#the little moment writes

[the-little-moment]

Angst-pril Day 1

Prompt: Homesick

Words: 550

Warnings: None

Summary: Wrecker goes to Tech for reassurance.

The Heart Grows Fonder

If there was one thing Tech prided himself on, it was his painstaking care of his squad’s modified Omicron-class attack shuttle, their home and main source of transportation, the Marauder. Unfortunately, not every member of his family was as cautious. The pilot sighed as he used a pair of curved tweezers to remove another shard of red plast from the disassembled control panel before him. It had fallen victim to Wrecker’s battering ram of an elbow while his brother and Omega had been playing on the ship that morning.

Tech selected a matching button cover from a small box of replacement pieces. There would be no more of these forthcoming after they inevitably ran through his stockpile. Soon he would need to begin sourcing his parts from other suppliers. 

Wrecker had apologized profusely, as he always did, and Tech had accepted his promises for improved behavior, as he always did. It was simply the way of things. What was unusual was Wrecker’s choice to join Tech for his night watch in the cockpit. Usually the engineer would be fast asleep at this time, but instead, he was sitting quietly in the pilot’s chair while Tech made his repairs. Tech wasn’t entirely sure why, but it was Wrecker. He was sure the answer would present itself soon enough.

“Tech?”

There it was. Tech hummed an acknowledgement as he slotted the new button into place. He was working in the copilot’s chair, parts and pieces spread over the console to his right.

“You ever miss home?”

Well that hadn’t been what he was expecting. Tech looked up from his makeshift workbench in surprise. He blinked at Wrecker, noticing the wistful look on his brother’s broad face as he fidgeted with a thermal detonator in the pilot’s chair. “Home? Do you mean Kamino?”

Wrecker turned a furrowed brow towards him. “Yeah? Where else?”

Tech paused for a moment, thinking. “I regret the destruction of the Kaminoan people. And all the history and culture that was lost, not to mention their unique advancements in the area of genetics."

That clearly wasn’t what his brother was looking for. “Yeah, me too,” Wrecker acknowledged impatiently. “But what about home? Our room? The mess hall? The training facility and the sims and the armory and the—”

“I do remember Kamino,” Tech interrupted mildly before Wrecker could describe the entirety of Tipoca City. He tapped his screwdriver against his fingers. “I suppose…it is sad to think we will never go back. That we cannot go back. Not to mention the loss of tactical support that we are accustomed to. But we will find a way to continue, as we always have.”

“Yeah…” Tech watched Wrecker sigh, slumping further down in his chair as he went back to turning the detonator in his large hands. Out of all of them, it did not surprise him that Wrecker was the one who still harbored sentimental attachment to Kamino. At times like this, his brother required not only commiseration, but comfort. Tech leaned over and poked him with the handle of the screwdriver. 

“Kamino is where we are from. Our origin. That is not to say that we won’t someday find a new home elsewhere.”

Wrecker looked up from his grenade and smiled. “You think so?”

Tech nodded. “I do.”

Welcome to Angst-pril 2024! I'm taking part in this amazing month of angst with a series of Bad Batch stories along with @kybercrystals94 and @just-here-with-my-thoughts! We're alternating prompt days all month, so keep an eye on our blogs to catch all 30 fics.

Taglist: @lightwise @clonethirstingisreal @freesia-writes @bad-batch-lurker

[leisi-lilacdreams]

i wonder if @somerandomdudelmao will touch upon the unique connection the donnies have with the kraang? hehehe

cass, think of the angst potential 🙏

i didn't mean to continue with the "twin senses active across space and time" bit, but i thought with the leos in the future, this would be a good chance for the donnies to talk and bond, but it gets derailed when they compared their kraang encounters and everyone's screaming and no one's happy

[sguidwards-bestfriend]

Young Old Things

I like the thought of a deaged Dan causing a misunderstanding between Danny, Vlad, and the batfam.

TW: sexual assault hinted at

....

Danny, Dan, and Ellie go to see Jazz in Gotham. They've been waiting to "visit" her for weeks since she moved out. Only waiting for her to get a big enough place for all of them. Danny already said he'd share a room with Ellie and Dan, especially now that they found out if she is her true age she'll start to stabilize more permanently with Danny's ecto. Plus, having Dan be the same size helps, or so she says (he might be desperate for a new family and Ellie is trying to help, Danny and Jazz never bring it up in front of him).

The Fenton parents don't know about Danny being Phantom, instead believing that some big ghostly event caused Danny to have a ghost daughter.

And that he tried to clone himself mixed with a ghost to use that body to stabilize her. They may be proud of their scientist son, they are not proud that he won't let them experiment on his ghostly "creations".

Of course they are entirely wrong:

Ellie is one of Vlads' attempts to clone him, the only one that survived.

And Dan is an amalgamation of Danny and Vlad from an alternate timeline. He doesn't know why he's keeping that from his parents. He owes nothing to that scumbag, but Jazz says many victims try to keep their abusers safe from facing consequences. Before Dan was deaged, and much before he met the Fenton parents, he'd pointed out that he'd be scared who his parents would have chosen to believe too.

Jazz gets a full ride scholarship with Gotham U, the Wayne's new massive donation to the psychology department, as well as her well written letter about being the head of her home, helped immensely.

She felt bad using a slightly blurred version of their story to get a good scholarship, but Danny pushed her to go for it.

Hence her, Danny and his 3 year old "twins" were at a gala for the university.

It was being held in the museum after closing hours. The invitation she got had specified that her brother was invited, each with a plus one.

They couldn't exactly get a babysitter for two super-powered toddlers in the city known for hating metas. Besides it wasn't like they had time to get dates anyway.

The night started out fine. There were scholarship students, student council members, some Gotham U staff, and a few rich folk mingling and eating tiny foods that both Ellie and Dan adored.

Ellie fell asleep in Danny's arms almost the second she'd finished eating, and Dan was overly protective of the both of them as always. Of course the dense crowd and constant noise wasn't helping calm him down.

A Wayne, he wasn't sure which one exactly, had brought Danny a plate of food and sat with him as he tried to distract Dan. At first Dan didn't care for him at all, but he mentioned reading about the constellation on Dan's shirt and he loosened up. He never let go of Danny's pant leg though.

The night turned sour when all three's ghost sense went off. There was no immediate threat, but even the Wayne kid noticed them tense and turned to the hallway.

Dan was the first to spot him. "Vad."

"Bad?" The man mimicked.

"He has trouble with his Ls."

"No! I can say Ellie." Dan huffed, poking the side of her sparkly green shoe.

"Vlad, the guy that walked in." Danny said, decidedly looking down into his daughter's sleeping face, squished into his shirt and drooling.

"Vladimir Masters?"

He nodded, before he could continue however Dan spoke up.

"He is bad. He's the reason I was born. And Ellie too." Dan put himself in front of Danny, his little legs going over Danny's feet like a guard dog.

He could see the Wayne's hands tighten into fists, he tapped the inside of his wrist a bit and watched as he squirmed in his seat.

"Hey, Tim." Another dark haired light eyed Wayne and a girl came up to them. "Who's this?"

"Danny, these are my sibilings. Dick and Cass. Guys, this is Danny."

"Hi, nice to meet you Danny. I'd shake your hand but it looks busy." He gestured towards Ellie. As his hand swept nearer, Dan tried to swipe it away. "Oh, and who's this."

"I'm Dan. You can't touch Mommy." His little face contorted into his best toddler attempt at scaring them off.

"I would never do that. No one here would." Dick said as he crouched down to be eye level with his son.

"He would." Dan pointed at Vlad, all three turned to look at the man. Before anyone else noticed, specifically Vlad himself, Danny pushed his arm down.

"Don't point, it's rude."

"He's a rude butt." Danny laughed softly and Dan continued. "It doesn't mater that I'm half of him, I'll never be evil like him." He yawned and laid his face on Danny's leg.

"I think that's enough signs that we should head home. Thank you for talking with me, Tim."

"No problem, it was m-"

Dan grabbed around Danny's legs and whined "I don't wanna gooOOOooo. I want more of the tiny hot dogs."

Danny looked up to see Vlad infront of the food table. The Wayne sibilings followed his gaze "I'm sorry buddy, but-"

Tim stood up, "I'll get you guys a whole mountain of the tiny hot dogs. Why don't you guys wait for me at the door." Ever so softly he heard Tim whisper, "Go with them." To his brother.

"Where are your things? I'll help you get ready." Dick looked around like he didn't know where the coat closet was. He'd probably been to events like this hundreds of times, but Danny appreciated the sentiment.

"Their stroller is at the entrance, I have to get my sister though."

The girl who hadn't said a word hummed and went off, "Cass can find her, I'll help you and we can meet at the entrance."

"Alright, thank you."

It wasn't until they had both kids in the stroller with their coats on and Dan had a bottle of milk (with a lot of ectoplasm in it) that Danny realized he'd never mentioned who his sister was.

Dick waved towrds the end of the hall and saw his sister and the two Waynes he'd met walking with Brucie Wayne himself.

Jazz looked down and pat Cass' hand. "Thank you for getting me."

"Danger." Her voice was soft, but she didn't seem shy like he had expected.

"All four of you seemed to get along well with my kids. Would you like to come by for dinner next week?" Brucie asked as he looked between the four of them.

"I'd love to!" Jazz said enthusiastically. "Would Tuesday ight work?"

Danny could see the gears start to speed up in her head and he huffed a little. "Jazz, I need to get them in bed."

"Right, of course. Thank you again, for everything."

"Tuesday night works perfectly," Brucie Wayne said with a massive smile on his face, "we'll send someone to pick you up. Have a good night."

With that they walked down the ramp and down a few blocks to their two bed room apartment.

"Jazz," She looked over to Danny, "I think they know more than they are letting on."

She lent over the stroller a bit to check if the kids were asleep, before adding, "I agree, I think there is something up with them, but I don't think they're bad."

"Dan was okay with them mostly, and Ellie was fast asleep even with then around."

"I guess we'll just have to find out, then. Besides, it would be good for you to make friends your age and not at the car shop."

"Yeah, alright."

[fandom-geek]

i think the thing that really gets me about pre-canon durge is their absolute sense of duty, and their utter isolation outside of the cult of bhaal.

most of the cultists seem eager to see durge upon their return, and one even says they were the first to feed him flesh. gortash tells them of an exhibition of a bhaalspawn's corpse and another bhaalspawn's creations and durge immediately plans to attack the hall of wonder to recover them. they then apparently entrust said bhaalspawn's corpse to sceleritas fel to "restore" through taxidermy. they deride orin for her artistry with corpses explicitly because "bhaal will never care" and because orin "[does] not understand lord bhaal".

even their infamous prayer for forgiveness is framed around their absolute submission to bhaal's plans, and the crime that requires forgiveness? admiring his rival's chosen. that's one line, and the next three paragraphs are swearing to carry out his plan exactly as they've been told to, all for his forgiveness.

hell, even their room reinforces this. orin has barely touched the place aside from installing her mother's corpse and her manifesto - and that is some of the only decoration. what was it before orin, an empty room with skulls, a bed, a desk, some chests and a wardrobe?

the durge didn't have any semblance of a life outside of bhaal, aside from gortash. and is it any surprise? the only other hint they ever had a life outside of the cult is the flashback of kid durge murdering their adopted family, all thanks to their father's urging.

bhaal even tries to force them back into isolation after they've been tadpoled by forcing them to kill alfira, and then trying to force a durge who resists him to kill their lover. if they continue resisting, bhaal kills them. bhaal will not allow them to have a life outside of him and, if it weren't for jergal, he would've succeeded.

[royalarchivist]

Ramon: So opinions on [Bagi]?

Fit: She's legit, we can trust her. We can trust her.

Ramon: Would you rather a dad or a mom [for me?]

Fit: Uh- I- no one! No one. Let's- let's get over to Felps' Square, Ramon. [They head to the warp at Spawn, then Fit hesitates] Um, wait- Ramon. [He pauses, briefly looks at the camera, then says in a rush] If I had to choose between the two, it'd be a dad. Alright, let's go. Let's go, let's go.

[franklyimissparis]

the making of liverpool oratorio documentary is literally just paul in an alternate universe where he’s a divorced gay middle-aged english teacher turned classical composer and music director

[itsdefinitely]

i've. i've been rewatching the sanders sides

[beatcroc]

there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y

hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]

[prettyboybillyhargrove]

I wrote my first fanfiction (Harry Styles x Alex Russo(me) at 12 to a notebook and im not okay since then.

[the-little-moment]

Angstpril Day 22: Little One

Prompt: Drained

Words: 745

Summary: When everything becomes too much, Cadet Hunter, his brothers, and their favorite doctor help Tech through a meltdown.

Senna straightened from her computer in shock when the small clone burst into her office, dark curls escaping from his bandana. 

“It’s Tech,” Hunter panted, looking like he’d run all the way. “There’s something wrong with him. Can you come?”

The doctor rose immediately to join him by the door, her unfinished forms forgotten. “Where is he?” She bent to meet the boy’s wild eyes. “Is he conscious, breathing?”

“Our barracks. Yes, it’s—it’s not like that.” The cadet’s face twisted in dismay, fingers tense and fidgeting at the hem of his tunic. “He—I couldn’t get him to come with me. Crosshair and Wrecker are watching him.”

“Come on then.”

Senna snatched her travel kit from the couch as Hunter practically fled her office, leading her out of the medbay and down the hall towards the cadet barracks, dodging past older clones who parted, wide-eyed for the doctor in his wake.  

Inside the boys’ room, she paused while her eyes adjusted to the dimness. “Over here!” Hunter beckoned from the edge of a bunk across the room where the object of his panic sat, knees to forehead, skinny arms wrapped tight around his legs. Wrecker and Crosshair were looking up at her with frightened eyes. They made room for the doctor on the bed beside their brother.

Senna lowered herself onto the bunk next to the young clone, setting her kit on the floor. “Tech, sweetheart, can you tell me what’s wrong?” He hadn’t moved as she’d sat down, not reacting at all to the sound of her voice. She looked him over for any obvious injuries.

“What happened?” She turned to the others.

Hunter bit his lip. “He just shut down like that. He was angry that he couldn’t get his pad to work and then he went all quiet. We didn’t…do so great in training today.” The last part was almost a whisper. 

“But he didn’t get hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Senna could see frustrated tears building in the boy’s eyes as he tried to answer her questions. Behind him, Wrecker shook his head in fervent confirmation. Crosshair was quiet, eyes fixed on Tech.

She laid a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Tech?” Turning back to her patient, Senna lightly touched his arm, pulling away when he made a low moan. He suddenly began to rock back and forth on the bunk, pulling in an occasional gasping breath. As she watched, his grip on his sleeves grew alarmingly tight. 

Oh.

“Boys,” the doctor lowered her voice as she faced the others, “you’ve done a great job, but if you could go sit at the table, I think your brother could use some space.”

They obeyed, and Senna shifted to the other end of the mattress. “Sweetheart,” she murmured to the small cadet, “I’m right here. Everything is fine. You’re safe.” The lights are down, it’s quiet, just give him some time.

She leaned back against the wall, smiling calmly at the three brothers on the bench and continuing in the same soft voice, “We’re just gonna be quiet a little while for Tech, okay?”

Their heads bobbed earnestly.

Ten minutes passed while Senna willed herself to exude serenity. When a shaky sigh was heard, she turned back to Tech. He’d stopped his anxious movements, but his head was still buried in his arms. “Tech?”

“I’m sorry, Senna.” His thin voice was worn with exhaustion.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, little one. I understand.” She raised her hand, then paused, “Do you mind if I touch you?”

The boy unfolded, revealing a tear-stained face beneath his large goggles. Tech wiped his nose on his sleeve and shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. Senna touched his shoulder gently, pleased when he didn’t flinch. “It’s alright, dear.” She was surprised when he turned and pressed himself into her side, his forehead against her collarbone. His delicate hands were tucked between them and she sighed in relief as her arms came up to hold him. 

Senna stroked Tech’s soft, brown hair as his brothers made an apprehensive approach. Bolstered by the doctor’s smile and lifted arm, Wrecker immediately snuggled into her other side. Hunter took his place next to Tech, one small hand on his brother’s back, and Crosshair climbed onto the far end of the bed, not touching anyone, but still wanting to be close. 

“You boys did such a good job.” Senna sighed again as she let her eyes close, just for a bit, she told herself. Then she’d go back to those karking forms. “Thank you for helping me.”

This one was more whump or hurt/comfort than angst, but that's okay 😅. I love the little Batch so much, especially little Tech.

8 more days of Angstpril! 😳 As always, the rest of the fics from this collab can be found by following our hashtag, #littlekyberthoughts, and by visiting @kybercrystals94, @just-here-with-my-thoughts, and my blogs.

Happy reading. 😬

Taglist: @clonethirstingisreal @lightwise @freesia-writes

[edscuntyeyeshadow]

love the scene in season one where stede’s looking out the window bitching about ed and jack to olu because it just fucking reeks of that common queer experience where we would say/do the gayest/transest shit ever while still being deep in the closet.

girly said “do you think he’s better looking than me?” but didn’t realize he was gay until like 1-2 episodes later. he’s so Real

[a2zillustration]

I carried this thing for MONTHS with the EXPRESS PURPOSE of putting Raphael in it (knowing full well Larian wouldn't let me do that, mechanically) and I had one major miscalculation.

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[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[xjustakay]

jegulus micro(?)fic — 2,213 words. nsfw; the ‘James-desperately-needs-something-in-his-mouth’ episode (dedicated to my dear darling @imdamagecontrol<3)

James’ hands flex in and out of fists behind his back, wrists straining against silk tied in a firm knot around them. In reality, if he squirmed enough he could probably worm his way out of the restraint, it’s just one of Regulus’ ties, after all. But that’s not really the point.

The point, actually, is that James needs this.

He’s been so stressed lately, juggling more than he can properly carry, and it’s started to weigh on him. Make him overwhelmed. Change his mood enough to be apparent. Typically, he does a good job at hiding it, but some days…

Some days the itch beneath his skin gets a little too insistent. Some days his tone turns clipped and his mannerisms become twitchy and all that he feels is suddenly visible. 

And those days, well. Those days pile up, to the point that he needs a good break.

Regulus doesn’t particularly enjoy it when he lets himself get so deep in it —there’s been pointed comments about taking care of himself over the last couple days as he’s noticed progressive changes in James. So when James had come home today after yet another long one, feeling ready to tear right out of his own skin, he’d asked.

“Can you take care of me tonight?”

Once he’d made sure he understood what it was James was asking for, Regulus was quick to give him just what he needed. A loose hold at his throat, a level stare as he pulled him inches away from his face.

A promise between the lines of Regulus’ murmured, “Be good and wait for me.”

He’d waited on the floor at the foot of the bed for ten minutes after stripping down to just his briefs, knees twinging as he tried to balance his weight more comfortably. Then Regulus had come in, wordlessly giving him a once-over before he undressed. He’d muttered gentle praises when James had let him tug both arms behind his back, Regulus securing his tie around his wrists.

Now, a familiar hand brushes his cheek, trails down to his neck. Regulus thumbs at his Adam’s apple and James swallows beneath it, staring at the jut of Regulus’ hip bone where he stands in front of him.

“Alright?” Regulus checks, hand curling loosely around his throat, pulling him close again, just like earlier.

James inhales deeply where his nose presses right above Regulus’ navel. He leaves a gentle kiss there, nods his head. The hand at his throat tightens.

“Use your words,” Regulus instructs.

“I’m good.” 

James traces his tongue downward, through the thin trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the waistband of Regulus’ briefs. He catches the elastic between his teeth, tugs at it, lets it snap back against porcelain skin. Ducking lower, James mouths at the outline of Regulus’ cock, tongue wetting the fabric and feeling the way he’s slowly filling out under the attention. Regulus allows it for a few seconds more, a low hum leaving him that has heat pooling low in James’ stomach.

The pressure at James’ throat shifts and Regulus’ fingers sink into his dark hair, grip slowly tightening, palm a solid weight at the nape of his neck. His other hand tucks beneath James’ chin, his head guided into tilting backward between the two. James blinks slow, looks up toward Regulus’ face from beneath his lashes. Breathes deep. Waits.

“What do you need tonight, James?” Regulus asks; his voice is honey, thick and sweet and dripping warmth down every groove of James’ spine.

He keeps James’ chin in the curl of his fingers but stretches his thumb to trace a slow circle around his mouth. He leaves it pressed against James’ bottom lip, James darting his tongue out at it for the briefest taste. One brow arches as Regulus looks down at him.

“Something in your mouth, maybe?” 

When all James does his nod, Regulus tugs sharply at the back of his hair —an unspoken demand. James’ mouth drops open, a soft gasp between parted lips.

“Yes,” He whines. “Please.”

“There you go, baby, that’s so good,” Regulus hums.

James’ lips twitch helplessly when Regulus moves to readjust his glasses for him. It’s such a tiny gentleness, a common show of his care for him, no matter how out of place it may seem in a moment like this. 

The fond appreciation that unfurls warmth in his chest is derailed in seconds by the shift of Regulus’ foot, nudging between his thighs, pressing. James’ eyelids flutter as he sucks in a shallow breath. His hips twitch forward against the barely-there pressure on his cock, hard and aching in his own briefs.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Regulus asks. 

He tugs at James’ hair again to jerk his head back further, presses his foot more firmly between his legs. James is already starting to feel dizzy with it; the waiting, the care, the teasing, all building into a burning buzz that’s much more pleasant than the anxious itch that’s bothered him for days. He rocks against Regulus’ foot with a shaking, needy sound crawling up his throat.

“I need it, baby.”

“But that’s not what I asked this time, is it?” Regulus counters, tone vaguely patronizing.

It shouldn’t make James’ cock twitch the way that it does, really. Shouldn’t make him unable to bank a whimper when he rocks his hips forward again.

“Do you think you deserve it?” Regulus repeats. He inches his foot away, and James whines in protest. “God, listen to you. You really do need it, don’t you?”

James nods urgently, breath hitching in his chest. “I do. Please, Regulus.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t whimper another time when Regulus takes a small step backward, all touch falling away from him. The silver lining is watching him tuck a thumb into either side of the band on his briefs, pulling them down and stepping out of them.

Wanting eyes immediately land on Regulus’ cock the second it’s in front of him. Even the huff of Regulus chuckling above him doesn’t draw his focus away. He watches intently as Regulus wraps a hand around himself and strokes slowly.

Blown pupils hide nearly all the grey of Regulus’ irises when James finally glances up at his face again. He shifts up straighter on his knees, mouth falling open already when Regulus steps forward. A smirk tugs at the corners of Regulus’ lips and his free hand sinks into James’ hair.

He pauses in guiding his cock to James’ waiting mouth, slick head nudging his bottom lip. “What do you say?”

“Thank you.” Punches breathlessly out of James in an instant.

Regulus’ smirk inches wider and he gives a single nod. It’s all the go ahead James needs to tilt forward and finally —finally— take him into his mouth. The grip in his hair tightens as James swallows his length down, letting the weight of him settle on his tongue. He hums appreciatively around him, keeping his motions shallow to hit the back of his throat each time.

Despite the tight hold on his hair, Regulus lets James move as desired. His wrists strain against the silk around them when he instinctively wants to reach forward and balance his hands on Regulus’ thighs, but he’ll make do. He always does.

After a little while, Regulus’ other hand joins the first in his hair. He halts James’ continued movements and holds him in place. 

James moans the second he starts fucking into his mouth, eyes rolling back. There’s spit collected at the corners of his mouth, sliding down his chin. Each snap of Regulus’ hips has his cock hitting the back of his throat, his moans turning garbled and wet —filthy— while Regulus looses a winded string of swears.

“This— fuck—” Regulus hisses when he thrusts forward again and James swallows, letting him feel the way his throat tightens. “This is exactly what you needed, isn’t that right, baby?”

James hums his answer, eyelids fluttering as he opens glassy eyes to look up. There’s tears building at the corners, and on a particularly hard snap of Regulus’ hips one rolls hotly down his cheek. His cheeks burn, that and the panted breaths out his nose fogging up the bottom of his glasses lenses.

James doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care about any of it. Let Regulus make a complete mess of him. Let Regulus use him as he sees fit. 

This is all James wanted, what he needed. To release the tension he’s been feeling for days, to give up the vice grip he’s tried to maintain on control of anything at all. To be taken care of in this way; something filling his mouth and Regulus just taking from him.

He knows when Regulus is close; words are no longer manageable and his thighs tremble, thrusts becoming erratic. James expects him to come down his throat, is awaiting the burst of warmth, ready to eagerly swallow all he has to give him. But abruptly, Regulus yanks at his hair with both hands, tugging him off.

James whines brokenly, a thick string of drool connecting the corner of his mouth and Regulus’ cock. His throat is wrecked; it’s a pitiful, pathetic sounding thing when he manages a desperate, “No.”

Panting, Regulus shakes his head back and forth. One hand moves from James’ hair, thumb breaking the string of spit when he smears the slickness surrounding James’ mouth. Making an even bigger mess of him. James licks after it, twists his tongue around it, trying to be enticing, trying to get him back inside.

Regulus drops his hand entirely, grips his cock instead. He stares intently down at him, demands from between his teeth, “Keep your tongue out for me.”

Wanting to be good and knowing what’s next, James obliges. Regulus drags his hand in hurried tugs over his cock and he watches hungrily. Anticipation burns a fire in James’ veins, sends his pulse roaring in his ears, as he waits, spit pooling in his open mouth, dripping more down his chin. 

It’s a minute more before Regulus cries out, head thrown back and hips lurching forward as he comes. Hot strips of white land on James’ top lip, his tongue, his glasses. Cum drips down the one lens to land on his cheek and James can’t hold back a whimper, mouth still open. He hasn’t been told to close it yet.

“Fucking Christ,” Regulus groans, hand slowing over himself as he comes down from his orgasm. 

His chest is as flushed as his face, heaving with uneven breaths, and he’s fucking gorgeous like this. Wrung out and a little wobbly on his legs, shiny-eyed and out of breath. James feels just as high as Regulus looks. Even with his cock still painfully hard and leaking in his briefs, his knees throbbing when he shifts his weight for the first time in too long.

Regulus finally lets go of his length, gripping James’ slick chin instead. He swipes his thumb through the cum on James’ lip, his cheek. Collects what he can from his face, and dips a little into James’ waiting mouth to wipe it off onto his tongue a few times. Gathering as much as he can for him.

Finally, Regulus tells him, “Swallow, baby.”

James does without hesitation, moaning at the familiar taste down his throat. There’s still cum on his glasses, blurrily obscuring his view of Regulus on the one side when he blinks heavy lidded eyes up at him.

“You did so good, James.” The praise has James’ lips curling in a lopsided smile, dazed in the best way. He hums his thanks, throat too sore for immediate words, but Regulus doesn’t demand that of him this time. “Do you feel better?”

It’s a mockery of a bobble head on a dashboard when James nods hurriedly in answer. His head’s a little fuzzy still, breath slowly returning to normal for himself. A different high entirely for his comedown.

“Come on.” Regulus bends down to help James to his feet then reaches behind him to undo the tie from his wrists. “We should clean you up, you’re a mess.”

“Good,” James replies, voice rough, lazy grin widening.

Regulus rolls his eyes, but there’s no denying the affection in his gaze. He rubs at James’ wrists when his hands are brought between them and James hums quietly.

“I’ll take care of you in the shower, okay?” He murmurs, eyes darting downward.

“Y’already did, baby,” James points out.

Regulus lifts a brow. “Sorry, did you not also feel like coming tonight?”

James clears his throat in order to more clearly joke, “I think if you so much as breathed on my cock right now it’d probably be over for me.”

Shaking his head, Regulus snorts, muttering a fond ‘idiot’ beneath his breath. He leans in to press a kiss to James’ cheek, recoiling when James turns his head and nuzzles into the side of his neck, smearing leftover drool on his skin.

“Go. Bathroom, now.” Regulus points to the open bedroom door, but the control in his voice is gone; it’s half a laugh —blushing and breathless and beautiful.

James smiles adoringly at him, gives him a mock salute, and follows his instruction just the same.

[harbingersglory]

can i req some arlecchino kink headcanons? no pressure to answer! there's just a lack of new knave content lately ahhh.. (￣ヘ￣)

{☆} characters arlecchino {☆} notes drabble, hc's, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings 18+ content

{☆} dacryphilia

arlecchino is a sucker for crying. doesn't matter if you cry easily or not– either she sees it as a challenge to make you cry in the first place or to see how much you can cry before you have to tap out. her absolute favorite way to make you cry is straight up overstimulating (or understimulating you, depending on her mood) until you're practically sobbing. if you cry prettily enough maybe she'll take pity on you.

{☆} temp play

arlecchino has a pyro vision and she is absolutely going to use it. especially prominent if you're both in snezhnaya– it provides prime opportunities for her to slip her hands under your clothes when you least expect it just to see you squirm beneath her hands. she'd never actually do anything too scandalous in public, but if you're a bit more hidden away she'll have no qualms playing with your chest. if you complain about the cold you're just giving her an excuse to "warm you up" and see you tremble like a lamb.

{☆} face sitting

nothing prettier to her then seeing you above her with her face between your legs. her tongue is just as warm as any other part of her, and she knows how to use it, too. she'll hook her arms around your thighs just to hold you down until you've doubled over from the intensity of it– if you start crying, oh, she just gets worse. absolutely ravenous. she won't stop even if her jaw starts to ache. if you don't want her to stop, she could go for hours without a break.

[maaxverstappen]

help me hold onto you | T | 4/12

f1driver!max and streamer!charles

The man– Charles, Max assumes– sounds French. He loves that. He should be used to a French accent, he was forced to converse with Pierre often enough, but it sounds different coming from Charles. More melodic. Almost similar to someone he used to know once. “And that made me think,” Charles says, voice bellowing from Max’s speakers. “That it was stupid that we didn't have carrots before. Like, come on, it's a farming game.” Max has no fucking idea what the hell he is on about.

or: Max is lonely and finds Charles streaming on Twitch.

based on this prompt sent to @f1prompts

[larabar]

the i-forgot-an-important-thing dread we've all been there