#I just looked at what achievements there were and aimed for one of them

[watermeat]

Jesus christ I just got 8 achievements in one run of Monster Train.

[narcjsistx]

𝐕𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐇𝐂𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐌 | sae, shidou, rin (part two)

𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ; take a look, trust me!

— sae itoshi

✶ Sae seems like someone who actually likes to wear bracelets, rings or necklaces, but can't wear them often due to the matchs he plays, where he would risk breaking them. going back to the basic concept, his gifts would probably be matching jewelry, especially rings... so, in case you were someone who wears them and rarely takes them off, he would try to do the same thing. during matches he would hang the ring on a string that he would put in his pocket or around his neck, kissing it before starting the match or squeezing it after scoring a goal

✶ I don't know exactly why, but beyond the canonical fetish for the ass, I see him as someone who would aim to have a partner with well groomed hands, like nails with polish, smooth and without calluses. he's not a big fan of PDA, the only thing he would do is hold your hand and occasionally leave a prying kiss on the back. in private he is certainly more open, and one thing he loves is massaging his partner's hand; it's a gesture he now makes almost unconsciously

✶ Sae didn't have instagram until he met you, you practically forced him to create an account! he resisted his manager telling him to do the same for a long time, but for you it was only enough once. he just put a profile photo, you had to do it for him the bio and some highlights, about past or future matches. a few days later you opened instagram and noticed that his account had a highlights that you hadn't created, entitled "her": you opened it and there were some photos of you, the ones that Sae considered most important (even if he loves them all). needless to say, your heart was about to explode

what would he post on socials ↓

✶ as a child he may have thought about it a bit, but after joining ReAl he didn't have the time to think about it again. he wouldn't mind having a family sooner or later, but probably after winning the U-20 world cup. two children would be fine, possibly a boy and a girl. he just knows that in some way his children would remind him of him and Rin as lil kids

✶ jealosy level: 5/10

✶ flirtiness level: 7/10 (let's specify, ABSOLUTELY NOT in public, but in private maybe he would indulge in some jokes)

✶ pet names: "amor" / "y/n" / "pretty"

—————————————

— ryusei shidou

✶ even if it doesn't seem like it, Shidou is relatively a normal person as a boyfriend... is there a concept of personal space? not that, but otherwise it's normal. the only "flaw" he may have is that he must CONSTANTLY have his hand touching you when you're together, whether it's a hand on your thigh or an arm around your shoulders: he simply needs to feel you. PDA is no big deal for him: he want to kiss you in front of everyone? he will do it, whatever the cost. if you say he can kiss you after winning a game and it's live nationally, why can't he do it in front of his group of homies?

✶ Shidou seems like someone actually very deep, or at least that seems to be described in some parts of his character sheet. Late night chats are literally the level of mental intimacy he hopes to achieve with his partner... he's someone who doesn't sleep much, so he has a lot of energy and hardly gets tired even after hours of talking. You and him tightly hugging on his bed, lights off and just everything that goes through your head... doesn't everything seem perfect?

✶ you know very well that every time he has a match he makes comments that, let's say, put him in a "bad light", or in any case make him seem less interested in you. before being with you he didn't mind saying things like that on the field, and more or less the same thing has remained since you got together as a couple... BUT THERE IS A BUT! every time, once the game is over and above all won, he makes sure to run to you before even celebrating with his teammates: whether you are in the VIP area or not, he will come to you to kiss you with all the passion he has. let's say he uses his method to reconfirm to the people that he is happily taken

what would he post on socials ↓

✶ GET MARRIED AND HAVE MANY CHILDREN AS POSSIBLE? YEAAAAH. no okay maybe not like that, but on the issue of children he doesn't lie... certainly with the career as a striker he has, he has no problems with money, and therefore with maintaining kids. let's say that for marriage it's different... he doesn't find any sense in it, in reality, he only sees it as something superficial: if he loves you and you know it, why have such a ceremony?. so let's say it's 50/50: he would do it if you asked him but at the same time he wouldn't mind not being married

✶ jealosy level: 1/10 (he trusts you too much to even think about it)

✶ flirtiness level: 10/10

✶ pet names: "doll" / "darling" / "love"

—————————————

— rin itoshi

✶ Rin hides under his serious and calculating gaze a boy who simply needs to vent after everything that happened with his older brother. Before being together as a couple he would never have expected to be able to cry in front of someone, but with you it was all quite natural: it took months and a lot of patience to show him that you really cared about him and that you wanted him to feel comfortable with you, but in the end he let himself go and was finally able to tell someone what not even he himself could explain. he'll never admit it but he believes that was the moment he realized how important you really were to him, and how much he simply wanted someone who could understand him

✶ He has a sort of fetish for seeing you in his clothes: it doesn't matter if the clothes are tight, big or the right size, just seeing you in that black sweatshirt of his or in his PxG uniform is enough to send him into crisis. he can't even explain to you why he likes it so much, but the fact that you're wearing something that smells like him is definitely a valid reason. you once surprised him by showing up at one of his matches wearing a jacket with "rin" written on the back, and we can say that he appreciated it to the point of having to prove it to you in some way: that time the match ended 9-0, goal all marked by him

✶ He may be one of the best if not the best, but after finishing the practice he simply needs to rest with you next to him, even more so if the coach was more unpleasant than usual or he simply did a lot of things wrong due to distraction (which is impossible considering it's Rin). Whether on the couch after cleaning himself or in the shower, while you rub shampoo into his hair it doesn't matter, he just needs to feel your presence

what would he post on socials ↓

✶ as a child he often saw other children playing at being married, but he was never actually interested, also because on the one hand it disgusted him to think of having to be tied to a person forever and kiss them on the mouth. as he's grown up he's changed his opinion, he's definitely the marriageable type and he'd actually like to get married as soon as possible: what's the point in leaving you legally free if you've stolen his heart?. let's say that he has a fairly positive opinion about children, he just knows that they arrive after a certain amount of time after marriage: he would like to have two girls... growing up as one of two brothers, both boys, he knows how boys are more problematic than girls

✶ jealosy level: 6/10

✶ flirtiness level: 3/10

✶ pet names: "y/n" / "love"

[notebooks-and-laptops]

The thing that gets me about Varric in The Missing and the new gameplay, is that this has happened to him before.

He already had a friend who tore down his world - even if on a much smaller scale. He had a friend who was a mage, who had suffered and experienced injustice, and who used that as fuel to do something awful that might achieve his aims but would kill a lot of people, would tear about Varric's chosen family and...and he couldn't stop him. He didn't really try.

Varric in Inquisition is bitter - horribily bitter - about Anders. About what happened in Kirkwall. From da2 in his ambient dialogue we see that he knew something was wrong. He even says he thinks Anders will get himself killed if he keeps doing what he's doing. He's rightfully suspicious of him in the third act. But ultimately, he does nothing. Even when Anders is waiting there, possibly about to die, he refuses to commit to an opinion, to a side. And then in Inquisition he blames Anders bitterly. He's angry at him. But he also blames himself, it's all tangled up in the deep roads, in bartrand and red lyrium and the fact that he was the one who brought all these individuals together.

So skip forward to now. To Veilguard. To Solas trying to tear down the veil. And I honestly think Varric is seeing them both. He looks at Solas and he sees his friend Chuckles, and he sees his friend Blondie and he already failed one of them when they were in this situation. He stood by even and let Anders die! He didn't try and stop him, he saw the signs and did nothing. And this time he will not let that happen. This time he will not lose his friend. He will not stand by and watch him die, and he will not stand by and watch him destory the world.

The whole Solas thing is just a larger expansion of what happened in Kirkwall to Varric, except this time it's happening everywhere and the stakes are much higher. Which makes it even more tragic that all he wants to do is talk him down, give him another option, get his friend back. I just...fhjudbhajfdhfhareli

[vettelsvee]

THE "JOURNALIST" | Max Verstappen

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

max verstappen x journalist student!reader

summary: y/n is "scared" to interview max, and max is sick of journalists, especially newbies. however the sex appeal between them is more than obvious.

word count: 992

warnings: none of it really! just sexual tension between y/n and max. use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

You were in the broadcast booth ready to report the results of the latest Formula 1 qualifying session. With your notebook and microphone in hand, you were poised to inform the audience about the exciting session results.

"Welcome back to our live broadcast from Silverstone!" you exclaimed cheerfully as you looked into the camera. "I think we should start discussing the results of the qualifying session for tomorrow's Sunday race as soon as possible."

With great enthusiasm and ensuring you had your notes in hand to avoid any mistakes, you began to list the names of the drivers and their positions on the starting grid:

"In first position, with an impressive fast lap, we have Lewis Hamilton, who has once again demonstrated his incredible skills on the track. In second place we have Max Verstappen, who is hot on the heels of the British in the championship standings. And in third position, but no less important, we have Charles Leclerc, whose improvement this season has been phenomenal, something he is quite proud of, as his partner exclusively shared with us."

You continued to read out the names of the drivers and their respective positions. However, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Max Verstappen, the Dutch driver who she found quite attractive and, at the same time, respected due to his evident disdain towards the media.

"And in the last position, we have our dear Checo Pérez, who is having a fantastic season with Red Bull Racing but, due to an engine failure, was eliminated in Q3. It will undoubtedly be very exciting to see how these men fight for the podium in tomorrow's race!"

You continued to describe the results and the performance the drivers had shown in the qualifying session, highlighting their achievements and the challenges they would face the following day.

When it came time to talk about Max Verstappen, your voice tone changed slightly:

"As for Verstappen, the prodigal son of this new era in the world of motorsport, he has once again demonstrated his incredible talent," you said with as much seriousness as she could muster, "although it was not enough to surpass Hamilton this time."

You tried to stay focused on your speech despite the glances Verstappen was casting from the paddock while responding to other journalists. Without a doubt, Verstappen commanded a lot of respect from you: the fact that he disregarded the work of his future colleagues in the profession caused your considerable disdain, and at times, he could be quite disrespectful. You didn't want to imagine how he would treat you, being just a newbie.

Although it must be noted that you found yourself quite attracted to him.

After finally finishing the live broadcast and interviewing several drivers, with whom she had felt quite comfortable despite her nerves, it was your turn to face Max Verstappen.

"Hello, Max," you greeted the Dutchman. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on your second position in the qualifying."

"It's not the one my team and I were looking for."

You tried to ignore his response, moving on to a different but related question:

"Even though your result isn't what you desired, how do you feel about being in that position?" despite your fear, you dared to continue with the question, "Do you think you'll be able to beat Lewis?"

"I'm here to win," Max replied flippantly, "not to settle for second place."

"I understand, Max," you said, changing the subject, "with the aim of overtaking Hamilton, could you tell us what strategies both you and Red Bull Racing have in mind?"

You didn't need to see the poker face Max had directed at you to know you had overstepped by asking about strategies.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Without even looking at you or saying goodbye, he turned around seemingly intending to leave the scene.

But Max Verstappen wasn't one to let anyone get the better of him, not even a mere student who didn't know how she was going to earn her degree because, without a doubt, she didn't know how to do her job properly.

"And what about you," he addressed you directly, shocking you in that moment. "What strategy would you propose to me to win the race?"

You had endured situations of underestimation in other newsrooms where you had interned, with quite nasty comments that had made you feel pretty bad. However, the sarcasm from the blue-eyed driver only drew her more to him.

"Maybe he's an asshole," you thought to yourself, "but he's a pretty hot asshole."

"Well…" you began. "Maybe instead of doing good broadcasts or getting top marks, I'll fuck one of you and, besides, gain fame."

Verstappen let out a sardonic laugh as he approached you. There was no doubt that he had not only surprised, but also pleased by what you had said.

"Really?" Max answered, a little excited, "Who would you take right now?"

"You seem like a complete asshole," you told him, "but I have to admit that I find it extremely difficult to ignore you."

"Why's that? Do you like what you see?"

The tension between both of you was more than evident.

You knew you couldn't continue this conversation, at least not in front of journalists, team bosses, and other people.

"If you want to set aside our personal relationship," the driver whispered to you as he lightly brushed your arm, "and get to know me better, prepare a good strategy for tonight."

"Verstappen," you replied, looking him directly in the eyes. "If you win tomorrow's race, don't hesitate to invite me to the private party you're going to throw, and I'll give you a night to make you feel special."

"Alright, Miss I-don't-know-your-name. A victory for one night."

If Max felt motivated to come in first tomorrow to beat Hamilton, now he felt even more so knowing he could have a girl begging for him.

[cuubism]

Besieged

E | 5k

a sequel to Trade Secrets - aka knight Hob and slutty prince Dream

--

Hob has sat in besieged war camps for days waiting for the enemy to strike. He has knelt in forests, unmoving, muscles cramping, waiting hours for a chance to attack. He has laid in a medical cot for weeks while a wound slowly heals.

And yet the greatest test of patience in Hob’s entire life is this treaty negotiation. Not because the discussion is mind-numbingly dull, though it is. Hob would always rather be out killing something, but he can cope. And not because the foreign dignitaries are only barely respectable, casting veiled jibes their way every other sentence. Hob talks too much, but he can hold his tongue when he has to.

No, this is testing Hob’s patience because he’s here as Morpheus’s personal bodyguard, and Morpheus is currently draped over the arm of the foreign king, body pressed close, lips close to his jaw as he speaks directly in his ear.

He never behaves like this when he’s in his own palace. Among his own people he’s stoic and reserved, almost unknowable. And he had been very insistent that his stories about seducing foreign dignitaries had been just that: stories, that his words alone were sufficient to achieve his aims.

Which means he’s doing this just to get under Hob’s skin.

Hob shifts where he stands, back against the wall, surveying the room. He’s supposed to be concentrating on security, but he feels hot, itchy, aggravated. Jealous, he whispers to himself. Morpheus isn’t his to keep. But oh if Hob doesn’t want to slam that foreign king against a wall.

And then push Morpheus up against one for very different reasons.

Morpheus meets his eyes from across the table. His gaze is hot. Challenging. Then he looks away and says, “I must speak with the king in private for a moment.”

Hob takes a step forward, a protest on his tongue. Whatever game he’s playing aside, Morpheus can’t just go off with someone without a guard. Hob’s supposed to ensure his safety.

But Morpheus just flashes another glance at him. His gaze promises terrible things. Wonderful things. And he disappears into a side room, his starry cloak swishing behind him.

The king follows him like a sex-drunk fool. Hob knows the feeling. Perhaps it’s not Morpheus in danger if they go off alone.

Hob waits, chest tight. Jealous. Irritable. Worried. Fucking horny. Morpheus absolutely knows what he’s doing here. I’ll show you, you little slut, Hob thinks, then is immediately horrified by the thought. It’s not untrue, though. Hob’s feelings about Morpheus are… varied, but one of them is definitely the aggressive need to make Morpheus his. Even if he has no right to it.

He’d been able to keep those thoughts in the back of his head, once. But that was before Morpheus had crept into his tent in the middle of the night and told Hob to fuck him like a whore.

It isn’t overly long before Morpheus and the king emerge from their private conference. The king looks whiplashed. Morpheus looks quite pleased with himself indeed. His hair is mussed. His smirking lips are reddened. Looking at him makes Hob feel like he’s swallowed thorns.

“I believe we’ve come to an agreement,” says Morpheus, gaze flickering briefly over to Hob and going dark at whatever he sees on Hob’s face. “Let us sign the treaty. We need not tarry longer.”

Hob doesn’t pay a shred of attention as they review the document and sign it. His grip is flexing on the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his hip, for want of anything better to do with his hands. He forces himself not to fidget. He watches Morpheus, the haughty dignity of him, the close cut of his elegant robes. Hob wants to venerate him like a piece of the heavens. Hob wants to ruin him.

By the time they make their way back to their guest quarters in the palace, he feels like he’s buzzing. Walking at his side with utter nonchalance, Morpheus says, “I do believe that was—”

Hob doesn’t let him finish. He grabs Morpheus’s arm and pulls him through the door to their rooms, then pushes him up against it, fisting a hand in the collar of his robes.

“You,” he growls, and watches Morpheus’s gaze darken, his throat bob as he swallows, “little whore. Is that how you conduct your diplomacy? Sucking off anyone you need a yes from?”

“Did I not tell you those were only stories, my knight?” says Morpheus, each word carefully spoken, but starting to waver.

Instead of answering, Hob kisses him hard.

Morpheus’s head knocks against the door and he moans. Hob bites his lower lip, then swipes his tongue into Morpheus’s mouth. He has no idea if Morpheus actually kissed that foreign dignitary or if it was all another one of his stories, but either way he chases away the taste. Kisses him deep, not letting him breathe. Makes Morpheus’s mouth his.

When he pulls back, Morpheus sucks in a huge breath. Chases his mouth, but Hob presses him back against the door with a hand around his throat, hard enough that Morpheus will be able to feel it when he swallows.

“Did you kneel for him?” Hob asks. He feels quiet now. Alight in the fire of Morpheus’s presence. His prince is so beautiful. His lips are even redder now, and he looks at Hob like Hob could do anything to him and he would like it.

And Hob can never forget that he’s hardly had anything done to him at all.

“I am a prince,” says Morpheus. “I don’t kneel.”

“You want to, though,” Hob murmurs. He frames Morpheus’s face in his hands, thumbs hooked under his jaw. Keeps him still. Tips his head back. Morpheus is breathing hard. His hands find Hob’s belt and he tucks his fingers in, holding on.

Hob kisses his sharp jaw, nips at the skin. “Have you fantasized about it, my prince? The way you fantasized about getting fucked?”

“Yes,” breathes Morpheus. “I—” he breaks off as Hob slips a hand inside his robes to cup him through his— oh. He’s not even wearing anything under those robes.

“You pretty little whore,” Hob breathes, and Morpheus whines. “Go on. Talk.”

“I—” It’s so unusual for Morpheus to struggle with his words. Hob loves it. He takes Morpheus’s hard cock in his grip and tugs him off, slow, teasing. “I never. Could. With anyone. But I thought of you. When I pleasured myself. I—” he shivers— “even before you rescued me. I would see you at court and I wanted.”

“And you always get what you want, don’t you?”

“Not this,” says Morpheus. “You hold the fulfillment of my desires in your hands, Hob.”

“Sure fucking do,” says Hob, and twists his grip around Morpheus so he shudders and moans. “Did you think about kneeling for me?”

He manages to say it casually but he’s so hard in his breeches. Morpheus meets his eyes, and while usually his looks are clever, conniving, now he looks almost innocent. Hob has the upper hand here, and the greater experience. It’s so heady. Fuck him but the thought of being Morpheus’s first still makes Hob feel possessed.

“Yes,” says Morpheus, rutting into Hob’s grip. He braces himself with a hand on Hob’s shoulder for balance and Hob lets him.

“Did you think about how it would feel, choking on my cock? Did you want to be used, darling?”

Morpheus’s pretty face is flushed. His eyes fall shut, lashes fluttering. “Yes. Yes. I wanted to know how it tasted. I do not kneel. I wanted you to make me.”

Sweet Mother Mary. “I think that’s what you deserve after that display tonight.”

Morpheus is shivering against him, still thrusting into his grip. He’s close to coming, Hob can tell. And that’s why he pulls his hand back.

Morpheus collapses against him with a violent whine. “Hob.”

Hob looks down at him, eyebrow raised. “Did you want something?”

Morpheus glares up at him. Hob just smiles sweetly. It’s so fun to rile him up. He steps backward, further in the room, and Morpheus follows as if tied to him. And isn’t that a thought.

“Do you need someone to put you in your place, Morpheus?” Hob asks. No title attached to his name.

Morpheus’s breath catches. “What is my place, then?”

Hob takes him by the shoulders and pushes. Morpheus falls to his knees, breath gushing out of his lungs. He looks up at Hob, eyes hooded, lips parted. Fucking hell. He is a vision.

Hob drags a hand through his hair, pulling his head back. Morpheus goes easily, neck craning. God, he’s desperate for it. Poor thing, closed up in his palace. “You were made for this, weren’t you? You’ve just been waiting for someone to make you kneel.”

“For you,” says Morpheus, breathless. That innocent look again on his face. Waiting for Hob’s direction. Christ, he’s never done this for anyone. More privilege to Hob. He’s done nothing to deserve it, but that’ll hardly stop him from seizing it.

Hob caresses his cheek, swipes his thumb over his bottom lip, over his tongue. “You’re so beautiful, you know?”

“It’s been said,” says Morpheus. Hob chucks him on the cheek. Cheeky little thing.

“Can’t believe no one’s done anything about it,” Hob muses, just to watch Morpheus’s eyes dilate. “The way you walk around the palace in your flimsy robes. How’d they stop themselves?”

“Fear, I expect,” says Morpheus. “Are you not afraid of the consequences of defiling your prince, ser knight?”

“It’s worth the punishment to have you,” says Hob. Is it ever. To have Morpheus on his knees, looking up at him like that? It’d be worth anything.

“Have me then, and don’t tarry,” Morpheus challenges.

Hob seizes his hair again, yanking a gasp from him. With his other hand he undoes his belt, lets it fall to the floor, sword dropping without care, then unties the front of his breeches and takes his hard cock in his hand. Morpheus swallows visibly upon seeing it, going lax in Hob’s grip.

Hob doesn’t say anything else, just gives his cock a few strokes, then nudges the tip past Morpheus’s lips. Morpheus obediently opens his mouth, and Hob draws him forward by his hair, feeding it to him. He struggles to keep steady as the heat of Morpheus’s mouth envelopes him, but he manages.

“Good boy,” he praises, as Morpheus laves at him with the flat of his tongue. Morpheus moans, and Hob pulls him off long enough for him to take a breath, then pushes in again.

This time he goes deep enough that he bumps against the back of Morpheus’s throat, and Morpheus chokes, but doesn’t pull away. He tries to relax his throat, wanting to take all of it, and then Hob himself nearly chokes. “Christ, Morpheus,” he sighs, “you feel incredible.”

Morpheus hums, a pleased, heady sound, bobbing his head on Hob’s cock, pressing the flat of his tongue to the shaft. He’s taking it so well, so hungry for it even in his inexperience. Hob should probably go easy on him. He doesn’t want to go easy on him.

“Still can't believe you've never done this before,” he says. It’s painfully arousing to think of. And Morpheus may not actually know what exactly to do with his mouth, but it’s more than made up for by the fact that he’s letting Hob use him, letting Hob teach him.

“That’s alright,” Hob continues. “You’re so gorgeous like this. I’ll show you how to use that lovely mouth.” He directs Morpheus with a hand in his hair, presses his nose to his pelvis, bids him to close his lips, bob his head, swirl his tongue—like that.

He’s perfect, even in his imperfections. Hob could have him like this forever—but he has other ideas too.

He indulges himself for some time, swimming in the heat of his own arousal, but before Morpheus’s blessed mouth can pull him over the edge, Hob carefully pulls him off. Morpheus looks up at him, a line of spit trailing from his lower lip to the tip of Hob’s cock. He looks hazy and pleased, his eyes half-lidded, hair sticking up from the drag of Hob’s fingers. Morpheus is so serious and put together for outsiders that it’s a blessing to get to see him like this. Unraveled. Losing himself in something he wants, rather than stuck only in something he must do. And for Hob to be that thing he wants is something indeed.

“Come, sweet thing,” Hob says, drawing him to his feet with a careful hand. “You’ve been so, so good. My good boy.”

Morpheus whines, following him on unsteady legs. Hob helps him shuck off his shoes and lays him down on the bed, finally steps out of his own boots and strips off his tunic and shirt so he’s only in his breeches, and follows him, bracketing Morpheus with his body. Morpheus reaches for him, tangles his hands in his hair, and Hob thinks that he must not get much softness like this, if any. Always he is the icy and untouchable prince.

Hob draws open his robes, finally gets a proper look at Morpheus’s body. He’s as beautiful as last time, as beautiful as Hob has remembered and imagined since then. Unmarred, un-used, and waiting for him.

“Do you want to be mine, darling?” Hob asks. Being with Morpheus again has made him bolder. He wants Morpheus for himself. To hold him close. To keep him safe. To be his. Whatever that looks like, when Morpheus is his prince, and Hob is his knight.

“Yes,” Morpheus breathes, shivering as Hob runs his hands up and down his thighs, over his hips. “Yes. I will make you my knight. Mine. I want you with me, I do not care if it is proper.”

He’s breathing hard, worked up, hard and straining. He’s beautiful, Hob wants to give him everything.

“Good,” he says, and kisses Morpheus’s belly. Then his hip, then the crease of his thigh, then the tip of his cock.

Morpheus whines, arching against the sheets. “I want. I want you to fuck me again.”

“In good time.”

“Please,” Morpheus gasps. “Please. I have wanted, feverishly. I tried to replicate it. With toys. But it was not the same. See what you have reduced me to? Begging?”

“You thought of me?” The thought is thrilling. He wishes he could have seen it, watched Morpheus opening himself up, dreaming of Hob’s cock filling him.

“Every night.”

Heady. Hob drags a fingertip between Morpheus’s cheeks. Teasing. “Don’t have to beg. You could have come to me any time.”

“Desperate,” Morpheus groans. “You will think less of me.”

“Never. I just want you. Always.” There’s a problem, though. “I don’t have any oil or anything with me.”

“I do,” says Morpheus. “You will find it among my things.”

Hob laughs, startled and fond. “Came prepared?”

“Came hopeful.”

Hob rolls off the bed and finds the mentioned bottle of oil after digging around in Morpheus’s trunk. His things are terribly disorganized for a prince, which Hob finds unexpectedly charming. He brings it back, finds Morpheus watching him, eyes heavy, gorgeous body sprawled like an offering on the bed.

Hob climbs on top of him, kisses him, gripping his hair. “I want to see your face this time.”

“Yes,” Morpheus breathes. His hands trail over Hob’s face, the scruffy edges of his beard. “My Hob.”

“I told you last time that if I’d known it was your first time I’d have made sure it was right, didn’t I?” Hob says, and waits until Morpheus nods. “Well, that’s what I’m going to do now.”

“Do not be gentle with me,” Morpheus orders.

Hob kisses him, just once, on the lips, and is indeed gentle about it. “It can be rough and right,” he says.

With that he pushes one of the lavish bed’s many pillows under Morpheus’s hips, bends one of his legs up so it’s hooked over Hob’s shoulder, holding him open. Morpheus watches with wide eyes, breath coming quick, his heart pattering when Hob places his hand along his throat to feel his pulse. Everything is still new to him. So many missing pieces to fill in.

Hob dips his fingers in the oil and starts rubbing them over Morpheus’s hole and the soft skin behind his balls. He circles Morpheus’s entrance with a fingertip, and then, caught by Morpheus’s rapt expression and held breath, pushes slowly in.

Morpheus lets out a rough breath, body tensing and then giving to Hob. Hob works him, in and out, and Morpheus shivers and squirms, but can only move so far when Hob is holding him down with Morpheus’s leg over his shoulder. Morpheus had wanted rough, so Hob doesn’t wait long before pushing in a second finger, which has Morpheus crying out and tensing. Hob soothes him, kissing his jaw, his throat, his sternum, murmurs, “I know you can do it. I know you can take me,” until Morpheus subsides again.

“Your hands,” he whispers. “It— oh! Is so much better than when I do it.”

“That’s the idea,” Hob says. “Going to take care of you, darling.”

Morpheus whines, nodding. “Please.”

“Don’t think of anything else,” Hob says as he works a third finger into him—God he’s tight but so wanting—“I know you’ve always got so much on your mind. Just let it all go. Think about me.”

“I am. Always,” Morpheus pants, back arching. “Always. Thinking of you.”

Every time Morpheus says he’s thinking of him goes straight to Hob’s head, but it’s easier to be assured of it when Morpheus is looking at him like that, when Hob is touching him so deeply.

“Good. Think of me. Look at me.” He withdraws his fingers, fits himself properly between Morpheus’s legs and leans down over him, catching his gaze. “Look at me.”

Morpheus meets his eyes, chest rising in quick, startled breaths. Being able to rile him up so much makes Hob feel undone, he wants Morpheus so badly, and he wants Morpheus to feel good so badly. Wants to be responsible for it. Wants to take care of him.

Hob holds his gaze as he pushes in, fits himself in Morpheus’s body. The tight heat makes him gasp. Fuck, Morpheus feels even better than last time.

“It feels much more intense this time,” Morpheus breathes, echoing his thoughts. His body tenses as he gets used to the space Hob is making inside him. Gradually he relaxes, sinking back onto the bed, wrapping his fingers around the back of Hob’s neck, tangling in his hair.

“No stories this time,” Hob says. “Only you.”

“You enjoyed the story,” Morpheus points out.

“Aye. But I like you without it, too.” The tales Morpheus tells are very compelling, he might have been born to be a storyteller as much as he was a prince, but Hob likes the clever, sweet Morpheus underneath all the tales just as much. More, even.

“I like you,” he continues, starting to move in him, slow, dragging out each thrust in a way he hadn’t when they’d fucked under the premise of Morpheus’s story, “as my prince. As the one I’ve sworn myself to. The one I’d do anything for. The clever, strong, mad creature that you are.”

Morpheus whimpers. “Hob. Please.”

Hob kisses his neck. “I like you when you beg for me, too. And when you decide what you want, and then make sure you get it.”

“Why should I beg when I know you will give me whatever I want either way?” Morpheus asks, breathless.

Hob smiles against his skin. “Because I want you to.” The words make Morpheus whine, and Hob presses down on his body, bending his leg further back. “And you want to do what I want, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Morpheus’s fingers scrabble for grip on his shoulders. “Yes, Hob, please, please.”

“Good boy.”

The sound Morpheus makes when he says that goes straight to Hob’s gut. God, he’s never wanted someone as much as he wants Morpheus, it’s like a hook in every part of his flesh, it’s like the religious fervor that Hob never got from church. He wants, and he can’t believe he’s allowed to have.

Hob could kneel at his feet. Has, in fact. But he so loves when Morpheus is desperate, and that he can let go of the careful trappings of princedom when it’s just them, just in this moment.

“You could command me to do anything you wanted, you know,” he says. “But I’d rather you beg.”

“Please,” Morpheus says immediately, and it’s the most heady thing Hob’s ever heard. “Please, Hob. Please fuck me.”

“Well, when you ask so nicely.”

He takes Morpheus's hands and presses them into the bed, holding him down, and plies his whole weight to snap his hips into him. Morpheus wails, grip flexing desperately under Hob’s hands.

“Anyone passing in the hall will hear you,” Hob says into his ear, grinning, as he does it again, finding a brutal pace and keeping it up as Morpheus squirms and cries.

“Good,” Morpheus pants, “good. Let them know— what you do to me.”

“Oh, they’ll know.” He nips along Morpheus’s throat, soothes the skin with his tongue. “They’ll see you all disheveled. My marks on you. Such a stoic, distant prince. No one could imagine that this is what you get up to, that you want to be taken, that you beg for my cock.”

“You will ruin my reputation,” Morpheus gasps, not sounding upset about it at all.

“I think it’d only make them more in awe of you,” Hob says, “though I wouldn’t mind a bit of jealousy.” No, he wouldn’t mind at all the thought of all who see them together wanting Morpheus, and not being able to have him. Knowing that only Hob is allowed to.

He pins Morpheus down harder and fucks him with all the passion and possession inherent in that thought. Morpheus's cries turn into punched out gasps of pleasure, each sound catching roughly in his throat as Hob rocks him. It's the sweetest sound Hob's ever heard, and it's all he can do not to come too quickly when what he wants is to drag it out, give Morpheus as much pleasure as he's able to.

But it's not long before Morpheus pants, "Hob, I'm-- I'm-- oh!" And he comes with a startled cry as if his pleasure was yanked out of him. “I’m sorry,” he gasps, but Hob is delighted to have made him lose control.

“Aw, darling, it was all too much, wasn’t it? You’re still new at it, it’s alright.” He sucks a mark into Morpheus’s throat, slowing momentarily, and Morpheus moans. “You’re still learning, aren’t you, my prince?”

“Hob.” Morpheus hooks his leg tight around Hob’s back, thighs trembling. “Please. Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning to.” He lets go of Morpheus’s hands—Morpheus immediately clutches at the back of Hob’s neck, digging his fingers in his hair—and starts moving again, relishing in the heat of Morpheus’s body, how lax he is under Hob, going easily with his movement, the quiet whines he makes each time Hob presses in particularly deep. His own arousal builds within him, heat pooling in his groin and thighs, and he chases it in Morpheus’s body, chases it—

He comes with a groan, clutching Morpheus to him, losing himself temporarily in the feeling of it. If only, he thinks, they were like this all the time, the two of them, if only he was always holding Morpheus close in bed, bringing pleasure to him. It can’t be like that, not really, not with Morpheus being a prince—but he can imagine it.

Morpheus whimpers when he pulls out, but Hob kisses him to ease the discomfort of it. And just for the pleasure of doing it. Morpheus in the afterglow kisses lax and soft, so sweet against Hob’s body. No clever storyteller left, this time.

When they separate, Morpheus looks dazed, red mouth parted, fingers twined gently in Hob’s hair. He gazes at Hob for a long moment, and Hob thinks he might be about to say something—but whatever it might have been, he decides against it, instead just petting Hob’s temple.

Hob kisses him once more for good measure, then removes himself to fetch a spare cloth from Morpheus’s things and clean off his belly, after which Morpheus pulls him back to bed with demanding fingers. Hob stays frozen, stunned, as Morpheus pushes himself in against his body, curling in close.

“I’m feeling unsafe in this foreign castle,” he says, not sounding particularly afraid as far as Hob can tell. “Perhaps you will have to guard me from closer quarters tonight.”

Hob laughs incredulously, but obligingly pulls him close. “Of course, love. This country is very hostile, I’m sure. They might even come back to get you to bribe them with more sexual favors.”

Morpheus squeaks indignantly, digging a finger into Hob’s side. But he quickly subsides, pressing his lips indulgently into Hob’s skin.

Hob holds him like that for a time, pressing him close and helping him come back into his body, stroking a firm hand up and down his back. It feels like more of a privilege to hold Morpheus like this than it even was to fuck him. A privilege for Morpheus to want him to stay.

When the room has gone dark, the fireplace burned low in need of tending, he finally asks, “What did you really do, with that king? You made it look like you sucked him off.”

Morpheus chuckles. It’s an endearingly wicked sound. “I threatened him. Made it quite clear what I would do to him if he defied me. Or perhaps…” he pulls himself from his repose, leaning far enough away to look at Hob, eyes dark, dragging a finger along Hob’s lower lip, “what I would have done to him. What my loyal knight might do to him, as soon as I gave him leave.”

“Oh, yeah?” There is something… thrilling, about being Morpheus’s weapon, an extension of the darkest shades of his will.

“Would you do that for me, my Hob?” Morpheus asks, eyes heavy-lidded. “Ply your sword in my name?”

“Already do.” Hob kisses his cheek, mouths over the skin, drags a hand up and down over his bare hip.

“Did you really think I used my mouth on him?” Morpheus asks. “Did you think I would not save it for you?”

Hob swallows hard, but says, “I can never know for sure what you’re thinking.”

“Did it make you jealous, then?” says Morpheus. “Did it… burn in you, to think I would let myself be used by another when I should be yours?”

Oh, it did. Hob leans over him, presses him down to the mattress, murmurs against his lips, “I wanted to cut his throat.”

Morpheus’s breath catches. “I would not have stopped you.”

“Even if it started a war?”

“I want to see you spill blood for me.” He takes one of Hob’s hands, sucks two of Hob’s fingers into his mouth. Then, still with his lips touching Hob’s skin, says, “Next time you bloody yourself at war, come back to my chambers first. I want to see it.”

Hob’s whole body goes still in anticipation at the thought, imagining bringing himself to Morpheus’s fine bedchambers while still dripping blood and grime, sword hanging loose in his grip, exhaustion tugging him down. Morpheus, his lord, his prince, welcoming him in with dark eyes and wanting hands, bloodying his fine fingers as he undoes the buckles on Hob’s armor, undresses him, before indulging him in a much needed bath— or perhaps he would not even want to wait, would drag Hob to his mouth and let Hob coat him in all that he had wrought in his name—

“Perhaps you should come to mine,” he says, voice rough with want. “Perhaps your favorite knight might be in want of some particular comfort, hm?”

Morpheus will do it, too, if Hob dares him. He has before, just for his own satisfaction.

Indeed, Morpheus’s lips curl up in a smirk. “Be careful what you wish for, Hob.”

He slides on top of Hob, settling in his lap, but instead of starting something up again he just lays back down with his head tucked into Hob’s shoulder, now with all of his weight resting on Hob’s body. Hob curls his arms around him.

“Hob?” Morpheus murmurs, at length.

“Yeah, darling?”

“When you go to war… do be careful.”

Careful isn’t really Hob’s fighting style. But something in him stills at Morpheus’s tremulous words. The care in them, and the fear.

“Be careful where you send me,” he says in return. Morpheus may not be king of their realm, but his decisions do have weight. And Hob is sworn to his word.

Morpheus is silent for a long moment, truly thinking about it. He traces his fingertips up the length of Hob’s sword arm, over his shoulder, landing on the side of his neck, beside where his own face rests.

“I will use you well, if you will come back to me,” he finally says.

Hob tangles his fingers in his hair, pets his scalp. He can’t really make that promise, not if he’s to also fill his role as Morpheus’s sword and shield. And Morpheus has never been on a battlefield, doesn’t understand the chaos of it, how even with all his skill and determination, Hob can’t make things turn out right.

But if there’s any true incentive to try, it’s Morpheus resting in his arms.

“I will, love,” he promises. “I’ll come back to you.”

[venuszn]

☆ : The Elevator

Summary / You and Bada are rival choreographers under the same company. Bada has always treated you differently and you didn’t know why. You convinced yourself that you hated her for it. But you’re both forced to face each other one evening when the company elevator breaks down and there’s no where to hide - from each other and ur feelings.

Cw / Enemies to lovers, Angst, Fluff

Authors note / So I wrote parts of this sober, tipsy and then hungover . . . And then wishing I was drunk lmao. It’s not my best piece of work I’ve been feeling a little demotivated but here u guys go <3

Wc / 2.3K words

“We appreciate that the two of you are this company's top performing choreographers. That is why we asked you both here today, as we would like to discuss the possibility of the both of you collaborating together to create a new, fresh, but distinct style that will suit our new girl groups debut.”

“I understand. But personally, I believe that my style is enough on its own and does not need additional input to achieve the vibe you are aiming for.”

Bada’s words smack you across the face and you feel your eye twitch. Your nails pick at the fabric of the chair beneath you as you force your anger down, swallowing the words of bile bubbling in your throat.

“No offence of course, to you.” She doesn’t even look at you as she says your name.

Your mouth stretches in a wry tightlipped smile. “Oh no, none taken. I actually feel the same. I’m confident enough in my own abilities. And I feel like collaborating with a dance style such as Bada’s might throw the vibe off entirely - which would be unfortunate. But of course no offence to you, Bada.” You say as you turn to face her, offering an empty smile.

Bada scoffs.

You’re both snapped out of it when you hear the aggressive clearing of the director's throat. “Well, I've heard what you both have to say. As much as I would have hoped for a little more professionalism, we do not have the time to waste trying to force you both to work together. So this is how it will be - the both of you will create your own separate choreographies and will perform them in 3 weeks time. We will be choosing one for the debut. Good luck to you both. You’re excused.”

You both bow and make your way out of the office and into the corridor. You walk ahead of Bada, irritation fuelling your steps as you enter the elevator. You turn to see Bada, a few steps behind you and out of pure pettiness you repeatedly press the button to close the elevator doors.

But to no avail as her long legs play to her advantage and she catches the doors just in time.

“You can’t keep doing that whenever you see me. You’ll break the elevator.”

“Then maybe take the stairs.”

Bada rolls her eyes.

Bada stands beside you, hands in her pockets as she looks ahead.

“My dance style might throw the vibe off entirely ?” She echoes your words from earlier with amusement.

“Yeah. What are you going to make those poor girls do ? Grab their crotches and start thrusting ?”

Bada scoffs and leans over you, a little too close for you liking, to press the button for the ground floor.

You feel her presence infiltrate your personal space like a bulldozer to a glass wall - because to Bada you were as transparent as can be and she could see right through you.

“Big talk coming from you.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean ?”

“It means that I can see through this act you have going on and that I know you don’t hate me.”

You wish the elevator would surpass the ground floor and plummet into the fiery mouth of hell.

“Go to hell.” You hammer back.

“You didn't deny it.” You can almost hear Bada’s smirk.

You feel the rage rise within you - rage once tamed like the flame of a candle now igniting a stick of dynamite as you feel yourself losing your composure.

“I do hate you actually.”

You spin to face her, eyes locking with hers, the amusement evident within them as she raises a brow.

“I hate how you look down on me.”

You hold your ground, eyes bearing into her soul as you continue your barrage of words.

“I hate how you dismiss me. You have never once given me a chance. I don’t know what I did to you but one day you decided that I wasn’t worth your time or effort. You do not know me, Bada. But you have decided that you hate me.”

Bada’s eyes stare back into yours, void of amusement but replaced with another emotion unknown to you.

“I don't hate you, actually.”

The elevator comes to a stop as it arrives at its destination on the ground floor - regrettably not hell.

“I don’t care about you enough to hate you.”

Bada brushes past you and swiftly exits through the doors without sparing you a glance.

You stand frozen as you watch her leave. Her words bouncing around your ears in a dance of jest.

Only that it wasn't amusing.

In that moment you promised yourself that you did, in fact, hate Bada Lee. And that you would never take an elevator alone with her again.

How wrong you were.

Three weeks quickly passed by and it was the night before the deadline. Despite the fact that it was a Sunday evening, you found yourself back at the company building in hopes of quickly squeezing in one last practice before the morning - and what better place to do it than in the very room you would be dancing in.

You approach the elevator doors and you hear footsteps approaching behind you. You turn and scoff as you cant believe your luck, or lack thereof.

Bada walks towards you, cap donning her pink and black hair as she looks down to her phone, not yet noticing you. You deliberate for a moment whether to shut the doors on her now that she's not paying attention or to suck up your pride and let her take the damn elevator with you as it’s nighttime and you’re probably the only ones in the building.

The angel on your shoulder won and you folded your arms taking a step back to lean against the wall as you watched her approach.

As she gets closer, Bada lifts her head up and her eyes meet yours.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Are you stalking me now ?”

Bada scoffs in incredulity and steps in.

“I guess we both had the same idea.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

You press the button to go up and you both stand there . The sound of the elevator making its ascent fills the void of silence between you. You stand there in disbelief of your luck, wondering if tonight could get any worse.

It did.

The four metal walls begin to quake as a shrill cry of metal scraping together slices through the once silent air.

You feel your body jump in shock as you grip onto the railing. Your head snaps to look at Bada but her eyes are already focused on you - wide and alert as you see her arm almost instinctively stretching out for you.

Before you can register anything, your bodies are bounced around once more and the electricity crackles and hisses before it blacks out entirely.

The elevator comes to a halt and you are both swallowed in darkness.

Bada immediately calls your name, voice laced with concern.

“Bada ? I'm here. I’m sitting down”

“Are you alright ?” She makes her way over to you, following the sound of your trembling voice before she crouches down in front of you as you sit on the ground knees to your chest.

The emergency lights flicker on, your eyes adjust and you blink to see Bada Lee mere centimetres away from you as she looks at you with the most emotion you've ever seen her show outside of dancing.

Bada blinks back at you, eyes staring into yours as she manages to observe how shaken you are. A feeling squeezed at her heart and she internally scolds herself.

Bada quickly rises to her feet. Now able to vaguely see, she takes a couple steps towards the elevator buttons and wastes no time in ringing the alarm.

Silence follows the rings as you both hold your breath, waiting and praying for someone to pick up.

“It’s a Sunday night, there’s probably no on-”

You're cut off by the voice of a man on the other side. Bada lets out a breath of relief and she takes control, explaining to the person your dilemma and securing you both your release.

Bada then makes her way back over to you and you feel her sit besides you. The dim overhead light permitting you to see her but only vaguely.

“Are you alright ?” She says your name tenderly.

You feel your throat tighten and you swallow hard. “I’m fine. Just a little claustrophobic but I'll be alright.”

“The maintenance guy said a minimum of three hours.”

“Yeah . . .” You mutter into your knees as you hold your arms around them tighter. Insecurity crawling its way around your mind. “Sorry you're stuck on here with me. We don’t have to talk or anything.”

“Stop . . . Just, stop.” Bada removes her jacket and places it around you without another word.

You both sit in silence, besides each other. You don't know how long it has been but it feels like forever and you pray that the girl beside you is unaware of the pounding echoing in your chest and the chorus of thoughts overlapping each other within your mind. You curse at yourself for getting into this position; ‘what kind of sick game is the universe playing ?’, you ask yourself.

“You know, when I said I didn’t hate you I meant it.” Bada’s words pull you out of your thoughts.

“Like you also meant that you didn't care about me. Which I can understand, we’re not friends. We don’t really know each other.”

“What if I want to know you more ?”

“What ?’

Bada shuffles in her spot beside you and clears her throat. She begins by saying your name gently.

“I don’t actually hate you. Or not care about you.”

You freeze in your spot, eyes locked on the vague darkness in front.

Bada continues, eyes locked but on you.

“I know that you don’t hate me either. That made everything so much harder.”

“W-what do you mean ?”

“I mean that I needed you to hate me. I needed to act like an ass around you and push you away before we even got close.”

“But why wo-”

“Because I have feelings for you.”

You feel your heart skip multiple beats.

“Fuck. Ever since you walked through those company doors you caught my attention. The way you carried yourself, how hardworking you were and how insanely talented you were - it all blew me away.”

You slowly turned to face Bada.

“And of course, how beautiful you are. I knew that I couldn't have you. I have a rule I've always stuck to which is not mixing work with pleasure. Then I saw how you would look at me and I knew I was done for. So I started to do everything to avoid you and to push you away.”

“Oh how selfless of you.” You say dryly.

“You made me feel like shit, Bada. For how many months you made me think I did something wrong or that I hurt you. You’re such a fucking coward.” You sniffle as you bury your head into your knees.

“I know. I know and I won't deny that. But here now, with you, I’m ready to step up and to face my feelings towards you. I can’t ignore them any longer and I can’t ignore you any longer. There’s been so many times where I’ve wanted to hold you - to touch you. To laugh with you or comfort you. I want to do all of that and more. That’s if you'll accept me . . .”

Bada gently guides your cheek and you let her, turning your head to face her as she holds you tenderly under her fingertips.

You feel heat travel through you from her touches and you lick your lips in nervousness. Bada’s eyes immediately flicker down to meet the sight of them. Her eyes then meet with yours, the both of you allowing the gravity of your attraction to pull your faces closer together.

Lips mere breaths away from each other, your hands find their way to rest on her shoulders as Bada slightly tilts her head and your lashes flutter shut.

“Is this my answer ?” Bada whispers onto your lips.

You inch forwards intending to close the gap.

But the sound of the doors prying open interrupts snapping the both of you out the moment causing you to jump back away from each other.

The bright light of a torch shines through the doors and you turn to see that you are being freed.

You look over at Bada, face a little flushed. Bada clears her throat and rises before offering you her hand and helping you up.

You feel butterflies travel down your arm to your stomach.

You both thank the guy and quickly exit, making your way out of the company doors before you realise that your hand is still in hers.

You blush and attempt to let go but you feel Bada grip your hand firmer as she leads the both of you out into the darkness of the night.

“Come on. I’ll walk you to your car.”

You smile to yourself at her words and you find yourself lowering all of your defences for Bada Lee - the person you swore you hated.

Tag list / @princhii , @lil-elliesgf , @wiselight @nimixe ! If you’d like to be tagged for future Bada fics lmk !!

[roosterforme]

Adult Education Part 13 | Hangman x OC

Summary: Jessica's fraternity fundraiser is the most popular event during alumni weekend. While that should be enough to guarantee she's smiling all night, an unwanted guest turns up to make sure that doesn't happen. Jake is set on taking care of her, but he desperately wants her to open up.

Warnings: Fluff, mentions of smut, angst, swearing, mentions of cheating, frat boys, 18+

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female OC

This story is part of the Beer Boy and Sugar universe but can be read on its own! Adult Education masterlist

Seriously, who let Jake on my masterlist!? Banner by @mak-32

"Come on, Hangman," Bradley grunted. "You're acting like you've never been to a frat party before."

Jake watched him adjusting the keg of beer in the enormous tub of ice on the back porch of the fraternity house. "We're supposed to carry this inside?" Jake balked. "Why? It's going to make a mess."

"Jesus Christ, Jake. You need beer to play beer pong."

"We played it with champagne at your house on New Year's Eve," he countered, just to irritate Bradshaw. 

"Yeah, and it low key pissed off my wife. Just help me carry this inside before both of them get mad at us."

He and Jake struggled with the keg and dropped it off in the back hallway where the exceptionally nerdy looking frat boys would be able to access it to fill up the crystal cups between rounds. In fact, one of them was coming over now, all dressed up in his tuxedo. 

"Excuse me, sir. Can you help me move some of the ping pong tables?"

Bradley looked absolutely disgusted as he said, "Only if you stop calling me sir." Bradley went off to help him while Jake found Jessica in the kitchen going over the menus with the culinary students. She looked gorgeous, and he wanted to get his hands on her, but there was a soft crease between her eyebrows that told Jake she was starting to stress. 

"What can I do?" he asked when she glanced his way.

"Can you check to make sure you can hear the string quartet everywhere?" she asked him. "Everyone should start arriving in about ten minutes."

"Of course." Jake walked around the entire downstairs of the sprawling Victorian house, and after a minute he realized the quartet was playing Hot In Herre by Nelly. Not only could he hear it everywhere, it also sounded incredible, and he had to fight the urge to start dancing. 

When he walked into the main living room, Bradshaw and his wife had their backs to him while they threw a few test shots at one of the tables. Jake had to appreciate the juxtaposition that Jessica had achieved here. It was an elevated college experience for adults. 

"Let's try this out," Bradshaw mumbled, stretching like he was about to compete in an event at the actual olympics. "I honestly don't love that Jess didn't go regulation with solo cups," he complained, aiming at the crystal glassware lined up at the far end of the table. 

His wife wrapped her arms around him and said, "Come on, Beer Boy. You can do it."

"Not with you hanging all over me, I can't," he said, but in such a loving way that Jake rolled his eyes. Bradshaw was soft and sweet for literally nobody but his wife. 

"You never once complained about that when we were in college," she mused, kissing the side of his neck when her eyes met Jake's. "Oh look. Another fuckboy."

Jake laughed in response and made his way over to her as the fraternity boys ran around and started pouring glasses of champagne for everyone who was about to arrive. "What did you call me?"

"You heard me," she replied with a grin while her husband made two shots in a row, the pinging of the balls against the crystal making a satisfying sound. "We should play later as long as everything is going smoothly. Fuckboys versus hot ladies."

"Hot, smart ladies," Bradshaw said as he made another shot. Jake got his ass kicked by the two of them on New Year's Eve, but he was more confident he could win with Rooster as his teammate. 

"Here you go, sir," the nerdiest of the boys told Bradley, offering up the champagne flutes on the tray. He growled and snatched one up before handing it to his wife at the same time Jake caught sight of his girlfriend in the kitchen with another guy's arms wrapped around her. 

"What the fuck." He wove around the tables and ducked through the doorway where Jessica was laughing with an extremely attractive man in a purple suit that somehow didn't even look hideous on him. And then she gave him another quick hug before releasing him.

"As soon as you invited me, I dropped everything," the other guy said. "It's not every day you get a chance to look at the beautiful Jessica Reed."

"Stop it, Dev. You're being too sweet. I already can't thank you enough for all the beer."

Perhaps the most disturbing thing was the fact that Jessica looked calmer in the presence of this Dev guy that she had for the past hour, and that didn't even account for the way he was looking at her. Jake cleared his throat loudly. 

"Jake! Come meet Dev Borah!"

When they clasped hands, Jake tried his best at an intimidating handshake, but Dev looked completely unfazed by it. Then he said, "I've heard a lot about you from Bradley. Aren't you the guy who tried to pick up his wife before you realized they were dating?"

Okay. Jake officially hated this guy. He could feel himself blushing, and Jessica was looking up at him with wide eyes. He didn't try to pick up Bradshaw's wife when he met her. Not exactly. He'd put his foot in his mouth a little bit that day last year, but not to the extent Dev was making it out to be. 

"I get it though," he told Jake. "She's beautiful. But so is Jessica. You're very lucky." He slapped Jake on the back before he said, "I just need to run out to my Porsche and grab those gift cards for the silent auction. I'll be right back, Jess."

"I swear I didn't try to pick her up," Jake insisted as soon as he was gone, but Jessica was already laughing at him. 

"She's hot. I get it," she replied as she hugged him. "And I'm sure Dev just wanted to give you a hard time."

Jake rolled his eyes as she tucked her head under his chin. "Are you all set, Baby? I think people are starting to arrive."

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."

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

An hour later, Jessica was pleasantly surprised. The Kappa Pi house was completely packed. It almost felt like a real frat party, but the partygoers ranged in age from thirty to seventy. They'd already gone through countless bottles of champagne and one of the kegs of beer from Beta Brewing. Jake and Bradley were carrying another iced keg inside to the back hallway where the empty one sat. 

"Thank you," she told Bradley who was flushed from whatever he was drinking. He immediately returned to dance with his wife to the string quartet playing Dr. Dre and Snoop Dogg. She'd received so many compliments on the music selection, and everyone was gushing about how delicious the beer was. She just sent the trays of food out of the kitchen, and now the beer pong tournament was underway. 

"You're killing it, Reedy," Jake whispered next to her ear before kissing her. "You got this frat thing on lock." Her heart swelled with pride at his words. Then a tall man in a tuxedo strolled her way with a champagne flute in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. 

"Are you Dr. Reed?" he asked over the noisy crowd and the music. 

"Yes," she replied as he shuffled his drinks so he could shake her hand.

"Dr. Gregory Michaels. I just wanted to let you know that I've been coming to alumni weekends for thirty years, and I was a member of Kappa Pi. In fact, I lived in this house my senior year."

"Did you really?" she asked as he smiled and looked around. 

"It feels exactly the same," he told her with a laugh, and she turned to smile at Jake. "I also wanted to let you know that this is by far the best and most entertaining event I've ever attended. My wife is playing beer pong for the first time with a guy in a backwards hat, and I've never seen her have so much fun. I'll be sure to mention this to Dean Walters when he and I have our next golf outing."

"You know Dean Walters?" she asked, her knees nearly giving out. The dean was like four steps above Brian Conley. There was no way Brian would be able to be a complete dick about her tenure if she had the damn dean on her side. 

"I don't just know him. I used to be his math tutor when we were undergrads together. I'll put in a good word."

When he turned and walked away, Jessica giggled and jumped up and down before she took Jake by the hand and led him away from the kegs. "He knows the dean," she hissed as she pushed her way through the back door. "He's putting in a good word."

"You deserve it," he replied in the relative darkness of the back porch as Jessica pushed his back up against the exterior of the house. He smirked as she came to stand between his legs and kissed him. "You deserve everything."

Jake's hands were on her hips, bunching her dress up inch by inch until he slipped his warm hand inside the slit. He wrapped his hand around her thigh, caressing her with his thumb as he pulled her snug against his body. 

"Who's going to give it to me?" she whispered against his lips. "You?"

He moaned as he palmed her ass. "Yeah, I'll give you everything." Then she laced her fingers through his hair and rubbed herself slowly back and forth along his suit pants as he groaned into her mouth. "Jessica." His voice had a pleading quality as he grew a little harder for her. She felt good right now. Almost powerful. "Baby, please." 

As Jessica dragged her right hand down along his body to his pants zipper, Jake's head tipped back. "You think anyone will notice me on my knees?" she asked teasingly as she pulled his zipper down. 

"Fuck," he whined, but just as she got her hand wrapped around him through his underwear, she heard someone calling her name from inside the house.

"Dev's looking for me," she said, kissing his jaw.

"Well I'd be lying if I said I wouldn't love it if he found you with your hand in my pants."

Jessica giggled. "Just hold that thought for later tonight." She got him zipped up again, and when Dev popped out on the porch and found her, she was kissing Jake, but in a much less compromising position. 

"I need you to verify the silent auction winners," Dev told her. "And then I need you to have a glass of champagne with me."

Jake grunted, but Jessica squeezed his hand to silence him. "Coming, Dev," she told him before turning back to Jake. "Let me check on everything, and then just maybe we'll have a minute to play a game of beer pong. I'll meet you in there."

And then she placed one more filthy kiss on Jake's lips before going inside.

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

Jake sipped his champagne while the crowd around him seemed to move in unison to the cover of Jay-Z that the quartet was playing. It looked like everyone was having a great night, and Bradshaw was no exception as he taught a woman who was easily twice his age how to play beer pong. 

"You need a partner?" 

Jake turned to see a young woman eyeing him up and down with a hopeful smile. Damn. A few months ago, he'd have said yes. And he would have probably ended up sleeping with her either here or back at his condo before kicking her out in the morning. 

"I'm here with my girlfriend." He walked to the other side of the table where Bradshaw's wife was dancing with her own champagne flute. "This whole thing seems successful, right?" he asked.

"Very," she replied. "Look at everyone! That guy's like eighty years old! He's also a huge donor to the college, and he's dancing like nobody's watching."

Jake cracked up. "Meanwhile, everyone is watching." But she was right. Everybody was rocking their formal wear while tossing ping pong balls like there was no tomorrow as the night wore on. 

Then Jessica and Dev emerged from the kitchen, and she came right for him. "Jake, I'm freaking out. I got an email that said I sold all of the tickets available for tonight. And, the items in the silent auction went for a ton of money!"

"I'm not surprised," he replied, pulling her close to his side. "Not one bit. Congratulations."

"You're up!" Bradshaw called out. "Get your ass to the other side of the table, Reed. Hangman, you're with me." Then he kissed his wife, "Get down there with Jessica, Sugar."

"You're about to lose so fucking hard, Beer Boy."

The crowd had started to thin out now, and Jake watched the fraternity boys clean off the table and set up fresh glasses filled with overpriced beer for them. "Ladies first," Jake said, rolling the balls to their end of the table. And that was when he learned that not only was he nowhere near as good as Rooster and his wife, he was also terrible compared to Jessica.

After the ladies sunk both of their shots, Bradley said, "I hope you're ready to drink." And then when Jake missed his first shot, he got a glare in response. "How are you this bad? You went to college."

"I didn't play beer pong. I was busy making out with girls."

Bradley rolled his eyes. "I managed to do both at the same time very successfully. Isn't that right, Sugar?"

She responded by making another shot followed by Jessica. "Shit," Jake muttered. 

"Can we switch partners?" Bradley whined. He tried to walk to the other end of the table as he drank his beer, but his wife just pushed him right back to Jake. 

"It's not our fault we're exceptionally good at math," she said before returning to Jessica's side. 

"Come on, Jake!" his girlfriend cheered. "You can do it!"

But he missed again. It was almost comical how easily the ladies won, and they only had to drink one glass of beer toward the end of the match. Bradshaw's wife danced around while she drank it, and then Jessica made the final shot. 

"I taught her everything she knows!" Bradley shouted as he made his way back to their end. "My wife is a badass."

Jessica was laughing as she ran around the table toward Jake. "You're terrible. Do you need lessons?" she asked sweetly. 

"Lessons from you?" he asked, kissing her hard. "Sign me up." But then his gaze caught on the one person he knew could ruin her night and would absolutely love to do it. 

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

When Jake started easing himself away from her and rubbing his hand along her back, Jessica looked up at him. "I'll gladly teach you how to suck less at beer pong. Actually... I wonder if I could turn it into a physics lecture topic," she mused. 

"Baby, he's here."

Jessica spun around so fast, she had to fix her glasses as she set eyes on an irate looking Brian Conley. "We need to talk," he told her with his hands on his hips like she was a small child.

"About what?" she bit back, already feeling her body tensing up as Jake, Bradley and his wife stood at her back. 

Brian was looking around the room in annoyance at the handful of alumni guests still playing beer pong and hanging out. The string quartet sounded louder now as the house had emptied out a bit, and the song was suddenly grating on her nerves. 

"Meet me in the kitchen," Brian growled, storming off toward the back of the house. 

Jake's hand was on hers immediately. "You don't have to talk to him right now, Jessica. Tell him to schedule a meeting for next week."

But she shook her head. "I'll be right back." 

She passed Dev in the hallway, and he looked handsome and happy as always. "I need to get going, but cheers to a successful fundraiser. Call me if you want to come up to Beta. You can even bring your boyfriend. I guess." His smile was bright, but she had to force one in return. 

"Thanks for everything, Dev." And as soon as she was alone in the kitchen with Brian, her smile vanished. "What can I help you with?" she asked him, swiping her sweaty palms on her pretty green dress.

He shook his head at her like she was something to be pitied. "You know... I spent all evening working through the numbers, trying to come up with a total amount of money raised through the science department for alumni weekend. And while your numbers seemed to look pretty good, you didn't account for the astronomical amount you wasted on kegs of this designer beer. And when I show up here to question you about it, you're practically drunk and playing the games you set up for paying guests."

Jessica's jaw dropped. "I'm not drunk! I haven't had anything to drink all night!" Brian rolled his eyes. "And I played one round of beer pong with my friends. If you hadn't noticed the event is ending now. It's nearly midnight."

Brian laughed. "You think someone from the math department is your friend? Jessica. You're delusional."

"Call me Dr. Reed," she ground out, fists clenched at her sides as tears stung her eyes. "And I'm not delusional."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Everyone in the science and math departments believes you're nothing but a slut, and I can guarantee your friend falls into that category." She started shaking as he added, "Now tell me how much you spent on the beer so I can deduct it from the profits of your event."

"I didn't spend anything!" she nearly screamed, frustrated beyond belief and tired of being belittled. "It was donated!"

Brian's laughter filled the space, bouncing off of the stainless steel appliances and tiled floor. "Donated? By whom?"

"The owner of the brewery!" she nearly screamed. "He donated things for the silent auction, too."

His gaze bore into her face as a look of disgust filled his features. "Jesus Christ, Dr. Reed. You got thousands of dollars worth of goods donated to you by the brewery owner? How many men are you sleeping with?"

Jessica's face fell further, and she had a hard time swallowing. "I'm not," she whispered, fingers going numb as her fists shook. "I didn't."

"You're so unprofessional. And you expect me to give you tenure? On what basis? You can't even get through an alumni event without fucking up and making yourself look bad."

"On the basis that I'm great at my job!" she shouted. But her voice shook on the last word, and she was mortified that she was about to cry in front of him. There was no hope. The tears were right there. And as her jaw quivered, she felt the first tear roll down her cheek.

"You're a damn joke," he replied maliciously, but then she felt a warm hand on her back between her shoulder blades. 

"What the fuck is your problem, asshole?" Jessica turned to her right to see Advanced Calculus in the kitchen, steadying her with her firm hand. "You think you're so slick, but you're not smarter than us. Where's your PhD from again? The University of Jackass online?"

"This has nothing to do with you," Brian told her, face stony. "Now if you don't mind, we're having a private conversation."

The other woman laughed. "It's no longer private when I can hear you berating Dr. Reed in the next room."

Brian seemed to fumble for a response as he said, "This is none of your business."

Jessica was shaking as Advanced Calculus said, "Actually, you made it everybody's business by telling lies and starting rumors, Dr. Conley. This is a university, not a sleepaway camp."

Brian took a step closer to her and hissed, "Do not think for one second that I can't fuck with your career path, too."

But she just smiled and inched even closer as she loudly said, "You're not in charge of my tenure."

Then Bradley was in the kitchen, too. His wife wrapped her arm around Jessica's shoulders as Bradley went chest to chest with Brian, towering over him. "Why the fuck are you talking to my wife that way? Huh?"

Brian sputtered for a response, but Jessica could barely breathe. It felt good to have people in her corner for once, but now she was terrified that Bradley was going to punch Brian. 

"I asked you a question," Bradley growled before he turned to his wife. "What's this guy's problem, Sugar?"

Jessica would have laughed if she wasn't already crying when her friend said, "I think he got his PhD online."

And then Jake was there, head on a swivel as he surveyed the situation and saw a few more stray tears slip down Jessica's cheeks. "What the fuck is going on?" he demanded.

Bradley's wife laughed sardonically. "Jake, have you met Brian? He thinks it's okay to spread rumors and insult women who are smarter than him, and then he holds it over their heads."

Jessica watched Brian's face turn a pasty shade of white as Jake took him by the shirt collar and shoved him against the refrigerator. "No. Please don't hit him," Jessica begged as she cried. "He's not worth it, Jake."

But her boyfriend looked a little deranged right now, and she could see the malice in Brian's eyes. 

"I've had just about enough of you giving my girl a hard time. It's like you're begging for this." Jake shoved him a little harder, and Jessica had to look away. 

"Oh, shit," Bradshaw and his wife said in unison, and she was too afraid to look. 

Jessica felt the other woman's arms wrap around her as she called out, "Jake, look at Jessica! She's upset."

When Jessica peeked through her tears, she saw Bradley bear hugging Jake's arms to his side as he fought to get to Brian. But when Jake turned to look at her, his features softened, and now it looked like he was fighting against Bradley to come her way. 

Brian pushed away from the refrigerator and stormed out of the room, but not before he said, "We're not finished," as he pointed in Jessica's face.

Bradley released Jake, and Jessica was a little afraid he was going to go after Brian, but he didn't. She was wrapped up in his arms with his lips on her forehead as he whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry if I made you cry more."

Jessica shook in his arms, terrified that her career was now over. Shaken once again by how hard Brian was trying to ruin her. Jake's kisses and soft words did little to soothe her as she closed her eyes and sobbed.

"Take her home," Bradley said, his voice soft but commanding. "We'll get everything cleaned up here."

Jessica tried to argue, but Jake scooped her up easily in his arms, and she didn't fight him. She closed her eyes, forcing air into and out of her lungs, and a moment later she was sitting in his truck.

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

Jake started the engine, but before he shifted into drive, he leaned across the seat and brushed Jessica's hair away from her face. "I'll take you back to your place?" he asked softly. More than anything, he really wanted to drop her off and then go pound the shit out of Brian, but when she nodded and reached for his hand, he put the truck in gear.

She remained silent as she held his hand, only occasionally swiping at her tears and looking out the window. If he knew she wanted to confide in him, Jake would sit and wait with her for as long as it took her to get the words out. But he didn't want to push or ask the wrong things. He knew she could have a bit of a hard time opening up. 

He parked his truck, and scooped her up, careful not to mess up the fabric of her pretty dress. As he carried her into her apartment, he realized just how exhausted she must be. Her arms were around his neck, but she just sniffed and buried her face in his neck, trusting that he would get her inside to safety.

When Jake set her on her bed, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand. She looked wrung out even in the soft lighting, and he reached for her shoes. As he turned to take them into her closet, Jessica crawled up to her pillows with her dress still on, so he only took the time to remove his own shoes and his jacket before climbing in with her. 

Once he had his arms wrapped around her, she let her cheek rest on his chest. Her breathing evened out, and she seemed calmer. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked softly, holding her close. 

She shrugged, and when she spoke, she sounded faint and almost broken. "There's not a lot to say. Brian is trying to ruin my career."

This was not the first time Jake wondered how someone could dislike Jessica. His mind was swirling with the possibility that he was holding a grudge after she broke up with him. He'd been thinking that for weeks. As he pressed a kiss to her hair, he asked, "Why, Baby? How is that possible?"

Jessica's body tensed up in his arms before she took a few shaky breaths and eased her cheek away from his chest. She was crying again as she looked him in the eye and whispered, "He and I were dating. And then we were sleeping together. For weeks. And I had no idea that he's married and has two kids."

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

Brian Conley is a dank ass bitch. We hate him. If Jake doesn't respond just right, I'll have to kill him. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 14

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[twomiddlefingersforthehaters]

Orochimaru calls Sasuke a "ひよっこ = Hiyoko". ひよっこ which means newbie. ひよっこ derives from the word 「ひよこ」 which means Chick.

Snakes are certainly experts at preying on bird eggs and hatchlings. They can dash into nests, swallow whole eggs, or wrap around the chicks/baby birds and crush them to death. With their elongated body, sharp teeth, striking speed, and venom, birds will have no escape when these slimy predators select them as prey. Some larger snake species have been seen preying on hawks, especially when the birds are nesting or otherwise defenseless on the ground.

Some hawk species are specialized in hunting, catching, killing, and eating snakes. Hawks possess defenses, including sharp talons, strong beaks, keen eyesight, and agile flight maneuvers. Since it has keen eyesight, it can spot a snake from far up in the sky. On seeing a snake, the bird swoops down and catches it with its extremely sharp and powerful talons. While some snakes die upon being attacked with the talons. Then, the hawk will often fly off with the snake to feed on it somewhere else.

In here, Sasuke was a hatchling hawk, so it was easy for Orochimaru to manipulate him. Just like Sasuke says: “If I weren't a baby bird/chick you wouldn't have come near me, right? Itachi was too much for you/impossible for you, so you chose a chick, right? ”

Sasuke (Literal): “A snake squirming on the ground dreaming about flying up into the sky. An impossible dream for you. Regardless of that you went after the chick in the nest, but now you find yourself as the prey. I'm going to soar into the sky...like the eyes of a hawk ”

The word usage Sasuke used in here is the Japanese idiom: 鷹の目 ("taka no me"), literally meaning "eyes of a hawk".

This is from Japanese idiom ``Uno-me, Taka-no-me''. This is used as a figure of speech to indicate that ``cormorant'' and ``hawk'' are both ``birds'' that are associated with hunting prey, and ``with a sharp gaze as if aiming for prey.'' This idiomatic expression means : eyes of a predator, keen eyes, eyes of a cormorant, eyes of a hawk.

Birds have extremely good eyesight, and the eyesight of cormorants and hawks, which are able to detect and capture small, fast-moving prey, is many times better than that of humans. when they search for prey, their eyes are full of what is now known as ``powerful eyes/piercing eyes,'' and if the target were to look into those eyes, they would have a chilling effect. They will feel scared.

This proverb is also used to refer to the look in someone's eyes when trying to find faults or weaknesses in someone else. When animals hunt, they generally target the easiest to catch when there is more than one prey. The easiest prey is usually the one that is slow or lagging behind the pack, or the one that has some other disadvantage or weakness. A good hunter, such as a cormorant or hawk, does not miss its prey, but captures it without fail. This is why "the eye of the cormorant and the eye of the hawk" has come to refer to the way they look for rough edges by observing their prey.

Just like how Sasuke waited and observed for his prey's (Orochimaru) weakness and attacked him. Even Oro was surprised "I've never seen such a transformation before", it mean that Sasuke was training for that "transformation (chidori variants)" by himself without telling Orochimaru.

Sasuke was once a baby hawk...who was targeted by a snake. The snake trained him...as he was looking forward to that day when he finally achieve what he wants. But it turned out to be an impossible dream for him…. because now the baby hawk transformed into a matured hawk who targets the snake instead. Hawk soaring high above the sky, using their exceptional vision to spot its potential prey and descending rapidly toward its prey. Here, Snake (Orochimaru) goes from predator to prey when the hawk (Sasuke) flips the script. He's a matured hawk now, one who's capable of defending itself from the "snake".

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

hello hello (●’◡’●)ﾉ if i may, could i request a scenario with vash and reader in an established relationship? vash has saved a town and it's one of the few times where he's celebrated, everyone making merry at a bar. him and reader are getting to be sufficiently drunk and the reader has the sudden urge to spoil vash, resulting in them plopping themself onto his lap, cooing, petting his hair, tickling his chin and telling eeeeveryone what a big, strong man vash is. basically they're being gross and flirty and drunk together and it's silly 😔

i hope you're having a wonderful day!! 🩷🎀

"Everyone, I wanna propose a toast: To Vash the Stampede! For saving this town! And for saving my heart from loneliness! Here's to love and peace!"

"TO LOVE AND PEACE!"

"CHEERS TO VASH!"

"Thanks, Vash!!!"

"WOOOHOO!!"

"God bless the merry couple!"

As cheers rang around all throughout the bar, you stepped off the table and slumped back in your seat, a grin spreading from ear-to-ear. You took a lot of pride in having enough confidence to make that toast...and that you've achieved your goal of making your boyfriend blush redder than his coat.

Indeed, there were rare times where you and Vash could let your guards down when he's a wanted man. But after the heroic deeds he performed earlier in town, the people called for a celebration at the bar, not caring about the 60 billion dollar bounty on his head for once.

There were no lives lost, no major injuries, and the destruction was limited to a few shattered windows--thanks to the bandits and their shitty aiming skills.

After they got hauled off to jail, everyone at that point knew who Vash was, and invited you two and the rest of the group for some rounds.

While you were initially wary that it was some setup that would end in Vash running for his life and guns blazing, it thankfully became very much the opposite:

You and your friends having a grand old time, eating food and sharing drinks. By the time you made the toast, your boyfriend already had a buzz, indicated by the tie wrapped around his head and him retelling the story of today's events to you---even though you were there the entire time, witnessing them firsthand.

"That was the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me," Vash feigned a tiny sniffle, his arm pulling you closer to his side. "A toast..for me....V-Vash the Stampede..." His lips began trembling a bit, and you glanced at him, worried.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing..everything's great! How did I get so lucky??" Tears were quick to fall from his eyes, which he tried rubbing away before chugging more of his drink, looking to you with a sniffle. "You're so good to me, [y/n]..almost too good..you care so much and...you're the reason I believe in love and peace!"

"Awh, you're such a sap." You chuckled, forgetting that his emotions were dialed up to 11 at this point (then again, they were almost all the time). Reaching a hand up, you tousled with his spiky hair a bit. "You deserve this. We both needed this break."

"I know...can we toast just to us, mayfly?"

Without waiting for your response, he clinked his glass to yours. And you simply smiled back and took a big swig of your drink, feeling the alcohol burning your throat.

But you didn't care.

It was only a matter of time before it kicked into your system.

............

"Vaaaaaash!!"

"Yeeees?"

"Did I ever tell you..wha...what a good, strong, and handsome man you are?" You tilted your head, looking up into the puppy-dog eyes of your boyfriend, who was now just as wasted as you were at this moment.

It was fine, though. The twin suns will rise again tomorrow and it'll be just another day in Gunsmoke, on the run in the hot desert.

You could afford to let loose for one night.

"Yah really think so?"

"Oh, I know so...and I'm gonna tell everyone here allllllll about it. But first.." You moved out of your seat, and at first Vash assumed that you were trying to climb onto the table again to do another toast-

Until you instead climbed into his lap.

He froze up, a small squeak of surprise leaving his lips. Even now, he wasn't used to this kind of closeness..although he welcomed it nonetheless as you wrapped your arms around the tall man, noticing how red his face was turning.

"You're so cute when you make those noises. I wonder what other sounds I could extract outta you, hmm~?" As your index finger lightly tickled the area under his chin, he couldn't help but giggle, hugging you tightly to ensure you stayed on his lap.

He wouldn't mind being like this forever.

"C'monnnn, you're such a tease."

"And you're such a sweetheart. Always protecting me, preaching about love and peace...and not takin' shit from anybody. God, you're so hot for that. We need more men like you in the world."

"But you already got a man like me, mayfly..." He pouted.

"I know. Aren't I blessed? You damn angel." Laughing softly, your hand rose up to his cheek, and he seemed to know exactly what you wanted, as he crashed his lips into yours mere milliseconds later.

It was a sloppy kiss: long, messy and uncoordinated, hands becoming entangled in each other's hair....but that was quite alright.

He needed this. You needed this.

You couldn't help grinning as you overheard hollers and whistles from the other spectators, while your friends at the nearby table looked amused, grossed-out, and even a bit..embarrassed for you two. Yet they knew better than to interrupt.

Wolfwood, however, could only imagine the aftermath once the alcohol finally ran its course...

........

"M-My stomach still hurts--BLEAUUGH-!!"

"It's okay. Let it all out..I'm right here." Rubbing Vash's back up and down, you sheepishly looked to Wolfwood as your boyfriend was currently emptying the contents of his stomach into the bucket you've given him. "How has he not built up a tolerance to booze yet?"

"Beats me..but the misses didn't want him throwing up in the car. So let 'im stay there as long as he needs to." The priest brought a cigarette to his lips, a bit amused by the sight. "We'll be waitin' when you're both ready." He turned on his heel and headed back to where Meryl was filling the van's tank.

You sighed, only to hear Vash sigh even deeper as he finished puking his guts out. He looked up at you, wiping the saliva from his chin with a tired smile. "S-Sorry about this. Guess I had more than I could handle...again."

"That's okay." You took the bucket, pushing it somewhere out of both your sights. "I know you'd do the same for me."

"True, but with bedrest and medication...i-if we could find and afford it, obviously." His gaze flickered to the still-lively bar, frowning a bit. "Part of me's gonna miss this town..I doubt the next one will be just as inviting. But I gotta have some hope, right? There's a lot more good people out there, I know it."

"It's a big planet, so we'll see." You shrugged, grasping his hand and making his attention snap back to you. "I'll be sure to tell them how strong and handsome my darling Vash is, too~" With a wink, you had the man swooning again, as he shifted closer to you.

"You sure you're not drunk?" His eyes squinted with suspicion.

"Drunk or not, everything I say about you is true. And one day, I want you to believe those things about yourself."

"[Y/n]..."

"If anyone dares talk about your bounty, I'll tell them to shove it."

"I-I'd rather have you not-"

"Nobody--and I mean nobody--can put a price on your head. Not even 60 billion double dollars. Because you're worth everything to me."

"...a-are you flirting or trying to make me cry again?" Tears appeared in the corners of his eyes. "Because it's working.."

You huffed lightly, smiling as you patted his cheek. "As long as those are happy tears, angel. You ready to go? You won't get carsick?"

"I won't!" Vash jumped to his feet the same time you stood up, still holding your hand as you led him to the van, following you like the loyal dog he was.

You're grateful the toast at the bar put him in good spirits...and that he was still blushing over your drunken kisses and words of affirmation.

Even though his own gut had to suffer the consequences for a little while, it was all worth it.

[starburr]

Another thing that I think about is despite we see Orion pushing D-16 to imagine more, to strive for it, he ultimately means well. He says "I did this for us" during the race even if what comes next is to D-16's annoyance, or the way he looked over to wait for D-16 to catch up during their quest to find the matrix. Orion is impulsive and selfish at times but makes sure to try and figure out what to do next instead of just internalizing it, because he knows he wants others to succeed with him. He dreams big because he wants to be more, and wants what he reaps to give to others because of how they "can be so much more."

On the other hand, D-16 is easily hurt and angry, selfish. It makes sense given his entire life was built on lies, and even before that he felt frustrated but ultimately resigned himself to the fact that they're "just miners. We mine, that's it." He put his faith in Sentinel and the system they lived in that was built on lies, believed in it, but blames others for it. Notice when he lashes out at Orion that he blames him specifically, not even questioning himself on why he believed Sentinel for so long or what he could do to change their lives now. He projects that Orion is constantly thinking about himself and no one else, and yet he still thinks about Sentinel's deception towards him, not his people. He's realistic because he reacts to his first taste of power with a willingness to fight back (maybe too willing), but with the added philosophy of "might makes right" no matter the consequences. Even as he's aiming to kill Sentinel, he's desperate to get it done. He doesn't want to think about the consequences as much as he knows there are, because that's for him to figure out later once he achieves his satisfaction. I'm not calling Orion blameless and perfect for the rest of their interactions in the movie leading up to their falling out, but he at least is thinking of the bigger picture and how it is they can be better.

D just wanted Sentinel dead, I don't fault him for that. But if you are to cement that philosophy that only the strong should rule in front of your entire people, it will make everything inevitably worse as far as overthrowing corrupt governments go. You've replaced your sell-out two-faced fake prime of a leader with an even worse one, one who demands you stay on protocol or else you face the consequences. He believes that others are as selfish as him, even as he was breaking down after having shot Orion, he still blamed him. "Why did you do that why?!?!" Not once did he try to comfort Orion or the others after the revelation that Sentinel betrayed the Primes, this leads him to further becoming cold and intimidating because he believes he can only trust himself. He is right to want Sentinel to pay for his actions, but wrong for not thinking of the consequences of killing him and applying this 'might makes right' mindset right after he's still projecting his selfishness onto others.

D-16/Megatron is a complex character, a tragedy that makes you wish he wasn't so selfish because ultimately, he was still Orion's friend, something that Orion never forgot. Even in the final battle, where both of them were still relying too much on their new-found abilities, Orion wasn't trying to hurt him. Well, I should say Optimus, but where D-16 saw another Prime to be crushed after renouncing them, Optimus still saw the same miner bot he cared for so long.

[doodle-pops]

House of Fingolfin | Wanting Another Round

A/N: *head pats and kisses for everyone* Enjoy!

Warnings: smut, female reader, marathon sex, multiple orgasms, rough sex, dacryphilia (squint), manhandling, pet names being used (princess, sweetheart, sweet girl), daddy kink (single use)

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Fingolfin — He’s commanding when he wants to go another round, always convincing you that the number you’ve already experienced isn’t enough and one more is required.

Achieving your umpteenth orgasm and bowing your back off the bed, your back collided with your husband’s chest and the delicious roll of your nipples against his sweaty skin elicited a heavenly moan from both your throats. His hands were gripping your legs, spreading them further apart while his hips continued to slap against your ass without remorse. He fucked you through your orgasm and was about to fuck you into a new one, not caring whether or not you could give him another. You were going to give him another.

“Squeezing me love. Hmm, you feel so heavenly around me,” he whispered against your ears as his seductive eyes were locked on your puffy lips taking his cock. He was living for the sight of more. “Are you going to give your daddy one more? You look like you need another.”

The slick sound of his cock sliding in and out your heat echoed loudly with the lewd sounds escalating with each thrust. His balls were heavy and still full of unreleased cum that he planned on emptying before the night was over, and you were going to take every drop. Curling your nails into the sheets as his cock rubbed against that one spot repetitively, your eye lids drooped and rolled at the same time, leading to your head dropping into the sheets, causing him to hauntingly laugh.

“Close already darling?” he mocked as he pounded into your harder and reached down to pinch your clit, eliciting a squeal.

“Ñolo…ngghh, I can’t—please. I can’t cum again. I don’t…I–I…” You bite your lips in attempt to prevent a high-pitched whine as he stopped his thrusting to rest the tip of his cock against your sweet spot. The weight of his tip left you choking on sobs and squirming within his hold to escape his devilry.

“You can’t cum for me again? Is that what you’re telling me, sweetness?” Pecking your shoulder with a teasing laugh following.. “I wasn’t asking you love; I was telling you that you will cum for me again. No ifs and no buts.”

Without wasting a second, he slid his cock all the way out with teasing intentions until the tip remained inside before slamming his hips against yours with vigour. Your nails tugged at the sheets and dug deeply into the fabric, producing minor rips making him pound away harder, while your cries increased.

“Just like that, sweetness. Let yourself go for me,” he smirked. “It’s what your pretty pussy deserves.”

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Fingon — guilt trips you into giving him another round because he can’t get enough of you with a few pouting and pleads.

Feeling heavy hands pushing your stomach into the mattress while your head remained buried in the sheets, your eye lulled and drooped from the torrent of pounding you were receiving from behind. There was nowhere to escape, no running away and fighting back; just lying there and taking all the pounding your poor tired pussy was experiencing for the nth time tonight. You didn’t know how many orgasms you past through since you started, but from the way your legs were shaking, you knew it was more than five.

“Finno…I–I can’t—my legs. I can’t cum again, too much,” you whined into the bed in a slightly muffled voice before feeling his fingers grip the back of your neck to crane your head upwards. At the same time, he purposefully aimed his cock to pound against your sweet spot to elicit loud and clear squeals from you.

Grinning, he broke into chuckle at the pretty sounds you made for him, clearly displaying that you were more than capable of giving him another orgasm and a few more before the night was over. With a sharp glance at your ass jiggling at it collided with his hips, he dipped his head to brush his lips beside your ear, kissing the tip. “But I barely got enough of you tonight, princess, and I wanted to make you cum more times,” he whined. “Let me make you cum again, please sweetheart? Let me make you feel good; stretch you out nice and good. You asked me to take of you, so let me, sweetheart. Give in…”

You couldn’t resist those familiar words; your body knew them too well and always crumbled under the slightest whisper. On instinct, Fingon felt your walls clamping down on his cock as his pounding continued, massaging him just the way he enjoyed. In return, he rewarded you with the constant punishing of his cock head against your sweet spot to push you over the edge. His lips were attached to your neck as he added more hickeys to the earlier artistry and whispering more filth into your ear.

“Just like love, just let yourself go and make me feel good. I’ll take good care of you; make you cum all over my cock, pretty girl,” he purred as pushed his cock all the way to the hilt, making his balls slap louder against your clit.

“Finno…” you panted as your eyes rolled into your head. “Ngghh, I–I…can feel…”

“I know pretty girl, I know.” That was all he needed before placing the rest of his weight atop you, pinning you under him as he pushed you over the edge, making your cream all over his cock with the urge of not stopping.

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Turgon — silently manhandles the fuck out of you when he wants another round and so you’re left there taking his pounding.

As soon as you came down from your orgasm, you felt your body floating among the clouds one minute, before it was being snatched away and brought back to earth by the sudden dragging of your body off the bed. Snapping your eyes open, you came face to face with Turgon as he rested your legs in the crooks of his elbows, spreading you open, before he stood at the foot of the bed with you suspended in his arms. Immediately your arms wrapped around his neck, while one of his hands slipped between your bodies to align his cock with your wet pussy. Without a proper warm up, he impaled you onto his cock, pushing all of him in you.

You were unable to scramble out of his hold since it was a warrior’s grip that kept you secure and impaled on his thick cock. All you could do was whine and tremble as the aftershocks of your orgasm made your pussy extra sensitive to his touch, and his disregards to easing you on his cock went out the window. In his mind, you were taking it fine a minute ago, so there was no need to be gentle.

“Turu–…káno…” you whined and looked down as he slowly, yet deeply, moved you up and down his cock, making you feel him all the way in your guts. Your eyes rolled and twitched while your hands slapped against his chest and back. He held no remorse for the push he was sending your body into since it was benefiting for him to feel and enjoy the pure tightness of your pussy squeezing and milking his cock.

“Hmm, relax and enjoy the feeling of my cock love. I’ll take good care of you,” he muttered as he closed his eyes and tossed his head back, relishing in the sensation of your walls massaging his cock and the warmth. “We’re far from finished for the night.”

“I don’t think I can–…can cum again. ‘M too sensitive,” you struggled, feeling the air being knocked out your lungs.

Smirking as he listened to your words, he bent down to kneel on the bed edge and rested you back against the soft mattress. With your legs still spread and the perfect sight of your pussy welcoming his cock, Turgon groaned and switched his pace to deep and body-shaking pounding. You could feel your skeleton rattling from the heavy and calculated thrusts he was sending your way.

“You’re just right to cum again for me, love. You’re doing so well, just give me one more and I’ll reward you.”

𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 ⋆ Argon — sweetly asks you for one more round because he can’t get enough of you.

Nuzzling his face into your sweaty neck, he breathed in your scent and planted a litter of kisses to the same area. Instinctively, Argon’s arms encircled your waist and pulled you into his body with the purpose of dragging you on top on him. Unknowingly, your body easily followed as you were caught up in the rapture of the affections he gave so sweetly. His hands roamed your body, touching and groping your thighs, squeezing your ass, running his fingers up and down your back and sneakily cupping your breasts.

The sound of your laughter waffling through the air filled him with delight as he deepened the kiss and turned his light pecks into prying your lips apart to slip his tongue inside your mouth. The moment he gained entry, he tightened his arms around your waist and cupped your ass to rub his cock against your opening. Your wetness dripped onto his member and coated him in a delicious warmth which made him groan in your mouth.

“Can I slip inside? I want you again,” he pleaded against your lips as he broke the kiss. “Please, I’ll take control, just let me have you again.”

His whines and sweet pleads were like music to your ears the more he begged and rubbed the head of his cock through your folds and against your clit. Beads of his precum mixed with your slick the more he rubbed himself against you, and in return, you rocked your hips against him. Argon soft pants escaped his lips and fluttered through the air.

“You want to fuck my pussy, Káno? You want to feel me wrapped around your cock?” you purred against his lips and reached down to slip the head of his cock inside your entrance. The moment you did so, Argon lost all forms of self-restraint, planted his feet into the mattress and started pounding into your heat.

Both hands were gripping your ass as he pushed himself in and out your wet pussy, loving the inviting sensation that enveloped him with each thrust. All you were able to do was bow your head into his neck and hang on for the ride as he pounded into your rapidly and landed delicious slaps to your ass. Each squeak you released fuelled him to push himself deeper and make you see the stars. You were experiencing a plethora of pleasure when his mouth eventually joined in to latch onto your breasts and suckle.

His grunts reverberated throughout your body and mixed with your moans as he turned your insides in jello and remoulded it to his liking. The way his cock slid inside your pussy made you mewl and squirt all over his cock, pushing him to take you harder and to new heights as the evening turned into night.

Masterlist

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[blushcoloreddreams]

Feminism is bad for you

You might identify with it because of their beautiful ideals, or because it says it takes care of your pains in a different way, but you can know a tree by it’s fruits

Observe what feminism do to women… they get uglier, they tend to fight more with their father, mother, relatives, friends and husband, they can’t have a normal conversation without it becoming a fight…

they become the worst version of themselves without realizing that the ideal of feminism is not the wellbeing of women, it’s political control

I know you will say that feminism is necessary to fight for equality, that I can only make this post because of feminism, that I can only vote, study or work because of feminism

And I know you will say that feminism is necessary to fight for equality, That I can only make this post today because of feminism, That I can only vote and study because of feminism... But... what if this is all a big lie they told you?

If you study other sources that are not feminist - because yes, believe me - there are other sources... you will see that the story is not exactly what the films portray...

When feminists asked Celina Guimarães, the first woman to vote in Brazil, how she had achieved something so important and representative, she said: "I didn't do anything! I'm grateful and I owe all of this exclusively to my late husband, who was excited about women's participation in Brazilian politics”

You constantly see celebrities telling some lies like that - that women couldn't study and everything, but no one asks exactly why...

The truth is that ancient schools aimed to prepare men for military service, which is why boys were degraded and beaten, often deprived of food to prepare them for war, while girls were educated by their mothers at home or by the Catholic church in order to spare them from rigid male training.

Another lie is that women gained the right to work... but women have always worked, working has always been a question of survival... Traditionally women always were midwives, healers, weavers and overall helped their families with agriculture, trading and crafting. Not needing to work has ALWAYS been a privilege exclusive to upper class women contrary to what feminists tell you. But when men went to war they were forced to work outside, not as a matter of choice, but because it was work or die.

In truth, for most of history the majority of men were illiterate and didn’t have access to education either. In England, for example, education only became compulsory in 1880. Voting and politics also weren’t rights given freely to all men. In Ancient Athens democracy only a small amount of people (only free men whose parents were both Athenian could vote - all that expecting military participation in exchange). In post independence United States only white landowners could vote, in Brazil only after 1985 adults who were illiterate won the right to vote. The main point is, it’s easy to say that women throughout history were abused and discriminated soon if you always compare them to the top 1% instead of the average male when in reality they have been mostly dealing with the same issues and treatment

By believing things like taking care of children and educating them, preparing food and taking care of the house is not work you are just conforming to the paradox of seeing these tasks as lesser things while agreeing to pay thousands to outsource these tasks.

There have always been abusive relationships at any time - but they are not the majority. This image you have that women all suffered at the hands of men is an image distorted by history books after the Communist revolution and promoted by the media to influence and dominate the minds of the masses. When you believe this you will slowly make choices that destroy your life and make you an irresponsible victim dependent on the State. You don't need to believe me, look around you - a tree is known by its fruit

[leonstoenailunderhisbed]

Congregation Of The Mind

Summary: You were Leon’s partner in Spain, belong to rescue the president’s daughter. But it all goes wrong when Leon and Ashley get infected and you had to confront Lord Saddler while also save Leon and Ashley.

Warning: fight scenes. supposed to be unsettling and more accurate (I think I got cooked ngl). There is no romance or smut, this is simply for the October people who like a little bit of uneasiness.

A/N: to my professor that makes everything about religion and gets mad at me for countering his arguments THIS ONE’S FOR U HOE🖕 (yes I’m petty and what about it)

“The creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again; but already it was impossible to say which was which.” —Animal Farm, George Orwell

Pure. Pure. Pure.

The mind is a pure soul that gets tainted by those who refuse. Lord Saddler, in his mind, blesses the impure and turns them pure with his sacred gift. Las Plagas.

Millions of lives were lost to his cause, declaring that he is the one true God that will bring peace to the tainted world and will cleanse the evil out.

When Leon got sent to retrieve Ashley back from Spain, he definitely didn’t expect to meet such obscure and horrific situation. Zombified people, immortal aristocrats, and a bald guy who thinks he’s god. If you were to tell him before he went to Spain about what he’ll encounter, Leon would’ve scoffed and say that you were being dramatic.

But no. It wasn’t dramatic. It was the truth.

You stood behind Leon as he held his hand in front of him, trying to disarm Ashley. Both Ashley and Leon got infected with Las Plagas and Lord Saddler had wanted Ashley to kill Leon and submit to the virus.

You stood behind Leon, the room dimly lit as Leon’s arm was covered in dark veins, an indication that Leon had also received the same “gift.” Ashley stood in front of him, gun in hand and readily aimed at Leon but before she could follow through Saddler’s commands, you jump right in by taking Leon’s shoulder and pulling him back until you were in front.

“Damn you, Lord Saddler,” you said through gritted teeth. You’ve about had enough of this, you’re tired and you’re over Saddler’s shit, “Enough with your shit already!”

But Lord Saddler does not budge. The ends of his chapped lips curl up into a frightful smirk, revealing his yellow and decaying teeth, “My friend, I cannot give you my sacrificial lamb. The girl is vital for our faith.”

“Faith? You call all of this fate?!” You retaliated, anger cursing through your veins as Ashley grunts in attempts to resist Lord Saddler’s commands, same with Leon holding back behind you.

“Yes,” Lord Saddler continued, pacing left and right along with his staff and cloak as he spoke, “We believe in a better world and with this gift, we can achieve anything so long as we get our Holy Body.”

You scoff, “Holy Body? She’s just a girl! You’re robbing her of her own life, how does that relate to faith?”

“You may not understand now but you will soon once we give you the gift as well like your friend Mr. Kennedy,” Lord Saddler said as he pointed at Leon, eyes sunken with darkness as he glared at Saddler. Leon tries hard to resist and remains still, not wanting to succumb to his subordination.

“I’m… sorry,” Ashley whispered as best as she could before she pulled the trigger but terribly missed, or luckily. Once the sound of the bullet rang, you took that as your cue to intervene.

You quickly take Ashley’s arm and pull her towards you before throwing her behind you towards Leon, who manages to break from Lord Saddler’s control and catches her. With Ashley now safe, you take out your own gun and start shooting at Saddler while two summoners stood beside him.

The summoners began to make their way towards you, summoning Plagas and commanding them with psychotic influence but you were quick. You shot them in the head, their bodies falling limp on the floor as their lamps go out and the plagas die on the floor. Saddler stood there, seemingly unimpressed since he believed he still had control over Ashley and Leon behind you.

Which is exactly what he did. With his psychic abilities, Saddler commanded both Leon and Ashley to attack you.

“Let’s see how well of a person you are,” Saddler taunted as Ashley, against her will, stood straight in front of you with her hands fisted and ready to fight. Leon, however, had taken out his combat knife from his sheath. They stood in front of you, ready to attack while their faces were hard—they didn’t want to attack you.

“Make it stop!” Ashley yelled in agony as she attempted to swing at you but you dodged to the side, putting a hand behind her back to push her away while Leon tried to lunge at you with the knife to which you kicked his knee and watched him fall to the ground on one knee.

“Give in children!” Lord Saddler exclaimed, “Become one with the divine providence bestowed to us! I shall be your new God!”

You grunted as you were about to lunge towards Lord Saddler, only for him to use his psychic influence to make both Leon and Ashley hold you down by the arms, “You really think you’re a god, don’t you? You’re not a savior, you’re a monster!”

Lord Saddler stares down at you as he commanded Leon and Ashley to force you to kneel before him, “Monster? No, Y/L/N, I’m a force of nature. This gift—this power—it's meant to change everything.”

“Change? You mean turning people into mindless zombies? That’s not change, that’s destruction!” You yelled back, frustrated at the deluded man.

“It’s evolution! I’m giving them a chance to transcend their weaknesses. They’ll be stronger, united.”

“United? They lose their free will! You’re not uniting anyone, you’re enslaving them! How is that moral?” You narrowed your eyes at him, watching as he slowly walked towards you, “Morality is subjective! I see the bigger picture. Humanity is flawed, and I’m offering a solution.”

“A solution that comes with death and suffering! You’re preying on their fears, not saving them,” your words cut deep but they fell on deaf ears.

“You don’t understand the power of this gift,” Lord Saddler said as he stood in front of your kneeling form, “It’s not just about control, it’s about liberation from the mundane!”

“Liberation? You’re just using your power to play god! You’re hurting people. That’s evil.”

“Evil is a construct. They’ll thank me one day when they see the world as it truly is.”

“Thank you?!” You scoffed humorlessly, “They won’t be able to think or feel! You’re taking away their humanity!”

Lord Saddler scowled down at you, his eyes narrowing and his grip on his staff tightening, “And what has their humanity brought them? War, suffering, chaos. I’m offering a way out!”

“By making them into monsters? You’re deluded if you think this is for their good,” you tugged at your arms, attempting to break free from Ashley’s and Leon’s grasp, but to no avail. Saddler was making them hold you tight. A small smirk reached Lord Saddler’s lips, “Deluded?” He repeated.

“I’m the only one with the vision to see beyond the present. I can create a new world!” He leaned down towards you, grasping your jaw in his hands. You tried to move your head away but his grip was tight, “A world built on fear and loss. You’re not a creator, you’re a destroyer.”

He chuckled amusedly, “You’re scared, Y/L/N. You can’t see the potential. Join me, and together we could change everything!”

“You cling to outdated notions of morality while I forge a new path,” he continued, “Fight all you want, but in the end, I will prevail. This is evolution, and it’s already begun.”

“Not if I can’t help it,” you muttered before you harshly pushed Leon and Ashley behind you, both of them grunting in pain as they stutmbled backwards and you swung at Lord Saddler but he was quick. He quickly disappeared, his superhuman speed allowed him to move backwards and away from your target range. He was too quick.

“Come now, Ashley and Leon,” he said to them. The two of them tried to not walk towards Saddler, resisting against Lord Saddler’s command. This only made him angry, “Follow me you feeble humans!”

This was your chance while Lord Saddler was distracted, you took the gun that was dropped on the floor and shot Lord Saddler but he escaped before he could get hurt. As he escaped, his influence on Leon and Ashley disappeared and the two collapsed on the floor. You quickly went to check over them, making sure they were still breathing. Las Plaga was spreading fast and you needed to take them to the Laboratory Luis had mentioned earlier.

“Hang in there,” you muttered as you put Leon’s arms over your shoulders and an arm around Ashley’s waist. It would be hard work but you were determined to help the two of them throughout the castle. It couldn’t be that far, right?

-

Both Leon and Ashley got treated in the underground laboratory. Now, as Ashley stood on the sidelines by a cliff, it was time to face Lord Saddler’s horrific form. You and Leon were initially fighting but he only seemed to eat the bullet that penetrated his skin. It wasn’t until Ada showed up and helped.

Lord Saddler’s disgusting and slimy body attempted to swipe at you and Leon, barely dodging by a hair’s breadth. This was a tough fight but when Ada threw Leon a grenade launcher, it was checkmate. As Lord Saddler began to die, you ran towards Ashley to check on her while Ada took the sample.

A lot happened but now you were happy to go home, even if meant doubting yourself on your beliefs thanks to Saddler’s words.

After Ashley had been returned and you and Leon went back to headquarters to write a report, you couldn’t help but be a bit distracted.

Was Saddler doing the right thing by wanting to forge a new path without war? How nice it would be to live in a peaceful society—no, don’t think like that. Lord Saddler killed millions of innocent people and turned them against you and Leon during your mission.

“Hey,” a voice suddenly rang out and a hand shook your shoulder. It was Leon, “You okay?” He asked quietly, sitting in front of you on the other couch since you two were in the break room.

You nodded, rubbing your face with your hand as you sighed, “Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

“Hm,” Leon hummed quietly as he observed you in silence. The mission had taken a toll on the two of you, it was surprising how you weren’t losing your head already, “That guy—Lord Saddler—he’s… I’ve never seen anything like him,” Leon muttered.

“You and me both. I’ve seen a lot of crazy shit in my life but never have I thought that we’d fight against a god wannabe. Should’ve known we’d find lunatics in the middle of nowhere in Spain,” you replied and looked back at him. The ends of his lips slightly curled into a small smirk, very faintly, “A little heads up would’ve been nice, yeah.”

Silence overtook you both once again but it wasn’t uncomfortable. So much happened in the mission and yet you two understood each other very well, “Wanna grab drinks later?” He asked bluntly.

You stared at him for a couple of seconds in silence before you shrugged your shoulders and nodded, “Fuck it, why not,” you muttered, mimicking a faint smirk on your lips like his.

Later that evening, as you and Leon went to grab drinks at a bar to forget about the mission, the thought still lingered in the back of your mind.

Lord Saddler had wanted to create a peaceful empire with Las Plaga, but what difference does he have by using destructive means when countries do the same thing under the pretext of saving humanity? Is the pretext of religion simply a way to pursue all means necessary to establish peace and combat threats like how you and Leon did?

Upon reaching the end of the night, bidding other bar customers that you knew, Lord Saddler’s face keeps haunting you. Taunting you with your thoughts as you could almost hear his voice, "When you acquired this power, you too will understand."

You swore you heard his voice but as you turned around before you could leave, he wasn’t there. It was just normal people drinking the night away. Goosebumps crawled up your arms and a shiver ran down your spine, but you brushed it off and walked out with Leon.

The presence of Lord Saddler only seemingly taken a following to you, feeling the touch of his sharp nails drag along your skin, feeling the coldness of his fingers as his voice continued whispering in your ear—forcing you to doubt yourself and spiral into a mania of paranoia.

Unbeknownst to you, his remnants lives in your brain. The voice commanding you to spiral into a haze of delusional and self-doubt.

You had become the sacrifice lamp.

[seraphimaa]

Doll for a day - Part 2

Soft(ish)!Raphael x fem!Tav x Haarlep

Raphael sets out the terms for his forgiveness. After all, it’s not nice to feel left out.

Or

Raphael makes her fuck his incubus in front of him and then tests her dedication.

Warnings: selfish idiots with feelings

PART 1

She can’t stop her face from cringing. It’s all the confirmation he needs and he falls into silence, processing. He is furious, yes, but he can’t help the faint relief that is flooding him. The board is still in play. Her mouth forms the shapes of letters but nothing seems to come out. She takes a breath, utters only the word, “leaving”, like he’s supposed to find reassurance in it, and turns to flop onto her stomach, beginning to drag herself by her arms towards the edge of the bed.

“No.” She feels his thighs clench to hold her own, the thick ropes of muscle halting her movement. Her face hits the silk and she lets herself simply collapse in defeat under the master of the house. “What the hells is wrong with you? You come into my house, look at my things, touch my things, fuck my things.” He’s spitting with rage the more he rambles and with every word she pushes her head further and further into the covers, half in an attempt to smother herself.

“Then you think you can just what? Scamper off? Tell me, Tav, is your sheer aptitude for being this insufferable nature, or nurture? Did somebody drop you on your head as an infant, or were you simply born this way?”

“Born...” Her words are barely comprehendible through the bedding. He grunts in acknowledgement and takes a break from frowning at the detailing in the wallpaper to look down at the fleshy heap. She looks pathetic and entirely resigned.

“And what, on all of the planes, were you ever hoping to achieve, pray tell?” Her shoulders shrug limply. “Hm.” He hums, unimpressed, and lets her stew in the silence until he hears her again, clearly desperate to move things along .

“No reason.”

“Oh thank goodness,” her ears perk at the happy tone, “I find so much comfort in knowing you would cause all of this chaos for no reason at all.” Never mind.

“And what did you plunder and soil?” He sniffs indignantly, “other than my sheets and incubus.”

He expects another short, mumbled response but instead he feels her begin to shake under him rhythmically. For a brief moment, he thinks she’s laughing like a maniac but then he hears her sobs.

Her head lifts just enough for her cries to ring clearly. “I’m sorry! Okay? I payed that lady to open the portal. I don’t know what I was thinking. I promise. I wasn’t going to touch anything, just look. Then I ended up here and you were here too and you were so nice but it wasn’t you but he looked so good and he felt so good and I didn’t want to stop, I couldn’t, I don’t know what I was thinking-I wasn’t thinking!” It all comes out in a jumble and her head flops down again as she shudders in another wave of sobs. Haarlep’s tail can be heard wagging against the sheets absently, only paying attention the indirect praise aimed his way.

For what feels like the hundredth time in one day, he heaves a massive sigh. It feels like an eternity that the scene drags on. Raphael ponders whether this is all a cruel, fated karma playing out. He considers what sins it were that landed him in the constant circus show that he appeared to ringlead daily. He looks at the three of them, on the bed, and thinks that they would fit perfectly on renaissance style painting. Haarlep is crouched with knees to the side, looking every part the demonic gargoyle of a creature that Raphael considers him to be, tail wagging in the air and looking very pleased with himself. His mouse is splayed dramatically on the bed like a tortured damsel, wailing and he is slumped in his own pose of enduring anguish. He considers giving her a further tongue wagging but she appears to be torturing herself just fine for now. Hells, you’d think she was the victim here.

Her sobs hiccup as she feels Raphael twist and rise from the bed. She cranes, terrified to see what kind of torture he is about to impose on her but her puffy, wet face is met with the curve of his bare spine and hips as he strides to the desk against right wall. She definitely doesn’t look at the jiggle of fat on his ass as he stomps over and throws himself back into the chair. She definitely doesn’t look anywhere in particular as he reclines back, neck craned at a sharp angle over the back of the oak. His eyes snap to hers, and he crosses his legs with a frown, and she averts her gaze to the wall beside his head for no related reason. He tears open a drawer and brings out a dusty bottle of vintage. He busies himself with uncorking the bottle, and pulls out a glass. He fills it without any grace, almost overflowing the rim then knocks it back, taking his time before he swallows it down. She’s tempted to ask him what comes next but the withering look he shoots her way as she intakes air to begin makes the words die on her tongue. She swallows with an awkward nod and settles her face back into the covers. She is good at ruminating and wallowing. This is fine. Even the incubus seems to pick up on the sudden lack of energy in the room and he flops back wriggling around, fluttering his wings and swishing his tail, as he gets into a comfortable position. His leg thumps her own and he whines until she shuffles over, half hanging over the edge. He mimics the brooding duo and lets out a sigh, his own airy and perfectly content.

Raphael is surprisingly the first to break the peace.

“Why did you sleep with it?”

There’s hesitation in his tone, almost like he couldn’t decide if he truly wants the answer. She is completely caught off guard and lifts her head after some thought, enough to respond but not enough to have to face him as as she does.

“It was just a really bad mistake.”

Haarlep seems to take offence to this, his tail whipping her leg as it beats back and fourth in protest but he stays silent, intent on listening to this play out.

“No,” his tone is wary but he speaks like this is something important to him, “you knew the risk. As much as you would like to galavant through life like a court jester, you are smart. What was it exactly that made you decide to take that miscalculated risk?”

“I don’t know! I was, I was just…” She seems to sway between deflection and truth but eventually finds her answer.

“I was just desperate.” He cocks an eyebrow as if deciding on how to perceive her words but when her face emerges pink and swollen from the sheets, intense and ugly, altogether striking, he sees the burning honestly. “Really desperate.”

“Excuse me!” Haarlep cranes to look at her, wings flaring, entirely offended. He is not reading the silent layers of communication happening amongst the rude guests of in his little sanctuary. “And just what, exactly, are you trying to imply? Don’t act like I didn’t have you mewling happy as a kitten, eyes crossed in bliss as you bounced yourself around dumb and drunk on my cock. Don’t act like you didn’t throw yourself at the chance to come undone under me, specifically. You said that you needed him, me, raw and undiluted. No rude lies on my bed, please.” It is the first time, in the short span they’d shared together, that she’d seen the fiend seem truly displeased. They both pointedly ignore his bruised ego and the implications of his words.

“And what was it, exactly, you were so desperate for?” She gives a small shake of her head in protest of what he is trying to drag out of here.

“I just wanted to be touched.”

“Then you would have gone to the brothel. Try again.”

“I wanted to be touched by someone who I knew.”

“Then you would have crawled your way into the tent of one of your willing companions long ago, I’m sure. I’m tired, little mouse.” She builds her courage enough to glance at him through damp lashes and he really is slumped in utter defeat. He’s nursing a new glass, and his face has never looked so tired. It feels violating to witness him like this, even more so than seeing him naked ever had. he takes in her face, full of fear and pain. She looks like saying it might break her, like it’s the last thing she wants to do. She looks at him like he is cruel, and she is begging him to spare her. His face hardens and he drains the last in his glass, not hesitating to empty the bottle in its place.

“I..” he trails off, before shaking his head and standing up, throwing his hand out dismissively.

“Forget I said anything. Go. Get dressed. I’ll organise a portal out.” She openly balks at him. “But what about-“ he doesn’t wait for her to finish.

“Please. You’ve done enough. Spare both our dignities any further blows for one day and just go.” He falls back into his chair, tapping his finger on the desk impatiently, staring into the liquid crimson in his hand. She swings herself up, sitting with her back to him and she is glad for the fact because once again, to her frustration, her eyes blur with tears. She feels like everything is crashing down upon her and the reality of the day is setting in, finally. This is unfixable. She’d taken a running jump over every boundary they constructed and respected until now. It was like a game. The flirting, the teasing, the goading. It was relentless, but they both played by the same unspoken rules. They were both smarter than to fall for the words the other spun. It had felt, in a way, safe. But she isn’t smart. Somewhere along the way she’d come to anticipate their next encounter. She felt a flutter in her stomach when he smiled down at her, so dashing and smug. She played their conversations over and over again when alone, trying to spy a crack in his performance, a subtle sign that he harboured his own strange fondness for her. She’d replaced the face of the imaginary companion with his when he brought herself to completion late at night. If she leaves now, there’s no going back. She decides to speak before she can change her mind. If she walks away then he’d take this as her final answer. It would mean whatever they had would be over.

“No.” She stands from the bed. She ignores the withering look she shoots her and strides around the bed. “I’m not going. You can’t make me.” He is close to reminding her that this is very much not the case but she keeps coming closer, stopping when her legs bump his knees and suddenly her hand is around the glass, brushing his, as she pulls it from his grip and tips it back. The liquid seeps around the seam and drizzles down her chin, falling and painting her nude frame. She finishes it with a gasp and sets it back into the desk, he holds his breath as she leans over him but she keeps her gaze detached from his. She plonks herself onto the bed, facing him.

“I was desperate for you. I just wanted you. I couldn’t have it so I took what I could. Im a greedy, selfish, depraved asshole and I know I really messed everything up but you can’t just send me away. You have to forgive me. I’m not leaving here until you forgive me. I’ll stay right here, as long as it takes, but you have to tell me what it is that I need to do. Please, Raphael, how do I fix it?”

She begins so doubt herself the longer he remains catatonic and brooding but at last he humours her.

“You’ve found a way to rewind time, my sweet little fool?” She shakes her head but isn’t willing to give up now that she had his attention.

“Without hindsight I’d have done it again, to be honest. Something else. Realistic, maybe.” She’s slowly gaining back that deplorable attitude and confidence.

“Watch your mouth, mouse. Remember exactly what has landed you here. If you want my forgiveness then I should know exactly what I am forgiving.” She quirks a brow at this, feeling an uneasy flutter at the way his face morphs to a determined smile, as if setting a challenge he expects her to fail.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well,” he crosses one leg over the other and his posture is creeping back into its usual confidence, “how could I ever forgive you when you went behind my back and now, when asked to simply take responsibility and admit to everything, you wail like a bairn. One would be led to believe that it was your form that had been violated so rudely from across the planes from all this hysteria. It’s madness.” They glare at each other as he lays his condition before her.

“I need to even the playing field, Tav. Any embarrassment you have caused me will be returned tenfold. You see, I’m starting to feel rather left out. Like the only one not in on your little joke. You will show me as everything that happened after you entered this room. Your recreation must be convincing enough to make me believe the words you say and you will show me every detail of how it happened.”

He watches as she rises at once with a yelp.

“I’m sorry, you want me to do what?”

“Haarlep does love to put on a show. Quite the performer. All you need to do is read the lines as they were written. You should be familiar with them as you did write them yourself, did you not?” Haarlep lets out a happy sound behind her. She falls to her knees, reaching for his legs.

“Please. Eternal torture, death, anything but this.”

His foot kicks to smack her beggar hands away.

“Oh feeling embarrassed? Humiliated? Violated? My, my, mouse, quite a turn of a tables, is it not?”

She glares up and tries to feign dignity as she clambers back onto her feet.

“And if I do it then everything will go back to normal? Forgiven and forgotten.” He considers her phrasing.

“Forgiven? Why of course. I am a man of my word after all.” She puffs herself up and turns, making her way to behind the pool partition. She emerges from the far side, walking in an unintentionally exaggerated manner, every single movement screaming discomfort. She gasps loudly in surprise at the incubus on the bed, lounging back in character.

“Gracious, Raphael, your buxom bosom is exposed to the elements.” She raises her hand to her forehead, feigning as if to faint at the sight. It draws a giggle from Haarlep and a groan from Raphael. Can’t please everyone, she supposes.

“That’s strike one. On the third I’ll drop you into the middle of the sea with a snap of my fingers. I swear it.” She gawks at him as he sneers at her, entirely unimpressed. He was definitely not in the mood.

At his instruction, she begins the scene agin, from the top. This time she echos her words, verbatim.

“Ah, Raphael! Why…are you dressed like that?” She was not born for the stage, but it will do. Haarlep is bristling with excitement as he begins his part of the act. Ah, Roleplay! How exciting!

“My, my. Is that a little mouse skittering through my house?” His grin is as devilish as she remembers it. “How very naughty. Come to serve yourself to the cat? What a surprising course of events indeed.” She studies him as she recites his greeting to her just as he had.

“You’re not Raphael. You look different. Younger. Who are you really?” Haarlep smirks.

“I’m impressed. Very perceptive of you, indeed.” He raises onto his knees, legs spread and muscles rippling as he balances his weight. His abdomen is adorned with keratin ridges leading and pointing down to-no. She wasn’t looking there. She had, but she will safeguard the shreds remaining of her dignity where she can. He doesn’t have to know that.

“My name is Haarlep. You’d do well to remember it for you may just find me drawing it from your lips, like prayer. Very soon.” His hands are spread wide, inviting her to bask in his form. He look like he’s carved from scarlet marble. Like an angel. She instantly remembers exactly how she’d fallen to ruin to quickly. He’s so convincing that she almost forgets that she hasn’t really been taken back to that moment. She does not have to fake the way she freezes under charm of the incubus.

“The master must attend to business. I’m afraid he’s currently buried so deep into his work. You should know that he likes to finish very quickly.”

Raphael grunts, storing this for when he next wanted to berate the demon spawn. Haarlep breaks character to throw a glare over his shoulder.

“What? You said to recreate it exactly.”

“Shut up, Harlot.” He sighs, waving his hand. “Continue.”

The incubus’s gaze is instantly locked back onto hers as he resumes his act and again, he drinks her in. it’s like everything else in the room disappears.

“How lucky you are little mouse. He should not be back for quite some time. You’re all alone with me.” She holds her ground, as dangerous as he looks when he falls onto his hands and begins to prowl towards her. “I propose a little game. One I simply insist you must play before you go. If you don’t, well then I’d just have to assume we’re not friends. If were not friends then you’d be intruding and I would simply have to tell.” Haarlep, and reaches to grab her hands, giving them a light squeeze. She’d looked so scared the first time.

“Come on. I promise it’s not a mean game. I won’t make you do anything bad. I promise. Trust me. Play with me.” His smile is so sweet and gentle that she melts all over again.

“O-ok.”

“Oh goodie! Here are the rules. I ask you one question. Just one! You must tell me the truth. I will know if you lie to me. That’s all.” She frowns, not believing that it could be so easy.

“Oh come now. I won’t tell a soul. Nobody will ever know. It’ll be our little secret. I promise.” She nods and the breath leaves her as the incubus surges towards her. She doesn’t flinch this time, as his face brushes hers. Instead of going for the kiss he teases near her open mouth, he presses his lips to her ear, hissing his question.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

As she had before, she turns, locking eyes with the sultry, demonic slits. Their faces touch from proximity. True to her actions, instead of answering aloud, she closes the distance. She’d been so lost in the spell he must have cast on her when they’d met. There was no other explanation for why she’d been so overcome. But then, why was she feeling it all over again?

The incubus sighs against her mouth as their tongues dance and she’s pulled on top of him. He had undressed her as she lapped the venom straight from his mouth but they are both already naked this time. She grinds and squirms on top of him as the venom begins to seep straight to her head and loins. A heat spreads through her abdomen, hot as coals, and she can feel the trial she’s drooling onto his hard abdomen as she grinds against the rough, leathery skin. The room spins and that drunk feeling washes over her all over again.

She almost forgets that they are not alone, so focussed on the forked tip of his tongue playing with hers and the friction his scaled body is offering. He flips them around and it makes her stomach clench as he pins her below himself. She pants as he pulls away from her, desperately trying to catch her breath and ground herself in reality. Her eyes open and her stomach flops again when she sees Raphael, watching her intently, upside down. Their eyes lock and his lips part slightly as he looks down at her. wild and flushed, completely under the effects of the tainted saliva.

Haarlep fills her view again, coming back down to capture her lips. His hands brush her, his fingers curling though her hair as his thumbs dance over her cheeks. He cradles her face, joining them once more. His hands trail down, one travelling her collar bone and down her arm. It captures her hand in his. The other trails from her collar bone, fingers teasing against the fat of her breast as it tickles down and comes to caress the hardened bud. She whines into the kiss as the smouldering heat flickers to burning and another wave of slick dools from her. His fingers pinch and flick as she grinds and thrusts up at him, desperate for more. She needs to be closer. She needs him inside. He growls a laugh as his hips slam back on top of hers, pinning her to the mattress. Gods, now she understands how they ruined the sheets.

“What an enthusiastic answer, little mouse. Have you been waiting for this? To feel me on top of you?” The first time he’d asked she’d been completely taken by the fantasy that he really was Raphael but now, she was absently aware of his presence elsewhere. His hand tails down the curve of her stomach, toying at the mound of her push, not quite close enough to where she needed it. Now he was truly Haarlep in her eyes and she burned for him all the same.

“Say it. Say that you’re desperate for me. Admit now that I was the only one that you wanted when you came here, that you wouldn’t have done this for any other. I won’t touch you again until you take back your cruel words from before.” She lets out a yelp, squirming with fury and glaring daggers into his beautiful face.

“You didn’t say that!” The incubus giggles and raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“Strike two. Last warning.”

“WHAT? That was him!”

“At least he stayed in character.”

The incubus is all shades of smug, tail wagging.

“Ugh. Fine.” A finger dipping just a breath from her clit drags her back into under his spell and he hums in anticipation.

“Yes,” she chokes, “I only wanted you. I only needed you. I just want you to want me too.” The words pull a hiss from the cambion who can’t deny himself the sincerity, for once, he hears in her voice and knows that her words are for no other than himself. Haarlep hums again, pleased. His finger rewards her, brushing over her clit and her hips jump as she gasps. He giggles again, and squeezes down on her hand. His finger circles around before dipping between the soaked, swollen lips. She quakes and sings out so sweetly as the incubus works to undo her. Raphael’s hand wanders like an independent entity over his clenched thigh, until it finally comes to rest on his groin, fingers ghosting at the base of his hardening length. He watches the flashes of her pleasure revealed to him through the flapping cocoon of wings curled over her. His hand, not by his own volition wraps around himself and he hisses again. His mind is plagued by the memory of how tight and wetly she’d wrapped around him and his hand feels like a pitiful substitute. Nevertheless, he finds his it working slowly, squeezing up and down his weeping cock. His sighs are lost in the chorus of the two menaces on his bed, singing so beautifully.

“My, my. Don’t you two play nicely together. I can see that any worries I may have had that this was a one sided encounter were truly misguided. It seems you both posses no higher rational thinking than the drive of your genitals. I can see why you two get along so well now. It makes perfect sense.” He’s talking more to himself than anyone else but his cock throbs at the whimper it pulls from her anyway. She comes back to her senses enough to realise that she has not yet given Haarlep any attention, too completely lost in the endless throes of pleasure he was wracking upon her. Her hand comes down and wraps around his length, pumping it with desperation, eager to make him feel nearly as good as he did her. The incubus keens and grins into the crook of her neck. He feels the spark of ecstasy from his master as his hips jerk from the seat at the ghost of her touch. His master is already worn out tonight. His hand comes to wrap around hers, halting its motion.

“Ah, ah, mouse. I think we might need to improvise. Wouldn’t want the show to finish before scheduled.” She tries to understand the implications of his words as he flips her over, pulling her ass high into the air. Her eyes are closed as she feels the fiend position behind her and she waves her rump through the air, drunkly whining at the lack of attention. Her eyes shoot open, mouth falling slack as for the third time that night, the shape of Raphael’s cock slides without warning inside of her. Her vision is filled with the man in question, teeth clenched as he takes the sight of them in, cock in trembling hand.

The incubus rocks his hips without urgency. She moans, long and low, with every drag his cock as it carves and stretches her walls around it. One hand is driving into her spine, bending her up and onto him while the other wraps around her hair, pulling her head up and exposing her fully to his master. she’s pulled up and back. He bounces her, leaning back to let her land onto his upturned hips with a wet smacks. She squeals his name, shrill and pitchy.

“Fu-fuck! Haarlep!” He groans in satisfaction, wings fluttering at the sound of his name on the lips of another. For all that he screams inside to just ruin her and drive her into the mattress like last time, he’s not prepared to meet Raphael’s fury if he embarrasses him now. He keeps the pace lazy and controlled, watching the other fiend intensely and reading his pleasure for the signs that he was getting too close. It is like wrestling a feral cat, trying to hold her still and stop her from throwing herself back onto his length without abandon.

Raphael seems to recognise his nearing end as he lets go of himself entirely, gripping the arms of his chair until his knuckles pale.

His voice is strained and gritty as he needles her one last time.

“You know I’m entirely unimpressed. You were so adamant that you wanted me but but it seems you’re able and willing to do little more than bounce on my incubus. It looks like maybe are just desperate, after all. Perhaps I was wrong, you will just throw yourself on any willing cock that asks nicely. how disappointing.”

She hates his stupid, condescending sneer and all at once, she has kicked and fought her way free of the now whining and complaining incubus and is clambering toward the edge. She throws herself from the bed, landing on the floor and crawls like a possessed person to his feet. Her face has an intensity to it that makes even him pause as she bares her teeth and howls in rage.

“Fuck you!”

She’s on top of him now, her hands in his hair, and his scalp burns as she yanks his head backwards.

“I wanted you! You never gave me anything!”

She spears him into her, feeling him shudder.

“You’re all I ever wanted! You’re the only person who makes me cum. You’re the only person I trust. I hate you.”

She’s riding him hard, throwing her weight into every thrust that brings her cunt to press on his pelvis.

“I fucked your incubus. You fucked me. Now I’m fucking you. Everyone can just get fucked!” He would usually be disgusted in her uncivilised language but holy shit, he’s never been so turned on. She is terrifying, and hysterical, and she looks like a queen as she rides.

“You’ve tried to humiliate me but guess what? It didn’t work. It didn’t work because I know you feel the same, don’t you? Am I the one that makes you cum too? You’re just as pathetic as me.“ He’s choking on a moan as she bring her face over his, staring down his eyes and breath venting across his neck.

“I did your fucking deal. You forgive me now. You ever want to get fucked like this, until you can’t feel your own cock, again? Then you cum for me right now and prove right now that you’re no better than me.” He wants to be angry, and hateful. To shove her off and smite her into the depths of hell but instead he flops backwards, body quaking and shuddering as he releases inside of her, her own orgasm milking his seed from him as she screams and collapses onto him.

They stare at each other, panting and trying to find their breath. She leans closer and for a terrifying second, he thinks she is going to kiss him. She doesn’t. She pushes herself up and brings herself to stand on shaking legs. The room is silent as she redresses. When she is done, she turns to look at Raphael expectantly. With a snap of his fingers a swirling portal forms before her. She pauses before disappearing through. She looks to the incubus, reclined back on the bed and gives him a small awkward wave.

“It was nice to meet you?” It’s asked like a question. He nods enthusiastically and waves back with a smile.

“Do come back! It’s been so long since I’ve had a friend! Ta ta now, little mouse.”

She looks to the cambion still flopped in the chair. He is back to his absent brooding. She opens her mouth to say goodbye, maybe apologise, maybe ask what the hells all of that means, but a pointed look tells her that she has done enough and now it is time to go. Happy to avoid the confrontation that awaits them at some point on the inevitable future, she simply gives him a nod and disappears from his home. Peace, at last.

“Well,” the incubus rises with a stretch and makes his way to the heated water of the pool, “wasn’t that just a delight. Do you think she’ll come back at some point? I really could use a play mate, you know.” Raphael again, ignores the ramblings of the lesser fiend and rises to leave. He needs his own bath and the sweet embrace of sleep. He most definitely did not have the energy to deal with the little demon right now. Before leaving the boundary of the room, he half turns to address the incubus.

“I was wondering, did you happen to-“

“Yep. I obviously wasn’t going to let her go without a little payment.” The voice of his little mouse echos from the steaming water with a laugh, like chiming bells.

“Good. Good job, Haarlep.”

He hears an excited intake of air at his praise and takes his leave.

“Get Korrilla to deal with the sheets before tomorrow. I don’t wish to be disturbed again tonight.”

He has forgiven his little mouse, as promised. That did not mean he was near ready to forget. There was no way she would keep herself from him now. Not when he was so eager to explore his new toy in the days to come.

Hello! I hope you liked it! It’s the longest thing I’ve posted and I’m terrified that it was a let down after the first part. Please lmk what you think, I welcome discussion and feedback. This was meant to be a softer, lighter take on Raphael, haarlep, and their mouse but I hope I still somewhat made them likeable and recognisable.

Also, poor Korrilla.

[takusan-no-ai]

Secret Admiration

PAIRING: Belle/Mulan/Cinderella x Male Reader (Romantic) (Separate)

SUMMARY: They have a secret admirer, and when curiosity wins, they must find out who it is!

Belle received gifts from multiple pursuers, none of which ever held much of an interest to her; it was all makeup this, showy outfits that, and the empty compliments, especially from Gaston. Sometimes it felt like only her father understood her.

That was, until, a new secret admirer came along. “A gift was left for you Belle!” Her father shouted as she returned home from a trip to the library. She sighed, bracing herself for disappointment, but was instead met with a book she’d never even heard of before. A letter attached to it saying it’s not from anyone she’s met before.

As piqued as Belle’s curiosity was, there were a lot of people she’d never met before. Sitting down and reading the book while contemplating her new admirer’s identity; it didn’t last long as she got heavily engrossed in the book; adventure, romance, fairy tale, with an outspoken female protagonist! It was everything she wanted to read.

“Excuse me, is Belle here?” A unknown man’s voice asked. He was talking to her father at the door. Unbeknownst to the young man, she’d been upstairs reading her book at a time she usually goes out. She crept downstairs as the two men conversed.

“This is a new book for her. Please make sure she receives it.” He said with a small smile to her father, turning around and ready to leave.

“Since I’m here, why don’t you just give it to me yourself?” She asked, now downstairs. The young man turned around and stared at her like a deer caught in torchlights. He started to sweat profusely the closer Belle walked to him. She coughed lightly, signaling for her father to give them some privacy.

“So, are you going to ask me out? Or am I going have to ask you?”

Mulan has a great life with a loving family. Of course, that love didn’t stop at her family; after her help in the war, Mulan had built a reputation, which garnered the attention of many potential suitors. However, none of them could really capture her heart. Despite knowing of her achievements they still aimed to make her something she wasn’t.

One day, after finishing her martial arts training, Mulan made it to her room only to see a handcrafted box with intricate designs waiting for her. Inside was gear for traversing terrain, as well as the book “The Art of War”. Finally! A gift that wasn’t some high priced hanfu dress or way too much makeup.

She had no idea who sent the gift, but she just knew it had to be someone who understood her. Mulan’s search had led to a dead end until one day. You, a young man who was just going into training as a war tactician, visited Mulan’s father. Little did you know she was listening in.

“Fa Zhou, I ask the you give this gift to Fa Mulan, and that you do not tell her it was me who sent it.” He asked politely, bowing down to Zhou. The older man chuckled lightly before peering outside the slightly adjacent door. He made eye contact with Mulan for a split second, the latter jumping back into the shadows.

“Why would I keep the one man who can keep up with my daughter’s personality a secret? Are you so ashamed to love her that you’d rather die with no one but me, a tired old man, shouldering that burden?” Zhou asked sternly. Despite speaking so harshly, he was only goading the boy to say exactly what his daughter needed to hear.

The younger man had been cowering during the scolding until the end. He took a deep breath and looked up, glaring back into Zhou’s eyes with a determined expression. Mulan gazed at him from behind the door, awaiting his response.

“Never…I’ll never be ashamed of my love for Fa Mulan!” Zhou smiled at that moment. The unprompted sound of the door sliding open caused (Y/N) to shrink back, and the woman standing before caused the room to suddenly grow ten times hotter.

“Prove your love to me then.” She demanded.

Cinderella never got gifts anymore after her father’s death. The only thing those awful step sisters of hers ever gave Cinderella was a mop and bucket; and the bucket had a hole in it.

Her day was elated when she opened the mailbox and found a beautifully wrapped box with a small note attached. Addressed to her, it was a sweet poem about all the things she does that makes her secret admirer swoon. And the gift was a glass rose, glistening in the sunshine.

Since that day Cinderella received a new gift every week, and every time it would leave her heart souring. If only she could find out who her admirer was. Well one day while cleaning outside the house she saw you, a young man sneaking around to the mailbox. Handsome as ever and clearly shy.

“Excuse me, are you perhaps leaving a gift for someone?” Cinderella asked as she walked up behind the young man. He jumped up, startled. His face became fifty shades redder.

“I-I’m sorry!” He shouted before he ran off. She never even got his name. But upon looking at his gift, felt she soon would.

“An invitation to the royal ball? Oh I just can’t wait!”.

- Fin

[finniestoncrane]

Practice Makes Perfect

KTJL!Boomer, word count: 1.1k hng losing my little mind over the idea of digger practicing sucking himself off (because what else is there to do in prison?) 💙 also I fucked up the banner let me live sorryyyy request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: mentions of porn, masturbation, i made him disgusting because it's what i want ok tell me he wouldn't aim his load AND ALSO he's a fuckin goober like hc-ing it now digger talks to his penis, cum play, swallowing, self-fellating aheem heem and maybe if everyone is good and anyone wants it, we get a part 2 where he achieves his goal

George rolled over in his metal frame bed, thin mattress offering no support as he lay on his back. It was dark, around 3am he figured, and despite how hard he was trying he knew there was no way he was going to get back to sleep.

"Well, might as well indulge."

His voice sounded strange as it bounced off the walls of his cell, but there was a comfort in it, in the lack of response, in the emptiness. Being locked up was boring, it could be dull, isolating, and it drove him insane sometimes. But, if nothing else, it meant he had plenty of time alone to do one of the simple pleasures he enjoyed.

Reaching under the bed, at the side closest to the wall, he retrieved his stash of contraband. Everyone knew he had it, everyone knew it was better if he did. He could be, as he so politely put it, "a right miserable cunt" if he didn't have his release regularly. With his fingers clinging to the slightly crinkled pages, he teased the magazine up above the mattress and pulled it over to his chest, where he bagan to flick through the slightly stained pages.

With a bored sigh, he pushed down the band of his orange prison issue pants and began lazily stroking his cock, letting it go from soft to semi-erect in his hand. A shower, not necessarily a grower, but there was plenty of him to get a grip on either way. The featherlight touch he gave to the tip when his strokes reached his head made him shiver, a crooked, self-satisfied grin spreading over his face, pushing into his lightly freckled cheeks.

Skimming through the pages clumsily with one hand, he tried to find one he wanted to settle on. They all felt used though, old news, the same bodies he'd been jerking off to for months now. He needed some new material, something different, something a little bit exciting just to change things up.

Not that he had any difficulty in getting to where he needed to go regardless. Within minutes his fist was pumping along his length faster, gripping the shaft tighter than was comfortable, releasing the tension when it felt too much to give himself that feeling of respite that made his chest feel lighter.

Predictably, he could feel himself reaching the climax of his practiced labours pretty quickly, and with a lopsided smile he held his cock up straight. Each stroke was slow and the grip was strong now, easing up the shaft as though he were squeezing his release out.

"C'mon... c'mon... ah, fuck, c'mon!"

This was now the somewhere close to the tenth time he'd been aiming for the ceiling, hoping his load was explosive enough to reach it. It felt like a challenge now, something he couldn't not try. It did, however, lead to a lot of mess. Not necessarily much clean up, but definitely a lot of mess.

Looking down at his bare chest, George swiped at the droplets and strands of cum that decorated his torso. Not quite to the ceiling, but he was sure some of it had landed on his face, close to his lips. A quick investigation with his tongue proved him correct, as he tasted the sickly, salted flavour on his tongue.

"It's not even that bad."

He reached down, swiping up some of the splatter on his finger. He held it in the air, tapping his thumb to it and watching the viscous, white substance spread between them. Then he shrugged, popping it into his mouth. As if he were some kind of deranged sommelier, he shifted it from cheek to cheek, letting it rest on his tongue before he swallowed.

"Yeah! Not bad at all. Gotta start advertising that, just in case it helps convince anyone to give the little fella a suck."

Then it hit him. He couldn't believe he had forgotten about the last project he had been working on. He'd gotten distracted by the repetitive strain injury he'd given himself in his ribs, but that pain had subsided, which meant he could continue.

"Aw yeah! I was gonna suck it!"

George excitedly sat up in the bed, legs crossed, cock still semi-erect. He wondered if that was better or worse, and settled on it being the perfect state. Not too stiff, bit of stretch to it. Focusing on the tip of his cock, he took in a few deep breaths, soothing, focusing. Then he sat up completely straight, letting his spine elongate before he bent it quickly into an almost perfect arch.

And he was still a bit away from his goal.

"Shit."

He pushed his neck out, groaning with the strain, his tongue sticking out over his lips as far as he could get it.

"Just... a little... closer..."

The past injury, the one he thought had healed, began to twinge again. His entire side felt solid, like the tendons connecting the muscles might snap at any second. But he was determined.

"Come on you little cunt..."

One final urge, and a blatant disregard for his physical wellbeing, was all it took, as the tip of his tongue ran along the head of his cock. It was the briefest of connections, only managing to taste the slightest amount of salt from the his slit. But it was something.

"Holy shit!"

His body almost sprang back into a natural position as he let himself relax, a reward for his efforts and his success.

"Ah, Digger! You dirty fuckin' bogan! Well done, mate!"

He was close to patting himself on the back, but he realised the stretch might inadvertently cause further strain, and now that he was back on track with his self-satisfactory plans he didn't want to cause any further interruptions. Just a few more months of this and he'd maybe be able to get the tip in his mouth. For the first time, he was glad he had a long sentence ahead of him.

Smiling down at his own cock, ever pleased with the work they put in together as partners, he spoke out loud.

"There'll be some disappointed Sheila's when they find out I don't need them anymore. Disappointed fellas too, I reckon."

He nodded wistfully, well aware in the back of his mind that there weren't too many offers to begin with, but a little delusion never hurt anyone.