything but him.

Because kissing him sent an electric pulse through her in a way it never has before. No amount of rollercoasters, free falling or daring each other to do dumb shit could give her this rush. Maybe her hormones were going ballistic and maybe it was the moment itself, but she could feel the world shift and the stars started to align. Perhaps thats too much but thats what it felt like. Perfection.

She liked the way his body molded to hers. A perfect fit like a puzzle piece. Yes it was clique but to think that someone was made especially for her but if she was honest, it was true. Who else got to say that some genius monkey decided to create your own personal destruction? Little did that monkey realize, he created all her desires.

Butch shifted until there was no space between them. Until the bulge in his pants was felt by her and grinding to a shaky rhythm. She wanted to ignore that feeling and focus on his lips, not because she didn't want to feel him, but because she could feel just how much there was of him. She was certain if they started anything else against this tree, they wouldn't stop till morning.

"Butch." She moaned into his mouth.

"Yeah?" He grunted and suddenly his hand was under her shirt and she shivered as she remembered she didn't wear a bra.

His lips found her neck and she's trying her best to remember what she was gonna say. The rush is too much in the best way possible. While he's busy making her blush and pant, her brain decides to remember it all.

"This isn't it, right?" She say between breaths.

He stops and looks at her. His pupils are blown wide and a sloppy smirk is on his face that he can't remove.

"Whats it?"

His fingers are still tracing her skin under her shirt.

"This." She points between each other and now she feels like an idiot for ruining the moment.

Of course he surprise her when he places a quick kiss against her lips. Its much softer and tended then before and its more gentle than anything.

"I hope not." He says. "Its okay if it is, if that what you want, but I'm not very good at lying to you so there's no point."

It was true. Butch could put on a performance for the cops or his dads, even his brothers to get out of trouble. But no matter how hard he tried, he could never keep anything from her. Not even when they were younger and hated each others guts. Blossom would grill the boys and they wouldn't budge but then they would locked eyes and his mouth would open.

She smiled. "Good, yeah thats good. I don't want this to be it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Her feet came back to the ground and she smooth her shirt as he fixed her hair.

"Its a shame you didn't bring your car." She said as they walked.

"Why would I bring my car if we can fly?" He questioned.

She decided that he looked cute, very cute, when he didn't pick up on things.

"Oh, no reason." She shrugged.

Oh.

Oh.

She saw his eyes widened and she could have sworn he blushed. Never thought she would see the day that Butch would get shy.

His hand rubbed the back of his neck.

"I just wasn't thinking about that."

"I know." She smiled. "Still, it would of been fun."

He shrugged. "I don't know. I mean yes it would because who wouldn't want that, but I'd like to have more room than the back of my car."

"Why you don't want me pressed up against the window? Or better, me on top of you until not even the air can get between us?" She teased and their fingers touched.

Butch held in a groan. No doubt the image was running through his mind. "Well when you put it like that."

Buttercup laughed and hit his arm. She then wrapped her arm around his bicep and tried to keep it together when she felt him flex. She felt giddy and light. It was weird. Usually she was tough and content with everything around her but the smile would not come off her face. Maybe this is what being Bubbles was like. Maybe she understood her sister more. Or maybe she was just in a haze from him.

They arrived at the entrance of the forest where they had started. It was well into the night and she held down a yawn. She didn't want to leave yet, she just wanted to stay and be held by him.

"I don't want to leave." Butch said. She liked that they were on the same page.

"Me either."

He turned and tilted her chin up so he could see her eyes.

"How about tomorrow I pick you up in my car and we go and get breakfast and see a shitty movie at the drive in at night?"

"Butch Jojo are you asking me out on a date?" Again with her teasing. They always teased each other and she hoped it was still okay if they were together.

"I guess so. But you will be paying if you want any of this and I'm not a cheap date." He gestured to his body.

She rolled her eyes and stood on her toes and flung her arms around his shoulders. She probably could have floated up to be at his eye level, but it felt more romantic this way.

"I'd pay anything for you." She said and kissed him again.

He pulled away and brushed her bangs from her eyes.

"I'll see you tomorrow gorgeous." He said. "I'd fly you home but I'm scared of your sisters if they see me."

He was not joking.

She understood and she didn't want him to either. She didn't want anyone to know right now just because she just figured it out too. It was hers for a moment and she want to bask in it for a little.

He pressed one more quick kiss to her lips before letting her fly off into the night.

She arrived home to Bubbles passed out on her bed and Blossom sitting with a book with a small light on.

Buttercup said nothing as she kicked off her shoes and changed into her pajamas. She tried not to notice Blossoms stare on her but it was nearly impossible as she slid into her bed.

"Have a nice night?" Blossom asked as her book was set on her nightstand.

"Yep." Buttercup said she stared at her nails.

Buttercup made the mistake of looking up at her sister who stared at her with a knowing expression. Blossoms lips curled up into a smile.

"What?" Buttercup asked and she felt her heart pick up.

"Nothing, I'm just glad you had a good night."

"Oh, yeah. It was fun. Well good night."

"Night."

The sound of the lamp flicking off didn't have Buttercup close her eyes. Instead she stared at her ceiling where dim plastic stars glowed. Her smile still didn't leave as she replayed her night in her head and the possibilities of tomorrow.

She began to close her eyes and drift to sleep before she heard her older sister whisper,

"Your lipstick was smudged."

"Blossom not now-"

"Lipstick?" Bubbles voice cracked in the dark.

"All over her mouth like an animal with rabies." Blossom added.

"Oooo" Bubbles giggled.

"No, shut up." Buttercup threatened.

"You owe me five bucks Blossy."

"Five bucks!" Buttercup whined.

"Could of been ten if we got to Christmas." Blossom laughed.

"I hate both of you."

Bubbles giggled again. "Well we love you."

"So what time is he picking you up tomorrow?" Blossom asked smugly.

Now she wanted to throw her pillows at them. Buttercup flipped over on her side, back to her sisters to hide her blush even though they couldn't see her to begin with.

"Ten."

"Oooooooo." They both cooed at the same time.

"Go to bed!"

Her sisters laughter died down eventually just in time for Buttercup's phone to light up.

Sweet dreams, Doll

She had felt the rush of adrenaline thousands of times, yet right now, seeing that message, scratched the itch that she had craved for years.

-----

Thank you so much for reading!!! I appreciate you taking the time to read/ leave comments.

-Star

'