#when you hover over an object and it's at the edge of the screen

[celestiachan]

>obscure ds and wii video game duology you thought no one else cared about is getting a remake

>the remake sucks

[chaotic-laila]

Pathetic and Pleasured

Content Warning: This story contains explicit sexual content intended for mature audiences only. It includes degrading language and humiliation, power dynamics with the customer in control, masturbation and use of a vibrator, BDSM elements (dom/sub dynamics), forced edging and denial, rough play (grinding on the floor), light praise kink, and a cam girl scenario (adult work context). Reader discretion is advised; please proceed only if comfortable with these themes.

Summary - A cam girl giving private a show to a guy. How humiliating can it be?

You’ve been performing cam shows for months, mastering the art of control. You know how to captivate your audience, how to make them pay for more time, for every little move you make. Most of your regulars are easy to manipulate—eager to watch whatever performance you decide to put on. But there’s one viewer, Ethan, who’s different. He never begs for more. He’s quiet in the chat, calm, patient—almost like he’s waiting for something specific, something beyond the usual games.

Tonight, he’s booked a private session, and the moment you see his username pop up, your stomach tightens. He’s your best-paying client, but this isn’t the first time he’s paid for extra time. You’re used to the routine by now: a slow striptease, maybe playing with a toy, guiding your fingers along your skin while he watches. But something about him always makes you feel...different.

Your usual confident smile falters when you see his first message flash across the screen.

"Stop pretending."

You blink, confused. Usually, the viewers are demanding, asking you to start undressing, or telling you what toy they want to see you use. But not him. His words hit you harder than you expect. You feel a twinge of uncertainty, like he’s seeing through the perfectly crafted persona you show everyone else.

"I paid for you to stop acting like you’re in control," he types, making your pulse race. "You’ll do exactly what I say tonight."

You’ve dealt with demanding clients before, but something about the way he commands makes you hesitate. Slowly, you lean back, letting your body relax as you realize you don’t have to play this time. He’s not interested in the performance—you are, for once, just an object for him to command.

"Take off your top, slowly." The message appears on your screen, and you obey, fingers trembling just a little as you pull the fabric over your head, letting the camera capture every movement. You glance at the chat, waiting.

"Good girl." The praise makes you shiver, but then the next message wipes away any sense of accomplishment. "Touch yourself like you do for all those other losers. Show me the act."

You hesitate, your fingers moving to your chest as you perform the usual routine: a soft caress, biting your lip like it feels better than it does. You can’t help but feel silly, but you do as you're told, letting him watch. The next message is brutal.

"Pathetic." The word hits hard, and your body reacts before your mind catches up. Heat spreads through you, unexpected, as you stare at the screen, waiting. "You don’t even know how to touch yourself, do you?" Ethan's words continue, and despite yourself, you’re drawn in.

"Pick up the vibrator." His command is firm, leaving no room for hesitation. You grab the toy beside you, knowing where this is going, but the normal thrill of being in control isn’t there anymore. This is different. You’re just following orders now.

The buzzing fills the room as you turn the vibrator on, hovering it over your skin, waiting for his next instruction.

"Lower." The word flashes across the screen, and you do as you’re told, pressing the toy between your legs, gasping at the sudden intensity. "Don’t stop until I tell you."

Your breath hitches as the vibrations pulse against your body. Your hand trembles, but you keep going, feeling the wetness pooling between your thighs, knowing he’s watching every second. The heat builds quickly, and your body starts reacting involuntarily, hips shifting as you try to chase the release. But then another message flashes on the screen.

"Don’t you dare cum."

It takes everything in you to pull the vibrator back, the frustration overwhelming as your body aches for more. You whimper, eyes flicking to the camera, silently begging for permission, but you don’t get it. Not yet.

"Such a desperate slut," Ethan types, his words making your cheeks flush with a mix of shame and excitement. "You’d do anything for a customer, wouldn’t you? You’d cum for anyone as long as they paid you."

You bite your lip, fingers gripping the sheets as you resist the urge to come, despite how badly you want to. It’s degrading, humiliating, but your body reacts anyway, craving his next command, aching for the release only he can allow.

"Now beg."

You hesitate for a moment, breath shallow, before the words tumble out. "Please... Ethan, I-I need to cum." The sound of your own voice makes you cringe a little. Normally, you control the pace of your shows. You’re the one making them beg, not the other way around. But with him, it’s different. The power is entirely his.

The chat stays silent for what feels like forever, the buzzing toy still held loosely in your hand, teasing your sensitive skin as you wait. Finally, a message blinks on the screen.

"Not good enough."

Your heart pounds. You grip the toy tighter, frustrated. "Please," you whisper, louder this time. "Please let me cum, I’ll do whatever you want." The words come easier now, the need in your voice undeniable.

"That’s what I like to hear."

You shift on the bed, waiting for the permission you’ve been craving, but it doesn’t come. Instead, the next message throws you completely off balance.

"Get on the floor. I want to see you grind against it like the desperate whore you are."

Your pulse quickens, the degradation slicing through you. But before you can second-guess it, you slide off the bed, letting your knees hit the cold floor. You move onto all fours, positioning yourself in front of the camera so he can see everything, your heart racing as you wait for his next command.

The chat flickers again.

"Lower."

You bite your lip and slowly lower your hips until you’re hovering just above the floor, your body tense with anticipation.

"Now grind."

A shiver runs down your spine as you obey, pressing yourself against the floor and rocking your hips, the sensation overwhelming as the rough surface drags against your skin. You gasp, the friction strange but somehow deliciously painful, feeding into the humiliation. Your body reacts immediately, throbbing with need as you move.

"Look at you," Ethan types. "Rubbing yourself on the floor like a bitch in heat. You really are pathetic, aren’t you?"

The sting of his words ignites something deep inside you, the humiliation and the desire mixing together in a way that makes you burn hotter. You grind harder, panting softly as you chase that feeling, your body betraying how much you’re enjoying this even as your mind screams how degrading it is.

But you don’t care. Not anymore. Not with Ethan watching.

"Faster." The next command is ruthless, and you pick up the pace, your hips moving more desperately, the friction building to an unbearable intensity. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, your body on fire, but still, he doesn’t let up.

"Touch yourself while you do it. Show me how badly you need it."

You reach between your legs, fingers sliding through the slickness, the added sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your fingers move in time with your grinding, the mix of pain and pleasure building to a point where you can barely take it. You’re so close, so desperate for the release he’s been denying you.

"Stop."

The single word freezes you in place, your entire body trembling on the edge. You let out a frustrated whine, your hand pausing as you press your forehead against the floor, breathing heavily. You’re so close it hurts, your body begging for permission to finish, but you know better than to disobey him now.

"Look at yourself," Ethan types, his words sharp. "Look at how pathetic you are, rutting against the floor for me. You’ll cumwhen I say, and not a second before."

You lift your head, glancing up at the camera, your face flushed, hair clinging to your damp skin. His next message flashes across the screen.

"Get back on the bed and grab the vibrator."

You scramble to obey, pulling yourself off the floor and crawling back onto the bed, fingers shaking as you grab the toy again. The buzzing fills the air as you switch it on, placing it back between your legs, your body immediately responding with a shudder of pleasure.

"Now finish for me. But I want you loud. Let me hear how badly you needed it."

The command is all you need. You press the vibrator against your aching core, letting out a loud, broken moan as your body finally gives in. The sensation is overwhelming, every nerve ending lighting up as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. You ride the high, your moans filling the room as you shake, the release more intense than you could have imagined after being denied for so long.

When youu finallyy cum down, your body trembling and spent, Ethan’s final message appears on the screen.

"Good girl."

You lay there, breathing hard, your mind hazy from the intensity of it all. And as you stare at the screen, you realize one thing: you can’t wait for the next show.

[estellesdoll]

◎ 𝐛𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 & 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 ݂ ᨸ ˙ 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬 𝐬. ˎˊ˗

summary: Chris’s concern for Y/N’s ice skating bruises leads to a loving exchange and a sweet kiss, showing just how much they mean to each other.

pairing: bsf!chris x fem!reader

warnings: fluff, suggestive

word count: 2.6k

notes: My REQUESTS are open, but please remember to read my guidelines. If you want to remain anonymous, feel free to pick an emoji for yourself!!!! I'm also adding people on my TAGLIST.

TAGLIST | TAKEN ANON EMOJI | PINNED

NAVIGATION

Chris, Matt, and a few of our friends were all gathered in my living room, the air filled with laughter and the occasional burst of excitement as they played video games on my flat screen.

While they were completely engrossed in the game, I found myself more of an observer than an active participant.

I never really got into video games; they just didn’t hold the same appeal for me as they did for the others. But that only seemed to fuel Chris’s determination.

He loved trying to teach me how to play, insisting that I would get the hang of it if I just gave it a chance.

Time and time again, though, our attempts ended in me fumbling with the controls or misunderstanding the game’s objectives.

It became almost a running joke among us—my complete inability to master any of the games they loved. Yet, Chris never got frustrated.

If anything, my failures only made him more persistent, his enthusiasm never waning as he continued to patiently guide me through each level, always convinced that next time would be different.

"Chris... I just don't get it. What am I doing wrong? I can't even move my character around!" I exclaimed in frustration, my voice edged with exasperation as I stared at the screen, trying to make sense of the controls. My fingers hovered uncertainly over the keys, each one a mystery that I couldn't quite unravel. No matter how many times I tried, the movements of my character in the game seemed to have a mind of their own, completely out of sync with what I was trying to do.

But while video games didn’t catch my interest, I had a passion for something else entirely.

I preferred activities that got me out of the house and moving, connecting with the real world in a tangible way.

Sports, in particular, were what I loved most. Among them, ice skating was where my heart truly lay. There was something almost magical about stepping onto the ice, feeling the cold air on my face as I glided across the rink.

Even though it wasn’t always smooth sailing—many times I’d come home with some pretty harsh bruises from falls—I never let that stop me. Those bruises were just a part of the experience, a small price to pay for the sense of freedom and peace that skating gave me.

Ice skating wasn’t just a hobby; it was my escape. Every time I laced up my skates and stepped onto the ice, it felt like all the stress, worries, and negative thoughts from my day melted away.

For that hour and a half, nothing else mattered. The world outside the rink disappeared, and it was just me, the ice, and the rhythm of my movements. It was a time when I could focus entirely on myself, letting the worries of the real world slip into the background. That sense of calm, the feeling of being completely present in the moment, was something I treasured.

Skating showed me a new path, one where I could let go of everything weighing me down, even if it was just for a little while. It wasn’t just about the physical exercise; it was about finding peace within myself, something I desperately needed.

My friend Elise nudged me gently, pulling me out of my thoughts. "Hey, where’d you go?" she asked, her voice curious as she noticed I had been zoning out.

"I’m just going to head to my bedroom real quick," I replied with a smile. "I’ll be back in a minute. Do you want me to grab some refreshments while I’m at it?"

Elise’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. "Oh gosh, yes! It’s getting really hot in here," she said, fanning herself dramatically to emphasize her point. I chuckled softly, feeling the heat in the room myself.

"I thought I was the only one who noticed," I said, sharing a knowing look with her.As I stood up, I couldn’t help but think about how much I loved the cold, one of the many reasons ice skating was such a passion of mine.

There was something about the cool, crisp air on the rink that I found irresistible. I loved the way it chilled my skin, the way it made everything feel sharp and clear. I wasn’t a fan of the heat; in fact, I could barely stand it. The warmth always made me uncomfortable, almost suffocated.

Even at night, I couldn’t sleep if it was too warm—I’d toss and turn, longing for the coolness that seemed so elusive in the summer months.

As these thoughts danced through my mind, I glanced over at Chris, a soft smile tugging at my lips as I watched him, completely engrossed in his game. He was so captivated, his eyes glued to the screen, fingers deftly moving across the controller.

There was something endearing about how focused he got, how the rest of the world seemed to fade away when he was playing. It was one of those little things I loved about him—the way he could lose himself in something so completely.

I smiled to myself, feeling a quiet warmth in my chest that had nothing to do with the heat in the room. It was just Chris, being Chris.

I made my way to my bedroom, pushing the door behind me, thinking I had closed it fully. The room was a sanctuary, quiet and calm, a stark contrast to the lively energy outside.

Without thinking, I went straight to the closet, my fingers automatically reaching for one of Chris’s hoodies. The soft fabric felt familiar and comforting between my fingers, bringing a sense of ease just by holding it.

I grabbed a pair of leggings too, laying both items neatly on the bed, preparing to change into something more comfortable.As I began to undress, peeling off the clothes I’d been wearing all day, I suddenly winced.

A sharp, unexpected pain flared up as the fabric brushed against certain spots on my skin. The sensation made me suck in a breath, my hand instinctively moving to the sore areas.

It was then that I remembered the bruises, the ones I had stubbornly tried to ignore. Curiosity and concern mixed in my mind, urging me to check how bad they really were.

I stepped over to the mirror, standing in front of it in just my bra and panties. The cool air of the room brushed against my bare skin, contrasting sharply with the tender spots where the bruises had formed.

I looked at my reflection, turning slightly to inspect the damage. My fingers lightly traced over the discolored areas, wincing as I pressed too hard on one particularly dark bruise. The purplish marks stood out starkly against my skin, a painful reminder of the falls and impacts I had endured on the ice.

As I stood there, examining my body, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of frustration mixed with a strange sense of acceptance.

The bruises were just part of the price I paid for doing what I loved, but they still hurt, both physically and emotionally.

I sighed softly, my eyes lingering on the marks for a moment longer before I turned away from the mirror.

୨୧┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈୨୧

CHRIS

"That was awesome! Great game, dude!" I laughed, still high from the match. Matt gave me a congratulatory slap on the back. As the excitement in the room began to die down, I noticed Y/N was missing.

My smile faded as I looked around, realizing she hadn’t come back yet. I turned to the girls on the couch. "Hey, where’s Y/N?" I asked, trying to sound casual.

Elise looked up and smiled. "She went to her room for a bit. She said she’d bring some drinks back."I nodded but felt a bit uneasy.

It wasn’t like Y/N to just disappear without a word. I decided to check on her. "I’m going to see what Y/N’s up to," I said, heading toward her room.

Matt looked over, curious. "Where are you going?""Just checking on Y/N," I said with a quick smile. "She might need some help with the drinks."

As I walked to her room, I felt a growing curiosity about what she was doing. It wasn’t like her to just slip away, and I wanted to see if she was okay. The thought of spending a quiet moment with her made me smile. I approached her door, eager to find out what she was up to.

But as I approached her bedroom door, I noticed it was slightly ajar. I knew that peeking inside without knocking wasn'texactly right, but when I heard her quietly curse under her breath, my curiosity got the better of me.

I carefully moved in front of the door, opening it just a bit more, enough to see inside without revealing myself. Any guilt I felt about sneaking a look vanished the moment I caught sight of her.

She was nearly undressed, standing in front of the mirror, and the way her body flowed into all the right curves left me breathless. She looked absolutely stunning and I couldn't tear my eyes away from her.

But then, as my gaze traveled over her, I noticed something that made my stomach tighten with anger-dark purple bruises marring her skin. I watched as she gently traced her fingertips over them, wincing slightly at the pain.

My heart pounded in my chest, a mix of desire and rising anger swirling inside me. What the hell happened to her? And who could have done this? The sight of those bruises stirred something fierce in me, a protective instinct I couldn't ignore.

I knocked on the door, then quickly stepped back, putting some distance between myself and the doorway.

"One moment!" she called out, her voice slightly breathless. I could hear the faint sound of clothes rustling inside the room, and after what felt like a long minute, the door finally opened.

She reappeared in front of me, a little out of breath, her cheeks flushed.

"Hi, Chris. Do you need anything?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of surprise, as if she hadn’t expected to see me.

"Nothing, really," I replied, trying to sound casual. "I was just wondering where you went."

୨୧┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈୨୧

Y/N

As the night grew late, people began to say their goodbyes and head out. I walked them to the door, exchanging hugs and thanking them for coming.

When the last of our friends had left, I turned to Matt and Chris with a smile.

"Would you guys like to stay over? I can get the guest room ready for you," I offered, already thinking about the bedding and pillows I’d need to set up.

Matt quickly shook his head. "Oh, we don’t want to be a bother," he said, sounding a little hesitant.

"Nonsense!" I replied with a wave of my hand. "You’re not bothering me at all. I’ll have it ready in just a few minutes."

Chris caught my eye, a bright excitement lighting up his expression. "Sleepover!" he shouted, his voice full of enthusiasm as he nodded eagerly.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of fun and laughter. We ended up watching a couple of episodes of a show and squeezed in some more gaming before we all started to wind down.

When it was finally time to call it a night, I showed them to the guest room, handing them spare toothbrushes and towels. After making sure they had everything they needed, I headed to my own room, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up with me.

I took a quick shower, letting the warm water relax my muscles, before slipping into bed, ready to let sleep take over.

Just as I was about to fall asleep, there was a soft knock on my door—the second one today. I cleared my throat, my voice still a little raspy as I called out, "Yeah, come in."

Chris slipped into the room, closing the door gently behind him. He looked a bit nervous, which made me sit up a little.

"Hi, Chrissy. How’s my favorite boy doing?" I asked with a tired smile. He chuckled softly and moved closer, sitting on the edge of my bed.

"I’m good. Matt’s already passed out," he said with a grin, but his expression quickly turned more serious. "But, Y/N... are you really okay?" I frowned a bit, confused by the concern in his voice.

"Yeah, I’m fine. Why? Are you alright? Having trouble sleeping?"

"It’s not that," he replied, hesitating. "I’m just... really worried about you, but I didn’t know how to say it without sounding weird."

"Chris, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?" I said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. He looked at me, clearly struggling to find the right words, but finally took a deep breath. "When you went to change earlier... your door was open a bit, and I... I saw you."

I felt a warm blush creep up my cheeks as I processed what he was saying. I wasn’t sure how to respond, and the silence hung between us until he continued.

"And I saw the bruises, Y/N. Those really bad ones," he added, his voice filled with concern. I groaned, embarrassed, and quickly covered my face with my hands.

"Hey, don’t hide from me," he said gently, pulling my hands away. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. You look incredible. I just... I’m worried. What happened? How did you get those bruises?" Chris kicked off his shoes and moved closer on the bed, his expression softening as he waited for my answer.

I met his eyes, knowing I couldn’t just brush him off. "It’s from ice skating," I admitted, feeling a bit awkward. "I was trying out some new moves, and... well, this happened."

He looked at me, surprised. "But I thought you quit skating last year?" I sighed.

"I didn’t really quit. I just... didn’t tell anyone. It’s the only thing that makes me really happy right now."

He looked a little hurt at that, his brow furrowing. "The only thing? What about me?" he asked, sounding a bit vulnerable.

I leaned in and kissed his cheek, trying to reassure him. "You make me happy too, Chris. After you, skating’s the next best thing." He smiled, his tension easing.

Gently, he pulled me onto his lap, his hands finding the sore spots on my body and massaging them carefully. I let out a soft moan of relief as his fingers worked their magic. He leaned in, pressing tender kisses to my neck. "It just kills me to see you hurt. Please, be careful, okay? You don’t deserve this."

"Chris, I’m doing my best," I replied, my voice soft. "But falling is just part of skating. It’s how you get better."

He sighed, his voice full of affection. "Sweet girl, I just wish I could be there with you. I’d catch you every time, so you’d never have to hit the ice."

His words felt so genuine that I couldn’t help but lean in and kiss him. As our lips touched, I got lost in the moment, letting everything else fade away until it was just the two of us in that tender, perfect kiss.

[abiiors]

Lessons in Patience

oh, uh, happy birthday to him and time for me to disappear after posting this...

warnings: minors dni, orgasm denial, she/her pronouns, maybe just a smidge toxic idk, cockwarming??? typos maybe; it is what it is, anyway enjoy...

wc: 4k

the minimalist, modern round clock on the wall ticks by mercilessly slow. 

the office is fully his space, designed to his tastes and likes, and she, the intruder. sure, she’s a very very welcome intruder but an interloper regardless. and there’s not much she can do but peak at her husband over the edge of the book she’s been reading for the past half an hour. or trying to at least. just in the last five minutes, she’s read the same three lines at least seven times. it’s of no use but, the other option is to sit and stare at ross while he works. which is always a good option. except today. 

in his fitted black button-down, that’s tastefully unbuttoned, he looks like the stuff of her fantasies. he has always been, of course, but the way his gold chain peeks out and grazes the hollow of his throat every time he moves, makes her think all kinds of thoughts. his mouth is parted in concentration, pink lips that he occasionally gnaws on, and his thick brows furrow as he intensely stares at whatever’s on the screen. 

and while it’s enough to turn her thoughts extremely filthy, the realisation that he hasn’t been paying her any attention douses cold water on her for the millionth time. 

‘ross,’ she calls out, desperately trying to keep the neediness out of her voice, ‘how much longer?’

he hums distractedly without looking up, ‘need to read this thing before i sign it, my love.’ 

obviously, that’s not the answer she’s looking for. “need to read the thing” can range from anywhere between ten minutes to an hour, and he’s so focused on it too. 

‘baby, take a break!’

he shakes his head minutely, ‘we just had lunch, darling, an hour ago.’

‘yeah, but…’ she trails off because it’s useless. he’s clearly not listening. 

bent over his slick macbook, hand rubbing his face occasionally, he is the utter portrait of focus. her mind wanders to the drawers of his desk where she knows she’ll find the small toy. this is not her first rendezvous here; nor would it be her last. that desk has seen a lot of things; from their first scandalous hookup in a moment of weakness, to multiple quickies when she has come over. there was even that one time when she had knelt between his legs as he tried to focus on a zoom interview. matty had gone on and on with his thoughtful answers till ross eventually muted the thing and tangled his fingers in her hair. she snickers at the sudden sympathy she feels for the inanimate object. not that it makes ross waver even a smidge. if only, he leans closer to the screen. it’d certainly be a shame if she were to be a…distraction. 

because there is always a third option. 

she pushes herself off the plush settee and saunters over to him purposefully. this has been going on for a week now and she’s had enough of it! enough of him coming home by the time she’s just starting her day, enough of him being dead asleep by the time she returns. and this is not to blame him, of course. she knows how busy he can get once they start getting closer to the release date. but she’s had enough of not seeing him for more than a few hours throughout the week. despite them living together. 

a finger trails down the side of his jaw. down his neck too. she makes sure to use her nail, red-painted and sharp, and halts it right over his pulse point. 

‘lunch was two hours ago.’ a pout. an exaggerated one, sure, but it does the job because he chuckles at her restlessness. 

‘fine, two hours ago. that’s still not a long time.’

‘isn’t it?’ now she’s just being petulant. she leans down, lips hovering right over where her finger was just a moment ago and trails them down his neck the same way. he stills. ‘it could be great if you took a quick break…’ 

this she whispers suggestively and leaves the thought half-finished so his brain might try and fill in the gaps. and it works like a charm.

‘oh,’ he breathes softly, his focus now wavering slightly, but he hasn’t set the laptop aside and turned all his attention to her. not yet. 

‘baby…’ he warns but his voice lacks its usual conviction. torn between work and wife, ross fidgets for a second. ‘i only need a little more time…’

‘you’ve said that to me twice already.’ another kiss. this time, she even strokes his bicep and the muscles under his black shirt respond to her touch. 

‘oh you’re impatient, aren’t you?’ he turns to her partially, only looking at her through the corner of his eye but it’s enough. she’s so close to achieving her goal that she can almost taste it. 

taste him. 

‘so what if i am?’

‘i said,’ his voice takes on a commanding tone, ‘wait a little more.’

on any other day, she would have obeyed the tone almost instantly. she likes their little routine where he’s in control, likes riling him up enough that he reminds her of it. not today though. today she has no patience fo it. 

‘and i said,’ she grits out, equally testy and bold, ‘i want your attention.’ 

‘that’s all you want?’ he challenges. 

‘mmm, for now.’ 

cheekily, she sidles up to him to find an in, one opening to slide onto his lap. but with one huge hand on her hip, he holds her firmly in place. 

ross shakes his head, one eyebrow raised in warning, ‘are you in a mood?’

about to protest indignantly, she opens her mouth. instead, a squeal comes out when he sharply tugs her towards him. 

‘are you that desperate for me?’ he asks again when she���s firmly trapped between his thighs. his voice, his whole demeanour has shifted entirely. now the man in front of her is staring at her intently; his pupils so dilated that his eyes look black. and she’s not just trapped physically, no, he also has her hooked on him. because she simply cannot look away even when a flush creeps up her cheeks. 

‘answer me, darling,’ he mocks while his fingers grip her hips even tighter. ‘not going to run your mouth anymore?’

that snaps her back quickly, just as quickly as the wetness pools between her legs. ‘and if i say yes?’ she challenges right back, ‘are you going to do something about it?’

another sudden tug and now she’s landed right in his lap, right where she has been trying to get. her breath leaves her body the minute she feels his bulge press against her crotch. 

‘oh you really are being a brat today, huh.’ fingers grabbing harshly at her chin so he can make her look at him, ‘my little attention whore. you want my cock? will that shut you up?’

she nods as much as his grip allows her to. still, it’s enthusiastic and more than a little desperate. the sound of him unzipping his trousers makes her grind her hips in anticipation. her hands move swiftly, fidgeting to take him out of his trousers and boxers but ross wraps a hand around her wrist. 

the man has saintly patience. and right now it’s a fucking problem. 

‘you only get,’ he speaks slowly, as if to drill each word into her, ‘what i give you. do you understand?’ 

too eager to even protest, she nods quickly but he’s not satisfied. ‘use your words, my love,’ he taunts and slides her underwear to the side, ‘tell me you understand.’

‘i do,’ she whines, ‘i’ll only get what you give me. but please, just—’

she’s cut off quickly by a harsh kiss; teeth biting her lower lip till she gasps. his tongue runs over the spot, soothing and teasing before he slips it inside her mouth. his hands, once again back on her hips, lift her up until she feels the familiar feeling of his tip nudging against her. 

she slowly sinks onto him, adjusting to the delicious thickness of him, stretched out just enough to straddle the boundary between painful and pleasurable. mindnumbing.

his hands hold her down, giving her time to adjust to him she thinks, but…

but when she tries to move, he doesn’t let her.

‘ah ah,’ he tuts, ‘what did i just say? you,’ he kisses the corner of her mouth, ‘will only,’ another kiss, ‘get what i give you.’

and with that he turns around to his laptop once again, completely unfazed by anything. 

flabbergasted would be an understatement.

for a moment, nothing else registers. not the desk digging into her back, not the clacking of his keys, not even his breath on her neck. the only thing she feels is him, thick and hard inside her and the urge to move, to grind against him, to create some friction. the ache between her legs intensifies tenfold. 

‘wha—’

‘you wanted my attention so desperately and now you have it.’ he answers it so nonchalantly that she wonders for one insane moment if she’s imagining him inside her. ‘now are you going to be a good girl let me finish this?’

‘no–’

‘or are you going to complain and whine?’

his interruptions have her seething. this is torture and he’s doing it on purpose; making her keep his dick wet while he continues to ignore her. and acting like the feeling of her tight cunt and her hard breathing doesn’t bother him one bit when she can feel him twitching inside her. 

what had he called her before? a brat? she’ll show him what a brat is. 

with renewed determination, she lifts up her hips, ready to sink down on him again, ready to set the pace but he calls out her name in warning. a sound that sends a million shivers down her spine. 

‘i’m going to give you one last chance.’ his eyes bore into hers, dark and unflinching, ‘be still for me. until i tell you to move. you know what good girls get?’

oh so now he wants to play games. fine then, she’ll indulge him. ‘what?’

he leans closer, mouth right next to her ear, breath hot on her neck, ‘good girls get to cum. you want that don’t you?’

yes, yes she does, very desperately. but she doesn’t like his tone, doesn’t like being denied things after displaying a saintly amount of patience all week.

‘i can make myself cum,’ she huffs. her tone is not nearly as haughty as she wants it to be but haughtiness is not the point of this. this is a trap and she needs him to walk into it. take the bait. 

ross only raises an eyebrow because seemingly, he knows her better than she knows herself at this point. he’s calling her bluff. 

‘no, i’m serious!’ her hand trails down, making sure to graze against his chest on the way. heart beating faster than ever, she smirks at him right as she rests it right above her clit. 

he moves, just the smallest amount, and a jolt of lightning runs through her entire body so fast that she almost falls onto him. she can imagine this, face into the crook of his neck while he lazily fucks into her, slowly and leisurely until she’s had enough of this pace. then he would grab her hips and make her bounce up and down on his cock till she’s limp with pleasure.

all of this if she showed some patience.

but no. 

she wants him now. not twenty, ten, five minutes later. now. 

her finger rests on her clit and she sucks in a sharp breath, about to flip the tables on him. she’s salivating at the idea…oh, how tortured he would look, how angry. he would surely forget all about his work then…

a hand roughly closes around her wrist and yanks it away. her eyes meet his, dark and angry. no, he’s livid. 

‘i warned you, love. didn’t i?’

*****

a buzzing sound fills the room, almost menacing, while she lies splayed on the desk, hands tied together with his belt. a thrill of anticipation shoots down her spine. this is what she’s been waiting for all day, well a much tamer iteration of it but she has no one but herself to blame for it really. she had squealed the second he pulled out of her and cleared the desk with one swoop of his hand. not that there was much on it, to begin with, but watching him “prepare it” was thrilling just the same. plus there’s the knowledge that anyone can hear what’s going on. yes, his office is locked and almost sound-proof but who’s to say they won’t still be interrupted by a knock or a phone call or any other number of factors?

‘look at you…’ he walks towards her now, the tiny bullet vibrating in his hands. her underwear has long been discarded to one side and her dress is now pushed up to her stomach; all of her lower half on display for him. ‘all eager and pathetic.’

it seemed like all her brattiness had paid off, it seemed like a reward…at first. but now the vibrator buzzes closer to her swollen clit, almost touching, almost—

her thoughts are cut off when he abruptly presses it against her. a sharp cry rings out, her legs going taut instantly as she melts into the sensation. he moves it again, down her slit and back up again spreading delicious tingles all over her body. 

‘feels so good…’ she breathes out. three words, that’s as much as she can get out at the moment.

‘does it?’ 

she hums in response, she thinks so anyway because the bullet circles her clit lightly again. the toy rests against her just long enough for her to get used to it before he moves it away. he ups the setting, making her jerk violently. it’s sudden, it’s amazing and she almost doesn’t register that there’s something in his tone.

‘just like that…’ she gasps softly as toy runs over her inner thighs and then against her opening. 

‘just like that, yeah?’ he repeats her words back to her and she gasps out a yes in response. the darker tone lingers, but none of it matters as the familiar knot builds at the base of her spine. a moan as her back arches off the desk, she’s so close, so…

it stops. 

he stops altogether. 

a feeling of annoyance and borderline anger washes over her. ‘why did you stop?!’ 

through her half-open eyes, she can see his arched eyebrows, mouth quirked to one side in amusement. ‘you think you deserve to cum? what did i say to you before hmm?’

She tries to jog her memory while the bullet comes to life once again. 

‘come on, darling,’ he mocks, ‘i haven’t got all day. what did i say before?’

he rests the vibrator on her lower stomach, inching it downward at a snails pace as she tries to come up with an answer, ‘umm, ahh, i don–i don’t remember.’

‘yes you do.’ his finger slides up her slit, collecting her wetness and spreading it on the tip of the bullet. ‘what did i say about getting to cum?’

‘ahh, oh,’ she tries to speak but it turns into breathless garble as soon as the tip nears her clit again. ‘you said—you said good girls get—fuck, ross please!’

‘good girls get what? hmm? go on,’ he asks again and lifts the bullet up and away from her leaving her feeling cold and whiney and much more frustrated than before. the belt digs into her wrists as she struggles against it, not enough to cause any serious harm, but she knows they would be red by now.

‘good girls get to cum,’ she spits out glaring at him with as much anger as she can muster. of course, he’s ready with his next question. 

‘and have you been a good girl?’

the cycle starts again, vibrator purring right above her clit, then moving down mercilessly slow until her thoughts turn to mush and yet she’s somehow expected to form a coherent answer. 

‘have you?’ he asks again, ‘really think about it.’ his thumb joins the vibrator this time, calloused and rough, as he rubs her in tandem. 

‘i can be–i will be, plea–fuck, i promise please.’ a string of incoherent pleas come out of her mouth the harder he goes. her legs shake and spasm, she’s so close again, almost there, almost ready to make a mess on the table but ross has other plans.

he tuts and takes away her pleasure once again. 

‘you can be, i know you can,’ he walks to her side, looking down at her now and parts her lips with the thumb that was on her clit a moment ago. ‘but have you been good today?’

thumb pushed in her mouth, she glares once again. tears form at her lower lashline but she won’t let them fall. instead, she flicks her tongue around his thumb in a silent plea. 

she can be a good girl for him, she really can. 

he laughs darkly and walks away again only to stand right between her legs. she imagines what she must look like to him from this angle. legs spread wide apart and her swollen cunt on display, her thighs must probably be a mess from her wetness. hands tied together above her head. and that he’s clearly enjoying as he eyes her hungrily. 

the fire burns hot and hungry, ready to incinerate anything in its wake. her body burns with it; feverish and writing as she tries to grind on his face. his hands dig into her thighs keeping her still in place. she has no agency in this; she is only his plaything. what had she said before? she can make herself cum? well of course he had taken that as a challenge. because now, desperate as she is, nothing would make her let go until he says so. 

and he won’t say it until he’s done having his fun. 

‘so fucking sweet,’ he hums against her, ‘almost want to let you cum now so i can taste you…’

she’s sure she nods at that. yes, yes, do that. let me. it’s not just for her benefit, it’s for his too. but then he clicks his tongue softly. 

‘but you know what they say about patience…’

she doesn’t. that’s what got her here in the first place. 

his teeth are on her inner thigh, biting and leaving behind a million red marks that his tongue soothes an instant later. but it doesn’t stop there. his tongue is almost as cruel as his teasing. it laps at her, broad strokes and kitten licks, and swirls around her clit till her thighs are clenched around him and shaking, spasming. maybe he’s finally going to let her cum after denying her time and time again. 

‘so close,’ she mumbles in a daze, ‘please i’m going to cum, please.’

‘no you’re not,’ he stops momentarily and her head spins. please not again, not again. the pressure inside her is painful, she feels like she’s about to burst into tiny pieces and yet he has his hand on her stomach, holding her down, holding her together. 

‘hold it,’ he commands and sucks on her clit again. 

‘i can’t–please, ross, i ca–can’t!’ the tears spill over and she doesn’t care about the begging any more. 

‘yes you can,’ he gets up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘if you don’t hold it…well,’ he looks at his laptop and shrugs casually, ‘i do still have two pages left to read. should i–’

‘no!’ she cries out, holding onto the sobs that threaten to spill. for once she’s grateful for the belt tying her hands together, if it weren’t for that, she would have long since ripped out her hair in frustration. ‘no please, i’ll be good, i’ll be a good girl.’

that makes him smirk. ‘now you want to be a good girl for me? would this have happened if you would have sat still for twenty minutes? hmm?’

she shakes her head vigorously. no, it wouldn’t have. her head lolls to one side, too tired from shaking it and ross laughs. it’s languid and careless, like he really could just walk back to his macbook without a second thought. she could be lying almost spreadeagle on his desk all day and none of it would matter until he’s done. 

‘my pretty baby,’ he coos, fingers trailing up her thigh and resting at the apex, ‘are you going to be a brat again?’

‘no,’ she mumbles and whines out his name again, ‘i–please, ross, please.’ those are the only words she’s capable of saying anyway. everything else has gone hazy and through it all she sees his lazy grin as he lowers his mouth between her legs again. 

‘have you learned your lesson yet?’ spoken so close to her cunt that she feels his gravelly voice shoot straight to her core. she has no idea what she says but it must have satisfied him because his tongue is back on her, so is his thumb. 

somewhere the buzzing starts again or it might just be her ears ringing at this point as she loses herself to the tingling feeling in her body. nothing else matters, only him and pleasing him and being a good girl for him. a jolt goes through her whole body at the touch of the vibrator once again. she can’t take it anymore, not again, not—

‘good,’ he hums, tongue dipped between her folds, ‘you can let go now.’

he doesn’t even finish the sentence before she’s moaning the loudest she has, screaming practically as her thighs clench around his head and the knot inside her breaks. waves after waves after waves of pleasure crashing on her until she’s practically drowning in ecstasy. there’s nothing else but his mouth and his voice. she doesn’t know anymore where they are or what day it is or how long she’s been here. 

all she knows is that she’s trembling and shaking, head lolled to one side. coming down from her high and cold at the absence of his touch. a few minutes later his hands are back on her thighs along with something damp and cold that feels amazing against her skin. every small graze against her clit makes her wince and he apologises softly, first through his words and then by placing small kisses on her head, her shoulder, her hip, whatever’s closest to him. 

‘baby?’ the leather around her wrists loosens and his fingers rub at the red marks as if that would make them go away. maybe they would dissipate a little. 

‘hmm?’

she’s surrounded by his scent now and the feeling of his arms around her. ‘can’t keep your eyes open can you?’

‘mm-hmm.’

‘can’t do much of anything it seems.’ his voice is back to being kind and sweet but there’s also some teasing in it and of course, some smugness. he has just fucked her to within an inch of her life of course…and he didn’t shed a single item of clothing. 

there’s a brief feeling of floating before she feels solid ground again, it’s a lap. ross’s lap. 

‘we’re leaving in ten minutes,’ he tells her. but she’s too far gone to care. 

[hotcocoabombb]

So, I just finished Astro Bot.

I'm gonna get this out of the way immediately: this game is a fucking masterpiece in my eyes. A genuinely flawless game. If you don't wanna read this whole long ass yapfest I wanna just say this upfront. If you own a PS5 and don't own this game, you are doing yourself a disservice. With that out of the way, allow me to glaze the fuck out of this game.

Before I start with the game itself I wanna talk about Production Value because holy shit it is off the fucking charts here. Every inch of this game is fucking gorgeous. Water is so good Mario WiiU would be brought to tears. Particles and physics objects are everywhere, to the point where it feels like Team Asobi was just showing off with what the PS5 was capable of. I have no issues calling it the best looking PS5 game. Sure, God of War or The Last of Us Part 1 may look better technically but Astro Bot's artstyle combined with a locked 60fps that I didn't notice dip once despite the amount of stuff on screen at once pushes it over the edge for me. On top of that, the music is incredible. Every level has a new tune that you'll sometimes just sit down and listen to for a moment before starting a level. Slo-Mo Casino, Crash Site, and Sky Garden are highlights for me but the whole soundtrack is incredibly good.

But that doesn't really mean much if the game kinda sucks, so I am glad to report that Astro Bot might be the best controlling 3D platformer I have ever played. Everything just feels like it has the just right amount of fine tuning. Astro's jump is just right between floaty and weighty, and his hover helps mitigate platforming mistakes without being essentially a get out of jail free card. His attack is basic but you can also damage enemies by hovering, and the game switches it up often enough for it to not feel repetitive. The levels compliment the control perfectly. While Astro Bot is generally a pretty easy game, I don't think that's a bad thing because of how comfortable it feels to play. Everything just feels good. Every time you mess up a jump, it feels like your fault instead of the game's. This rings true even in the face button challenges (which is what im calling them for lack of a better term lol). These little challenges, themed around the Sony face buttons, can be a lot more challenging than the regular game, but they remain fair. Even the final challenge of the game to get the last bot is a fair challenge. The game never resorts to cheap deaths which makes it way more fun than some other "difficult" games. The boss fights are also really good. The wait times between attacks always remained interesting to me because the pace of everything just felt snappy. They never last more than a few minutes and by the time you're done with them they don't overstay their welcome. They're always a nice change of pace from the main game. Also, going for completion never felt like a slog. I got all 301 bots (missing 4 because my playroom file got deleted on accident :/), all puzzle pieces, and all achievements and I was never bored. Just goes to show how incredible the gameplay is.

The story is nothing super complex but I like it for what it is. Basically an Alien just decided to be a jerk and stole the pieces from the PS5 and scattered all the bots and it's up to Astro to fix everything up. Not the most inspired story ever but that's not really an issue imo. The main alien is constantly bullying the CPU of the PS5 and it's honestly really funny to watch the scenes. For a game without any dialogue they really put their all into the story and I personally think they did an amazing job with the story.

Overall, like I said at the beginning of this, Astro Bot is a masterpiece. Everything this game sets out to do, it not only succeeds, but excel's at. This game doesn't have a single bad level or dull moment. I am not kidding when I say I don't even have any dumb nitpicks to muster up. Astro Bot is a perfect game in my eyes and Team Asobi should be goddamn proud of themselves for releasing a game this fucking good.

Astro Bot gets a 10/10 from me. Please go buy and play this game. It's wonderful.

[daydreamgoddess14]

The Escape Artist - Chapter 7

Masterlist

CH 1 | CH 2 | CH 3 | CH 4 | CH 5 | CH 6

Tag list: @moonmaiden1996 @theskytraveler @acrackintheteacup @succulentthief

He'd left her behind. 

Aside from the fear of not knowing where Clover was, she felt completely betrayed. 

She paced around the office like a caged dog, snarling at every comment Shirley and Louisa made until Lamb’s pounding on the ceiling above summoned her.

“Stop taking it out on Thelma and Louise down there, they’re trying to help.” He demanded harshly. She looked at her feet and mumbled an apology. “I don’t want your sorrys, they do. Now fuck off and wait for Cartwright to call.” She apologised, and then took up residence hovering over Ho’s shoulder as he tracked River’s phone.

“You know where they’re going?”

“I do.”

“Can you tell me?”

“Nope,” he popped his ‘p’ loudly, half a packet of Hubba Bubba visible in his open mouth. 

“Ho, please?”

“Cole, no. Strict instructions from Cartknob.”

“Since when do you do anything he asks?”

“Since he’s tryin’ to save your kid.” She sighed and dropped into the chair next to his. She watched the screen with her chin in her hands. “Stop huffin’ and puffin’ will ya?”

“Sorry.” On the map, the red dot of River’s car came to a stop. “Are there any cam-” Ho looked at her with a withering stare. “I’ll let you just… do your thing, shall I?”

“Please do. Go and get Guy and Dander.”

“But -”

“Cole, fuck off a minute will you?” Though his tone was irate, there was a softness in his eyes. 

He wanted to check the camera alone before letting her take a look. Her shoulders slumped in defeat but she did as she was told, taking her time up the stairs. She gave him five minutes and then followed Louisa down the stairs. “It’s alright,” he told them without looking up. “She can look.”

Ella went back to her previous spot on his shoulder and watched the camera. 

She saw River’s car and an open warehouse door and very little else. 

Ho wound the footage back and she watched as the car spun into the yard at speed and came to an abrupt halt. Coe and Cartwright were out of the car quickly. The footage was grainy but she could see the tension in their faces and the way they held their bodies. 

Silent hand gestures and head nods passed for conversation until they were out of sight and inside the building.

“Where is it?”

“Can’t tell you til he tells me I can.”

“What if he can’t tell you?”

“Coe then. Either one of ‘em.”

“And if we hear nothing?” At that, Ho clearly hesitated. 

“If we hear nothing, then Shirley goes to check it out.” Lamb told them from the bottom of the stairs.

“What he said.” Ho mumbled. Shirley got up from the edge of the desk and went to speak quietly to Lamb who only nodded in response. 

Ella stared at the camera footage, willing something to happen.

Nothing did.

On the desk, Ho’s phone buzzed angrily. Coe’s name was on the caller I.D.

“Back up.” He said simply. 

“Please?” Ella begged Lamb. “Please let me go.”

“Come on,” Shirley pushed her towards the door. “Send me the pin, Ho.” 

Lamb eyed her carefully.

“Dander,” he called after her, “don’t fuck this up.” He put a hand on Ella’s shoulder with a light squeeze. “Just so you know, I’m not fucking happy about this.” Ella nodded gratefully and followed Shirley out of the door.

“Why’d you let Cole go?” Louisa asked.

“Dander was taking her regardless. Pick your battles, Guy.” He told her. “And let’s hope they’re more competent than the bloody Chuckle brothers.” 

*

Ella read out directions from Shirley’s phone, the location wasn’t remotely familiar and in the now fully dark yard, they nearly collided with River’s car as they turned in. Ella was considering her options, conscious that they hadn’t come up with any kind of plan.

“Right, Coe probably called ‘cos they’re in trouble, yeah?” Shirley asked quietly. She reached into the inner pocket of her jacket and pushed a small object into Ella’s hand. “Put this in your pocket.” She told her. The door they’d seen River and Coe use was still swinging open.

“So we should go in.” Ella concluded. A few metres from the door, Shirley jumped a mile as Coe bundled though with Clover in his arms. “Clover!” Ella launched herself towards them, peeling Clover from him.

Clover’s legs wrapped around her waist as Ella struggled to carry the girl who got closer to her mother’s height with every new growth spurt. Ella let Clover hang onto her as she used a free hand to pat along Coe’s arm and back to check for injuries.

“It’s from earlier,” he explained, grimacing. “I’m sorry, El.”

“Don’t be. JK, I’m so sorry he got to you.”

“Let’s not hang around, eh?” Shirley looked worryingly at the door.

“Cartwright’s got him distracted.” Coe explained.

“I’ve got to go in there,” Ella started, trying to pass Clover back to Coe.

“Mum, no!”

“My lovey, I need you to go with Shirl and JK, ok?”

“Come with me, mummy,” Clover begged.

“I need to go and help River. I can’t leave him here alone, sweetheart.”

Shirley got back into the car while Coe opened the back door.

Clover fought against him, trying to get back to Ella.

As the girl pulled free of Coe’s timid grip, she wrapped herself around Ella who fell to her knees.

She held Clover tightly, breathing her in. 

“I love you. I love you so much.” She whispered fiercely, remembering the day Eddie had turned up and taken Clover away. “I need to go in there and save River, I need to stop your dad.” She explained, her voice calm and reasoned in Clover’s ear, though she had no idea how.

“Mummy,” Clover sobbed into the crook of her neck.

“I’ll see you at Slough House, ok? I need you to do me a very special job, I need you to take care of JK and Shirley. Help them tell Lou and Lamb what’s happening, and ask Ho if you can help him look on the map for us?” Clover nodded sadly.

“Ok,” she whispered.

“That’s my brave girl. I love you, I’ll see you soon.”

Clover still squealed as Coe took her hand and pulled her back to the car. Ella heard the sobs and cries even with the door shut, until the sound of the engine overpowered them and Shirley peeled out of the yard. 

*

Ella roughly brushed her tears away and took a deep breath to steady herself. 

The first shot rang out as she set foot into the warehouse, making her jump. She was half wondering whether the shot had been aimed at her when the second shot sounded. 

She ran to follow the noise, a dim light not too far ahead of her. 

"Come on then, pretty boy," She heard Eddie jeer as he loomed over River who was crumpled on the floor.

"Over my dead body," she snarled. Without thinking, she threw herself at Eddie and tried to knock the gun from his hand.

He pushed her away with ease, leaving her standing defiantly in front of him. She used her body to shield River from the path of the gun.

"You little bitch -" Eddie started. She’d never seen him so angry, his rage terrified her but her own wrath was far greater.

His hand clenched around the gun.

"You'll pay for this, all of you," he spat, raising the handle of the gun to Ella.

With a horrifying scream, she ran at him again, her much smaller frame darting behind him. He spun on the spot as she jumped onto his back and wrapped her forearms around his throat. He shook her off, flinging her to the floor. As she fell, she aimed a kick at his hand and sent the gun flying across the room.

Eddie laughed.

“You think I need that? I can fuck you up without a gun, darls.” Ella scrambled to her feet as he stalked towards her. “You're pathetic,” he sneered. “A mess. I saved you - do you remember? So bored of your sad little life and your parents. You wanted me, you wanted to run away -”

“Yeah, because I was seventeen, god, you're sick! Hanging round the school gates with flowers and gifts, you groomed me, Eddie. I was just too young to see it then.”

“Nah, you wanted it. You were gagging for it. Proper little slut she was, y'know?” He said to River. “Not anymore, christ, she's fucking frigid now. But when she goes mate…” Eddie whistled as he stepped towards Ella, a hand raised to her throat. 

He pushed her until her back bent over the crate, holding her down with one hand. “Shall I show you?” He looked over at River again, “Show you how she likes it?” With his free hand, he pushed her top up, exposing the sheer lace of her bra. Then he roughly unbuttoned her jeans and started dragging them down her hips. 

Ella clamped her legs together and tried to twist her body away from him. His calloused hands pawed at the soft skin of her thighs. River tried weakly to get to his feet.

“Let her go,” he growled, his voice faint. 

“No, no, get the fuck off me,” she gasped. Her hands flew as she scratched and fought against Eddie. With her jeans undone, he moved onto his own. 

“C'mon, darls, I want to show him how a real man fucks his wife,” he leaned down to kiss her as she turned her face away. 

She caught River's gaze. 

He stared so intensely, holding her attention as if he were trying to take the pain and fear away from her. 

Feeling nothing but shame, she closed her eyes and tried to hide as much from him as she was Eddie. 

Lay back and think of England Eddie's mother had said to her once. As if she knew the kind of man her son was, as if she'd already lived through the same. 

Like father, like son. 

Like mother, like daughter. 

No. Not this time. 

Ella knew she had to stop the cycle. With Eddie's face buried in her neck and his fingers digging into her thighs, trying to prise her legs apart, her sweat slicked hand reached for her pocket. Her jeans past her hips, they were nearly entirely out of her grasp. 

Her hand gripped the small item Shirley had handed her in the car, feeling for the sharp end. She felt the cool metal blade catch her palm, blood pooling. 

She used his distraction to her advantage, her thighs burned from pressing them together so tightly, denying him access.

“Aghhhh!” she screamed as she quickly plunged the knife into the soft juncture between his neck and shoulder. 

He didn't make a sound, she wasn't sure she'd even hit her mark until she felt a warm drip down her wrist to her elbow. 

She removed the knife and plunged it into his neck again and again and again until the drip became a steady flow down her arm and into the limited space between their bodies. 

River's eyes widened as Eddie's body slumped onto Ella's, his full weight on her. The hand on her throat fell limply to the crate. 

The knife dropped from her grip and she pushed his body firmly off hers with both hands. He slipped to the ground with a thump. 

Ella rose up onto her elbows, panting. Blood covered her torso and neck, it had flowed into her hair and bra. 

She pulled her top back down to cover herself and with shaking hands, tried to pull her jeans up to her waist. 

She heard River heave and pushed herself fully upright, rushing to his side. Hands still sticky with blood, she wiped them on her jeans before she tried to feel for a pulse. She felt his hand move, finding the bare skin on her hip where she'd not managed to pull her jeans fully closed. 

Her skin burned under his touch and she bit back a sob as his pulse fluttered wildly under her fingertips. 

“His body -” River muttered. “Get rid.”

“No, no I need to get you to hospital.” She tugged off her jacket and held it against his wound. 

“El, get rid,” he groaned insistently. 

“Fucking hell, River. I do not have time for this. Just let me fucking save you for once.”

“Keep the knife.” 

“You'll be the death of me, Cartwright. Swear to fucking god,” she scrambled to her feet and did the button on her jeans. 

She looked frantically around the storage unit and spotted a fire exit on the opposite wall. She launched herself at it and dragged the cold evening air into her lungs. 

They were right by the riverside. 

She hadn't paid any attention when Shirley had been driving, careful to follow Ho's instructions. She hadn't realised that they'd ended up so close to the edge of the Thames. 

Quickly propping the door open, she grabbed Eddie's body by the ankles and pulled. 

She took a step back, braced her heels into the ground and pulled again, repeating the process until she was at the water's edge. 

“Fuck you, Eddie.” She spat, rolling his body straight into the water. He bobbed on the current for a few metres before he began to sink to the depths.

On her way back to River, she picked up the knife as instructed. 

His breathing had become more shallow in the time she'd been gone, and his pulse fainter and more erratic. 

“Oh, fuck you, Cartwright,” she grumbled, trying to pull him into a position where she could get him on his feet and support him to the exit.

“I heard that,” he whispered, his breath ghosting against her neck as she anchored her arms around his waist and lifted to no avail. 

“Good. Do I look like I can carry a bloody six foot dickhead like you?”

“Six one.”

“I'm going to kill you myself. C'mon, help me, please.” Her voice broke as she prepared to lift him again. 

“Trying,” he promised, weakly. As she lifted, he positioned his feet better and stayed upright, though slumped against her. 

“That's it, we got it now.” She said breathlessly. 

She stood still for a minute to get her breath, her arms still tight around his waist and his forehead resting in the crook of her neck. 

“Can walk,” he whispered, his lips grazing her collarbone. 

“No you fucking can't. I've got you, let's go.” She twisted in his arms and moved to the side he'd been shot on. “Walk with me, babe, yeah?” 

It took a few steps to find a rhythm, his bad side leaning heavily into her, followed by his good, as if they were in a three-legged race. 

“Sports day next year,” he suggested cheekily. 

“Will you stop wasting your energy!” She chastised without much force. Grateful, actually, that he was still talking. 

The closer they got to the exit, the quieter he became. His sentences grew shorter and she supported most of his body weight. 

Outside, only his car remained. 

She pushed away the memory of forcing Coe and Clover into Shirley’s banged up car as Clover squealed in terror.

“Keys?” She asked, hoping he was still conscious enough to reply. 

“Pocket,” he breathed shakily. 

She brushed her hand across each of his pockets to find the right one and reached in to grab them. 

“I buy you dinner first next time,” he huffed a little laugh.

“Don't fucking die on me and I'll buy you dinner,” she told him sternly, opening the door wide enough to shove him into the passenger seat. 

Once they were moving, she used the touchscreen of the car and River's bluetooth connected phone to call ahead.

“I hope everyone still has a pulse, Cartwright?” Lamb answered. The tinny echo told her she was on speakerphone.

“Two of us at least, one barely though. Meet me at Guy's hospital?”

“Fuck, what happened?” Louisa asked desperately. 

“Eddie shot River, I killed Eddie. I can't go into the hospital, I'm covered in blood.”

“I'll go in, leave the car at the door and meet Lamb round the side.” She instructed. Ella heard Lamb grumbling in response.

“OK. The others?”

“They got back a little while ago. Clover’s calmed down, she's playing Super Mario with Ho.” Ella felt hot tears fill her eyes.

“See you in a few,” she managed to mumble before hanging up. As her left hand went to change gear, River's hand limply covered it. 

Ella pulled up outside the hospital. She looked across at River, now fully unconscious, his lips blue.

“Do not die you dick, I will kill you myself. Don't you dare die.” She muttered furiously. She spotted Louisa in the bright lights of the doorway and hopped out of the car without a backwards glance. As soon as she’d moved around the side of the hospital, Louisa stepped forward and flung open the passenger door, calling loudly for help. 

“She's got it now, Cole. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up. You look like a sodding murder victim yourself. Don't get blood on my seats,” Lamb warned, holding the door open for her. 

*

With Lamb at her side giving her a running commentary of the evening at Slough House, Ella felt every ounce of strength drain from her body as she absorbed the sound of his voice. 

“... very excited at the prospect of a sleepover with Standish, fuck only knows why, poor kid.” 

Ella slumped forward in the seat with her head in her hands, barely registering his words. 

“... have your work cut out for you trying to get her to talk to you. Your little spitfire was very angry with you.” 

Tears filled her eyes, Ella fought to hold them back but she was just too exhausted. A sob escaped her mouth as Lamb pulled the car up outside the safe house. He waited patiently as she cried, her shoulders shaking under the hand he'd attempted to comfort her with. 

“‘m sorry,” she hiccupped, her voice thick with tears and snot.

“Enough now, get cleaned up and I'll take you to the kiddo.” He followed her into the dark house, offering the Range Rover across the road a brief salute. “Do I feign ignorance when the relevant authorities come knocking?” He asked as Ella poured them both a large whisky. Her hands shook as she raised the glass to her lips. At her feet, Eugene seemed to understand the sombre conversation and settled for resting a sleepy head on the tops of her trainers. 

“He's dead.”

“So you said.”

“I stabbed him.”

“So I see,” he eyed her blood-covered clothing. 

“Then I pushed him in the river.”

“And the knife?”

Ella pulled it from her pocket and placed it on the table. 

“What do I do?”

“Keep your trap shut, wait and see how long it takes for his body to wash up. Hang on to the knife.”

“He shot River.”

“He'll live, unfortunately. Nasty habit of his, he's like a cockroach.”

“You're not worried?” She asked. His eyes bored into hers, she could see the unspoken concern. 

“Get a shower, hurry up.” He reached for the bottle and poured another measure. Eugene looked like he was considering following her, but decided that Lamb's feet were more comfortable. 

It took forever to wash the blood off. It had been there so long it had stained her skin. Scrubbing made her skin raw, which made it even harder to tell whether the blood was coming off, or whether she was just extremely well exfoliated.

Her hair was matted with congealed blood, it caught in her fingers as she tried to weave them through the curls to separate and clean them. 

Finally, she scrubbed her face. 

The bottom of the bathtub was filthy with splatters of dust, dirt and blood. She held the shower head so that it all washed away down the plug hole.

She patted her tender skin dry, trying not to scrub it any harder. She checked the mirror for any glaring bits she'd missed, and found herself pink and puffy but fortunately, cleansed.

She wasn't sure she could say the same about her conscience. 

Lamb had fallen asleep on her sofa, head tilted back and mouth wide open with Eugene tucked up next to him, both of them snoring. 

If she hadn't been so desperate to see Clover, she'd have happily curled up at the end and joined them. 

She nudged Lamb’s foot with her own and he startled awake.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

“Can we go to the hospital after I’ve seen Clo?”

“Fuck no. I’m taking you to Standish’s for a kip. We’ll work out the rest tomorrow, tonight you need to sleep.”

“What about River?”

“Guy’s text me, he’s stable for now. They’ve pumped him full of some more blood and done a few scans. Nothing more now til the morning.”

“I should be there.”

“He’d tell you to piss off back to the kid and you know it.” Ella couldn’t argue, she knew he was right. 

Standish waited for them on the landing outside her flat with a pale, tired Clover half hidden behind her.

“You look awful,” she sighed with relief.

“I feel worse. Hey sweetheart,” she whispered to Clover.

“Come on, I’ve made the spare room up for you both. Good night, Jackson.”

“Night, Standish, Cole.” He turned on the stairs and headed back down. 

“Thank you,” Ella called after him. He waved a hand without turning around.

Catherine’s flat was a warm, cosy respite from the evening she’d had. She was guided to the sofa where she curled up in the corner. 

Clover looked warily from the kitchen door until Catherine nudged her gently. At Catherine’s suggestion, the young girl crept towards Ella and climbed into her mother’s lap. 

“Thank you,” Ella mouthed over Clover’s shoulder. 

Catherine left them alone as Ella and Clover’s soft cries filled the flat.

They fell asleep on the sofa, entwined together and cheeks still wet with tears.

*

“I want to come too,” she demanded. 

Ella sighed. She’d spent days being put off visiting River - Lamb didn’t want her drawing attention, Louisa said he wasn’t well enough. She’d finally put her foot down and told them that she would be visiting the hospital and they would not be stopping her. Until Clover decided that she also wanted to go.

“It’s a hospital, babe. It’s full of machines and poorly people and it’s not a nice place for kids to have to visit.”

“But I want to see him, I got him some stickers?” Clover waved a page of Barbie stickers in Ella’s face.

“Ok. Ok, fine. But you have to be super quiet and no racing around.”

“Yessss, thanks mum!” Clover held Eugene’s soft head in her hands, “I’ll tell him you miss him too.” She told the dog sagely.

Lamb was already at the hospital, in the visitor chair reading the newspaper.

“He’s asleep,” he explained unnecessarily.

“Ugh, I wanted to give him some stickers.”

“He’ll be awake in a bit, kid. Want to come and get some chocolate?” He shook the pocket of his trousers to check for change.

“Can I mum?”

“Course you can, stay with Lamb please. No running off.”

“I can give you five minutes, Cole. Beyond that, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep a 9 year old occupied.”

“Cheers, Lamb.”

She waited for the door to close before taking in her surroundings. Some cheap supermarket flowers were on a table next to the bed, along with an open bag of grapes that Lamb had clearly been eating on River’s behalf. 

He was pale against the bedsheets, with dark circles under his eyes. His hair had fallen across his forehead so she brushed it out of the way.

“I’d say it’s good to see you, but,” she murmured, “you look half dead so that’s not entirely true.” She sat in the seat Lamb had vacated and took his hand. He was still attached to a drip so she was careful not to disturb the cannula. “You should have let me come with you,” she complained. “I’ve been so worried. They haven’t let me visit til now.” 

Her voice wavered. 

“You’re such an idiot, River. I told you he was dangerous, I told you and you wouldn’t listen. You’re so fucking reckless, always putting yourself in danger. What if I hadn’t turned up?” 

She sighed, picking at a stray thread on the bedcovers. 

“You’ve been so good to me,” her voice softened. “To both of us. I think you saved me. God, this is so messed up but, I think I’m in love with you. I never thought I was capable of feeling like this, I think Eddie broke something in me. I know I’m not exactly the picture of stability.” 

Fat tears splashed from her cheek to the bed as she talked. “I’m no good for you.” 

She sniffed, wiping the tears away with the back of her hand. “Maybe one day, eh? If I’m ever less of a fuck up.”

She heard the squeak of Clover’s trainers in the corridor outside and cleared her throat, hoping her red-rimmed eyes weren’t as obvious as they felt.

“Hey babe, did you get any good snacks?”

[princesskenny1998]

South Park | Stan Marsh x afab!pregnant!reader ~ Unexpected

The cold autumn air clung to your skin as you sat on the edge of your bed, the small, plastic object resting in your trembling hand. Your eyes were locked on it, unblinking, as if willing it to change, to shift, to somehow make everything okay. But no matter how long you stared, the two pink lines remained. Clear as day. Clear as the reality you were desperately trying to deny.

Pregnant.

You had thought about this scenario before, in the abstract, the way everyone does when they start a relationship. You’d even talked about it with Stan, in a joking, lighthearted way, never really considering that it could happen — not now, not while you were still in high school, not while you were still figuring out who you were.

And now here you were, staring at the undeniable proof in your hand, feeling your heart race, your stomach twist in knots, your mind race with a thousand thoughts.

What were you going to do?

How were you going to tell Stan?

Stan. His name echoed in your mind, and suddenly the panic surged even higher. How was he going to react? He was your boyfriend, yes, but you were both so young, so unprepared for something like this. The thought of telling him made your chest tighten with fear.

You closed your eyes, trying to calm the rising storm of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm you. But it was no use. The panic was too real, too close. You could practically feel it pressing down on your chest, making it hard to breathe.

How could this have happened? you asked yourself for what felt like the hundredth time, though you knew the answer. You and Stan had been careful, or at least you thought you had been. But accidents happen. You had always known that, even if you hadn’t really believed it would happen to you.

The sound of your phone buzzing on the nightstand jolted you from your thoughts. You glanced over, and your heart sank when you saw Stan’s name flashing on the screen. He had texted you earlier, asking if you wanted to hang out tonight. You hadn’t responded, too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed you since taking the test.

With shaky hands, you picked up the phone, staring at the screen as if it held all the answers. How were you supposed to act normal around him now? How could you pretend that everything was fine when your world had just been flipped upside down?

You couldn’t avoid him forever. You knew that. But the thought of telling him the truth made you feel sick.

After a long moment, you typed out a reply.

Can you come over? I need to talk to you.

Your thumb hovered over the send button for a few seconds before you finally pressed it. There was no turning back now.

The next hour passed in a blur. You didn’t even remember what you did to fill the time — maybe you paced around the room, maybe you stared at the wall, maybe you just sat in silence, trying to process everything. All you knew was that by the time you heard the knock on the front door, your heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of your chest.

You made your way downstairs, your legs feeling weak beneath you. When you opened the door, Stan stood there, looking as calm and collected as ever, a soft smile on his face.

“Hey,” he greeted you, stepping inside. “What’s up? You seemed kinda off earlier.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the lump in your throat grow bigger. “We need to talk,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Stan’s smile faltered, concern immediately flickering in his eyes. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

You gestured for him to follow you upstairs, leading him to your room. As you closed the door behind him, you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, waiting for an explanation.

“Stan,” you began, turning to face him, your hands wringing together anxiously. “I… I don’t know how to say this.”

His brow furrowed, and he took a step closer to you, his hand reaching out to gently touch your arm. “Hey, whatever it is, you can tell me. It’s okay.”

You bit your lip, trying to find the words, trying to steady your voice. But it was so hard. So much harder than you had imagined.

“I’m… I’m pregnant,” you finally said, the words tumbling out in a rush before you could stop them.

Stan froze.

For a moment, the room was completely silent, the air thick with the weight of your confession. You watched his face, waiting for some kind of reaction, but he just stared at you, as if trying to process what you had just said.

“Pregnant?” he repeated, his voice barely audible, as if he couldn’t quite believe it.

You nodded, your eyes filling with tears. “I took a test this morning. It was positive.”

Stan ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “But… how? We were—”

“I don’t know,” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how it happened. But it did. And I don’t know what to do.”

The tears spilled over then, and you quickly wiped them away, feeling embarrassed and scared and vulnerable all at once. You had never felt so exposed in your life, standing here in front of Stan, waiting for him to react, waiting for him to say something — anything.

Stan took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room as if he were searching for answers, for something to say that would make this all better. But there was nothing. There was no simple fix for this.

Finally, he looked at you, his eyes softening. “Hey, hey, don’t cry,” he said, stepping forward and pulling you into a hug. His arms wrapped around you tightly, and for a moment, you let yourself melt into his embrace, grateful for the comfort, for the way he made you feel safe even in the midst of chaos.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered against his chest. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Stan pulled back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked down at you, his expression serious but calm. “It’s not your fault. We’re both responsible, okay? This isn’t just on you.”

You nodded, sniffling as you wiped your eyes again. “I’m just so scared, Stan. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know,” he said softly, his thumbs gently brushing away the remaining tears on your cheeks. “I’m scared too.”

That admission caught you off guard, and you looked up at him, surprised. Stan had always been the calm one, the steady one, the one who could handle anything. Hearing him admit that he was scared too made you feel a little less alone in this.

“We’ll figure it out,” he continued, his voice steady. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You nodded, grateful for his reassurance but still feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “What if… what if we can’t handle this? What if we’re not ready?”

Stan hesitated for a moment, clearly grappling with the same fears that were swirling around in your mind. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I don’t know if we’re ready either. But… we don’t have to have all the answers right now. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded again, trying to take comfort in his words, even though the fear still lingered in the back of your mind.

“What do we do now?” you asked, your voice small and uncertain.

Stan let out a long breath, his hands still resting on your shoulders. “We’ll have to tell our parents,” he said slowly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. “We can’t do this alone.”

The idea of telling your parents made your stomach twist in knots all over again. You had no idea how they were going to react. But Stan was right — you couldn’t handle this on your own. You needed support, whether you were ready for it or not.

“I’m with you,” Stan said, as if reading your mind. “We’ll do it together. You’re not alone in this.”

His words brought a small sense of relief, and you found yourself nodding again, though your heart still raced with anxiety.

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll tell them.”

Stan smiled gently, his hand moving up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “We’re going to be okay,” he said, his voice soft but confident. “I don’t know how yet, but we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with gratitude and love for the boy standing in front of you. Despite the fear and uncertainty that loomed over you, there was one thing you knew for sure: Stan cared about you. He wasn’t going to abandon you in this.

“I love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Stan’s eyes softened even more, and he smiled. “I love you too.”

And in that moment, as he held you in his arms, you believed him. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers yet. Maybe the road ahead was going to be difficult and scary and filled with challenges you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

But you weren’t alone.

You had Stan.

And somehow, that made all the difference.

[katy-133]

S4U: CITYPUNK 2011 AND LOVE PUNCH DEMO Experience Survey

1. How do you feel about S4U? Please tell us!

I love the art style, especially the diegetic user interface (like giving mouse clicks their own sounds over different objects, and also making all the buttons exist in the game's setting, a desk and computer screen). I played through the English demo and noticed a few typos, and a few phrases that confused me and I think might have been mis-translations (example: "I've been had!" instead of the more understandable, "I've been caught!" appeared multiple times). I also noticed that when I hover my mouse over the discs to the right of the screen, the tooltip popup is cut off by the edge of the screen, instead of nudged. This means that players can't read the rest of the tooltip for any objects to the right of the computer screen. Overall, I highly enjoyed the demo and am looking forward to the game's progress.

2. How do you feel about S4U's music? Please tell us!

I like it. It feels relaxing and I think fits the setting of the game.

[deathchasing]

Octane spends Father's Day this year doing the same thing he's always done.

"Feliz Día del Padre to this tin can," he announces inebriated on-stream as he downs his sixth drink, because an inanimate object would have been a better dad than his old man.

The chat rolls with exclamations and emojis, thousands of them, but it's all text and images on a screen. It's not the same when none of them know him, and it doesn't abate his loneliness. He would know - he's made it this way on purpose. The same thing he's always done.

Later, when the stream is off, he sits in the dark in the glow of all his screens, spinning his butterfly knife around his fingers, watching the light glint off the blade. His eyes see, but not what's in front of him. Nothing will scratch the itch under his skin or soothe the noise in his head - not the risk or the liquor or the drugs. The knife scores across his thumb after a wrong turn of his hand. He's too numb to notice, starts again. Another fumble, starts again. And again. It's not until his hands feel wet that he returns to himself, astounded he's done as much damage as he has. The same thing he's always done.

He washes and bandages his fingers. Burrows into his bunk. The blankets are soft but the contrast to his sharp edges makes his head throb, his body ache, his wounds finally scream when they're supposed to. The pain radiates warmth where everything else is cold, a familiar comfort, a chance for rest. He types slowly on his phone, eyelids heavy.

You there?

One finger hovers over 'send,' but his eyes shutter closed before he can press it. Slowly he turns over and finds sleep somewhere in the restless ebbing tide of dopamine, and he waits to do it all again.

The same thing he's always done.

[bunnyfrail]

Blood will Stain more than Clothes and Hardwood Floors

Chapter 3

“I tried to light out because I assumed that was your want, Ava.”

The light that slipped through the tree branches outside had outlined the zombie’s silhouette as his back was turned to it. He blocked it from reaching me. His shadow kept me in the darkness. I was overwhelmed, but shook my head to his assumptions to put at ease someone else.

“Does light out mean leave? No, please stay. It’s only that my feet really hurt, and I’d like to sit down now.”

I pointed to my bedside, and watched his gaze leave me for the cushioned mattress. My savior took a step towards the bed, but then came to a halt and tottered back. He held his palm up to me and his head was held down. There wasn’t anything on the floor he could have been asking me to retrieve for him. The longer he stood with his hand out made me nervous if I couldn’t give him what he was asking for. Crouching down to the wood paneled floor, my hands swept the ground. Fallen hairs and dust brushed against my palms. I didn’t look down to see what I was feeling. I hoped to find whatever I was searching for without needing my sight. My feet felt a little better, getting to pass their job onto my knees. I felt the vibration of him moving closer to me against my hands.

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want,”

His hand was then below my eyeline, and I thought maybe if I looked down there would be something already in it. My neck cracked while readjusting the angle it held my head in. Nothing rested in his palm. 

“Hand… your hand.”

A hand of mine quickly departed from the floor to follow the whispered plea. As fast as it was captured in the heatless hold, I felt the pull upward. My voice trembled as I was forced back onto my feet. The texture of my socks burned my cuts as it molded into the wounds. I put weight onto the hand that pulled me up for support. It held me up well as I used it to aid my own balance. Hobbling hand-in-hand with a corpse, I seemed to be the one to walk more like someone undead.

My feet hovered above the floor as my legs dangled off the bed. Dangling in front of me was the hand I just held. There was slimy, dampened dirt crammed under warped and gray fingernails. The nails grew out from sliced up cuticles and deteriorating fingers. I shook at the thought that I had touched it. The skin on my hands itched as if I shared the same decay. Sat carefully beside my nightstand, my eyes flashed over to my phone to embrace an image of it in my head. It was there in the room with me; my comforting symbol of a world outside. I hadn’t known how to be sly, so the zombie easily uncovered to what my mind was focused on. 

We both eyed my lace coated phone case, but when I reached over to get it, I pulled out the bandages from inside the nightstand drawer instead. Taken out, the box revealed the cute dessert-themed art that decorated each of the bandages within. The images were shaking in my grasp, but I could still make them out. My thumb on my other hand slipped under the elastic band at the top of my socks. I lightly pulled it down, separating it from the mold it made into my skin. I felt the dark pink indent circling my thigh.

“I will dispose of the stiff.”

I no longer had his eyes on me. Back already turned, the zombie made his departure out the bedroom door. I didn’t object when he vanished from my sight. The elastic band snapped back into the marking on my leg.

Fingertips curled around the edge of my phone, it automatically turned on as it was swung around towards my face. I didn’t know how to start. I had dropped the box of bandages, so my finger could hover over the screen, but I was without clue as to where it should land. I knew I wanted to text someone, I couldn’t call, but I was overstimulated. The stitching and folds of my clothes suddenly felt like sandpaper.

The glare from the sunlight showcased the moisture from my hands as smudges on the screen of my phone. Beneath the sweaty marks, the message app was still open to the chat with my parents. My decision was already made for me there. I sniffled my nose clear from the drippings and tapped the screen four times. I looked at what I typed, knowing it wasn’t enough.

Help

I sent it regardless.

With one blink of my eyes, the word had disappeared from the screen. What I texted was gone, and the vanishing repeated every time I tried to send it again. The world argued with me that my pleas never happened. Nothing stayed and nothing sent. I had access to the outside world in my hands, yet I couldn’t interact with it. I only had view to an illusion of hope.

Pat. Tap. Pat.

My heart pitter-pattered with greater speed than the footsteps I heard reach me from the hall. Throbbing fast, it devolved into sludge. The ooze sunk deep into my stomach as I turned my head to the noise. I only saw half of him there, standing in the doorway. Partially in the room with me, and the rest was still in the hall. Only one wide eye of his was visible past the door frame. The finger I once held above my phone now gripped the fabric of my sock. I tugged down on the fabric, and sooner than the motion of it slipping past my thigh, he left. Inside my pocket, my phone was stored as I went on to patch up my wounds myself.

The punctures in my skin were covered in bandages, but the holes at the bottom of my socks were still agape. I felt the curling of the fabric under my feet as I tip-toed to the door. Out the door, he was crouched down to the floor and wiping up blood with the already bloody jacket striped from the inanimate dead body. The corpse which mimicked life only smeared the mess around.

“I have wipes that we can clean that up with…”

I held to the door frame as if it was my bodyguard. My savior held to the damp outerwear before throwing it upon our former third party’s face. Empty handed, I clued that was his way of accepting my offer. Those unique eyes didn’t reveal themselves to me all until I scurried away from the hallway to gather what I could to erase the stains.

This was a real zombie. I organized the thoughts in my head while before the bathroom cabinet. It didn’t matter what I remembered observing about the undead from any media, because this was different. My situation of delivering cleaning materials to an eager to tidy-up anomaly was irregular. What I needed was already stored as a collective in a handy basket under the sink. I wondered, as I pulled it out, if the creature remembered the human life I assumed he previously had. He was conscious, but that didn’t entail if he was fully aware of what he was. My movements back to the object of my cogitation were slow. Could he forget he was undead, or for worse, lack an understanding of what being a human is? In my vision again, I tampered my perception of my savior through buffering in my mind. I strutted towards whom I now induced myself to believe was also human. Turning the basket to lean the wipes towards his face, I looked down to him and hoped to forget the rot I saw.

Knelt on both knees, his face was level with my quease plagued tummy. The red-handed palm which had clutched the jacket reached over and past the basket I meant to share. His finger poked above my knee, and the egregious color spread onto me.

“Is it from now, dollie?”

There was a green bruise underneath the opaque sock, above the nauseating red stain which now tainted the fabric. The shade revealed its age, unlike the discolored skin of the finger below it.

“Oh, no! You can tell it’s old because it’s green. New bruises are evidently pink.”

I hadn’t corrected him about forgetting, or disregarding, my name. It was better to be seen as any person than not to be acknowledged as one at all. Cupping my knee with his purlicue under the cap, his bony fingers pressed into my flesh. With skin that sunk between prominent bones and veins, the hand gripping my leg looked similar to the wing of a bat. It dragged down, smearing the still warm wetness along my calf. His hand held my leg gently under purples bruises as he stared at them.

“Will it go away?”

“Yes! Please, don’t worry.”

I avoided mentioning that I’d sooner get more bruises than those old would vanish. My stumble into the shelves made that future development clear. The corners of my mouth twitched themselves upwards. I wasn’t sure if it looked like I was smiling, but I was trying to.

In a quick movement, like a predator just ready to imprison its prey in the razor confinement of teeth, his spine curved over. His head lowered and his cheek cupped against my knee. The zombie looked up to me with a large grin which exposed his gray, overlapping teeth. They were stained as if he guzzled a vial of ink. I could feel his molars on my kneecap.

“Pretty girl will heal.”

He held out the word heal in a way that made me feel uncomfortable. The red faintly smeared back onto his skin. Although, the stain still remained in the fabric which absorbed it. I couldn’t let the hall stain the same.

“Could we please clean the mess up? Maybe?”

I pulled towards my chest the basket I still had extended out. The pattern of woven wood pressed into my arms as I hugged it tightly. Fleeing from my skin, the feeling of the zombie's teeth went as his attention redirected back to the cadaver with us.

“I will clean up the blood.”

Blood was pronounced as bl-ood within his hoarse muttering. Before my heart, his rotten hand slowly grasped. Pulling at it, the brown rag inside the basket caught up in between his fingers. Slipping away, my soul might as well have been the hand towel itself. I took a wipe from the container, and setting the supply basket aside, knelt beside the soulless cadaver as well as the conscious one, too. The house fell silent. I couldn’t hear any noise from the rag soaking up red, or I hadn’t let any sound be acknowledged. If forced to talk, the vibrations of my words would surely rattle the weak foundation guarding my tears from flooding out. I kept quiet as the wipe in my hands swept the floor. My eyes grazed over the wood not tainted by blood.

One shoe was black and the other was brown. Mismatched in color and style, I noticed my savior’s disheveled footwear. The black shoe was laced up, while the brown one’s sole was secured by a bandage wrap. Both were caked in dirt, and dried clumps had crumbled and scattered like crumbs all over the floor around us. Looking away from my scrubbing, I hadn’t noticed the pool I pushed together until it flooded over the edge of the wipe and onto my fingers.

It was on my hands. My hands were tipped in red. Breathing heavy, my fingers curled and squeezed the wipe, only releasing more red to drown my skin in. I hated this color so much. The planks of wood and bones creaked next to me. In his hands, mine were stolen. His thumbs twitched and swiped up the wetness best they could. He stained his own hands trying to clean the blood off of mine. In his face, his cheeks were colorless. They darkened to silver at most. The blood under his surface was far from red. I didn’t need a mirror to know mine had heated up closer to the shade. My heart ran for me in panic, even if my legs were unmoving.

He was more productive than I, in getting rid of what made me sqeam. My mind was too occupied to focus. I stared at his profile as he did all the work without me. His nose looked like the one slide in the public playgrounds of my past that all the kids avoided. It was a down slope, and upturned at the bottom, but there was a bump in the middle. I remember the tears after catching wind on one of those as a child. My father insisted I shouldn’t go down it, but the memory now is one I’ve come to find comical.

“You have laughter?”

Faced with the zombie’s face, profile turned as his attention was switched towards me, I realized I had been giggling. Was it truly so funny of a memory? My hands waved off the imagery in my head.

“Not at this- a memory!”

“Will dollie tell me of it?”

His face was too close to mine. The fabric of my skirt bunched inside my fists as I gripped the hem and squeezed. Only after the lace mushed against my palms had I remembered my hands weren’t clean. Forced to make eye contact, I couldn’t see what I’ve then done to myself, or catch sight of the unconscious dead body against the wall before me. 

“Oh, well, there’s this slide I went on when I was very, very little, and it was made with this bump in the middle of it. So, when you’d go down it- the slide- you’d end up bouncing off it and landing on the end of it on your butt!”

With a few giggles apparently still jumping around in my mouth, I started to laugh as I explained to him the childhood story of mine. My laughter wasn’t met by him, left by its lonesome in the tall ceiling-ed hall, but was tailed by a tilt of the head. Lips parted as if he was going to respond, I waited for a response that never came. He couldn’t find a word to add to the conversation, but listened as he gave me an attention I was uneasy with receiving. I turned my back to him. A sigh flew out with relief and a new guilt. My composure would have collapsed if I hadn’t done something so rude. I felt shame regardless.

There were two rooms behind two of the three doors I saw then, I remembered. They had been small, like children’s bedrooms. I thought it would be nice if they were once that; kids rooms this close to their parent’s. My arms hugged my legs.

“Why did you save me?”

It was easier to articulate my thoughts to someone I didn’t see.

My savior could as well have vanished again, with the silence I sat in after my question. We both waited for the reply he was going to give.

“Those before were bad. You… look nice.”

I always wanted to be perceived as nice, but in what way did he mean? Were my looks what was pleasing, or had the truth been that he had been spying on me before? My hands brushed my bangs neatly into place.

“What are we going to do with the body now?..”

“…We…”

He repeated one word back to me, but never worded an answer. I heard the action of him picking up the body before any talk of doing so. I scrambled to stand up and quickly step away from the motion. Lugged over the shoulder, the zombie hobbled away with it. He was struggling and unbalanced with the extra weight.

“Please, let me help you! Please?”

I couldn’t carry that thing, and I knew I couldn’t handle it. Tripping over my own feet, I followed close behind. The zombie opened one of the doors to the narrow staircase he was to descend. He knew which door led to it. Standing back, I watched him creep down the steps.

The door at the bottom of the secret stairway was already open. The little bit of light that peeped from the doorways was the only thing that made the narrow stairs manageable. I was lucky I wasn’t struggling to carry a body through the darkness. Different smells of copper, leaves, and dust got into a hazardous calamity in the air.

“You look like you’re going to trip with that thing. I want to help you, really.”

In the hallway before the basement door, my pleading was finally heard. Stopped in his tracks, he abruptly let go of his grip on the body. It slipped off his bony shoulder and collapsed onto the hard floor. He let it thud without a reaction.

“No more blood can touch you. Yes?”

It could if it had to, but I’d try to avoid it.

“Maybe…” I replied.

His neck cracked back following the straightening of his spine in a repetition of creaks. He looked over to me with a view of the ceiling reflected at the bottoms of his eyes.

“Could you have something to wrap it in?”

The skin that held his head on as it dangled upside down over his back was more durable than it appeared. I was startled, but found myself beginning to tilt my head over as far as I could when gazing back.

“I could- umm- wear gloves, if that’s okay. Or, I could…”

I remembered the white tarpe waiting for a body in the living room. Laid out to catch any blood on its surface, it could still be put to use. My feet acted faster than my thoughts came to form. Running off to the living room, I stopped at the edge of the white fabric on the floor. Its weight was spread over the surface it stretched out on. It was hard for me to lift from just one end, but I was able to tug at it. I tried to drag it along before the steps fell close behind me.

“I was going to help with this.”

I spoke softly, but he had already dropped the body on top of the white.

He wasn’t very good, when trying to bundle it. Attempting to tuck the corners in its own fabric, it only bunched up and laid loose over the body. The plastic yawned when it slipped. The fabric wasn’t good for wrapping. The body would spill out of it if picked up again. I surveyed from the chaise in front of the window, a good distance away. My left leg asleep from sitting on it, my glass inflicted scars were given time to callus. The rainbow of shards was still in sight outside the doorway.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t a good idea.”

My savior stopped the fumbling of plastic and rose to his feet. I sunk back into the cushion of my chair.

“I will return.”

Like the sound of stepping on a rock path in the heavy rain, his voice was grating, but damper than before. Over the broken lamp, he walked where I previously had run. His shoes caught onto shards in their dirt dusted bottoms. I wondered, once he left, if I should run again. Comfy in my seat, it was the anxiety that this could be my only opportunity to take that urged me. When he came back, his hands had captured one of the painted chests from the could-have-been tearoom. It pulled his weight forward as his lanky arms dangled.

The body was put in the chest. I was sat on top of the trunk while the trunk was placed in my wagon. The zombie pulled the weight of it all slowly by the wagon’s thin handle. His shoulders were vertical as his body was bent at an angle to hold onto it. Outside the house, the floor was drastically uneven in comparison. When the wagon ran over the mere stones or catortioning tree roots, my heart continued to spring far after the bumps. I clutched tightly the plastic shovel I insisted on being the one to carry. The body and I were being transported far from the scene of the crime, yet I didn’t speak up as to ask where we were heading.

The trees were sparse near the house, but the farther one traveled into them, the more they crowded and clawed at your personal space. It shadowed the day, as if it was always night beneath the wood. As a stranger, I wouldn’t be able to navigate the wooden labyrinth, but my savior could. He was a creature part of this wood, and this one anomaly could be related to more.

“Are there others like you?”

The wagon came to a sudden halt. On top of shedded branches, the handle clanged as it fell to the floor. His legs were secured in place, but his upper body twisted around as if those two parts were separated pieces. Hands gripping at the sides of the chest, he crawled forward as his lower half sprung back to the correct position. I leant back as he leaned into me. Acting as a safety bar, I lifted the shovel horizontally, closer to my face.

“No...”

He slunk back after responding. I was hesitant, but swung my legs around and looked out to the trees we passed. The wagon began to move once more, and turned in my seat, my view included the earth passing by underneath the wagon’s wheels. Shovel resting in lap, my hands covered my mouth. I wanted to sob, but my nails dug deep into my cheek instead. Dislike of my fear was outweighed by the hate I felt towards my curiosity. It urged me to ask questions, even if the responses scare me.

“What do you consider yourself? And please, don’t turn around to look at me! Please. Please.”

Like a racehorse, my sentences galloped out at quick pace. Tripping over my words, I didn’t dare glimpse behind me to see if he complied.

“Nothing. The side effect of this here land.”

An unsatisfying answer to the question brought curiosities tenfold. My heartbeat in my throat, my voice was beaten back to not emerge further. I sat still in the tornado of queries, trying to pick out which gust of the storm to reach for next. Caution was the unfortunate victim to excitement. In a land where the dead can defy their nature, what differing factor powers their mobility? Was it a substance in a body of water, or a fungus— perhaps a disease? I came with daydreams of ghosts and animal mutations, as that was what I prepared myself for, but I could figure a way to connect this to those even if only correlating by location. Normally, having to redirect my fantasies on the account of reality irritated me, but I wasn’t disappointed to have any sort of fantastical idea validated. Nails still inserted into the skin on my face, I noticed as I pulled them out from my cheek that we had come to a stop. Environs of my favorite biome attempted to console me as the shovel was snatched off my lap.

A plastic shovel would hinder the work of digging, but that was already deteriorated by a digger partially decomposed. Between the durable roots, there was a fortunate plot of dirt unpenetrated. My savior inserted the tip of the shovel into it, but was too quick to try tossing the dirt before angling the tool. It toppled before where he had dug, ere to half of the dirt crumbling right back into the shallow dent in the earth. I watched his movements with guilt from the wagon.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized.

“A dollie can’t dig for herself,” he groaned, “she should never been here.”

His whispers sedated with the cracklings of vocal fry, they sang things that could be heard with compassion if listened to closely.

“Is here a bad place?” My choked back question surfaced.

“The humans’ slaughterhouse repeats it often.”

Had I bought a house from those who wished to kill me? I shook in my seat, so I stood so that at least my legs were too busy to quake. Why? For why would someone kill? All made no sense but how in character it was for me to pay to be tricked.

“I’m thankful it wasn’t personal, then…”

What happened to those previously in my role, I wondered. Had my savior, unskilled with a shovel, dug an unmarked grave before?

“Did those others who died come back to life here?” I asked, toying with my hair. The bleached strands wrapped themselves over my face like a mask as I pulled at them with my hands.

The zombie had stopped midway between scooping the dirt. Shovel inserted in the earth, he let go of it, and his arms collapsed at his sides. The way he stared at the dirt, eyes vibrating in their sockets, made me regret what I had asked.

“Bodies get to leave with their killer. The house appears unlived in for many owners.”

“But they didn’t take you at least?”

Twitching vehemently, his head jolted sideways in a swift snap. I had been lighting matches before dry wood as if the sparks wouldn’t make it burn. Yet the warmth I got, the light that came in the form of knowing, made me risk it further. Why should I be left in the dark when I had option to know? Head clicked back into place, we made eye contact from across the fresh pit beneath us.

“My false death, long before the start.”

There was then a topic separate to death to redirect to.

“Were you the original owner of the house?”

Cackling sounds, like the crackling of a sparkler, grazed me like warning shots. I had made the wrong move in inquiring about the zombie’s history.

“There had never been my home!”

The hoarse moans blasted out like a radio turned static, unable to handle the indordiant excess of volume. Hysterical, almost slurred. I stumbled back to the sound and landed on my behind. The hardness of the tree roots hurt badly to fall onto. My hands were covered in dirt from the harsh landing. The zombie slowly clawed at his face with his own hands, pulling down at the skin, his bottom lids exposing the pink underneath. He seemed as ashamed as I had been for prying. The embarrassment was better compared to the rage I feared for.

I didn’t speak further, learning now to keep quiet; a lesson I’ve before been persuaded to grasp. My savior went back to digging deeper the hole. Shuffling closer by my knees, skirt held up in hands, the moisture of the dirt seeped up from and touched my skin. I watched the end of the shovel to the sound of my thoughts. Had he really never had a place to call his home? The song of birds at a distance came in through the branches. The music interrupted my thinking, and I soon forgot the assumptions I was starting to make. I didn’t need to know that information. It wasn’t nice to pry from the beginning.

As the hole was almost at completion— the time it took to get there an eternity of silence— something other than the trunk had fallen into the pit. Slimy, pink and purple as the tender bruise, a worm convulsed in the dirt as if it were poison. Against its nature, it hankered for its place back in the scalp of the zombie to which it slipped from. Lost in the repetitive action of shoveling, the worm's descent went unnoticed by its corpse abode. I scooted quickly, and by my knees, hovered by the edge; my shoes fastened to a tree root as I dived for the little one. My hand nearly pierced by the impact of the shovel, I held in my fingertips the squirming creature. It rejected my abrupt embrace, and the digging hastily stopped, my arm still dipped in the hole. The zombie’s stare went over what was in my hand and his wide eyes latched onto me. I only caught a glimpse of this before keeping my sights on the discomforted earthworm I tried to cradle in my palms. My hands lifted it higher, to offer it back to the zombie. He reached over, gaunt hand picking from mine the worm. It went limp within his haggard hold, still until placed upon his orange hair. The invertebrate slinked steadily back into the vibrant strands.

“I had not seen the worm… thank you, Ava.”

His voice returned to its hushed sound.

“Thank you, too…” I whispered back.

I found myself hesitant in reciprocating, for I didn’t know his name as he knew mine.

[jargonautical]

Somewhere To Be / A chapter at a time

The hermit's cache

“IMPOSSIBLE TO SAY, really, until it gets cleaned up.”

 Mainder shifts, floating back to consciousness. Impossible to say. What’s impossible?

“They must have theories though, right?”

“They always have theories.” he hears Evie comment tartly. “Right now all they’ll say is it looks like bronze, maybe a cache of some kind.”

Mainder levers himself upright, blinking, and scans the room. All desks are bare save one, a huddle carrying on a hushed debate.

“Really? From the way they carried it in here I thought it was gold at the very least.”

“It’s a very big deal apparently. Viktor’s going to be insufferable.”

“He already was - oh! Mainder’s back with us.” The huddle parts, an opening inviting his presence. “You slept through all the excitement I’m afraid.”

On screen is one hasty photo of the object just uncovered in the new trench. It doesn’t look like much, mainly a clod of mud with some odd nubs of something sticking out at one end and a vague cross shape. Mainder frowns at the mess of soil and corrosion, slowly leaning over and bracing himself with a hand on the edge of the desk, and any trace of sleepiness vanishes. He sharpens somehow; Chris has the strangest impression that if they brought a blanket near him now it would likely burst into flames.

“They found this about two feet down.” Evie offers. “They think they have post-holes too, so a timber structure of some kind, and this buried under a clay floor.”

“Just this? Where is it now?” Mainder demands.

“There was more, but it’s all gone for cleaning. You won’t get in there.”

“Right. Okay. And post holes.” He glares at the screen again. “Right.”

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

The trench is markedly deeper in the corner where the cache was found, but the diggers have abandoned that part for now to spread out and see how far the signs of the wooden structure go. The trays lined up along the path display a collection of broken clay pipe stems and bowls, two-tone shards of a stoneware bottle, a few unpleasantly organic-looking shreds of some dark material, and a half-carved stone rosette about the size of a man’s fist.

Mainder crouches down by the trays, picking up the rosette and turning it over in his hands with a black scowl. Four dozen of these, my lord says, and then he wants a few gargoyles. And before that was the shrine and –

The hermit’s hut. That bastard.

Buried in that lump of soil is a bronze fibula, he’d put money on it. Unmistakably a Realm token for crossing the Divide. Stashed – hidden - under the floor of the hut the so-called ‘wise man’ occupied right up until his disappearance in the aftermath of the Closing. One of their own the whole time! He must have known he wouldn’t be able to use the doors again, otherwise he’d never have left it behind - or he’d have come back for it long since. Mainder replaces the rosette in the tray and slowly straightens up, dusting traces of mud off the hem of his coat and sneering silently at Viktor hovering anxiously over the finds tray, keys swinging at his belt. Go ahead and count them if you like, he grumbles to himself. The only interesting thing here now is what else is in that cache.

“One current theory is more mischief from the Reverend.” Evie prompts. “Is that feasible?”

It’s not an idle query, nor conversation for the sake of it. The way she says it is as though there’s no question he wouldn’t be in a position to confirm it. One eyebrow just quirks at him, a face that says ‘Well?’. Having her full attention is remarkably disconcerting. Not like when she was observing him covertly in the meeting room or meeting his challenge in the office. This is, well, like he’s suddenly interesting. A searchlight strafing past him in the dark, far too close for comfort. 

On the other hand, he could certainly use her security access and her connections if he hopes to do anything about this latest development. Besides, she’s actually talking to him. No smiles yet, but maybe he can work on that. He considers all the angles before giving in to impulse, answering briskly. “No, entirely the wrong place and context - he would have used the pond like he did for the torc. This has to be something else.” A hint of the tinker’s swagger reasserts itself and he lowers his voice conspiratorially. “I think I might have an idea, but I can’t be sure. Any chance I can persuade you to let me have a look at the brooch when they’re done cleaning it?”

He pours every ounce of appeal he possesses into the earnest, hopeful look he gives her.

“A brooch.” she echoes. “You think that’s what it is?”

“What else could it be?” he dissembles, as if it’s obvious to a man of his vast knowledge and experience.

She doesn’t answer that question, but after a thoughtful pause says, “I can arrange that. Where will you be later?”

[personalizedandinteractivevideo]

Interactive Videos Campaign: Engaging Audiences In A Clickable World

Traditional linear videos are not enough today to hold the attention of the viewers, making it vital for companies to embrace an Interactive video campaign. Interactive videos allow viewers to interact and engage with the content featured in the video, creating a user experience like no other. Viewers may click, drag, scroll, hover, gesture and complete other digital actions to interact with these videos. There are many types of functionalities you can build into an interactive video, clickable hotspots being one the most popular ones.

Use of hotspots in interactive videos

Hotspots basically are clickable areas within a video. They can be incorporated more than once, in the form of callouts, links or buttons. Clicking on them may reveal more information or content within the video, or redirect the viewers to another webpage, PDF file, external video, etc.

Hotspots are clickable elements that allow viewers to interact with content without breaking its flow. Hence, they are a perfect interactive video format that allows brands to capture the attention of the target audience and retain engagement. Such hotspots might appear statically on the screen in a fixed area or can be attached to an object on the screen.

Use interactive videos to further engage with the target audience

With the help of interactive videos, consumers are able to actively engage with a brand on a personal level and participate in a genuine conversation based on their responses. This innovative form of video content empowers viewers to interact directly with the material, resulting in a unique user experience. Interactive videos are characterized by their dynamic nature and personalized approach, making them an ideal tool for optimizing the marketing strategy of any brand. A significant number of consumers in today's digital landscape favor interactive video content over traditional formats because it grants them control over the information they access and when they access it. Incorporating interactive elements like buttons, hotspots, questions, and forms into marketing and sales videos can significantly enhance engagement. It can help brands to:

Qualify leads: Improve customer engagement and help segment the target audience by asking questions and driving actions.

Digitize the sales process:  Capture information and move contacts through the funnel on the basis of their interests.

Educate customers and prospects: Training videos and demos can be used to drive higher engagement, deeper learning, as well as verification of understanding.

To be engaging, videos must first be relevant

While today there are cutting-edge Interactive video editor and innovative interactive video formats available, brands must make sure that the content they create is truly relevant to the customer's interest and concerns. Only then brands can develop a strong and memorable connection with the target audience.

Interactive elements shouldn’t be added to videos just for interactivity’s sake. Each of these elements must serve a purpose that benefits both the consumer and the brand. A consistent pattern observed in interactive video marketing is that after the initial viewer engagement, the likelihood of subsequent engagements significantly rises, often accompanied by a notable increase in purchase intent. However, this shall only happen if the video is relevant to customer interest.

[bucksfucks]

  𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙮 ; 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

summary┃you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but.

pairing┃roommate!steve x f!reader

word count┃2,382 words

warnings┃hangover, drinking, tipsy sex, pining, teasing, makeout session, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, steve doesn’t think he’ll fit but he makes it, use of toys (vibrator), mocking, edging, hair pulling kink, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, steve finishes on readers back, steve is lowkey a fuckboy — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃presidential alert 🚨 the girls, gays, and the they’s are horny

     The shower was already running when you had walked out of your room and into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

    It was Saturday morning and despite your best efforts, your body never let you sleep in last nine in the morning.

    You may as well start your day at 8:48 am.

    Steve had gone out last night, but you remember the door shutting at three in the morning and a faint shhh falling from his lips as he spoke to whatever inanimate object was making noise.

    In your sleepy daze, you didn’t really mind. Instead, turning your pillow onto the cool side and drifting back to sleep.

    The kettle was boiling and the bread was getting warmed in the toaster when the shower finally stopped running.

    It was a little unusual for Steve to shower for so long, even after his morning runs or workouts, he’d never need more than 10 minutes.

    When the door opened, and a groaning Steve emerged, you knew exactly what the problem was.

    “Mornin’, Golden Boy,” he didn’t even have the energy to grimace at the sound of his nickname.

    His bare feel pattered against the wooden floor until he dropped his large body in one of the bar stools.

    “Someone had a fun night.” You mumbled with a small smirk as you slid him a cup of coffee which is took between his fingers.

    “I don’t know how Sam and Bucky roped me into shots,” he said into the cup of coffee as he took a cautious sip.

    You just rolled your eyes playfully and plated the toast that had popped out a few seconds earlier, slabbing a large helping of butter before adding honey and sliding the plate over to him.

    “Eat.”

    He groaned again, but put the coffee down in place for the sweet honey toast.

    “I can’t drink like I used to, I think I’m dying,” he was being dramatic, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took a bite and hummed.

    “You’re 27, Rogers. I think someone’s being a little dramatic,” you teased with a smile.

    You are your breakfasts in silence for the most part, the painkiller Steve had taken not yet kicking in until both of your plates were cleared.

    “Did you get lucky last night?” You asked with raised eyebrows as you both placed your plates in the sink.

    Steve just laughed, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

    You had to admit that your heart dropped, the same twinge of jealously starting to bloom in your chest as you imagined him with someone else.

    “Proud of you, Golden Boy.” You fake cheered, biting your tongue and swallowing your pride.

    Above everything, Steve was your friend and he deserved to get laid.

    He laughed, “you should’ve come, Bucky couldn’t stop asking about you.”

    You rolled your eyes again, slightly in annoyance.

    “He knows I’ll never sleep with him,” you sang song, helping Steve dry the dishes as the sink stopped running.

    “You never told me why, you know that?” You scoffed, “and for good reason.”

    The reason was simple; you didn’t want Bucky, but instead his best friend and your roommate, Steve.

    “I’ll get it out of ya one day, sweetheart.” Steve chuckled and you felt your heart sink a little further, “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

    The rest of the day was uneventful, nothing to do on a rainy New York day other than read as Steve fiddled with his sketchbook while an old sitcom played on the television.

    Steve’s hangover either disappeared or he was great at hiding it, whatever it was, he was humming along to the show tune.

    “Pizza and beers for dinner?” Steve asked as he was putting the final touches on his sketch making you laugh.

    “What happened to I can’t drink like I used to?” You said, echoing his words from the morning as he shrugged.

    “It’s a lazy day essential, now what toppings, and don’t say pineapple.” You acted shocked, mouth twitching into a smile.

    “You don’t know anything about good pizza,” you huffed as he tore his eye away from his sketchbook to look at you.

    “Pineapple on pizza is a crime, sweetheart. Now if that’s who you are I can’t judge, but I’m jus’ sayin’,” he said raising his hands in mock defeat.

    “Whatever Golden Boy, just say you’re a vanilla type of guy,” you winked, standing up to put your book on the shelf as the sun began setting to cast yellow and orange hues over the apartment.

    Steve snickered, “whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

    The low timbre of his voice, your own words echoed from this morning sends a shudder down your spine as he grabs his phone.

    “The usual?” You manage to nod your head, smiling as you try to distract yourself from the sudden and very evident ache between your thighs.

    30 minutes later and the pizza was here, still hot and greasy as Steve set it on the wooden coffee table as you grabbed two beers, scratch that, four beers.

    “Cheers, Golden Boy,” you offered with a soft smile as you both clinked your bottle necks against each other before pizza was being devoured.

    You didn’t know what it was, but cheap greasy pizza and a cold beer always soothed the soul. No matter how heartbroken you had ever been, or upset at the universe, beer and pizza were always there for you.

    As the hours went by, the bottles emptied and the pizza slices disappeared before you and Steve were sat on the couch laughing and giggling at the time Steve locked himself out in nothing but his underwear.

    “And where were you to rescue me!” He bellowed, throwing his head back at the memory.

    “I was in the shower, you know I blare music. I’m sorry Stevie, I promise the next time you’re locked out and naked I’ll rescue you.”

    He shook his head, “well I wasn’t naked.”

    You felt a little dizzy, body lighter as you finished off the second beer. You weren’t drunk, but loose enough to rest your head against Steve’s shoulder.

    His phone buzzed then, grabbing it off the table as Bucky’s name lit up across the screen.

    Steve ignored it.

    “He’s jus’ gonna ask me to go out again,” he said before you could ask, seemingly reading your mind.

    “Plus, I’m perfectly content right here,” he smiled, finishing off his second beer as you playfully rolled your eyes.

    “You’re such a sap,” you teased, “that a bad thing?” He asked and you felt the air around you grow more tense.

    “‘Course not, you’re just Stevie,” you tried to explain as he furrowed his eyebrows.

    “Stevie?” He asked as you sat up and crossed your legs under your body.

    “Yeah, you know,” you tried to find the words, “Golden Boy.”

    He hums in response, “golden as in pure?”

    You nod your head, “pure, sweet, innocent.”

    You weren’t sure if you had struck a nerve, but Steve smirked as he leaned into you.

    “‘M not so innocent, sweetheart. Not everything is as it seems.” His voice was much lower, raspier as you could smell the beer on his breath.

    “Is that so?” Your voice was just a little above a whisper, heart racing in your chest.

    “I could even show you, sweetheart, but you gotta answer one question first. Sound fair?” He asked.

    You nodded your head slowly, eagerly awaiting his question.

    His hands fell to your knees, sliding up until he pulled you into his lap.

    You looked up at him, craning your head only slightly as he craned his at you. He was warm, and broad.

    “Why,” his voice was low, “won’t you hookup with Bucky, sweetheart?”

    Your breath hitched, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you ran your hands up his chest until they rested on his shoulders.

    “I think you know,” you whispered as he shook his head and chuckled.

    “Uh uh, I wanna hear you say it.” He purred, brushing his nose against yours.

    Your eyes fluttered shut as you smelt his oaky, but sweet body wash. Something like bergamot and oranges.

    He squeezed your hips, a soft moan falling from your lips at the sensation.

    “It’s because,” you swallowed thickly, “because I want you, Stevie.”

    He hummed, hand on the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours.

    You kissed back, the realization hitting you it became hotter and more desperate as you slid your tongue past Steve’s lips.

    “All you needed to do was say those words and you could’ve had me all to yourself.” He smirks against your lips making you whimper.

    His fingers are digging into your ass, rocking your hips over his. It’s the right amount of friction to have you melting into his touch.

    When he picks you up, carrying you into his room to toss you onto his bed, you know you’ve made the wrong assumption about him.

    “Now there’s nothin’ wrong with a man who likes vanilla,” he hums, hands exploring your body.

    “But I’m a man who prefers a little more,” he meets your eyes, a devilish smirk and twinkle in his eyes, “flavour.”

    He’s hovering over you, lips on your neck and jaw as his hips rut over yours.

    “Go get that goddamn vibrator of yours,” he breathes as you look at him bewildered.

    “You know that one, you like the third setting the most on it.” He winks standing up as your eyes trace along his body and to where his cock is straining.

    “Go on, don’t sit there actin’ all dumb,” you spring to your feet, tripping over them as you quickly fetch it from your room.

    “Good girl, lie back down on the bed, but get naked first.” He instructs you sternly.

    You’d never had anyone tell you to strip, let alone have someone eyes so focused on you as you place the vibrator in his larger hand.

    Starting with your sweater, you tear it off—chest exposed as Steve licks his lips.

    “Go on, don’t be shy. You’re makin’ him real happy,” he smirks, squeezing his dick through his pants.

    You tug your leggings down until you’re in your panties and Steve is giving you a look that tells you to continue.

    It’s a thrill, stripping for him and watching his cock twitch at the sight of your curves, dips, and the marks you hate.

    “Look at you,” he groans, “perfect little thing aren’t ya? Now I gotta be honest,” you swallow thickly.

    “‘M not sure if he’ll fit like I planned, but we’ll make sure to get you warmed up,” he says before placing your hand over his dick.

    It causes goosebumps to prickle your skin as he pushes you down onto the bed fully naked now.

    “Now this,” he says, holding your vibrator, “isn’t even gonna compare to me by the time I’m done with you.”

    It’s a promise that you know Steve will keep as he kneels between your legs.

    “I expect you to keep these open, okay? Unless of course,” his cocky attitude breaks through, “you’re squeezin’ my head when you cum.”

    You can’t even chide back, all thoughts gone at the sound of the click of your vibrator.

    Steve wastes no time, spreading your folds and exploring you with his tongue before he connects the silicone tip to your clit.

    It causes your body to jolt and Steve has to keep your legs open.

    “What did I say, sweetheart. Keep ‘em open,” he reminds you as he slips a single fingers in you.

    It’s already ten times better than your own, longer and thicker as they curl against your sweet spot.

    Your walls squeeze him, fluttering as you grip onto his unmade bed sheets.

    He teased you, edging you until you’re begging him to let you come with a dry throat.

    “Steve, c’mon. ‘S’not fair,” you whine, tugging at his hair. He groans, hips rutting into the bed and you know you’ve found his weakness.

    Two can play at this game.

    You tug at his hair again, “please, Stevie? Wanna cum so fuckin’ bad—all over your face.”

    He groans vibrator tossed on the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit, “fuck, baby.”

    It’s a lewd sound, your wetness against his fingers and mouth, but it’s enough to send you over the edge.

    “Make a mess, sweetheart. Gotta taste ya,” he groans against your core as you’re nearly suffocating him.

    It’s intense, washing over you like a wave followed by a series of smaller ones until he’s flipping you over and your ass is in the air.

    “Not so fuckin’ vanilla anymore, huh?” He slaps your ass, a squeak leaving your lips.

    “Gonna have the taste of you on my mind for days now, practically have me pussy whipped already.”

    His clothes are gone, all necessary ones before he’s bending his body over yours, “grip onto the headboard baby, you’ll need all the support you can get.”

    And he’s not wrong, sliding into you and stretching you out as you wrap yourself fingers around the wood until he’s fully seated inside of you.

    It’s a new fullness, one that you’ve never experienced and something you never want to forget.

    “Bounce, baby.” He then says, as you look over your shoulder.

    “Ride me, use the headboard and make yourself cum.” He smirks, slick coating both of your thighs.

    Everything is new to you as Steve lets you take control, yet, you’re never truly in control.

    “That’s it baby, such a good girl. Look how desperate you are to cum,” he taunts making you whimper.

    He joins in soon, meeting your thrusts with his own until you’re both grunting and he can’t hold back.

    “Fuck, fuck, gonna cum.” He hissed, quickly pulling out to paint your back as he rubs your clit with his free hand and you feel the white hot explosion of pleasure for the second time that night.

    You’ve both made a mess by the time you’re done, Steve cleaning you up with his boxers as you’re collapsing beside him still trying to catch your breath.

    “You’ve ruined my vibrator for me,” you chuckled breathlessly as he turns to you with a smirk, “well it’s a good thing I’m your roommate then.”

[rcksmith]

Be mine — Roman Godfrey

Requests: “Helloo, I would like to request an imagine of roman Godfrey with smut prompt 28”

“Hii, omg I lover your work!! Can you do fluff prompts 45 and 59 and smut prompts 32 whit Roman Godfrey? Thank you, love💖”

Fluff prompts:

45. “where have you been all my life?”

59. “Are you flirting with me?” “You finally noticed?”

Smut prompts:

28. “Such a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

32. “I’m going to show you what a real fucking is.”

A/N: I was excited about these request for Roman, I loved it. I hope you guys like.

English is not my first language, so I so sorry if have a mistake.

Requests are open. Love you ❤️

Couple: Roman Godfrey/ Fem! Reader.

Warnings: Swearing, explicit smut, NSFW, degradation, dirty talk and also fluff too.

— — — — —

The big white and airy room tried to show a soothing and safe energy, the light tones contrasted with the golden rays of the sun outside and could even try to show a lyrical vibe. Could, if not for everything else.

It was hard to pinpoint the source that messed up that whole idea of ​​peace that the colors on the walls had, but maybe it was because Godfrey Industries was... oblique, mysterious, sinister. There was something in the air, a dark breeze that echoed all the floors of that gigantic building, bringing the feeling that something was out of place. It was, at times, disconcerting. Like looking at a perfect painting but knowing that something is out of place. Or to witness the seconds of frightening calm before a major disaster. But as the months went by, you had to get used to it and adapt to it. Your daydreams wandered far away. You wondered what you were doing there, in that country town that also had that sinister energy.

Why you left Los Angles? Okay, did you know why. After finishing college, you sent out resumes to as many companies as you could. Its from that time when you realize that adult life has knocked on the door and that the cost of living in California was too high. The plan, when you left home to pursue your dream and go to college in another state, was to get a job as soon as possible. But some things got out of your control, and when you realized it, you had graduated and you didn't have enough money to come up with second plans.

So, when the multinational Godfrey Industries called you after an interview and gave you the job, you didn't hesitate. The salary was too good for a international negotiations assistant, and after a while you could breathe easier, and be able to straighten out your financial life and have a better resume to be able to get back to a big city.

It was a good plan, a rational plan. You were proud of that. But it was logical that too much confidence was accompanied by some ruin.

And its ruin came under the name of Roman Godfrey.

Roman was swallowed all the air in any the room when he entered, as if its imposing presence subdued any environment. Everything about him exuded the same objective: to conquer, to possess, to win. He was the Trojan army. But the worst and the most dangerous was not his difficult personality, but how you felt close to him. How his presence caused side effects on you.

He was absolutely gorgeous. It should be considered illegal for someone to have that appearance, that voice, that sinisterly penetrating look. You felt that Roman Godfrey had the aura of intense and exciting music, like the song of danger.

He was the personification of sin, and you were being tested by the universe.

The trinity of what could be a gigantic disaster was completed when, a few months ago, Roman started testing you, joining the universe in what appeared to be a plan to slaughter your sanity.

It was your first meeting with the Company a few weeks after you was hired. Adam, the director of the international negotiations sector, for whom you are an assistant, asked you to bring all the documents of the process and remain in the meeting. It was about an international multi who wanted to buy some equipment from Godfrey Industries, but who were working hard to try to close deals at a lower price.

As you handed a copy of the negotiation to each sector director in that room, you felt a pair of eyes burning the back of your neck the whole time, like your shadow. The caustic sensation ruffled all the hair on the back of your neck, snaking from head to toe and made you search the environment behind the author.

That's when you finding him.

Roman had the green irises stuck to you like a tattoo on your skin. As if unraveling all your secrets, your sins, virtues and all your thoughts. It was intense, magnetic... dangerous.

You felt the white walls of that room were embraced by a black and dark shadow, and the air became thin. Then he smiled. A smug and arrogant little smile. The kind who won a battle.

It had been the beginning of a sequence of events. Roman began to request and make sure that you were present at all meetings, negotiations, cases, even when your presence added much more to your professional knowledge than to contribute to the resolution of company problems. At that time the order was still not directed at you, Adam just told you that Godfrey wanted you at meetings.

It was strange, atypical, almost surreal. You used to go into the conference room and look directly at Roman, frowning in silent questioning at him. But he never gave you an answer. He just gave that smug smile and turned his attention to the big screen in the living room.

This happened five times before Roman sent to tell you that he wanted to see you in his office.

“But why?!" You frowned at Adam.

The man looked at you for a second before shrugging.

“Your work has been impeccable, I think he just wants to give you more things to do.” Adam kept his eyes on the documents themselves.

"But you are my boss.” Sometimes you had a habit of saying what you thought without considering the consequences.

Your mother and your friends said that you had a total inability to hide what you felt, to be someone reserved or shy. You were almost always the person who said everything you felt.

Adam laughed softly, already used to your personality and turned his eyes to you.

“And he is my boss."

You restrained yourself from rolling your eyes. The truth was, you didn't want to find him. Roman puzzled you, messed with your system. And after those 5 meetings without explaining why you were there, you started to want to avoid his presence.

But apparently the universe was not on your side this time.

You got up and excused yourself, listening to your own heels echoing down the hall before entering the elevator and pressing the last button. Going to Godfrey's office.

Anxiety coursed through your veins like overwhelming electricity, making you sway on your heels and stir your fingers.

What did he want with you? Had you done something? Was he crazy?

You sucked in the air hard, shrugging your shoulders to relax when the door opened up. You walked for a while before stopping at Roman's office and knocking on the door with your finger.

“Come in." The voice made your heart skip a few beats.

You walked in, closing the door behind you and laying your eyes on the tall, slender figure who was sitting behind the table, dressed in black pieces and a small smile.

“Did you want to see me, Mr.Godfrey ?"

Maybe it was your imagination or your nervousness that was seeing things in between lines, but you could have sworn that Roman breathed harder after you said his last name.

You stopped in front of his desk, too agitated to sit on the chair.

“Yes, Darling.” He stood up, getting much bigger than you, even though your feet were in a 10 cm heel.

Roman fished a file on the table itself, bypassing the table and coming menacingly close to you. He stood in front of you again, his hip against the table and leaning there, holding out the file for you. You took seconds longer than you would like to pick up the papers, Roman's left leg was dangerously close to yours, the knee almost brushing your thigh covered by the black skirt.

“I need it ready by night."

That's when you came out of the trance, picking up the folder and staring at the amount of stuff there. It was a process about an agreement with a company in Asia, and it was so bureaucratic that it would take up your entire time. And you already had a million things for do.

“But...” You were about to start talking, but Roman moved away from the edge of the table, his chest hovering over yours.

You have never felt so small, so fragile and so vulnerable in your life. You had to lift your chin to face him straight.

“You are going to be a good girl and bring me this tonight.” It was not a request. “You will, right?”

Your common sense or decorum had gone somewhere. Maybe was lost in your own stupidity. The oxygen evaporated from your lungs. And before you could think of something diplomatic and good to say. Because you were not dumb. You heard yourself say:

“Yes, Mr. Godfrey.”

Fucking hell!

“Great.” He gave you a rewarding smile.

From that moment on events like this became routine. In fact, you tried to mask that you liked it, that it wasn't extremely unprofessional, that he was not only your boss, but also the owner of the entire company. Over time you learned to deal with him too, Roman was never brazen or touched you, he would drop some ‘Dear’ or ‘Pretty’ over and over here for you, but, truth be told, you didn’t get uncomfortable.

Perhaps it was your feminine vanity. You didn't want to be selfish, but having a man like Roman Godfrey praise you did wonders for your feminine vanity. You felt absurdly beautiful. He made you feel like the personification of the Female Fatal, and you liked that. So you would roll your eyes at him and give him some jokes smiles in his direction whenever these things happened.

You did not deny it, but you also do not return any praise.

Over the months you had practically become more of an assistant to Roman than to Adam. He kept you getting bogged down with things to do and telling Adam to pass on your old duties to any other goddamn person.

“They accept to close if they have had 30% of the profits.” You put your cell phone down to talk to Roman, who had his hip against the desk work and an open file in his hands.

“They must be stupid” he rolled his eyes “10% and I will still be being generous.”

You went back to your call, your eyes fixed on the top view of the city as you settled the deal.

“I can get them to close by 15% if we send the equipment by tomorrow.” You said to Roman again, plugging the cell phone microphone with your other hand “But it has to be send until the morning. Not next.”

Roman smiled broadly and satisfied, nodding his head in ‘Yes’ as you turned your attention to the city view and finished the negotiation. You were getting the details right when you felt a presence behind you, the heat radiating for your back and making you lose your breath for a second. You swallowed and tried to ignore something vibrating in your core, disconnecting the call as soon as you closed the deal.

“What would I do without you?” Roman's voice blew at the top of your ear, his ghostly touch fanning your skin.

You laughed to try to hide how much your core pulsed, turning around enough to face his completely.

"I don't know, you would have already lost four contracts.” You tried to joke, but he was absurdly close.

The scent of a man and an expensive cologne swallowed you like a wave and dragged you into the sea, drowning you. The emerald green eyes were fixed on you, as if they swallowed you.

“You could work for me.” Godfrey let go, taking another step closer to you.

Instinctively, you took a step back, your back finding the cold glass behind you and trapping you between the cold sensation and the absurd warmth of the man.

"I already work for you.” You said it as if it were obvious, letting out a nervous laugh and trying to clean up how much your uterus vibrated now.

“No, you work more with Adam.” He rolled his eyes, his hand now resting on your hip, rising to your waist like a snake “I speak of you being my assistant, being here when I arrive, spending the all days with me.”

Your heart screamed, your pussy throbbed so hard that if Roman hadn't paid attention to you, you would have bitten your lip.

“Are you flirting with me?”

"You finally noticed?"

There was no way to deny to yourself that you had already reached your share of perverted dreams with Roman Godfrey. He was like an addiction! It was unbearable how present he was always in your head, playing with your sanity, making you think of how those absurdly long fingers would fuck you so well, how those impeccable clothes hid a maddening body.

And that was exactly why you couldn't be him assistant.

If it was already overwhelmingly difficult to occasionally remain in him presence without diverting your thoughts, every day would be impossible. All the time. You would end up having to resign your job after, because any involvement between you would not result in a happy ending. Aside from being extremely unethical, it would end up destroying your heart, and God, you needed the job!

"M-Mr Godfrey." You tried to speak, touching his chest with the palm of your hand with the intention of gently pushing him away.

But the shot backfired. He was cold. Absurdly cold. Cold that makes you want to warm up, an addictive, that intoxicates you. Suddenly, you are already wondering if other parts of it would be cold too.

Would the kiss contain the beauty and temperature of the snow? When Roman entered you, would he be consumed by the heat of your needy walls? He Would it stick to you like a private sun?

“Pretty.” Godfrey sighed against your cheek, dangerously lowering his lips in your direction. “Why not stay with me? Where can I fuck you every day? ”

This time you moaned, a low moan that gave up all of your game. It lit a dangerous, vital fire in Roman's eyes, and him hand, which once touched you softly, now snaked into your waist, pulling you close.

“Do you like to hear that? That I want to fuck you until you scream?” You closed your fingers on him black dress shirt, closing your lip between your teeth to contain a groan.

Roman's mouth went to your neck, pouring wet, surprisingly hot kisses onto your skin.

"Would you like to know that I have imagined fucking you hard for a long time?” His hands went to the hem of your skirt. “That I want to tag you with my cum until you're just mine?"

“Mr.Go-Godfrey!” You moaned loudly, wrapping your arms around his neck and letting your head go back and lean against the glass wall.

“Tell me, Pretty.” He lifted his lips to hover over yours “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

You frantically ascended your head, letting a 'Yes' leave with a low sob.

Thereafter Roman wasted no time. He pulled you onto his lap by your thighs, placing you under his desk and throwing all objects on the table with one arm. He kissed you. Furiously. He kissed you as if you were his property, as if you were the answer to all his prayers, his divinity. Your mouth opened to get air and Roman took the opportunity to invade with his tongue, hunting you.

You groaned, or he, or both.

"I'm going to show you what a real fucking is." Roman snarled against your mouth, not considering any consequences before popping all the buttons on your shirt with a two-handed tug, making you gasp.

That seemed to bring you back to Earth.

You pulled your chest away from him, and Roman looked up at you with a questioning expression.

“Ro-Roman, this is wrong.” you said.

“You have no idea how much I don’t give a fuck.” He leaned over to kiss you again, extremely excited by the sight of you in a lacy bra, but you averted your face by placing your hands on him chest.

You said. “I'm going to have to resign this job later if I do it, and I need the job.”

Romam snorted, straightening up again.

“Who says you need to resign? Did you forget that I am the owner of this crap?” He brought his lips to your neck once more, and you sighed softly “Be mine. Be mine."

“I don’t know.”

Romam held your face in his hands, in a gentle touch, which clashed absurdly with the lush fire in his eyes.

“I don't want to fuck you because you work here, but because I think you're fucking beautiful.” He said “Be mine, and if you don't want anything to do with me afterwards, that's okay, let's keep working normally.” Roman moved closer, his voice hitting your mouth “Let me fuck this hot pussy, I'm sure you'll want more later. And I will give you everything you want.”

So you gave in. You kissed him fiercely, spreading your legs wider and settling them between them, letting the skirt roll to pile on your hips and exposing lace panties. Roman reaching down to your back and removing your bra, dropping your mouth over your left breast when it was exposed.

You moaned loudly, throwing your head back, curling your fingers in his hair and sighing when Godfrey moved his fingers down the middle of your legs. You whimpered, rummaging around in his hand for some friction, needy and needy.

Roman laughed arrogantly against your breast: “Such a needy little thing, aren't you?” He took a bite out of your left beak as he walked away to remove his belt.

You groaned, your eyes on fire, your body hot and needy. And that's when Roman looked at you. A hot fucking woman half naked at his table, so beautiful and perfect that it was almost a sin. He wanted to be able to record that scene forever. You were perfect. He thought you were extraordinarily perfect.

Then he rushed ferociously at you again, his hands wrapped around your hot body as he moaned on your lips: "Where have you been all my life?"

You gasped, finishing the job of his belt and pants, fighting a battle with his tongue.

“Waiting for this moment.” You provoked it with a sensual chuckle, nibbling on his lower lip.

Roman shared your sly smile, tearing at your panties and holding his own dick in your direction. You moaned louder this time, in need, lowering your hands to his hips and rolling around his waist, trying to get closer.

Roman laughed, sinking his mouth into yours and also plunging his dick into yours smooth folds.

You screamed out loud, clasping your body to his while Roman put an arm around your waist, gluing your body to his and hitting the stick at the end of the well, drawing out a loud groan from both of you. The environment was filled with moaning and pornographic sounds, the table rattling beneath you as the things that were left on top now fell completely. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clenching your nails at the back of your neck as you wrapped your legs around Roman's hips, pulling him further into you and swallowing him completely.

“Holy fuck!” He snarled, lowering his mouth to meet your neck and shoulder, closing his teeth there as he demanded more force in his movements.

Godfrey beat without mercy, without pause, conquering and proclaiming his every piece of your body as his own. You could no longer control your moans, all the sensations exploded inside you like nuclear bombs and pleasure and pain curved all your lines of reasoning. You laid your back on the table, your breasts jumping with the speed and strength of him movements, while Roman clasped his hands on your waist and set a brighter pace as he pulled you onto his dick and propelled your hips at you.

“So fuck hot slut!” He growled, never stopping the pace.

You shouted something that looked like him name, and threw your head back when the orgasm invaded your system, shaking your legs and pulling him deeper. Roman moaned loudly, squeezing your flesh so tightly that it would leave marks tomorrow, while he cum inside you, spilling all the hot liquid on your barriers.

You were sweaty and panting, but Roman didn't give you a second to breathe and process the situation until he leaned over to you, still inside your core, and kissed your right breast, dropping one:

“Dinner at my place tomorrow?”

You laughed, still very airy, and agreed, overcome by tiredness.

“Okay, Godfrey.” Roman gave you another lunge of teasing, making your laugh mix with a groan.

[heartfulofsighs]

Nice Things…

Hello All! Coming back with little writings here and there as my inspiration comes along. A little episode inside of the Something to do with Jackson sphere (1, 2) 

Let me know what you think! @negrowhat you know I gotta tag you in everything lol

Jackson decides you both are in need of a little rest and relaxation. Nothing is better then a nice beach house complete with a gigantic bath tub. 

About 4k words; Warnings: Very light smut like its super light, but I’m obligated to say it includes fingering a praise kink and a bathtub. 

Laundry shouldn’t be difficult. Well in retrospect it wasn’t difficult at your old apartment. The laundry room there was stocked with 5 very old very worn washing and drying machines. They were faithful and predictable. They only had about 3 options and 2 dials. Simplicity at its best. You missed them every time you had a load to wash and dry. You had been living in Jackson’s apartment for months and you still couldn’t figure out his machines. For one thing they were sleek and black, very modern, apparently super efficient. They worked via a touch screen and the breath of options that appeared every time you fired them up made you nervous. Twice you had shrunk a favorite article of clothing. You had also ruined your running shoes, the washing machine seemed incredibly aggressive to you. But today was going to be different. This was your only task. You could do this. The touch screen lit up, you took a breath, the beeping started and an array of options appeared. Water temperatures, agitation speeds, your finger hovered over the first option- “BABY, THIS IS WHERE YOU WERE!?” Jackson’s voice boomed in the laundry room. You turned, frantic that all his noise would upset whatever fragile understanding you had. “Jackson!” You hissed, “shush!”

  His hands snapped to cover his mouth. He looked around his brows knitted, “what’s going on?” He whispered. “I’ just,” you turned back to the machine but you didn’t feel the same confidence, “I’m trying to figure out your stupid space aged washing machine.” You confessed, “everytime I put something in here I ruin it.” “Maybe you’re thinking about it too hard.” He walked up behind you and looked down at the same screen. “Baby?” He began slowly, he touched the screen flicking left twice until he got to a place that said ‘presets’.  “Why don’t you just use these instead of trying to pick through all those other settings? This is what I use.” “You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered softly. There were easy to understand presets displayed proudly.   “You didn’t know about these?” He asked, “I could have sworn I showed you the last time you shrunk your sweater?” You rubbed your face in continued disbelief. All this time. “The dryer has presets too, did I show you those?” He kept talking because of course to him this wasn’t a big deal. You had made it one, once again, something tiny had become huge to you.   “You want me to help you with your laundry? Since I’m home today I wanna spend it with you ok?” When you took your hands away from your face he was beaming like the sun at you. You wondered how he could look so worry free. His job was so stressful, he barely got time for himself or you yet he was always beaming. You wanted to be a bit more like him. Just enough so that inanimate objects stopped irritating you for no reason.            “If you want to help sure, but this stuff is kinda boring. You sure you don’t want to nap? Or I could make you something to eat?” You offered.          “We can do that after, this won’t take long.” He pointed out. He wasn’t wrong. You selected the ‘delicates’ option since you wanted to wash your undies and bras first.          “Ok, delicates first then.” You looked in his direction expectantly. The two baskets of laundry were already separated.            “Just pass me the stuff in the blue basket.”  You instructed, “I’ll do them first.”   He dutifully began to hand you clothes. Some things he stopped to look at. “When did you get this bra?” He asked holding up a flowery bra that you had bought a few weeks ago.   “Like two weeks ago?” You guessed, maybe three. Your hand was outstretched waiting for it. “Oh,” was all he said before he handed it over, “I haven’t see you wear it.” He said softer. “Well, it’s a bra Jackson…” You tried. He handed you a few pairs of underwear which you put in. He was a touch less cheerful as you finished loading. He helped with the detergent and softner before he got the machine started. “I feel so dumb,” when you turned to him he frowned. “I really wish I had remembered about the presets. I’ve been having a battle with this machine since I got here.” You confessed. “Baby...I really don’t think it’s a big deal.” He leaned down and pecked you. “You can ask me questions you know? Before you make a mountain out of a molehill.” “But I’m so good at that.”  You pointed out. He kissed you again. His hands trailing down your arms. When you pulled away he pouted. “Let me at least finish the chores, I have a few things more I wanna clean.” You complained. He accepted this and let you go, “I’m gonna have two weeks off...do you have a lot of work?” He asked. It took you a moment to think about what you had to do, some things could wait and really only one required you to finish immediately. “I just have to finish one job then I think I can take some time off.” You stretched and looked at him with curiosity. “What did you want to do?” He pushed some of your hair behind your ear, “can we go on vacation?” “Where did you want to go?” You spoke as you tied your hair up. “Someplace warm?” You asked. He nodded, “an island!” It seemed like a solid idea. You thought it over, Jackson in his usual fashion grew impatient. He tapped his feet and poked out his lip, “we can have a private beach house…” He edged closer. “That sounds...isn’t that a little extravagant?” You often wondered when you would be able to accept Jackson’s penchant for spending on you. There was something that always made you cringe. “I don’t want you to spend too much-” He frowned and you snapped your mouth closed, “you deserve…” He began. You sighed, “nice things.” He accepted you finishing his sentence quietly before he went back to trying to convince you. “It’ll be private...no cameras...just you and me.” He had basically backed you against the machine. He leaned forward and set his hands on it, caging you in. You couldn’t look away. “We live together but I always miss you,” he kissed you and it was mostly soft. “I’m gone a lot and I feel horrible about it,” he kissed you again nibbling on your bottom lip. “Do you miss me when I’m not here?” “Like crazy.” You whispered. His eyes were on yours, pupils wide. His breathing picked up as you snaked your arms around his neck. “So let me take you to the beach, let’s spend a week....please.” His kiss was less soft more insistent. He pushed until your back was pressed to the machine, the hum seemed to burn through your blood. You kissed him back, hands gripping the hair on the nap of his neck. The time apart always made the time together feel like a single point in the universe. There wasn’t a whole apartment, a whole city, there was just you and Jackson. Starved for each other, hungry to touch and feel. He was so good at making you melt, so good at making you desperate for him. You tasted him and whimpered. The beach was suddenly a fantastic idea, more time alone for more of this. He ground against you and his moan made your knees weak. “Ok,” you managed to say against his lips. He pulled away and beamed at you. The unmistakable look of getting his way. “So we’ll go the day after tomorrow...I actually may have set it up already.” “Jackson.”

You had never been swept away before. In past relationships you had lacked the time and your partners seemed to lack the motivation. It hadn’t bothered you truly because how can you miss something you didn’t have to begin with? You thought about it as you packed and he buzzed around the room with excitement. “Don’t forget bathing suites!” He warned, “and sunscreen!” “I have both.” You answered slowly, “and something nice for dinner...right?” When you looked up he was zipping his bag up. “Yes, and then...not much else…” He raised his eyebrows quickly suggestively and you giggled. He stopped to touch his hand to your leg, “I love you in anything.”   “If it was up to you, I’d just walk around naked all the time.” You said slowly. He considered this then said, “only if you want.” Then he was moving again, his energy nervous all throughout the room. “Are you almost done?” He asked. “The car will be here soon.” You just needed to decide on your one nice outfit. It had been a while since you had really gone out. He had seen you in just about everything you owned...except.... At the back of your closet you had hung a tropical print skirt and top set. It was out of your comfort zone but the print would really work. “Hurry hurry baby.” He chided. You had just enough time to grab it from the closet and stuff it into your bag. He took your hand and led you. The smile on his face relaxed yet you could feel the excitement bubbling out of him. He kissed you in the elevator before the doors opened, then led you to the long black car idling at the apartment building’s entrance. He opened the door for you and waited till you were settled before he put the bags in the trunk and got in next to you. Then his hand was back in yours like it belonged there. “Do you think you’ll get recognized at the airport?” You tried your best not to sound nervous but the thought of screaming fans made your stomach heavy. “I don’t think so, we’ll be in then out.” He brought your linked hands up for a kiss. “Don’t be nervous, it’ll be fine.” You settled into the seat and tried your best not to worry. The media in a way wasn’t very interested in you and Jackson’s story anymore. When they did happen to catch photos of you two together it wasn’t big news but most of the comments were still pretty awful. It was better for your mental health to not read them but every so often you saw yourself online and couldn’t stop yourself from looking. The general take was that you were literally a weight dragging him down. It never seemed like a good idea to comment back, better to just read it all in silence, and really it wasn’t all bad. There was a spattering of people who liked you. Who said nice things and said they were cheering on the relationship. People who pointed out that Jackson was happier with you in his life. You weren’t sure if you would give yourself that much credit but you hoped that he felt how you did. He leaned over, “what are you thinking about so hard?” He planted a kiss on your cheek startling you out of your own head. He had a way of knowing when you were thinking yourself down a rabbit hole. He redirected you gently and patiently. His hand squeezed yours again.   “Nothing, just the work I left...hopefully I did enough.” You said. He knew it wasn’t that, but he didn’t push.. He kissed you on the cheek again, “don’t worry about it, just try your best to relax.”  He whispered. It took you a moment of second guessing, but there was no real use in fighting with Jackson. Especially since you actually did need a relaxing vacation. There would be no worries on the beach, that’s all you had to tell yourself over and over and over again.  

There weren’t any cameras, no reporters, no mobs of fans. He had his mask pulled up and dark sunglasses on. You were wearing one of his caps and your own mask pulled up. The two of you looked like any couple on their way to a romantic trip. He only let go of you to pass through security. Once his hand was out of yours there were new worries. An airplane. The last time you had flown you were forced between a grumpy office worker and a woman who seemed to have bathed in perfume. You remember distinctly how the office worker had complained about her perfume and how she called him lonely and sad. It had been for the most part very unpleasant. Suddenly all you could think about were all your worse flights.  You fumbled through security, including the awkward second search. Taking his hand on the other side calmed you down a little bit. “You’re making a mountain again.” He said into your ear. “I can’t remember ever having a good flight,” you squeezed his hand and almost missed a step. “Every flight that lands safely is a good flight baby.” He chimed happily and just like that you relaxed a bit. He was right of course. Bad seatmates didn’t make a bad flight. Small things didn’t have to be big. Once again you tried to calm yourself, to convince yourself that you were on vacation. You were being swept away and it would be great if all your extra thoughts could be swept away too.

“This is the house?” After a flight you slept through, and an ok trip through the airport that involved a car rental associate who was star struck, here the two of you were. The house was directly on the beach. From the outside it didn’t look like much which made you feel a bit better. If he had rented a beach mansion or something along those lines you would have worried the whole trip about how much all of it had cost and...and if you were really worth all the trouble. But this,...this was so quaint and so cozy. “This is it.” He pulled into the driveway and then put the car into park. You got out admiring the house’s slightly cracked white paint, the green ivy underneath the two small windows on either side of the weathered wooden door. The waves sounded incredibly close and you guessed the beach was literally right in your backyard. Jackson was behind you with your bags. “Here,” when you turned he was holding the key towards you all smiles, “open her up.” He instructed. The key got stuck for a moment in the lock. You panicked per usual but it gave when you pushed your shoulder against the heavy wood. “Be careful,” he clucked his tongue at you but you ignored him. You were stuck looking at the inside. Everything was so bright. You sucked in a breath because of all the light. There were huge skylights all throughout. The entryway was neat, a small blue weathered table held a bowl where Jackson dropped the car keys. He pressed his hand to the small of your back and your feet automatically started to shuffle step forward. The entryway opened into a small kitchen with white tile and teal cabinets. The appliances didn’t look new aged or terrifying like Jackson’s. The big white well loved looking stove was comforting. Through the kitchen There was an open airy dinning room and living room. The living room ended in two gigantic glass doors that opened onto a hedge enclosed patio. The bricks were weathered but still a good red. There was a round picnic table with a few shelves, a rack with two surfboards, and what looked like a hot tub. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed your cheek, “let’s look at the bedroom.” It was through a doorway off the kitchen, past a half bathroom. The bedroom suite seemed to be all windows. There were three huge windows with breezy white curtains. The bed was gigantic four poster deal, piled high with pillows at the head. The comforter was white like everything else. “There’s one of those clawfoot tubs,” He led you a little further in, towards the doorway of the bathroom. The tub was huge. There was a shower head on the wall above it. Another two windows, more light. “This place is beautiful.” You finally got out. He squeezed your hand, “I know you like simple things and I thought this place would be nice. The beach is right down a back path and-” You tipped your chin up lips pursed asking for him to dip and kiss you. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” you spoke against his lips. He wrapped his arms around your waist. “You’re welcome.” His smile was triumphant. He only let you go to help unpack but beamed the entire time like a happy child. You knew this look, his eyes were centered on yours. He licked his lips before he kissed you. “I picked this house because it’s cozy and…” He trailed off to kiss you again. “And?” “And you never wanna have fun in my bathtub so I made sure that this house had one that was so big you couldn’t argue with me about soaking together.”  He explained. “Jackson.” He beamed again his face back to innocence, “don’t you want to soak with me?” He asked. “You don’t just want to soak,” you pointed out. He shrugged, “humor me.”  In truth he had begged to soak with you plenty of times but the tub in his apartment made you nervous. You had this vision of the two of you settling in and getting stuck or getting in and overflowing the tub in an embarrassing splash. Well maybe it wouldn’t be embarrassing to him but in your mind it was motifying.  You bit your bottom lip and considered the big claw foot tub in the house again. “I guess there’s no harm in a nice soak.” You said softly.  He could barely contain his excitement, he moved deliberately trailing his hands down your waist then squeezing. He searched your face before he broke out into a grin that made you laugh.   “Jackson,” it was hard not to laugh at him. “Jackson right now? You don’t want to eat first?” He cocked his head, “I do, but let’s do that later, my back hurts from the flight.” You made a ‘sure’ face but didn’t argue. It was better to humor him, he gave your bottom another not so gentle squeeze before kissing the top of your head. “So a nice bath, then I’ll make you food,...” he trailed off and took your hand.

The fragrance from the bubble bath he found was making your head feel dreamy and relaxed. His back was against one side of the tub and yours was on the other. He insisted on massaging your feet and there really wasn’t any huge point to arguing. He rubbed away while you sighed slowly to yourself. “You have the cutest little feet.” He murmured. “They’re so gross.” Your response was automatic, years of having being told they were flawed in some way meant that you were use to parroting back the words when you were complimented. “They’re perfect on you.” He dug deep into the sole of your foot and you couldn’t help but groan. “Always say nice things about yourself.” He murmured. “Yeah I know.” You sunk lower into the water and he took the invitation to work his hands up your leg. It was hard for you to say nice things about yourself all the time. You were use to your self deprecating jokes. But he was quick to redirect them, he always told you to make it nice instead. His hands were steady on your body focusing your mind back into the moment.  It was never gonna be just a soak, but you didn’t do anything to stop him. He felt the back of your knee and a shiver ran up your body. His eyes were focused on your skin, “you’ll let me do this at home now right?” He pulled himself a little closer so his hands could go further up, “a nice hot bath, foot massages.” “You’re very good at them,” your voice was barely above a whisper. His eyes seemed to darken. He leaned farther forward, upsetting the water and bubbles so he could kiss your forehead. Under the water his hand had made it all the way up which meant his fingers were in a prime position to rub you where you were most sensitive. He kept the pressure light, teasing you. A whine broke past your lips. He ducked his head and kissed you. “I want you to relax,” he said softly against your lips, he dipped his fingers inside of you. It was so hard not to squirm, he pulled them back and forth slowly before he stopped. You gripped the sides of the the tub and tried to urge him to move. His eyes were mischievous. “Jackson,” You tried to roll your hips to get him to do anything but tease you. He cocked his head, “say something nice about yourself.” The command confused you. Your brow furrowed and for a moment you were confused, “what?” He pulled his hand completely away and touched your face instead. “I read that it’s nice to hear compliments from others but reinforcing it with words you say to yourself is even better.” His voice was earnest his hand dipped into the water again and found your breast. “Something nice…” He played with your nipple and you whimpered. Your mind was reaching for something, any sort of compliment that would make sense. “I like my thighs.”   He beamed, triumphant, then pinched your nipple lightly, “what else baby? You’re so beautiful there’s a million things to compliment.” You were so use to his praise that it was hard to give yourself the same attention. He switched to your other nipple and kissed your forehead again. “One more.” He encouraged. You swallowed, his hands sending pleasure and want all throughout your body. You willed your brain and your mouth to talk, to say something so he would give you what you needed. “I have nice skin...the cream you gave me makes it so soft.” You admitted. He liked that, he kissed you harder. He had both hands involved now, tickling the sides of your tummy. The giggle that escaped your mouth made his smile even wider. “The most perfect skin.” He spent the rest of the bath praising you. Cooing all his favorite compliments while he played with your body. It didn’t take long before your hands gripped the side of the tub and you called his name. Your body locked and then the pleasure ripped through your limbs in what felt like a blaze. Dimly you knew you had splashed water and maybe that would have embarrassed you, but there were more important things. Like the way you still shook while he kissed you everywhere he could reach. If you felt dreamy before your mind was downright foggy now. “You liked that baby?” He asked, finally pulling away to look at you. Your bones felt like jelly, thank god the tub wasn’t too deep. There was no doubt in your mind you would have melted further into the water. It took you what felt like hours to barely nod your head and indicate that yes you had indeed liked it. “It’s so cute when you say my name like that.” he went back to sitting across the tub from you, a smug smile on his face. You didn’t know what face you were making but hopefully it was satisfied. “Let’s just spend the rest of the time here.” You finally got out. He didn’t argue with you, just rested his head on the rim of the tub, “as long as you’re happy that’s all I care about.” You sat up a little, “I’m the happiest I’ve been in forever.” “Perfect.” He spoke softly and maybe it was more to himself than you but he was right. The feeling was perfect.        

[pegasister60]

A thing for @lemliv‘s MCYT Sugar Rush AU!

I wanted to make him a racer but then I remembered I couldn’t draw vehicles.

So you get this instead! Bedwars peeps (aka most of Tiredtwt) in a platformer! The name’s a placeholder but everything else I am confident in.

Aim of the game is to get to the top without dying and to clear as many stages based on Bedwars maps as you can. Heavily inspired by the og Kid Icarus in terms of gameplay with the exception of the default weapon not being a bow.

Below the cut will be more information about the game itself and how it works copied almost exactly from the discord dm where I gushed about it to a friend.

You’ve got story mode, versus mode, free climb, and secret levels.

Story mode is single-player and after the character select screen you cannot change your character. You complete levels and at the end of every level you’ll get some lore. Maybe a mini-boss fight.

Versus mode is just a race. 2 players will try to reach the end of the level without getting left behind. The screen does not split and scrolls upwards faster and faster as the race progresses. If you hit the bottom edge of the screen and vanish off it you take damage and depending on your character that might be it for you. Winner’s character does a boasting animation and the loser’s character does their death animation.

Free climb lets you select a map and then climb and climb and climb until you miss a jump and fall into the void. It does not have enemies and is good practice.

Secret levels are unlocked by beating story mode.

Normally when you play story mode if you get a game over you are given a code to take you back to the beginning of the level you failed in so you don’t have to replay the whole thing to get back. It can be input on the character select screen after holding down red and blue.

When you finish a character’s route you get given a code for a secret level for that character. It unlocks a cool mini-game.

Purpled’s is Dogchamp’s Dinner Rush. You play with Dogchamp following you as you climb through the levels. The only enemies are skeletons that drop bones instead of iron and the objective is to get as many as possible before reaching the end of the level. At the very end, Purpled will toss them to Dogchamp one by one and Dogchamp will jump to crunch them all and then do a happy bark.

It’s cute.

Now some stuff about story mode.

The enemies drop iron and gold and there’s shops you can jump into every few levels to buy stuff from. A potion that gives you extra long jumps for a bit, fireballs that shoot in the direction you’re facing when you use the item button, golden apples that let you take one free hit. You can hold more than one item but you have to use them in the order purchased and it only displays the currently usable item. The controls are pretty simple. There’s the green joystick, red jump, blue crouch, and purple button (tap to attack, hold to use item) along with the black select/start buttons. There’s two sets of controls bc versus mode. When you complete a level, depending on your character, you get either an emerald or a diamond. For Purpled if you get four emeralds you can get an extra life that looks like an enderpearl instead of a player head. When you get down to the extra life Purpled vwhoops onto the nearest free platform with tiny purple particles. This is not always convenient but it’s consistent.

When you lose a life and still have more left your hurt animation is kinda like Sonic’s. Most of your iron and gold scatters and ends up going over the edge, though anything that’s still on the ground you can pick up again.

Killing enemies is the basic jump on top of them, though some are more resilient and you have to actually strike them multiple times with your weapon. Some enemies act as springboards, usually the ones that float across on the horizontal or vertical. Others are just there so you have to actually watch your jumps so you don’t slam into them sideways.

The aim of the game? Advance and survive.

Advance obviously means onwards and upwards.

Survive means keep moving.

If you spend a significantly long time on one screen it rumbles and the dragon roar sounds. The dragon counter resets with every new screen but if you’re absolutely stuck then it’s game over. Dragon swoops up from the bottom of the screen and its wingspan takes out everything on the screen at once, enemies, player 2’s, and all.

When you 100% game over and the continue screen fades out it plays the character retreat animation (Purpled’s is getting picked up by a ufo) and gives you a leaderboard screen.

When you just die normally your character will collapse and their continue screen animation will play. Purpled’s is Dogchamp trotting over to sit next to him. When you insert a coin Dogchamp nudges Purpled and Purpled springs up to keep going.

The character select screen shows all the characters but sometimes they’re not available and their squares are grayed out. When you hover over a character their portrait gets shown along with their stats.

Wallibear has a special fireball jump he can do if you shoot one down. He starts with a fireball. His portrait shows a person in a bear hoodie but his sprite is a blue bear in a hoodie.

Purpled has the highest jump of any character and starts with an emerald. He also has objectively the most Story dialogue because if you don’t play as him he appears in almost every route and becomes the shopekeeper. In his route the shopkeeper varies. And so on.

The more hearts a character has the more damage they can take before they lose a life. All characters have three lives to start with unless you use a cheatcode.

A character’s weaknesses can be compensated for with items though how far into the game you’ll be able to afford them is another matter entirely.

Example being that with a jump boost most mediocre jumpers can match Purpled’s default. And with enough golden apples and enderpearls lined up Purpled can stop being a two-shot.

It isn’t as popular as Sugar Rush but it’s got regulars and it’s nostalgic as hell.