#and it's only now that i'm in between jobs that the itch to write some poetry has returned somewhat

[pulverulents]

j.t. | 24/10/23 transcription below: 

My mother’s love language is pointing out my flaws. The years between jammy sticky fingers and monthly phone bills were spent auditing the parts of myself that resembled her and hiding away the parts of myself that didn’t, placing pennies in a jar for every cutting word she said, scribing every brittle cadence and bitter splatter. I’m twenty-four now, counting my damage like it’s spare change and wondering what the fuck was I saving up for. I’m twenty-four now, excavating the parts of myself that I denied in response to her derision. Still her words search my body without warning and I can’t help but flinch in anticipation of old wounds bursting open, messily sewn stitches ripped out, tender wine-red bruises blooming beneath my pallid skin. Slowly, painfully, like rubbing alcohol on bloodied knees, she reaches in between my ribs to pull my trauma out and demand that I look at it, ugly and restless and writhing. 

Or did I do that? I’m twenty-four now, trying to distinguish her voice from mine and terrified that I no longer know the difference. This I know: I’ve inherited a lifetime of self-loathing. Still I wonder – am I a masochist for wondering if I'm a narcissist like you?

— twenty-four

[gor3-hound]

meant to be yours

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, dead dove, unwilling cannibalism - reciever doesn't know! self-mutilation. obsessive, creepy, delusional reader. no real sex but masturbation n fantasies. very little smut and also a lil vomit.

a/n: idk why, but i... could not get this out of my head. been writing this the past few hours n it's now 1am... all i'm gonna say is read at your own discretion

word count: 1.9k words

There wasn't much good in your life. Not really. You'd never been one to talk much. No family, no friends. You spent most of your life working, dropping out of school, and saving money from a young age in order to pursue your one true passion - baking.

Opening up your own shop was hard. You went hungry most nights in order to skim a little cash from your dead-end job to be able to afford the down payment. But it worked. You had your own bakery, and business was booming.

For once in your life, you felt happy.

The day Leon came into the bakery for the first time changed everything. A festering desire found its way into your mind, an itch that wouldn't leave. He was your soul mate, you knew it. He was the sweetest thing you'd ever seen. So pure and untouched.

He made your skin crawl. You needed to be closer to him, to corrupt him in a way that no one would ever come close to you. You needed to be his, mind, body and soul. His smile made you nauseous. How many others had received that same smile?

No. You had to have him in a way no one else could.

You started experimenting. Simple things, really. Your love for him was all consuming, and you're sure in time he'd come to understand how much you worshipped him. He'd be appreciative of all you'd done for him once he found out.

It made it all worth it as you carved into your flesh for the first time. Your teeth clamped down on an old leather belt of yours to stiffle your screams, a piece of fabric tied tight around your thigh to slow the bleeding as you cut chunks of your flesh out.

The pain almost made you pass out, but you wouldn't let your weakness get in the way of showing devotion to Leon. You swallowed your bile as it rose up your throat, blinked past the blurriness of your tears.

You did your best to treat the wounds efficiently after. YouTube can only teach you so much, and your hands wouldn't stop shaking, so you couldn't wrap the bandage as tight as you should have. But that was okay. You couldn't go to the hospital, couldn't risk someone stopping your plan.

You swallowed some painkillers and went to bed, content with the knowledge that tomorrow was Saturday. That meant Leon would be coming. You had something really special for him.

You wake up with a hop in your step the next morning despite the excruciating pain you were in. You down more painkillers and pop the pack in your pocket, although it does little to dull your pain.

You grind the carefully harvested flesh down. You had already made the dough which had expanded nicely. This would have to be your best work, after all. You carefully lay out the necessary ingredients, combining them before placing the filling neatly into the dough.

You gather up the edges of the disc you'd made, folding them over the seasoned flesh and tucking them in to form a nice ball. You smile at yourself, feeling like you deserved a pat on the back. Once the egg wash is on, you place them into the oven and glance at the clock.

Perfect timing.

You smile and set up the rest of the bakery for opening. Once the buns are cooked, you take them out and place them in the back. You greet all the customers as friendly as always despite the burning in your thigh and the obsession making itself known in the forefront of your brain.

The closer it gets to Leon's usual entrance time, the more antsy you get. You can't keep still, shifting your weight between your feet as it becomes increasingly more difficult not to snap at every customer that walks in. They were all wasting your time.

Your eyes flick over to the clock on your wall constantly. The quiet ticking makes your eyes twitch and keeps your nerves on edge. You want to rip the clock from the wall and-

“Hey.” Your head snaps to the door. A smile makes its way to your face as you relax. Finally. You lean on the counter, your gaze trailing Leon's face appreciatively.

“Leon. Hi.” You breathe out, all the tension seeping out of your muscles. He makes all the pain you endured worth it, just to see his smile. “The usual?”

He nods softly, and you get to work packing his order. He likes to treat himself to a slice of cake and a pastry at the end of the week. It's the cutest thing ever to you, and you always like to throw in an extra little snack. On the house, of course.

“Hey, I tried something new today. Saved some for my favourite customer. Want to try it?” The festering in your mind returns tenfold. You didn't know what you'd do if he didn't accept. Your mind was screaming at you, wanting nothing more than to see him eat your flesh. To become one with you.

Please. Your mind supplies, your breathing growing shallow as you wait for his reply. The seconds feel like they stretch into hours, your nails digging into your palms and leaving little crescent shaped marks in the flesh.

“Sure! What did you make?” He asks, sweet as ever. The air you suck in after that satisfies your whole body, like the first breath of air after you'd been drowning. Your lungs stop burning, your mind stops screaming.

“I'm trying out some more savoury stuff. Trying to broaden my horizons, you know?” You say with a chuckle, stepping back to retrieve the tray. “I made some pork buns. Saved them just for you. They're all yours, if you like them.”

He lets out a laugh himself, eyes examining the food in front of him. “You're too good to me. These look amazing.”

Take one. Please. Just one.

“Ah, it's nothing.” You say causally, your eyes locked on his hands as they reach out for one of the buns. Your heart beats faster, feeling like it's about to break free past the cage of your ribs. “You're an officer. Just giving back.”

“Oh, is that what it is?” He says with an amused smile, finally picking up one of them.

Yesyesyesyes. Just a little longer.

It takes every ounce of willpower in you not to make a noise as he takes a bite. It's even harder to keep a neutral expression as he chews it, his eyes widening slightly. He swallows the bite, looks at you and grins. You lean forward, watching with morbid curiosity as his Adam's apple bobs, picturing the chunks of your flesh sliding down his throat.

“Wow! These are, like… really good. You should definitely start selling them.” He compliments, taking another bite. You watch him finish up the bun with increasing interest, your eyes practically sparkling with joy and your pussy throbbing with need.

“That's, um…” Your words come out shaky, so you clear your throat and try again. “Thank you. That means a lot. I'm really glad you liked it.”

“Did you need anything else today? Or is that all?” You ask politely, your hands idly brushing the edge of the counter - desperate for something, anything to ground you as you wait for his response. The anticipation was enough to drive you mad with desire, but you had to stay composed.

If only Leon could understand how much you truly wanted him. How much you needed him to see you, to really see you, not just look at you. What you'd do for him to touch you. Consume you. Become one with you.

“No, no. I think that's it.” He says with a head tilt, not looking unlike a puppy in that moment. You want to keep him in a little room, safe from the cruelty in the world. Maybe a cute little display case you dust off every day.

“Alright, no problem, then.” You say as you start to ring up his order, telling him the price and taking the money. “Let me just wrap these up, and you can be on your way.”

With practised ease, you quickly wrapped the ordered items in paper, making sure the wrapping is secure. Once done, you carefully place them into a brown paper bag, double checking everything was intact. Reaching out, you held it out towards Leon, a kind smile on your face as you tried to ignore the aggressive beating of your heart. Your hand shook slightly, yearning for contact. For just a tiny moment of skin on skin. "Here you go.”

“Thank you so much! I'll see you next week.” He tells you as he reaches for the bag, his fingers brushing yours lightly as he takes it, getting ready to leave the bakery.

"Have a wonderful day." You reply, your voice breaking slightly as you watch him walk away. Your eyes follow his form disappearing down the street until he was out of sight before you let out a ragged breath, collapsing against the counter. Today had been... too close. Too much contact. You needed to calm down.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Your mind wanders for the rest of the day, thinking about how satisfying it would be when you were finally his. You'd get him to accept your gifts with open arms. How could he not love you when he'd realised how much you'd sacrificed for him?

You wanted him to dip his tongue in your wounds, to thank you properly for the pain you'd sustained for him. You'd worship every inch of his body, give everything you'd had to him.

Oh, how good it would feel when he sunk his cock into you for the first time. You'd be perfect for him, open up so easily for him. You'd take every inch without complaint, let him fuck you as often as he wanted.

Maybe he'd sink his teeth directly into your neck when he realised how much he craved your flesh. You'd make him crave another taste. The thought made you shiver, arousal pooling into the gusset of your panties, making the fabric stick to you.

You closed up early to return to your apartment. You find your bed instantly, flopping down and stripping within seconds. You shove two fingers deep into your cunt as you pictured Leon fucking you. The sloppy wet noises fill your room as your moans echo off the empty walls.

Your free hand shifts to the wound on your thigh, and you press down harshly. You scream in pain, nausea hitting you instantly at the agonising pain. It's enough to make you cum, your pussy gushing around your fingers. You lean over the edge of the bed, throwing up onto the hardwood floor. You'd deal with it later.

You curl up into a ball, breathing heavily through tears and mucus as the burning sensation worsens. You can barely breathe through the acrid scent assaulting your senses. It was all worth it. You'd tear every muscle fibre of your body apart to show your reverence to Leon. No one can love him like you can.

You wouldn't be content until he devoured you whole. Not until your souls became intertwined and you were sure you'd plague his thoughts like he had plagued yours. His teeth would sink deep into the flesh of your still beating heart, and only then would he understand the extent to which you adored him.

His innocent appearance meant nothing when he could ruin you so completely with one simple look. One touch. One smile.

He already had.

[cloudyeventss]

I thought I try my hand at writing a little story about being 141's assistant. I'm not sure where I'm taking this or even if I should continue. Let me knoww but be sweet. This is literally my first attempt at writing anything

Warnings~ cussing, slightly anxious ? Idk

Y/n pov

He's staring right at me. Slouching slightly to his left, strands of blue dyed hair peeking out underneath his hat. He clearly hasn't been sleeping, I can see the dark circles under his eyes. I don't think I’ve seen him blink once. This is too much. Too fucking much I'm starting to fidget with the belt of my purse, shifting back n forth trying to ease my nerves. I'm overwhelmed and overestimated. This bus smells worse than a gas station bathroom, it doesn't help it’s hotter than the damn desert in here, my sweater is starting to itch and the constant sound of the buses bell going off is enough to make my head explode. GOD why did my car have to break down today? sweat is beading my forehead I feel nauseous. GOD DOES THIS MAN EVER BLINK?!? *ding* fuck finally my stop. I've never been more relieved in my life to leave somewhere... stepping outside I feel like I can breathe again not by much though, last night, laying in bed i got a call from my father's friend Laswell telling me to meet her at a Cafe not too far from my home. Usually, I wouldn't be so nervous to see her, being Laswell and my father worked together for the past 10 years. She’s been around quite a few times but this time She spoke about a potential job opportunity as an assistant overseas. I'm not even sure I heard her right, i was a bottle deep into Apothic red wine. Nothing special but drink enough it’ll knock you on your ass. I've been anxious ever since. After finishing my associates degree in mind and body psychology, I wasn't sure I wanted to continue with school. Maybe I just need a break, but I also need a job. I take one final deep breath to attempt to calm my nerves as I wipe my sweaty palms down my jeans. Okay now’s the time to be confident y/n don't freak out .....

There she is sitting with her back against the wall right in between both exits like always. I'd say she's paranoid but with the work she does it's more justifiable. Laswell stands to greet me "Y/n , it's great to see you!" She moves to sit, and I follow. " it's good to see you too Kate, it's been awhile" . Lunch goes by smoothly; it always was easy falling into conversation with her. A red headed waitress with long legs and black trim glasses drops us our check before walking off to tend to her other tables. My eyes follow her as she passes, she's one of those girls who are effortlessly beautiful. Laswell gains my attention again " so your father tells me you are looking for work"

" I am"

"I could use someone I trust"

"Tell me more"

.....

It'd been two weeks since I met with Laswell, and I accepted the job offer. She explained it mainly consist of filing paperwork and doing whatever task ask of me, running errands, and so on. Kate didn't really give me any details of who I'd work for, just that it was four men she trusted with her life and assured me I'd be in good hands. Today's the day I get on a plane and uproot my whole life. I spent every bit of yesterday taking care of last-minute arrangements. I sold my piece of shit Honda to some high school kid . I almost felt bad for taking his money, but I told him of its issues. In a way I'ma miss Johnny. I named my car after a porn star, Johnny Sins. Ha. It still makes me chuckle . My honda wasn't much, but it always got me where I needed to be hints the name. After taking care of my car I went to see my father. He graciously agreed to look after my apartment for me while I was gone. We spent the rest of the evening watching old westerns on TV and saying our goodbyes.

.....

It's only four hours into the flight, and I'm already regretting my decision. I've spent most of the time in the bathroom emptying my stomach while avoiding angry knocks on the door. The taste of bile in my mouth makes me a little less caring about the people outside. Deciding I can't spend the rest of the flight in the bathroom, I pick myself off the floor and do my best to rinse my mouth. Flying has never sat right with me. I like my feet on the ground instead of tempting God. Regardless, I have to tough it out, its not like I can get them to land now. I walk out the restroom, mumbling hushed, apologizes, and take my seat. Just six more hours.. you got this y/n.

[satansamwriting]

hi! saw your post from yesterday and im fairly new to ur blog :) can i ask for headcanons for kung lao and liu kang with a gender neutral reader who gets a lot of bug bites?? like in the summer they get bit a lot and it annoys them

HC Kung Lao and Liu Kang with a gn s/o who keeps getting bug bites.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

HI! I wasn't expecting someone to ask me that quickly. I'm farely new to writing headcanons so I tried my best and I hope you enjoy it as much as I had fun writing it.

Kung Lao

This man would find your "suffering" entertaining.

Like you two would be training together and suddenly the urge to scratch your bug bites would distract you enough to stop the fight and he'd be there watching you curse summer and all the bugs on Earthrealm with a grin.

Bug doesn’t seem to bite him and it annoys you. 

Amazed by how many bug bites you get

"(Y/N), the bug charmer"

Enjoy hearing your creative swearing as you discover new bites. 

It gets to a point where you discover bites in odd places like in the palm of your hand or in between your toes. He tries his best not to laugh as you complain about them.

Eventually, Kung Lao would take pity on you, seeing how much it bothers you and would try to find ways to help. 

Kung Lao  asked around the temple for anything that could help with (y/n)'s bug problems. It took some time, even after asking Liu and Lord Raiden, before finding someone that could help. A small bottle of diluted citronella oil in hand, he thanked the monk before making his way back to (y/n). He finds them sitting on the training ground currently trying to fight off the bugs that surrounded them.  “Here, this should help.” Taking a seat next to them, he pries open the bottle and poured a small amount in the palm of his hand.  “ I think my last option is to ask Grandmaster Liang if I could live at his temple during summer. At least bugs would leave me alone.” Rubbing the oil on the several bites covering their body, Kung Lao tries to hide his grin.  “ And leave me here all alone for months?” Satisfied with his job, Kung Lao closed the bottle, pocketing it in case they would need it again. His grin never left his face as he looked at them. (Y/n) seemed to be weighing the options in their head. Signing as if they made the most difficult decision in their life (y/n) stood up and stretched.

“Oh the sacrifices I make for you.”

Kung Lao couldn’t help but laugh as he took  (y/n) extended hands.

Liu Kang

Similar to Kung Lao, this boy doesn’t get bug bites. 

Although, he is more sympathetic toward you whenever you get new bites or complain about the itch. 

Would start to worry if the bites become more apparent on your skin.

Liu Kang is curious to know why, despite the both of you being outside together, the bugs only bite you

Even though he himself doesn’t get bitten , he knows you shouldn’t scratch them. And so, he tries to keep your mind off the bites by training with you.

Secretly finds it entertaining as long as it doesn’t get worse.

Asks around the temple for any advice on how to appease your itch 

It  was a warm day at the temple. Liu Kang and (y/n) were meditating, hiding in the shade to avoid getting sunburn. The meditation was going smoothly until Liu Kang's concentration was broken by a loud smack. Opening his eyes, he turned toward (y/n), who was trying their best not to scratch the newest bite. Liu Kang could see how annoyed they were and, with a soft smile, decided to help with their discomfort.  “Wait here.” The chosen one left his partner for a short while, knowing full well that they would take this opportunity to scratch the bite. He came back soon after with a small bowl filled with cold water and a towel in hand.  “I heard cold water help ease the itching sensation.” Wetting the towel, Liu Kang gently wrapped it around the bite and watched as they smiled in relief. “ Thanks, it does help a bit.”  Too distracted now to continue their meditation Liu Kang and (y/n) spent the rest of the time enjoying the warmth of the day sitting in the shade. Whenever the itching sensation got too intense again, (y/n) would simply remove the towel and wet it again. If the water in the bowl became lukewarm, Liu Kang would stand up and change it for cold water. When other bites started to show up, Liu Kang searched for ways to repel the bugs. One of the monks, who overheard him talk about the problem to Kung Lao, offered him straws of lavender. Thanking the monk, Liu Kang left his friend to find his partner. (Y/n) was scratching at one of the bites when he arrived. The smell of lavender slowly filled the air around them.  “I told you not to scratch yourself while I'm gone.” Placing the flowers in between them, Liu Kang took hold of (y/n) hands in order to prevent them from worsening the bite.  “In my defence,you were back when I started to.” Smiling, Liu Kang kept holding their hands as the two of them continued their conversation.  Despite how annoying it was to get bug bites all summer long, (y/n) enjoyed the care Liu Kang gave them. 

[briannysey]

You have a fun short story idea. You sit down to write it. Nothing big only like 2k words.

You don’t quite finish it. You go to work. In your cubicle the idea itches like a scab in your brain. At last you get home. The story has grown, you’ll need a few extra words to get it finished. No biggie. You keep going. It gets late. Wow, the tale has grown in the telling. Just over 4k words and it’s not done. You really shouldn't miss any extra sleep, but ten extra minutes of writing won’t hurt.

The next morning, between clients you doodle outlines for the story. That’s weird, to do the story justice it’ll need more words. Quite without noticing it’s become a novelette. You forget about your last clients of the day as you wander in the world of your story, trying to figure out how to get it right, how to do it justice.

You call in sick the next day, and the day after that. Inspiration comes so rarely you know? We have to chase these things when they come for us.

You sail past the word count for a novella, and soon enough you have to face the truth: you’ve got a gen-u-ine novel on your hands. You’ve had so much success with the writing! It would be a shame to go back to work.

When you explain it to your doctor he looks at you with a raised eyebrow. “I don't understand how that made you break your foot,” he says. But work says they just need in the office to do the job. Your doctor signs the FMLA paperwork, then HR. You have some savings, you’ll be fine while you ride this inspiration where it’ll take you.

You miss your brother’s birthday, then your mother’s. You stop answering calls. Somewhere somehow the story has soared past acceptable word counts for a novel. No publisher would publish a book this big. You make the reasonable decision to split the novel into two. This is good, it will help you capture the themes of your story better.

You stop answering your phone. When your angry family knocks on the doors to your house you lock the entries and yell back “I'm sick, I'm so very sick. I’ll let you know when I'm well!”

Your fingertips blister and bleed in their sacrifices for the novels (a trilogy now!), so you use talk-to-text to draft for a bit.

Disaster strikes.

Your laptop, over-exerted from months of running word processors, struggling under the weight of files with thousands of pages of text, at last collapses into a gruesome screen of white text on violent blue background. You despair. You anguish. You scream until the neighbors call in a wellness check, and you fool the officer with claims of “too loud horror tv.”

You sell your car and walk down to the computer shop with your laptop. You use the car-proceeds to get the files onto a hard drive, buy a printer, buy a shitty little used laptop, then walk home in brutal Summer’s heat. You place delivery orders for pens and boxes and boxes of ink refills. You order paper too. Mountains of it, in fact.

You’re not quite sure how or when, but the trilogy became a series and the series became a layered set of chronicles. You’re sure of it now: this is your magnum opus. Someday people will write about you and your boiling, uncontainable story.

You’re running out of money, and have to eat. You order as much oatmeal as you can in huge bulk shipments. They should last long enough. Your family has long since stopped knocking, and if they're calling the calls wouldn't come through the cancelled, unpaid line anyway.

You run out of paper. You start writing on walls and furniture and over old books in your library. You run out of ink, so you use pencils and crayons and old paint cans, and then you stretch the old paint with water until the town shuts off your water.

Your skin starts to hang loose on you as you lose weight. You bruise heavily when you trip down the stairs in the morning, and your mouth tastes like so much iron as your gums bleed of their own accord. The oatmeal grinds and scratches between your aching teeth. You set up rain-catches at the bottoms of the gutters, and though the water doesn't taste great, it’s a small price to pay for your passion. You rarely tire these days, or sleep. The story fills you with feverish energy. There’s so much more to write and so little time!

You start to get lost in the shifting plot lines. Some smaller stories repeat themselves in spirals, and you’re not sure if you had a point with these narrative recursions. Did you flanderize this character? Is that character dying in this scene but alive in the next? Perhaps you were a little too ambitious for your first big story. But you tell yourself that that’s madness. You write the stories that come to you, no matter how huge. When you stretch to new heights you become a better writer! Think about how much better the next story will be now that you have all this experience!

Disaster again. You’ve run out of paint and homemade charcoal and ink.

A knock comes at the door, a man in an ugly button-up and tie claiming that your house is getting foreclosed. Something about an unpaid mortgage. You realize that this was the wake up call you needed. The opportunity to fix things.

“Please, come in!”

“Oh my god, what’s happened in here?”

“I think I have a problem sir. I’m very sorry about the unpaid mortgage. Here sit down, can you tell me what the problem is?”

“What the problem is? We’ve called you a dozen times! The house is already- this writing is all over the walls! Why is the writing in circles on the wall over there?”

“I dunno, seemed like the right way to do it.”

“And are these… family photos that have been written over?”

“Yes sir. I think, I think I have a serious problem. Do you think you can help me?”

“I- I don't know. This seems like we might need to call for a psychiatric crisis. The good news is- what are you doing with that knife!”

At last you have an ink refill! And what beautiful red, red ink.

[overwhelmed-overweight]

hey, i really appreciated the post you made on BED. describing ana habits w bed as pouring oil over a fire is so accurate. do you have any more relevant tips to lose weight? or to break the cycle? im really struggling.

I'm glad (and sad tbh) so many people felt seen by that post!

Honestly I could write a book on how to lose weight, both from a scientific nutritional and psychological standpoint, but the reality is that I haven't even succeed in my own efforts yet lol. Any "proven"(?) tips I could give would be ones that y'all have probably read and heard hundreds of times over.

But I have a feeling this post is gonna get long, so the rest will be under the cut!

In my opinion, the difference between knowing what to do and actually doing it is meeting yourself where you are.

For example, lately I'm dealing with intense stress (family issues, getting ready to sell our house and move to a big city, financial issues, job hunting, a late period...) and it makes it hard to identify emotional eating triggers or fight off addictive tendencies and impulses as a result. It's taking everything in my power and more to not bully the shit out of myself.

As easy as it is to be hard on yourself when facing BED, it only makes things worse. If stress is one of the biggest triggers for BED and you place extra stress on yourself for binging, it ends up being counterproductive as fuuuuck. I know yall know, but it's worth reminding. I know I'm going to binge lately, so instead of fighting it for now I'm just doing damage control.

In terms of tips, I've got a couple that help me personally

Keep a lot of fresh produce and other "safe foods" prepped. I'm a slut for strawberries, air fried tempeh, frozen grapes, rice & gochujang with seaweed, stuff like that.

WATER. This might be an odd one, but before eating anything I'll drink some ice cold water because if I can feel the water hitting my stomach and making it noticeably and entirely cold inside, it means I'm not that full and should/can eat a little. If it's just a little cold, it means I'm mostly full. Preloading with water also keeps me from eating quite as much as I otherwise would.

(TW: sex) If you're so inclined, do something sexual. A lot of the time when I try to figure out what I'm really craving when I'm about to binge, I notice an itch for bold physical stimulation (usually flavor + chewing) and the calming effects that flood my body when that need is met. Masturbation helps me a lot tbh, sometimes I'll make it a whole thing and put on makeup and lingerie. It's not foolproof but it has helped me avoid binges before (especially if you have an enthusiastic partner like mine lmao)

I might edit this post as I think of things. I just want to make sure I'm putting healthy information out there :')

[sinisterexaggerator]

Bossk x AFAB Reader

Summary: You join a small crew of other mercenaries on the lookout for your next big score, but there is time to kill before the hunt begins and you have an itch to scratch -- one that only a Trandoshan can reach with his sharp talons.

Warnings: NSFW / 18+ for size kink, cumflation, kissing, PiV sex, cunnilingus, blowjobs, alcohol consumption, and straight-up monsterfucking. Includes a little fluff, aftercare, and cuddling. Ending inspired by this artwork. P.S.: Bossk has two dicks.

Word count: 7500+

Notes: This is my first time writing for Bossk. I'm not sure if anyone will even read this or how many Bossk fans there are, but I've had it in my head to write a Bossk smut for a few months now, and I finally had time to do it! I haven't been able to publish anything in awhile, but I'm now settled in my new place and happy to get back into the swing of things.

*Banner and divider by me.

Bossk'wassak'Cradossk was a mouthful in more ways than one, you imagined. Luckily, to call a Trandoshan by his or her full name was not customary, and you were to be spared trying to pronounce anything but “Bossk.”

You had done your homework, impressing at least one of your new acquaintances, though that did not stop the reptilian-humanoid from introducing himself with a flash of his tongue. His preferred, shortened title was spoken so thunderously that it overpowered the cacophony of other voices in the bar. It was enough to ensure you would not make the same mistake twice.

That one syllable had been expelled between two rows of knife-sharp teeth, your eyes unable to focus on anything but this beast’s mouth -- that was until you noticed his head tilting incrementally to the left. He was regarding you curiously, a snorted breath being discharged from his flaring nostrils. It seems he had asked you a question and you had failed to hear it.

“What’sss the matter, tooka got your tongue?” he snickered, folding his arms as he waited for some kind of explanation as to your odd behavior.

“I-” you began, thinking quickly to cover your increasing embarrassment, “-I’ve just never been this close to a Trandoshan before. Much less the legendary hunter Bossk,” you finished, buttering him up. It may as well have been the truth, the only thing you failed to mention being the trailing thoughts fluttering around inside your brain in regard to his statuesque proportions.

This met with his approval, the mercenary belting out a short, sharp laugh. “Well, today is your lucky day then, issssn’t it,” he stated in a sarcastic tone.

You looked to the right at your partner; she had organized this little excursion. Scoria was a skilled bounty hunter in her own right, but she had convinced you that you would need help for this next job. Currently, she was talking to a man named Dengar who had introduced himself moments earlier. You caught his eye briefly; he had the nerve to wink at you.

Quickly looking away, you returned your attention to the Trandoshan who interrupted everyone all at once, his voice grating, yet somehow soothing to the ears. “We’ll head out at first light. I know how pathetic human eyesight isss in the dark.”

You had the sense of knowing he fully believed that statement.                        

“For now, let’ssss grab a drink,” he practically commanded, no one bothering to disagree with his proposal.

“Bossk, did I eva’ tell ya’ I love the way you think?”

“Shut up, Dengar,” the creature snapped back, causing you to suppress a laugh. He had emitted a growl that was downright predatory. You felt a little something dance down your spine. Fear? Excitement?

Following behind the others at your own pace, you thought it was a miracle this little backwater planet even had a bar, much less a room, your target lurking in the deepest, darkest depths of the forest where he had carved out a special place for himself among the native flora and fauna.

This being was said to be a Jedi sympathizer wanted by the Empire, and worth so much that even splitting the earnings four ways would have you sitting pretty for some time. Your quarry had spent the last several years funneling Jedi and Force-users to safety, the intel he possessed worth its weight in spice.

The worry was he would not be alone, and there would be many parties to contend with, more than you two could handle on your own – that’s where these so-called guns for hire came in.

You could not deny you were intrigued. In fact, maybe more than that.

Truth be told, as soon as you discovered who Scoria planned to solicit for help, you spent hours rifling through said hunters’ files. While Dengar was a notable hunter hailing from Corellia, Bossk was a powerful warrior of his ilk and had quite the track record, both working with hunters such as Aurra Sing, Embo, and Boba Fett, a man you had yet to lay your eyes on.

The sheer size of him, standing somewhere at 6’3” or taller, forced you to have to crane your neck when looking up into his eyes, the color of burning embers, black as pitch pupils swimming in a sea of red.

His talons were sharp as razors, as were the ones on his feet, capable of ripping a man in two should it be required of him, you suspected, yet you wondered how gentle he could be…

Your musings were interrupted when your partner asked for your order, Dengar having already rushed ahead, and Bossk having taken up residence on a nearby stool that barely supported his unique build. You stared unapologetically, having a rather impure thought, suddenly wondering what his weight might feel like on top of you instead.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” you nodded your head in the scaled sentient’s direction, the yellow clad merc turning his neck markedly to stare at you over his broad shoulder.

“HA! So you figure you can handle Trandoshan ale, do you?” Bossk snickered, banging the flat of his hand against the countertop where the awaiting bartender stood with a somewhat apprehensive look on his face. Though the lizard only had three ���fingers,” he held up two, demanding his order to be fulfilled.

“Two. Trandoshan alesss,” he instructed with a snarl, seemingly not able to control his natural mode of being despite his intellect. By all definitions of the word, he was a monster. A monster that could walk and talk, among other things. Things you found yourself to be interested in; unsavory things; salacious things.

“What about me, Bossk?” Dengar asked, crestfallen.

The reptilian laughed full-fledged in his face before bothering to answer. “You’re on your own.”

“Well, excuuuse me for breathin’,” he snidely replied, Dengar deciding to rejoin Scoria who had found herself an opening toward the other end of the bar. Perhaps he wanted to continue their conversation, you surmised, curious as to the manner of their talk; Dengar made sure to call out to his partner before walking out of earshot.

“Remind me ta neva’ pick up your tab again.”

“Whatever, idiot,” Bossk shot back, though he had kept that booming voice of his lowered on purpose, making you wonder about the true dynamics of their relationship – it seemed complicated.

“Is this seat taken?” you thought to ask, another cutting breath being fired off from out of the hunter’s snout.

“What does it look like?” he quipped, not bothering to say yes or no. You thought that might be the closest thing to an invitation that you would get. You gingerly took your place beside him just as the barkeep returned with your ale.

The creature passed one toward you, then took up his own mug. He raised it in a toast, then bellowed out, “bottoms up.”

You held your tongue as you desired to turn his idiom into an innuendo. Instead, you collected your drink, hoping you had not gotten yourself in over your head.

After taking the first sip it was clear that you had.  

You coughed, so potent was its taste. Although it appeared normal enough, the hops must have been so aged that you assumed it had been around since the dawn of the galaxy. In fact, it was so strong, you wondered why it was not being used to power starships.

The Trandoshan laughed heartily, pointing one long claw very close to your face to accentuate his words. “Figures!” he taunted. “Never known an ape who could stomach the stuff, much less a hairless one,” he japed as an insult to your kind.

Once marginally recovered, you gave him a look, determined to not give up and for Bossk to label you a sissy. He was little known for withholding opinions, whether favorable or not, or so you had heard.

“It’s just strong, is all,” you rationalized. “I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Strong, like me,” he confirmed with a terse cackle, taking a chug of his own ale before making you an offer. “If you don’t drink it, I will.”

Defiantly, you took another swig, this time managing to not pull a face. Not sure of its alcohol content, you were already starting to feel a buzz. Smirking, you realized your inhibitions were beginning to lower, but you had already been in an impish mood.

“So I noticed,” you said, wondering if he would perceive your words the way you meant them.

His reply was casual and dismissive. “Maybe your eyesss are sharper than I thought.” He was not one to miss an opportunity to flatter himself, as if your complimenting him was not enough.

“So very humble, Bossk,” you stated sarcastically and with some familiarity, as if you had known this sentient for more than ten minutes. The hunter made a sound that was reminiscent of an angry snake; you regarded him out of the corner of your eye.

‘What do you know?” he asked with a somewhat irritated quality to his voice.

“Nothing,” you admitted, taking a chance to amend this by asking him a little something about himself. You were curious, after all, and at the moment feeling gutsy. “So, tell me then: how did you become such a skilled hunter?”

Without missing a beat, the Trandoshan easily proffered an answer. “The Sssscorekeeper, she smiles down upon me.”

Not surprisingly, you knew little about Trandoshans or their home planet, Trandosha, much less about their customs and culture. You felt a bit ignorant, hoping that he would not be offended at your cluelessness about his people. “The Scorekeep? May I ask who she is?”

“The Great Goddesssss….” Bossk began, talons wrapping firmly around his glass. “She exisssts beyond time and ssspace. She watches the hunt-” he said with gusto, “-and rewards us for our killsss.”

“And she favors you,” you added.

“Yesssss, for I am the best!” he concluded, self-assured.

“I see,” you said offhand.

You thought for a moment about what you had learned, not having much in the way to add. He took this opportunity to take a drink of his ale as you came up with another question, this one causing the corner of your mouth to twitch as you moved your stool a little closer to his. “And what do you think of human Gods? We don’t put much faith into them ourselves.”

Bossk turned his head your way and huffed but did not say anything so as to impede your progress. You wondered if he had any idea you were experiencing an attraction to him, or if he was purposely ignoring it.

“Weak!” he nearly shouted, a few patrons rotating in their chairs to stare.  Your eyes darted around quickly, noting that to bring attention to yourselves might alert the wrong kinds of people of your presence on this rocky world. This did not seem to concern the Trandoshan whatsoever. It was possible he enjoyed the attention, or assumed he could handle himself no matter the situation, therefore he did not think about those kinds of things. Whatever the case, he continued:

“Your Gods deal in suffering. Your reward is pain,” he growled. “Sssstupid.”

You could not argue with that and thought he had a valid point. It did feel that way sometimes, as if whoever was in charge of the universe enjoyed chaos and mayhem, strife and discord, or made a game of it and humans their pawns.

Smiling warmly, you scootched a little closer, allowing your elbow to brush against his. “And what do you think of human girls?” you asked, your voice matching your mood, so very tempted to finger the lightweight yellow material that clothed the reptile.

Bossk made a jerking motion and looked squarely at you, a sound being produced by his vocal chords that signified he was taken aback by your query. Blood-red eyes traveled your form; he took a moment before he finally responded, and it was not what you had hoped for.

“Piss off, sissssster… I’m trying to relax.”

You openly pouted, immediately quieting yourself as you took another drink of your Trandoshan ale. Having temporarily forgotten about its pungency, you almost choked, swallowing it down before having another coughing fit.

Bossk shook his head, chuckling darkly at you, perhaps finding you nearly dying to be amusing. “You don’t have to finish that, you know.”

“I don’t want you to think I’m weak,” you confessed. “I wanted to impress you.”

“HA!” the bounty hunter enunciated dryly. “Impress me with your hunting skillssss,” he asserted. It seemed he was making a habit of laughing at your expense.

That did not deter you. Testing the waters, you trailed a finger down the outside of his prodigious thigh, not really knowing what had come over you except you were inexplicably drawn to this… man.

And perhaps it was because he was not a man, or at least not a man the likes of which you had ever seen, that you were captivated by him, though you had been witness to many things this side of the galaxy that were strange and unusual, not so different from a Trandoshan, you thought, and yet --

“--Maybe I could impress you some other way?” you volunteered coyly, that third swig of ale having emboldened you more so than before.

Bossk angled his head like a curious animal, first in one direction and then the other. He glanced down at your finger tracing his leg and blinked -- you presumed he thought you ridiculous, waiting for him to tear you down once more.

“Are you flirting with me?!” he asked quizzically, and rather loudly at that. If you could have read his expression, you wondered if he might be confronting some sort of disbelief. However, his face was all teeth and tongue, his mouth stretching back nearly to where his ears should have been were he a member of your species. It was impossible to tell his true mood, at least as far as you were aware.

You returned a rather nervous, yet daring, “I don’t know, am I?”

He virtually howled, blood rushing toward your cheeks as he slapped his knee with an open palm. “You couldn’t handle me princessss,” he chided once he had calmed down enough to speak.

Feeling rebellious, your sullen temperament was not helping matters, as you were now speaking before you thought things through.

“Wanna bet?” you scowled.

“How much?” Bossk leaned forward across the bar top, not wasting a moment’s time, his face so close to yours you could feel his hot breath on your skin.

“My half of the bounty tomorrow,” you said without hesitation. You mentally slapped yourself.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, ssssweetheart. You’ll be lucky If you can walk.”

---

Bossk had a ship, the Hound’s Tooth. His modified YV-666 light freighter was more than well-equipped for his dirty deeds, and then some. Parked right outside the seedy establishment you had occupied, the lizard had taken to finishing your drink and the rest of his.

Taking you by the wrist like some ancient, uncivilized being, he had guided you outside, locking his talons around you with a surprisingly careful grip. He had chuckled deviously to himself, as if he had just won a prize, and perhaps he thought he had; you were not sure how often the hunter partook of sins of the flesh, nor did you care to ask. Instead, you planned to win that bet, however much of an excuse it was to get him in the sack.

The moment you stepped inside, the door slid closed, and Bossk was on you like a predator with caught prey, your body tossed like a ragdoll into the hull of his ship. You gasped, yet you would be lying if you said you didn’t prefer things a little rough, already anticipating what would happen next.

“Let’s ssseeee if you’re all talk…” he hissed into your ear, the tip of his forked tongue flitting against your earlobe. You were stock-still, as if caught in his hunter’s snare. You swallowed down your spit, one arm rising in an attempt to touch him.

“Sssssskkkk…”  At once intimidated, Bossk slapped your hand away, his own returning to curl a talon against the crook of your cheek. It grazed itself along your jawline before coming to rest at your chin. He pinched you delicately as a show of good faith; he did not plan to hurt you if he could help it. Then, that same claw slid down, down the line of your sternum and came to a halt at the edge of your lowcut top.

“Some cleavage,” he said derisively, its pointed tip pushing lightly against the fabric that barred your breasts; you were wearing a one piece leotard for range of movement, having left your weapons on Scoria’s ship. Bossk sliced it open with a single swipe, leaving fleshy mounds exposed for his naked eye.

He carefully watched the way they bounced and fought against gravity. Though large, he thought them perky, the apex of his longest finger lightly fondling your quickly hardening nipple. You stood transfixed, panting against the wall and somewhat shocked that he would cut to the chase so fast by nearly wholly undressing you in the airlock of his ship.

“Tooka must have your tongue again,” he teased, inching so close it made you wonder how it would be to kiss him.

“Good thing it doessssn’t have mine,” he finished, and it appeared he was going to address that very thing. The thin expanse of his long tongue delved soundlessly into your half-opened mouth, bypassing your dull, human teeth, Bossk engaging you in such a way that it took your breath away.

You felt a tickle at the back of your throat, the monstrosity having buried himself to the hilt that was his fang-filled maw. You thought he must be able to taste what you had for breakfast at this rate, your hands, tiny in comparison to his, aiming to push against the wide expanse of his chest.

The hunter rasped, that elongated, warm muscle traveling backward as he pulled his head a bit aways, the vertex of your tongue finally able to find his. You toyed with its unique feel, Bossk having no shame as he palmed the round of your breast, squeezing gently at first before he released you from his strangely deep and passionate kiss.

“I’m just getting ssstarted,” he assured you, his large frame dropping down before you to where his head was level with your chest. The sound of his knees hitting the duralloy beneath echoed throughout the entirety of the small chamber as it startled you to stand up straight.

Both of his massive hands took hold of either side of the remains of your outfit, shredding it off your arms and legs, then tossing it idly to the floor at your feet so that you were left with nothing but your boots. You shivered at the sudden breeze against your now bare flesh, Bossk snickering as he admired your human shell.

“Cold? You won’t be for long with me warming you up,” he forewarned.

You had little time to respond. In fact, you didn’t, so fixated on the Trandoshan’s scaled face before you that you couldn’t think of a thing to say. You watched in awe as the tongue that kissed you found the divot between your tits, the lizard licking a path from the base of your breasts to the underside of your vulnerable throat.

You shuddered in delight, closing your eyes instinctively, though your small reprieve didn’t last long as a flicker of something warm and wet darted across both your nipples at the same time. He had pushed your tits together, aligning them, little bolts of pleasure causing a moan to escape you.

The pressure of them being smooshed between inhuman hands, and the soft, nuanced use of his tongue induced a throb between your legs. Bossk suddenly growled, pulling away, having smelled a change in your pheromones that exacerbated his primal instincts. You nearly jumped when one of his hands lifted to disappear below, the back of a claw, shiny and smooth, skimming down the length of your torso to right between your folds.

The curved, rounded arch brushed softly against your clit, parting your lower set of lips as he hissed a bestial sound. You trembled involuntarily, feeling almost ashamed of how wet that had made you, what you thought was a dastardly smile unfurling across the extent of the large reptilian’s face.

“Let’s have a tassssste,” he remarked, dropping your other breast for his now free hand to join in with his other. You felt the sensation of something sharp splaying your labia apart as his tongue, featherlight, dragged itself from the recess of your vagina, all the way to the top of your sensitive cluster of nerves.

You twitched against your will, pinned to your spot as your chest contracted with a breathy exhale. The bastard chuckled at your reaction, your spasming only further encouraging him.

“Barely touched you, doll face. Wait for it…” he lisped suggestively. Your legs nearly gave out beneath you once he really started in.

Fast flicks were administered to your already pulsating clit, your entire body quivering as your breathing picked up speed. The forks of his tongue stimulated you in ways you had not thought possible, the stretch of your lips between clawed digits exposing every nerve fiber to his attack.

Your bosom rose and fell as your breathing picked up, unable to control the pathetic whines and quavering mewls that fell loose on his ears. He only increased in fervor, and before you knew what had happened, you had crumbled into a heap amidst an intense orgasm.

Legs finally betraying you, you slid down the hull. Bossk pulled his muzzle away from you, once more laughing to your dismay. You cursed him under your breath, the Trandoshan at once standing up from off his knees even as you sat in a disarray on the floor. You could feel both the dampness of his saliva and your own secretions dripping down your inner thighs.

“Hmm, what was that? Don’t think I heard you, princess,” he informed you in a gravelly tone. You had no time to recover before he bent down to scoop you up, as if you were nothing more than his plaything and weighed about as much as a child’s toy.

“Come here,” he directed forcefully, though you may as well not have any say in the matter, Bossk holding onto you in his big, strong arms only to lift you up and set you down atop his shoulders -- frontwards.

You gasped, not knowing how you had even made it up there so quickly, finding your crotch to be centered with the lizard’s snout and your knees resting against his shoulders while your legs hung limply along his back. But then, you felt something else. There was a gentle writhing happening deep inside you, realizing he had sunk his bifurcated tongue straight into your core.

You groaned in ecstasy, unable to stop yourself even if you had wished to, that snake like organ massaging your walls as his beak rubbed against your still thrumming bud.

Your thighs tightened around either side of his mammoth skull, breasts pressed firmly against his face as your arms enshrouded the back of his head and drew him in. You subtly shifted your hips to and fro, finding yourself to be fucking his mouth with your cunt as he carried you aloft and down the hall.

He withdrew for just a moment with a slurp, causing you to whimper lewdly. “Watch your head,” he cautioned.

You looked backward and realized you would need to duck, clearing the entryway to the rest of the alien creature’s ship; the airlock shut behind you as you both vacated the area, and for a moment you dared to look around. However, once you had accomplished not beheading yourself, the Trandoshan made a guttural sound, delving back inside your pussy as he snarled predaceously, working his way deeper into the plush confines of your moist heat.

“Fuck,” you panted, hips once more gyrating slowly across his squirming tongue. He was playing with his food, you decided, somehow the man having found your g-spot as he worked it with unmatched patience. Your weight lifted up and off him as you raised your pelvis to meet his mouth; he was incessantly tickling you toward another release, and you could not help but want to get nearer to its source.

“Oh, fuck, Bosssssk,” you hissed out his name as if you were a Trandoshan yourself, a blast of hot breath streaming forth from his nostrils to scorch your skin as he laughed, even while still steeped inside you. You thighs clenched harder until finally you came, your body at once going limp so that the hunter would have to fully support you as he slid you off his shoulders and into his awaiting arms.

“That’ssss my name,” he stated to your annoyance, your eyes darting up as your chest heaved. Your expression alone informed him you were displeased at his attempts to be a smartass, hoping he did not force you to endure the other half of that childish phrase.

The man chuckled again instead. You were abruptly discarded with a thud, finding yourself tossed haphazardly onto what you thought was an oversized bed. You looked up at him, unable to hide your mild indignance. That’s when you saw it -- the size of his erection, jutting out obscenely beneath its cloth restraints.

“Shit,” you muttered,eyes widening. It was apparently time to put your money where your mouth is, and possibly quite literally. Still, you sat agape, having not even laid your eyes on anything but its substantial outline, and already you were thinking of chickening out. But that did not mean you weren’t at least somewhat curious.

“Shit is right, sssweetheart,” he jeered. “You’re in for it now.”

The man had little in the way of modesty, unhooking the white flack vest from around his chest to let it hit the floor. Then, trusting you enough – not that you were any match for him, and naked at that – he disarmed himself and allowed the remainder of his gear to be discarded in much the same manner, leaving him wearing nothing but his pressurized suit.

Finally, two talons started at the top of a hidden zipper to be cleanly whisked to just below his belly, Bossk shucking off the sleeves to leave his torso bare. Your eyes traversed his rough hide, though it was not unattractive, inquisitive to his very nature as his flesh was so different from yours, or any other species you had thus encountered for that matter.

Bossk’s firm pectorals lacked nipples, perhaps why he had favored yours with special attention earlier, though he had washboard abs that cascaded in ripples, exposing the tantalizing vision that was his rectus abdominis muscles. His scales were multiple shades of green, seamlessly overlapping one another, yet some jutted out more than others and came to tiny points like the ones lined along the arch of his skull. Overall, the Trandoshan’s calvarium was covered in these small, needle-like spikes, part of you wondering what their purpose was besides being a kind of organic armor; you would not bother to quiz him on the subject.

Together, you were skin and scales, now finding yourself to be daydreaming about what his body would feel like pressed up against yours, so frail in comparison; you deduced it would not be long before you found out, yet the grandiose size of his genitalia gave you pause. You were both eager and uneasy about seeing it outright.

He was not one to leave you hanging, his alien phallus springing forth from the gap in his suit where the zipper had parted; it was beyond sizeable, making your mouth water while at the same time putting the fear of God into you.

You were not sure what you were supposed to do with it.

“That’s not going to fit,” you blurted out, your eyes never once leaving the hardened, ridged cock of the creature before you. Its girth was nearly half as thick as your own forearm, an array of ribs and crests protruding conically along its outer edge on either side. The tip of his dick was shaped like the head of an arrow, though more rounded and robust, its entire length tinged an emerald hue that was brighter than his scales; unbeknownst to you, Trandoshan blood was green.

“It will if you want it to,” he sizzed sharply, something akin to a shit-eating grin having overtaken his face. “And you best make room for one more,” he advised, pushing down the remainder of his jumpsuit to reveal what he’d been hiding --there were two?!

You audibly gasped, Bossk placing his foot upon the bed beside you. One elbow came to a rest on his knee after he stepped out of the leg holes of his ensemble. He leaned forward toward you against his arm for balance, leaving nothing to the imagination; you openly gawked at his chiseled form. He waved a hand patronizingly in your direction, deciding to remind you of the alternative.

“Or-” he offered, “- you can give up now and expect to pay me all your hard earned creditssss.”

This simple admonishment was all it took to steel you for what was to come, not about to lose out on a job that could afford you a lengthy stretch of vacation should you be able to pull your own weight tomorrow. Either way, you would give it your best shot, deciding it was all or nothing; you swallowed back your trepidation and took one cock in each hand.

The beast before you made an unusual sound, something between pleasure and surprise. You weren’t even sure if he would like what you were about to try, but you also assumed Bossk was not one to hold back from announcing his displeasure should the need arise.

“Getting braver, are we?” he derided you, pulling his hips back from the hands that clasped his cocks to push them forward again, forcing you to squeeze them tightly in your fist in order to hang on – it seems this was the goal.

Taking the hint, you began to work your dominant arm, fingers traversing and exploring the many truncations of his anatomy. The other you guided toward your mouth, Bossk’s slit pupils dilating in anticipation. His tongue pulled away from wiry lips as his fangs clacked together, a soft, crisp hiss resounding in your ears. You relaxed your jaws, hoping by all of Alderaan's ghosts that you would still be able to breathe once it maneuvered down your throat -- and what an undertaking it would be.

“Good girrrrl,” he growled, causing you to hasten your efforts as you adjusted incrementally to the large invader sliding down your gullet, carefully beginning to glide your tongue and lips around its ribbed circumference. The hunter gathered tufts of your hair in his large claws, turning your head up toward his with a gentle show of force, his stare unwavering as he gazed into your eyes; this in and of itself shamelessly basted your loins, ensuring a smooth entry in the future, and you were becoming all the more eager for it as time ticked by.

“Not so bad, issss it?” he asked, his free hand moving below your chin as he held you steady with the backside of another of his unsettling talons. Although, you were now getting used to them, there being something decidedly sexy in the way a tool - designed to rend meat and flesh into sunders - could be so tender and conscientious as it touched and caressed your skin.

“Mnn mmn,” you voiced in agreement, sucking in air through your nose as you exhaled slowly, allowing yourself to further unwind. You felt your gag reflex trying to activate itself, yet you gradually managed to coax your throat muscles to loosen and go slack, finally intaking his member as far as your body would allow.

Bossk purred another pleasing sound, evocative of the Igua-Jaws that lived on Dagobah, his hips beginning to rock back and forth inside your mouth as the head of his cock plunged as far as your oropharynx. The hand holding his other phallus pumped him steadily, though it was hard to keep pace as the Trandoshan had found his own.

“Ssstay just like that, princesss,” he encouraged, fucking your mouth as if it was your vagina, not holding back even the slightest degree as you moaned and groaned under the uninterrupted onslaught of his cock. You did your best to stay afloat, at some point feeling used and liking it, as if you were nothing more than a squashy sheath to stick his dick in. Somehow, it gave you a sense of power -- he wanted you for reasons; there would be no more pretending it was all for fun and games.

You released your grip on his second cock, unable to accommodate it as you were only human and only had one mouth. You found it somewhat ineffective to keep jerking him, instead placing both hands on either side of the reptile’s narrow waist. You used this position to stabilize yourself, crawling up onto your knees for a better vantage. You could feel every thrust hit the back of your throat, your nails, clean and trim, digging into the hardened exterior of the man who had by this point closed his eyes in bliss.

“Sooo ssssoft and waaaarm,” he complimented, slowing his speed to instead fuck your mouth more deeply. He pitched his pelvis forward and backward, the head of his member edging close to your lips before he drove himself inward again. The meat of his thick thighs tensed, and you could feel his cock flex, indicating to you that he was close.

“Ssssssskkkkkkkkkaahhhh……”  The Trandoshan verbalized his rapture, offloading a torrent of sperm that hit the back of your soft palate and kept on coming. In order to breathe, you focused on swallowing, guzzling down Bossk’s seed to the point there was no more room in your mouth to house it.

You murmured a sound of protest as a white seepage leaked at the corners of your lips, dribbling down your chin for droplets to find their way onto your naked breasts. Still, his semen kept pouring itself into you, as if he were filling a swimming pool, the feeling of your belly becoming full setting off alarm bells in your head; it was as if you had chugged a milkshake all in a few seconds’ time.

Pushing against his hips, the creature relented. You sucked in a desperate breath as soon as his cock exited your mouth. You gasped, intaking another round of fresh oxygen, your hand lowering to hold your now aching gut.

Bossk ran the backside of his foreclaw against your belly, prompting you to remove your hand. Then, he poked it, chuckling morosely as he pushed you backward onto the bed.

“We’re not finished here,” he stated, taking up his unspent cock to wave it at you, though he was careful how he handled it, knowing from experience just how sharp his own claws could be.

You stared at him with wide, timid eyes as you wiped excess cum off your face with the back of your hand; you had never been with a species that had a hemipenis, not sure you could handle one round, much less two. You held your breath as he mounted you, aligning his reserve phallus up against your twat as he prepared for entry; he drew it across your already soaked slit, saturating himself from tip to base.

Still holding your sore stomach, Bossk sibilated filthily into your ear, his forked tongue causing a wellspring of goosebumps to creep across your arms and legs. “Hope you’re ready for the main event,” he sardonically emphasized, causing a shudder to rock you to the marrow of your bones.

Having only a moment to prepare, the reptile entered you, pitching forward so that you were quite suddenly stuffed to the brim. You yelled out, though it felt so good to be stretched so taut, the plush, sensitive tissue of your sex able to feel every inch and then some, including the miniscule protrusions that lined his cock from head to hilt.

Slowly, deliberately, he drew out of you, once more thrusting inside to get you accustomed to the sensation of being split open time and time again. You groaned somewhere between pain and ecstasy, your fingers coming to rest on what was now a second bulge, this one the stout imprint of his lizard’s dick.

“Sssseeee? Told you it’d fit.” He grinned like the horned devil he was, placing his gargantuan hand atop your own. He moved succinctly, not too fast and not too slow, pressing down on your pubic bone with his open palm. This intensified the pleasure of having him sequestered between your thighs, finding yourself wanting to splay your legs wider to reveal more of yourself to him, whether that made you vulnerable or not.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” he praised, bending forward to lap at the edge of your mouth before you supplied him entry, his talented tongue once more diving to the back of your throat as you bashfully twisted and wriggled among the sheets; you were pining for more and the hunter could sense it, rebuking you lightly for being so suddenly desperate, as if he hadn’t known this would happen all along.

“I’ve got your comm frequency, sisssster,” he said between snakes of a split muscle, licking the underside of your teeth before he parted ways with your face so that he could put all his attention into the task at hand. Bossk then began to make use of his powerful legs, each pump of his alien cock into you causing an indecent moan to pelt the air, the tone of your mewling betraying just how good it felt as you urgently tried to curtail your needy cries.

With his semen sloshing in your stomach, you did not seem to mind, having already forgotten his previous transgressions as you crooned to the ceiling of his ship.

“Fuck me, Bossk, fuck me; keep going, just like that,” you begged quietly, reveling in the peculiar experience that was your cunt being tenderized by the knobbed surface of his prick.

“What do you think I’m doing?!” he sassed back, the Trandoshan’s hips driving into you harder with every cast. He managed to penetrate you down to the convergence of your cervix; you had insisted, a shock of what felt like electricity climbing its way up your nerve endings to manifest itself in a yelp.

“Happy now?”

“Mmhmm,” you confessed, your hand cupping the shape of his abnormally large erection as it massaged your innards to your heart’s content. The continual pressure of his dick against the roof of your anterior walls finally triggered your body’s main erogenous zone, Bossk having hit it repeatedly until you exalted his name to the stars and heavens beyond.

“Heh, heh, heh…” he chortled dryly, obviously pleased with himself. He posed a question to you, even as he was working toward his own high.

“Oh, yeah? You liked that, huh?”

The way he phrased it was almost comical. In fact, you may have laughed had he not just given you one of the best orgasms of your life. Instead, you looked up at him with sultry eyes, pushing your breasts together for his viewing pleasure. He took this as an invitation, kneading and groping your right tit with one hand as his opposite held him up so as to not crush you with his weight.

“Mmm, always did love a nice pair of tittttsss,” he acknowledged, trailing off as you tightened your Kegel muscles and wrapped your legs around his lower back.

“Y-You’re gonna make me cum like that,” he conceded, that not stopping you in the least. You crossed your ankles, using the muscles in your legs to seesaw him back and forth inside your slippery crevasse. The Trandoshan was not amused, apparently not wanting to lose his spare load so quickly to the likes of you – a hairless ape.

“You never told me what you thought of human girls,” you whispered, intentionally allowing him to feel your torrid breath against his glossy scales.

“Grrrrmnnn….” he groused, not allowing you to get the best of him. “I love human girrrrlllls, and human girls love me,” he affirmed as if it was an indisputable fact.

This time you did laugh, the lizard canting his head as he glowered over you. You would make sure to reassure him, knowing he ego might suffer. All in all, you had come to the conclusion that Bossk was softer than he let on, despite his tough, leathery hide. “Mn, yes, we do…” You blinked languidly, smiling up at him.

Not knowing what you were in for, that was all it took; Bossk bust his second nut into your tight, mammalian hole. You squealed in surprise as warmth flooded your insides, your body not made to absorb and hold onto his sperm.

The Trandoshan gathered your legs, throwing them over his neck and shoulders as he continued to crank out more and more cum, the stuff spilling down your thighs and ass crack as your uterus expanded near to bursting. You watched in horror and mild fascination as your belly once more extended, as if you were being inflated like a helium balloon.

Once Bossk had drained himself, you were left looking four months pregnant, groaning as he slipped his cock out but held your legs firmly in place. He took hold of one ankle in each hand, then brought them together, looking down to admire his handiwork while not allowing you to spill one drop.

You drooled, sucking your own spit back into your mouth as you gazed up at your lover dumbly. He pat you on your tummy, once more tilting his head to the side. “Good thing humans and Trandoshanssss can’t breeeeeeed,” he snidely remarked.

Then, out of seemingly nowhere, Bossk produced a towel, having reached beyond you to some unknown part of his large bed with your ankles still gathered in his other hand. You hated to think how long that towel had been there, or if it was even clean, at least thankful there was anything at all with which to freshen yourself up.

“Thisss should do the triccck,” he said as he laid the worn piece of fabric out beneath you. Bit by bit, he lowered your legs, graciously permitting his spunk to travel down and out of you, finally taking some of the pressure off your guts.

You sighed in relief, wave after wave of semen trickling out of your sore opening, coating Bossk’s so-called towel in a deluge of his seed. When all was said and done, you weren’t sure how much of his cum you had interred within yourself, and how much had wound up on the bed, teetering somewhere between disappointed and thankful that it was over; you had won.

“Refresher’s down the hall and to your left,” he offered, granting you permission to use the sonic should you require it –- and you most certainly did.

--- Upon reentry to the lizard’s nest, Bossk was curled up in a position he had favored in the egg - knees to chest - having discarded his soiled linens to replace them with new ones.

Knowing that the hunt was to begin tomorrow, you did not expect Bossk to invite you to stay, yet he lifted the sheets as a way to motivate you to join him beneath the covers.

“Ssssleeping here is as good a place as any,” he entreated.

You suspected there was more to it than that, but decided not to deny him a snuggle after he had fucked you so good and proper. You slinked in next to him, your voluptuous rump sidling up against the convexity of his lap. Bossk intoned a little noise of satisfaction then, burly arms encircling your diminutive frame as you settled down to rest.

Who knew Bossk'wassak'Cradossk was a cuddler?

You could only hope that come daybreak you would still be able to walk, as Bossk had predicted otherwise.  For Scoria to find you with legs bowed and crotch aching from being pummeled with an oversized cock that was not meant for you was not how you hoped to start the day. Besides, you no longer had clothes to wear; you assumed Bossk might at least provide you with a shirt, or shorts, figuring he did not expect you to go out naked to meet up with your crew.

Within minutes, Bossk’s light snoring and the sssskkk of his tongue in and out of dreams aided you in drifting off to sleep, the monster of a man not above using you like he would a stuffy, cradling you the whole night through.

Not surprisingly, you would later promise him to keep this to yourself. Afterall, he had a reputation to upkeep.

---

Masterlist

Reblogs, comments, likes appreciated!

[hockeynoses]

Hot Tub Snzs (R/oy x Ja/mie)

Summary: Jamie suggests Roy get into the hot tub to clear his sinuses. Roy's hands are wet and Jamie ends up holding the tissues for him.

Notes: <900 words. Some mess. Not really any other warnings. Pure fluff. This came to me in a half-dream yesterday morning when I was trying to fall back asleep, and I had to write it. I'm not usually a Roy girlie, so I surprised myself.

-

Roy and Jamie drive up to their vacation home for a long weekend. They bought it a while back when they realized this thing between them was real, and they were both in it for the long haul. The property has a couple acres of land, and it’s surrounded by trees; one of the few places where they don’t have to worry about being hounded by paparazzi.

The house has an upscale cottage vibe, with a large hot tub on the back deck. It’s a crisp autumn afternoon, and the forest around them is lit up with vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds.

Roy’s on the tail-end of a cold that's been annoying him for the past week and a half. At this point, he’s feeling better, but his body is still trying to eject all of the gunk that has built up in his head. He’s so fucking congested and wishes he could speed up the process.

Jamie, who has grown tired of his constant complaining, suggests he go in the hot tub because, “Maybe the steam will help.”

Roy almost puts up a fight just for the hell of it, but they’re on vacation, and Jamie has his best interests at heart. Roy does love a good soak.

“Go on,” Jamie says. “I’ll join you in a bit.”

Roy grumbles, but does as he’s told. The heat feels amazing on his muscles, and the view can’t be beat. He relaxes into the water, steam coiling up into the air, bringing with it the burning smell of chlorine. The effect is two-fold: the steam loosens his congestion as the stinging itch of the chlorine sets off pinpricks of sensation in his inflamed sinuses. “Hah…HA’AAIISSHHH! Hih’EEHHHSSHH’IUE!” He doesn’t bother to cover them, openly sneezing down onto the surface of the water.

Catching his breath only works the steam deeper into his airways, and he gears up for another clearing, “huh’GGKSSHH’AH!” He tries to snort up the mess that has run out onto his cupid’s bow, and has no choice but to swipe at it with his wet hand before returning it to the water. The powerful sneezes have worked to clear some of his congestion, but he needs to blow his nose to really finish the job.

“Christ, I can hear your Grandad sneezes from inside the house,” Jamie says as he opens the back door. He’s in his speedo with a box of tissues under his arm.

Roy gives a pointed, productive sniff. “Should be used to it by now.”

“Just sayin’. You’re gonna scare the wildlife, goin’ on like that.”

Roy just grunts in response, lifting his wet hand to rub at the tip of his itchy nose.

Jamie steps into the hot tub, making sure to keep his hands dry. He sets the tissue box on the ledge next to them.

Roy’s eyes flutter shut and he turns to the side, half-heartedly holding up a hand to his face that does absolutely nothing to cover the wrenching sneeze that bursts from him. “haa…HA’AAEISHH’OO! Ugh.” When he turns back to Jamie, there are twin streams of clear mess coating his upper lip.

“Disgustin’!” Jamie teases. Roy knows he’s only joking. Having grown up as professional footballers, they’ve both seen men do far more disgusting things on the regular to be offended by a little snot.

“Give me a fuckin’ tissue then!” Roy gripes.

“Nah, your hands are all wet, mate. Come here, I’ll do it.”

Roy looks at him hesitantly as Jamie readies a couple tissues.

“Really?”

“Yeah, come on then.” Jamies gestures him forward. Roy rolls his eyes and leans closer.

His nose, chilly from the crisp fall air, is enveloped in the soft heat of Jamie’s cotton-covered hand. He starts blowing, only slightly embarrassed to hear the heavy crackle of it as it fills the tissue. It must be soaking through to Jamie’s skin, but the other man says nothing about it.

“Better?” Jamie asks. Roy pulls back and gives a tentative sniff, relieved that he’s finally able to get some air through.

“Yeah, actually.”

“Good!” Jamie graces him with a beaming smile. Roy resolves to do something special for him after he’s put up with his grouchy ass this whole week.

Even after all that, the pesky itch deep in his nose refuses to leave him. Roy blinks and scrunches his nose up, rubbing it in circles against the back of his wet hand. Jamie watches him and grabs some fresh tissues.

“You done?” Jamie asks, amusement twinkling in his eye.

“N-no…” Roy’s nostrils flare as he sucks in a quick breath, his head rearing back. His eyes close and he snaps forward “iihh…HNG’KSSHHHuh!” – into a waiting bundle of soft kleenex.

Blinking his eyes open, he meets Jamie’s surprised gaze. Jamie nods at him and Roy buries his face deeper into his hand, releasing a long, thick blow until the soggy tissues can’t hold any more.

He pulls back with a groan as Jamie gets after any residual mess still clinging to him.

“Thanks,” Roy says, relaxing back against the tub. “I think that was all of them.”

“Got you covered, Coach,” Jamie says with a wink. He brushes a kiss against Roy’s cheek before settling in next to him, happy to while away the rest of the evening by his side.

[theearlgreymage]

An Ask Game for Writers to Procrastinate Working on Your WIP(s)

Soooo -- The lovely @ic3-que3n decided to tag me in this little game. Because they know I am eternally procrastinating on all my WIPS.

(Original Ask Game)

1. 🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s):

Vogue in Paradis (And I will be using this specific WIP for all remaining questions)

2. 🍄Describe your WIP/one of your WIP(s) in the format of “___ + ___ =___”

Fashion Designer Erwin + Makeup Designer Levi = Rivals to Lovers Office Romance

3. 🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your WIP(s) need if you intend to share it?

Guys. Come on. This is ME we're talking about - they are going to fuck. Explicitly.

4. 🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?

This one was originally unnamed when the premise for it was created. I started this a while ago, and then set it on the back burner, but then Lewi dropped this amazing art and it sparked that flame of motivation to continue it -- and gave it a Title.

5. ⚠️Which WIP your most likely to finish or update next?

Either May Their Blood Boil will get an update OR I will finish Vogue in Paradis

6. 💾What is your document of your WIP/ a WIP called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)

Despite how meticulously I keep my Google Drive organized, there is absolutely no rhyme or reason to my Docs Names. Most of the time it is just an extremely vague phrase. But I do keep my Docs ORGANIZED. Each fandom has it's own folder, and within that there are folders for oneshots, series, ideas, and @ic3-que3n (yes - they have a whole ass folder because they put that many ideas in my fucking head.)

7. 🖍Post Any sentence(s) from your WIP.

“Smith.”  At the mere mention of Erwin’s name, Hange starts laughing.   “Stop that,” I sneer at them as I lean back in my chair and cross my arms defensively. Already anticipating where this is going to go – which is why I didn’t want to say anything to them in the first place.  “Stop being in denial then,” Hange wheezes out between fits of laughter.  “I’m not in denial!”  We’ve had this argument before – anytime I bring up Erwin, Hange insists that I have a crush on him. Which I do not.  “Keep telling yourself that,” Hange drawls as they wipe a tear of laughter away from their lash line.  “We’re not having this discussion.”  “And you’re still not getting laid.”  “Hange.” I practically snarl at them.   It doesn’t perturb them in the slightest. “Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m wrong,” and I’m about to answer their demand but then they keep going. “Tell me you don’t think he’s a whole ass meal. That you haven’t thought about what he’s hiding under those bland Oxford shirts and wool pants.”  “I don’t –”  “Or that you don’t think he’s infuriatingly good at his job.”  “That has nothing –”  “Or that you can’t seem to keep your eyes and ears off of him in joint meetings.”  “Well that’s only –” “Or that it’s a damn shame no one has been able to take him off the market.”    The silence that falls over us is uncomfortably tense. And I can’t decide if I want to crawl beneath my desk at the sudden, horrifying, realization that I can’t deny a word they just said – or leap across the table and strangle them for making me realize I can’t.  “That’s what I thought,” they chime triumphantly as they lean back on their hands. Pushing a pencil cup out of its place.  “Get. Out.” I snip between clenched teeth. My hands balled up in fists in the crooks of my elbows to keep from lashing out at this idiot I call my best friend. 

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP.

Hmm. No. I'm holding this information incase I un-scrap the idea.

9. 🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?

I have a WILD backwards-reincarnation plot cooking in my head right now. I'm going to make the CANON the reincarnation and write a whole pre-canon/part reincarnation for my blorbos. And I am ITCHING to write it like it's no ones fucking business, but I'm determined to get some other projects off my plate first so that I can give it the attention that it rightfully deserves.

10. 🤡How many WIPS are you actively working on?

Hahahahaha...ha...ha... Well. You see...That's not an easy answer. Because I am not good at math and cannot count that high... But. In the last 30 days...Going off of WIPs that I've typed at least 500 words on... 11...

11. 🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?

Yes 😎

12. ❤️Not a question, just a second Kudos to send.

Bless. You're too sweet my love ❤️

And now so I can spread the procrastination, I’m tagging...

@artsyunderstudy @shrekgogurt @buffy @j-nipper-95 @aristocratic-otter @cutestkilla @facewithoutheart @fatalfangirl @hushed-chorus @martsonmars @skeedelvee @thewholelemon @wellbelesbian @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @palimpsessed

[talesfromaurea]

Tales from Aurea - Session 0 Now Posted!

Hello everyone! I'm happy to say that the first chapter (Session 0 - Visions of Fire and Ice) of Tales from Aurea is now up on Royal Road 🎉

You can read the full chapter at this link here. Under the cut is a preview of the first section. Enjoy!

Taglist (ask to be +/-): @drippingmoon, @kainablue, @splashinkling, @space-writes

Curious what this story is about? Check out the WIP Introduction here

Sakrattars hunched forward, chin in his hands, and watched the sun disappear beneath the rooftops of Barsicum. It was a boring end to a disappointing day. He pulled the string of his purse closed and tucked it into an inner pocket of his robes, noting its lack of weight with a miserable sigh. With the help of a plain walking stick, he hauled himself to his feet with a crack and a groan.

The woman who owned the nearby dye shop had begun her evening sweeping. Sakrattars felt her eyes on him and recognized the increasing vigor with which she swept the dust of the day off her patio. She was itching to say something rude to him. He tried gathering his things faster but it was no use. It would begin in three more sweeps, two sweeps, one—

“Why’re you always outside my shop?” she finally said with a huff. “Go sit outside Joseph’s place for a change. Better yet, why don’t you go to the Temple of Nargo? Help you find an honest job instead of whatever charlatanry you’ve got going on here.”

Sakrattars had heard it all countless times before. “Sorry ma’am,” he said impassively.

“You make my respectable business look bad!” she complained further. “Drives away the customers! Stop folding that rag of yours and look at me when I speak to you. Aegis in Arcadia, lend me your strength . . . Hey, get back here!” But Sakrattars was already turning into the darkness of the nearest alley. He was eager to be home and knew he would be treated to the rest of her grievances in the morning.

Navigating the narrow stone path between the tall plaster and brick buildings, Sakrattars pulled off a gray wig, releasing a cascade of short black hair that betrayed his youth. He rubbed his ears and winced—the wig concealed their long, pointy tips well enough but not without some pinching. Distracted by the pain, he didn’t see the elderly woman pulling laundry off the line in front of him.

“Watch where you’re going, why don’t ya?” she cried out as Sakrattars crashed into her.

“Apologies.” Sakrattars bowed sheepishly, rebundling his blanket and checking to make sure his purse, pitiful as it was, was still secure in his pocket.

The woman eyed him dubiously—a young elf dressed in tatters and smudged with grime, holding a wig and an old man’s cane. “What are you, some kind of actor?” she asked contemptuously.

Sakrattars scoffed and continued on. Were the moons in shadow tonight? The Abyss’s proximity would certainly account for the foul mood everyone seemed to be suffering from. Wiping his face off as he walked, he was careful to avoid slick puddles of dubious origin and the occasional stray dog nosing through refuse. The only thing that could make his evening worse would be taking a tumble into something unsavory.

He was thankful when he reached the end of the alley without further incident. Pausing to tie his hair back into a messy ponytail, he took a quick look around the corner. There was a group of workers heading home, laughing at some shared joke, and a street cleaner scooping horse manure into a cart, but nobody who might recognize him. The way clear, he scurried across the road to his apartment building.

The landlord was in his usual spot: snoring under an open window in the foyer with an empty bottle by his side. Sakrattars wrinkled his nose as he passed by to get to the stairs. The walls were stained and waxy and the sconces burned out. Fortunately, Sakrattars could see quite well in dim light. 

He disarmed the locking spell on the door to his unit, too relieved to finally be home to notice the rat that scampered into a hole in the baseboards. Collapsing back onto the bed with a heavy exhale, he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the familiar patterns of greasy soot. His room was simply furnished: there was a desk and a chair, a shelf of neatly arranged books and spell components, and a small fireplace. It was the beginning of summer so there was no need for a fire. Quite the opposite, in fact. The air was already stuffy and oppressive. 

Sakrattars stripped off his robes in favor of a light shirt and trousers and threw open his only window. He didn’t know why he bothered, the window was nearly flush with the neighbor’s wall, but maybe that day would be the one where the wind blew at just the right angle to make it inside.

It was then that Sakrattars noticed a letter on the floor. His heart clenched as he recognized the thin paper and delicate wax seal. Tearing it open, he was greeted by the flowing, cursive Elvish that his sister was so fond of.

Sakrattars,

Please consider giving up this foolish pursuit of yours. I know Father would welcome you back if you apologized to him and agreed to study a subject more fitting of an elf lord like yourself. Think of how he must feel: his son gifted in magic and choosing to study divination? Divination is utterly devoid of culture, lacking in any foundation, and associated with scammers and thieves—how could you possibly be interested in such a thing? 

If you agree to switch, Father might even be able to get you in at the Academia Arcana in Aurea. I can certainly mention the idea to him (casually of course) if you wish. You know how he tends to listen to me.

It has been years and we haven’t heard from you. I know everyone here shares my sentiment when I say that we want you to come home. 

Sakrattars snorted skeptically. He continued:

Please write me back. Your behavior is an embarrassment to the family.

Your loving sister,

Mira

Sakrattars had barely finished reading when he crumpled up the letter and tossed it into the ashy fireplace. How did she even find out where he lived? The school must have told her. He made a mental note to speak to an administrator the next time he was in.

He opened a cage on the desk and took out a fat toad with bulging yellow eyes. “So how was your day, Bartholomew?” he asked. The toad blinked in response, his eyelids slightly out of sync. “Not too eventful, I suppose.” Sakrattars laid down on the bed, absently stroking Bartholomew’s warty skin as his thoughts took him down the long road south, towards home.

*

*

The next morning, Sakrattars watched the crowds pass by without truly seeing them. Maybe his sister was right, in a way. He had been attending the University for a decade now and didn’t have much to show for it. A majority of his time was spent making enough coin to scrape by and not on his studies. But since when did his hardships ever matter to his family? He let out a frustrated groan and a passerby started, clutching her purse nervously as she hurried along.

“Pardon, old sir.”

Forgetting that he was currently dressed as an old man, Sakrattars ignored the deep voice at first. A throat cleared, then a large hand waved slowly in his line of sight.

“Old sir?”

This time, Sakrattars looked up to the giant form of a natiuhan. He used to see them on a regular basis in his hometown of Arvisian Bay but they were a far less common sight this far into the Empire. “Yes, ma’am?” he croaked in his false voice, mildly irritated at being distracted from his brooding. “Can I interest you in your future?”

The natiuhan fished through the purse on her belt. “Not mine,” she said. Waiting for an elaboration, Sakrattars noticed that other shoppers in the area were beginning to stare. As well as being an unusual visitor in Barsicum, this natiuhan in particular cut quite an impressive figure. She was tall and burly, with dark tiger stripes tattooed across her tawny skin and a wild mass of dark red curls swooped to one side. The gold jewelry adorning her body chimed softly with every movement. She either didn’t notice all the attention she was drawing or didn’t care.

The natiuhan finally threw some coins into Sakrattars’ sack. “Not my future. Hers.” She gestured to a young girl peeking timidly out from behind her back. Sakrattars hadn’t even noticed the girl at first. She was dressed in a long cloak that looked to be little more than a tattered wool blanket, the hood drawn up far over her head. He couldn’t be sure since her features were so well-hidden but, based on her diminutive size, she didn’t appear to be a natiuhan herself. Natiuhans were known for being a secretive bunch and, despite living and working among other peoples, they tended to stick with their own and it was rare to see one alone. But it wasn’t this fact that made Sakrattars think that there must be something odd about the pair before him. No, there was something more intangible to it. Something he might one day describe as “fate”.

[hippiegoth97]

Diary of a Hawkins Hussy: A Stranger Things x Reader Anthology

Banner by me :)

Master List

Content Warning 18+ Only, Minors DNI: swearing, smut, drug references, age gap, groping, fingering, unprotected sex, praise, dom/sub dynamic, use of a shock collar (do not try this at home), use of restraints, edging, orgasm denial, light crying, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, light squirting, problematic characters

Word Count: 12.5k

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Diary Entry #1: Martin Brenner

May 28th, 1983

Dear diary,

Today marks the day I officially join the adult world. I just got back from graduation. I'm still dressed in my cap and gown, with my diploma sitting in front of me on the desk. I did it, those four years of hell we all call high school are finally over. I'm free. And now, I can focus my attention on my true ambitions in life. No more Chem flashcards or asshole teachers telling me what to do. No more Mom and Dad policing my every move. Nope. I fully intend on doing the one thing I've been itching for from the moment I saw that 'Help Wanted' sign in the shop window. I'm going to work at Waxed Out Records downtown, as an assistant manager.

Waxed Out is the coolest store Hawkins has to offer, though it doesn't have much by way of competition. I've always loved going there, ever since I was a kid when Mom would bring me along on her trips to pick up the new ABBA or BeeGees. Music is my lifeblood, I can't go a single day without listening to some form of it. I've dedicated almost my entire (though limited) existence to curating my collection of vinyl and cassettes, expanding my tastes as far as the eye can see. I love it all, rock, hip-hop, pop, country, blues, jazz, disco, metal, the list goes on. I'm the perfect candidate to work at Waxed Out. I only hope the lame owner, Mr. Harris, will see that at my interview tomorrow. But until then, it's a relaxing night of Stevie Wonder and weed to calm my nerves. I'll let you know how it goes.

May 29th, 1983

Dear diary,

I got the fucking job! Mr. Harris was totally impressed by my extensive knowledge of all things music! I knew I had this in the bag, but I'm so excited, I could just scream! My hand is absolutely shaking as I write this, you have no idea. I start next week, and my first shift can't come soon enough. I need to get the hell out of this house, and into my own place. It shouldn't take long, I've saved up all of my graduation money in a very special hiding place. Just a couple hundred bucks more, and I'm finally on my own. I won't have to listen to Dad tearing apart the house, searching for things to pawn off to buy more booze. It's a good thing I have multiple self-installed locks on my door, or else my collection would be toast. I also won't have to listen to Mom telling me how much of a drain on her I am, or her lectures about 'ambition' and 'wanting more for myself'.

I like to think I am very ambitious. I got this job all on my own, and I'm saving up my pennies like my life depends on it. I know exactly what I want out of life. Simple pleasures, like music and sex. More on that particular subject, I highly intend to expand my current hook-up pool. High school boys (and girls) were all well and good while I was still under the legal definition of a child. But I'm a woman now, and I have every intention of bagging any man or woman that catches my eye. From freshly graduated young women, to strong men in their fifties, and everything in between. As long as they're hot, nothing else really matters. And in that department, Hawkins sure knows how to deliver. Chief Hopper, Mayor Kline, Joyce Byers, this one white-haired guy in neatly pressed suits that comes to town every so often...I'm getting a little turned on just thinking about it. More to come later, probably about my first day of work.

June 1st, 1983

Dear diary,

You'll never guess who came into the shop on my first day of work today! It was none other than that guy with the white hair I mentioned before. I didn't learn much about him, except that he really likes classical music. He picked out some Bach and Mozart, which isn't usually my strong suit. It sounds pretty and all, but it comes off a little hoity-toity, if you know what I mean. But it makes sense for a guy like him, he seems very intellectual. Oh, you should've seen him. It took everything in me not to stare as he browsed the classical section. But his hair was styled neatly as it always is, though a little longer than what's typical for a man his age. And he had on this grey suit that fit him extremely well...I managed to get a couple good glances at his ass. And shit, he must have a Soloflex at home, or something because...it was as tight as a twenty-year-old's, I swear.

He didn't say much. He smiled at me when he came up to the register, and I could totally feel my cheeks burning bright red. It was embarrassing, at first. But if my mind wasn't tricking me, his smile got wider at my reaction. I didn't bother to say much to him, I know I would've made a complete and utter ass out of myself if I tried. But I managed to get out a 'thank you' once I'd rung him up and he paid. He said he'd be back in a couple weeks, almost like it's a routine for him. I'm not sure why, there's only so much Beethoven and Chopin in the world, ya know? But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't counting down the days until that gorgeous, yet mysterious, man with blinding white hair comes walking through the shop door again. Safe to say I won't be able to get that smile of his out of my mind either...fuck me.

June 15th, 1983

Dear diary,

It happened. He finally came back, and this time, we actually had a bit of a real conversation! I (mostly) managed to keep myself together this time, and I'm beginning to think that he likes me. At least, I hope he does...

You hear the little bell hanging above the front door to the shop tinkle, signaling for you to repeat the phrase Mr. Harris has trained into you. "Welcome to Waxed Out. Let me know if I can help you find anything." You say flatly, not looking up from the romance novel you picked up from Melvald's earlier this afternoon. You hear purposeful steps clicking on the linoleum, taps and drags of men's dress shoes on a path to you.

"Yes, miss..." A voice you recognize speaks just across the counter from you. You look up from your book, realizing it's the exact man you've been hoping would return. He's wearing a charcoal suit this time, but that seems to be the only thing that's changed about him. He smiles at you, eyes flicking to your chest to read your name tag. "...Y/N. I was wondering if you could help me find something in particular." He speaks in a calmly commanding, slightly gravelly voice. You hadn't heard much of it upon your first meeting, but it certainly sounds very pleasant to your ears. He carries an odd air of authority, which just as bizarrely makes you want to follow any orders he might give you.

"Sure thing, sir. What did you have in mind?" You reply kindly, coming out from behind the register in preparation to locate whatever it is he's looking for.

His eyes follow your form as you come over to him, and you realize just how tall he is in comparison to you. He's well over six feet, which only adds to his intimidating nature. He seems a bit distracted by you, though, as it takes him a moment to answer you. "Oh, yes. Well, I was hoping to find something for my...daughter." He says with a strange pause put before that final word. Your heart sinks at this revelation, and you suppose he's probably married, too.

"Oh, I see." You reply, and you're sure he can see your face falling slightly at this bit of information. You force yourself to perk up, to make the sale, even if your hopes to potentially sleep with this man have been dashed. "How old is she?" You ask, clasping your hands behind your back.

"She's about to turn twelve, so this would be a birthday gift." He replies, still smiling at you. You take a peek down at his hands, looking for a ring. But they're nestled in his pockets at the moment, leaving you without that small piece of evidence to confirm your suspicions.

"Oh, that's nice." You say awkwardly. "Do you know what she likes? Or did your wife give you a list?" You ask, trying to crack a small joke. But his face hardens, which makes you immediately regret asking.

"No wife, I'm afraid. She died when Ele— Jane was very young." He says, bringing the smile back slightly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" You try to apologize, but he puts a hand up to stop you.

"That's quite alright, you couldn't have known. But I raise Jane all by myself, and it's hard to know what girls her age like. So, I was hoping your female perspective could help me with that." He gestures at you, his smile widening again.

"Yeah, sure. Um, let me see what we have here..." You trail off, going around to the other side of the store towards the soundtrack section. Musicals are usually a pretty safe bet. Wholesome enough for parents to approve of, while also entertaining enough for kids of all ages to get something out of it. You flip through the records, digging out Grease, The Wizard of Oz, and The Music Man. "I think these are pretty good options. What do you think?" You're about to turn around to bring the albums over to the man, but you find that he's been standing right behind you this whole time. You bump into him in the process, and his close proximity startles you. "Jesus!" You gasp when your record-full hands meet his chest.

"Pardon me, I didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He says with a laugh, putting his hands on your shoulders to calm you. "Are you alright?" He asks, gazing down at you with concern.

You try to speak, but all words have escaped you in this moment. You're too busy getting lost in his eyes and taking in how strong and firm his hands feel as he touches you. You find yourself wondering how they'd feel while touching you in other places, which you realize is wildly inappropriate. A harsh blush creeps up your cheeks, and you force a thick swallow down your throat before answering him. "Yeah, I'm good. But, uh...here." You hold the records out for him to look at. He takes them from your hands, and you're finally able to breathe easy again. "Do any of these look alright? If not, I can keep looking." You add, wanting him to leave as a satisfied customer. If you do well here, maybe he'll come back again...and again...and maybe for more than just music.

"These look great, Y/N. She's going to love them. You mind ringing me up?" He says, drawing your eyes to his again.

"Oh, you're going to buy them all?" You ask curiously. Parents are usually pretty stingy when it comes to getting albums for their kids. Perhaps it's a fear of the discs getting scratched or broken.

"Why, yes. Should I not?" He questions, raising an eyebrow at you.

"No, no. I just meant...I wasn't sure you'd do that, I guess." You fumble over your words, walking the both of you over to the register now. Perhaps some distance from him will help you calm the fuck down. If you come off too doe-eyed and naïve, he may not have much interest in you.

"Well, let's just say you're a very good saleswoman." He chuckles, the sound of which stirs something inside you. You punch in the prices on the stickers Mr. Harris put on said albums, which comes to a total of sixteen dollars.

"Thanks, I appreciate that." You giggle, biting your lip slightly before taking his payment. He pays with a credit card, from which you nosily read the name of its owner. Martin Brenner. He doesn't look like a Martin. Although, you suppose you don't know what he does look like, either. You bag up the records for him, handing them and his card back to him, as well as a receipt. "Here you go, sir. I hope Jane enjoys the albums." You say sweetly.

"I'm sure she will, thanks again for the help. And please, call me Martin. I'm sure I'll be back here again soon. You've got good taste, Y/N." Martin winks at you, before heading towards the door to leave.

"See you 'round, Martin." You say cutely as he leaves, earning another pleased glance in your direction. Once he's walking down the street and towards his car, you double over onto the counter to take some deep breaths. "God, that man is sexy as hell." You say aloud to yourself, overwhelmed with the entire interaction that's just transpired. You know he's a bit advanced in age, but Martin sure knows how to flirt. You're a little weary of the fact that he has a kid and everything, but it's not like you're looking for anything long-term. You just know you want to fuck him, even if it's only once. You can tell there's something secretive about that man, and you're dying to have a peek behind that proverbial curtain to see exactly what it is.

June 26th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin hasn't come back the the shop in a while. It seemed like things went pretty well the last time he came in, but who knows. Maybe he was just being polite. I haven't even seen him very much around town like I used to. I suppose he could be busy with his kid, or something. Being a single father can't be easy. But I can't help it, I think about him all the time. He's so handsome, and the way his hands felt when they touched my shoulders... They were so warm, and felt firm and strong. I replay that moment over and over in my mind. I even dream about him now, about everything I think he might want to do to me.

The dream is almost always the same. I'm at the shop, and Martin comes in. There's no one else around, and he's not there for records this time. He's there for me. He comes right up to the counter with purpose, beckoning me out from behind it to put myself in front of him. He caresses my cheek, before leaning down to kiss me. He's gentle and tender, and his hands lift me up to sit on the edge of the counter. We kiss for a while, enjoying the moment. 

Now, this is where things really heat up...he undoes my jeans, pulling them and my panties down to my ankles. He reaches between my legs, and he puts his fingers inside me. They're thick and long, and they feel so damn good. While he does that, I unbuckle his belt, and open up his slacks to pull out his dick. He's fucking huge, at least, he is in the dream. I pump him in my hand a few times, and he lets out a quiet groan while staring down at me. He's so damn hot, I can barely stand it. He pulls his fingers away, and takes hold of his cock himself. He gets closer, and shoves himself into me. Once he starts, he doesn't slow down. He fucks me fast and hard, and I like it. He holds me down while I squeal and squirm for him. He grunts and growls with every thrust, railing me against the counter until I'm screaming his name.

I always wake up right after I cum, having to change my panties because I've soaked through them from my orgasm. It's clear that I want Martin to an embarrassing degree, I only hope he will want me just as much. Time will tell, diary. Time will tell.

June 30th, 1983

Dear diary,

Martin came in again today. He seemed...off. He still talked to me, nice as ever. But it was like he was stressed out about something. Our transaction was very short this time around. Every passing second where he didn't look at me, or touch me, or talk to me felt excruciating. All I could think of was the insane desire I felt to just go up to him and make my intentions perfectly clear. I was shocked to find I hadn't actually done it, the fantasy became extremely vivid. But when Martin came up to register with a couple new picks, and his cock still in his pants, the daydream quickly dissolved into shame.

I realized that I probably shouldn't think and feel so strongly about a perfect stranger like this. All it does as make me feel like a silly child, not to mention I basically gave myself away by blushing so damn much. I mean, I'm only eighteen years old. What could an experienced, well-established man like him possibly find desirable in me? Who knows, maybe I'll hold out hope a little longer. Maybe if I wait for him to make a move, this might work out. Ugh, I need some weed to think this over.

July 8th, 1983

Dear diary,

You're never going to believe this, I can hardly believe it. Martin came in today, for much longer than all the other times. He really chatted me up, and I was happy to talk to him for as long as I could. It felt like he was waiting to ask me something, but he couldn't quite find the words, or courage. To think, he was the one who was nervous. But once I got the ball rolling on a much-anticipated conversation, it became very clear as to why...

"Oh, hey, Martin. What would you like today?" You chirp as the man walks into the shop. You perked up immediately once you saw him crossing the street, waiting for him to come inside and give you the time of day.

"Afternoon, Y/N. I'm not too sure what I want, honestly." He says oddly, not quite looking your way. He seems anxious, or nervous. Could it be because of you? "But I know I can always trust your recommendations." He turns his head to meet you with a smile, putting his hands in his pockets as he comes toward the counter.

"You got it. You lookin' for more classical? Or, perhaps you'd like to branch out into something...younger?" You hint, standing before him in a meek pose. You clasp your hands behind your back, and look up at him from under your eyelashes.

"I-I suppose I could try something new." He stutters slightly, looking you up and down. Shit, maybe it's working.

"Sure thing! Follow me." You spin around, your short skirt flouncing upwards at the motion. You lead Martin towards the Lionel Richie and Phil Collins. You figure he doesn't want to waste time on teeny-boppers. He clears his throat before following you, and you smirk to yourself at him losing his cool. You pull out the albums you have in mind, and fully expect him to be standing right behind you again. You guess correctly, but this time, you purposefully put your hands on him when you turn back around. "Oh, didn't see you there. Not a lot of space in these aisles." You speak somewhat suggestively, running the back of your hand along the lapel of his navy blue suit jacket.

"Quite right. What do you have for me?" His eyes flick down to where you're touching him, then to the sultry smile on your face. You give him the albums, and he chuckles while looking them over. "I don't know, Y/N...these might be a little too hip for me."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Martin. You seem pretty 'with it' to me. Besides, Lionel and Phil are perfect for when you bring a woman home. If that's your thing, anyway." You continue to run your hand along his jacket, gauging his response to it. He hasn't told you to stop yet. If anything, he seems to enjoy it.

"It's been a while since I've done that, actually. Much longer than I'd like to admit." He says, somewhat embarrassed.

"I don't believe that for a second, you're way too handsome." You compliment him, still testing the waters.

"Oh, you don't mean that. A young lady like yourself surely has no interest in someone like me." He shakes his head, laughing at your suggestion. He probably thinks you're really trying to sell him on the vinyl, but you honestly don't give a shit about that.

"I wouldn't be so sure, Martin. I personally find you...very attractive." You speak lowly, turning your hand over to actually touch his chest now. Your palms creep up along his clean white shirt, and you gently take hold of his necktie. "And I'm not just saying that to sell you more records." You give him as sincere a look of desire as you possibly can, batting your lashes to make it clear to him what you're looking for.

Martin thinks it over for a moment, contemplating that you could potentially be a really good time. But he shakes his head, sighing deeply. He can't possibly take such a young woman home. It wouldn't be right...would it? "I-I'm flattered, Y/N, really." He sets the records down, taking hold of your hands. "But I don't think I could give you what you're after." He says sadly, already kicking himself for denying his desire to have you. He's been thinking about it for weeks, but he's sure you couldn't handle what he truly has in mind.

"Why do you say that?" Your eyebrows scrunch together in confusion. You were sure this would work. Doesn't he like you? Doesn't he think you're pretty?

"Forgive me for coming off a bit crude, here. But I'm just not sure that you're mature enough to handle the kinds of things I'm into, intimately speaking." You're confused by his words, you don't understand what he means by that.

"And how would you know?" You ask, becoming irritated with him for thinking you're some immature girl. He scoffs, surprised by you.

"I guess I don't, Y/N. But I wouldn't want to hurt you. I really like you. I think you're very pretty, and sweet. I'm just not sure it's a good idea." He shakes his head again, putting your hands down before pulling his own away.

"Well...maybe I'm not afraid to get hurt, Martin." You smile again, his attempts to deter your interest have only piqued it further. "It's very simple, really. I want to sleep with you. I don't care what you're into, I got up to some pretty crazy shit in high school. But if you really don't want me, that's fine. I can find someone else if I really want to." You figure there's no use for formalities at this point, so you lay it all out for him. The ball is in his court now, it's only a matter of if he wants to play.

He sighs again, still unsure of what to do here. "You make it very difficult to say no to you..." He says, pausing as he reads your expression. He supposes it can't be all bad, you're the one coming on to him. If you really want this, then who is he to deny you? "Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, Y/N?" He asks, cupping your cheek like he does in your dreams.

"Yes, I want this more than anything." You reply breathlessly, unable to believe this may actually happen. There's a tense moment of silence between you, and he finally nods in agreement.

"Alright. What time are you finished here?" Martin asks.

"Nine o'clock." You answer, biting your lip in excitement.

"Perfect, I'll pick you up. In the meantime, would you mind ringing me up for these?" He smiles, picking up the records you've chosen for him.

"Okay." You practically skip over to the register, though you don't really want him to leave. You bag up his purchase, and he makes his way out onto the street. You'd been hoping for a goodbye kiss, though perhaps that would've been too weird. You glance over at the clock, finding that you have two whole hours left before closing time. You pick up your novel, but you find it hard to focus on the words. All you can think about is what Martin could possibly like in bed that he thinks would be 'too much' for you. Handcuffs? Been there. Whips? Done that. Spanking? Roleplay? Anal? Check, check, and check. High schoolers are way kinkier than anyone gives them credit for. You can't come up with anything else, so if anything, you'll show Martin just how well you can keep up. You hope that'll impress him, for some reason.

The time passes excruciatingly slow, but thankfully a few more customers come along to distract you for a while. You make four more sales before the shift is over, not too bad for a record store in a less-than-booming small-town downtown area. You gather your things at 9pm on the dot, and head for the door with keys in hand. You step out into the muggy night air, turning your back to the street while you lock the door to the shop. You suddenly feel a figure behind you, who extends a hand to grab hold of your waist. You jump and let out a small scream, whipping around to see who it is.

"Shit, Martin! You scared me!" You say once you see that it's just your new conquest who's been waiting for you.

"I'm sorry. Are you ready to go?" Martin asks, slowly pulling you into him by the hip. He takes a second to get a good look at you, as if he hadn't already done so while you were helping him in the shop. He finds you to be very alluring, in your Cyndi Lauper t-shirt that hangs off one shoulder, and the short skirt that barely covers your behind. Not to mention your beautiful face, without a single blemish or sign of age to be found.

"Ready when you are, Martin." You reply suggestively, running your hands up and down along his shirt again. Your touch seems to break him out of his trance, and he turns the two of you to head towards his car. It's slick, and black, with a driver and everything. "Nice wheels." You comment, sliding into the seat while the driver holds the door open for you.

"Thank you." Martin replies smoothly, getting in after you. He sits very close to you, and the driver closes the door behind him.

"So, where does a man like you live around here, hm?" You ask coyly, putting your hand on his thigh. He peers down at you, watching your every move. You've noticed he's pretty restrained overall, very methodical with his movements and reactions.

"Oh, it's a humble house, really. Not far from here." Martin replies, and you nod.

"'Humble', huh? Does your job not pay you enough to have a large house and a driver?" You giggle, bringing your hand a little further up his leg. "I guess I never asked, what do you do for work, exactly?" You question curiously.

"I work in government, at the Lab." He replies shortly, too focused on your hand growing closer to his crotch. You're so forward with him, it's kind of throwing him off.

"Oh, I see. I bet that's pretty interesting." You continue on your teasing journey towards his cock. You want to feel him, and play around a bit before you reach his home. You've always had a problem with patience.

"You could say that." He says, just as your fingertips brush against his length. You smirk in satisfaction at finding it, and boldly take hold of it. His throat catches at you groping him, and you find his eyes to see how he's doing. His mouth sits slightly agape, but he doesn't say or do much else. You think he's enjoying this, since he's growing in your hand. But you'd be hard pressed to know for sure.

"Does this feel good, Martin?" You ask quietly, not wanting the driver to hear.

"Y-Yes." He stutters. You continue to touch him over his clothes, becoming very wet yourself as you watch him hold back his noises. He lets out muted sighs as opposed to moans and grunts, but the sound is still more than enough to turn you on further. "We should be there soon, Y/N." He says, taking your hand away from his cock, holding it in his instead.

"Sorry." You apologize, realizing that you've possibly made him uncomfortable.

"Don't be. It's alright. Just be patient for me. Can you do that, Y/N?" He says lowly in your ear, sending a chill up your spine. You nod silently, but he needs to hear you answer. "Use your words." He commands in a husky tone, sending a flare of pleasure between your legs. Now I see what he was talking about. Lucky for him, I've played this game many times before.

"Yes, I'll be patient." You answer breathlessly.

"Good girl." He answers simply, smirking at your quick obedience. Maybe you can handle him after all.

...and there we were, off to his house to have sex. I swear, I kept having to pinch myself to make sure it was actually happening, and not some extremely elaborate dream. But every time I felt that little sting of my nails digging into my flesh, all I was doing was driving myself even more crazy. That little confirmation of reality repeated again and again, made me feel all tingly inside. We couldn't get to his home soon enough, I wanted to touch every inch of his body in the back of that car. But I had to be patient, because that's what he told me to do. I could feel it in my soul that disobeying him would have been a very unwise decision...

"Here we are. Home sweet home." Martin says as the car pulls up to a house on the end of a dimly lit street. It's unassuming, the basic 'white-picket-fence' home of the typical middle class worker. It's not unlike your own house, perhaps slightly smaller. But you suppose a single man with a young kid doesn't need very much space. Your mind turns to his daughter, Jane. You wonder if she's home, and if she'll be upset that daddy brought home some random girl.

"Is your daughter home?" You ask nervously.

"No, no. She's at a friend's house tonight. Don't worry, we'll be all alone." He chuckles at your concern, he finds it very sweet.

"Oh, okay. Good, I'd hate to have upset her." You reply, waiting for the driver to open the door to let you both out.

"I appreciate that, Y/N. But please, I'd hate for the evening to focus on Jane. Especially when I've brought such a beautiful young woman home with me." He says warmly, gently pulling you along as he steps out of the vehicle. He leads you to stand upright, and you both walk to the front door. He unlocks it, letting you inside. The interior is exactly as you expect, a warm little house for two little people. Children's drawings on the refrigerator, kitschy trinkets on shelves and cabinets, probably left over from his deceased wife. That thought makes you a little sad, though it quickly disappears when Martin wraps his arms around you from behind once he's closed the door.

"Hey there, handsome." You giggle, leaning back into him for a moment. "I love your home, it's very cozy."

"I'm glad you think so, Y/N. It does get a little lonely sometimes." He speaks softly, lowering his head to press a kiss to your neck. You sigh blissfully at finally having his lips on you, they're very warm and soft.

"Well, hopefully I can help with that. At least for tonight." You reply, tilting your head to the side to give him better access. He responds well to this offer, planting more blazing kisses to your throat. He doesn't nip or suck your flesh, which would usually disappoint you. But the way he's holding you close like this makes it feel just as passionate. His hands wander up your body, palms brushing over your shirt. He stops just below your breasts, apprehensive to venture further. "Go ahead, Martin. I want this." You murmur, turning your head to look back at him. He seems different now, the air between you has changed. The atmosphere has become charged with expectation and anxiousness, and you can feel his erection prodding against your ass. He resumes his journey upwards, carefully cupping your tits over your shirt. You let out a quiet moan, gazing at him as you do so. He smiles at the sound, pressing a little harder with his hands to earn another one.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" He asks lowly, and you nod. He lets you out of his grip, stepping ahead of you. He takes your hand, leading you up the steps to his bedroom. You pass a quaint bathroom, and what looks like a kid's room along the way. You don't bother to take more than a small peek inside, you'd hate to come off nosey. Martin takes you to a room at the end of the hallway, pushing the door open to reveal the master bedroom. It's still as warm and cozy as the rest of the house, dressed in those signature hues of yellow, orange, and brown left over from the 1970s. He gestures for you to sit on the bed, and you take a seat on the edge of it. You take your shoes off, and he removes his suit jacket.

"So, what's this strange 'thing' you're into, Martin?" You ask curiously, setting your bag down on the night table beside you.

"You'll see soon enough. But I'd like to...get to know you a little bit first." Martin answers, giving you a look while undoing his tie. He loosens the knot around his collar, before slipping the loop over his head and untying it entirely. "Have you ever been tied up before?" He asks, holding the ends of the tie in his hands with purpose.

"Yes." You reply simply. He nods, bringing the tie over to the bed. He lays it out neatly beside you, presumably to be used later. "Should I...take my clothes off?" You ask, becoming a little unsure of yourself.

"Not yet. I'll tell you when and how to do everything. Is that alright?" He speaks firmly, expecting you to agree.

"Yeah, that's fine." You say casually. You watch as he hangs up his jacket, and methodically takes off his shoes before placing them neatly in his closet. He comes over to you, sitting beside you on the bed now.

"You're very beautiful, Y/N." Martin says, brushing a loose hair behind your ear.

"Thanks." You blush, looking down at your feet. He puts a finger under your chin, bringing your head up to face him again.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks.

"Yes. Please." You reply, you've been waiting for him to do this for a very long time. He brings his face closer to yours, and your eyes flutter closed in preparation. His lips meet yours, and you immediately melt against him. "Mmm." You hum into the kiss, following his small movements. He doesn't use tongue, you suppose he's a bit old-fashioned that way. But you don't mind, he's still a very good kisser. He pulls away, taking your breath with him.

"Take off your shirt, please." He orders politely, clearing his throat. You do as he asks, pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the floor. You look at him expectantly, waiting for him to make his next move. "Pick it up and fold it." He says, a serious look on his face.

"Oh. Sorry." You laugh nervously, bending down to pick up the shirt. You follow his instructions, holding in neatly in your lap now.

"Now, put it on the table." He says. You do, and he smiles again. "Good girl." You face him again, wondering what he's going to ask you to do now. He doesn't say anything else, but he reaches his hands forward toward your chest. His eyes flick to yours, asking for permission. You nod, and he grabs hold of your breasts through your bra. You moan at his touch, quickly becoming hungry for so much more. He massages your tits, almost as if he's inspecting them. You oddly feel a bit like an expirement, and he's taking mental notes of your behaviors and reactions. "Does this feel good, Y/N?" He asks in a neutral tone.

"Yes." You breathe. You decide to try and strip him down a little bit too, reaching over for the buttons on his shirt. His eyes follow you, almost waiting for you to break an unspoken rule. You stop in your tracks. "Can I?" You ask, biting your lip anxiously. You want to see him, but you don't want to make him angry.

"Can you what?" Martin smirks, and you see now that you need to use your words again.

"Can I unbutton your shirt, Martin?" You ask, clearer this time.

"Yes, you may. But from now on, call me 'sir'. Okay?" He says.

"Yes, sir." You giggle at how it sounds at first, but if he likes it, then so do you. You resume your desired task, starting with the button at his collar. You push it through the stitched hole, exposing the rest of his neck. You notice Martin's grip tightening a little, which makes you moan again. You wonder if he'll do it every time you undo another button, testing the theory. You open the next one down, and he does the same thing, squeezing harder for a moment, before resuming his gentle massage. You undo the next button, and the next, moaning louder with every squeeze he gives you.

"You make very nice noises, Y/N. Are you enjoying yourself?" He questions, still coming off painfully formal. If it were anyone else, you'd probably be put off by it. But his overall sense of confidence whenever he speaks makes everything he says sound attractive to you.

"Yes. It feels really good." You answer, still opening up his shirt. There's just three more buttons left, and what you've revealed so far is exactly what you were hoping for. This man clearly works out, he's very fit. His muscles aren't anything crazy, but he has not let turning gray slow him down one bit. His chest and stomach are toned, with a small amount of salt and pepper hair in all the right places. You tug the tails of his shirt out of his slacks, undoing the final button. "Your body is amazing, sir." You say breathlessly, meeting his gaze again.

"Thanks. I try my best to stay in shape." He smirks at you finding him so attractive. He massages your chest more roughly now, drawing more noises from you. He leads you to lie down, with your legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He presses his lips to yours again, one hand leaving your breast to slip under your back. He unclasps your bra, and slides the straps down your shoulders. He folds it up nicely while still kissing you, setting it off to the side for a moment. Martin grabs hold of your bare breasts now, rolling the nipples between his thumbs and fingers.

"Mmm." You moan against him, enjoying every second of this. You feel up his own chest, marveling at his firm muscles. After a little while, you want to feel more. You lower a hand down his stomach, over his belt until you reach his erection again. You ghost over it, earning a low groan from Martin's lungs. It's the first one you've heard from him, and it's sexy as hell. You start groping him again, your heart pounding in your chest as you expect him to stop all this and punish you. But he doesn't, he lets you continue to touch him, still letting out those same breathy groans. "Please, sir. I want you so bad." You whimper when his lips leave yours to go to your neck again. You squeeze him a little harder in your hand, wanting him to move things along.

"Patience, Y/N. Be a good girl for me." He pants between kisses on your throat. He loves how needy you are, how badly you want him to touch you and be inside of you. He's never seen a girl so desperate, but he's only getting started. A few minutes later, Martin pulls away. He sits up, taking off his shirt entirely. He stands to go hang it up, and then turns to look at you again. "Take off your skirt." He orders.

"Yes, sir." You answer, standing off the bed to remove it. You fold it nicely, putting it and your bra on top of your shirt on the table. You sit back down, and he smiles at the sight of your pink lace underwear. "What should I do now?" You ask, feeling oddly self-conscious while sitting in nothing but your panties and socks.

"Lie down, Y/N." He says, before digging deeper into the closet for something. You do as he says, putting your head on the pillows. You try to position yourself casually, posing your arms and legs in various ways. But nothing feels right. You decide to stop trying so hard and just lie still, though you're curious as to what he's looking for. He comes back over to you, holding a silver metal box. He puts it on the bed, and silently opens the clasps. He pulls the top open, revealing what looks like a collar. It's a large, tan ring with white, squared nodules around the inner circumference. There's an electronic lock on the side, and a small remote next to it. It appears to be a shock collar, which makes you swallow hard.

"What's that?" You ask, though you feel a bit stupid asking. What else could it possibly be?

"Oh, just something to ensure that you'll follow my every order." Martin answers simply, looking at you with an odd smile. He raises a brow at your widened eyes, closing the lid of the case for a moment. "Do you still want to do this, Y/N? I completely understand if you don't." He offers you one final way out. But you want this, a little shock can't be that bad. It could be a lot of fun...right?

"I want this, sir. I'll do anything you ask." You reply, and he nods. He opens the box again, and takes the collar out of the foam lining inside. He clicks a button on the remote to open the ring, and comes over to you to put it on.

"Sit up for a second." He says, and you do. He puts the collar around your neck, the nodules digging into your throat with light pressure once he clicks it in place. You lay back down once he's finished, and he presses another button to power it on. A low buzz kicks on around your neck, the sound startling you. You gasp slightly, drawing his eyes to you again. "Is everything alright?" He asks, checking in on you.

"Yes, sir." You nod, breathing heavily. He puts the remote down on the table for a moment, and picks up his necktie.

"Put your hands above you head." He commands. He ties your hands together at the wrists with the silk fabric, leaving a small amount of slack so you don't lose circulation. "Good girl." He praises, taking in the image of you in your newly bound state. Your eyes have blown wide with desire as well as fear, your chest rises and falls with heavy, rapid breaths, and the cherry on top is the small wet spot of arousal on your panties. "Are you ready to play, Y/N?" He asks with a grin, very eager to set things into motion.

"Yes." You reply, hoping he'll touch you soon. He's been quite stingy with his touches thus far, drawing everything out for the sake of driving you crazy.

"Good. I only have one rule. If you misbehave, you get a shock. But I'm sure a smart girl like you has already figured that out." He chuckles darkly, almost looming over you from the side of the bed. You nod in understanding. "Perfect." He brings a hand to your chest, carefully caressing the side of your breast. You gasp at his touch, the softness of it sending tingles along your spine. He travels downwards very slowly, going down to your stomach and waist. He meets the hem of your panties, looping a finger around the fabric. He reaches over to do the same on the other side, and gingerly pulls your underwear down your thighs, knees, and ankles. He doesn't fold them up this time, nor does he put them with the rest of your clothes. Instead, he puts them in his pocket to keep as a souvenir of your night together. You don't mind, many guys have done that before. You take it as a compliment, if anything.

You instinctively spread your legs apart a little, expecting him to start touching your pussy soon. But it appears you've guessed wrong, because Martin quickly picks up the remote and presses it. You feel a strong, paralyzing current running through you, making you cry out as your body convulses outside your control. "Fuck!" You huff when he finally stops, your muscles relaxing against the bed.

"I didn't say to move, did I?" He asks angrily, and you shake your head. "Use your words!" He almost shouts at you, holding up the remote as a threat to shock you again if you don't speak up.

"No, sir! You didn't! I'm sorry!" You apologize frantically, fumbling over your syllables. That shock scared you, there's no doubt about it. But you're surprised to find that it also felt...kinda good.

"That's right. Now, have you learned your lesson?" He asks, eyes burning into you as he waits for your answer.

"Yes." You nod. He doesn't say anything else. Instead, he drags his hand lazily along your ankle, creeping up toward your knee and thigh. He draws closer to your cunt, watching your breath hitch and heart skip a beat while you wait patiently for him to touch you. You observe silently as he continues to torture you with waiting so long. You need to feel his fingers on your clit, or sinking deep inside your pussy. You feel compelled to cry and scream for him to give you what you want at this point. But you hold it all back, you have to obey him if you're going to get what you so deeply desire.

Martin's hand reaches your inner thigh, and he presses on further to touch the very outside of your silk. You moan at the sensation, as unsatisfying as it is. "Hmm, so soft." He observes aloud, wondering how often you shave or wax your most intimate areas. He travels deeper, finally making contact with your clit with the very tips of his middle and ring fingers.

"Fuck." You whine, using every ounce of willpower to keep your hips from bucking off the bed. You don't imagine he'd take very kindly to such lack of self-control.

"More?" He questions.

"Yes, sir. Please, touch me." You whimper, begging him with your eyes. He does as you ask, dragging his fingertips along your slick folds. You're quickly heating up as he continues to stroke you, sweat forming inside your pores. He's still very slow and methodical, noting your every sound and expression like before. "More, please." You beg, still resisting the urge to buck and thrash around on the bed. You'd love nothing more than to grind your hips to get yourself off against his fingers.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." He smirks, moving further down to press a finger inside your soaked hole.

"Oh, god." You gasp. He pumps the digit in and out of your pussy, brushing against your g spot ever so slightly. Without you needing to ask, he adds another. "Fuck...yes..." You moan breathlessly, your eyes rolling back into your skull. His fingers are the perfect size, as long and thick as you dreamt they would be. He keeps his snail's pace, but you don't even care. He's inside you, and it feels so damn good.

"That's a good girl...do you like having my fingers inside you?" He asks curiously, though the answer reads plainly on your face.

"Yes, sir. You feel so good, I'm so wet for you." You shake your head in the affirmative as you speak, letting him know how amazing he's making you feel. Normally, Martin would have a mind to shock you again for responding in such a vulgar way. But he likes hearing these dirty words falling from your lips. You're different than the others, you're special. You make every single salacious statement sound like lines of poetry to him. This may only ever be a one-time thing, but you'll certainly be one that he'll never forget.

"I'm glad to hear it, Y/N." He says softly, continuing to work you over like it's his day job. He continues to go slow, but your insides are boiling all the same. You can sense your release nearing, and you're sure Martin can as well. "Are you getting close?" He asks, noticing your walls have started to flutter around his fingers. He'd love to see how beautiful you look when you climax.

"Yes, sir. Please, don't stop." You plead as the waves of your oncoming orgasm begin to roll over you.

"I won't, Y/N." He says softly, almost like a promise. It's uncharacteristically sweet, considering he's got your hands tied up while a shock collar sits tightly around your neck. Just a little longer, and you'll be calling out his name. He hopes so, anyway. He certainly likes how it sounds coming from you.

"I'm almost there...can I cum, sir?" You ask, meeting his eyes.

"Not yet, Y/N. Hold it for me, just a bit longer." Martin replies firmly.

"O-okay..." You stutter, gasping slightly when you feel your orgasm about to sneak up on you. You try your best to hold it back, to obey Martin's orders. It's becoming increasingly difficult, however. Your thighs keep twitching, and a constant whine floods from your lips from keeping it all inside.

"Just a little more, I know you can do it. Be a good girl for me." He insists, increasing his pace ever so slightly to up the stakes.

"Fuck...sir, please...I want to be good for you. But I nee—" You beg, which is quickly interrupted by another intense shock. His fingers left you at the last second before he flicked the switch, but the painful waves seem to only extend your pleasure. You continue to moan until he presses the button to stop the electric current.

"I told you to wait, Y/N. Don't make excuses, and don't disobey me." He shoves his fingers back into you, and rapidly curls and thrusts them this time.

"Oh, fuck!" You cry out, tears pricking your eyes now. He's purposefully trying to make you break the rules, but you refuse to earn another shock anytime soon. You keep your orgasm tangled up in a quickly dissolving chain, waiting for him to give you the go ahead.

"Do you want to release, Y/N?" He asks flatly, peering down at you. He marvels at your resolve to follow his orders, he knows it's taking everything in you to hold on for him. What a strong little thing she is... he muses to himself.

"Yes! Please, sir! I want to cum so bad..." You exclaim, your bound hands helplessly clawing at the pillow beneath your head.

"Go ahead." He nods, giving you a small smile again.

"Fuck...Martin!" You moan loudly as your release takes over. Your thighs quake, and your insides clamp around Martin's fingers. The pleasure is so intense, like nothing you've ever experienced before. Holding off for so long has made your orgasm ridiculously powerful. You're blinded by bright white light that consumes your entire being, and you can't stop trembling and moaning for a good fifteen seconds. He watches this event unfold, his gaze drawn downwards when your arousal spills warmly into his hand. He takes his fingers out of you, grabbing a washcloth to wipe his hand with as you come down. You're left panting wildly, slathered in sweat that's dampened your hair and the bed beneath you.

"Was that enjoyable for you?" Martin asks, as if he didn't just witness you having the best orgasm of your entire life.

"Yes, sir. It was amazing." You gush, smiling uncontrollably at the utter bliss you feel inside.

"Good. I liked it quite a lot, too." He replies, and you hear the jingling of his belt opening. You open your eyes to see Martin undoing his pants. You watch hungrily as he exposes his clean white briefs, and the stiff cock sheathed inside them. He puts the slacks away, and comes back over to the bed. He makes sure you're paying attention, before slipping his underwear down his legs. His dick slaps against his stomach, the head red and swollen with need. You want to take him in your mouth, or to ride him, it doesn't really matter. You just want him inside you again, to make your fantasies a completed reality.

"Can I suck your cock, sir?" You ask cautiously, looking up at him with doe eyes.

"No, thank you. I've never liked that very much. But I think you want something else a bit more, don't you?" He questions you again, taking hold of his length and stroking it a couple of times.

"Yes, sir. I want you to fuck me." You say boldly, biting your lip.

"I ought to shock you again for that filthy mouth of yours." He threatens, but he's not really all that serious about it.

"Do you not like the things I say, sir?" You ask with a bratty pout, toying with him a little bit.

"I-I do. Much as I shouldn't, I really do." His tone falters, which clues you in to how much he immensely enjoys you saying dirty things.

"Do you want to fuck me, sir?" You continue with your own inquiries, hoping to drive him to slam his cock into you, or even shock you again for acting out of line. You're enjoying this far more than you'd truly expected, and it appears he is as well.

"Yes." He almost whispers.

"Do you want to make me scream your name?" You press on, testing the limits.

"Yes." Martin continues to rub himself as you speak. Slow and languid, not nearly enough to make him lose control. Just revving himself up for when he's deep inside you.

"How do you want me?" You ask again.

"What do you mean?" He replies, confused as to what you're referring to.

"Laying down? Hands and knees? On your lap? How do you want me?" You repeat yourself, your words dripping with lust.

"Oh, I see." Martin blushes slightly at his misunderstanding. He thinks it over a moment, before answering. "This way is fine...for now." He says, climbing onto the bed to join you now. He spreads your legs apart with his hands, tenting your knees and placing himself between them. He gives you another kiss, warming you up before the main event. His hands grab at your tits, massaging them roughly.

"Mmm." You moan against his mouth, wishing you could bury your hands in his hair and tug on it. His lips move lower down to your neck, and he brings a hand to rub against your clit for a moment. "Oh..." You whimper quietly.

"Are you ready?" He asks in your ear, ceasing his touch on your bundle of nerves. He takes hold of his cock, running his tip along your silk.

"Yes, sir. So ready...you have no idea." You reply, waiting for him to penetrate you. Without another word, he puts his head above yours to watch you as his dick slips inside you. "Oh, fuck." You exhale while he fills you up. He's the perfect size, reaching every inch of your soaked pussy flawlessly. "You're so big, sir." You compliment him once he bottoms out.

"Thank you. You're very...warm." He says, somewhat awkwardly. You're guessing that's his best attempt at talking dirty.

"Do I feel nice and tight inside? Am I wet enough for you?" You try to help him out, saying all the vulgar things on his behalf.

"Yes. You're perfect, Y/N." Martin rasps, slowly pulling out before slipping back in. He lets out a low groan at the slickness of your insides. He continues to thrust in and out at a very slow pace, similar to how his fingers were working inside you earlier. But you want more, you want him to rail you like he does in your dreams. You know he has it in him, but you're unsure how to say it without him shocking you again.

"Can you go faster, sir?" You ask politely.

"Not yet, Y/N. Patience." He says in warning, still moving so very slow. You swear he's just trying to make you squirm. You can't help your neediness, so you grind your hips to meet his thrusts. He pulls his cock out of you as a result, and takes hold of the remote to give you another shock.

"Shit!" You shout at the painful current going through your body once more. Your muscles seize up, and Martin just watches the helpless look on your face. He lets it go a little longer this time, making you afraid that you might pass out. But just before you're about to possibly lose consciousness, he turns it off.

"It appears you have a problem with listening." Martin growls, which only turns you on more.

"I'm sorry, sir. I only want you so bad, you feel so good inside me." You explain, the pitchy whine in your voice making his cock twitch. How can he resist you when you sound like that?

"You promise to be good for me? To listen to what I say?" He questions, his expression stone still despite his ever-growing hunger for you.

"Yes, sir. Please...I need you." You beg tearfully.

"Very well." He responds, before slamming his cock inside you.

"Fuck!" You squeal. He proceeds to hammer himself into you now, gripping your thighs with frustrated strength.

"Is this what you want, Y/N?" He asks while panting as he fucks you good and hard.

"Yes, sir. This is exactly what I want. You feel so good." You continue to moan with every thrust, wrapping your legs around him to keep him close. He allows you to do this, using you as leverage to keep pounding your pussy like his life depends on it.

"Should I go harder? Faster? Tell me what you want, Y/N." Martin offers, spellbound by your helpless noises.

"Fuck me harder, sir. I know you can...you're so strong...I can take it." You plead to him, bringing your bound hands down to rest around his neck. You have to hold him, to feel him in any way you possibly can.

"I'm sure you can. You're such a good girl for me." He chuckles, snapping his hips to drive into you with more force.

"Shit, I'm getting close again, sir..." You warn him, though you're not sure how well you can hold it this time. He's hitting your sweet spot with every motion of in and out, and you're sure he isn't far behind.

"You know the rules, Y/N." He burns, picking up the remote again. You watch him with frightened eyes, though your lips curl into a mischievous smile.

"Do it." You blurt the words out.

"What?" He asks, dumbfounded that you're actually asking him to shock you.

"Shock me. It feels really good, sir." You reply seductively.

"If that's what you really want..." He trails off, still thrusting roughly into you as he presses the button. It appears the collar works like a taser, sending an intense shock to you, without affecting him at all. You moan at the sensation, savoring the pain and pleasure mixing together inside your clenching belly. Your walls spasm around his dick, making him groan. That's another reason why you asked him to do it, you knew he'd like it, too. He lets the current go on for longer again, watching your face twist in ecstasy. "You really are something special, Y/N." He says, in awe of you. He flicks the switch to turn it off, and your body relaxes underneath his.

"I try my best." You quip, breathing far more heavily than you were before.

"Here, let's try hands and knees for the end, hm?" Martin suggests, quickly pulling out and rolling you onto your stomach. He pants erratically behind you, waiting for you to get on your knees.

"Mmm, yes, please." You hum, kneeling before him while arching your back. You lean on your elbows, your hands resting just below your head.

Martin takes a moment to look at you in this position, noting your readiness to take him once more. He can deduce that this is your favorite position, and as a man of science, he can understand the anatomical reason as to why. He takes hold of his cock, running his leaking tip along your folds to tease you again. He grunts at his sensitivity, needing to hold back himself so he can fully please you. He'd hate to leave a woman unsatisfied. "Ready?" He asks, barely pressing the head of his dick against your entrance.

"Yes, sir. Please, fuck me." You plead, fighting the reflex to back yourself into him.

"Well, I am partial to begging." He says with a light laugh, before shoving his length into you.

"Fuck, yes." You moan as he hits even better angles inside you from behind.

"More?" He asks, needing you to tell him exactly what you want. He loves how verbal you are, how unafraid you are of sounding so pathetic.

"Yes, sir. Fuck me hard and fast...I wanna cum on your huge cock." You're whimpering and teary-eyed again, but you can't possibly be bothered to care.

"Sure thing." He answers simply, grabbing either side of your waist. He pulls out, making your skin slap together loudly as he thrusts back in with force. You cry out, gripping what you can of the covers below you. It's hard to manage with your hands stuck together, but you try your damndest. Martin grunts very loudly as he continues to fuck you at the pace you asked for. You're almost there again, and he can feel it. He's right behind you, his stomach preparing to tense as his balls tighten.

"Can I cum, sir?" You ask through a moan. You can feel your arousal lubing him up with each stroke, some of it rolling down your inner thigh in warm drips.

"Not yet. Soon." He mumbles, driving himself as deep into you as humanly possible. Your insides are so snug around him now, threatening to strangle him altogether. He's looking forward to feeling you let go around him.

"Please, sir...please, please...please..." You repeat the words incoherently, they're the only things you can think to say. You're an absolute mess, holding your orgasm in so hard that it almost hurts. Your brain has turned to mush, and you know you can't keep it in forever.

"You've been a very good girl tonight, Y/N. Let it all go for me." He growls, sensing his own end taking him over.

"P-push the bu..." You trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

"What?" Martin asks, trying to figure out what you're saying.

"The button. Push...the...button." You force the words out, every syllable of which threatening to open the floodgates. But you want to feel that delicious shock as you cum, you just know it'll all be worth it.

"Of course, Y/N." He says breathlessly. He does as you ask, forcing his own climax back for the sake of you violently losing control around him. He presses the button, and you finally feel it wash over you.

"Martin!" You choke out his name as your body seizes up one last time. Your pussy clenches around his dick, yanking a loud groan from his throat.

"God—" He thrusts into you uncontrollably, his cum coating your insides messily. If you could flex your vocal chords right now, you'd scream at how good his sloppy bucking feels. You continue to tremble and convulse, releasing a small mess of juices from your pussy. The warm liquid soaks his cock, making him groan again. "Y/N, I—" He gasps, unable to believe how otherworldly you feel inside. He keeps thrusting through the pleasure, forcing your cum to mix and spill out onto your thighs and the bed.

You're on cloud nine in this moment, savoring every second of electric current pulsing through you, and every needy stroke Martin continues to make inside you. He finally turns off the collar, powering it off entirely. You slump against the bed, taking him with you as he still won't stop fucking your pussy. "Martin..." You moan, trying to warn him that he's gonna make you cum again if he doesn't let up.

"You feel so good, Y/N. I've never felt anyone like you..." He praises.

"G-gonna cum again..." You make a second attempt, but he doesn't seem to hear you. You've broken him, in a way, making him the desperate one now. You let him keep going, regardless of the fact that you're getting a little sore. His thrusts feel so good, and he seems to want to experience you clamping down on him one last time.

"One more, just one more...can you do that for me, Y/N?" He asks with desperation in his voice. His breath lands hotly on the back of your neck, his body sliding around on top of yours as you're both covered in sweat.

"Y-yes...I'll be so good for you, Martin. Make me cum." Your words are all the motivation he needs. He picks up his pace again, pounding you into the bed as he tries to give you another orgasm. You cry out over and over, waiting to feel ecstasy rush through you for the third time.

"That's it...just like that, Y/N. Good girl." He pants, feeling your walls fluttering again.

"Oh, shit...I'm gonna cum, sir. Can I cum, please?" You whimper.

"Y-Yes, you can..." He stutters, and you sense your high taking over once the words pass his lips.

"FUCK!" You scream, thighs quaking as you're rocked to the core again.

"Mmm, ah—" His breath catches in his throat as you soak his cock again, even more than last time. You spill down your thighs and his, every spasm pushing more fluid out of you. You almost start sobbing as your final high subsides, and he stills himself within you. He carefully pulls out, gazing at the sticky mess left between your legs. You lie still, trying to catch your breath. As you do so, Martin gets off the bed and unlocks the collar. He takes it away, putting it and the remote back in its case. He also unties your hands, checking for any bruises left on your wrists. Finding none, he retrieves a damp towel from the bathroom to clean you up with. "How are you feeling?" He asks as he wipes away the mess from your sore flesh.

"I'm great, Martin. That was so fucking good." You say softly, feeling completely exhausted now. Once he's done cleaning you up, he helps you sit up and redress, sans your panties. "Thank you." You say, standing to meet him once you're fully clothed.

"For what?" He asks curiously.

"For giving me what I've been dreaming about for weeks." You reply cheekily, giving him a short kiss. You suppose it's time for you to leave now, to go back home to your parents.

"You dreamt about me?" He questions, as if it's impossible for you to have done such a thing.

"Mmhmm, every night since the first day you came into the store. Shit, I've had to change my panties in the middle of the night so many times because of you." You giggle, playfully poking his chest.

"Right." He gives you a soft smile, unsure how to respond to that. "Well, I can have my driver drop you at home, if you like. Or the store, if your car is still there." He offers.

"The store is fine. Thanks." You reply, and he goes to a phone on the dresser, presumably to speak to the driver. He retrieves a robe to put on to escort you to the door after the brief call, tying a firm knot around his waist. 

"Come along, then." He gestures at the bedroom door, and you open it and head for the stairs. You go all the way down and to the front door, stopping for a moment. "What is it? Did you forget something?"

"No." You shake your head, lifting up your bag to show that you've got everything. "I just...if you ever wanted to do this again, I wouldn't say no." You end with a shrug, unsure he'll even consider it.

"I wouldn't be opposed to that." He answers, smiling a bit bigger for your benefit. Unfortunately, for your own safety, he can't do this again. If only you knew the kinds of things he's gotten himself caught up in these last few years, the awful things he's done in the name of 'science'. He can't put a sweet young thing like you at risk, no matter how amazing the sex is. But for now, he can let you think there's a chance, he can't bear to break your heart. You'll just need some time to forget about him, to move on to someone your own age. That's all. At least, he hopes so. He'd hate to have you come back here looking for him, when this isn't even his real home at all. It's all staged, sitting empty and waiting for him, or anyone else working in the lab, who needs a cover to blend in. It's a shame you fell for it so willingly, though he supposes that's kind of the point.

"Cool. Well, hopefully I'll see you in the shop again. Or around town." You say, going to him for one last kiss goodbye.

"Of course. I'll be around." But no, he really won't. He'll have to avoid your store like the plague now. What a shame, you've got such a wonderful selection of Chopin. He puts a hand on the small of your back, giving you the final kiss you're waiting for. He kisses you hard, wanting to sweep you off your feet one last time. You hum against him, wishing you didn't have to let go. But he makes the decision for you, and the regretful look on his face tells you he won't be coming to you again.

You're not stupid, you know this was probably a one-time thing anyway. It hurts to know he's lying to your face, but you're sure he has a good reason. You figured his vague answer of 'government' as his job meant something top secret, maybe even dangerous. You get it, truly, you do. And he doesn't need to know that you see right through him. Let him have his illusion, it'll only hurt more to shatter it.

"Bye, Martin." You give him a small wave, and go outside to the car that's waiting for you. It's a dead silent ride back to the record store, with the driver glancing back at you suspiciously a couple of times. He drops you off outside Waxed Out, and you walk down the street to the lot where you've parked your car. You get inside, turn the key, and drive home while replaying the exquisite moments you and Martin shared together. It'll be a while before you get over that man, and you don't mind that one bit. He was something special tonight, and you're sure he feels the same about you. At least he has your panties to remember you by.

August 10th, 1983

Dear diary,

I was right. Martin hasn't returned to the store, and I don't think he's ever going to. I get it, his work is probably too much to balance with hooking up with me and taking care of his kid, if he even has one. I still dream about him every so often, and we do all the things we did that night over and over again. I still wake up with soaked panties every time, but all it does is remind me that I'm never going to see him in that way again. I hardly see him around town, either. And the few times I have, he ignores me when I wave at him. It's like I don't exist, or at least, he turns away before I can see him look sad. I'd like to think that's what he's doing, anyway. I know, I know, this was only sex. Wild, crazy, kinky-as-fuck sex. But still, that's all it was. And that's all it needs to be.

As they say, onwards and upwards. Speaking of that, I've finally got my own place! No roommates or anything! It's totally cheap and doesn't look like a complete dump. And it's all mine. No more nosey parents, not after I move in there in a couple days. I've got my shit all packed up and ready to go. My freedom can't come soon enough, diary. Until then, I'm gonna get high and masturbate while thinking about Martin again. What can I say? That dick was something else...

[purplekoop]

I officially Have Job Now (still in the process of getting a bank account because the past 6 years of my life have been an almost comical series "we'll get to it later" moments but at least I can rest easy enough knowing my hours are gonna be compensated when it's possible) but I'm still in a creative and artistic rut that I very much wish to solve with the metaphorical equivalent of being bashed in the head with a shovel to get on with it.

I'll be transparent here and say that art has been hard for me the past few months. Between frequent downward spirals of self doubt over my creative and technical capacity, and just general inability to muster the desire to do art despite the ever-looming dread of not doing art... I've had lower points in my creative journey but I've sure as hell had higher. Not dissimilar is my broader mental state, where I've been generally fine but subject myself to existential spirals when dwelling on something as simple as having a big cavity in one of my molars and no immediate access to dental care at the moment. This isn't meant to be a pity post, genuinely I don't have much to complain about right now, it's just the same sort of mental (and in some respects physical) issues I've been dealing with for a while now. It's just more poignant now when I don't really have much of a satisfying "distraction" in the form of doing stuff creatively.

Currently there's only a few "projects" (feels like I'm giving myself too much credit with that terminology) I really can commit much thought to lately, both of which, either luckily or predictably, I've gone into at least some depth publicly on this blog. Fortunately for what I assume is the majority of my follower base, both are based around Overwatch.

The Role Requeue AU is a very fun "project" for me (again, feels wrong to call it a "project" when it's something meant strictly for the concept phase, even just a workshop mode is beyond the scope of realism). It scratches all my itches for something fun to think about: no pressure to make it a "finalized product", the opportunity to conceptually tinker around with mechanics I'm both thoroughly familiar with and interesting in exploring beyond their official scope, and most importantly, people to share ideas to and even collaborate with! Seriously, I know it's almost certainly less than a handful of people who've even seen any of the posts on it, but the response so far has me beyond ecstatic. The greatest gift an artist can receive in my opinion is a "yes, and" to their work, and I'm extremely grateful that Role Requeue (shoot, down to even that name being a suggestion too good to pass up) has already inspired such.

The only technical restraint on Role Requeue is me sitting down and writing a long tumblr post, so once I have the time (as soon as tomorrow mayhaps?) I'll try and get another one out. I still have some specifics I want to sort out, but Symmetra, Sombra, and "Ashe" are all contenders for being the next one to get a post.

So that leaves the other project I've been able to work on at least to some extent lately: my original hero shooter concept, (still under the working title) War Bots. For those who weren't around or otherwise missed the intro, it's a team based shooter starring a cast of robot characters in a post-human earth, fighting against either another team of player-controlled bots or a ravenous horde of sentient, mutant plant creatures. The "game" (again, very much in the concept phase) takes heavy inspiration from both Overwatch and its precursor in the subgenre, Team Fortress 2. The general gameplay design of the cast takes inspiration more from OW, while the larger team sizes and loadout system are ideas from TF2.

If you're wondering why both of my creative projects I really have any ideas for right now are directly because of Overwatch, it's because. well hate to admit it but it's the most consistent thing I've played all year. Arguably the past 5 years or so, save for when the pre-OW2 content famine was really starting to hit and I finally gave TF2 a try myself in the meantime (didn't like actually playing it as much, sorry). But especially now with the steam release actually working on my PC, which the battle.net version frequently failed at, it's been my defacto "I don't know what to do right now" time waster, and to me at least it's fun enough to where I still haven't gotten sick of it. It doesn't help that my actual other biggest inspiration for War Bots, Bloons TD 6 (yes really) is my number 2 pick for that niche, and I honestly don't play games that much lately aside from multiplayer stuff or streams (yes I stream I need to make a pinned post linking my stuff). So, I got Overwatch on the brain, and when my brain has something on it, its general reaction is to try and put my own spin on it, hence the creation of the "Overwatch but different" AU and "Overwatch but not" the video game coming to somewhere you can buy video games eventually hopefully one day please. I play fighting games I come up with a fighting game, I like superheroes I make my own, I like the funny colorful character-based shooters I make notes for how I wanna do it myself.

War Bots is in an awkward spot though, because I already gave myself a hard cap for how much I wanna think ahead for a game so early in development that the sole developer doesn't even have a game making engine installed on their PC yet. The loadout system is meant to allow for a smaller roster, saving time on creating completely new characters with their models and animations and lore and so on, while potentially allowing for an even further variety of functional playstyles than what'd be possible with an exclusively character-based system like Overwatch. You don't need Soldier 76, Bastion, Widowmaker, and Ashe all existing separately with broadly similar weapon types, just one "rifle guy" with four different options for their main weapon.

Despite that, I love making characters too dang much and made a version of the roster with up to 25 characters. I since reconsidered, picking the characters I actually saw potential in, making sure to avoid redundancies that couldn't be resolved, and now have a cast of 15 or 20, ideally launching with 15 and adding 5 more post-release. A roster of 25 and possibly even beyond wouldn't be impossible after that, but I want to limit the scope of what I was considering at this point. I like the cap of 20 because my current idea is that the PvP mode is played in 10v10, and each of the game's 5 roles (Damage, Control, Tank, Utility, Support) would have four characters, while also letting a standard match (if desired) have exactly one of each character on the field at once. This pleases me. At the moment though, I have 3 characters for Damage, 4-ish for Control, 2 for Tank (shocking, I know), 3 for Utility, one guy who could either be Tank or Utility, and 4 for Support but I'm admittedly not as keen on one of them at this point. This leaves roughly 4 or 5 slots in the roster left for what I want to realistically consider right now, some of which I have ideas for based on prior iterations of the roster, but I'm still not settled on something super satisfying yet.

For now, I'm focusing more on polishing the loadout system and the alternate weapons for each character, trying to get as much out of the characters I've already established before I move onto jotting down new ones in my notes. I did however hit a snag, because the system divides your loadout into three different interchangeable options: Weapon, Body, and Accessory. The weapon is your main means of attack and (broadly speaking) determines your primary and secondary fire. The Body meanwhile refers to some interchangeable part of the robot's body that grants them unique abilities, typically aiding in mobility. In Overwatch terms this is "Ability 1", or Shift in default keyboard binding terms, while also potentially carrying a passive ability. Accessories are comparable to Splatoon's sub weapons, generally some kind of throwable thing that provides a burst of utility at the cost of limited availability, in this case a longer cooldown than your Body ability or requiring a special pickup on the map to regain faster, or possibly being limited by a character-specific resource. This is the equivalent to OW's "Ability 2" or "E" ability. The snag here was that each part of the 3-part system was given 4 variants, a default or "stock" option and three unlockables that take the basic concept and replace it with an alternative that provides unique functionality. The problem was that especially with the "Body" options, it was hard to come up with meaningful alternatives for every slot for every character without feeling redundant. My compromise was that while Weapons get 3 unlocks, Body equipment and Accessories only get 2 unlocks, unless I feel a special exception warrants it. I may deem a character would get more value out of more Body or Accessory options rather than main weapons, or if I have a really good idea for an extra of something.

oh and also semi recently I decided that reserve ammo should be a mechanic, but then I realized that doesn't work unless every character has an infinitely usable melee attack that can function without reserve ammo (and is also more robust than OW's piddly little mostly universal quick melee attack), but I don't want to make a whole fourth slot for each character for melee weapons, but otherwise I don't know what'd determine the properties of your melee attack if anything deviates it from the default, and also are melee weapon attacks always available or do they require switching off of your actual weapon, but does that make sense for the characters who'd logically just smack with their normal weapon, like does the wizard guy just hold their staff differently for a "melee stance", but also thinking is hard.

So between the partial downsizing of the Loadout system, the need to put "uses reserve ammo" or "doesn't require reserve ammo" in all of my notes for each character's weapon, and the need to figure out melee attacks/weapons, I have to do some very meticulous updates to my current notes, which doesn't make for a super exciting prospect. Hey, at least I can think of funny things for these goobers to smack people with!

I do actually have an art now, though it's not my most flattering work. Had some ideas for alternate weapons for Yanno, the explosives aficionado with a dragon-shaped fireworks launcher for a hand I shared in an earlier post. The eagle launcher rewards precise aim and improves your aerial capabilities, the hydra launcher unleashes multiple rockets at a time, and the shark cannon fires big, arcing bombs that roll on the ground before detonating momentarily after. Very obviously taking heavy inspiration from a certain other flying explosive enthusiast for a couple of these, and the shark cannon exists entirely to avoid needing a separate character just for a grenade launcher guy when rockets are already such a similar weapon type.

So uh.

...I had a point I think.

art hard but I wanna do it more. this was a rant post but got devoured in word count by War Bots so uh. oops if you don't care about that.

I think I feel better now? remind me when I get up though to make a post linking my twitch and youtube.

[landgraabbed]

hi! i was wondering if you had game recs for someone that has only played sims and stardew on pc! im the person and i want to start playing more stuff but i dont want to start with something too difficult i hope that makes sense 🐣 thank you and i hope you enjoy your weekend

hi nonners!! sure thing! a huge chunk of my childhood gaming was harvest moon and sims so let's see! my gaming tastes are very unified yet all over the place so don't take this as gospel and something you will For Sure enjoy! feel free to follow up if any game/genre piques your interest!

if you never did so, i would recommend giving the sims handheld games (namely, sims bustin' out, urbz, and sims 2 on the gba/ds). they're still in the universe of the sims so you take care of your lil sim/urb but they're adventure games where you're given tasks and progress through the story. the writing is silly but good, and the characters are fun, though the games may feel grindy at times. feel free to hit me up if you'd like, i can hook you up with them!

in the farming sim/resource manager sim, i can recommend you the harvest moon games, now story of seasons. story of seasons: a wonderful life just came out on the switch, and i think other platforms, and it is a remake of the iconic a wonderful life. just keep in mind that it might feel like a step down from just how much content is in stardew valley! there's also the rune factory series, my time at portia (and the upcoming my time at sandrock), ooblets, graveyard keeper, calico, and animal crossing. oh!! and kynseed. kynseed is lovely and it looks gorgeous and it is a life sim where you play as successive generations, with lots of fae elements. it can get a bit grindy but i've greatly enjoyed my time with it.

(and i just started wylde flowers since i got it on sale this week, and i've been really enjoyed it so far, but can't provide a full recommendation since i've had so little time with it)

if you enjoy the decorating part of the sims, i can recommend you the tenants. it's a game where you play as a landlord, decorate houses, find renters, and most importantly do renovation jobs for clients.

if you're in the mood for something sandbox-y, other than animal crossing i think that no man's sky could scratch that itch (you can fully customize options such as resource availability, combat difficulty, etc) and, of course the legend of zelda breath of the wild (and i can only assume tears of the kingdom, but i haven't started that one yet)

if you're wanting to dip your toes into different genres, such as rpgs, i can recommend you the elder scrolls series (especially skyrim is more streamlined and thus, more beginner friendly) and dragon age. both series have difficulty settings you can change as you feel more or less comfortable. if you're interested in party-based, turn-based rpgs, you can't go wrong with the final fantasy series, golden sun, and octopath traveler (which is a recent favorite that i wholeheartedly love, with the caveat that if someone is looking for a large, overarching story it is not the game that will provide that)

edit to add story-based games. there are many but i won't cite what maybe most people would recommend bc i either haven't played it or dislike it. i really enjoyed oxenfree, not tonight, road 96, and most importantly of all, kentucky route zero. my sibling adores the dreamfall chapters series and i really enjoy watching them play it! and my wife (a much more casual player than me but whom i love watching play and has great taste) loved playing strange horticulture, the sexy brutale, eastshade, and coffee talk (episodes 1 and 2)

please keep in mind there's some overlap between categories! and i think that most games will be approachable to beginners. nobody was born knowing how to play games and i find that most games do a good job of bringing players up to speed.

sorry for the long reply!! gaming is just a bit of a big interest for me since it's my preferred medium and i'm a rambler haha. as i said, feel free to hmu again on or off anon!! and hope u too are having a great weekend

[riftdancing]

I'm back!

Question four! Blink Vaniro. Seemingly reformed raises a question. Does she miss any particular thing from her old life that she can't/shouldn't do now? Is there a scenario where she would go back, to whatever it was she was doing?

Disclaimer: I love writing flawed characters, but Blink one of my most flawed. I want to first and foremost remind those reading, Blink is a fictional character. Just because she thinks or feels one way should never be a reflection of my own thoughts, opinions, or feelings as her writer. Thank you.

I'll be blunt. Blink misses a LOT of things revolving around crime. Crime is easy. Its a simple solution to many situations if your moral compass is flexible enough and given the way she was raised (the daughter of a Sky Pirate Captain) hers certainly is.

Vaniro grew up with crime. In a lot of ways it was even habitual to her. In some minor situations the impulse is still there, despite her keeping it on a tight leash these days, and Rex keeping her on a tighter one. Originally Blink was a simple independent contractor for Firelight Trading Company. Whatever job she was given was accomplished with the rule being she would stay on the right side of the law, and the pay was damn good.

Later on, after a good amount of contracts with FTC, Blink signed on as full time employee. But, kind of like a tiger in a zoo, Blink requires enrichment if she's going to be staying on the right side of the law. Originally, she wasn't getting that enrichment. So, boredom began to set in, and when Blink gets bored she yearns for the mischief of crime.  It's like an itch she cannot scratch.  She wants to antagonize.  She wants to pick fights.  She wants to cause problems on purpose.

So when Rex challenged her one day (and disrespected her shortly thereafter), Blink with no tolerance for being disrespected, gave him one chance to turn it around before having the balls to walk out on his employment.  Which, by FTC standards, is pretty unheard of.  It's rare that someone tells Rex no, let alone quits.  To which it only further sparked his interest in her.  It made him want her.

Long story short, the two spent a few weeks playing cat and mouse, Rex with the intentions of dragging her back into his employ, and Blink flat out simply enjoying the chase whilst drawing up what intel she could on him.  (This is how these two flirt, though neither of them will admit it.)  This ended in a big brawl (more flirting) where the pair wound up absolutely destroying a bar in Kugane.  Rex bested Blink, something she's not used to, and in a lot of ways it made her realize there's a lot she could learn from him.

I won't go into the nitty gritty, but despite some of the themes I'm about to touch on I will say consent is paramount between Rexonus and Blink. No matter what act Vaniro might put on, especially being the tsundere she is, nothing she does for anyone is ever against her will. Which is funny because she thrives when she is working under a superior. I think I wrote it best during some roleplay between Rex and Blink where he called her a hound. ...Because truthfully, he's not wrong.

He was right. Vaniro was a hound. She was always another's dog. Her Father’s first, then Das’, even the Empire’s. When the leash was taken off, it was like she didn’t know what to do with herself. Sure, she had her own personal goals. Goals she’d achieved. But the last five odd years had been spent in a stalemate with herself. It was a crude way of putting it, but she couldn't argue the truth.

Listen. Blink is a boss woman in her own right. She doesn't take shit from anyone unless she wants to. It takes a very powerful, patient, and caring person to wind up filling the shoes of her superior. But that's when she's at her best. When there is someone there driving her to be better. Someone aiding in giving her purpose.

Rex stepped into those shoes. He's done a lot for her beyond that too. Thanks to Rex, Blink has been going to see Shiro frequently for therapy sessions. Sessions which have helped her grow more comfortable with the idea of letting people in rather than constantly pushing them away. Since becoming romantically involved with Rex and emotionally involved with the FTC staff, she's become a lot more healthy mentally. But this means she's developed attachments, and this woman would do anything for those attachments.

Like forsake a life of crime for their safety. Not that she'd ever admit it to any of them though.

:)

[lorcaswhisky]

🌿🎀🍭

(for the fic writer asks, please)

Ooh, thank you, @curator-on-ao3 ! These are fabulous questions.

🌿 how does creating make you feel?

Like a deity who left the intern in charge for the day. Simultaneously all-powerful and completely clueless. I can make the characters do *anything*! Wait, I can make them do *anything*?

(But also, can I be honest? Over the last 6 months or so of grappling with my writing, the answer has mostly been - frustrated. It's been like scraping every single letter out of concrete with a plastic spoon. I know exactly what happened: my real-life job got very toxic, very suddenly, last year, and although I'm out of it now and in a job I really love, the damage done to my confidence is taking time to heal. Reading back over the last few chapters and my notes for the final two installments with a clearer head and the benefit of distance, I can *see* that loss of confidence on the page - I'm over-explaining, over-complicating, all the time, bouncing around ideas without committing fully to them. Now that I'm safely in a better place, I've been recharging my creative cells now and working on being gentler with myself, and the words - and the joy - are slowly starting to come back, but it's been a slog to even get to this point.)

🎀 give yourself a compliment about your own writing

Usually I'd shuffle and dodge this question by mumbling something about being good at creating characters who feel like individuals. While that's true, I think, as part of Operation Rediscover My Confidence and Love of Writing (note to self: needs a snappier name), I've been rereading my work and I now have a new answer! I think I'm good at taking risks. I wrote a detective fic in space - something I'd never tried before - in which the answer to the mystery the central character is trying to solve is one everyone reading will know because they've *watched the show*, and it *works*. And then I took that story and wrote a sequel in a completely different style, another one I'd never tried before, and wrote a spy thriller slow burn romance in space between two characters who will likely never, ever meet in canon, and it *works*. I write plotty fics with ice cream and terrible heists and wonky robots and secret societies and telepathic gastropods and, for some reason, Harry fucking Mudd, and it *works*. Not without a lot of effort, and not without a lot of drafts that will never see the light of day, but it works. So, yeah. I take risks. I write weird shit, and I love that about my writing.

🍭 why did you start writing?

Because sometimes, just sometimes, I had ideas that made my brain itchy. And the only way to scratch that itch was to pour them out on paper.

[angelbluediary]

(I'll always find something to complain about)

For months, I was going out of my mind with worry about this summer: securing an income, where I'd be staying once my lease is up. I was applying for all kinds of jobs I otherwise would never, ever want. And it has been the biggest hit to my ego to have what I thought were great interviews, and then not be offered the minimum wage, part time job, with a Master's degree. I cling to my degree because it feels like the only thing I have to show for my entire life. All that work, for what? I was always told it mattered. I was told it guaranteed me jobs, that a Bachelor's alone would change everything. That was a lie. Months of bargaining and begging and praying and now I don't care anymore. I'm moving back in with my parents. I'm sharing a room with my sibling. I'll never have so much as an hour to myself again for the next foreseeable months. I toggle between extreme gratitude and despair every day. At least this gives me time to get back on my feet, but there's still endless payments I have to make during this cycle, there's no real "rest."

I couldn't land a job in this city where everything is 20 minutes away. But there's nothing where my parents are. So whatever job I get in the near future, I predict being in the car for at least 2 hours every day, working for some company I don't give a shit about. I'll have to get up at 4 am every day. So in some aspects, this change in living situation will ease normal stressors I've been dealing with for over the past year, but it'll make other things so much harder. And going from being completely, totally alone all the time, to not having a shred of privacy since my siblings spend their entire lives in their rooms. And I'm nervous. I'm nervous about being a trigger to everyone in such close quarters. I've always been the only one itching to get out and live my own life, the only one who ever rebelled against our parents as a teen and challenged their views. My siblings seem so comfortable living their adult years folded into that nest, not applying for jobs (well, M is getting some money from the school now through a program, but his interest in income seems to have only stemmed from wanting to spoil his boyfriend with gifts?). I'm nervous about ruffling feathers unintentionally. I'm nervous about being the black sheep and the scapegoat and the one who is making everyone else uncomfortable because my opinions and desires are so different. And I want to be authentic but I don't want to be any kind of burden or trouble to anyone more than I already will be.

I can't help but feel like a failure. I know I need this reset time before I spring back out into the world again on my own terms, but I can't shake this deep sadness and anger at how everything turned out for me in comparison to the lives others who hurt me are shaping out. I have always tried to be kind and graceful in situations where I deserved to rip heads off. To release and forgive. But now I think all that forgiveness was false, because I'm still aching here while everyone else has moved on to bigger and better futures, possibly without ever having learned their lessons or working on themselves to become better people after inflicting so much fucking trauma on me. When I think back on the things I was going through regularly, things I normalized, I'm astounded. And so sad for past me. I need therapy, and don't know when that will ever be accessible again. My dad suggested I fictionalize my story and write about these things with some narrative distance, but I can't even bring myself to approach it from that lens. Truthfully I don't want to do anything but complain and feel sorry for myself nowadays. All my fight is gone. I don't see the point to anything because nothing motivates me or feels right for me or offers me any sort of glimpse of the future. I know I'm not trapped but it feels that way. I just want to be a human being without the working and struggling and fighting to survive every single day, and just take the time to heal myself with no other obligations. To be hugged and held and reassured until I feel a little less broken. I feel like I've lost so much of my own mind after all of this. So much stress in my body I hurt all over like I'm not in my twenties.

I have to trust that this is exactly what I need, and that every little change is for my self-betterment. Being forced to get up earlier, and remembering how to share space with other people, and working hard so I can rebuild my finances and independence. Having this time to carefully weigh all my options before making a move (literally).

It's funny that I spent so long fighting hard to fill my apartment with furniture and items to give me some form of external validation, and now I have to put just about every single thing I own in storage.

With a change in environment and routine, maybe the things I'm so worked up about right now will naturally dissolve and I'll find my passion again. Maybe I'll still be able to fall in love before my thirties. Maybe unspeakable beauty will emerge from this seemingly dull new cycle. We'll see.