#Choose you own adventure poll

[aylacavebear]

Upcoming SPN Fanfic - Get Involved

So, I got a crazy idea thanks to a meme I saw on Facebook. I'd love to get as many people involved as possible, as I really think this one is going to be tons of fun. If you'd like other options added, please share those in the comments, and I'll see if I can add them after this is shared.

This is going to be a choose-your-own-adventure story, so it will be set up differently than the other fics I've written thus far. Instead of having a chapter to go to next, you'll have a choice at the end of each part you choose to go on. Is there a possibility the reader will die, yes, yes there is.

Also, there will be the beginning options: - In the SPN world & know about monsters. - In the SPN world & don't know about monsters. - In a regular Earth dimension and SPN is a show.

So, keep those in mind when picking what you'd write. Also, if there are other things you'd write, I'd love to hear those in the comments as well. I can always set up other polls for other things with this story, as it wouldn't be worth writing without having people read it and enjoy it.

I really would love to get as many of my wonderful readers involved as possible. I haven't started writing this one yet, as I have a couple other fics I'd like to finish before I start this one. It's going to be a wonderfully fun project to take on, and my posts for it will also be set up differently.

All of you are absolutely wonderful, and I love sharing my stories with you, hearing your feedback, and seeing the hearts and the reblogs. I may be a writer, but I have no words to express my appreciation for your support on this amazing platform. <3

Forever Tag List: @roseblue373

[orobty]

Let them be sofftttt

[hanasnx]

⋆˖⁺‧₊𓆩𓆩 ❝ stranded. ❞ 𓆪𓆪₊‧⁺˖⋆

-ˏˋ꒰ CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE - ! ꒱ PART ONE ✩ PART TWO ✩ PART THREE MINORS DNI 18+ SUMMARY: be a part of the story! vote on the poll at the bottom. WARNINGS: your vote affects how the story continues | the winning decision affects how the story ends | f!reader | eventual smut | semi-established relationship | romance | suggestive | eventual conflict.

! ── PREVIOUSLY: You and ANAKIN SKYWALKER are stranded on a seemingly deserted planet. He asks you how to proceed because he trusts your judgement.

You consider his question, rubbing your bottom lip thoughtfully with your finger. The responsibility he’s given you is not one you take lightly, and you phase through the options until you decide the smartest route. “Where’s your communicator?”

Anakin's lips press together as he nods. It’s uncharacteristically submissive of him to relinquish control like that, and part of you wonders if this is his way of calming your nerves caused by the situation. He retrieves the communicator in question from his sea of robes, and when his gloved hands brings it to both of your views, it sparks.

He flinches, protecting his eyes from the device if it sees fit to explode in his hand. Fingers fiddle nimbly with its buttons, and its silence doesn’t bode well for your plans. You approach him, watching the little mechanism sit idly in the palm of his hand. “Can you repair it?” you ask, peering up at him. He doesn’t look at you.

“We’ll have to find out.”

As he works on it, you lose track of time, but the sun does not forgive. It beats down on the two of you as you try to shade yourselves in the minuscule shadow of your totaled ship. He remains in his uniform, and beads of sweat fatly roll down his forehead. That concentrated crease in his brow makes him look older than he actually is, glaring down at the communicator as he pinches wiring together with his meticulous touch. You swallow, mouth dry, and you incline into his direction.

“Anakin, maybe you should shed some layers—“ you begin to suggest, laying a familiar hand on his arm. He tenses under your contact, and perks up at attention to hear someone call out.

“You two look a long way from home.” a gutty and baritone voice leers, and Anakin’s jaw sets. His lightsaber is hidden from view by his robings. “Did’yer ship take a tumble?” The joking tone goes unappreciated as the two of you raise your heads to see a native of the planet. Relief washes over you that you aren't alone, but Anakin does not seem convinced, wary this local is unfriendly. He's seated high up on an animal with flat feet and spindly legs, one you don't recognize at all. Its trunk is stout, and wiggles absently as it disinterestedly awaits its owner to decide on whether or not to pass on. The native wears thin clothes with a strap across his chest, the bag of water sloshing at his side as he swings to a halt against his hip.

"Engine failure." Anakin replies, vague and curt. It's a lie, and one you bite your tongue on correcting. Your eyes meander the large stranger, a flat bedded wagon with heaps of fabrics is hauled by his mount, but you know those veils are just to conceal whatever he's got underneath them. "Is there a town around here?"

The local leans forward on his saddle, propping himself up on the grip with an amused and removed grin. "Naw, not for miles." Out of the corner of your view, Anakin's hand slowly disappears under his robe. "Why don't you climb aboard? I'll take you in. S'long as I get what's left of yer ship."

Anakin glances to you, but ultimately decides he'll work on the communicator during the ride. His saber remains clipped to his belt, hidden. However, his senses aren't dulled. There's something about this stranger that tells him he can't get too comfortable, but this is progress. Regardless if there's a town at all. The two of you collect the emergency supplies from the vessel, and climb aboard the wagon. It sinks into the sand from the extra weight, but when he spurs his mount on, she doesn't have a problem in tugging it.

"Sorry I didn't introduce myself, the name's Drice. S'lucky I came through, followed the smoke trail of your ship. Can smell it on the two of you." You and Anakin exchange eye contact, silently agreeing he'll be talkative the entire trip. "Yep, this nose never lies." His finger raises to tap-tap the side of his nostril. "What were y'all headed for? Before, y'know, the 'engine failure.'" You furrow your brows at the way he quotes the statement, as if he's suspicious Anakin was dishonest. "I could'a taken a look at it if it didn't have such a rough landing. S'lucky I want the parts. I'm a mechanic by trade."

Anakin doesn't respond, instead fishes out the communicator to continue his inspection. Its guts spill out, and he carefully pools it onto his lap. "The Adega system." he replies, again another lie.

Drice emits a noise of confusion. "That's a long way to travel for a ship that size."

"That's likely why we crashed." Anakin responds, and you can hear in his voice that growing annoyance.

The reticence from the back of his vehicle unnerves the local, and he continues to try to muster up some conversation. "You two are real cute together, y'know. A real pair. How long have y'all been together?"

Anakin's gaze flickers to you.

@HANASNX 2024 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal.

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

[seealandraw]

Welcome to my choose your own adventure webcomic! How it works: I will be posting this concurrently on twitter (seealantweet) and webtoon where I will run polls. Feel free to vote there, or cast your vote in the comments of webtoon. All votes will be compiled together after a week and then i will start the next update. Let’s have some fun!

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumper-Turned-Caretaker CYOA 27

CW for the series | Masterlist

You chose to take Whumpee on an outing.

“Whumpee,” you start, “I’d like to take you outside. And not just to the backyard. I was thinking a walk around the neighborhood. Can I trust you not to…get me in trouble?” They acted trustworthy before, when they kept quiet with your friend over, so you believe you can trust them again. But this is a new level of freedom and opportunity, so you’d like to make sure.

They nod. “Yes,” they say, voice soft but not weak.

“And are you ready for that?”

“Yes,” they say again. “I would really like that.”

“Okay. Let’s go, shall we?”

You bring them outside—out the front this time, where there’s sidewalk leading away from the house and no tall fence enclosure to keep the two of you hidden.

Whumpee gawks a little. It’s understandable; they haven’t seen a space this open in a long time.

You let them pick a direction, and start walking down the block, side by side. Whumpee enjoys the fresh air, the sunlight, and the birds that occasionally fly by or sing from the trees. You enjoy seeing their renewed wonder at a world that you’ve taken for granted but that they’ve spent too long cooped up away from.

They don’t shout or make a break for it. It seems you’ve succeeded in building up a trust that goes both ways. You make it back home without any incidents.

Whumpee looks a little regretful that it’s over. You promise them they’ll have the chance to stroll the streets again before too long, which cheers them up and earns you one of those smiles you’ve learned to value from them.

What you don’t tell them is that you’re not sure whether that chance will be with you again.

It’s time to make a choice. Whumpee has come a long way. As far as you’re able to tell, they’ve gotten through the biggest parts of the recovery you decided to help them with when you first brought them out of the basement. Whumpee is about ready to go back to whatever life they had before. Still, you can't help but wonder if…maybe they didn't have much to go back to. No one came looking for them in all the time you’ve had them, after all.

Taglist:

@kabie-whump, @whumpanthems, @whumpsoda, @3-2-whump, @generic-whumperz, 

@taterswhump, @alivenova, @whumped-by-glitter, @expressionless-fr, @whumpycries, 

@whumpsday, @moons-cozy-corner, @echo-goes-aaa, @whumplr-reader, @starfields08000, 

@whump-blog, @ivymyers, @currentlyinthesprial, @lumpofsand, @coffin-hopping, 

@ragin-cajun-fangirl, @catnykit, @indigoviolet311, @dragongodryss, @kira-the-whump-enthusiast,

@risk606, @natthebatt, @decaffeinatedtimetraveler94, @whatwhump, @venusski

@hermitcrabs-1,  @croixph, @mj-or-say10, @kawaii-cakes, @gevwer,

@fourwingedwriter, @turtlesnap1

[brynn-lear]

Case File: Missing Person Investigation

Victim:  (Y/n) (L/n)  

Date reported missing: 04/20/2024  

Reported by: Jelena "Topaz" ███████, close friend.  

Circumstances: Suddenly went missing before reaching the airport, hasn't left the country. Missing for more than 72 hours when authorities were notified.

Possible Motive/s:  

- Unknown.

Victim's Background:  

- An overseas immigrant worker from ██████, registered Penacony citizen for 3 years.  

- Full fledged human, no remarkable hybrid bloodline.  

- Moved near Clockie Memorial, Penacony City to start the Dreamjolt Cafe. The cafe is heavily supported and funded by retired famous actress, Siobhan.

Possible Suspects:

1. Gallagher  

   - Description: Victim's flatmate, canine hybrid, possibly a former bloodhound detective.  

   - Relationship: Lives in the same apartment with the victim. Home is located besides the cafe.  

   - Circumstances: Unlikely to leave shared home to kidnap or attack (Y/n) due to surveillance footage.  

   - Suspicions: Suspicions were raised by Jelena but her accounts are shaky and not conclusive.

2. Sunday  

   - Description: Penacony senator.  

   - Relationship: Alleged arguments with the victim regarding cafe spot.  

   - Motive: Possibly interested in victim's cafe spot for the capital's town hall extension.  

   - Denial: Claims cordial and friendly relationship with (Y/n).

Relevant Information from Witness: Ms. Robin:  

- Sunday's Visits: Contradictory statements regarding visits to the cafe near closing time. Sunday often happily remarks prior to (Y/n)’s disappearance that he fondly enjoys listening to them talk. Close friends and regulars corroborate the opposite as he had “never visited the cafe at night.”

- Gallagher's Popularity: Adored by customers, the victim often jokes about him replacing them as owner/barista when they retire. Gallagher declines all their proposals. 

- Relationship Status via Prof. Ratio: Victim is “not dating anyone, not looking to date”. Prof. Ratio was very adamant that they were not lovers with Gallagher or Sunday.

- Sunday's Opinion On The Victim: [Audio file attached]

“I'm not sure why you're suspecting me, Robin. Even though (Y/n) thinks little of me, I enjoy their company very much. I have never met someone who has passionately disliked me as much as they do. I wouldn't want to start missing that voice.”

- Family Bond via Kakavasha: Victim has strong bond with family, unlikely to elope. As the family's “breadwinner”, there is pressure for them to send financial assistance.

- Digital Disappearance: All of the victim’s accounts are offline, unreachable by phone.  The Cyber Investigations Division has yet to find their cell's last known location. Investigator “SW” is assigned to this case.

- Rumors of human trafficking: Word is spreading that there has been a series of other missing people in the area. Some claim a mafia is involved.

- Rumors of rigged election: Mr. McCoy has been implicated in the ████ elections for his role of (allegedly) manipulating the vote count in Penacony City to favor Senator Sunday.

My personal notes:  

04/20/2024: The investigation is ongoing with focus on Gallagher and Sunday as potential suspects. Further inquiries and evidence collection required to determine the whereabouts of (Y/n) (L/n).

They removed me from the fudging case and now I can't do any flipping poop about it. Hecking suspicious that they're so tight-lipped  about some cafe owner's disappearance. Ain't no way something political ain't involved here. They won't let just anyone in. They even have the audacity to get Agents Kafka and Yingxing to look for em. Robin thinks Sunday has something to do with it and now the little bird thinks about partnering up with me. I can't shake her off. Annoying, but I don't want to just do paperwork. Gotta do some legwork for fun.

04/21/24: Gallagher looks like he's genuinely confused by what's happenin. But as an ex-cop (?), he's doing a darn commendable Watchmaker Award worthy job of hiding it. Ya'd think he'd be very aggressive, but the old dog's warming up. Slightly. Dunno. He's being kind of a son of a nice lady about this and I have a stinkin' feeling he's going to try and investigate this matter on his own.

04/21/24: Robin isn't feeling well. I wonder why?

Chapters

1) The First Meeting

[claiborneart]

You paddle out to a pillar, and lick it.

compared to the water, it feels almost warm to the touch.

When you lick it you taste salt¹, and a faint, familiar aftertaste that you can't quite place.

Your tongue sticks to it slightly, as you pull away.

now then,

What do you do?

1 - the water tasted completely fresh, in case you were now wondering.

[salty-an-disco]

(Explore) First, I wanna know about this princess I’m supposed to slay.

What an odd choice, isn’t it? A story of a hero and a princess in which the hero is tasked with slaying said princess. But doesn’t that flip in the script make it all the more intriguing? What kind of princess is this that needs slaying

Or perhaps… she really is just a regular old princess, and that, by itself, is threatening as a monarch is an inherent evil for the world as a whole.

Oh, apologies, you’re probably looking for a more objective answer rather than these musings. Well, I’m afraid I can’t tell you much, that would spoil the story! A narrator of my caliber would never do such a thing. Critical information shall only be provided when the time is right.

Anyway… as much as this chit-chat has been a nice change of pace for me, this isn’t really doing much in terms of progressing with the story, is it? It’s my job as a narrator to move the narrative along and keep it from slogging, and I’m afraid we’re getting too close to slog territory, and I can’t let you keep slogging it up.

So– Hmmm. Let’s see…

[killerpancakeburger]

Silly "interactive" teaser for Pull Me Closer:

(Final part of my depressed!civilian!reader x Soap series, which includes Breaking Point and Knight in Shining Khaki)

*A wild Soap appears*

You use Avoidance.

"It's not very effective..."

Soap noticed movement.

You have activated Soap's thrill of the chase skill.

Soap is now chasing you.

[tooquirkytolose]

[lottiecrabie]

choose your own smut adventure. part nine – matty healy

previous. start.

Matty’s mouth meets yours. His fingers dig into your thighs, as if he feared that you would melt between his limbs and disappear in the lines of his palms. It’s a greedy kiss, tongue coaxing the raw need out of you, the coiling desire you’ve never reached before. You’re surprised there’s still something left in you to awaken, but not surprised it’s him that shakes it up.

You’re exhausted, half delirious, clinging onto him like you’re not fully sure he’s real, but he kisses you like it’s the last time — and it might be, and it should be — and you think you might die on the spot if he’s not inside of you.

“Matty,” you whine, clawing at his shoulders. The tone is clear. He takes a few brittle steps, kissing and licking and nipping at your cheeks and neck, any skin he can reach and leave sweet love on. You giggle, pressing into him, shaking him off. 

He walks over to your desk, throwing a look past your shoulder, then back to you. He arches an eyebrow. His eyes are hungry and impatient, but still he takes the time to ask, “D’you mind?” 

You turn back, peering behind you. Your desk is neatly arranged, papers and pens in their proper spot, a meticulous system you’ve obsessively perfected. You flip back to him, catching his lips. “Fuck no.”

Matty chuckles in your mouth. One hand leaves your thigh and he reaches an arm blindly behind you, pushing away your careful construction. It shatters to the floor. You don’t even have the mind to care about the mess. Notes mix together on the floor, a meshing of dates and lessons that will take hours to undo, and you just kiss him harder, smile slack and happy against him. 

He drops you on the desk. He’s too gone to be careful, delicate. He climbs his hands to your hips, grips them with greedy, bruising fingers. Slides between your thighs, hard and ready. 

“Please,” you moan from the back of your throat, trying to show you’re just as ready, as though the sopping mess between your legs wasn’t indication enough. “I can’t wait anymore.”

Matty lines himself up with your entrance. He grinds against your clit, smirking on your cheek as you hitch your breath and shudder. “Matty, I swear to fucking God—” You start, ready to threaten him with anything— everything— if he dares tease you again. 

He enters you with one quick thrust. Your head falls on his shoulder, words dying in your throat, and all you can manage is a drawn-out cry. Relief spreads through you, heat following behind it dutifully. He’s so right— inside of you, around you, with you. 

“You swear what?” Matty teases, bucking into you, making your mind melt down your spine. You shake your head on his shoulder. He laughs; it resonates, settles in your heart. “Got nothing to say?”

You hum. “I do,” you pant out. “Harder.”

Matty has another laugh, but he complies. He thrusts quickly, hitting the perfect spot inside of you, the one that has you screaming and clawing at him. Ecstasy swims through your body. You can’t believe pleasure this great, this intense, this true exists. How you’ve been missing out. 

The desk rocks furiously. You’re overwhelmed, brain leaking out of your ears. His name chants from your mouth, a plea, a reverence. You bite his shoulder to hold back the screams, to reattach yourself to reality. Matty’s hips stutter inside of you. 

“Fuck,” he moans. You giggle, releasing his skin and kissing it, over and over. He grabs your cheeks, digs you out of his neck. His hands rake through the sweaty mess of your hair. To see you better. To kiss you. 

It’s a sloppy thing, wet and lazy and filled with the pathetic sounds you both can’t swallow down. He’s relentless between your thighs, searching that final fatal end like a dedicated devotee. 

Matty breaks from your mouth, panting, “You’re perfect.” Pride circles your head, leaving you dopey. “My best girl,” he repeats, worships. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” you nod slackly. 

“Just for me.” And it’s true. It thrums in your chest, how perfect this all feels. You’re left wondering if it’s not so much about what you know, but who you’re doing it with. If the meticulous, precise list is useless when you’re holding Matty between your greedy arms. 

He kisses your cheek, then pushes your shoulder until your back lays on the desk. He presses you there, fucking you harder, grinning down at you like he knows.

“Are you gonna come?” He says, cheeky. You moan. Your head rolls on the desk. “Gonna come all over my cock?”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, choked from his quick strokes. “Shit, Matty.”

His thumb finds your clit. He rubs at it with little technique, just his focused aim of making you break apart. “Do it,” he half-demands, half-begs. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your face scrunches. You reach for his working wrist, gripping it vengefully, just to touch him. Just to feel him as your body snaps and you finally come. A scream bursts from your lips, his name deformed and reformed on your tongue. Euphoria spreads through you until you might choke from happiness. 

Matty bends down to kiss you. He thrusts into you sloppily, a messy pattern as he gets closer and closer to his own release. “I’m gonna—” he warns, breathless. You dig your fingers into his hair and tug. He rips from your mouth, whining against your lips as he finally comes. 

You hold him there as he spills into you, sliding in and out a few times to ride out his orgasm. He’s flushed and sweaty, and he falls on you with a satisfied sigh. You stick together. You stick together.

You caress his hair as you both come down from your mountain high. You’re drowsy and satisfied. Thoroughly, thoroughly satisfied. Years of stress have spilled out of you and you lay there, on your desk, your life a mess on the floor, and you can’t find any other emotion in you but happiness. A disbelieved giggle slips out of you. 

“What?” Matty mutters against your neck, still catching his breath. 

“Nothing,” you say. A smile shines on your face. Matty’s eyes flick towards it, then he grins, too, catching them for a quick kiss. He leaves it just to kiss your cheek, your temple, your forehead.

Your legs are sore, hanging from your desk limply. You make a little grimace, saying, “Maybe we should move.”

[megamindsecretlair]

So 🥲 apparently there are....quite a lot of you following me even after banning the porn bots and folks without age or personality on their blogs. And yall 🥹🥹🥹

You're all sooo sweet 😍 thank you for all the kind words, comments, reblogs, and asks. I know I have a ton of requests to get through and series to update, but I wanted to celebrate yall. And put the decisions in your hands. I will be doing a series of polls over the weekend where YOU get to choose. YOU get to decide the follower celebration fic 🤸🏽‍♀️🙌🏽🙌🏽

First up! Who is it starring? 👀

[haubaut]

Who do you want to be today?

[whomeidontknowthem]

Eyes on me – an interactive whump story. Part 5.

Previous part. Masterpost.

Content: institutionalized slavery, imprisonment, dehumanizing language, it/its for an inhuman whumpee, pet whump, whipping, blood, physical abuse, withholding of food, training, torture, intimate whumper, carewhumper, mentioned pet death, tell me if i missed something

Lord Teelo didn’t strike. 

He lowered his arm, eyes never straying from holding the creature’s terrified gaze. The room reeked of blood, now streaming down the lord’s fingers in a warm waterfall. He worked hard on pushing his fury back, taking it under control as many times before. He was in control. He would show it, careful and persistent and levelheaded. He would make sure it remembered the lesson forever. The crop was not meant for punishments, it was too short, too soft – he hadn’t meant to punish it. He was going to be a kind and gracious owner. It had left him no choice!

He opened the door, finding the redheaded guard still in the corridor.

“Get a proper whip,” he ordered. “More chains – gods damned handcuffs, whichever idiot thought of leaving it like this?! And a knife, scissors – or whatever, something to file its atrocious claws.”

The guard stared at him, not in the face – at his arm. Lord Teelo felt it – the consistent drip-drip-drip of his blood. He didn’t feel the ache yet. Nothing but the quiet, cold fury he couldn’t wait to unleash at the world. Haltingly, the guard started, “Should I bring someone to take a look at–”

“I have told you what you should do,” his voice came out as a hiss.

“Yes, my lord,” the guard saluted and hesitated only a moment before running down the corridor. 

Lord Teelo closed the door with a loud crash. He paced inside, steps echoing around the room, as the pain slowly started to radiate out. He hated it. Oh how he wished he could slice the thing’s skin just this moment, not waiting for anything and anyone. He picked up the crop once more, stoped before the creature – it cowered to the very corner between the wall and its cage, never letting its eyes away from him. Oh, now it was looking. It dared to look! 

“You think yourself smart?” the lord hissed. “Think you did something good for yourself? Oh, no, you’re gonna regret this. You’re gonna regret this so much.”

The pain seeped into his consciousness with every heartbeat, radiant and nauseatingly familiar. He held a handkerchief to the cuts until it filled with deep red. He threw it away – it landed in a wet disgusting lump on the table, by the bowl of wet disgusting meat. Oh how the lord had tried to be a nice host, how he had tried to accommodate this, this– 

“Damned, ungrateful, hateful beast!” Lord Teelo roared. The glass of the bowl nearly slipped from his bloodied fingers when he grabbed it, and then shattered to thousands pieces to the side of the creature’s head. Its dinner fell onto the floor, useless. Oh, it wouldn’t get any, it would have to work, to beg for any crumb from then on – it would regret, regret it so much!..

The door slid open soundlessly after a short knock, letting in the heavy footsteps and the clanging of metal. The lord turned on his heels, facing the guard. “And why in the world have you not brought a damned healer!” he hissed. “Can’t you see I’m bleeding out!”

The guard blinked. “But you have–” 

“YOU DARE ARGUE WITH ME?!” 

He was struggling to breathe, chest heaving with effort. The blood was still warm down his arm, still bright on the broken glass and light wood of his floors. How could the idiot not understand!

There were chains in the guard’s arms and a leathery length of the whip. Lord Teelo snatched it and demanded, “Chain it up!” The guard hesitated, opened his mouth. “NOW!” 

He did. The lord watched as he came to the beast, careful with his steps, cautious of it. It squeezed itself deeper into the corner. Lord Teelo could see it shaking. He was delighted to see it shaking. The guard reached out, the first cuff prepared, and Lord Teelo watched from a step away as it lifted its hands up, close to its chest. Its teeth were bared, pupils wide and eyes wider. It tried saying something, but what came out was only a mess of sounds with no meaning. 

The guard squeezed its arm even as it tried to avoid it. It whined and fought back, tried getting out of the grasp, tried pushing him away, tried and fought and struggled as he cursed under his nose. Its claws went through the skin of his palm ripping out a sharp hiss. It managed to raise its hind leg as the cuff clicked around its wrist, its claws scratching against the metal in an effort that only delayed the inevitable. 

Lord Teelo had little patience left. He stepped forward, connecting his heel with the middle of the creature’s tail. It yelped, flinched backwards – its head connected with the wall, and before it could regroup the second handcuff was in place. After that, restraining its legs was only a matter of time.

“Turn it around,” the lord ordered. Chains clang as it fought in an ever increasing panic. “To the wall, yes… yes, just like that.” The locks rattled, forced closed. The guard let the key fall onto the ground, forcing the creature to kneel. It hid its tail between its legs, whining as its head was pressed into the wall. “Is the chain short enough? Will it be able to move?”

“I don’t think so, my lord,” the guard answered. 

Lord Teelo played with the whip, trying it out. “Good. Go fetch the healer– wait. I need – something sharp, something – to secure on its tail. See how it hides it? I need something it can’t hide from.”

The guard looked puzzled. He eased his hold in a test, and the creature threw its whole weight backwards, fighting the chains. They held. Kneeling, with its tail hidden and only back visible, it looked strikingly like a human. “Perhaps clothespins, my lord?” It wasn’t what he had in mind. What he wanted – it wasn’t that. Not this easy, tame solution.

“It would work,” he drew out. He would go to the smith when he had time. He had an idea, oh, that would be a genius idea. “Just this once."

He flexed his left arm and rubbed his right. It hurt as all deaths, but it had stopped bleeding. He failed to crack the whip the first time but managed it the second, inches from the creature’s back. The guard bowed, taking it as a sign to leave. 

The creature mumbled and mumbled more, sounds a meaningless mush falling from its tongue. If Lord Teelo was generous, he could see it as an apology; he would not even entertain the possibility of giving in to it, of course. 

The second crack was right by its ear. It flinched and curled up further but couldn't hide.

It wailed when the whip connected with its back – so loud, so quickly, taken by surprise. Lord Teelo bared his teeth in a smile and struck again, violent purple already flowering on the gray of its skin, and struck again without waiting – three, four, six, twelve hits in a row, as it flinched and writhed and cried out.

He paused afterwards, and saw as it tensed, first, its whole body shaking with the effort of breathing, hiccupping in what sounded almost like sobs. He waited, watching how it trembled more and more. He let it marinate in the anticipation, the fear coiling and coiling with no release, the stinging of its sore back growing as its patience ran thin. 

When it raised its head, just barely, as if to look, the whip snapped through the air again. 

It screamed out. He didn’t give it time to recover. 

The lord hit it with no pattern, pausing and continuing at his leisure, until his arm grew heavy with pain and the creature nearly silent. Lord Teelo could only hear its labored breathing, air forced out of its body with every strike. Its back bloomed with purple that gave way to red when the skin opened, the new lines covering the rainbow pattern in an unstructured, repulsive mess.

Oh, he nearly pitied it, trembling pathetically in the corner. Then he rubbed his arm and the sharp pain was enough to remember why he didn’t. 

He struck for the last time, lazily, with his left, and then a few more for a good measure. When a polite knock announced the guard’s return, he felt pleasantly tired, like after a good work out. He called out for the man to enter. 

The guard did and the healer, an old woman the lord knew for most of his life, followed in. She looked the room over with stony, unreadable expression, and Lord Teelo met her gaze with a nice enough smile. “You’ve got your toy,” she stated and that was all the attention the creature got from her. 

She made a quick enough work of the wounds: cleaned and bandaged them up after applying that miraculous numbing cream the lord appreciated since early childhood. The creature would appreciate it even more, he thought, glancing at the pathetic thing. It had shifted at some point, stretching its legs just a bit but keeping its head hidden. Its body shook violently, trembling so much it in itself looked tiring. 

“Should I look it over?” the healer suggested, all business. 

The lord huffed, “What would the point of a punishment be then?” 

The woman looked him over with that annoying, unreadable gaze. “Call me whenever you change your mind,” she bowed and left when he dismissed her. 

Lord Teelo tried the clothespins with interest, forcing the spring to coil and then letting it go softly around his finger, just a tad, until it started hurting. “Good enough,” he concluded finally and got up. 

The creature flinched when his boots stopped by its form but didn’t try anything. “Poor thing,” he drew out and crouched, ran his fingers along its back lightly, brushing fingertips over the painful ridges of future bruises. Its breaths hitched, but it didn’t make a sound. “And all you needed was to not act like a brainless brat to avoid all this. You have no one but yourself to blame, silly thing,” he told it. It didn’t answer, shivering under his touch but not attempting anything stupid. 

“But maybe you can learn,” he hummed and moved his hand down to where its tail started. It tensed even further, if it was possible at all. “Let’s just make sure the lesson sticks, huh?” It curled up even further as he tagged on its tail, releasing from under the creature’s body. He flickered it back and forth and rubbed between his fingers and was satisfied when it sobbed and shuddered but remained motionless otherwise. 

“Like this, yes,” he muttered. With the softest touch of his second hand, he stoked its head. “But look at me now. Eyes on me,” It didn’t understand. He caught a fistful of its fur and tagged. “Eyes on me.”

Too drained to resist, it lifted its head as he guided it. “Eyes on me,” he demanded again, and it either guessed or truly learned – its gaze settled on him, focusing to the best of its ability – and, oh, what a pathetic mess it looked, eyes bloodshot and wet in ways he’d thought only a human's could be, dark lines from where it pressed into the floorboards marking its cheeks. There was something red around its mouth – did it bite itself, the poor thing? 

Lord Teelo clicked his tongue, smiled softly and released its fur. It settled back instantly, curling up again. Its tail remained in his hands. 

He picked up the first pin. 

It must have assumed at first that he was just playing like he had been, – at least, it didn’t seem to tense up too much, nor expect the sharp pain when he released the spring around its tail. It shuddered, head whipping up, staring at him once again. He smiled. Picked up the second clothespin. 

It tried to get its tail free – oh, it tried as much as it could without hurting him, but he tightened the grasp and played with the pins as it couldn’t help a new whimper, and hushed it and urged it to sit still. “That’s for you to remember the lesson better,” he told it pleasantly. It must have cried, body shaking again, and tried to kick just once, the movement stopped halfway through by a short chain. 

Lord Teelo wondered how many pins would be good for it – should he go with the whole set the guard had brought? He settled on five, at the end, a nice even number not even halfway through what he had. He was feeling rather merciful and forgiving, and it sounded just so pathetic. 

He called the guard in to urge it into the cage when it was done. It didn’t even try fighting, following the man's tagging and pushing until it was inside, drawing its limbs close and curling up to fully fit. Nearly immediately, its fingers itched towards the pins, human-like thumbs ready to work on the problem. Lord Teelo snapped his fingers to get its attention.

“No,” he said, words dripping with finality. He reached through the bars and tagged its tail outside. “The clothespins stay here for the night,” he told it. It probably didn’t understand – there was so little thought in its eyes. He let go of it hoped for its sake it understood what he meant. He didn’t want to have to punish it so soon for their lack of common language. 

When he went to sleep, the shaky breaths and the rare clanging when it tried to settle more comfortable sounded like a lullaby to his ears.

In the morning, his arm stung mercilessly and unendingly, and no melodies of birds and gentle sunrays could make his mood better. He turned lazily, letting his eyes fall onto the cage. The creature was curled inside of it, eyes shut tight and ears flickering restlessly. Its tail fluttered too, freed at some point from the pins, one of its hands curling around it protectively. 

Lord Teelo felt stuck between endearment and irritation. He moved and the cuts on his arm ached, and irritation won. 

“Hey… you,” he called and realized he hadn’t come up with a name. He should think about it as some point, he decided grimly, and banished the thought of the last pet he’d named, back in childhood. That was a just a cat, a stupid spoilt creature with too much attitude. The lord remembered the way it looked, painted red and unmoving, after crossing one too many lines. 

The creature didn’t move at his call, either. He picked up an extinguished candle from his bedside table and threw it towards the cage. “Hey!” 

There was no reaction. With an undignified groan, he forced himself on his feet and towards the cage. He rattled the key across the bars, the way that always seemed to get the creature’s attention.

It didn’t react. It was outright ignoring him! 

Had it learned nothing?!

He reached through the bars and tagged on its tail, finally getting some response in return – it flinched weakly and grimaced. Slowly, its eyes fluttered open, but didn’t settle on the lord. They looked as if through him, unfocused and dizzy, and a pang of worry cut through the just rage when they closed back and its chest heaved, struggling for breath. 

Something was wrong.

He reached through the bars and towards its forehead, forgetting for a second it wasn’t a human. The skin under his fingers was blasting hot and sickly wet. It moved closer to his fingers, all but nuzzling against him. 

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

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