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crimeronan · 7 months

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god i wish i wouldn't have to explain the intricacies of the neopets economy to you guys to give the full context for this but. the new neopets team that took over from jumpstart pledged that they were going to curb the inflation of rare items, which is great because a lot of rare items are worth literally hundreds of millions of neopoints, they are unbuyable unless you've been playing actively for 20 years. they did this earlier with a site festival that included random loot boxes, some of which had Unbelievably Fucking Rare And Precious items worth 200 million neopoints apiece.

well.

today they have gone a step further. by releasing this year's trick-or-treat bags. and having the trick-or-treat bags be stuffed to the brim with unbelievably fucking rare stamps, weapons, paint brushes, defense magic, and other unbuyables. (all prohibitively expensive and in-high-demand types of items.)

jellyneo, the premier neopets website, has recorded prices of some items plummeting from 2,000,000 neopoints to 4,000 neopoints IN THE LAST THREE HOURS. this is when most people haven't even heard about the event or OPENED THEIR BAGS YET.

and of course. cherry on top. 20-year-old account holders are crytyping on the site events neoboard about how mean and cruel it is to make rare stamps part of the prize pool, because their entire identity hinges on being part of the neopian bourgeoisie, and they are having MELTDOWNS over their assets being devalued until they're part of the lowly proletariat.

this is a children's game for children btw.

none of the money is real.

i'm having such a good time.

#i paused in opening my bags to write this bc the site's getting so much traffic that it's taking 3 minutes to refresh one page #i've pulled a paint brush a stamp that used to be worth 2 mil (it's not now) and another stamp that's always been cheap.#i have 4 more bags to open still.#i Love It Here.#neopets

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static-radio-ao3 · 3 months

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@jegulus-microfic // february 7 // prompt: star // words: 1,416 // cw: referenced sexual content // part 1 + part 3

“So let me get this straight,” Barty says, pacing in front of the couch where Regulus is sitting with his back straight and his hands tucked between his knees. “You sucked off your ex in the bathroom, picked a fight with him because he wanted to return the favor, ended up hooking up with him and staying the night, and now you’re telling me he texted you?”

Barty ticked off every point he made, a full five fingers now held up in front of Regulus' face. Five offenses. Regulus fights to maintain eye contact but his resolve crumbles under Barty's unyielding stare. Barty Crouch Junior, a force of nature. If only he'd use his powers for good.

“That would be correct,” Regulus says after a moment of silence.

“And his name in your phone is do not fucking respond.”

“That would also be correct.”

“And what did you do?”

“I responded.” Regulus at least has the decency to hang his head in shame. He remembers how long it took his friends to piece him back together in the aftermath of Hurricane James.

Barty sighs, bone-deep and long-suffering. He pinches the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand and turning to face Regulus again. “Follow-up question: were you dropped on your head as an infant?”

Regulus perks up at that, because “Well—”

“Don’t answer that,” Barty says, voice clipped. “God, Regulus. Gold star for being a fucking idiot.”

“In my defense,” Regulus starts. He doesn't continue though. Lets the silence stretch until there is no give anymore. Barty cocks an impatient eyebrow. “He looked really good,” Regulus finishes lamely. A red flush crawls up his neck and Regulus is sure it makes the mottled bites and bruises on his skin stand out even more.

Barty stops pacing to shoot Regulus an incredulous look. “That’s such a bad excuse? He always looks good? If you’re gonna be dropping to your knees as soon as he's within a two-mile radius, just— don’t.”

“But—”

And really, Regulus isn’t sure why he’s about to argue. He absolutely should be kept away from James at all times and he’d been so good at it for a while, but then. Well. Before he gets a chance to argue though, Barty cuts him off again.

“Don't make me call Pandora. She will bring the list.”

That does shut Regulus up. A huge file with an annotated bibliography and an itemized list of why Regulus should stay away from James. They had used it against him before and it worked every time. This time though, he didn’t want his weaknesses pointed out to him just yet.

“Fine. I won't talk to James anymore.”

---

“And then you have the fucking audacity to text me?” Regulus asks, incredulity bleeding into his voice. James seems unbothered by it though, hip cocked against the kitchen counter and arms crossed over his chest.

“Would you rather I call you?” He asks.

Regulus whirls on him. “No! I'd rather you not reach out to me at all!”

“See, once again, I am finding that hard to believe.” James pushes himself off the counter and steps closer to Regulus. “Did celibacy make a liar out of you? Or did I fuck you so good you forgot all the things you said last night?” He keeps his voice low as he says it, but Regulus hears it loud and clear. He shifts under James’ sharp gaze. Eyes lazily tracking the way Regulus moves.

“I'm not fucking lying. Last night was a mistake,” Regulus lies. Because that’s what he does now. Apparently.

“Technically two,” James says. He bites his bottom lip thoughtfully, eyes stuck on one of the many bruises littering Regulus’ neck.

Regulus doesn’t need the reminder, he can feel the bites and bruises sting with every turn of his head. Hands pressed palm to palm and the two of them chest to chest. A leg between Regulus’ own and his voice so wrecked he didn’t realize it was his at first. James, softened by the low light in the room, all his sharp edges blurring into pleasure. The hum of a moan into the heated skin of his neck.

“Technically three,” Regulus murmurs, eyes getting hazy, but he catches himself a second later, straightening. “But that's not what we're talking about!”

“Isn’t it?” James cocks his head. A lazy smirk pulls at James’ lips. The sight makes something simmer hot in Regulus’ gut. “We seem awful good at making mistakes. Maybe they're not mistakes at all.”

“All of this was a mistake! From the beginning! We shouldn't have hooked up and we shouldn't have dated and none of this should've fucking happened. Not last night, not last year, none of it.” Regulus takes a heaving breath. Considers saying more, but then James cuts in with:

“Are you done?”

“What?”

“I asked if you were done.”

“I— Yeah. I guess.”

James takes a step closer again, boxing Regulus in against the table. He presses his palms down on the flat surface, one on each side of Regulus’ hips. He has to look up a bit to be able to look James in the eye when they’re this close. He always liked it.

“You know what, that would've hurt my feelings if I believed you. Although I guess I do think this was a mistake. In a way.”

The feeling of James’ breath hitting the side of his neck makes Regulus shiver. James dips down for the barest, briefest moment and drags his lips along the column of Regulus’ neck, tracing the path he laid out the night before. It takes Regulus a second to realize what James just said, too caught up in his closeness to register the words. He isn't prepared for the way that statement makes him feel, a sharp pang in his chest and a dull ache all the way down his fingertips. He curls them into fists, keeps them resolutely in his lap. But before he has a chance to react, James continues.

“See, I think we never should've broken up. Mistake number one.” James takes the smallest of steps backward just to be able to raise his pointer finger. Regulus misses the heat instantly. “And I think you shouldn't have left this morning. Mistake number two.” He raises a second finger. “And you know what they say about mistakes.”

He glances at Regulus thoughtfully, waiting for him to fill in the blanks.

“Don't fucking make them?” Regulus asks.

“All good mistakes come in threes,” James corrects, a third finger now being held up.

“No one says that.”

“Maybe they should.”

“No, James,” Regulus shakes his head and leans back, putting some distance between himself and James. Or trying to, at least. “This is a bad idea and we both know it.”

James just leans into him more. Regulus goes a little cross-eyed trying to maintain eye contact. His focus is drawn to James’ lips instead. He remembers them pink and bitten. Stretched wide, spit clicking the corners.

“Come on, baby,” James hedges. “No more mistakes. Just me and you. And I'll be so good for you, good to you, I swear.”

His voice is molten honey, hot and sweet, and it sticks to Regulus’ skin like a physical thing.

And Regulus only has so much resolve. He unclenches his fists, allowing himself to reach out and touch. But the smooth fabric of James’ sweater is a poor substitute for the thing he really craves. It buzzes in his veins, a steady hum that's getting increasingly harder to ignore. There is no alcohol in his system to blur the lines he'd once drawn, he steps over them with his eyes wide open.

“You're addicting, you know that?” Regulus murmurs, mouth a few scant inches from James’. “Just can't fucking quit you. You and your Jamesness.”

Before James can reply, Regulus curls a hand over James’ throat and tugs him into a kiss. The buzzing in his veins quiets immediately, satisfaction rushing through them instead. It’s heady, kissing James again, even though it’s only been a couple of hours since their last kiss. James really is addicting. And Regulus is a weak, weak man.

---

is that a phone in your pocket or are you happy to see me [group • 4 members]

reg: hey guys....

evan: you're an embarrassment

barty: @panda send the fuckinf list

pandora: reasons why regulus should keep his dick in his pants and out of his ex [file type: PDF • 53 pages]

#messy exes jegulus: even messier #idk why they broke up but pls lmk if you have ideas #barty said regulus protection squad #james just said whore.#anyways!! for kara bc i probably would've let it be if she hadn't been so excited about the snippy <33 #i hope you enjoy <33 #i know it's a few days behind the 6th but!! i liked star #regulus black #james potter #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #jegulus #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #mil's writing #my writing

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xjustakay · 3 months

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✺ (2/16) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: tear — 1,058 words (college/uni au; when your boyfriend tries to distract you from working on your schoolwork and you’re so strong about it)

At this point, Regulus is about ten seconds from bashing his head into the table. He’s been in the library study room for hours already, only so much time still left on the max amount that he’s allowed to use it for. Just a little while longer to get some of the piled up work he needs to get done, and then he can take a break.

And yet.

Groaning, he sinks enough in his chair to thump his forehead onto the tabletop. Whose grand fucking idea was it to get a masters degree? Why did he think that was a good plan? This thesis is going to be the death of him.

You could still drop out. There’s still time to do that. You’re smart, you’re pretty, you’ve finished enough school, you’ll figure it out. You can just—

The study room door opens, cutting his spiral short. Regulus lifts his head, automatically ready to snap at whoever’s come to interrupt him before his time in the room is up. Except when he sees that it’s James, his annoyed expression quickly melts away.

There’s a to-go coffee cup and a white paper bag in James’ hand, the other reaching out to push the door shut quietly behind him. He comes around the far end of the large table —too large for one person, really, but Regulus has a couple books, his laptop, and various notes scattered over it, taking up space. James still finds an empty spot beside his laptop to set the bag and cup down then bends to kiss the top of Regulus’ head.

Regulus tilts back to look up at him. “I thought you were at the gym.”

“Baby, I went to the gym at like eight-thirty. It’s eleven now,” James chuckles, sliding his hand back and forth between his shoulders. He nods his head toward what he’s brought when Regulus quirks a brow at him wordlessly. “Figured you didn’t have anything before coming here.”

“I had a coffee already,” Regulus replies.

“And did you eat?”

He drops his chin, eyeing the white paper bag with a barely hidden sheepish look.

“Uh huh, that’s what I thought.” James squeezes his shoulder then moves around where Regulus sits to plop into one of the chairs closest to him. “It’s one of those almond croissants you can never say no to, so.”

Regulus’ lips tick upward into a gentle smile, gaze flicking sideways. “Oh, you’re really going for it, are you?”

“Going for what?” James asks, feigning innocence.

With a knowing roll of his eyes, Regulus reaches for the bag, pulls out the croissant, and settles it on the outside. He tears a piece off and pauses before bringing it to his mouth, swiveling his chair to knock his knee into James’.

“I told you, I have to stay here for at least three hours. I have too much work to get done.” Regulus pops the bite of food in his mouth, chews and swallows before tilting his head. “You don’t get to try to butter me up and pull me away from it.”

James narrows his eyes at him a little, thumbs tapping over his shirt where he keeps his hands folded on his stomach. “Maybe I’m just being nice.”

“Mm, and why should I believe you?”

“Because I’m always nice.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

“Come on now, love, you know I’m only mean to you when you ask me to be.” James winks, his grin inching wider when Regulus blushes at the insinuation.

He swallows another bite of food with a shake of his head, washing it down with a sip of coffee —black with one sugar, just like James knows he prefers it. He sets the cup back down and proceeds to point at the door James came through.

“Get out.”

Like the flip of a switch, James goes from playful to downright pouty, huffing petulantly and slumping in his chair.

“Regulus, it’s the weekend,” He complains.

“It’s Friday. Still a week day,” Regulus points out.

“Close enough,” James grumbles. He sits up straight abruptly again, leaning forward to press his elbow into the table, chin propped in his palm. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Your dick isn’t going to write my thesis, I’m afraid.”

James snorts, looking terribly smug as his hazel eyes drop to Regulus’ mouth then dart back up again. “Could write your thesis on it, though, couldn’t you? In more ways than one.”

“Out,” Regulus emphasizes, blushing bright red up to his ears. “I can’t deal with you for at least another hour. Leave me alone.”

“About to shed a tear here, baby,” James jokes, bringing a hand to his chest in further dramatics.

“Then cry about it. Somewhere else, ideally,” Regulus says.

Laughing, James seems to concede to his dismissal because he pushes up from his chair. He leans one hand on the table and tucks the other beneath Regulus’ chin to tilt his head back.

Despite kicking his boyfriend out, Regulus sighs contently, eyes falling shut when James dips down and presses a lingering kiss to his lips. No matter his insistence to avoid distraction, kissing James is one lovely indulgence Regulus will not deprive himself of. James’ thumb brushes over his chin before he touches their foreheads together.

“An hour?” James checks.

“At least,” Regulus confirms.

“Okay, fine.” James kisses him one, two, three more quick times before separating. “You’ve got this, love. Don’t stress yourself out too much.”

Regulus hums, nodding his head, watching James head for the door. “Thank you for the breakfast.”

“Of course.” James pauses with his hand on the handle, glancing him over one more time, warm smile and fond gaze unfading. “Love you.”

He tries, he really does, to contain the smile that tugs at his lips, making his own affection unbearably obvious when he ultimately fails. He typically does now. Regulus Black, made soft after all. He can’t even be mad about it anymore, not when being with James feels as good as it does.

Breathing in deep through his nose, Regulus mentally steels himself against the swoop in his stomach and a resolve that could crumble fast if James stays for too much longer.

“Love you,” He says in return. And because he has to, obviously, he tacks on an additional, playful, “Now leave.”

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #dedicated to mil who said ‘i love your uni microfics’ and i said ‘okay i’ll write you another one’#bing bam boom here we are #they’re so sweet and silly and in love #and i love them dearly #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing

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shyam-kariya · 5 months

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Date idea.

How amazing it would be when i buy books for her and she buys books for me.

And then we discuss about our shopping over a cup of chai.

आखिर में भी तो एक ऐसा पार्टनर deserve करता हूं जो मेरे लिए बुक्स खरीदे!

#book date #bas ek baar life mein ye mil jaye #ek aisi partner chahiye jo mere liye books purchase kare #ek khwaish #literature quotes #aesthetic quotes #quotes #words typed #words #wordsnquotes #relatable quotes #wordsofwisdom #book quotes #life quotes #words to live by #shyam #shyam kariya #shyam writes

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bekkachaos · 4 days

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I just think it's fucking wild how novels, like published books, average between 70,000 and 120,000 words and there are fanfic authors out there posting regular 80k+ works for free, for the love of the thing (or in spite of the thing)

#fanfiction #seriously people are so talented and incredible #and this shit right here is why fanfic writers are so amazing #just know if i'm reading your fic i am impressed #whether it's 200 works or 200k words #my a03 word count is over 1 mil #i could have written 10+ books #but noooo #i gotta write about my damn blorbos #anyway fanfic writers i love you is all i'm saying

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mangk0 · 4 months

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What if for that moment when atreus is trying to convince odin to stop the madness surrounding the mask and the rift, instead of letting atreus talk odin just like. stabbed him.

#cuz that fight felt SHORT bro #even tho I already knew what was gonna happen I was still waiting for atreus to get stabbed bc that’s what Odin does #get to ao3 right now someone who’s better at writing than me do it please #gowr #god of war ragnarok #atreus #odin #not mil

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lord-squiggletits · 8 months

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I need to reread the comics again to have specific arguments/evidence for this, but like

I feel a bit like I could've been sympathetic to the way other Cybertronian colonies view Cybertron, if it weren't for the fact that at least several of them (as in, ones that get notable dialogue/screen time) are so low-key self-righteous?

Like, idk... there's a lot of criticism of Cybertronians because they're so "warlike" and how their obsession with violence and vengeance is just dragging the whole galaxy down with them, but uh. The Autobot-Decepticon war was basically a product of societal ills bubbling over for like 6 million years beforehand and then finally boiling over into a 4 million year war that lasted as long as it did because the people involved had immense social/psychological trauma from being "raised" in an oppressive society.

So when the colonists come in being all 'omg you people are so violent and uncivilized why don't you just like, stop fighting' it kind of pissed me off a little bit as a reader/person like. Idk the colonists really came into this society of people full of massive amounts of trauma where even before the war society was super oppressive and no one has any experience of living "normal" lives unaffected by violence and bigotry. And the colonists were like "ummm wow why don't you guys just??? stop fighting???." Like idk it wasn't EVERY SINGLE MOMENT, in fact I think that when it was played for laughs it's quite a funny "fridge horror" type element. It was just annoying because like.... IDK???? It's just really annoying to watch a bunch of people who lived relatively sheltered lives on their own planets come to a different planet full of traumatized people and be like "omg why are you people so fucked up" IDK BRO MAYBE BECAUSE THEIR SOCIETY WAS OPPRESSIVE AND THEY LIVED THROUGH A LIFELONG WAR???

It also doesn't help that the colonies were literally founded based on imperialism and conquest so like, it's fucking rich to hear colonists scolding Cybertronians for their violence ruining the whole galaxy while literally sitting on planets that their Primes colonized from others. The hypocrisy of this is briefly mentioned in Unicron (literally the FINAL STORY OF THE SERIES) but like, that's basically the only time Cybertronian characters are given a reprieve of sympathy from other characters in universe and it's so tiresome.

I've talked to other people who didn't like the colonists and thought they basically (narratively speaking) existed just to shit on the existing characters, and it's actually really easy for me to sympathize with/outright agree with that assessment of the story considering how much of exRID/OP seems to be preoccupied with "Cybertron/the Primes/Optimus sucks" with very few reprieves for anything positive happening and even fewer chances for characters to get to explain themselves and experience a little bit of justice? Like, as the audience, it's just very frustrating to see the characters you spent hundreds of issues keeping up with get shit on by a bunch of "literally-who"s and then not really get a chance to ever defend themselves, either by literally defending themselves in conversation or having some sort of narrative thing happening that vindicates them at least symbolically

#squiggposting #paused work to muse about this which i prolly shouldn't have lol #oh well i'll still get stuff done #like idk an example of this is how pyra criticized OP for using religion to manipulate people #(lets just ignore how she said she would teach OP but never actually did)#but in the story there's never any sort of confrontation where pyra learns about history or talks with OP #and OP gets to be like. yeah on my planet primes fucking sucked and i'm the only one trying to redeem their image #also ive been fighting an endless war that lasted 4 mil years in which me being a shining figurehead was basically #the sole motivating force keeping my army from just collectively succumbing to endless despair #and i also had to use this shining figurehead image i had to keep the opposing army from genociding a bunch of organics #like not once does OP get to express his side of things he's basically just shit upon endlessly by other characters as he keeps doing plot #i feel like i had another example but i can't recall who/what was involved lmao #like idk it's not just that barber's writing is depressing and dark and edgy. i LIKE stories that do that kind of thing #it's just that it feels a bit as if the story is ENDLESSLY depressing and dark and edgy with almost no reprieve #as if it's mostly presenting the flaws of the characters with no chance for them to justify or redeem themselves #idk i feel like there was another better point/example i was gonna make but i can't remember it #like idk i guess a dark depressing story would've been better if the characters at least got to defend themselves #bc as is it basically feels like they (esp OP) get shit on endlessly and never once get to express anything about it #so like. they get shit on in universe. but also as the reader since there's never a contradicting viewpoint or the character defending them #it's as if you're supposed to take this one-sided criticism of them at face value and it just doesn't seem fair AS THE READER #if i read about OP getting shit on by some people and defended by others and also him expressing his opinion on himself #then that just feels like a normal fair narrative where i get to take sides #but if it's just OP being shit on and he hardly expresses much about it #then it feels like i as the reader am expected to agree with the portrayal being shown?#but in reality the portrayal just feels negative and unfair and one sided to me #and why the fuck do i want to read a story that's just the characters i know and like on an endless shame parade #also shout out to 'literally who' aka slide calling OP 'literally fascist' lmao #one of the most cringe moments of the entire comic. wait no. i can think of a more cringe Slide Moment #when unicron is about to destroy the planet and trypticon is getting shot and dying(?) in the background #and the story decides to pause and focus on Slide so she can monologue about how evil and tyrannical OP is

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ramayantika · 1 year

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Throwback to the time I wanted to get married to him in grade four

#samridhi speaks #krishna i swear #tu mil jaye toh moksh nahi mange #i want to write a poem

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static-radio-ao3 · 3 months

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@jegulus-microfic // february 6 // prompt: murder // words: 1,172 // cw: implied/referenced sexual content // part 2 + part 3

“You’re so fucking infuriating!” James calls out as Regulus makes his way out of the bathroom. He runs a frustrated hand through is hair and tries to slam the door behind him, but James catches it before he can.

“Oh, I’m infuriating?” Regulus asks over his shoulder. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Baby, we both know you do enough looking for the both of us.” Regulus doesn’t need to look at James now to know he has a cocky smirk tugging at his lips, voice smug and pleased.

“Don’t call me baby. And don’t think I like what I see when I look at you.” Regulus rounds another corner, moving further away from the party as he heads toward the stairs. He hates that he still know the house like the back of his hand, even though it’s been months since he’s been here.

He knew he shouldn’t have come but Sirius had asked and Regulus bends easy if his brother is the one pushing.

“Ah, you wound me.” James comes to a stop right in front of him, a hand pressed to his chest in mock hurt. “Besides, I find that a little hard to believe when I only had to smile for you to drop to your knees in the bathroom.”

“A moment of weakness, clearly,” Regulus says as he pushes past James and makes his way up the staircase. He’s not sure where he’s trying to go except away from James. James and his pretty smile and messy hair and hazy eyes that track his movements with a hunger.

And it had been a moment of weakness. A party and one drink too many and James’ eyes lingering on the strip of skin between the hem of Regulus’ shirt and his belt. At the ink peeking out above his jeans, a pattern James was all too familiar with. A brush of fingers against his lower back that had Regulus shivering even in the sultry heat of the room. All it took was a tilt of his head and a smile and Regulus was following James down the hall.

James snorts, short and derivative. “Clearly.”

It does nothing to make him less attractive.

“Like I said, infuriating!” Regulus yells as he stomps up the stairs. He’s not even aware that he is walking toward James’ bedroom. “You and your— your—”

“Me and my?”

Regulus comes to a stop in front of James’ bedroom door. He turns to face him and ignores the thrill in his stomach when he realizes how close they’re standing. He has to tilt his face up just the tiniest bit to make eye contact. Tries to force himself to do it, but his eyes drop down to James’ lips unintentionally.

“You and your Jamesness!”

“Good one,” James huffs. He takes another half-step closer, crowding Regulus against the door. “You really got me there.”

“Oh, I am going to murder you,” Regulus hisses between his teeth. He tries to take another step back, but the door handle digs into his lower back. Cornered. James' hand comes up to rest beside his head and Regulus has nowhere to go when James leans down to murmur into his ear.

“Please make it romantic, at least.” James' breath rustles his curls and Regulus fights not to shiver. There is a hint of beer on his breath and usually, Regulus hates it. But he has learned that he can’t quite manage to hate anything that comes from James Potter.

Instead of doing something embarrassing like leaning up and crushing their mouths together, he grits his teeth and jabs a finger into James’ chest. Desperate to put some distance between them but even more desperate to keep him close.

“I am going to throttle you—” he grounds out, jabbing James’ chest again for emphasis.

“I always did love your hands around my throat.”

“—and I am going to draw and quarter you—” Jab.

“Yeah? You gonna tie me up real nice?”

“—and I am going to set your remains on fucking fire.” Jab.

“No need, you get me hot all on your own.”

James’ free hand comes up to cover Regulus’ before he has the chance to withdraw. He presses it flat against his chest before lifting his hand to Regulus’ face.

“I swear, James Potter, if you put that hand on me, I'm going to get violent."

But the threat is empty. They always are. Because James’ knuckles caress Regulus’ cheek and it takes all his strength to not lean into the touch. James knows it too.

"Oh love,” he murmurs, voice low and a little rough. Something Regulus recognizes but refuses to name. “You usually like it when I put my hands on you.”

And at this point, all bets are off because James is looking at him like he knows.

Like he knows that Regulus spends long nights staring at his ceiling because sleep doesn’t come easy if he’s not in James’ arms. Like he knows that Regulus still buys the coffee James prefers because the smell lingers in the apartment and makes it feel a little less like a haunted house. Like he knows that Regulus hasn’t been on a single date in the months since their break up. Like he knows that Regulus never finished that show they started watching together. Like he knows that regret coats the back of Regulus' throat like bile every time he talks about it.

Like he knows that Regulus is still in love.

Like maybe he feels the same way.

Regulus shifts the hand that’s still resting on James’ chest to the back of his neck and yanks him down, pressing their lips together in a kiss. It’s wet and messy and desperate from the beginning, a moan spilling between when James realizes he can still taste himself on Regulus’ tongue.

James moves impossibly closer, both hands moving to cup Regulus’ face. Regulus wishes they were closer still, wishes he could stay like this forever, because he thinks it’s where he belongs; with James. Always with James.

Lips slick and eyes lidded when they pull apart to breathe, Regulus faintly registers that party is still going on downstairs. Music playing in the distance, a cheer erupting at an unknown achievement, but neither of them feel inclined to return. Regulus tilts his head back for better access when James starts trailing wet a path down the column of his throat, humming at the taste.

“This is probably a bad idea,” Regulus manages between ragged breaths. The last thing he wants to do is stop, but plausible deniability and all that.

“I think you’re a little too faded to drive,” James says, punched out and breathless, the words pressed into the line of Regulus’ jaw as he works his way back up to his mouth. Regulus’ hands clench in James’ hair, earning him a hiss. “Maybe you should stay the night.”

Regulus doesn’t get the chance to agree, too busy stumbling through the now-open door all the way into James’ bed.

#messy exes jegulus! everybody cheer!#don't ask me why regulus decided to argue with james AFTER giving him head #they really said messy exes so it's none of my business actually #partially brought to you by the fact that i looped babylon by 5sos for an hour #regulus black #james potter #regulus x james #james x regulus #starchaser #jegulus #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #mil's writing #my writing

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xjustakay · 4 months

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you got the antidote (i’ll take one to go).

ch. 8 on ao3 now!; this chapter of firefighter james is dedicated to my beloved mil, who this is a very late birthday gift for. mwah mwah mwah, all the kisses for you @static-radio-ao3 <33

#jegulus #starchaser #sunseeker #jegulus fanfic #there’s fluff and there’s funny and there’s fu— [car honking sounds]#have a ball everybody #but especially you mil babe #packed it full just for u<3 #mil tag<3 #fic: you got the antidote #kay’s writing

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zmediaoutlet · 2 months

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fic: the tonberry suite

have you ever loved something for twenty-seven years and then FINALLY work up the gumption and energy to write it? Yeah. So this is me self-indulging, at last.

title: the tonberry suite pairing: Cloud/Barret rating: E length: 6800 tags: Game: Final Fantasy VII Rebirth (2024); Gold Saucer (Compilation of FFVII); First Time; Friends With Benefits; Intercrural Sex; Size Kink; Slight D/s Elements

summary: At the Gold Saucer, the girls and Red run off for their downtime, leaving Barret and Cloud to get hotel rooms. They have a few hours to kill; Barret has a good idea how to spend the time.

(read on AO3)

Kid’s been acting weird since they got off the ship from Junon. Though, truth be told, kid’s been acting weird since Midgar. Odds are real good the kid’s been weird his whole life, but that’d be more Tifa’s call, and she’s too nice to say. “Any chance you gonna relax?” Barret says. Cloud stares straight ahead with his arms folded, boots shoulder-width apart like the freaky mako-wasting moving walkway ain’t nothing that could faze him, and Barret rolls his eyes, behind his shades. Yeah. That figures.

Long walk and a long day and a hell of a long week, though, and Barret’s due some downtime. He watches the streaking weirdness of the night blurring past the tunnel, fireworks and flashing lights and who knows what the hell else smearing the mako-green with strange colors. World moving under their feet. The girls are off somewhere playing, games and sparkly nonsense a distraction they need, probably. Long mission without a lot of light in it; he hadn’t wanted to waste the time but, hell, not like they hadn’t earned a night off. Especially since he’s feeling like he’s bruised from the top of his head to his heels with all the shit they’ve been getting heaped on ‘em, lately, and especially with…

“We’re here,” Cloud says, and takes a step forward, and sure enough the wacky walkway ends just as his boot moves from fake planet-killing speedway to cobblestone, and they look up to find—

“You gotta be kidding me,” Barret says, with the haunted hotel looming creepy and dark and just plain strange over their heads.

Cloud tips his face up, ghostly white in the shadows. “A hotel’s a hotel,” he says, quiet. He glances at Barret, quick, and then presses his lips together. “C’mon. They probably don’t have many rooms. Might have to share.”

Barret snorts. “Might have to,” he says, and watches Cloud duck his head, and resettle that fuck-off bastard of a sword on his back, and stalk forward like it ain’t no thing. Shit-hell of a day though it’s been, Barret can’t help but grin. Yeah. This is gonna go some kind of way.

That falling-apart dive of Johnny’s in Costa Del Sol was the first time he saw for sure, but not the first he suspected. In Midgar it was all chaos, and they were apart more than they were working together even after Barret had hired him at his exorbitant-ass prices. In Kalm they had rooms at the inn but after skedaddling down the road and hearing Cloud and Tifa’s godawful account of what had set them on this hunt they were all too dog-tired (apologies to Red) to do much more than collapse asleep, no more words exchanged. Then the road, and trading out sleeping in the tents and keeping watch, and clawing through caves and fiends and helping each other up out of the mud and saving each other’s lives, over and over and more times than he’d have thought possible, that first time when Tifa nervously introduced him to her childhood friend, this unsmiling little twerp in the uniform of the enemy who looked like he’d crack in two if Barret clapped his shoulder too hard, and who Barret was gonna dismiss out of hand because they needed real muscle for this mission, until the kid looked up, and met his eyes, and Barret saw that telltale unreal flicker of green.

Crazy, weird eyes. Cold half the time, the rest of the time mostly unimpressed, except those little moments Barret’ll catch, here and there. When a fight’s gone well and none of them are bleeding and he’ll turn and look at Barret’s chest, and then up to actually see his face, and he’ll be—maybe not smiling because that’s not something all those magic-infused muscles seem to know how to manage, but he looks—good, anyway. Glad. On the back of a chocobo with the wind in his stupid spiky hair and the sun on his face, looking like maybe death and pain aren’t top of mind, for once. And, every once in a while, looking one hundred percent his age, when one of the girls teases him, or when he’s reminded that there’s more to life than fighting, or when—say, just as an example—they’re sharing a decrepit room at a motel, and Barret’s claimed first shower because age before beauty’s got to work sometime, and he comes out toweling off and feeling less like hammered shit and Cloud sits up from his slump on the edge of the bed and looks where he might as well look because it’s not like Barret sees the point in covering up, when it’s just the guys and they got other crap to worry about, and he’s talking about hitting the beach and he’s thinking about where they’re headed next and he finds Cloud’s mouth parted and his eyes startled-wide and fixed low and he thinks, oh, there it is. Yeah. Something he’d half-wondered but put away because it hardly mattered, but—hey, there it was, after all.

He’s still pissed when they close the door on their room. Tonberry Suite. Fuck right the hell off. Little robot dude’s actually carrying a knife, like the little demons aren’t legit piss-off scary, merk your ass as soon as you get within five feet, like none of the goofy-ass ghosts and zombies and white-faced goth kid clerks ever could be. “Chill out,” Cloud says, and Barret says, “I’ll boot the creepy little shit out the spooky-ass window and maybe then I’ll chill out,” and Cloud rolls his eyes but, hey, there’s that expression again. Not all the way to smiling, but.

If this suite’s like the other then they’re set on beds, anyway. Two queen-sized on the one wall and an alcove in the back with another, set back behind drapes like that’s where the magic happens. All kinds of dumbass themed shit over the rest of the room—and that little Tonberry guy is looking at him, Barret swears to anything—but it’s beds and four walls and a door that locks and, hey, a bathroom. Good opportunity to shower off all the dust of the hometown he ruined. “Age before beauty,” he says, standing in the doorway.

Cloud shakes his head, setting that ridiculous sword up against the wall. “Just call dibs,” he says, like he’s too cool for school. “You’re not that old.”

“Yeah?” Barret says. “Well, maybe you’re just that pretty.” Gets the satisfaction of one of those startled-wide pretty-ass looks before he closes the door and he grunts. Score one, Wallace.

It’s a good shower. Someone’s paying a hell of a lot for this suite and the planet’s paying her share, too, so it oughta be. He comes out pummeled and mostly clean and smelling like some body wash that claims to be spiderweb soft, comfily thick black towel around his waist. Finds Cloud leaning against the wall by the window, looking out like there’s something to see besides the fake-thunderstorm effects, expression like he’s a thousand miles from here. In the shitty past or the gloomy future, Barret doesn’t know, but he ain’t having it. He was promised downtime.

“Your turn, Spiky.” A lifted shoulder, silence. Barret sighs. “C’mon, now. Red says your ass smells like blood. You wanna change that, while you got the chance.”

“My… ass,” Cloud says. Looks sidelong, slanted along his shoulder, and then his lips part again. For trying so hard to look cool he’s real bad at keeping his cards to himself. Barret’s holding the towel closed but he’s dripping on the floor and there’s a lot on display, he knows. He smiles, flat, and Cloud meets his eye and then closes his mouth and then clearly swallows, all the way across the room. Yeah. Yeah, it’s on.

Barret would’ve figured SOLDIERs would be efficient—whenever anyone asks the kid a question about his time in the service he tells some grim-ass story about control and training and everything sucking, so three minute showers would go right along with that—but Cloud’s in there for a while. Long enough that Barret steps back into his trousers, anyway, and finds the mini-bar, and makes a drink (whisky + ice cubes counts as a drink, not that he’ll tell Tifa that). He sits on the big bed at the back and listens to the rain. Fake, sure. Doesn’t sound like it. Thunder and the wind across the glass and the room dim, flickering candlelight, sconces glowing amber-red. The bed’s soft and the drapes are freakin’ velvet and it’s a cocoon, in here, like the rest of the doomed world don’t exist at all, and it’s about as far as he could get from Corel while being no more than, what, a half-mile above it. The desert stretching empty below. The wreckage so close he can see it whenever he closes his eyes.

Wrong kind of downtime. He pours a second drink, and then a third that he sets on the bedside table, waiting. The creepy little robot paces by, behind, emitting its weird humidifier-smoke. Cedar. Smell of the woods on fire. Barret breathes in deep.

Cloud finally comes out of the shower. “Took you long enough,” Barret says.

“Shut up,” Cloud says. He’s got one of the black towels around his hips, too, uniform folded neatly and boots swinging, tied over his wrist. Body a white flash against the stupid purple wallpaper, whiter when there’s a fake burst of lightning. He sets his clothes by his pack, at the foot of the bed closest to the door. Stands still, looking down. Covers the back of his neck with one hand, like… Barret doesn’t even know. What goes on in that strange head.

Not what he’s worried about, right now. “Well, don’t keep me waiting longer,” Barret says, and when Cloud turns he holds out the glass he’s had sitting there, condensation gleaming on the crystal. “Downtime.”

“Thought we were waiting until the new Heaven opened up,” Cloud says. He comes over, though, and takes the glass, so Barret can pick his own up again and hold it out. Cloud’s pale perfect little forehead gains a single line between his pale perfect little eyebrows, but he seems to remember human behavior after a second and clinks the rim of their glasses together, and takes a sip when Barret does. He doesn’t hiss or flinch or react at all to barrel-proof alcohol served nearly-neat. Freak. His tongue touches the center of his lower lip, briefly. “Hm.”

“Good shit, right?” Barret says. He tips the crystal against the light, watching how it glows amber. Watches Cloud’s face, behind it. “Yeah, I remember. And we’ll let our girl make us real cocktails when she gets that bar again. But it’s been enough of a day. Week. Shit. Enough of a life. They got a five hundred gil bottle in the bar and some cat’s paying for it? Think we deserve a taste, after all this.”

Cloud’s eyebrows raise, acknowledgment, and he looks down into his own glass. He’s wild, even just standing there. His strange, compact body. Anyone just seeing his face could mistake him for a woman, no question—Aerith told the story of just how many made the mistake back in Wall Market with vicious glee, ignoring how Cloud turned nine shades of red behind her while she did—but neck down there’s no question that this is a man. Slender as a girl, sure, but ripped where it counts, his shoulders curved with muscle, his waist and hips nipped narrow. Smaller than Barret, like most everyone is, but no frail thing, not breakable. Not oblivious, either, since as soon as he came out of the shower he glanced lightning-quick at Barret’s bare chest and shoulders and then south, to where he’d left his trousers lazily unzipped, and it’s—

“I figure we got a few hours, while the girls get all the running around out of their systems,” Barret says. Cloud squints a little, calculating, and then nods. Like it’s a battle plan they’re working out. “Yeah. So. Help me out, here.” He holds out the gun-arm.

Cloud blinks at him, startled again. For a hardcore SOLDIER-trained professional badass he sure takes his turn looking like a caught rabbit. “You can’t do that yourself?”

“Can,” Barret says. Shrugs, resting the whisky glass on his knee. “Easier if I got a partner to help out.”

One of those weird still watching moments. Cloud looking at nothing, who-knows-what thoughts passing behind his eyes. “Fine,” he says, and steps forward, and sets his hands on Barret��s arm, above the belted cover, barely damp from the shower.

Warm. Always a surprise whenever the kid’s skin touches his—seems like he should be radiating ice crystals, with how he acts half the time—and soft, like even with all that swordplay he doesn’t form calluses. The mechanism of the socket isn’t complicated and Cloud frowns down at it for a few seconds before he finds the latch, and pops it, and the release of tension from Barret’s forearm to elbow to shoulder goes through him like someone’s cast a cure spell, instantly better all the way to his toes.

He watches Cloud’s face while he finds the other latches. Frowning still, concentrating, but there’s a faint pink coming up across his cheekbones and ears. “Hey, kid,” Barret says. Flick of a glance, but Cloud’s starting to unscrew the main bolt that holds the gun into the socket and he turns back to that. “I ain’t trying to mess you around, here.”

“What does that mean,” Cloud says.

Three bolts down; Barret turns his arm over, palm up if he still had a palm, and lets the kid’s clever fingers make short work of the other half. “I’m saying, I don’t want this to be some kinda game, or confuse you, or tease, or nothing.”

The last bolt: a thunk kind of sound, and the assembly pops free, leaving Barret’s arm truncated in the steel socket that covers his elbow and where the rest of his arm was, and Cloud holding the weapon that makes him at all useful. He turns it over in his hands, curious. The broad base where the bolts connect to the socket, the gears, the internal materia-casing that makes the ammunition work. Barret’s seen it, is used to it, doesn’t care so much anymore, but he hasn’t seen someone else look at it, in a long time. Cloud frowns—of course, Cloud frowns—but clearly just trying to puzzle through the mechanism. It’s a weapon, and Cloud’s interested in those, but he looks up at Barret’s face after a few more seconds, his expression flat, cold.

“What,” he says. Distrust.

Barret shakes his head. “That’s what I’m saying. Ain’t no need for that. I ain’t teasing and I ain’t trying to make this anything it’s not. But—” He drains his drink and the whisky goes down hot, smooth, smoky-sweet, and sets the glass on the side table, and reaches out with his good left hand and cups Cloud’s bare side. God, he’s small—Barret’s hand spreading across his ribs and his thumb brushing up under the tight tiny furl of his navel—and Cloud takes a quick short breath, muscles tensing, except he couldn’t be all that surprised because he doesn’t move away, or flinch, or beat Barret’s brains in with the gun he’s still holding in both hands. Barret smiles and Cloud’s eyes—instead of squinting all bitchy or frowning or whatever else he’d expect, they get all wide again, startled, like—smiling wasn’t what he expected. This friggin’ kid. “Yeah. We got downtime. I figure, we might help each other out, maybe. ‘Cause I think maybe you been wanting to, huh? Maybe you been thinking about it, sometimes.” Cloud licks his lips, eyes dropping from Barret’s to his shoulder, his chest. “Ain’t ashamed to say I been thinking the same. You up for it, kid?”

Cloud takes a slow breath, his chest visibly rising. “That why you dropped a blanket over the Tonberry?” he says, after a second.

Flicker of a smile around his mouth. After waiting patiently through all this negotiation, Barret’s dick thickens in his trousers. He sits forward, slides his hand around to the small of Cloud’s back. “Don’t want the creepy little bastard watching, what can I say,” Barret says. Cloud rolls his eyes but does smile for real, close-lipped, and sets Barret’s gun on the table next to their whisky glasses, and Barret waits until it thunks down before he pulls Cloud in, gets him right between Barret’s knees, gets him close. Cloud’s hands land on his shoulders, tense, and Barret tips his head back, makes sure Cloud’s looking him in the eye. “To be clear,” he says, “I wanna fuck. Sound good?”

Cloud huffs. “Yeah, I got that,” he says. Nervy dart of his tongue to his lower lip, anyway. But then: “Yeah. Sounds good. But—”

“Don’t say it’ll cost me two grand,” Barret says, grinning, that hot held thing in his gut glowing like superheated ore. “Make me think you’re some other kind of merc entirely.”

“You wish,” Cloud says, and—hell, that’s a whole different world right there, unfolding in the imagination—but there he is, standing there caught between Barret’s knees, and Barret follows this kid into battle fifty times a day, trusts his orders and tactical mind more than he has anyone else in is whole life, but on this one it’s clear who’s leading and who follows, and it makes him—slide his hand gentle over Cloud’s belly, up over the skinny flat of his chest. Not smiling now, and not cool and confident and with that attitude like he’s saying fuck you to the whole world. His eyes open and surprised as any kid’s, when Barret knows the shit he’s waded through. Makes him fit his hand around the back of Cloud’s neck, thumb sliding up into the barely-damp silky soft of his hair, makes Barret pull him down—careful, guiding—and makes him kiss the kid gentle. His mouth as startled as his eyes. Breath catching in his chest, his hands gripping Barret’s shoulders so tight they might well bruise, but—after a second—he sucks in air, closes his eyes, kisses back.

Given a hundred guesses in the couple months they’ve known each other, Barret wouldn’t have pegged the kid as clumsy. That’s all it is, though, as Barret pulls him in, and gets him to climb up onto Barret’s lap—barely covered by the towel—and urges his arms around Barret’s neck, and keeps kissing him. Clumsy and maybe nervous, too, like…

Barret drags his hand down Cloud’s back, feels all that silky skin. Muscle rippling as he shrugs his shoulders, knees spreading on the bed either side of Barret’s hips. Squirming already. Barret pulls away from his mouth and kisses his jaw—no stubble, really is soft as a girl—and the side of his throat under his ear, breathing hot there in a way that’s been pretty surefire over his many years of experience, and—yep, Cloud clutches a hand to the back of his head, makes this hitched trapped little not-a-sound, like he doesn’t want to be caught enjoying himself. “Been a while,” Barret says.

Half statement, half question. Cloud shivers when Barret applies light teeth to his collarbone and then pushes him back, blinking fast, chest heaving. Looks down, and so Barret does too, and—yeah, there it is. Pushing out the front of the towel, stiff when Barret lays his hand over it, rubs. There already, damn. Has been a long time. “You good for two?” Barret says.

Cloud’s ears have gone from pink to dark red, his mouth half-open. “I—” Can’t seem to finish. Shudders when Barret closes his hand through the towel, feels his dick that way. His hips curl in and he shakes his head but it’s not no, it’s—

“Well, let’s just see,” Barret says, his own dick surging thick. He squeezes again, easily handling the whole thing, lets Cloud push forward into him, and then he takes his hand away—wait, Cloud breathes, but Barret shushes him, says, “C’mon now, help me out,” and tugs at the towel, and Cloud blinks at him confused before he lifts up on his knees and drags the thing away, tosses it to the side, and—yeah, there it is, his dick flushed-pink and stiff and hot when Barret wraps his hand around it bare, tugs, thumbs over the head where it’s peeking out of his foreskin, makes the kid shudder shoulders to hips to thighs, quivering. Doesn’t seem to know how to handle it at all but it’s hot as fuck just for that—Barret wraps his bad arm around to brace as best he can, the socket probably digging cold into Cloud’s back but he doesn’t seem to care, since he arches, curls his hips in little spasms, humping into Barret’s hand, and he comes in a minute flat, his hands gripping Barret’s shoulders, his eyes screwed shut and his face almost in pain until he’s spurting between them, striping Barret’s bare chest white, his eyes flying wide and shocked like he didn’t know what was gonna happen, like it’s a surprise.

“Goddamn,” Barret says, and he says it admiring but Cloud bites his lips together, turns his face away. “Nah,” Barret says, quick, “nah, see—” and he squeezes Cloud’s dick again—still stiff, slick now, head shiny-pink and sensitive—flips his hand around and drags his bare palm down the spine of the thing, curls his fingers under the tight smooth little package of his balls, behind, almost to his asshole. Soft, hairless. Alien creature almost except that that’s real jizz on Barret’s belly and warm skin quivering against his and a real, normal expression as Cloud frowns, slides his eyes over. Embarrassed and wanting to be told it’s okay. “Hot as hell, man,” Barret says. He leaves off petting Cloud’s crotch and drags his hand over his own belly, white smearing in the hair. “Got a backlog for me?”

“Shut up,” Cloud says, breathless sort of, and when Barret grins at him he rolls his eyes but seems to settle, maybe. Dick softer but not all the way to soft—joys of youth, right there. Long time since Barret was twenty-one and he wouldn’t go back for love nor money, but there are some advantages. He raises his eyebrows, tips his chin up, and in his lap Cloud’s barely an inch higher than him but it’s nice, sweet almost, how the kid licks his lips, and clearly has to decide to lean down and offer the kiss Barret’s asking for. Makes this little sound in his chest when he does it. If they didn’t have a hell of a to-do list in real life Barret would want to book this stupid room out for a month and see what other sounds he could drag out, past all that try-hard coolness and pretending.

But that’s later, maybe, if ever, and his dick’s straining in real time right now. “So…” he says, leaning back.

Roll of thunder from the hotel’s stupid sound system. “So?” Cloud says, arching an eyebrow—oh, he has to have practiced that move in a mirror—but when Barret’s jaw drops because—he can’t seriously—Cloud’s mouth curves, and he looks all over Barret’s face, and then pushes him back, harder, not as strong as he could be but enough that Barret drops back to his elbows, spread out on the bed. He’s inspected, and it’d look like cool analysis except Cloud’s ears are still that telltale red and his chest is flushed nearly the same color as his cockhead, standing out plump. Feels weird except there’s that echo of all those post-fight cooldowns and that shower and seeing it right in the kid’s face, as he drags his eyes over Barret’s chest and his abs and down, to where there is most definitely a lump swelling out the front of his fatigues, about as up for it as he’s been in years.

“Wanna see?” Barret says. He knows the answer but it’s gratifying anyway to see Cloud nod, and lift up on his knees to make room, and to shove the waistband down one-handed and let his dick, ah, spring out into the open. More gratifying to see that stupid expression on the kid’s face again, what’d make Barret laugh out loud if he didn’t have the ounce of sense in his head that’s kept him alive all these years.

To his credit, Cloud may be clumsy but he sure as shit ain’t shy. He reaches down and gets Barret’s dick in this underhanded grip, not tight enough and not quite right but it’s a warm hand that’s not Barret’s own and that goes a hell of a long way toward making it a better day. Barret hums, approving. Watches, propped up, while Cloud tests the weight, the thickness. His hand closing around it but only just. Barret’s not exactly vain but even after all these years of messing around with people it still does something to him, just a little. Not the size of his own equipment but seeing how they react. How this one reacts, when Barret would’ve expected indifference at best, but instead his chest lifts on a deep breath and he licks his mouth and he looks downright wild, like he’s been starving and here’s a three-course meal laid out, all his for the taking.

Not that he’s doing much taking. “Don’t mean to rush you,” Barret lies.

Cloud’s eyes sweep up. “No wonder you make such dumb decisions,” he says, and squeezes—ah—right there under the head. Learns quick. “No way you got enough blood to run your brain and this thing at the same time.”

“I make it work,” Barret says, “and screw you besides, and—god damn, kid, if you don’t—”

Cloud grins at him—an honest-to-god toothy grin, like Barret’s never seen on that porcelain doll miserable little face—and drags his hand down, cups Barret’s nuts, takes a deep breath. Bites his lower lip then. “I want…” He shakes his head. “Shit. I don’t—”

“Anything’s good with me, man,” Barret says, meaning it, not least because his dick’s fuckin’ begging at this point, with warm weight in his lap and the anticipation winding his spine so tight he feels like a volcano desperate to burst.

A soft dragging thumb over his sack, more than filling Cloud’s palm. His fingertips trace a dragging little path through the bush, up the trail to Barret’s navel. Teeth back in his lip.

Barret lays his hand on Cloud’s belly. “‘Less you want me to handle it.” Flash of relief that makes Barret want to pat him on the friggin’ head like a little kid, which isn’t exactly the image he needs right now, but hell if ain’t hot in its way, too. Little fucker’s always hot, which is half of why they’re here in the first place. “Alright,” he says, sitting up, “watch and learn,” and Cloud rolls his eyes and starts to say, “Yeah, right—” except that Barret kisses him, and it’s muffled, and Cloud doesn’t seem to mind so much that he’s not allowed to finish it.

More thunder, more lightning-strike coursing through the room. Barret hitches Cloud closer, holding him tight at the small of his back, their dicks pressing together—ah—sweet. Cloud’s hips curl in, instinct, hardening up for real again, especially when Barret kisses his throat, and his collarbone, and his absurdly pale nipple, lapping and making it tight as a bullet, provoking one of those tiny choked not-sounds that makes Barret lift his head and say, “Kid, how’m I ‘sposed to know if it’s good if you won’t let it out,” and Cloud blinks at him empty-headed until Barret drags his thumb over the nipple again, deliberately rough over the wet skin, and gets this hurt little grunt and Cloud tightening his thighs around Barret’s hips and, yeah, his dick all the way hard, ready to go again. He closes his hand around both their dicks and Cloud spasms, breath heavy, grabbing Barret’s biceps as much as he can. Looks down between them and so Barret does, too, and it’s—yeah, something else, to see the contrast. Not like Cloud’s got anything to be embarrassed about, it’s a nice little handful, pretty as a picture like every other damn thing about him, but pressed together Cloud’s all rosy petite pink to thick hefty dark, silk-smooth to hairy-rough, and the size—”What’s that, half?” Barret says, not mocking or teasing but just knowing, somewhere in the pit of his gut, that it’ll make Cloud—yeah, let out this thin whining moan, his fingers tracing the thick vein up the side of Barret’s shaft, kissing the head, feeling how much bigger. “You got it bad, kid,” Barret says, grinning, and Cloud pushes up and kisses him, to shut him up maybe, but Barret doesn’t mind that, either.

He meant it when he said he didn’t want to tease, though. He gets his hand under Cloud’s ass and flips them, gets Cloud’s thighs spread around his hips, his head tipping back on the bed, spread like an offering. Touches Cloud’s nuts again—one leaping in the sack, damn he’s hot for it—and then behind, and then back all the way, rubbing, a test. “You done this before?”

Cloud, staring up at the canopy. Expression flickers, strange. Nervous? “I…”

Barret presses with his middle finger, testing. “Don’t want to break you in half, Cloud,” he says. “Be honest on this one.”

Strange look in Cloud’s eye when he lifts his head. “We got materia for that, right?”

“Shit,” Barret says, imagination leaping in again—and the idea of being so up for it that he’d hurt that much, just to get it in, to get there—but no, no, not this time—god, he hopes soon, but not this time. He leans down and kisses Cloud again just for thinking it and then lifts up, grabs Cloud’s hip, flips him over—his dick leaping and crying at how easy the kid goes to his belly, letting Barret handle him like it’s nothing when he’s such a prickly bitch the rest of the time—and he shudders, gathers his elbows under him, braces like he’s ready for pain, like that’s all he’s expecting. But, no—Barret’s leaking he’s so ready, he’s been waiting long enough, and he can’t quite explain like he oughta but they’ve been working together long enough he’s got to trust that Cloud can follow his lead—he braces his socket by Cloud’s shoulder, spits in his palm and slicks his dick, pulls Cloud’s hips up—the kid going with it, because he’s crazy as hell—and it feels wild just to slide his cockhead against the kid’s pretty white ass, splitting the cheeks, dragging wet, pressing forward all the way so his pubes are crushed in against the pale skin and his cock’s dripping over the small of his back. Cloud’s back heaves as he drags in air, his hips tipping up. “Just—just do it—” he says, gasped thin, and Barret does pull back, dick gliding maddeningly up so close to what he can imagine would be heaven, furled tight, pale and small like the rest of him—but he ain’t an actual all-the-way bastard and so he just pushes forward, sliding his dick up between Cloud’s thighs, bulling past his sack, dragging where he’s warm and smooth and feels plenty good.

“Like that,” Barret says. Panting already, shit. Cloud looks over his shoulder, frowning muzzily, mouth open. Barret slides two fingers in and Cloud blinks at him, lets Barret drag sloppy over his tongue, and only seems to get it when a wet grip closes over his dick, Barret’s hand covering the whole thing again, curling down to touch, shit, his own dick pushing forward between Cloud’s thighs. “Close ‘em tight, huh?”

He stares over his shoulder, shuffles his knees together, makes it—tight, not slick enough but tight, hell—and then licks his own hand, reaches down, lets Barret push forward into his palm, cups and makes a tunnel for Barret to push into, knocking Barret into the underside of his own dick, taking Barret’s lead, arching his back and pushing his ass back so their hips clap together, so close to fucking for real that Barret almost doesn’t miss the real thing. Except—”Next time, baby,” he says, and his nuts surge at how Cloud’s eyes do that startle-flash, “next time, huh? I’ll get in there like you want. Spread you wide. You want that? Want me in there?”

No response but he hardly expected one. Cloud’s breathing harder than he ever does in the middle of a fight, squeezing Barret’s dick when it fills his hand, his head dropping between his shoulders, his bare shoulders and neck the perfect target for Barret to sink his teeth in—oh, and that gets a real moan, Barret’s mouth on the vulnerable knob at the top of his spine, his whole body sinking, knees sliding on the plush coverlet. Barret closes his thighs around Cloud’s, keeps him steady, bracing—the hot tunnel hotter now, sweat and smearing, Cloud’s small hand knocking them together, and Barret reaches down and covers Cloud’s hand, their fingers lacing, pressing up tight and close to Cloud’s belly, feeling how close he is with his nuts tight against the base of his little dick—”Shit, kid, you gonna beat me there?” Barret says, rough, laying flat out almost on his back. Cloud shakes his head, but just confused seems like, this whining high edge lacing every breath. Barret grins, hooks his chin over Cloud’s shoulder, breathes hot against the sweating curve of his throat. “Yeah, you are, aren’t you? C’mon, now. I’m in charge. You show me how good it feels.” Cloud presses back into him, his back curved up into Barret’s chest, his face turning so Barret can kiss his jaw, nose against his cheek. “Yeah, you got it. Now you just gotta let it go. That’s an order, SOLDIER.”

The sound Cloud makes could make Barret cream himself if he were lost in a snowfield, half-dead and unsure if help were ever gonna come. As is the kid shudders, lurching between Barret and the bed, his hand flashing back to grab Barret’s hip and pull him in harder, unnaturally strong, grip hard enough it’ll bruise. Barret takes over, cupping his spurting dick for the second time—shit, load feels as thick and strong as it was on the first go, he really does have a backlog—and it’s right there in the base of his spine, this coiling tense thing building up like reaching his limit in a fight, his balls clutching up and his dick swelling and he sinks his teeth into Cloud’s shoulder not to shout to the whole damn hotel and—ah, finally—

Dizzy for a few seconds. Fuck, it has been a long time since it was anything other than his left hand. He re-arrives in his brain in stages: loosening his jaw, and taking a deep breath, and flexing his cramped knuckles. Everything slick, sweet, enough to fuck carefully forward and smear around, making it last. Cloud’s hand’s locked onto his hip but Barret shifts his weight on his bad arm, making enough room that he can be sure the kid can take a full breath. Toothmarks in a ring on his shoulder. Barret kisses there, and then blows cool air, and is glad Cloud’s still got his face buried in his own folded elbow when he shivers all over, because hell if Barret’s gonna be able to hide the grin on that one. He really doesn’t want to tease, not yet, but he’s getting enough material for a year, here.

Speaking of—”You gotta let me go,” Barret says. Cloud makes a dazed little huh? and Barret honestly could scoop him into a bear hug. “Need my leg back here, man. We gotta clean up.”

Cloud turns his head. “Right,” he says, weak, and unclamps his hand and his thighs both, stretching out under Barret’s body.

Barret presses up on his elbow and Cloud shivers, again, muscle jumping in his thighs. Easy to urge him over, a clumsy tumble of elbows and sleek white body under Barret’s bulk, although he seems nervous, for some reason. Barret knocks his chin up with two fingers and Cloud meets his eyes. Not startled and not fuck you and not dead indifferent but some other thing entirely. “So,” Barret says. He raises his eyebrows. “That suck?”

Cloud blinks at him, lips parted, and then huffs, one of those tiny smiles starting at the corner of his mouth. “Guess not.”

“Oh, he guesses,” Barret says. He slides his thumb under Cloud’s lower lip, fair warning, and leans down slow, and is rewarded by Cloud lifting up a half-inch to meet him. Slow, sticky kiss. Soft. When Barret lifts up again Cloud looks like he could get knocked over with a feather. Cute as hell, which wasn’t how Barret expected to feel after a mutual relaxation attempt but—shit, he’ll take it. He pushes up on his good arm. “Maybe next time we don’t gotta deal with a haunted hotel for atmosphere.”

“Next time,” Cloud repeats, in a strange tone. His eyes drop from Barret’s mouth to his chest to his dick, laying soft but still thick up against Cloud’s hipbone, and his jaw clenches, and his eyes are more what Barret’s used to when he looks back up and says, “Just because you’re scared of the robot.”

“Hey, now,” Barret says, pushing upright. He lifts a finger. “Not scared. Creeped. The thing’s creepy. You just ain’t creeped because you got twenty screws loose.”

Cloud sits up, rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says. Still with that little smile.

Thunder, again. Cloud glances at the window, sighs. Something settling over his shoulders, again, but—Barret thinks, maybe—a little less. He hopes. Or, shit, maybe not helped at all, but mutual orgasms rarely made things worse, in his experience. He ducks back into the stupid haunted bathroom, mops up. Buttons his trousers one-handed and shrugs back into his shirt and vest and brings a wet washrag out to where Cloud’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, naked and gleaming, rubbing his forehead. Hell of a sight but Barret’s got to put it away. For a while, anyway.

“I’m going to see what’s going on in this shitshow,” he says, tossing the rag. Cloud catches it, easy. “You should rest. Some shut-eye’ll do you good. Maybe you’ll be a little less weird, huh?”

Cloud’s shoulders curve in. “Maybe,” he says. Really does sound tired. Barret grabs his gun, braces it against the table until the main latch clicks and then twists his arm, locking it in place, spinning the bolts along the socket. He’s had a lot of practice. Cloud watches, holding the rag in both hands, and then says, “Hey. You mean that? About—about next time.”

Sitting there, not quite looking Barret in the eye, he looks… his age. Barret flexes his arm, makes sure the gun’s properly in place, and then picks up Cloud’s chin again, makes him look all the way up. One of the prettiest things Barret’s ever seen, truly. Lifetime to date. “I think just about any time you want it, you tell me, and barring the world blowin’ up and days needin’ saved I’ll drop trou and do my best. Won’t have to pay me no two grand, neither.”

No smile, but this little nod against Barret’s hand. Like it’s a bargain made, either way.

“Good, then,” Barret says, and lets the kid go, and walks over to the door. When he looks back Cloud seems a little more like the merc he hired all those weeks ago. Just naked, in more ways than one. He points, makes his voice firm. “Get some sleep.”

“Sure, boss,” Cloud says, dry, and Barret leaves the suite before he can do any damn-fool thing like go back over there and cover the kid with his body and drum up the enthusiasm to do the whole thing over again.

He stands in the corridor, not really taking in the stupid black velvet and the dripping sconces and the spooky organ music piped from the ceiling. His body relaxed, even if the problems of the planet are flooding back up to the top of his mind. Responsibility and history settling down in their accustomed yoke. He shrugs his shoulders, takes it. Thinks maybe it won’t be so long until there’s a little more downtime, to make the load easier to bear.

#cloud/barret #final fantasy vii #my writing #this is a real shot in the dark #and i know no one follows for this stuff #but seriously: i have loved this game since 1997 #these characters are in my veins #i have needed barret to top the shit out of cloud since approx '97 as well #doesn't get all the way there this time #but maybe in a future fic #also: it's amazing how much of a mental break this felt like #i have like 1 mil+ words of spn fic on ao3 #this is the writing equivalent of a trip to costa del sol

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shyam-kariya · 5 months

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The way author literally begs infront of god in aaj din chhadeya song is purely gem.♡

हा माँगा जो मेरा है

जाता क्या तेरा है

मेने कौन सी तुझसे

जन्नत माँगा ली

कैसा खुदा है तू

बस नाम का है तू

रब्बा जो तेरी इतनी सी भी ना चली

चाहिए जो मुझे कर दे तू मुझको अता

जीती रही सलतनत तेरी

जीती रहे आशिक़ी मेरी

देदे मुझे ज़िंदगी मेरी

तेनू दिल दा वास्ता ..

#life mein ek baar ye scene recreate krne ko mil jaye #zindagi safal ho haye #God i need this kinda love #shyam #shyam kariya #shyam writes

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safyresky · 4 days

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Scrimbly Jacqueline 19/20: I gave her a cloak. bitches love cloaks! (i'm bitches)

I also drew her staff! She has one, too :)

This nearly became Sorceress-Warlock Jacqueline from THIS AU. Didn't feel like drawing that fit tho so it's just regular canon Jacqueline, lol. (but picturing the scars and the eye patch she doesn't actually need but wears for the aesthetic was a FUN mental image at the beginning of the week! then the horrors persisted and I went WHO HAS THE SPOONS. NOT ME)

Drawing the whooshy cloak was fun. Colouring it was even MORE fun. I was going CRAZY last night trying to find a post I made where I described Jacqueline's staff?? I COULDN'T FUCKING FIND IT AND I S2G I READ IT THE OTHER DAY. LIKE EARLIER THIS WEEK. So hopefully my visual memory served me WELL and I don't find the post and go FUCKING EH at a later date, lol.

this scrimbly was very much a scrimbly lol. I think it took me like 10 minutes to doodle. I'm having a LOW ENERGY WEEK. Feelin burnt out af and dreading the weekend! Woo! Almost DIDN'T scrimbly! Thinking this week's little down spin is gonna push back Frostmas crossposting which is SUPER RUDE bc like. THE AESTHETIC. UPDATING ON THE UNLUCKY DAY. BOO!

RIGHT. DANI RANTS ASIDE, WANT SOME CS LORE/FACTS? BC I GOT SOME! WOO:

All four Frosts would pass the warlock test--the question is, do they fully embrace it? Fino does. Fiera does but like, second to the summer sprite training. Jack learns what's useful/what he wants/needs to. Jacqueline was FINE not warlocking, she's good with the snow, BUT Jack keeps nagging her to at LEAST take the test and when she passes it he's like c'mon. c'mon. warlock training. you know you want tooo I could teach youuuuu

She holds off for a VERY long time then gets schemey brain a couple of centuries down the line and goes for it. It's spoilery and I do want to keep this one close to my chest, BUT:

Essentially she learns that she has something someone needs/wants back and she can only do that by getting into the Warlock training! She uses this to try and bring two estranged people closer and when it doesn't go well she hits Jack up after hours and is like "so my plan is going. hmm. bad. let's start warlock training?" and Jack's like YEAH LET'S FUCKING GOOOO bc A) he told her so. B) he;s been wanting to get her started with the warlock biz for YEARS! AND out of ALL THE TEACHERS SHE'S COMING TO HIM (well. unofficially) and C) he is also enjoying the tea from her little scheme and about the two people in question, lol.

Anyway, enjoy the scrimble! Next week is some prohibition fun ft. Winter, I THINK. I'll have to check my notes 🤔🤔🤔

(and yes the heart clasp and pink in the staff are bc Dite)