#the back round got a bit murky

[child-eater-iii]

Don’t mine the blue splotch, I accidentally spilt ink on the paper before I started -_-

[screampied]

𝜗𝜚 BIG BOOOYS!

☆ sum. it's cuffin’ seasooon, and now you’ve got a reasooon to get…stuffed? toji, sukuna, choso, geto, nanami, gojo.

warnings. fem! reader, BIG BOYSSSS like the sza skit song, unprotected, manhandling, dad bods (toji / nanami), size kinks, tf! sukuna, boxer! geto, spīt, full nelson, mating press, dp (sukuna), overstim, dirty talk, praise, marathons, p spanks, hair pulling, breedīng, this got kinda … long LOL sry.

an. will t*mblr let me post thisss …. ¯\_(ᵕ—ᴗ—)_/¯

✩ ˛˚ . NANAMI KENTO.

“honey,” nanami warmly purrs, his body weight hovering right over yours. you’re met with the most softhearted eyes, watching cloudy puffy pants leave his mouth. you’d just rode nanami for countless hours nonstop, and with ruffled blond strands sticking to his face, he looked oh so feral for you. your eyes rover down toward his abdomen - so plump ‘n round, and you felt yourself throb the more you gawked at the vertical strip of his blond happy trail that ran down his chest. “hah- you want me to . . fold you like a chair? that sounds kind of painful, no?”

“ken, ‘s okay,” you reassure him, a hand sensually rubbing down his cushiony soft-padded abs. nanami was as soft as an oversized teddy bear, and he was always gentle with you during intimacy. you moan, feeling his split reddish tip gently smear a sloppy slope down your sopping entrance before he pauses to let you finish speaking. “y.. you can be a little rough. i can take it.”

nanami combs a hand through his hair before a coy simper tug at both corners of his thin pink lips. “okay, if that’s what my pretty wife wants- then. .” and you let off a jittery whimper once you feel his big hands start to gingerly shove both of your knees to your chest. his touch was forevermore tender, and nanami hoarsely groans as he watches your limbs gradually extend back. “i’ll . . stretch you,” he grumbles, a sandy brow of his furrowing once he starts to align his leaky cockhead once more. you’re throbbing, salivating from the mouth once the pointed crowns of your knees meet against your bare squishy breasts. leaning in, nanami’s just a few sultry centimeters apart before he sensually licks near your bottom lip. “hold onto me, sweetheart. ‘s gonna get a bit . . bumpy.”

once you’re laid flat on your back, nanami’s tubby tummy hovers over your entire frame. murky huffs of air shoot past his lips once he grabs ahold of your wobbly ankles. you’d already had your pretty laced panties shoved to the side, and oh how soaked you were. “naughty girl,” he huskily grunts, casually starting to rub his wedding ring against your folds. slow. . romantic strokes were all you felt. it lasts for a long few seconds, and he’s just smearing the frigid cold band of the ring around your bawling cunt before he finally gets to the real thing.

nanami grabs ahold of your legs—softly shoving them further into your chest. they meet against your bouncy tits and you moan, feeling the plump head of his cock greet your slobbering cunt with wet, slimy kisses of its own. the noises . . they were so damn loud, and you were already throbbing the more he teased you from just his full-sized tip alone. “ngh, ‘ken. don’t tease me. f.. fuck me,” you whine, another moan leaving from your parted lips the second he’s fully enclosed between your legs. you’re met with his rounded tummy that’s sooo perfect ‘n plump, and nanami’s just inches apart from the button of your nose. time stands still once he finishes aligning his thick cock, unhurriedly inserting himself inside.

oh fuck-

those same two words that ripped out of your whiny larynx repeated past your lips right as he started to ease his way inside. it didn’t take him long to quickly bottom out—and you were folded up like a chair. “s- sooo gorgeous for me,” he lowly groans, blond brows crimping together in needy want. your brief tightness that only lasts for a good three seconds makes nanami suck his teeth. so … damn … good, once he bottoms out all the way, you then hear the bubbly resounding ‘pop!’ that alerted you both that he was fit reaaaal nice ‘n snug. “god, the things you do to me, sweetheart.”

nanami tended to ramble mid-fuck, just spouting a bunch of nonsense against the shell of your ear. with barred, bare hands, he’s making sure your legs stay at the folded position you’re at. his cock’s just so fat though, and your eyes were almost cartoonish—widening like saucers at the precise moment he curves his way through that exact pathway of your cunt that makes you squeal. nanami’s sculptured hips drill into you ferociously, and his body that pounded on top of you after each impactful stroke was just so soft. you’d never get over it—he was like an actual plushie teddy bear.

sluggish arms of yours wrap around him, filling his entire ear canal with your continuous whimpers before he groans. “kento, fuuuckk- fuck!” you’d moan, feeling the bed frailly dip from both pounds of jerking weight.

pap after pap after pap, nanami’s stuffing you full with each mouth-watering inch, and your pussy constantly decided to torture you with its dramatic spasms and fluttering. filled to the very hilt, nanami’s making sure your insides got every single part of him.

he’s groaning, trying his hardest not to crush you with his weight. every few seconds, he’d cup your face with two sweaty palms before slowing down with a timid cunt-drunk grin. whispering out a shaky, “hah- you okay, sweetheart? ‘m not crushin’ my sweet girl, am i?” he’d lovingly caress a thumb across your face, acting as if he wasn’t currently fucking you stupid.

“ ‘m okay,” you’d breathlessly croon out in a sweet throaty tune, almost as if your sweet moans were high notes. nanami was hitting you deep, and with a sloppy pivot of his hips, the angle got even deeper. you’re filling up the four paper-thin walls of the bedroom with your trilling whines, purely engulfed by his loud manly musk. your cunt’s already starting to soak with dewy globs of your juices, even dribbling down your folds and oh it’s comin’ . .

“ken, kentoo—oooh!”

nanami felt his dick twitch inside of you at your dragged-out moan of his name.. but - it wasn’t just a moan—it was a pretty, elongated orgasm that caught you by surprise. his blushing tip was messily kissing your pulsating g-spot, circling all around it while casually feeding your grippy, wet walls. you clung onto him tight with your arms and also your insides. before you knew it though, your high was slowly but surely creepin’ up on you.

“i know- i knowww,” he murmured out of breath, and you could feel him starting to slow down. nanami’s rickety hips were passionate. they were steady, and as you were creaming down his weighty shaft, he planted a kiss on your temple. “thaaat’s it, let go. ‘m right here, kento’s here. i’ll clean you right up, sweetheart.”

his words warmed their way into the key of your heart . . slowly traveling between your legs also to make you throb. you’re whimpering the same repeated chant of his name as your arms were now wrapped around his sweat-glossed waist. nanami chuckles into your neck, and he can feel your arms pull his plump body closer. “mhmm, touch my body all you want, honey,” and you moan, feeling him release the grip on your numb legs. nanami brings his wedding ring toward your teary cunt after he pulled out, giving it one more loving rub. “ ‘m all yours,” he kisses near your lips. “always.”

✩ ˛˚ . SUKUNA RYOMEN.

“keh, you make me laugh, woman,” sukuna grouses, slouching back against his notorious throne as you straddle him. eager ‘n all, you try to align yourself and he grabs your hips firmly with a smug scoff. “you can barely handle one, what makes you think you can handle both of me, hm?”

“ ‘kuna, don’t tease me,” you huff, and he hums once he sees the frustration marinating across your face. cute, sukuna knew you didn’t like being teased but he still enjoyed getting underneath your skin. after all, you were his favorite, and maybe just for tonight . . he’d oblige with your carnal desire to get double stuffed. sukuna folds two of hefty arms behind his broad neck, his other arms occupied by gripping your waist. oh, he looked so priggish. a wolffish grin remains plastered on his lips as he watches you wrap a hand around one of his cocks. they were fuckin’ big, both stacked on top of each other and you moan. “stop lookin’ at me like that.”

sukuna snickers. “heh. my apologies, little one. i’ll look away while you struggle, i guess,” and a fang pops underneath his sinister curled lips once your wet entrances start to slowly kiss against his tips. you’re weeping wet, and you moan with your other arm abruptly tossing around his broad shoulders. you felt your heart’s irregular beats pick up whilst you’re perfectly aligned with both of his thick twinned cocks. with a squelching ‘pop!’ the first one starts to delve inside of your cunt, driving its way past the loose ring of your dripping entrance. “fuuuck, atta girl.” sukuna gravelly grunts, his smugness starting to falter just a bit. as he’s bottoming out, his grip on your hips tighten more. your warmth catches him by surprise—but once you’re taking in his second cock, he smacks together his lips in awe. pink slit brows of his form together into a vexed arch once he growls.

“ ‘s fuckin’ big,” you moan, slightly turning your head to stare at your grinding perked ass. as a few seconds pass, you’re starting to writhe your ass against his lap. successfully, both fat cocks were filled inside each of your gummy orifices. the concise feeling of tightness makes you mewl, feeling sukuna’s overgrown nails gently dig into the plush flesh of your ass cheek. “god, so full ‘kuna, fuuuuck,” you continue to babble, and you already could feel your fluttering tummy starting to giggle with hoards of impatient butterflies. you can’t help but part your lips into a cute ‘o’, nearly drooling once he spanks your ass — his way of encouraging you to ride him faster.

sukuna’s big, and it’s not even about both of his lengthy dicks anymore. he’s a demon, an unruly one that could probably crush you if he wanted. but no . . he had a soft spot for you, an even more softer spot for your sweet, weak pussy. as he sits back against the creaking throne, you gulp, taking in just how big he is compared to you. bloody, ruddy eyes bore back into you as he started to break a cold sweat. “hng, good,” he groans, and you watch as his head gradually starts to fall back.

oh- you’ve got him whipped. once you started up your rocky pace, it was game over.

each towering cock plummets into both of your holes filthy, and the repeated dampened sloshes of your cunt resounded through the walls of his echoey domain. over and over and over. your rhythm starts to get more and more hectic as you progress—and you’re whimpering, continuously feeling one of his swollen tip’s french kiss near your pretty puckering rim. the other one’s messily making out with your g-spot, rudely thrashing its way against that same pulsating target like it was a dart aiming straight for the bullseye. “o- ohhh, fuck. ‘kuna, ‘m not gonna last, ohmygodddd.”

you’re just so full…too full- and before you knew it, you could already feeling your legs preparing to violently snap.

mewling out a sweet, exaggerated ‘oh!’, you end up spraying out a pretty streaming geyser right between your legs. your glossed lips quiver as your awaited high finally comes, whining as you try to continue to swerve your weak hips in gradual arcs. it felt so so good, being plugged full with each of his girthy cocks. fuck, it felt too good that you could almost taste your sudden overwhelming releases on your tastebuds. “fuck, fuuuck,” you whine out in tiny puffs of air, glancing back through fuzzy peripherals to stare back at your ass. honed, sharp fingernails bury into the fat of your bouncy flesh and sukuna snarls at the tasteful friction. “ ‘s good, ‘kuna, ngh!”

“h- heh,” the curse jibes, but even he’s starting to slow down. as your rhythm starts to finally come to a slowing stop, you sheathe your head near his broad chest. sukuna holds you close, quietly snickering at the size difference. you—a mere human, straddling him. it was almost laughable. “you humans are so weak . . so fragile,” he huskily groans, leaning in to pierce his fangs into your neck softly. as if marking his territory, sukuna then licks a stripe up your neck. you’re still stuffed to the very brim, and that’s when he makes you sit up straight. with a disapproving tsk, sukuna crosses all of his arms with a pout like he’s judging you. “cunt’s still too weak though.”

you’re just a babbling mess, the pit of your tummy was in knots as it's still taking in both thickset cursed lengths. from your quavery thighs, it’s a shimmering sap of your precious slick that slithers down between the sprawled crevices of your legs. it’s pretty - and sukuna can’t help but swipe a fat thumb down, getting a taste all for himself. “mhm,” he brings his finger up to his wry compressed lips, savoring your fresh flavor on his spiked tongue. you’re still trying to recollect breaths when the demon softly grabs your chin, boring his cold, scarlet eyes right into yours. “open.”

an overgrown black nail gives the corner of your lips a soft tap and compliantly, you pry open your mouth. sukuna leans in before . . spat! he spits right on the flatness of your pink tongue, hearing you lewdly moan in response. with your flapping lashes nearly blinding your entire view, you could spot that same wolfish grin from an early start to creep against his lips one final time.

“how filthy. my good girl,” and you moan yet again, feeling him press a hand against your tummy — a wee reminder of how stuffed you currently were. “let’s try that again. this time though, i’ll let you ride my stomach tongue, heh.”

✩ ˛˚ . TOJI FUSHIGURO.

“kinkiest shit i’ve ever heard you say, mama,” toji guffaws as his tense shoulders bounce up and down. you couldn’t help but notice the way toji was slowly growing a dad bod, especially after the two of you had another child. he’s still in good shape—and he continued to maintain his usual workouts but fuck, you’d always fawn over his cute round tummy. he’s like a bear, shaggy, chunky, and incredibly soft. every time he’d pound on top of you, his weight would gingerly press into you, rubbing back ‘n forth against your body and you’d just wrap your arms around him. “full nelson, eh? you sure this isn’t the baby fever talkin’ again?”

“tojiii,” you pout, and you watch as he groans the moment you’re aligning yourself on his maddened cream-covered tip. it’s fat - leaking from the top with buttery white droplets of pre. toji reclines back against the couch that sucks his heavy body in as his legs start to spread. once he gets comfy, he looks at you with a sly grin while zeroing his verdant eyes all over your body. “ ‘m sure, i want it,” and you playfully start to run a palm down his bushy hairy chest, stopping at his cute rounded tummy. “want you.”

toji lets out a smoky chortle before pinching a grip near your ass. “alriiight, babygirl. but ‘m not gonna go easy. better hold on tight.”

and oh- toji and full nelson was a deadly combo within itself.

saying he had you stuffed to the max was purely an understatement. one minute you’re on his lap and the next, he’s got you pressed up against his woolly chest with his burly arms pinned up underneath your legs. he’s fucking you silly, plummeting such thick inches inside of your hungry cunt that it makes you see stars. not just stars but the whole damn galaxy. “f- fuuuck, fuck!” you’d gasp, feeling your cunt eagerly twitch at his sudden elastic-like stretch.

toji was strong, and he had no problem lifting you. each time he did, you’d bounce back on his lap, getting stuffed with even more mighty inches of his dick. it’s so wide, he’s merrily caressing through your gummy inner walls before rudely smacking his flushed crownhead against your tender needy cervix. that spot right there makes you shriek, and you can hear toji’s husky laughter from behind the shell of your ear.

“heh- yeah, baby. let me fuckin’ hear ya, take this . . hah, dick like a champ—fuuuck,” and he groans, a single smack of your ass making him briefly bite the inside of his hollow cheek. it’s a lot of weight that’s jerking back against him from you, and toji’s heaving breaths start to get heavier the more your cunt swallows him in wholly..

his virility was unmatched, and toji gave your pretty pussy addictively mean slams until it was squelching out his name. all syllables of it too—

you were loud, especially between your legs which were always toji’s favorite part. “t- tojiii,” you’d whine out his name again, continuously feeling that same caving dip arises near the middle part of your tummy. he’s in so deep, and your back remains to rub against his furry-covered chest. toji’s plump belly was so soft behind you, and the saltiness that started to coat your buds from your incoming release was almost too much to bare. “harder, f- fuck me. ooh! that spot, that f- fuckin’ sp—”

“if i wanted to hear my wife speak i’d ask her talkative pussy instead,” toji grunts, and you let off a bleating whine the second your bare wet cunt’s met with a spank. slap! and the entire sound makes your folds twitch. you moaned, desperately wanting him to do it again. not just once or twice—hell, even thrice. you ached for more of toji’s touch, and he knew that. he knew his wife. you watch as his scarred lips form into a smile, and he spanks your pussy again. “mhm, kinky girl. that turns you on, yeah? ‘course it does. bet if i fuckin’ spat on it you’d go crazy too, hm?”

“tojiii-‘m-gonna-cum,” you whimper out in a quick single second, trying to talk over his rant. you were a bobble head toy, bouncin’ up and down his fat cock. his long girthy inches had you hungry - slobbering from the mouth like a dog for more as he filled you to the very fuckin’ brim. easily, toji’s invading all through your spongy cunt with his thick thighs resting underneath you. your nails cling to his skin like velcro with your mewling whines only pitching louder. “tojiiiii, gonna cu— fuuuck!”

“yeah, i know baby,” he grunts, feeling his balls starting to tighten. toji’s head throws back at the sharp slams of your hips. each time you fall back into his vast lap, his guttural voice drops even deeper. every time it does—you end up throbbing. a cute ‘lil pulse that he always pokes fun at you for. “heh- there’s that cute throb, she’s so fuckin’ needy,” and as your pussy’s squelches cry out even louder, toji growls. “fuck. gonna milk me, s- so good, ‘s that what y’er tryna do?” and you moan, feeling the pad of his thumb ghost down your throat. “want me ‘ta make you a pretty mommy again?”

a whiny, “y-yesss,” slurs out from your glossed lips, and toji snickers. of course. you wanted him to fill you all the way up like always. plug the top until your cunt was just flooded with his hot thick ropes of cum.

and that’s just what he does—toji lets out a gruff groan once he feels himself reaching his limit. with his hips nudging quicker, he grunts at the final punctuating thrust. “f- fuck, take it then. take it like a hah- good girl,” and toji’s plush body underneath you starts to rumble. finally, your legs collapse down from the position they were in once he’s starting to paint the pasty walls of your cunt his whitish color. it’s a lot, ribbons of slick cum that splatter its way throughout the layout of your mottled-covered entrance. “shit,” he swears against your neck, growing quiet to hear the sloppy sounds.

you start to ooze between your thighs, and you moan once toji lifts your leg once more. the bush that glues against his chest hair continued to tickle against your back before you whine. “mhn, atta fuckin’ girl,” he huffs, smearing a thumb down your cunt that’s spitting out any remnants of his gooey seed. it’s hot, drooling down the cracks of your folds that he ends up giving your pussy one more final spank.

“heh, best we start thinkin’ of names again then,” and he nips a soft bite near your ear. “mommy.”

✩ ˛˚ . SATORU GOJO.

he’s the strongest, which also means the strongest in bed.

and satoru’s favorite thing to do was to have you being fucked senseless with your legs gracefully thrown over your head. you’d tease him constantly, saying how since he’s ‘the strongest’, surely, he can’t be the strongest in bed too… right?

wrong,

because that smug ‘lil grin of yours gets wiped off your face almost instantly the second he’s pushing your cute, weak legs over your shoulders. oh- he’d show just how strong he could be, especially underneath the sheets. satoru had stamina for miles, rarely running out of gas and he’d easily steal orgasm after orgasm out of you. after a plethora of pliable positions, you now found yourself laid flat on your back with your legs pinned right behind your head.

“aw! c’mooon, sweets. wanna see how flexible my wife’s pussy can get,” he hoarsely coos, and his playful demeanor slowly vanishes. satoru’s now feral - and he was always feral with you. especially whenever he was stuffed inches deep inside of your sloppy bear-hugging cunt.

you whine, staring up at the white-haired man and he’s still got his blindfold on. it’s halfway on, sexily showing a bit of his right eye as he runs a hand through his tangled frosty strands. satoru’s favorite thing was to manhandle you, toss you around the room ‘n treat your body like a rag doll.

“ ‘toru, fuuuuck,” you’d sob out, the inner pit of your tummy letting off a deep exhale once he’s buried in. the head of his dick’s now thwacking near the hilt, and you’ll never forget the feeling of his long, bulky cock sneakily massaging its way toward your gummy cervix. it’s repetitive, and you’re chewing on your inaudible whimpers at each luscious stroke he gives you. he’s an animal, and each merciless pound makes you trill out his name over ‘n over until your poor, poor vocal chords strain. “don’t stop, p- please. fuck me, fuh— fuuuck.”

“awwwh, my pretty wifey’s so talkative today, especially her too,” he whispers, and you moan once he’s practically laid flat against your bare chest. satoru snakes a hand between your legs, rubbing messy circles against your leaking pussy. a sly grin creases at each corner of his lips as he rubs near your full abdomen. satoru groans, moving his hand toward the middle part of your tummy before softly pressing down - feeling a prodding ‘lil bulge that he knew all too well. “mhm, that’s all me, baby. alllll fuckin’ me.”

your cunt was indeed loud, each sloppy thrust of satoru’s hips whacking into you at full collision makes you gush.

you couldn’t help but soak a portion of his cock with masses of your syrupy slick and it makes him hum. how cute, satoru could even feel your dripping pussy fluttering around his length. he’s thick—and more importantly, he’s fuckin’ big.

satoru’s sweating, and as he continues to hold your legs up over your head, you spot the spasming veins bulging in his arms. beefy, is the perfect word to describe him. every muscle within him flexed whilst he was pounding into you rawly, making sure your greedy cunt always remembered exactly who it belonged to. “mhm, such a pretty girl. gushin’ all on me, think i oughta train thisss—” and he pauses, giving your soddened entrance a playful pat. “—pussy jus’ a bit more, hm? could be a ‘lil stronger, especially since y’r dealin’ with me, baby,” and as he’s talking, he starts to lick near your neck. “fuuuck, ooh i love that fuckin’ grip. nasty girl. mmm, make me just as messy as you, uh huh.”

“fuh— ‘m gonna cum!” you squeak, the intense throbbing between your legs only increases whilst he’s giving you his all with his ragged strokes. into. each hit was more and more ruthless, your head’s spinning, and the beats of your heart only got quicker. you were sure that your pretty glistening slick had his entire cock to the base covered by now. needless to say, you were drenched. satoru even leans upright to your face, snickering once he feels your hands try to pull his blindfold off. “sato—ruuu, cum, ‘m gonna cum.”

“yes, princess i heard you the first time,” he coos, his tone full of smug arrogance. oh, how you wanted to wipe that cocky smirk right off his naturally glossed lips. his appetizing thrusts against you were the definition of straight insanity, and as his hips kept championing at such speedy strokes, you squealed. riiiight there, the mushroomy crown of his cock scraped against the target of your cervix and you nearly go crazy. “ooooh, there it is. there—she—fuckin’ is,” and as his voice grits lower, pausing each stroke to enunciate his sloppy hits against your cunt, it’s almost like he’s talking down to you. but in this case—satoru’s talking down to your cunt, because it’s the only thing he’s staring at.

openly, he snatches his blindfold off and his sparkly eyelashes flap thrice once he makes loving eye contact with your weeping pussy.

“mm, give it to me then, pretty girl. make a fuckin’ mess on me,” and you moan once he pulls your legs up even higher over your head. bringing his sheeny-coated lips up to your ear, he whispers hoarsely, giving your drenched cunt a doubting squeeze. “i dare ya.”

✩ ˛˚ . CHOSO KAMO.

“that?” choso’s eyes widen, hearty irises glued to your phone. you’re showing him some one-minute-long video of a woman getting passionately hammered in what you told him was ‘mating press.’ choso wasn’t new to intimacy, and whenever you recommended new positions for him to try, he’d always get excited. maybe even a bit . . aroused. “o- oh,” and his voice lowly husks, watching at the deeply intimate angles. the woman lay underneath the man and his weight pressed all on her. he was giving her deep and thorough strokes, occasionally giving her sloppy hot kisses in between. choso could feel his heart race as he started to imagine himself doing that exact position to no one other than you.

and he did, because the moment he’s cutely staring at your exposed, nude body underneath him, he can’t help but moan. you’re so pretty, and as he’s feebly trying to align himself, he whimpers.

“mngh, b- baby, ‘s this okay?” and his darkened eyes flicker toward your face. he’s leisurely placing his weight on your body, bringing your legs up to go over his shoulders. glossy, pink lips of his quiver as he feels the weeping wetness of your pussy twitch and drench around his cock. “don’t wanna hah- hurt you, tell me if ‘m too heavy, ‘kay?”

“promise, ‘cho,” you softly coo, your voice as smooth as silk. indeed choso was a tad bit heavy, especially compared to you. he was around a staggering height that’s damn near over feet of six inches tall and he was just looking at you like he was ready to pounce. a needy pout stretches across the thin corners of his lips as he moans, watching openly as your cunt starts to swallow his stoutly pinkish tip. “mmh, that’s it, baby. nice ‘n slow- whenever you’re ready.”

your voice- choso got off from it alone. every sentence that came out of your mouth had him weak. as your legs remained hauled over his droopy shoulders, he’s slowly inserting his cock into your greedy walls. seconds past and it doesn’t take long before wanton whimpers slither their way past your lips. “f- fuck, ‘s fuckin’ warm for me,” choso shudders out a breath, the feeling of your gripping cunt hugging his length tightly sends him shivers. it’s an indescribable feeling that makes his sable-colored brows curl into an arch and within just a few simple thrusts, choso loses it.

within a few rigid beginning thrusts—he gradually starts to get the hang of it. pumpin’ his lanky cock in and out of you as labored breaths snatch from his lungs, he whines yet again. this time though, it’s far louder. you’ve got to cup his face whilst he’s pounding into you rigorously. nearly crushing you with his hefty weight, choso tries to hover a bit over your wet cunt, moaning for the grip as he’s casually rocking back ‘n forth into your warm, welcoming body.

“good boy, f- fuck me, choso- riiight there, mhm!” you’d whine, feeling your eyes starting to dramatically roll and flicker from just his sheer size alone. choso’s cock had such length that it expands allll through you, reading out every area of your cunt like a map. it knows the exact layout, all the secret crevices, and angles to locate and once he reaches there . . you’re fucked.

between you and choso—you honestly don’t even know who’s louder. the moment you call him a ‘good boy’, you can almost feel him melting in your hands like putty. choso’s bumpy hips start to accelerate quicker and you whine every time you feel one of his veins pulse down his cock. “f- fuck, think ‘m gonna hah- cum jus’ from lookin’ at you,” he cutely rambles, each thrust becoming more sloppy. his hips have such power that it makes the entire bed groan out whiny creaks of its own. “you’re so pretty baby, s- so pretty with your legs all over my shoulders like this- heh.”

choso’s fucking you with his pace never slowing, trying to remember how the guy in the video did it. slow and steady, deep but thorough strokes, massage the clit . . and as he’s stretching you out with the swollen head of his cock—you let off a soft shriek. ‘pop!’ and you felt his plump shaft slip out of you immediately.

choso’s pussy-drunken grin falters as he notices his dick fell out of you- but not only that, he’s cumming for real. .

it was so sudden, and as his entire body’s spasming above you, he whimpers whilst struggling to align his milky-covered tip back between the opening of your glistening folds. “f- fuck, ‘s no fair, came too early,” he whines, and you moan once he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he’s embarrassed. your legs were still raised in the air as he’s holding them both firmly, groaning against your skin. a fresh hot batter of oozing cum leaves out of choso’s blushing slit — splattering out lewdly on your puffed pussy folds. choso’s so frustrated that he even tries fucking his cum in between your flaps with the cutest unsatisfied scowl on his lips. “s- sorry, ‘m bein’ a little messy. ‘m sorry, sorry.”

“ ‘s okay, baby,” you let off a quiet moan, your body already starting to feel numb. already, you were starting to miss the gaping outline of his cock driving through your insides but he makes it up by smacking his tip against your cunt. with a wet ‘splash!’ choso ends up smearing his sweltering hot cum all over your entrance, panting the entirety of your twitching sex right his ivory-white color. as he leans in for a kiss, choso clumsily misses your mouth with his lips pressing on your chin instead.

it’s cute, and you had to guide his face with your own hands just to have him shove his tongue into your mouth. choso’s body weight was now starting to grind against you again—but by now, he was straight up jumping you. he wants more, and you could tell as he was moaning into your mouth, grunting from his drooling cock that was rubbing up and down between your pasty entrance.

still swapping cobwebs of spit as the both of you smashed lips on each other—choso’s continues to spank his aching cockhead against your cunt whilst his lips desperately crash against yours. it turns him on, a lot more than he thought- and choso thinks he may have just found out his new favorite kink.

you.

✩ ˛˚ . SUGURU GETO.

being in a relationship with a boxer had its perks.

suguru geto—he was known for his fights, but more importantly his flexible positions. you’d always tease him about it, pokin’ fun at how you wish he’d fold you like his opponents one time for once. but oh, you’re taken aback once he takes you up on that offer.

“nuh uh, don’t tap out now, baby. let’s see that cute form,” geto grunts, pressing a wet kiss near the inside of your neck. the two of you were in his private gym, specifically his private ring where he’d always train. today though, you were needy, teasing him at how you wanted him to be put in a chokehold like he did to his opponents. but, the moment he’s got you straddling his lap as you’re cockwarming him, you’re nothing but a wet babbling mess. you moan, letting off a breathy gasp once the top part of his boxing glove rubs against your sobbing cunt. you were soaked, making a mess on the mat and a soft gasp creeps out the back of your throat once he wraps a beefy arm around your throat.

safely, geto’s got you in a firm chokehold — the exact one you’d usually see him perform on his other opponents. embarrassingly enough, your cunt twitches almost instantly, and you were trying to grind your hips back into him. “hngh, suguru- fuuuck,” you purr out, letting off a weeping mewling whimper as you felt his fat pointed dick ream a path through your insides. the entire gym was quiet. the only sounds that could’ve been heard were the wet sloshing sounds of geto’s glove gently smacking against your sprawled open pussy. psh after pshh and it only gets louder as you squirm, your thighs parting.

he’s big, manhandling you like this while you’re in a mere chokehold. once you’re starting to sloppily bounce on his lap, you can hear him hiss from the enticing friction. the electric sting of both mounds of flesh slamming on each other ends up giving you both whiplash. “h- hah, fuck, good girl. ride it—move those hips, fuck me back- mmph,” he starts to groan, the weight of your ass getting more and more impactful. geto’s meaty thighs glue against yours and you moan, feeling the curve of his cock rummaging through your squashy insides.

he’s so thick, that his plump tip runs through your tremulous walls before it frantically jackhammers its way to your cervix. letting off a squalling ‘ah!’ of a squeak, your back ends up falling into his broad chest. geto’s sweaty, bare skin rubs off against your skin and he groans. the sly dark-haired boxer wore nothing but his thinly made everlast boxing shorts. “suguruuuu,” you cutely drag out his name, moaning at the way his beefy bicep still wrapped around your neck. you’re bouncin’ up and down repeatedly and it’s almost comical at how your eyes were bulging out of their holes. your tongue was fully lolled, and you’ve never felt more stuffed. hit after hit, by this point, you were sure geto’s cock was gonna give your pretty pussy a solid, fair K.O.

but oh, geto ends up fucking you round after round - literally. he went from having you ride him to him pounding you into his squishy, red mat. your face vigorously presses into the cushion as you’re moaning, desperately whining out his name while he’s ‘practicing’ his special techniques on your cunt. the entire scene was lewd, and as you continued to whine out pathetic cacophonies of, ‘suguruuu,’ — ‘riiight there,’ — or his personal favorite, ‘ooooh, hit it there baby!’ ‘s, he’d feel his dick twitch inside you every time.

your ass raises the second he grabs ahold of your hip, and he’s madly drilling into you raw. each sloppy stroke and twist of his hips makes your toes curl and the bittersweet taste of your saliva ends up trickling down the side of your mouth, landing face-first on the vermillion-colored boxing mat. “fuckin’ shiiit, ‘m gonna cum, sweetheart,” he huffs, resting his free hand on your arched spine. so pretty - the way your ass tries to thrust back into his sharp hips was oh-so-cute. your pussy only got more sloppy, and as he’s feeling his cock preparing to release itself, you could almost hear a whimper snarl out from his throat. “ah, tell me where, f- fuck. talk to me, pretty.”

“i- insiiiide,” you squeal out with short breaths, his cock merrily kneading through your walls. it’s almost filthy at how loud your cunt was. just drooling such molasses of sheeny slick on his length, making an even bigger mess between your legs and on the fighting mat too. as he’s giving you his final, victorious thrusts that make your mouth snap open — a fairly lewd K. O., geto grunts, losing the match with his opponent being nothing more than your sweet, slippery cunt.

instantaneously, wads of thin bubbly ropes mesh with your slick juices, a pretty white ring foamin’ around his base. your release slams into you like a semi-truck, and your eyes crossed almost instantly.

with his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, he’s pouring in such slimy amounts that end up tearing straight down your pulsing bare slit. geto groans, hazed and all as his darkened eyes glance at how you were perfectly arched for him. this position was perfect for you in his eyes.

ass up — face down, “goddamn,” he grumbles through pearly gritted teeth and a slack jaw. mewing satisfied coos purr out of your spit-slicked lips as you feel him plugging you up to the brim, hearing the wet plops ‘n paps of his hot, sticky cum dripping onto the mat. you only imagined what it looked like, how much of a fuckin’ mess you were. “hah- aren’t you a champ,” he pants, and you moan once geto smacks your ass.

speedily, he now makes you flip over with a swift toss of a single brawny arm before picking you up. “mmhn, sweetheart. you did ‘s good for me,” and as your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, geto gives you a chaste kiss. a few loose strands of hair stick against your forehead as his tongue curls its way inside of your hot mouth before he snickers, pulling away. “ah, there’s one more position i wanna try though.”

“w- what?” you heave, pouting the second his lips depart from yours.

geto re-aligns himself between your leaking cunt that’s still profusely spurting out clods of milky clumps of his cum before he lifts you just a bit higher against his chest. “hm, oh- i just fuck you while standing up,” and you moan, wrapping your arms around his broad neck. ravened, feral eyes meet yours one more time and geto lets off a husky grunt, his boxing glove sneaking between your legs. “you’re my big girl though, yeahh?”

[pretzel-box]

You can choose to ignore this or take as long as you want but if it's ok to get a Sebastian x sea angelreader ??

This things here if your wondering what the tendrils is on the second photo. Those are used for catching prey like kinds grabby tongues in a sense

And maybe like the reader is like the one Sebastian always gets confused by cause they seem innocent but can do a 180 and be very feisty . Also like reader appears to be a normal expendable until the transparent tail and wings in their back is seen in the water. Also again just love your stories and hope you have a lovely day :)

Words: 1,5k

Tags: Established Relationship, Sea Angel! Hybrid, mentions of tearing apart a wall dweller

“You’ve got plenty of them in your hair…” Sebastian muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and something softer, almost fond. His claw-like hands carefully sifted through your hair, deftly picking out the strands of algae that had tangled in it during your last dive. Despite the gruffness in his tone, his touch was gentle, as though he’d done this countless times before—and indeed, he had.

It had become something of a ritual between you two. In fact, it was the very reason you had grown close to Sebastian in the first place. The first time you met, you had appeared in his shop out of nowhere, crawling through a vent with a quiet determination that startled him. He’d turned around to find you standing there, big round eyes staring up at him, your expression as flat and unreadable as your entrance had been. What threw him off even more was that you weren’t dressed like the typical Urbanshade personnel; instead, you wore a mismatched collection of second-hand clothes, each piece seeming to tell a different story. 

And then there were the algae plants—strands of green clinging stubbornly to your hair, likely from an adventurous, helmet-less swim around the facility. At the time, he had been more bemused than anything, the sight of you so unexpected that he couldn’t help but smirk. “Algae head,” he’d teased, flicking your forehead with just enough force to make you blink in surprise. The nickname had stuck, along with the habit of his good-natured ribbing.

But as time went on, the teasing gave way to something more. He began to offer his help, his initial mockery turning into a routine act of care. Perhaps it was the sight of you—this curious, determined person who seemed so out of place yet so at ease in the murky depths of the Hadal Blackside—that softened him. Or maybe it was something else, something unspoken that drew him to you. 

Now, as you curled up on his tail, you could feel the tension in his usually stoic demeanor ease, his movements slow and deliberate as he carefully untangled each piece of algae. There was something soothing in the ritual, in the way he was always so careful, so meticulous, as if this moment mattered more than he’d ever admit.

You spent a lot of time like this, together. It had become an unspoken agreement—a part of your strange, shared life in this unsettling place. The silence between you was comfortable, broken only by the soft rustle of his hands through your hair, the quiet hum of the facility around you. It was in these small moments, the ones filled with mundane tasks and quiet companionship, that you felt the depth of your connection.

“I have to get some stuff for the shop,” Sebastian finally broke the silence, his deep voice rumbling through the air. His claws, which had been gently untangling the last bits of algae from your hair, wandered down to your torso. With surprising ease, he lifted you up like a long, lazy cat, setting you back on your feet with a gentle plop that made you blink in slight irritation.

“I’m running out of good stuff to sell,” he added with a huff, his tone a mixture of practicality and mild annoyance. You knew exactly what that meant. He was planning another dive, a journey into the deeper, more dangerous parts of the facility to scavenge for anything of value. It was a necessary risk, one he took often to keep his shop stocked with the odd, eclectic items that kept the small sense of normalcy in this dark place.

Your eyes lit up with excitement at the prospect of joining him. Without a moment’s hesitation, you reached for the small, worn bag that Sebastian had given you on one of your earlier outings. It was a simple thing, but it had become something of a trusted companion, a sign that you were ready for whatever strange and unsettling adventures awaited in the depths of the facility.

“You joining? Fine.” He sighed, the sound laced with a mix of resignation and something that might have been affection. He knew there was no talking you out of it, not when your mind was set. “Stay close, Algae Head,” he added, the nickname softened by the hint of a smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

As you slung the bag over your shoulder, you could feel the familiar thrill of anticipation mixed with a twinge of nervousness. Diving with Sebastian was something new but you expected it to be full of strange sights and unexpected dangers. But there was no one else you’d rather be with, no one else who made you feel as safe in such a place. With a final nod, you followed him out of the shop, sticking close to his side as you both prepared to face whatever the dark waters had in store.

The cold embrace of the facility’s murky depths surrounded you as you and Sebastian plunged into the water, descending toward the forgotten rooms below. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of metal and the muted rush of your movements. The world above felt distant, almost imaginary, as if it belonged to a different reality altogether. Here, in the dark waters of the Hadal Blackside, survival was the only thing that mattered.

Sebastian was in his element. His long, serpentine tail moved with effortless grace, propelling him forward with a fluidity that belied his size. He was a master scavenger, his sharp eyes always alert for anything of value among the debris. You followed closely, your own movements practiced, though today, Sebastian would witness something different about you.

The deeper you went, the more the water seemed to welcome you, making you feel comfortable.

Your limbs began to change, becoming more fluid, your skin taking on a faint, ethereal glow. From your back, delicate, translucent wings unfolded, their movement smooth and natural as they propelled you through the water. 

You glanced at Sebastian, blinking to check if he had noticed, your heart pounding, but he hadn’t noticed yet. He was too focused on the task at hand, his attention fixed on a half-buried crate that he was attempting to pry open.

For a few minutes, you worked in tandem, relaxing more and more in the water. The water felt more alive around you, more responsive, now that you were in your actual element. You sifted through the debris with your tendrils, gathering small but valuable items, all while trying to keep your transformation indirectly hidden from Sebastian.

But then, the peace was shattered.

A movement caught your eye—a shadow emerging from the ruins, slithering through the water with predatory intent. It was a wall dweller, a grotesque creature with elongated limbs and a twisted humanoid form. Its eyes glinted with malice as it spotted you, its maw opening to reveal rows of jagged teeth.

Time seemed to slow. The creature lunged, its powerful limbs propelling it toward you with terrifying speed. Instinct took over. Your tendrils shot out, wrapping around the wall dweller’s limbs with a force that doesn’t surprised you. The creature thrashed wildly, trying to break free, but your grip only tightened, fueled by a strength you always had possessed.

Sebastian finally looked up, his eyes widening in shock as he took in the scene before him. He froze, his expression a mix of disbelief and confusion as he watched your tendrils constrict the wall dweller, pulling it toward you with an almost effortless ease. The creature let out a guttural shriek, its struggle growing more frantic as it realized it couldn’t escape.

Without hesitation, you tore it apart.

Your tendrils ripped through its flesh, severing limbs and rending its body into pieces. The water around you darkened with blood, the wall dweller’s final, pitiful screams silenced as it was reduced to nothing more than floating, lifeless chunks. The entire encounter lasted only seconds, but to you, it felt like an eternity.

When it was over, you slowly retracted your tendrils, your body trembling as the adrenaline began to fade. The water settled back into its eerie stillness, the only evidence of the violent encounter the drifting remains of the creature you had just destroyed.

You floated in the water, your eyes meeting Sebastian’s with a mix of uncertainty and curiosity. His expression was difficult to read, a blend of shock and something else that you couldn’t quite place. The silence between you felt thick, almost tangible, as if the very air around you was charged with unspoken words.

Finally, he broke the silence with a smirk, his eyes softening just a bit. “Wow, algae head,” he teased, the nickname laced with affection. “Should have told me sooner that I’m dating a feisty little angel.”

There was a hint of pride in his voice as his hand moved up to gently pat your head, a gesture that was both comforting and approving. The touch sent a warm feeling through you, a sense of reassurance that maybe, just maybe, you had done something right.

“Good job, angel,” he said, his tone softer now, but still carrying that edge of pride. He looked at you like he was seeing you in a new light, and for the first time, you felt like you belonged—like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

[queenendless]

COMFY BIRDY

A/n: OVER A MONTH WITH NO FICS ON HERE! MY BAD!

Neurotic, ADHD, depression, finishing other shows, writing other stuff on my other platforms, writers block, etc.

Imma still working on new stuff at snail's place though so there's still hope!

Now period stuff helps even when it's hell.

AU Keigo Takami/Hawks x Fem Adult Reader, already established relationship, period stuff kinda, implied mature stuff.

*PLEASE DON'T REPOST PLAGARIZE STEAL COPY MODIFY AND/OR TRANSLATE MY FANFIC WORK. RATHER REBLOG LIKE COMMENT AND FOLLOW PLS N THNX U.

A rare day for you to be out.

You wanted some fresh air.

That and you were out on a mission.

Drooping into the nearby merch store, your emotionally hormonal self searched for something in particular.

You needed something soft to squeeze on.

In the grand shop, multiple rows of displays featured merch from all walks of media surrounded you.

You spotted your target area in the far back.

Tsums, round pillows, and varying sized plushies.

From the students to even the villains.

Yet as you skimmed through the pro hero plushies, your eyes stopped on the one you wanted.

The one you wished was here in the flesh.

Because right now, you missed your precious birdie.

You were surprised you were unbothered as you sat down on the plush bench seating, lost in murky aching thoughts.

You felt warmth and the mixed scent of the wind and AXE body spray enveloping you from above.

“Eyo. I got your texts.”

Incognito with a hoodie, worn torn jeans and sneakers on, only those familiar folded red wings was the telltale sign aside from that voice.

“Needed my Kei. Plushie form was the backup plan.”

“You're on your period now, right? You shouldn't be pushing yourself too much. You should be relaxing back home and let me pick this up for you on my way back from work.”

The moment you started sniffling and whimpering he stiffened in worry and immediately embraced you. “Hey, what's wrong?”

“I'm a neurotic, emotionally depressed mess, Kei, that's what's wrong!” You weeped in his scarred neck.

He gently rubbed your trembling back and massaged your pulsing scalp, shushing you. “Angel, you're perfect, messy or otherwise.”

“No, I'm not!” You mewled.

“You are to me.”

He jumped as your legs kicked up to rest over his thighs, his chibi pressed between your bellies, as you mewled. “I missed you so much!”

He teared up at that, nuzzling his face into the side of your face showing. “I missed ya too. So, ya want me to buy ya little ol me then?”

You nodded, sniffling, “Yes.”

He pecked your red wet cheek. “How's about some warm chicken soup for dinner?”

You whined. “Ice cream too.”

“M'kay. Anything else?”

“Cuddles, kisses, and binge anime together for the rest of the day.” Your pouting self looked up to him.

“For you, kid, your word is my command~”

The transition from there to your safe haven gets fuzzy because you're as drained as you are affectionately snuggling into your partner's chest as he easily carried you and his plush the rest of the way.

In your shared humble abode, watching him strip out of his clothes was always such a tantalizing turn on for you, leaving him in just his slim boxers. Spotting his scars from his cheek to his neck to even his very back. Everything about him was too mesmerizing not to look away, especially in your current bodily state.

“The scars … the shorter cut hair … even your new twin red steel swords … is it weird I find you hotter now?” You cooed.

Red tinted from his cheeks to his ears as Kei bashfully rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you say the same for my back scars?”

He trembled as his skin grew warmer at how gentle your fingers brushed the entire bank of his flexing muscles as well as your kisses turning feverish at how much endearing attention you gave the marked planes.

“You're perfect, scars or otherwise.” You smirked against his flexing strong back.

His wings fluttered out as he swerved around, hugging you before pulling in something with one hand, chortling a bit, hanging his chibi twin right in your face. “You do have good taste, after all.” Amiss empty bowls of soup and ice cream tubs, he laid you against him, the plushie nestled in between you two like your own baby birdie.

“Kei?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we have our own bird babies?”

He was quite taken back by your words. But, that initial surprise was taken over by smitten devotion. “Sure, when you get better. For now, though,” His wing draped over you to bring more warmth to you and your belly he caressed. “Let's get you through this first.”

“Mother nature, you cruel temptress.” You grumbled.

Keigo Takami kisses you passionately to quell your hormonal desires for as long as this monthly ritual lasts. “A world where a hero like me has too much time on my hands is one where I can start a family with you, the most breathtaking being I've ever known, so I'm willing to wait a little longer.”

“Hmm …” His lovestruck eyes and charming smile made you kiss all over his now warm filled laughing face. “Same.”

Plush Hawks stayed smiling resting between your wombs as you and Keigo Takami, your mate, stayed bundled together, the TV left running on and the couch being your makeshift bed for the night.

[ursa-tan]

Can I have a request for a wally darling x reader where the reader "captures" wally as the villain of the show and has a bit of a dom kink? This is for playfellowxxx and I am 18 years old. Is this ok to request?

You’re mine

Wally Darling x Fem!Villain!Reader

Requested: Yes!

Word count: 3,312 Reading time: ~12 mins

Part 1, Part 2

TW: None

A/N: Honestly this was the first proper request I've gotten and I got really excited to write it! I hope you like it anon! Also, the reader is approximately 6ft tall, just so everyone knows :) Also, I'm really sorry this took so long to put out, have had a lot of stuff going on in my personal life.

Wally awakens, dizzy and almost completely disorientated – just because he can’t sleep doesn’t mean he can’t be knocked out. The world around him seems to spin for a moment as he attempts to orient himself in the darkness. He tries to move his limbs yet finds himself almost unable to move, bar lightly wiggling his body. Soon, Wally comes to realise that his hands are bound behind his back, to the back of a chair. His legs are also bound, rope wrapped around his ankles to hold them together and to hold them to the chair as well.

The room is dark, murky, almost pitch black if it weren’t for the small beam of light piercing through the side of a blind and streaming into the room. It’s just enough to let Wally see what’s happening around him. The room is still around him, not much happening apart from the wind whistling gently through what he can only assume is an open window tucked behind the blind. There are boxes stacked up around the room, pushed to the edges to make way for a desk. The room itself is small, seemingly more of a storage room than anything else.

His concentration on the room is broken when a door opens from somewhere behind him. The sound of the door closing is joined by the clicking of hard bottomed shoes against the wooden floor. He feels fear course through him for a second, jolting him forwards slightly when a hand comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Wally, Darling,” a soft, feminine voice rings out from behind him. Wally already knows exactly who it belongs to. Its full of a sickening joy that causes a pit to open itself up in Wally’s stomach.

“(Y/n),” Wally growls, immediately becoming defensive. The presence of this puppet causes his skin to prickle, making him feel as if his hair is standing on end. “What do you want?” His voice is uncharacteristically sharp and cold, holding a malice that he reserves for when it’s just him and (Y/n).

“Oh, nothing much…” She walks round to his front, crouching down to find herself  eye level with the significantly smaller puppet. Wally stares into her eyes, its one of the few times he’s able to do so. “Just thought you looked especially adorable the other day, couldn’t help but want to snatch you up.” Her voice is playful and flirtatious, it doesn’t match the situation in the slightest.

“You just like causing problems, (Y/n).” Wally can’t help but say her name again, something about it feels good in his mouth, feels like its supposed to sit on his lips.

“Ah, maybe I do, but you love me for it,” She chuckles lightly, standing back up and patting his thigh as she does so. The sudden contact makes him shudder, causing his body to jump – practically pressing himself into her palm. It causes her to freeze, only for a moment, leaning down to stare into Wally’s eyes again.

“Do you like that, Darling?” His last name drips from her lips just like it did before, yet this time it sounds so different. Its sticky and sweet and causes his head to spin slightly.

Wally goes to speak, to say something, but the hand on his thigh halts his voice entirely. He’s not entirely sure why, but he can’t think clearly. The hand on his thigh squeezes lightly, a pressure that causes him to shudder. He wants to lean into it, his mind fogging with something he isn’t quite sue of.

“I need to hear a yes Wally, or I’m going to take my hand away.” Her voice pulls him out of his seeming trance, his head snapping upwards. He stares at her, eyes meeting with a desperation that he didn’t know he could feel.

“Yes,” Wally whispers, pupils blowing wide as he stares.

“Good boy,” She chuckles, voice dripping with that same sticky sweetness from before. Her hand squeezes again, trailing up his thigh and towards his hip. It rests there for a moment before trailing back down to his thigh. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself there”

Wally can’t find it in himself to answer, only staring into (Y/n)’s eyes, vision slightly unfocused. He doesn’t understand why his head is so foggy, but he does know that he wants more of her touch. As a result, he does his best to push his thigh up into her hand.

“Oh, you really do seem to be enjoying yourself,” The smile in her voice is obvious, “I’m going to untie you now, ok? But you have to promise not to try and run.” She seems to have an idea that he can’t think of at all.

Wally just nods, the prospect of being untied doesn’t properly occur in his mind, the idea of escape a million miles away at this very second. He feels her fingers trail down his leg, the other hand joining to untie the rope binding his ankles together. It takes her a few moments of tugging before the rope comes undone, becoming slack and falling to the floor in loose rings. Wally takes a moment to part his legs, stretching them out before returning them to their previous position.

“Good boy, you’re so good for me,” she hums, both hands returning to his thighs, giving them both a squeeze. Her hands are so big, Wally’s sure that she could wrap her hand entirely around his thigh if she wanted to. He wants her to, at least. The words make Wally feel like he’s melting, becoming absolute putty in (Y/n)’s hands.

He melts more when (Y/n) moves behind him, hands coming to his bound wrists and starting to undo them. She’s much softer this time, fingers brushing the bare skin of his wrists as she undoes the ropes. After a few seconds, Wally feels the rope unravel and drop to the floor, yet he doesn’t move. Not even as (Y/n)’s hands begin to trail up his arms, eventually coming to rest on his shoulders, lightly brushing his neck. She stays there for a moment, gently kneading his shoulders, holding him like he’s made of glass. Then, suddenly, her hands are on his face, forcing it backwards so she can stare into his eyes.

“Hi, sweet thing,” she hums, her hands gripping his face rather harshly, forcing him to stay still. She could’ve let go as soon as she tilted his head back, however, Wally wasn’t going to attempt moving. “You look so pretty like this, pupils blown all wide.” She eases up her grip, now stroking his face.

Wally lets out a short sound, something next to a whimper. He can’t tear his eyes away form (Y/n)’s. Her eyes seem to sparkle with something that only serves to draw him in. Like the lore of an anglerfish, he was walking straight into the jaws of danger, yet he couldn’t look away.

(Y/n) tilts his head forwards again, so that she can lean forwards and place her hands on his thighs. They begin to move, one trailing up and under his jumper, under his shirt, splaying across his stomach. Her finger are so warm as they press against Wally’s bare skin. The warmth from her hands bubbled up through his body until it forces a short, soft moan from his lips.

Wally, unable to look into (Y/n)’s eyes from this angle, decides he doesn’t need to keep his eyes open and so let himself relax into the sensations. Eyes fluttering shut, Wally presses himself against her hands, one of his own reaching up to hold onto her bicep. He continues to let out soft moans as (Y/n)’s hands reach up and towards his chest, dancing her fingers delicately across his skin. He finds himself completely unable to focus on anything but the hand on his chest. Until, that is, (Y/n)’s other hand moves to his inner thigh.

It rests rather high up, nearly brushing against his clothed crotch, snapping him out of his earlier fog. The sensation causes Wally to gasp, attempting to buck his hips into her hand without even thinking – its nothing but an involuntary action. He’s desperate for her touch.

(Y/n) chuckles, it’s a sick, sardonic sound that Wally still loves none the less. In fact, he wants to hear it more. More of her voice, more of her. She pulls her hands from his body at the same time, an action that makes him whimper and squirm; but he doesn’t move, he wouldn’t dare.

Footsteps ring out once again as (Y/n) walks round and stops in front of the smaller puppet, crouching down at an attempt to be eye level with him. It doesn’t work, however, as she ends up about chest height, looking up into his blown-out pupils.

“Hey, pretty thing,” She hums, a hand coming up to cup his cheek. “You enjoying yourself?” Everything about her feels like a trap, yet Wally can’t help but lean in. If he gets snatched up and captured, its worth it, as long as it’s her.

“Yes,” Wally murmurs, eyes half lidded as he leans into her palm. He reaches up, one hand coming to rest on top of hers while the other holds her wrist. “Yes… So much…”

“My good boy.” She smirks as she speaks, her voice flirty and now dripping with lust. (Y/n) pulls her hand away as she stands up, and Wally can’t help but reach out for her as she moves away. He’s desperate to have her back against his skin.

“Don’t worry baby, I’m not leaving,” She bends over, now actually being eye level with him, “get up for me, will you doll?”

Wally nods, scrambling to get himself out of the chair. (Y/n) has to take a step back as he hurries to stand so he doesn’t knock his head against hers. As soon as he’s on his feet, Wally is standing as tall as he can in front of her – something drives him to try and impress her.

“Oh baby, relax,” Her voice is sugar coated as she leans in, beginning to unbutton his cardigan. “There’s no need to be so tense.” She pulls his cardigan off, throwing it somewhere behind him. Part of him hopes it landed on the chair he had been sat on, he didn’t want it to get dirty, yet he also didn’t care.

His shirt came off next, being given the same treatment as his cardigan. Wally ignores the sound of it hitting the floor in favour of reaching up to start undoing his ascot. However, he doesn’t get far before (Y/n)’s hands are on his, pulling them away from his neck.

“Oh no you don’t,” she hums, holding his hands to her chest, cupping them near her collar bones, “that looks so cute on you, I want you to keep it on.”

“Ok…” Wally’s voice comes out as delicate whisper. His hands feel so small in hers, so warm and completely encapsulated.

 “Good boy,” She mumbles, dropping his hands and gripping his hips instead and tugging him forwards. Her hands quickly begin work on the button on his trousers, popping it with one hand and using the other to undo the zip. (Y/n) has his trousers on the floor in seconds.

“Actually…” (Y/n) pauses for a second before reaching up, leaving Wally’s painfully hard and still in his boxers. Her hands come back to his ascot and tug at it, pulling it off. The red silk glistens lightly in the soft glow from the sun, laying in her hands.

“Eyes or hands?” She asks, suddenly making eye contact with Wally. He finds himself unable to answer, only able to stare into the perfection that is (Y/n)’s eyes.

“Wally, I’m only going to ask once more. Eyes or hands?” She snaps her fingers in front of his face, brining him back to reality far to fast for his liking.

“Eyes?” Wally mumbles, hesitating a moment before speaking. He’s unsure of what she means, and despite everything that she’d done in the past, he trusts her.

(Y/n) doesn’t answer, only reaching with the ascot in her hands. He isn’t given a chance to react before the red silk is being wrapped round his eyes, obscuring his vision entirely. Wally finds himself deprived of his favourite sense, the one he treasures more than anything else in the world – it should scare him… and yet it doesn’t.

(Y/n)’s hands are back on his hips within seconds of his eyes being covered, this time tugging at the waist band of his boxers. They’re pulled down to around his mid-thigh, freeing his erection and causing him to gasp in both shock and relief. Wally can feel her hands on his thighs, still holding the fabric of his underwear. Although that doesn’t last long, as she tugs them the rest of the way down, leaving them pooled around his ankles much like his trousers.

“Step forwards baby,” She says, holding his hips and guiding him as he takes a step. He’s now completely nude, exposed to her and unable to see anything. His heart is racing yet he wouldn’t change a single thing about what’s going on.

The smaller puppet lets out a yelp as he feels his feet leave the floor. Although he doesn’t flail or worry, as (Y/n)’s hands on his hips hold him steady. He can feel her shifting, but doesn’t know what’s going on until the underneath of his thighs meet her shoulders. He can feel her hair tickling his inner thighs, the wispy strands painting feather soft patterns into the soft, sensitive flesh.

Suddenly, the flat of her tongue is pressing against the underside of his cock. Its warm and wet and has him bucking his hips upwards blindly. He feels (Y/n)’s hands slide up his back, supporting him and holding him against her. Wally leans back into her warm palms for a moment, relaxing just for a second. It is only a second thought, her tongue is back on him, sliding from the base of the shaft to half way up before pulling away and repeating the pattern.

“(Y/n)…” Wally mumbles. This time, its his turn for his voice to drip with lust thick as honey. He reaches down, fingers fumbling to intertwine themself with her hair. Struggling for a moment, Wally finally gets his hands comfortably in her hair, holding the back of her head for support. He defiantly needs it as (Y/n) pulls away, adjusting her head to slip the tip of his cock into her mouth.

Wally bucks his hips forwards, desperate to feel the warmth of her lips around the base of his cock. He partially expects (Y/n) to pull her head away, to scold him for the action – but she doesn’t. Instead, she pushes her head forwards, taking his entire length in one go. It happens so fast that Wally feels himself hit the back of her throat. (Y/n) doesn’t gag.

The warm wetness of her tongue begins to lap at the underside of his cock once more. It’s a sensation that has Wally letting out moans, sounds that bubble up from his chest and spill past his lip. They’re completely uncontrolled sounds, slipping past his lips in the same way foam bubbles out of a soda bottle.

Wally can already feel himself reaching an end. Something about the way she moved, the way she treated him, was driving him towards an edge much faster than he would like to admit. It doesn’t help that he can’t see, that he’s been deprived of his most vital sense.

“(Y/n)-“ he rasps, gripping her hair and tensing his thighs to squish her head slightly. He feels his stomach muscles tense up, causing him to curl forward, around her head.

The taller puppet only hums in response, starting to bob her head. Deliciously slick sounds fill the room. (Y/n)’s hands pressing into Wally’s back to pull him closer, keeping him in place as her tong laves at his shaft. She doesn’t stop her movements or change her pace, continuing to bob her head slightly and swirl her tongue at the pace she had already set.

“I’m- I’m- (Y/n)- I’m-“ Wally can’t splutter out much more than the first word of the sentence that he’s desperately trying to string together. (Y/n)’s pace is driving his towards an edge that he doesn’t want to fall off of – if he does, this ends. Wally is desperate for it not to end.

His hands don’t move from their spot, finding a perfect purchase scrunched up in her hair, holding the back of his head. His hips, however, begin to falter and buck forwards as if they have a mind of their own. Both his body and mind are senselessly chasing pleasure, but only his body wants to reach the finale. And it does.

Wally tenses up fully as he finally reaches his peak, thighs clenching around (Y/n)’s head. His arms pull in tight, hips pushing forwards as he desperately tries to push himself as far down (Y/n)’s throat as possible. He manages to push until he’s hitting the back of her throat, his tip touching the soft warmth in a way that has his whimpering and pleading for more.

The smaller puppet finally spills himself into her mouth, painting her throat white and filling her mouth with a slightly bitter taste. (Y/n) doesn’t recoil though, instead swirling her tongue around his length and continuing to bob her head to the best of her abilities. Wally feels like she’s trying to pull out everything he’s got.

“A-Ah!” he yelps, the sensation suddenly becoming entirely too much. Wally is whimpering, trying to pull away, wordlessly pleading for her to stop.

Eventually, (Y/n) does, pulling away from him and letting him fall from her saliva coated lips. She keeps Wally sat on her shoulders, looking up at him through thick eyelashes, eyes sparkling with mischief in what little light there is in the room.

“Too much baby?~” She purrs, voice still filled with lust.

Wally can only nod, letting out another pathetic sound as he does.

“Oh, you poor thing… Come here,” She mumbles, shifting his position until he’s got his legs wrapped around her waist. Her tone is so much softer now, as is her touch, as she comes to gently cradle his shaking body against hers. She holds him so easily, her much larger hands supporting under his ass and against his back.

“Would you like a bath darling?” (Y/n)’s voice is right next to his ear as she speaks. It’s accompanied by feather light kisses full of love. Her hands are so warm, radiating outwards and into him in a way that almost has him falling asleep where he is. Wally shakes his head. All he wants now is to curl up and sleep.

“Ok then,” she pauses again to kiss the top of his head, something she can do now thanks to his pompadour falling apart, “What about something to eat? Or drink?” Her questions are so gentle, they don’t really need answers.

Wally shakes his head once again, burying his face in (Y/n)’s neck. Her skin is so soft, he can’t help but relax against her. Although that relaxing is interrupted for a moment when (Y/n) pulls the ascot free from his eyes, discarding it somewhere on the floor. Its most likely piles up with the rest of his discarded clothes.

She continues to hold him tight against her body as she walks. Wally is far too drowsy to pay attention to where they’re going. But he takes not of it - a few short steps and a turn to the left.

Suddenly, (Y/n) is shifting the blue haired puppet. He’s sitting in her lap, partially straddling her thighs with his head resting against her chest. (Y/n) in mostly laying down, hands resting on Wally’s back, providing a pleasing weight.

(Y/n) doesn’t say anything as she begins to stroke Wally’s hair, placing many short kisses on top of his head. He can slowly feel his grip on consciousness loosening. He knows he isn’t going to fall asleep, but he’s not going to be awake anymore.

“I’ve got you, baby,” (Y/n) mumbles. It’s the last thing Wally hears before the world slips away from him.

[chouxsardine]

Hold Me (1)--- Jake Kiszka x reader

My fic for @seenoversundown 's Valentine's Day Writing Event! I choose the prompt: Play Truth or Dare

Summary: "hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.” || Your drunk slip-up leads to one of the best Valentine's Day gift you've ever got

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x reader

Word Count: 3547

Warnings (for this part): 18+! Minors DNI, sexual implications, cursing, alcohol, dom Jake/sub reader, guitar kink, bondage, scissors, inappropriate use of guitar strap, pickle slander

Author's note: Remember I said here about a series of improper guitar use fantasy? Well, here's another one! This idea has been circling in my mind for the longest time. Happy Valentine's Day, Enjoy!

🎧: Dirty Little Religion by Warren Zevon

“Come on, y/n, you have to play by the rules. That’s only fair.”

“Oh gosh, please don’t,” you groaned, banging your forehead on the table, regretting every possible decision you have made in the last two hours.

It was a Friday night, Jake and you were throwing your very own drinking party at home. It started out with some innocent cocktails but has somehow soon turned into chugging down straight tequila. To add to the fun, you proposed an impromptu and very informal round Truth or Dare, which, looking back now, was a very bad idea. Yes, your original intention was to fish out some funny anecdotes from Jake, but woe is you—how the tables have turned. Now, you were the one facing the difficult choice between spilling your dirtiest fantasy or drinking a shot of pickle juice.

That dare was definitely devilish, and Jake was setting it up for you to fail. He knew you absolutely can’t stand pickle juice, especially when it’s that bottom-of-the-jar “essence”— evilly green and murky with all the loosened pulp and seeds floating around. Simply one look at it made you sick.

“Pick your poison, darling,” Jake said, making no effort to hide his smirk.

You tentatively reached for the shot glass but immediately gave in as its smell reached your nose. Why trouble yourself? You’d be lying if you said there wasn’t an arousing tingle inside. Simply the way Jake said the word ‘fantasy’ sounds sexy. Talking about the chokehold this man has on you. It was clear that you were fighting a losing battle. To choose something so ghastly over a little spice in the uncharted territory is just straight-up stupid. Plus, you may or may not have had a bit too much to drink. You felt positive that one simple sip of that pickle juice would make you throw up before the alcohol does.

Sensing the silence, Jake’s demeanour changed. He was more than tipsy, yes, but not to the point that it stops him from being attentive to your feelings and reactions. It was a cute, hot little thing he came up with on the spur of the moment that he thought would be fun. It wasn’t meant to put you on the spot. To make you uncomfortable and ruining the moment is the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have—”

“I’ve always—”

You opened your mouth simultaneously.

Jake took one look at you and shut up immediately. Your cheeks are flushed, your half-lidded eyes were fixed on him with a familiar look. Your left knee that was previously stretched out was now bent against your chest. Oh.

“Go on.” He whispered.

Fuck it.

“I’ve always felt jealous of your guitar, you know that? Especially when you are away on tour. The way you play it on stage, making all those girls scream for you…And that one time you fucking kissed it to make the vibration like that?” You let out a humourless laugh as your eyes narrowed, “it drives me mad.” The way you accentuate “mad” blurs its meaning, and it makes Jake wonder.

“Mad, huh? Which kind? Mad as in crazy, or mad as in angry?”

The drinking game long forgotten now that it has changed into your worship of Jake. You ignored his question completely as you continue. The words coming out much easier and at a faster pace.

“Or the way you slap it, the way you hold its neck and rock it,” all the images and videos you’ve seen are alive in your mind, overlaying with the sight of Jake right before your eyes, “the way you make her whine and scream.”

Jake’s heart skips a bit at the change of pronoun.

“Did you ever get hard while doing that?” You set down the glass on the table, got down on your hands and knees, crawling towards Jake until you were by his feet. “I bet you did. How can you not?” Jake beckoned and you straddled his lap in one swift motion, holding his face. Your eyes were glassy, your pupils dilated. “That’s when I get so jealous and….and insecure.” Jake frowned at that last word. He never thought of that.

“That’s when I wish I was there, waiting for you backstage. I want to kiss you and tell you how amazing you look up there because you deserve it,” with that, you studied Jake’s face intensely through your droopy eyes before defeatedly dropping your head onto his shoulder, your words muffled and slurred,“hell, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“I will if you tell me,” Jake tempted.

You pulled back, staring down at him. You caressed his cheek, your fanned breath tickling the loose strands of hair that frame his face. To Jake, you feel like a warm dessert soaked in bourbon; you looked…delicious. It was the same kind of primal desire that shares the same origin with hunger, the wild biological needs fuming. All your shame and self-consciousness unraveled by the alcohol, coming off like a corset with its ribbons pulled.

“I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap,” your eyes closed at how good it felt finally having those words freed from your mind, “I want you to hold me like you hold your Les Paul, have your way with me the way you play her.”

Jake’s jaw hung open. Damn, alcohol does makes people open up. He was not expecting you to say that and was also not expecting himself finding it so incredibly hot. Practically, whiskey dick, but mentally, he was so hard. Before he could come up with a decent response, your head dropped down again, this time with a heavier thud, and he could feel your breathing change.

“Y/n?”

No response.

He was so glad you finished that last sentence before passing out.

That was some weeks ago and you only had vague memories of the night. You knew that you must have spilled some crazy shit because since then, on several occasions, you have caught Jake staring at you. Well, it’s not like he can keep his eyes off you very often, but you can tell this is different. He would have his thumb and index fingers rubbing his chin, looking deep in thought as if composing a riff, except that his eyes are on you, and there is a predatory smugness that keeps you at your feet.

“For fucks sake, Jake. You’re doing it again! Why are you glaring at me like that?” You have tried fishing it out of him more than once.

“Secret” and a wry smile were the answers you got every time.

Luckily, he didn’t keep you waiting for too long; it was only a few days later when you finally get to find out about it.

Neither Jake nor you are the type of people who would go overboard on Valentine’s Day. In the past, it has always been a cute dinner date followed by a night that is both sweet and spicy. You could tell Jake is up to something this time. He’s been dropping subtle (or so he thought) hints throughout the day.

Evening was fast approaching. You opted for staying in and cooking. Jake made an amazing chicken piccata. (He even used heart-shaped pasta!) Dinner was quick and delicious, Warren Zevon’s record was playing in the background as you did the dishes. A pair of arms wraps around your waist as you turn off the faucet. Jake’s curls tickle your skin. He is humming to the song, and it takes you a second to realize that he was humming along with the record to the lyrics of Dirty Little Religion.

“I have a gift for you, sweetheart.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, as if his intentions couldn’t be clearer. But who says you aren’t equally (or perhaps more) excited?

“Oh love, you’ve been so good to me all day, how could I ask more from you?” You sound innocent, as if completely unaware of the implications.

“M’not asking. I’m offering. My good girl deserves all my loving.” Jake replies slyly.

Jake calling you good girl will always make you knees go weak. You turn around in his embrace and willingly accept his affectionate kiss on the lips before pulling open the dishwasher. ‘Fine. I’ll just finish up here real quick, okay?”

“Of course, and when you do, come downstairs and find me.”

You quirk your eyebrows. “Downstairs, huh?” It looks like he does has some ideas.

“And you better hurry up, sugar.” He gives you a teasing smack on the butt before turning on his heels.

Downstairs means his studio. Your steps are a bit wobbly as you reach the bottom of the stairs and your fingers shiver as they come into contact with the cool metal of the doorknob. Calm down, y/n, you could be getting all riled up over nothing; knowing that couldn’t be further from the truth, your attempt to calm down sounds pathetic. Throughout your relationship with Jake, the last thing this man ever did was disappoint. And if your nose serves you right, you detect a faint smell of magnolia in the air—the scent that was only reserved for certain occasions. God, what has Jake been planning?

On a second thought, you retrieve your hand from the doorknob, choosing to gently knock three times. A gut feeling tells me that the man of the other side of the door would prefer some manners tonight.

“Come in.”

You push the door open. The room is warm and well-lit, looking the same as usual. Jake is sitting in his Corbusier-style leather chair in the corner, fingers steepling together.

“Hmmmm, a girl with courtesy I see. Very well.” Jake commends.

Bingo. You smile coyly. Your praise kink almost made you curtsy to him.

“Already so good, perhaps I have to find something else to reward you with on top of your gift,” Jake says thoughtfully as he approaches you and pulls you in for a kiss, “but first, my princess deserves to live out her fantasy.”

Fantasy? The way Jake says it gives the word a familiar twang that triggers something in your brain. Your mind is racing as it flips through memories from the past few weeks. Looking around you, most of Jake’s guitars are hanging on the wall instead of resting on the stand. A rather odd thing for him to do. And every guitar on the wall has the strap attached, hanging below them and casting snake-like shadows on the wall.

Then it kicks in. Memories of that Truth or Dare night rushes back to you. Your drunken words replay themselves in your mind, clear and loud: “I want you to tie me up with your guitar strap.”

“Oh, Jake, you didn’t—” Your hands fly up to cover your face in embarrassment.

“Oh, but I do,” Jake laughs, taking your hands in his and thumbing them in soothing circles, “no need to be shy, love. There’s nothing shameful about having desires; it’s a very human thing to do.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. I’m so happy that you feel comfortable enough to share it with me,” Jake smile reassuringly, “and I find it hot beyond words.”

Your eyes shot up at him upon hearing it, and Jake’s gaze tells you that he is being honest. Seeing that you’ve relaxed, Jake leads you to stand right in front of his guitar display, his hands resting steadily on your shoulders.

“I’ll let you take your pick, doll. Whichever one that has the honour to have caught your eyes.”

You take a deep breath, feeling like a child in a candy store. This is not the time to get overwhelmed. Your eyes first travel greedily between the guitars, linger over their smooth curves, then you divert to the straps. Jake’s signature ’61 Les Paul SG is standing tall and proud in the middle, paired with the most often seen thin leather strap in back. Moving further right is his SG Classic with the Pinegrove brown padded strap from earlier days, and there’s the black one with the broader shoulder pad which was once used to hold a double-neck but now used on his Coodercaster. You picture them laying over Jake’s shoulder, the way they strain and slacken with his movement, the umbilical cord between his body and his creation. You also imagine the what they would look and feel when wrapped around your waist. The slightly nervous you is inching towards the brown strap—it looks so comforting with its suede texture and its wrinkled surface, and its also wider, therefore leaning towards a cuff rather than a rope when tied; however, the bolder voice obviously prefers the black one—classy, timeless, direct and succinct like a command. It’s thinner, so it might cut into your skin if you are squirming too much (which you definitely will), but isn’t that what you are after? Isn’t that the gist—pleasure mixed with pain?

Jake is being unexpectedly patient, giving you all the time you need to take it in as he resumes his previous position in the chair, admiring your predicament from afar.

“I want that one.” You blurt out finally, pointing at his black strap.

The look on Jake’s face made you suspect that he has known what you’d choose all along.

“Nice choice.” Jake comments, stepping forward to remove the strap from the guitar. You know it’s most likely in your head, but the strap looks different the second that it was detached from the instrument; now wrapped around Jake’s palm, it looks more powerful, it looks like it is determined to serve its intended purpose well for tonight.

“Now go upstairs.”

This time, the command is brusque.

Oh, so the studio is not the final destination. You feel like being on a scavenger’s hunt, following all the clues and getting more snd more excited and impatient by the second. You can’t tell if you are disappointed or relieved that you are not doing…well, whatever Jake intends to do with you…in his studio.

You hands are already touching the door when you heard him again:

“While you are up there, princess, do yourself a favour and strip down to your bra and panties.”

You gasp, but chose not to turn around.

“Yes,” you murmur just loudly enough for him to hear you, “Sir.”

Upstair in your shared bedroom, you do not know how to position your body. You are naked except for your underwear, but the room still seems too hot. You tried laying in bed in a sultry pose—too pretentious, for fuck’s sake, you’ re not shooting porn. You sat down but you kept hugging your knees to yourself—you don’t want Jake to mistake that as reluctance. You are just a bit jittery. God knows how long you’ve been fantasizing this. You tried sitting on the ottoman, but the leather kept sticking to your bum, and it wouldn’t take long before you start sweating and leaving a shame-filled imprint on the seat. You’ve always wanted this, and it’s Jake, there’s nothing to be nervous about, just do what feels best.

Alright, alright.

Following the voice in your heart, you find yourself dropping down to your knees, kneeling on the plush beige rug by the bed. You have your back against the bedroom door. You know it would be impossible for you not to look at Jake’s reaction the moment he see you in this pose, but you are also not sure if you are ready to take that reaction. To you, for now, kneeling feels the most right. For you and Jake, the dom/sub thing in bed is never explicit. Sure, he enjoys you calling him Daddy from time to time and you definitely have got him all whiny and teary for more than once, but this would be the first time that you will be trying restraints. You guess you have always had this fantasy—there’s just something about Jake and his guitar that makes your knees buckle. You are secretly thankful for your drunk slip-up, because you are not sure if you will have the courage to stare into his eyes and say those words sober, even though you know that Jake would never judge you.

The sound of the door opening interrupts your thought. The room is so quiet that you can hear a pin drop, and you are holding your breath. Therefore, even without looking, you are positive that Jake hitches his breath when he sees you. You regret a little for facing away from him. Now you want to see his expression.

“Don’t move.” As if reading your mind, Jake orders. You straighten your back. Jake approaches until he is standing right behind you.

“What a good girl.”

Something touches you. You quickly realize Jake is using the bended strap to trace random patterns on your back. You feel the looped end of the strap at your cervical spine before it circles around your scapula, from where it travels down along your spine all the way to your hipbone, dipping a little into the elastic band of your panties. Jake watches the involuntary contraction of your muscles as they react to the touch, feeling satisfied as he sees the fine hairs on the back of your neck slightly perk up.

You just breathed a sigh of relief when you feel the smooth leather again, this time reaching in front and tracing your clavicle. It stops at the little indentation between the bones, right beneath your throat and inches upwards to your chin, tilt it upward, then finding leverage on the left side of your jaw, Using it to turn your head back.

You run straightforward into Jake’s eyes, which are now the colour of melted chocolate. The dark, mesmerizing, 80% cocoa type.

Your pouty lips and puppy eyes are silently begging him for a kiss. Jake indulges, catching your bottom lip between his teeth slightly as his pulls away.

“Already tasting so sweet, angel.”

Aside from the praise, the tenderness in his tone is unvarnished. This is the voice he uses whenever he checks up on you. This is a sign that you are about to have the talk—the sweet conversation with a fraction of awkwardness before you two try out anything new that gives consent and sets up rules and boundaries.

“I…I really want this.” You pre-empt.

“That’s good to hear,” Jake chuckles. Now he has came around, sitting face to face with you. What looks like a wash bag laying beside his knees. What? He has gone and got a bag for this? You wonder what the hell he has got in there.

“I know it’s been a minute, but do you still remember our safe word?”

“Yes. It’s ‘soundcheck’.” You answer, peeling your eyes away from the bag. The safe word was something you two has settled early on in your relationship. Neither of you has been in a position that requires the use of it, but the simple fact that such a word exists and you are comfortable using it when the situations calls for is reassurance for both sides.

“Good. Use it if you need to. Since we are trying something new today, I suggest we add on to it a bit more,” Jake holds your gaze steadily as you nod, “we are going with colours. Green means all good and continue; yellow means pause, say it if you feel like it’s too much, we will take a break, check in, work things out, and you decide if you want to keep going; red is the big ‘no-no’, say it and everything, I mean everything, stops immediately, no question asked. Copy?”

“Yes, green to go, yellow to pause, and red to stop.” You repeat it back, knowing Jake always requires a clear response at this point. This is starting to sound like those naughty romance novels, although you have a secret feeling that what you’re about to experience is going to be so much better.

“Clever girl,” Jake unzips the bag and takes out a pair of scissors, showing them to you, “these are safety shears. I feel like they’re necessary if I am tying you up today. They are medical grade and they cut through everything. Whatever the reason you need out of the restraints, they get you the quick release. ”

He places the scissors in your hands. You hold on to it, finding its curved blade and matte handle consoling. “Now listen up, if it comes to that,” Jake speaks slowly, his index finger tapping your naked skin with each accentuated word, “I will cut the strap. I don’t care how long I’ve had it or how much it costs. They are nothing compared to your safety. Do you hear me, love?”

“Yes. Yes, I understand.” You heart melts at how serious he is taking this. You knew he must’ve done his research. The colour system and all. “Thank you, Jake.”

“No need to thank me for keeping you safe, doll,” Jake squeezes your hand gently, “now, are we ready?”

Part 2 out now

Yeah! you made it! Thank you SO MUCH for reading :))

any comments and feedbacks are greatly welcomed and deeply appreciated. I've never done a taglist before....does anyone want to be tagged for part 2?

my other works: Permission to Fall | Mariner's Complex | Ticked (all my boxes) | Love is a four-legged word | The Lucky Ones | Coming back to me | Warm Honey | He Would

[calmlyerratic]

Encounters of the Future Sort

Chapter 1: Disappearing Cauldrons is Never a Good Sign

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read it here on Ao3

fic summary: AU & headcanon-oriented time travel. A freak cauldron explosion leads the Marauders hurtling forward into the future where they come into contact with Harry and friends. Alternating POV's. Anything is possible. Lots of shenanigans, but also an emotional rollercoaster. Silly, Jily, and Wolfstar. Full summary here.

chapter wc: 2.4k | rating: T | cw: none

notes: 1976 Timeline—takes place before the willow prank and Snape's worst memory, both of which happened in the spring of 1976. That's all I'll give away for now, happy reading :)

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April 1st, 1976

11am

It was a beautiful Saturday morning. The sun twinkled through lofty clouds, casting rays of warmth on the freshly thawed spring grounds of Hogwarts. The majority of students were outside, lounging along the banks of the Black Lake and enjoying this sudden heat wave.

But if someone just happened to journey up to the school's seventh floor, their nose would detect the foul stench of rotten eggs, their eyes would see through the fog that consumed the corridor, and they would be led to a room that could be found only if you knew where it was. And in this room, they would discover four boys hovering over a giant, brass cauldron.

"Shut up Moony! We're fine."

"I agree with Prongs—shove it."

"No one cares what you think Padfoot!"

"Ouch, Moony. And I didn't realize words could bruise..."

"Oh—sod off. It's not my fault that you two have some absurd death wish."

James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew had been bickering for the better part of the past hour. Each had a curious bubble around their heads to protect them from the horrid smell of the simmering potion.

"Stoke the fire a little, will you Wormtail?" Sirius said as he stirred the cauldron. He slowly removed the long wooden spoon and set it on a bed of parchment, serving as a makeshift spoon rest.

Peter drew his wand from the pocket of his robes and murmured, "Incendio."

The flame underneath grew, gently lapping the sides of the cauldron.

"Your hands are so tiny, Wormy." Sirius complained, adjusting his dragonhide gloves. "I dunno how you wear these."

Peter held up his hands, inspecting them. "Are they?"

"No, Padfoot just has long, delicate fingers." Remus huffed.

Remus was watching Sirius anxiously, eyes flickering between the thick, murky greenish contents of the cauldron to the spoon rest...which was turning an odd, startling red as liquid seeped through the ivory parchment.

"Why are we doing this again? This isn't even close to proper procedure..."

"Oh, just relax Moony," Sirius flexed his fingers in Peter's gloves and leaned back on his arms leisurely. "You did say we needed some extra potions practice for our O.W.L.'s."

Remus rolled his eyes. "I meant you should ask Slughorn for some extra lessons, or something. Not attempt to brew a complicated and potentially fatal potion! You do know that I'm a Prefect and this is exactly the kind of thing I'm supposed to prevent?"

"But you're here aren't you?" James pointed out, grinning mischievously.

James was sprawled over a table, leafing through several different ancient, thickly bound books. A reflection of incandescent light through the fog reflected off his head bubble, casting shimmery flames onto his round spectacles.

"I'm only here to make sure you don't blow yourselves up," Remus stood in exasperation and began pacing.

"We'd be simply unhinged without your supervision," Sirius bit his lip to hold back a grin.

Remus glared at Sirius, who raised an eyebrow and winked. Remus flushed slightly, crossed his arms and sat back down, muttering.

"Okay," James checked his watch, "we're getting close now."

"What next?" Peter asked, pinching his nose through the bubble charm. "The smell's getting worse...we've got to be almost finished? We've been working on this for months now—"

"Months?" Remus was alarmed. "Wait, I thought you said—"

"No time, Moony."

James scanned through the colossal books, a frown on his face.

"In this book, Potions for the Potentially Challenged, it says to add one additional scoop of lacewing flies. But in this one, If You Can Brew it, You Can Do It...calls for three scoops total. We already did one yesterday when we added the unicorn hair—"

"Unicorn hair? Where are you getting these books?" Remus peered over at them discerningly, as though to check their authenticity.

"My father's library," Sirius shrugged. "Nicked them when I left."

"You're in way over your heads," Remus massaged his eyes shut.

"If you care so much about our safety, you should really be the one doing this, Moony. You know the rest of us are all dead awful at potions." James pointed out, turning a page and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his long nose.

"Yeah, but you insist on being the high and mighty Prefect instead." Sirius shook his head, clicking his tongue in disapproval. "You know, the more I think about it, your position of ensuring safety is truly more of a hazard."

"Safety equals safety hazard," Remus moved a finger in midair like he was solving a complicated arithmancy equation. "Check."

"Okay, we're in a time crunch here so I say we—what did you say again, Prongs?"

"Add the lacewing flies," James nodded. "Two scoops, Wormy."

"Right," Peter passed the ingredients to Sirius, who threw them in the cauldron.

"Okay good—now stir it three times counterclockwise..." James read carefully. "And I think we've done it!"

The four boys watched the cauldron with bated breath.

The thick, murky liquid began to slowly bubble, like boiling mud. James and Sirius beamed at each other and high-fived while Remus let out a sigh of relief.

Then suddenly, despite the steady flame, the potion went very still.

"Um, is that supposed to happen?" Peter shifted nervously.

"No," James frantically leafed through his books. "It's supposed to...turn red, I think? No, this one says it's supposed to have a greenish tinge—"

"Great, " Sirius chucked the wooden spoon across the room and it clattered along the stone floor. "We muffed it up. So much for that prank—"

"Prank?"

"Oh hush Moony, it's April 1st for Merlin's sake. Like you didn't know we weren't doing this purely for academia—"

"Hold on," Peter was gazing into the cauldron, its contents casting a luminous glow over his bubblehead charm. "I think it's doing something…"

The muddy potion began to vibrate oddly, then fell very still.

"That doesn't seem right..." James flicked through more pages.

Remus clasped his hands together. "Well, you tried. Let's call it a day?"

"No way, Moony." James stated firmly. "We've spent way too much time on this to just give up. There has to be a way to fix it..."

"Too bad you're on the outs with Evans, mate, she's Slughorn's red headed prodigy." Sirius considered, stroking his chin. "Well, she's a stickler, anyway. Hey—where are you going?"

Remus had jumped to his feet.

"I'll be right back! Don't move!"

⋆  ⋆  ⋆

A short while later...

"It needs to be bubbling—"

"Well let's just turn up the heat then?"

"Hold on just let me read a bit more—"

"What is this place?"

Sirius squinted his eyes at this new voice and put a hand to the forehead of his bubble, like a crow's nest lookout on a foggy evening.

"Evans?" Sirius called.

James head shot up from his reading. His hand jumped to run through his untidy raven hair, as if it was a reflex to hearing her name.

Through the thick, vapid air consuming the room, three figures approached the cauldron.

Lily Evans had her nose between two fingers. "Well we found the source of the godawful smell, ugh."

"I told you," Remus shrugged sheepishly.

He glanced towards the other boys with poorly concealed guilt. The origin of this became quite apparent when another person stepped out of the misty shadows.

"Snevillus?" Sirius crossed his arms, mortally betrayed. "Really, Remus?"

Snape glared forcefully, like a giant sulking bat. "Lily, I told you this was a bad idea—"

"She can do what she wants, Snevillus." James glared too, his hand twitching towards his wand.

"Oh shut up, the both of you. You can bicker later," Lily rolled her eyes. "I'm only here because Remus asked me."

"Look, this is beyond us—that cauldron is dangerous." Remus rubbed the back of his neck, clearly ashamed that he was revealing their secret shenanigans to the Marauder's worst enemy. "Lily and Snape are the best in our year at potions—"

"Yeah, real Slug Club royalty." Sirius scoffed.

"We have it under control," James insisted firmly.

"This—" Lily glanced around, her voice nasally from pinching her nose, "does not look under control. Or smell like it, either. You're smoking out the entire seventh floor."

"I think it's steam, actually." Peter offered. "It feels rather moist—"

"It's a figure of speech," Lily said shortly.

The cauldron suddenly began to hum—it was the sound a thin glass of water makes when you run a finger around the rim. All six of them turned to stare at it.

"We could smell it from the Library," Severus sneered as he waved his wand to produce a bubblehead charm.

"I can smell you from the—"

"Padfoot!" Remus warned. "It's gone too far, okay? We need to fix it. Or vanish it, or something." He turned to Lily. "What do you suggest?"

Lily waved her wand and produced a bubblehead charm too, inhaling the fresh air. She approached the cauldron and peered over the edge.

"I for one suggest," Sirius began haughtily, pointing his wand at the base of the cauldron, "that we are incredibly capable of finishing this up ourselves. It just needs a little more heat—incendio."

The flame under the brass cauldron grew and the mucky potion began to bubble.

"There!" Sirius grinned victoriously.

"It looks just like the description..." James ran his finger along a page. "Thick, mud-like, dull green—"

"Er, P-prongs?" Peter stammered, his eyes widening. "It's bright green."

The bubbling potion had suddenly become the shade and consistency of algae and had begun to vibrate oddly again. The base of the cauldron began to shake.

"Er, Potter?" Lily was backing away from the cauldron slowly. "What kind of potion is this, exactly?"

"You imbeciles! Aguamenti!" Severus flicked his wand and a jet of water shot out of it to extinguish the flames.

It didn't seem to make a difference. The cauldron was now vibrating so violently that the stone floor beneath them began to shake.

"Sev, what do we do?" Lily's eyes were wide with apprehension. "I've never vanished something this temperamental before—"

"It might settle down," Severus stood with his wand at the ready. "I removed the heat so there's no further catalyst. Let's give it a moment."

However, the cauldron continued to vibrate even more violently. The very walls of the room began to creak. The fog around them became thicker and dense—with a spectral, syrupy magic that couldn't be seen, but felt.

"I say we get the hell out of here," Sirius suggested. "Moony, you were right okay—"

The bright green algae potion suddenly turned a vibrant shade of red. Severus went rigid.

"RUN! JUST RUN!"

But it was too late. The cauldron exploded mere seconds later with a giant BOOM and the next thing the Marauders, Lily, and Severus knew, they were lying face down on the hard stone floor.

"Bloody hell," Sirius groaned as he sat up, massaging his temples.

"What happened?" Peter blinked around, in a daze.

"Uggggh..." Lily was sprawled out on her back.

"You okay, Evans?" James jumped to his feet and offered her a hand.

"We all appear to be fine," Severus sneered jealously as he scrambled to his feet.

Lily glared at him as she took James' hand. "So glad chivalry isn't dead."

"Speak for yourself," Sirius grunted. "Oh, Snivellus—help a damsel out?" He batted his eyes, extending his hand mockingly.

Severus looked down and flushed. "I meant—"

"Where's the cauldron?"

All heads turned towards Remus, who stood where the cauldron had been just moments ago.

"I-it's gone." Peter stammered, biting his fingernails.

And sure enough, it was. They all stared for a moment in silence, eyes wide with shock. Disappearing cauldrons is never a good sign.

"The fog is gone too..." Remus broke the silence as he removed his bubble head charm, causing the others to do the same. "And so is the smell."

In fact, the room was totally empty. No tables or books or leftover ingredients. The cleared fog revealed the familiar structure they had willed the room to take, starkly resembling a stone dungeon classroom with slightly higher ceilings.

"Huh." James contemplated, tousling his already messy hair. "Weird."

"Yeah," Peter echoed. "Weird."

"It could be the room?" Sirius suggested. "But it usually only changes before you enter, not while you're inside it..."

"What the hell does that mean?" Lily raised an eyebrow. She had never been in the Room of Requirement before. "Never mind—I don't want to know, there's been enough surprises for one day."

Severus opened his mouth and looked like he rather did want to know but had too much dignity to ask, so he shut it again.

"Let's go, Sev." Lily turned towards the door.

"Thanks, Lily!" Remus called after her sheepishly. "I owe you one."

"You never owe me anything, Remus." Lily threw him a kind smile. "You other three better pay up, though."

Severus shot them all one last gaunt glare over his shoulder before he sauntered after Lily and into the corridor.

"Snevillus?" Sirius raised an eyebrow at Remus, still very much hung up on this betrayal. "Our dear sweet Moony...why?"

"He was with Lily when I found her," Remus rubbed the back of his neck again. "I'm sorry..."

"Thank you, but your apology is kindly rejected." Sirius shook his head disapprovingly. "And you're supposed to be the discerning one—"

"In my defense, I thought you were going to blow up half the school."

"You always overreact, Moony."

"Well, something blew up!"

"Yes but we're fine, aren't we? Crises averted."

"So, you admit it was a crisis?"

"I admit you were very concerned there would be a crisis."

"If you two are done bickering like an old married couple," James tapped his foot impatiently, "I'd quite like to move on with my day."

"Too bad we wasted all that time brewing..." Peter sighed.

"You feel it too?" Remus asked, eyeing their surroundings. "I didn't want to say before—but this place reeks like powerful magic. I've never smelled anything like it."

"Unicorn hairs aren't cheap either," James exhaled deeply, then straightened his shoulders with a grin. "Oh well, no use crying over spilt potion."

"This room feels...weird." Peter observed nervously.

"I don't smell anything?" Peter knit his brow and sniffed deeply.

Remus wrinkled his nose. "It's a—y'know...wolf thing."

"Let's go mull it over outside," James stretched his arms. "I need some time to grieve our best laid plans, and all that."

"Anyway," Sirius blew a stray hair out of his face, "what could possibly happen?"

"I dunno," Remus wrapped his hands around his elbows and shuddered. His hair was standing on end. "I can't explain it...I just have a bad feeling about this..."

────────────────⋆────

notes: I started writing this 11 years ago and just recently rediscovered my love for the Marauders and fanfiction. Initially, I posted it on another site and was shocked to see how much love it's gotten over the years. So here we are! Rewriting this is totally healing my inner child, hope you enjoy :)

──────⋆──────────────

[orienteddreamerrr]

Hello everyone!

I am BACK! How am I feeling? Better but still having some issues…I and I mean we, my family, ordered tickets for Sonic 3 so we will be seeing it next Saturday! Can NOT wait!

We haven’t put the tree up yet but we’re getting there, we have to mentally prepare ourselves…my parents haven’t done that yet…I myself is doing okay…I did restart Jedi Survivor the other day, it’s been since May so this will be my 4th or 5th play-through I believe…I am LITERALLY at the part where I am about to face off Dagan for the first time! I was actually about to fight him when my mom made me put a pause because of her “stomach issues”…whatever the fuck that is…and I am still pissed about it! I’ve never been this happy or giddy in my entire life…me…about to play against Dagan again after such a long time…but no…it got ruined...I’m not even sure if she will let me continue today…it’s a wait and see…I am going to crank up the juice though for his boss fights this time around…especially the 2nd round because I want to see him in full action…I did not do that last time!

But yeah, my mom is more controlling than usual…I seriously do not know why she has this schedule on me…this “schedule” has been happening since I finished college…it feels like she’s on my back 24/7…messing with the things that make me happy and those “things” keep me from mood swinging…she’s the cause of my mood swings…

But anyways, going off track here…I missed all of youuuu! How are you all?! Did I miss anything big? Lol…I’m pretty sure you all missed me, even if it’s just a little…I have a good amount of things to post and show you all…most of that will be on Monday…for now, today, I just want to surf around and see what y’all are up to!

But first, drama time: (lol)

I have to be honest though my week was a bit hectic…Monday my mom forced me to deep clean my room…all because I lost my ID…and guess where it was?! In the pocket of my fur vest! I thought I had lost it somewhere else…I thought it was outside somewhere out there…that still didn’t change my parent’s minds…they still wanted me to clean…and some wise words from my dad: “Your ID is replaceable but you’re not…”…those words hit me hard lol...over the course of Tuesday and Wednesday I was busy trying to keep myself mentally busy and busy still trying to find a job…most of the Office jobs are crap and those jobs are with Insurance businesses…but otherwise, I think I’m okay…

And I logged on to Sky yesterday…only 2 or 3 of my friends were online…the rest weren’t…but I was trying to do the quests and one of them was “Face the dark dragon”…flew a little too close to said dragon and it got me…lost some wing light…fell into the murky water…making it worse... and nobody was around to help me…I come back after a time and I LOSE FUCKING WING LIGHT?!?! YOU KIDDING MEEE?! Dah hell man?!?!

Sorry…

I felt like I’ve been through a lot, and it’s only been a week of me coming back…I’m glad y’all stuck around with my drama cuz I know some people cannot handle stuff like this…”It’s too much” or “Grow up, start acting like an adult”…no, that’s not how I work, sorry!

[set-phasers-to-whump]

peroxide

prompt: swamp, wound cleaning

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

hi welcome to fic 16! it’s pre ot3 or gen or established, you pick. hope you enjoy!

They’re about thirty minutes into trudging through a swamp somewhere in central Canada when Illya says, quite conversationally and apropos of nothing, “I think I was injured. In escape.”

Napoleon stops moving, and Gaby slams into him from behind with a startled noise.

“You what?”

Illya shrugs, stops walking himself. Napoleon sees how he’s favoring his right leg.

“There was exposed metal, in the tunnels. I think it…got me.”

Napoleon tries to belay neither too much concern nor annoyance at Illya’s rather late notification. At least he’d said something, at least he’s still on his feet.

“Show us?”

Illya obliges, lifts his right leg out of the several inches of murky water.

The problem is immediately apparent. There’s a large tear in the fabric of his pants and beneath it, blood stands out against skin, mixed with mud.

Gaby draws in a breath. “This water is hardly good for it.”

Illya shrugs. “Cannot do anything about it now.”

He’s right, unfortunately. Unless the two of them who aren’t injured carry him, there’s nothing else for it.

“You can still walk?”

“Yes.”

“It doesn’t hurt too much?”

“I only noticed it now. It’s not so bad.”

So it hurts quite a bit, then, both Gaby and Napoleon surmise.

“Right. Let’s just keep going, then.”

“Tell us if you need to stop.”

Illya, predictably, keeps silent the entire rest of the journey. It takes perhaps half an hour, but feels longer thanks to the continual worried glances Gaby and Napoleon keep taking when they think Illya isn’t looking.

After this seemingly endless journey, they end up back in the small town they’re staying in, damp and muddy up to their knees. It’s dark out, now, so at least no one can notice.

Inside, their safe house is cool and inviting. The three of them get straight to business, leaving horribly wet and muddy shoes by the door with futile hopes that they’ll be dry by morning.

They locate themselves in the bathroom. It’s a well-rehearsed routine by now, this is. Illya perched on the edge of the tub, having struggled out of his ruined pants. Gaby and Napoleon taking turns washing their hands under blisteringly hot water.

“This’ll hurt,” Napoleon warns, approaching Illya with a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He doesn’t even want to imagine the amount of bacteria and various foreign particles that must’ve made their way into the wound.

Napoleon takes a second to be grateful that at least Illya’s had a tetanus vaccine—one less thing to worry about, though even without that, there’s still plenty of opportunity for infection.

Illya positions his leg inside the tub, so that the runoff hydrogen peroxide won’t go all over the floor, and Napoleon gets to it. No point in delaying it.

He washes out the wound thoroughly. Illya tenses his muscles when the liquid first hits his skin, but otherwise doesn’t indicate that he’s felt anything.

Gaby takes hold of his hand anyway, and though he’ll never say it aloud, she knows he appreciates it.

Napoleon follows the hydrogen peroxide up with warm water, rinsing the open wound for a couple of minutes. He follows this with another round of hydrogen peroxide, exhausting their supply.

This done, they switch places, and Gaby applies an antibiotic cream while Napoleon takes hold of Illya’s hand with his own now-damp fingers.

Gaby is similarly thorough with the ointment, carefully spreading it over perhaps a larger area of skin than strictly necessary. She finishes the job with gauze, wrapped tightly around Illya’s leg and fastened with quite a lot of tape.

When the job is finished, they all sit together in silence for a moment. There’s a calm feeling to this, now that the damage has been dealt with, now that there is nothing to do but wait and hope that they’ve done a good job.

They clean up with no real hurry, finally washing mud and sweat off of skin, dressing in comfortable and clean clothes.

Tomorrow, they’ll have to move out, stuffing feet into damp boots and pulling on muddied coats. Tomorrow, they’ll find out whether Gaby and Napoleon’s medical treatments have done enough.

Now, though, there is nothing more to do.

They move to the couch, radio switched on and limbs tangled together, and rest.

thanks for reading! i am posting this on mobile which i don’t normally do so pls lmk if it looks fucked up lol

[pondslime]

[ 13 ] the garden center of a home improvement store

Lester Sinclair x reader, fluff or smut—both are good! Also, there's no pressure to fulfil this. If it strikes your fancy, great! If not, no worries. 😊 💚

tysm for the prompt crumb <33

881 words. Lester Sinclair x GN!Reader. Absolutely NO warnings, just fluffy flirtation!

send me a prompt & a character and I'll write u a lil smthn smthn 👀

The air is murky out here, sun streaming through the glass ceiling.

You make your way slowly around the tables, peering at the assortment of flowers and potted plants. Your eyes land on the mums, their petals a vibrant explosion of color in the center display. After a moment of deliberation, you pick up one of the pots.

You’ve never been one with a green thumb, but you’ll try anything once. As you go to set it in your shopping cart, you feel a tap on your shoulder.

Turning around, you’re met with a bright smile—courtesy of the dirtiest man you've ever seen. He almost looks like he's taken a voluntary tumble into one of the many flowerbeds, dirt smearing across his cheeks and coating his clothes.

"Reckon you're better off with that one." He points towards a nearly identical pot of flowers at the side of the display. "One you got; stems are a lil' woody. Figure these folks haven't been waterin' 'em enough."

You lift the planter in your hands up and peer at the stems. You're not exactly sure what you're looking at, but…sure. Carefully, you set the pot of mums back on the table, reaching for the planter he suggested.

"Just figured you outta know." He shrugs.

"Thanks." You shoot him a smile.

His cart is overflowing with gardening tools, the unwieldy handles of several shovels spearing into the air. Amidst the chaotic assortment of lawn gear, you spy a pale purple succulent, stacked haphazardly on an overturned utility bucket.

"She's a beauty, ain't she?" He gestures down at the plant, beaming at you like a proud parent. "Couldn't bear leavin' her behind."

"She is." You nod.

"You have a good day now!" The items in his cart clang discordantly against each other as he wheels away. You wince as a particularly loud crash fills the air.

You hope that his succulent survives the shopping trip.

A week later, you step back into the gardening center. The now-familiar blast of muggy air smacks you directly in the face as you walk through the automatic doors.

Technically, you're here for some plant food. Technically. That's a good cover up story. A good Responsible Adult Reason to be back here again so soon. It's absolutely not motivated by the fact that you felt like your pot of mums was looking lonely on your porch. Of course not. It couldn't be. Because you don't need another plant. You don't even really have solid proof that you can keep the one you have alive, yet.

You should've known.

You're a bit of a fickle thing with your interests, bouncing from one to the other depending on your mood. Right now, for whatever reason, you're stuck on gardening. Like a malevolent botanical hivemind, your brain is currently tethered directly to those godforsaken flower displays. Now that you have one, you need another. That's what people always told you about tattoos, but you're surprised to find it also ringing true for plants.

First, though, practicality must reign. You grab a basket and stride down an aisle of gardening supplies, scanning the metal shelves for a shaker bottle of plant food. Rounding a corner, you nearly bump into someone squatting next to a palate stacked with bags of lime.

"Sorry!" You exclaim.

"No problem." It's the guy from last week. He peers up at you, his eyes brightening with recognition. "How's them mums doin'?"

"They're good." You smile. "Surprised you remember me."

“Well, you’re plenty memorable.” He says, eyes darting up your frame.

He's covered in marginally less dirt this time. He's also cuter than you remembered.

"You think so?" You smile.

“If you don’t mind me sayin’.” He dips his head bashfully.

This is most definitely not what you came for...but it's certainly a bonus.

“Isn’t this what people use to get rid of bodies?” You ask playfully, gesturing down at a bag of lime. You weren't sure how true that was, but you vaguely remembered seeing it in some true crime documentary. Or maybe that was lye, not lime—

"This kind ain’t no good for that.” He replies brightly, tapping at the label. “See, uh, this—it’ll slow decomp down…to a crawl. You ain't never gettin' rid of nothin' dead with it."

"You don't say…"

“Ya’ gotta use the right stuff. Now this—" He pats another bag matter-of-factly, nodding approvingly. "—this is the stuff you need for that kinda job."

You watch as he picks up the bag and heaves it into his cart. Wiping the dust off his hands, he gives you a lopsided grin.

"But even then, ya’ know, there’s always somethin’ left over in the end.” He continues. “'S hard gettin’ rid of bodies. Harder than ya' think.”

"You get rid of a lot of bodies?" You arch a brow.

"Part'a the job." He shrugs. "Pickin' up roadkill."

“Ah, Parks and Rec-kinda stuff?”

“Guess ya' could say that.”

You slot behind him in line at the cash register, a planter full of violets in your basket.

"Do you have a pen?" You ask the cashier.

Impulsively, you lean over the conveyor belt and scrawl your number onto the side of his bag of lime.

You don't need to look up to know that he's grinning.

[blue-velvet-valentina]

Son of War, Daughter of Death (chapter 1)

(TW: in general, war, violence, death, maybe nsfw parts. also this is my take on the new timeline with minor tweaks.)

The night was long and cold as the first cold front moved in that morning, the clear sky a sign that the night will be frigid as she left her back door open. Heather had a rough day trying to get her homework caught up and to also get used to her new schedule of staying late into the night. She was transferred to a new position that would trudge her through the night, but at least she would stay home to work. She finally rubbed her eyes caught up on her work from two weeks ago as she decided to just lay down for the night since she still had three or four days left to adjust to staying up later and sleeping in later. She closed her back door, not locking it so her dog could go outside whenever he wanted to and not wake her up. She never had a random animal wander in except for the local stray cat who wanted to get out of the outdoors for a bit. She looked at the available pajamas she had for a cold night, only seeing her old Christmas set, grabbing them to change into something comfortable for bed. She pulled back her bedding and slipped under the top cover, and she settled finding herself in dreamland.

She has been dreaming the same thing on occasion for months in the same forest. It looked peaceful with whispers throughout the forest. Despite its peacefulness, it felt eerie like those old Halloween screensavers with random ghosts popping up and going away. The whispers beckoned her to go deeper into the forest, she followed the whispers before stepping on an object. Looking down, she noticed her barefoot had stepped on a dagger with a slight curve in the blade.

She looked around and found a man laying unconscious at the foot of the tree the whispers are coming from. His face marked with something akin to war paint and his hair had a high undercut. He looked like he was a background actor from Mad Max or some other post-apocalyptic fantasy movie with a squared jaw and his build was strong but nothing like the photoshopped Hollywood she was used to seeing. She gently got to his level and tried to see if he was alive or dead, the first time she had made it this far before she was forced awake.

Heather saw he had an old and oozing stab to the gut. She gently cleaned and bandaged his wound, humming mindlessly, checking on occasion to see he was breathing. Her hands pulled away before her hands were snatched by his massive hands making her gaze snap up to him.  He looked angry, confused, and in pain but it was the color of his eyes that captivated her the most. They were pale blue, unsettlingly beautiful as she could not help but stare. His face softened seeing the color in her round face redden and the tension in her arm started to slack in his forceful embrace.

“Who are you woman?” His graveled, rough voice asked.

Her small pout lips were in the act of saying her name before she suddenly wakes up to the sound of her alarm ringing through the air. “Shit I’m going to be late it’s 7:30!” Heather said he snapped and jumped out of bed and quickly texted her mom a good morning before getting ready to prepare her mom for a doctor’s appointment.

Meanwhile, He got up as soon as she disappeared. She was no ghost; he felt her hands on his skin and the sensation still burned in his memory giving him a chill through him. It left him with a distracted pause rousing from his injuries dark as a murky lake before deciding now a good a time as any to get up before he is caught on his ass. He felt sore and gritted his teeth as he used the tree, he laid against to work his way up. Feeling the stabbing pain, he looked down as he saw the bandage he poked at it feeling the rough pseudo-fabric texture and for a moment he wanted to get it off, but seeing the blood already starting to seep through the covering, deciding it would be better to not dare remove it. He worked his way back up from the ground seeing his general using the tree as a brace. He growled a bit in pain, his joints popping as he rolled his shoulder back into place. General Shao looked near to where his lieutenant was seeing the corpse of the assassin who escaped his execution and thought it was a great idea to try to lose them in the living forest and wait out it.

“Men, get that body readied as proof to the Empress her would-be assassin is taken care of.” The general commanded, making the men salute him before grabbing the body and proceeding to remove his head, no need to bring the whole body back when his head would do.

“Reiko, you’re wounded.” He said lowly standing next to him.

“Bastard hid a dagger on him, he wasn’t expecting I had one as well.” Reiko said hiding the pain that throbbed through him.

“You need it closed. Who was the woman who covered the wound?”

“I never got a name; she disappeared when I woke up.”

“How is an earthrelmer who was not escorted by the gods in outworld? We need to assure ourselves she is not a part of the smugglers for Shang Tsung and Quan Chi. We need to speak about this with the Empress and with Liu Kang.” Shao growled.

Reiko now has his current mission to find out who saved him and what her game was, how she can just pop in and out between realms and why he feels hot thinking of her.

Since Titian Havik attacked the realms, Outworld and Earthrelm had to keep an uneasy peace finding Shang Tsung and Quan Chi have been seen with smuggled items from Earthrelm. The defenders found two factions that have been working with the two for an unknown reason as of now which is applying more pressure on their truce, more so since Titian Havik caused a major rift in the royal house.

Zeffero barely skated by the skin of his teeth for the sake of his mother, but others were executed for their involvement. The queen was not dumb and knew her own court was defecting, in private  she asked of Shao and his lieutenant to spy on her betrayers as detractors as well to see who exactly was behind her daughter’s infection and the fractioning of outworld which was blamed on the infected Outworlders who are now calling themselves Tarkanians; naming themselves after the disease that was artificially created by the power hungry sorcerer it was later found out.

[steverogrers]

Freefall | Bucky Barnes x Reader | Ch. 4

Ch. 3 | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You're officially on the run with Bucky, and both of you struggle with the gravity of the situation.

WARNING: Blood and an absurd amount of fluff (also sorry this is one is longer than I meant lol)

Being out of practice was really kicking your ass.

Bucky ran, of course, like a beast. No sign of exhaustion or decline as his arms pumped at his sides to match the lighting speed of his legs. Murky puddles in alleyways splashed up against his boots and against your shoes, and you were sure your legs were about to give up.

But, he held your hand the entire run, ensuring you were right at his side. So, when he noticed you were beginning to falter the slightest bit, he turned a sharp corner out of the alleys.

"I'm not built for this," You whined out quietly as he pulled you into his side, and directed you onto the sidewalk.

"I can tell." Bucky hissed out, but not with malice, more so concern, "We need to get you cleaned up, and we need to figure out our next move."

Bucky's grip on your hand didn't loosen the slightest bit as you both held a brisk walk, heads hung low in unison.

Luckily, New York City, the city that never sleeps, was very much wide awake still. Though you'd run a couple miles in the span of a few minutes, you didn't have much time before your walk would be traced.

Macdougal Street was moving with night crawlers. Groups of drunken men and women loitered about, screaming or playing around. Good. It was good to keep attention off of you and Bucky.

Then, down the corner, you spotted a small convenience store.

Fernando's Convenience Store 24/7

It was a mom-and-pop shop, and you'd only been there religiously when you used to spend drunken nights at Macdougal before being recruited years ago.

"Follow me," You piped up, hope in your voice, as you quickened your steps and pulled Bucky to follow along.

As you both approached the convenience store, Bucky pulled you back slightly and motioned for you to stay behind him. The bright lights from the store immediately flooded your vision as Bucky pushed the door open, and stepped in.

His presence was all-impressive, for the elder man at the counter just stared at him in immediate scrutiny. But then, when he saw you emerge from behind Bucky's huge silhouette, the man blinked once, twice, and then frowned.

He shot Bucky a glare this time. And, much to your amusement, Bucky returned one of his own. You elbowed him and smiled at how quickly he wiped it off.

"Are you okay?" The old man questioned, concerned, as he rounded the counter. He clearly recognized you immediately.

But, of course, the last time he saw you you were maybe a bit younger, and definitely not covered in blood.

"I'm fine, Mr. Fernando," You reassured the man.

"It has been so long..."He eyed your face and reached out to rub your shoulder, "What have you gotten yourself into?"

At this, Bucky began to chew on the insides of his cheek and you watched as he meandered off, probably to assess the store itself and make sure no one was wandering around or lurking.

"Fernando," You started calmly, offering a smile, "It's...my boyfriend and I just got into a bit of a brawl at one of the bars down the block."

The old man cocked a brow at you and appeared amused at your solid grin. Your hands were coated in dried blood, chin and cheeks splattered in red, and your hoodie too. Your image didn't resemble results of a simple brawl.

Though you were trying your best to appear innocent, you were sure you looked like a serial killer on the loose.

"And, I need to use your bathroom so I can clean up. Please?"

The older man offered an unsure sigh and shook his head, "You better not bring any trouble in here. Hurry."

He nodded over his shoulder, and your smile grew empathetic, "Thank you, Fernando. Really, I owe you."

You watched as Fernando walked towards the shop door and locked it, a wave of immediate gratitude rushing over you as you turned on your heel and sped off towards Bucky. He was busying himself in the snack aisle, but you'd felt him watching you from above the shelves.

Bucky wasn't the kind to just walk off and not keep an eye out.

"Checked the perimeter, everything's clear. We're gonna need to be quick."

He spoke with purpose as he abandoned his interest in the candies and followed closely behind you toward the bathroom in the back.

The hallway towards the bathroom was dimly lit, and the lights overhead flickered slightly. As you opened the bathroom door, a foul stench overwhelmed you immediately. Even Bucky huffed in disagreement behind you and muttered a quiet Jesus under his breath.

Just as you were about to close the bathroom door behind you, you realized there was a large body in the way. A large, confused body.

You shot Bucky a questionable glance over your shoulder, "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" He retaliated with a frown.

"I have to clean up..."

"Yeah, I know, let me in."

He pushed the door open slightly with the toe of his boot and slithered in through the cracked door before he pushed it shut again with his back.

The bathroom was a little too stuffy for two people, especially when one of them was a supersized supersoldier.

You groaned and gave him a glare, "I'm claustrophobic."

You weren't.

"Then this is our first round of exposure therapy."

Bucky crossed his arms and leaned against the door, pushing himself as further back into it as he could to afford you more space.

You shook your head and took the few steps it took to reach the lavatory sink in the corner, and you watched yourself in the mirror for a second. Your hair was, luckily, intact as you preferred to don a neat pony at all times, but your face and hoodie was covered in an innocent boy's death.

You swiftly stripped yourself from your favorite hoodie, the Stanford University logo now ruined. You dropped it to the floor, and congratulated yourself for having elected to wear an old Henley underneath.

Still, you shivered and frowned, reaching for the soap dispenser on the wall. You pushed once and checked your hand. There was no soap. You tried again. And again.

The dispenser creaked as you pushed aggressively, and nothing came out.

"What the fuck!"

At the expletive and sound of slight distress, Bucky tore his gaze from his boot and up towards you. You heard the slight huff, like he was trying not to laugh.

"You're gonna break it," Bucky's voice came up behind you, and his chest was only inches away from you as he reached over you a bit and gripped the face of the metallic dispenser. He pulled it off in one quick motion, exposing the plastic re-fill container. Then, he pulled that off too, and motioned for you to turn your hands over for him.

"I'll make sure to tell him you broke that," You snorted in slight amusement as you cupped your hands together and turned them towards Bucky. He held the crushed plastic container over your hands and squeezed, the container crinkling and crying as it broke down in his death grip.

You watched as the clear gel fell into a mountain in the palms of your hands, and you reached for the faucet, but Bucky had beaten you to it. He turned the knob for you, and you couldn't help but thank him quietly for it as you slipped your hands under the lukewarm water.

Bucky retreated to lean against the wall behind you after trying to shove the container back into the dispenser and putting the cover back on. It was sloppy, but he tried.

As he stood against the door, he watched you through the mirror. He noticed the intense attention you were placing on your cleansing of the blood. And then, noticed that you were swallowing repeatedly.

The blood on your hands was hardened, but you'd luckily been able to get it off the harder you scrubbed your hands together. The water in the sink was a murky brownish red, and the smell of the soap wouldn't be enough to cover the iron, but at least it cleaned the color off.

As you watched the blood come off, you'd caught yourself swallowing the lump in your throat several times, as it would return as soon as you rid yourself of it. Oh, how you wished you were just back home, no dead kid on the couch, and a nice glass of wine in hand.

Once the blood was off your hands, you looked back up into the mirror with the intention to inspect your face and get to washing the blood off of that next.

But, you met Bucky's eyes in the mirror.

You offered a small smile, "Creep."

"You can cry in front of me." He spoke quietly, and empathetically. The comment caught you off guard.

Your smile fell and you returned your attention back to your face.

It was stupid to think Bucky couldn't read the emotion in your visage.

Immersing your face down into the palms of your hands, filled with water, you did. As you scrubbed your face with the water, the tears spilled, but you didn't let yourself get too carried away.

Death came for all, whether prepared or not. But, there was something haunting about the fact that you didn't know the boy's name, and he died for something he didn't quite understand. He couldn't have been more than 16.

Bucky stood still, gaze lowering away from your reflection in the mirror. He inspected the ground, understanding all too well what emotions were overwhelming you.

He hadn't had the chance to really look at the boy, the one now bled out on your couch back home, but he'd heard the wheezing and crying in the background as his fists pummeled into the boy's killer.

You, however, were the one who had pressed your hands against his throat to try to ease the flooding of thick blood, uselessly, really. You were the one to shush the boy as he suffocated and drowned in his own blood, and had pressed a comforting touch to his forehead before having to leave his dead body.

He was but a child.

Bucky reverted his attention back to you when you turned the knob and the water stopped running. You grabbed a paper towel from the counter and rubbed your face into it, messily but efficiently. You turned to face him and leaned back against the sink. He could see the pink and red tell-tale signs of crying in your eyes, and the fat tears threatening to spill once more blurred your eyes. It was the baby-like quivering of your lower lip that leant him a wave of truly mutual anguish.

His boots were heavy on the ground as he approached you in two swift steps, and his arms were strong around you.

You melted rather quickly, and the tears that had been threatening to spill over fell immediately as he pressed your face into his chest, holding the back of your head steady as your arms wrapped around his waist.

You breathed quietly into him, overworking yourself to remain quiet, and holding in the sobs and ugly hiccups. But you knew he could feel your body trembling, threatening to release emotion at every pore.

The large hand on your back moved carefully up and down your spine, rubbing comfort right into you.

If there was one thing you weren't expecting Bucky to be, it was a good hugger.

And so, you relished in the warmth and concreteness of his stature as it brought your trembling body stability. The hug was prolonged, and Bucky was unwavering and didn't loosen his grip for a single second. He waited to do so, waiting until you showed signs that you were ready to be released.

"I can't breathe."

That was his queue.

As you pulled away from his chest, slightly embarrassed at the wet spot glistening on his jacket, you smiled up at him.

"I'm fine," You cleared your throat, rubbing the sleeve of your hoodie against the leather of his jacket to wipe off the puddle of tears, "Sorry."

"'s fine," Bucky offered a small smile of his own, grabbing your wrist gently to stop you from rubbing at the wet spot, "They caught us off guard, and you did what you could to save him. This falls on me...not you. I should've left earlier. I didn't, and I put you and that boy in danger. Don't blame yourself for what happened to him."

You wanted to disagree...but you both knew there was some truth in his admission.

Yes, if Bucky had left days earlier, none of this would've happened. But, if he had left earlier, you also wouldn't have learned how much of a hugger he was, or how good he was at comforting others.

You sniffled and shook your head, willing yourself to rid yourself of any emotion that would continue to get in the way of progress. You reached into the back pocket of your jeans and retrieved a small burner phone that you'd managed to grab as you climbed out the window earlier.

You waved it in the air at Bucky, "I'm going to call in a favor. You should clean up too," You nodded at Bucky's silver hand, for it had collected small specks of blood when he had held your hand.

"Right."

As Bucky moved to the sink, you leaned against the door, just like he had done so prior, and brought the phone up to your ear.

The phone rang once, twice, thrice, and you were afraid your colleague wouldn't pick up. It was nearing midnight, but you were holding onto hope.

Then, just as you began to groan dramatically, the line picked up.

"Hello?"

The voice on the other end was light, and all too familiar.

"Bobbi?"

There was a slight second of silence, you presumed she was piecing together your voice from years-old memories. Then, there was a humorous scoff on the other end, "You up partying or something? It's past your bedtime."

"Ha ha." You spoke sarcastically into the phone, just quiet enough that only you and Bucky could hear, in case Fernando was waiting outside the bathroom door, "I need a favor."

Then, Bobbi went silent on the call for another few moments. You could hear her moving around, possibly finding a corner of privacy wherever she was, "What do you need?"

You sighed in relief as Bucky approached you, watching you intently as you spoke into the phone, "I need a car. Preferably tinted windows...maybe some clothes, glasses, hats, anything that can help us hide in plain daylight if needed."

"Who're you with?"

You looked up at Bucky, slightly unnerved at how good he was at staring, "I'm with Barnes."

"Barnes? What the fuck is happening over there? I thought he was pardoned?"

"He was, but...Hydra attacked my place. They're looking for Bucky, and now me too. We need a car to get us at least across a few states."

Bucky stood in front of you the entire conversation and lowered his head to press his ear against the burner phone a couple times, to which you swatted him away.

"What would be your ETA?"

You looked at the time on the burner phone before bringing it back up to your ear, "We're on MacDougal Street, so...I'm about an hour away if you're still in the Bronx."

The woman hummed on the other end of the phone before she spoke up, "Don't worry about it, I'm not there anymore. I'll meet you at Madison Square. Sound good?"

Thank God, that was only a 30-minute walk. And, knowing the speed at which you and Bucky could keep, that could easily be cut in half.

You were definitely going to make him drive after this.

You agreed to Bobbi's terms, and she bid you farewell and quick be safe.

Just as there was a knock at the bathroom door, the call had ended and you shoved the phone back into your back pocket before Bucky nodded at you and opened the door.

Fernando gave you both a puzzled look, fist mid-air as he was about to knock again, "Just making sure you guys are okay..."

"We're fine," Bucky gave him a tight-lipped smile, one that made you want to laugh, and he grabbed your hand, "Thanks for letting us use your restroom, Mr. Fernando."

Bucky walked you away from Fernando and towards the front door of the shop, his smile falling immediately.

"Wait!" Fernando called out from the back, and he walked quickly towards you and Bucky as he reached for a key in his pants, "Let me open the door for you."

You thanked him once more, knowing he had locked the door to make sure that no one walked in while you and Bucky were there. You weren't sure if he did it to protect you, or if he did it to protect his image. No one would want to be in a store with some woman covered in blood, and a super soldier with a slight staring problem.

And, when he opened the front door to let you and Bucky out, Bucky took lead. Of course.

As soon as you and Bucky dipped out of the shop, heads low once more, a sea of people flooded in. You remember the shop being quite busy this time of night, especially on Fridays and Saturdays.

"Madison Square isn't too far," Bucky spoke up quietly, still careful to make sure no one was close behind or hiding in dark corners of the street, "Just keep your head low and stay close."

You found it a bit endearing that Bucky was walking you through how to stay hidden in the open, as if you hadn't been a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative and part-time Avenger stand in for nearly a decade.

Lucky for your knees and stamina, the density of bar-lined streets allowed you and Bucky to shield yourselves when cars rode by, or when shady hooded people walked by across the sidewalks.

But, to blend in, you'd both had the mutual idea of shielding each other, blending in with the some of the drunk couples or insomniacs.

Bucky had gone as far as wrapping an arm over your shoulder and pulling you to his side, keeping his head low and wishing he had worn a hoodie like you had elected to.

The night air was fresh, and the breeze was a symptom of on-coming Fall. It was nice.

Still, he was eager to get that car and get on the road, far away from New York City. And, though he'd wished it wasn't the case, he was content knowing he wasn't alone.

[tierra-paldeana]

Flashback

Send ‘Flashback’ to see one of my muse’s old memories

☠🌏– A couple years had passed since Rika had joined the pond. She had successfully become part of her adoptive father's army, and was now a sentry and defender through and through. Although her hunting skills could use some work...

A group of Wooper sat near a big rock, talking and going about their day, while Rika hid behind it. She peeked out when they had their backs to her, staying low to the ground, eyes peeled before...

''Grrrnah!''

She pounced on one of them, being very careful not to squash her, while the other three jumped in surprise, only for all of them to laugh when they saw it was just Rika practising her pouncing.

Hahahaha! Rikaa, you scared mee!

''Nahah, sorry bud. Y'know why I do this. Papá says this helps ya guys stay alert. Don't want any of those Round-beaks or Three-claws sneakin' up on ya.''

And it helps you with your hunting, too.

Everyone raised their heads when Papá approached. Rika gently lowered the pup back on the muddy ground, petting her head. With her free hand she scratched the back of her own in thought.

''Aah, papá... Y'know I don't eat others...''

Hunting is much more than just eating, dear. The skill involved can be used for other things as well... Even if it makes me a little sad you won't eat morsels with us.

He nuzzled her arms, prompting her to lean on him in a hug.

I've always wondered... why so?

Rika rubbed her cheek and part of her face on his head, her trademark pout showing.

''I dunno, it just feels... weird. Like I'm not supposed to do it like that, yknow? N' I'm not very sure if I would like what you guys eat either... Not to mention you can just gobble 'em up whole, n' I can't do that!''

Mm... I understand. But you've seen how other Pokémon do it, right?

''Yeah, and...''

She could tolerate seeing blood and guts. But doing that herself? The thought made her equal parts queasy and conflicted. And Papá could see that on her face.

...It's okay, dear. I hope I'm not pressuring you. You're always welcome to eat anything you like with us. Just remember, your hunting training isn't only to prepare you for the day you... might do it. It's also helping you with your sentry and defending duties. Us Clods prefer to ambush, but someone fast and agile like you really benefits from having these skills.

A smile formed on his face.

Like that day you sneaked up on that Chatty-beak¹ and almost bit his tail-feathers off, heheheh.

Rika snickered as she remembered.

''Oh yeah, hehehehe! That got 'em good! They had been pesterin' the babies all day n' I got em by hidin' in the reeds...''

Papá chuckled along with her, before rubbing his snout affectionately on her side.

See? You're doing great things, Rika... I'm so proud of you. Keep it up, I believe in you.

Rika pressed her forehead against his in turn, her father's praise putting her in an extremely good mood. With his permission, she climbed on top of his back, and he slithered towards the murky waters, to ferry her to the other side of the pond.

¹clod-speak word for squawkabilly

[randomvarious]

London Trip Hop Playlist (YouTube)

Trip hop really got its start in Bristol sometime in the late 80s, but, like most UK genres that've been formed outside of London, it didn't take very long for it to then wind its way over there too, where a bunch of residents then proceeded to spawn a whole lot of dope stuff themselves. So here's an update to a playlist that I haven't added anything to in a while that gives a taste of what London was making in regards to this type of hip hop-derived, groovy, and stoned music between the early 90s and early 2000s, from the highly accessible Coldcut and DJ Vadim, to far more obscure acts like Tongue and Grantby 😊.

Now, over the past few weeks with these playlist posts, I've already talked a great deal about some of the terrific tracks that I added to this playlist this week, like Luke Vibert's Wu-Tang Clan-sampled "Get Your Head Down," London Funk Allstars' Baby Huey-and-James Brown-sampled "Junkies Bad Trip," and Common Ground's sort-of-Succession-theme-song-sounding "Dark Soul." They're all deserving of a ton of praise, but at the risk of getting repetitive, I'm not gonna explicitly highlight them again here.

So with that said, this update begins in 1995, with a song by a group from up in northeast England's Newcastle Upon Tyne called Emperors New Clothes, whose quietly spiritual and flute-led "Dark Light" received a trip hop remix treatment from London's Trevor Jackson, who would go on to become best known as Playgroup beginning in the early 2000s, but here, is operating under the moniker of Underdog. Jackson's remix brings a level of murkiness to the tune, as he adds a purely vintage boom-bappin' backbeat, a little xylo, some lonely, nocturnal trumpet, and then eventually his coup de grâce—purely wigged-out, acid-trippin' electric guitar 🤘. In 1999, this remix would appear on French native Kid Loco's excellent DJ-Kicks mix, and that specific version of it is the one that's now on this playlist here, currently sitting at over 6,500 plays.

Then immediately following that is a wonderful tune from the aforementioned Grantby, whose 1995 track, "Grimble," also appears on this playlist as it does on that same Kid Loco mix. This track is one that happens to be serenely dusty, as Grantby surrounds his kicks-and-snares with a soothing set of reflectively melancholic and watery guitar notes, with a soft and distant round of dissonant, electrochemical noises sandwiched between those sections as well. Currently at under 530 plays.

And for one last highlight from that DJ-Kicks mix, we have a remix of Saint Petersburg-born, London-raised DJ Vadim's "Theme From Conquest of the Irrational," by Copenhagen trio The Prunes. Now, if Vadim ever actually made an original mix version of "Theme From Conquest of the Irrational," I don't think that it's ever actually seen the light of day, because every version that I can find of either it or the similarly titled "Conquest of the Irrational" appears to be some kind of remix instead. So I'm not sure what exactly anyone was remixing in the first place, but be that as it may, this one has a lurking, sort-of cinematic 60s spy thriller vibe to it, which was a sound that definitely came back en vogue in the late 90s, as nostalgia for a retrofuturist cocktail lounge aesthetic became a little bit of a thing. And it also has a pretty similar sonic palette to a song like Mos Def's Yasiin Bey's "Auditorium," feat. Slick Rick as well, which came out more than a decade after this beat and was produced by Madlib. Contrary to the other two tracks I've highlighted above, though, this isn't the version of the song exactly as it appears on the Kid Loco mix, because I can't find it. Instead it's the full-length one, which has a little over 11.4K plays across a couple different YouTube uploads.

Emperors New Clothes - "Dark Light (Underdog Mix)" Grantby - "Grimble" Luke Vibert - "Get Your Head Down" London Funk Allstars - "Junkies Bad Trip" DJ Vadim - "Theme From Conquest of the Irrational (Remix by The Prunes)" Tongue - "Culture Consumers" Common Ground - "Dark Soul" The Funky Lowlives - "Notabossa"

And this playlist is also on YouTube Music.

So with this update, this collection now sits at 23 songs that total 130 minutes. One day I'll be able to find enough tunes to constitute a short Spotify playlist, but we're just not there yet.

And for a playlist of London trip hop tunes exclusively from the 90s (which isn't very much different from this playlist itself...yet), you can check that one out too:

1990s London Trip Hop: YouTube / YouTube Music

Next week we'll be tackling the adjacent genre of downtempo!

Enjoy!

More to come, eventually. Stay tuned!

Like what you hear? Follow me on Spotify and YouTube for more cool playlists and uploads!

[drades-lair]

Drowning

Fandom: HelluvaBoss

Pairing: StrikerxBlitz

Rating: M

Note: This was a request from Deviant art.

A thick mist hung over Envy’s Ocean making it more intolerable then normal what was worse Striker had found himself on a boat on that very ocean. Staring over the railing the pale imp’s tail held vast to it along with his hands, white knuckling those rails as he scowled at the murky waters below. Blitz came strolling out of the cabin of the boat still chewing on a sandwich he’d been eating, spotting Striker instantly making him chuckle. Walking along side his mate Blitz held out the last portion of the sandwich he was eating earning him a displeased lip curl from Striker who refused the food.

“Suit yourself,” Blitz shrugged promptly chowing down on the last bit of the sandwich.

“When is that fuckin’ barge arrivin’?” Striker groused.

“Soon, try to relax,” Blitz encouraged with a soft chuckle.

“Ugh, I hate this fuckin’ ring,” Striker continued to grouse.

“Well…we could…you know…go below deck,” Blitz suggested with an eyebrow wiggle that more then got his point across.

“Humph, normally I’d take Ya up on that offer, but I’m so tense out here I don’t think I could get it up even if I tried,” Striker huffed a laugh.

“Your loss then, once I get you home though we’re spending a solid eight hours together,” Blitz teased.

“Ha-ha, sounds good ta me,” Striker chuckled in turn finally relaxing a little.

A couple hours later cutting through the mist like a spoon through soup came the large red bottomed barge they’d been waiting for. In terms of jobs this was mediocre at best basically they’re job was to guard the vessels till the cargo was swapped from the barge to the little boat they were currently on. A combination of imps and sharks started working to get the cargo onto the smaller boat while Striker and Blitz stood nearby keeping an eye out for anything suspicious. The final cargo box was being loaded when a splash sounded from the right-hand side of the boat causing Striker and Blitz to look over the side just in time to watch a couple figures dive under the water. Cursing under his breath Blitz ran to the couple sharks loading the final crate while Striker pulled a pistol from his right hip holster, scanning the water for any signs of the figures they’d just watched dive under the water. The two sharks hauled the crate below deck with Blitz at their backs when a shower of water exploded with one of Envy’s fish-like demons cloaked within, skin black as night with iridescent purples shimmering in the dim light, it’s tendril on the top of its head ending in a small round bulb that glowed like the spotted patterns along it’s skin. Blitz didn’t hesitate in getting a shot off drawing Striker’s attention in that direction just as the fish-like demon fell back into the water with a new hole in his chest.

Striker smirked at Blitz being a show off only to yelp in surprise as a slimy tentacle wrapped itself around his throat, drawing Blitz’s attention just in time to watch the pale imp being pulled overboard. The two sharks ran back onto the barge while Blitz ran to the railing, staring over at the lashing waters below when Striker popped back up to the surface, struggling against the tentacle still wrapped around his throat. The barge started leaving and the boat captain looked like he was going to start leaving as well, but Blitz held up his flint Locke in warning.

“Don’t you fucking dare leave this spot,” Blitz snarled causing the captain imp to swallow hard with a small nod of understanding. Returning his gaze to the water Blitz was horrified to see that Striker was gone again, holstering his Flint Locke Blitz pulled a knife from his belt then dove over the side of the boat into the water. Once in the ocean Blitz spotted Striker being held by another Envy demon, this one had orange skin with yellow overlays and four tentacle arms on his muscular torso, yet his face was still fish-like. Striker was no longer struggling instead he’d gone limp in the demon’s tentacles causing panic to rise in Blitz’s veins as he swam over to the demon, taking a jab with the knife in his hand. The octopus demon lashed out managing to punch Blitz in the side causing him to exhale under the water, expelling most of the air he’d taken into dive. Working on limited time Blitz snatched the tentacle that hit him promptly stabbing into it with his knife causing the demon to scream in a muffled watery sound and finally release Striker from his grasp.

Blitz swam over to grab Striker then return to the surface as the octopus demon swam off having clearly had enough. Breaking the surface Blitz took a deep gasping inhale of breath then swam up to the boat where the captain imp tossed a rope ladder over the edge for him to climb up, slinging Striker over his shoulder to get up. Unceremoniously Blitz heaved Striker onto the deck’s surface with a wet plop, scurrying over top of his mate who wasn’t moving or breathing. Blitz yanked open Striker’s vest to start pumping his chest, breathing into his mouth with a chant of ‘come on’ under his breath the entire time. After what seemed like forever Striker inhaled sharply followed by a coughing fit that turned into gagging prompting Blitz to turn the pale imp on his side moments before Striker vomited up the nasty sea water, Blitz gently rubbing his mate’s back as he gasped for much needed air. Striker’s piercing yellow eyes blinked open taking a moment to focus on Blitz looming over him then the cold started setting in causing him to shiver. One of the crew members came onto the deck to help Blitz get Striker into the cabin where they provided a change of clothing for them both as well as some blankets, settling Striker beside the small pot belly stove. Striker was laid on the bench seat next to the stove still trying to clear the fog from his waterlogged mind, his lungs still burning slightly from having been exposed to so much sea water when Blitz came over to sit on the edge of the seat next to him. Blitz gently caressed his claws through Striker’s drying white hair in a soothing manner drawing the pale imp’s gaze towards his mate.

“Are you okay?” Blitz asked with a note of concern in his voice.

“I think so…my chest feels like it’s on fire though,” Striker answered, voice hoarse.

“Okay, I’m going to call the medical center the minute we make dock,” Blitz stated with a gentle smile.

“Hmm,” Striker hummed in somewhat acknowledgment, his eyes falling shut again from exhaustion.

Blitz kept to his word getting Striker to the medical center the moment they made dock where he was taken to an infirmary room. An hour after arriving Blitz was allowed to join Striker in his room, being an imp from Wrath, Striker wasn’t conducive to the cold leaving him severely chilled from the ocean waters and he was on oxygen when Blitz walked in to help ease his breathing till his lungs recovered. The doctor assured Blitz that even though Striker was in poor condition that he’d make a full recovery if given time and a little care much to the crimson imp’s relief. Less then a week later Striker returned to Imp City with Blitz, he was still a little uneasy on his feet but ultimately, he’d gotten back to his old self. Upon getting home Blitz made good on his promise from the boat as well much to Striker’s delight.

[nyotasaimiri]

Arc Two (repost) 93

Hadley’s sword crashed hard into the warden’s heavy stone body, sent reverberation up her arm. “Damn tough thing,” she muttered as the recoil knocked her back. “Captain, how did you break into this thing? I can’t cut it.”

“Watch your feet,” Lana called. Her firebomb smashed on the tile and scorched away the creeping ice before it could lock Hadley’s feet down.

They felt distant, moved too slowly. Nyota’s eyes ached with healing warmth, but not enough to make the world move faster. Hadley had called her. “Strike it with itself,” she muttered, brushing at her arms where wisps of the purple light still clung. It was hard to push her thoughts into her throat. “With its echo.”

Hadley spared a glance back. Her expression was unreadable in Nyota’s too-sharp, too-fast sight. “You hit your head or something, Captain?”

“No, it’s…” Nyota raised her hands, frustrated. She couldn’t find the words. Something caught her right hand, clunked on stone. The staff. She was still holding the staff. But she had no strength left to attack. She cursed her own helplessness as she lay in Tarvei’s arms, able to do nothing but watch as Lana dodged an ice blast by a hair’s breadth. The hail of bullets from Lana’s assault rifle barely scratched Aroneus’s stone hide. The apex commander jumped back as the statue retaliated again. Nyota could tell it planned to deal with Lana and Hadley just as it had with her: wear them down until all they could do was freeze.  

Her grip tightened on the staff. I must help them.

Something sparked in the depths of the dark red gems. The purple light along her arms drained away. Nyota barely heard Tarvei’s startled cry as he saw it vanish. Her eyes and mind were on Hadley as the girl swung at Aroneus’s body again, on Lana as she raised her rifle and looked for any chink in the stone. The staff sang as energy hummed into it, as good as a war-cry to her dazed mind.

Hadley braced for the rebound again and nearly lost her balance as her heavy broadsword sheared into the statue’s side instead. Purple mist glittered around her hands and clung to the blade, flickering with sparks of red, four-petaled flowers.  Red like the light Nyota had shot down the drone with, flowers like the one she always wore in her hair. She shook the sword and the sparks glittered brighter. “What? Captain?”

“Heads up!” Lana grabbed her collar and hauled Hadley back before ice could encase her. “Keep on your toes, soldier. You got its attention, but it is not dead yet.”

Hadley let out a low whistle as the ice crunched uselessly in the air. “Sorry, sorry. Still a bit out of it.”

Lana’s eyes flicked over the visible edge of a bandage just under Hadley’s sleeve. But she just nodded, short and grim. “Just don’t make her grieve.”

Nyota kept her focus on them. On keeping them safe. On helping them fight. The tiny part of her rational mind that wasn’t too exhausted to think realized how foolish it was, thinking she could just want something to happen hard enough to make it true. But then she felt it work.  Like a switch turned on, like a slipped joint clicking back into place.

Lana’s next round of bullets didn’t just knock the bird statue back. They pulverized it. The statue exploded in harmless dust and blue light. But the blue didn’t last long. Purple consumed it, spread from the bullets into the statue’s core.

Aroneus turned its wrath on her, ice forming on Lana’s sleeves. The ice shattered when Hadley’s sword tore into its body.

“Whoa—now that’s more like it,” Hadley breathed as she caught her footing. Murky violet light gleamed around her like demonic fire and lit her grin up even brighter. Not just fire, though. Red flowers surrounded her, never blocking her sight as they seemed to guide her hand. She paused for just a moment to glance back at Nyota as Aroneus wobbled in the air. “Captain—you up to something?”

Nyota didn’t have the strength to call out to her. She tugged at Tarvei’s collar. “Tell her to act fast. I can’t hold this long.”

“Hey, stop that!” Tarvei tried to take the staff, but Nyota’s grip was like iron. “You’re in no shape for this.”

Nyota touched his chin and made him meet her eyes. “I have to. Trust me.”

Tarvei gripped her hand. “…okay. Don’t overdo it.” He bared his teeth in nervous fear. “Hadley, Commander, hurry it up!”  

“Right, right.” Hadley adjusted her grip and stared Aroneus down again. “There we go. Hey Blake, one more round!”

“Head in the game,” Lana reminded her. “Do not get carried away.” But her fierce fanged grin put the lie in her words. She ducked the last bird statue and let Hadley shatter it, then aimed her rifle at Aroneus’s main body.

The vengeful venom in her voice seemed to draw the violet fire in, red petals spread like wings at her back. “Every cut and bruise you gave my Nyota, let’s see how you like them!”

Bullets cracked on stone like thunder. Tarvei reached down to shield Nyota’s ears. Blue ruptured through the grey stone shell, and Aroneus came crashing down.

Nyota sighed and let her hand fall back. Done. They survived. She saw them both standing there in the settling dust and frost, Lana’s tall silhouette and Hadley so small beside her, lit by the breaking, dying ice. She felt the starlight in her chest again, fluttering like a frightened moth. Weak, frail. “It’s fine,” she murmured. Tried to murmur. The words didn’t form.

Black and red—Hadley, yes—was running toward her. Tall green close behind. A young woman’s voice in her ears. Me. She’s calling me. I should answer. She was too tired to even see now. Nyota dimly felt a frown crease her brow as her eyes slid closed. That’s not my name. I am Nyota. My name is not “mom”.

The scent of steel and summer storms faded as exhaustion claimed its due.