#you cannot make me draw legs. i barely managed as is.

[deathleesaysstuff]

Whiteboard fanart of Danny and Alex for @thingsthatbleedfic !

These were drawn on a discord server's whiteboardfox and totally wasn't propaganda to maybe get others interested, nuh uhhh.

Not bad considering I've never really drawn either of them before, I don't know how I even got them to look so cool considering how janky whiteboard is on mobile.

The other server whiteboard goers seemed to like them 👍

[dadsbongos]

organic tongue depressor

859 words / warnings - bj, slight manipulation, im a believer in big dick dabi and that's your problem

summary - with a dreaded sore throat and a hatred for doctors, you're unfortunately left to the care of mean ole Dabi.

kinktober: day three - size queen, deep throat ~~~

“What’re you pouting over there for, huh?” Dabi only asks to tease, he has that terrible shit eating smirk he always does when you’re about to say something stupid.

Indeed pouting, you scrub a palm over your heated neck and husk, “Sore throat…”

A terrible snort chokes from his glinting nose, ear cuffs catching attention when he offers a patronizing head tilt, “Aw, poor thing. You gargled acid yet?”

Brows knitting in agitation, you don't even waste the pain of acknowledging him. Eyes returning to the chunky television sat on a chipping wood stand, you're sure Tomura stole both. Or never got rid of them since he was five. Dabi isn't finished talking shit, though. 

“Why haven't you seen the doctor yet?” he reaches over to jab a finger into your temple when you don't respond, “Or any doctor at all? You just like suffering?”

Swallowing an achy wad of spit, you glare, “Don't like doctors. Invasive.”

“That's kinda their job,” he lounges and leans, propping a knee to dig into the back cushions while leaning his cheek against his hand, “You don't like Ujiko?” 

You shake your head sharply. 

He laughs to himself.

“What about me, then? I'll check out your little throat.”

“Hmm?” a slight hum is all you can manage without wincing. 

Dabi's back straightens out, the arm not propping him up extends towards you. Index and middle wiggling at the seam of your lips -- only making you clench them tighter. You swat his palm, earnestly trying to avoid snagging his scars. 

“What? Worried they ain't clean?” he scoffs, “Fine, suffer.”

“Doctors have depressors,” you mimic the act of pressing the wood slat down.

“So do I,” he snarks, grinning again, “It's all organic, too. Way healthier.”

“Huh…?” drawing your bottom lip between teeth, you murmur vapidly, “An ‘organic’ depressor?”

“Wanna see?” smoothly shifting so his back’s against the cushions, Dabi spreads his thighs with both brows raised. You nod an inch; he smooths both hands down his baggy pants with a sick grin, “Gotta get on your knees, then.”

Despite your prolonged confusion, you fall onto your knees and perch between his legs. Dabi only worsens your confusion by gently scaling his fingertips along one of your cheeks; free hand tickling over his silver zipper. 

“Dabi?”

“Shut up,” he pinches your cheek, “Said your throat hurt, didn’t you?” you nod again, sheepishly, and he snaps the slide down and parts his foggy button, “Open up so I can check out the problem. Unless you’re just moaning for attention.”

Frustrated, you huff and pop your lips to curse him when suddenly he’s yanking out his cock. Slaps it against your other cheek with that detestable smirk. It stings. His entire palm wrapped around the base while his tip pokes over the top of your head. Tentatively reaching out to study hands on, you find that your own fingers cannot encircle his girth completely. 

“Too big,” you bumble.

“You can handle it,” Dabi’s thumb jabs between your parted lips and pressing your tongue, “I believe in you. You’ll barely feel it anyway, right? Just try it.”

Uncertainty bubbles through your gut as his hand drifts from your mouth to resting atop your head. 

“It’ll feel better?”

“Yep,” he pops bitterly, smearing his cockhead against your lips -- bucking his hips to puncture your mouth. Chuckling when you whine and pout around the tip, “C’mon, you can do it.”

You try your best, then. Sinking along him until your cheeks are puffing out and hot with both hands slamming onto his exposed thighs. Dabi hisses when your nails dig in, retaliating with an abrupt thrust and yank of your hair. 

“Be fucking nice,” a vague threat hides behind his clenched teeth.

Gargling, you hang your jaw and flatten your tongue over your bottom teeth. You’ve just barely gotten past the first inch when he tugs your hair again and seethes about your top teeth scraping. You bumble out an apology around his dick, sending little vibrations ringing up his spine until he’s groaning. His thighs clench around your head as you try pushing back another mouthful, only to choke.

“C’mon,” he bristles, “not even halfway down, baby,” foot impatiently tapping by your knee, “Take it deeper or I’ll make you.”

With that inspiration, you strain your jaw to spread wider -- globs of drool spilling from the corners of your mouth and glistening across Dabi’s pointy hip bones. A raucous retch following, shoulders bunching toward your ears as you gag. 

Every bump of his cock toward the tight ring of your throat makes you shiver and claw. Dabi pushes you back by a palm on your forehead, webs of saliva strung between swelling lips and his erection. His wrinkled wrist twists leisurely as he jerks off over your face. A comically daunting shadow slashes across you. 

“Oh my God…” you murmur, wondering if he really thinks that is going all down your throat. 

“I know, right?” he grins, smacking his cock against your cheek, “Open back up. We ain’t leaving till you can swallow it all, babe.”

“Oh my God.”

[lair-of-asmodeus]

Imagining...

Imagining General!Lilia in his glory days...

Him fucking you so slow that your body spasms in every move of his hips. Making you have multiple orgasms before he truly starts to fuck you.

Your armors are literally torn to the side, your bare skins exposed to the outside. You can feel the breeze on your body.

Though, it doesn’t matter. You two are sweaty as heck.

It’s tantalizing how he manages to hit your core and make your body twitch, how he knows all the spots in your body that will arouse you more, how he feels inside your pretty hole.

He bites your neck as he pushes his hips inside you again. You feel like cumming, once more, and your insides end up painting him with your juices.

He pinches your nipples as he slowly pulls his hips, muttering something you cannot understand. His cock twitches inside you.

He licks the shell of your ear, causing you to tighten around him.

“Lilia...” You speak up, earning a small groan coming from the fae general.

“Quiet down, you utter fool...” He mutters angrily, “Someone will hear us.”

And he smacks your ass, then squeezes it right after.

You cover your mouth again, but your groans can be heard. You internally thank the Gods above that you two are in a different part of the forest, otherwise someone would hear you. But even so, he orders you to be quiet in case someone happens to pass by and witness you two indulge in sin like this.

He lets go of one of your nipples and that hand goes to caress your genitalia.

“Cum for me, you little slut...” He rasps out and smacks your ass, “...with such watchful eyes that are on me, this is the fitting punishment for the likes of you..!”

And your body spasms once again, cumming once more. He stops moving and he watched your aroused form tremble with a toothy grin.

“Like that...” He smirks, “What a wonderful slut you are, doing as I say. Oh, if only my soldiers were just as obedient as you right now~”

You look back at him,

“...General... Lilia...” You whisper, “...please... just fuck me already..~”

He raises an eyebrow, “My~ How demanding you are, asking for something like this from your general~”

You bite your lips and look at him seductively, trying to tempt him. He just laughs and says,

“...Kufufu~ You have endured the punishment long enough, I might as well reward you for being so patient~♡”

...And starts to RAM HIS FUCKING COCK INTO YOUR HELPLESS HOLE!

You nearly lose your composure and give in, but you cover your mouth at the last second.

“Liliaaaa..!!” You gasp as he smacks your ass once again, “...Oh... Oh gosh..!”

“It is General Lilia for you, (Name)..!” He smacks your ass once again as he leans down and bites your neck.

His cock feels hard inside you. You can feel it twitching while hitting the good spots.

He pulls you by the hair and makes you look at him.

“You are so fucking cute... But are you worthy of receiving my seed~?”

You nod almost immediately and eagerly. He bites your neck hard enough to draw blood and holds still while thrusting inside. You feel the pain, but it makes you feel more aroused than before.

“LILIA..!!” You scream his name as you reach your peak again, but it doesn’t stop him. His cock just twitches more and more until he hits your core once more, hard, and you feel something warm pouring inside.

“ARGH..!!! NNGH!!”

Your mouth opens to scream, but it comes out like a quiet whimper. His seed keeps pouring inside you while your walls suck him in.

You momentarily collapse as you two pant and you feel the general pull out. As you two lay on the grass, you look at him. He looks back at you with a mischevious glint in his eyes.

“Who said I am done with you~?”

And with that, he lays you on your back and spreads your legs which causes his seed inside you to spill a bit to the ground.

And with that, he fucks you again...

(inserting to be continued meme)

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 22 all chapters

WARNING: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

-He sets you on the vanity, the marble cool against your bare bottom. The contrast of his hot hands upon your thighs is maddening, and you whimper as he withdraws from you.

“Shh,” he says. “Do you want these undone? Or do you want me to touch you?”

The fact that you actually have to think for a moment before you answer makes his eyes shine.

“Untie me,” you answer as quickly as you can form words. By the way he looks at you, you’re afraid it wasn’t fast enough. There is a heavy pause between you, electric with the warring of your wills.

“Hmm.” You can’t stop yourself from making a sound when he leaves you, though he only takes a few steps to the tub, turning on the taps.

“I’ve had a long day,” he says, looking you over like he might like to eat you.

You worry your lower lip between your teeth, your heart in your throat.

This is it, you realize. No turning back now.

“Where were you?”

“You’ll find out later, if you’re a good girl.”

You’re not sure you like the sound of that.

He bats the door closed with a swing of his long arm before returning to you, standing between your spread legs. You are cold, in just the thin silk of the stupid nighty, and the line of his body so near yours warms you like a furnace. He takes your wrists in his sure hands, running his fingers over the ropes as he admires his handiwork upon you. Then he begins to pick at the first knot, and even he seems to have trouble undoing it at first.

You really hope he doesn’t have to cut it. You do not like the thought of a blade in his hand, that close to your skin.

“Is this…something you’re really into?” you dare ask, your heart in your throat.

“Shibari? I may have dabbled in my misspent youth,” he answers with a smirk, enjoying your uneasiness far too much. “Are you curious about it, kitten?”

“No,” you answer quickly, winning a pout that has no business on the lips of a grown ass man, but somehow is cute.

You understand it’s something some people enjoy, and that’s perfectly fine. Consenting people, who know what they’re getting into, and trust each other.

Sadly, that is not the boat you’re in right now.

“Shame. Maybe later, when you’ve come to trust me more.”

The fact that he knows you don’t trust him now is perhaps a little heartening. However, you decide you will not be bringing it up again.

When at last your restraints are reduced to a pile of red silk on the floor you cannot suppress your sigh. He runs his hands over the marks in your skin, seeming fascinated by the twisted patterns imprinted in your flesh.

“You alright?” he asks, rubbing to aid the circulation. Even just on your wrists, his touch is maddening.

You press your lips, warring with the desire to tell him off for it, or play it like no big deal. You decide to go with what is already obvious between you.

“I didn’t like that.”

He turns your face up to his with a hand that engulfs your jaw. “Then be a good girl, and I won’t have to do it again.”

“Be sweet to me, and I will.”

He narrows his eyes at you for your pithy insolence, but you can tell that he’s secretly pleased. When he lowers his head to kiss you, his tongue sweeping your mouth possessively, you hate to admit that you forget all about your aching wrists, and your self-respect, straining to reach more of his soft mouth as he uses his height to draw away.

He places your hands on his chest, looking at you expectantly. Realizing that he wants you to undress him, you try for the first button.

As it turns out, you really weren’t lying about the circulation in your fingers. Or maybe the lack of use throughout the day, something. It is not easy to undo the first button of his shirt. It is tiny, and the hole is tight, and you are ready to rip it off by the time you finally manage to slide it through.

 “Don’t tear it,” he warns, as though he can read your thoughts.

You sigh, and concentrate on the second. It gets easier as you use your fingers more…and the prize you begin to unveil spurs you on. You realize you are biting your lip again when you taste blood in your mouth. Button by button, you unveil the marvel that lies beneath.

He stands still as a statue as you work, watching you with those eyes that miss nothing. You are not half as nervous as you should be, enjoying your task. When you pull out his shirt tails you finally begin to understand. 

A myriad of scars covers his body from collar to below his waist line. Large and small, fresh and old. Cuts, and round puckered flesh that look like bullet wounds. Your heart drops to your feet, and you sense it as John stiffens under your scrutiny. 

“Oh, honey...” 

It hurts to look at. It hurts because you cannot fathom the pain he must have gone through, enduring all these injuries. He lets you touch him, tracing the lines of these old wounds. You meet his eyes, finding him vulnerable, before giving in to the urge to press your lips to his chest over an old scar that cuts across his pectoral. His eyes slide closed, and you think it might be the first time you've seen him surrender to anything.

You slide down from the counter, pressing against his body as you plant your feet on the floor. Wanting to see all of him, you circle him slowly, never once taking your hands off of him. The scars continue there, and across the expanse of his powerful shoulders are sinister looking tattoos. Some men get tattoos like this because they think it makes them look hard, but somehow you just know that they mean something in his world. Something...ominous. On top of the tattoos, the praying hands in the center of his back bears a horrible brand of an upside-down crucifix.

That might have hurt more than all the rest.  

You rest your head in the divot of his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his muscled torso. It feels good, to nestle here. Better than it should.

“I wouldn't have run,” you tell him, and you feel a tremor run through his steadfast frame, his big hands covering yours just beneath his heart. 

You make your way back to his front, and his sharp eyes follow your every movement. 

“You would have had questions.” 

“Of course I would have.” 

You’re not a total idiot.

“You would have been scared.” 

You just shake your head, knowing it was true. At that time, you wouldn't have had the sense.  Even now, knowing what he was capable of... you still weren't half as scared of him as you should be. 

His gaze upon you is surprisingly soft, as he considers your words. You dare think you’ve finally gotten through to this man, until his long fingers close around your jaw, holding your gaze upwards. “You’re not lying to me just to appease me, kitten?”

Rather than follow the wiser path of meek contrition, you give way to the indignant anger rising in your breast.

“You’re so worked up about me running from you, but you know what? You ran from me first. You didn’t even give me the chance to accept you.”

He narrows his eyes down at you, considering what you’ve said.

If you're lying, he has to punish you.

If you're telling the truth, then this whole thing blew up for nothing, and it's all on him. 

Rather than hash this out, he dips his head to kiss you again, and he is not exactly gentle with you. Hungry for you, his tongue sweeps into your mouth, his teeth on your lips leaving you bruised. His hips pin you against the vanity, his erection pressing into you unforgivingly.

His fingers tangle in the lace skirt of your nightie, pulling it up. You fight him on instinct, and hear the silk tear as he jerks it from your grasp, defeating you so easily. He draws it up over your head with a flourish and throws it across the room, leaving you utterly bare to his gaze.

You are glad for the warm steam that is filling the room from the running bath. The tub is so massive it’s not even a quarter of the way full. Still, you try to cover yourself, but John grips your wrists in his big hands, twisting your arms behind you easily.  

His eyes rake over you, and your nipples harden as though he’d touched them. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.”

He falls on you, releasing your hands to cup your face as he kisses you again without mercy. His touch is possessive, inexorable, unyielding, and his hands explore your body, the curve of your bare back and the swell of your breast. His thumb and forefinger pinching your nipple make your knees weak. He recedes like a crashing wave down your body, his mouth upon your chest, your breasts, his tongue wreaking sweet agony upon your aching tips.

You don't know how much more of this your pussy can take. You've never been this turned on, for this long, in your life. 

You blink stupidly, when suddenly John is on his knees before you, looking up at you with his nose nuzzling the curls between your legs. That brief moment of eye contact electrifies you, before he guides your leg up over his shoulder, and licks your weeping slit. You lean back on the marble counter, and if not for his strong hands on your hips and your ass, you would have fallen, your legs shaking beneath you as he wrecks you with that devilish tongue.

He brings you so close to the edge with licks and little sucks, torturing you making circles with the tip of his tongue before taking mercy with broad, hard strokes, two of his long fingers sliding inside of you. That burning knot of pleasure begins to tighten within your womb. You clench on his fingers, your grip white-knuckling on the side of the vanity, so relieved for release on the horizon that you could cry.

That is when he leaves you, wiping his mouth on your belly as he stands before kissing you with the same punishing force as before. You whimper into his mouth, cheated of your pleasure, so pent up you could die.

“Hush,” he tells you, more gently than you would have expected from him in this unforgiving mood. He lifts you up onto the vanity again, easily as though you weigh nothing. With stars in your eyes, you watch as he undoes the zipper on his slacks with quick efficiency, pushing it all down to the floor and kicking it away.

You cannot help but stare, your lip caught between your teeth again. How many times a day can you think to yourself, This man is beautiful? His trim waist and powerful thighs covered in crisp dark hairs. The line of soft dark hair on his belly leads the eye downward…he is thick, and long, and even while you know you are in trouble, you cannot quell the dark thrill of knowing he is going to absolutely ruin you.

“Like what you see?” he asks, pulling you from your trance. He pumps himself up and down a few times, spreading the precum leaking from his tip.

Unable to find words in that moment, you nod.  

“What was that, sweetheart?” His big hands on your thighs pull you to the edge of the vanity top, his body wedged between your legs.

You make a frustrated sound between your teeth. “Yes, I find you very fucking beautiful, Mr. Wick.”

He offers you a cruel little laugh before catching your lips with his, his thick tip hovering at your weeping entrance. You try to move closer to him, hungry for the stretch and burn of his cock entering your body, but he holds you fast.

There is a surprising vulnerability in his next words, uttered quietly against your ear. “You want me?”

“Yes.”

God help you, but it’s the truth.

You give a strangled moan as he pushes inside of you, writhing from his cock and his teeth in your shoulder. The sound he makes is more animal than human as he works himself inside.

“Even your pussy fights back,” he huffs with strained laughter, easing himself in and out. “God, baby, you feel so good.”

Your fingernails dig into his shoulder as your body protests the invasion half-way.

“Wait…”

“Can’t…” he informs you raggedly. “Breathe for me, kitten, I know you can take me.”

“It’s been a long time,” you admit between a deep inhale, trying to adjust. A long time, and to be frank, none of your previous experiences with men prepared you for him.

“How long?” he demands, as though this is information he desperately needs to know.

“Over a year.”

Long before you met him.

He veritably growls his approval at this figure, and if you weren’t so cock-drunk you would have rolled your eyes at the fragility of the male ego. As it is…you can hardly think straight at all.

“That’s my good girl,” he rasps against your skin as he slides deeper and deeper inside. “So wet for me. So good.”

You cry out as he bottoms out against your cervix. He looks down between you, fascinated by the sight of his body buried in yours to the hilt.

“That hurt?”

“A little.”

“Sorry.” You can hardly believe it when he kisses you with contrition. “I’ll try…” He thrusts again, slower this time, and it makes you see stars. “To be gentle.” He presses his thumb to your lips, and you open for him, sucking and leaving a trail of saliva as he withdraws. When he circles that thumb over your clit you mewl like the needy little kitten you are for him, your thighs tightening upon his narrow hips. He moves for you at just the right speed, teasing you with the thickness of his shaft in all the right places inside. Your walls grip him with abandon, desperate for the pleasure he’s been dangling before you for days.

“You wanna cum, pretty kitten?”

“Yes,” you pant, so desperate for release. Your tight little pussy clenches around his cock in answer, and he sucks in breath through his teeth.

“Then you have to say something for me. And you have to mean it.” 

Fuck. 

“What?” You can hardly remember your own name, much less form complicated sentences as he fills you to bursting, merciless and so very wonderful, his thumb working magic on your clit.

“Say you’re mine.” 

He glides inside you, stretching you more somehow, but removes his hand to grip your hip.

When you meet him with silence he kisses your neck, nipping at your skin as punishment. There will be marks all over your chest and neck tomorrow.

It doesn't matter.

Not like you're going anywhere.

Not like anyone will see you. 

You keen, craving more pressure, more friction, pulling him deeper with legs wrapped around his back, bringing you so close to where you need him. You think you can come on his cock, whether he touches you or not. It would be a victory, to prove that your pleasure needn't only come at his own whim. 

Knowing all too well, he denies it to you, holding himself just shy of it. 

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you're mine, and I'll give you everything you want.” 

“Even freedom?” you dare ask as he strums at you again, a master at keeping the fire at just the right height, making you feel so good, but never quite enough to make you cum.

You don't know how you have the cheek, with his clever fingers between your legs frying your brain.

This man was made to torture you, it seems. He shifts, so that he is making shallow strokes that only barely stimulate you. You scream a little in frustration. It actually makes him smile. 

“Did you know that ninety percent of women cannot orgasm on penetration alone?”

“You don't have to be so fucking smug about it.” 

“You need me.” 

“Do I?”

You reach for your clit, hoping he will be distracted by watching you. Most men would, but not John. He is a man of focus, determination, sheer will. He catches your hand with a warning growl, twisting it behind you. 

Pulling you closer, he buries himself as deep as he can, his face buried in your hair. It doesn’t hurt this time. It feels like he makes you whole, and you feel the bass growl he makes against your ear in the depths of your soul.

“Please? I can’t wait anymore, baby girl. I want to feel you cum with me.” There is a new desperation in his words, and you know he must be close.

“Then let me cum,” you answer, hardly recognizing your own voice. “I want it. I want you.”

“Say you’re mine.”

You are tempted. Boy, are you. You want it so badly your legs tremble, your back arched tight as a bow. A tear rolls down your cheek, because fuck you if a part of you doesn't want to say it. Not just because it's the only way you're going to get to orgasm, and he’s driving you insane. But because...you know it would make him so fucking happy.

You’re afraid if you say it aloud, it might be true.

You are so close, but he is a master of bringing you just to the edge before backing away. In that moment, you hate him as much as you love him. You know, you just know, that if you give in to this possessive madness so soon, there will be no going back. You will be so fucked, and not in the way you want to be.

You just shake your head.

“Go to hell.” 

It is, decidedly, the wrong answer, of course. His eyes darken, and he ruts inside you out of spite, spilling himself with a growl and his teeth in the curve of your neck. You feel the scalding hot rush inside you, the impossible fullness. It is good, and you are this close as he shudders against you, but in the end it’s just not enough.  

You keen miserably as his slick length slides from you, leaving you filled with his cum, utterly wrecked yet still unsatisfied. He wipes his tip across your belly, marking you.

Men.

“You are the stubbornest fucking woman I’ve ever met,” he grumbles low in your ear.

It sends a shiver across your skin.

You have to try twice before you find your voice.

“Thank you.”

He actually laughs, a harsh, disbelieving bark as he shakes his head at you. You watch as he goes to turn off the bath taps, the tub finally full, thoroughly enjoying the view despite how he’s left you. He steps into the water, turning so that he can see you with his arms on the rim of the tub.

You take some pleasure in the fact that he doesn’t look quite satisfied either.

Though your legs barely work, you slide down to the floor with a glare, intending to use the shower instead, away from him. You feel his seed dripping from you, down your thighs in warm thick rivulets. He didn’t ask if you are on birth control, and you’re grateful for your IUD, feeling like you’re armed with a secret weapon. If he means to bind you further to him with bearing his child…he’ll be disappointed. You decide right then that’s a card you’ll play close to your vest.

You take one step towards the shower before he makes a sound of warning low in his throat, and you freeze in your tracks. “In here,” he directs, and you close your eyes with wariness. Of course, that was the deal you’d made with the devil, and he’d warned you not to break an agreement with him.

He’s going to torture you more, you reckon, with his mouth or his fingers or maybe even that magnificent cock again, and you just don’t think your body can take it.

You’re not sure your heart can take it, either.

“Don’t make me ask again.”

Resigned to your fate, you go, sinking into the warm water. It would have been wonderful, you know, if your every nerve had not already been on fire.

You hover up to your neck in the deep tub, trying to relax and succeeding only by half. “Come here,” says your beautiful tormentor, holding out his hand to you. The invitation is deceptively gentle this time. Mr. Wick, the undisputed King of Hot and Cold.

“You are such an asshole,” you inform him as you take his hand, letting him pull you into the circle of his arms against his chest.

“So you tell me,” he says with his lips against your temple, his arm around your waist holding you to him. “You might be a tiger kitten, but you’re still just a kitten.” He almost sounds proud about it. “I’m going to win in the end.”

You’re afraid he’s right, but you’re not ready to surrender just yet.

[sulumuns-dootah]

24. 10. Glove kink - Astaroth

    ༺☆༻

⟡ Masterlist ⟡ 

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽Helltober '24☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

A/N: Decided to also add a riding crop bc it didn't make the cut as a prompt for the days. This one might be bad tho :/ No beta, we die like Minhyeok

    ༺☆༻

A leather-bound hand squeezes your chin to turn your head and face the gaze of the dark demon, “Are you still with me?”

How could you though? Your legs are kept spread wide by Astaroth's knees – also slightly spread – and a wand on almost it's highest setting is situated in such manner that you're unable to escape it's stimulation. You're barely keeping your eyes open, let alone staying present without loosing yourself in the bliss.

*smack*

Astaroth strikes your inner thigh with the riding crop you've already forgotten about despite it only being few minutes since it was used on your bare ass. If your situation is a reward or a punishment, you don't know anymore.

“Look at me.” the demon's low growl is more of a warning as the leather tip of his instrument starts to move over your body, drawing shapes. You focus your gaze on him, trying to ignore the stars floating around his face.

“Good.” his purr slowly turning into a dark chuckle, “How ruined you are already. Is this already too much for you?”

“Gah-ah-nghh..! Alil'- lil' bit, y-yeah~” you manage to mewl out.

“Need I remind you this was your idea, my silly human? Reading so much erotic fiction has truly corrupted your mind.”

“B-but...s'hot!” even in your state you try to stand up for yourself, but it only makes the dark demon above you chuckle again.

“Well then you should be able to take more.” the riding crop starts circling your nipples and before you're prepared for it, they both get a smack each. Your hips jerk and the wand starts to roll around your sensitive area.

Astaroth's eyes for the first time focus on your messy sex and his breath hitches. A part of him already wants to replace the toy and fuck you senseless, but when you were originally talking about recreating a scenario from one of your books, you'd asked him to have you come multiple times before he finally fills you and he's more than committed to making your fantasies true.

“Alas, if you truly cannot take more, there always is that one magical word.” the crop is set aside and the demon's gloved hands start roaming your body. Caressing, tugging, pulling. The cold and smooth yet still rough material leaving goosebumps in it's wake, helping you reach your first release.

As the world comes into ultra focus as the waves of your orgasm course through you, a part of you wishes the teasing was over, but sadly, the part of a book you've asked to recreate happened to be infamous for the amount of orgasms drawn from the poor protagonist.

Safe to say, you're in for a very long night.

    ༺☆༻

Shhh...The prompt for tomorrow is Panties ^^

[wintersera]

MASSEUSE GISELLE?!?!?

aespa giselle x f!reader

summary: dayumn you’re pretty exhausted after work so you decide to do something a little bit impulsive

notes: it was supposed to be an imagine but i got carried away 😭 not proofread either zorry

cw: SMUT, dubcon?

you’re off from work feeling all tense. working a 9-5 really leaves your entire body in pain. that's when you decide to impulsively walk inside the nearest beauty salon on your way home.

it’s not her fault really, as soon as you walk into the room her eyes immediately guides themselves to your body. you’re just so attractive to her. miss girl cannot stop staring at your tits and ass. her eyes are literally glued onto them at this point she’s pretty much eye fucking you.

she patiently waits outside of the changing room, listening to you taking off your clothes bit by bit. already feeling herself wet at the thought of you in the thinnest piece of clothing barely covering your tits. once you walk out of the changing room, you sort of catch in the corner of your eyes, drooling at the sight of you in the tiny ass towel. staring a bit too hard to the point it gets a bit weird but you don’t question it since she's a professional. obviously she’s observing you to do her job right, right??? she sits you down at the table facing you downwards so that your ass is facing the air, covering you up with the thin towel making sure you don’t grow suspicious of her lust filled eyes.

everything seems to be going well. her taking her time massaging your shoulders all the way down to your legs moving her hands in big circular motions. she motions for you to turn around and you do so accordingly, placing the towel right above your crotch. gradually, her touches become more desperate. you take notice of her hands making their way towards your breasts, ever so gently groping them. “is this still part of the massage?” managing to speak between heavy breaths. her thinking that you’re so gullible and innocent, so she slides her hands down to your thighs. “yeah it pretty much is. since you’re a first time customer, the massage is free of charge” smiling sweetly. definitely not because she wants to feel you up aha.

feeling the arousal swirl up in her stomach she thinks fuck it, she takes her fingers and shoves them into your mouth “suck them”. your confused as hell, wondering why she’s telling you to suck her fingers but you just do it anyways. giselle taking her fingers down to your clit, drawing slow circles causing a mewl to escape your lips. the sudden pleasure suddenly snapping you out of your somewhat relaxed state “wait? wait, what are you doing? where are you touching me?” panic entering your body. “shhh. it’s okay” her hand rushing towards your mouth shushing you. looking around to make sure none of her coworkers hear her. “it’s just a massage just let me handle it. i promise, i’ll make you feel so good”. convincing yourself that it’s simply just part of the massage, you relax a little bit. taking the hand she used to silence you, she lowers it to your breasts playing with your already hardened nipples, pinching and rolling them around with her fingers. her mouth ,unoccupied, she moves closer to your chest taking the other nipple in her mouth biting gently.

dragging you to the edge of the table so that your legs are hanging off, she places herself between them softly biting, sucking and licking your inner thighs, her hand still toying your sensitive nipples. after what seemed like an eternity of teasing she finally puts her mouth on your pussy. moaning into your mound sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body. at this point you’re convinced that what’s happening is not a normal massage,but it’s not like you care now. it feels too good to tell her to stop.

you look downwards to where she’s sat. locking eyes with her she gives you a mischievous grin. noticing the way you squirm under her control, she giggles and gives your clit a hard suck earning a string of moans and whimpers that fall out of your mouth. you grab her hair making sure she doesn’t pull her mouth away from your pussy “so cute, you’re so fucking cute” her words muffle, licking your hard clit.

“fuck, i- i think i’m gonna cum” you manage to squeak out. your announcement of your climax only makes her work harder sliding two digits into your tight hole. walls clenching around her fingers giselle moans feeling herself grow more aroused than before. the feeling of pleasuring you, her cute client, overrides her rational thinking, pumping her fingers harder and rougher. continuously slamming her hands into your abused cunt for what seems like ages, you whine feeling close to cumming. you begin riding her fingers, rolling your hips against her tongue. an overwhelming (and overstimulating) feeling washing over your body. the sensations of her tongue, her fingers and the overall atmosphere of the room edges you closer and closer to your climax.

“cum for me” she suddenly commands “you’re so cute and gullible. letting someone you don’t know fuck you? you’re such a desperate baby. i love that” her words sparking something in your mind sending your body into pure bliss. you swear you see white for a couple of seconds before returning back to reality.

slowly licking your folds, lapping the juices from your climax she helps you ride out your high hoping that you enjoyed her impromptu ‘massage’ “hope you enjoyed the session, please come back again” sending a winked towards you. you leave her room feeling a lack of tension and a little bit embarrassed about whatever the hell just happened but you’ll definitely come back for another ‘massage’ in the future.

yippe wahoo yaayyy giselle 😳

tags: @karinaskitty

[crowfeatherquill]

One Soul the Price of Seven Thousand

Tathlyn is only vaguely aware of what’s happening behind him with Cazador’s sarcophagus as he crosses the blood-drenched battlefield in a haze of shock and exhaustion. He hears the sounds of stone on stone, and the familiar timbre of Astarion’s voice, raised and harsh in agitation over something, but he can’t make out the words. He’s too focused on the rent and bloody bodies of his dearest friend and his…well, his something. He’s not really sure what he is to Halsin, nor whether he’s really in a position to have him in the way he wants.

The sight of his gorey corpse, mutilated by ghoul and werewolf claws, sits no lighter for Tathlyn’s indecision.

He crouches down, ready to heave Halsin over his shoulders and attempt to lift him -- and finds that his legs fail under the weight. He cannot carry his belongings and a body. At least not one as large as Halsin. His attempts to move Karlach are much the same. It’s not until Astarion addresses him directly that the pitched battle happening mere feet away comes back into focus.

“I can do this,” Astarion says, and they are the first clear words Tathlyn has heard since pitching Cazador over the edge of the ritual platform and into the abyss below, “but I need your help.”

For a long, heart-stopped moment, Tathlyn is struck dumb. He remains where he is, crouched, slick with the blood of too many loved ones to have fallen in one day let alone only an hour, blinking in confusion as what Astarion means sinks in. After all this, he’s still considering going through with it. Taking Cazador’s place in the ascension and becoming…whatever that makes him. Carving out everything that Tathlyn has come to love for the opportunity to live free of fear.

When the words fall out of his mouth, they sound the same way he feels. Hollow. Numb.

“I’m…not going to help you kill all these people.”

Astarion alights with rage. Simmers with it.

“These ‘people’ died years ago, trust me on that. All that’s left are feral spawn, desperate for blood.”

Something tries to stir the embers in Tathlyn’s chest into a feeling -- indignance, perhaps, not on behalf of the spawn he barely knows, but because of what Astarion is saying about himself without seeming to realize -- but they’re burning too low to be roused. All he can manage is to sigh and purse his lips.

Astarion seems perfectly content to fill the silence.

“Think about it. If we release them, how many people will they kill? Tens of thousands? Hundreds of thousands? They’d have to die anyway, it’s the only moral thing to do. If I complete this ritual, it keeps them out of the streets and puts them to good use. I’d be able to help you save the city -- really help you! And…and I’d be free.” His voice descends into that tender, quiet place it only goes when he’s trying to get something he wants. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Tathlyn lets what little of Karlach’s weight he was able to bear fall from his shoulders as he rises, and steps carefully away from the bodies. He draws as close to Astarion as he was the night he found him looking into an empty mirror and does not let it show on his face how much it hurts to see Astarion pull away.

He looks as close as his lover will let him -- digs deep, trying to glean anything that will tell him where this obsession with power at the expense of anything Astarion could still claim as a soul is welling from. What he finds stuns and softens him in equal measure.

Astarion is afraid, yes. That much Tathlyn expected. But there is an absent, hungry edge to him as well that Tathlyn hasn’t seen in weeks. He tries to put himself in Astarion’s place -- to understand -- and it makes his heart ache to realize what he’s seeing.

The whole room reeks of blood and thrums with power, and Astarion is standing on the precipice -- it would appear to him -- of a life free of every burden he has carried these past two centuries. It dawns on Tathlyn that this temptation would prove impossible for many people to resist. That this is the first time since escaping Cazador’s clutches that a burden so heavy has been handed to Astarion. And most importantly, that despite all appearances, Astarion is…fighting it.

Tathlyn’s lover is looking to him for help, yes, but not in the way that he says. He does not want permission to do this awful thing. He wants a hand in being stopped. And Tathlyn, bloodied as they are, has two.

He steps forward again, closing the distance before Astarion has the opportunity to make more, and takes his face in his hands, leaving more streaks of red on those pale, delicate cheeks.

“Stars…look at me.”

It takes time and effort for Astarion to tear his eyes away from Cazador, but when he does, they are wild, wanting, and wet with unshed tears.

“I want you to live a life you’re proud of,” Tathlyn says, in the steadiest tone he can manage, “You can’t be proud of this.”

Astarion watches him for a long time, pinned in place by Tathlyn’s hands on his face. Tathlyn, meanwhile, watches Astarion come back to himself in waves.

Eventually, he speaks, breathless, like coming out of a dream.

“You- you’re right. I can be better than him.” He starts to pull away, turning back to focus on Cazador, and Tathlyn lets him go. “But I’m not above enjoying this.”

Cazador dies violently. Astarion kills him, howling two hundred years of pain into the echoing cavern. He ends up on his knees, drenched in Cazador’s blood as well as his own, breathless, bruised, and still sobbing, and Tathlyn feels his heart break all over again. He cannot help himself but to go to his love -- to kneel in the rapidly-cooling pool of ancient blood beside him and pull him in against his side.

He pulls Astarion to safety, wraps him in his arms, and lets him cry into his neck and shoulder until all that is left is trembling and silence.

He almost forgets Astarion’s siblings until the remnants of the ritual fully fade and suddenly they are surrounded and once again asked to choose -- to decide the fate of seven thousand lives, and of every life those seven thousand will touch.

Tathlyn, exhausted of death and pain, urges to let them go and watches Astarion hand them their freedom and tell them it is up to them whether they seize it or hang themselves with it. He directs them to the Underdark -- to relative safety away from the sun and away from the city -- and somewhere underneath the shock, Tathlyn finds that he’s excited to see what they build there. Much as he loves his home, if there’s one thing it lacks, it’s voluntary fresh blood.

Perhaps, he thinks, for the first time in his life, something new will grow in those caverns. Something that wants to be there.

Astarion returns to his side as they go -- presses his face into Tathlyn’s neck and twines his arms around Tathlyn’s middle, and Tathlyn holds him firm.

“Let’s…let’s just go,” he says, barely a whisper, “This place reeks of death and I…want to feel alive again.”

There are still Halsin and Karlach’s bodies to think of. Still the Gur to report back to -- to explain what happened to their children, and hope for their understanding of the choices made. But…for now, there isn’t anything that Tathlyn thinks he’d like more. They’ll handle what comes next one step at a time, and a breath of fresh, free air sounds like as good a first step as any he’s ever heard.

[iamjucie]

A History in Lessons

Chapter 7: "Your Most Prized Spawn" pt. 5

HEY! THIS IS GOING TO BE MESSED UP! ****I know I have the Dead Dove tag on all of these stories, but I really mean it this time. In this, there is descriptions of sexual and physical assault that can definitely be triggering.

If you are uncomfortable reading that but want to continue to read the story, you can with no issues. Just move onto the next chapter, I will be posting it directly after posting this one as its already written. I will put whatever context is needed in the beginning notes there.

special thanks to Helmi (@itsthatpearl on tumblr) and Mert (@mertesque on twitter) for beta reading. And an extra special thanks to Mert for helping me brainstorm, I couldn't have done it without him.

Also, lore note: I'm not sure if it is lore accurate that a Vampire Spawn can be drank from by a Vampire lord, but we are pretending they can. Ok? Cool.

The glow in his eyes dims ever so slightly.

Suddenly, you are back in your body. You aren’t even sure where you were a moment ago. You were here, but elsewhere. Your mind was… different. You wanted to be here, you know that much. But where is here? Who is this man? You’re so disoriented, you take a minute to recollect yourself. A moan is drawn from your lips.

You and the vampire lord find somewhere to be alone.

CW: Depictions of assault, Dead Dove, Mind Control Word count: 1.2k AO3 Link

“Let’s get out of here and find somewhere we can be alone.”

Warmness shoots from your ear to your core. Yes- you need this. You need him. Suddenly you have an appearingly insatiable desire for him. To be with him- no, to be his. All you can manage is a faint nod, words don’t seem to be able to form in your mouth no matter how hard you try. You must be so flustered that you’re speechless.

As soon as you give a semblance of agreement, he grabs your wrist and sweeps you away through the crowd. You’re struggling to keep up with his pace. He’s practically running, twisting your wrist uncomfortably as he pulls. It doesn’t seem to hurt, surprisingly.

He takes you into an empty hallway adjacent to the ballroom. Feral for you, he barges into the first door he sees without a knock or a care about what’s on the other side. You enter the room behind him with a yank from his grip on your arm. It's a bedroom. Your eyes gravitate to a vanity similar to the one Astarion said he loved so much.

Astarion… 

The vampire lord scoops you up bridal style, drawing a giggle from your lips. You kick off your elegant slippers before he tosses you onto the bed. Glowing eyes stare through you as he climbs on top of you, grinding his length into your leg through your dress. Your mind is filled with an unbearable lust that cannot be contained. 

You paw at the bulge in his pants, displaying your desperation for him to be inside you. You want it so badly. No- you’re beyond want, you need him. Your pussy is pulsing and your head is spinning with unbearable lust. He bunches up your dress to expose your folds to the elements. You’re completely bare, wearing no underwear. He inhales deeply through his nostrils. 

A scowl spans across his face. “Someone has already been here, hm? Pity.” a sigh leaves his lips, disappointment in his tone. “I wanted to fuck you myself, but I suppose I can make this work.” he says, staring longingly at your aching pussy. He looks into your eyes and says, “Fuck yourself. And make it good.”

With no thought behind it, your hand moves from his bulge to your cunt. You tease your entrance before sticking two fingers into yourself, massaging your inner walls slowly and sensually. You take your other hand and massage your clit simultaneously. Your head rolls back with a smile spread across your face. It feels so fucking good. Never have you felt such a pleasurable experience masturbating before this. It feels like golden waves of pure ecstasy are washing over you after every slight movement of your fingers. 

“Very nice, love.” He says, hovering above you watching your every movement, watching for the cues indicating you’re close. Your breaths and movements begin to lose any semblance of rhythm. “Now, I’m going to do something. I want you to brace yourself, okay?”

You nod. His words sound like music to you, the most beautiful song you’ve ever heard. You look into his eyes, he is so beautiful. 

The glow in his eyes dims ever so slightly. 

Suddenly, you are back in your body. You aren’t even sure where you were a moment ago. You were here, but elsewhere. Your mind was… different. You wanted to be here, you know that much. But where is here? Who is this man? You’re so disoriented, you take a minute to recollect yourself. A moan is drawn from your lips.

You look at the strange man on top of you and then down to your hands. You’re fucking yourself with a passion that you don’t have, with no input from your brain. Your hands are moving completely on their own. You look back up at the man, horror in your eyes. You scream at the top of your lungs.

“Who the fuck are you?!” You begin to thrash, he quickly puts a hand on your shoulder, pushing his entire weight onto it. You continue your attempt to escape. Thrashing, riving, doing anything to try to get him off of you. His grip doesn’t loosen. He only presses into you harder to punish your lack of submission, eventually dislocating your shoulder. You let out a blood curdling scream from the pain. 

“Why am I here?! What are you doing with my hands?!” Your fingers enter and exit your pussy over and over with vigor while you attempt to wriggle away from the cage he’s made with his body.

A predatory grin grows wide as he bares his fangs at you, “Thatta girl.” he hisses. He grabs your aching shoulder with one hand and your throat with the other, his bruising grip digging into your air pipe. 

You manage to let out a measly “Please don’t…” before he dives into you. He bites your neck with the strength of a beast. A gasp is drawn from your lips that shortly envelops itself into a struggling scream. He drinks from you with an animalistic force and speed, unlike any of the feeding sessions you’ve shared with Astarion.

Your body reacts to you fucking yourself, finally going over the edge. An unfortunate, yet beautiful feeling of euphoria washes over you while this monster is still latched to your throat. Your hands finally are unoccupied, but so much of your blood has already been drained that any attempt to hit or push him falls limp. Your arms drop to your sides, they are so heavy.

Slowly your struggle stops and your body is rendered null as the coldness of blood loss washes over you. Your screams turned into words, words became whimpers, and eventually the whimpers stopped. Your head rolls to the side. Your vision is beginning to be spotty as your eyelashes flutter, fighting to stay open.

He unlatches from your neck with a satisfied sigh. He gets off the bed and straightens his suit. He leans into your view, you’re lying motionless with your eyes still open slightly. “Sorry about dropping the whole compulsion thing. Fear just tastes so… delectable. I’m sure you understand.”

He turns to the vanity in the room. In the mirror is a slight reflection; a mostly transparent image of the monster appears. He takes a double glance at the looking glass before running up to it, placing a hand on the reflection. He stares in awe at the slight preview of himself. 

“Six hundred years…” he stares at himself in the eyes. “Six hundred years since I’ve seen that face. Not in a painting or a drawing. In the flesh.” He continues to stare at himself, barely blinking for several minutes as the reflection slowly fades; most likely due to your ascended blood being digested and recycled inside himself. 

He turns away from the mirror. “You…” he starts as he approaches where you lie. He kneels down next to the bed, inserting himself into your view. He places a hand on your cold cheek and leans his head into the crook of your neck, languidly licking the wound he created. Drinking up the last droplets of your blood. His hand is slightly warmed from the heat he stole from you. “Th-thank you.” He continues staring at you for a moment before standing up and walking out of the room.

You’re still unable to move. Mind clouded and vision blotched with black spots, darkness slowly fills your eyesight. You stare at the mirror that was just so profound for the monster. You close your eyes, succumbing to the heaviness of your eyelids. You feel nothing.

Next part

[haveihitanerve]

Rain has her good days and her bad days. Today, I can tell, is a bad day. Because its a bad day for me too. It has now been exactly three years since we captured our freedom together, and got to return to my homeland. We have not seen, nor spoken of Little Creek since then, except once. But it is different now. Now we have a colt. A child of our own. And I wish for him to know that not all humans are bad. I wish for him to learn the story of his parents. Of his mother. I have been planning this day since we left. It has always been in the back of my mind, but it only truly solidified with his birth. Our little Creek. 

I nicker softly to Rain, and she raises her head, turning in my direction. Creek turns as well, prancing over the way a young colt does. I have moved the herd strategically the past few weeks, getting closer and closer to the Lakota tribe’s home everyday. Rain is distracted, distant. Nostalgic. I gesture with my head, walking a few steps in the direction I want her to follow. She ignores me, although not on purpose, her head raised to the sky. I nicker again, louder this time, and her attention snaps to me again. She gives me an apologetic smile, walking over. I do not give her the chance to stand still, matching my steps to hers and leading the way. Creek runs between us, dancing between our legs, prancing out in front, always circling back to our side every so often. We are only a small gallop away from the camp, and I made sure that we would approach upwind, so that Rain will not smell the surprise before I reveal it. The walk is quite, peaceful, and gives Rain a chance away from the herd. Her soft smile at me indicates she knows what I’m doing, but she does not truly know the full scale of my plan. In her mind I have merely given her some space, with just us family to walk and relax while she reminisces. I gesture for her and Creek to wait a minute in the clearing, and trot on ahead. Creek goes into an elaborate new something he invented, I cannot tell whether he is attempting a fighting style or a strange dance, but Rain is amused, and it keeps her attention elsewhere. I gallop the last few steps and the camp appears behind the next bend. I hesitate for only a minute, slowing my heart, before stepping into it. My heart speeds up at the human presence all around me, but I take a few calming breaths, reminding myself that it is fine. I only have to pass a few huts before I spot him. He has grown, although not by much, and is broader in the chest. But he still looks the same. The same boy I fought for my freedom with. Before I can step towards him, a blur speeds past me and knocks into him. It is Creek. I startle, prepared to rush in, but Rain is at my side. I still. Her eyes are wide, staring at Little Creek, who is laughing, having sat up after being knocked down, and is playing with Creek. “Hey there little fella.” he greets our son, laughing and knocking his head back and forth a little. “Where did you come from?” I do not know if Creek understands him, after all, this is the first human he has come into contact with, but he prances in our direction a bit, drawing Little Creeks attention. He freezes. “Rain?” he whispers, and his voice breaks. Rain can barely manage the breath to nicker softly in answer. “And… Spirit.” His eyes find mine. “Hello.” He glances down at Creek, who is nuzzling his leg. “This must be,” he cuts off, eyes wide. “Your son.” For some reason, that breaks Rain, and she leaps forward, knocking into Little Creek. He stumbles back in surprise but quickly recovers, throwing his arms around her. “Oh rain.” There is such heavy emotion in his voice, and I call Creek to my side to allow the two of them a little privacy. Little Creek, or I suppose he is now called Big Creek, pulls back, examining Rain. “you look at beautiful as ever.” he murmurs to her, and she nickers in response, turning from him to look back at me. I can see the gratitude, and warmth in her eyes, and it is enough to make me smile. “Spirit.” Little Creek says again, and obediently I walk over, pressing my nose into his hand. “Hello Little Creek.” I nicker softly, pressing my chin into his back and pulling his close. “I missed you.” 

[age-of-play-i-say]

Puppy Fever, pt. 2

Sitting criss-cross applesauce on my bare tush between Daddy's legs, sipping my second drink after having taken my yucky medicine again, I realize how wiggly I am.

I cannot sit still! Puzzled, I stay my hips for just a moment and my bladder pangs loudly.

I sniffle and whine quietly, not for the first time this morning. Daddy reaches between his knees to scratch lightly as my scalp to soothe me, feeling a pang in his heart at his baby’s discomfort. He’s done all he can, but there’s only so much he can do to comfort his sick baby. 

In all the excitement of being Daddy's sick little pup, I forgot about going potty. In fairness, he did tell me not to worry about it, but now that I'm desperate, I find myself feeling soooo shy. It doesn't help that Daddy is, from the sound of it, in the middle of a meeting. He's not saying much, but he's unmuted to give feedback often.

I didn't even do my usual morning potty time and now it's veering on 11am and I'm filled to the brim, having been drinking often at Daddy's careful guidance. I put my sippy cup on the table and sit back on my knees, trying to work out what to do.

My brain is cloudy from the cold meds and the headspace, and all I know for sure is that I need to be quiet until the meeting is over. I'm so full that I know the volume of my release will be uncontrollable. I think about trying to let off some of the pressure but I'm so sore and tired that I know I won't be able to manage it.

I whine again, trying to figure out what to do. Then I remember that I'm Daddy's puppy today. I actively try to turn my brain off, replaying his words over and over in my head. 

I can trust Daddy. I trust Daddy.

I close my eyes and lean against Daddy's legs, trying to relax. He gives the back of my head a scritch and I smile dreamily and start piddling with a sigh.

I sink deeper and deeper into the headspace as the area around my tush gets soggier and soggier. I pick my knees up and let it flow, whimpering with relief. I circle my nipples over my sleep shirt and shiver. This feels so good so so good but I'm a puppy today. And puppies can make humpies and piddles wherever they want.

All of a sudden I miss Daddy. I know he's right here, but he doesn't know his good puppy is finally using their puppy pad thoroughly. I huff lightly and turn over, rutting my rock hard, tinkling winkie into Daddy's socked ankle.

I hear his quiet gasp while his sock gets sprayed and his hand comes back down to tangle in my hair, gently holding my head in place against his thigh. He can't do anything further but I don't need anything except his attention.

I lift my hips briefly and waggle them to hurry my stream along. Daddy grunts and I feel him start to shiver a bit when his sock is flooded with my piddles. I settle my hips back in and let my instinct drive my wild pace. My stream finally starts to weaken after almost a minute and I start humping with abandon.

Daddy's hand tightens in my hair and I hear him exclaim a quick "hang on, puppy, hold that release for Daddy!" I start to whine in protest but Daddy has already unmuted himself.

"Thanks so much! See you all again soon, mmMm" the last sound is not entirely in his control because as soon as I stilled my hips, the last of my potties came squirting out, right into his sock.

He leaves the meeting and slams the laptop closed above me. His grip on my hair loosens up and he flexes his foot to support my bottom. His other hand shoves down the front of his pants and pulls out his fully hard member, jerking it almost violently.

"Go on, puppy, finish up for Daddy. I wanna hear you as much as I feel you."

I start churning my hips again, squeaking and gasping. 

"Ohhh, that's my good puppy, finally making morning weewees all over your pee pee pad!" 

I snap my hips faster, panting and whining.

"That's right, puppy, piddling all over Daddy was the right choice. Keep going, we gotta get rid of that stiffie before Daddy draws you a bath. Don't want you j-jerking it in the tub and overheating-ah."

I come, crying and gasping all over him. His legs jerk when he hears my release and it's all he can do to keep a gentle hold on my hair while his big cock twitches and squirts. 

We come down together, breathing deeply. He rolls his chair back and crawls down to me, opening his arms.

I curl up inside them, shivering from overexertion.

"Oh sweetie! Was that too much?" He sounds worried.

I shake my head and burrow in closer. 

"Felt good, Dada." He grabs my blankie from bed that was discarded along with my sippy cup for humpies and wraps it around me.

"Good. You were such a good puppy for me this morning! Good job making peepee and humpies, little one!" He continues, not seeking a response, "is my good puppy ready for a nice bath?"

I coo and nod and mumble something under my breath.

"What was that, sweetie?"

I swallow. "I said . . . .am ready for bath, but after that-?" I wiggle shyly. "After that, mebbe a diapee? An paci? So my puppy pen stays dry." 

Daddy tries to react normally, but his pupils dilate and his breath speeds up. This is the first time I've brought up padding on my own, he's been incredibly patient and supportive with my progress in little headspace so far. And today I'm too tired and foggy to be embarrassed.

He blinks rapidly, trying to act normally. Even though he just came, I can feel him swelling against my hip before he says,

"Of course, little one. After your bath, we'll get you in a dry, puffy diapee so you won't have to worry about anything at all today."

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John The Baptiser | Home | Romantic

Requested: Yes

Domestic life with John is far from conventional, but you’re making the best out of it.

Drenched in sweat, you sit up in bed as a particularly painful strain on your bladder makes you utterly uncomfortable. Hissing through gritted teeth, you put a hand on your tummy, that has started to become extraordinarily large in the past few weeks, now that your final trimester has rolled around. 

Huffing a breath, you cradle your pregnant stomach as you manage to get yourself out of bed towards the outhouse to relieve yourself, accompanied by the scrawny dog that keeps guard at your door in exchange for scraps. You’ve received a few odd stares from the townsfolk for keeping the skinny hound around, but you’re used to worse judgement from them, like when you decided to marry the ‘madman’ of the village – their words, not yours.

You love John to bits, and you know that these feelings are reciprocated, but it is difficult not having him around. Especially in your current state. The Baptiser has been gone for months and has written only twice. He isn’t even aware that you’re expecting your first child soon, which is something you wished he’d have been around for more often.

You know what you were signing up for when marrying him, though. You had known it the moment you met Jesus. 

The Kingdom is worth your temporary loneliness. What is nine months of pregnancy compared to the work for eternity that John is performing for the Most High? It is nothing but expected that the cousin of the very Messiah, who was conceived for the sole purpose of preparing a way in the desert for Him, will be on the road for this ministry more often than not. Jesus’ work has not yet started, so John does not yet rest. 

It is not easy, but it cannot compare to what is coming. 

You wipe yourself clean whilst pondering about your life, absentmindedly caressing your tummy. Once you set foot outside the outhouse, you’re surprised to find the stray dog staring into the distance rather than watching you, its ears twitching on full alert. It lowers on its front legs, its rear in the air, ready to pounce, and you gulp nervously, hugging the cloak you had thrown over your shoulders a little tighter around your form, your gaze going to the back door of your house. 

A low growl from the dog makes your heart drop and you rush towards your home on your bare feet to your best ability, not even minding getting them dirty. The dog barks and lunges forward into the night, his teeth showing in the light of the candle you’re holding, and you barge through your own door, only to slam it shut, reaching for the lock with quivering hands. 

The dog barks and your knees weaken out of fear. You put a hand on your chest to try to calm your racing heart, but it leaps only further when the sudden sound of a key in the door echoes through your room. 

You can only be confused for a second. “Easy, back off! I’ve got no food on me!” 

Relief floods over you as well as joy. 

You have never been so glad to hear a certain familiar voice before. 

“John!”

You immediately unlock the door and your husband stands in the frame, surprised to find you here. “(Y/n)!” he quips, “You’re awake? I’m so sorry, my love, I didn’t mean to rouse you–”

“John, I’m so glad to see you!” 

He smiles and you step back to allow him inside, and he crosses the threshold into the slightly dark room. You rush to light up some candles whilst he locks the door again and washes his feet, happy to take off his sandals.

“What a surprise to see you here so suddenly!” you breathe, still not quite comprehending what has been happening in the past minute or so, “I… How were your travels, love? I want to know everything! I can make you some food if you want, or draw you a hot bath, or…” 

When you turn over your shoulder to face him, your husband is staring at you dumbfoundedly, his gaze focused upon your stomach. His mouth falls open in slight shock, making you a tad anxious. You cradle your bump, suddenly realising that he had no idea that you were pregnant.

With a thud, John drops his bag to the floor. The dull sound it makes indicates that the entire thing is empty. 

You open your mouth to speak first. “Darling, I–”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Do you have any idea how happy I am right now? I love you.” He is in front of you within a second and wraps his arms around you firmly, holding you close as he embraces you, warmly yet careful, as if he is afraid to crush you. John hasn’t bathed in weeks, but you don’t mind it at all. You return the sentiment, looping your arms around his body, and you stand like that for a while, enjoying one another’s company.

“For how long have you been pregnant?” John queries, his breath against your neck as he does not break the hug.

“I found out about two months after you left, a little longer than that.” you explain. “When I visited the physician to check why I hadn’t been bleeding in a while, she revealed to me that I was expecting. It also explained my morning sickness.”

John draws away from the hug so that he can look you in the eye, and he gently cups your face into his familiar palms. Resting his forehead against yours, he smiles. “I can barely believe it… This is wonderful. You are wonderful. I can’t wait to…” 

His gleeful demeanour drops suddenly, his eyes glittering with a different emotion this time. Tears shimmer in the corners thereof, his lips tightening themselves into a worried frown. 

In return, your own smile falls as well. “Is anything the matter?”

John’s voice wavers. “The ministry,” he whispers. “I… I wish that I could be with you through all of this. I’ve already missed the first six… Seven months, I…” Guilt laces through his tone and you swallow thickly, your cheeks feeling flushed with the urge to cry. “I don’t want you to feel alone.”

“John, I am never alone.” You point upwards, “Adonai is always with me.”

He smiles, momentarily looking down to take your hands in his, and he brings them up to his lips to kiss them. “I know,” he mutters, “But it is not what I mean. Adonai does not move your hair out of your face when you feel ill, or prepare your meals when you cannot do that yourself, or do the heavy labour around the house. I’m so deeply sorry that I haven’t been here, my love.”

You shake your head, giving him a watery smile. “Oh, John, there is no need to apologise. I know what I was getting myself into when I decided to become your wife, and it is so worth it. I am so proud of you, John. On my behalf, you should never compromise on your ministry. It is what you have been made for. It is your calling, which comes before me, always.”

John sighs, closing his eyes to battle the tears. He pinches the bridge of his nose to fight them and he shudders a breath. “Receiving you from God has been such a gift. Having a child with you only adds onto that, and…” He cradles your tummy, taking it fully in for the first time, and he exhales shakily. “I do not deserve this. But if He is merciful, and if it is part of His plan, I want to stay here with you.”

“Of course, John, this is your home, too. You can stay with me always, no matter what happens.”

“I mean that He allows me to stay here until the baby has been born and you’ve been nursed back to health.”

You open your mouth to reply, but the words get stuck. Instead, you smile at him bittersweetly, taking in every detail of his face. Every crevice, every freckle, wrinkle and blemish, his boyish grin, the playful glint behind his eyes that you had fallen in love with all these years ago. Humming, you step closer to him, so that you can press a gentle kiss upon his cheek. 

“It would be too much to ask of Him.” you sigh. “Time is of the essence. You need to prepare the way.”

“It can wait.”

You frown. “John, your ministry–”

“(Y/n),” he cuts you off, “I am sure that He can miss me for two to three months.”

The feeling of his hands on your stomach is one that you want to lock away in a box to keep and cherish forever. Safety, paired with determination and devotion to you, makes it so that you wish that you could stay in this moment for eternity.

Seeing your doubtful look causes him to smile reassuringly. “Sweetheart,” John says, tucking some hair behind your ear, “The Father will understand.”

Nevertheless, you aren’t convinced and close your eyes, tears burning behind them all of a sudden. “John,” you whisper, ”At least speak to Jesus about this… Please. The last thing I want is to stand in the way of the Father because of…” your voice trails off and you gesture at your tummy, which John lovingly touches.

“I will,” he responds, then grins. “You know,” he pipes up, “I think Jesus would love to know about us expecting as well. Although I’ve got no idea where He is, I want Him to hear it from you rather than from me.”

You bite your lip and smile. “I would like that,” you say, even though you are not certain if you’ll get to meet Him again before the baby is born.  

John sighs wistfully, smiling at you a tad apologetically. “I’m sorry that I haven’t visited home sooner. I know what you’re going to say, my love, that this is the life we chose for ourselves and that you are of the opinion that the ministry will always come before you. But in this case, just this once, I beg to disagree. This life with you, my dear (Y/n), is one of the greatest gifts that Adonai ever bestowed upon me. In spite of this all, we will make it work, alright?”

Inhaling deeply, you smile and nod determinedly. “Yes,” you muse, wrapping your arms around his neck. You stand on your tiptoes to briefly kiss him, and he protectively puts his hands on your stomach as he returns the favour. After a few moments, you pull away, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. 

“It is wonderful to have you back,” you murmur, “But promise me something, John.”

He gives you an expectant look as he awaits your words. 

“If the ministry needs your attention, if He needs your focus, I want you to promise me that you will listen, no questions asked. Even though you’re going to be a father, you must remain focused on the Kingdom. Even if this means leaving me and a newborn baby behind.”

The Baptiser’s eyes fill with unshed tears and he blinks them away just as quickly as they have formed. He deeply sighs and cups your face, searching it for any sign of regret. An apology forms on his lips, one where he says that he is sorry for putting you up with this, that you often have to miss him, that you had to go through most of your pregnancy all on your own, but he knows what you will say. It remains there when you reassuringly gaze up at him.

It is okay. No matter what happens, in the end it will work out.

Both of you hold onto that.

Facing tomorrow is a little less daunting with Adonai at your side. 

“I love you,” he says for the second time that night, and you smile sweetly, pushing some of his wild locks behind his ears.

“I love you too,” you answer, and you kiss him for a little longer before pulling away, giving him a curious look. “But before you go to bed, would you mind quickly washing up? I will make you some food in the meantime.”

John cannot help but grin. “My dear,” he states, “You are already doing way too much for me.”

“And I am doing it gladly,” you counter, and he kisses your forehead before circling you, a lingering hand on your tummy as he passes you by towards the washroom. 

You look after him, sighing exhaustedly yet satisfied, and you support your stomach from the bottom as a gentle kick makes you jolt slightly. “That was your abba,” you whisper softly to your unborn child, “And I am certain that he will be the best abba that you can wish for.”

Relieved, you push away your drowsiness to prepare your husband a quick meal, listening to the sounds of him rummaging around the washroom, and you doubt that you have ever felt happier.

[bytheangell]

A prompt for youuuuu m’lady~

33. “Keep your hands over your ears, do you hear me? Even when the noises stop. Don’t listen.”

For Malec?;)

Have a great day!!

Don't Look Back (Read on AO3)

Alec knows it’s his fault they’re here in the first place. He got cocky, or maybe careless… no, careless isn’t the right word. Reckless, but reckless in the face of trying to save the man he loves. He should’ve trusted that Magnus could handle himself, and should’ve listened when Magnus told him to run.

Now Alec stands within a cage of magical making, one he cannot escape unless the warlock who created it either takes down the walls or dies. Magnus stands on the other side, helpless to break it. Alec left himself an easy target, and now he’s being used as the one bait Magnus can’t walk away from.

“Magnus, please. Just get out of here and save yourself.” There are sounds from down the hallway, voices and footsteps, and flashes of magic that Alec knows won’t be good for either of them. “I’ll be fine.” “You’ll be dead,” Magnus says, his tone a bone-chilling mixture of casual and cruel. “And I can’t have that.”

“Magnus, I-”

“Shhh,” Magnus hushes sharply. “Alexander, I need you to listen to me. Close your eyes, and keep your hands over your ears, do you hear me? Even when the noises stop. Don’t listen.”

“Magnus, what are you going to do?” Alec asks.

“What I need to,” Magnus replies. “Please, Alexander. If you’re ever going to listen to me, listen to me now.”

There’s a desperation behind Magnus’ words that convinces Alec to close his eyes and bring his hands over his ears without any further hesitation. Not listening to Magnus is what brought them here in the first place, and he isn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

The sound that reaches Alec’s ears is nearly deafening, even through his palms pressed against his ears as hard as he can manage. There’s a light so bright he can see it beyond his clenched-shut eyelids, a flash of light red that brightens the blackness. The temptation to look is stronger than anything Alec’s ever felt before, and as the air around him begins to whip and pull at his clothing he almost does it.

Then it’s silent.

Alec takes a deep breath and releases the tension in his body ever-so-slightly, but keeps his hands over his ears and his eyes shut tight.

Even when the noises stop.

Alec wonders how long he should stay like this. The longer the silence draws out the faster the panic begins to rise, turning his stomach into knots and tightening his chest as his breathing quickens. What if Magnus is injured, or dead, and Alec is just standing there with his eyes shut doing nothing…

A gentle hand on Alec’s shoulder makes him jump, eyes snapping open with a split-second determination of whether the hand is a friend or an enemy. When his gaze lands on Magnus’ face mere inches away from his own, his first emotion is relief.

When he sees the way Magnus’ eyes droop with barely enough energy to remain open, his legs shaking until his knees buckle and he drops to the pavement below.

That’s when Alec finally takes in the other bodies on the ground. A quick glance shows nearly a dozen of them, and Alec can’t tell if they’re all warlocks or not. He also can’t tell if they’re unconscious or dead, and at this particular moment, he doesn’t want to know. If he thinks hard enough he’ll piece together that the barrier around him is no longer active, so at least one of them is dead.

Deep down, Alec knows he doesn’t care, not while Magnus is clearly hurting.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he says instead, focusing on escaping while he can.

Alec knows he’ll have to ask later but for now, he does his best to look past his surroundings, pretending he still can’t see or hear anything as he supports Magnus the best he can on their way out, never once looking back.

[sereshawl]

Hello!! 💕

"Do you need any help with that?" for smut prompts, please?

Wishing you a great day! 🌻🩷

~ Claude

I’m not sure how I feel about this one. I hope you like it!!

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 674

Bradley’s perched on a stool, leaning on the counter and contorting his body so that he can watch without being noticed.

He stares, just like he’s been doing for the past hour. Most of their little group has left by now, just Coyote and Hangman playing pool in the back. Bradley is sitting off to the side, alone.

Hangman’s in civvies today. It’s the first time Bradley’s ever seen him in such an easy going state. It’s simple, jeans, plain white t-shirt, boots. It’s about as plain as you can get. But it’s the way the clothes fit.

The jeans look like they were made for him, tight to his skin in all the right places, namely his ass, which Bradley cannot look away from.

His shirt is tight across his chest and arms, showing off all the muscles that Bradley knows lay beneath. And his arms, good fucking god.

And he doesn’t seem to have any clue what he’s doing. He leans over the table, sticking his ass out and his shirt rides up showing just a sliver of skin. Bradley desperately wants to touch.

Then he stands again, tilting his head back in a laugh that draws Bradley’s attention. Coyote rolls his eyes but grins and Bradley realizes that Hangman just beat him, again.

Coyote disappears in the direction of the bar but Bradley barely notices because suddenly Hangman’s eyes are on him. Bradley has a sudden, delirious thought that he should hide.

“Bradshaw, you wanna play one?” Hangman asks, nodding his head for Bradley to come over.

Bradley’s on his feet before he can think twice. Hangman doesn’t say much, and Bradley’s pretty sure he’d choke on his tongue if he tried.

The game passes in a blur of Bradley missing shots before stepping back to watch Hangman lean over the table.

On the last shot Bradley stands a little bit back, watching as Hangman comes to bend over in front of him. It’s completely unnecessary, making the shot about ten times harder than it needed to be.

He makes it, of course he does, not that Bradley cares. He’s too focused on Hangman’s ass rubbing directly over his dick that’s been half hard since they started. Bradley gasps softly, taking three quick steps back and narrowly managing to not knock a table over.

When he looks back up Hangman’s standing right in front of him, looking up at him with a grin. Hangman’s head swivels, looking around the bar before he steps even closer and cups Bradley through his pants.

“Do you need any help with that?” Hangman asks, squeezing lightly and sending sharks of pleasure up Bradley’s spine.

Bradley doesn’t hesitate, grabbing Hangman and pulling him out of the bar. They clamber into Bradley’s back seat, Hangman kneeling over him as their lips come together in a filthy kiss.

Hangman’s hands fumble with Bradley’s belt before pushing his boxers to the side and pulling him out. Bradley chokes on a breath, thrusting up in his hand.

Hangman pulls back, crowding back against the door before grunting in annoyance. Bradley’s just about to ask when Hangman swings a leg over Bradley’s chest and turns around.

Bradley’s jaw drops, his hands immediately coming up to rest on Hangman’s ass that is now right in his face. He squeezes it through his jeans for a second, completely focused, until Hangman swallows him down in one go.

“Holy fuck-“ he kicks the door, throwing his head back. He isn’t going to last, there’s no fucking way.

“God, Jake, your fucking mouth,” Bradley moans, thrusting up before catching himself. Jake moans around him, and Bradley gasps, “I’m gonna come.”

Jake sucks his cheeks in and Bradley’s gone, his nails digging into Jake’s ass.

Jake turns as Bradley attempts to calm his breathing, settling on Bradley’s thighs, “so were you planning on just staring at me from the corner all night?”

Bradley stares at the ceiling, “I didn’t think you noticed.”

Jake laughs, “you were about as subtle as a bull in a china closet.”

[a-land-lacking-sleep]

Submas/BW Fic: Railroad Lilies Ch. 2: Battle from the Heart

The second and final chapter of Railroad Lilies is live! Thank you for checking out my little side story while I work on Electric Trains in proper. I originally said I’d be back with a chapter next Tuesday, but due to some real life events popping up, I’m going to postpone is one more week to March 7th!

Chapter Summary: Emmet needs more trainers and Depot Agents, and Hilda needs to learn how to hire. Meanwhile, Rosa tries not to crush when she is caught off guard. Chapter Word Count: 4596

I might also eventually make a third chapter to this, if it strikes my fancy. Basically a night out on town with the focus being Hilda/Rosa and Hilbert/N. Don’t quote me on this.

Anyway, you can read the chapter below, or over on AO3 with additional comments! Reblogs and comments appreciated as always!

Rosa cannot stop fidgeting with her grumpigtails as she waits in the waiting lobby at Gear Station. She has been waiting for 30 minutes now, and now her leg is beginning to bounce as she listens to the interview happening through the door. 

She can’t hear what is being said, just the low voice of Emmet barely permeating through the door and the interviewee doing his best to sound proper. She had listened to the guy while waiting, and he had been bragging about making it to Emmet and being the perfect choice because of it. Nevermind the fact he lost where Rosa had won several times against both twins.

Finally, the voices stop and the guy walks out of the room, flashing Rosa a grin. “They said you’re next! Though I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” he says slyly, glancing back at the room. “Emmet couldn’t hide his smile, I’m sure that he can’t wait to hire me on!” Rosa just watches him walk away in disbelief at his idiocy, before shaking her head and walking into the office. 

“Ah, yes, Sturdy Rosa,” Emmet says as she closes the door, drawing her attention. Rosa can’t help but smiling a little at the nickname, earned from Ingo when she first managed to defeat him on the Singles line despite nearly having her team wiped. “I am Emmet. Go ahead and sit while I finish the last applicant’s paperwork.” He picks up said paper, and drops it into the trash can by his desk.

“Emmet!” A voice calls out from behind Rosa, causing her to jump slightly and turn to see Hilda in the opposite desk. “We still have to call him for a follow up, even if it’s to reject him.” Emmet groans and tries to argue otherwise, while Rosa still just stares at, no, looks at, respectively, Hilda in shock. She wasn’t in Depot Agent green today, but wearing a crisp white dress shirt with a blue tie, her ponytail still wild behind her head. She looks a little tired, but her stare at Emmet was still intense.

Obviously, she’s been staring too long because Hilda clears her throat. “Sorry!” Rosa basically shouts as she goes to her chair and sits down. 

“No need, Rosa,” Hilda says with a shake of her head, causing her ponytail to sway behind her. “You’re not the first person to be surprised by a second Subway Boss today.” Rosa sees her lips quirk slightly, trying to stay in the slight frown she must be trying to hold to mirror Emmet. Rosa has to hold her own smile back, ecstatic that her friend was now a Subway Boss!

“That is right, yup,” Emmet says, nodding his head. “The last applicant blew her off, though. That was rude.”

Rosa huffs, crossing her arms and glaring at the closed door. “Yeah, he was egotistical. Said that because he fought you once, that he was set to be the next Subway Boss.” She had no qualms airing out his dirty laundry if he had been rude to Hilda, especially since she was now a Subway Boss. 

Emmet’s frown drops, and he looks over at Hilda. “Well. Our new Subway Master has beaten me three times, so that makes her six times better than him. I’m calling to reject him after this interview.”

“Go ahead if you want to, Emmet,” Hilda says with a giggle as she continues to work on her paperwork. 

Emmet nods, and pulls out the paperwork and application for Eosa, reading from it out loud. “Rosa Whitaker, 19. From Aspertia Town, you applied for a battle position on each line.” He marks a check on the margin of the paper before continuing. “A veteran of the Battle Subway, yup, just like many of the recent applicants. Though you’ve consistently won, verrry impressive.”

“The challenge is what kept me battling,” Rosa says with a smile. “After doing the Gym Challenge, there wasn’t a good outlet for battling outside of the occasional PWT match.”

Emmet’s smile brightens and he nods. “Which you didn’t list, such a shame. Good thing I’ve heard from my partner about your battles against her there.” Oh right, Emmet was dating Elesa, so he probably did get to hear about her battles against the Gym Leader. “Additionally, you defeated Shauntal and Grimsley of the Elite Four, and fought against Team Plasma alongside your cousin Nate Rivers and his friend Hugh Palidena.” He hums happily as he continues to read through her application. “So, what do you know of trains?”

Rosa breathes in deeply as she wracks her brain for the bits she does know. “So, uh, Hilda told me a bit since she got hired. I don’t know a lot about maintenance, but I know a good amount about the actual fleet now.” Emmet nods, motioning for her to continue. “Each commuter car has a capacity of 42 sitting and 196 standing or 45 sitting and 202 standing, depending on if it’s a Singles 62 or a Doubles and Multi 160.”

Emmet’s eyes shine as she says that, nodding along enthusiastically. “Yes, almost! It’s 42/198 and 44/202 for capacity. Verrrry good on getting that close, yup!” He glances back at Hilda, and Rosa has to try not to blush when she hears her giggle in amusement. “And while we simply use reinforced versions of those trains in the Battle Lines, in the actual Battle Cars, we limit it to 6 people.”

“2 to 4 battlers, an attendant for points, and an attendant for healing,” Hilda cut in, causing Rosa to freeze momentarily and attempt (and fail) to hide a blush as she continues to face Emmet. “Either attendant is to also ensure the paying Battler has a clean and safe exit. The only time this rule is allowed to be broken is for security risks, such as a rampaging Pokémon, a gang attack, or a violent commuter.”

Emmet stares at Rosa for a moment before continuing. “You are one of three battlers who applied today, and the one I am most excited about. You are a fantastic Doubles battler, yup!” He flips to the second page of the application, apparently done with the first page. “It says you are available to work 8am-9pm, are you looking for double shifts or just twelve hour shifts?”

“I’m good with whatever,” Rosa says quickly, nodding with what she hopes is enthusiasm and not the nervousness she is starting to be overwhelmed by. “I know you do both types of shifts, and I’m not sure which you prefer to have people working.”

Emmet opens his mouth to speak, but Hilda intercepts. “A lot of regular battlers work double shifts, the 12 hour is mostly for the Depot Agents.” Rosa nods, unable to turn to face her, and Emmet just falls into a cheeky grin. “Agents get paid more, and I think you’d enjoy it better than being a straight Battler. More days off, too.”

“You’re very talkative, Hilda,” Emmet says with a playful huff.

“You’re not explaining things well,” Hilda says, her tone making it sound like she’s shrugging. 

“I want her for the Doubles line.”

Rosa opens her mouth to argue that, when Hilda argues instead. “And if I wanted her for Singles? That’s her preferred Format, and I know her well enough to make sure she fits in right.”

“And you got the Battler this morning,” Emmet says, his eyes narrowing at the other Subway Boss. “The only other one we got was disrespectful. I want a Battler.”

The two continued to stare at each other, past a progressively redder Rosa. She felt like she was going to explode, with Hilda wanting her for her Line. Hilda wanted her! That would be fantastic, being able to work with Hilda all the time, being able to actually spend time with-

“Ok, you win,” Hilda says with a huff as she puts her pen down. “You get Rosa for the Double Line.” Oh. 

“Verrrry good!” Emmet says with a grin, his eyes narrowing in glee. “Then how about a Battle Test? Rosa is our last applicant, and the one from earlier said he wouldn’t be available until later.”

A battle test? Was Rosa going to fight Emmet and see how he thought of her strategy? “Am I facing you, Boss?”

“Oh, no,” Emmet says, shaking his head. “You’ll be fighting Hilda. I’ll judge your skills that way.”

Oh. Oh no. 

“I gotta go find Cincinno, then. She snuck off awhile ago,” Hilda says as she stands, grabs her coat and hat, and heads out of the office, Rosa managing to still look away from her. “I’ll meet you in the practice room.” With that, she swings the coat around her and disappears into the hallway. 

It was quiet for a few moments before Emmet spoke up. “Ask her out if you win.”

It took all of Rosa’s willpower not to scream into her hands at max volume, instead squeaking loudly at Emmet with fear on her face. “No! I can’t do that! She’ll say no! I’m not cool enough for her to date! That isn’t gonna hap-“

“Useless lesbian.” Emmet’s smile doesn’t drop and the mirth doesn’t leave his eyes as he calls Rosa out. “You’re acting like Elesa did with Skyla, yup. Verrrry sure it was impossible, very scared. Now they’re married.”

Rosa flounders mentally for a moment, wildly flailing her arms like she’s talking before just spouting, “But they were both Gym Leaders! Hilda is a Subway Boss, she’s basically a Champion!”

“And you defeated two of the Elite Four,” Emmet says with a nod, as though this was sage advice. “I am your boss. If you win, ask her out.”

“You’re not my boss yet, you don’t pay me!” Rosa thought she had a winning argument before Emmet immediately reached across the desk with 20 Pokedollars. “… Ok, fine.” She sheepishly takes the money and deflates in her chair. “Was it that obvious?”

Emmet hums as he taps his finger against his arm. “Probably? I only caught it because Elesa was the same. I think Hilda missed it, you hid it well.” He yups softly as he stands up and puts his coat and hat on. Rosa was very sure she hadn’t hid it well, but Hilda also didn’t bring it up. “Be confident. I think you can win. It’s why I wanted you on my Line.”

The pair walk through the hallways for a few moments silently before Rosa speaks up. “Isn’t fraternization against the rules?”

“Technically yes,” Emmet says as they approach the practice room, where Cameron was finishing up some training and heading into the locker rooms. “But she is not your direct supervisor, since you are under my Line and the Multi Line is considered to be under the Authority rather than either Subway Boss.” The current Head of the Authority gives her a wink before continuing. “And since she’s not in your line of command, I think you’re fiiiiiine.”

Rosa nods silently as Emmet goes to the side of the room, sitting in one of the chairs that people can spectate from. She looks down at the Pokémon on her belt, trying to decide who to use. Kinaia, her starting Serperior, was definitely in the team, partially because she knows Hilda has a Samurott of her own. She doubts that she’ll use her Cincinno, so she can give her Meinshao, Sappho, a break. 

Up next was Presley and Nobunaga, her Unfeazent and Kingambit. She had gone through a lot of effort to evolve Nobunaga, taking a trip to Paldea and everything, so she wants him to have a good debut. For now, Presley will have to sit in the side lines and sing his pain away. 

And finally, Don Quixote the Stoutland and El Cid the Mudsdale. While El Cid would do well to help stall out and whittle down the opponents, Don Quixote is still equipped with Retaliation, so if he is sent in second, he can deal a good blow immediately. Double checking the items, Rosa confirms that El Cid still has her Leftovers and Don Quixote has his Choice Scarf. After waffling between the two, she puts the Don on her left hip with Preston and Sappho. Her team would be Kinaia, El Cid, and then Nobunaga in the rear.

Now just to wait for Hilda. Should she throw the fight? It’s not like she has a chance of actually getting a yes from Hilda, so why bother trying? But Emmet is also judging how she fights with this, so if she throws it, she’ll lose the job that she came in to get. She can feel her face heating up, and quickly looks over to Emmet, barking out, “Am I blushing?!”

Emmet smiles wider and nods. “Like a Tamato Berry.” Rosa puts her hands over her face and quickly smacks her cheeks several times to clear her head.

“I see someone’s psyching herself up,” Hilda says as she passes by Rosa to the other side of the field. Turning to face Rosa, she grips her hat and smiles. “You got your team together?” Rosa simply nods, afraid her voice would betray her in the moment.

“Perfect,” Hilda says as she pulls the brim of her hat down. “My name is Hilda. I may be new at being a Subway Boss, but I’ve ridden these trains for years, and battle is my blood.” Emmet perks up and leans forward, being sure to listen close to her opening monologue. Rosa couldn’t help but smile and do her best to not bite her lower lip in anticipation. “Can you bring our battle to a boil, or will you be burned by your own passion?” I wish I could burn you with my passion quickly crosses Rosa’s mind before she stamps it down.

Hilda reaches across her body with her left hand and grabs a Pokeball, lifting her hat to look directly at her opponent. “Hope you’re ready to be rocked, Rosa!” She whips her arm up, sending her Pokeball out to release her Samurott, the large blue armored otter landing with a thud on the floor. Hilda assumes the trademark Subway Boss pose, her left arm to her side pointing down while her right arm is pointing at Rosa. “ALL ABOARD!”

Rosa sends out her Serperior, the light shimmering off of the blue scales on its back. “Kinaia, Coil!” Kinaia tightens herself into a stacked circle, and tenses herself to lunge at her opponent with the next command.

“Samurott, use Avalanche!” Samurott tightens its shoulders before roaring out, causing ice to form above it and fall outwards onto Serperior, burying it deep. Rosa cringes slightly, though as the snow and ice melts away, unsustained after the attack fades, Kinaia is still holding strong, listening for Rosa’s next call.

“Leaf Blade!” Kinaia leaps forward from her coiled position, launching herself past the Samurott, her tail glowing and slicing into her opponent’s side. The Samurott turns around and roars in pain, and opens its mouth in anticipation of its Trainer’s command.

“Hold that thought, use X-Scissor while they’re close!” It is a good call, and one Samurott is happy to comply with as it slides a blade off of its arm into its paw and slashes across Kinaia’s body twice, leaving gashes on her front. The Samurott then sheathes the blade and attempts to jump back to make distance.

“Keep close and Giga Drain, they’re almost down!” Kinaia opens her mouth and sucks in Samurott’s essence, the gash on her front healing over. The Samurott tries to stay on its legs before finally collapsing to the ground with a groan.

“Come on back, Samurott!” Hilda slots the ball back in place and with her other hand, grabs a second ball and whips it onto the field. “Autotomize, then hit it with a Signal Beam!” As the Klinklang appears on the field, its gears click together and spin, sparks flying from them as the Pokemon makes itself more compact, and then whips around to face Kinaia, who was trying to slither away. With a loud whining sound, energy gathers in front of its center face and shoots out, slamming into the Serperior’s retreating form.

Kinaia cries out and slumps to the ground, and Rosa bites her lip as she calls her starter back. “Thanks for the help, Kinaia!” She breathes in deep and lets it out in a huff as she throws out her second Pokemon. “El Cid, you’re up!” As the Mudsdale lands with a loud bang onto the battlefield, Rosa goes over her options. Klinklang just doubled its Speed, and reduced its weight pretty steeply, and while Speed doesn’t matter for El Cid, the only way that she could’ve taken advantage of the weight change is a move that’s resisted.

They are both now down a Pokemon, and both of them are relatively fresh. Rosa and Hilda stare each other down for a moment, same as their Pokemon, and after a few moments they call their attacks together.

“Klinklang, Gear Grind!” “El Cid, Earthquake!” If either girl were to be paying attention to their spectator, Emmet’s face pales heavily as Rosa calls her command.

Klinklang predictably moves first, separating and slamming into El Cid’s sides, grinding together as though they were interlocked. El Cid throws his head back and snorts loudly, flexing his haunches as Stamina activates, knocking his opponent loose. As the gears come down for their second strike, they find the skin on the Mudsdale has hardened from the first hit, and then harden further with the second.

Meanwhile, as the gears attempt to dig into his body, El Cid lifts his front legs from the ground, and comes down heavily to unleash Earthquake. The initial movement knocks his opponent loose onto the ground, and the earth beneath the two shatters upwards into the gear, cracking the outer layer of the Pokemon’s metal body.

“Klinklang, make some distance and Magnet Rise!” The Gear Pokemon quickly comes together and floats back towards its trainer, warbling slightly as it rises higher into the air.

“El Cid, Body Press!” At a speed surprising for such a large creature, the Mudsdale rumbles down the battlefield and leaps into the air, slamming its side into the rising Klinklang. The two fall out of the air, the entire weight of El Cid falling into the Klinklang and pinning it to the ground, the damage heightened by the tougher skin from Stamina. As Mudsdale climbs back to his feet and ambles back towards Rosa, Hilda recalls her Klinklang. 

“Using an ability to passively raise its Defense and then following with an attack that uses Defense. Clever, verrrry clever,” Emmet says from the sidelines, clapping to himself. “We don’t see many Mudsdale. I’ll have to consult with you later on strategies.”

Rosa smiles, balling her fists and dancing in glee at the praise before turning to face Hilda again. “Ok, ready!” Hilda smiles and raises her last Pokeball, nodding.

“So am I. Go, Goodra!” With a flash, the large, slimy Dragon takes to the field, shaking itself as it looks around. “Goodra, stop that Mudsdale in its tracks with Ice Beam!” With a cry, it forms the cold energy in its mouth, and fires it forth at El Cid, the beam slamming into his chest. El Cid lets out a loud whinny, and stumbles backwards before falling to the ground.

“Good job El Cid, I have you!” Rosa recalls him, and places his Pokeball on her belt. She grabs Nobunaga’s ball, and feels it shake in her grip. It continues to shake as she places it against her chin, and whispers to the ball. “Clinch this for them.” The ball stops shaking instantly, and she throws it forward.

Hilda and Emmet both lean forward a little as the Kingambit arrives on the field, standing tall and staring down Goodra with a look of disdain. Without making a noise, the Supreme Overlord brings its gauntlets up and drags them across his bladed moustache to sharpen them, and double his Attack.

Rather than make the first move, Nobunaga falls back into a sitting position on his hair and beckons to the Goodra. “Goodra, Fire Punch!” The call comes, and the Dragon comes in close and slams its fist, covered in flame, into the chest cavity of the Kingambit, causing it to bark out in pain.

“Return the favor with Iron Head!” As Goodra begins to pull back from its target, Nobunaga springs up from his seat, slamming the front of his helmet into his opponent’s chin. Rosa smirks as she sees her opponent’s Pokemon reeling from the hit, and swings her arm forward. “Now, hit it with a Kowtow Cleave!”

Nobunaga’s eyes widen slightly, and it moves forward into a kneeling position, before bowing down in front of Goodra. As it does so, the massive blade atop his head comes down on the Dragon, slicing a line down its front. From this angle, Rosa can tell they scored a critical hit, the blade digging deep into the opponent, who stumbles back.

“Goodra, can you keep going?” Hilda calls from her end, and to her Pokemon’s credit, it does try to turn around before fainting in front of Nobuanaga, who is coming to a stand. Hilda breathes in deeply as she recalls Goodra, then releases her breath with a smile. 

“Congratulations, Rosa! You not only made it to fight a Subway Boss, but you took her down.” It takes a moment for Rosa to realize that Hilda was reading from a mental script, saying what she would to every successful challenger on the Singles Line. “Not many can claim that feat. Through Abilities, Items, and Typing, you found an amazing strategy, one that eclipsed my own. I just hope I can be a stepping stone as you climb to greater heights!”

“Oh, I definitely wouldn’t mind some climbing,” Rosa says very quietly before she could stop herself as she recalls Nobunaga.  Clearing her throat, she says louder, “You did wonderfully too, Hilda!” 

“I am Emmet, and I know a serious battle when I see one.” Emmet was walking towards the center of the now empty arena, and Rosa made sure to start walking to the center as well. “Mudsdale, the Draft Horse Pokemon. Verrrry slow, but high defense. Body Press was a very good call there.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen that or your final Pokemon before,” Hilda says with a smile as she approaches the center of the arena. “I’ve heard of Mudsdale, at least. Alolan, right? And whatever that last Pokemon was, it looked like a Bisharp!”

Rosa opens her mouth to tell Hilda what it was when, once again, Emmet cuts in. “Kingambit, the Big Blade Pokemon, and an evolution of Bisharp primarily seen in Paldea, yup,” Emmet says with closed eyes and a nod. “They use broken crests of old Pladean generals as signs of leadership. The more Bisharp clans they defeat, the stronger they grow, and then they evolve!”

“They also care about those under their command,” Rosa cuts in. “They can have a unique ability, where the more Pokemon on their team that faint before they’re sent out, they boost their Attack.” Emmet’s eyes widen in delight at that information, and Hilda looks like she wants to groan at the knowledge. “And Mudsdale have the Stamina ability, which raises their defense with each hit.”

“Rosa, sweetie,” Hilda says with a faux admonishing tone, one she often adopts with the younger trainer whenever they would meet up. “You need to stop running off to other regions alone. You’re gonna be scary. Next time, take me with you so I can nab some new Pokemon.”

Rosa had frozen up slightly with that, and Emmet just crinkles his eyes into a sly smile instead of the delighted one he had before. “So, Rosa, you won. You had something to do, yup.” With Hilda so close, Rosa can’t hide the nervous fear that she sends at Emmet, and the younger Subway Boss turns to give him a suspicious glare. “This is the perfect time. You heard what she said.”

Hilda holds her glare on Emmet, then shifts her attention to Rosa’s nervous face, then wheels around to fully face her fellow Subway Boss. “Ok, Emmet, you’re up to something. Spill it,” she says, poking her finger at his chest, “before you break my friend and I break your commemorative Magnet Train model.”

Emmet gasps loudly, his smile disappearing into a perfect circle of shock. “That is uncalled for! The Magnet Train is a limited release from 2009, which we got when visiting my grandparents! All I did was offer her relationship advice!” He steps back and clears his throat, then nods several times. “Yup, yup! I simply told her to stop dragging her feet if she won!” The smile returns to his face as he looks at Rosa and hums loudly to himself.

Hilda’s eyebrows come together in confusion as she slowly looks over at Rosa, whose face is now a bright red. Hilda waves her hand in front of her face to no response, and opens her mouth to say something when Rosa manages to squeak some words out. “Hilda! Doyouwannagoonadate?!” There was a lot of energy in the words, and though they were nigh unintelligible, the meaning came across.

Hilda stands there for a second before letting out nervous laughter, putting a hand up so she can properly catch her breath. “Wait, wait.” She swallows and takes a deep breath so she can refocus on Rosa. “You have a crush on me, and decided to ask me after I become your boss? Which, holy fuck Rosa, is a huuuuge,” Hilda raises her hands and shakes them in a jazz hands motion, “ethics issue? Fraternization, you know?”

“Not her boss,” Emmet says with a sly smile. “She’s a Doubles employee, and Multi Line is under the Authority to keep it open to both Lines workers.” His smile rises, almost forcing his eyes closed. “And as the Head of the Authority, I think this would be a fine exception to make. I trust you both.”

“Bad call, Train Man,” Hilda says as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “I’ve known Rosa for years, and knowing her, she’ll derail half of the lines if you let her loose.” She puts her hand up to cut off Emmet’s response, ignoring his indignant huff as she looks up at Rosa. “Sure! I’d love to go on a date. You’re probably the best girl to ask me out in a few years, so…” She kinda shrugs and grimaces slightly.

Rosa and Emmet both grimace and nod. It wasn’t exactly secret that Hilda had either a type or just bad luck with women, as Rosa has seen the several high maintenance girlfriends Hilda has had the last few years, and Emmet remembers having to scold one for trying to sneak through active battle cars to see the at-the-time Agent. “I am Emmet. Even I know that is a low bar to clear.”

Both of the young women laugh at that as Emmet coughs into his fist. “Though, we have something else to do right now.” He thrusts his left hand out to Rosa, smiling so widely that his eyes are basically closed. “That was a well fought battle. I would love to see you battling again and again!”

With the rush of victory, both in the battle and in Hilda’s choice, Rosa quickly grabs the outstretched hand as Emmet finishes his thought.

“Welcome Aboard.”

[not-my-final-account]

My O.C is Wings! She is also kind of like a persona for myself. I made her when I was 7 (so that’s when I consider she got her powers(she was just a regular girl before)) and have been building on her ever since so while I’ve tried to balance out her powers she is basically a god

My O.C’s bad is usually a rock ledge or some where out of the way and vaguely comfortable (or that’s what she tells herself) while on a mission, she has a really comfortable fluffy bed at home (she still lives with her parents) and night-dreams about some nights when she can’t sleep

My O.C has a triangle shape, she’s sharp (not like a square which is blunt) but kind (not like an pentagon which is mean/posh, or an octagon which is wise), in her childhood she was a kind innocent cloud with no defined shape.

My O.C’s favourite thing to do on a rainy day is to fly in and above the clouds that are raining

If my O.C was gifted a shiny rock, depending on who it was: she would be suspicious of it, sharpen it and make it into a special knife, or if she really loved them she would add it to a new necklace or tie it into her greenstone one

My O.C would barely manage to beat any gyms (still can’t beat Minecraft but knows all the glitches and techniques) but would try to collect ever evolution and type(or species, sorry I don’t play Pokémon) of Pokémon in the game.

My O.C would try all the classes, play a diffrent one each game and settling on her favourite, but she only really knows Ratatattat (it’s a card game that has loads of different names I think, we’re(again she’s kind of like a persona) quite good at it)

My O.C technically lives in the modern day, but can move through realities and time and is often gone on a mission. When home her favourite game is constantly changing, but when she’s playing with a friends it’s Minecraft

My O.C cannot stand her brother, she secretly loves him(not in a weird way) but is constantly arguing even though they actually agree on most (big) things

My O.C can understand all languages, a side effect of travelling through so many ‘places’ and her powers I suppose

My O.C is -1, she can (literally) burn air (I’m not even kidding, her wings can catch on fire (like she can pick up fire with her hands and breathe fire) which is cool and dramatic but annoying when working with gas ovens), she inherits this from me -the girl who made a bright purple chocolate cake

My O.C chooses weapons, spiralling out of the time limit and leaving the judges scared or fascinated over her explanation on rankings in war (to be honest I’d chose Star War, not a comparison, just wanted to add it here)

My O.C has all the powers in the world. Original, I know, I’ve tried to balance it out with an actually small (for once) dose of trauma, and lacking the training to control all of them. And no, she (again) technically lives in this universe, but they might be normal in some places she travels too.

My O.C can sing (but not in front of a crowd, or anyone for that matter), and she likes to draw although she considers that a hobby, mind you everyone (as in an ally, person she’s working for(she always chooses the good side), or friend) who manages too get a glimpse of her sketch book says she should be famous, she just takes the compliment and tries to steer the conversation away from her

Yes. Full stop, she might not have been born in the wilderness, but she has the rough training and skills to walk out of it (with mild hypothermia, which force knows how she managed to get)

My O.C LOVES the ocean, she enjoys swimming almost as much as she dose flying and is often called a fish, she tries to respect the sea and sometimes mutters Māori prayers when going on a boat to pay tribute to her heritage. She has remarkable sea legs for someone with their head in the clouds.

No. She tries, she really dose, but she can’t seem to get it right, often having to remind herself to even breathe, she has mild insomnia which is made worse by her mind(she sometimes goes to a dark place and it can be hard to drag herself out of it), she only really gets thirsty after activities and for all her health flaws she rarely ever has a problem with dehydration and when she dose it’s more because she’s stuck in the middle of a desert than its actually her fault. But eating on the other hand… she was always a picky eater, and while she will eat what she is served she rarely ever finishes it and often has (sometimes bad, other times barely noticeable) stomach aces from lack of food (on the topic of food, she has a sweet tooth but can’t stomach much sugar and breakfast is her favourite meal, but sometimes she has to skip it)

My O.C’s first choice is her Dad, he is someone who she knows will lead the way and someone who will protect her rather than her having to protect them, like she would a friend, she has a favourite cousin/best friend too, they grew up scheming pranks together and are inseparable when given the opportunity to be together, he makes her feel strong and brave.

Her family dying is her worse nightmare, but usually her nightmares are about bad feelings and instincts

My O.C acts at the first sign of harm to her family, she values them over herself and will not hesitate to hand herself over if she believed it would help them.

I don’t know what item she would bring, I suppose she would bring something spiral but I’m not sure

It would be her greatest failure, I don’t know what it is yet- but many people died and she can’t forgive herself, she often gets trapped in her own mind mourning it.

Same as above ^^^ I think it would depend, on one hand she tells herself not to mess with history, to change time, make the same mistake the people in the movies do, on the other hand she desperately wants to undo her actions to save those innocents (or, as anyone but her would say, herself in a way)

My O.C is convinced she is going to die doing something stupid, she’s probably right, to be honest the other options are: dramatic last stand, it’s 50/50 (no one tell her but there’s a third option that she becomes a god of sorts)

Depending on the situation, either saving as many people as she could, or with her family.

Yet Another OC Ask Game

After hoarding them for months, I decided to make my own. Let’s go from fluffy to angsty, shall we >:)

🛏️ What does your OC’s bed look like? What would they like their bed to look like?

🐁 Capybaras are friend-shaped. What shape does your OC have?

🌧️ What is the favorite thing for you OC to do on a rainy day?

🪨 Someone gifts your OC a shiny rock. What do they do with it?

🐹 Which would be your OCs favorite Pokemon? What kind of trainer would they be?

🎲 If your OC played a pen and paper RPG, what class would they pick? Warrior, mage, thief, ranger, cleric, paladin, druid, necromancer, bard (or other, if that’s not enough).

🎮 If your OC lives or would live in the modern world, would they like video games? What would be their favorite game?

👎 Is there someone your OC can’t stand, despite them being on the same side or sharing basic values?

🌈 Does your OC speak more than one language? If so, how many and which?

🥪 On a scale from ‘burns water’ to ‘5 course menu’ how well can your OC cook?

📚 Your OC has to improvise a 10 minute lecture about a topic of their choosing. What do they chose?

🪄 Does your OC have any special powers? If so, are they normal in this OC’s universe?

🎨 Does your OC have any craft skill, as a hobby or profession? If so which?

🌳 Would your OC survive for a week on their own in the wilderness?

🌊 Has your OC ever seen the ocean? If not, do they want to? What do they think of it?

🥞 Does your OC take proper care of themselves, like getting enough sleep and eating properly?

🤝 Does your OC have someone they want at their side when they are scared? Who?

🌌 If your OC has a nightmare, what’s it most likely about?

🪤 What is one thing that could be used to lure your OC into a trap?

🎒 If your OC had to pick three things of all their belongings to keep, which would they chose?

🕐 Was there ever a time your OC would have given everything to turn back the clock 5 minutes? What happened?

🎭 What is the one thing your OC regrets most? Would they undo it, considering how their life turned out?

🔪 What does your OC think how they’ll die? 

📅 If your OC had one day left to live, how would they spend it?

[manicpixiedreamcurl]

Headcanon: Eddie cannot get over how he can make you come over and over just by rubbing.

Warnings: 18+ only, an inordinate amount of clit rubbing, overstimulation, mentions of a safe word but it isn’t used, we get right into it under the cut. 

Word Count: ~1,580

"I love playing with your clit,"

You watch his hand between your legs in the mirror, mouth open and drooling. 

The image of you, slumped against Eddie’s chest, is framed by posters and memorabilia in the space where his guitar would normally be. It's resting by your side on the bed where he'd left it before pulling you between his legs and flipping your skirt up. Your pretty cotton panties that he'd barely managed to drag down before getting at your pussy are still wrapped, wet and crumpled, around your right calf.

"Before you," Eddie continues, his fingers still rubbing relentless circles on your clit. The calluses built by guitar strings catch perfectly on the sensitive button, smoothed by the slick pouring from your cunt. "I thought it was this extra thing you could do to get a girl off while fucking her. Like when you get your tongue on my balls." Your thighs start to shake. Your grip on Eddie's forearm tightens but it’s like he doesn't even feel it, movements relentless. "But it's like, you don't even really need my cock."

"I need your cock," you protest in a quiet little whine. Eddie grins at you in the mirror. He grips your chin, tilts your head so he can lean down and give you a sweet kiss on your warm cheek. All the while, your body is writhing desperately against his chest and his hand. 

"I mean, fuck,” he laughs breathlessly in you ear, shaking his head, eyes wide with amusement. “I just give this tiny thing a little rub," he changes his movements, back and forth at an angle, sending your hips flying as you cry out again, getting dangerously close to another moment of blinding pleasure. "And your whole body- it’s mine. Like you'd let me do anything to you if I just promised to touch you here."

"I would let you do anything to me, Eddie," you promise, voice getting higher.

"Not really my point, sweetheart," he says, smiling a little sardonically. "But that’s okay. This head was empty the second I made you cum the first time."

You groan, the little bit of degradation pushing you over, the sharp raw feeling of your clit sending pleasure through your cunt and the rest of your body. You smack the mattress at your side, nails digging into his arm but he doesn't fucking stop, just goes back to circling your swollen clit.

"Just like that," he breathes, grinding his hard cock into your back. "Fucking look at you."

You look like you're in pain. Your clit is raw with overstimulation, your legs tired from kicking and shaking. There's tears building in your eyes, blurring the image of the two of you on his bed. You can still make out his smile. 

"It hurts," 

"Thought you said you'd let me do anything to you."

You whine. "I can't come anymore, Eddie."

He hums a little in your ear, eyes dark on yours in the mirror. He does that grin of his, really a cheeky purse of his lips, and tilts his head a little. "Well, you say that but, I mean-"

Eddie's left hand is down by his right now, spreading the sodden lips of your cunt open with his ringed fingers in a V. His right hand gives your clit a good slap, the sound of your wetness overtaking the sound of spanked skin. You wail, legs kicking. Eddie brings his own legs, still covered with his jeans, over yours, forcing them open with his calves tucked inside yours.

He gives you more quick rubs, your body tensing when he draws back, ready for the crack of pleasure-pain. He rains down quick little smacks. Your hips grind against his cock as your body tries desperately to get you away from the pain and towards the pleasure at the same time. 

You cry his name, and come again with tears running down your cheeks, feeling the hot gush of wetness from your cunt, covering your thighs and Eddie's hand, leaking down to his well used sheets. They’ll smell of you, just as much as they do him, now. 

Eddie settles his broad hand firmly on your pussy, not moving, just giving you the soothing warmth of him against your sore cunt. 

"No more," you plead, turning your face to his chest, seeking comfort from the very person who'd made you feel so sore and filthy. 

Eddie presses a firm kiss to the top of your hair, barely pressing the heel of his palm against the top of your cunt, but you’re so sensitive that the tears start building again. You sniffle against his chest and Eddie shushes you gently.

“I want one more from your little clit,” he tells you earnestly. “Just one more, sweetheart, I promise.”

Your quiet sob has him cooing, blowing softly to spread cool air over your heated, sweaty face. He lets you rub your cheek against the soft, worn cotton of his t-shirt, burying your nose against his chest to smell smoke and boy. “Cross your heart?” You mumble, tears still tracking. You look up at his big, doe eyes. Behind the mischief, they’re all love and sweet attention, making your heart flutter.

The hand that isn’t pressed to your twitching cunt draws a cross over his chest. 

“Wan’ a kiss,” you say, feeling a little desperate for him, wanting some softness before you let him ruin you completely. 

The kiss he gives you is warm and wet, tastes of Eddie-Eddie-Eddie. You mewl happily, settling yourself back into his broad chest. Eddie hums a laugh at the feeling of you relaxing in his arms. “S’fucking sweet,” he mumbles against your lips, pulling away. His cock twitches at the sight of the spit that connects your lips with his, and he cleans some of the drool from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. 

You make to lean your head back on his shoulder, but Eddie’s shuffling both of you forward toward the edge of his bed. When your feet touch the floor, your body collapses, legs unprepared and shaky. Eddie hauls you up before you can hit the ground, one arm wrapped over your chest, the other your waist as he shuffles you towards that space in the mirror for the two of you. 

He’s laughing at the unsteady steps he’s forcing you to take, cooing his faux apology with an exaggerated pout. “Eddie,” you say, worried by his intentions. “Need it gentle.”

He scoffs, presses his foot to your calf to get your legs wide for him, runs his arm up your torso to hold your skirt to your stomach. He’s patronising you when he says, “I know what you need.”

Eddie presses two rough fingers to your sore button, and rubs in long horizontal stripes that you can hear from your soaked cunt like stepping in a puddle. 

His name comes in a long, pained sound. The edges of your swollen clit raw and protesting while he flicks it back and forth. You watch it all happen in the mirror, his left hand, ringed and broad, clasping the heaviness of one of your tits, the other moving in a pale blur between your legs. 

Eddie’s gaze, wild and excited, is intent on that place. You can feel his cock twitching through his pants against your back, the subtle movements of his hips secondary for him, compared to making you feel this. 

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts. 

You could get him to stop, if you wanted. Just cry red and Eddie would have you hauled up in his arms, lying back on his bed, receiving all the sweet kisses and praises your tender heart could want. 

But you’d lose what he’s building you towards, what he wants so much to give you. 

So you just beat your hand against his hip, your body thrashing and pushing to try and end this painful incline. 

“Come on,” Eddie breathes, his soft hair tickling your shoulder. And that’s enough.

It’s numb. Your clit is numb, and then it’s burning and something snaps and it feels like it’ll never stop. The blinding, sickening pleasure concentrated in that one tiny spot that now rules your whole body. Your hole clenches wildly, the emptiness nothing compared to the euphoria of what’s happening at the top of your pussy.

Even as Eddie’s fingers slow to a stop, cupping the hot flesh, it keeps coming, peaks and troughs of tingling pleasure in your clit as if he’s still playing with it. 

“Look at you,” he laughs.

You’re legless, leaning your whole weight on him, the relief that he’s finished overwhelming. You feel so good, sticking it out for him, letting him take you further than you thought you could go. 

Only, Eddie’s thick fingers are circling your hole. When he sinks the longest inside, he has to tighten the arm around your waist to keep you, practically jumping to get away, against his body. 

“You promised!” You cry, feeling the rough pads of his fingers rubbing deep in your gooey cunt. 

“Said one more from your clit.” He smacks a kiss to the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, licks the sweat that’s built there. Eddie’s big eyes find yours in the mirror. “Now I want a couple from this perfect spot inside that makes you gush all over me.”