#with his massive fucking hands and his gay little legs crossed!!!!

[julemmaes]

Robyn

Rowaelin Month, Day Ten

A/N: I'd planned on posting them in order, but you get what you get. Idk when the other prompts will come tbf. I hope soon. Anyway, I managed to write over 6k words today and I'm pretty fucking proud.

This is just fluff over fluff, so yep enjoy!!

Word count: 3,047

Rowan was unbelievably late as he sped through the streets of Orynth.

So late that the school had called not only him, but also the front desk of the place where he worked when he hadn't answered the call on his personal phone. Sorscha, his assistant, had entered his office with an embarrassed smile on her lips, as if she didn't want to tell him that he had forgotten for the umpteenth time to pick up his daughter from school.

Lorcan had joined him, for some strange reason, but Rowan had stopped bothering when it came to his best friend. He'd been trying to figure out how he reasoned for years and had come to the conclusion that there was no logical sense in the actions of the man sitting next to him, who was currently singing at the top of his lungs to one of the songs on the Frozen CD - which much to the chagrin of both of them, had gotten stuck in his car radio months before, forcing them into hours of torture.

He would never deny that the songs were all quite catchy, but after the sixteenth time Rowan had had to listen to Let It Go at maximum volume, his positive opinion of the film had begun to waver.

As they pulled into the school parking lot, Rowan noticed with deep regret that the only cars still there were those of the teachers and school staff.

They both got out of the car, Rowan walking quickly towards the entrance while Lorcan dragged behind him.

He greeted the caretakers sitting at the entrance, who returned a big smile. A smile that grew even wider when his large, imposing friend entered a few moments later. He stopped to talk to the old ladies and Rowan walked down the corridor he knew led to Robyn's classroom.

He could hear muffled voices from inside the teachers' room on the left and the one he knew belonged to Miss Galathynius coming from the right. He looked out over the classroom, spotting the two people sitting at a desk.

As soon as his daughter saw him, her eyes widened and a huge smile flashed across her face.

No words. No "hello, daddy!" or "I missed you!" from the little girl.

Her teacher turned as she leapt out of her chair and ran towards him, hugging his legs and looking up at him. Rowan smiled at her in turn, running a hand over her hair that was shot in every direction.

"Hello, little bird," he murmured to her. The child's smile widened even more if that was possible.

The woman a few feet away from them pulled herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest and offering a sincere smile to the child, who hid behind his thighs.

Rowan was about to tell her that Robyn was shy with everyone like this, ready to defend his daughter's behaviour as he was used to doing in front of every adult, but he was beaten to the punch.

"It's good to see you, Mr Whitethorn," she said, extending a hand. Rowan shook it without hesitation. "Actually, I just wanted to write you a letter regarding Robyn," she continued, never taking her eyes off the little girl. "Nothing serious," she hastened to reassure him when Rowan grimaced, "quite the contrary. Robyn is remarkably good. One of the best in the class, though I shouldn't offer that information so bluntly."

Miss Galathynius winked at him, but he couldn't process what he'd just been told.

"Sorry, could you-"

The little hands clamped around his trousers tightened a fraction more and Rowan looked down, trying to figure out what was bothering his daughter, but then something happened that he hadn't even dared to dream about in recent times.

"You're here!"

The little girl broke off and ran away from him in less than the blink of an eye.

Rowan turned just in time to see Lorcan grab Robyn in mid-air, spinning her around as he brought her to his chest and showered her with kisses. The loud, incessant laughter that erupted from her seemed too much coming from that fragile little body, but he never tired of hearing it.

"Why hello baby!" said Lorcan laughing in turn, starting to tickle her until she begun to rebel and he was forced to let her slide to the floor. Robyn was still laughing at the top of her lungs and nearly fell to the ground as she squealed left and right, letting herself be pushed around by the closest thing to an uncle she had ever had.

When Rowan turned back to the woman, she was wide-eyed and her lips slightly parted as she watched the massive man dressed completely in black and the menacing face turn into a completely different person the second he had seen Robyn.

He chuckled, "I know, it's not every day you get to see a little girl be so comfortable with a brute like that."

Lorcan, who was listening to everything, looked him straight in the eye and without stopping smiling and playing with the little girl, mouthed to him to fuck off.

"Well, yeah. You caught me a little off guard." she confessed, still shocked to hear how Robyn was having a full conversation with Lorcan. They couldn't hear anything of what she was actually saying, but even just the fact she was talking to someone seemed to have Aelin unsettled.

She returned her attention to Rowan and let out a breath that sounded more like a giggle, "I've never heard her laugh before."

He nodded, blushing a little at the teacher's surprised but relieved tone.

"I'm sure the dean warned you about the problem she has," he said in a low voice. He grimaced at her poor choice of words, "I mean, not problem, but the difficulty she finds in interacting with people she doesn't know."

Liar, he told himself. Robyn hadn't spoken to anyone but him and Lorcan since the day Lyria had died. It wasn't a difficulty, but a response to the trauma that prevented her from speaking to anyone who wasn't part of her immediate family.

"I know, I know. We've been looking for solutions together." she informed him. "I give her a white board every morning. Come on, I'll show you." she turned to the desk they were sitting at earlier and raised the magnetic board, on which a few words were scribbled on. "I'll write here what she might need. Yes. No. I need to go to the bathroom. I'm thirsty. I'm hungry." she read, listing the various options. Rowan gaped. "We've only just started going over the alphabet for a second time, so she can't really read or write yet, as I imagine you know, but the little drawings next to each sentence help her."

She continued talking, but he couldn't quite follow.

The woman in front of him - aside from being breathtakingly beautiful - had done as much as she could to help her child with communication.

"Mr. Whitethorn-"

"Rowan. Please, call me Rowan." he said, clearing his throat once he realized how hoarse it sounded to his ears. Lorcan walked up to them at that point, still holding Robyn in his arms and positioned himself next to him, letting their shoulders touch in a comforting way.

"Call me Aelin, then," she smiled at them both. Then she made a small grimace, turning to Rowan, "I wanted to ask if it bothered you, that I sought a solution like that. Maybe I put her in distress, embarrassed her. I'm sorry if I gave you the impression that I wanted to solve this on my own. I really wanted to discuss it with you, with your husband too, to avoid misunderstandings. Maybe we could arrange a meeting."

He was about to tell her that she had given him the exact opposite of annoyance, that he had been more than pleased that she had helped Robyn this way, when her words finally registered.

Lorcan, beside him, had opened his mouth wide and his lips were slowly bending into a mischievous smile.

Rowan furrowed his brow, "I'm sorry, what?"

Aelin's smile seemed to falter. "A meeting? With you? To talk about how to handle the situation," then she shifted her gaze to Lorcan, "You're more than welcome to join as well. I didn't know Robyn had two dads, I apologise for assuming Robyn had a mum and dad. That was very rude of me-"

"I love this," Lorcan whispered, laughing in shock. He turned to Rowan with eyes that sparkled with amusement, "I would definitely be the top."

Rowan looked at him with an expression of complete shock on his face, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Robyn gasped, opening her eyes wide and bringing a hand to her mouth, pointing then to Rowan's.

"Yeah, sorry, love. I shouldn't have said the bad word." he apologised, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. He turned back to Miss Galathynius, "I'm sorry to have to disappoint you, but we're not married."

"No need to lie, sweetie. I'm sure Aelin," he gave her a knowing look, "doesn't mind at all about our relationship status."

Aelin nodded, "Well, yes. That doesn't change anything. Mr..." she turned to Lorcan, searching for a name.

"Salvaterre."

"Mr. Salvaterre can still attend. The fact that you are not yet married is no reason why you cannot both be present at the meeting. You don't have to worry, we are a very tolerant school and if anyone bothers you, you can come directly to me."

A sound of sheer glee escaped Lorcan.

Aelin continued, "I mean it. I was pleased to see both of you today. I was also pleased to see Robyn smiling so much." she concluded, looking the little one in the face.

Rowan took a deep breath, bracing himself, "No, I meant, we're not a couple. We're not gay. He's her uncle."

The woman's blonde eyebrows shot up and a second later she turned almost as red as the dress Robyn was wearing as Lorcan shook his head muttering something very much like 'you're no fun', which made Robyn giggle.

"Why did you even get off the car?" he asked him exasperated.

Lorcan shrugged, "Because I missed my little bean, you monster." he replied, clutching Robyn to his chest. The little girl clutched Lorcan's shirt in her chubby little hands and Rowan huffed, shaking his head.

Aelin brought her hands to her face, leaning against the desk behind her. She shook her head, her face still hidden, "Oh, god. I'm so sorry."

Lorcan let out a dry laugh, "Don't worry about it. It was fun while it lasted." then he turned to Rowan again, who was still trying to recover from the idea of being involved in a relationship with his friend, "You're really no fun."

"Yeah, no fun dad." repeated Robyn.

Silence fell over the class. Rowan looked at her with wide eyes and blinked once, twice. Robyn was staring at him with a sweet scowl that mimicked so much that of the man who was still holding her, but Rowan couldn't get over the fact that his daughter had spoken while Aelin was still beside them.

He was about to talk, noticing how Robyn had started squirming in Lorcan's arms, when there was a knock at the door.

They both turned, Aelin peering over Rowan's shoulder, and saw the figure of a petite girl with black hair and eyes standing in the doorway, watching them with her head slightly bent to the side. She had a tag on her t-shirt that was too colourful to belong to someone who didn't work in a school with children, so he guessed she was a teacher herself. Besides, Rowan felt like he'd seen her elsewhere. Probably every day when he picked Robyn up from school, he said to himself.

"I know you're not supposed to eavesdrop but I stopped by earlier and heard you were a couple of dads," she said by way of introduction. "I just wanted to reassure you that the school is an extremely safe place. I'm the one who did most of the interviews with the parents," that's where they had met then, "and one of the questions that is asked is just about the tolerance of the people who will be attending the school."

Aelin watched her, remaining silent the whole time and putting on an amused smile, nodded, "That's what I was telling them. How tolerant the school is. They make such a cute couple, don't you think, Elide?"

Rowan turned to her, arching an eyebrow, silently asking her what she was doing. The woman, as if she could truly understand what he was trying to convey to her, nodded her head towards Lorcan, who Rowan only then noticed was standing weirdly, his eyes fixed on the woman in the doorway.

He grinned, deciding to take his revenge right away. "Oh, yes. Thank you so much for the reassurance," Rowan began to play along as well. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lorcan turn towards him, dropping Robyn to the floor, who made a disapproving noise at being dumped so suddenly. "We are happy to know that this school is a safe place for our daughter. And for us."

Elide offered him a blinding smile, "Good. I'm happy to hear that you are pleased so far. And I am happy that Aelin is the one who is taking your daughter's class. She's the best one here."

Rowan didn't know her yet, but he knew the thing Elide had just said could only be true.

"Well," she said again, giving them an apologetic smile, "I really must go now, but if you need anything, you can find all my contact details on the website. Have a nice day!"

Aelin and Rowan said their goodbyes, thanking her. Lorcan took a while to recover, but when he realised he was staring into empty space he ran towards the door, almost stepping on little Robyn, who was moved by Aelin.

"We are very much not gay, miss!" he shouted into the hallway. Aelin, now beside him and with a hand on Robyn's shoulder, cackled. With Lorcan's infinite luck, someone walked by just then and gave him a stern look. "Oh, shut up ma'am. I'm an ally. The best ally."

Rowan shook his head as Lorcan launched himself in pursuit of the poor teacher and burst out laughing when he heard him shout, "I'm not homophobic! I'm willing to suck someone's cock if I have to prove it to you!"

Aelin opened her mouth wide before bursting out laughing in turn.

Robyn, seeing both adults so happy, giggled too and Rowan bent down to pick her up. The little girl laid her full head of white-light hair on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

She was tired and Rowan really needed to get her home to sleep.

He glanced at Aelin and reduced his lips to a thin line, "I'm sorry about the commotion, I'll try not to bring him into the building again. Even if it means tying him to the seat."

The soft laugh she gave made something tighten in his chest. He frowned.

Aelin didn't seem to notice the effect she had on him, "Don't worry, Elide is crazy about fools like him. If he says the right things, we might start seeing each other outside of school too."

Rowan nodded, now too caught up in the thought of having to take Robyn home to focus on anything else.

They agreed on when to hold the parent-teacher meeting and then he grabbed Robyn's backpack, walking towards the exit.

He was thoughtless as he reached into his pocket for his keys and balanced everything else - including the girl - on his other arm, but when Robyn's hand brushed his cheek, he looked down and his eyes met their twins. Green against green.

"What is it?"

The little girl's voice never stopped making him smile. Each time was like the first time she had said dada.

"I really like her."

Rowan frowned, "Who?"

"Miss Aelin." she whispered, almost as if she was afraid they might hear her.

He smiled at her, "Yeah? You like her?"

"She's nice to me."

Rowan had to put her down as he opened the door and let her get into the back seats by herself.

"I'm glad she's treating you well, love," he let her know, buckling her in.

He hoped she'd tell him more about her new teacher, but like any kid her age, the topic of conversation couldn't last for more than four lines apiece, "Where's Uncle Lorcan?"

Rowan snorted, "No idea, little bird."

Robyn nodded, "Elide is pretty too."

And as if those words had summoned him, Lorcan appeared beside the car, making them both scream. He entered the car in a heartbeat and turned to his daughter, who was still settling into the seat. "Do you know Miss Lochan?"

But before she could answer him, Rowan had entered the car in turn and smacked the back of his head, which made the Robyn giggle, "You're not using my daughter as your wingman. Now stop it and buckle up."

Lorcan gave him a gentle push, before doing as he was told and for once he was happy he'd convinced him to do something.

Or at least, Rowan thought he had convinced him.

"What if I left you a note to deliver to Miss Lochan, Rob? Would you be up for it?"

Rowan knew, even without looking at her, that she was nodding emphatically.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he murmured, "Could you stop calling my daughter Rob, please? You'll give her an existential crisis."

Lorcan clicked his tongue against his palate, "Rowan, I'm not giving her a damn thing. We live in this new world, okay? Your daughter could be called Simon and still be a beautiful princess. Grow up and educate yourself before you talk shit."

"Aaaah!" shouted Robyn, "Bad word!"

Rowan sighed and shook his head, but still he was smiling.

This was his life. Had been for the past two years.

And he wouldn't change it for the world.

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#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #tog #throne of glass #rowaelin fic #fluff #rowaelin month day ten

[writertothemaximum]

Summary: Fem!Niki fucks the shit out of Rinne at the beach.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings/Content: nsfw/18+, Niki x Rinne, Female Niki, Face-Sitting, Cunnilingus, Anal fingering, femdom

Notes: Normally I don't post character x character stuff on this blog, but as this is femdom, this is the one exception. I hope you guys enjoy!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33432565

Inspired by this pic [Please click!]

With a groan, Rinne drove the van down the sandy road, trying his best not to hit the small child that decided to walk in the middle of the road last second. It was going to be one of these days, wasn’t it?

First, Niki begs him to lunch, it’s the middle of summer and 400 degrees outside, and now she’s proceeded to drag him to the beach so she can ‘eat ice cream on the sand’ or whatever. And here Rinne thought he was the annoying one. She should get her license, it’s bad enough she didn’t graduate high school.

Well, at least she made sure he was well fed and…Well, well-fed.

In the other way.

She was always really forward about that. Or maybe it was him and his sluttiness spilled off onto her.

Yeah, it was probably his fault. He should stop getting stoned with strangers in the living room.

Although Rinne wasn’t like that. Like, aggressive like that.

Neither were any of the men he slept with.

It was scary, almost.

No, it was just scary. She was scary when she got horny.

She always got him so embarrassed, why did she have to take her sweet time with him? Well, it’s not like she could just fuck-and-dump, but still. He always busted it too quickly, far too fast for his liking. Maybe he should go back to just being gay.

Niki thought Rinne looked super sexy today. She supposed he always did, almost to an annoying degree. To the point where men would hit on him in the street and he’d take them home and Niki would be witness to some random dude fucking him on the couch. It was almost never girls for some reason.

Was he gay?

No, she and him fucked all the time, Niki was a girl, that wouldn’t make sense. Rinne was definitely bi, like 100% bisexual.

Ah, he was 100% a bottom, that was all.

Can’t get off without his ass—The absolute whore.

He liked getting called a whore, too, maybe he was also 100% masochist, too. That would make a lot of sense, actually, now that she thought about it some. The way he groaned when she slapped his ass, when she bit his nipple, when she chomped on his neck, nibbled on the tip of his dick—yeah she liked biting him a bit too much.

Well, it was a hot day and it was time for ice cream and sausages on the beach. A nice tan would be cool, too, she was getting a little too pale for her tastes.

He didn’t really ever hit on her, he just kinda let her fuck him. He never got that embarrassed when he was with his male partners. It was like Niki was different to him, somehow. Like he wanted to get teased. Like he was annoyed by it, but secretly, he begged for it.

He always ended up begging for it.

Parking in a non-parking spot, Rinne popped out of the van and opened the side door in the back, grabbing a yellow floatie, a big towel to lie down on, and some sunscreen for good measure.

“Rinne-kun! Did you get the picnic box?” she shouted, running to the back.

“No, because you’d fucking grab it out of my hands, anyways, dick,” he said, sniping back.

Niki held her hand up to punch him in the gut, when she realized.

“Yeah, I would do that,” she said, chuckling out a snort.

Niki climbed around the back of the van, not really caring that her ass was in view for everyone who walked by. Rinne, feeling slightly embarrassed for her, walked in front of the door to block the view.

“What?” she asked.

“I well your, uh,” he said, stumbling. “Your fat ass was falling out of the fucking car!”

She poked a finger out, booping him right in the nose.

“Lmao someone’s embarrassed,” she said, chuckling.

“Oh god, stop using texting lingo in public again,” Rinne said, walking off to the shore, giving up.

“Wait, wait, I know a good spot!” she said, shouting at him.

Niki’s ‘good spot’ was actually a very nice, secluded section of the beach. It took them about ten minutes to find, and they had to climb over a dozen or so rocks, but it ended up giving them some nice shade, and Rinne was never opposed to a good workout.

Rinne spread his arms out to the nice summer wind and took in the world around him, finally allowing the toxic fumes of arrogance and annoyance to leave his body, and breathe in the fresh air of confidence and being a massive dick again.

Niki poked him in the ass.

“Bitch!?” he shouted.

“Are you going to set up the towel or what?” she asked. “I have lunch to eat.”

That’s right, she had carried four lunchboxes over the rocks.

Four. Plus a full tub of Ben and Jerry’s.

“Do I get any this time?” Rinne asked, leaning in. He was a bit hungry, now that he mentioned it.

Niki put a finger to her mouth, the fabric handles of the bags falling down to her elbows.

“Hm,” she said, earnestly considering it. “Maybe if you suck me off.”

“Jesus fuck Niki. You’re horny too?” he said.

She pointed at him, accusatory.

“And you’re not? Who the fuck isn’t horny!?” she shouted.

Rinne sighed and rolled the towel out. He sat down, crossing his legs. He should have invited HiMERU or Eichi or Ibara, or really anyone he could irritate into fucking him. This was wrong, Rinne was supposed to be the tyrannical crazy one, why was Niki walking all over him? It was unacceptable, absolutely unacceptable.

The crashing waves really were relaxing. It was a good thing he had come in his bathing suit.

“Fine,” he said, crawling down on his hands and knees. Niki didn’t seem to hear him, taking a big scoop of sweet chocolate ice cream and dumping the thing directly into her mouth.

His nose pushed into the bottoms of her swimsuit, far too skimpy for any good-natured girl to wear. Tufts of her hair pushed against him, and Rinne wondered why she didn’t shave down there. Whatever, it was just a little hairy and it was about to get a lot wetter.

Niki recoiled in the softness of the towel when she felt shivers ride down her thighs. Rinne flicked his tongue across her clit, stirring up a small sound of approval. He had always been so good at this. Niki wondered if he was just as good at sucking cock. The whole thing felt so relaxing under the heat of the summer sun, she was melting, just absolutely melting.

“Fuck, Niki!” Rinne shouted, jumping up and wiping the glob of ice cream off his back. “Why’d you spill the shit on me?”

“Dunno,” she said, the spoon sticking out of her mouth. She grabbed his head by the puff of his hair and shoved him back into her crotch. “I didn’t tell you to stop. Don’t you want some ice cream?”

“Hanernangh,” was Rinne’s response, his nose suffocating in vaginal secretions.

Leaning back, she squashed Rinne’s head in her thighs, small tufts of red poking out from the little sandwich. Ooh, a sandwich, she should have taken one out of the picnic box, that would have tasted really good right about now.

The wet rubbing felt so good, so good to just squash him right there, struggle around for air, struggle around, knowing that he’d get something out of this, knowing that he’d get rewarded for all his hard work. It god Niki madly turned on knowing that Rinne was getting off to this. Knowing that he liked to get scrunched, to get manhandled.

Niki sat up.

“Hey, Rinne-kun, flip over,” she said.

“Hah? Do I get some now?” he said, snarling. “I wanna get some before you spill it all over me.”

“Turn the fuck over, idiot,” Niki snapped back.

“Fine,” Rinne sputtered out, flipping over to his back.

Niki immediately decided to sit down.

“Hanaefng!?” Rinne shouted, obviously surprised.

“Keep going and you’ll get some ice cream, sheesh,” she said.

Niki began to pat down Rinne’s body, feeling a bit of sand, and a really nice tan beginning to form. And wow, really nice abs, really nice, firm, strong abs. But that wasn’t what she was looking for.

“Aha!” she said, pulling the bottle out of his pocket and slightly raising her ass off his face. “So you did bring lube you fucking whore.”

Rinne took a huge gasp of air, finally able to breathe.

“Jesus fuck, and just what are you going to do with that? It’s not like I can suck you off and fuck you at the same time,” he said, crassly.

Niki, annoyed, sat back down.

“Who said you were going to be the one doing the fucking?” she said, irritated.

Rinne struggled a bit before shuffling his ass out for better access. She had fingered him before, maybe she should invest in a strap-on. Then he wouldn’t have any need to do all of those one-night stands. She could just fuck him on her cock.

“Ooh, someone’s hungry for fingers,” she said, mocking. “Wanna come here for a smoochy-smoochy? I think you deserve it, Rinne-kun!”

Rinne, not being able to speak due to still having pussy in his face, responded with a large groan.

“Or do you prefer these lips?” she asked, rubbing all of her secretions in his face. She wondered how it tasted. Salty, for sure.

Niki leaned forward, taking one last scoop of partially melted ice cream before setting it to the side on the towel. Wow, the heat felt great. The sun, the way the waves lined up, it all just filled her with elation.

So when she leaned her face down to his groin, it made her all the happier to see that Rinne was hard. He liked getting humiliated like this, didn’t he? Wow, what a masochist. When Niki tugged at the hem of his swim trunks, Rinne lifted his hips, allowing her to get them off quicker. Someone was excited. Well, a large glob of lube, a finger made its way to the entrance of his hole. She felt Rinne hesitate on her clit as she pushed in, a loud groan echoing through the rock cliffs.

He was so soft inside. He always was. It was like his ass was made for pleasure, made for this lovely squeeze, caressing her fingers in an absolutely perfect massage. He was always so loose, too, she supposed that’s what being a cock-whore did to someone.

Hm, well, speaking of cock, his dick was right there. He was pretty hard. Would be a shame if someone were to maybe…suck it?

In a moment, her lips were around the tip.

“Haarhrhah! Nik—Niki!” she heard, Rinne tilting his head off her ass.

Retaliating, she sat back down, crushing his head hard into the towel.

God, it was too much at once. With the two fingers pounding his ass, the suffocating aroma on his face, and now the condensing suction on his tip. He was going to cum, he was going to cum—

Niki gripped the bottom of his shaft hard, not letting a drop out.

“You’re supposed to get me off, first, asshole,” she said, her glare enough to kill a man.

Fuck, fuck, thoughts poured through Rinne’s mind as he licked her clit as fast as he could, desperately trying to get her off, trying to get himself off, he was too hard, too overwhelmed.

Rinne felt Niki convulse above him, her hole tightening up, clenching around pure nothing as she came on his face. Noises spewed out of her mouth as she couldn’t control herself, everything coming all at once.

And that’s when Niki finally let go of his dick.

Like the grossest milkshake in the world, Niki kept sucking.

Popping her head off in a moment, she gave off a sigh of relief, as if she had a nice big sip of coffee, drinking all the semen up like a fat noodle.

Niki unplugged her fingers from his ass and Rinne shoved her off, letting her laugh as she rolled off the towel and into the sand.

“That was fun,” she said, still unable to hold her laugh.

“Bitch! You got sand up my ass!” Rinne shouted, making a motion in the air to slap her, obviously missing.

“Your fault for being such an anal fiend,” she said, the heat of the sand proving to be very relaxing. Ooh, she was right next to the lunch box. Time for a sandwich.

“Can I get my ice cream now?” Rinne asked, like a petulant child.

“Yeah, go ahead,” she said, diving right into the lunch box.

Rinne picked up the abandoned tub of Ben & Jerry’s only to realize.

“It’s fucking melted!” Rinne shouted.

“Well, suck faster next time,” Niki said, taking a big bite of her sandwich.

“Well, maybe if someone ate better, her fucking cunt wouldn’t taste like that fucking sourdough starter you keep around the apartment,” Rinne said, snapping.

“Hey, you love my pussy, don’t joke with me,” she said, right back.

Rinne grimaced, embarrassed, knowing she was right.

Pouting, Rinne forced the spoon into the chocolate wonder, scooping it up and landing it right in his mouth. It wasn’t all melted.

Yup, ice cream was good. Ice cream was always good.

#ensemble stars #enstars #rinne amagi #niki shiina #niki x rinne #rinne x niki #rinniki #nikirin #w2tmfics #female!dom

[joshslater]

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"So, when is your roommate back?" he asked, while I was unlocking the door. I couldn't believe how lucky I scored. He was tall, cute, yet masculine with just the perfect amount of muscle, and acted very much like a top. We hadn't discussed that part though, I just realized. "It won't be until tomorrow. Eight I think, unless there is a delay. We got plenty of time." Steven would take the morning train back, so there was no one to disturb us. Not that he has ever complained, but I prefer to do my fucking when he is visiting back at his mother, to not make things awkward. "Could be tight," he said with a smile and squeezed my butt as I entered the apartment.

I realized the apartment was a mess, but nothing I could do about it now. My plan had been to go to the gym, get back, tidy up, get dressed, and then hit the clubs. But luck struck in the locker room when I chatted with someone I hadn't seen there before. Decent looking guy with an amazing body. He asked me what my plans were for the evening, and I told him the general outline of my plan. He then asked what clubs I had in mind. I hesitated a little, before dropping the names of two gay clubs. Then he came on strong, asking if we could skip all that foreplay and just go my place right away. I couldn't agree more, and here we were in my cluttered hallway. We'd just both showered at the gym, but it was before he hit on me. Had I known I would have been more thorough in some areas.

"Would you like to try something out?" he asked. I turned around and saw him closing and locking the front door. "Didn't I already say yes?" I replied. He smiled and grabbed something deep in a pocket of his gym bag. "What about this?" He held up a neatly rolled up thick, black cord. "Ever been thoroughly teased?" I had not.

We cleared some space in the living room and I moved a chair from the kitchen and placed in the middle of the freed area. Lots of security concerns went through my mind. There wasn't much to steal and at most I would be stuck until Steven was back. "Take a seat" he told me. I asked if I should swap clothes for something else, but he told me he liked what he saw. Except for the shoes and the zip top I wore what I left the gym in, crew socks, shorts, tight boxer briefs, and a T-shirt. Not the sexiest in my opinion, but if he liked it what did I care.

I sat down and he began immediately with one of the ropes, finding the middle of it and creating a loop. He then placed it around my ankle and fed the two ends of the rope through the loop, and then continued to work with the double rope. Occasionally he would split them and tie some knots, then using them double again. After securing my ankle he ran the double rope up the chair's leg and secured my leg just below the knee to the chair. Finally he tied my wrist to the back of the chair, behind my back. He quickly did the same on the other side as well, always checking if it was too tight. It was a surprisingly lose fit, while at the same time there was no way I could slip out of it.

Once both arms and legs were tied to the chair he took a step back. "How does that feel?" he asked me. It was exciting for sure, I could feel a boner slowly coming, but it was a little bit frightening too. Perhaps that's what made it exciting, but it was like ten minutes from he asked to tie me up to me being totally incapacitated and it felt like it was going too fast. Perhaps just because this wasn't something I had anticipated or sought out to do. We've passed the point where I could do much about it. "Oh, I know," he said, rummaged in his bag, and pulled out a soccer sock. I wasn't sure I liked where this was going. Perhaps not the thing itself, but by giving up more and more, you end up with no power to stop when it really does cross the line for you. He tied a knot at the middle of the sock, placed the knot in my mouth, and tied the sock at the back of my head. I probably should have told him "no". Now I couldn't tell him anything. My erection was about as hard as it can be within the confines of my tight underwear.

He took a step back and looked me over. "Now, where do you keep your cash?" he said. "Ungh," was I all could say, while straining to break free. He stepped up to me again and put his hand on my head "Relax, I'm joking. This is going to be all about you." He took a third rope out of the bag and started to tie it around my upper body. I already couldn't move with my hands bound to the back of the chair, but this added some rigidity to my upper body. He went across the chest above and below the pecs, and came in from one side of the neck, looped the rope through the rope across, and back up the other side of the neck, forming a V-shape on my front. All of it was tied behind me. It was still pretty loose-fitting.

Then, to my surprise, he grabbed the hem of my shorts and boxer briefs and forcefully pulled them out and forward to my knees. My dick, free at last, shot up like a gear stick. I don't think I've ever seen it so large before. He grabbed it with one hand and made a few strokes and squeezed out a drop of precum to the tip of it. He carefully touched it with his index finger and touched my nose, literally rubbing my nose in it. "Someone is excited to move on. Ok, let's kick it up a notch."

He walked around me and started to massage my neck and shoulders. I had not expected that. It was both odd and incredibly sexy. I could feel a sort of warmth spreading. He moved his hands down my body. I could feel it strain against the ropes as he squeezed my muscles. Wait, why was I straining against the ropes all of a sudden? He stepped in front of me and gave my dick a few more tugs. Did it just become even larger? I was confused about what was happening.  I was getting hotter and hotter, and broke out in a sweat. He moved his hands to my nipples and started to pinch them. It was like an explosion of pain and horniness at the same time. I was surprised I didn't blow my load right then. He kept pinching them, and I could see my chest muscles clearly inflating. The criss-cross of ropes made them look comically large, but they are clearly massive regardless and way bigger than a minute ago.

He stepped back again. If not for the sock keeping my mouth muffled and dry I would be panting. I was sweaty, on the edge of orgasm, and I could feel the pulse beating in my body as it strained against the ropes. "There, I hope you like muscles. Why else would you go to the gym?" He starts to collect his stuff and I realize he is about to leave me. "Unnn," I plead with him. "Yeah, I hear you. I can only imagine how maddening it would be to be out of your mind horny for half a day. I think the silver lining for you is when your roommate is back, you'd so soaked the room in pheromones that he won't stay straight for long."

[boop-le-snoot]

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 23

First time reader click here

TW/Summary: brucetony x reader PRON. You have finally reached the point where there is real ✨spice✨. Also, m/m kissing. There will be mild m/m action from now on in the fic. I cannot stay away from the gay and I refuse to apologize. Brucetony nation how we feelin'?

I padded quietly behind the glass divider, stripping off my lab coat and protective glasses to deposit them on the nearest flat surface. My joints popped as I stretched.

Bruce and I spent a lot of time in the lab together lately as Tony and Pete worked together on the kid's Spider Suit, something that was a tad above my level of understanding. I was much better with chemicals and cell division than I was with thermonuclear physics, me and Pete were two sides of the same coin. It was only recently that I had noticed exactly how much our respective science fields of choice complemented each other and it was a blessing that Tony and Bruce made us a little corner in their respective labs, a few square feet where I and Pete could literally do anything we wanted to.

A year ago, I would have said that science is a hobby of mine and not something I wanted to do full time. I was fully prepared to commit to medical or law school, to grow into a prestigious career that would multiply my wealth and acquire me friends in high places. My parents certainly expected me to continue cultivating the image of our family empire.

I wasn't so sure anymore. Tony and Bruce were so fucking happy in their little worlds, getting lost in their labs for days on end, creating, reinventing the world every single day. There weren't any words meaningful enough to describe how it made me feel, seeing my two men just vibing in their element. It seemed glaringly stupid the most famous thing they were for was the superhero side-gig they had, they were so much more than cannon fodder planet Earth considered them to be.

At some point during the night, Tony called for Bruce to assist him with a new feature on his suit, a kind of a very condensed, targeted explosive. These days Tony didn't hold back from discussing Stark trade secrets around me anymore, so I sent Bruce on his merry way and finished his tasks for him, carefully replicating his style of taking notes and observing the reactions. As usual, Friday ran most of the calculations so my brain wasn't muddled too much by annoying math. Out of four of us, Peter was the only crazy person to actually like doing the math - the spider bite must've screwed with his brains, I guess.

I would've been content to just hang back and observe the men thinking, but Bruce took notice of me hovering by the exit. The scientist froze and just looked back at me for a minute, eyes round and soft. I missed the exact moment my mouth curved into a warm smile and the time Bruce's goofy grin made an appearance.

"You done, Princess?" He asked, gesturing to his lab.

I nodded, padding over to him, easily settling into the warmth of his open arms. Tony smiled at me briefly, distracted by the equations on the holo-screens, reaching over to peck me on the cheek, not minding Bruce at all. Strangely enough, both men fit around me so easily, so naturally, I wondered if they'd planned this... Relationship. What were the chances of such a perfect fit for three people? Meanwhile, Bruce's other arm wrapped around Tony's shoulders and the engineer willingly fell into the embrace beside me.

"Keep it PG," Peter mumbled, eyeing the same equations with an annoyed stupor. Tony hummed, poking at the screen a bit.

"It's 2:30 AM, guys," I said, casting a glance at Pete who stubbornly rubbed his eyes but continued thinking so damn loudly. I could practically hear the sound of his brain overheating. "Spiders need sleep too," I reached over to poke Pete's arm.

"Shit, kid," Tony switched to concerned dad mode almost instantly, rubbing his face. "Go to bed. We'll finish tomorrow."

"I almost have it figured out," Peter refused to budge, frowning.

"I am one text away from Spidermom at all times," I threatened him, giggling, referring to Natasha's murder glare all of them were going to be subjected to should she find out Pete skipped on sleep in favor of science. Nat had some strong opinions regarding a healthy lifestyle for one Peter Parker.

"Spidermom," Pete scoffed but stood up nonetheless, blearily blinking his shiny eyes in the fluorescent lights of Tony's lab. "That makes you either my Spider-aunt or Spider-sibling," He sleepily made his way to hug me, embracing all three of us in the process. Peter's coordination was far from stellar when he was tired.

"I'm not one of the Spider Gang. I'm the..." I trailed off, unsure. Where exactly did I fit in? "I'm the human embodiment of Florida, a freeloader hippy aunt that shows up randomly with pot brownies. That, yes," My own brain was tired and not making much sense either.

Tony snorted. "Hot hippy aunt," His hand made way to my butt, giving it a discreet grope.

"It's not easy being the family disappointment but yet, here I am," I quoted a meme, high-fiving Peter on his way out. "So, Irondad confirmed," I raised an eyebrow at Tony who rolled his eyes, pulling me against his chest once the door behind Pete closed.

Bruce sighed, removing his glasses and letting them dangle freely around his neck, pushing them up against my back as he hugged me from behind, securely pressing me in between him and Tony. My body began to respond, a warm sensation spreading through my limbs and culminating at the side of my neck where Bruce pressed feather-light kisses along my jugular and up towards my ear.

Tony's lips captured my own, dry and chapped, moving lazily as if all three of us had all the time in the world. His calloused hand stroked my face, occasionally dipping to rake through Bruce's curls. The scientist himself was stroking my skin, hands slowly but surely making their way under the hem of Stephen's hoodie, tracing my hipbones. I couldn't resist doing the same to Tony, palming his back and sneaking a handful of his ass, making him chuckle into the kiss.

"Mind the goods," The engineer teased, parting briefly to chuck off his shirt carelessly. His jeans, belt-less, hung low on his hips, the prominent V looking as delicious as the most gourmet chocolate cake. My eyes followed the happy trail on their own accord, hands reaching out to pull him back towards me. Tony happily obliged, watching Bruce unzip my hoodie with sparkling eyes.

"I can't help myself. Why man have round butt if not for squish?" I squinted at him playfully, shrugging off the sleeves and relishing in the feeling of Bruce, shirtless and warm, resting his head on my shoulder.

"I have to agree," The scientist chuckled thoughtfully, both of us smirking at Tony who smoldered in response, all but bursting with smugness. "Bed?" Bruce inquired.

"Lab sex," Tony replied gleefully, steering us towards the bigger, sturdier tables in the back. Because, at the end of the day, Tony was Tony.

Bruce looked at me questioningly. I shrugged. "Lab sex," Before turning over and kissing him, faster and harder than last time. It was familiar and easy, the flow we had was amazing and it never once crossed my mind to be ashamed or apprehensive in the presence of my two men.

The chemistry between us three was intoxicating: they kept throwing small, appreciative glances at each other. Tony's eyes lingered on Bruce's strong arms, the scientist eyeing the engineer's chest and lips in turn.

My bra and panties were disposed of quickly, flying over our heads together with Tony's jeans; I palmed the visible erection while gasping into his mouth, licking my way into it lustfully. Bruce groaned behind me, my feverish kisses still fresh on his own lips, grinding into my ass with controlled movements. I couldn't resist moving with him, arching my back into his touch. The fingers along my spine left shockwaves in their wake.

Following the directions of my arms, Tony hopped onto the table, invitingly spreading his legs. My mouth watered - his thighs were absolutely fucking massive and kept me up at night more times than I'd cared to count. I wanted to bury my face in them, so bad.

"How do you wanna do this?" Bruce asked from behind me, having made quick work of the remainder of his clothes.

The warmth of his cock rubbed against my thighs. "God gave me three holes for a reason," I sassed, swallowing a moan. My next attempt at the very same thing wasn't as successful: Tony gasped at my words, something quiet and lewd, taking hold of my hair like he knew I loved, and steered my face in the direction of his cock. I mouthed at the wet spot on his boxers obediently, pushing my ass back towards the already naked scientist. Bruce was anything if not practical in disposing of his clothes.

He was not in a rush. Damn him, damn his self-control and damn both these sexy-ass, big-brained dorks. They wound me up so well with just a few gentle touches and words, doing nothing but mirroring each other's smug smirks over the top of my head. In a rush to enact some revenge, because I was a spiteful little shit, my fingers hastily peeled off Tony's boxers and went straight for the thing I knew made his eyes roll into the back of his skull.

"Fuck," As I predicted, Tony's eyes fluttered shut as he cursed and I made my way down his length, taking as much as I could of it in my mouth without warm-up. Tony's cock was absolutely delicious, thick and flushed.

Bruce hummed, running his fingers down the cleft of my ass and feeling at the dampness collected at my core, hot and sticky arousal that had me rubbing back onto his digits, needy. Two of his fingers slipped in with ease as he worked me open for his thick cock - Bruce knew how to take care of me, he felt the little spasms of my cunt as it greedily accepted the intrusion. "So good, baby girl," He cooed. I could feel the burn of his stare on my head as I bobbed it up and down on Tony's cock at a moderate pace.

There was no rush. Just three people enjoying themselves. Tony leaned back, on one hand, using the other to keep my hair out of my face, arc reactor illuminating the trio of us, giving his pleasure-filled face an ethereal tint. It became that much more surreal when his eyes met Bruce's: the sparkles only grew in quantity.

My moan, as Bruce slid inside of me with one smooth thrust, made Tony's thighs tense up and quiver. I was loud, always so, so the more Bruce rutted into me, the more desperate and breathy Tony became, feeling the vibrations around his cock, his hips meeting my mouth half-way. As soon as clever fingers touched my clit, I was done for, spasming around both men.

"Fuck, that's so good," Tony slurred, tightening his hold on me to the point of his knuckles turning white.

Bruce quickened, ever so responsive little groans leaving his mouth. "Hear that, Princess? Tony loves it," He purred encouragingly, making me grip Tony's thighs in desperation. The rumbly tone of Bruce's voice, coarse and rushed, was making me feel hotter than before; Tony groaned too, evidently having had the very same conclusion. Both men resonated each other's lust like an echo chamber, back and forth, until a cacophony of lewd grunts and moans was all that made sense. I was stuck in the middle of our combined longing, full and full.

My brain retreated, uncharacteristically quiet, leaving just the bare naked need to feel. So I did, I basked in the shared waves of bliss that didn't seem to end. I felt Tony fall first: the sound made it's way out of his chest, long and low, as he spilled in my mouth, twitching and pulsating, ropes of him coating me from the inside out. I swallowed the salty fluid, immediately placing my cheek atop his thigh to steady myself.

Bruce pounded on me something good, sharp, steady thrusts that made my breasts bounce and my inhales halt intermittently, out of rhythm. My exhaled air burned, the fire of my need all but scorching the soft flesh of Tony's leg.

With every stroke, I could feel another peak approach closer and closer. Tony's hand on my hair tightened, and so must've I - because an unholy growl left Bruce's mouth the very same moment.

"Huh," Tony's smug smirk was heard and not seen. "Princess, be good," He pulled my hair back, lifting my face to meet his eyes.

Words weren't forming for me, at all, so I blankly stared at the man who was positively leering down at me, mouth set in a mocking tilt. I hoped my eyes conveyed the utter devotion I felt towards the two men currently enjoying themselves to the fullest.

Behind me, Bruce growled again. "Don't think she knows how to, Tony," Startling me with the authoritative tone of his voice. I'm sure the man noticed the hot wave that his voice raised within me.

"Brat," Tony mocked, briefly sharing a look with Bruce. The engineer leaned in and carefully wrapped a hand around my throat, an array of stuttered gasps making their way onto his forearm - I saw the way the fine dark hairs stood up. He loved it, he loved my submission and my obedience, and most of all, he loved my unwillingness to go down without a fight.

Bruce crowded in on me, pushing me into a position that bordered on uncomfortable, adding tension to my body, tension that made me oversensitive and needy; hot and cold at the same time, on the brink of release but unable to reach it. Tony was still gripping my throat, firm pressure, as firm as the look he held me down with.

I saw the twitch of his mouth as he moved in to kiss me... And missed, much to my confusion - it lasted for a split second until I realized Tony didn't miss anything, ever. The two moans were a little too soft, a little too symphonic. As soon as my brain caught up with the fact Tony had just kissed Bruce, I was shivering, coming so violently, Tony had to strengthen the hold on me.

Bruce's fingertips dug into my stomach, my hips, his cock nestled so deeply inside of me, I felt every vein as my inner muscles milked him for all he's worth.

"Fuck," He groaned lowly and then he was coming too, one hand splayed across my stomach and the other grasping at Tony's shoulder. The engineer was holding both of us upright from the sheer force of our orgasms. I wasn't the only one who's legs shook.

We panted out our exhaustion, Tony's chuckle breaking the huff-huff-huff interlude. "Great to know that Jolly Green isn't a party crasher," The engineer wrapped his arms around me and Bruce.

"Tony," The scientist groaned.

"You'll be saying that more from now on," Tony saw the opportunity and he took it.

"I'm always down to tag-team Bruce," I couldn't resist adding.

He snorted. "Princess, you literally can't stand right now."

"Give me five minutes, a glass of water and a flat surface," I challenged him, knowing damn well that there would be round two and possibly three if judging only by the fact Tony's hands have had already ventured down to my breasts, palming them idly. "Tony, Bruce has, possibly, one of the most amazing cocks I've ever seen. Not being face to face with it, quite possibly, might be a crime."

Both of my men started laughing, one mortified and the other genuinely amused and I could not have been happier.

"And you've seen how many?" Bruce snarked, leading us to the elevator to go up to Tony's penthouse. The scientist's possessive streak was no joke and I fully expected to be held down and owned and bred in little less than an hour, nothing else in my head but the chase for my and their release.

It was my turn to laugh, equal parts amused and mortified. "Enough."

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[bbugyu]

finding something to do + kim mingyu

you had spent your better years bored with mingyu, and he thought holding your hand felt like holding his fleeting youth.

wc.4088 | almost smut, mostly fluff, friends to lovers/uni au, fem reader, that one trope where there is mutual pining but both of them think the other is gay, maybe like half an ounce of angst if you squint Really Hard, lots o swears

i usually make my fics hella neutral as far as gender and size and orientation goes but hahahaha this ones for the average sized bi girls! also just realized that i stopped using capitalization in my fics and yk what? im fine with it. this fic is based off of the song of the same name by hellogoodbye.

*

“stop honking, other people live here.”

mingyu grinned at you through the half-open passenger window, leaning over to pop open the door. the handle had never recovered from a giant cup of soda crashing into the side of his ride in the middle of a particularly rowdy summer shenanigan, the sticky substance soaking into the mechanics before he had gotten the chance to hose it down in a friend's driveway at 2am. now, you had to wait for him to open it from the inside on all future shenanigans, and you could only roll the window down half way, lest you have to laugh at mingyu aggressively pulling on the window between his palms as you pulled on the motorized switch to coerce it back into the closed position. you slid into the co-pilot seat and looked over to your best friend.

"if you answered your texts i wouldn't have to honk."

you rolled your eyes, tugging on the seatbelt. "go, gyu."

he laughed and shifted into drive, turning up his stereo as he pulled away from your apartment building, hand returning to the stick to shift up a gear. "thanks for coming."

"what else was i gonna do?" you slipped the slides off your socked feet and pulled your legs to sit cross-legged. "i finished rewatching avatar."

"study, maybe?"

you looked at him. he was right, finals were right around the corner, but you had an uncharacteristically light load this quarter (due to you not realizing you needed approval for one course before registration and it filling before you could sign up) and you weren't too worried about the three tests you would have to take in a couple weeks. "could say the same to you."

mingyu let out another laugh, suddenly singing along to the song as he ran a hand through his hair. you smiled at his profile, then pulled out your phone to update your instagram story. as you moved the camera over to mingyu from the streetlight-lit road ahead of you, he laughed midway through a lyric and practically yelled "mwoya" at you, gripping the wheel with both hands and jumping in his seat. 

you laughed hysterically, frantically saving the video before pointing the screen at him. he turned down the music to watch it, eyes flickering between your phone and the road. he laughed at the way it cut off on both of you screaming. "what was that?"

you giggled, swiping through filters. "you being dumb."

"you love me."

"you're right."

mingyu smiled at that, adjusting the stereo volume again, bobbing his head to the rhythm as he drove to the one convenience store in your town that sold his favorite mint chocolate chip ice cream, a mission he had called upon you for at 11:30pm. when it switched over to a song you knew, mingyu noticed your subconscious humming to the tune and a few lyrics falling out of your lips, the wind from the open window whipping through your hair.

by the time you reached a small parking lot across town, you had yawned probably half a dozen times.

"tired?" mingyu pouted as he rolled up the windows and unbuckled his seatbelt. "sorry for dragging you out."

you shook your head, following suit and pulling yourself out of the car. "i slept too late, i think. i'll be fine."

you followed mingyu across the quiet street to the convenience store the two of you frequented perhaps too often, finding yourself there after late night study sessions or mid-barhop for ramen, snacks, and most importantly, the mint choco ice cream bar of mingyu's affections.

after perusing the options as if you hadn't been there earlier in the week, you picked out an ice cream bar as well as a couple bags of chips. you walked up behind mingyu at the register as he was pulling out his wallet.

"i'll pay if you come over and play smash," he said, nodding at your hands full of snacks.

you eyed him. "what's the catch?"

"you can't be mad when i play meta knight."

you groaned, but put your things on the counter for the cashier that was likely the same age as you both to scan. "fine. i'll still beat you."

mingyu grinned at you, and you snagged your ice cream bar off the counter as he paid, the other snacks getting put in a plastic bag. you grabbed the bag and held it open as mingyu retrieved his own ice cream, both of you peeling them open as you exited the convenience store.

"mm," you let out, mouth full of ice cream as you leaned against the metal bar meant to lock up bikes on the sidewalk. "it's nice out tonight."

mingyu agreed, biting into his treat. "it's refreshing but not too cold."

you nodded, watching cars pass on the street. "i can't believe it's almost summer already."

"me neither," he said, squatting in front of you as he ate. "we're gonna be seniors next year."

you groaned. "have you decided if you're doing summer quarter?"

he shook his head. "i decided against it. i only really have to take one extra course next year so it didn't feel worth it."

you nodded, looking down at him. he was looking to his left, absentmindedly watching someone walk their dog across the street.

after the ice cream was finished and you threw away your wrappers, mingyu cursed slightly at the fact that he still managed to get his finger sticky despite doing his best to avoid meltage. after he popped open your door, he dug in the glovebox for some wet naps, playfully knocking your knees aside as you tried to sit. you laughed, waiting for him to be done so you could put the bag of snacks on the floor in front of you.

when you met mingyu sophomore year, your hair was shorter and he was blonde. he had sat next to you in your shared ecology lab and promptly fell asleep before the class had even started, and you had to nudge him awake when the professor was handing out the syllabus. 

"gah, fuck, i'm up," he waved a massive hand in your face, blinking away his sleep before focusing on you with furrowed brows. "you're not seokmin."

seokmin was his roommate, you learned, and also met a few weeks later when you went over to their dorm to work on assignments together. they've since upgraded to a compact but efficient three bedroom apartment and acquired another roommate. you stared out the window into the night sky as mingyu drove to said apartment, blinking heavily at the lure of a nap. you pulled your knees up to your chest and tried to listen to the song playing from the stereo.

only moments later, mingyu glanced over and noticed that your eyes had fluttered shut, your head lolling against the window. he wondered, staring at you in awe, how much longer he could pretend he wasn't in love with you.

when you and mingyu had first gotten to know each other, you admittedly had a bit of a crush on him, until you found out he had a boyfriend. even after they split almost four months later, and you had been there to bring him chicken and beer while he fumbled with the drawstrings of his sweatpants and rubbed his swollen eyes with the back of his hand, you decidedly resigned any feelings for him, knowing it was a lost cause for you to pine after a guy that didn't even like girls. hell, you barely even liked boys - you had gone on dates with six different girls, yet not a single guy since you came to university, and mingyu had sat on your bed while you tried to get ready, giving a concise "try again" when you showed him an oversized sweatshirt.

"why not this?" you asked, groaning.

"you have good proportions, bitch. show 'em off."

rolling your eyes, you rooted around in your closet for something less shapeless. your style had always skewed a little athletic, a little hip-hop. you bought mostly mens fit shirts, making the task slightly more difficult. you found a nice pair of high waisted jeans you hadn't worn in a while and paired it with a drop shoulder tee and a turtleneck, finally getting the approval of your best friend.

all of the facts laid in front of him led mingyu to believe you were completely and utterly gay, and even if you weren't, your taste in women suggested he was the exact opposite of your type. you liked petite girls. girls with long hair and that wore skirts and lots of rings. the kind of girls that you had to lean down to kiss. 

so he continued to try out the pool of eligible bachelors in your area that were within a respectable age range. he had even tried to date some girls, but every time they tried to suggest the dates go further, he would think of the way his best friend's fingers had sent electricity through his entire body just by brushing an eyelash off his lip, or how you would trace the veins that ran through his wrist as you watched a movie together on your couch. the way your touch set his skin on fire. the way he wished he could just admit the way he felt about you. 

he always smiled and said he'd call them sometime. he never did. it wasn't fair to them, but neither was him only ever asking them out because they reminded him of you somehow.

guys were easier, he thought. they didn't remind him of you.

mingyu was so caught up in the sight of you sleeping that he absolutely ran a red. he cursed under his breath when he realized the light he was passing under had been yellow for longer than he had thought, thinking how lucky he was that the cross street was empty. good thing he was almost home.

"hey, sleepyhead," he said when you stretched suddenly as he pulled into his parking spot. "do you wanna go home?"

you shook your head, yawning. "no, i need to eat chips."

he laughed and killed the engine. "you left a pair of house shorts here and you can borrow a shirt," he said, suggesting you crash in his bed when you got too tired for smash.

"what, you don't wanna carry me home?"

mingyu slammed the car door shut and shoved his hand in his pocket. "i'd rather not, no."

you stretched again, a hand reaching out to ruffle his dark hair as he tried to punch in the door code for you to enter his building. "mean."

he laughed at you again, leading you up the three flights of stairs to his apartment.

"hey, minghao," you said, waving at the shadowy figure that was seemingly melting into the couch, illuminated by the tv.

he raised a hand in acknowledgment, sitting with his neck at a 90 degree angle, a movie with subtitles on, and his phone face down on his chest. "yo."

"wanna play smash?" mingyu asked.

"no thanks."

mingyu dropped his keys on the kitchen counter. "we're playing smash."

"you're funny."

you laughed, and mingyu pouted. "please, myungho?"

minghao finally looked at his roommate. "i'm watching annihilation. the switch is handheld for a reason."

you watched mingyu roll his eyes with a smirk on your lips. he went over to the switch dock by the tv and grabbed the console, sticking his tongue out at hao. you giggled, following mingyu down the short hall to his room as minghao waved you both off.

"have i said that i like hao a lot?"

"yes," mingyu said. "like, every time you come over."

you smiled, throwing open his dresser and carding through the shirts that would surely be massive on you. "well i do."

the switch got tossed onto his bed and he sneaked around you to grab a pair of sweatpants from the drawer above the one you were looking in. he also pulled out the pair of shorts you had left, putting them on top of the dresser. "i'm getting naked now."

you shook your head lightly, knowing he was only changing his pants, but kept your back to him out of respect anyways. you picked up the shorts. "did you wash these?"

"yeah, i threw 'em in with my laundry last week."

you nodded, spotting the color you had been looking for. "aha!" you pulled on the ashy gray shirt, revealing one of your favorite things you had ever convinced mingyu to buy. an extremely soft, lightly distressed shirt with a tasteful rip along the neckline. "i'm getting naked now."

"clear," mingyu said, letting you know he wasn't looking as he flopped onto his bed, propping up the switch on his bedside table and setting up the controllers.

you pulled off your loose sweatshirt and swapped it for the borrowed shirt, then shoved the denim shorts down your legs, laughing lightly at how your sleep shorts completely disappeared under the shirt. you turned around, stretching out your arms to show how large the shirt was on you. "look."

mingyu rolled onto his back and propped himself on an elbow to look at you, giggling as you swam in his shirt. outwardly, he smiled, but internally, he thought this was simultaneously the worst and best idea he had ever had.

you looked absolutely stunning in his clothes, he thought, but only said that you were cute. he ignored the familiar feeling in his stomach and handed you a controller as you crawled onto his bed, settling on your stomach next to him.

he had to stop putting himself in this position. you were far too pretty for him to forget his feelings towards you.

but maybe that's what he wanted. maybe he didn't want to forget his feelings. maybe the few times you had told him his dates were attractive weren't just objective reassurances. maybe he held onto the sliver of hope that you could possibly be attracted to him, too.

you slammed your face into the bed as the game loaded. "why are all switch load times utter ass?"

mingyu adjusted so that he was laying on his side with an arm propping him up and flicked the back of your head. "because the console can fit in my palm."

your hand went up to swat at the culprit of the flick, and you pouted as you lifted your head to look at him. "that's not fair, your hands are huge." you wiggled onto your elbows to grab his wrist, pressing your palms together. "see?"

mingyu laughed, feeling his cheeks heat up. "well, you have baby hands, so." he punctuated his point by curling his finger over yours. you pouted again, then slipped your fingers between his, thinking about how nice his warm hand felt over yours.

you blinked, then pulled your hand away and grabbed the joycon as the game finally loaded the skippable intro, hoping you weren't blushing too much as you cleared your throat. mingyu stared at your pink cheeks for a moment, his mind reeling. was he seeing something that wasn't there? or was his hope in you validated?

you were clicking through the menu and felt his eyes on you, and all you wanted to do was hide behind your hair and avoid eye contact. you nearly jumped when mingyu cleared his throat.

"hey, i have something i've been meaning to ask you."

your eyes met his briefly. "shoot."

"do you…" mingyu paused, trying to think of the right way to phrase his question. "i know you have exes that are guys, but is that something you're, like… still into?"

your ears burned and you wiggled until you could sit back on your own legs, fiddling with the hem of the shirt you stole and hesitating to make eye contact. "you mean, being with guys?"

"yeah," he said, watching you intently with his brows furrowed.

"yeah, i mean, i guess?" you shrugged. "i like both."

mingyu nodded slowly, watching your eyes as they stared at the wall across his small room. your cheeks were a rosy pink, and you were chewing on your lip. "me too."

you looked at him finally, your eyes wide. "what?"

he gave you a crooked smile. "i like guys and girls, too."

if you were blushing before, now you were blazing. "oh, my god, i'm an idiot."

he laughed. "what, did you think i was, like, totally gay?"

"shut up," you threw yourself down onto his bed, hiding your face in the blanket. in your defense, he had definitely called himself gay before, but you definitely called yourself gay constantly, so maybe you shouldn't put so much weight in those words. "shut up, i'm embarrassed. i don't want to talk about it."

hearing mingyu laugh next to you made you feel like you were on fire, then you felt the ghosting of fingers on your arm. you froze. mingyu's voice was soft when he spoke again. "do you wanna talk about how i have a massive crush on you?"

you slowly raised your head to look at him, cheeks burning red. he gave you a small smile before you choked out a "huh?"

"i ran a red earlier," he said suddenly, his fingers moving from your arm to absentmindedly brush your hair out of your face, then to your shoulder, then back. it was a reassuring touch, one you had felt from him before, but you still were caught off guard by his sudden succession of confessions. "you were sleeping and i couldn't stop looking at you. i totally could have crashed the car."

"dude, what the fuck." you stared at him, then lowered your voice to imitate him. "'hey i have a crush on you and i almost killed us both because of it.' that's you, that's what you sound like right now."

mingyu laughed in your face and you couldn't help the chuckle that fell out of your mouth. "sorry i almost killed us."

"i guess i can forgive you," you said, picking at your nails suddenly despite them being clean. "especially because i might have a crush on you, too."

mingyu kept staring at you with a fond smile, and you wondered if he could also hear how hard your heart was beating. "can i kiss you?"

you looked at him, trying not to stare at his lips. you nodded, almost hurriedly. his hand pulled against your back as you rolled your body to face him, and your hand reached out for his jaw as he pulled you into him. and when his lips crashed into yours, you yelped slightly, melting into him almost immediately. they were plush against yours, and he was gentle as he pushed your back onto the mattress, adjusting to hover over you slightly. when you let your head fall back onto the bed, he grinned at your blown out pupils and swollen lips, buzzing at the way your hands curled around around his neck, fingers digging into the hair at his nape. he adjusted again, a hand finding your waist as he pulled back to let you swing your leg across his lap. you pulled him back over you, enjoying the way his hips hit the back of your thighs as he caged you in with an elbow by your shoulder. you stared up at him, heart racing, eyes flicking down to his lips too many times for him to not take the hint.

mingyu had always enjoyed pleasing you. this definitely felt like the next natural progression.

he dove into you, and your arms wrapped themselves around his shoulders. mingyu was a hugger, and he also liked wearing very little clothing when he worked out, so you knew what he looked like under the plain white tee. knew what he felt like. but suddenly - with his hands slipping under what was technically his shirt to properly feel your waist, with how his tongue fought with yours - you really felt him for the first time. the way his shoulder muscles rippled just beneath the skin as he adjusted, clearly trying to not make his growing bulge so obvious. you considered the fact that you might get to see how much leg day really benefited, considering how much he posted about it with sweaty post-workout pictures on his story.

mingyu felt your thighs squeeze around his hips, pulling back slightly. "is this okay?"

"is it?" you responded, a hand pulling back to fall on his jaw. "i've wanted you for ages."

he laughed lightly. "god, we're idiots."

you had no time to respond before he was kissing you again, his hips rolling into yours, pulling a surprised moan from you. he ate it up, his fingers gripping your waist tighter at the sound. you felt his girth as it pressed against you, and you gasped. when was the last time you had been with a guy? high school?

when mingyu's teeth bit down on your lip, you were really glad he was the guy you were unconsciously waiting for.

he tugged on your hips as he rolled onto his back, pulling you to straddle his lap. you giggled slightly, settling back into the open mouthed kisses as he ran his hands from your ass up your back, slipping under the sports bra you were wearing.

then there was a knock. you yelped, burying your face in his shoulder as you heard the door swing open. "make room for king k r- oh shit!"

you laughed into mingyu's neck as he yelled for seokmin to get the hell out, his hands tugging the hem of the stolen shirt over your butt in an attempt to shield it from view. you heard him squeak out an "i'm sorry!" as the door shut again.

"i'll kill him."

you exhaled, the laughter still on your lips as you looked at his profile from where your cheek pressed against his shoulder. "bet he thinks we're secretly dating."

mingyu laughed, scratching an eyebrow before returning his palm to your ass. "not a secret now."

"oh, so we're dating now?"

mingyu craned his neck to look at you. "is that not what was going to happen?"

you giggled, sitting up and putting your hands on his chest. you adjusted your knees, fully aware of how the movement would rub you against his still hard bulge. "we have both fucked people without dating them afterwards, kim mingyu."

"ah," he said, digging his fingers into your soft ass and rutting into you gently, making you gasp. "we're gonna fuck? i thought we were just joking."

you slapped his chest, giggling still as you rolled your hips. "if you don't wanna, i could ask hao-"

"oh, shut up," he said, pulling you down to kiss him. "if you liked myungho like that you would have tried it ages ago."

you smiled, your thumb running over his adams apple as you placed gentle kisses on his jaw. "sweetie, are we jealous?"

"i don't deserve this, you know?" mingyu pulled your hips against him again, a low grunt tumbling from his beautiful mouth. "i haven't put my dick in a girl since i met you and now i'm with you and you're talking about my roommate? this seems extremely mean."

you giggled again, then placed your lips on his again. he instantly kissed you back, one hand leaving your ass to go to the back of your neck. "you're the only guy i ever think about," you whispered, getting repeatedly interrupted by mingyu's needy lips on yours.

the wolf-like grin that broke onto his face sent chills down your spine. "let's keep it that way."

*

seokmin's hand was still on the doorknob, his wide eyes blinking, when minghao paused his movie and sat up to poke his head out and look down the hall. "the hell was that?"

he puffed out his cheeks as he walked back into the living room, his palms clapping gently. "i thought you said y/n came over to play smash?"

minghao's eyebrow quirked up. "she did."

the eldest sat on the couch. "i thought mingyu was gay?"

"what?" minghao looked down the hall again. "wait, what? were they-" he stopped when he heard a muffled groan that was far too familiar.

seokmin grabbed the remote and pressed play, scratching his cheek as he turned up the volume. "what are we watching? catch me up."

#97 line is back #aka my favorite friendship dynamic i love them #honestly all the age groupings in svt are so good i love all of them a ton #honestly any grouping in svt is. one of my faves #like all of them #why are they perfect for each other this is so sickening #ok lets do real tags now #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fluff #kim mingyu imagines #kim mingyu scenarios #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu smut #mingyu fluff #i love he a lot #puppy #i wrote dis

[lardguz]

Panic in the Pantry

So I've been really into Ze//ro Esca//pe lately, and I noticed there was like, no weight gain writing for the series, probably because the games themselves are pretty serious most of the time. But I'm gay and a loser so I wrote a thing of Si//gma trying to solve the Pantry escape room by eating everything in sight!

A tall, muscular young man stood in a hallway in front of a door flanked by two other people: another tall young guy who was much thinner and lankier than the first one and was wearing a ridiculous circus ringleader getup, and a short, skinny girl with white hair. The three of them stared at the door in front of them, which had the word “Pantry” being projected from the front of it somehow. The three of them were just one third of the people in this facility as far as they knew, and they were being forced to play something called “The Nonary Game Ambidex Edition” by someone called Zero. The tall muscular man named Sigma and the other half of his bracelet pair, the small girl named Phi, had teamed up with the blonde man in the top hat named Dio, and opened one of the chromatic doors to proceed to the next round of the game. This had led them to the hallway they were currently in, facing the door to what was apparently going to be a pantry.

Sigma turned to his two teammates and motioned towards the door. “So, this place has a pantry. You think that means there were people living here before this game started?”

Phi rolled her eyes and responded in complete deadpan. “No, I think they were just expecting us to be here for a while, Sigma. Of course people were living here. Who else would have built this place?”

“I dunno, they have an AI rabbit in the main computer, who’s to say if this place isn’t run by robots or something?” Sigma retorted. He crossed his muscular arms and glared down at the white-haired girl, who was staring right back at him, unflinching. Dio placed a hand on each of their shoulders and spoke in his usual slow, condescending voice. “All right, all right, settle down you two. We don’t have time for lover’s quarrels right now, remember? We gotta find the key cards for the Ambidex Gate. So let’s get a move on, okay?” Sigma and Phi grumbled in reluctant agreement, and Sigma moved to open the door.

What greeted the trio was a room filled with walls and walls of drawers, each one meticulously labeled with which foods it contained within. The three of them immediately set about examining each drawer. “This is… a lot of food,” Phi whispered as she checked another drawer. “Why did they stockpile so much of it, do you think?”

“Probably so they could keep building this fucked-up murder game without having to make constant trips to the grocery store or something.” Dio responded, pulling out a container of spaghetti from the drawer he was checking. He looked at it with a hint of disgust on his face. “Urgh, it’s all prepackaged food though. The kinda shit that’s loaded with preservatives and stuff to make it last forever. This shit is so unhealthy. Whoever built this place must be a total fatass after living off this for God knows how long.”

Sigma paused as he opened a drawer of udon stir fry bowls. “Wait. Maybe this food isn’t for Zero.”

Phi looked up at him, raising one eyebrow inquisitively. “What do you mean, Sigma?”

He grabbed one of the bowls of udon and ripped open the packaging. Sigma grabbed a noodle with his bare hand and dropped it into his waiting mouth, and spoke as he chewed. “Well, if th’scape room’sh a pantry, maybe th’ puzzle’sh gotta involve thish food!” He swallowed and continued explaining himself. “I mean, why else would one of the escape rooms be a pantry? We probably have to eat a certain amount of the food here to unlock the door or something!” The dark haired man reached his hand into the udon bowl again and grabbed more noodles to eat as Dio and Phi stared at him incredulously.

Phi sighed heavily and went back to searching the room herself, but Dio was laughing too hard to continue doing much of anything. “Hahahaha, holy shit, Sigma, you’re a damn genius! You got this whole game all figured out, huh?” The blonde man’s voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Sigma didn’t care. He was convinced he was right, and so he kept eating his udon stoically. When he finished the first bowl, he reached into the drawer and grabbed another, and another, until he’d cleared it out entirely. When Sigma straightened up to open the next drawer, he felt his middle wobble slightly, and he looked down. His stomach stuck out just a little bit, a nice coating of soft fat just beginning to form over his formerly toned abs. Shaking his head, Sigma opened the drawer anyways, reasoning with himself that if this was the solution to the puzzle, he could sacrifice his muscles for now. Plus there was probably a weight loss antidote as a reward in the safe! He grabbed the packages of curry from the drawer he opened and kept eating, trying his best to ignore his gradually growing waistline.

After an hour in the pantry, Phi and Dio had turned up no hints to solving the puzzle themselves. Sigma also hadn’t encountered any hints, but what he had done was clear out six whole drawers of provisions, and it showed. His outfit, once baggy and poorly fitting, now clung to his new chubby body, accentuating every roll and fold. His blue button-up shirt rode up on his torso, no longer able to be tucked into his matching pants whatsoever. The buttons were beginning to strain against his growing gut, and the short sleeves dug into his fat upper arms. The waistband of his pants was clearly straining as well, his belly and hips oozing over the top of it to form a plush muffin top. His thickening thighs and calves caused the fabric of his pants to look like an overstuffed piping bag, and his ass, which had already been pretty round and desirable before, was starting to feel like it would burst out of his painfully tight pants at any moment.

Sigma had to sit down for a moment to rest, all this ravenous eating tiring out the young man immensely. He sat with his belly in his lap, rubbing it slowly to try and ease off some of the discomfort from his ever-tightening clothes, when suddenly he felt a hard slap on his fat ass from behind. He yelped in surprise and whipped around to see Dio grinning mischievously.

“Now, now, Sigma, c’mon! We don’t have time for you to be resting on your fat ass!” The blonde man chuckled as he tipped the rim of his top hat towards the pantry drawers. “After all, you said so yourself! The solution is probably related to aaaaaall that food! So you gotta get back to eating as fast as possible, so all of us can get the hell outta here!”

“But, my clothes—” Sigma tried to whine, but he was cut off, this time by a disgruntled Phi. “Ah ah ah, no. Shut up, Sigma. You committed to this stupid plan, and we’re gonna make sure you see it through to the end whether you like it or not.” The girl prodded him in the side with a slim finger, which sunk a couple inches into his flab. “Understand?”

Sigma sighed heavily and hoisted himself back up, almost falling over from his sudden shifting weight. After catching himself with one of the drawers, he opened it and began clearing it of its contents. After another few drawers of food were emptied into his stomach, Sigma heard a snapping noise and felt cool air on his gut suddenly. The release of the building pressure of his lower gut straining against the bottommost button of his shirt was enough for him to realize said button had finally come flying off, which meant the rest were probably soon to follow. The sweet release of his painfully tight cloth prison within sight now, Sigma sped up his consumption considerably, shoveling down packaged pizzas and burgers with ease. Two more buttons went soaring off as he feasted, and his massive gut surged forth like a tidal wave of lard. It flopped over the waistband of his pants and reached almost down to his thighs, his crotch still visible for now. The remaining three buttons at the top of his shirt held strong, but his shirt was being stretched across his chest much further than it was meant to, looking more like an oversized bikini top than a button-up. His chest had fattened up considerably, transforming his huge pecs into even more huge breasts, larger than even Alice’s. With the shirt holding them in place for now, like a bra, they didn’t sag to the sides of his growing gut yet. The seams of the short sleeves were starting to creak and groan from how tight there were against his flabby bingo wings, little diamonds of his arm fat starting to ooze through in small rips. His thighs were starting to do the same to his overburdened pants, seams popping every time he moved his legs even slightly. When he bent down to open a drawer that was closer to the floor, a loud ripping sound came from behind Sigma, and Dio started cackling mockingly. Sigma realized with a cold start that the seat of his pants must have been ripped by his growing ass. His chubby cheeks flushing pink, Sigma’s round face, now accompanied by a full double chin, was hot with embarrassment. He looked down at the drawer he had just opened, filled with packaged cupcakes, and wondered if this was even worth the embarrassment at this point.

Before he could make a decision, though, Phi appeared in front of him and leaned down to grab a package of the cupcakes. She tore it open and popped one into Sigma’s unsuspecting mouth, stifling an exclamation of surprise. She held the package out to him as he chewed on the pastry. “You’re not giving up on your plan already, are you, Sigma. What if this really is the solution? You’re so far into solving it already, may as well see it through to the end, right?” She gave Sigma a reassuring smile, and he immediately felt at ease again despite Dio’s laughing still ringing in his ears. Sigma took the package of cupcakes from Phi and smiled, his chubby cheeks causing his eyes to squint. “Thanks, Phi. It’s nice to know at least one of you believes in me.” She mumbled a response that Sigma didn’t catch, but he was already shoving the rest of the cupcakes in his fat face, so it didn’t matter to him.

Another half an hour had passed, and Dio and Phi had decided to make themselves busy with helping Sigma with his plan instead of exploring the rest of the room. The college student was having some issues reaching the lower drawers now, and walking was getting to be a little bit of a problem too, so they were helping bring him more of the provisions for him to eat. The obese man currently stood with one open drawer at chest level, shoveling the food from it directly into his mouth. His double chin had grown into a triple chin, and his neck was slowly being replaced by rolls of soft fat instead. His chubby chipmunk cheeks had begun drooping, looking more like the jowls of an oversized dog instead. The sleeves of his shirt had ripped open a few minutes ago, setting his wobbling arm fat free. His jiggly biceps slapped against his chest every time he lifted more food up to his mouth. His shirt’s one remaining button strained against his growing moobs, massive tears beginning to form in the fabric stretching across his squishy breasts. His stomach rolls had folded over themselves, forming a three tiered flabby apron that went down to his thighs. The button on his pants had burst off a while ago, and his pants seams were all but gone, just a few threads managing to keep his overfed thighs and beanbag sized ass cheeks from bursting out of them entirely. After finishing the drawer directly in front of his face, Sigma turned his bulk towards the pile of food Phi and Dio had gathered for him, and began waddling towards it. He had to spread his legs uncomfortably far apart to keep his thighs from rubbing together, and even then they still did. He also couldn’t bend his legs anymore, his knees buried under rolls of fat from his jiggly thighs. His oversized ass cheeks, each roughly the size of a couch cushion, drooped down about the same distance as his massive gut, and had lost all semblance of shape and tone, now just two squarish blobs of pure lard. The lowest roll of his apron of a stomach slapped against his thighs with every slow, deliberate step forward, sending his entire body wobbling with each one. It took him three minutes to walk ten feet across the room, and the already massive young man was wheezing for breath by the time he stopped. After catching his breath, Sigma grabbed a package of spaghetti and meatballs off the top of the pile, tore it open, and poured it directly into his fat mouth. Then he did the same for a pizza, a meatloaf, a plate of fish and chips, any and everything in the pile was unceremoniously devoured. The last button of his shirt ripped off its overburdened thread and went flying, narrowly missing Dio’s head. The button pinging off the wall seemed to be the signal the rest of Sigma’s clothing had been waiting for, as every remaining seam burst one after another, sending his massive body surging forth.

Dio turned to Phi as Sigma continued stuffing his face without pause, a look of disgust plastered on his face. “He’s still going! The guy is buck-ass-naked in front of us with only his little boxers on, fat as a whale, and still keeps eating!” The blonde tssked loudly as Sigma began shoving crepes into his mouth. “What’re we gonna do about this lardass?”

Phi cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Well, he’s clearly not going to stop til either all the food is gone, or he can’t reach it anymore, and I kinda want to see how far he ends up taking his stupid idea.” She looked straight at Dio, a smug smirk plastered on her face. “Let’s just help Sigma finish his little job and then we can figure out the room ourselves, without his whining.”

Dio chuckled and gave Phi a conspiratorial wink. “Say no more, little miss. That is fuckin’ devious. I like your style!” He sauntered over to the massive food pile he and Phi had made and began handing dishes directly to Sigma’s greedy hands, his fat sausage fingers immediately grasping anything placed near them and emptying it into his mouth. Sigma’s arms were now so fat that his wrists were starting to sink into his own arm fat, and his pillow-sized arm rolls were constantly squished between his multiple layers of love handles and his massive breasts, thus forcing them to rest at an angle at all times, and making it steadily harder for him to reach his face with his food-filled hands. His face looked like it was slowly being absorbed into his fat body, chubby neck rolls and multiple chins surrounding his drooping jowls which were starting to block his vision somewhat. His chins and neck rolls blended together, flowing down his front like a river of flab, nestled between the valley that was his moobs. Shreds of his blue shirt still clung to his breasts, some stuck underneath the pillow-sized bags of fat which sagged horribly to the sides of his gut now that they were free from their cloth prison. His plush side rolls and back fat were fully on display now, showing clearly how his arms were never going to be able to rest at his sides ever again, and that even if he were to try and lay down, he wouldn’t be able to get flatter than a sitting position with all his multitudes of back rolls propping him up and pooling around his body. The topmost layer of his stomach was wide enough to be used as a bed for a medium sized dog, and was too heavy for anyone to lift even on its own. The middle layer folded over on top of where Sigma’s belly button once was, creating a cavity underneath that was probably almost a foot deep now. The middle and bottom rolls of his enormous stomach were pure lard, soft and jiggly, and very, very heavy. The bottom of the lowest roll reached past his knees now, dangling just a foot off the ground. His legs were as thick as tree trunks now, every inch of his adipose-stuffed thighs and calves touching no matter how far apart he spread his legs. Even his toes were fat now, though they could barely be seen with the mass of flab that was his lower calves slowly starting to engulf his ankles. His misshapen, flabby rear end was almost touching the floor as well, each overstuffed bean bag chair of an ass cheek protruding well over a few feet from his morbidly obese body. His boxers hadn’t been destroyed by their mass yet, but the overburdened underwear looked more like the world’s skimpiest thong, with Sigma’s boulder-sized butt cheeks swallowing the stretched fabric of the garment between their bulbous forms. Phi perched herself on top of one of his massive moobs and started dumping food from the pile directly into Sigma’s waiting mouth, his heavy fat-swaddled arms too tired to lift anything more himself. Dio, being much taller than Phi, merely had to lean against Sigma’s increasingly more squishy side to place more food into his pile of chins, which doubled his rate of consumption considerably. Dio and Phi shared a conspiratorial wink. This was the final stretch of Sigma’s stupid plan!

One more hour passed in the pantry before Phi shoved the last prepacked pie into Sigma’s greedy mouth. She sighed in relief and hopped down off the man’s oversized chest, and stepped back to take in the enormity of her bracelet pair mate. Somehow, despite his incredible size and weight, Sigma was still standing on his own two feet. Whether he could still walk remained to be seen, and Phi didn’t have her hopes up very high for that. The young man was ridiculously obese, probably pushing close to half a ton weight-wise now. A loud belch erupted from Sigma’s mouth, his face a bloated parody of what it used to be mere hours ago. His neck rolls pushed his jowls up around his face, making it look like he was sinking and using a life preserver to keep only his fat face afloat. His arms were so swollen they were barely recognizable, the only hint to their existence as arms being the sausage-shaped fingers poking out from the ends. His massively saggy moobs slumped to either side of his stomach, wobbling with every wheezing breath the mountain of a man took. His love handles bunched up underneath the flab-filled bingo wings of his arms, multiple side rolls forming above his hips that were wide enough to fill an entire sofa by himself. His overstuffed gut now reached the floor, the lowest roll pressing firmly into it even when standing upright. His legs looked like a bursting overfilled sausage casing, his thighs' dimpled fat pressing each other so far apart it was utterly insane that he hadn’t fallen over on his fat ass yet. Especially when you considered Sigma’s ass was so stuffed and loaded with squishy fat that it, too, now almost touched the floor even when he was just standing, and his boxers looked like a few pieces of string stretched across the wide expanse of his cheeks. His feet couldn’t be seen behind his wobbling apron of a stomach, but if they weren’t obscured by that mass of pure flab, they would still not be visible; the fat from his calves had collapsed over top of his ankles, hiding his feet entirely. Overall, Sigma had grown to nearly four times his size in just a few hours of clearing out the entire pantry.

Sigma gazed blearily past his enormous chest and stomach at his teammates, letting out another loud burp. He spoke in a voice that sounded unfamiliar to him, the amount of fat coating his vocal chords causing him to sound huskier, with a deeper voice, and his jowls and chins affecting his speech somewhat. “Did… haah… th’ dooh ohpen? Haah… shohl…ve… th’ puzzshle?” he wheezed. Phi groaned. “Of course you didn’t, you moron! We told you that stuffing yourself wasn’t going to be the solution!”

Dio chuckled and clapped a hand to Sigma’s flabby lovehandle. “Yeah, but we knew you’d never shut up if we didn’t let you try it, so we decided to just let you do your thing, and now here we are!” The blonde man pinched the soft side rolls, forcibly wobbling them back and forth, causing a cacophony of Sigma’s rolls and flaps to slap into each other loudly. The man moaned in discomfort, but Dio continued his torment, delighting in watching the helpless Sigma jiggling all over.

Raising his voice to be heard over the noise of the shockwaves rippling all over his half-ton of flab, Sigma spoke in a husky whine. “Sho then… haah… whuh ah we… haah… gunna do to… haah… eshcape?” Phi patted the lowest roll of his stomach sympathetically before speaking. “Well, Dio and I are gonna figure out how to actually escape this room now. Together. Without you, Sigma.”

The blubbery man burped again before speaking. “But… haah… whuh am I… haah… how do I… haah… help you guysh… haah… sholve it?” He looked upset, like he’d failed both Phi and Dio with his stupid plan by becoming useless to them both. Phi turned her back to him, ignoring his question entirely. Dio stopped jiggling Sigma’s soft side rolls and followed the short woman to see how he could help. Sigma was left standing in the middle of the pantry, the weight of his failure pressing down on his conscience just about as much as the weight of his fat was pressing down on his body. He’d never eaten so much in his life, not even when he was partying constantly in his freshman year of college. How did he think this was a smart idea? He was so stupid! No wonder Phi and Dio let him do this to himself just to get him out of their way. Just before Sigma’s self-pity party was going to get too sad, Phi shouted from across the room. “Hah! Got it! Told you I could handle it, Dio!” She strutted triumphantly back across the pantry towards Sigma’s weighty form, Dio following at a distance, grumbling. “Well, I figured you’d be fine, but I also thought maybe you could use a man’s help. A smart man. Not like big ol’ land whale over there.”

Phi stood in front of Sigma’s stationary form, waving up at his bloated face. “Hey, Sigma! I got the key to get out of here from the safe. There’s some other stuff too but none of it’s of much use to us right now.” The near-immobile man breathed a sigh of relief. At least one of them had managed to solve the escape room. “Thash grea’, Phi!” he said aloud, still surprised at how different his voice was now, “Sho are we leaving now?” He tried to look down at the girl directly in front of him, but couldn’t see her past his enormous gut, moobs, and chins. Phi must have realized this, as suddenly she was jumping in the air and landed directly on his flabby chest, standing in front of his face. She looked him up and down before speaking. “Sigma, do you think you can still walk?”

Sigma wiggled his toes experimentally, nodding decisively as he felt he could still move his feet at least. “I c’n proba’ly walk, yeah. Migh' take me shome time though. Shorry.” Phi patted his jowls reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Sigma. I’ll make sure Dio doesn’t leave without us. Just take your time, okay?” The agile young woman hopped back down, running ahead to keep Dio busy, leaving Sigma to begin his most arduous task of his life: walking a few hundred feet across a room and getting through the door. Slowly he began moving his right leg, the fat coating it shifting past his left leg and slapping against the bottom of his drooping stomach. He moved his left leg forward slowly, essentially walking in a very slow, heavy, exaggerated waddle. His gut touched the floor and the front of his legs the entire way, slapping into his gelatinous thighs every waddling step, sending its entire expanse of rolls wobbling like a pendulum. His shapeless ass cheeks balloon out behind him, jiggling like jello every time he moved even a little. Sigma’s fat face felt like it was on fire, his cheeks bright red and sweaty from the effort of moving around a thousand pounds of fatty flesh across a room. His breath was coming in rasps, mouth agape and panting, his multiple chins wobbling as his chest heaved from the exertion. After something like ten minutes of waddling his fat ass towards the door to escape the pantry, Sigma finally stopped to catch his breath. Taking big wheezing gulps of air, his massive breasts shaking from any slight movement of his chest, Sigma spent another five minutes just preparing to leave the door. Finally, his breathing about as stable as it could be with his lungs being crushed under a half ton of body fat at all times, the enormously overfed man began taking small, waddling steps towards the door. Three.. his thigh slapped loudly against his lowest gut roll. Two… he grasped the door frame with his pudgy sausage fingers. One… he slowly inched his wide body through the door, until suddenly, he stopped. Why am I not moving anymore? He thought to himself, before trying to pull himself forward again. Still nothing. What the fuck was stopping him? He couldn’t turn around to look because his neck was so encased in fat that he couldn’t rotate his head at all, but Sigma didn’t really have to look to guess that the cold metal digging into his soft hips was the door frame, and that his ass was too wide to fit through the door. Well, fuck. That’s not good. Sigma swore internally, before calling out for help. “Hey, Phi… haah… Dio? Haah… haah… there'sh a… haaaaaaah… pro’lem! Pleashe… haah… haah… help?” After a few seconds, Phi returned from further down the hall, Dio not far behind, both taking stock of the situation in front of them. Sigma was fully wedged in the doorway, his massive gut and chest hanging in front of him slightly as his hips, thighs, and couch-sized ass were clearly jammed in the other side of the door. Dio sighed. “All right, big guy. We’re gonna need to get extra help for this. Hold tight.” Sigma whined as the left, calling after their retreating forms, “Guysh, don’… haah… leave me… haaah… behind… haah… buh pleashe… bring… haah… haah… bring… shnacksh… hungry…” Phi stared at Dio incredulously as they ran to find the others. “He just asked for snacks. After all that, he’s still hungry. Unbelievable. Maybe he really will end up the size of a whale before this is all over.”

#my writing #fat!zero escape #fat!sigma klim #male weight gain #ssbhm

[heli0s-writes]

III. Paralysis*

Summary: “I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around Bucky’s bicep, his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

A/N: 9.8k words. OOF.

Warnings: Language, robots v. monsters violence, Big Time angst and comfort, smutty bits (dry-humping, thigh riding).

Trinity Epoch Masterpost

He leaves around sunset. Hair combed neatly to the side and freshly shaven, Steve’s dashing in a fitted suit and tie. 

In the middle of passing around a basketball, Erik Killmonger, in all his subtlety, whistles, “Looking fresh, white boy!”

Steve smirks, smoothing the front of his jacket, “This monkey suit? I’d rather be in circuitry.”

He’s been laying low since Siegehook, since Bucky’s arm, and since you. But now the story’s changed and he’s gotta get his narrative straight— he’s introducing a new character, changing the players, and guiding the spotlight exactly where it needs to go.

Jimmy Fallon— Kimmel? One of the Jimmies personally flew into Hong Kong for a special taping of his late-night show. Orion racked up eleven kills; it’s another record and the people want what they want.

Fury called the three you of into his office after the network reached out for the umpteenth time. He strategized shrewdly to have Steve on this particular broadcast because it’s not as serious as a news report and not as wordy as an interview. Too many things can go wrong in both: cross-examinations, misquoting, scrutiny after the fact.

Steve works best in front of a live audience. He’ll sit down tonight—broad and tall—smile at the camera and the host, make a few charming quips, and then he’ll let the world know.

James has been hurt. The next breach will overlap his recovery time—don’t worry, everybody, fortunately, there’s a pilot available to step in and fill his place until he’s fully healed. And yes, he’ll be back soon, both in the Jaeger and on the show— I know you miss him, he’s even more popular than me, huh? Broody and quiet, right, ladies? He’s a hit!

Then he’ll laugh and field some questions about his new partner—but keep it vague for both yours and Bucky’s sake.

It didn’t need to be said. You didn’t want to be named, Steve didn’t want to make any assumptions for the future, and Bucky didn’t want to know if anyone thought he couldn’t pilot anymore.

Erik passes and you catch, sidestepping Thor and shooting over his figure which is no easy feat considering his massive height and the way Steve is staring you down. You don’t have to be hooked up to his brain to know what he’s wondering. 

Since the trial run, you’ve been feeling the after-effects of the drift in oscillating waves. Sometimes you catch yourself standing ramrod straight, physically feeling heavier, knowing it’s him.

You okay? We talked about this. Yes, you are. No, you aren’t. It’s complicated. He’s fixes his tie the same time you spot a wrinkle. After-effects.

Erik jumps for a rebound when you miss the next basket, getting it knocked away by Thor’s enormous hand. Steve’s already gone when you look back, but Erik is passing again, and your next shot sinks through the net.

“That’s fuckin’ right!” He knocks his elbow into yours proudly, pushing sleeves over elbows until you can see the patterns of scarification up his arms. Feet back and forth on the scuffed concrete with distracted rhythm, you dribble, thoughts still on Steve.

“Hey,” a voice calls over the sound of the slamming ball. Barnes toes the edge of the makeshift court. A jacket is tucked under his arm, baseball cap atop his dark head. “Come on, it’s Friday night and you’re thinking too much. I wanna show you a place.”

-

He leads with confidence, directing the taxi in practiced Cantonese picked up over the last two years. Then, once disembarked, he peeks back every few minutes on the street to check if you’re still following. Your gait is awkward—steps firm, but lopsided. All off kilter and wound up like a spring.

It’s okay. In Bucky’s experience, food always helps. He’s taking you to his favorite restaurant—hole-in-the-wall Sichuan. He hollers over his shoulder, "You better be prepared for spice!”

-

Red lacquered doors open with a tinkering sound, a tiny overhead bell signaling new arrivals. A hostess steers through a path of similarly varnished tables and decorated chairs when Bucky asks for a quiet corner. Fish tanks of koi gleam green and blue. Chandelier scatters gold and white diamond shapes on a ceiling painted like a cloudy sky.

Hot tea first, and he sips carefully, gaze moving up to the T.V. behind your back when you’re busy flipping through the menu. A few more minutes pass of your furrowed brow sinking deeper and Bucky’s hand slides quickly across the tablecloth, nudging the booklet from your clutch.

“I got this.” And relief washes over your entire body like rain.

-

The appearance of entrees breaks your trance. Mai Gai, Char Siu Bao, Dan Dan noodles, and eggplant in garlic sauce—you’re trying to tell him it’s too much, wondering when he even ordered, but he ignores you. Not his fault you spaced out, he says, catch, and a napkin flies directly into your chest.

It makes you laugh, and Bucky secretly wants to tell you that it wouldn’t kill you to do it more often. Why the hell not, anyway? He’s tired of being upset about something that was largely inevitable. He knew the risk of death when they signed up to be Rangers so on the bright side, at least it’s his arm and not his head. At least it’s his arm and not his co-pilot’s. You’ve proven to be more than capable and proven to be someone he can trust with Steve’s life.

If Bucky had any doubts about whether or not that damned Rogers determination would see them through—they’ve been dispelled now.

The drift was sound. When Steve stepped out from the loading dock, he was lighter like half his weight had been sloughed off. When you followed, helmet pulled from your face, Bucky could see where it landed. Your hips, your shoulders, your jaw, all defiant—even if temporarily—coming down from the high of the handshake. Squared and strong, you looked at Bucky and certainty gleamed from your eyes.

You are Orion’s new pilot. He’s gotta give it up. It could be worse.

Bucky’s fingers shift as he unsnaps chopsticks and grabs spoons, the plates on his left clicking quietly, flexing his pointer when it sticks. Sometimes the prosthetic is a little glitchy because nothing’s perfect, but Stark and Shuri are constantly making updates. They use technology from the spinal clamp to connect his synapses, running tests on its reaction time, sensitivity, and functionality. He can feel pressure, but not pain, and wouldn’t it be nice if it applied elsewhere, too?

He passes your utensils over, wrapped loosely in a napkin. It could be worse.

“Hey Barnes,” you call earnestly, running your fingers over an embossed floral pattern on the paper, “Thanks.”

He’s not looking at you yet, firmly on a mission for soy sauce and chili oil. He makes a well of it in a ceramic dish and stirs with a chopstick, moving it to the center of the table, finding distraction in small tasks.

“...Barnes?”

“It’s Bucky,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to your hopeful face, “You can call me Bucky, alright? Usually that’s just for Steve, but you’ve been in his head—know me now, I guess. So you might as well. Hold your horses—I’ll serve you.”

Speechless, you put your hands in your lap and observe him scoop food, the syllables of his offered nickname tapping like a metronome over your curious tongue.

Bucky, you consider, watching the way he moves. Bucky, with his long hair pulled back and out of his cap. Bucky, his soft and worn hoodie, boots drumming gently against the table leg, eyes discreetly glazed over because he doesn’t think you notice the change in his mood.

Bucky, who made you laugh in the Jaeger hangar—even if he did threaten your life upon the first meeting. Who could have let you rot from boredom and worry, but instead took you into Hong Kong to his favorite restaurant without being asked to. Who could hate you—truly, truly hate you—for taking half his life from him, but instead is piling a mound of fragrant jasmine rice on your plate.

“What?”

“Bucky. I like it. It sounds nice.”

A clipped noise of displeasure, “Okay. Don’t fuckin’ wear it out.”

“Bucky...?” You murmur, sly. “Bu-cky. Buck-y.” The tips of his ears swell pink as you continue, emphatically pressing your lips together, letting your jaw hang open, pronouncing with precision. A bite of a steamed bun and you lick the edge of your mouth, “Bucky…hm…”

He sputters.

“Would you stop? Jesus, you’re annoying just like him— no fucking wonder— the two of you. Just fuckin’ darling.” His words are all run together with how fast his frustrated tongue moves, a healthy flush over his cheeks, spoon clinking on his plate.

It’s cute. Stoic, serious, James—Bucky Barnes– just a boy who can’t take a bit of flirting without lighting up like a candle. It’s fun. You like him, Bucky Barnes.

An unexpected ache overtakes you and suddenly Bucky looks more familiar than he ever has. Something excruciating about the soft crinkles of his brow, the way his generous lips draw back to reveal a sliver of his teeth.

He’s Bucky wiping the sweat from his collar in a dirty alleyway, jeans torn at the knees, bruises budding along his knuckles as he yanks up a troublesome blonde friend. Bucky, young and determined, helping Steve into bed every time he got sick.

Bucky, hovering pallid and broken in the drift, hurt and afraid but you felt his resolute strength in Steve’s head even as he howled in agony. Far off and shuffling in transparent layers until he was little more than a specter, but he was there.

His eyes lift again, raising to point you toward the T.V.

“There’s our boy.”

Our boy. And it keeps hurting.

You twist your torso as Steve steps out from backstage, waving and smiling, impeccably poised. He shakes Jimmy’s hand— silently mouthing thank you and hey because the cheering and yelling is too loud to hear him anyway. You try to stop thinking about Bucky anywhere but corporeal and whole across the tablecloth.

“Hey, Jimmy, how are ya?”

“Good—good, Steve. It’s so great to have you on the show again! Wow, you look great! Specimen.”

Steve chuckles modestly, tucking his chin to his chest, “Thanks, you do too.”

“Alright, no need to flatter me, we’re already in love with you, okay?”

You grin the same time Steve does, but whereas he continues to joke and enthrall two hundred people, you grow restless. Bucky refills your tea and drops a crumble of yellow rock sugar in.

“Relax,” he mutters, “It’s fine. He’s good at this. Eat your food.”

And you know this; you know him. Steve’s good when the questions get too personal and when there’s gaps in the conversation—when the cheering interrupts him or when his jaw ticks before he morphs it into a smile.

He’s good when he breaks the news to a hushed audience, gone eerily quiet like they’ve stepped on consecrated ground. Steve gives them those big blue eyes and the room immediately bursts into applause. Some people are crying. The host is shocked into wordlessness.

You feel relieved, getting what you pleaded for. No cameras. No questions. No pressure. The truth is aired, and Bucky seems pleased, too. You’re about to turn around, offer your full attention, thankful for his company, but then something else happens.

Jimmy blinks his stupor away from the blow of Steve’s confession. He takes a sip from his mug and after a short exchange of, thank you for your transparency, it must have been hard— wow I didn’t think you’d drop a bomb like that on us tonight! I thought I was the one with the ace up my sleeve— ha!

He points off-stage and says, “After that, I think you deserve a nice surprise, Steve. Ready?”

Tall, gorgeous, lightly curled hair cascading down her back—the surprise is a woman. She steps easily in heels, an off-the-shoulder red dress hugging tight to her body. Stunning. She waves to the audience and they go wild. 

Steve shoots up to meet her for a kiss in front of the host desk, shaking his head in disbelief, tangling his fingers in her silky hair. There’s cheering again and the crying keeps on.

“Oh my god— Jimmy! You sly devil!” He’s overjoyed. “Baby— how’d you—I thought you were working.”

“I can always make an exception for my favorite guy.” She showcases perfectly white teeth and the high apples of her rosy cheeks.

It’s Ophelia Reyez, Steve’s model-turned-actress girlfriend of approximately six months. Her recent appearance on the Victoria Secret fashion show blew up the internet and her last Sports Illustrated swimsuit cover sold out in every gas station you went into.

Their first meeting was at a charity event—raising awareness about pollution in the Pacific, discouraging scavengers from harvesting Kaiju parts after battles. A picture of them standing two feet away made its way through social media the next morning her PR team made contact before noon.

So of course, it was decided; it’s a beneficially mutual relationship, after all. Doesn’t matter if he hates it or not—people don’t want to know that pilots live in a metal box and play basketball on Friday nights. They want to see Rangers in a role— monogamous relationships with beautiful people, white picket fence (or gated community) future in the making, and eventually plump-faced babies in strollers.

Steve’s now back in his seat, shifted so Ophelia is sitting in his lap, turned to the side. His hands are locked around her slender waist—an incredibly believable display of public affection. She kisses his cheek, leans her head on his shoulder, beaming brightly. If you were anybody else, you’d believe it; you have before.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw,” you whisper in both awe and annoyance.

“Feeling it, huh?” Bucky speaks plainly around a bite of eggplant when he notices your jaw. That habitual and microscopic signal he’s grown to spot a mile away means Steve’s irritated and pissed off, and now it means that you are, too.

“Yeah,” you admit, shaking your head. You turn back to him, thoroughly bothered, having had enough of the performance.

“Uh-huh. Everyone’s a Fly—even her.”

You sigh at the label. Jaeger Flies, is what he’s saying. Ranger groupies. Derisive titles— and maybe deserved— for men and women who are attracted to pilots solely because they’re pilots. They want the opportunity to be famous or the privilege of being elite.

Even her, Ophelia Reyes. She’ll forever look at Steve Rogers as the Ranger.

Natasha always lamented—usually as she took her earrings off after a date, heels slipping off her pale feet—about another civilian man who worshipped her, and how that would be a dream for most people, to be so adored, so revered, but you always felt her sorrow in the drift mourning a love she couldn’t have.

She wanted the white picket fence. The normal life, normal husband, normal family. Her clean break from the past where monsters could no longer chase her in Decima and nightmares could no longer chase her at night. Behind closed doors, she was all torn open at the seams. And you’d wordlessly tell her shut up because she had a family with you. You loved her too, wasn’t that worth something?

She’d spiral and spiral and nothing was ever enough.

Your stomach twists and it keeps hurting.

-

Bucky pays for dinner. He asks as he pops a mint into his mouth, “Up for dessert?”

“God, Buck.” You groan, and Bucky takes a second to run that through his head again. God, Buck. Another thing like Steve.

“C’mon, I wanna show you another place,” he says thoughtfully, “Hold on to your hat, punk.”

A lighthearted swat to your back and then he’s shoving the ballcap hanging from his chair on your head.

-

The streets are lit with all sorts of colors as you follow him through the market, peering at vendors showcasing an abundance of food and miscellaneous items. You keep telling him you’re too full and can’t eat another fucking bite, but he only commands you to walk it off. The crispiest egg waffles are somewhere down this way, and even though he can’t remember the intersection, it should be close.

Between steps and dodging passerby’s, he relates his own experiences of brief PR relationships. A Russian woman one time, and a Greek woman another time. Cross-cultural because it made the PPDC look good—and it was all about looking good. He loathed it, of course, but he’d bite down a couple of months before their representatives would release those asinine joint statements about “conscious uncoupling” – schedules too busy, still have love for each other in their hearts, though.

“Couldn’t tell you those girls’ middle names. We’d get together just long enough for some media circulation—dates where we’d pretend to be offended when pictures leaked on TMZ.”

“Well,” you muse over a vision of Bucky leaned back on Steve’s mattress, returned late and bored of another paparazzi encounter swarming him in the lobby of some hotel. You know it like a dream—his ankles crossed, shoes shucked off, cracking his neck. Fuckin’ wild, Stevie. This girl. My knees ain’t what they used to be.

“Least you got your dick plenty wet, didn’t ya?”

He makes a noise like an engine backfiring—offended like you’ve pawned off his prized possessions or something.  

“Jesus—you’re an ass.” He slams the bill of the cap down until it hits you in the nose. Another huff, more cursing, and then he’s saying fuck you before speeding off alone. 

You chase cheerily, finding his chestnut head peeking over the crowd with ease because he’s tall and hard to lose in Hong Kong. A few more blocks down with him looking back surreptitiously to make sure you’re not lost, and Bucky ends up being the one who is actually lost.

“Shit. Can’t find the stand,” he grumbles, “Don’t give me that face. These are way better than the ones we passed earlier—fucking all soft in the middle—fresh pandan leaf, alright? You don’t get it.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” you laugh, feeling your cheeks grow tired from the way they’ve been lifted all night.

A stifled, hot breeze of urban downtown mixes with a chilly gust of wind, carrying Bucky’s petulance away though the throng. Blinking, you look around, craning your neck and shuffle to the curb. Stalls with hanging lanterns. Carts lined with pickled mango. Vendors grilling skewers of pork and cleaving roast duck into chunks.

You suddenly dart from him across the busy road and barely avoid a rickshaw balancing two enormous baskets of finger bananas. When you return, you hold up matching green popsicles. One gets shoved into his mouth, other one into yours. Pandan, like he wanted.

“Hey, it’s not bad,” you give it another taste. Lingering coconut, a little bit leafy, but not unpleasant. “Oh shit—cold!”

Bucky licks his lips, stinging red from the ice. You shudder loudly as brainfreeze hits, another chatter of your teeth following when a gust of wind whips through. He shrugs his jacket from his shoulders.

-

He calls you a dumbass after an embarrassing story about the time you skinny-dipped in a pond near The Icebox in the middle of winter. A handsome man, your eager libido, and a handle of whiskey had been involved. You giggle about being bed-ridden for half a week afterwards, but you got his number and a few good nights in his bed.

“Guess you’re not as boring as I thought.”

You whistle, “Sweetheart, I got stories that’ll put some hair on your chest.”

Bucky smacks you on the shoulder. “Ass.”

-

The Shatterdome comes into view much later.

What would have normally been a three-hour excursion, at most, has unintentionally into six and you’re nowhere close to tired—not quite ready for it to end. Bucky is bright with energy, too.

The past hours have been dedicated to recalling old tales. One led to another, threads pulled from the most insignificant of mentions—your old Boston Terrier’s underbite; Bucky accidentally knocking Steve’s bottom lip into his own braces in sixth grade and it swelled up so big he could hardly talk; Natasha, unable to pronounce fucking aluminum out of all the damn words in the world; you, unable to pronounce facetious; and then Bucky, trying his own hand at it and realizing he can’t either.

“Fa—fa-shish-shush? Fascist—tus? Factitious… Ah, shit.”

“Buck,” you gasp through another fit, “Bucky—you have to shut up. Oh—Oh my god—my face hurts.”

“Christ, who fucking made this word up?” He turns the corner toward the living quarters, shaking his head. Just you and him between the rooms and his steps slow at the advent of an inbound goodnight.

Bravely, now that you’re in more secluded space, you offer, “I can tell you more... if you want. Anything. It’s only fair.”

“Yeah,” he says, going quiet and careful. “If you want to.”

So, you take a deep breath, bookended by a nervous grin because other than Steve, the only person who knows anything about you outside a confidential manila folder is dead.

“Well, it might surprise you, since I’m just so goddamn talented—"

“Oh, here we fuckin’ go.”

“Kidding. I wasn’t good at anything,” you elbow him before fishing out your key. “Other than getting into trouble.” Clicks of the cylinder and your vault door squeaks open. “Lots of fighting—I was a small kid. Had nothing but the clothes on my back and just the biggest chip on my shoulder.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

Yeah. It’s funny. Steve’s alleyway fisticuffs might as well have been your own. You tell him as soon as the PPDC started recruiting again, you were in line. Their standards were confusingly specific and the tests they ran didn’t make any sense, but you passed and landed in Kodiak Island under the austere care of Stacker Pentecost. 

Flipping the light on, you invite him inside. “I’d been in and out of foster homes. Barely had a high school degree. Got into… bad work. You know— what do homeless young adults with questionable moral codes do when their 9-5 isn’t paying the bills?” It’s desperate joke to break up the tension but he doesn’t take the bait.

“I’m not judging.”

You plop down on the edge of your table— a spotty metal thing pilfered from a vacated room. He takes the single seat in front of you, moving a dusty glass of water toward the wall, expression only showing attentiveness.

“Well, anyway…” you pause, “I was in the Bay Area after Trespasser— you know, scavenging. But, well, it changes your perspective a little when you’re sneaking through government tape at 3 in morning, stepping over flowers and memorabilia for all the deaths to crouch over a monster’s fucking toenail.” 

“Hell,” a sardonic and self-deprecating grin, “I might have been a degenerate street urchin, but someone’s family got taken from them and here I was—monetizing their tragedy.”

Arching your back for more comfort, you splay your left leg over the surface, “Pentecost always said if I was lucky enough, I’d suffer brain damage or radiation poisoning, but might as well die in a Jaeger than in a ditch like I figured I always would. Son of a bitch had my number.”

Bucky’s lips are pursed lightly, eyes are tracing the path of your laces through bent hooks when you wriggle your boot back and forth. He spreads his hand over your ankle, keeping you still.

You swallow when he squeezes.

“Uh— I met Nat at Kodiak.” Bucky is warm. You oscillate between ignoring him and focusing on him, clinging to his hold instead of chasing the thought of Natasha too much. “We were… very similar. Childhood, um, troubles and all that.” You give him a pointed look and he makes a small noise of understanding with no intention to press for details, “She became my best friend. She was the first person I had. My only family.”

A nod of mock irritation and he says, “Yeah. Steve was always a part of mine. Sometimes they say they like him more than me. Can’t blame ‘em.”

“It’s the charm. They make it seem effortless, huh?”

“Fucker can’t take a bad picture to save his life.”

You laugh. “A smile like the goddamn sun!”

“One look into those stupid blue eyes and you’re a goner.”

“Criminally pretty.”

“Hah!” Bucky snorts, “Pretty enough for all of us.”

The floodlight on the wall casts darkness in the shape of your head over his shoulder. Lines of wayward hair caress his neck, tapered strands resting on his collarbones, chestnut glowing orange. His irises stipple forest green when it touches the light, smile nostalgic and lovely.  

“Don’t be stupid,” you look at him for another minute longer, “You’re pretty, too, Buck.”

A raise of his brow. Bucky’s mouth opens and closes a few times vacantly. “Thanks,” he mutters finally. Then, bashfully, “So are you.” 

Then, a cautious murmur of your name that you almost miss, and he’s peering up at you, deliberately soft. Bucky’s thumb knead small circles over the stitching of your jeans.

“You loved her, didn’t you?”

You loved her, didn’t you?

The years sweep through, passing over your face in a range of rapid-fire emotions. Bucky watches them change like shadows of a bonfire. Delight, amusement, longing. Anger, despair, grief. Deep and unforgiving because she was your whole world—all you had— and she left too soon.

You inhale and it sounds like a sniffle— exhale, and it sounds like a sob. No going back now; you did promise him anything.

You loved her, didn’t you?

Of course you loved her. Natasha-fucking-goddamn-Romanoff. Yeah, of course you did.

You loved her like a sister. You loved her like a lover. You loved her in reflexive ways, like mother’s intuition, finding your motivation in the need to protect her even though she hardly ever needed protection. You loved her like precious gems. You loved her like she was made from your own rib. You loved her enough to love unreciprocated.

“Well, you spend years living with someone, in their brain, learning everything about them— every decision in and out of their control that led them up to who they ended up being. Their—all their impulses and all the things they think about themselves. How—how they hate themselves sometimes.”

You’d always said you were the stupid one. Too stupid to reflect on the past and too stupid to let it burden your conscience the way she’d let hers. A running gag whenever her hand jammed putting on a lipstick she’d worn a million times and you’d finally have to do it for her.

Cheer up, Nat. You’re too pretty to cry. You’d line her lips, pat in rouge delicately, encouragingly. And then you’d shut up because there was nothing you could tell her. A million reassurances rolled off her back because they only made her feel worse. She clung onto your care like another weapon in her chest because she couldn’t return it even though you told her you wanted nothing from her but happiness. Jesus Christ, Nat, I thought I was the stupid one.

“When you know someone like that, it’s easy, isn’t it? You see them exactly for who they are and suddenly there’s no longer the concept of good or bad. What else could I do but love her? Especially when she thought so little of her damn self—tried everything to be someone else but—Jesus, if you only knew how radiant she was—”

You shut your eyes. “A smile… like the goddamn sun. Ah, fuck—"

And now you’re crying. You haven’t cried about Natasha in almost half a year because it’s something you track like the entrance bay’s war clock. Five months. Ten days. Zero again.

You’re choking back too many words and you don’t even know why you said all of that. You start apologizing, rattling out more, too much again, desperately like a prayer, pitch escalating higher and higher. “She deserved everything. A life that was completely—solely—hers. A life that made her happy— and why— why her?”

Why not me? 

Bucky hears it in the silence. Watches it descend like a funeral shroud, weighing you down until you look as heavy as Steve on his worst days—when he stares at Bucky’s arm, like Bucky can’t see, can’t feel him there. And he knows Steve is thinking, why not me?

Bucky rises to his feet, stepping next to your uselessly dangling leg, resting his left hand on your shoulder and you grasp him, clutching achingly tight, torn to bits. And it’s too much all at once.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, locked around his bicep, then his forearm, fingers digging into the smooth obsidian plates, fisting the fabric of his sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As if he were Natasha—as if you could stop both her death and his mangling, or at least hold her the way you are holding him now.

You’re smashed into little pieces, barely keeping your head above water, holding it all in, and no one recognized how you were drowning the entire time.

Solemnly, curiously, he feels like he’s seeing you for the first time but not quite, remnants of familiarity sparks in him—the filmy plastic layer of an old photograph pressing down to reveal something he once knew and finally knows again.

You make helpless noises, staring numbly ahead, tears rolling out like marbles to drop into your lap.

Bucky shakes his head, “I’m fine,” he whispers gently—frustrated—brow furrowed, his fingers rubbing the salt from your chin, “Quit your blubberin’.” He tilts your face up to the light, watching you take a shuddering breath, exhausted from unearthing buried skeletons.

It's wet when he kisses you, supple flesh chapped around the edges from anxious gnawing, swollen hot from weeping. It’s soft and quick, and then he pulls away.

“St—sorry,” he says, mouth pressing into a thin line, lips drawn in and tentatively licked. “Sorry, I don’t know… I don’t know why I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

Your eyes are sad—big and vulnerable, inflamed red, confused, worried, something else weaving through the damp gaze. Your strong, small fingers are still tight on him, and even though Bucky pulled away and apologized, he rushes forward again.

His free hand curls around your neck, supporting your head. Lips part and close, pressing firmly, expertly, naturally. It feels like he’s kissed you before and missed it— like a kiss he’s been waiting on for a long time.

Banging on your door jerks him away. You careen off the tabletop, smooth the back of your hair, wipe your face and the vault creaks open.

“Marshal,” Bucky greets.

“Rangers…” Fury’s steps are suspicious, phone in his hand aglow. “I thought we had a plan.”

Your heart is beating too fast, the press of Bucky’s plush lips still warm, the scent of his skin still near. You sense it like an imprint, feel it like a brand. The room spins with an onslaught of possible scenarios—all horrendously unclear.

“Care to explain this to me?” The marshal turns his phone toward you, the lit screen displaying a photo of a dark street, illuminated by red and yellow lanterns. A thick crowd is spread around stalls of fruit and knick-knacks.

The headline reads James Barnes Spotted in Hong Kong with Mystery Woman, and the two of you are circled inside a red ring. You’re teetering off the curb of the sidewalk next to a sewer grate. It’s grainy and distorted, but Bucky’s striking features are clear.

“And this one?”

Bucky’s cap on your head, popsicle sticks between your teeth and his.

Steve Rogers on Jimmy! Jimmy Barnes on a Date!

James Barnes Officially Over Penelope Mercouri.

James Barnes’ Injury?

Fury tucks his device back into his coat. “Not that I care what you get up to on your spare time, but we had a tale to tell. It’s hard pushing an agenda when you’re pushing the wrong way.”

“We just got dinner,” you stutter, an upsurge of guilt rising. The speculation, the kiss, the gut-wrenching reflex that feels like a crime. Fury’s calculating now, looking from you to Bucky, assessing the situation with some pity because you truly look pitiful.

“What you got is PR on cleanup. Potts has been trawling Twitter for the last 20 minutes. For someone who doesn’t want to be in the public eye, you’re making a lot of noise.” He points to Bucky’s jacket still over your shoulders.

You tear it off. “It’s not—”

“Oh no—I won’t be losing sleep any over it.” The marshal’s single eye blinks calmly, “She can spin the story, but you become responsible for this.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means, Ranger, that the spotlight is on you now. And there is nowhere to run.”

And if you didn’t think it could get any worse, footfalls down the hallway reach your ears in a pattern that you recognize immediately. Here he is, stepping into your room like it’s his own, suit jacket over his forearm, shirt halfway untucked and tie pulled loose. His lips drawn together and unreadable.

But you read it: Steve’s seen the pictures, too.

And goddamn, if you didn’t think it could get any worse— the earsplitting alarm announcing sudden movement in the breach startles you all.

“Orion Bravo, report to Bay 08, Level B. Codename Polidori. Category 2 Kaiju.” Shuri’s reedy voice is collected but critical. The thin screen next to your bed blinks on primary colors, wavy lines of activity rising and falling, counting down until emergence. Three hours.

Banner streams down the hall. The ruckus drowns him out.

Fury’s dark skin is ochre beneath the lights, “Category II,” he says, “Should be achievable. Odinsons will be on standby, guarding the Miracle Mile. Maximoffs on the coastline. They’ll come to you if necessary. Shelve your personal troubles, Rangers, we’ll continue this conversation later.”

-

Circuitry. Battle armor. Helmet beneath your arm. Muscle memory cuts down the time to seven minutes until you’re set to board, but you need more. Just a few—you have to tell him—better now than later—better from your mouth than from the drift. So, you blurt, “Bucky kissed me.”

Steve turns.

“We kissed. It—it’s nothing. I just needed to tell you before we get in. Didn’t want to seem like I’m hiding anything—I’m not.” It sounds so stupid, like a child admitting fault for breaking a window with a too-hard throw. It sounds like betrayal.

His helmet is gripped tightly in the crook of his elbow. Steve’s chin juts out incrementally, chewing on the inside of his lip, the air around him gone stagnant until he makes a noise both like a scoff and a hum.

“Sure. Fine. I get it—you’re lonely.” It’s worse than any response you expected to receive. “You know what I mean.”

It must be a testament to the depth of your connection now— you knowing him, him knowing you in all the ways that can make an argument escalate into atomic warfare. Precision strikes and then the two of you walking Ground Zero in its aftermath. 

“Wait—you think I’m lonely?” You block his way out, furious. “What the fuck does that— have you met yourself? Girlfriends who will never see you for who you are. Ophelia Reyez? Katherine Lau?”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“I know exactly what I’m doing—do you? I spent all evening on T.V. for you--”

“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo, Mister Martyr in front of a drooling audience telling white lies and screwing a Victoria’s Secret Angel in some penthouse suite— such sacrifices you’ve made in my honor.”

Orion Bravo. Report to the loading platform.

“What the fuck have you done lately?” Steve snaps, “Other than try to fuck my co-pilot?”

His words hit like a kick in the goddamn teeth. You slam your helmet into his chest and the polycarbonate shells knock together violently.

“I’m your fucking co-pilot,” you snarl, “You wanted me.”

Steve steadies himself, twisting until he’s snarling at you down the bridge of his nose, “Enough. We’re being hailed, I’m not breaking this record because of you, and not for a Category II. Get your shit together.”

You grind your molars when he pushes you aside, stumbling on shaking legs. Your brain feels gnarled—misshapen and bent up in sharp, jagged points—and as much as you want to stomp his goddamn face in, he’s right: you can’t feel this way. You can’t. It’s your first drop in two years with the best pilot by your side—and you’re responsible for his life. The last one proved disastrous, and you cannot risk that again.

Your suit feels heavier with each step. When you climb in after Steve, the rig feels more obstinate. Your head, chest, heart are all swollen with turmoil and hot rage.

He’s next to you, breathing deeply. You mimic, shelving personal troubles like the marshal commanded.

Out of alignment, the automated voice of the system calls, and you push it back further, grabbing the entire shelf and hurling it into the depths. Steve sends you an incisive look. A blame. You take a breath, another, and another. Fuck!

“Orion.” The heads-up display spotlights Bucky’s face in the control room, emotionless. “Focus.”

You inhale one more time, seeking reassurance in his unwavering gaze—necessary peace in the silhouette of his phantom left arm. Bucky. Steve. Natasha. You. There can be no more loss. You cannot let it happen again.

Levels stabilizing.

To your right, Steve makes a noise like he’s shaking something off.

Neural Handshake complete.

Bucky stands behind the glass, watching aircrafts lower their hooks. A nod of his dark head is the last thing you see before Orion is lifted from the hangar.

-

There would be a fucking storm.

You’ve always hated fighting in the rain because Kaiju are enormous, slippery, alien amphibians, and Orion’s left fist slides off more times than you’d like. This one’s much smaller than Orion, which allows it the slight advantage of speed, slicing through the water like a shark, corkscrewing for an extra boost of velocity before emerging with a splash from behind.

A miss when you and Steve weave away, hazarding a minor scratch to the right shoulder before Orion’s shield knocks it back.

Despite the vexing evening and the simmering hurt in the pit of your chest, the drift is steady. So, you take it for what it is, cast the rust off your bones, and the two of you do some fucking damage on this thing.

Banner named it Polidori, after the writer credited with inventing the vampire genre. K-Science sonars detected protruding fangs and petal flaps folded on its back like vestigial wings. So, Polidori, he shrugged, it’s cute.

You discover with swift horror that the flaps are neither vestigial nor cute when Polidori pulls one sliver of leathery skin free with a splat. An atrocious shriek rings over the storm as it struggles with its own body, then another shriek and the left pillar continues to stretch, knobby blunt end of its shoulder blade shooting high, ripping itself full of gaping holes in its endeavor. 

Banner was more accurate than he realized.

“Orion!” Shuri’s voice is sharp, “Bring it down! Do not let it into the air! Use your cannon!”

You’re frozen stuck, eyes squeezed shut at the sight of stretched membrane. A terrified whimper and a puncture of nauseating memory nicks at Steve’s concentration.

No! Levels spike on the HUD screen. Fuck! Steve is caught in the undertow and the rig jams beneath both your feet.

“Orion! You’re out of alignment! Orion!”

She’s here.

Natasha’s bright hair is unfurling all around you. There’s deafening splintering when the incisors of her killer punctures through Decima’s chest and both her legs. Metal grinds against metal, the sound searing itself into your eardrums—your brain—your heart. Wings are beating—wild flaps of rubbery sails against the downpour—muffling screams from Decima’s cockpit.

It’s as real and cruel as the last time you saw it.

Bi Fang, like the bird from Chinese mythology, beaked and blessed with flight to make up for its one leg. Bi Fang the Kaiju was legless, and Natasha was convinced Decima could take it. You had no reason to think otherwise; five previous kills cultivated your confidence. You had her by your side, after all. Two orphans with something to prove, proving it again and again.

Wings and fangs? No legs? Six is an auspicious number. The smirk on her lips blooms fiercely. You’re laughing when Decima hovers above the water. Alright, Tasha. Six drops.

A tremendous splash and you touch ground.

She grins. Six kills.

Polidori has one limb fully flexed, fragmenting pixels bending into the shape of Bi Fang. Natasha is bending, too, lowering her center of gravity. Her elbows are against her ribs, fists set. This is gonna hurt. Come to–

Come to me! To me!

He’s stepping in ink. In water. And then metal is beneath Steve’s feet. There are flashes of rain, lightning, and he recognizes her dead center of the storm. 

Natasha Romanoff, vibrant and joyful through the glass of her helmet. You, next to her, reciprocal smile on your face stuck in hysteria, tears streaming down your cheeks in wide stripes. Steve’s hand is reaching but going nowhere. Echoes overlap of crying and shouting. Yours. Hers. His.

Come to me!

He yells again, but you’ve chased the rabbit too far.

Come to me!

He’s trying his hardest, stretching himself like ropes to bridge the fissure. He feels your fear, your hurt, and for a flash, it eats him whole, spits him out a twisted-up way and his brain screams for Bucky.

Bucky is doing the same through the control room, reaching his will out to Steve, praying their connection still holds despite their distance. He’s yelling for you, too.

“Steve! Get the hell out of it! Steve, you need to get her!”

The ripping of his red left arm loops three times in quick succession before Steve can temper it down. Bucky is howling, crying, sobbing. Steve is breathless, stuck, rattled, steeling his entire body to witness the amputation for another inescapable replay until your frozen body smears across his blurry field of vision. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

Bright whites burst behind his eyelids. Flares of panicked emotion. Bucky. Natasha. Him. You. An endless rippling chain of trauma lashing Orion open.

“Come on— Steve! It’s moving! Steve!”

“Buck! I’m— I’m okay! Just— need a second.” Steve scrambles for his sanity, latching on, knowing Bucky’s well— alive and not hurt. Shuri begins urging him to get up faster. Polidori’s moving slow, but it is moving, and it needs to be put down now. She’s calling for the Odinsons—Colossus, be prepared to walk-

The metal under Steve’s feet slides away. Water returns, ink flowering behind it—molasses and murky. His steps are unsteady, chest heaving as he advances through a field of speckled glimmers like fireflies at dusk. Each flicker reflects an agonized shard of your distorted face.

A flit of your voice rushes behind his head. Steve whips around and tries to catch it but no such luck.

Again, to the right, then gone each time he spins. It builds and builds until he feels half-deaf, frantically invoking your name into the ether where it becomes lost in dissonance. Butterfly-winged iridescence scatter and plummet, shrieking, shrieking, shrieking. 

Then, nothing.

He finds you crumpled over on Anchorage’s shore.

Decima reaches sand as a crackling mess of Jaeger parts, chest piece ripped clean off the right side. You clamber out of the rig, hugging Natasha’s mutilated corpse. Your drivesuit is split open down to the hip, the glass of your helmet fractured and splattered with blood from your nose– still dripping.

He shakes his head, attempting to free himself of your scarred clutch. You had been hooked into the rawest fear—linked up when she died— gored and broken with half your brain believing it is also dead. Chills race up his spine and breaks him out in a cold sweat. He feels strangled to his very soul.

Then, seizures take you—the casualties of solo piloting—the neural damage come to collect. Nobody know how many miles you steered Decima alone and truthfully, it should have killed you.

Your eyes roll up to the sky, body convulsing before slamming into the ground like a rag doll, shaky fingers still reaching for your co-pilot. Steve shudders quietly, flinching with each impact. A final wail and everything slackens to a dull vibration. You quiver on the sand, howling and crying for Nat.

Polidori’s right wing casts itself loose, jaw opening wide. Steve’s on a time limit; there are only a few grains left in the hourglass. He croaks your name.

A second of recognition triggers from behind the curtain and it’s miraculously enough for you to see him. It’s enough.

He begs. He begs on his goddamn knees, crawling to you.

Look at me, only at me. Come back to me, please. Please. Please.

Steve gathers you in his arms, both of you trembling and afraid. Your suit heals itself, pieces stitching back together, blood little by little disappearing from your nose. Natasha shimmers away. 

He presses the glass of your helmets together. He needs to get closer.

Steve? S-Ste-Steve—Steve?

You’re still crying. You’re breaking his heart.

Yes. I’m here.

St-Steve, what d-d-do I do?

You’ve got me now. I’m here with you. You understand?

He can see you struggling to escape, consciousness clawing with nails and teeth to return to the present.

Yeah. Y-Yes.

We have to move.

Steve—Steve—everything hurts.

Just for now. Just for a little bit—but I’ll make it better, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. Will you hold on to me? Do you trust me?

Y-yes… Yes, yes. I trust you.

The rig lurches back to life beneath his feet. Jittery and creaking with strain, Orion rocks forward with a rumble. The drift stirs once more, noise giving way to silence.

Steve’s vision clears. You’re back in the present, precariously grounding your strength inside his guidance. You raise an unsteady left arm. He powers it up. Energy surges through the cockpit, tremors running up your side as it charges. Your hand splays. Steve’s palm takes aim.

Activating plasma cannon.

The beam pierces Polidori’s shoulder and its roar chases a simultaneous thunderclap.

A crack of lightning flushes the sky purple. Orion’s right arm lifts high above its head and slams back down, the glowing hot edge of its shield cleaving through Polidori’s skull.

-

Bucky’s grip on the control room’s railing feels like it could warp metal. Wilson is on his right, other pilots in a row next to him. All is silent.

Through the relay of Orion’s camera, Polidori’s writhes one final time. A death throe—pathetic trilling drowned by rising water, falling into deep darkness. Overhead, Kaiju clean-up advances, jet engines rumbling behind an ashy horizon. Orion’s shield retreats to its side with a wet, sloppy sound. The handshake pulled through. Steve got to you.

Abruptly, the room vibrates with the shouting of about fifty voices. Sam is banging on the railing, strong fists rocking the entire length of it, roaring with glee. The others are even wilder— shoving each other in triumph.

Bucky tunes it out, waiting for quieter confirmation. He can hear the both of you despite the racket. Steve’s steady pants, cut with throaty relief—this one, Bucky’s familiar with. Your small, weak sobs strangled with tears—this one, he’s quickly learned, but knows now in his bones.

“Twelve drops,” you announce hoarsely. Raw. “B-Buck?”

He grins, dazed comfort rushing over, your voice chasing the torture away.

“Twelve kills, sweetheart,” Bucky says, “You did it.”

-

The raucous celebration in the Shatterdome simmers down around four, sunrise just a couple hours behind the horizon. Unruliness had broken out, triggering a party that lasted from the time Orion got picked up ‘til now, and still there’s chatter in the common room. 

It’s normal; Anchorage celebrated too after most kills—as long as no one died.

You’re freshly showered and changed, barefoot as you patter it back to your room. Voices from other beds are lowered as you pass—friends taking banter back to private spaces, couples pressed up against each other. All standard-issue revelry to commemorate the endurance of life.  

It’s how these things go. Violence on a massive scale, humanity threatened with extinction—the people closest to death feel it the most. When routine becomes monotony, it’s good once in a while to be stimulated again.

Damn near two thousand people in close quarters—Rangers in perfect form, friendships assembled on the foundation of sharing an exceptionally singular purpose. Even Pentecost in all his grave formalities couldn’t ward off human nature. Plenty of pilots hooked up with each other and other staff in Anchorage and no one cared as long as it didn’t muck anything up on the job. At least the marshal could control that; mishandle your personal relationships and you’d be off the docket for your next drop.

Sex is biology. Desire is human.

It’s hard for you to feel human this morning. Exhausted by the fight and the prior evening—awake now for over 24 hours, you broke away from the commons as soon as you arrived, spending an hour simply breathing in the steam, the habit achingly comforting. Your chest still feels tight, heart bloated with invasive flashbacks.

You used to decompress with Natasha. A few drinks, tales from the cockpit, shadowboxing and putting on a show, glad to be in the company of friends— to be back safely with each other. Then you’d scatter with the crowd, meet her in the showers, and help her wash her hair in silence. Nothing but the trickle of shampoo down the drain.

She’d cry, sometimes. Catharsis, mostly. Curled up in your arms, the both of you cozy in pajamas on the floor. Then off to bed where she’d climb under your sheets, falling sleep with her head on your shoulder, your fingers in her hair.

A love unspoken. A home in the shape of a twin-sized bottom bunk. Cramped and narrow. Too brief.

You sigh. Everything hurts.

A few rooms away from yours, Steve’s door is open just enough for a line of orange to escape. You know he’s there, waiting patiently as he has been. You went near catatonic on the way back, lying down in the cockpit, no longer needing to be hooked up. You shed the armor, holed yourself into the corner of Orion’s hull, and said nothing when he sat by your side.

Walking in front of the light, he places himself in the entrance way until he’s looking at you. His face is a gentle blue shadow, resplendent halo glorious behind his head. He’s dressed in soft pants and a t-shirt damp at the collar. A droplet of water runs down his neck.

It emerges like an orchestral arrangement. Leisurely notes creep into your ears—a tune you’ve always known. Plucks of strings, escalating windchimes. It echoes, the trails on his skin, his measured breath, his percussive voice layering and pleating until there are dozens of him.

Look at me. Come to me. I need you.

You feel it all at once. A knotted, chaotic tempest. Hesitation. Confusion. Ache. Bucky. Him. You. Your eyes lock with his. A mistake and a revelation.

Steve holds out a steady hand. You take a step, terrified, pulled into his overwhelming atmosphere like magnets, your bodies humming a secret frequency, purring for each other.

The drift opened everything up, but the battle tore it all out. The both of you are laid bare, everything else fallen away.

Nothing’s gonna hurt you again. You’ve got me now, you understand?

You reach the shadow he casts, eclipsed entirely by his bulk. Steve threads his fingers between yours and with a tug, you surrender your worries to him.

He’s kissing you before the door is entirely shut and latched. He fumbles for the locks, wraps his arms around your waist. A click and a clatter. He moans into your mouth. 

You exhale from deep inside your chest. He inhales like it’s all the oxygen he needs.

Your hands move to one place, his hands to another. Before your bodies can savor it, the both of you have roamed on, reading each other’s minds, knowing what’s next.

More. More. More.

It’s impatient and fast and Steve picks you up with ease. You forget yourself, forget the world outside the room, outside the three-by-three tile area of where he’s got you lifted, legs wrapped tight around his hips. Fingers dive into the back of your pants, squeezing, up your shirt, pawing at your breasts.

His groans blow heat onto your neck. You arch away, giving him more skin to brand kisses onto. He nips at your throat, light, then again, rough. His voice is raw and thick, husky little clouds making their home on your body.

Gentle sucking on your bottom lip follow each kiss. He takes you to bed, dropping himself onto the mattress, you on top of him. He’s been in your head; he knows what you like. Knows where you want him. Your voice is getting higher, sounds quick and shallow.

Steve guides you with one hand on your hip and the other beneath your thigh, soft pajama bottoms pressing against his. He groans each time you rock forward, needy for more contact against his groin.

You’ve been in his head, too. He likes feeling hands in his hair, so you grip his flaxen strands. He likes hearing, so you make a little more noise. He likes seeing his partner helpless because of him, losing all control, falling apart for him.

So you do. 

Pleasure rushes from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, his name burning in your throat. It’s an incredible shock and you’re spellbound, enraptured by him drinking in the parting of your swollen lips. Quickly, he places you on his thigh, enormous and strong, needing a better position to see— to feel you on him. Hungry attention, eager eyes, pleading like a mother tongue.

“Keep coming for me. Just like this— don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

The shamelessness of it—your underwear soaked to your pants. The fever of it—his body like a fire, low, husky begging just from watching lighting up your spine. It’s extraordinary adrenaline— the heightened and profound connection of knowing one another in every way—as if you were made for each other.

Animal instinct liberated from human sentience. Desire pursuing release. Two bodies colliding and igniting.

You can’t stop the next cresting wave, crying out again.

Steve pushes you on his leg repeatedly, back and forth, solid and firm between your thighs even as you shudder and whimper, telling him it’s too much— you’re too sensitive. He kisses your neck, jaw, chin, cheek. He doesn’t stop moving.

“Hold on to me.”

A bead of sweat collects on the dip of your cupid’s bow. He looks at how sweetly your skin shimmers as you shiver, how your pupils are blown wide, how you look so perfect to him. He presses his forehead to yours, looks into your eyes like the way he did in the drift.

You reach for him and rub in quick strokes, fumbling when he rocks you back, gripping when he rocks you forward. Parted lips hover, “One more time for me—ah, please,” he begs, “Before I do.”

But he’s too late and too heated. Steve makes a mess of his sleeping pants, taken over the edge by how you feel without hardly feeling you at all. He buries a groan into your shoulder, riding it out with indelicate thrusts into your palm.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.”

He’s blush pink and beautiful when he remembers himself again, rubbing his cheek against yours. He knows what you’re thinking— the realization in the comedown, the leaching fear of what could have been a mistake. But it isn’t, and Steve remains faithful to your body.

“Stay. I’m sorry—for hurting you. I’ll make it better.” Velvet kisses to your lips and you shake your head, apologies no longer necessary.

A whisper of his name like it’s the most radiant word. You cling to him, kissing him, answering only to him.

-

In the afternoon when Steve is still sleeping, you retreat to your room. You pause at the sight of Bucky already on your bed, caught in the bleary focus of his gaze. With lashes soaked wet, his throat constricts around a forceful swallow.

“Hey,” he says, voice breaking on the syllable. He pats the space next to him and you come sit, turning your knees until they knock into his.

“Bucky…”

He laughs like you’ve told a joke, like the sound of his own name is a funny thing escaping your mouth. “Hoped I could catch you last night, before—” he laughs again. “—Before bed. Just wanted to—I guess I don’t know what I wanted to do.”

The hurt resurfaces. You find him through the rose-dappled lenses of Steve’s eyes. Those warm summers with two boys running wild, effortlessly devoted to each other. Your heart swells like you’re there, gazing at russet locks flying in the wind. Years and years between them—Bucky’s smile, lopsided and carefree. Steve’s gaze, illuminating Bucky in every memory.

“Bucky,” you say again, so wonderfully soft, he thinks, even as his chest feels stretched to bursting. “You love him.”

He places his temple on your shoulder, face hidden by the long strands of his hair.

“You’ve been in his head. He’s easy to love.”

“Yes,” you agree, touching his bangs, pushing them over his ear, streaking four affectionate lines through, “He is.”

“So are you.”

Bucky turns into your palm, smiling openly, like the truth is the simplest thing in the world.

#steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #pacific rim #marvel #reader insert #fanfiction

[fictropes]

oh boy i sure did write many words in 2020

Hi! I am copying people due to i want to.  This is a lil (well... 63) round up of all the fics I wrote this year! Cos i’m very evil @ myself and writing fic and think i’m either not doing enough, or not doing it good enough, so i wanna full list of what I actually did so I can see my own accomplishments and can maybe... clap 4 myself for once. And honestly writing has helped MASSIVELY with my depression so.. that’s a bonus. 

ALSO. this is a big huge thankyou to everyone! I only joined here + started writing in august and you’ve all been so so nice and welcoming and supportive  <333 ;_; and I know they say write for yourself... but honestly peoples comments and excitement about my stuff has just been really, really lovely and I would never have written this much without all of you cheering me on<3. 

so here is a list of everything i’ve written, organised by length and everything, so if you find yourself bored over the holidays... have a lil browse. (Sorry if u are on mobile and this doesn’t show as a read more) 

Chaptered:

Can we try again? series (M) Complete - 35k  - “Yeah, Phil. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Dan answers, softer than he’d wanted because he already knows what he’s about to do next.(or Dan doesn't turn up in 2009 and bumps into Phil 11 years later at a youtube convention 2. I like cupcakes, especially the gay variety (M) Complete - 30k - Firstly, Dan was 29. How was that a mature student?Secondly, his actual book was on the university fucking syllabus.(or the one in which Dan tries university again in a desperate attempt to prolong his procrastination, and his lecturer Phil is apparently something of a fan) 3. 7 Letters series (M) Complete - 9k - Your penpal can be the person you live with, actually. 4. There's Beans in Here (T) Complete - 2k - Phil has his wisdom teeth removed; Phil says many questionable things. 5. Roadtrip (E) Complete - 8k - “Exactly. I am right, as always.”“As always.” Dan agrees.Series 6. night shift, please (E) Wip - 27k I PROMISE THIS WILL COME BACK IN 2021 - Ten years and he’ll never get over how early he has to get up sometimes. In all honesty he prefers the night shift. 7. Still Not Calling it Fate (M) Wip - 14k - It’s become a bit of a thing, a bit of a thing that everyone he crosses paths with takes the piss out of him for 8. when i met you, a blue rush began (M) Complete - 5k - They end up in a small restaurant overlooking the sea, everything here is so blue. The sky, the sea, Phil’s eyes, the shirt he’s wearing buttoned up all the way to the top. 9. Luggage Tags (E) Complete - 2.5k - Just because it looks like your suitcase, it doesn't necessarily mean that it is. 10. Demon in the sack (E) Complete - 2.5k - Dan’s leg jiggles beneath his desk, knee hitting the table as he tries to force himself to hang up and ring the number he was supposed to ring— he doesn’t, he can’t. Long ( for me) oneshots (3k+) 11. Electronics and the Phil's who break them (M) Complete - 9k - The first time’s an accident, a proper accident— a Phil forgot how to hold his cup and now he’s watching his coffee seep into his keyboard type accident. 12. A Letter of Specifics (T) Complete - 4k - You'll know it's your soulmate because no one else on earth could be doing what they're doing. 13. The Benefits of A Weak Floor (M) Complete - 4k - He quite literally falls through Dan’s ceiling. 14. 10:35 on a Thursday (E) Complete -  3.7k - He’s tapping his pen against the paper, acting as though he isn’t asking Phil to take a sex quiz at 10:35am on a Thursday morning. 15. 2009, catboys (T) Complete - 3.2k - “You have your own ears, can’t have four.”“Why?” 16. Wrong Room (T) Complete - 3k - “Congratulations!’’ And he was expecting to hear a cry, or at least his mother telling him to be quiet because a certain baby was sleeping. Instead he heard the deep clear of a throat, a rustling of sheets. 2k-3k oneshots 17. Dinner with a stranger (T) Complete - 2.5k - @amazingphl hi! second year of doing this, sooo if anyone has nowhere to go for Christmas dinner I am once again offering..my flat (and by extension me) ;oSeries 18. Easy Lover (M) Complete - 2.4k - ''Yeah. We're always fine.'' It was always fine. It was always easy, despite always behind hard. 19. Cold Season (M) Complete - 2k - Dan is ill, insatiable and another word beginning with I. 1k-2k oneshots 20. Morose men on rooftops (T) Complete - 1.9k - “Dunno, maybe chatting up morose men on roofs is my thing.” He laughs, and it’s a nice noise. 21. Love with tongues of fire (T) Complete - 1.7k - So when Dan waltzed into the room, declaring his hunger Phil thought nothing of it. Just another night for another takeaway. 22. Your Rocks are my Rocks (T) Complete - 1.7k - Phil wants a new rock for Norman, Dan wants a peaceful life. 23. Joint Content (M) Complete - 1.6k - It started of a as a joke— a Joint Content joke. 24. 24/7 Fantasies (M) Complete - 1.5k - He thinks about Dan 24/7, constantly in two separate fantasies 25. A Conversation in Multiple Hallways (T) Complete - 1.5k - You're still here then? 26. Sharing Space (T) Complete - 1.5k - It's 2010 and dan has had a day. 27. The Obvious (T) Complete - 1.5k - "Can I use that?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, already scrawling it beneath the only three words he currently has— I love you. 28. I'm Thinking of Ending Things (T) Complete - 1.5k - Dan hears half a conversation, jumps to one whole conclusion. 29. Love Language of the Tactile (T) Complete - 1.4k - “I’m just— that’s a hypothetical.” Dan leans in this time, takes the touches that Phil always so freely gives away. “Can’t kiss in secret rooms if I leave.” 30. Don't Let the Self-Doubt Ruin You (T) Complete - 1.3k - “I’m here.” “Yeah, you’re here.” 31. Conflict Resolution (T) Complete - 1.3k - Following recent events we’ve decided it best we take a combative approach to your current workplace issues, we have booked you into a conflict resolution class this Thursday afternoon - we will not be paying you to attend. 32. when it comes to love (i want a slow hand) (E) Complete - 1.2k - And there it is, the refusal of anything in return. This is just for Dan and it always will be. 33. You're Still The one (T) Complete - 1.1k - “What’re you thinking about?” “You.” 34. Teach Me, Dad. (T) Complete - 1k - "Do you think I could be the next Mozart?” 35. The Logistics of a Clone (M) Complete - 1k - “I don’t think that’s a clone, though, like maybe more of a Doppelgänger.” Dan doesn’t know why they’re delving so deep into this, why he’s so damn bothered about being right. “It’s just literally you.” 36. All's fair in Love and Monopoly (T) Complete - 1k - Phil does not play by the rules, Dan lets him win anyway. Under 1k oneshots 37. Hide out in your heart (E)  Complete - 0.9k - The second time Dan comes to visit it’s different. 38. Oh, there you are. (G) Complete - 0.9k - So after all this, after everything, he doesn’t think anything of it when someone else slips into his dms. 39. The Boy has Attitude (T) Complete - 0.9k - “You didn’t tell me you looked like this.”“Like what?”“This!” Phil’s waving a physical copy of the magazine in his face— so that’s where he’d been. 40. Hairties (and how not to use them) (M) Complete - 0.8k - “Why would you do that? Let us settle in, nice and slow and— gently does it.” 41. The Second Apartment. (T) Complete - 0.8k - It’s a stop-gap apartment, a we’re going to get our forever home after this. 42. Japan, 2019. (G) Complete - 0.8k - NO summary, just an obviously I was going to write this after phil's post 43. Doting Man (T) Complete - 0.7k - They’re both drunk, Phil more so— definitely more so.Series 44.  Imposter (T) Complete - 0.7k - Among us is.. a bastard. 45. Ratemyprofessors.com (M) Complete - 0.7k - ‘Maybe if that Phil bloke from the English dep he’s always staring at fucked him he’d stop being so uptight’ 46. Failed Attempts (T) Complete - 0.7k - Dan enlists the help of Phil for his latest Instagram. 47. Bonus Prize (M) Complete - 0.7k - Phil Trash Number One 48. Feels like home (G) Complete - 0.7k - Home is where the Phil is. 49. We can make Forever work (T) Complete - 0.7k - It’s a moment of realising forever may sound too much to people, but we’ll get through everything together— we don’t have any other choice. 50. Scene in the Kitchen (T) Complete - 0.7k - New place 51. 4'11 (T) Complete - 0.6k - Dan is baby 52. Pillow Imprints (T) Complete - 0.6k - Dan is a menace, and Phil loves him anyway. 53. Parachute Jacket (T) Complete - 0.5k - Dan thinks Phil is obsessed with them Those few times I thougt I was goddamn Ri**ard S*ken 54. Home (G) Complete - 0.7k - It’s their forever home, because their actual forever lives inside of it. 55. secrets spoken in empty rooms (T) Complete - 1k - So he wants to be the same, but he wants Dan more. 56. Separately Together  (T) Complete - 0.9k - Phil’s soft hands and even softer words. It gets harder to leave. Gets to the point where Dan turns off an alarm just so he misses the train. 57. It's not hard to fall (T) Complete - 0.7k - Still a little bit of your words I long to hear Some more Epistolary (apart from 7 letters)  58. A Play in One Act (T) Complete - 1.1k - [Manchester Piccadilly train-station, midday, October 19th, 2009.] 59. R/AITA (T) Complete - 0.8k - AM I THE ASSHOLE FOR MAKING MY BOYFRIEND BE A WORM?Series 60. Lonely Hearts (T) Complete - 1.8k - I will not say you were crying on the tube (out of politeness) 61. Conversations of the Lazy Kind (T) Complete - 1k - eggs? wot? Smells like eggs

[siren1song]

Fall to the Floor

Summary: Janus does NOT have a crush, stop bothering him about it Thomas.

Warnings: Spoilers for Flirting with Social Anxiety!

Pairing: Janco, aka Janus/Nico

Word Count: 788

No taglist because spoilers!

Notes: Listen when I said I was back on my rarepair bullshit I meant it. Anyway enjoy Janus being a gay disaster.

Join Casper’s Crew!! | Ao3 Link!!

Janus did not have feelings for the cute- for the new friend his brother kept bringing around.

Absolutely not, no matter how many times Thomas insisted to get over himself and please just say something it’s “actually painful” to watch them interact.

Shut up he didn’t have a crush on Nico that was stupid. Janus didn’t get crushes.

God he was so lost for the cute song writer who was he even kidding?

Nico was so incredibly bad at coming up with ideas when he was dealing with writer’s block. A song about metaphorical trash? Really? But his laugh was adorable and his grin was bright and he enjoyed Disney and playing basketball definitely didn’t make looking at his arms a chore-

“You’re gushing to yourself again,” Thomas said, not looking up from his desk where he was working on homework for a college course he was struggling not to fail.

“And you’re going to absolutely pass that class,” Janus mumbled, feeling his face flush the slight tingling of his lips that came with his subconscious whispering to himself that proved Thomas right.

Thomas leaned back in his chair to look at Janus, who was sitting cross-legged on his brothers bed, afghan needles in hand and a half knitted blanket spilling across his lap.

“You’re being mean to cope with your massive crush on my friend again.”

“You’re being a nuisance to feel smart again,” was Janus’ retaliation.

His brother only raised an eyebrow, tapping his pencil against the wood of his desk.

“Shut up.”

“Thomas?”

“You didn’t.”

Thomas fought back a laugh, snorting harshly at Janus’ icy glare.

He doubted the other took him seriously, with the heat rising to his cheeks and making his face visibly red.

“In my room Nico!”

Janus needed to get out now but if he wanted to move he’d have to carefully fold his afghan so the needles wouldn’t slip from the stitches.

Judging by the footsteps on the stairs, Janus had no time to do any of that, and so he was trapped on Thomas’ bed.

“I hate you,” he hissed in his brothers direction, clamping his mouth shut when Nico knocked on the door and pushed it open.

“Oh— hey Janus!”

He nodded. Janus couldn’t fuck up nodding.

Nico grinned at him, then turned his eyes to Thomas and suddenly he could breathe again.

“You said you were having a hard time with your homework? You remember we’re in totally different majors right?”

Thomas’ own smile was sheepish.

“Yeah, I remember. I was just hoping you’d give me a distraction because I’m stressed out of my mind right now.”

Nico hummed, setting his bag down next to the bed and sat down on the edge, careful not to disturb Janus’ work.

“Okay, but I want a cookie as payment. I know you had Pat and Virge over last night.”

Thomas’ eyebrows furrowed for a split second, his eyes flicked to Janus, and then his grin was back in place.

It wouldn’t have been noticeable if Janus own eyes weren’t locked on him to keep himself from being hyper aware of how close Nico was to him.

“Yeah, sure! I’ll be right back.”

“Patton and Virgil weren’t here last night,” Janus said as soon as Thomas left the room.

Nico shifted, placing his back against the wall and then pulling his laptop from his bag, starting to get it set up.

“Nope! But cookies is a codeword between Thomas and I— I’m not as new of a friend as you might think— that we want to talk to a really cute boy and need some privacy.

Janus was going to burst into flames at this rate. What is with Nico and flustering him so easily?

Not that he was flustered, absolutely not.

…Maybe a little bit.

“You good there Jay?”

God fuck he’s so gay.

“Yep—” he cleared his throat when his voice cracked and tried again, “yep I’m ga- great. I’m great.”

Nico looked from his computer screen to give Janus a lopsided smile that made his heart lurch.

“You’re ga-great?”

“Shut up you just called me really cute I can’t be expected to function right now.”

His laugh rung out through the room and Janus… really couldn’t deny the little smile that overtook him at that moment.

“I guess not, huh? Alright, that’s fair. So uh… do you wanna get coffee with me sometime? You can ramble about how society is a sham or something.”

Janus is so fucking gay.

“Yes— I mean. Sure. That sounds… nice.”

Nico smiled and Janus returned it and okay yeah. He was crushing so hard on Nico and he hoped to literally everything that he’d get to call him a boyfriend soon.

#casper writes #ts janus #ts thomas #ts nico #janco #janico #janus/nico #nico/janus #ts spoilers #janus is a simp and also knits and also is a disaster gay #which honestly i stan this #:3

[bodyswap101]

Do you think you can help? I’m a Brit, pretty smart right now, but I want that to go. Your choice if you help or not, but I’m hoping to go full blown Scally lad, smoking, hands down trousers, middle fingers, etc. No photo requests - literally whatever you can find, I’ll take. I like a surprise. Hope you can help.

I can certainly help you with that, but I know you won't cope with such a radical change, so I've decided to phase you into your new scally body and life in 2 stages. I do hope you realise that ”de evolving” from your smart brit body and life means that you might never be smart again, or ever have money. So long as you do, and you accept that you can never go back, and never get as smart as you are now, then I'll let you have this body to start.

If you accept your new body, just hit the pay link below and the rest will be taken care of. You'll be given a complete new identity, in fact 2 identifies, as this body is only temporary. Your final body is still waiting for you and he's actually saving for an upgraded body, until he can afford it, your stuck at the half way house. It won't be too long though, and if you feel your ready, you can boost his savings pot and enable us to make the switch happen quicker.

Payment received. Thank you.

Sir the next time you fall asleep will be the last time you fall asleep with your ”smarts”. It will be the last time you see any of your family or friends, you will of forgotten whom they are by the morning anyway. Your new body is is named James. He used to be a scally and has all the memories of that time. These memories will be used for you to learn the scally life. He's pretty fit to be honest and since turning twenty, 3 months ago he's stepped away from the scally life. He was fed up of being chased by cops. In fact that's where his story ended. On his final visit to the court room he was given a choice, prison or allow his body and life to be taken away and used for this purpose. He's got a brand new body now, in the form of the cop who arrested him, the cop has changed his life around and he now wants your body which is why you get his. The cop has used this short time to bulk James ’s body up, he sent him on a few holidays, got his head in the right place, and even got him a few tattoos as a reminder if his old life. Gone are his trackies, his smokes. He is now a model citizen. You can continue what the cop did for him or take his life on a new path, the choice is yours. I wouldn't recommend any crime though, the judge doesn't support body swappers, even though they are forced to do so by the law. If James goes in front of a judge, she believes the body does the crime, not the mind. If you get James sent to prison, you'll, be stuck this way. Fore fitting the money you paid and he body you have pre booked.

James, its been 3 months, your scally body has been in touch, he's ready for his upgrade, but is still, 3 months short of being an to afford it. We have told him we would ask if your ready, as we believe you are. You've learned enough about the scally life for it not to be too much of a shock for you. He says he can not wait any longer and wants his new body now. He asked if you wanted to pay the additional 3 months for him then he'll happily give you his body now. I don't know if this will convince you or not, but he said if you do swap with him today then he'd give you a free fuck before you both went on with your new lives. Just a reminder, your scally body and life didn't go to college and left school without any qualifications.

Payment received. Thank you.

So since this swap is going to be your final swap and it will be your new body and life the swap is a little different. Please meet Kyle at his house at 7pm sharp. Address to follow. Everything you need for the final swap will be delivered to kyles house at 7.30pm.

At 7pm I got to the address and there was a guy stood by a car, hands down trackies, smoking a fag.

Kyle?..

Yes. James? Nice to meet you.

Yes I'm James. And nice to meet you too. Err, the car?..

Oh that's part of the deal, we both get one, it's a free gift as a thank you from the company. There will be one at your place too, for me tomorrow. This one of course is yours, well it will be yours tomorrow.

Look, just in case they havent told you, I'm a proper chav or scally if you prefer. I don't have an education, I can hardly read or write. I got no job. But from what they have told me I'm what you want. My body ain't perfect but I'm lean and strong. I can handle my self in a fight. My dick, well that's massive, I've had it in plenty of pussys and never had any complaints. But they told me you were gay. And that I wasn't allowed to enforce straight or gay on you once your me. So since I found out that you might be gay when you become me I've been with a couple of lads, and let me tell you, that lads arse was falling apart by the time I had finished with him. And I actually enjoyed it more than with a bird. No risks of a kid. Init. But in about 12 hours, my body is yours and yours is mine.

And that fuck you promised.

Well, it's a fantasy of mine, shag myself init.

But you'll be someone else, you'll be me.

Yer but ill know that I'm shagging my REAL arse, I'll know my REAL dick is fuckimg my NEW arse. Init.

When you put it that way. I won't let you leave till we've done it.

Init.

Mate, I hardly know anything about the body, the life I'm giving you. I haven't owned it for long enough.

I know mate, they told me all about it. I know all I need to know. Init

Just then a courier arrived with a small package. We headed inside his place and both proceed to open it. There were instructions and 2 small vials if liquid. And a further bottle marked pre swap disinfectant wash.

I shoved at his shoulder and joked, I take it is better read these then?

Init.

Apparently just before we are ready to swap we have to shower or bathe together. I have to wash and scrub your entire body with this disinfectant and you must do mine, it says that the swap happens as we sleep and that we must touch each other while we sleep. It recommends a certain naked spooning sexual position to ensure full contact for 12 hours, it says we must both take the vial by mouth at exactly the same time and then lay down next to each other ensuring as much of our skin is touching each other. It says we will fall asleep after 15 minutes of taking the vial and all necessary steps must of been taken at that point to ensure contact is maintained. It says precisely 12 hours after we have fallen asleep we will both awake together, swapped. It says that we must not ejaculate or cum once the vial has been taken.

So since I'm the ’gay’ one and your just kind of curious I guess it would be best for you to be behind me, so you spooning me. Is 15 minutes long enough for you to get hard and push it in?

Look mate, it doesn't take me much to get hard, I can shove it anywhere and I can do gay too and I've seen your pics so just thinking about them muscles being mine is getting me hard already. But I think your right, I'll shove mine in you, that way I can reach round, play with your dick, massage your muscles in your abs. Init.

And I'm the gay one? It sounds amazing. What time you wanna do it?

I dunno, I like to sleep late, so how about we get some scran, few beers then come back here, take the vile and sleep?

Sounds like a plan but by 10pm I'm getting inpatient and I'm asking him if we can go back. He agrees. As the instructions started I washed his vody with the disinfectant I played around with him, kissed him, made him cum, he then spun me around and fucked me with his massive cock. He then started to clean me and sucked me off. I had never before experienced such an amazing sexual experience. We dried each other off and sat down naked at a table opposite each other.

My dicks still hard from all that init.

So it's almost midnight, we're gonna drink the vile and head to your bed?

Yep, init

don't forget, no matter how horny you get, don't cum.

On 3 init

1,2,3 we both downed the vial and headed to his bed. I lay down first, on my side and then he lay next to me, he proceed to push his erect dick into my arse and we fell asleep. He had one arm under me, rubbing my dick and the other offer me rubbing my abs. Our legs we're inter twined together.

Morning came and I awoke, still with a dick inside my arse. At first I thought it hadn't worked. I looked at the clock, 12.17pm. He was still behind me, he was still rubbing my stomach and fondeling me dick.

Well mate your abs are gone, and your dicks much bigger, feels good doesn't it?

I looked down at myself, I'm still had abs, but they weren't nearly as big as they were last night, I rubbed my hand a cross my head, and realised I no longer had a buzz cut and now had hair. I even felt dumb. And I knew I had become him.

It sure does init.

Bro, you even sound like me.

I know, cool init

You even say init everytime you finish a sentence, it's so annoying.

I know, it's a habit I need to get out of init.

So, you promised a fuck before you left.

I think you'll find it was you who promised the fuck. Init.

Don't really matter who promised who what now does it?

My dreams come true, I'm a scally, init

Fuck me please.

Only if you fuck me later, init.

I'll fuck you today tomorrow. The day after that if you want.

Init

I finally had my dream and I was now a gay scally, I had a cute boyfriend and I didn't care who knew about it. I had a special bomd with my boyfriend and knew his ins and outs, I used to be him. Of course he used to be me and he knew all my turn one and turn offs.

We approached the company who allowed this to happen and asked if there was a way for us to occasionally swap with each other to switch it up in the bedroom every now and then.

They told us it wasn't, but they did say that they had a few scally bodies on file, if we wanted to switch it up, a bit they could send us some vials t9 make us look like some of the others apfor a few hours

#male body swap #bodyswap #malebodyswap #male transformation #male tf #body swap #body suit #bodysuit #scally #scally lads

[red-the-dragon-writes]

the misadventures of Skironir and Rubin

crossposted from DeviantArt, written for an "ARPG" on there.

Skironir and Rubin are my ruukans, which are like weird deer moose elk... things. I don't know. They're currently on a quest to get a magical talisman of Gay(tm) from a volcano. Rubin is a directionally-challenged liar, and Skironir is, unfortunately, In Love With Him.

“And you’re sure you know where we’re going,” Skironir said.

“I wouldn’t say I was if I wasn’t,” Rubin snapped back. He was lying, incidentally. He had, like, a vague idea of where to go but… in this weather? In this visibility? The sky was choked with ash. Rubin didn’t even know where the sun was, let alone whether they were going north or south. But the last thing he needed was Skironir bugging him about it. “Why?”

“We’ve walked past that rock three times already,” Skironir said glumly.

“Which rock?”

“That one. The black one.” Skironir gestured towards a little outcropping of some kind of volcanic rock with his head.

“Uh,” said Rubin. “What if it’s just three rocks that kind of look similar?”

“It’s the same rock,” Skironir said. “Look, I told you we should’ve brought someone else along.”

“Who else? Who else would come? In case you hadn’t noticed, neither of us are really overflowing with friends.”

“Well, there’s always Rahh—”

“Friends who can find their way through massive clouds of dust, not friends who will help us steal anything that isn’t nailed down,” Rubin said dismissively.

“Hey, you never know. And besides, aren’t we trying to steal a token? An extra friend or two wouldn’t go amiss, really. This was kind of a mistake—”

“Would you shut up?” Rubin snapped. “I’m trying to figure out where we’re going.”

Skironir grumbled a bit, but obligingly stopped talking.

Rubin squinted at the sky a bit more, struggling to see to no avail.

“I mean,” Skironir said, after a few moments of just complete silence. “Listen, if we just keep going it’s not like we’ll, you know, get any more lost than we already are.”

“Are you joking?” Rubin said.

“Um.”

“You have to be joking, right? That was a joke, right?”

“No, I was serious.”

“We’re not that lost. I sort of know where we are.”

“Is this going to be like the time you got us all lost in the runewoods by accident? I don’t even know how you managed to get us there.”

“What? No. No, I’m not, that was totally different.” Well, he had been lying about knowing where they were then, too. “Probably totally different. At least a little different.”

“I swear to Freya, if you’ve led us around on a wild goose chase looking for something you don’t even know how to find I am going to ditch you here myself, Rubin.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Did you actually—are we really here without any sense of direction? Did you actually do that? Are you for real?”

“Bickering isn’t going to help us find our way any better.”

“So far all that we’ve found is, apparently, a circle to walk in while you lie to me about where we’re going. I think bickering is a better option.”

“Listen, I know where we’re going, okay? I’m serious. I do. I got directions from someone else and everything. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“Yes, you would.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

“Yes, you would. You have. More than once.”

“Well, I’m not now. Okay? I know where we’re going.”

“Where are we going, then.”

“Northeast. Like I told you. It’s somewhere at the very foot of the volcano.”

“And you’re really being serious about that.”

“I am.”

“If I find out you’re lying to me, I swear I’m just going to leave you here and go home. I mean it, I will.”

“I believe you,” Rubin said, which was a lie.

“You do, do you,” Skironir said sarcastically.

“I believe you mean it,” Rubin conceded vaguely. “Listen, let’s hunker down and wait for the sky to clear, alright? Just a bit? It shouldn’t take too long.”

“You’d know, would you? Been here before?” Skironir snipped.

“No, but how long could it last?”

It lasted a while.

The sky darkened and got light and darkened again, and the clouds of ash only got worse. It got to the point that they were both dusted gray-white with ash and coughing from whatever it was, something in the air making it heavy and acrid and hard to breathe.

“Sure we shouldn’t just start walking?” Skironir said, at the beginning of the first night.

“No,” Rubin said. “The last thing we need is to get more lost.”

And so they waited, and rested, and when the sun rose Skironir asked again.

“We’re not getting anywhere just sitting here. Are you sure we shouldn’t just pick a direction and start walking?”

“I’m still sure,” Rubin said.

“It’s getting harder to breathe,” Skironir pointed out.

“I’m still sure,” Rubin insisted. “The last thing we need is to get into a place where it’s harder to breathe and then have to stop.”

“Maybe we should give it up,” Skironir said.

“We’ve already come this far.”

“That we have,” Skironir said. “That we have.” And he dropped it, and they waited some more; and then when dusk came again and they were both coughing on the fumes, Skironir brought it up one last time.

“I really don’t think we should stay here.”

“I can’t see how getting lost will help.”

“I think we’re going to suffocate if we stay here.”

“I can’t see how getting lost will help,” Rubin repeated.

“I can’t see how sitting around like a pair of dumbstruck fools will help, either.”

And he was right, so eventually Rubin ducked his head and staggered to his feet, the motion harder than he’d expected. His body felt heavy. Must’ve been the fumes.

“Are— what are we doing now. Are we going?”

“Yeah,” Rubin said. “You’re right. Staying here isn’t doing us any good.”

“And I can’t imagine you can figure out where we need to go from here,” Skironir asked.

“No.”

“So let’s,” Skironir sniffed the air, and broke off into a set of hacking coughs. Rubin fought the urge to wince.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Skironir grimaced. “Let’s go that way.” He inclined his head away from the volcano. Or. Where Rubin thought the volcano was; away from the source of that awful sulfur breeze.

“I think that’s not—I don’t know where we need to go, but I’m pretty sure that’s directly away from it.”

“Do you want to walk into it?”

“Not particularly.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll go this way, and if we’re wrong we’re wrong.”

“I suppose,” Rubin said uncertainly. “We’ve come all this way, though. To go back empty-handed—”

“We can always try again.”

“…yeah,” Rubin said, eventually. “I just—I don’t want to lose our chance.”

“I know. Do you think I do? Obviously not. What do we have, a week left? Two?”

“Not enough.”

“But if we wind up dead, then of course we’re not going to manage it.”

“I know. But if there weren’t any risk, it wouldn’t be an issue—”

“Hanging out in toxic clouds is a little risk?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Rubin said. “Alright. Let’s—let’s get walking, see what we can find this way. You’re right.”

“Right,” Skironir said, and shook his head. “I swear, I can’t wait to get out of this cloud of smoke. I can’t wait for my eyes to stop watering.”

“I know, right,” Rubin said, and shook his legs off a bit. “Let’s head out.”

And they got up, together, out of their little shelter behind the crop of rock, and walked off into the gray haze.

...several days later...

“This is it,” Rubin said. “This has got to be it. Look, remember that whole little nonsense rhyme about the treacherous path and whatever-the-hell?”

“What if it was about something else?” Skironir said, looking dubiously at the sharp path. “I don’t think that can support our weight, if I’m going to be honest with you. Look, it’s practically crumbling.

“The lava clearly used to cover it. If it were that fragile it would’ve melted.”

“That’s even worse,” Skironir gritted his teeth. “Rubin. Do you know how hot lava is?”

“Hot.”

“Yeah. Really hot.”

“If we go across fast enough, it should be fine—”

“It’ll burn our hooves.”

“Not if we go fast enough.”

“Yes, if we go fast enough! Lava is super fucking hot, Rubin. It’s not a game.”

“Okay. Then I’ll try the passageway and you can stay here and then when I get the item you can’t have it.”

“That’s not fair,” Skironir said. “I came all this way.”

“Yeah, but now we have to keep going. And you don’t want to.”

“I just want to be sure this is safe.”

“It’s not,” Rubin said tacitly. “It’s definitely not. But the whole thing isn’t. We’re going into a volcano to get a magical item. What part of that sounds safe to you?”

Skironir sighed. “Yes, yes, I know. But there’s a difference between something dangerous but doable and just messing up out of recklessness. This is the latter, Rubin. You know it and so do I.”

Rubin sighed. Skironir had a point, loathe as he was to admit it. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine, we’ll try to test it.”

“How?”

Rubin sighed. “Uh, I don’t know. Let me just try crossing.”

“That’s… that… kind of defeats the purpose of testing it,” Skironir said.

“I’ll go slowly.”

“Still.”

Rubin snorted and turned away, looking back to the narrow rock ridge.

“Be careful,” Skironir said, evidently giving up on dissuading him.

“I will,” Rubin said.

The ridge was made of black basalt, but shards of volcanic glass poked up here and there, sharp enough to cut. Rocks littered the pathway, as though they had fallen there and gotten stuck. The whole thing was barely the width of Rubin’s shoulders, and it looked uneven. Not something Rubin would want to brave in any other circumstance, that was for sure, and that wasn’t even considering the deathly heat bubbling up from the magma deep below the cavern and running through the walls beside them. One slip would mean death, without a shadow of a doubt. And if he was wrong, and there was a channel of lava running underneath or inside that chasm, even stepping foot on it could mean death, too.

Rubin took a deep breath, shot off a desperate prayer to Loki znd to Odin, and set foot on the walkway. He half expected it to crumble under his feet.

It held. It was slippery, but it held. Rubin tested his weight, and then delicately set down his other foot. The pathway was so narrow that he had to lean his feet towards each other to avoid from setting it directly on the edge. Rocks shifted under his second hoof, and he felt around for a more stable foothold before finally setting it down and attempting to take a carful step forward.

It was slow going, finding the safe footholds, waiting to make sure they’d handle his weight. And the oppressive heat of the volcano only grew more and more intense the further over the ridge he got. Besides and below it, he could feel hot air absolutely blasting up at him, superheated from the laval below, and it was already hot enough to begin with here so close to the heart of the earth. With his luck, the earth would shake underneath him, and he’d go crashing down into that all-destroying heat—

“Please hold still, please hold still, please hold still,” Rubin murmured under his breath, feeling for a safe foothold for his next step.

“What was that?” said Skironir. “Are—are you going to fall?”

“No,” Rubin called back. “Just, uh, you know, I don’t. I think it’s fine, actually. Uh.”

“You sound nervous as hell.”

“I am! I’m walking on a tiny pathway over a whole bunch of lava! Please let me concentrate, so I don’t die.”

Skironir scoffed, but also shut up.

Rubin made it to about halfway over the ridge without issue, and then when he set down his hoof to take the next step, he felt an alarming slide start to happen, and picked his hoof up just in time for a whole section of the path to snap and go sliding down to the cavernous depths below. The path wasn’t destroyed, no, no, it was still walkable, but that was deeply concerning. Skironir hissed in a breath behind him, but Rubin couldn’t afford to focus on him, not if he wanted to avoid meeting the same fate as that cluster of rocks.

The rocks around it, Rubin probed around very carefully with one hoof, seeemed relatively stable, at least, and he kept walking.

“Rubin, I think you should come back now,” Skironir said, as soon as he started up again. Rubin slipped and hastily had to struggle to get his balance back, instinctively turning back to look at him.

“Uh, I can’t,” he said, after a second. “I can’t turn to look at you without overbalancing. I can’t walk backwards on this ledge without falling.”

“Oh, shit,” Skironir said.

“So there’s only one way to go, and that’s all the way to the end.”

“Oh, shit,” Skironir repeated. “Loki guide us.”

“I just hope he doesn’t start moving while we’re on here. The last thing we’d need, ha,” Rubin said, trying to keep his tone light, “would be an earthquake. Could you imagine that?”

“Oh, good gods. You’re going to jinx us.”

“Just… let me concentrate on getting all the way to the edge, okay?”

“We should’ve brought a rope.”

Now that was a good idea. “We should’ve. Next year.”

“Next year,” Skironir agreed.

“Please let me concentrate now.”

Skironir reluctantly fell silent. Rubin could hear him prancing nervously at the edge of the more solid ground.

For his part, Rubin managed, albeit nervously, to make it the rest of the way across the narrow ridge and onto a larger outcropping of rock. He turned, and attempted to school his body language into something a little more reassuring. “Okay, Skironir. Perfectly safe. Now it’s your turn.”

“Perfectly safe,” Skironir repeated.

“Perfectly safe.”

“If I die, I’m going to claw my way back to this earth just so I can haunt you. I can’t believe you’ve talked me into this,” Skironir groused, cautiously setting one hoof and then the other onto the path. Skironir was a shade smaller than Rubin, and he fit on the path a little more comfortably, although not by much. He picked his way across relatively quickly, compared to Rubin, but did so safely for the most part. And for his part, Rubin got to discover a fascinating little tidbit: it was actually more nerve-wracking to watch someone you cared about pick their way over a deadly flow of lava on the world’s narrowest crumbling path ever than it was to do it yourself.

But at least he was doing it safely, Rubin figured. He didn’t put his hooves down wrong once. He didn’t slip, and the rocks didn’t break out from under him. He was nearly all the way over.

Skironir set one hoof down on solid ground, and then the other, and then he put one of his hooves wrong of rthe first time and the entire path crumbled beneath him. Rubin jumped forwards, trying to catch him, and Skironir scrabbled desperately at the uneven surface of the volcanic rock. By some miracle they managed to get him up, and he didn’t fall to a terrible and painful death. Had he been half an inch further back, it most likely wouldn’t have worked.

Good gods.

“Skironir, I— are you okay?” Rubin asked, sniffing him carefully.

“Rubin, how are we going to get back?”

“What? Are—are you hurt?”

“Rubin. The path. How are we going to get out?”

Rubin blinked at the chasm, now inconveniently missing several feet of path.

Aw, shit.

#they're gay deer your honor #my writing #skironir #rubin #this is not related to written in blood in literally any way #oh the 'please hold still' and references to loki in the latter part #are in reference to the myth where loki's writhing causes earthquakes #at least i'm pretty sure that's a myth #after he is bound by the gods for his treachery #i dont know if that was something that i just decided was a myth or if it's a legit thing #i dont think it matters very much though

[echo-bleu]

Brothers

A little Manes brothers canon divergence for @eveningspirit ‘s birthday! I hope you like it :) It also happens to fit with today’s @alexmanesappreciation theme: legacy.

[concussions, mentions of vomiting, mentions of abuse, mentions of the shed scene]

The exact sequence of events that leads to him, Flint and Gregory sitting together on a mattress in the bared living room of a house he doesn't know will remain blurry in Alex's memory. He puts it on the massive concussion he sustained at the hands of his own father, because he was careless enough to let his guard drop for ten seconds and the bastard managed to sneak up on him.

He remembers waking up in his childhood home and almost throwing up on the floor of the basement at the goddamn awful feeling of being back there−or maybe that was just the concussion. Probably the concussion.

He'd suspected that his father was faking most of the consequences of his stroke for a while, and he'd known about the bug on his phone for days. He just didn't expect his father to act so fast, in the middle of the junkyard, when Alex was supposed to report back in the morning.

Maybe Jesse heard something in his voice down in the bunker. Alex let his emotions carry him away and said more than he meant to, so maybe his father figured out that he was made somehow. Either way, he got the drop on him, and Alex woke up with a killer headache, pissed off, confused, and, yes, scared. Even after all these years, after three tours overseas, his father still scares the shit out of him.

The one who greeted him upon waking up, however, was not his father. It was Flint, a gun in his hand and a hard look on his face. Alex's sudden hope that Flint was here to free him was squashed quickly at his sneer. He listened to Flint and their father argue up in the living room about where to keep him for hours−something about Jesse grabbing him too early, before things were ready−before Flint came to get him. He'd learned his lesson from last time, because he stayed out of range of Alex's zip-tied hands the whole way out of the house. Alex nearly fell down the stairs at least three times because of the dizziness, and threw up, with some satisfaction, on his father's shoes.

It's been days, but he's still dizzy and nauseous all the time, and the killer headache is a constant companion.

Greg's hands are on him, checking him over. He finds one of the bumps on his head and Alex flinches away, almost overbalancing off the mattress when the cuff on his wrist pulls him back. “Are you alright?” Greg murmurs. Alex nods, and immediately regrets it as it sends a spike of pain down his spine.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Greg?” Flint growls. For once, he doesn't have his gun in his hand. Alex realizes that it's because the gun is tucked in Greg's waistband and he frowns, trying to keep it in his line of sight just in case. He thinks Greg actually cares, that he's not in on this with Flint and their Dad, but if he's not, why is he here?

“Now that's a real funny story,” Greg smirks mirthlessly. “Why don't you sit down, Flint?” He formulates it as a question, but it's obviously an order. And in a situation where there's only one gun, ranks don't matter much. Greg is out of the Navy and Alex outranks both of them anyway. Flint slowly drops to the floor, just outside the mattress, and crosses both his legs and his arms petulantly.

“See, yesterday morning, I got a call,” Greg stars. “It's the funny thing about being the only one in our family Alex trusts enough to list as next of kin. You get these calls. I got one before,” he nods to Alex's leg. “No, two, actually. There was that one time−” Alex glares at him and he rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, back to the point. I was told that Alex had been AWOL for 72 hours, and they were looking for him.”

Alex winces. Of course he already knows that crawling this way out of this one, even if everything ends well and no one dies, is going to be impossible. Being AWOL will earn him jail time, which is already bad, but if they start looking into his recent activities out of suspicion...well, he hopes to God that Liz has really emptied the lab, or things will get a hell of a lot more complicated.

Speaking of Liz...

Helena Ortecho was a surprise. There's a kind of irony in there, that Alex would be more surprised at being held captive by a woman he hasn't seen in over a decade than by his own family. He wonders what Liz would think of Helena being a kidnapper−or of her being more motherly to him that he's ever seen her be to Liz and Rosa. She watched Flint tie him up to a radiator without a word and then brought him food and clothes that weren't covered in vomit and dust, even getting Flint to briefly untie him at gunpoint to get his arm through the sleeve. Alex might have tried to seize the opportunity to fight back if he'd been able to see straight.

“Now I'm a good brother, and I know there's no way Alex would go AWOL without a good reason,” Greg continues. “Especially the day after he drove to the rez with a bunch of suspicious people who are supposedly his friends, and tells me he thinks that Dad has changed.”

Flint huffs.

“Yes,” Greg nods. “Either our baby brother really is more naive than we thought, or something fishy is going on.” Alex rolls his eyes, and Greg just glares at him.

The last few days, after getting to the house, are even more fuzzy. Alex remembers trying to push the mattress against the wall to get a better range of movement, and Flint coldly making him pull it back. He remembers pulling off his prosthetic, his stump swollen and sore from too much time with it on, and then trying to hit Flint with it the next time he came by, which earned him what is probably a second concussion from the butt of his brother's gun. He doesn't really remember anything since then. From the stubble on his face, it's been at least three days, but time is wonky and his mind unreliable.

Which brings him to now, and now has Greg sitting beside him on the mattress. Alex tries to blink away the confusion and sit up properly, wincing when his stump moves on the mattress. Days without a shrinker will make it a bitch to get back into the prosthetic.

Greg shifts. “I took a family emergency day, since that seemed to be the case, and I drove to Roswell. I had to look up my own brother's address in the phone book,” he glares again.

Alex throws his free hand up. “Hey, you're the one who didn't want to come.” His voice is weak and hoarse from disuse, and Greg looks more concerned than chastened.

“Right. I broke in−sorry, Alex, I'll replace the lock if you want me to. Alex's house was empty but his suitcase was still waiting on his bed. So I looked up Isobel Evans.”

“Really? Isobel?”

Greg shrugs. “I don't know what's going on between you, Guerin and Maria, but I'm not getting in the middle of it. Besides, Isobel seemed the most sensible of all of you.”

“You're just attracted to her,” Alex mutters.

“Alex, the choice I had was her or her brother. I know you're gay, but would you really go to Max Evans first?”

“I see your point,” Alex concedes, though he's still really not sure “sensible” is the adjective he'd use to describe Isobel. His muddled brain can't seem to come up with a better one, though, so he lets it go.

“All Isobel could tell me was that no one had seen you since you came back from the rez, but she got everyone moving to find you. Guerin went at it with Dad, got him to admit that he got to you first and Flint took you from him. Don't ask me how, I don't know.”

Isobel, Alex thinks after he's parsed all this−with at least a thirty-second delay. Isobel must have gone into their Dad's head, he would never have told them that willingly. But Greg doesn't know about aliens and there's no way he'll risk telling Flint something he could use against them, so he keeps quiet.

“After that, it wasn't hard to follow Flint here from his place,” Greg finishes. “I disarmed him once I confirmed you were here.”

Flint grunts. Alex looks over at him, amused. He's never been the best at self-defense, even when they were kids, too easily overtaken by his temper.

“Now will someone explain to me what's going on here?” Greg straightens up more, in a stance that looks relaxed but Alex can feel is fully vigilant. He may be missing part of the story, but he's a force to be reckoned with.

Alex and Flint exchange a glance. Somehow even as they stand on opposite sides of this fight, this decision−tell Greg about the aliens or try to lie their way through some kind of resolution−comes down to them. “Where's Helena?” Alex asks.

“In town,” Flint answers, some of the confrontation gone from his tone. “She won't be back for a few hours.”

“Who's Helena?” Greg asks.

“Flint's accomplice,” Alex answers. “Ironically also my friends' mom.”

“Which friends?” Greg frowns.

“Liz and Rosa. You remember them?”

Greg nods. “Rosa was the girl in Flint's year who died, right? Her mom is helping you?” he asks Flint.

Flint shrugs and looks at Alex again, trying to communicate something silently. Alex doesn't bother figuring out what it is. His head isn't quite clear enough to see all of the implications, but he already knows that there's no way Greg will settle for anything short of the truth. And Greg has always been very good at reading his brothers.

Plus, Greg is in control here, and he's been more than sympathetic to Alex since his injury. This could come out well for Alex, so he won't let Flint turn this to his advantage.

“Dad tried to take me down because I've become an inconvenience to his little genocide plan,” he says before Flint can stop him. “Flint thinks he can use me to get Michael to build him a bomb.”

That's the little he's gathered from Flint's talk with Dad the other day, and from Flint and Helena's interaction. He has no idea where Helena comes into it or how she learned about aliens, but he knows Flint's motivations well enough. They've been clear since Caulfield.

“Wait, genocide? Bomb?” Greg spits out in shock. Then he shakes his head, as if realizing that he shouldn't be surprised. “What the fuck are you doing, Flint?”

“They're invaders,” Flint says. “They're dangerous.” He's looking at Alex rather than Greg, as if he's trying to convince him. Alex wonders if he's not still trying to convince himself. Dad's twisted ideas coming from Flint's mouth sound so perverted and out of place.

“They're people,” Alex shoots back.

“They're aliens!”

“They're refugees!”

“Whoa,” Greg throws up his arms. “Am I missing something obvious or did you suddenly become a racist asshole? Are you even hearing yourself?” he asks Flint. Flint has the good grace to look a little abashed.

“Literal aliens,” Alex mutters. “We're talking about actual aliens.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Not even a little,” Alex sighs.

Greg closes his eyes. “Okay. Aliens. And Dad−”

“Wants to kill them all. Kept some of them prisoners for decades and experimented on them.”

Alex watches both Greg and Flint's face closely as he says that. Greg's is suitably horrified, but he doesn't know how to interpret Flint's expression. It's not disgust. It's not glee, either. He may be parroting Dad's rhetoric, but he's not lost to it.

“Dad was just trying to protect us,” he says. Not perfectly assured. The facade is cracking.

“Was?” Greg notices.

“He's been weaker, since the stroke.”

“You know he's faking the limp, right?” Alex asks.

A shadow goes through Flint's gaze. “Of course,” he says, but it's obviously a lie.

“Another lovely moment, finding out my father has been faking a disability for months when he hit me over the head with his cane,” Alex casually turns to Greg. Flint winces, glancing down at Alex's empty pant leg. “I love how well we communicate in this family.”

“Alex−” Flint starts.

“You don't get to say anything. You've been holding me chained up for days against my will. You've lost the right to tell me how great a family we are.”

“I'm still hung up over the alien thing, but I have to agree with Alex here,” Greg says. “What the fuck were you thinking, Flint?”

“He wants Michael to do something for him,” Alex says when Flint doesn't answer. “I don't even know why you'd think Michael will do anything. We're not together. And you're asking him to build a bomb designed to wipe out his entire species, Flint.”

“Wait, wait, Guerin's an alien?” Greg interrupts him.

“Yep,” Alex pops out the 'p'. “That's Dad's great threat to earth. Three orphan refugees who just want to live their life.”

“They're not alone,” Flint mutters, at the same time as Greg asks, “Three? Who else?”

“Max and Isobel Evans,” Alex smirks. The cat is out of the bag anyway, since Flint knows, and this little revenge feels good. Having one of his brothers on his side will feel good.

Greg blinks. “Okay,” he drawls out. “Let me get this straight. Guerin and the Evanses are aliens, even though they look just like us. And Dad knows about this, and wants to...wipe them out? And you're helping him?” he points to Flint.

“It's not just them,” Flint says. “We had specimens in Caulfield who could cause cancer with a simple touch, blow up whole buildings. They have dangerous powers.”

“And you have a gun,” Alex says. “How is it less dangerous than any of those powers? Powers, I should add, that Dad had no trouble using for his own agenda when it came to eliminating Jim Valenti.”

“Jim Valenti was killed by Subject N-38,” Flint frowns.

“And what, you think he went into his cell for fun? I have all the video surveillance, Flint. All the records. Decades of Dad and our grandfather randomly torturing people before going home for Sunday dinner.” From those surveillance tapes, he knows that Flint never had real contact with any of the prisoners. He never even went beyond the upper level, where he did the designs for his bomb. Alex spent hours and hours watching those tapes. “They're the same as us. Just people.”

“They want to wipe us out,” Flint says.

“They're my family,” Alex counters softly.

The shock on Flint's face would be comical, if it wasn't so painful. Greg's gaze on Alex is lost and sad. “They're more my family than you've ever been,” Alex adds for Flint.

He tries to mitigate that blow by putting a hand on Greg's arm, to show him that he doesn't mean him, but Greg shakes his head and gently moves away, guilt obvious on his face. Alex pushes through and leans his shoulder on Greg's, welcoming the support. His head is clearer now, but he's aching all over.

“Did you ever stop to think, when you were overseas?” he starts, his voice barely more than a whisper as he's trying to conserve some energy. “When you pointed your gun at insurgents or civilians or whoever it was that day you were ordered to contain or kill, did you stop and wonder who they were? If they had a life, too, a family? A brother?”

Flint looks away.

“Michael was the first person who really understood,” Alex continues. “He grew up in the system and he got the worse luck. He made me feel safe, for the first time since Mom left. He made me feel like I could get out of Roswell, escape Dad.”

“What happened?” Greg asks in a murmur.

“Dad found us,” Alex answers. “He didn't know what Michael was, but it didn't matter. He knew what I am. He started to choke me, and Michael tried to step in, so Dad took a hammer to Michael's hand.”

Neither of his brothers look shocked. Greg is clearly pained, and he drapes his arm around Alex's back in comfort, and Flint won't look at him, but they're not shocked. That's probably the saddest thing, that they all know exactly what Jesse Manes is capable of.

He waits until he's caught Flint's eyes again. “Michael's mother was in Caulfield,” he says. “He got to see her blow up with the building. He wanted to stay with her. He dreamed of going to college, but he stayed in Roswell because his sister needed him. He used to play the guitar while I sang, before Dad ruined his hand. That's the threat you're trying to eliminate, Flint.”

Flint swallows. “Did Dad really kill Jim?”

“I have the video on a secure network,” Alex nods. “We'd have to go to my place to show you, but yes. He did. I'm sorry,” he adds after a moment.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I'm sorry that Dad isn't the man you wish he was. I wished for something else for a long time, too.”

Flint stands up suddenly, and starts pacing. “I've read the reports,” he says. “The aliens attacked people when they arrived. And there's been thirteen murders in the last ten years done by aliens.”

Greg looks at Alex. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Alex sighs. “They're people. No worse than us, but also no better. We found the murderer. He's dead now.”

“We're talking about a serial killer, Alex!” Flint loses his cool. “What if they're all like that?”

“What if they aren't?” Alex yells back. He regrets it as the sound rings painfully inside his head. “Tell me how many times you've heard that same question asked about Native men, Flint.”

Flint opens his mouth, and closes it again. He paces the length of the room faster, giving the edge of the mattress a kick when he passes by.

Greg clears his throat. “Can we go back to the bomb? What the fuck is it?”

“It's not really a bomb,” Flint says. “It's a chemical agent, designed to eliminate people who have specific DNA strands.”

Alex can almost see the cogs turn in Greg's head. “How do you plan on dispersing it?”

“My team designed an atomizer,” Flint explains. He looks hesitant, like he knows he shouldn't be talking about that but he can't quite remember why. They've got through to him at least a little, Alex realizes. “I just need someone to build it.”

“Michael,” Alex explains for Greg's benefit. “He's a mechanic. And a genius.”

“So it's not a sanctioned mission,” Greg raises his eyebrows. “You and Dad have been working on this for...how long? Years? A Manes family mission to commit genocide?”

“We're doing what needs to be done,” Flint stops pacing and stands at attention.

“By fucking kidnapping Alex? Flint, did you stop even once to think about what you're doing?”

“They got into Alex's head. I'm doing this for his own good.”

Alex lets himself fall back until he's lying down on the mattress, prompting his brothers to look at him. His headache is getting worse, not better. “His words, in your mouth,” he tells Flint. “I expected that from Clay. Not from you. Have you forgotten everything, Flint? All of Granddad and Granny's history lessons?”

Flint looks away. Greg seems to seize the opportunity, and he stands up and grabs Flint's arm. “Let Alex go, Flint.”

“I can't.”

“Do you remember the last time we were all at the house together?” Greg lowers his voice, almost as if he doesn't want Alex to hear, but the room is small. “We promised we'd look out for him,” he nods toward Alex. “That we wouldn't let Dad get to him again.”

“He shouldn't have come back to Roswell,” Flint sets his chin stubbornly.

“Maybe not. But he's still our brother. We need to stop failing him.”

For the first time, Flint truly looks torn. “I'm trying to protect him from the aliens,” he says slowly.

“I think you and I both knows that's not who we need to protect him from,” Greg says.

Alex resists the urge to retort that he can protect himself−his current situation would tend to disagree, although he swears he'll free himself the minute his head stops swimming−and finds himself feeling oddly touched.

Flint looks down at his shoes.

“Let him go, Flint.”

“Fine,” Flint finally relents. He grabs a key from his pocket and tosses it to Alex, who scrambles to open the cuff around his wrist.

He eyes the gun in Greg waistband again, trying to figure out if it's worth making a go at it, but he decides to trust Greg. It's not like he can stand up, anyway.

“What now?” he asks.

“We should really get you to a hospital,” Greg says.

“No. I need to see that Michael's okay. And I need to stop their plan,” he waves at Flint, including Helena and his father as well. He gives Flint a defiant look. “I can't let you harm them.”

“I know,” Flint sighs. “Helena's gone to bring Guerin here.”

“Will you stand down?” Alex asks him. “Let me do what I have to do?”

“I won't try to harm you,” Flint holds his empty hands up in a surrendering gesture. “Or your family,” he adds reluctantly.

“Good.” Alex turns to Greg and holds a hand up to be helped into a standing position. “You have a phone? I'm going to need it.”

“Who put you in charge?” Greg asks, amused. “You have a concussion, Alex, you need medical care.”

“I know. I'm doing to call my doctor,” Alex answers. “After I call Michael, anyway. Anyone know where my leg is? We have a lot of work to do.”

#roswell new mexico #alex manes #alexweek2020 #gregory manes #flint manes #roswell nm #mine #echo's fanfiction #manes brothers #eveningspirit

[igirisuhito]

Title: We’re not in a position to be loved Relationship(s): Shuichi Saihara/Ouma Kokichi Rating: Mature Summary:  Numerous prompts sentence writing meme from Tumblr, except I have no idea how to be brief. Exploring the dynamics with Oumasai, mostly during strange encounters after trials. They have very mixed feelings about eachother Trigger Warnings: Brief mention of power dynamic imbalance

[Ao3 Link]

——— ☆ • ♧ • 🃏 • ♧ • ☆ ———

Angst

Knowing that it was Kokichi's body in there seemed so much more painful than if it had been Kaito. He died as he lived, confusing, lying, leaving everybody with a burning hatred. 

Shuichi bit at the insides of his cheeks to quell the tears building up in his eyes. It wasn't fair, he deserved at least some closure on Kokichi's actions. 

Nobody deserved such a painful death, not even him. 

AU (in which Kokichi wasn't given the memories he was meant to be nor was his mind wiped) 

Click

"W-why did you lock the door?"

"Hush Shuichi.” Kokichi spoke quickly, spinning around and poking Shuichi hard in the chest. “Now tell me, you're suspicious of your 'Ultimate Detective' status, right?" 

He flinched, surprised by the sudden touch. "...Do you want me to hush or answer the question?"

Kokichi pouted dramatically. "THE QUESTION!!" 

"Okay um… I guess? Like, I only solved a single case..."

"Right! But you don't remember how you got here?" 

"N-no I don't..."

Groaning loudly, Kokichi’s hands threaded into his hair as he began to ruffle it angrily. "Fuck me, this sucks!"

Shuichi watched the other boy closely as he continued his temper tantrum, angrily stomping across the room and beginning to shuffle through the mounds of paraphernalia in his room. There was evidence from the two previous trials, a whiteboard, large stacks of paper and other… things.

"Aha!" He yelled excitedly as he pulled out a brightly coloured tablet from underneath some stuff stolen from the warehouse. He slapped the device into Shuichi's hands aggressively. 

In his shock, Shuichi blinked a few times. "Is this a kubs pad...?" 

"Yes." Kokichi nodded once.

"So this is..."

"My motive video, yes."

"I don't think we should-" 

Before Shuichi had even finished his sentence, Kokichi had leaned over his shoulder and tapped the screen, bringing the video to life.

"Alright! Back by popular demand, it's time for the motive video! Who's the most important person in *your* life? And now, without further ado…

Kokichi Ouma, the Ultimate Supreme Leader… 

He caused mayhem the world over as the leader of the secret organisation, D.I.C.E. And by 'mayhem,' I mean petty nonviolent crimes and harmless pranks. 

Anyway, Kokichi had ten loyal goons working for him. These goons were like friends and family… The most important people in his life…"

"See all these guys? I don't know any of 'em! I didn't run some secret organisation, I used to just harass stupid idiots on the internet!" Kokichi muttered away, words spat with frustration as he yanked the tablet from Shuichi's hands. "I don't have those memories like the rest of you do!" 

"So you're…not the Ultimate Supreme Leader?"

"No! That's what I'm saying!" 

"Then why do you act like that…?" 

"Well I'm sure if the mastermind realised I knew they'd kill me in a heartbeat!" With a sigh, Kokichi threw himself onto his bed. "Jesus what kind of guy does awful things and then follows it up with 'That's just what an Ultimate Supreme Leader does!'? I was dropping hints to you the whole time! You really aren't an Ultimate Detective, huh?" 

Shuichi didn't know what to say. He simply stood there, mouth hanging agape as he watched the boy spill his secrets. 

A scary realisation gripped at his heart, and he twisted his head around to look to the corner of the room. "B-But what about-"

"I busted all the cameras in the room the night we got here.” Kokichi muttered casually, crossing one leg over the other and twirling a strand of hair in his hand. “Doesn't seem like Monokuma's noticed yet." 

Right right. That's logical. Shuichi took a moment to process the new information in his mind. 

"So this, our memories, our talents, everything. It's all fake?" He brought his hand to his mouth, mumbling to words behind his fingers. "What Kaede died for… isn't even real?" 

"Right on bucko!” A snigger slipped past Kokichi’s lips as he grinned bitterly. “This shit's all fabricated by somebody who was dumb enough to forget to plant those fake memories in my brain and wipe the real ones!" 

Shuichi's chest tightened. He could feel some sinking feeling in his gut, twisting and winding its way up to strangle his windpipe, threatening to make him break down in tears right there. He swallowed the feeling down, transforming his sadness into a burning anger. "W-why didn't you say something earlier… before everybody died?" 

"Again, I didn't want to inform the mastermind. The only people trustworthy enough were Rantaro and maaaybee you. I really just took a punt when it came to telling you, which was pretty risky especially since it was your girlfriend who clocked the only person I could trust." Kokichi sighed again, glancing up at the ceiling.

Biting hard into his lip, Shuichi found himself running out of words to say that didn't involve screaming at the boy. "So, what now then?" 

Kokichi smiled sadly. "I don't know. I really don't know. "

Crack

"Focus focus… what turned the handle of the sliding lock?" 

Shuichi muttered to himself as he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, speeding up in preparation of hitting the wOuman representing the correct answer. 

He had driven this taxi quite a few times now and was getting used to it. The neon lights, the oversaturated sunset, those massive billboards. 

Thunk

Ah, yes the killer used the Katana…

As he was headed out of the city, he began to realise that he really couldn't tell what was on those billboards. Driving at 100km/h makes it hard to see anything but the road ahead. 

He lifted his foot from the pedal slightly, allowing himself to get a better look at whatever nonsense was being displayed there. 

Above Shuichi was a large picture of Kokichi Ouma, dressed not in his usual 'attire' if you can even call it that, but rather a frilly pink apron.

A frilly pink apron and nothing else. 

Shuichi floored it. Ignoring the sensation of his heart beating out of his chest. 

"No wonder I'm meant to drive so fast… gay thoughts can't travel at such high speeds…"

Future

"Heeeey Shuichi! You're lookin pretty depressive." 

Shuichi ignored the teasing voice.

"Heeeeeeeey." Kokichi plopped himself down on the desk where Shuichi had been working, making it impossible for him to focus on the work in front of him and ignore the boy. 

Shuichi sat back in his chair, remaining completely silent. 

"Why are you ignoring me? I thought you loved me, Shu?" 

Gritting his teeth, Shuichi slapped his hands over his ears. A mixture of rage and sadness boiled up inside his chest causing tears to prick at the corners of his eyes.

"Shut up! SHUT UP! YOU'RE DEAD!"

He shook his head aggressively. When he finally opened his eyes again, Kokichi was no longer there to start back at him sadly, like he were something pathetic.

 First time

A sight Shuichi had never expected to see greeted him upon entering the classroom. 

A shorter man with purple hair and a strange white getup had a robotic looking boy pinned down against a desk, their hips pressed closely together. Just what had he walked in on?

"So you do have a dick?" The shorter boy grinned mischievously

"Yes-! No-!” The robotic boy refuted, struggling to push the other off “Please just let go of me!" 

The purple haired boy seemed to become aware of Shuichi's presence in the room. He twisted his head around in a creepy owl-like way to glance at him, before letting go of the robot boy with a big grin.

"Well hello there! I don't believe we've met!" The boy scurried over to Shuichi, grabbing his hand and giving it a firm, quick shake. "Kokichi Ouma, Ultimate Supreme Leader! It's lovely to make your acquaintance." 

Shuichi stepped back a little, surprised by the sudden change in personality. "Oh, um… Shuichi Saihara.... Ultimate Detective."

Kokichi’s expression changed suddenly, leaving him looking rather surprised. "Oh? A detective? I'm sure we're not going to get along, but I look forward to seeing more of you!"

"R-right..." Shuichi stammered, mind still reeling from the quick succession of events. 

Humour 

This scene was one Shuichi had… not been expecting.

He wanted to have a more extensive look around his lab, especially with what sort of dangerous stuff was in there. Maybe find a way to lock all that poison away so nobody could access it? 

But his plans had come to a halt. There was something wrapped up in a blanket sitting in front of the fireplace. 

Somebody was in his lab. 

Shuichi stepped into the room quietly, it seemed whoever was there hadn't noticed his presence. Thank god they'd left the door slightly ajar… 

He picked up the sand timer from the coffee table. It was quite weighty and could definitely do some damage if struck with a strong enough force. Gripping the metal tightly, he began to lightly stalk his way over, careful to not startle the intruder as he made his way closer. 

The detective's heart was racing. Who would even be in his lab? Surely nobody was stupid enough to stir trou-

…

It's Kokichi, isn't it?

This only made things worse. Should he be scared or angry? Was Kokichi going to attack him? Did Kokichi already know he was there? Did he plan to try and poison somebody?! 

Possibilities were beginning to pile up in Shuichi's mind, exacerbating his anxiety. Panic was beginning to set in as the boy raised the sand timer above his head, fully prepared to strike.

Snooore

Shuichi froze. Was Kokichi…asleep? 

He lowered the sandtimer, still keeping a firm grip as he crept closer to the fireplace in order to get a better look at Kokichi. 

His suspicions were confirmed. The boy was sat cross legged in front of the fire with a book in his lap. Drool was leaking from his open mouth as he snored softly away, completely oblivious to the blood dripping down his forehead. 

Ehh?! Blood?!

Shuichi gasped loudly, perhaps a little too loud as Kokichi startled awake. 

The Supreme Leader glanced towards Shuichi, then to the object in his hand. "Oh, Shuichi! Finally come to beat my head in huh? I'm surprised it took ya this long!" 

Fluff (continuation of humour) 

"Wh-what?! No!" Shuichi stood with his mouth hanging open for a moment before tossing the sandtimer aside. "Wh-why are you in my lab?" 

"Huh? Isn't it obvious?" 

"...reading?"

Kokichi sighed, flexing his fingers in an odd yet overwhelmingly gay gesture. "No, are you stupid? Geez, I thought you cared about me."

Before Shuichi could question what he was rambling on about, Kokichi wiped a little bit of blood away from his eyebrow. 

"Oh, right. Did the wound re-open?" Kneeling down next to him, Shuichi eyed the rivulets of blood shining on his forehead. They were beginning to dry and flake, but the wound still looked wet.

"Mm, yeah, it's not a big deal though. I wanted to see if there was any medicine in here that would help the blood clot faster, but alas, only poison. I mean, what kind of fake school is this if it doesn't have a nurses office?" Kokichi murmured the last sentence barely loud enough for the other to hear. 

"Sorry, I think there's a first aid kit in here though.” Rising to his feet, Shuichi walked over to the poison’s cupboard, beginning to search the room starting with where he was pretty sure he last saw it. “Let me have a look."

Kokichi went to object, but swallowed it before he could get the words out. He was pretty sure if he tried to stand up again, he would go down like a sack of bricks.

"Ah! Here it is." Shuichi exclaimed, perhaps a little too excited with his successful search. He picked up the small box, scurrying over to where Kokichi sat before kneeling down in front of him. The box was opened with a click, and Shuichi opened the lid. Inside were numerous bandaids, gauzes, swabs, etc. It was a pretty standard kit, which was surprising, considering the fact it were surrounded by poisons. 

He reached for the bottle of alcohol, something to help clean the wound to prevent possible infection. Kokichi seemed like the type to be negligent with a wound, so of course he had to do it for him. He then grabbed a small cotton gauze, placing it to the side as he twisted open the lid of the bottle.

Kokichi observed closely as he placed the gauze over the lid, tipping the bottle upside down so the alcohol soaked into the gauze. He was surprised but just how experienced Shuichi seemed to be with this kind of thing.

“Wow Shuichi, you seem to be a reeeeal expert at this stuff! Maybe they should re-title you ‘Ultimate Nurse!’” He mocked, laughing a little as Shuichi glared up at him.

“Basic First-Aid training is a requirement for being out in the field.” Shuichi muttered, putting the bottle down and raising the gauze to Kokichi’s head. “This will sting a little.”

He thread his hand into the purple bangs, pulling them back to get a clear access to the wound. Shuichi had no qualms with hurting Kokichi, however, as he was not very gentle as he wiped the gauze over the gash in his head.

Kokichi squirmed in pain, gripping the blanket tightly in his hands as he whined. “Ow ow ow ow!! Stop it Shu!!!” 

A warmth was rising in his cheeks, probably all that blood returning to his head. Shuichi’s fingers were cold against this scalp, it was embarrassing, humiliating. Why did he have to baby him like this? Especially when he had been so adamant about rejecting Kokichi in the past.

“It doesn’t hurt that much, you’re being a baby.” 

“You’re so mean Shuichi.” Sticking out his bottom lip, Kokichi pouted dramatically. 

Shuichi did take the effort to make his touches a little more gentle, only because he didn’t want to listen to Kokichi’s whines, of course.

When all the dried blood had been cleaned off, he tossed the bloodied gauze into the trash can. He scrounged around in the box a little, seeking an appropriately sized bandage that he wouldn't have to cut down. When he found one, he held it up, checking to see if it fit.

For a second, Shuichi found himself staring. Kokichi looked nice with his hair up, showing off those pretty purple eyes and surprisingly dark lashes.

Then he reminded himself of the awful things Kokichi had done. Throwing Gonta under the bus, laughing in the face of his death.

Shuichi pressed the bandage to Kokichi’s forehead, sticking it carefully over the wound. “Even though I helped you, I don’t forgive you. I need you to know that I still think you’re a terrible person, Kokichi.”

Kokichi’s heart sank a little. “Nobody asked you to! I don’t want your forgiveness.”

He slapped Shuichi’s hand away, rising to his feet quickly. He blinked back the lightheadedness, steadying himself before walking to the door. 

With a shaking hand, he opened the door. He opened it halfway, before pausing.

“...Thank you.”

The door slammed behind him, leaving Shuichi alone in the room, surrounded by First-Aid equipment.

Hurt/Comfort

The doorbell rang, the sound reverberating around Shuichi's tiny room. It was probably Kaito finally coming for training tonight.

Though… Shuichi glanced up at the clock quickly. It was kind of late for that…

With a sigh, he got up from his bed, springs creaking beneath his shifting weight.

He opened the door, only to find an empty corridor with nobody there. Strange… who on earth would have the audacity to play a prank after such a horrific trial? It could only be one person.

"Kokichi…?"

A soft gasp could be heard from down the hall. Shuichi leaned out of the doorway, spying Kokichi awkwardly escaping down the stairs.

"Haha!" He laughed. "Guess who just got ding-dong-ditched! As if I'd be coming to seek advice from you so late at night!" 

Shuichi narrowed his eyes, preparing to growl out an insult to Kokichi, something about being so insensitive after three people had died. He hesitated, however, upon noticing the watery gleam in those purple eyes.

The detective sighed and held his door open with one hand. "Come in, Kokichi."

Kokichi's mouth gaped at the sudden invitation. He wasn't going to let it pass, and dashed towards Shuichi before throwing his arms around the boy's waist and squeezing him tightly. 

"I… don't want to do this anymore..." Kokichi mumbled, burying his face into Shuichi's shirt. 

The other boy flinched at the sudden touch, something that was incredibly out of character for Kokichi. There seemed to be no threat, though, so he dropped his guard with a sigh.

Shuichi carefully placed a hand on Kokichi's head, petting him gently. "I know..."

Smut

"Ohh! Who would have thought that you were skilled in more areas than investigating? Isn't this a little illegal though? Sticking your dick in a suspect?" 

'Is anything technically illegal if it's a dream?' Shuichi wondered as he stepped one leg at a time out of his slacks.

"Hey! Keep on the task at hand, pretty boy." Kokichi snapped, clicking his fingers in front of Shuichi's face. 

"A-ah right. Sorry..."

Unresolved Sexual Tension

"So when faced with a problem you don't understand, you resort to violence, Shuichi? You're such a brute, just like Kaito."

"Shut up! There's just no logic with you! Why do you even keep doing this?!"

Kokichi refused to break eye contact for even a second. The boy pressing him against the wall dug his fingers even harder into his shoulders, stabbing into the skin below painfully.

"Do you feel nothing?! Isn't there even a single shred of empathy left in you?!"

"Shuichi." Kokichi smirked. "It's been incredibly cute watching you play detective, but unfortunately I don't think your blind luck will help you any longer."

The shorter boy shoved Shuichi off with a strength he hadn't shown before, leaving the detective stunned and a little shaken.

As Kokichi walked back to the trial room's elevator, Shuichi caught himself staring in awe. 

"...cute?"

#Ficgiri #Oumasai #Omasai #Danganrona #Danganronpa v3 #Kokichi Oma #Kokichi Ouma #Dr #Drv3 #Shuichi Saihara #Fanfiction

[rawiswhore]

Triple H x Fem Reader- "Low Blow"

The World Wrestling Federation's Attitude era of the late 90's and early 2000's is infamous and notorious for many things, but 3 things that make it infamous are the shock value, boundary and envelope pushing moments and sexual content.

Even during the late 90's, the Attitude era caused massive amounts of controversy.

However, this particular Attitude era moment pushes the envelope a little too far, far enough to end up becoming headline news.

Whilst it isn't fucked up like Al Snow finding out his dinner is his kidnapped pet dog, this moment did manage to raise eyebrows and make people's jaws drop.

You were one of the many bricks in the wall to add to the Attitude era's sexual content, shock value and boundary pushing moments, you were probably the most controversial Attitude era star out of the entire roster.

The character you played was an oversexed, nymphomaniac slut who seduced any man in the WWF you thought was sexy.

You did some very boundary pushing things when you burst into popularity in 1998, such as saying words like "cunt", "cock", "slut", "whore", and "cum" and wanting to say those words whether it's 8 PM or 10 PM, admitting you suck cock and swallow cum, and those envelop pushing moments is what helped make you a household name.

But this moment so far officially takes the cake.

Near the end of 1998, during one of those vignettes that has the guitar riff to Slam Jam's "We're All Together Now" playing, the camera shot to you squatting down on the ground in front of Triple H, your head as well as yourself was in between his thighs and legs.

His tights were pulled down to his knees and you were sitting in front of his tights.

Triple H was sitting in a chair in front of you, his cock was in your mouth and you sucked it, but when you sucked his dick, you were trying not for his penis to show on camera, much to the dismay of the thirsty females in the audience hoping to see his genitals.

Your chin and head were also concealing his scrotum from being shown to the audience, but they could clearly see that you were sucking on his cock.

Your lips and mouth weren't really bobbing up and down his cock, because you were trying to not show his penis to the audience, though you wouldn't mind doing that, that's wonderful fan service for the females and gay males who lust over him.

You were moaning a little bit while you had his cock in your mouth and sucked it, your moans buzzing around his shaft.

You looked like Sukihana in that infamous OnlyFans video where she sucks her fiance's cock and vomits on it, yet still continues sucking his dick even after she threw up on it!

Thankfully, Triple H's cock isn't drenched and smothered in vomit.

The audience's jaws dropped and eyes grew wide seeing you give Trips a blowjob, some of the men in the audience were cheering for you and even doing those silly wolf whistles at you.

Women and underage girls in the audience were shrieking over almost seeing Triple H's private parts, though they were disappointed they didn't see them uncensored.

Some people in the audience were even wondering who it was that you were sucking, though it's obviously Triple H since he wore those tights.

Jim Ross was at a loss for words, whereas Jerry Lawler was shrieking and pretending to be shocked.

Jerry's no doubt jealous of Triple H, though he's jealous of any man getting seduced by you.

"I-is that Triple H?" Jerry Lawler asked, "Gives new meaning to 'suck it'!"

Jerry's D Generation X joke made the audience laugh, they were even thinking the same thing before he mentioned it.

And speaking of that catchphrase, just after Jerry said that, Triple H shouted "suck it!" while his hands crossed an "x" shape at the wrists and slammed above his genitals.

The audience saw Triple H making that gesture and shouting the catchphrase that goes along with it, which made them laugh, some of them were even shouting "suck it" and doing that crotch chop as well.

"Speak of the devil!" Jim Ross quipped.

You can bet you giving Triple H a blowjob caused a lot of controversy and even some headline news, and after this moment happened, people were going on their computers and looking up you giving Triple H head.

This moment could've had Val Venis (who played a porn star), Christian from the Brood, Shawn Michaels or Billy Gunn getting a blowjob, but you picked Triple H since his catchphrase with D Generation X was "suck it!" whilst his hands motioned at his crotch, though Billy Gunn was a member of D Generation X who shouted that catchphrase a few times too.

You could've even had Al Snow getting a blowjob during this vignette, since his catchphrase was "What does everybody want?" to which the audience shouts "HEAD!" back, but Al Snow wasn't really much to look at with that handlebar moustache that ruined his looks, but fit his nutcase character.

_____________________________________________________________

I wonder if people who look up the Attitude era on tumblr and click the "recent" button are sick of seeing my fanfics? And probably hate them as well?

#triple h #90s #wwf #attitude era #wwf attitude #1998 #fanfiction

[destielstuffandthings]

For @danceworshipper #27- “Kiss me” (Angsty to fluffy Destiel but they aren’t together yet)

Dean sighed heavily behind the steering wheel of the Impala. He nervously wiped his palms on the top of his thighs as the pulsating neon lights of the bar---no, gay bar--danced across Baby’s hood.

“Dean?” 

Castiels voice jerked Dean back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Would you be more comfortable if Sam were here instead of me?” 

Yes, he thought to himself. Because an angel, his best friend, and the guy he’s been in love with for-fucking-ever was sitting next to him looking like pure sin.

Instead of his old trench coat, Cas was wearing dark blue jeans that hugged his body in ALL the right places and had borrowed one of Deans’ old Rolling Stones t-shirts. The black cotton barely contained the massive biceps Cas had been hiding God knows where. His hair was looked like he just rolled out of bed but somehow was still sexy as hell.

“Nah, man. I’m good. Just gotta---,” he looked Castiel up and down quickly, “think. Of a game plan. Gotta think of a game plan,” he trailed off, willing his eyes to peel themselves away from the angel next to him.

“Alright. We know for certain that the siren is here tonight. We blend in, find it, lure it outside and kill it. That---is that still the plan?”

“Yeah, Cas, that’s the damn plan,” Dean snipped. He shook his head and stared out the window. “Sorry, I just---there’s a lot on my mind lately.”

Castiel frowned and rested his hand on Dean’s leg. “You know you can talk to me about anything, Dean. Can I help?”

Dean froze, his eyes glued to the hand on his knee. Shoulder touches and back pats were nothing new. But this was new.

 Reading too much into it, man. It’s not like that. He doesn’t feel that way abou---

“Dean?”

He snapped his head up, eyes focusing on the worried looking angel next to him.

“M’fine. Let’s get in, get the job done and get the fuck outta here.” He swung the door open and slammed it shut. Rounding the car, he opened the trunk and pulled out two bronze daggers. He handed one to Cas carefully. He’d justify it as being cautious not to cut the angel, but in reality he knew what happened when he felt Cas’ skin touch his own. He didn’t have time to unpack that right now, so he ducked his head and headed towards the entrance.

“Uh, the siren,” Dean tried to hide the tremble in his voice, “they go after people who’re---like---they make them wanna kill someone they---fuck,” he shook his head, looking straight ahead.

“Dean, I understand how they work,” Castiel nodded. “I’ll watch over you. Just, maybe don’t kiss anyone while were here. That’s usually how they infect their prey.” The angel offered a small smile.

Dean pressed his lips together. “Won’t be a problem.”

Dean pushed the door open and was bombarded by thumping music and the smell of sweat and alcohol. There were people gathered on the dance floor, writhing to the beat enough to make Dean blush.

Castiel walked up to the bar and leaned his elbows on it, effectively making his ass stick out. The bartender’s eyes lit up as he sauntered over.

“What can I get for ya, angel?”

Dean smirked and suppressed a laugh.

“Vodka tonic and a whiskey with a beer back, please,” Castiel purred.

Jesus fuck, kill me now, Dean thought. Of course he’d know is drink order.

The bartender came back and handed them their drinks with a wink. “Have a great time tonight, fellas.”

“Oh, we will,” Castiel smiled and actually winked back at the guy.

Dean was in hell. Agonizing hell. Seeing Cas act human was not helping his situation. Choosing to ignore it, he turned and rested his back against the bar, surveilling the crowd. He felt something brush against his shoulder and turned his head.

Castiel was leaning in to say something directly into Dean’s ear but stopped. Their faces mere inches apart. Dean licked his lips, his eyes bouncing from the angels mouth to his eyes.

“I uh---so, what do we do now?” Castiel tilted his head, looking Dean in the eye.

“We---,” Deans heartbeat was rapidly increasing, “we do the job, Cas.” Dean took his shot of whiskey and slid it down on the bar, grabbed his beer and nodded for Castiel to follow him.

He walked out onto the dance floor and took a long drink of his beer before turning around.

It wasn’t fair. No one should look this good.

Castiel set his drink down on the bar and raised an eyebrow at Dean. He pushed off the bar and slowly walked towards Dean, hips swaying a little more than they usually do. The lights danced across his face and lit up his eyes that were staring at the man in front of him. He raised his hand slightly, resting it against Dean’s hip and pulled him in close.

“Blend in,” is all he said before his other hand laid on the back of Dean’s neck, running his fingers through the short hair. His hips started slow, moving to the beat of the music.

Dean took the hint and wrapped his arm around the angel, pressing his groin against the other mans hips. He felt himself moving without thinking, letting Castiel take charge.

Feeling his friend grind against his thigh and grip the back of his neck was overwhelming. He felt himself slowly getting hard between them and prayed Cas didn’t notice.

“Dean,” Castiel breathed against the mans ear.

“Cas,” Dean all but moaned, tightening his grip on the angels shirt

“Dean, the siren, it’s watching us.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. He’d totally forgot they were on a hunt and not just getting dirty on the dance floor.

“Good, ok. Good,” Dean huffed. “Who uh, who’s it lookin’ at more, you ‘r me?”

Castiel turned his head, baring his neck to Dean who wanted nothing more than to lick a stripe up it.

“Me,” he confirmed.

“’Course he is,” Dean whispered. How could anyone NOT look at Castiel? “K, well, let’s lure it out.”

Reluctantly, Dean let go of the angel and reached out his hand for Cas. Once he interlocked their fingers, he led him off the dance floor and out the back exit.

Dean looked back and smiled at Cas, also noticing that the siren was following them.

He pushed the back door open and was relieved when the cool night air touched his skin. The back alley was dark and dripping wet, it stunk of vomit and an overflowing dumpster but Dean welcomed it. Anything to get his mind off what just happened.

“It should be here any moment,” Castiel whispered, reaching behind his back and gripping the blade.

“Wait,” Dean held his hand out to stop the angel. “Might scare it off if we ambush it right out the gate. We should---we have to distract it. Make it think it’s got a chance at infecting you.”

Castiel tilted his head. “How?”

The handle of the door slowly turned down, the door was about to open.

“Kiss me.”

Castiels eyes flew open. In an instant, Dean was being shoved against the wet brick wall. The angels body pressed tightly against the other mans, fisting the side of Deans shirt. Their lips collided in a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth.

“Well isn’t this a sight,” a voice called from behind them.

Castiel pulled away then, watching Deans chest rapidly rise and fall. He was panting himself, trying to regain his composure. Dean looked over the angels shoulder to see a short blonde man standing there with his arms crossed and smiling.

“You get your kicks outta watchin’ two guys make out, buddy?”

The man smiled brightly. “Maybe I do. Or maybe I want to join the party.”

Don’t kiss anyone Castiels voice rang through Dean’s head.

“Do you, now,” Castiel’s voice was deep and sultry. Dean didn’t want to know where he’d learned how to talk like that. He stepped up to the siren, tilting his head. “Sorry, but my boyfriend doesn’t share.”

In a swift movement, Castiel pulled the knife out from it’s hiding place and thrust it up in the sirens throat. It’s eyes widened as it tried to scream but failed. The blonde man shifted and turned into a grotesque, hairless monster before their eyes. Castiel pulled the knife out slowly, letting the body drop to the ground.

He turned to Dean who was still pressed against the wall.

“Dean, are you alright?”

Dean nodded, trying to control his emotions. “Cas, that was---that was awesome,” he smiled.

Castiel shrugged his shoulders as he stowed his blade.

Dean smiled and pushed off the wall. “Seriously, man. You can act. Dancing, flirting, the uh---the kissing. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

Castiel walked up to Dean and braced one of his hands against the wall beside Deans head, crowding into his personal space.

“I’m full of surprises,” he whispered. He watched Dean lick his lips, feeling the mans breath on his face. He leaned in and captured Dean’s lips in a soft kiss.

#supernatural #Destiel #dean winchester #castiel #siren #gay bar #kissing #first kiss #gay panic #hunting #dancing #angst and fluff

[progressivestupidity]

IZ week 2020

so i wasn’t gonna do this because I didn’t think the prompts were very good for writing to, but I remembered the last day’s prompt was “role swap” so I decided to do something small and quick for it. this is all 7 days in one post. the first and last ones are drabbles and one of them is an au idea

@invader-zim-week​ here u go!!!

Day 1. Angst or Fluff 

Zim’s denial skills are god tier, but even they have their limits.

Drabble. I think this is the turning point for my eventual found family au

“When are you going to get it through your thick head that the Tallests aren’t coming?” Dib flings his arms out wide in his exasperation

“They’re just…!” Zim fumbles a bit, clenching and unclenching his fists. “The Armada is a million light years away! It takes time to travel that far, obviously. It took me six of your months to get here from Conventia and the Massive is further away from here now than that. They’ll come! You’ll see! And then you’ll be sorry!” Zim’s face is drawn tight. He’s tense all over, shoulders drawn up to his jaw, antennae pressed flat to his head, and normally Dib prides himself on reading Zim like an open book, but he’s too far gone in his own annoyance to see the warning signs.

It’s because he doesn’t see these red flags that Dib proceeds to stick his own foot in his mouth with his next words. “Maybe if you weren’t such an idiot and opened your eyes, you’d see the truth—that they dumped you here to get rid of you.”

“YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT?” Zim explodes, planting his tiny hands in Dib’s chest and shoving. The boy lands painfully on his ass. “I’m not stupid, Dib.” His name is spat like an insult. “I know they don’t care about me! Why do you think I try so hard?”

Dib gapes at Zim, looking up at him for once, stunned into silence. “I.” He swallows. “You know?”

“Of course, I know.” Zim’s voice is a low hiss and his eyes are narrowed to slits. “You don’t get banished and then just get over it. You don’t get put on trial to defend your life, forced to relive your worse mistakes, and get sentenced to death, only to be saved by freak miracle, and never acknowledge it happened.” Zim takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest. Dib supposes he means for it to look intimidating, but it looks more like he’s holding himself together. “I’ve always known.”

“Why do you try so hard then? If you’ve always known there was no point?” Dib has to ask, has to know, has to hear the words from Zim’s own mouth.

Zim purses his lips and turns away. “There was always a point.” He falls silent for a moment, one antenna twitching up a bit in thought. “I just… I thought if I was just a little better, if I accomplished something important for once, that… I don’t know, that maybe I’d.” He pauses and grits his teeth. “Maybe if I actually managed to take over this filthy planet I’d be worth something for once.”

Day 2. Be Gay Do Crime (LGBTQA+ headcannons)

Dib is bi/pan/demi-ro, Gaz is lesbian, Zim is ace/demi-ro

Headcanons.

Dib seems like the kind of guy that would both take whatever kind of relationship he could get, but also appreciate it. Dib isn’t afraid to work for what he wants and isn’t afraid of things that are “not normal” so I see him being the type to not care about the gender of whoever he eventually decides to date. However, because Dib’s been burned in the past, he would need a deep and sincere emotional relationship to see someone as a potential romantic partner.

Gaz is just a big lesbian. Girls, man.

Zim is ace all the way baby!!! He’s just not interested, and sure, part of that is me projecting, but it just feels right for Zim to just… not care. He has no interest and doesn’t care for sexual attraction regardless of whether or not Irkens do/can/will have sex or not. On the other hand, Zim has expressed a softer side before and I can see him being able to maybe eventually develop romantic feelings for someone if he actually manages to get close enough to them for those kinds of feelings to even emerge. It would take a lot of time and a deep, meaningful friendship, but Zim has shown he’s capable of love. He just has to let himself feel it.

  Day 3. Fandom Appreciation

Found family fuck yeah

Headcanons.

I’m still in the process of thinking about how I wanna go about my found family au so here’s just some initial ideas

After ETF, Zim self isolates for a bit. The florpus hole was his Last Ditch Effort plan and had it succeeded, he knew he would have been destroyed too. He was okay with it. He had made peace with it. However, it failed, and now he’s forced to reflect on said failure

The Massive doesn’t escape the florpus. They’re gone, completely. If they the ship does manage to get out, it’s not in one piece

I initially couldn’t decide if The Trial should come Before ETF or After but I think im gonna say before so the Massive doesn’t have to come back lmao

Before too long, Zim jumps back into the planning/scheming swing of things, but his ideas are never more than petty crimes and being a huge annoyance

Dib gets really annoyed with him and they have a big argument

Zim finally admits to knowing of his own Defectiveness

Dib reluctantly feels bad for him and backs off a bit to let Zim have his space

Zim, however, sees this as a betrayal and redoubles his efforts to get his attention

Somewhere along the way, Skoodge comes back and Zim backs off of Dib a bit, having someone else to focus attention on

Dib eventually begins to offer Zim his hand in friendship (phrased as a truce at first) and they finally make steps towards getting along

They realize they actually really like being friends

Zim eventually realizes that he’s made a life for himself, outside of the Empire

Eventually Zim, Skoodge, GIR, Minimoose, Dib, and Gaz form their own little family and explore space and hunt cryptids

(I love cryptid hunter and space exploration aus holy shit)

Day 4. If IZ had a different setting/time period

Cyberpunk??? Sure

Potential idea maybe.

Cyberpunk dystopian future

Aliens and humans intermingle, both on and off Earth

The Irken Empire has gotten bigger

Technology is advanced and cybernetics are widely known/produced

Idk man I don’t know a lot about cyberpunk, maybe this should be more for the aesthetic

Day 5. Aesthetic

Big shrug man idk

Headcanons, thoughts.

I’m a big fan of fashion Zim, and whenever I get the chance I give him clothes that are both cute and comfortable

Galaxy print leggings are a personal favorite of mine to give him

One time I wrote a little ficlet/oneshot where he wore a skirt. I should publish that some day

Uhhhhhh okay so. Dib has veeeeeery big early 2000s emo/punk vibes tbh

Scene kid GIR always makes me laugh

Gaz could pull off pastel goth like no one’s business

I’ve been here long enough to witness emo/scene hair wig Zim and his eventual fall lmfao

Pretty much everyone that redesigned them back in the day gave Zim emo kid hair that fall perfectly over one eye it was WILD

 Day 6. What if IZ was a different Genre?

Uhhhh does “fantasy instead of scifi” count?

Potential idea maybe. (oops it ended up being a fantasy/modern magic au haha ooooops)

Instead of being an alien, I had the idea of, maybeeeeee Irkens are like. Elves maybe, or perhaps some kind of fae. (I don’t know much about fae, oops)

Okay bear with me here, this is all coming together in real time.

The Irkens (which is what I’m gonna call their clan or faction or subrace or whatever) still want to be the rulers or something over the humans/other mystical beings. This world of magic is hidden from humans and they live blissfully unaware. There are invaders all over the place, using magic and glamors to trick humans into thinking they’re also humans. Zim is one such invader and just to happens to end up in Dib’s town, whereupon he enrolls in Dib’s school, pretending to be a transfer student.

I have no idea why or how the Irkens invade or what methods they use, but since my biggest experience with elves is through DND, I’m going to say they’re functionally similar to certain DND elf races.

So anyway, Zim ends up in Dib’s class and Zim’s glamor just Doesn’t Work on Dib for whatever reason (maybe Dib passed his Wisdom saving throw while literally everyone else failed, idk) and so Dib can immediately see Zim for what he is.

Dib is still into paranormal type stuff, though in his world, he’s less about cryptids and aliens and more about the magical species/world(s) that he KNOWS exists. His big goal in his au is similar to canon in that he wants to expose it all for recognition and love from his father.

Zim, meanwhile, he just wants to prove himself, just like canon. I can’t decide how I want the Irken hierarchy to go in this au—that’s something to think about later, when I have more time—but whatever it is, Zim is either a) not very good at it, b) not suited for it, c) ridiculed for not fitting in to it, or d) a combination of any or all of these things. (or secret option e) he rejects it but has no where else to go. On the other hand, it maybe be none of these things.)

GIR is here too though he’s probably not a robot. Maybe he’s another kind of magical being, or, hell, maybe he’s just Zim’s little brother. I’d be okay with that.

Gaz can also see through glamors but she just doesn’t care. Tak shows up at some point to get revenge, and Skoodge also shows up at some point to stay with Zim and be his friend.

Zim is bad at blending in at first, but he eventually Does get better, since he’s not totally isolated from other Irkens here and he also doesn’t Look like an alien.

(I’m thinkin’ elves in this au look Mostly human but with a few differences. Since I’m biased and this is MY fantasy world, damnit, elves are just. Really Pretty. Ethereal and elegant and graceful (for the most part—there are always exceptions) and they’re also great at magic. Maybe Zim isn’t all that great at magic, I dunno. I’ll figure something out.)

This ended up being less of a genre change and more of a whole ass au, lol oops

Day 7. Role swap

Chanting: human zim au human zim au human zim au human zi

Drabble. This is for an ongoing species swap au that i’ve had in development for the last few years. i haven’t posted anything for it yet, but I’ve thought about it a lot

Dib freezes as Zim points the plastic water gun at his head. Zim’s eyes are narrowed, lips pursed, and he adjusts his grip almost nervously. Behind him, Gir is holding a bucket full of water balloons and a pair of neon green star shaped sunglasses. It’d be cute if Dib wasn’t aware of how painful Earth water is to his Irken skin.

Zim finally lowers his gun slightly. “I want some answers, alien.” He looks Dib over with critical eyes. “Who are you really, and why are you here?” He reaches back and Gir hands him a water balloon with a big smile. “And you better tell the truth or I’ll bust this over your big head.”

Dib grimaces and watches the balloon. “My name Dib, and I’m a scientist. I’m an Irken, from Irk, and I’m here to learn more about life on this planet.” He holds his hands up, hoping to placate the human gesture for surrender. “I’m not here to harm you or anyone else, promise.”

Zim huffs. “Yeah right. I bet you just came here to laugh at the locals.” He puts on a mocking voice and waves the gun and balloon as he speaks. “‘Stupid, stinking humans. They can’t even travel beyond their own moon, yet. What morons. I bet they descended from pigs with how horrible and stupid they are.’” He jams the gun against Dib’s chest. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Dib bites his lower lip and looks away. He can’t deny he hasn’t thought something similar since arriving on Earth, but Zim didn’t have to be so crude and blunt about it.

The two are at a standoff for almost a minute before Zim blows out a long sigh and steps back. He turns to put the balloon back in the bucket, gives Gir a pat on the head, and shoots Dib one last glare. “Stay away from me, Dib. I have enough problems to deal with without having to worry about whether or not it’s safe for my brother to go to school or if I need to watch my back while walking my dog.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Dib says, a little put out.

Zim scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before. I know better than to believe it.” He turns and tries to smile at Gir but it comes out a little twisted and sad. “C’mon Gir. Let’s go home and get Minimoose and take him to that dog park you like so much.”

Gir gasps and lets out a cheer. “Can we go get ice cream afterwards?”

Zim gives a little laugh, smile turning a bit more genuine. “Yeah, sounds good.”

As they walk away Dib can’t help but wonder why he ever thought Zim was an Irken himself.

#izweek2020 #invader zim #invader zim week #zim #dib #role swap #species swap #iz fantasy au #to be named later #i had nooooo idea how to write about the aesthetics prompt #it really isnt a good writing prompt #tho it's given some FANTASTIC art #i wasnt gonna do this at all bc the prompts arent very writer friendly #but i wrote the angst thing and then i wanted to write some stuff for the role swap #and now here we are #enjoy!!! #mine #kiera writes fics