#i need them so fucking weird about each other

[sh1-n0bu]

♡︎ 𝙨𝙩𝙪𝙙𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙖 𝙙𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙮 𝙥𝙩2 ♡︎

characters: sub!dragons x nb!dom!reader

warnings: finger in vent again so vent fingering, established relationship, monster anatomy, clothes and undergarment stealing, clothes sniffing, the dragons are being a bit more feral, pillow humping, praise, pleading, thigh riding, guided vent fingering, squirting, nipple stimulation, bullet vibrator usage, mind break, fluff, needy dragon boys hehehehhehe

notes: due to popular demand, here is part 2 of dragons getting fucked dumb(●’◡’●)ﾉ im sorry if it took a while. i was having some health issues(;´༎ຶٹ༎ຶ`) part 1 can be read here!! gradient divider from @/benkeibear

word count: 4.9k

ever since you helped out your large lizard lover with his heat, there’s only been one thing on his mind since then. your finger in his vent. the soft coos of your praises, the way you pushed his legs open to fuck him dumber, the way you nudged his hands off of his face so you could see his cute face twist and turn in pleasure as you fuck his hole.

“oh, for fuck’s sake! i need to get them out of my head” the dragon huffs aloud out of a sudden, hunching over his desk at his usual office as he hides the flush of his cheeks behind his hands. already a week has passed since the ending of his heat cycle and yet he was acting like he was still under the influence of his stupid dragon anatomy. he couldn’t even stop thinking about you and your fingers spreading him open while he cried dumbly on the bed, back arching and chasing after your fingers like a whore.

it was after his heat ended and finally able to at least articulate proper sentences that wasn’t about wanting you to wreck him, that the two of you have talked over and decided that perhaps it was time to make your relationship official. how long have the two of you been dancing around each other, making everyone roll their eyes at the way you two flirted with each other like some dumb teenagers? enough to the point people started making bets. enough that a half of the city had become 50 bucks richer and the other half poorer.

despite having already gotten into an established relationship with you, the poor dragon still felt shameful over some of his actions. such as stealing your clothes whenever you come over to his house to stay the night and lying to your face about not knowing where it was. you two were still basically in the baby stages of being an official couple which was why you needed some time to fully move your things into his house and to start living together. it takes time to settle y’know?

so it was definitely weird when some of your clothes started to disappear. the shirt that you usually wear when at the comfort of your or his home. the large, oversized sweater of yours that you have given the nickname of “the ugly one”. and strangely, you even had a hard time finding a certain undergarment amongst the mess of your home and the boxes of things that you packed up, preparing to move. strange. and even more strange, your overgrown lizard lover says he hasn’t seen them in his own home either. you genuinely started to question your own memory.

in the meantime you were busy creating a storm in your home trying to triple check this week about your missing clothes, your boyfriend was having a hard time in his office. no matter how hard he tried to focus on the paperwork stacked in front of his damn face, he just couldn’t.

instead, his mind just kept drifting back to the memory of you helping him during his heat cycle. the praises that constantly fell on his ears as his toes curled, clawed hands scrambling to grasp for something to clutch onto because he was sure that he ascended when your finger fucked the small opening of his vent. and that lewd squelching noises of his slick dripping down from his vent. an oddly sickeningly sweet smelling scent coming from him as if trying to woo you, trails of his juice dripping from his vent down to his fluttering hole to the bed.

he was fucked dumb during those days and by the stars, he wanted it again. he wanted your hand fisting at his cocks, eagerly tugging on them as your finger abuses the squishy spot inside him. he wanted to sob and wail deliriously, bucking his hips, torn between wanting to chase after the pleasure or tearing himself away to save what leftover pride he had, as he begs for mercy. he wanted it. at this rate, if he kept thinking back on that moment, he might as well try to force his body into another heat cycle so soon.

shaking the imagery out of his head, the dragon clears his throat. looking around his office to see if anyone is around — to his luck, no one was — before breathing out a heavy huff. he might as well try to at least do his work during work time.

“maybe that chipmunk’s affinity to skip work is rubbing off on me…”

perhaps even more had rubbed off on him. none which was a good thing.

“i’m sorry… i’m sorry i’m sorry ‘m sorry, [name]…” the dragon whines pathetically, wearing the oversized sweater he stole from you and nothing else. he just couldn’t get that memory out of his head. every time he tried, something small and insignificant would just remind him of it again. unable to keep up with trying to seem all professional, he rushed home straight after work — perhaps even earlier than the hours he gets out of his office — locking himself in his bedroom with a pillow between his thighs, wearing your sweater with your stolen undergarments to his face.

despite having already been fucked shamelessly just ten or so days ago, it still felt wrong to think of you in such a lewd way. in such a defiling way. in a way that it served as a huge disservice to who you really are.

“mmnngh—! [naamee]… m-miss you… missing you so bad…” the dragon whines, completely pent up as his slick continues to drip onto the pillow between his thighs, the outer scales of his vent already puffy and open slightly, weeping his mouthwatering juice. the poor thing was pathetic, trying to recreate the way you wrecked him so good. fingers messily rubbing and flicking against his vent opening as a means to mimic the way you ate him out the other day. spreading his slick around, making a stretching motion with his two fingers on the sides of his vent, flicking the small nub on top. it didn’t help. if anything, it only made it worse.

the dragon was trying to help himself out, to relieve himself off of his pain of unknowingly edging himself for the past few days. without you by his side to help him out or to hear his pleas. without you by his side to fuck him so good again. palming himself with a pathetic whimper, the dragon thinks about slipping a finger inside his vent the same way you did. but could he do it? probably not. he was just too damn of a coward, and there was the looming possibility of losing control of himself and letting his claws grow.

unable to do it in the end, he settles on merely stroking his cock. hand wrapped tightly around his weeping dick, your stolen undergarments wrapped around one of his cocks as he mewls, bucking his hips into the tight space of his closed fist. it was nowhere near to how it felt when you did it. perhaps at the time, it was his heat pheromones working but it felt good. your hand wrapped around his cock as your other hand fingers his vent opening. your hand felt so much better.

biting down on his lips, he cums into his hand, soiling your stolen undergarments as well in the process just the moment he thought back on the feeling. pouting, the dragon’s tail flicks in annoyance behind him, looking over at the clock hanging on the wall.

12:36. were you awake right now? you did indeed had tendency to stay awake a bit too late on some nights…

knock knock knock!

the soft yet annoyingly persistent knocks on your door slowly rouses you from your sleep, making you roll around in the comfort of your bed in a silent declaration of war against the knocking. acting stubborn, clinging onto the cozy warmth of your bed, you groan as a string of curses falls from your lips as you involuntarily drag yourself out of bed. whoever that was outside your door in this ungodly hour shall face your wrath like sun wukong did with buddha.

pitter pattering to the door — where the knocking has become more persistent — you swing the door open, ready to curse the person and their 109 bloodlines before shutting up. standing in front of you with his tail and horns out in the open, slitted eyes glowing slightly, was your dragon lover. strange. he never visits this late.

“dear? wha— what happened? is everything alright? it’s—“ you take a moment to steal a glance towards the clock hanging on the living room wall before turning to face him again, “—nearly 2am” you finish, concern growing more and more when his tail comes to curl around his own ankle. a clear sign that he was feeling anxious or uncomfortable.

“can i… come in? i wanted to see you” the dragon asks in a meek voice, a strange habit that you found concerning and heartbreaking to see since your lover was usually one who is calm and collected at all times. nodding, you usher him inside before locking the door behind you.

quietly, you follow him as your lover makes a straight beeline into your bedroom, making himself comfortable on the edge of your bed as a pink flush starts to grow on his cute cheeks. you were about to ask him if he wanted something to eat or drink but perhaps not as the needy dragon was now staring at you as his tail swishes behind him, impatient. tails expressed emotions after all.

yawning, you move to sit beside him on the bed, to which you accept his hug when you finally settle down. his arms cones to wrap around your middle, tail now calming down from the earlier fussy movement as it curls around your calf possessively. humming, you run a hand through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp.

the dragon loved it whenever you read him like he was an open book. to others, he was a stone wall, one that was made out of ancient scribbles and unintelligible runes. a warrior forged by blood and scent of death, one who was born and made by the cries of war and blind devotion from others. but to you, he was just a fellow being. one who was lonely from the many centuries he had spent, all by himself. struggling with the many different cultures of life, trying his best to learn and understand the human customs so he could properly court you in human traditions.

you two stay like that for some time. nestled against one another, just basking in the comfort of the peaceful life that you two found between yourselves.

“[name]…” the dragon whimpers from the crook of your neck, soft rumbling purrs mixing with his whining of your name. it was enough to snap you out of your sleepy state, making you hum as you acknowledge his call. he got your attention now. but the main point of hesitancy was — could he do it? could he be so shameful as to not only disturb your night of peace but to also be selfish to want you to pleasure him the same way you did a few days ago?

hearing the familiar noise of his tail hitting the bed constantly in a sense of irritation, you coo his name softly. one hand messing with the long strands of his hair while the other runs through his scalp.

“what’s on your mind now, my pretty?” you ask, taking a look at his face when it comes out of its hiding place in the crook of your neck. he seemed to be conflicted. brows furrowed, slitted eyes glowing slightly in the dark room while his lips tug in a small pout. laughing at the oddly adorable expression, you kiss his brows and pouty lips, making his purrs become louder. such a needy dragon.

“i’ve… been thinking,” the dragon starts after a while, taking his time to try and articulate his request and to convey his feelings that has been bothering him lately. a lot more than he initially thought they would.

“about how you helped me while i was in heat” he takes a moment, watching your expression closely to see if you caught the gist of what he was trying to say. you did, of course you did, you were a smart human after all. his smart human.

“and i was wondering if you could do it again…?” he finally manages to bring himself to ask, peering up at you through his lashes bashfully. how could you ever say no to such a face? such an ethereal and cute begging face alongside the promise of seeing his expression twist into one of someone who’s just fucked stupid. the cute face of your dragon lover drooling and sobbing fat tears while his heart shaped pupils stare at you in a silent plea for more. that face haunted your mind for too damn long, causing unnecessary moments of dozing off while remembering about the moment you slipped your finger inside, making your already horrible work ethnic drop to below ground level.

“sure. i wouldn’t mind it, pretty” you hum, any ounce of sleep leaving your body as you move to a more comfortable position on the bed. pushing yourself to lean against the headboard of the bed, you watch as your draconic lover takes his place on your lap. clawed hands coming to fist at the material of your pajama shirt, whining your name as he pushes himself flush against your chest. you could feel the mounds of his chest pressing against your own, his tail swishing behind him as he arches his back. your lips is pulled against his own, a small peck easily turning into a heated, messy make out. his forked tongue shyly licking at your lips, purring contently as his long tongue slithers inside you, exploring every nook and cranny needily.

you could feel his hips humping your thigh, the wetness of his vent weeping his precum already starting to stain his pajama pants and seeping into your own. you could tell he was too aroused, dumbly chasing after any ounce of pleasure there could be. you could feel the way your mixed saliva dripped down from your sloppy open mouthed kisses, his hands guiding yours to rest on his hips. a position you used to your advantage as your hands traveled downwards to knead his ass, squeezing the soft fat as he whimpers into the kiss.

the poor thing was so pent up, humping your thighs didn’t felt enough. it wasn’t enough to get him to that familiar feeling of high, that exhilarating feeling of feeling your fingers stretch his vent open while he could only keen like a whore.

“want it… want it so bad…” he mumbles into the kiss, guiding your hands to the hem of his pajama pants, tugging on them fervently to get the clothes off. you simply chuckle, finding his desperation adorable in more ways than one before finally relenting and slipping off his pants before he let out an annoyed hiss, pulling away from the sloppy make out session to tear off his underwear with his claws.

“darling! why would you rip it off?” you ask, amused by his eagerness but also slightly concerned for the way he just easily ripped off his clothes like that. you have never seen him get even the tiniest bit ticked off after all, so this was a new side of him that you were seeing.

“wanted more” he only huffs, demanding more kisses as he returns to shove his forked tongue down your throat. the length of his tongue got you groaning and panting, finding it harder to breathe as he becomes more needy with every kiss, with every sloppy slurp of your tongue against his own.

“mmnhp—! [nameee]♡︎” he let out a yelp, pulling away from the kiss to whine out your name as he felt your fingers knead his vent open. the poor dragon whined, huffing and puffing about how you were being so mean to him as he humps your thigh, the tips of his cocks slowly emerging from the scaled vent, both of his cocks weeping pre all over your clothes as his vent drips with his own arousal.

shifting him around, you let him lean his back onto your chest, hands hooking under his legs to spread them open. your dragon let out a little hiss, talking about how you weren’t paying attention to him. you simply shush his hissy fit with a chuckle, placing a kiss on his forehead. taking his hand, you tell him to withdraw his claws. an action he does with confusion before he let out a whimper when you guide his hand to his vent.

“b-but… i-i don’t think i can do it. i’m nervous!” he says in a panicked tone, turning his head to stare at you with cute pouty lips and wide eyes.

“yes, you can. i’ll guide you through it all, okay? it’ll feel good, promise darling” you say, peppering his face in kisses to soothe his worries. the dragon preens at that, his purrs getting louder as his tail whacks the mattress of your bed impatiently. once you get the hint that he was ready and he was okay with continuing, you guide his fingers to tease the edges of his vent. fingers rubbing the soft scales, making a spreading motion to ease the muscles there.

just some foreplay and he was already panting, legs twitching to close them. he was so cute.

“that’s it pretty, now keep your legs open for me” you continue to praise him through it all, your other hand leaving his leg to slip underneath his shirt. squeezing his chest, rubbing your thumb over his areola, you pinch at his nipple when it hardens, causing him to jolt in your embrace. whispering more praises of how he was doing so well, how he was your pretty boy, your beloved dragon, your hand guides his own to slip a finger inside his now loose vent.

“u-uunngh!! mmghh… mnngh… t-tight♡︎ too tight! w-won’t fit…♡︎!” he blabbers, throwing his head back on your shoulder as you slowly ease his finger deeper inside his vent. first, second knuckle until his middle finger was slipped deep inside the tight hole of his opening, legs shaking on the bed already like a fawn’s. there were already tears starting to form in his eyes, jaw slack open as heavy breaths fall. not a single thought behind his teary eyes. nothing but the pleasure your guidance and his fingers were bringing him.

“that’s it… that’s my pretty dragon, keep going” you coo out, pleased by how easily he broke under a simple pleasure of fingering his own vent. when he pathetically humps the air — finger still inside — you pull on his nipple to remind him how to do it. squealing at the amount of pleasure coming from both his nipples and vent, the dragon shakes his head, fat globs of tears already falling.

“c-can’t! can’t do it. [n-name] i need you♡︎♡︎ need your fingers so bad♡︎!“ he stutters, legs already shaking, about to close shut. too caught up in his own pleasure that he doesn’t even know what to do to properly pleasure himself even when you were here to guide him through it. clicking your tongue, you guide his hand to pull his finger out, something he couldn’t even perform without your help. he really was a goner with you.

“then, be a sweetheart and play with your tits for me, pretty. wanna see your cute breasts jiggle while i fuck you” you tell him, watching with endearment as he nods dumbly. hands coming up to push his shirt up, fingers twisting and pinching at his own hardened nipples. stuttered breaths fall from his lips when he could feel your thumb swipe at the slit of one of his cocks, jolting in place when you give his weeping cock a few pumps. the few visible veins in them were bulging, ready to pop and for him to squirt yet again if you just stop teasing him around!

but doing the same thing over and over again sounded boring to you. your sweet dragon deserved some treats for being such a good boy after all. he deserved some pampering.

“ah! gimme a second, darling” you snap your fingers, an idea forming in your head. he lets out a soft confused hum at that, hands still holding onto the soft mounds of his chest as he watches you move away to reach over to your bedside nightstand. opening the top drawer, he watches in curiosity as you bring out an odd small device that was connected to a small remote control by quite the lengthy wire. the color all cute pink, the toy small and nearly the size of a small hairclip but pretty girthy in width. were you… thinking on putting that inside him?

“it’s called a bullet vibrator. apparently, it’s supposed to add vibrations to any place of your choosing. and since i found out of your soft spot, i thought maybe we could try it out?” you explain to him, slowly unwrapping the long wire of the toy. it was quite lengthy. perfect to use it for his soft spot.

“only if you’re comfortable with it, dear. i wouldn’t want you to try anything you think you’re not ready for or feel comfortable with” you quickly say, ready to throw the toy away for another time when you feel the grip of his tail around your ankle. the soft smooth scales creating a soft, bristling sensation on your bare skin. if he could remember carefully, the most he took in his vent were two fingers. but it proved that his vent could be quite stretchy and take something more if given enough foreplay and gentle ministrations.

“i… i don’t think i would mind it. it sounds kind of fun, actually” he says after a moment of thinking on the matter, accepting the fact that yes, he can take it. he wanted to try these new feelings and challenges with you. everything would be right when with you.

“i would love to try this new toy” he finally comes to a conclusion, turning his head so he could place kisses on your neck and cheeks, purring in happiness when he could hear you chuckling. you should laugh more. the dragon loved the sound of your laughter — like soft bells chiming in the morning.

patting his thigh to tell him to open up his legs further, it was now your turn to plant kisses on his neck. you couldn’t exactly bite his shoulders as he still had his pajama shirt on, but you can take care of it tomorrow morning. so, you settle on peppering kisses on his neck, the faint scales that were around his artery, giving it a light suckle to which you got a breathy moan for. all the while you allow his vent to get used to the feeling of the toy, the material of it and its size, simply rubbing it over the soft outer scales.

“gonna push it in, okay pretty?” you whisper in his ear, to which he whimpered and nodded, one of his hands leaving his chest to intertwine his hand with yours. so cute. you can only hope he won’t crush your hand accidentally.

ever so softly, whispering praises to how good he was taking the toy into the shell of his ear, you take in the delicious noises he makes with a great amount of pride. the great and only dragon who could wipe out an entire nation off of the face of the earth, choosing you as his mate and bonding with you. having his faith in you that you would take good care of him and his pleasures. it was a heavy emotion and one that comes with responsibility to a certain degree and you would always be sure to handle the heart of his that he willingly gave you, with tenderness of a first snow.

“aaah mmggh—! uungh♡︎ it’s in! i-it’s aaaanhg♡︎♡︎ hummg♥︎ inside... it’s insiiiecckk—♡︎♥︎!!” your dragon squeals, hips thrusting back and forth into the air as he feels the soft round edge of the toy pressed against the soft spongy spot inside his vent. it felt foreign to have something other than your hand touch him there, perhaps even disrespectful since it was supposed to be the only soft spot that only you must have the privilege to know and touch! but for the sake of this new level of pleasure that you promised, he swallowed his hissy fits, instead replacing them with a whiny soft moan.

“i know, pretty. i know. deep breaths for me, pretty” you murmur, giving soft squeezes to his hand that was tightly holding your own. his tail starting to wrap around your ankle and up your calf further with the fluffy haired end wagging in the air playfully around your knees. you let him get used to the feeling of the toy first. gently rubbing it back and forth on his spongy spot, hearing the way his breathing picks up pace as he throws his head onto your shoulder.

“gonna turn it on now, pretty” you warn him, keeping a close eye on the way his expression shifts. if he shows the slightest bit of pain, uncomfortable feelings or signs of discomfort, you were going to ditch the idea. a moment of pleasure is not worth loosing your comfort over, after all. thankfully, he was reacting well to the new intrusion. only positive notes of his pleasured noises and star crossed eyes. you say it to him again, this time just a bit louder with a squeeze to his hand in case he was starting to lose himself. that seemed to snap him out of his trance. just enough to nod his head to you.

“o-okay… okayhhh i understaaaNGGHH!! [n-name]♥︎♥︎[namenamenamenam]—♥︎♥︎ h-haaangh mmhg s-shoo much♡︎ f-feelsh too much♡︎♥︎!!” just a single switch to the lowest level of the vibrator and he was already shrieking, sobbing and thrashing about on the bed. legs shutting around your hand instinctively, salty globs of tears falling as he goes slack jawed. his entire body shakes as he squirts into his stomach, but this time, he squirted from both of his cocks at the same time. the pretty pink tips weakly letting out a few more drops before he was fully hard on both cocks again.

all the while, you watched with an ever growing jubilation as your lover is reduced to this mess on your lap. legs shaking like a newborn fawn’s, cheeks and pointy ears a lovely shade of red as his jaw hangs slack open. every now and then, he would go quiet, arch his back off of you before a loud shriek would follow as the vibrator hits just right. you could see hearts in his eyes, completely docile as his pupils grow wide, so much so you could barely see the glow of his eye color.

so pathetically cute as he mewls your name in a slurred gibberish, repeating it over and over like a broken record. a broken recording that only had one word and is stuck in an eternal loop to say that recording. the most prettiest one. one that you wanted to be selfish and hear all day, everyday.

“u-uuuugckk! aaaanhg gyanh!! mrrrph— luv you♡︎ luvyouluvyouluvyous’much♥︎! luv yoouugh [n-naamee], luv you sho muchhh♡︎♡︎ f-fuUUNGK—♥︎♥︎” he trashes about on the bed, constant declaration of love falling from his lips, kicking his legs at the blanket as he sobs deliriously until he squirts yet again. his own cum splattering over to his chest, soiling his shirt and wetting his still hard pink nipples. you give one of them a pinch, delighted as he mewls in a hoarse voice. pinching and tugging on the cute nub, rubbing the still vibrating toy around his spongy spot, you watch in sheer adoration and obsession as he shoots blanks.

turning off the toy, you coax his legs open so you could move your hand and slip the toy out of his vent. when the girth of the toy slowly slips out of his abused now puffy vent, your dragon lets out a sob as his hips jolt violently. you could see his juices dripping out of his fluttering vent, wanting to finger it back inside him but knowing that it would push him way too far over his limits.

“shh shh, there there, pretty. i got you. you did so amazing” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his middle to pull him flush against yourself. wiping away his tears and drool, you places butterfly kisses over his face as you ground him back to his mind. he was far too gone and he hated having baths when he was way too lost in his subspace. if he isn’t responsive enough when bathing together, he will throw yet another hissy fit.

“mmmgh… tired…” you could hear him croak out after a long time of rocking him in your arms. he was slowly coming back which meant it was time for a bath. but until he fully regains his mind, it was better to cuddle him close as his tail has a mind of its own and has yet to let go of your ankle. at all.

smooch! maybe another kiss to his pink cheeks would help him ground himself faster.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub genshin #sub zhongli #sub!zhongli #sub neuvillette #sub!neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #dan heng x reader #dan feng x reader #dan heng smut #sub wuthering waves #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #sub honkai star rail #sub hsr #sub dan heng #sub!dan heng #dom reader #gender neutral reader #sub character

[amoremainslayer]

GYUVIN AND CHOKING KINK, I'M FUCKING DESPERATEZ HIS HANDS ARE VEINY AND I NEED HIM TO CHOKE ME

Hand fixation

Pairing : Kim Gyuvin x fem reader

Genre : smut

Warnings : nsfw under the cut, choking kink, lowkey mean gyu, no protection, creampie

A/n : He got me giggling and all that weird shit😖

The two of you were laying in his bed, gyuvin dozing off beside you while you played with his hands. You didn't know why, but something about his hands always left you breathless. Be it because his fingers are so long and thick, or the way his veins drape along his pale skin, you just can't help yourself but imagine what kind of things they could do to you.

"Sleep baby" he mumbled, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck while pulling his hand out of yours. You whined at the loss of contact "I can't sleep, it's not even night yet" you complained to him, taking his hand again.

He groaned, a small frown on his face when he turned around "Then stop bothering me" he murmured and you scoffed "asshole" You turned away from him. You took your phone, playing on it to make time go by faster.

After a few minutes you heard a sigh before you felt gyuvin turn to you, his chest pressing against your back. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as you felt his erection pressing against your rear.

You let out a soft moan, wanting this. You wanted him to take you. You wanted to feel him inside you, filling you up. You felt his fingers tease at the hem of your shirt, lifting it up over your stomach and chest, baring your skin to the cool air.

A soft scoff escaped his lips as he noticed your reactions "Calling me an asshole but being so desperate for me, what a slut" he mocked, biting into your neck.

His hand reached around, cupping your breast, squeezing gently before pinching the nipple. You arched your back, moaning into the pillow as he continued to touch you.

Then, he rolled you onto your back, his lips meeting yours in a hungry kiss. His other hand moved down, hooking into the waistband of your pants and underwear, yanking them down to pool at your feet.

"You're so fucking wet" he groaned, his finger stroking along your desperate walls. Gyuvin leaned forward, kissing your neck and collarbone as he positioned himself between your legs. He paused for a moment, looking down at you, his eyes intense. Then, he slid inside you, filling you up.

You cried out, arching your back off the bed as he began to move, his hips meeting yours in a rhythm that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your entire body.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, digging your nails into Gyuvins back as he took you harder, faster. The bed creaked beneath you, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust as you felt your climax building, growing closer with every movement.

Suddenly he put his hands around your neck, pressing slightly which left you seeing stars "So fucking desperate for my hands aren't you?" He scoffed sadistically, choking you even further which left you gasping for air.

It was as if you were seeing the stars as his hands around your neck combined with his dick pounding into you left you going into another dimension.

"nghh gyu I-" you couldn't finish your sentence as you climaxed, loud moans erupting from your mouth as you clenched around his cock.

Gyuvin came quickly after, his semen filling you up to the brim as he thrusts into you for a few more times "Fuck baby" he breathed out, letting go of your neck before pressing soft kisses all over the red marks his hands left.

"Do that again..." You whispered, earning a questioning hum from gyuvin. He pulled away slightly, looking into your eyes while raising a single eyebrow "Do what baby? You have to be more vocal" he said, his hands stroking along your neck.

You gulped gathering all your courage to request what you were longing for "The choking.. choke me again gyu.."

#amoremainslayer #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone x reader #zb1 hard hours #zb1 imagines #zb1 fluff #zb1 smut #kim gyuvin #gyuvin x reader #gyuvin smut #gyuvin imagine

[ckneal]

I was already onboard with bisexual Alya to begin with, but what really cinched it for me was Tikki choosing her as Marinette’s replacement for the ladybug miraculous during Transmission. Because if there’s one thing that this show has been pushing since day one, it’s that Marinette and Adrien are made for each other. Fu mentions it while congratulating himself on choosing the right holders at the end of Stone Heart, Jessica and Aeon talk about it after spending ten minutes around them in the New York special, and Tikki comments on how they draw their strength from it when Plagg tells her they need to find new holders.

And see, I’ve got this idea in my head. Just from watching the way that Tikki and Plagg have thrown out certain comments throughout the series to encourage Marinette to keeping thinking about Adrien, or let Adrien know that “Hey, you’re acting kind of weird about someone you consider ‘just a friend.’” I’ve started to wonder if maybe the ladybug and cat miraculous actually do draw power from their holders’ feelings towards each other. Literally. What if every holder of these two miraculous have actually had some degree of chemistry with one another, and for whatever strange reason, the kwamis are able to sense it, and use it to enhance their powers. Joan of Arc and the Dark Grimalkin were just the only two who actually got together before setting aside their mission, thus Tikki wasn’t obligated to mention them when Marinette asked in Reunion.

This would mean that when Tikki chose Alya, Plagg had to use this mysterious sixth sense to find someone who would be absolutely perfect for Alya. But as we all know, Nino is incapable of keeping a secret identity to himself to save his life, so. . .

What I’m getting at is that Plagg and Zoe were about to fuck up Nino’s whole relationship and he should be grateful Hawkmoth invaded the school when he did. 

#miraculous ladybug #alya cesaire #miraculous plagg #miraculous tikki #my thoughts

[bougiebutchbinch]

God I'm such a sucker for dom/sub edizzy where Ed enjoys domming because he gets to come up with endless fun 'fuckeries' (or.... scenes), and Izzy enjoys subbing because he's fucking gaga for Ed in all his Whacky Weirdness (affectionate), and god DAMN, this stressed-out little chihuahua-man needs to turn his mind off and just exist.

But it gets stale, eventually.

Ed is the flavour of neurodivergent that needs endless variety, whereas Izzy is the flavour of neurodivergent where everything needs to be the same forever, please, or I will have a nervous breakdown. Plus, neither of them have any idea how to manage each other's emotional needs!

Ed topdrops HARD. He requires a lot more aftercare than Izzy, but Izzy is kinda awkward and embarrassed about giving it, and is definitely awkward and embarrassed about needing it himself.

It's like, the 1700s. Neither of them have read 'the new bottoming/topping book'.

So, obviously, things crumble.

To the point where one time, they're setting up a scene, just going through The Familiar Motions (which to Izzy are such a source of comfort, and to Ed a source of growing torment) when Ed reaches his emotional broiling point. He crumples to the floor in tears, tugging at his hair, tearfully confessing to Izzy that he can't do this, he can't, he can't -

Cue Izzy panicking, tied to the bed, halfway to subspace already, now jolted out of it and adrift in a tidal wave of brain chemicals, his only thought what the fuck did I do wrong? Is it me? Is he tired of me?

(because deep down, he's been afraid of that for some time)

But his captain obviously needs something. And Izzy's gonna try his best to give it.

He's tied up to all four bed posts. He can't move, can't fucking get to Ed to stroke his hair and kiss him and do all that other soft shit he should hate a whole lot more than he does. But he can flop back on the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Coralling his spiralling thoughts.

He has to hold it together, for his captain. Has to do this, for him.

"C'mere, Eddie," he says, but his voice is all broken and scratchy and weak, so he clears his throat, tries again. "Eddie. Here."

And Eddie, snivelling, underlip trembling, comes. All dressed up in his leathers, beard big, shoulders broad, looking the very part of Blackbeard. Except for his tear-filled brown eyes - which are looking at Izzy so fucking warily, like Ed expects him to give him a fucking scolding.

And - yeah, maybe if this had been in the middle of a firefight, Izzy would've. But it's not. it's just the two of them, together, and right now, hurting Eddie is the furthest thing from his mind.

"What d'you need?" he asks, all gruff. Tugging at the ropes, rough hemp chewing on the tender insides of his wrists.

Ed gives a petulant little shrug. Fucker. Izzy's not a mind reader; he can't just intuit...

But... maybe he can. Ed's shoulders are shrunken, his spine stooped. He looks like a wet fucking cat. Pathetic. Useless. All the things the great Blackbeard should never be.

But Blackbeard is a myth. Eddie's a man. And Izzy knows better than most, how men can act as one thing and deep down, be another.

He thinks of the moments when he feels so fucking small and useless and broken. How Ed makes him feel good... And, glancing at the persistent bulge in Eddie's tight leather pants - how neither of them have said the word they agreed on, that'd bring this whole farce to a close - Izzy knows just what to do.

He licks his dry lips. Either this works, or Blackbeard snaps and kills him. Luckily, Izzy's always liked the thought of dying at his captain's hand.

"Wanna be mine tonight, Eddie?" he asks.

Ed's eyes go wide. Then narrow. Whole fucking face journey, mashed into a couple seconds: surprise, anger, fear, relief. Izzy waits patiently for him to settle, gripping the ropes that hold him spread-eagled for his captain's attention. Heart fluttering in his chest like he's staring down an oncoming enemy battalion: outgunned, outmanned, but still hungry for the fight.

"C'mon then," he says, nodding to where, despite it all, he's still half-erect too, bare cock plump against his scarred thigh. "Up here, there's a good b-boy."

His voice almost breaks on the last word, every instinct screaming at him not to demean his captain in the way he likes to be demeaned. Ed's so much better than him, brighter and sharper and fucking brilliant; he's not so weak as to need this. Or at least, he shouldn't be. Right?

But it's hard to focus on that when Ed crawls over him, danger in every movement, sleek and lithe as a jaguar. Fucking beautiful.

Then he ducks his head to bury in Izzy's neck, over his swallow tattoo, and nods.

"Good boy, telling daddy what you want," Izzy whispers into his hair - the same words Ed was supposed to say to him, when all this was over. He feels his captain sigh against his swallow and go deliciously slack.

It ain't what Izzy likes, as a rule, but for Ed... for Ed, he'll do damn near anything.

...Then Izzy gives Ed a healing dommy sloppytoppy, all while still tied to the bed, Ed crying while he rides him into the mattress. They hug after and hold each other, but not for nearly as long as they should. And everything hurts like an infected wound, but they can't stop picking at this thing they call a relationship until it scars.

#ofmd #ed teach #izzy hands #our flag means death #ofmd izzy #edizzy #blackhands #ed babygirl teach #ed teach born on a beach

[catenby-perineum]

Please note

I rolled out of bed to type this because it was weighing on me a bit.

I feel the need to explain this in depth but I really shouldn't have to so I'll toss a tl;dr at the end, I just feel like where I'm coming from is useful or something? I'm not sure.

I just wanted to say that over the time I've run this blog there have been some compliments I felt uneasy about. At the time I often accepted them; Even viewed them as positive things even if something felt off. But dwelling on why they felt off gave me plenty of reason to make this post.

I hold no negative feelings towards the people who offered these compliments because in each case it's been very obvious where they were coming from. Perhaps I'm too nice, but I don't feel negativity about it.

But some people seem to misunderstand what "any pronouns" means or how it interacts with their views of who they are speaking toward.

I have had tags slapped on my pics that amount to things like "#hnnnnnng I love girls/women" as they have misconstrued my acceptance of any pronouns to mean I accept others gendering me for themselves.

I do not.

I have had many people compliment and sext over my "girlcock" or "girlmusk".

I do not have these things.

I am nonbinary, I am agender, I have some fluidity in there but it's constantly bouncing between miasmas of gender rather than along the traditional binary, I am trans and happy about that- it hasn't been a fact I understood for long but I've enjoyed understanding myself more as a person than as a singular gender.

I have a cock, not a girlcock, to put it bluntly.

To put it more clearly, I feel "at home" in so many different terms- so many different titles and pronouns- because I feel myself within them. If someone calls me mistress or miss or sir or whatever I feel myself in that because all of gender feels like a part of my blurry agender identity. Effectively they are calling me by parts of my home or something poetic- I rolled out of bed for this.

But when someone points at me and declares me one thing, calling me a woman in an apparent attempt to show appreciation towards the varied body types that exist within the gender- to show respect towards trans women by what? Misgendering a nonbinary person? It feels like someone found me hot and wanted to label me so they could maintain their preferred sexual identity or something but that's an assumption and not my internal world to explore.

Gendering my body parts as if my acceptance of pronouns extends towards deciding how to label my body for me is the real kicker that has dug at me over time.

At first I took girlcock to be a rather sizeable compliment as it felt divergent from my past identity. People were taking an effort to not see me as simply a man, so that must mean we're going the right direction- I thought.

But as time has sat on it it's just remained uncomfortable and I've long since figured out why.

Pointing at me, a nonbinary agender trans person, and saying "Girl-bodypart" is still incorrect. It's still deciding for me and frankly it feels really weird being in such happy trans circles but still occasionally hearing that I'm a hot transfemme with a hot girlcock when that's not what I am. You can clearly see that's not what I am- it's in my damn name if you needed a reminder.

*sigh* I'm not even actually mad about it, I'm mildly upset I guess, but more in a disappointed and kind of saddened way.

In practice it's just made these "compliments" feel like someone saying you're the coolest ever- at the exact moment you step in a puddle in bare socks. You sure as hell don't feel cool right now and this just feels fucking off and will continue to for a while now, thanks.

TL;DR I am nonbinary and agender and trans and accept any pronouns, this does not mean you can decide I am a woman for the sake of praising me as a hot woman, this also does not mean you can gender my body for the same purpose- I will softly remind you that I do not accept others complimenting my "girlcock" as I do not have one. Thank you.

I guess in conclusion, girlcock fucking rules, trans people fucking rule, I am nonbinary and not a girl and do not have a girlcock, mine's just a cock, I'm going back to bed and love you all 💜

#ag-t

[spicybylerpolls]

@"we're not pure magical fairies" anon!

Damn, I've been thinking about this topic so much. And getting heated about it. It's no secret that fandoms in general tend to be dominated by women, and in the case of the byler fandom, it's also overall a pretty youthful fandom. Sexuality is such a charged topic, it's so powerful and personal and runs so deep and THAT is why I need to see it portrayed with utmost authenticity. So truly, it's hard to take when people try to censor conversations surrounding a topic that means so much to me (having grown up gay in that time period). I appreciate people's thoughts and interpretations but a hearty FUCK NO to trying to censor or police gay male sexuality. I mean, damn.

Really, when people referred to hosegate as "sexualizing" mike and will, that was disheartening to say the least. It implies imposing sexuality, framing it as something separate from the characters - rather than us just interpreting the scene (and others) as intended: mike and will are hot for each other. Oh lord! Imagine! I just came away from all that feeling quite weird about my own sexuality for the first time in many years. I should seriously know better than to let such things get to me. But shame runs deep. Gays who survived the 80s know. And not only them, of course!

I've actually been looking forward to post st5, because I believe that's really the time when we will get a broader perspective of gay and bisexual men's thoughts and feelings about this storyline.

#spicy byler #byler #mike wheeler #will byers #spicy byler meta #no poll

[bitchsister]

can we maybe get curt cockwarming bucky,, but he’s just unable to sit still and is being all bratty about it since he wants to get off but bucky won’t let him 👀

This is not the one and only cockwarming ask I’ve gotten! And anon, while there is some gentle kinda cockwarming in this… there’s a lot more happening too…. Because like I’ve said before. I need a muzzle.

(I kinda just did whatever I wanted.)

Top punk baby princess Curtie in this.

Bye

This has been very sloppily edited. It’s pure smut and filth if there’s any weird errors just ignore them and love me for my flaws.

I blame @swifty-fox for a lot of what is in this. But also I blame myself for being the one to write it. 🫶🏼

Look at their beautiful art for our baby Punk Princess Curtie!!

Here’s their art tag. They spoil me daily 🩷

☣️THIS PARTICULAR DRABBLE IS LONG AS ALL FUCKIN HELL AND IS A MESS. ☣️

Because there was no specifications made, this is yet another addition to our Lucky Charms AU!

If you’re not LOCKED IN for THESE THINGS, do not read : Curt and Rosie arguments, injuries and mentions of blood, lowkey blood play, TOP CURTIS, bottom Bucky, Sub Bucky turned Dom real quick, crying, whining, spit, kinda cockwarming? I tried for the circumstances I swear, Daddy is used a few times . Oh. And Green Day.

I definitely have more cockwarming requests. So a cute and sleepy cockwarming drabble will probably happen eventually.

Bucky’s place wasn’t close to campus, but if Curt managed to catch a lift from Rosie or one of his girlfriends, then he’d manage to bribe them into dropping him off near the skate park which was only about a fifteen minute ride away from Bucky’s, if he was really putting his back into it.

He’d gone a week without seeing either of them, and while FaceTime was certainly one of the greatest modern inventions to exist, it didn’t do anyone justice — either the bar Curt was in was too loud, Bucky couldn’t figure out how to add Gale successfully to their call or Curt was balls deep in an essay about the Navier-Stokes Equations and Computational Fluid Dynamics while the other two had free time.

“I can’t go all the way to his place, Curt. I got work in like — fuck. Twenty minutes.” Rosie stared at his watch, gaze fluttering to land on Curt who stood in front of him, batting his lashes as he held his board at his hip.

“C’mon, Rosie. You’re arrangin’ bouquets all day, not protecting the government from cybersecurity attacks.” Curt stepped forward and tapped his nose. “At least not yet, Mister Digital Forensics.” His lashes fluttered again. “How ‘bout the park, then?”

When Rosie told Curt he’d gotten a job as part-time florist downtown, he’d laughed right in his face.

Ain’t no way!

Rosie stared straight at Curt, his lips tugged into a solemn line.

Wait — yo, forreal?

“I’ll — fuck — hey, Monday I’ll get you a coffee. How’s that, hm? For your troubles.” Curt made his voice sound sweet, stood before Rosie with his headphones around his neck, a loose tshirt hanging to his thighs, cutoffs revealing his scabby knees.

He blew an obnoxious bubble with his gum into Rosie’s contemplative face.

A heavy sigh escaped him, his shoulders sagging under the weight of resignation as he realized that continuing this argument with Curt would consume more time and energy than simply giving in. "Fine," Rosie conceded, his tone exhausted. "But you owe me a muffin, too.”

Curt flashed him a smirk once he’d plopped into the passenger seat of Rosie’s old Bronco where nothing but FM sports radio played through the muddied coaxial far older than them.

They chirped at each other for a little while about sports. None of which Curt knew a thing about besides what Bucky had told him. “Well, B says they got a good season ‘head of ‘em.” Curt popped a bubble between his teeth again, fingers fiddling with the too-loose trucks of his board to tighten them.

“You listen to everything he says?” Rosie shot a sidelong glance at Curtis, a brow risen. “It’s almost like you have no singular thoughts these days.” He continued, though he shouldn’t have. “Bucky this, Bucky that.”

The radio statics, but drones on.

That’s baseball for you folks. The Kawasaki kid has ice in his veins! One swing of the bat can change everything.

“I got plenty’a thoughts of my own.” Curt grit his teeth but forced his jaw to relax the moment he heard Gale in the back of his head, reminding him right away that his first reaction is rarely ever his best.

Relax, Curt. Take a deep breath. It’s nothing to get all bent out of shape about. Tell me a few things you can see. What do you taste? What do you smell? What can you touch?

Redbuds blooming in early spring, spent bubblegum, the leak in Rosie’s busted exhaust, the textured and worn down urethane of the wheels on his board.

“Hardly.” Rosie drummed his fingers over his steering wheel absentmindedly, reducing himself to the songs in his head since the radio in his car failed to work half the time. “You think he’s gonna keep you around when you’re graduated? Or, god forbid, you turn twenty-six and Ruthie doesn’t pay for your health insurance anymore? Officially too old for Attorney at Law, Bucky Egan.”

They hadn’t talked about Gale all that much besides the fact that he and Bucky often worked on case studies together and were usually working the same if not similar court dockets — a good friend who he certainly hadn’t dropped to his knees for.

“Fuck off with that.” Curt waved his hand at Rosie, his head shaking in disbelief and his expression one of grand theatrics. “Ain’t mine or nobody else’s fault you ain’t been laid in months. Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ downer, man,” he pulled his shirt up to tighten the shoelace threaded through his belt loops. “You been on my back about it now for a while.”

“Well, all you do is talk about ‘em.”

“And, so what!?” Curt tapped his board a few times over the dashboard to taunt him and make a big, loud fuss. “You goddamn leech! You suck the fuckin’ life outta me, Robbie!” Curt was huffing through his nose, red in his cheeks and far from remembering the things he could see, taste, smell and touch. “You know Nora calls you Rosie Raincloud?” He was being venomous now, his fangs deep in Rosie’s flesh. “‘Cause you fuckin’ smother us with it, Robert. We hardly know what to say to you these days.”

Rosie had stomped his foot over the brake in one of the picturesque neighborhoods, nestled in a dreamy suburban wasteland, so different from the city.

His chin wobbled and his gaze denied Curt the satisfaction of seeing it reduced to a puddle — that hurt, but he could only really blame himself.

It wasn’t the first time he’d taken a swing at Curtis Biddick and got hit back twice as hard.

“You don’t gotta say nothin’.” Curt swung the passenger side door open and jumped out, his head sticking into the window for one last twist of the knife in Rosie’s chest. “Coffee shop ain’t even fuckin’ open on Mondays.”

Rosie peeled off, leaving Curt to hop on his board and kick his legs as hard and fast as he possibly could, his headphones tugged back over his ears and the volume turned up as loud as it could go.

City of the dead, at the end of another lost highway.

Signs misleading to nowhere

He tried his hardest not to think about how he had acted, and the things he had said to Rosie — in truth, Curt was better equipped to handle what Rosie had been saying to him since after all it was his own opinion, which he’d reserved the right to.

Curt didn’t need to scream at him the way he did, or bring up Rosie’s sudden knack for draping a wet blanket over every conversation.

It didn’t get them anywhere.

His mind drifted so far away and his chest heaved with ragged breaths as he kicked his legs to the beat of the drum line in the song he listened to.

Angry, sloppy, reckless.

He stopped to take out some energy on the railings of concrete neighborhood staircases, finding his inability to make it down all the way in a front side a new irritant to focus on instead of the guilt he felt for hurting Rosie before his shift at the flower shop.

Until sunset he occupied his mind — or, until his exhausted body had failed him for the last time and sent his face into concrete. “I hear ya.” He mumbled at the sky, assuming it was all karmic as he reached into the grass nearby to grab his phone which had flown out of his pocket the first time the railing swiped him right between his ass cheeks and straight to his tailbone.

His body ached, his screen was cracked, there was glass in his thumb.

He hardly announced his presence anymore, fucking up the gate code a few times due to the shakiness of his fingers and dropping his keys to his feet while he attempted to unlock the front door, a wild and unabashed string of cocksuckingmotherfuckingpiecesofshit falling from his lips once he’d kicked the door closed with the back of his heel, limping into the kitchen to nose around for a snack, although he had really expected Bucky to be on his second glass of wine by then, his iPad an inch from his face as he browsed the internet for a new dinner recipe.

“Hey,” Bucky called from the garden where he lounged in his tightest swimming shorts — the ones that showed off the thick muscle of his thighs and the curve of his toned hips. “Hey!” He’d been calling to Curtis from the open French doors that lead to the pool, the sun still too bright to realize Curt was bleeding from an unknown source on his face with his headphones still blaring music into his brutalized eardrums.

Where have all the bastards gone?

The underbelly stacks up ten high.

“Dammit, Curtis.” Bucky got up from where he was laying, riddled with irritation that Curt didn’t come squealing into his lap like he always did, attacking him like a sucker fish on any bit of skin he left visible.

His footsteps weren’t detected by Curt that peeled a string cheese layer by layer, half of his body reaching into the fridge to find something else to eat. “If you’re gonna use my money for things like this, at least give me the satisfaction of -“ he’d reached to pull Curt’s headphones away from his ears which had inadvertently caused Curt to whip around, bright blue eyes starkly contrasted by the flow of crimson that stained his lips and neck.

This wasn’t the first time, nor the last.

Still, Bucky let out a sigh as Curt continued to feed himself strings of cheese, blinking up at Bucky as if nothing had been out of place — though, even John would admit, this got easier each time.

“What was it this time?”

Curt sighed, his shoulders shrugging. “Don’t even remember.”

He was so lost in his own thoughts about his fight with Rosie that he could hardly recall what he had landed and what he hadn’t — he had no notes to give himself and nothing he could set his intentions to improve on later.

He threw his body around for four hours and got nothing out of it. And, not to mention, he may have lost a friend.

Bucky shoved his face in Curt’s neck once he’d pulled him nearer, so damp with sweat and radiating heat like the surface of the sun. So bright, so warm, so absolutely gorgeous. “Need to keep all your braincells the way they are.” He murmured, drawing in the scent of him while his lips pressed kisses to the salty heat on the soft flesh of his neck.

Curt still felt sore about what he’d done to Rosie but with Bucky in front of him like this, his hands groping his sides to pull him closer, it grew more and more difficult to think about anything else. “C’mon, m’fuckin’ filthy, Bucky.” He whispered, his voice barely there.

“Oh, I know.”

The sun continued to set beneath the hedges in the garden and the breeze that blew through the open doors had cooled him down enough, but Bucky had done very little to stop his sweating — his palms splayed over the softness of Curt’s hips, the small of his back, the curve of his neck. “You need me to kiss it all better, don’t you?” Bucky could taste the metallic sting dance over his tastebuds. “Need me to lick you clean, hm?”

Curt had still felt the hot sting of anger in his belly, the annoyance with himself for getting it all wrong, the frustration of having no control over what he said, his emotions, and how he reacted to them.

He pushed himself forward, chest to Bucky’s until he was backed into the center island, his skin stained down to the neck of his tshirt. “You’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” The blue of his iris had darkened like the deepest parts of the ocean — the most dangerous. “Can’t wait to have me down your throat, huh?”

Bucky could hardly suppress the expression coloring his features as a searing chill trickled over every inch of his body. “Fuck,” his palms flattened again over Curt’s sides and down to the curve of his ass where he grabbed two handfuls, pressing his body closer and closer. “Look at you.”

He looked fucked up on himself, mesmerized by his own power, his own influence — Bucky was the softest, warmest putty between his bloody fingers. “Been thinkin’,” Curt grabbed Bucky’s jaw, forcing his lips to part as his own grew inches away. “When you cut your finger. Made me think, ya know — it made your face get all screwed up, made you whine a little.”

Bucky had sliced his finger clean open on a new set of knives Gale got him for Christmas months ago, the blades still sharp as the day he brought them out of the box.

“Think you can make me whine?” Bucky’s voice had drawn itself deep into his chest, teased by Curt who leaned himself in as if he’d finally give Bucky what he wanted, a true taste of what he knew he was missing out on, just to pull away a flash him a grin with front teeth slicked with blood.

“I can do anything.” Curt chirped back.

He pressed his hand into Bucky’s chest again, the other cradling his jaw as he walked him backward and himself forward, a wall behind them eventually where Curt slotted his leg between Bucky’s thick thighs. “What’s the over under?”

Bucky liked to gamble with his work buddies on Saturdays.

Curt would sit by idly near a high stakes poker table or the screen where Bucky and his friends would bet on ponies and he’d drink boozy milkshakes and flirt with the cocktail waitresses he had no interest in for a couple complimentary vouchers for the buffet where he only used the soft serve machine or the gift shop where a collection of cute coffee mugs were sold, and he had his heart set on acquiring them all without spending a dime.

“Not a chance.” Bucky tilted his head back against the wall, his narrow gaze fixed on Curt who hooked his fingers over the waistband of Bucky’s swimming shorts. “I don’t make bets on thoroughbreds without a track record, baby.”

Curt had yet to reveal this particular side of himself.

Sure, he was tough.

He’d bust his lip, his ass or his nose and get back up giggling. He’d fall off and get right back on. He’d argue his side of the story, he’d stand firm in his beliefs.

But he’d never claimed to be dominant in the way he’s portraying now.

The fact that he could wasn’t so much a shock, it was that he chose right then to do it.

“Smart man.” Curt shoved his fingers into Bucky’s mouth, holding him still with his thumb curved beneath his jaw. “On your knees.” He hooked his fingers a little tighter and guided Bucky down to where he balanced on his haunches until his knees fell forward, forcing him to sit on his folded legs where Bucky stared up at him expectantly.

So fucking beautiful.

He already knew what to do, as he’d done it for Curt plenty — his cutoffs were shucked down to his ankles and kicked across the room, his bloody tshirt following suit. Bucky had a hard time figuring how he’d be the one whining instead of Curt until he felt the familiar sensation of tiny fingers threading through his thick brown waves, tugged a little tighter than ever before.

“Go on,” Curt whispered in a shallow breath, “Get me wet for you.”

Bucky could hardly believe his ears, the shock drawing him quickly to obey a Curtis who was typically mounting himself over Bucky right about now, spouting off about how Bucky’s cock is so big and how he can feel it in his tummy.

He worked his tongue over every curve and vein of Curt’s cock only for hips to be drawn closer to his face, his eyes brimming with a sudden surge of cock-teased tears, “Fuck,” Curt grumbled, the blood drying now over his still damp and glimmering skin. “Look so fuckin’ hot with a cock down your throat.”

Rather quickly the spot in Curt’s belly where he held his rage earlier was replaced by the butterfly feeling of having Bucky’s mouth on him — until, of course, Curt had coaxed him into position atop an expensive area rug in the living room, knelt between his thighs once he’d removed Bucky’s slutty swim shorts from his hips.

“Didn’t know how pretty ya’d look like this.” Curt took in the sight of a pink-cheeked Bucky, his thighs spread and his cock achingly hard, curved deliciously over the little trail of hair beneath his bellybutton.

He’d yet to let out a whine, but if he didn’t feel Curtis closer to him soon, he’d be waving a white flag as he went down with the ship. “Kiss me,” it came out in an almost bashful plea as his eyes scanned the lips before him, the dull dried blood brought to life again each time Curt licked his lips. “Please.”

“Ohh,” it was an almost taunting coo. “Got your manners, huh?” A dribble of spit slid past Curt’s parted lips and between Bucky’s spread thighs, his cock slicked gently past the hole that tensed at the sensation. “Relax for me.” Curt whispered, his hips grinding his length against Bucky’s which already twitched. “Show me how good you are.”

Bucky hardly knew if he was able to be good, but he’d try. “Please.” He whispered again, though he was careful not to allow his desperation to show. “Just fuckin’ kiss me.”

Curt rolled his eyes, spitting again but that time it was at Bucky’s chest, tinged pink from the blood still lingering on his tongue. “You don’t make the rules, John.” He basked again at the sight before him — glowing cheekbones, parted lips, hands reaching to spread the dampness Curt had spat onto him around his chest and into his own mouth.

“Not when I got you lookin’ like this.”

It seemed Bucky had leaned into it, his body still tense but his eyes soft as could be.

Curt rut his hips between his cheeks, a rumbled string of groans bubbling from his loins as his right hand milked a couple little pearls of precum from Bucky’s cock that throbbed beneath his grip. “Y’like this, don’t you?” He whispered softly, his usual playfulness still dripping over every word; sticky sweet.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky gasped, still willing his gaze to focus on what was before him although he was hardly able to discern if it was real or not. “Gonna fuck me?” He felt another sting of anticipation dance over each notch of his spine.

Curt grinned deviously, little body slotted between Bucky’s thighs that could easily overpower him but wouldn’t dare. At least not yet. “Need to get you ready for me,” he reached forward, his fingers slid gently into Bucky’s mouth and over his soft, warm tongue.

It wasn’t long before Curt could hardly stave off his excitement, fingers gentle but prodding against Bucky’s hole that took a finger to the knuckle easier than he’d been expecting, a gasp following suit. “Fuck,” Bucky whispered, his hips instinctively twitching at the unfamiliar sensation. “Fuck — fuck, fuck,”

A second finger, a third.

Lube from a drawer in the coffee table slicked over Curt’s thick fingers as he worked them into Bucky whose brows furrowed, pillowy pink lips parted as gentle huffs escaped them.

“Talk to me, Daddy.” Curt whispered, knelt down between Bucky’s thighs like a predator sizing up its prey that just so happened to be twice the size of himself. “Do I make you feel good?” His fingers worked Bucky open while he pressed rough and starved kisses over his thighs that twitch every now and then.

“Yeah, baby.” Bucky sucked a breath between his teeth, his heart flipping in his chest once Curt’s fingers had found his prostate.

He held in a whine that crept up on him in the very back of his throat and Curtis could tell. “Such a good fuckin’ boy, Curtie. Fuck —“ Bucky threaded his fingers through Curt’s hair, chest heaving once his fingers found a rhythm.

Curt could hardly believe his eyes, falling in love again with a new version of Bucky he’d never met before — all soft hues of pink and deliciously tanned skin, lips glistening with spit and his gorgeous eyes half-hidden behind eyelids that fluttered. “You look so pretty like this.” He mouthed at Bucky’s balls and the base of his cock, pressing sweet kisses against his sensitive skin.

Bucky could hardly deny himself what he wanted anymore as he whispered a gentle plea, “Fuck me.”

Curt hummed between his legs, sitting up slowly to observe yet another angle once he’d carefully withdrew from Bucky altogether to line their hips up, his cock eventually replacing the fingers that gripped Bucky’s thighs instead to spread them wider. “Think you’re ready?” He leaned his chest over Bucky’s, chaste kisses pressed against his open mouth.

“Mhmmm.” Bucky mustered, their kisses hot and wet and sloppy — uncoordinated and needy. He’d never wanted anything more in his life than this. “Put that big cock to use for once.”

An interesting spot he was in to be making snide remarks, Curtis thought, and so he gave him exactly what he’d wanted.

He lined himself up nice and gentle before snapping his hips forward, pulling Bucky closer by his thighs once he’d abruptly buried himself within the tight, wet heat before him.

And there it was.

A long winded whine that started low and gentle had died out high-pitched and breathy right into Curtis’ mouth who continued to lick, kiss and nip at Bucky’s wet lips. “Oh, listen to you.” Curt drawled, allowing John to adjust before his hips had found a slow rhythm, watching as the man beneath him writhed.

“Gonna have you fuckin’ cryin’ for my cock all the time now, hm?”

Bucky choked back a whimper he couldn’t even pretend to hide, desperate and sweat slicked hands grasping onto Curt — anything to hold. “Feels s-so— fuck, baby - “ he could hardly form a coherent thought once Curt picked up his pace, hand hardly big enough to wrap around Bucky’s throat but he kept a tight grip, nonetheless.

Bucky still felt a little shy about this.

A little out of place.

Eventually, the unfamiliarity and pain had quickly tumbled and grew larger into an indescribable pleasure once Curt’s hips had little to hold back any longer, fucking into Bucky relentlessly who took it like he’d been meant to all along.

Uh-uh-uhs were forced out of him, his thighs spread wider and his eyes managing to focus again when he began to pant like he was reaching the finish line.

Curt was so far from done with him.

“Ah-ah,” he withdrew abruptly, watching Bucky writhe again and attempt to pull him back in. “I got you all worked up, don’t I?” His hands smoothed over Bucky’s damp curls, tugging gently. “Takin’ my cock so good, never knew you were such a fuckin’ —“

Bucky sucked in a deep breath and used his legs to flip Curtis onto his back, knocking the wind out of him.

“Think you’re tough now, huh?” He still looked like a fucked-out mess, his eyes half lidded and his heart pounding in his chest. “Had your cock in me and forgot how easy Daddy can have you gagging for him.”

Curt tried to push Bucky’s hands off of him, his cheeks still slathered in dried blood turning pink beneath the mess. “Had you close-“ his rebuttal was quickly snipped once Bucky had slicked his fingers in with lube and brought them between Curt’s cheeks, hooked into him and pulling him closer.

“Get the fuck off me.” Curt tried to put up a fight but his body had been betraying him as his thighs spread for Bucky, his feet lifted from the floor as he moaned at the roughness of it, a punishment it seemed for denying Bucky the pleasure he’d been so vulnerable to receive.

“Nobody takes it like my baby does,” Bucky basked in the familiarity and the tightness around his fingers that hammered into Curt until his thighs were shaking and the back of his knees dripped in sweat. “Isn’t that right?”

Big, fat tears had once again revived the dried blood that had smeared itself over his face by then, every moan that rattled out of him tumbling into a choked sob. “Fuck you.” He whined, his white flag waved with confidence as he went down with the ship Bucky had since abandoned and yet he still managed to put up a fight. “Mother fucker.”

“Oh, that’s not how good boys behave, Curtis.”

Fingers were replaced with Bucky’s cock, Curt’s features softening at the familiar sensation, the one thing he’d ask for on death row.

This is his truest Last Supper.

There was no movement by Bucky, though.

He buried his cock deep into Curtis, swearing to himself that when they were just like this, he could see the bulge of his cock in Curtis’ little belly. “You know what happens when you’re bad, don’t you?”

“I wasnt!” Curt barked, desperately trying to withdrawal from Bucky and snap his hips back again. “I wasn’t bad - I- I wasn’t-“ he was a mess of tears again, the emotions of the day crashing down on him in a heap. “You fuckin’ cocksuckin’—“

The exam he failed, his fight with Rosie, his busted face, and now this.

“Nah,” Bucky held Curt’s thighs to his chest, his cock staying right in its place, not an inch of movement. “Gonna stay just like this until you can show me how sorry you are.”

There, Bucky realized, was his place.

He had never minded being vulnerable with Curtis — in fact, vulnerability was his strong suit.

At first, he was the worst out of the two when it came to expressing his feelings, his thoughts and his emotions.

In the end it was only ever because of the judgement he feared of receiving for loving Curtis. Someone younger than himself, more reckless, with more life to live.

“I’m sorry,” Curt sniffled loudly, a puddle of old blood, tears and a runny nose that threatened to bleed again, the drip metallic and sour in the back of his throat. “I’m so sorry — I - I’ll never be bad again, I promise.”

They both knew a lie when they heard one.

“I’m so good for you.” Curt arched his back, anything for a little friction against his suddenly neglected and angry looking cock. “Look at me — I’m all yours, Bucky. Every part of me — I—“ he sobbed again, reaching down to touch himself but he was abruptly denied, his wrists held above his head. “Fuck me till I can’t fuckin’ breathe.”

Bucky felt sick for being so turned on.

A whimpering, whining, crying Curtis before him with a hot and hard cock that leaked beautifully against the little trail of hair below his bellybutton. “Oh, my pretty baby.” He cooed, reaching forward to wipe his crybaby tears away and granting him just a bit of movement when he did. “I couldn’t let you forget, honey — look what I’ve done to you.”

Curt tried again to surge forward and gain an upper hand, but it was disastrously useless.

Bucky was far stronger than he, even despite being fucked open just a moment ago. “Dunno what I’m gonna do with you.” He murmured, pulling away from Curtis at once and bringing him gently to his feet, holding him against the wall where Bucky felt he’d be doing his knees and Curt’s back a favor once he lifted him up off the ground and around his waist.

It was brutal after that, and for once Curt was unsure he could handle it. “Too much! T-too much,” he whimpered, but Bucky could hardly be bothered. “It’s too much — I can’t-“

If it was truly too much, Curt knew what he needed to say.

A safe word was set in stone the first time Curt had passed out and hit the floor, his brow split open.

All he cared about when he came to was finishing, though — even with an almost-crying Bucky and Gale in his face, worried beyond reason.

“Yes, you can, baby.” Bucky groaned, knowing full well Curt’s orgasm was dependent on the completion of his own.

Didn’t matter how much Curt was fucked.

If he wasn’t full of it, he just couldn’t get off.

A rather endearing blessing, but a curse just the same.

“I can’t Bucky, I can’t.” A wreck he was — and Bucky loved reducing him to such a state. Babbling, whining, his voice strained through the tears he choked on. “S’too much.”

Luckily, it was enough to sputter Bucky’s hips forward, hips rolling into Curt to milk his orgasm while Curt’s hole fluttered around his cock, his little body pulsing as he threw his head back against the wall where he thumped a few brain cells loose.

Bucky reached up to hold the back of his head, clicking his tongue. “There you go, honey,” he whispered gently to a Curtis whose body trembled through an earth shattering orgasm, “Let it all go, baby. Look at how much you’re givin’ me.”

Curt’s body was covered in sweat, blood, tears and now a splattered mess of his devotion to Bucky — hot and wet; sticky and so fucking sweet.

Bucky plopped them both onto the couch, Curt’s body wrapping around him and refusing to give his cock back despite it growing softer by the minute. “I love you.” He hiccuped into Bucky’s neck, the emotions flooding back to him once he’d been dumped right back into his reality — the one where he failed his test and more than likely lost a friend. “So much.”

“C’mon, Curt. Y’know I love you more than anything.” Bucky smoothed his hands over Curt’s damp curls, pulling his face away from the curve of his neck to look at him. “What’s goin’ on with you?”

He couldn’t talk about it now.

Just wanted to be here, in Bucky’s lap, the warmth of their love still burning inside him. “Later.” He whispered, sniffling loudly. “I’ll tell you later.”

#💌 #yoyo writes #this was insane #I’m insane #lock me up #curtbucky #lcau

[doks-aux]

Thing is, Henry is in love with Will, too. Just because there are a host of reasons he's able to be more outwardly normal about it (actually having a happy marriage, being further to the middle of the Kinsey scale, tons of willful repression and denial, and subconsciously being assured of Will's feelings for him in return) does not mean he is not down horrendous. If left for too long with this own thoughts, things can and will get weird.

Any time Will demonstrates how much trust he places in Henry, Henry's head fucking spins. It makes him feel so important, so strong, like he wants to build a tower around Will to keep the world away. It frightens him if he dwells on it, so he very much does not, goes out of his way to project every appearance of the opposite, but it's there, and if Will leans on him even a little, it bubbles to the surface. Oh, yes, Papa Bear will protect his little bunny and all his secrets, don't you worry.

#tonight on grown men failing to communicate: henry is also a freak #i need them so fucking weird about each other #mutually destructive obsession #things that could have been avoided with a fifteen minute conversation and awkward lights-off missionary in your college dorm room #probably also fifteen minutes #Henry Emily #William Afton #Willry #Helliam #Five Nights at Freddy's #Rabbit Hearted AU #doc's headcanons #doc's stories #doc's AUs #mildly nsft #at least in the tags

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

warlock wizard Wally scribbles... Thinkings! oh and a bonus bard-ish Barnabys in the corner for flavor

outfit ramblings:

first of all that is a Terrible rendition of what Home looks like in my head. i just needed to fill empty space </3

the staff was the toughest part honestly. bc it Had to be paintbrush-themed, but then halfway through scribbling i was like "oh shit. there are only so many ways to draw a paintbrush-wizard-staff and Weevmo already hit it out of the park." so if you're seeing similarities! you're right! i tried to make it as different as i could! there is Inspiration from their marvelous design, however accidental or subconscious! Apologies!

he gets a pointed hood instead of a hat because a) it looks great on him! and b) it has less of a chance of messing up his hair! also c) it helps muddle the difference between Wizard and Warlock. typically hoods have evil/duplicitous connotation - blur the lines! i want his long gloves and forearm wraps to have the same vibe. his neckerchief is a big help in hiding Home's seal!

his layered (loosely apple-themed) capelet (which the hood is attached to) has a nice high collar & hides the details of his loose shirt - eye embroidery! and some flowers on the shoulders but yk, mostly eyes. on one side of the shirt buttons has open eyes, the other side they're closed! there's also one big eye on his back!

his belt buckle is two halves of an apple! he wears tall thigh-high boots w/ low heels to feel Taller! he has a book-holster hooked to the back of his belt, which holds his grimoire! and he has a lil thigh-bag that has been magicked to be Bottomless and warps size! he can fit pretty much anything in there! canvases! paint! apples!

his half-skirt thing (idk what the word for it is!) is really plush, like a quilt - his capelet is the same fabric. soft, cozy. sometimes he'll use the skirt thing as a blanket in a pinch, or as a picnic placemat!

is his outfit a little Complicated? is it annoying to replicate? yes and yes. but im a maximalist at heart and Nothing But The Best for the blorbo <3 layers my beloved <3

#i know ive said it before but whenever i make an au its essentially an Exploration in a sense #and this fantasy au ~Bog Edition~ is basically me going #'so wally and his house huh. whats up with that' #and maybe im taking it a bit to the extremes #since home is pretty much warlock wally's god??? sorta? loosely?? #well it literally gave wally life and a body. so. #and it also literally took the place of his heart - wally Cannot live without home #they have a fun 'we cant exist without each other now' codependent very devoted kinda unhealthy relationship #wally sometimes has to do terrible things for home #and home will do terrible things in return for wally. even when wally doesnt want them to #and they both love each other very much <3 what kind of love is it <3 fuck if i know! theyre Weird About It though #its the only dynamic an ancient lovecraftian horror & the puppet they gave life & tethered itself to can have!!! #wally wisely keeps home & his 'warlock' status a secret from his friends for as long as he can #they just dont understand his & home's bond smh #scribble salad #welcome home #wh fantasy au #gonna have to workshop barns.... #i need to balance the fantasy + hes a distinguished fella + bard #hence the hat. the hat stays. #gotta find the right vest... #and then everyone else if i feel like it.... #outfit design is so Grueling but i refuse to keep it simple #there have to be LAYERS it has to be IN CHARACTER i have to put ALL THE EFFORT INTO IT

[thetarttfuldickhead]

The call connects and there’s Roy, seemingly back at his own house, seated on a grey couch and wearing a scowl dark enough to match his t-shirt and jacket.

Trent smiles, though carefully not too wide. “Hello Roy. Thank you for agreeing to this.”

Roy grunts. “Better you than any of the other wankers,” he mutters.

Trent makes an effort to hide his grin. Visibly gloating about having the sort of access to Roy Kent that other journalists – independent or disgraced or otherwise – can only dream of isn’t likely to get him the exclusive comments that he needs from Richmond’s head coach on today’s kerfuffle.

“So,” he offers smoothly, “what do you—“

He’s cut off by the loud bang of a door slamming shut on the other end and a startled fuck from Roy and then there’s Jamie Tartt’s head coming into view as it flops down on Roy’s lap. He must have thrown himself down onto the couch.

“It’s all such fucking bullshit, man,” Jamie pronounces dramatically as he – Trent’s eyebrows rise another inch – grabs Roy’s arm and pulls it over his chest, claiming half a cuddle. “Did you know—“

“I’m in the middle of an interview, you twat,” Roy barks, but he does not, Trent notes with increasing interest and incredulity, remove his arm.

“Since when do— ?” Lifting his head from Roy’s lap, Jamie blinks at the screen. “Oh! Uh. Hi, Trent! How you doin’, you good?” His grin is wide, easy, with no hint of embarrassment, and Trent finds himself smiling back. Jamie has always been charismatic, but the last few years have seen his swagger turn into a good-natured charm that’s surprisingly hard to resist.

“I’m fine, thank you, Jamie. And regarding the news this afternoon, how do you—“

“No,” Roy immediately says, shifting to push Jamie off his lap in spite of the younger man’s indignant protests. “He has no fucking comment. He’s not part of this conversation. He’s not even fucking here.”

“The fuck are you on about, mate, he can see I’m— “

“Go to the kitchen,” Roy interrupts. “Get me a whisky. If I have to listen to you complain about wankers on Twitter or split fingernails or whatever, I need a fucking drink.”

“You’re an arsehole,” Jamie tells him from out of the picture, but he doesn’t sound particularly upset. “I haven’t even got any split fingernails.” And then he must be off because he doesn’t say anything else and Roy turns back to Trent, glaring like he’s daring Trent to say it.

Trent, with equal parts cunning and self-preservation, says nothing at all. Waits.

Eventually, Roy’s shoulders drop a millimeter. He lets out a huff. “Jamie’s fucking needy, all right? He needs fucking hugs and shit and he turns into a moody bitch prima donna if he doesn’t get them, so.” He presses his lips together, having apparently said all he intends to say on the subject.

Trent had noticed Jamie’s fondness for hanging off anyone's and everyone’s shoulder during his season with the team. He hadn’t known and would never have imagined, though, that Roy would ever be willing to indulge the tendency, especially not to this degree. And that rather begs the question...

“Roy,” he says carefully. “You know that, if the two of you are—“

“We’re not.” And Roy closes his eyes, shakes his head. Opens them, looking resigned, but looking a little bit wry too. “Be less fucking weird if we were, wouldn’t it? But we’re not. It’s just… “ He pauses. Shakes his head again. “It’s Jamie. Just… fucking Jamie.”

“Except you are not,” Trent says, just to be clear, just because being a bit of an asshole is a habit, and fun.

“Except I’m not,” Roy growls, and looks like he’s about to add something more – something scatching and imaginatively insulting, Trent assumes – but then he lifts his head, turning towards someone offscreen. “What— ? Yeah, we’re fucking done. Bye, Crimm,” he adds, and then the screen goes dark as Roy abruptly ends the call.

“Bye, Roy,” Trent tells the silence. “I’ll just text you the questions, shall I? You can get back to me when you’re done giving Jamie Tartt a cuddle.”

#roy and jamie fucking are fun i guess #but them cuddling and being super intimate and deeply weird about each other while NOT fucking is also very very fun #as of 3x11 jamie has decided that roy is indeed his for the cuddling whenever jamie needs him to be #roy is resigned to this #he took one look at jamie and georgie and knew it was his destiny #and it’s not exactly hardship #and it’s quite nice to be needed #which still doesn’t stop him from calling jamie a bitch bc roy is still very much a work in progress #he'll get there #probably #also roy and trent's relationship is so special to me #if trent somehow started doing regular journalism again he would TOTALLY use the fact #that he's the one journo roy doesn't hate #roy would fucking mutter and grumble and complain about it #but would ultimately indulge him #just as he does for jamie #and phoebe and anyone that he cares about #trent crimm #roy kent #jamie tartt #ted lasso #roy & jamie #ficlet #my stuff

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Boyfriend Sweater

When Nico walks into the dining pavilion wearing a golden yellow sweater, Percy does a double-take. Actually, it’s a triple-take: first, he thought it was a new Apollo kid, then he realized it was Nico, then he realized it was Nico. Wearing a color. 

Is the world ending again? Was there something really wrong with the milk in his cereal? What in the everloving Hades was going on?! 

Nico sits down at table 13, unbothered as ever, and pulls the sleeves of the hoodie up. It’s way too big on him, like Big Bird shed and some poor fucker decided Nico di Angelo needed the empty muppet skin in his wardrobe. 

(Is it Nico? Maybe some changeling creature kidnapped their resident son of Hades and has decided to take his place? Maybe Percy needs to go over there and test him out, y’know, knick him with some iron or something to see if he burns. If it’s an imposter, though, they’re doing a piss-poor job. Is it an intentionally bad job? Gods, it’s barely eight AM on a Tuesday, does he seriously have to go save Nico from somewhere and kill a monster wearing his face? That does not sound like his ideal Tuesday, if he’s really real. He’ll totally do it, but he won’t like it, and maybe he should start planning how to take out a creature like-) 

“I can see the mountain you’re building,” Annabeth says, popping Percy’s strangely detailed daydream of hunting down and killing a weird, half-Nico, half-demon gremlin creature. He blinks the image out of his eyes and looks up at her, her hip resting against the edge of his table. 

She looks amused. He squints. “Nico’s been bodysnatched.” 

“Mm, no,” she says easily, with a shake of her head. “Nico’s wearing a jacket.” 

“A yellow jacket.” Percy looks at the son of Hades again. He just- can’t wrap his head around it. He hasn’t seen Nico willingly wear a color since the guy was ten years old. “A yellow jacket that’s, like, twice his size.” 

“It’s a molehill, seaweed brain. A jacket’s just a jacket.” 

“But it’s yellow.” 

“What was your nightmare about?” 

Percy physically recoils at the non sequitur, tilting back in his seat incredulously. His- what? His nightmare? What does his nightmare have to do with a jacket, anyway, that’s got nothing to do with this. 

He folds his arms on the table and makes a face. “That’s unrelated.” 

Annabeth’s mouth raise at the corners, her eyes watching him like an all-knowing hawk. An owl, three-sixty vision and nothing but questions, who, who? 

She pets through his hair and pushes her weight back up. As she draws her hand back, she taps his cheek, then his chin, and says, “just leave him alone, then.” 

Percy watches her walk back to her table. When she sits, he buries his face in his arms and groans. 

“Jason has also been bodysnatched,” Percy hisses to Annabeth during pottery class. 

“What makes you say that.” She throws her lump of clay at the pedestal in front of her and gives Percy the same look she gave him this morning. 

Percy decides to ignore that look, because that is the look of reason and he is far beyond that now. “He was wearing this black jacket with, like, skulls in hourglasses and weird skeleton butterflies and shit during Latin.” 

“He is related to Thalia, you know,” Annabeth hums. She wets her hands as the plate before her starts to spin. “Maybe he’s going through the family goth phase.” 

Had she not just leaned in to start forming something magical and incredible out of clay, Percy would slouch over Annabeth’s shoulders and plead with her to at least consider that something weird is going on. Maybe it’s not bodysnatchers or changelings, okay, but something is strange! Jason Grace does not just decide to wear emo shit! Jason Grace once had a panic attack because the Aphrodite Cabin stole a pair of his jeans and cut them into shorts! This is a man who has a stricter sense of style than Nico, who, fucking hell, don’t even get Percy started on that. The yellow jacket has remained on all day and it’s haunting him. 

Annabeth dips her thumbs into the top of her clay and does not respond. 

Percy slumps down into the stool beside hers and huffs, more for himself than anything. 

Change is okay. Change is fine. But change like this, with no reason, is the opposite of fine. Change like this is a low-blow stink bomb in an otherwise perfect Capture the Flag game, impossible to get out of his clothes and his skin and his hair. Change like this is how people die. 

He claws his hands up into his hair and listens to the steady whir of the pottery wheel, the sound of wet clay being molded and shaped in different ways. There’s a lull of conversation from other campers in the class, kids from all different cabins, because to them this is any other day. 

Maybe this should be any other day to him, too. No, not maybe. It should be. This should be a regular Tuesday, full of regular classes with his regular friends who are ordinary in whatever ways they can be, but instead, Percy’s brain has to go and mix up everything, make everything feel- out of control. 

HIs next exhale shakes too hard for his liking. His shoulders are too tense. 

Beside him, Annabeth keeps calmly shaping her pot. She dips her hands into the water every so often, probably executing some flawless plan of action she drafted the night before. She’s not always delicate with her hands, with art like this - Percy knows that’s something she’s self conscious about. She never thinks she can be good at finer things. 

That’s normal. That’s normal for her. Ordinary, to think that Annabeth Chase would tackle arts and crafts in the same way she would a war strategy, devising the perfect approach for a flawless result. Executing it flawlessly. 

She pinches too hard pulling up the walls of the pot. It crumples, then swings off the wheel entirely with the force of it’s motion, splattering wetly across Percy’s arms and the other campers at the bench. 

Percy watches Annabeth glare at her failed creation. She sticks her hands in the dirty water to scrub the clay off, wipes her hands off on her shirt, and pulls on Percy’s sleeve. 

“I hate pottery,” she mutters as they rise together. 

Percy grins. “I think it knows that,” he teases, and follows as she stomps toward the exit. 

When the answer slaps Percy in the face, it feels more like a gut punch in the way it makes him breathless and off-balance. 

“You’re…huh?” 

Annabeth clicks her tongue. “You two couldn’t think of a better way to do this?” she gestures between Nico and Jason, standing awkwardly side by side as if they don’t know what to do with themselves. 

They’re still wearing the wrong jackets. Each other’s jackets. 

Percy makes a face, then realizes that might not be the best response to his two friends telling him their dating, so he tries to make a different face. 

The world’s not ending. They’re just…together. Sharing jackets, like couples do. 

“We didn’t want to make it a big deal,” Jason says. He keeps glancing at Nico and chewing on the inside of his lip. Nico, with the golden sleeves of apparently-Jason’s-jacket pulled over his hands once more, looks stubborn. Like he’s ready to fight about something. 

Percy wipes his sweaty hands off on his shirt and gestures, though he’s not sure at what. “But Nico’s wearing a color?” 

He feels more than sees Annabeth’s disapproving glare at the side of his head. Jason draws himself up, then seems to falter. His head cocks to the side and he shakes his head. 

“What?” 

“That’s a big deal,” Percy reiterates. “Nico doesn’t wear colors.” 

“Nico is standing right here, wearing a color,” Nico grumbles. He shoves his hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt and gives Percy a glare that is far more familiar than literally anything else happening right now. “I’m allowed to wear whatever I want to wear, for the record.” 

“But you don’t!” 

“Well I do now. If you have a fucking problem with it-” 

“I never said I had a problem with it,” Percy snaps back, immediately on the defensive. “I was fucking worried about you, you little shit, I thought something was wrong. I thought- I don’t know what I thought! I thought you two were swapped with some other versions of yourself, I thought you’d been- I don’t know- abducted by aliens, or fairies, or something!” He throws his hands up in the air, then drops them back onto his head, staring sort of at the middle point between the two of them. “You can’t do that shit and not expect- I mean, because, come on, guys, you’re you, you two fucking freak out if someone so much as touches your clothes. What were we supposed to think?” 

The hearth crackles. It’s too pleasant a sound for the sick Percy feels. 

Annabeth takes his hand, at least, and squeezes. His face burns with the shame of yelling like this, over this, it just feels so fucking stupid all of a sudden. He feels so stupid. Annabeth tried to tell him it was nothing, and he let it all get away with him, he let that nasty part of his brain win and win and win, and now he’s taking his losses out on them. 

“I’m happy for you two,” he makes himself say, when no one else speaks. “I think I just also need therapy.” 

Finally, Annabeth snorts. It’s a noise Percy knows, one he can ground himself with, same as her palm hot in his, her weight tilting into his side as her head bonks into his chin. 

The stress he’d held bundled up in his spine and his shoulders and his stomach all day releases in an instant. He slouches back in against her and laughs against the top of her head. 

“Jesus Christ,” Nico mutters, when Percy can’t stop himself, dissolving into a fit of hysterics over his own bullshit. “This is why I said we should just tell them. He’s laughing at us.” 

“I think he’s laughing at himself,” Jason says. He sounds uncertain. 

Percy hugs Annabeth tight, and laughs himself hoarse. 

EXTRA 

Nico stares at himself in Jason’s mirror, with the sweater hanging halfway down his thighs, sleeves hanging off his hands, the peak of his collarbone through the freaking collar. He narrows his gaze into a glare. 

“I look like a toddler,” he says derisively. 

Jason, still getting dressed himself, laughs. When he appears in the mirror behind Nico, looking far more proportional in Nico’s sweatshirt (which is frankly fucking unfair), his grin softens into a smile that’s- something. Sweet. 

Nico twitches his nose.  

“I look like I’m six years old,” he says, grabbing the hem of the sweatshirt and yanking down. “Why are we doing this.” 

“‘Cause it’s silly,” Jason says. He presses a kiss against the side of Nico’s head and hugs him loosely from behind. “You don’t look like a baby, either. You just look your age.” 

Nico looks down at himself. Maybe there’s a point there, a point to be made about how he dresses for practicality, dresses to blend in, but never to express himself. Maybe there’s a point to be made about how his discomfort isn’t really for how he feels about this, but how he thinks others will feel about it. 

He tugs at the hem again, and looks back up. Jason’s eyes in the mirror are bright, as if taking in the sight of Nico in his hoodie like this is something to savor. 

Nico likes when Jason looks at him like that. He likes how it feels to be looked at like he’s attractive. He likes how it feels to be wanted. 

“I guess,” Nico concedes, leaning further back into Jason’s chest. Immediately, Jason’s stance is more solid, sturdy, holding them both up as easy as breathing. He holds Nico like it’s a promise that he’ll never let go. 

He looks at the pair of them in the mirror, a cohesive unit rather than two separate halves. Jason in black is definitely something Nico wants to see more of, especially with the way Nico’s clothes fit snug over him, just a little tight at the biceps and chest. He looks good, not that he doesn’t look good otherwise. Different. 

With Nico his contrast in yellow…maybe it isn’t so bad. Maybe he likes being the counterbalance, even. 

Jason squeezes him again. Those damn eyes in the mirror are making Nico too warm, like his stomach is full of hot jell-o. 

“Okay, fine, let’s do this,” he huffs. The difference in his tone must be audible, though, because Jason perks up and grins, his eyebrows up, face aglow. Nico can’t look at him for too long. It’s still strange knowing he can make someone feel like that. He doesn’t know what to do when Jason turns the full puppy-love thing on. “And stop looking at me like that, you’re going to give me cavities.” 

“Okay,” Jason says in a voice identical to his expression. 

Nico grabs his hand and squeezes it twice. 

Jason squeezes back, so tight it aches. Nico’s heart swells with bright affection. 

Alright. Maybe yellow isn’t so bad, actually. 

#jasicobingochallenge2024 #boyfriend sweater #fanfiction #okay so this is mostly actually about Percy and Annabeth BUT BUT BUT. it's the Jasico that matters. #Jasico is the heart of it the crux of it. #so it still counts #I think Percy has a lot of trouble dealing with things that he doesn't perceive as normal from his friends #I think the switch really fucked with him in that regard #He feels like if all of a sudden the people he knows aren't doing the things he knows them to do then maybe he's losing his memory again #maybe something fucked up has happened and he hasn't realized it yet #maybe nico wearing yellow signifies he's grieving because the last time Nico's style drastically changed overnight was when his sister died #i think percy is also WAY too attuned to Nico in general when it comes to his own mental health #I think he immediately jumps the gun on ANYTHING NIco is involved with (hence him immediately arguing when Nico assumes wrong) #I think he and Nico have a fucked up weird friendship where they both hate that they need to know each other the way they do #idk. Annabeth and Jason are holding Percy and Nico's leashes while letting them meet in the most controlled of dog parks #Percy bites first but Nico bites harder kinda deal #ANYWAY #pjo #jason grace #nico di angelo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #jasico #percabeth #hoo

[ciderjacks]

ok but real talk the dsmp was fuckcing crazy like the fandom was crazy the creators were crazy it was all crazy

#IT WAS SO GOOD BUT IT SUCKED #And the fandom all hated each other #Dude I was a Dream fan for so long and Im so mad about it because hes a dick and I hate him but his character was so good #I know qsmp is big but i don’t think it will ever be the same as whatever the fuck was happening w dsmp #Some of the concepts were so cool but also so weird and ???? #IT WAS SO WEIRD #Idk i hope something like that happens again #Qsmp is too structured we need to get 30 differently insane people in a room together tell them to roleplay and see what happens #Who volunteers

[dontmixpaintinyourcoffee]

A quick history of the love interests of Marisha Ray's PCs

•Knife Goth

•Sword Goth

•Horse Girl

#Marisha said “can't romance the party goth if I AM the party goth” #And then Laura said “bet” #Critical role #critical role c3 #marisha ray #laura bailey #The change between Bells Hells and The Mighty Nein is so fucking funny to me #The Nein were so goddamn secretive that no one even hinted any kind of genuine romantic interest to each other until episode 1000000000 #But literally with the exception of The Married Woman and The AroAce One they were all pining SO HARD #But the Bells Hells are so open and so weird I love both of them and I need to catch up on c3 #talking for too long about stuff

[ricoka]

sometimes I wish you could post an opinion on a fandom blog without inviting a whole witch hunt or being accused of causing drama but alas

#I've not done anything and i won't do anything #it's just something that's annoying?? that you can't say anything without someone doing a bad faith interpretation of it #or projecting it on themselves or getting offended on behalf of a fictional character #the few times i saw someone actually say something slightly controversial all hell broke loose every time #like great that you're passionate but not everything is about you #not everything needs your opinion - especially if you can only give it like a lecture #not everything has malicious intentions #people disagreeing with you have a right to their opinions as well - as long as you respect theirs they should respect yours #the thing is - i don't think I've ever been in a fandom that didn't have to deal with like ship wars or someone doing hate campaigns #of a character or ship - i guess that's just the way it is?? #but here it feels especially tiring because people don't usually disagree on ships #people are literally fighting and hating each other mainly over the same two characters!!! and their different interpretations of them #people disagree over what the right and moral way is to portray and ship those characters #and it creates so much tension because you can't associate with those people because they're doing it wrong #and are acting fucking awful about it #but those people are very exclusionary and if you don't agree with all of their points they don't want to talk to you either #you just float along hoping that you'll find some people who have a similar interpretation and will actually talk to you #it's so weird??? it's so isolating too?? #and it feels like you entered a political landscape in your online fandom space #i will probably delete this and I'm not even sure my thoughts make sense #my thoughts spiralled a bit from thinking how some fan interpretations annoy me into disliking a character hahaha

[toastermelody]

came to a horrible realization at work

#cringefail man and his stoic partner #not maintagging half of this #fandroid #adhoc labs #404 #beepo #beep04 #<- this ship is so fucking funny I need them to kill each other #yaoi wins #I’ve never drawn dedede before forgive me if he looks weird #not as sorry about 404 looking funky I refuse to look at him for more than 5 seconds #this includes a reference photo #he’s one of those ‘he fills me with so much fucking rage’ characters but not in a hate way #he’s such a loser I adore him hope he blender explodes #(also my first time drawing 404 if that wasn’t clear)

[crossbackpoke-check]

18 + swaymark!!

oooo thank you!!

#18 - pleaser, wallows + swaymark

okay i know they are canonically obsessed with each other but. the song is in some ways about feeling like you’re failing in your relationship and being not quite as obsessed with them as they maybe are with you, and in this video of them talking about being a tandem, there is the slightest pause before swayman answers “do you miss him?” that makes me want to probe a wound. we’re not talking irl reasons of how that’s an absurd question (how do you miss him. you’re coworkers you’re seeing each other all the time) we’re talking that maybe this whole goalies-in-love thing got blown out of proportion and now swayman’s having to buy into the bit too hard. linus loves it & everyone’s asking about their bromance & how they love each other so much and the thing is—linus is safe. he’s got a wife and plausible deniability and jeremy? jeremy is gay. sure, he can crack jokes and people-please but the more people ask the more they're going to find out until maybe they find out something jeremy doesn't want them to know. and the longer this goes on, the more jeremy has to sit at linus' dinner table with linus and his beautiful wife and pretend like he isn't a little bit in love with him. and you know what? the longer it goes on and linus doesn't dial it down jeremy does stop being in love with him, because it just feels cruel, until he finally is done enough that he stops biting his tongue and ruins the moment.

#…this so is not a five sentence summary but ALSO this manages to perfectly align with something i was obsessed with (that media video) #like yeah is that pause reasonably a buffering time to a weird question? yes!!! do i want to read into it & make swayman a bit uncomfortabl #also yes!!! sorry i decided to give them tragique but they were assigned by spotify. the other option for this song was an ED fix-it fic #about healthy sex and learning that it can be a part of a normal relationship!! sex is weird and fucked up!! but like. that’s just because #i have always interpreted this song as a) unrequited best friend love & you’re worried you’re gonna fuck it up b) virgin who doesn’t know #what sex is and is scared to tell anyone and then option c) people pleaser keeps going along with it but can’t anymore #also OBVIOUSLY they end up fine. whether that ends up being jeremy finally telling linus (oblivious) i don’t want to do this with you #i need to get over you & them creating a platonic space & sway ends up with someone else OR linus has the oh. true. i simply never #considered that i could be gay for you option OR the one i have just invented but is now my favorite because i love a good polycule is that #linus & his wife simply add jeremy to their relationship. and then this song becomes jeremy scared to have sex with linus’ wife at first lo #liv in the replies #the interviews in that video doing the lord’s work fr but also that ‘do you not miss him’ feels SO uncomfortable. say no! but then he leans #in with the dirty jokes comment & i know i’ve made like eight variations already (sorry. that’s how my brain works) but it is soooo fun #to me personally if they are broken up but now have to act nice & keep doing all these rituals & sell us on the narrative & they’re just #trying to see who’s going to crack first. needle each other into laughing or getting irritated enough it shows through & the other one wins #do even more aggressive hug rituals!! get a medical warning from the athletic training staff!!!