i write sometimes

hi there you can call me nero and i do drabbles and fics. please send in requests, they are my lifeblood c:

[ricklesintime]

high for this

Miami RickMorty songfic (dedicated to @rois-demain @wubbalubbabullshit and the sinpais, you inspire me ♥) Content warnings: drug use, underage, incest, tripping ballsacks, disorientation, slight power play, brief breath control, brief emeto, general nsfw (semi-slow build!) 

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[ricklesintime]

Prompt: Jerry or Beth sees Morty has a hickey? Hilarity ensues? (Rick/Morty)

tysm for the prompt ;*marked-up frustrated morty under the cut ♥♥

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[nerowrites]

Garnidot massage? Fluffy or smutty, whatever works!

i am absolutely here for this thank u sm for this idea ♥💚 ((also sorry it isnt all massage butttt >///<

The last time she had let her guard down, her physical form had been taken away with a sudden, violent squeeze. All she had known about life outside of her gem had been stolen in an instant, and suddenly she was and wasn’t aware of what she was. Her limbs itched, but they weren’t there, and her mind was terrifyingly clear and unstimulated. The tiny green gem remembered fear and nothingness among other things as she waited in her gem, nearly screaming at the chance to regenerate if she had had a mouth. 

Ever since that day, Peridot had been cautious around absolutely anything she didn’t recognize, and especially so around the things she did. These Crystal Gems were constantly reassuring that they would not hurt her, and they often refrained from reaching in her direction, seeing as it made her jumpy. For that she was appreciative yet apprehensive. These gems were not to be trusted by their word, rebels as they were. 

 Her days were spent conversing from a comfortable distance, working alongside them, and eventually learning the joys of teenage drama series with Steven. Over time she learned to accept that these people weren’t going to hurt her, despite her body having been contrition end to twitch and jerk away from initial contact. Everyone understood her boundaries, but it seemed like one of them was willing to try and chip away at them. 

 It started forward enough, with Peridot being unsuccessful in a sudden suggestion to fuse with the permaf- with Garnet. The thought threw her off guard. Peridots were absolutely NOT fusion gems. They were grown to be scouts, data organizers, lab tech. The little lime stones weren’t exactly any kind of foreseeable benefit in fusion, and the notion never even crossed her mind before she came across Garnet. The mere thought alone made her feel as though she was breaking some sort of unspoken rule, and it scared her how much she was compelled to break it. 

 In the long run, she wasn’t ready for something so intimate with a gem she hadn’t known a month before. The topic was left to float in the air as an option she was able to suggest at any point but never had to bring up again if she wasn’t comfortable. This kind of respect was another thing that threw off the little gem. She spent days in the sienna gem’s company, appreciating that she could rant about damn near anything and she would be heard, acknowledged, and occasionally patted on the head or shoulders about should she get too riled up. The relationship slowly put her at ease, enough so that she was rarely surprised by receiving these enter physical praises. 

On this particular day, Peridot was hanging off the side of the couch (that Steven had insisted moving to the loft for her) with the top of her triangular-poof hair supporting her head, passionately mumbling as she re-watched the second episode of her favorite series. This had to have been the tenth time she’d seen it, but this time it was upside down, and this was apparently a game changer. As she mouthed along to the script she made heated little motions with her hands, enthralled with the early-season drama. 

She was so immersed in the scene, eyes squeezed shut as she bit out a rather cutting line, that she didn’t notice as her silent companion scooted up next to her. It wasn’t until she felt a gentle hand steady one of her passionately kicking legs that the little gem realized she wasn’t alone. She jerked slightly, throwing off her balance and ultimately flipping her off the couch. 

“Aaa-!” 

Thankfully the fluffy pyramid of hair she had took the brunt of the fall, though she did win up doing a full backwards somersault, landing on her stomach and knocking the breath out of her. Garnet wasn’t cruel enough to laugh, though she did crack a brief smile as she stooped to pick the frazzled gem up and set her back on the couch, on her butt this time. 

“Ought to be more careful Peri,” Garnet chided, gently patting the frizzy pyramid of hair. “We don’t want you getting hurt.” 

“I-I was being careful. I /meant/ to do that. Evasive maneuver..” 

Through her continued disorientation, Peridot blinked hard and scrunched up her brow. She still wasn’t quite used to being an individual, let alone one who was cared for. Despite her perplexity, the smaller gem did lean against the strong fingers now scratching at her hairlines. 

The scritches continued quietly as Peridot returned her attention to Camp Pining Hearts. Garnet appreciated these moments, where she was allowed to just pat and scratch and generally share her love. Sometimes it just overflowed to the point where she absolutely needed to give, and Peridot having shown up was a blessing in a very, VERY convincing disguise. The little gem needed every form of affection out there and then some, and Garnet couldn’t very well refrain from providing it. 

As the episode played out, Peridot fidgeted and mouthed along with it as she had been before, though now she was hugged up against Garnet’s chest and cushioned between her powerful yet soft legs. Her little fingers drummed on Garnet’s thigh and she leaned forward, unconsciously trying to get closer to the screen like a child might do. She was gently eased back by her shoulders on either side, thumbs circling her shoulder blades and digging in to ease the protesting muscles beneath. 

Though her excited little heart wanted to be closer to the fantasy summer camp, she couldn’t deny that whatever was going on was very calming. Peridot was a very on-edge gem, and the gentle circular presses working up her neck absolutely melted her resolve. It was a marvel that those hands, designed for war and destruction, were so compassionate. And now those battle-ready palms were the exact thing that put her at ease and tore her attention from her favorite pastime. 

Her head slowly lost all will to hold itself up, which wasn’t a problem, considering Garnet cradling the base of her neck between two loving hands. She worked her fingers into the mint skin slowly, undoing a lifetime’s worth of stress one centimeter at a time. The epidermis flushed the lightest shade of lime as burgundy palms ground down her neck and onto the clefts of her narrow shoulders. Tiny green goosebumps rose, and Garnet did her best to soothe those as well, the Ruby bit of her warming her hands enough to ease away the chill. 

Peridot was absolutely reeling by then, and if those cozy fingers weren’t enough to melt her completely, Garnet deemed this as a perfect moment to lean forward a bit and press her lips (even warmer than her hands) against the back of Peridot’s very green neck. A full bodied yelp jumped out of her, her hands balling into fists against Garnet’s leg. She didn’t yank away, in fact she shank closer into the larger gem’s chest, but the affection was overloading her system. 

Garnet took this as a sign to slow it down, nudging her nose once on Peri’s neck and running her hands lovingly down Peridot’s arms and letting them rest wrapped around her stomach. She continued to radiate heat and a generally warm aura as she tapped her fingers on the soft tummy that inhaled and exhaled against her. 

“You know, it doesn’t bother me. The thing with your dental buffers that was happening,” Peridot mumbled, having started trying to mimic the calming movements with her own stubby fingers on Garnet’s thighs. “I’d go so far as to say it was.. an appreciated gesture,.” 

This was enough to get another smile out of Garnet, her heart feeling squeezed with affection. Unable to really contain herself much more, she loosened her grip on Peridot’s sides and picked her up enough to spin her around. Another surprised noise later and the smaller gem was faced with a very happy Garnet pressing her lips to the glimmering gem in front of her without hesitation. Peridot yelped again, though this time it was accompanied by a goofy smile. 

The noises coming from the tiny gem were golden. Garnet smooched at her gem, cheeks, chin and even over he visor. There wasn’t an inch of minty green face that went unaffected by Garnet’s kiss barrage. Peridot squealed, pressing her palms to the firm shoulders before here, which were shivering with laughter just as she was. She squeezed and ducked her head, unable to take it any longer. Tears practically dripped from her tealish eyes as they welled and overflowed, snorts and coughs of jittery laughter still falling from her throat. 

After that brief moment of recuperation Peridot swooped her head back up, bravely placing her first ever kiss to Garnet’s upturned nose. This elicited a positively jovial “Hah!” from the tol gem, letting her visor dissipate so she could fully grin at her little friend. She was again rubbing at Peridot’s sides, this time with happy, quick scratches and squeezes. 

“I love you, Peridot,” Garnet cooed, moving her hands to cup flushed green cheeks and gently press her gems into the hot skin. “We love you.” 

[nerowrites]

What would be really nice is some pearlmethyst foreplay. Just them lovin eachother and trying to turn the other on as much as possible (bc even romantically they're both very competitive)

“We shouldn’t be doing this…”

It had all started a while back, specifically the weekend Garnet was Beyond Pissed™ and went with Greg and Steven to stay in Keystone. The two smaller gems had hung back to give their leader space, and to be sure no gem monsters popped up during their absence.For the most part, Amethyst was glad for the peace and lack of constant tension. She couldn’t stand unspoken conflict, and she was starting to teeter on the edge of being able to handle being in the house with the both of them. She was technically on Pearl’s side if she had to pick, since she understood better than anyone how good it felt to be as strong and loved as she was when together with Garnet. Nonetheless, she said nothing, letting the first few hours they had together in the house pass in relative silence.

Both realized they had their own rooms and could really go anywhere they pleased, but there was something comforting about another presence when feelings were so on edge. So Pearl cleaned out the refrigerator meticulously, setting anything expired on the counter. Amethyst helped by taking whatever humans deemed ‘unsafe’ and munching on it as she watched her friend from her perch on the island.

They went on like this for a half hour, and spent the rest of daylight with Pearl finding menial tasks and chores with Amethyst trailing her and trying to make comments odd enough to get a response, any response. 

As the moon began to peek it’s way through the dense blue sky, Pearl seemed to relax. Her nitpicking had slowed to fixing Steven’s bed and arranging the few stuffed animals he had. She even smiled the ghost of a smile as Amethyst gently plopped onto the bed, effectively ruining the perfectly tucked comforter she had been worrying earlier. For as irritating as it usually was to her, Pearl thoroughly appreciated the distractions her friend was offering. She allowed the smile to continue playing on her lips as she daintily set herself down on the opposite side of the bed, her back facing the other gem.

“Thank you,” she breathed, as if finally speaking was a physical relief to her lungs.

For once Amethyst took her time in replying. She needed this to go well, she couldn’t ruin this with a comment that could possibly put the other off. So she turned from her side of the bed and scooted against Pearl’s back, hooking her legs and arms around her middle and burying her nose affectionately against a cold back. Pearl didn’t react much at all, simply stiffening in surprise and gradually letting her tense muscles be smoothed by idly rubbing fingers.

“You deserve this, P,” Amethyst mused quietly. “You gotta relax, let your head get outta here for a while.”

Pearl hummed in disagreement, moving to drum her fingers against Amethyst’s calves. She wasn’t given time for more of a verbal protest though. Without much warning the warm little nose on her back had begun inching upward, sweetly placing the softest kisses she’d felt in centuries. Plump lips nudged and pecked until they had worked their way to the bit of jaw that ended just below her right ear, where they began to nibble lovingly.

“Amethyst…” She warned the night air and her own conscience, feeling immediately guilty for allowing herself to indulge in such things after having been so deceitful, so-

Her thoughts were cut off once more by those pretty lips, this time with a sharp nip to her earlobe and insistent whispering.

“We both know you need this, and I’m pretttttty sure you want to,” Amethyst purred, clambering around to face Pearl and straddle her lap. “It’s a matter of you letting yourself enjoy this.”

Waiting for a response the smaller gem again buried her face, this time in the crook of a quickly warming neck. She peppered in soft kisses, nuzzling excitedly when two spindly hands found their way into her hair.

“Just for tonight.”

Amethyst pulled her head back to get a look at her pearl, smiling in relief and giddiness when she noticed the coy glint in those beautiful teal orbs. If tonight was the only chance she got to worship Pearl and show her how it felt to give AND take, Amethyst would die before she passed this up. Though it didn’t mean she was going to rush anything.

One satisfied grin later and lips were dancing against each other, an almost rhythm pulsing through the two bodies as they began to learn each others’ physical forms intimately for the first time. Neither of them were frequent kissers, for obvious reasons, but they were old enough to know the general idea. And damn did they do it well.

Pearl was naturally adverse to anything going into her mouth, as the idea was just repulsive in the long run. But at the time she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to mind the tongue that was gently licking its way into her mouth. She welcomed the intrusion easily, wrapping her lips around a purple tongue briefly before encircling it with her own. Amethyst was shell-shocked, a shiver racking her tiny form as she clung to the unexpectedly skilled contact. She couldn’t help but sigh contentedly, ghosting her hands on Pearl’s lower waist.

Amethyst reveled in the pretty ‘ah’s she was drawing out, her thumbs rubbing at sharp hip bones while her fingers gripped dangerously low on a soft back. She earned warning nibbles to her lower lip, but pressed on, continuing the gentle massages that were sure to tease. She was rewarded by a break in the kiss, at which she made a noise of protest- until she noticed a rarely wicked look in Pearl’s features. She didn’t have time to wonder about what it meant, as soon she was being pulled down on top of her pearl, whose back wrinkled the freshly tucked sheets.

This position wasn’t awfully familiar to her, but Pearl was taking some much appreciated initiative. She carefully swept some of the crazy white locks to one side, pulling Amethyst as close to her as possible, and pulled at the already dropping tank strap to suck harshly at the exposed lavender skin. The arms supporting Amethyst’s form wobbled on either side of Pearl’s head, a surprised gasp leaving her. Her hips shifted downward and her head lolled, letting a trail of nearly fuchsia bruises begin to bloom under her pearl’s beautiful lips.

Breathing began to come shakily to the both of them, Pearl having subconsciously placed her hands on Amethyst’s ass and let them prod and squeeze as the purple gem above her rocked. Their lips had found one another again, and Amethyst’s unoccupied hands had discovered the hem of Pearl’s shirt. Supporting herself on her thighs momentarily, she slid her hands entirely under the fabric, gently scraping her nails against the delicate skin that was practically fluttering beneath her touch. This was all she could stand, itching fingers dancing on the hem once more and pitching it up and over Pearl’s chest.

It was a beautiful sight, that flushed chest heaving below her. The tiny fat reserves that were barely there but just enough to play with, with their teal nipples that serves no real purpose but for aesthetics that - clearly - both of them appreciated. Eyes sparkling at just how gorgeous her Pearl was, Amethyst flushed deeper than she had been prior before ducking her head down for the umpteenth time that evening. She kissed with reckless abandon, pecking lightly at first then getting slightly rougher when she noticed how Pearl’s breath would hitch when she grazed over one of those cute bluish nubs.

Pearl had never gotten this much attention before, she wasn’t used to this much stimulation. Her immediate reaction was to get on level ground, leaning up to bite relatively hard on a spot she’d already drawn significant color to on Amethyst’s shoulder. The both of them were moaning softly at that point, Amethyst in tingling pain and Pearl with shuddering pleasure as a warm mouth enveloped her nipple and bit gently. The tiny Pearl was practically vibrating, fingernails likely digging crescents into her love’s ass.

By the time neither of them could handle it anymore, the Stars had come out entirely, their light shining through the windows to cast shadows and highlights on Amethyst’s abused shoulders and the unintended imprints of teeth on Pearl’s tiny breasts. They both pulled back long enough to appreciate their work, Amethyst’s plumper than usual lips curling into a half-lidded smirk. Her chest was glowing and Pearl’s forehead was radiating heat, though they had yet to fuse, which made this whole endeavor feel more intimate than ever.

“I ah, I dunno when they’re getting home, Pillow pet, so y'know we could..” Amethyst breathed, starry eyes still gazing at the breathtaking sight beneath her. “My room maybe would be more comfortable, and Steven, you know, he’ll probably want to come home to an empty bed.”

With a not so subtle grind of her hips Amethyst scooted off of Pearl, slowly getting up onto her shaky legs. Without much more than an extended hand she yanked Pearl out of bed and into her arms, wrapping flushed purple arms around her waist and having her wrap her thin legs around the soft waist. She carried her pearl to her door, opening it swiftly and carrying her love inside while nuzzling against her chest. She was happy this was finally happening, but what filed her with joy the most was seeing all the stress absolutely drained from the gem she loved more than anything. This was going to be a fulfilling and, hopefully, very long night. n

[nerowrites]

mmmmf i sleep now =w= thank you yo all a yal whore sending requests it makes me so happy 

[nerowrites]

could i request some mortycest? you don't have to if you don't want to!

yes you can and thank you so much!!~ i hope this is alright :D

Some sort of urgent Rick meeting had been called at the Citadel. Apparently Riq IV had gone missing, or was it that they just wanted to gather as many Ricks in one place as they could to rag on Doofus Rick? The reasoning didn’t really matter; their Mortys were much more excited about the result. 

All these Mortys were going to be left just hanging around outside the Citadel until god knew when, and that could only mean a few things. Either they were going to go into a full out panic, as some had opted into doing, or the unsupervised little shits were going to throw the sickest Morty Rager™ in all of paradox space. It wasn’t the first idea they’d come up with as a whole, but a few of the bolder ones were getting bored and knew how to occupy their time. 

Suffice to say, there were a few Mortys entrusted with portal guns who really shouldn’t have been, and the vast majority of them would up on the home planet of the Collaxion Crystal. A coalition of roughly 50 Mortys had gathered by the time all willing parties had arrived. It was a sea of trumpeting teens, some immediately pulling out gadgets to aid in their little adventure. 

One tossed an Instant Shelter Disc onto the ground, a basic but accommodating soft plastic cube. Another released a few billion bio luminescent microorganisms which circled the room like a whirlpool of color, and yet another aided the silence with a plain old iPod and an industrial grade sound system that he mounted  on pop-up furniture another Morty had thought to bring. They really were prepared. 

Once the shindig was really pumping and the makeshift dance floor was pulsating, Morty C-137 stepped into a free corner, needing a moment or ten to catch his breath. He was exhilarated, but he was also crazy anxious about being in a strange dimension without his Rick, or any Ricks for that matter. He wandered around the edge of the floor until he found the door, taking a few reassuring breaths of the air that had the vague scent of something he knew from back home. 

He stayed there for a while, leaning lightly against the pliable door frame, and counted the Collaxion sparkling lightly a few yards away. This place seemed to have two suns, both setting on opposite sides of the planet at the moment. It really was beautiful, and it soothed his head. 

Enraptured with the moment it took Morty a good few seconds before he noticed another version of himself sidled up next to him. Very closely sidled actually, and was that an arm trying to slip around his waist? This was completely uninvited, so 137 naturally shifted away from the offending Morty and gave him a confused look. 

This Morty in particular looked about as worn out with the whole thing as he did, or maybe he just looked worn out in general. He had this look in his eyes - or rather eye, one had a patch over it - that clearly said he was exhausted, but the light smirk on his lips contradicted that completely. 137 didn’t know what he was playing, and wasn’t sure he wanted to know, until the other finally said something. 

“Y’know, they’re looking for my Rick,” he murmured, ignoring boundaries and again slipping a hand around 137′s waist. “They’re trying to find him, you see, pin him down and gut him for all his secrets.” 

Morty didn’t like the way this one was talking. He still had the scattered way of wording things like most of them, but he was much more even and it was unsettling. The other unsettling bit was how he dug his fingers into 137′s hip and pulled him closer, despite the two of them (probably) having never met before this. 

“They think he’s a killer,” Morty continued, moving to mumble in 137′s ear seemingly for the sole reason of causing discomfort. “But to be honest with ya? The Council doesn’t know shit, Morty. We’re gonna be Rickless for a while, I think. Gonna take- gonna be a reeeeeeal long trial.” 

137 Really Didn’t Like what was happening, namely the thin sweat that broke out on his forehead and those weird tingles he got whenever someone was talking in his ear. The whole conversation just oozed with some kind of suggestion, he just didn’t want to think about it, and whether or not he would mind whatever the suggestion may be. 

“S-so, so you’re saying your Rick is innocent? Why aren’t you back there, at- at the citadel to testify or something?” 

“I didn’t say he was or wasn’t, I dunno that. What I do know is he’s crafty, Ricks are crafty, and he ain’t gonna let everyone else go until he’s given the Council the runaround a few times,” he explained, resting his chin on the other Morty’s shoulder and gazing in the direction of the left sun, which was nearly under the horizon. “I didn’t come here just to find you, y’know. Just wanted a little sunset time myself. But I can’t say I mind the company.” 

Shifting subconsciously to lean his cheek closer to Patchy’s face, 137 brought one of his sweaty hands over to soothe the one that was currently grasping at his hip a bit tightly.  “I’d uh, I’d say the same if this was a little more comfortable,” he blurted, slipping out of the other’s hold and wandering out into the freshly dimmed night air to lean against the outside wall of the structure. 

He could feel the music vibrating at his back, and the sensation was oddly calming. Another odd sensation, that was this time invited through subconscious gestures, would be the eye patch Morty approaching him, reaching out to touch his face, and dragging his thumb nail across his cheek. 137 placed a hand behind the other boy’s neck, digging his nails in just so. 

Who were they kidding, it was that age where a boy is sweaty all the time and ready to rut against anything that moved. The coy touches and weird banter weren’t necessary. They had never met, never spoken, and really didn’t care about any of that so much as being touched by someone that wasn’t (technically) themself. 

A first moon was just blinking into sight when evil Morty caved, immediately looping his arms around the small of 137′s back and crashing their mouths together. He was tugging at the obnoxiously yellow shirt before there was time to take a breath, let alone time to notice that he’d split 137′s lip upon impact. 

Both things were accounted for as two yellow t-shirts fell to the ground, gently illuminated by the Collaxion. Evil Morty delighted in the small droplet of blood blooming on his counterpart’s lower lip and wasted no time licking it off and resuming a fevered makeout session. 

Hands flew wherever they could go, and 137 was honestly very lost but very excited and he figured that was all that mattered since there weren’t any remarks on how he’d dug his nails in too hard or did a weird thing with his tongue. Neither of them said much until 137 got the incredible idea to grab at the other’s ass to pull them flush against each other,jerkily trying to grind his hips. 

“Jeez Mort, don’t ah, don’t hurt yourself there,” evil Morty breathed against the relatively dark mark he had just raised on the other’s neck/shoulder/collarbone… He left a few marks. “How about - what about we get these a little looser, ease up the uh, the pressure.” 

All Morty 137 had to do was widen his eyes minutely and his hands were going, working at both a their flies with clumsy speed. As he worked 137 took his turn at nibbling and kissing the area just below his ear, and it took a whole lot of concentration to get small motor skills working then he was throbbing like this. 

Eventually though the task was completed and there were now jeans barely clinging to either of their hips. Just as well, evil Mort left no time for any more holdups, getting out first 137′s pulsing member and then his own. Ignoring the worried nibbling that had turned to biting that pricked at his neck, he pushed closer than ever, taking both of their dicks in his hand and giving a testing squeeze. 

He got the teeth on his neck to unlatch and the Morty attached to them gave a wonderful yelp, which was encouragement enough to continue. He shouldered 137′s chin up to meet his face, pressing him into the most wonderful kiss to ever be experienced. The two of them rocked their hips arhythmically, their generally jerky movements amplified by the mind numbing sensations that swept their bodies. 

137 was the first to admit he was going down, hands tangled in his counterpart’s hair as he gasped away from the kiss that seemed not to have an end in sight. “I-I, I’m getting really- I think I’m gonna–” His pathetic whimpering was transformed into moans that could only be described as angelic as evil Morty twisted his hand just so, and squeezed just hard enough. 

That noise sent him over the edge as well, a nearly identical noise bubbling from his throat before he had time to contain it. His hand continued working at the both of them until they were entirely spent, cum gracing their stomachs and seeping down his fingers. 

There was a good minute of just breathing, holding each other as if they were frozen in time despite the clear shakiness in their legs. It took some time to come back down to earth (or rather wherever the hell they were at the moment), but once they did the Mortys shakily put themselves away, did up their jeans, and tried to decide whose shirt was whose and whether it really even mattered anyway. 

Despite the increasingly strange circumstances, 137 didn’t feel too awfully awkward. His counter didn’t seem to be buffed either, stooping to the ground to break off a few of the luminescent crystals. He slipped them into his pocket and turned back toward the door, and was suddenly grinning like crazy. He rubbed at the pinpricks of blood that were blooming through his shirt and gave an amused scoff. 

In the doorway were at least a dozen Mortys, who, upon recognition by 137, began to whistle and clap at the offending two Mortys. 

“N-not really the quiet type, are we?” 

[nerowrites]

oh god i forgot to change my theME HERE NO ONE LOOK 

[nerowrites]

Two Words: Rickmorty Spanking. That is all for the request. -Slips back out-

thank you for the idea, i hope you like it ! 

Sometimes he had no idea why in the hell he’d decided to bring this tiny, clueless fuck on all his adventures. It wasn’t just that he was lonely, since that had been his problem for longer than he’d had company, and he’d grown used to solitude. It couldn’t be because the kid offered anything in the ideas department too often either. He just wasn’t that bright, plain and simple. 

So why in the name of all that is good was Rick toting around a Morty that didn’t know his own balls from a doorknob? Just as well why was he continuing to help the little idiot out of disasters that he had 100% caused all on his own? 

The issue at hand today would be that Morty Smith had somehow failed to notice a parasitic leech-like life form that had latched onto the back of his neck in the midst of trying to help his Rick gather Collaxion crystals. It wasn’t even made to be a dangerous mission, let alone one that required that Morty even come. But he had insisted, and Rick really didn’t mind whether he came or not. 

The whole trip lasted a good ten minutes, three of which were spent trying to find a place to pee. Rick had figured it would be impossible for either of them to fuck much up. But that was before the two of them were just sitting down to a Baby Legs marathon, before Morty had stretched to crack his neck to reveal the nasty little annelid clinging to him. 

It wasn’t that big of a deal, really. Morty had indirectly caused the downfall of their home dimension before and there wasn’t much said about that. So why was it now that Rick chose to be the angriest he’d been in weeks? 

Gritting his teeth, he took no care in reaching out to yank the segmented thing off his grandson’s jugular. It took a bit of skin with it, considering it looked to have a wheel of teeth. The area was clearly numbed by something in the creature’s saliva, considering the mildly disgusted expression Morty pulled. 

He didn’t seem to notice the thin trickles of blood tickling down his neck, nor did he feel the gaping hole in his epidermis that exposed his pulsing jugular, but that thing had clearly just come from him, and he panicked slightly. 

“W-w-what the hell is that Rick? Where’d it come from??” He mumbled, trailing off to join the scientist in observing the thing. 

Rick was turning it over in his hands, poking at its segmented platelets and trying to find some way to make this seem like a bigger problem than it was. 

“You know what this is Morty, it’s a damn intergalactic parasite, see, if-if I hadn’t got this thing offa you it coulda- the whole town could be infected, Morty,” he rambled, making a point to hurry out to the garage to drop the thing into a jar. He continued as Morty trailed him. “God whoOAH- who knows what kinda poison you got in ya right now, what kinda crap you brought back home.” 

Morty tried apologizing, wringing his hands nervously, but he was cut off by the sharp shot of a laser gun of sorts blowing the leech jar to kingdom come. This was also about the time he thought to check his neck, yelping when he poked too hard and saw that his fingertips were bloody. 

“Rick!! Rick I think I’m really bleedin’ here, I- you gotta help,” he spluttered. In all reality it wasn’t too awfully deep, but it was bleeding a good bit and could do for some stitches. But at the moment Rick wasn’t focused on the flesh wound. 

“You know what you coulda done Morty, this- the whole tri-state are could be dying of some kinda alien disease, an unknown epidemic Morty, and you’re still worried ‘bout yourself. I-its just inconceivable, god I never thought I’d say this to ya, but when I was your age, when I was younger Morty, I got the belt - I got whipped for talkin’ back, and you, I bet Jerry never done that to ya.” 

He was going on nonsensically, just getting his irritation out and trying to guilt Morty as much as possible, really, but then a thought occurred to him. It was a very real possibility that he could show the kid what it was like to learn from his mistakes. Even if he hadn’t technically made a mistake and was still suffering for it. The boy needed to know what it felt like to really be punished. 

Meanwhile Morty had been squirming in place, holding the collar of his shirt up to his neck. The bleeding had subsided, but of course that was going to stain his favorite shirt. 

“Get- get over here Morty,” Rick spat, sitting at his work bench and facing outward. He took a swig of courage then set his flask down on the bench. “You’re gonna, you’re gonna get over here and lay ‘cross my knees, Morty, Grandpa’s gonna teach you a lesson.” 

Morty’s face immediately went red and he let go of his shirt, stepping back in shock. Wasn’t he a little way too old for this kind of thing? Whether or not that was the case didn’t seem to affect Rick’s ideas, as he was stoically unbuckling his belt and glaring in his grandson’s direction. 

There really wasn’t a way around Rick’s will once he’d decided something. Wiping a hand across his face with shame, Morty actually complied. He did as he was told stiffly, laying his stomach across Rick’s thighs and placing his elbows on the edge of the chair so he could hold his face effectively. 

“You-you know this is borderline illegal nowadays, Rick, you can’t jus- AH! Ow!!” 

His complaints were cut off by a sharp, practiced blow to his behind by an unforgiving leather belt. 

“Y’know what else is close to illegal, Morty, is bringin’ a plague across the border of time and space,” Rick replied evenly, placing his free hand on the small of Morty’s back and swung again, relatively lightly. “Whether you meant it oOOor not, Morty, you gotta - you gotta learn.” 

The next few blows went uninterrupted aside from a few sounds of discomfort. Mainly, Rick realized, mainly because those damn jeans were in the way of letting the kid feel proper discipline. Without much explanation, Rick hooked his thumb into the offending denim and pulled. Morty resisted, not fond of the other finding out his defense mechanism. 

“You- no, I’m not gonna let you just - just treat me like a toddler, Rick,” he began to protest, but trailed off into an unsure silence when Rick accidentally grabbed his ass in response. That moment of stillness was enough to get the jeans down to his knees, enough to expose his boxer-briefed butt to the open air and soon Rick’s belt. 

“Maybe quit actin’ like one I’ll- I’ll reconsider how yer treated, babe,” Rick droned, quickly grazing his belt over Morty’s cheeks. The yelp he got this time said that there was a significant difference, one that was in his favor. Giving a satisfied hum, he gave a few more licks to Morty’s backside until the boy was starting to shake and prod at one of his legs- oh. Good god Rick was getting so much more than he’d bargained for. 

He set the belt down on his bench, still firmly holding down Morty’s back as he trembled. Rick sat back to admire his handiwork for a brief moment, running his free fingers lightly over the red welts he had risen. 

“Quite the sick fuck you are, huh Morty? No- hah, no wonder Jerry never did this, he must know this kind of puUUnishment gets through to you too much,” Rick growled, cracking a thin smile for the first time that afternoon. He didn’t get much of an answer, aside from Morty dropping his head and digging his fingers into Rick’s thigh. “Bet you- bet you been so crappy on missions lately just, just hoping I’d snap on you like this, ain’t that right Morty?” 

Despite all morality issues there were with this - literally pages upon pages of why this wasn’t okay to do could be written - Rick decided this was going to be a thing he wanted to indulge in. His lower half had decided that about the time he’d realized how much he actually care for doing this, so the rest of him decided to just say fuck it, this is hot. 

For the next few minutes Rick decided to forego the belt and get a little secondhand sting on his palm. The boy on his lap was eating this up, the poor thing stuck grinding lightly in either direction, conflicted by the sting and resultant throb it gave his cock. He couldn’t help the shameful sounds that spilled from his lips, and he didn’t really even want to. 

This whole thing revealed some latent desires the two of them had been harboring for a good while, and it felt good to get it out with a good old fashioned moment like this. 

When it was all over there were tears and drool dripping off Morty’s chin and the sunset was beginning to turn a vibrant red to match his blushing ass. Rick’s hand was throbbing, as was another bit of him, and he decided for the both of them that some quality time in the ship was just what the crazy scientist ordered. He bucked a knee to roll Morty off of him and stooped down to pick him up and toss him into the backseat of the ship. 

[nerowrites]

Pearlmethyst- Amethyst making bad/flirty puns and Pearl being clueless?

Thank you for the request !! 

Working on the drill had been getting boring for everyone, if they were being completely honest with themselves. Peridot was the most goal oriented of them at this point, but it was clear she needed to do something other than get herself ten held up elbow-deep in wires. So they took her out of the yard, and onto the beach.

She had assumed it was a new side mission of finding her lost colleague and the rogue Lazuli, and looked confused as the rest of the gems and Steven changed into vaguely less clothing. Garnet was stretched out on the sand, again doing nothing in that infuriating way that made one feel like she /was/ doing something. Steven picked up on her confusion and proceeded to lure her near the edge of the water, only to push her in.

The little gem was surprised and consequently exploding with rage that the human gradually quelled away by showing her how to swim and find those little shells in the watery sand.Pearl was content with watching them play for the time being. Despite her origin, she really wasn’t much of a water person. She even went so far as to avoid rain, if at all possible.“Your eyes are as blue as an Aquamarine. They’re so clear I can see the ocean.”Pearl turned away from the splash fight she had been watching, finding Amethyst leaning an elbow on her beach chair and raising a brow expectantly. Pearl squinted a little, as the meaning was a little lost on her, but smiled anyhow. “Can’t you see the ocean anyways? It is kind of right there and all,” she said with a kind of sideways grin.Admittedly that one was a little far-fetched, so Amethyst tried another quick line. She turned so she was sitting on her knees, reaching out to hold the thinner gem’s hand in both of hers.“Ahem. Are you strategically arranged carbon atoms? Cause P, you shine like a diamond,” she cooed, squeezing the lithe digits between her own. She rubbed her thumb absently along the top of Pearl’s hand as she waited for her pearl to swoon over her smooth moves. That was not quite the response she was given. “No, no, Amethyst, I know you’re a smart gem. You are aware that Pearls do not contain high concentrations of carbon and therefore are nowhere close to the lustrous caliber of a diamond,” she began, bringing her other hand over to pat the disappointed purple gem’s. “And not to nitpick, but I’m not even a gem of natural formation. As I’m sure you know…” Pearl dragged on, drumming her fingers. 

This really wasn’t where Amethyst had intended for the conversation to go. She knew her colleague was a literal person, but good god. The grape gem lolled her head back and groaned lowly, listening to the speech that was dangerously close to deprecating. That was absolutely not allowed. 

“Listen Pita Chip-” 

“-because I was clearly mass produced for the sole purpose..”

“Pierogi-”

“-which isn’t to devalue myself, but…” 

“Pearl!!” 

Finally snapped out of her preaching, Pearl jumped slightly, retracting her fingers into themselves. But Amethyst wouldn’t allow that either, gently relaxing them again and entwining them with her own. 

“You’re pretty. I’m trying to tell you you’re pretty,” she started, scooting closer to the foot of Pearl’s chair. “You got the most beautiful blue eyes, a-and I just wanna smooch ya.” 

“Oh.. I see.” Pearl’s face immediately took on a tealish hue, looking to the side in embarrassment at her own thickness. “Now if you’d have only just said that, I could have responded properly.” 

Amethyst raised a brow and yanked lightly for the other to continue. Still avoiding eye contact, Pearl smiled thinly. “I could have told you I felt the same, and that, despite your choice of dress, I do admire your physique. It is a rather pleasant and soft form.” 

A huge grin took place on both of their faces after a few moments of silence (as well as the background noise of Garnet tossing the other two into the water). Amethyst took this moment of tenderness as an OK to climb up into the chair along with her pearl and give a soft peck to her cheek.

“…Y’know I’ve studied geology,” Amethyst mumbled against her pearl’s neck. 

“Is that so?” she replied warily. 

“I could definitely rock your world.” 

The next half hour was spent with Amethyst quietly basking in how clever she was and Pearl hating how much she loved it. 

[nerowrites]

im back and ready to kick some minific ASS yall im always a slut for requests, prompts, and any kind of idea you can give me so please do that would be nice! ill write most kinks, pretty much anythin but scat and I'm mainly into doing Rick and morty or Steven universe, though anythin else someone would like me to do I can definitely try !! looking forward to all your naughty, heart wrenching, fluffier than cotton clouds ideas guys!! 🤗✨✨

[nerowrites]

swear to god this is updating tonight/morning okay im sorry// 

[nerowrites]

Couple A' Assholes

Eridan is having some trouble discerning his feelings for his dancestor, flipping from black to red and back again in a never ending cycle. He finally decides on the ever-rational option of getting a little more physical, thinking maybe that aspect would help be a deciding factor in his feelings.

Contains: dom eridan, slight degradation, quadrant confusion/vacillation, bulges and nooks, biting, scratching, light violence in general

Why you put up with this tool in particular for as long as you do as often as you do is a question best left untouched. Agree to one date with the guy (that didn't even end well, min you) and he decides you're quadmates and follows you around as often as he can. It's close to pitiful, which you think is part of the reason you stick around. When his mouth is shut or he's only talking casually about himself, he's bearable. Bearable meaning if need be you're able to get his mouth shut or steer the conversation away from whatever garbage he's spitting at the moment. There are even times you allow him to show you his music, something that makes your ears ache but it makes him happy and keeps him tolerable.

As it turns out, you'd been feeling gracious and accepted his offer to head back to his hive for a "jam session." At the very least he'll produce something of an entertainment to you, at most you'll get into a well-needed spat. You haven't gotten your aggressions out in ages, every little thing setting you off on someone you don't place under the category of kismesis. This always proves for some regrettable words being tossed around, and often a very awkward apology on your end. You leave random arguments riled up in more ways you're quite cozy with, and maybe getting into something with your probable kismesis will help soothe you.

So your motives for showing up to his hive that moonset aren't all too charitable, but you wouldn't call them entirely selfish. If you played your cards right and he was smart enough to catch on, the fellow seadweller would have 'bragging rights' over you. The term is crude and makes your lip curl in distaste, but you're sure it's how he would phrase it. And speak of the devil.

You'd just barely been able to contact your knuckles to the door of his strangely designed hive when it's swinging open, a far too practiced casual stance displayed by none other than your dancestor. Yeah, you know, this wasn't exactly the easiest idea for you to warm up to either. But you've spent long enough in the afterlife just moping alone, unable to find anyone who didn't think you killed Feferi. Something about you being moirails, the details were always altered. But apparently alternate you was shitty in multiple iterations, go figure.

"Eridan, wasn't expecting you to come so early. Welcome to my humble abode, make yourself at hive." You just nod at him, noticing he's trying pretty hard to keep his w's and v's in check, something you'd long since given up on. The guy must be dead set on impressing you for some reason, you think as he steps to the side to let you in. Not much remarkable about his recreation block from what you can tell, just the average outfitting from someone of the caste you share. Surveying the scene casually, you kick out of your shoes at the door so as to not dirty the floors. Never knew if a guy was conscious of having a clean home, so it was always best to be polite by default.

And then he's already off yammering about how he thought you wouldn't show even though you're early already, how he was getting a little emotional over the thought of you skipping out. You immediately groan in his direction, shooting him an irritated expression. "Cro, put a sock in it about your delicate sensibilities for a sec. Came here for music, or at least to do somethin' entertaining."

You're pretty sure he's feigning the hurt expression he shoots you, but thank the gods he's decided not to go off about that hurting his feelings as well. The guy probably doesn't want to push your limits just yet, seeing as your first 'date' ended with you getting fed up and leaving within the first hour. Over time, Cronus has learned when he should shut up and behave like a decent troll. He's catching hints easier now and you could praise him about it if he wouldn't cling to every positive thing you said like it was the literal last fish in the sea. You prefer to save praise for more intimate moments with him, that way you're both busy and he has to gush on his own time.

In any case, he's already over whatever hurt he may have felt, immediately trying to lead you to his respite block. That just so happens to be where you were going to suggest to go, you tell him, and the amount of joy in his eyes is so immense you fear what he looked like with pupils. Well alright, least he's happy. Creepily so, but there's nothing worth bitching over yet.

You don't give him the time to lead you to his block, just heave a sigh through your nose and head in on your own time. He doesn't follow right away which strikes you as odd, but you see soon enough he's just rummaging around for his guitar. You're lazing on his concupiscent platform leaning your back to the wall when he finally joins you. He sits too close, but you're in position to kick his damn face if need be, so you don't make a move to scoot away.

"So I'm just gonna cut to the chase if that runs with you, yeah?" You nod at him idly, trying to lean against the wall further but your horns bump obstructively. He's trying to tune the guitar with an expression you can only pin down as attractive through practice. Like he'd spent hours in front of a mirror to get his features to do just the right thing to look like that. God you hope that's the case, you desperately hope this is just an angle he'd practiced on often and you didn't actually find him effortlessly handsome. That simply would not do.

Cronus hums along to a tune only he could come up with, tapping and pulling at things you're sure don't need all that much adjustment, but you just sit back and look on with as little outward interest as possible. Within a few more seconds he's announcing he wrote this song for you. "I call it 'Beautiful Inside You And Out'," he announces with a grin. Ugh. Vulgar as it was you're almost flattered he would write something just for you. Highly doubting its quality, you scoff just enough to be audible.

"C'mon Eri, give me a chance here. Ain't we supposed to be jacketed? You're supposed to at least pretend to like what I do," he pouts, dancing his fingers over the strings for a moment before jumping right into a semi-discordant beat to cut off whatever reply you had brewing. You really wish he didn't do that so often. Cut you off, that is.

But you don't dare complain; he gets a little frosty when someone interrupts. His music is always relatively pleasant if you stay long enough to hear his voice. Tasteless as the lyrics are, the troll had the voice of an angel. Not one of the things from your planet by any means. So you're always drawn to keep your mouth shut and look at him with vague hints of admiration. He's still not a thing you're proud to call a dancestor by any means, but when you're alone he's bearable if not slightly fun. So for then you shut your eyes, letting his voice wash over you and push away some of the more negative thoughts you're harboring. It's moments like these that make you question what fucking quadrant you want him in.

"...And if ever you find yourself in need / I'm always stickin' around somewhere / For when you think it's time to feed / There's quality time for us to share.."

This is one of his slower songs, the kind that come off as innocent and sweet until you actually listen to what he's saying. Regardless of the content being one musical innuendo, you don't rather mind a few of the things he's insinuating. The second his fingers stop you know those thoughts will alter dramatically, but for now your head is swimming with the final repetition of the chorus he's come up with (for you, all for you).

It comes to a close slowly, gradually with him vocalizing and humming along with the tune perfectly. Your eyes peep open again as his fingers come to rest and mouth shuts in a satisfied grin. He's already getting out of the high that comes with singing, looking to you for praise or maybe just to see if you're still there.

"So? Did I completely knock your socks off, or what?" His fins actually twitch in anticipation, causing your own to flit down quickly in response. You loved every second of it to be truthful, but it pisses you off that he can manage being such a massive tool and the most gorgeous voice since The Troll Smiths. It pisses you off that he needs your approval so much, that he searches for recognition the same way that you do and it's familiarly pathetic.

You tell him it was fine, you would have left if it were anything but. He falters for just long enough for you to notice, and that look wasn't directed for you to have seen as pitiable to feed into his attention seeking tendencies. You think that actually cracked him a little and immediately add on a compliment about the flow. Lyrics aside, he sounded pretty nice, you say. And boy does he brighten, that genuine smile that barely peeks through shining at you with full-frontal gratification. It's impossible not to give him these little moments of confirmation that he isn't completely awful, just the way he tries hard to do for you. Whether or not he succeeds doesn't matter much. It's the thought that counts.

Thinking too deeply about this is making your pusher flip around from your original intentions, black anger just barely bubbling under your skin by now. But you're not about to get feels-y tonight, you didn't come here to cry about your mutual inadequacy with him. Tonight you're going to give him something he's begged everyone, rust to tyrian for, and he's going to be in your debt for the eternity that you're going to be around for. To be honest, that's half the reason you're doing it. You have your own needs of course, but the thought of how things would turn out afterwards is enticing.

With an almost nervous flit of your fins, you decide diving right in will be the easiest course of action. Get him into it now, explain later. Or not ever. After all, what has he done to earn an explanation?

He's kind of looking at you with an inquisitive raise of the eyebrows, crinkling his scar up a bit in the process and why the hell is that so endearing now? No matter, you push the thought out of your mind as you push your back off the wall to scoot off the bed and stand in front of him. You gingerly reach out to lift his guitar away and he only looks more confused and a little protective. It'd taken him 'almost a literal forever' to find the thing and he likes to cling to the thing, but you just scoff and take it anyhow. You make a point to set it down against the wall just the way he normally does, letting it lean there as gently as possible. He's confused but reassured that it's in his line of sight.

"So uh, gonna tell me why you had the impulse to take away my baby?" He looks a little irritated but that's good. You want him angry or something more tolerable than what he is right now. With a look of faux confusion, you step right up in front of him.

"What the hell's a baby?" You've asked this question a million times before and really hope this time is the one that'll push Cronus's buttons enough. With a smug batting of your eyes, you're pretty sure you're acting like a 'baby' right now and really expect him to spit something rude at you. But you have no such luck. The bastard just barks a laugh, reminding you that it's a human grub, you're pretty forgetful aren't you? That's the last straw, how can he manage using all of his calm on all the wrong people, how can he be so infuriatingly thick?

Your chest is vibrating with a growl now and he's more confused than ever until your lips are on his, then he isn't complaining. At least not at first, it's not until you start biting a little too hard that he makes a noise or so of protest. You roll your eyes, easing up just enough for him to become accustomed to the pressure. May as well start in slow, leave him with gradual marks.

Just as your eyes slip shut his hands are trying to slip around your waist, and you're having none of that either. You swat them away immediately and he whines like a wiggler, god why are you even doing this. He's unbearably similar to you in certain fields but so much worse, it's impossible not to want to bite his lips off and kiss them over when you're done.

One of his teeth nicks your lip and you make a noise of approval, but it seems like he's trying to apologize by kissing over the barely-there cut. It's really, really best not to focus on the mechanics of this quadrant-wise because you're fairly sure he's waxing definite red, while your own feelings can't help but muddle somewhere between there and utterly pitch. To distract from getting yourself in a fit about that, you break the kiss to straddle his lap for a moment before pushing him completely onto his back. That earns a look you could frame.

"Look chief, I'm all for where this is going, but I don't think you know exactly wh-" His cocky protest is cut off by a sharp slap from you, just enough to leave the already violet flesh darker and keep the position you've mentally claimed for yourself long ago. Him being a few inches taller and a having a couple sweeps on you means absolutely nothing in your mind. You hold yourself on a higher dominance pedestal than the coward already loosening beneath you ever could. It might take a little extra effort, but you've already won half the battle by getting him on his back.

You shoot a challenging glance down at him, giving room for him to either try and get you off or.. Oh, that was quick. The second option proving to be the winner, as his earfins lower and flatten against the sides of his head. You make a quip about how easily he rolls over in defeat before giving him the brief reward of leaning to kiss him again, hands on either side of his head. You're straddling his midsection, just above where he likely wants to feel the pressure, and the thought of him squirming almost makes you grin.

And then his hands get at your hips again, trying to tug you down just a few more inches. You decide to let him have this considering your own need, shifting downward to grind purposefully at the lump already there. Pathetic, really, but the flattering aspect doesn't fail to get to you. It's obvious the guy hasn't gotten this much in centuries, if he ever had. It's laughable and yet gives you the thrill of possibly being the first one to claim him. That would be a truly wonderful achievement.

With a little resistance you manage to pull away from his mouth, sitting back a moment to both shift against him and admire your handiwork; a couple of dots of violet bead on his lower lip, mouth looking so abused it could bruise. He's panting already, though you can't deny you are as well. For a few seconds you just catch your breath, shifting your ass to and fro against the ever-swelling bulge in his jeans. He groans impatiently, the hands at your hips trying to get your pants off. You suggest he learn a little patience for future encounters and he just scoffs, but fuck if you've got any left either. Without much grace you have the fly of your jeans open and enough room to shuffle them and your boxers off your hips.

Cronus moves for his own zipper, but you're not ready to give him that much yet. Right now you're focused on scooting to straddle over his chest, shoving your half-sheathed bulge in his face. He glanced between the writhing member and your face, trying to decipher if you're serious. You really are, and prove that by hooking a thumb into his mouth, pulling it open forcibly and telling him to get to it.

Your calm exterior was admittedly just a fluke blessing considering the complete nervous mess you are inside, willpower only ever proving itself through your body. Whatever though, getting what you want is far easier this way. Sighing beneath you, your dancestor bites your thumb to get it out of his mouth. There's a little blood and you're so damned thankful for that, even if he's likely to avoid drawing any more. It gives you enough drive to shove your hips forward. He immediately goes to work at your sheathe, making you let out a bit of a surprised yelp and move a hand to lean on the wall. You chalk up his skills as being alone for countless sweeps and figuring himself out pretty well. If that weren't the case you'd allow him a bit of respect, maybe.

Within a little while he'd got you completely unsheathed and shuddering, head now resting on the wall as you get used to the cool tongue against your bulge. He's slowing down now, and you're glad he understood your intentions despite your current want to jut fuck his mouth. But no, that wouldn't give you or he nearly enough satisfaction. Huffing with regret, you push off the wall and pull away from his mouth (that is tinged so beautifully with your color), moving back to get off of him. You make no show of getting out of your shirt and everything else, tossing them in a pile on the floor. You sort of stand there to get your bearings for a moment, snapping at him to get out of his clothes as well.

He almost looks a little sheepish, half lidded eyes on you as he wriggles to sit up. His fingers dance to the hem of his shirt, and unlike you he apparently intends to make a show of stripping. Eye contact broken only by the obnoxiously white fabric passing up and over his head, you remain in a dead stare as he unbuckles his belt and yanks the thing off with alarming ease. Definitely had practice doing this to himself in the mirror, you decide while watching him practically thrust out of his jeans and undergarments. Those too are white, or at least mostly so aside from the violet staining them. That was a sight you never thought would turn you on as much as it currently was.

After you're both equally naked, save your wearing glasses, you get back up on his 'bed' as it was called for short by humans. He shifts over to you, still convinced he's got a chance at taking you, and all you have to do is shove his chest down to win that battle. You give a hum of satisfaction, the beginnings of a smile tugging at your lips when you've gotten yourself over him again. All it takes is a nudge with your knee and he spreads his legs, what a quick learner he is. You reward him with a quick pet to the bulge frantically waving for attention before bypassing it completely. Your ringed fingers scratch at his inner thigh that has almost begun to shiver. You give it a quick swat with the back of your hand before moving in to what you really want.

The choked noise he lets out when you trace one finger over his outer lips is something you could get used to. And hearing more is just what you're awarded with when you spread his lips with two fingers, noting that he's practically dripping. Seeing his naturally suave features all screwed up and flushed with desperation is just fucking incredible. If you weren't so impatient to get going you'd have paused to take a picture. Well, probably not, but it was good enough to have the thought.

You let two fingers slip into him right off the bat, the whine and nod of his head already encouraging you to go on. Not as if you were keen on waiting anyhow, a little pain wouldn't bug him. After a few moments wriggling them around and spreading them apart to assure he was loose enough, you add in a third for good measure. You push in as far as his nook will allow, panting and moaning Cronus taking it all beautifully. Once you've milked a few more noises from him, you retract your fingers, bringing them up to taste the material coating them. It tastes similar to your own, with only a few defining qualities. Then again you don't suppose material was meant to be all that uniquely flavorful in the first place.

"Look at your greedy nook, clenchin' on my fingers and wishin' it had more. Lucky I'm so gracious to someone a your nature, so charitable as to give in to a hardly worthy cause," you hiss, nudging his legs open just a bit further for you to settle between. Both your bulges are squirming around for something now, your own brushing over Cronus's entrance and deciding it liked it there. It's already beginning to push in on it's own accord and he's writhing gorgeously under you. "Gonna fuck you so hard, not gonna want ta walk for nights." You have no clue if you'll be able to last long enough to fulfill that completely, but the words really seem to get to him, fins fluttering and a short keen passing his lips.

Nothing could help you wait any longer, hips bucking into his nook rather harshly, earning a startled noise from him and getting a string of noises from yourself. He's just tight enough around you, contracting to pull more of you in him. Your neck drops down for you to get your mouth onto his shoulder, beginning to shove yourself into him as far as you can go. You bite down just enough to occupy your mouth to avoid making some embarrassingly loud noises. He seems shameless enough about what comes out of him though, begging you to move between groans and trills.

You happily oblige, finding a rather uncoordinated pace given your complete inexperience. Your hips are jerky and you try your best to continue moving as harshly as your body will allow, mouth doing its damnedest at leaving as many marks on his poor neck as possible. He hisses as you nip too close to his gills and it only motivates you to scrape your teeth over them. This prompts him to finally put his hands on you, wrapping under your arms to claw the shit out of your back. Violet drips down your side where he's dragging his nails across your ribs, either finally feeling the black or just wanting to please you. Neither option would surprise you.

Everything is a little hotter than you thought possible, from the literal heat rising in your belly to to blood and noises being warbled between the two of you. He's tightening more often now, bulge wagging between your stomachs as you fuck into him at the rhythm that's becoming a little less sporadic. Of course you start getting good when you're both presumably close, beginning to writhe against a spot in his nook that has his horns practically digging into the bed and his nails digging savagely deep into your back. You growl down at him, trying with your whole being to pound into him harder.

His nails don't let up and neither do your teeth on his neck when you feel a sudden rush of sensation. You choke on a cry, not minding the volume of your voice being right next his ear. You go over the edge so suddenly, spurting your material into his nook. The feeling seems to be both uncomfortable and satisfying to him, as he's rocking his hips almost furiously against yours with pleas directed at no one in general. Another moment and he tightens hard around your overly sensitive bulge, crying out your name and cursing as he hits his breaking point.

You didn't quite think about the mess he's made, bulge completely splattering your stomachs and some of your chest. Nice. After god knows how long of catching your breath, your bulge retracts from him and shit there was the material in his nook as well. It leaked from his swollen lips obscenely and you couldn't help but shiver at the sight. It was all kinds of surreal to see just barely different shades of violet mixing below you onto.. his... bed. Whoops. At least he didn't actually sleep in the thing.

"You knowv I SLEEP in here, right Eri?" You startle at his voice, a worn out grumble as he unhooks his claws from your skin and kicks his leg to move you off of him. Ow, alright, the pain of the dripping lines down your back and sides were beginning to override the post-pail high. There wasn't much room to complain considering the many perfect bite marks on his neck bleeding just as much, and oh you wince at a scratch over one of his gills. Right. He does actually sleep in there. Great.

You mumble out an apology, grimacing at the purple that'll likely stain every inch of the sheets it's gotten on. Some was blood, thought the majority was material already beginning to soak on. Just another reminder you left him that you two actually just did that. You did just do that, didn't you? Damn.

Groaning with thumping pain and fatigue, you pity the fact that he's got to clean that up. Or at least put in the effort to try and get the stains out, hah, good luck with that. But you've already got a date with his 'coon, shooting him a lazy grin as you cross the room to his recuperacoon. He looks spent, hair hanging in his face instead of the normal up-do he puts so much effort into, and there it goes again, that thing in your pusher that compels you to do something nice for him. That was getting annoying, but nothing bad could come out of showing him just a little pity.

"One mornin' sleepin' in the coon ain't gonna hurt. C'mon, Cro." You can't believe you're trying to do this whole nice thing, actually walking back to bed to reach for his hand. This was like the ridiculously cheesy ending to a quadrant-flip flick. But you stop dwelling on the nitty gritty details when he begrudgingly takes your hand and you pull him out of bed.

A few awkward maneuvers later and you're both snug tight in his 'coon, breath coming slowly as the sopor eases your wounds and sore muscles. He mumbles something you assume to be an arrogant remark but you don't care enough to listen, just resting your forehead to his chest and clocking out for the morning and likely some of the next evening. He's running fingers through your hair and you don't really think before taking one of his hands in your own to hold to your chest. If he asks when you wake, you can say you were already asleep or something. For now, you take comfort in whatever contact you can get from him, deciding that maybe red would be an acceptable quadrant to delve into.

[nerowrites]

hopefully i can get 2 things out tonight 

[nerowrites]

The Future Seemed So Bright

"Your name is Karkat Vantas and it just so happens you've stumbled into a dream bubble full of the friends you lost a sweep ago. Everything hurts just as much as the day they died, but you decide that you have to apologize to them all." Contains: death, major character death, implied suicide/suicidal themes, general sadness 

Your name is Karkat Vantas and it just so happens you've stumbled into a dream bubble full of the friends you lost a sweep ago. Everything hurts just as much as the day they died, but you decide that you have to apologize to them all.

They all look at you so differently now. Yeah sure, their eyes aren't exactly as yellow as yours anymore and their hearts aren't technically beating. But you can still see their emotions through the milky white of their gazes, they're your fucking friends! ...Right?

You have to keep reminding yourself that they don't hate you as much as you feel like they do. Despite their multiple hues staining your hands and the tears you shed in the stead of acting to save even one of them, despite your leadership skills being as shitty as they were when you were just growing out of your vestigial legs. Scream loud enough at someone and something's bound to happen, that was your mindset. Pretty damned flawed, but then again, what difference was it going to make now? Sitting curled in a ball while you pass through the hundredth dream bubble of the night lamenting every last decision you were ever allowed to make doesn't change the fact that there are eyes on you that you have to meet. There are so many of them, unblinking and waiting for their friend to say something.

Hah, what a laugh that is. They still refer to you as a friend. You only let them die in immensely gruesome fashions, not even having the decency to respectfully dispose of their corpses. No. That was one of the more disgusting bits that you often tended to dwell on; While you rocked on the floor in an emotionally destroyed wreck, crying and screaming for this to stop, that piece of trash clown got his filthy paws on your friends. The one you were supposed to take care of. That guy who you deigned call a moirail because you had no other choice but to keep him calm and collected for the sake of yourself and all your other friends. What a fucking joke your efforts proved themselves to be there.

Even he somehow wised up and left you in the dirt to wallow in the fact that there is no being out there as despicable as yourself. English has nothing on the putrid acts you caused or allowed to commence. Maybe the guy is set out to destroy everything ever, at least he's honest about it. You're just a pitiful slug that put itself in a position of power to stroke its slimy, barely-existent puddle of an ego in hopes it'd impress someone into believing you were worth something. Hi-fucking-larious.

But right, they're still here. You guess you're technically encroaching on the bubble they've decided to congeal in, the perfect group of your fallen comrades. Fallen being the understatement of the epoch, they were all practically hurdled off an hundred-mile-up cliff with a very sharp, unforgiving bottom. And looking up from the floor to see even their shoes is like reliving every moment again, shame bearing down on you stronger with every second that ticks past. You can really only tell time is passing due to the audible clicking of someone's watch. How useless is a watch in the afterlife, it'd not like you could possibly manage to be late anywhere. Whoever is wearing the thing is either into very cruel irony or is too moronic for their own good. You immediately suspect Ampora.

Who are you to be judging a dead kid though, and oh that's right. They're still six sweeps while you've already crept over seven. It hurts so bad to think on this shit but you only focus on it more intensely. If anyone deserves this pain, it's you. May as well go down the line of them, look at their expressions that are trying to not focus on you all at once. They know how you used to be, in need of being tiptoed around for fear you'll blow a gasket and explode on one of them. Which you could have already done for anything, but it seems the pusher-wrenching pain of guilt overrides the fact that you're supposed to be an angry mess.

But right, time to look at their faces, look into their dead fucking eyes and force yourself to look for longer than a single second. Force their pain into yourself and try to steal it all away like you should have so long ago.

First there's the one who should have been in line to the throne, the ghost of royalty pumping through the ghost of veins. The girl had so much to live for, just like the rest of them. She could have changed the whole damned planet, she was so eager to make everyone happy and try to get the firmest grasp on equality a little girl possibly could. She coddled lowbloods, but everyone changes their fair share even within one sweep. Imagine how much better a leader she would have been. Maybe if you'd have died in her place, the matriorb would still be intact, her evolved ideals already coming into action on the meteor. Feferi. You're so damn sorry, and you tell her so.

Standing next to her with a concerned expression is the kid whose potential barely even reached the halfway mark before his light was drowned out. The boy's powers were strong, he could have one day controlled any beast on Alternia given the time to evolve himself and his abilities. He ran a little low in the confidence area, though he somehow drew up the gall to stand up to his abuser. Had the globes to try and take on an opponent he knew there was almost no chance of defeating. He tried so fucking hard, you could have seen him as a top Cavalreaper. But he's dead now, none of that will ever come to fruition. Tavros, you deserve so much better, and you tell him so.

Then there's her, trying with all her being to smile at you like she used to. Just like when you'd dismiss the genuine grins because you were far too "busy" to loosen up for five seconds and be the kid you were. But now it's strained and you can see it, she's fidgeting with her jacket nervously and trying to speak up. But you cut her off with a palm to the air, just like you always used to and you regret it right away. But you're thinking right now, on how incredible she was. The girl would lighten anyone's mood with her role-playing shtick. But the act was put to good use. If one saw her in action either during a FLARP or just in the way she lived, you'd assume she had the tracking experience of seven and a half sweep old, in the very least. She could have been a well feared huntress one day, but she never has the chance now because of you. Nepeta shouldn't have had to die like that, shouldn't have had to die at all and you're the sorriest thing on the planet. You tell her so.

The next girl almost makes you glare. Does she have any idea what she put the girl you love through, what she put all of you through? But again, your own actions could have lead to what she did, who knows. You know for a fact she was just trying to salvage your session somehow, take on an enemy so much bigger than anything she or any of you could understand. Her ego was too much in the end, she had to go out as a hero. Speaking technically, that is. Died midair on her way to fuck up some bad guys, rough up the boss you know she would have barely laid a blade on. Maybe if she'd have lived on in your stead she would have captained the whole session into something far different. Maybe after the game ended she'd get herself a position in the Imperial Force. But she's the ghost of a kid now, that's all too bad. You're sorry for everything, Vriska, you really are, and you tell her so.

This one likely can't stand the thought of you. His arms are crossed tighter than a vise, a look of betrayal gracing his face. What can you even think that would sound justified here? This guy was ridiculously strong willed and bodied, defiant and yet submissive to figures of authority. You can't wrap your head around some of his thoughts, but that matters none. What does matter is thinking about how fucking heroically the guy acted. Whether it was an act or not matters very little to you now, because the guy was willing to go down by the hands of that insane asshole in order to protect his moirail. Who he likely trusted to be protected by you in turn. But you disappointed him even more than anyone, your sad self couldn't pull it together to reign in the jester that quite literally shattered a perfectly balanced pale relationship. Equius, I can't be sorrier for everything I failed to do and the fact that you could have been so much more if I hadn't been a complete failure, and you tell him so.

The last one looks at you with that blank look of distasteful nobility that seemed plastered to his features. You swallow hard at his gaze, that little spark of regret flashing in his own eyes. With this one you aren't sure where to start. Maybe if you had somehow been able to talk with him on a better level, taken his shouts for help seriously rather than brushing them off to deal with a hopeless case palemate, he wouldn't have been pushed off the deep end. He had a dysfunctional moiraillegiance, though it may have worked better between the two of you. You were always capable of talking him down, why hadn't you seen this coming and tried to preemptively stop it? He could have grown to be the most honored Orphaner in the Empress's entire fleet, stronger than fucking anything, but he's a little too dead for that. Jesus Eridan, you did what you did, but it isn't entirely your fault, I'm sorry. So, so sorry, and you tell him so.

By now they're all frowning deeply and there's angry, translucent red spilling from your eyes. They're trying to talk to you, trying to explain something you don't want to hear. Whatever they have to say is going to hurt you more, whether or not you desperately need the closure. During your internal tirade, you'd apparently gotten up and begun to pace before your dead friends. You're afraid to touch them, scared that if you so much as breathe too close they'll dissipate.. Hold on.

You aren't breathing.

Not once have you required to take a breath, never have you felt a dull burn in your chest to alert you to get air. You're asleep, you know that, but you still need to breathe in dreams. You always had, anyhow.

You understand their screwed-up faces now, your mouth drops open so very slightly to gape at them. Holding your hands in front of yourself, you inspect them. You pat all over your body frantically, searching for a wound that wouldn't be there even if it did exist. The princess is reaching for you now and you let her. Her hand rests so softly on your shoulder it feels like she fears she'll break you, which she likely does. A few of them are beginning to mumble things you assume to be reassurances, but you're sinking to your knees before them. Salty tears slip from your very blank eyes as your hands habitually move to grip the sides of your head. The younger ghosts form a half circle around you, all kneeling and trying to grab for your attention to keep your wits intact. But God is it too late. You're already shaking, body convulsing in fitful tears. And laughter.

Your shoulders begin to tremble more and more violently with something you haven't let out in maybe a few years. The feeling is foreign, but this is the most bittersweet thing you could ever think of. Spending your whole existence on that meteor and even a while before that, loathing yourself, screaming when you're alone about how you should just do it already. Just off yourself, get it the fuck over with because it wasn't like anyone could possibly miss you.

You're laughing and they are all painted with looks of confused concern, but you don't fucking care. You finally got what you deserve and there was nothing stopping you from enjoying it.

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

Your name is Dave Strider and you haven't stopped screaming since you came across the body.

[nerowrites]

Listen Up Kid

He's you. But he's so much better in jut about every field than you are. Big buff bod, sharper horns, a glare that'd bring even the noblest of trolls to their knees. A select few had the globes to stand up to that rock wall of a troll, and they only did due to clear physical or caste advantages. The Condesce had mannerisms akin to her mini-self, so you weren't surprised that he'd give in to her. And form the stories you'd heard about alt-Kurloz, you'd stay the fuck out of the Highbloods vantage just as he did.

But the Orphaner didn't cower away from his betters like so many of his equals did. No, this guy just had to go out of his way to somehow show it down your throat that you'll never become anything akin to him. You were supposed to, apparently, but growing up wasn't in the universe's plan for Cronus Ampora. You always die, always have to be stuck as a perpetually pitiless little jerk-off who is a disgrace to his own species. He made it through the life you couldn't, albeit without having to play that game.

And like fate had a vendetta on you for being the slimeball you are, it decided to allow you to come into contact with Killer-Pirate McGee himself. Flesh and blood - or whatever ghosts constituted of in bubbles - judging you with arms crossed and a look of shame and disapproval. It's clear he knows you're at least somehow from the same gene pool, sign on your shirt and close to identical horns aside. You know he knows, and maybe he knows you know he knows, because he lets out the minutest scoff.

You have a ridiculous thought process on a good night, so whatever's running through your pan by now is far from rational. You're conflicted between trying to hit on him and expressing the fact that you're about to shit your pants verbally, but thankfully the silent statue of a troll finally relieves that duty from you with a raised hand.

"It's a phase, just so you know. You want attention right now and won't get anywhere acting the way ya are. It's just fuckin' sad, I can hardly call this pity." The Orphaner's looking down at you with squinted eyes, most likely trying to make sense of everything about you, but wait did he say something about pity? For a moment you're shaken at the sheer difference between your voices, your own having a laid-back, juvenile ring to it. His is as shaking as his appearance, deep and rumbling like thunder. He's right about this being a grab for attention, but he can't know you identified with humans. Does he even know what a human is? Maybe you can play the clothes off as some sort of rebellious phase he went through and can relate to.

That's exactly what you do, figuring pulling the wool over his eyes would be the best thing to restore any positive opinion he'd have of you. "I completely agree, chief, you're all in the right here. Just thought it'd catch an eye or two, y'know?" He nods, he knows what you're saying. Or he's letting you think so, whatever the case things aren't too full of malice.

Dualscar takes a stiff step toward you, hand outstretched and coming for your neck. Instinct tells you to flinch away and you do straight away, giving him a wary look. Adult trolls were a thing to be cautious around, whether or not you were in mid-adolescence. With what you assume to be a roll of the eyes, he flattens the fins on his ears slowly against the sides of his face to signify he mans no harm, hand slowly upturning to bare his palm. You still don't trust anything that guy is doing and bodily stay put with your back against your wall, but your fins flit back and forth once to give permission. Seadwellers have some weird unspoken signals, alright?

But now you're focused on him stepping closer once more, hand gradually moving to pinch your chin between his fingers. He tilts your face up and around, seemingly observing you like some kind of specimen, ad you don't really like it. You're in no place to do what you do, namely wrench your chin out of his grasp and frown up at him like a little brat. Just who does he think he is, getting you against a wall and studying you like an animal? Yeah, that's actually a cool thing to say. "Just who do you think you are, getting me against a wall and studying me like some kind of animal, eh?"

What you earn in response is borderline infuriating. He doesn't look offended, he doesn't even get angry. The troll has the nerve to crack a condescending smirk at you. He even fucking chuckles, who the hell is he to be laughing at himself. Whatever the case, that thought obviously doesn't get to him. All he does is close you in more and returns his hand to where it had been, squeezing your chin so hard you're afraid he's going to give you a permanent cleft.

"Ow! Lay off, would ya, that fucking hurts. Yeah you're bigger and stronger and all that, but come on I ain't done anything you wouldn't have. Because if you hadn't noticed, Daddy-O, I kind of am y-" Your voice is cut off when his hand slides with almost practices ease from your chin to your throat, casually shoving your head against the wall. A literally choked sound bubbles from your throat, hands flying up to pry at his own ringed one. He isn't cutting off your air completely, it's like he's doing it just enough to make your breath come laboriously and have it rattle in your chest a bit. What was he trying to prove here? 'I could double-kill you right now, but I won't.' or something?

Again your questions are answered before you can rasp anything out or wrench his hand away. "It'd do seven different kinds of wonders if ya learned the skill a shuttin' your mouth. May as well teach ye a good lesson now in the form of a little obey-then-reward, eh?" He's wearing a snide expression you don't think you care for and your own is twisted into as menacing a look you can manage. You're flushed sufficiently violet from the struggle to breathe, fins flared wide as they'll go and eyes squinting in challenge. Why doesn't he just knock you around and leave for the eternity you'll be stuck here anyway? Why is something you've no answer to, but he has a motive.

You don't give in completely, you're still clawing at his hand and arm enough to draw thin violet lines on his rough skin. But you nod. The only movement you can really manage right then, the slightest of nods to avoid being strangled completely. This makes him happy, you've made a good choice.

"Atta boy. Now, you're listenin' to everything I say, this is a lesson. Fail to do as I tell you, I can manage much worse than this," he growls, tightening his grip for just a second as if to prove his point. "But. I mentioned reward bein' a thing. You actually get something out a what I'm sayin' and you'll get good things in return." And then you're really sure he's just motioned to your lower half, but there's no time to think on it. His hand is squeezing at your windpipe, pulling you to stand at full attention.

And now you really can't breathe, but you focus on what he's saying and keep good posture for fear he won't let go if you don't listen. "Lesson number one, keep yer damn back straight. Nobody likes a slouch, especially in someone of such a high class as you. You're violet an you better start actin like it, you little disgrace. Got that, Cronus?" Your head bobs insistently, back straight as a rail and shoulder set back in a prideful stance you aren't all to foreign with. He approves, thank the heavens, and loosens his grip once more to jut barely resting on your throat. His thumb runs along your jugular idly as he grins down at you in appreciation.

"Good, keep up just like that. Maybe you're not a lost cause after all.." You're happy for the praise for whatever reason, maybe it just became associated with being able to breathe. There's a moment of quiet that puts on on unease, wondering what he's going to pull. Maybe this was all some elaborate ruse to embarrass you before he took your life (death?) or something, but your mind does a complete 180 off the half pipe when there is a knee pushing itself between your legs. Alright, this is not what you expected or would ever assume to happen. You're the one to make advances, but oh right he is you just older and hotter and generally more experienced. Great.

"What're you-" Cut off, simultaneous lack of air and a grind of his knee against your crotch. These two feelings should never coincide but shit, there's friction on your nook and sheathe you couldn't care less. You jsut don't want to pass out or something in the middle of whatever this turns out to be, so you assure your posture is aces despite vaguely shaking legs as you look to him for whatever the next 'lesson' is going to be.

Clicking his tongue and pulling his knee back to just barely press against you, his eyebrows raise. "What'd I say about shuttin' up? I don't want ta hear a peep out a you unless its got directly to do with agreein' with me or some sort a noise that you're sure to be full of. This is countin' as lesson two, you better thank me later fer bein' so generous. You got that?" Loosened grip, but he makes a point to scratch his claws against your neck just enough to break skin.

"Y-yeah, I got it," you manage to cough out, sputtering for breath for a few moments. He decides your recovery time can double as reward period, jutting his knee up against your sheathe a few times in what you assume to be an effort to get you to unsheathe in your pants. They were tight, that would hurt like hell, but there he was, deciding that redoubling his efforts was a swell idea. Your bulge began to peek out and god you hated him so much right then, this was going to be all kinds of constricting.

The bastard knows what he's done, still dragging his knee in a spot that makes you bit back a groan and buck against him like the desperate adolescent you are. "Keep that back straight now." He chuckles again to himself lowly, dragging his nails down your close to bruising neck to the hem of his shirt. "White. Don't wear this stupid thing anymore, what kind a troll d'you know what wears white? I'll help you get started on this bit." And alright, the fucker is ripping your fucking shirt. You are having none of that, despite your shirt already having been torn beyond repair, the sign on your chest ripped down the middle to expose your chest.

"Not the duds, chief. You can't just do that to a guy's threads, even if you don't like em. How'd you like it if I..?" This is the most moronic thing you've done in your life and death combined, but it's already too late. Your stupid hand is already at the collar of his shirt, tearing into maybe an inch before he's stopped you. His hands are on your wrists before you can think to protest, slamming them to the wall on either side of your head with force you should have anticipated.

"What. Did I just. Say." There isn't a hint of questioning in his voice and you're mildly terrified but you have to answer, at least apologize so he doesn't snap your damned wrists.

"I-I'm sorry, was supposed to be quiet and that was vway outta line. I won't pull nothing like that again, promise." Your fins are drooped in defeat, the seadweller equivalent to rolling over to show your stomach. You hope to the gods he'll take the smallest bit of pity on you, but his reserve doesn't waver. You're fucked.

But he says nothing, just juts his knee up against your nook to the point where it almost hurt and pushes your hands above your head together so he can hold them down with one arm. The other is immediately back at your throat, and for a millisecond you're looking forward to it. That was by far the most depraved thought you'd had in perigees, but it was backed up with the fact that the Orphaner was closer than ever, pressing against you ever part possible that wasn't put at an awkward angle due to the hand now pushing and squeezing on your neck. You grind up at him and he meets it with a more controlled version, your movements alike but his are better. Just as in every other field, you suppose.

Your face is going more and more purple by the second, from equal parts arousal and lack of oxygen. But he doesn't let up, just keeps his hold and ruts against you to the point where you're only half sheathed and nearly dripping with uncomfortable need. You whine with what little air you have left to push out, wriggle in his grasp with not as much fight as you could use. Thankfully the man isn't completely heartless and lets up on your airway, letting you gasp greedily for air.

You're shaking with the effort it takes to keep composed stature, but you're doing it and that's an impressive enough feat in itself. He's nodding at something, you didn't say anything, maybe he did when you weren't paying attention? In any case, he's now attacking your lips with a ferocity you'd normally use to describe a hungry animal. Not going to back away though, this was hot and you're pretty sure you're getting laid at some point in the incredibly near future. At the very least you had the fucked-up bragging rights over this guy hateflirting with you hardcore. The thought gets a smile out of you as you press into the kiss, all teeth and sucking noises.

It really sounds gross, were you an outsider you'd probably be more turned off than anything. But it was happening to you, there were countless pinpricks of violet coming from both your lips and his, and you swear he pulls away nearly as breathless as you. But his composure is far better, merely a dusting of lavender on his own cheeks as opposed to the practically glowing flush radiating from your cheeks. You're about to lean in for more, lips mid-reach when he pulls away from you completely. Your arms are falling asleep above your head, and you decide now would be a good time to shake them out.

"So are we gonna..?" You trail off, glancing down at the shamefully wet patch staining your jeans. The damn things are far too tight for comfort now, making you grit your teeth in an effort to keep from whining about it much more than you already are.

The Orphaner merely gives you a complacent one-over from his vantage point a good foot further away from you than you can deal with. But he's still teaching you or whatever it seems. "Patience. That's what we'll get into next. Maybe not always in the respiteblock, but it is a tactic useful in close ta every field, ya know." Ugh, you have none of that and he should have gathered that the second he decided to appear in your damn room. No matter, he had your attention for the nest couple seconds at least.

With a seemingly indifferent sigh, the troll before you is unclasping his ridiculously gaudy cape and draping it carefully over a nearby chair. Talk about overkill, come on he could have just tossed it aside really. He moving on to the straight violet armor that covers most of his chest and abdomen, intermittently around his stomach due to the gaps in the shape of your sign. Every piece is torture, you're all for strip teases but this is just unfair. Finally the presumably heavy armor is all placed in a neat pile beside his cape, leaving him in a skin-tight black shirt (that now has a nick in the neck, score one for Cronus) and some worn looking pants.

But he's just standing there with his arms crossed now, blinking at you and inspecting you once more. He's waiting for you to crack, you realize, and the tightrope that is your mental strength is being pulled thinner than ever before. But you mustn't break, you're getting what you want if that means staring alternate you down for nights on end. You're getting this.

"Tch. You're lastin' longer than I'd have pegged ya. If it weren't for how awfully tight those slacks look, I'd make you squirm for longer. Remember to pay mind to others' needs, you self-centered little prick. Not with me, I'm the instructor, but ye get the deal, yeah?" You're nodding before he's finished saying anything, hands moving to your zipper at lightning speed. No no though, can't do anything yourself apparently. He on you and swatting your hands away before you've got a firm hold on anything, grumbling nothings at you as he gets them undone and tugs them down along with your underwear unceremoniously. You kick them off your ankles and nearly trip in the process, earning a mocking snort from the troll hovering over you.

'Alright, I'm as naked as it comes, what about you big guy?' you as silently, glaring at his pants intently. He just mumbles "Patience," and makes use of his hands to stroke at your close to fully unsheathed bulge with surprisingly gentle fingers. You gasp at the direct contact from hands that aren't yours, biting your bloody lip to hold back from making any pathetic noises so early. Can't give him the satisfaction of knowing you're literally in the palm of his hand. He pulls back, not without running a single finger across your slit teasingly, wiping whatever material from his fingers onto his trousers.

"Well, I think you've learned quite well. Even kept you shoulders back, what a good boy." He peppers you with praise while you shudder against the wall, willing him to get out of those damn pants ,you needed something in you or around you right now. Patience had worn out, and he knew that just as well.

With a half swift half clumsy movement you're pretty sure only he could pull off, Dual's pants are off and being kicked to the general vicinity of the rest of his shit. His shirt is still on and you don't like that much, but it didn't matter. His own bulge was writhing similarly to your own, his apparently allowed to unsheathe with more ease considering his far looser choice of pants. You're nodding, almost shivering with anticipation and setting your jaw to hold back any potential complaint, because ah thank god he's got his arms on either side of you to the wall, pushing your lower halves together to allow your bulges to entwine and god that felt incredible.

You're sighing at every movement, shaky arms moving up to wrap around his shoulders and hold on tightly. He's almost hunched over to meet up with you, groaning right in your damn ear in that position. It's all you can hear above your quickened breath and you can;t get enough. With one hand, you reach down to hesitantly get your bulges apart. Once yours is separate, you begrudgingly hold it up and still, away from your nook. It's the sweetest invitation you'er sure anyone's ever been offered, but of course he has to drag this out as well.

His hips still, bulge moving on its own accord to stroke the lips of your nook over and over. You've taken to humming out a constant note, hips bucking at his to try and get his bulge to quit the feather-light teasing strokes and get on with the show. Eventually just the tip is pushed in by a lucky movement of yours coinciding with his, causing him to hiss and your eyelids to flutter with satisfaction. Now that he was in he wasn't going to pull back, or at least you hoped that was the case.

He apparently was fine with finally getting on with it, hands drifting to your thighs to spread your legs just a bit more to accommodate him between them, then resting at your hips to use as a hold as he finally pressed in. Agonizingly slowly, but you were getting what you wanted and it felt so much better than fingers, a bigger stretch but a natural feeling nothing else could replicate. You're keening, eyes shut tight as he's finally inside completely. To your relief, the troll takes no time in getting adjusted, moving almost immediately.

Your leg finds its way latched around his hips, both helping you into a more comfortable position and pulling him into you just that much deeper. The angle was golden, working wonders for you and milking noises even you would be ashamed of out of your lips. He's gripping your hips for deal life, bucking up into you roughly and developing a comfortable pace gradually. You're sighing and moaning and he's groaning about how much you'd learned, some half-assed statements pertaining to his previous lessons. You were sure to retain the knowledge to stand up straight after he'd fucked you into a wall, this was just common sense.

Soon you're clawing his shoulders a little harder than intended and he reciprocates by digging nails into your hips and ass. Those were going to be pretty marks. You're not built to last very long, especially with the feeling of his bulge ramming inside you and the nearly possessive growling he's started up. This was too much, and you were going to make a fool out of yourself by coming first but it was inevitable. He'd understand, he had to.

"H-ha Dual.. Think I'm gonna.." Your breath hitches into a particularly shameless noise and you tighten, everything from your eyes to your toes is clenching tightly as you moan out his title. He lets you ride it out, thrusting into you roughly a few more times before stilling inside you and biting into your shoulder to muffle a lovely noise you could only wish to hear again.

A few seconds pass of panting and catching breath before you realize you feel fuller than you should, that neither of you had gotten a pail, shit. Did he seriously just..? His bulge is retracting with a slick noise, making you shudder as yours eventually does the same. You can feel the material leaking out of you and this just may be the most shame-inducing, incredibly taboo, wrong thing you've ever had done to you. You seldom made jokes about using another as a pail, that was even a bit raunchy for you. But here you are, clutching to a ghost of who you should have been as his material drips from your nook.

It takes a second for you to find the strength to stand on your own, but once you can you're standing at full height, mouth agape as you stare at him and he's grinning. His mouth is turned up at the corners, you couldn't mistake that disgusting smile's existence. He meant to do that.

"Are you.. did you really jut pull that shit on purpose?" You know he did, quit asking stupid questions. He just nods, almost snickering as he stoops down to pick up the remains of your shirt. Your jaw sets into a scowl as he wipes the violet from your lips first, then the viscous material from your nook and thighs. You couldn't save that shirt if you'd wanted to anymore, there was no washing and sewing the thing. The fuck were you even going to wear, old dream clothes? How did that even work?

"You better have a very nice replacement shirt for me by dusk tomorrow or I'm flipping the hell out. Or something." You don't actually think there's much you could hold as a threat to the guy who could overpower you with a hand behind his back, so you wear your best frown. You're too exhausted to offer more than that, already making a move for your 'coon. A good few hours in there was well deserved after the crazy morning that had served to be.

"Aye, don't get your little flushed panties in a bunch. I'll figure somethin' out for ye lad." He laughs a hearty laugh, peeling off his shirt to get in after you. He's scarred to bits, the ones on his face just a sneak peak of the absolute massacre on his chest and back. They're fascinating, and you decide taking time to study him sometime would be marvelous.

It's a tight fit in the recuperacoon with the two of you squeezed in there, but he's holding you to his chest and you think that this is alright for now. Long term is a question you can ask when the first moon has risen. You think that if he sticks around, he'd make out to be an interesting quadrantmate. Exactly where you weren't sure, but that didn't matter now. Drifting to sleep with your head on his chest was the most pressing matter as of then, and you're okay with that.

[nerowrites]

Being Sad Is Cool And All But Remember That Time We...?

She rolls over on the couch for the millionth time, flopping around and trying to shake the negativity from her head physically. Aradia had always been stubborn and now was the time it frustrated her even further. The girl's mind kept wandering back to dangerous what if's and how come's, thoughts skirting around the fact that she was otherwise physically fine, but hey it was possible for something awful to happen again and therefore she was supposed to dread it. Being dead on a few different occasions can mess with even the strongest of souls.

So there she lay, flat on her back and ruing crawling out of the 'coon that dusk. It'd have been easier with the warm goo coddling her on all sides and lulling her into one of those rare half-sleeps but what was that going to solve? It wasn't very proactive to float around like a blog all day avoiding responsibilities. And yet she'd been migrating from chair to couch to floor, rolling around restlessly for the first few hours of moonlight. The troll had attempted at cleaning, but that was a lost cause on an average evening, what with the dusty fossils and absolute junk littering the floors. Nothing was exactly important but it was all so cool, she couldn't just shove it all away in a closet.

In any case, she wasn't going to allow the sadness to take over her for much longer. It was annoying, she should be out adventuring or getting some solid hours in on a good book. Hell, she'd even watch one of her troll Indiana Jones movies in the stead of wallowing in negative thoughts. Movies used to be her thing big time, she and her mate even used to make them together. They were so pointless, really, full of things they found exciting a sweep ago. The two of them still made one every so often of course, but now they were more akin to documentaries. Sollux would take position as cameraman, trailing the rustblood around treacherous caverns in search of something valuable. There was even the occasional hive-video of one of them attempting to cook, gods they were such dweebs..

And then she found herself smiling the faintest of smiles, a nostalgic sighing laugh getting out of her. That was it, this was so stupid and she was likely to be more embarrassed than anything but she was already off. Threw her legs off the couch and bounded out of the room to her respiteblock, hurrying toward the cluttered and worn desk that stood near her 'coon. She plopped into the rickety chair and immediately flipped open her "Crobytop." The thing never failed to get a smile or cringe out of her, this evening eliciting the latter. She wasn't going to 'Laugh at past me' to cheer her up right then. It was more 'Laugh at past Sollux and everything about him. Especially the shoes." Even the made up mini title was enough to get her to giggle again. This was going to be lovely.

It took a few minutes to dig through the files that had gone untouched for a good while, searching for /that/ file. She finally stumbled across the title "aa made me do thii2 ii2g" and tapped on the thumbnail. A circle of dots spun a few times to load the ancient video (it wasn't that old Aradia, you aren't mature yet), and she settled in. Bringing up her legs, she sat holding he knees to her chest and resting her head on them casually. The video finally started up with a too-close Captor making a displeased expression into the lense.

"...seriously, I would rather excavate the remains of a thousand very perverted oldsters of the past than do this. I'm just going to embarrass myself and you know it." He'd scooted back from the camera then to kneel across from Aradia, arms crossed over his chest and nose wrinkled to outwardly convey his unwillingness to take part.

"Whose idea was this in the first place huh stupid? You know we're gonna have fun, just give it some time!"

Before them was a mess of thin string, yarn, and a few beads. The idea was to learn how to make bracelets, so they could wear each other's colors or something. It was an adorably juvenile proposition, but how could a girl say no when there was an otherwise rather reserved boy asking her to do something? She knew it would end up with more cursing and a few chuckles than anything productive, but this was one of their more successful ideas. So here they were fiddling with strings and trying to learn braids they barely had a visual on. There was technically an instruction booklet, and the rational troll would have broke it out by now. But the thing that got in the way was Sollux's pride and the fixation Aradia had on getting things done without a crutch. However necessary the crutch was.

So technically it was a few minutes just watching them fumble over knots and contemplating bead placement, fingers occasionally brushing mid-reach for another length of string. This was what she watched out for. Whenever little past her "accidentally" allowed their hands to touch for more than a second the boy would get flustered, cheeks flushing golden and eyes blinking just a little more often than necessary. He was a ridiculous little thing back then, hardly knew how to deal with affection without blushing like an idiot. So he'd furrow his eyebrows in concentration and begin working furiously at the very knotted mess in his fingers, of change the subject abruptly.

"I'm obviously not getting this and I know you have instructions for this. C'mon AA, just hand them over." Suddenly her heart jumped, signature toothy smile reading its head. This was when she..

"Sollux please. /Weave/ only just started. You can /knot/ be /tied/ already!"

Her real-time was a practical duplicate of the one currently on her screen, basking in the post-pun glow as Sollux squinted at her.

He sighed very heavily, didn't even say a word. It was just moments of silence with Aradia's shaking shoulders and stifled snorts of bemusement while the Gemini's head turned almost comically slowly toward the camera. He stared into the lense, seeking out sympathy from the thing. You'd have been able to catch his eye twitching if it weren't for the tacky eyewear blocking it out. A few more solid seconds of near-silence and Sollux looking completely done with his whole life before his matesprit finally broke. Her silent gasps had turned to very audible barks of laughter, eyes squeezing tightly shut as she lost it over her own joke and the beautiful reaction elicited.

It wasn't long before his exterior cracked as well, a short "pff" getting out of him preceding his mouth curling into a beautifully crooked grin. His laugh was nasally and every few seconds he seemed to choke on it as he took a breath, turning back to Aradia in disbelief. Between trying to get air in his lungs and ejecting it with a giggle, he tried to speak back at her.

"A-AA, you are /sew/ lame." Again there was time given for complete quiet, letting the addition sink into their pans before they broke into senseless cackling like the immature wigglers they were. It had the same effect on current her as it did then despite having grown so much, getting her to laugh under her breath for a little while. She watched as the two of them fell into each other, foreheads leaning on shoulders as they shook with pointless laughter.

After a few minutes their glee had run its course, small tremors still shaking them with the after effects of a well done joke. They leaned away from each other slowly, both flushed their respective colors by now. At some point his hands had found their way to her knees, and as he came back from the uncommon bout of giggles he realized so, yanking them back almost defensively. Poor thing was still in the stage of "is this too far, it's literally impossible to tell" considering the recent affirmation of their relationship. Though Aradia wasn't nearly so bashful. She knew he liked her and that she liked him, so why not go for things while the time allowed?

Before either of them had time to completely get their breath back, she flashed a silly grin and went for it. She leaned in clumsily and pecked their lips together. His face was priceless. Eyebrows nearly shot up off his head, an expression of sheer surprise plastered onto him. It was a short smooch, just long enough for her to enjoy it and for him to register that it was happening. After she pulled back his cheeks and nose were straight mustard, lips kind of still puckered out for a second. He stared at her with the adoration of an adolescent barkbeast, and she just smiled that goofy smile at him. But then his eyes flicked to the camera and he went back to shocked, scrabbling off his knees to get at it. She could hear muffled sounds of him cursing and fumbling to get the camera off, and it was all she could do not to bury her face in her knees.

The screen went dark, switched back to her video files automatically. Aradia sat there curled in on herself for who knows how long, grinning at the screen and laughing softly to herself. She was so lucky to have met him that early on in his life, able to experience the sheer nerdy-ness that radiated off of him like heat. Sighing, she ran her fingers along the trackpad to her computer, scrolling through more of the videos. This was going to be a very positive evening, and she owed it all to the one she couldn't gush to. That would have to wait, she decided. He'd return soon enough and she would be able to remind him of how sweet and embarrassing he used to be. For now, she had an appointment with a few more videos and some ruins nearby that were just begging to be explored.

[nerowrites]

Bitter and Cold

Alpha Dave having some sort of mental breakdown, he's just not doing very well right now and would appreciate comfort he cannot seek out.  Contains: alcohol, blood, vomiting, self-hatred

What became of you?

You only wish you could answer that. It’s a simple enough question, you suppose. What drove you to this point, how in the hell did you get by for so long if this has always been welling up inside you? Fuck if you know.

All you can reply with is an absent shrug, a snide remark of some sort. You don’t care all too much about much these days. Questions from passersby are nothing but irrelevant pieces of dust to you. Granted when a torrent come at a time, your vision is blurred. And you give a rational answer, if only for that moment. They’re overwhelming. They’re hungry dogs, yowling and wheedling for the meat you aren't obligated to share.

But you do anyways. Your career is at its peak, everybody loves you, what does it matter if you let it slip your grasp on reality is slowly loosening? Mumbling and side-eyeing a single paparazzi isn't going to sully anything for you and you know it.

She’d call it a cry for help. You know she would have a field day with all the pent-up bullshit constantly pounding in your skull. The thought of actually speaking to her again, about your psyche or no, never ceases to paint a bitter grin on your lips. It’s been far too long to rekindle any hope of having a civil conversation. The fame got to your head at some point, giving you a momentary viewpoint of yourself being useful for something.

So you ignored her. Put off her calls while you got smashed with producer after producer in questionable clubs, agreeing to things you regret as soon as the slurred “Yeah” gets past your lips. But the woman never faltered, and that’s what gets you the most. Fools you into thinking it really would be encouraged to break the ice that’d formed a veritable glacier between the two of you with a simple returned text, or even a call. You can’t fucking do it, no matter how much either of you may need it.

You wouldn't be able to bear the guilt when you inevitably met up. The tenseness in her piercing lavender eyes, the way her smile is too tight. She’d laugh and you’d smirk along with her, cracking jokes in ill taste just to see her light up. But it wouldn't be right, because it’d been too long. She’s surely given up on you. And that’s fine. You get it.

You wave away the thought of her, thinking for the millionth time that maybe, just maybe, if you drink enough, she’ll disappear. Her laugh will be burned out of your thoughts and the copies of her books you pretend not to read will simply dissipate into the nothingness you've drifted into already.

So you unscrew the Svedka, pour a mix you’d created when you were a teenager. Apple juice and cheap alcohol, dubbed fondly by your young and intoxicated self “Piss.” It was pretty damned accurate too; the taste bit at your throat and almost made you gag when you exhaled through your nose. That could have been due to there being more booze than juice in your solo cup, but so it goes.

Within a few minutes of downing the horrid mixture your head is fuzzy, things beginning to move differently with every flick of your eyes or tilt of your head. Your stomach burns and it’s not enough. The next few hours are filled with more and more alcohol being poured down your throat, everything burning but you don’t care anymore. You’re talking to yourself, slurring apologies to people who aren't there and likely never will be again.

The bottle is nearing half empty and your stomach lurches. You don’t make it to the bathroom, bile and booze pouring from your mouth that burns jut as much coming up as it does going down. It lands mainly in the sink, for which you are grateful as you shiver with hands bracing you on either side of the sink. It goes on for another minute or so, you’re gagging with disgust at the taste and in yourself. Finally though, you believe you’re safe enough to shakily right yourself and rinse out the sink.

You’re hobbling to the bathroom now, everything spinning in ways that aren’t nice and comforting anymore. The lights flick on haphazardly when your hand slams at the wall for them desperately, mistake realized too late. They’re bright, you don’t know when your shades were shucked but your brain begs for the shield once more. You don’t have the time or mental capacity to feel around for them anymore, so you just squint and scrabble with the knobs to the bathroom sink.

Lukewarm water sloshes out, your hands thrust under the stream and splash it up onto your face. It gets everywhere but you can’t really care, you just want the taste out of your mouth and the spit off your chin. So you rinse your skin and mouth with limited motor skills, water spilling to the floor and onto your dress shirt. Not that a little water’d hurt it, the damn thing is sweaty and smells of booze and failure.

You rub your face, look into the mirror with woozy eyes. You’ve half a mind to punch the mirror and only a quarter of one functioning, so that’s what you do. Your fist hits hard, thick glass but you barely feel it. Your knuckles are dripping blood and a few small shards are sticking into the skin persistently. Regarding them passively, all you really do is shake your hand out. Get a little feeling back into it. You’ll clean this all up tomorrow.

For then you turn on your heel, deciding bed will be a good idea. You won’t sleep, but it’s safest to be there and fuck you’re falling. You realize too late the water on the floor may serve as a hazard, and you’re hitting the ground hard before you know to brace yourself. Your forehead bashes the lip of the sink, a shock of pain almost enough to sober you up shooting through you. It’s bleeding right away and you don’t know what to fucking do with yourself.

You know the basics, you’re not a complete idiot. Three panicked grabs to the air later your fingers find purchase on a towel and you yank, finally getting it off the hook and into your hands. It’s a light color, sure to be ruined forever by the blood, but you can’t care, You just press it to the wound, hissing through your teeth at the very concentrated stinging in your forehead and hand.

There’s blood on the floor mixed with the water, it looks like a little village of elves was brutally slaughtered here by some sort of ice monster. The thought kind of makes you chuckle, but that was a mistake. Your head pounds and you groan in pain, drawing your knees up to curl in on yourself on the cold tile of your bathroom. Your skin buzzes, everything pounds with the pulse of the gash in your head. That’s going to need stitches, you’re going to have to explain this in a few minutes when you call someone to came get your sorry ass off the ground.

For now you just writhe in on yourself, a bitter smile of self-loathing making itself present. The tears had to have started recently, you don’t remember having begun. But they come down hard and heavy, jaw set tight as you wail silently. No sound comes out but a few angry rasps, maybe a gasp from suddenly increased pain.

This must be what the other fame-ridden bastards refer to as rock bottom. You’re curled in a ball on the floor, almost black-out drunk, dripping with anger and blood, and your mouth tastes of bitter, sharp bile. It really couldn’t get any worse, you realize. Maybe you’ll pass out here before someone arrives, maybe by some stroke of luck you’ll fall and cause the gash to begin bleeding with a new fervor. Maybe you have real brain damage and you’ll croak before the sun rises. The worst part is, you don’t think you’d mind.

What became of you?