#I wrote this on a whim

[call-memissbrightside]

hi—

Katsuki would over compensate with toys, trips, candy, whatever to get his son Katsuma to like him…

Yet, Katsuma was his son, and he was stubborn just like his father

He wouldn’t bat an eye when Katsuki gave him a new game controller, nor with tickets to the amusement park

“Try harder old man,” Katsuma’s smirk was so much like his own it was jarring to the hero.

You felt bad, horrible because you could tell not being able to bond with his son that he just found out he had a month prior hurt Katsuki. You give him some guidance.

“Katsuma doesn’t like any of that stuff,” you speak softly as Katsuki packs up his bag of tricks. It was past 10 and Katsuma finally went to bed after his father awkwardly retold him stories of his early years as a hero. Katsuki and you worked out a plan that he’d but him to bed since his work hours mean he can’t make school pick up.

“He likes hiking like you, and he loves sharks,” you smile at the similarity betweeen the boy you loved and the little boy you created.

Katsuki was angry at you… for keeping Katsuma a secret from him. He was angry and hurt and didn’t know how his heart could still sting at the sight of you or the sound of your voice after five years apart. Here stood the girl who he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, the same girl who lied to him and now what? Katsuki struggled to make sense of his new life as a co-parent, as a parent.

“Wouldn’t need fuckin pointers if you didn’t lie to me,” katsuki crumbled under his breath, defeated.

You feel like crying, the tears are there stinging at your eyes. “I’m sorry,” you repeat again and again, but you both know it doesn’t make a difference.

Katsuki didn’t like hurting you, even if he had every chance to rip you a new one. He just couldn’t, his heart couldn’t take it.

“ ‘s fine, don’t cry. I’m a dick, sorry,” he moves to leave your apartment, pausing.

“Hiking huh?” His little smirk makes you blush even thou you know it shouldn’t. Not anymore.

“Y-yeah, and sharks,” you point out dumbly.

Katsuki nods his head, “I can do hiking and sharks.”

[sakuralovespossums]

Human Neferpitou x GN Reader

You can picture them as an ant if you want

Calls you so many pet names like sweetheart, their toy, their prey if their feeling intimate

Is nonbibary and goes by they/them

Is a highly esteemed (and feared) brain surgeon

Probably had a shady career before pursuing medicine, like being a bodyguard for an underground mafia king

Carry’s a menacing aura that instantly puts everyone on edge

No one messes with you cuz they know your Pitou’s s/o

To you, their you quirky cat-like partner who always wants your attention and will protect you with their life

Pitou would def be such a loyal spouse

They will stay by your side when your sick or injured, cheer you up with a funny story when your sad, etc.

You rarely remain sick/injured for long anyways since she can easily heal you with her scarily impressive medical skills

One of Pitou’s hobbies is knitting and sowing. Anything to do with needles is their specialty, really

They like knitting you a new scarf, hat, or gloves

They’re usually the one to flirt and tease, but can also easily be flustered themselves

Can move really fast and quietly, which always surprises (and kinda scares) you

You knock over something? They easily catch it. You need them for something? You don’t even have to call since their already right behind you

Your partner does have their creepy moments but is still sweet

They always know everything but gladly welcomes a challenge or unexpected surprises

You’ve probably met their old friends Pouf and Youpi, who are just as weird as them

[cynical-kitten]

Oh! I did the thing!

I WROTE A CHAPTER AFTER ALMOST A MONTH OF NOTHING. Check it out if you wanna :) here's a snippet, and the link if you want to read more <3

As a human, New Year's Eve was a night I eagerly circled on calendars the day I bought them, marked with bright ink, some doodles, and a few exclamation points for good measure. The thrill of doing so was edged on by the buzz induced by the New Year's event that had occurred a day or two before, as well as the excitement of planning for the one ahead. As a product of New Orleans, I lived for parties, especially the extravaganzas in honor of a new year. Although nothing could shine as bright as our beloved Mardi Gras, New Year's Eve came very, very close.

Parties in the Crescent City were unique and worth the tourism it rightly deserved. The celebrations were considered to be street parties, and welcomed partygoers from around the world. Restaurants and jazz clubs held their doors wide open, musicians played on every corner of the French Quarter, and vendors were set up as far as the eye could see. Lights were strung from every nook and cranny, creating a blanket of stars beneath the celestial beauties dotting the night sky.

Despite the prohibition, which was alive and well for a decent portion of my adult life, alcohol found a way to flow freely under the noses of the law, fueling the debauchery that loitered within my beloved city. Champagne bubbles tickled my nose as I tossed back glass after glass, and whiskey warmed my insides as it settled in my stomach, igniting a fire against the chill of winter.

But oh, the dancing! The dancing was the highlight of it all and absolutely nothing could compare. Drunk off of the music and the liquid courage burning in my veins, I would twirl among the crowds, uncaring and free. I was alive, laughing and spinning as if all of New Orleans was my dancefloor. As a single woman, I'd flit from person to person, not a care in the world of whose arms had been encircled around me. Boundaries simply didn't exist on nights like these. Everyone was there to have a good time, and if you could cut a rug, you were fair game no matter who you belonged to.

Truth be told, I could have made a dance partner out of a murderer, which, in hindsight, I guess technically I did. After marrying Alastor, who turned out to be the Crescent City Phantom that haunted the streets of New Orleans, I truly expected my free-spirited fun to end. Much to my surprise, it didn't— he only added his dark, eager enthusiasm into the mix. The social butterfly found as much passion for the New Year's parties as I did, never denying me the opportunity to dance the night away as we counted down to midnight. And boy, could he dance! Alastor could dance better than anyone I've ever know, but he never let me stray far. He was very selfish and kept me to himself, his hands possessive as he held me close, which was fine by me. He indulged my every whim and fancy, never complaining unless I got too touchy or became stumbling drunk.

New Year's Eve in Hell, like most holidays, was a vastly different experience than the ones I had up above. It was a twisted version of the affair, lacking the glimmers of hope and eager resolutions that I was accustomed to. The night had one of the most somber atmosphere, filled with a sort of primal dread and anxiety that sat like a gargoyle on your shoulders. It dripped from the pores of every Sinner, the air heavy with fear and anticipation for what the next day would bring.

[donsupermkii]

been thinking about reality.

there’s something fascinating to me about things in stories discovering and affecting the very fabric of their reality; comic characters who literally push at the bounds of their meager existence, book characters who come to realize and break down over the fact that them and everything they know is naught but ink on paper which has been turned into thought in a mind.

there’s a lot of this on the scp wiki; articles about things that by their nature alter how they are discussed and documented. scp-integer. i am a toaster. cognitohazards and semiohazards and things that just shouldn’t exist.

when you take this up a level into our reality, you often get stories with eldritch horrors the very sight of which melts human minds. i am reminded of that one post of how true eldritch incomprehensibility is not something so ugly you can’t stand it, but an ant briefly being given sapience, a scant taste of how humans think and feel and exist, only for it to be ripped away, the ant grappling with an understanding of the world that is simply too much for their brain’s makeup to handle.

as it stands in real life, our understanding of reality is, to put it simply, mere worldbuilding. quarks and energy and dark matter and time. that we can understand this says to me that we haven’t found the true framework of our existence yet.

i wonder what will happen when we do.

[natekashiri-exe]

So, it's the body's (and my) birthday in about a month. I'll be 23. I've been feeling some kinda way about it, and I wanted to express it in a poem-ish form

Birthdays

A poem(ish) by Nate Kashiri

For the last few years when this time rolls around, I find myself just kinda sitting there and thinking "huh, I made it another year"

Every time I think about every night I've spent crying alone, every time I've pleaded for something or someone to put me out of my misery, to just get it over with.

I think back to 16 year old me, and I wonder how they'd react if they knew I'd survived this long. Because that kid barely had the strength to make it to the next day, but somehow they did.

Yes, I found indescribable happiness by taking one breath after another, yes I saw things I'll be eternally grateful to see, but..

I had to sink to a point so low, I didn't think I could sink any lower. I had to stumble backwards into a world that was nothing but greys and pain, suffering and silence.

All because that 16 year old girl dared to be different. Dared to be herself.

But now, I can put on a brave face, smile and nod away. I can take things one day at a time, one breath at a time. I can stop surviving, and start living.

I've made it 23 years, what's another day?

[umamaki]

cw: lowk red flag caleb lol, virginity loss

Caleb is pissed when you get asked out for the first time. He had deliberately warned everyone in both of your social circles to stay away from you. Not without threats of violence or death, either. So yeah, he’s pissed as fuck when you tell him. Did he have to burn the whole world down merely to keep you all to himself? To protect you from perverts and creeps?

But, unfortunate and naive, you were so damn excited for this date. He couldn’t spoil your mood. Not when you asked him which dress to wear—both of them too short for his liking—and certainly not when you asked him to zip up the back for you.

There was just something about how you looked, all dolled up and cute to see someone who wasn’t him. He can already barely control himself around you; even the thought of another man having access to you like this makes him utterly sick. “It’s just not a good idea. All guys want the same thing.”

“You’re a guy aren’t you, Caleb? So what, are you telling me you’re like that too? Hmm?” He wants to wipe the playful smile off your face. You just think everything’s some fucking game.

“He’s gonna want to kiss you. Touch you. Fuck you. Have you ever been fucked? Huh, pipsqueak?”

He thinks he went too far then, notes the way your eyes widen and lips slightly part. You shake your head, but he already knows. He knows everything about you. So when you ask if he can help you, give you some advice, he knows exactly how he will.

“So naive, let me just show you.” He smashes his lips against yours. The force would’ve sent you falling backwards had he not steadied you with his hand on the small of your back.

“This is how to kiss…” he mutters it into your mouth, not caring that your teeth are hitting each other.

“And this…” he lifts your skirt just enough so that he can pull your panties to the side and slide his fingers along your puffy folds. “This is how it feels to be fingered.”

“Ah—Caleb!” You squeal when he fully plunges his finger in deeper than your own fingers ever could. He adds another, and soon the room is filled with your moans and the lewd squelch of his fingers thrusting in and out of your soaked pussy.

His lips are back on yours, and this time his tongue is shoved inside your mouth, claiming it. He goes faster when he feels your walls clench around him, and lets you grip his biceps while you come around his fingers and leave behind crescent shaped indents on his arms.

He nearly throws you on the bed, eager to yank off your underwear and free himself from his own boxers, wasting no time in aligning his tip to your still sensitive cunt.

“This is how to take it like a good fucking girl.” You try your best to relax, to be so good for him as he buries himself into you. He lets you get used to his size, going slow. Not moving until you practically beg him to, then there’s no going back. He’s brutally snapping his hips against yours and watching your tits bounce through your dress.

“Already gonna come on my cock? You really are inexperienced. Can’t even control yourself. Go on then. Fucking. Come.” With two last jerks of his hips, your climax washes over you and he tries so fucking hard to delay his own orgasm. He begins to pull out but your legs lock him in place. He cums on the spot—still inside you.

“Don’t care that I ruined your dress? How you gonna go on your date now, baby?”

“Hm. Guess I have to cancel,” you say, faux disappointment coating your words.

He pauses. “There was no date.”

“There was no date.” You confirm, wearing that same stupid grin from before. Luckily your schedule is free, because he has a hell of a punishment waiting for you after that.

[obamousse]

"Keep talking and you'll end up in the streets. Like how it was back then isn't it? So miserable, isn't it?"

Osamu had a fair share of experiences arguing with Atsumu, which was nothing pleasant. They yell at each other, casually fight, and in the end, reconcile. Osamu does not hesitate in smacking his brother in the head while giving him the title of "a tyrannical pig". But it was in situations where they were both sure they would stick by each other's side again, and little did anyone know, that was only the mildest of Osamu's anger.

And now, having heard Suna's words, he froze.

Not one inch in his body moved. Only his eyes. Bulging, larger, larger, until his pupils disappeared behind the color white. The eyes of a monster, yes. Of a beast unleashed. Suna was surprised: he expected him to, like many others he had argued with before, to start crying, become angrier or start slapping his face. He did not expect Osamu to stare straight into his soul, and for the first time, things felt different. Osamu was going all out, and Suna then truly realized how angry his lover could be and the scale of catastrophes dangling on his head. And for the first time, Suna regretted everything he said.

Suna was gifted with a sharp, piercing tongue. One that keeps inventing new and scorching insults, that he freely used. He knew, once he was successfully angered, he would do anything with that tongue of his, accuse, insult, gaslight, or even weaponizing secrets people have trusted him with, to push his opponent to the edge, have them crying, speechless, taken aback from how caustic the Suna could actually be. Mother said it was a weakness of his, not that he cared about, because all he ever did that too was people who hurt him (and who would hurt his friends, if he ever had any).

Osamu knew too well that weakness of his. Osamu knew, that there is a tiny chance, Suna would do this to him.

Suna still kept his smirk on, mind you. He still kept on that prideful, sarcastic and brazen face of his as usual, devilishly reveling on how he had angered Osamu.

And Osamu slowly said, slowly:

"Piece of shit. You want another secret to use? I used to hate you so much back then, I thought, for no reason." - he breathed, staring at Suna's face still unstirred, - "I knew I should have kept hating you with my guts, now that you showed me that disgusting dogface of a man."

He glared at Suna's wicked grin for one last time, before storming outside and shutting the door behind him.

And that was when Suna slumped down against the wall, unable to breathe, clutching onto his own shirt. He felt his eyes sting. No, he won't allow himself to cry. He's a man, and sharp-tongued, sarcastic men like him don't cry.

How ironic, he was supposed be the one pushing Osamu to the edge. How ironic, he would now be rendered speechless, crying, taken aback on how hurting Osamu's words could be. Mother might be right - it was his weakness, and he realized it the hard way the moment he saw that wrath in Osamu's eyes, how that caustic tongue of his only destroys him in the end.

He held his shirt with trembling hands and buried his face in it, trying to stifle any sob and dry any tear coming out.

And he cried.

Fight

[phanerozoicfossilgardener]

Super serious scientist programming

[ID: A programming console. Line by line, the command reads:

def mothman(moth)

for i in range(moth):

print('Mothman')

mothman(7)

The output is the text Mothman, repeated six times. End ID.]

(For those not fluent in code, this is a loop that prints 'Mothman' as many times as the input number. )

[sockeyesoren]

Something I wrote today abt the kid and his ghost friend from this post, if you care

It’s meant to read like a kid’d diary,, I guess

There’s a girl in my house at night. She stands outside the door and watches me. She scared me at first, but she’s friendly.

Last night I followed her outside, she asked me to. We played tag and for the first time in ages there was a smile plastered all over my face.

She’s nice. She told me her name is Cercei, that she died when she wandered too far into the woods, and she warned me not to do the same.

I think Cercei is my only friend. Father is nice, he provides a roof above my head and food, but he doesn’t play with me like Cercei does. Cercei says we are friends.

>

Cercei tells me things I don’t understand. About her old life, her old family. She had a mother, a whole lot of aunts and uncles and there were other kids around to play with. Her bed was soft, she told me. My bed isn’t soft. It itches, and it’s right next to father’s.

>

There’s a woman outside my house. She’s fair, with long hair and a beautiful dress. She has the same transparency to her that Cercei does. She told me her name, but I didn’t catch it.

Maybe she is my mother.

>

Cercei and I played again last night. Father is mean to me, he keeps going on about how I’m destined for great things, how I will save the bloodline. I don’t know what he means. He scolds me for being tired. I don’t sleep well. Cercei only comes out at night, and she disappears when the sun rises.

I saw the woman again as well. Cercei told me her name is Fadoua, and that she too was once a mother. There’s a grave next to her’s, but no one comes out.

>

I don’t like it when the sun rises. Father wakes up, and Cercei and Fadoua disappear. Fadoua is nice. She told me that she did not bring me into this world, but that she could be my mother, if I like. I’d like that, hugging her feels like a cool autumn breeze.

>

I picked a flower for Cercei, but she couldn’t hold it. It fell right through her hand.

I layed it to rest next to her headstone instead.

When father is not training, he plays the violin. It’s an awful sound.

>

Father taught me how to fish. It’s something we have in common, we both enjoy fishing. Fishing is more than just a hobby though, no plant will grow in this kind of weather. We roast our catch together over a fire. Father is nice to me in these moments, I enjoy them a lot.

It’s weird. I’ve grown taller, but Cercei has stayed the same over the summer. Fadoua told me it’s because she’s dead, which is a sensitive topic I shouldn’t bring up. I won’t, I don’t want to upset Cercei at all. She’s my best and only friend.

There are other graves around, but they are mostly silent. Fadoua introduced me to her groundmates, but they haven’t shown their faces just yet. It’s fine, I like Cercei and her the most anyway.

[planehabitat]

the god of storytelling, condensed into a little clay form!

made with sculpey premo, acrylic paint, and middle school sculpting experience

[kira-loves0905]

lads x reader! [mentions of death] [can be seperate or together...?]

it was another day of gathering intel from him. the knob swiftly opens for you to paddle inside the cage the Praedator was in. he was sat on his usual place, body language high and mighty. the smirk drawling on his lips as he sees your figure walking towards him. but then, the expression falls, eyes zoning on the tell-tale purple bruise on your waist— courtesy of your rather revealing outfit.

"who hurt you?"

he growls, clenching his fists. your steps faltering at the sudden aura he emanates.

"I believe that is none of your issue-"

"it is, you see." he interjects before you could finish. "I'll repeat my question, darling. who?"

he mostly didn't mind the chains that bounded him on this interrogation chair. in fact, he barely wastes his strength on fighting against it: his posture always relaxed.

but seeing that bruise triggers something within his insanity. he doesn't know why he feels like it, the urge was strong to pull you towards him. to caress the taint mark that someone must've left on your skin.

you see the way he now strains against the chair. his muscles taut and veiny, gritting his teeth at how you just stood there. as if that injury was nothing for you, but to him it felt as if the world was already ending.

why is that? why did he feel the urge to do so?

"it's.. another Praedator." you forced a reply, or else the scientists in the facility might make another metal chair modified for his strength with how he's tugging all his might, "it was just careless of me. so I ought to not approach people like you too close for today."

"..w..what?"

left dumbfounded on your revelation, the straining stops.

"indeed," you nod a tad awkwardly at his odd expression. standing a few feet away, you brought out your materials needed to interrogate him. "let's start."

as the intel goes on, you were perplexed at his sudden compliance. he would've dumped all the information he has if it wasn't for the shred of pride he has left. heck, you hadn't even use much of the devices you brought.

shaking his behaviour as part of his... symptoms. you packed up your things, your movements careful and meticulous to avoid aggravating your injury any longer.

turning around to the door, you winced slightly at the inevitable ache. about to leave and treat the wound when..

"princess." he beckons your attention, "i've given you intel. yet you still insist not telling me who left that mark. least you could do was return a favor.. hm?"

"it was... that burly man down the hall," you said vaguely, heeding no mind. might as well entertain him, right? if it makes him obey and give more information then you don't mind.

oh how wrong you were.

the next day, there was an uproar of a sudden dead Praedator. no one knows who had done it. the execution flawless with no strings left behind. but the smirking man you've known for a while, with chains suspiciously broken only seen up close may know a thing or two..

[yangcherie]

mating season

𐀔 pairings: astarion x reader. karlach x reader. halsin x reader. background cast (wyll, shadowheart, lae’zel, gale) x reader. background rolan x tav.

𐀔 content warnings: tiefling!tav, LITERALLY PWP, alcoholic consumption, brief sexual memory (halsin), heavy petting, noncon to dubcon (with astarion only), slight slutshaming, oral (f!receiving), mentions of breeding, afab anatomy but g/n pronouns. astarion is very slightly, slighty mean, up to you if he is ascended or not.

𐀔 sypnosis: you, a tiefling, go through your first heat cycle around your companions. some are willing to either indulge you or take advantage of you.

𐀔 author’s note: hoppinh on the bandwagon of tieflings having heat / rut cycles. astarion, briefly halsin, ROLAN and karlach get some action, teehee. and don't worry. everyone is a pervert and thinks about it. everyone will get a chance. someday. merry christmas!!

The first thing everyone wakes up to is heat. Sweltering, palpable heat, pervading the air up to the point it felt like it was trying to smother them, casting annoying, relentless burnishes of perspiration on their skin.

It couldn’t be the sun, no. The warmth felt too close, within of reach – but even then, it was no lively and unextinguished campfire, no engine out of hand nestled within Karlach, Shadowheart concluded.

They’d all been taking turns the entire morning seeking cold relief in the stream. Thankfully, as the day prevailed, the sun was no longer so glaring, the heatwave lessening by a tad bit, the rest of the party excluding a certain Ravenguard had found it now bearable.

It wasn’t until Wyll was fed up with the sweat that would inevitably come no matter how much he wiped at it, marching towards where it felt most blistering, most fervent; the intense source.

It had led him to your tent — and without doubt, the demon believed the source was your tent; your fucking otherworldy furnace of a tent. Even as he stood from outside, the heat was practically choking him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he took a look inside and finds out you, little fiend you, stuffed the entire Nine Hells inside. And take a look inside he does, peeling away the entrance, a delirious but polite request to turn down the heat ready on his tongue —

But it isn’t the Nine Hells’ heat and musk that slaps him to his face, to his utter surprise.

It’s you; trembling, flushed raw and in all of your fiendish glory, naked. Tail loud and thumping on the floor as your whimpers permeate through the air, legs spread and — No!

Somewhere in the back of his horned head, he wonders if it’s the heat, the shock, or simply his building arousal that has rendered him stuck to his position. It takes Wyll all his strength he can muster to tear his eyes away; what was he doing? He was intruding on your tent— your privacy! How could he forget basic etiquette, so much for being a noble-!

(Without a doubt, he’s ruined his chance of any traditional courtship.)

“Sorry.” The Blade himself awkwardly coughs before pushing himself out of your tent with an inhuman force, slamming the fabric entrance shut and tripping on his own two feet on the way out. “It’s Tav!” He shouts, sprinting with little idea on where to; the heat is unbearable and by the gods, he isn’t so sure anymore if it was coming from your tent or if it was simply his body. His commotion with Tav gathers the attention and eyes of his fellow companions, and it is both Karlach and Shadowheart that push at him to settle him down.

“Hey, hey. Calm down, you!” Karlach, ever the concerned companion with her furrowed brows, assures him like steed. “Tav, you mentioned?” Shadowheart, upon quick confirmation that he was not injured, is quick to coax him for answers of his behavior. He’s a bit mortified as his little flustered fit had everyone around him.

“Tav, they’re– get this–” Wyll swallows, tense with the image of you squirming and dripping still on the front of his mind. “T-they’re hot.”

It’s a dreadful thing, he realizes later a split second more than he’d like, the silence that follows. Through the tadpole, they’ve seen what he’s seen; and judging from the atmosphere, they’re chalking it up to an active imagination. All but loud, with a lone cricket chirping in the distance. He shoots up to in an attempt to explain, but wordlessly splutters instead.

“So you’ve had your first wet dream, I take it?” Astarion scoffs, finding the dirt under his manicured nails more interesting than what the fiend had to say next. “Had an issue with morning wood, perhaps– or should I say, a hardened blade?”

“No!” Wyll refutes, now standing up with the help of Shadowheart. “I-I meant to say they’re hot, literally. They’re drenched with sweat, lookin’ like they’re about to keel over. You saw it, in my head, what they looked like!”

“Ah, yes.” The vampire recalled that vision. Though brief and concerning, yes, it was also undeniably delectable. What he wouldn’t give to have seen you writhing with want up close. But still, he slips his desperation behind a theatric mask. “Like a mutt in heat, how hilarious.”

“In heat.” Karlach had repeated Astarion’s words and bristled, her muscles twitching once but violently enough that it had them staring at her like they had been with Wyll. The look on her face tells everyone she’s had her eureka moment, a light flickering beside her head. “Tav is in heat. Of course they are; it’s breeding season!” She guffaws then, disregarding the disbelief of the party — save for Halsin, who simply nodded.

“So what you’re saying is we have a feral, unspayed animal amongst us for the time being?” Lae’zel grunted, though she certainly did not mind if the blush on her face was anything to go by.

“Mating season is upon most of the forest.” The druid responded, crossing his thick arms, ever the calm elf. “Given the... more animalistic features of some cambions, it is not entirely unreasonable. Given the intensity, it must be their first heat since you’ve all been on this journey.” The party gapes; Karlach nods, and though she does not mention it, she’s mildly disappointed your heat had not aligned with her rut.

“So, what you’re both saying is that they need to breed – or be bred?” Though the vampiric rogue balked, he was unable to deny the inkling of lust that washed through him at the idea. You, and your all proud visage crumbling into one of a desperate, slut of a fiend.

“Well, when you put it in such a frank and vulgar manner...” Gale coughs, flushed, Astarion notices, inwardly grimacing. The wizard’s never been discreet about liking your musk – and today, it is especially honeyed and heavy around the campsite. “Yes.”

And that’s when it hits the rogue, the shared tension and ignited lust in everyone – not just Gale. It’s a slow and heavy shift, like puffs of smoke. The current of lust in the air runs deeper when a small, inviting moan permeates from your tent. The sounds of heavy breaths and trousers shifting from around the party, it all goes unobserved to any eye that doesn’t belong to an experienced rogue.

Still, the rest would’ve been fools to think only one or two of them would be intrigued, he thought. It was with a silent agreement amongst them that by the end of this week, you’d be thoroughly savoured.

The first thing you wake up to is a dull ache across the expanse of your stomach, and a pool of your own arousal drenching the bedroll between your legs. Your bed-kissed face tightens, glaring down at the growing tension in your belly. A groan is torn out of your dehydrated throat – and if the obvious lack of sun on your tent was anything to go by, you’ve slept through nearly the entire day.

Fuck, what was going on? Distoriented, you attempt to sit up only for the dull ache to morph into heated convulsions that immediately spread like wildfire around your weakened body. It was then that you realized that to your utter horror, you were burning hot, to the Nines and beyond — as if you were forcefully thrown into an early heat.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. No. The edges around your vision blackened for a split second before you violently lurched yourself out of your too-warm, too-cramped tent, slamming your palms and knees into the dirt ground and digging your nails in, your mouth open to welcome the hot pants stuck in your dry throat.

You spat out a vicious string of Infernal curses, your focus blurring in and out of itself. You shut your mouth, biting your lip to keep in whimpers, sweat trickling down from your forehead as your mind fought in vain against the primal urges now closing in on it; the feral ache for relief deeming itself more important than reason.

Relief. Fuck, it sounded good right now. You hissed, your mental resolve crumbling, tail furiously lashing against the dirt. Relief. Your eyes darted around the camp anything that could relieve the heat in your loins; Shadowheart and her healing hands or a cool river stream to let the water wash over you, but fuck, you needed real relief. A body you could sink your teeth into and ride until the next morning – preferably Karlach, or Halsin–!

Thick, strong Halsin.

“You feel good, little one.” Halsin quietly groaned up from above you, touching you as if he’s been longing to.

He moves inside you; thick cock bruising your insides. Every open-mouthed gasp and hurt or pleasured cry was eagerly welcomed into his own mouth with wet kisses. He was unrelenting, but kind. Full of sinew your hands could run across or scratch in slight distaste if the fat tip of his length pressed a sensitive spot deeper than you’d have liked. And without fail, he had laughed everytime, gentle and light, even if his deep thrusts into your spent hole were anything but.

He must have been trying to burrow in you with how deep he was inside, letting you raggedly cry into the slope of his neck meeting the thickness of his shoulder. Halsin set out to plant an apologetic kiss into the crook of yours, fucking you deep until you fluttered around him, dragging him to his peak alongside you.

No, you winced, tearing your eyes open and your mind out of its lust-ridden gutter, the burn inside you relentless. No Halsin nor Karlach, not a single soul that could provide you relief to be found around camp — and damn them all, you were in no state to be crawling around searching for even the slightest whiff of their scent in gods know where.

Relief.

Yet another infuriating wave of heat rolled through you, forcing you to clench your hands and drive dirt beneath your nails. What remained of your rationality sought out to the crevices of your memories, ones that weren’t flooded of nightly trysts with the druid elf or — Rolan.

Relief – Rolan. A drop of your drool hitting the ground; Rolan with his horns you could grip and sharp teeth that could sink into your shoulder. No doubt warmly cooped up in Ramazith’s Tower, signing trades or shoving his nose in dusty books. He’d do, for tonight – he’d understand, indulge you and lift you from the unbearable heat clouding your head. He wouldn’t mind, you know it, because you’d be a blind fool to not see the way his eyes would fondly trail over your face, or the dips in your body.

He wants you, and for tonight, you will do him a favor and want him back.

You urge your trembling body to stand up and begin the treacherous trek from camp to the Gate’s city.

It was only the next night, moon high, that you sauntered into camp instead of out your tent, sporting a relieved glow, a fresh set of bites around your throat, a heavy limp, and of course, the hands of a flushed Rolan around your waist.

Your ragtag party watched from their campfire logs, a petty and envious air about them whilst the winsome smile on your face turned into an airy laugh as Rolan tenderly cupped your jaw with his hands, whispering something that had you curling your tails together. You shook your head and sweetly pecked his cheek as he nodded and bumped your horns together like lovers as a bid goodbye before stepping back to part ways.

“Well?” Karlach greeted with an amiable smile as you joined the group’s circle, having been worriedly sniffing around and asking for you the entirety of the morning; your scent lingering faintly around the air but with no continued path as to exactly where you were. She knew firsthand the extent of pain and delirium heats could bring, and god forbid you had fallen in the wrong hands.

(And thankfully, you hadn’t. She was simply glad you found someone trustworthy to mingle with instead of being alone.)

You scooched near her with a charmingly teasing grin, matching her liveliness, turning a blind eye to the tension in the air. “Well, what?” And before the red-skin tiefling could play banter with you, a certain rogue had pettily overtook the conversation.

“Well, did you enjoy your little fling?” Astarion dryly teased, a goblet of wine in his spindly hands and a sardonic smile on his face. He let the wine swivel for a moment. “Enjoyed playing charity, whoring yourself out?”

Karlach quietly called out his name in a disappointed manner, either to scold or deter him from what next he could say.

“What can I say?” You entertain his snark, peeking around the campfire logs for a bottle of blingdenstone blush wine; grabbing ahold of ot and pouring yourself a goblet. Taking a gracious swig, you allow the fruity taste to melt on your tongue. “My company is sought after.”

“Sought after? You amuse me,” The pale elf laughs, dry in a manner that has you eyeing him, his hand tightening around the rusted goblet whilst you set down yours. “Are you sure?” He asks, glaring. “I’d say it’s desperation, on your side of the coin – you’d spread your legs to anyone asking politely, darling.”

You scrunch your nose at that, the warmth and flavor of the wine turning cold and bitter in your throat.

The silence is almost hostile around the campfire – the crackling of it serving to make it less awkward. “Take that damn wine out his hands,” you hear Wyll whisper to a reading Gale and a Lae’zel sharpening her dagger – but both the wizard and githyanki don faces that tell you they aren’t approving of your escapade either. You allow your eyes a brief roam around all their faces; finding it tightened in displeasure.

You don’t feel so well, all of a sudden. Some part inside you chalks it up to the wine.

Save for Karlach who was nudging you with her tail, pleading you from the corner of her eye; asking you to back down from Astarion. Considering it was an option until he opened his mouth once again, his breath smelling of merlot wine. “You’re missing out, you know.” He hisses when you raise him a brow.

“These flings you have,” he eyes around the party, making sure to pointedly look at Halsin for a second longer. You’re half-sure he’d vex Rolan if he was here. Slurring, he pauses again to savor another sip from his wine. “They can’t give you something real.” Your eyes meet his, hesitant, reading the unsaid but he can in them.

“You...” You’re not sure if it’s a trick of the light, the fire shedding a hopeful glint in his eyes for a split second at your tender tone of voice, face softening at the way you curl in yourself. “You’re drinking too much.” And just as quickly as it came, it left.

Something heavy twists in your gut; and you can’t quite decide if it’s from the wine, the second wave of your heat, or distress. Silently pushing yourself off the log, you might as well to take that soak in the river that you’d been dying for.

(You’re not very surprised to feel the many eyes piercing through you.)

Shortly after you left the circle, Karlach had followed you, indiscreet. It’s a game of chase, really – and she’s hot on your tail but you just keep evading her when she thinks she’s got you, a hairsbreadth away from her hands. The way your shoulders tremble with little laughs from your lips are not missed by her, and if she were any closer she’d chase it with her own.

(She smiles, not seen through the dark mouth of the night. Was it her presence or the alcohol that has made you soft?)

It’s not a long trek to the lake by any means, the path obscured by dense foliage she’d occasionally lose you in. Within moments, she’s at the edge of the water with the gravel crushing beneath her boots, overtaking the slow stream of water you’re delicately undressing by. Her longing gaze lingers on the slope of your jaw, the fullness of your lips and the fresh, deep indents of teeth along your shoulder. She’s unsure of whether it’s from Astarion’s feeding or Rolan.

It’s only when you’re fully bare that you turn to face her, that same plush smile that’s melted the hearts of hundreds.

“Are you joining me?” The sweet lilt of your voice makes the gears stop turning in Karlach’s nodding head, her body moving before her mind to start peeling away at her own clothes at the appealing invitation; wading into the water with you as soon as she’s done. A snort is pulled from her when you playfully splash at her with your tail when you hear her behind you.

“Don’t play a game you can’t win, you little...” Karlach jovially returns the splash, inwardly rejoicing at your giggle; this little, shared intimacy is nothing new, but it makes her heart lurch all the same. What she wouldn’t give to have more time with you.

By the gods, she could never get enough of that you and your joy. Some selfish, unbidden part of her hopes you’ll take her up on Wyll’s offer on the path to Avernus, for the sole reason to see it just a little longer.

She shifts around for a topic to hear your voice a little more, “How is your heat coming along?” The smile on your face falters slightly at her choice of inquiry – but you relax instantly. She’s one of your dearest friends, concern is her second nature.

“When is it never dreadful?” You shrug, casual though your words ring true. An unmated tiefling’s pain during a rut or heat was nothing short of agonizing. She watches the nervous swallow bob in your throat. “But I had a little bit of help- from Rolan.”

“Ah, the new master of the tower, was it?” You nod at her, and it comes to you once again that Karlach was no jealous woman. She was glad you had your fill of enjoyment. “He looks smitten with you; are you courting him?”

“Huh?” Your tail whacks against the relaxed surface of water in disbelief, a flush festering on your disgruntled face. “It’s more like the other way around, he bumped his horns to mine earlier.”

Karlach guffaws at your distress, tearing up with her joy until her breath catches on a sweet aroma. She squints, cautiously sniffing the air, once, twice – and she looks to you, pursing her lips when she realizes it isn’t the fragrances you’re washing over yourself; it’s just you, or rather, the second wave to your heat. She hopes the hunger welling in her isn’t clear in her eyes.

You smell really good, she thinks as she chews on the inside of her cheek, staring at the dip of your back as your turn around. And you’re a really good friend, too good, maybe. She feels what she’s about to do isn’t very good.

Karlach doesn’t know what compels her to do what she does but she follows like it’s law; catching your wrist in her hand, capturing your jaw in her other and kissing you tender, swallowing the gasp that comes out.

It’s only when the air starts to feel thick with your heat and her lust that she pulls away, a string of spit following you both – and she’s already pulling away, horror welling up in her eyes but before she can grovel with apologies, you’re reeling her right back to your spit-slick lips with a moan so utterly full of want it has her pulling you closer.

“I can help you,” she murmurs against your taste before pulling away, your want reassuring her she’s got nothing to be sorry for. Your heaving breasts press against her face when she dips half of herself in the water to wrap her arms around your legs. She pleads. “Let me help you. Please.”

Karlach carries you with her muscled arms and settles you on the edge of a rock, softly parting your legs for you and making herself a warm home between them. The way she looks up at you gives you a bashful knot in your stomach.

“Do you want this?” She swallows thick, as if to wash away the heavy weight of her need, eyes situating her hands on your hips with a trembling but still dominant grip. “Use your words.”

You nod, frantic. Breathy pants now visible in the hot air. “I do,” your tongue feels weak when you speak, looking at her with dazed eyes. “P-please, I- I want it, Kar.”

It’s all the push she needs to lick a stripe up your slit, rendering you still when she wraps her lips around your clit and sucks. It drags a heavy moan out of you and it’s nothing but music to her ears. She hopes it’s the sound that greets her in the afterlife instead of angels with their harps or trumpets.

“Ahah,” Karlach pants, hot against your clit, and you look down to see your slick running down her chin, her tail pulling you closer by your calf while yours whips around. “You taste so fucking good.” She murmurs against you, sending an arrow of pleasure straight through your trembling spine that makes her dive right back in, tracing your fluttering hole.

She tongues inside your hole, moaning when it tightens around her, fucking and writhing it around in response.

If the heat wasn’t so heavy, you’d think she was tracing her name on your cunt. You huff, rocking your hips into her face as much as you can with her hands firmly clasped around your hips. Your hands find themselves around her horns and they gently pull her head closer to you, riding her face as if to help brace you for the knot snapping in your stomach.

Karlach takes a moment to pause, smiling with your heady flavor on her lips, chuckling against your core. “So needy.”

You don’t last long, not with her smile and teeth and tongue around your folds, no, and it’s a blind rush of time and hot white when your thighs tremble around her head, mouth dropping open in a silent scream.

“Karlach...!” You cry her name, cumming and convulsing around her tongue with open-mouthed moans. Her grip on you tightens, an Infernal curse leaving her as your slick taste floods her mouth. Her hands run over you, the small of your back, your hips and then to your ass, gripping the fat of it to keep you still while she laps at what little you have left to give; only giving in when you whimper and try to kick her away.

(In the rational crevices of your head, you’d hate to prove Astarion right about being a whore but fuck, does she make you feel good.)

It’s soft silence that fills the air, after you both cease your panting. You stare at the stars, head foggy with the orgasm that racked your body, humming when Karlach gently sets you in her arms again to wash your arousal away in the water while your head contentedly lies against her shoulder.

“Let’s get you to your bed, hm?” She coos, bumping her horns against yours – only letting you go to stand up again when she finishes washing and drying you, allowing you to clothe yourself. Time is a blur then, as you spend it aided to walk by her warm arms, staring at the intricate maze of foliage you’re surrounded about.

You’re snapped out your limping daze when you look around to see the foliage isn’t dark anymore, lit around by hues of oranges from a familiar campfire. Karlach grins, closed-eye as she squeezes you and kisses you warmly before nudging you towards the direction of your tent, quaintly lit up by a candlelight lamp you set inside earlier.

“Go inside,” she coaxes you, all-kind. It’s a certain emptiness you feel when you peel yourself away from her warmth with a whine that has her chuckling and pressing her lips against yours again. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You do as she says, stumbling inside your tent and falling with a thud to your soft bed – but not without curling your lips into a loving smile, savoring the memory of her. It’s the last thing you see before you succumb to the hands of rest.

Fuck.

It’s the middle of the night when you’re next startled awake.

And it’s no surprise when you wake up to yet another surge of dull aching and your own arousal just starting to drip out of you. You waste little time; stumbling like a fawn out your tent, movements laden with the remnants of sleep –

You’re halfway out when your face slams against a body; lithe and cold, and in your sleep-ridden state, you could be convinced you just bumped into a slab of ice draped in flesh. But you urge your heavy lids to open up, to see the man, well, vampire you’d bickered with earlier, staring down at you from the very opening.

“Astarion,” you state, bleary-eyed and fisting your nightshirt closer; the fleece of it grounding you under his piercing gaze. Your heart is beating quick; a brief thought hopes it stays beating, and you will it away. You have half the mind to ask what he’s doing in front of your tent, but you have no time. The air is thick. The heat inside you is boiling. You need relief – Rolan.

“I...” Your words crawl in your throat, the line of your brows furrowing when you feel the familiar pinpricks of your heat pressing into you. “Please, move. I have somewhere to be.”

You almost feel small under the depth of his gaze; everything about him reeks of fury mingling with need.

“Off to find another bed to warm, I assume?” Astarion hisses with the slightest slur, the breath which he speaks out carrying the scent of fine wine – the air around him dangerous. Starving. He moves closer, and you, in all your confusion, slowly crawl back into your tent, unsure on what to fight first; the heat that consumes you or the danger you feel is about to overtake you.

“Astarion,” you mumble, this time with a bleat to your voice and your eyes wide like the lamb to be drained and slaughtered you feel you are. The air is heady; laden with fear and need thick like honey. Everything around you is too much. Where is Rolan? Karlach?

A hand tightens around your ankle, refusing to let go even as you yelp and watch Astarion force his way inside your cramped tent and crawls himself between your legs to nestle his face in the crook of your neck.

“No, no,” You whisper to him, shifting under him in a panic when you feel his familiar lips on your neck. “I’m sorry but you cannot feed from me tonight, Astarion. I need to leave, now.”

“I’m not here to drain you dry, silly.” Astarion’s voice is husky, breathy. It has you clenching your thighs around his hips; his hands clasp around yours in return. “Though, I am starving, I have something else in store for little you.” You grit in discomfort, the unease and desire a blend that you feel entirely drunk on.

(He would never admit it but that tender pit of terror in you has him salivating.)

“Leave...!” You hiss. He chuckles at that; the sound velvet-rich and grating, and does exactly the contrary – pushing himself closer to you until you’re chest-to-chest. You hate that you cannot see him tucked away to your neck. It does not help he is close to your raw, still-sensitive core; you have nothing on save for a long, flowy poet’s shirt thanks to a certain crimson tiefling.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can’t have you running off to somebody else.”

It’s then that you feel it; the press of a cruel, toothy smile against your throat and something of leather, something of warmth digging into the meat of your thigh. He is not here to drain you out of his anger, rather, he’s here to devour you, prey on you. You fear you’ve catched on belatedly.

“Mfh. I don’t want–” Your late, futile resistance is met with a finger to your lips, flushed thighs being pushed further apart as his hips slot between yours. Somewhere in the back of your muddled mind, you hear yourself keen with delight at the friction before he hushes you.

“You’re right, you don’t want it.” Astarion croons, watching as you writhe your hips against his for friction, as your bare cunt instictively grinds against the hot imprint of his still-clothed cock even as your head grasps for even a thread of coherence. “You need it, need this - need me.”

Your body does not deny his claim, arching your hips to meet his grinding, swollen folds clinging to his leather trousers – the pit in your stomach and the crawl up your spine indistinguishable between dread and ecstasy. The line of reason and morals are once again blurred in your head.

You curse yourself for having indulged in the alcoholic delicacy earlier. He’s emboldened by the wine; you’re weakened by it. The finger on your lips slip inside your mouth, firm on your tongue. You gag on it when his other hand clasped on your hip reaches down in between your legs and feels around for your, unsurprisingly, dripping vulva, the both of you gasping in delight.

“You’re soaked. What a fine surprise!” He chuckles, continuing to buck his clothed erection into your heat, petting your hair when you moan around his fingers. “I hope it’s because of me and not just your little heat.”

Your body is transparent, visceral with him, loyal to the promise of pleasure he can give you – even if your mind, what is left of your rationality indignantly fights tooth and nail to convince your body to stop giving in to animalistic pleasure.

It’s not long then, until Astarion becomes impatient, always having been; unlacing the ties on his trousers with one skilled hand and leaning over you to toss it off – it’s all too quick for your swarmed mind to catch up to, and the next thing you see and know is that you’re hissing through your teeth and thrashing while he pushes the burning head of his cock into you, hushing you as if you were a distressed animal. Your muscles tense, jerking away, a feeble little no on your lips—

But it’s an easy intrusion, a quick thrust into you is all it takes to bury himself deep with the help of your slick and his pre. He groans as, eyes rolling back as yours start to prick with tears, hold tightening on you as you whimper and turn limp like a ragdoll to his experimental thrusting. Some part of you wants to preen at the pleasure; the honeyed heat inside you pleased.

“Good- fuck, good pet.” He breathily murmurs, clasping a hand around your hip again; alternating between sensual grinding and abruptly slamming into you. All while he laughs and watches with a vicious smile as you’re torn between pathetically moaning and crying, the fingers in your mouth helping to muffle the sounds.

“See? Not so bad if you just close your eyes and give in.” He presses down particularly hard on your tongue when you wail at a sharp, unexpected thrust. He couldn’t have someone from the party playing hero. “I’m trying to help you.”

Tears sting at the corner of your eye, and you have no doubt you look pitiful right now - but fuck, he feels good. You don’t want to admit it, but you won’t deny it either; you needed this. And though you would have preferred to have it be Rolan, all gentle, rutting into you with sweet whispers and even sweeter promises, the heat in your body cannot be satiated with the tenderness he can give you. But you would rather stake him first than admit he’s helping you fill that gaping need in you.

“Astarion...” You furrow your brows and swallow around his fingers, your own life clinging to the back of your throat. It’s with a certain horror and desperation that you realize you’re approaching the edge faster than you’d like – and you know he knows, because he pulls his fingers out your mouth and presses a warm, spit-slick thumb to your aching clit. Your hole flutters around him, and you writhe around, the tightening burn of your incoming orgasm too much to handle. Pleasured, honeyed mewls are wrenched from you as his hips snap, driving his cock deep.

Astarion purrs – a hand on your thigh to help him slam into you, gripping hard enough to form bruises whilst the other was relentless at your clit. It’s with a shriek that you fall apart, seizing on his thrusts that only seem to quicken, the wet sound of skin on skin and your crying permeating through the entire camp, no doubt. He coos when a whine slips out of you, a tear gliding from your eye.

You’re seeing fucking white, blots of black dotted along your vision by the time he greedily slams inside you a final time with a low groan – something pleasingly warm filling you up, satiating you. Astarion holds your face and tugs it meet his for a breathy, passionate kiss whilst he twitches seed inside you - smiling in delight against your lips when you melt.

Relief is found; a warm glow settling on you despite your lids fighting their damndest to stay up. You’re a soft, slow little thing now, all but warm and ready to be taken by approaching slumber. Astarion gladly takes the chance to lie on his side and gather you in his arms, lips curving sweet yet again, but with less threat, as he watches you contentedly curl yourself up against his side. He sighs at the warmth that washes over him, thankful that fatigue has tamed you and fanned out that little spark and scratch you had earlier.

“Happy?” The smitten vampire asks, cheeky, smug as he pulls you closer into him, massaging your sore hips. “No need for you to go looking around for victims when you have me at your disposal, darling. I’d hate for you to lose sight on what really matters.”

You hum as if far away, you’d slap him in the morning that comes, but for now you’d let yourself be lulled into a soft, gentle slumber. A kiss on your head is the last thing you feel, a feeble little goodnight whispered.

[p1z-d0n7jud6em3]

THINKING ABOUT…..

Isagi Yoichi with a volleyball player!reader, who he first saw on Bachira’s phone.

Bachira was on his phone as Isagi entered the room, towel around his neck. He just came out of the shower, freshly dressed in the blue set of clothing provided by Blue Lock. Bachira was sat on his bed, phone in hand, as he intently watched something. Curious to see what, Isagi walked up to him, brow raised. “What’re you watching,” Isagi asks, settling down next to him.

Bachira then shoved the phone in Isagi’s face, catching him off guard. “What’s this-,” Isagi says, brows furrowed then his face contorts into one of recognition. “Is that-,” “Yup, it’s (name),” Bachira answers, watching the volleyball match.

It was a match of your team versus another’s. Isagi was invested. Not really in the match, but in you. You looked so beautiful, even when you were sweating. He thought you looked pretty. Pretty hot. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, but he couldn’t help but agree with it. Sweat dripping off your face, as you happily grinned, your team carrying you on their shoulders as you guys won. Your giggle could’ve been heard as the commentary was being said in the background.

Isagi’s blue eyes were fixated on you, you, and only you. Bachira noticed. Of course, he endlessly teased him about it, because of how red and hot Isagi’s face was.

Yup, Isagi had definitely fallen in love with you. At first sight. Through the screen of Bachira’s phone.

[muqingslover]

I am a firm believer Xavier is the type who enjoys grinding you on his cock without anything in between.

He would slide it between your folds while you straddle his lap, the same steady and deliciously lazy pace over and over again, smearing your pussy with his precum. Xavier absolutely loves to watch his cock spreading you open, how your hips eventually start to move on their own without his hands needing to guide you and how absolutely filthy the slick sounds in the room are. Oh the way he'd come with just your pussy rubbing against him and his cum with your own juices only makes it easier for you to slide back and forth.

He'd press his tip against your dripping slit just a bit, enough to stretch your desperate hole into shape for him, but pull away every time. Xavier is absolutely watching the whole thing the entire time like the pervert he is, not looking away from how you press his cock against your sensitive clit and whine so good for him. He enjoys the building up, seeing you grow more and more desperate only for him to slam into you all at once when you least expect, so easily, so deep, now that you're all wet for him

[ender1821]

It’s too much.

It’s all just too much. The aftershock of thunder striking not too far away. The chat log of each and every death so far. The wild cards that piled on and on.

Her heart, having now found a permanent spot in her throat, keeps on drumming.

And her eyes, welling up with tears that she can’t shed, fixates on her communicator.

GeminiTay was slain by Vex

Of course, a part of her can’t help but wonder why she’s even upset in the first place. Why, when all Gem has done this go around was push her away, does she even care? Shouldn’t she be happy that her enemy’s dead? Shouldn’t she be relieved? Glad?

Why can’t she breathe? Why does it feel like an anvil’s been dropped on her chest, or a sword’s been cleaved through her ribs? Why is she just standing here and staring and not doing anything—

A familiar fizzle starts in her ears, drawing her attention to the new line of text on her communicator.

A wildcard is active!

Before Pearl could even react, the musical accompaniment to the wild card announcement blares around her, getting her to jolt up. The groan building up in her throat can’t quite make its way out, fighting a losing battle with the sniffles and shallow breaths she’s forcing herself to take.

Guess she can’t even have some time to herself without the Game ruining the moment, huh?

Still, her instincts kick in with the help of the scare she’s just received. She… She has to keep going. Figure out what wild card got activated, find Cleo, and then…

Then…

Well, she’ll figure that out later.

Judging from the music that played after the new wild card activation, it’s probably that superpower card that got played. It’s definitely one of the better ones to be played at the moment, compared to having another crowd of mobs or a snail chasing her. Now, she just has to see which power she got.

Here goes nothing…

An uneasy feeling pools out from her gut, but she concentrates on using her power anyway.

At first, nothing changes about her. No goggles, no invisibility—

And then everything goes dark.

She yelps as her line of sight reduces to what’s within her arm’s reach, unable to catch her breath as something— no, multiple things rumble beneath her— the ground shakes, crumbling away to welcome a cacophony of gurgles and grumbles.

“What the heck—” Pearl mutters to herself, blinking furiously in an attempt to clear her vision.

She stumbles backwards.

Her back hits a body.

So, she whips around to face whoever—

Scar?

And it’s not just Scar. It’s Lizzie, and Jimmy, and Scott and Impulse and—

Oh.

Had her mind been given some time to actually think and process everything that’s been happening, she’d have most likely made some comment on how the Game just had to mock her one last time by giving her the power to bring her allies back from the dead. The cruelty of it all would certainly fall in line with what she’s been through so far.

But she can’t even get a word out. A whole group of corpses are staring at her, waiting on her.

Waiting for a command. That’s what Cleo did with Mumbo and Skizz, yeah? Give them a command, and they have to follow it.

“Uh,” Pearl starts, her heartbeat reverberating in her skull. What can she tell them to do? She doesn’t even know what she’s supposed to do right now, let alone instruct a whole band of zombies! Oh, and their gazes do not help at all, by the way.

What would someone else do here? She’s seen Cleo summon their zombies a handful of times, maybe if she just copy whatever they did before, it’ll work?

“Kill, um…” Pearl bites her lip. “Kill Joel. Go kill Joel.”

A couple of the undead cheer at the command, immediately running off to who knows where, because Pearl has no clue where Joel is. Or why she even picked Joel to begin with.

What she knows is that the command worked, and the zombies are dispersing. Honestly, she could care less about whether or not the zombies achieve the task or not. It was more to get them moving, get them doing something. She’s got to make some use of them, after all.

It’s also nice to not have all her friend’s rotting bodies watching her. She doesn’t have to look them in the eye and think about how she’s failed them again. That’s always a plus.

Alright, she sighs, enough of that. Time to find Cleo.

Pulling herself out of the daze she’s found herself in, she properly scouts out her surroundings. There’s her group of zombies bumbling about trying to find Joel, and there’s the Tuff Guys off in the distance, then there’s Gem—

Then there’s Gem.

Gem, with her head of fiery orange hair dampened by grime, a splatter of dried blood stuck on her cheek, her clothes grey and her skin lifeless.

Gem, who died mere minutes ago.

Gem, who makes Pearl feel as though a hand’s been plunged into her chest, when in reality she hasn’t laid a single hand on her.

“Kill Joel,” Pearl repeats, knowing full well how frantic she sounds as she does so. “I said— I said kill Joel. You’re supposed to do what I say.”

Gem’s eyes are greyed out as well, devoid of that glint that flashes whenever she makes a snarky comment, or the hatred she’d used to aim directly at Pearl when she visited, or anything that makes her stand out.

“Can you just— go?” Pearl makes a step towards Gem, but it gets no reaction from the body. “Go, okay? Just go somewhere else. Shoo.”

Barely suppressing the whine in her throat, Pearl resorts to drawing out her sword.

“Oh, you just had to come back and do this to me, didn’t you? I get not wanting to kill Joel, but this—” Pearl makes a wild swing through the air, missing Gem by a wide margin. “This isn’t funny, alright? You go weeks pushing me away, hating me when I’ve done nothing to you, and when you’re red you wanna be friends again? And— And you couldn’t even follow through on that.”

She rushes forward, bringing her blade a hair’s breadth from Gem’s neck.

“Go.” Pearl holds her sword as still as she possibly can, but even then, she can’t stop the trembling of her hand. The wavering of her voice. “Go? Please?”

It’s pathetic how she can’t even command her own minion to follow her instructions. It’s just pathetic. She can imagine Gem making fun of her already. If she put more energy into it, maybe she could warp the taut line that Gem’s lip forms into a smirk. Just a hint, a corner upturned or an amused huff. Gem would be laughing at her. Teasing her. She knows Gem would be.

She tilts the handle of her sword just slightly. The blade kisses the body’s pale neck.

Why can’t Gem just react? Why won’t she listen to her? Why couldn’t they have tried a little harder?

“Why’d you have to die on me like that, Gem?” Pearl chuckles, a bitter thing that she swallows back down as she drops her sword. There’s no point in killing her now, anyway. There’s nothing more she can do.

Gem doesn’t say anything. Not that Pearl was expecting her to.

It’s pathetic, but Pearl slumps onto Gem’s body, burying her head into the decaying shoulder.

A pair of stiff arms wrap around her, awkwardly moving with death’s rigidity to attempt a firm hold on Pearl.

The embrace is cold.

[umemiyan]

𝗧𝗢𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗢𝗜𝗞𝗔𝗪𝗔 𝗫 𝗗𝗢𝗠!𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / reader is a lil mean / there’s one slap / oikawa is a crybaby

he’s left fully nude and exposed while you, completely clothed, hover over him like a cruel, untouchable deity. however, tōru can see the peaks of your nipples through the fabric of your shirt. he wants to suck on them.

you’re hand milks the tip of his cock with graceful twists and squeezes, coaxing needy beads of pre-cum from the swollen head. he quivers and drools beneath your touch, desperate to fuck his length further into your fist.

“say you’re sorry, tōru.” your voice brings him out of a daze, but before he can think to respond, yet another expert twist of your wrist has his eyes wanting to roll back.

“a-ah!” he sucks in a breath and tries to keep from bursting. why are you being so mean to him? he just wants to cum! he deserves to cum!

you bring your hand up to land a smack against his cheek—not hard enough to hurt too badly, but it carries enough sting to draw a whimper from him and demand his attention. “say you’re sorry for acting like a fucking brat and embarrassing me.”

big brown eyes well up with tears fueled by sensitivity and regret. why are you being so mean to him? well… he supposes he could’ve behaved a little better…

“‘m sorry,” he mumbles softly, struggling to swallow his pride and speak through the pleasure.

“what was that?” you ask, dissatisfied with his lack of conviction. you slow your movements down substantially.

“i’m sorry!” he says much louder this time, eager to win your approval.

“for what?”

“for being a brat!”

you offer a genuine smile when you see tears finally fall from his lashes. then, you lean forward and kiss him with all the tenderness you can muster, giving him his first taste of you thus far. tōru sucks in your affection like nourishment.

pulling back, you move your lips up to his forehead. “good boy. you can cum now.”