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in this episode of dr ghost we learn why its monomon the teacher and not hk the teacher!
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i think it’s funny everytime i come back to this site with a different interest in hand.
*James teaching French Regulus how to salsa dance.*
*Sirius trying to teach Remus how to do the Macarena.* 
It all started with a cat
Words: 1084
Warnings: Suggestive content, no NSFW! Fluff, cursing
Bree speaks: Hi guys, this is officially my third fanfic! I got a new computer, and I am going to start writing more often. My rules and who I write for is up now too! And if you want me to turn this into a series of fanfics, or if you want me to write more about Silly!Reader and Rafe, go ahead and drop a request! Thank you for reading. MAKE GOOD CHOICES TODAY KIDDO.
“TENTH? HOW THE FUCKING SHT-” Is what Rafe could hear steps away from his room in Tannyhill.
How did he get here? Well it all started with a cat.
Rafe was doing drugs as he normally does on these nights. He was trying to quit, but Topper wouldn’t stop his bickering about how he’s a, “prude,” or that he’s becoming a little bitch.
Topper was going through a bad breakup.
That already passed ten months ago.
Sarah Cameron, kook princess, had broken up with him for pogue prince, John B. You’d think he’d get over it. But no. He was smoking weed acting like he had an extra pair of lungs.
Rafe was about to do his line of coke before he saw you. Your friends dragging you to dance. You weren’t drunk, but your favorite song was on. As it blasts through the speakers, Rafe can only hear your laughter and giggles.
Jesus, your laugh was like if the sun and sugar had a baby. So bright and so sweet.
All Rafe wanted was a quick fuck. You were beautiful, but who needs a relationship?
Everyone around him were idiots.
He couldn’t date someone so childish. But doing something else for one night? That was a different story.
Soon enough, your friends were leaving to get drinks while you stayed by and played with a stray cat.
Rafe walked up to you, not caring about Topper's whines. He stood lean and tall. Putting on his, Rafe Cameron, VIP, rich charm. That usually worked.
Usually.
The cat got scared and ran away. All he heard was a gasp and groan. “You scared him away.” Rafe looks at you, his head tilting. “Excuse me?” His eyes widen, you narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms.
Rafe could not believe his ears. You were mad at him for scaring a cat away?
“Poor little guy was skinny too.” You sigh and shake your head in disappointment. Rafe looks you up and down, confused by your reaction. Any girl on the island would be at his feet kissing them. But you? No, you were mad about a stray cat.
“How can I make it up to you?” Rafe smirks at you, thinking maybe he’s getting somewhere.
Hopefully the bedroom.
“You can go get my cat back.” You whisper sarcastically, rolling your eyes.
It was obvious you didn’t like him as much as he hoped you would. But you wouldn’t guess what happens next.
Yes, you guessed it. He got the cat.
Rafe Cameron wasn’t one to back down from a challenge, even if the challenge was for him to get a cat that scratched him on his face and had a muddy tail.
He was slowly starting to think that this wasn’t just about a challenge.
Rafe comes back, with muddy cargo shorts and blood dripping down his cheek. And a very angry orange cat.
Your eyes widen, you immediately stop talking to your friends running towards him.
“You got my cat.” You murmur, making sure it’s tail doesn’t dirty you. A soft look on your face appears. A look Rafe would kill anyone to see.
“I did.” Rafe huffs, puffing out his chest trying to seem more like a man. Though, getting beat up by a cat isn’t helping very much.
“Thank you.” Rafe smiles softly, a smile only you get now.
“Come on, let's get you cleaned up.” You smile and hold out your hand for him to take, still holding the cat.
He knows he should say no. Men like him don’t have time for relationships. But the way your smiling has him giving away his credit cards and dignity.
Rafe takes your hand and lets you ramble about the cat all day.
He didn’t know that there were so many breeds of cats.
He would never let someone he wanted to sleep with talk this much.
Because you weren’t just a one night stand, you made his night better.
If it wasn’t for you, Rafe would be getting high off whatever drug he could lay his hands on, and having sex with a girl he never would have liked sober. But you were his addiction now, sober or not.
Rafe thanks god he got beat up by that cat everyday.
Even though it started with him thinking it was a wham, bam, thank you ma’am, done deal. He was happy that it ended differently.
Sometimes.
BONUS
“TENTH? HOW THE FUCKING SHT-” Is what Rafe could hear steps away from his room in Tannyhill.
Rafe sighs and leans on his doorway.
“Rafe Jr.” You say to your cat that put you and your beautiful boyfriend together.
“I am going to murder these kids. They didn’t even get the theme! The theme was, “Me irl,” Some kid used the mermaid tail. If they’re actually a mermaid, how are they playing roblox? Huh?! On their shell-phone?” Then after the rambling about a stupid kids game (as Rafe calls it), he hears a gasp. “A shell-phone, Rafe would get a kick out of that.” No he wouldn’t. But for your sake, he’ll laugh when you tell him.
“Baby!” You yell, opening your arms to him. Which he practically runs into.
“Are you playing that dress for less game?” Rafe mumbles as he shoves his face into your chest. You thankfully don’t say anything about him being a pervert.
“Rafe, it's dress to impress and you know this. It's like me saying, "Are you playing little balls with big holes?” You grumble and turn off your ipad that Rafe had bought you after you cried saying everything is laggy.
Rafe hums and nods, acting like he understands. He doesn’t, not one bit.
“I even used the CaseOh code!” You groan. “I tried making myself on dress to impress. Even made Rafe Jr.” You sigh in defeat.
“I bet you did great, princess.” Rafe whispers before kissing you softly. You reciprocate the kiss, running your hands along his abs. Right when Rafe thinks he's going to get lucky, you pull away.
“Have I told you about my shell-phone joke?’
Sometimes he thinks that he’s going soft. He is. But he only says he's happy sometimes because he’s scared of the way you play games. Only you would scream at a game made for children.
But he wouldn’t change it for the world.
So, when somebody asks how he met his future wife, he’ll say, “It all started with a cat.”
*chan and minho texting*
Chan: where are you?
Minho: turn around
Minho: no the other way
Minho: wrong way again
Chan: minho, where exactly are you?
Minho: at home, but the thought of you turning aimlessly in circles amuses me
The sketchbook
A friend send me a fancomic of this and i died, i needed to redraw it but in color
(The original idea is not mine)
Whenever Technoblade wasn't an anarchist war hero he was the bugs bunny of the dream smp. He hid on a wanted poster of himself. He avoided a death trap by sending skeppy to go in, get exploded off camera and show up covered in ashes until he made it through. He met god and wasted a wish on a bell. Hbomb made him another death trap disguised as a playground and he made it through like it really was one. I am convinced he could have walked out of the prision if he had improvised a dress out of his cape and winked at Sam
Batman and Robin are feared in very different ways.
Batman: Gotham is quiet tonight
Batman, suspicious: too quiet
Meanwhile five blocks away:
Teen Dick: Swiper no swiping!
Criminal, crying: I'll turn myself in just please stop talking
Wrecker: Do you think I could fit fifteen marshmallows in my mouth?
Tech: You’re a hazard to society.
Crosshair: And a coward, do twenty.
sex pollen fic
Pairing: Rowan Desai & Círdan (characters in the dnd party i’m in lol)
Warnings: sex… pollen…. sex pollen… overuse of hyphens and generally inaccurate depiction of gay butt sex… dubcon? (because pollen)
A/N: this is not going to be an enriching or satisfying read to anyone who does not know these characters i’m so sorry. but still read it please :D
——————
Rowan was gone.
Círdan had awoken from his trance, looked to his right, and seen sheets thrown back on a vacant bed. Laying on the bedside table was a precariously balanced pile of leather outer armor that his unwilling roommate had shed earlier in the night, but the man himself was nowhere to be found, the slight cave in his mattress and his left-behind leathers being the only indication that he was ever even there.
Círdan stared blankly at the empty mattress for a few beats before wheels and cogs finally began to turn in his brain. He was gone. Why was he gone?
The room was completely silent.
There was an empty spot, Círdan noticed, on the table beside the pile of armor and he was positive that Rowan’s dagger had been placed there when they had first retired to the room. The paladin had entered, faced the wall, stripped himself of his protective gear, and then placed his blade on the table, and the only reason that Círdan is certain this happened is because he’d been watching the other man’s movements intently as he de-armored himself, eyes fixated on the ripples of muscle visible when he stretched his arms. When Rowan had turned slightly to the side, Círdan quickly averted his gaze, eartips burning hot with shame.
The absence of the weapon was slightly worrying — what were the chances that Rowan had gotten into genuine trouble and had to leave armed and ready to fight? But then again, he would probably take his weapon with him on a simple midnight stroll just to have it within arm’s reach. He was fine. Probably.
Círdan chose not to worry or care too much. He was not in the mood to stress himself to the point of aneurysm only for Rowan to return nonchalantly in the morning from a nice night walk around town. Plus truthfully, he doubted Rowan would give a shit if the roles in this situation were switched. If anything, a sudden disappearance on Círdan’s part would probably just fuel Rowan’s obvious, likely prejudice-based suspicions about the Drow. It was hard to miss all of the sidelong glances and glares that Rowan loved to cast Círdan’s way, the message obvious: I don’t trust you. Every other member of the ragtag group Círdan found himself working alongside had been accepting of him despite his dark lineage, but Rowan — lone wolf, self righteous, pain in the ass Rowan — was the only one to show malice of any kind. So why should he have to give half a shit where the brute had skittered off to?
The most fucked up, anger inducing aspect of it all, however, was that Rowan was a fucking looker. He was the phrase ‘tall, dark, and handsome’ personified, but with additional adjectives added on like ‘isolated’ and ‘probably kind of racist.’ If Círdan lacked self respect, there would be nothing stopping him from diving head first into fantasies about the paladin, but the case was simple: Rowan disliked Círdan and Círdan disliked him back. The occasional glances that he stole were only natural.
A sigh sounded throughout the small bedroom as he hauled himself to the edge of the bed and touched his feet to the carpeted floor. It was soft underfoot as he walked to the wide window on the far wall, running his index along the deep ridges and etched designs on the dark stained windowsill and staring out into the shadows beyond. Unlit lamps stood tall, brittle grass brushed in the wind, the streets empty — quite the stark contrast to how lively Phandalin was in the light hours. Streets bustling with life, vendors dotting the paved roads with their carts stock full of various foodstuffs and trinkets for sale. A lovely town, truly, with just the tiniest smidge of gang activity. Pros and cons. Círdan could picture himself eventually settling in a place like this, where everyone knows everyone and everyone likes everyone, for the most part. It worked for some distant, vague future he could possibly see himself in. But for now he was fine nomadic, married to a life of travel and adventure and service to Rhemus, because that’s what he had grown familiar with. It was his own little loose routine and it defined him. He half feared that settling down would make him lose his spark. That concept scared him; he resigned to not thinking about it most days, staying wholly in the present.
With one hand propping up his head, Círdan continued to stare, slipping out of reality. He stayed that way for a while, in a sort of half-trance state, before he picked up on a subtle noise — an almost imperceptible shh shh shh coming from a direction he couldn’t quite place. He blinked once, twice, before shaking his head to regain clarity. He honed in on the sound, focused hard to try and hear it again.
Shh shh. Chh.
He craned his neck back to stare at the door, nearly positive that that was where the sound was coming from. Heartbeat quickening, he stared, noticing the subtle shift of the doorknob, as if someone was struggling to enter. Círdan ghosted his hand over the dagger still attached to the belt draped across his waist.
With a creak, the door slid open painfully slowly. Instead of a criminal, it was Rowan who staggered in, and he looked like a mess. Certainly the most disheveled Círdan has ever seen him during their short tenure as colleagues — and that was saying a lot, as they’d gone through strenuous battle together.
His hair was slick with sweat at his forehead, stuck in thin strands against his skin. He was leaning against the doorframe, fists clenched, gaze downcast.
Círdan just stared, unsure of what to do or say. Clearly something was wrong with the man, but he couldn’t tell what. There were no visible wounds or tears in his garments, but his eyes were half lidded like he was on the verge of collapse.
“Rowan?”
His gaze snapped up to meet Círdan’s quickly. He looked almost startled to hear the other man speak. He didn’t respond, just stood there, hunched slightly with a heaving chest.
“Rowan?” Círdan repeated.
“You need— to leave,” Rowan finally punched out.
His voice was so strained and gravelly and genuinely urgent that Círdan felt goosebumps prickle the back of his spine.
The taller man entered the room with a stumble and headed to his bedside table. He fumbled with his waistband for a second before pulling out his dagger and placing it down. He didn’t turn around after that, stayed facing the wall behind the table, shoulders taut and full of visible tension.
“What? Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“It doesn’t matter, you— you need to go.”
Círdan was getting nervous. “Why? Is someone coming?“
“No— fuck,” Rowan cursed. His body trembled with every breath, and it was so incredibly unnatural to see a man who was normally so stoic looking like he was on the precipice of complete chaos. “Someone…. I was out…” His words were half-slurred as he tripped over them and Círdan felt urgency and dread beat harshly in his chest like a snare drum. He took a half-step back, uncertain.
“I went out…outside. Fresh air,” Rowan struggled to say, “and there was a— a Red Brand. Looking to do some kind of tradeoff, I think…” It sounded like it was taking genuine effort for him to get words out, let alone string them together coherently. He swallowed thickly, wetting his lips and turning his head slightly to the side so half of his face was revealed to Círdan. “He had these vials, was acting real sketchy. I got up, he got nervous. Emptied a— a whole vial in my face.”
“So… what?” Círdan asked, fidgeting with his sleeve nervously. “What was in the vial?”
Rowan didn’t answer, just turned his head back to stare blankly at the wall. He was relatively still, the only indicator of his inner turmoil being his hands gripping the edges of the table hard, knuckles white from the force of it.
“Rowan?“ Círdan prompted again. Silence was bad. Maybe it was poison. Maybe he was about to keel over and fucking die on the dusty inn floor.
“You need to leave,” Rowan repeated darkly.
“Stop fucking saying that. Tell me what was in the vial.”
“This is so– fucking stupid.” Rowan turned fully then. He looked frantic in the way a caged animal would be. “Why is it so important for you to know every little detail? Why can’t you just listen to me?” Beads of sweat slid down his neck, collecting on his already damp undershirt.
Círdan would have been pissed at his tone if the circumstances were different, but the pure desperation in the other man’s voice amplified his worry tenfold.
“I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me,” he said.
“You don’t want to help,” Rowan huffed, voice lifting at the end of his short sentence, almost like he was holding back a dry laugh.
“I do.”
“No, you don’t understand. You don’t… shit—“ Rowan’s voice cracked at the curse and he wrenched his gaze away, staring at the floor. He almost looked embarrassed with just how flushed and sweaty he was and his newfound aversion to eye contact. Rowan brought a hand quickly down to the waistband of his pants to fidget with it, and it was then when Círdan noticed.
There was a bulge in Rowan’s pants.
He stared.
Rowan breathed heavily, looked back up, immediately seeming to notice the line of sight Círdan had adopted.He turned slightly sideways in what was likely an attempt to cover his erection and regain his decency.
An incredibly awkward silence smothered the two before Rowan cleared his throat. “Aphrodisiac,” he said, curt with the delivery of the word and visibly uncomfortable.
Círdan would have laughed — he almost did, at the absurdity of it. He had no idea how to even begin to process this information, so he just took another step back and offered a quiet “oh.”
“I think it was crushed myllum root. It… has a smell to it, and— shit… you need to go.”
Embarrassment crept its way up the Drow’s spine like a vine snaking up an abandoned building. All this time, Rowan had been practically begging him to leave so he could fucking relieve himself, and Círdan had stayed, continued pestering the guy as liquid sex was pumping throughout his body.
“What, uh— what are you going to do?” Círdan stammered, and he hit himself mentally for asking. For not just making a beeline to the door and getting himself out of the situation. He didn’t know why he felt so compelled to stay and work through this situation like it was anything that concerned him.
“Fuck, Círdan,” Rowan said, “you need to go.”
Círdan’s heart stuttered at that, the way his name sounded being pushed out of Rowan’s mouth in a plea. He took note of the raw desperation, and wondered what was going through the paladin’s head. What he’d do if Círdan stayed.
Slow steps took the Drow closer to Rowan’s shuddering form. He put up a hand to halt his approach.
“No,” he pushed out, but the previous conviction in his tone was gone. He stared down at Círdan, the only thing between the two being the taller man’s raised arm.
Círdan stopped, stayed still for a few beats as he contemplated how to phrase his thoughts. “I can help you,” he said, “if you want.”
Rowan didn’t answer. Or move. Círdan wasn’t sure if he was even breathing.
“Rowan.”
Still, silence.
As seconds ticked by, the tension in the room shifted from that of the sexual kind to the devastatingly awkward kind, and it was so stifling that Círdan had to take a step back. Rowan kept staring at him with blown pupils, brows stitched together in what could have been pain, or lust, or embarrassment – or a very uncomfortable mix of the three.
Cirdan opened his mouth to say something, but any and all words had fled his mind. He felt embarrassed now, standing there aimlessly as he desperately searched for words to repair the state of the situation. Obviously he’d crossed some boundary; he had not been thinking straight, and had made things worse for all parties involved. Now that the heat of the moment had subsided, and Cirdan had the time to actually think about his actions, he realized that maybe what he’d done was totally, out-of-this-world fucked up. Rowan – his half-acquaintance, half-enemy – had stumbled into the room with brain and body addled by aphrodisiac, and the only way Cirdan had thought to help was to essentially force himself on the drugged man. Fuck.
“Look–” he started, “I think… I’m sorry if I– if I overstepped, in any way. I– Shit, I thought – Well, I don’t know what I thought–”
“Fuck. Shut up.”
Cirdan immediately stopped his rambling, mind going blank at the unexpected interruption.
Rowan, with his chest still heaving, took a step forward, and something had changed. Cirdan could tell through key subtleties that something was different: Rowan held himself up straighter, had unclenched his fists, and his eyes – they looked almost fucking predatory with how they stared unwaveringly at Cirdan’s frozen form.
“Just – go to the bed.”
“Rowan?” Círdan croaked with a suddenly dry mouth. “No, no, it’s okay, you really don’t have to—“
“Fucking shut up. Bed.”
Never in Círdan’s life had his heartbeat been so erratic. Never had his blood rushed so loudly in his ears. Also — never had he been this embarrassingly stiff in his pants. He half-thought that all of this was some fabrication created by his mind and that he’d blink awake to soon realize that none of this was real.
When Círdan made no effort to move, still in visible shock, Rowan stormed toward him. Within mere moments, Círdan was being shoved back and downwards onto Rowan’s mattress, with enough force to knock the air out of his lungs. The taller man towered over the Drow in silence for a moment, perhaps contemplating, perhaps preparing himself, but before long he was back in motion, and it was almost too much. He shoved his knee between Círdan’s thighs so it rested snug against his crotch and brought a large hand down to firmly grasp his face, so tight it burned. Círdan could feel the heat radiating off of Rowan’s body, and was aware of his own temperature rising due to raw lust alone. His cock throbbed within the confines of his pants and the unrelenting pressure of Rowan’s knee was not helping at all. They’d just begun doing whatever this was and he already felt like he was on the verge of orgasm.
“F-Fuck, Rowan—,”
“Shh.”
Rowan’s grip on Círdan’s face got impossibly tighter. His hand trembled slightly.
“P-Pretty,” he muttered as he stared down.
Círdan’s heart stuttered in his chest. He tried to not think about how intimate this all felt. He knew it wasn’t Rowan’s intention to spew such strangely soft words at him, that this was all the work of the pollen. Some place deep within him ached and he did not want to go down the road of pondering why, did not want to open that can of worms. He opted for clutching Rowan’s shirt and pulling him down, overwhelmed by the sudden urge to have this onslaught of negative thoughts fucked out of existence.
Instead of succumbing to Círdan’s will, Rowan held his ground. He did not allow himself to be pulled downwards; he darted up to snag Círdan’s wandering hand and pin it down to the bed above his head.
“N-Not yet,” he said, sounding feverish. He adjusted himself so his knee was no longer pressed against Círdan’s dick, replacing it with his hand, palming him rough through his pants.
“F—fuck,” Círdan whimpered. Through his pleasure bled confusion; he’d assumed that sex with someone under the heavy influence of an aphrodisiac would be quick and to-the-point, the goal being reaching orgasm as fast as possible. But Rowan was taking painfully long to get to the point, relishing in foreplay instead of just fucking him like Círdan thought they had both desperately wanted. Círdan didn’t want to cum before the two had the chance to actually fuck, and it was starting to feel like he might.
Rowan’s touching did not cease. He kept on rubbing and teasing Círdan through his pants and grunting in response to every moan and mewl. He dropped the hand he had pinned and went to pull Círdan’s pants down, revealing his bulge in his underwear. The imprint of his dick against the fabric was clear as day, with a spot of wetness where his tip strained against it. Rowan ran his thumb along the tip over and over, watching as the spot got darker and wider by the second. Círdan bucked his hips up slightly with every run of Rowan’s finger.
“Rowan— fuck, Rowan, please—“
“Ple—please what?” Rowan’s voice cracked as he spoke, and when Círdan looked down, he saw that Rowan had taken to rubbing himself through his own pants. The sight alone almost made Círdan finish.
“Fuck— just… just fuck me already.”
Rowan groaned at that, but he didn’t listen. He made no move to flip Círdan over. What he did do, however, was momentarily stop his movements to hook his finger under the seam of Círdan’s underwear, and so frustratingly slowly, tug downwards until his dick was free of any restraints. Círdan felt his face go warm and he was acutely aware of the rapid rise and fall of his chest and stomach as he took quick, embarrassed breaths. Cum was leaking out of his tip and down his cock in thin wet lines as he twitched from sensitivity and lack of stimulation. It no longer mattered to him whether he was fucked or just touched — all he knew was that he desperately needed to cum.
“Please…” he whined.
Rowan was panting like an animal. He threw Círdan’s underwear somewhere off to the side and brought a large hand up to his length, brushing his thumb along the wetness. Círdan shuddered.
“Fuck,” Rowan muttered. He brought his hand forward slightly more and closed it around Círdan’s shaft, giving a few experimental pumps. The sound Círdan let out was guttural. His eyes screwed shut, his head fell back against the bed, his entire body clenched up so insanely tight he felt like he could snap in half from the tension. Rowan breathed heavy, going faster with his movements. “Yeah? You— you like that?” he asked, voice laced with lust. Círdan didn’t answer. He barely even processed the question with how clouded his brain was — he just bucked his hips upwards continuously, chasing the orgasm he felt steadily approaching. His lower half felt like it was burning and he was close, he was so, so, so close, he felt the muscles in his lower body contract in preparation, but then—
All at once, it stopped. The sensations ceased, the pleasure ceased. Círdan felt his heart stutter in devastation at the loss of touch. His dick was painfully hard and leaking a steady stream of precum. When he opened his eyes to figure out why Rowan had stopped, he saw that the other man had propped himself up on his knees further back on the bed. Frustration ran harsh through Círdan’s body. “Why’d you—“
“Flip over,” Rowan interrupted bluntly. A wave of arousal crested and crashed in Círdan’s stomach at the command, followed by an even larger wave of indignation. He didn’t want to comply, his mind was too fogged, too focused on immediate release. His mouth opened again to form a retort, but before any sound left his throat, Rowan was back to making demands. “Flip over,” he repeated darkly, bringing his hand down to tightly grip Círdan’s thigh so hard it hurt. Círdan sucked in a quick gasp of air at the pain.
“Or do you want me to do it for you?” Rowan continued after another stretch of silence. He left no time for a response: as soon as the demand left his mouth he was moving, wedging a strong arm under the small of Círdan’s back and hauling him upwards so he was in a half-sitting position. After that it was quick as lightning, the singular, effortless, rather aggressive motion it took for Rowan to flip Círdan over so his face and chest were flush to the mattress and his ass was pointed up. Rowan’s hand pressed down hard on the top of Círdan’s back.
“Fuck— ow—“ Círdan exclaimed, voice muffled.
Rowan did not relent in his force. He kept one hand holding Círdan down, and used the other to start undoing his own belt buckle.
Círdan was breathing in heavy pants born of mingled pain and pleasure. He shifted his legs slightly to try to get into a more comfortable position, but it was hard when Rowan was holding him down so intensely. He heard the clinking and shuffling stop behind him and felt his heart race with anticipation.
“Fuck,” Rowan breathed, voice thick with a desperate kind of lust Círdan had never encountered before. “T-Tell me you want it.”
Círdan felt his dick twitch at the words; he was so worked up he could cry. “I-I want it, Rowan. Please, please.”
“Fuck—“ Rowan sputtered. He edged slightly forward so the fronts of his thighs brushed against Círdan’s ass. It took a few more moments of adjustment and fiddling with his fly, but soon, Rowan’s dick was pressing hard against Círdan’s skin.
“R-Ready?” Rowan asked. He lined the head of his dick up with Círdan’s hole.
“Yes, yes, just fuck me already—“
Rowan pushed his hips forward. He went halfway in, paused for a moment, perhaps to adjust to the newfound tightness, and then seconds later was all the way in, balls pressed tight up against Círdan’s ass.
Círdan felt drunk with pleasure and pain and every other feeling the elven body was capable of experiencing. Rowan’s dick was huge, and it hurt, and it felt amazing, and Círdan was already so close to finishing that he had to coil the muscles in his lower abdomen to dissuade the ever-approaching wave of orgasm.
“F—Fuck — Rowan…” Círdan cried out. He was trying to thrust his own hips forward to give his dick some much needed friction, but Rowan’s force made it impossible. He could not do anything more than lay there and take it.
“Shh—shit, baby,” Rowan pushed through clenched teeth, “fuck— take it, take it…”
Círdan felt his eyes water from pure stimulation. Never in a million years would he have guessed that this is how the night was going to go, with him being fucked deep on an inn mattress by a man he so desperately wanted to dislike. His eyes were screwed shut on account of the fact that they would probably be crossed had he opened them, and he was pushing back onto Rowan’s dick to the best of his ability, wanting him deeper and harder.
“Fuck—ing s-slut,” Rowan slurred. “Wanted— wanted this since I first — shit — first saw you.”
The admission made Círdan’s stomach churn with arousal and something else, something dangerous.
“Prett—y thing, fucking annoying little…” His voice trailed off into more pants and grunts. He was close, Círdan could tell. His thrusts were getting sloppier, his sounds more frantic.
“Fuck— Círdan…”
Círdan knew the sound of his name on the paladin’s lips would not soon leave his mind. He felt like crying for ten million separate reasons, the most significant one being his too-potent pleasure, his desperate desire for release. He was on the edge.
“Fuck. Fuck, I’m gonna—“
The feeling of Rowan’s warm cum spilling inside of him was all it took for Círdan to come undone. His orgasm hit him like a tidal wave: he let out a loud groan and bucked his hips wildly onto the bedsheet, relishing in the feeling of his own seed painting the bed below him. Rowan was still fucking him, messily now, with unsteady thrusts and a loosened grip.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Rowan repeated as he neared the end of his climax. He began to slow his movements gradually until he came to a complete stop.
Círdan’s orgasm used up any energy that had been left in him. He laid still on the bed like a ragdoll, ass pointed upwards and full of Rowan’s cum.
After a beat, Rowan slid himself out. He got off of Círdan and collapsed on the mattress beside him, apparently just as spent and exhausted. They laid there in silence in their own mess of sweat and semen, eyes closed, not acknowledging one another at all as they regained their senses.
Now that Círdan’s throbbing arousal was ebbing, he had time to really think about what had just happened and the potential repercussions of it. This could have very well ruined everything. There was a good chance that now that the pollen had left Rowan’s system, he would realize this whole thing was a big, irreversible mistake. His heart rate quickened at the thought, and he was suddenly consumed by the overwhelming urge to be made privy to everything that was going on in Rowan’s mind. He looked over to the paladin, noticing he was staring blankly at the ceiling.
“So…” Círdan spoke out into the silence. He shifted himself so he was no longer on his stomach but facing Rowan with his head propped up on his arm.
Rowan did not reply.
“So,” Círdan repeated, “do you, uh— Well, that was—“
“We— don’t have to talk about it.”
Círdan felt a pang of embarrassment. This had definitely ruined everything. He began to formulate the first draft of a departure plan in his head, because surely he’d need to find an entirely new circle of people, adopt a new way of life far, far away so he would not have to think about any of this ever again. “Right, yeah,” he said. He blinked away stinging tears and cursed himself for even having tears to blink away in the first place. “Sorry if this fucked things up.”
Rowan turned his head to the side and looked at Círdan. Círdan looked back and noticed a slight frown on his face. They just stared at each other for a second.
Rowan cleared his throat. “It was good,” he said. “It— You helped. Thank you.” His tone was the gentlest Círdan had ever heard it. A flight of butterflies erupted in his stomach, and he was at a loss for words for what felt like the tenth time that night.
Círdan let out a short breath of relief. “I’m glad I could help.”
Rowan gave back the slightest smirk, but it was gone within a fraction of a second.
He turned back to face the ceiling.
“Probably gonna interfere with work, though,” he said, voice back to being all monotone and disinterested like usual.
“Yeah, maybe,” Círdan replied with a smile, and for the first time in a while, he felt content.
they should make a version of my life where everything didn't go horribly wrong when I was 14
The Monsters from Tellawna-4
This has been a draft in my docs since a year and ten days ago 😅😅😬 But here! Have a fic with Tech, Hunter, and Omega as the main cast!
Context: This is set in season 1 of The Bad Batch. Also, semi incorporates an au where Tech is physically younger than the others because a "glitch" of his experimentation stopped his accelerated aging factor at 5 (phys. 10) years old. So he's about 16 here even though he should be like 22-24. I plan/planned on writing a rewrite of season 1 from Tech's perspective in this au, I only have the first two episodes "done." This is therefore a deleted scene of sorts that'd fit in there somewhere
Summary: Hunter and Tech introduce Omega to the monsters that live aboard their ship.
Word Count: 1457
Warning: This is a tickle fic
Hunter watched Tech with a furrowed brow. To anyone else, his vod’ika would look fine as he sat in the co-pilot seat of their ship, one leg curled up to his chest to support his datapad while the other acted as an anchor for him to swing gently back and forth; the picture of relaxed. His brother’s words, however, betrayed this tranquility. Tech was info-dumping, borderline rambling, about the wildlife of the planet they were on. That in itself was normal for him, but the rapid fire facts going on for this long worried Hunter. That typically meant Tech was distracting himself, which meant Tech was stressed or tired or worried. Their lives had been nothing but chaos the past couple of months and it hurt to see that it was getting to his brother. Hunter couldn’t let him carry on much longer.
“What about invasive species?” Tech perked up at Hunter’s question. “What would a creature like, oh I don’t know, the one from Tellawna-4 do here?” His brother stiffened. Hunter, who tried to school his features, continued.
“Because I am pretty sure it’s stowed away on the ship again.” Before Tech could even protest, another voice piped up.
“There’s a creature on the ship?” Both of them turned to see Omega, clad in pajamas and holding Lula, probably coming to say goodnight. But now, her eyes were wide in excitement, looking expectantly between the two.
“Yes!” Hunter beat him to it. “We keep trying to shake it but somehow it follows us from planet to planet and gets on board.”
“Really? What’s it look like?”
“It’s very sneaky, hard to get a good look. But I’d say it’s fairly big, can walk on its hind legs if it wants. Its arms are great for capturing its prey, right Tech?” Tech just gave a shrug, trying to ward off his and Omega’s attention.
“Its prey? Is it dangerous?” Hunter couldn’t help the way the corner of his mouth quirked up.
“Hmmm, it can be. This creature is a tricky thing. Never strikes the same way. Sometimes it waits and pounces, other times it lures in prey with sounds.”
“Woah, what else does it do?”
“Well it doesn’t just devour its prey immediately. It’ll tire them out first, doesn’t it Tech? You can typically hear the prey from a distance because of it.” By this point, Tech had pulled up both of his legs to his chest and was watching Hunter’s every move, every little gesture, waiting for him to pounce. Hunter smiled.
“Tech knows all about this creature, don’t you Tech? He says that sometimes this creature teams up with others of its kind to corner their prey.” Hunter threw a wink in Tech’s direction as Omega turned towards him.
“Mm-hmm.” Tech swallowed. “They employ both hunting tactics here. One attracts the prey with the sounds they emit while the other strikes from behind.”
Omega squeaked as a hand dug into her stomach. She squirmed and thrashed, nearly doubled-over as Hunter, it was Hunter’s hand, continued to wiggle his fingers into her midriff. Giggles started pouring out of her mouth, Omega couldn’t seem to stop them. She had been tickled before, Wrecker had introduced her, but it was still so new. She didn’t quite know what to do. It did not take long for her legs to tremble and Hunter quickly caught her in one arm and stood from his seat, hand never stopping as he lowered them to the ground.
“You see Omega, this creature from Tellawna isn’t just any ordinary animal. It’s the tickle monster, and you seem to have been caught by two.” He looked over at Tech, who slowly unfurled himself from his protective position and sat down on Omega’s other side. With a tentative smile and an encouraging nudge from Hunter, he squeezed Omega’s knee.
“Thahahat’s mehehean!”
“Mean? Was it mean when that dragon took our power cell? Or when a tooka catches a mouse? They are just getting something to eat. And likewise, this catch will be a very nice meal for the two of us.” Omega didn’t answer Hunter, she just kept laughing.
Tech, for his part, was nearly never on this side of tickling. When they were younger yes, but as they got older, and his brothers got bigger, Tech stopped daring to do so. It was always a fight he knew he’d lose. So while he wasn’t a stranger to doing this, Tech was no longer used to being in this position. But what did he have to be nervous about? That he’d tickle Omega incorrectly? Tech tried to shake off his strangely timed fears.
Squeezing Omega’s knee seemed to be working well enough, but reaching behind to scratch at the back, that elicited a squeak. Tech had to bite down a laugh of his own at her reaction and did it again, rewarded with another squeak and stream of giggles. Hunter was smiling too, watching Omega (and Tech out of the corner of his eye) with immense fondness. She was very wiggly, not knowing what to do or how to escape. Hunter used that to his advantage, tickling one side of her ribs and letting her wiggle away into his other awaiting hand.
Tech decided to make matters worse for Omega and scribbled his fingers into her sides. Omega seemed to give up on squirming as means of escape and instead tried to curl up, grabbing at their hands.
“Now that just won’t do. Tech, can you take care of that?” Understanding his brother’s idea, Tech crawled up to the doorway of the cockpit to sit next to Omega’s head. Taking her wrists in one hand, he clawed his other into her underarm.
Omega threw her head back and began to kick. Hunter, sitting in the danger zone, likewise changed course and grabbed her ankles with one hand and scribbled fingers up her soles. Both Hunter and Tech kept their tickling light, spidering their fingers over Omega’s tickle spots. They didn’t want to tire her out too badly. The tickling lasted only a couple minutes more, Tech skittering his fingers down to Omega’s hip and back as Hunter wiggled a finger against her arches. Both brothers knew to stop when Omega seemed to accept her fate and melt into the floor.
“Hey Hunter, aren’t we forgetting something?”
“W-whahat could yo-you possibly be forgetting?”
“No, Tech’s right. We need to decide what to eat.”
“Eat?!” Omega exclaimed. “Eat how?”
“Oh,” came a voice from behind Tech, “like this.” Tech was lifted from the ground and wrapped into a large set of arms. He couldn’t help but squeal as a raspberry was blown into his neck, laughing as his attacker rubbed their stubble over the spot.
“You see Omega,” Hunter explained as Wrecker pinned Tech next to her, “sometimes tickle monsters will team up against themselves.” His grin was borderline wicked as he watched Tech get taken down oh so much like Omega as Wrecker’s hand vibrated into his tummy. Unlike Omega, Tech went to shield his ever-reddening face rather than fight back.
“So,” Wrecker chirped, “dinner?”
“Dinner,” Hunter agreed before he and Wrecker took dramatic breaths and blew a cacophony of raspberries into both their tummies. The cockpit echoed not only with the silly sounds of the ultimately ticklish torture method, but also childish laughter as Omega and Tech were overpowered by two evil tickle monsters.
The tickling stopped suddenly as both monsters let out a short yell and flinched away from their victims. Omega and Tech glanced up to see their savior, Echo, digging his hand and scomp between Wrecker’s and Hunter’s ribs.
“I think they’ve had enough.” Echo declared. His expression told them all his decision was final, though the look in his eyes betrayed his utter amusement. Wrecker sighed.
“Bedtime.” He scooped Omega and Lula up into his arms and carried her down to the gunner’s mount with the promise that everyone would stop by to say their goodnights. Echo and Hunter seemed to be having a silent conversation which Tech knew he was the subject of. It ended with a nod and a wave goodnight from Echo, leaving just Hunter and Tech in the cockpit once again.
Hunter stood and shut the door, giving them the tiniest bit of privacy on their small ship as Tech sat up, finally getting himself composed after that surprise attack.
“So…” Hunter started, “you’ve talked a lot today, but I don’t think you’ve been saying what’s really on your mind.” Tech shrugged in response.
“I promise no more monsters tonight so,” he reached towards Tech with grabby hands, the clear indication for cuddles, “how ‘bout we talk, truly talk.” And how could Tech say no to that?
~~~~~~~~~~~
Can you tell I just wanted it done there at the end? 😅 But, I hope you all enjoyed!
I don't know if that season 1 rewrite will ever see the light of day (aka ao3) but a little bit of Tech's feelings on his age can be found in chapter 4 of this fic I wrote here. (I have thoughts and opinions about this au and their canon ages that I want to talk about if that's not obvious.)
Three Times Happy [Tony/Peter]
A/N: I thought I was going to sleep, but then I was not and wrote this. (Haha my Dutch friends would sarcastically say: GOOD STORY).
Anyways what follows after this is just some Tony and Peter family fluff cuz why not. Post- Infinity War because I’ve got my own reality stone, yeh byez :D xD Thnx @lizzyfish225 for the prompt! Had to change it a lil bit but hope you like it.
Summary: Tony has to deal with a sad sulky Peter in his car, and he’s not having it. He will cheer him up, in his own way. (Platonic, duhh)
Word Count: 1784
“Hey, kid? Come on now. We saved him together,” Tony said to the sulking teen who was sitting next to him in the car, but no positive result came from it.
Not even a tiny smile. Just everything a sulky kid could do to make an adult feel bad: arms crossed in front of his chest, hanging shoulders, hanging head, dark aura poisoning the car and a frown that looked like it could stay on his forehead forever if he wouldn’t quit this real soon.
“Pete..” Tony shook his head and uncomfortably pressed his hand against his own mouth, trying to find words to cheer him up with. It wasn’t that he could help it. Alright, just, since all the events in space, Peter vanishing and then un-vanishing and all that, just the awful fear of getting Peter in danger, losing him again, eh well yeah.
Just… Very long story short: Tony now kind of spied on him like 24/7, and if it wasn’t him it was his newest suit doing it, specially made for protecting teenage superhero sons of which he only had one.
And well, today they found Spider-Man going into some serious danger zone that definitely could not be counted as friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man activities, no like real death- danger. So yeah of course Peter couldn’t handle it, he’s good but this was real Avenger stuff. Adult Avenger with a lot of experience- stuff.
So result was that Tony had to save both Peter and the man he was saving after which Tony + Peter-Protection-Suit joined and finished the fight.
It wasn’t thanks to Peter, no, that the man got saved (well maybe indirectly because Peter’s presence lured Tony out of his lab to save them). But it also wasn’t thanks to Peter that the man who needed saving was now in the hospital with serious injury. And in a coma, minor detail.
Keep reading
optimus with ticklish little finials grghrhghrhhghhhr.....
AAAAA YESYESYES!!
CANON and you can’t convince me otherwise (*^^*)
My brain wouldn't let me sleep until I drew this, so...have a rough lee!Ford sketch ig
Apparently leaning backwards over the side of your top bunk while reading a thesaurus isn't the best position after all. I mean, really Ford, did you simply forget your devious opportunist of a twin?
⚠️My art, please reblog but do not repost⚠️
whats the opposite of a blorbo. a character you hate and love to shake around with your teeth like an insane little dog with a squeaky plush toy. i wish there was a word for it bc thats me with belos