#you'll get straight up swallowed whole

[bucket-puns]

Make you vile, Make you a spectacle.

They need to calm down from hitting each other with pipes

[ddejavvu]

eddie brock is the og loser boyfriend and i can’t stop thinking about venom just like completely bullying him when he’s in a relationship like his partner is like this drop dead gorgeous person and eddie wears the same sweaty jacket all the time and eats frozen tater tots haha

"There are crumbs on your shirt." Venom observes, and when Eddie nods with a noncommittal grunt, he continues, "And it is not a shirt. It is a sweatshirt. A sweaty sweatshirt, Eddie. And you wore it yesterday."

"That I did," Eddie crams another handful of chips into his mouth, salted and straight from the bag. His attention remains solely on the television in front of him, and Venom's goopy form shakes its head.

"Y/N is coming over later." He reminds the human, watching with disdain as Eddie chokes slightly on his mouthful because of the way he's slouched in his seat. He swallows regardless, and when he speaks, his voice is gruff from the irritation in his throat.

"Yeah, she'll be here in a few minutes," Eddie nods, "Hey, do you think they fake this show? The drama, and all."

Venom has no interest in whether the trashy reality show that Eddie is so enraptured by is fake or not. He cares that you'll be here any minute now, and Eddie looks like a corpse that's been rotting for a few days.

When the doorbell rings, Eddie moves to get up. Crumbs begin raining onto the carpet and he groans as his lazy joints ache, so Venom shoves him back into place with a strong tentacle and uses another to stretch and open the door for you.

You're clearly expecting a person on the other side, but you're quick to recognize the tentacle you're met with instead. It wraps greedily around your waist and you place your hand over its sticky form, grinning as you're barely able to shut the door behind you before Venom yanks you over to the couch.

"Hi, baby," Eddie greets, tipping his head onto the back of the sofa to grin upside-down at you, "How are you?"

"Good," You lean down to kiss him upside down, and Venom is appalled that you're willing to put your lips on Eddie's crumb-coated ones.

"Sour cream and onion?" You guess, and you're rewarded with the near-empty bag of them that Eddie had been demolishing.

You settle happily onto the couch by Eddie's side with the chips in your hand, and when Venom begins to let go of you you hold his tentacle in place. The symbiote watches you silently for a moment, observing your behavior and thinking a whole host of unsavory thoughts about humans and their disgusting tendencies.

"I do not understand," Venom interrupts your gushy sentiments with Eddie about how terrible the acting is on so-called 'reality' shows, "Eddie is disgusting."

The man's nose wrinkles and you let out a scoff of a laugh.

"Thank you, Venom. That's very kind of you. Did you forget you're made of slime?"

"Slime does not sweat. And I do not have crumbs stuck all over me."

"Venom, being in a relationship with someone means that you need to be comfortable with them. We don't have to dress up all the time, Y/N knows what I look like in pajamas and I've seen her hair unbrushed in the morning."

Venom, too, recalls the rather impressive tangled mess of hair that you sport after a night of deep sleep.

"You do not mind that he smells?" Venom turns to you, his milky-white eyes blinking with a squelch.

"He's smelled worse," You give a half-shrug, only one of your shoulders moving as you squirm closer to Eddie beneath the blanket he's draped over you.

"You're both too good to me," Eddie grins, batting his lashes sarcastically, "Careful not to flatter me too much, don't want my head to get too big to fit in my helmet."

Venom regards Eddie for a moment, then thinks of the motorcycle helmet the man breathes into every day. It's repulsive.

"Your head is already abnormally large," Venom observes, settling into Eddie's shoulder opposite from you, "I will keep insulting you so that it does not get bigger. You are repulsive."

[bighungrywolf]

Do you want to jump right inside? The whole thing of keeping my mouth open waiting for you to slide over my mouth is making my lips dry and filling everything with the saliva that drips little by little, from all that I'm salivating at the thought of how delicious you'll be.

What, you don't think I can do this, you don't think you can fit inside my mouth? Ooooh, squirt, you don't know how wrong you are. I've devoured all kinds of people, twinks, bears, muscle bunnies, bodybuilders… you name it, I've had eaten it at least twice. Many of them were much bigger than you, and believe me I had no problem in swallowing them whole, sometimes with a little help giving them a little push to make them take the first step to get to my stomach. You know, there are people who at the moment of truth see the lion's ears and back down, but here there is no escape, when I have been promised to gobble up a yummy treat that's exactly what I'm going to do.

A prey like you should learn some manners, this questioning my ability as a pred is not cool at all, naughty boy. You know what? I think I'm going to make a last minute change of plans. I was going to let you slide into my mouth at will, letting your body slowly slide down my esophagus, enjoying how you feel your body slowly sinking into my digestive system, but I think I've come up with a much better idea, well, better for me, of course. I'm going to grab your weak body and throw you up in the air, and watch you fly straight into my mouth. This makes it much easier, as by flying directly into my maw, you'll slide straight into my stomach, with hardly any swallowing. Oh, and now don't give me that you don't see me being able to do this, thinking that I won't be able to throw you up in the air and make you fall straight into my mouth, because right now I'm going to prove you wrong. 1, 2, 3… there you go (the preys goes flying) and… sluuuurp, here I come (Guuuuuuuulp).

[imtryingbuck]

Angeleyes. 

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n sings Angeleyes in front of her ex boyfriend and his new girl.

Word count: 2,010

Warnings: mentions of cheating, singer!reader (warning?) sexual innuendos. Bucky is…well he’s just gross in this.

Masterlist

“Are you ready Y/n/n?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be”

Swallowing her nerves she stepped on to the stage, the bright lights nearly blinding her, her heart beating rapidly all disappeared when the music vibrated through her whole body, as always when she was on a stage she came alive.

keep thinking 'bout his angel eyes

keep thinking, ah-ah

The girl under his arm smiled hugely at him when the lyrics filled the room. He smiled back before placing a soft kiss to her lips which had the girl blushing.

Last night, I was taking a walk along the river, And I saw him together with a young girl

And the look that he gave her made me shiver, 'Cause he always used to look at me that way

His heart stopped. He knew that voice.

Whipping his head from the girl to the stage he started to shift in his seat. He knew the singer standing on the stage like she belonged there, like she was put on to this earth to perform.

He remembers the first time he heard her sing, she was in the shower putting on a performance of a life time to the shampoo and conditioner bottles. When he asked her to sing to him she blushed violently before agreeing, she was so shy when she wasn’t singing but the moment she did she gained everyone’s attention.

Some nights after a pacticular nightmare he would ask her to sing something for him, she would always pick something from his era.

Then I thought maybe I should walk right up to her and say

"Ah-ha-ha, it's a game he likes to play"

She was a friend of Nat’s who had introduced the team to her, her and Bucky hit off straight away.

“Do you want to play a game?” Bucky asked once they were alone in the tower.

“What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare”

“Okay”

The game started off pretty innocent until Bucky dared her to kiss him. So she did.

The kiss ended up with them naked, panting for breath in his bed.

A few weeks later Bucky asked her out and she said yes.

Look into his angel eyes. One look and you're hypnotised

“Buck has anyone ever told you that your eyes are perfect?” Y/n asked one day as they were lying in bed together.

“No, do you think they are?”

“It’s like you’ve got angel eyes”

“Angel eyes?”

“Yep! Oh and they are so hypnotic”

Bucky barked out a laugh, he had always been told that his eyes were nice but this…this was new.

“Hypnotic? Baby can my eyes hypnotise you?”

“Maybe, no definitely can” she answered.

“Let’s put this to the test shall we?”

Neither one left the room for that whole day.

He'll take your heart and you must pay the price. Look into his angel eyes

That’s all she did, she gave and gave whilst he just took everything not once giving her the same or even a slither of what she gave him.

She gave him her heart, her soul, her body on a silver platter and he took it. The moment he was done he took the silver platter and smashed it on the ground letting it break into tiny little pieces, stomping on it just to finish the job.

He did it all whilst looking at her with those bright baby blue eyes, the ones that reminded her of an angel, no harm could be done not when he had those angel eyes.

What a lie.

You'll think you're in paradise

And one day you'll find out he wears a disguise

She was on cloud nine, her landlord had rang her earlier that day to say that he was getting maintenance out to fix the pipe under her sink that had been playing up for weeks. She had gotten the promotion at work, the one that she had worked so hard for.

Bucky had told her to come to the tower after work, said that he planning something special for them both. He always did that, always planning things for them he was the first boyfriend she ever had that always made time for her, always made her feel like she worth more than life had to offer, always one step ahead of the game.

He made her feel safe, secure and loved.

Until she walked happily into the tower and saw him with a brunette lips locked together.

Don't look too deep into those angel eyes. Oh no, no, no, no

“Jamie who is this?” the brunette asked looking at Y/n.

“A friend”

“Oh it’s so nice to meet you I’m Dolores but you can call me Dot, I’m Jamie’s fiancée”

Y/n looked at the woman’s left hand and sure enough there was a silver band with a huge rock sitting on her finger, her teary eyes met his angel eyes her heart breaking even more when she saw no remorse. She had no choice but to shake the woman’s hand.

Making up a lie to the woman who accepted it Y/n rushed out of the room to the elevator, looking back to see Bucky’s eyes trained on her.

(Ah-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha) (Ah-ha-ha, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

(Ah-ha-ha) I keep thinking 'bout his angel eyes I keep thinking, ah-ah)

She was the other woman. She was the other woman and none of his friends told her, Nat hadn’t even told her and she knew. Nat knew Y/n was in love with a man who was engaged to someone else and she didn’t even tell her.

That night she curled up on the couch tears streaming heavily down her cheeks, the thought of sleeping in the bed that held the memories of them sweaty and naked in her bed and that was just that morning, made her feel physically sick.

Sometimes when I'm lonely, I sit and think about him. And it hurts to remember all the good times. When I thought I could never live without him

Bucky. Bucky. Bucky.

Like a fool that’s all she thought about. She thought about a man who had used her, made her into something she always swore she would never be, the man who took her heart in the palm of his hand a squeezed until there was hardly anything left to squeeze out.

He didn’t try once to reach out to her to try and explain or to try and make out that this Dot lady was a crazy woman who was just making things up, even though she knew it would have been a lie she kept expecting him to show up at her door and tell her that.

Was she a bad person? Should she have told Dot that her fiancé was a cheater? Would the woman believe her? Would it even make a difference?

He made her feel loved, she was in love with him whole heartedly and all she was to him was some dumb naive play thing whilst his fiancée was probably planning their wedding. There was never a dull moment between her and Bucky, their year together was full of passion, love, laughter. The memories he left her with were good, happy and now they were tainted.

He took a year of her life and the whole time she meant nothing to him when he was her world. Her mom always did say that when she loved she loved hard, and it was true.

Stupidly she thought she was going to spend the rest of her life with him.

And I wonder, does it have to be the same. Every time when I see him, will it bring back all the pain?

She had managed to avoid him out on the streets or stores until one fateful night when she had gone to the store after work to pick some more ice cream up, as she walked down the aisles her music blaring through her headphones she caught a glimpse of him laughing with Steve. Neither one noticed her.

Her heart ached at the sight of him. It had been over six months since she last saw him and every single thing she tried so hard to forget came rushing back. Dropping the basket she was carrying on the ground she rushed out of the store.

Not knowing that Bucky had seen her fleeing away from him.

Ah-ha-ha, how can I forget that name?

If it wasn’t in her memories his name haunted it was online.

‘James Barnes and Dolores Roberts tie the knot in beautiful ceremony’ the headlines read, in the photos they stood there with huge smiles on their faces.

‘James Barnes injured on a mission in Russia’ the urge to phone and check up on him had her throwing her phone across the room.

‘James and Dolores Barnes expecting first baby together’

‘James Barnes’

‘James Barnes’

‘James Barnes’

Though the world didn’t know about her they didn’t let her forget his name.

Look into his angel eyes. One look and you're hypnotized

His eyes haunted her dreams. The worst part of it all was that they still brought her peace and safety.

He'll take your heart and you must pay the price. Look into his angel eyes, You'll think you're in paradise. Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise. Don't look too deep into those angel eyes. Crazy 'bout his angel eyes. Angel eyes

He took my heart and now I pay the price

He sat there and watched as she owned the stage, he took each word she heavenly sang in. The guilt eating more and more away at him for the way things went between them, he was so caught up in the moment of being able to get away with cheating on his then fiancée now wife that he didn’t think about the damage he was causing anyone else.

At least not his Y/n.

Look into his angel eyes

He loved the way she called him Angeleyes, at first it was something silly she would say to wind him up but then it became a name that every time she called it him she had his full attention, he even stopped answering to Bucky when it came from her.

You'll think you're in paradise

Bucky had no idea how his straying away from Dot began, he doesn’t even remember the first woman’s name or how she looked. Meeting Y/n was the best thing to ever happen to him, being with her was definitely like being in paradise. She wasn’t just another woman he cheated on his fiancée with, no she had his heart.

Then one day you'll find out he wears a disguise. Don't look too deep into those angel eyes. Oh no, no, no, no

He never wore a disguise…he was always himself with her. Well apart from telling her that he was engaged to another woman.

keep thinking. Keep thinking 'bout his angel eyes (ah-ha-ha)

Keep thinking (ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha). Keep thinking, had to pay the price (ah-ah, ah-ah-ah)

Keep thinking (ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha) Keep thinking 'bout his angel eyes (ah-ah-ah). Keep thinking (ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

As the song came to an end everyone in the place stood and cheered, the girl under his arm that was most definitely not his wife as she was at home looking after their three year old and nine week old baby, stood up clapping along with the rest not knowing that the song she had been dancing along to was about the man she was on her third date with, nor did she know that he was married with two children. The cheering slowly came to a stop, Bucky watched as his Y/n climbed down the three steps off the stage and jumped into a man’s arms.

His Angeleyes filling with tears when he saw the man take her face into his hands and placed his lips to hers.

His heart breaking when he caught the light reflecting off a ring, a ring that sat on her left hand.

Keep thinking, I had to pay the price (ah-ah, ah-ah-ah). Keep thinking (ah-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha)

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[puppyguppy]

You've been down this damn aisle way too long. Despite not having actually checked the time, you just know it. You can feel it. You've seen others come and go; grab what they need, like a pillow or some new sheets, then leave. But not you. Since apparently, choosing a new mattress has solidified itself as a life or death sort of situation inside of your head. It shouldn't have been this hard -- wouldn't be this hard, if you hadn't seen the sale going on. They're offering the next size up for the price of the next size down. So, like -- you could get a king, for the price of the queen you'd come here for. You've almost always had a queen, at least since being a teenager. And a queen is fine, a queen is good, just enough space for you to roll around some, pick a cooler side if need be, with a corner or two left open for the pet you might actually own someday. All in all, a queen is perfect, so really, there's no need to upsize. You've never even considered it until now. It just seems kind of stupid to turn down such a deal. More comfort, for less? But then...you'll need new sheets. A new comforter. A new duvet. Hell, might as well just get a whole new set for the whole new mattress, right? And, it doesn't make much sense to put old pillows on a new bed, so -- "They never tell you that beds will be one of your biggest battles in adulthood." You jolt, startled out of your spiraling thoughts by a deep, rich mumble. You hadn't noticed the man you've been sharing the aisle with for...gods, you hope it wasn't long. Long enough for him to piece together the puzzle of your struggle, though. You shake off the little scare with a laugh, the feeling only lingering in the goosebumps down your arms. "It wasn't supposed to be this hard. I came here with a plan, believe it or not." The stranger hums, and while he seems to peruse the options, you take a quick few seconds to, well. Peruse him. Tall, dark, and handsome is the gist. Wavy hair thrown half up his head, like maybe he'd been in a hurry, or working out, or just woken up. A bit unkempt, but not unattractive. Stalky, scruffy, and decked out in all colors almost black despite the season. At least they seem loose, everywhere except for where his hands are shoved into his pockets, straining the fabric slightly, and you can't help but wonder -- "One should always have a Plan B. Even maybe C through Z." You laugh again, because really, this is ridiculous, and you should just grab the goddamn bed you'd come here for. Mattresses shouldn't require complex mathematics, an entire alphabet's worth of backup plans, or the entire length of the human emotional spectrum. "Yeah, yeah," you huff, now a bit embarrassed. You're a grown ass adult and yet you feel like you've just been scolded by a highschool teacher or something. "The sale just caught me off guard. I don't want to regret it if I just settle for a queen and miss the chance. Besides, if I get a king and don't like it, I can always just return it, right?" The man shrugs. "Or you could save yourself the trouble. It's not like your room is big enough for a king." You laugh for a third time, because oh, oh my god, he's right. Here you've been fretting and stressing (and honestly? sweating) over beds, when really, there was never a choice. There was just the illusion of choice. You got excited over a sale, about the possibility of an upgrade, and completely forgot about the very real dimensions of your bedroom. And why you've stuck with a queen. "Fuck, you're so right. I couldn't possibly fit a -" You stop. You stop and blink. Because he is right. The goosebumps from just minutes ago shoot straight down to your toes. You swallow, saliva thickening in your throat like cement. "...How do you know that?"

[imsuperhungry]

4 𝙖𝙢

entry 002

(yandere until dawn)

WARNINGS: Yandere Themes, Cussing, Josh Crying Is Its Own Warning

WORD COUNT: 2070

(8:55 ᴘᴍ, ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʙɪɴ)

Mike and Jess didn't notice Emily's arrival at first; they were too wrapped up in their makeout session. But Emily definitely noticed them.

"Oh my God. That is so gross," she declared, her voice slicing through the haze of their moment. The words hung in the air, sharp enough to draw their attention away from each other. Emily folded her arms defiantly,  "Are you trying to swallow his face whole?" A mocking grin spread on her face.

Matt, who walked in right behind her, said, "Em..." as if he already knew this was going to happen. His tone was resigned, and I could see the concern in his eyes as he took in the scene.

"Seriously," Emily started again, her voice rising. "Can she be any more obvious? No one wants in on your territory, honey!" She shouted.

Jess stood up and began to walk toward Emily, causing Ashley to gasp slightly, still curled into me. "Excuse me, did you say something?" Jess asked, her tone sharp as she narrowed her eyes at Emily.

"Oh, you didn't hear me? Was your sluttiness too loud?" Emily matched Jess's stride, stepping forward with confidence. As everything unfolded, nobody said a word. Some watched in amusement, while others looked on in concern, the atmosphere charged with anticipation as the two faced off.

"Sounds like someone's bitter she didn't make the cut!" Jess retorted, a smirk dancing on her lips as she gestured toward Mike, the implication hanging heavy in the air. 

"Yeah. It's all just a big cattle call with that dreamboat. Congratulations, you're top cow!" Emily's voice sliced through the thick tension, each word draped in biting sarcasm. Mike shifted uncomfortably, caught between their escalating confrontation.

"Cuts real deep calling Miss Homecoming a cow." 

Matt stood rigid, tension coiling around him like a taut wire. He turned to Emily, desperation etched on his face as he attempted to bridge the widening chasm. "Em, come on—" he urged, his tone steady but urgent, as if pleading for reason. 

"Shut up, Matt," Emily snapped, her tone sharp and unrelenting. "Hey, watch it—" Emily warned, pointing a finger at Jess.

"Oh, you're the only one who can put him down? No one else gets to play with your toys?" Jess shot back, the words were sharp, aimed to provoke, as if she were daring Emily to retaliate.

"You're such a bitch!"

"Whatever, I don't give a crap what you think," Jess shot back, turning away from Emily in an attempt to end the argument on her own terms.

"At least I can think. 4.0, bitch, honor roll. Suck on that when you're trying to sleep your way into a job."

"Who needs grades when you've got all the natural advantages you can handle?" Jess retorted, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned into the jab.

"Oh, please," Emily scoffed

"You couldn't buy a moldy loaf of bread with your skanky ass!"

"...Are you serious? You think that's insulting?" Emily said, the disbelief in her voice evident, the look on her face challenging Jess to reconsider her words.

"That bitch is on crack or something." Jess said as she turned to me. I quickly averted my eyes, desperately wanting to disappear into the background, hoping they would sort this out without my presence. The tension hung thick in the air, and I could feel the weight of their rivalry pressing down on me.

"Oh, so now you're trying to get them involved? I mean, it makes sense; you always hog them like you couldn't get attention anywhere else," Emily sneered.

"Okay, everyone, stop," Josh said, clearly fed up with the feud. "This isn't why I invited you all here. If you can't handle being around each other right now, maybe we should take a break and split up for a bit." he proposed.

"I have a guest cabin through that door," Josh pointed to a second door on the wall to the right of the front entrance "Just keep going straight, and you'll find it. It's pretty hard to miss." Josh was looking right at Jess and Mike.

"Fine," Jess began, but it seemed Mike read her mind, interjecting before she could finish. "But only if they can come with us," he said, pointing directly at me. The declaration caught me off guard, and I felt the weight of their gazes on me, a mix of expectation and pressure. I shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how I fit into this escalating drama. 

"No," Josh said, his voice firm, cutting through the air like a knife. This was the first time I'd heard him speak with such authority. But as I stood there, it dawned on me that I hadn't spoken to Jess and Mike in a while. This could be a good opportunity to clear the air without risking another fight.

I stood from the couch, feeling all eyes turn toward me. "It's fine, really. I haven't seen them in a while anyway, and I'm sure Jess has stuff she wants to talk about." I glanced between them, gauging their reactions. "I'll walk them out to the cabin, but I'll just come back when they make it there. That way, they get their alone time, and I can come back to all of you guys."

My proposal hung in the air, a tentative bridge to ease the tension. I hoped it would give Jess and Mike the space they needed while allowing me to remain connected to the group. But then I remembered I had to please both sides to make that happen, not just Jess and Mike.

I turned to Emily and spoke earnestly, "I promise, when I get back, we can do whatever we want—facemasks, paint our nails, I've got so much gossip to tell you." A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she nodded, and I could see a flicker of excitement in her eyes, which eased some of the tension.

Then I diverted my attention to everyone else, who had been awkwardly standing near the doorway while this whole fiasco unfolded. "You guys can relax; I'll be back before you know it," I reassured them, trying to lighten the mood "then when i come back, we can all watch a movie or something.". Chris and Josh seemed to really like that idea. The group seemed to shift a bit, the atmosphere slowly easing as I prepared to guide Jess and Mike to the cabin.

"Real quick, before you go," Sam said, grabbing my attention. "While they were arguing, I tried to go upstairs to take a bath, only to find out the hot water was off. Do you want to help me turn it back on in the basement?" She looked at me with hopeful eyes, clearly eager for a little assistance.

"Well, this is Josh's cabin; I don't know how to do that," I replied, a bit bashful about my lack of knowledge on fixing the hot water. The admission made me feel slightly embarrassed, as if I should have known something so basic.

"I do," Josh said, his tone light yet confident, clearly expecting to step in. "Come on, I'll teach you. Then you can walk them out to the cabin... or whatever." He placed his hands on both my shoulders, guiding me toward the basement, with Sam trailing closely behind us.

The basement was spacious and had clearly been turned into a storage area. I spotted skis and sleds leaning against the wall, alongside piles of old clutter. A worn-out sofa sat in one corner, while boxes stacked haphazardly filled the space. Empty paint cans lay scattered about, and a bat rested in another corner.

Wooden beams, worn and splintered, crisscrossed above, their surfaces mottled with age. The walls, painted a faded gray, bore the scars of time—cracks spiderwebbed their surfaces, and patches of peeling paint. 

Josh walked over to a wall adorned with various knobs, flips, and switches labeled "Power," "Heater," and more. I would've followed him if the bat sitting in the corner hadn't caught my attention.

I walked over to where the bat rested and picked it up. It was wooden and chipped, but still heavy and in surprisingly good condition. After examining it for a moment, I made my way back to where Sam stood, leaning against the wall and watching Josh tinker with the knobs. Her eyes flicked between him and the controls, a look of mild amusement on her face.

"What's this, Josh?" I asked, catching his attention. He turned to look at me, a playful grin spreading across his face. "It's a bat, silly."  he said 

"Well, duh, I just mean why is it down here?" I asked again, twirling the bat in my hands. It felt good to grip, and I couldn't help but wonder what it was doing in this cluttered basement. Josh shrugged, still smiling, as he glanced back at the wall of switches.

"I used to play baseball with my dad out here almost every day. It was a tradition every Sunday, but he quit a while ago; he got a little too busy to play with me," he said, his tone surprisingly light.

"Oh," was all I managed to say, unsure whether to comfort him or let him focus on his work. I turned to Sam, who had been listening intently, and playfully pointed the end of the bat at her. A mischievous grin crossed my face, and i new idea in my head.

"Do you, know how to play baseball, madam?" I asked her in a faux ancient English accent, adding a dramatic flair.

She put her hands on her hips, feigning offense, and replied, "Why, I do! I reckon you aren't too good yourself!" Her playful tone made me laugh.

Now it was my turn to act offended. I placed my hand dramatically on my chest and exclaimed, "Now you take that back! I'll have you know I'm the best darn tootin' baseball player to ever exist!" I struggled to keep a straight face, barely holding back a laugh.

"Well, that's something you're gonna have to prove to me!" she replied, raising an eyebrow as if she didn't believe me at alI. Her playful challenge only fueled my determination.

"Oh yeah, watch this!" I said, grabbing an old baseball that was lying on the ground. I swung the bat, connecting with the ball, and watched as it ricocheted off the walls, bouncing wildly before finally dropping to the floor. The sound echoed in the basement, and I couldn't help but grin at my impromptu display.

I turned back to Sam with a smug grin, acting as if I'd just accomplished something great, only to find her bowing dramatically before me, hand over her heart. "You have my utmost respect; I pray you'll teach me your ways," she said, suppressing a laugh. I couldn't help but chuckle at her theatrics.

Josh then cut the act of devotion short, saying, "Hey, _____, do you mind using your flashlight? I can't see the labels that well." His brows were furrowed in concentration as he continued to search through the power box.

"Yes, sir!" I replied, saluting playfully. I pulled out my phone and walked over to where he was bent down, turning on the flashlight. After angling it to where he instructed me, I watched his fingers dance over the board, cranking knobs and pressing buttons with a focused intensity.

Eventually, he stood up straight and faced both me and Sam. "Alright, I think I've got it. Go ahead and try the bath now, Sam," he said. 

Sam nodded and gave me a quick hug goodbye, wishing me luck with Jess and Mike. Her concern was masked by a playful exterior, but I could still sense the hint of reluctance in her expression as she let go.

She walked up the basement stairs, and I would've followed her, if it weren't for Josh's grip on my wrist. He held me back, a certain look on his face as he gestured for me to stay a moment longer.

"Hey," he started as soon as Sam fully left. "Be careful, okay? Hannah and Beth walked alone out there and, I mean—" His voice cracked, and I could see his eyes starting to water. It was clear he was struggling to get the words out, his concern weighing heavily on him.

"Lord knows where they are right now. I can't lose you like I lost them. It happened once, and I won't allow it to happen again, okay?" he said, his grip shifting from my wrist to both hands planted on my shoulders. Tears streamed down his face, and I could feel the weight of his worry.

I wrapped my arms around him, embracing him fully. He definitely needed comfort right now, and I'd be a monster to deny him that. His body shook with sobs, and my shoulder quickly became wet, soaked with his tears. I held him tighter, letting him know I too missed Hannah and Beth.

"I know," I began carefully. "I promise, I know the route there safely. It seems like you're forgetting that I've been here like a million times." I said it playfully, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

All he did was nod and continue to cradle me, his grip tightening slightly. I couldn't help but wonder, why he didn't act like this when sending Jess and Mike out?

[theresattrpgforthat]

I'm looking for TTRPGs that have... for lack of a better way of putting it, mechanics where like, your character is under a profound amount of stress, and if they don't manage it and additional stress that comes in, they'll break or snap and do something horrible and then have to deal with the consequences. So something that mechanically 'forces' your character to do something they'd normally never do due to external stressors.

THEME: Stress Clocks.

Oh this is my shit. Get ready for a Hall of Fame style of recommendations from me this week (as well as a bit of self-advertising)!

Also a note: this was (mostly) a chance for me to get very excited about a number of games that have specifically inspired me, and I am aware that it means that I’ve kind of neglected certain houses of design as a result. For this post especially, I encourage anyone who can think of a game that fits this request that isn’t listed here to give it a shout out in the reblog and the replies!

Mothership, by Tuesday Knight Games.

Mothership is a sci-fi horror roleplaying game where you and your crew try to survive in the most inhospitable environment in the universe: outer space! You'll excavate dangerous derelict spacecraft, explore strange unknown worlds, exterminate hostile alien life, and examine the horrors that encroach upon your every move.

Mothership inflicts Stress upon you with every failure, and hitting your Stress cap reduces your most relevant Stat or Save, thereby consistency reducing your chances of success with every roll. That’s not all though - your Stress cap also makes it harder and harder to stop your character from panicking, by representing the threshold you must beat every time you make a Panic Check. If you roll less than or equal to your current Stress rating, you must take on a new Panic condition.

You make Panic checks whenever you roll a critical failure, but also whenever you witness something traumatic. These conditions don’t necessarily force your character to do anything, but they represent the toll that being in a constantly hostile environment takes on your mind and body. You have to work harder and harder to prevent your character from attacking allies, giving in to the demands of whatever is haunting their psyche, or going straight-up catatonic.

You can also try to mitigate this stress and panic by resting and doing something that helps relieve the pressure - having sex, taking drugs, praying, etc. There’s even a Shore Leave mechanic for long-term games that allow your character to turn their stress into a character improvement.

In some respect, these conditions remind me of the Morality and Clarity tracks of Chronicles of Darkness and Changeling: the Lost, but with less of the errant language around mental health. The dice rolls also make the consequences much less predictable, so if you want to be surprised by what exactly causes your character to snap, I recommend Mothership.

Urban Shadows, by Magpie Games.

The streets bleed shadows as the supernatural politics of the city threaten to swallow you whole. Will you die a hero—a savior for those who have never had enough—or live long enough to become the villain? Will you fight the darkness…or give in for power?

The choice is yours. 

Urban Shadows is an urban fantasy tabletop roleplaying game in which mortals and monsters vie for control of a modern-day city, a political battleground layered just under the reality we think we know. Vampires, faeries, hunters, and wizards fight to carve out a piece of the streets and skyscrapers, ready to make deals with all those who have something to offer. 

The ‘consequences’ track for Urban Shadows is called Corruption. Each character playbook in this game has a couple of special moves called Corruption Moves, and when you start playing, you start with two Drama Moves the tie into this. The Drama Moves describe specific situations in which your character must mark Corruption. If you fill your Corruption track, you take a Corruption Move. Corruption moves give you special powers that are super-effective, but fill up your Corruption track faster. You can only fill your Corruption track so many times - fill it one too many and your character must be retired, because they’ve just become an antagonist.

I really like how this feels like a slow descent that speeds up the more you lean into it. Your character is consistently tempted to give into their darker sides in order to keep themselves afloat in this unforgiving city - but lean too far and they become exactly the kind of person they were hoping to stop.

Antiquarian Adventures, by acegiak.

Antiquarian Adventures is a pulpy tomb raiding and treasure hunting Blades In The Dark hack in the style of Tomb Raider, Indiana Jones, National Treasure, and The Mummy.

So Antiquarian Adventures is a pulp game. It’s not grim dark in any sense of the word, but I think it introduces a unique use of the Blades’ Stress mechanic in a special “ability” that happens when your character uses up all of their Composure (this is the “Stress” of this gam). Once you’ve used up all of your Composure, you cannot resist anything that comes your way and your dice pools are reduce to 0 until you do something (specific to your playbook) that usually invites a new consequence.

For example, The Veteran’s version of this is called “Not As Quick As I Used To Be,” which hamstrings the character until the player allows themself to be left behind or separated from their comrades. This kind of mechanic has directly inspired one of the projects that I’m working on, and I think that if you tweak the amount of Composure your character has, or makes the reaction harsher, you could absolutely make it work for a game that’s a bit grittier than Antiquarian Adventures.

Last Fleet, by Black Armada Games

The last of humanity are fleeing across space, pursued by the implacable inhuman adversary that destroyed their civilisation. They're outnumbered and outgunned. Supplies are running low. The actions of a brave few could be all that stands between humanity and extinction.

Welcome to the Last Fleet.

Last Fleet is a PBTA tabletop roleplaying game where you play brave pilots, officers, engineers, politicians and journalists struggling to hold the human race - and themselves - together under unbelievable pressure. The game focuses on action, intrigue and drama in this high-stakes situation. You'll fight space battles, search for enemy infiltrators, tackle supply shortages and navigate faction politics. You'll strive against your own self-doubt and sometimes crack under the stress.

Last Fleet has something called a Pressure Mechanic, which can be used as a player resource, but also activates when you take weather harm or get called out on your shit. Hit your cap? Clear your Pressure and take a Breaking Point action, which often puts you at odds with the other characters, making the situation worse. The whole situation is a designed to act as a pressure cooker, making the situation harder and harder to bear until you finally pop. I love it, and it’s also a direct influence on one of my games.

Apocalypse Keys, by Rae Nedjadi (@temporalhiccup)

Unmask your feelings, uncage your ruination… The Doomsday Clock is ticking down and emotions run high as you and your team of DIVISION agents struggle to find the Keys before the villainous Harbingers unlock the Doors of Power and bring about the apocalypse.

As an Omen class monster, you are the only thing capable of holding back the apocalypse. Combat occult threats and investigate supernatural phenomena alongside your team of supernatural agents working for the shadowy DIVISION. But in a world that shuns monsters like you, only your deepest, most heartfelt bonds can grant you the power to stop those who seek to unlock Doom’s Door.

Taking cues from Urban Shadows, Apocalypse Keys gives you a Ruin track to follow as your monsters try to stop the world from ending. The Ruin track gives you a Ruin advance every time you fill it, unlocking Ruin Moves, permanently marking character conditions, and eventually forcing your character to turn into a Harbinger if you let it. Your Ruin moves are powerful and dark, generating even more Ruin when you use them, and in some cases (like with the Hungry’s "Only Hunger Remains" move), your character can actually halt the current mystery as they get close enough to becoming a Harbinger that the entire party will have to work together to stop you from ripping the world apart.

Protect the Child, by Mint-Rabbit (that’s me!).

Humans have always been protective of their young, sometimes overly so. Humans have also always feared that which might make their young strange or different, and so insist that only humans can raise their own young. Monsters cannot raise human young. This is known.

You have a human baby. You cannot find its parents. What is even worse, is that this child has powers, powers that others covet, and so everyone wants it. If you want to prove that you’re not the heartless monster that everyone says you are, that means you’ll have to raise it, at least until you find someone who is better suited to it than you. 

You are creatures of fur, scales and fangs. You have claws that can rend flesh, faces that can crack mirrors, howls that can cause ears to bleed. 

And your charge wants a blankie.

Protect the Child is a Forged in the Dark game about monsters caring for a young human, a human who contains strange and mystical powers that make them a valuable asset in any monster crew. The setting and factions present in this game are flexible: you might be aliens in a far-flung future galaxy, fantasy monsters from rival kingdoms, or even everyday wild animals that fear human society. 

Alright, so this is my baby and I can tell you exactly how to push your character towards some really unhealthy coping mechanisms. In Protect the Child, your character is constantly battling the stress of being a parent. Stress, like in other Forged in the Dark games, is a player resource, but it’s also inflicted on you when you resist consequences, and when the kid has an emotional breakdown.

Should your stress clock fill up, you’ll have to take a reaction from the list attached to your playbook before you can take more Stress, and these reactions range from doing something for selfish gains to lashing out to your fellow monsters to being fully monstrous at exactly the worst time. Your tools to manage this stress are also limited - you have to be willing to confront your fellow monsters and be honest about your relationships with each-other if you want to stop your emotional kettle from whistling all of the time. If you want a game where building relationships is the only way to deal with the pressures of monster-parenting, then check out Protect the Child!

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

���Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

the rash decisions [part 1] l Joel Miller

Summary: a guy at a bar spilled his drink on you, then you made some weird decisions

Warnings: +18, smut, fingering, sex, some dirty words, probably some more

A/N: raise your hand to anyone who needs sexy and sweet pre-outbreak Joel Miller. I think there will be a part two.

[PART 2]

You definitely shouldn't be there. Maybe you were doing the worst thing in your life right now and showing zero sense of decency, but... God! This sin was so good.

His warm lips wandered along your neck, mustache and facial hair teasing your skin pleasantly. Large hands gripped your buttocks hidden in your tight jeans. The arousal in your nether regions was at a critical level.

The truck you were sitting in wasn't very comfortable, especially since you were sitting on his lap, feeling the growing bulge in his jeans beneath you.

"Take me to your place." you whispered into his ear, feeling like any more and both of you would go crazy.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

You bit your lower lip, smiling, and nodded.

"Completely sure."

His fingers threaded through your hair as he pulled your face down to taste your lips once more. That was crazy.

He took you to his house and the moment the door closed behind you, your hands were already under his shirt.

"Greedy." he laughed but didn't stop you.

He felt the chemistry and the fact that you wanted him so much was really pleasing to him. He wasn't entirely sure how you got to his upstairs bedroom without hurting yourself too much, but when the door closed behind you, all brakes were released.

Joel Miller didn't plan on spending the night at a bar, but he found himself there anyway. As soon as Tommy, his younger brother, found out that Sarah would be spending the night at a friend's house on Friday night and wouldn't be back until late Saturday afternoon, he didn't give up on him one bit.

"When was the last time you went out, huh?" he asked "You've got to get some nice lady laid, otherwise you'll be completely out of business. Trust me! It'll be good for you!"

Maybe Tommy was right? Since becoming a full-time parent, Joel's life has revolved around work, home and his daughter. Now that Sarah was a teenager, he could at least think about himself a little. Although he didn't hide the fact that he would rather spend the evening taking a nap on the couch while watching some poor quality movie.

That's how he ended up in that bar drinking a beer, and then he accidentally bumped into you and caused your drink to spill on your jeans. Joel felt like a fucking idiot and apologized so profusely that you finally gave in to his poor puppy look and let him buy you another drink.

You were both people who didn't necessarily want to be in this place. After a hard week, you decided to force yourself to go out and pretend that you were having fun. And then Joel showed up and you two were really having a good conversation, so you moved to his car to have more privacy.

Your kisses became more and more intense, and your hands, like hungry creatures, stripped you of layers of clothes. His body looked so good in the dim light. Broad and strong shoulders, narrow waist, a thin strip of hair leading straight to his briefs.

But you were the first to hear:

"Gorgeous." as his dark eyes landed on your body.

You felt his desire. It was like you were locked in a room with someone who wanted to swallow you whole, and you had never felt so wanted before.

Was it because of the alcohol? Have you just lost your mind? You didn't want to think about it then. All your life you had made decisions based on common sense, and that night you wanted to do something that would simply give you incredible pleasure. Joel Miller was that promise.

His sweet weight pressed you to the mattress in a nice way. A soft sigh escaped your throat as his lips closed over your nipple. His tongue teased the skin and his hand kneaded the other breast. You felt vulnerable around him.

"Do you like it, baby girl?" he asked, moving his mouth to the other tit. "Mhm. I can feel it."

Your body responded on its own. You arched in pleasure while trying to feel the friction between your legs that would give you relief.

“If you want me to stop…” he started, but you quickly cut him off.

"No, I want more, Joel. I want to feel you."

He smiled mischievously, and you wanted to wipe that smirk off his handsome face. He lifted himself slightly on his arms, smashing your lips together again. He kissed you deeply and with a feeling you hadn't expected from a one-night stand.

However, you took advantage of the opportunity and your hands quickly reached his briefs, sliding them off and then clamping down on his shapely buttocks.

"Ouch! Little rascal." he laughed.

"Really?" you replied innocently, "If I don't feel your cock inside me soon, I'll have to call a taxi and... Shit!"

His hand appeared on your pussy completely unannounced. You didn't think you were that horny. He rubbed it slowly, then moved her panties aside and inserted two thick fingers.

You took a deep breath at the sudden stretch, and when Joel began to tease your clit with his thumb, the air left your lungs with a soft moan.

"I got you." he whispered, kissing your neck, his low voice an added incentive. “So tight and so wet. I need to prepare you, baby girl. Before I destroy that sweet pussy, I want you to come on my fingers. Will you do it for me, love?”

You nodded, unable to make a voice or any other sound that could be considered an answer. His fingers moved quickly, curling every now and then to tease that spot inside you that was driving you crazy. You unconsciously bent your knee, spreading your legs further as if you wanted to escape from what was happening above.

Your hand slid down and found his, but you couldn't stop him even if you wanted to. But did you want to? You felt like you were so close, but at the same time you were afraid of losing that last control over your body.

Joel must have sensed it because his voice, although softer, gave you an order again.

"Let it go, baby girl. Don't fight it."

His lips appeared on your nipple again, and when you felt how hard he sucked on it, you came with a muffled moan. Your hand pressed against his, the fingers of which continued to move in your pussy, carrying you through this orgasm. He didn't stop even when your thighs tightened like pincers.

You wanted to kiss him. You grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him in, kissing him hard, feeling his tongue wander inside your mouth. You wanted to respond with the same pleasure for him, but Joel pushed your hand away gently.

"Next time, baby. I'm already so hard that if I don't bury myself inside you soon, I think I'll explode."

He turned and pulled a silver condom package from the bedside drawer. It's good that you found a guy who thought of everything.

"I'm clean, if you want to know." you said as he ripped open the package and put on the condom.

"I trust you, sweetie, but I want you to be safe." he replied.

He smiled, noticing how you watched his movements. His cock was firm and impressive.

"I want to be on top."

"Are you sure?" another nod "I won't stop you, baby."

In an instant, you jumped at his hips. Joel held his cock as you slowly lowered yourself onto him. You felt pressure, then a pleasant sensation as you stretched and then tightened around him. You stopped for a moment. You felt full like never before.

"Everything okay?" you asked, seeing him close his eyes.

"Mhm." he muttered, "Amazing. You're so... Fuck!"

Your hips rose and fell so suddenly that Joel almost gasped for air. He grabbed your hips, but you were in control now. With every move you made, you were driving him crazy. His eyes had gone completely dark. He was staring at you like a predator, as if he was just letting you play with him and then he would grab you in his claws and tear you to shreds.

His hands pressed harder against your hips and you moaned as you felt yourself impaling yourself on him even harder. Again and again. Your nails dug into his chest, but neither of you noticed.

He lifted himself and his lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the delicate skin. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers running into his hair, pulling it lightly.

You didn't even know when Joel turned you around and you landed on your back, pinned to the mattress as it groaned under the weight of your bodies and the force of him pounding into you.

"Fuck!" he moaned "I'm close, baby. So fucking close." he panted.

Your legs wrapped around his hips, his hands grabbed yours and pinned them above your head. Joel's movements became more and more erratic.

“Don't stop…” you moaned, “Right there, baby… Just like… Fuck!”

As your body was once again filled with pleasure, your legs tightened around his hips, but Joel didn't stop. Feeling your pussy tighten around his cock, he moved a few more times as he felt his release. With a loud groan, he fell on top of you, trying not to crush you, burying his face in your hair.

"Jesus... You're fucking amazing." he repeated softly, "So good to me."

He got up and, like a drunk, kissed your neck, collarbone, chin. You started laughing quietly, but you turned to his face and kissed him tenderly. His dreamy eyes completely melted you.

"Do you think we could do it again?" he asked "I'm still hungry for you."

"I think so." you replied, because you actually hoped that it wouldn't end with this one time. "That was really impressive, Mr. Miller."

"Don't talk to me like that. I'll be hard again soon."

Joel pulled out of you and as soon as he cleaned himself, he took you back to him. He smelled like sex, you both must have smelled like that. Sweat and sex.

"I should call a taxi." you noticed as you both breathed calmly, "Before we both feel awkward."

"What are you talking about?" Joel frowned at you.

"You know..." you shrugged. "We just met a few hours ago."

"And we just had fucking great sex. Stay, sweetie."

He kissed your forehead and you already knew you would stay. You felt really good and safe in his arms. Too good to go home.

You woke up to a strange sound. You rubbed your eyes and saw an unfamiliar wall. It took you a moment to remember last night. Joel's arm rested on your waist, his soft breathing and snoring filling the room lit by the morning sun.

Footsteps on the stairs. Someone was clearly in the house.

"Joel? Joel?"

"Mhm."

"I think there's someone at home."

"W-What?" he croaked, "Who?"

"I..."

The door opened unexpectedly and you saw a tall, dark-haired man. He was probably as surprised as you were. You quickly pulled the blanket up to your chin.

"Fuck, Tommy!" Joel growled, "Get out!"

"I'm so sorry!" the man replied quickly, but you didn't notice that he was even the slightest bit sorry on his face, "I brought coffee!"

"Get out!"

The door closed quickly and you covered your face with your hands. God! It was embarrassing.

"Jesus, I'm sorry about him." Joel kissed your shoulder. “He's my stupid brother. I'll see what he wants.”

"Yeah, sure." you replied, "Go."

"Look at me, please."

You uncovered your hands and looked at the man who had given you so much pleasure last night. His hair was sweetly disheveled, his eyes slightly sleepy, but a pleasant smile was on his face.

"Mornig. Good to see you, sweetie."

"Hi." you smiled, "So you're real?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing." he laughed, kissing the back of your hand tenderly, "I'll go downstairs and see what he want. Would you like some coffee?"

"With pleasure."

Another kiss and Joel got dressed and left the bedroom. You lay in bed for a while, thinking about what you felt. You certainly didn't feel any remorse after what happened. Joel was really cute and you felt comfortable with him. If you could tell that after the few hours you spent with him, mostly in his bed.

You decided to get dressed and freshen up. You were sure you looked like a nightmare, and you definitely still smelled like him. You quietly walked out into the hall, intending to find the bathroom. After a few steps, however, your attention was drawn to voices coming from the ground floor.

"She's pretty, really."

It had to be Tommy.

"I know." replied Joel "I have a hard time believing that a girl like that would even look at me. If I hadn't spilled her drink..."

"Really?" Tommy laughed, "I told you! Put a nice lady down and you'll feel better in no time. Back to business, bro!"

A heavy stone landed in your stomach.

"Don't say that." Joel interrupted, "She's really amazing."

"You just slept with her. Don't think with your dick. You're not a teenager, are you?"

"Tommy, please!"

You took your chance and quietly walked down the stairs, then slipped straight to the exit door.

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[averycutesalamander]

thinking about you and boothill both spending the day together for crimbas... nsft because it gets spicy 😳

He spoils you absolutely rotten with gifts. One of your favorites is the plushie he bought you during one of his trips; it's some alien animal you don't recognize, but it's so incredibly charming that you don't mind. He bought this blanket that's absolutely sinfully soft, and the two of you immediately bundle up together on the couch. You lay across his chest as he rubs circles into your back, and watching movies turns into half-watching movies when you creep upward to kiss him, all slow and tender. He purrs into your mouth, one hand raising to bury in your hair.

You spend... quite a bit of time like that, devouring each other with a steadily increasing hunger, but never crossing the threshold into true, burning heat. Eventually, long after the credits have rolled, you pull away with a heaving breath, your lips and tongue aching from where he's been nibbling at them.

Oh, and how beautiful he looks underneath you, his eyes soft with a low, smoldering arousal, his hair slightly mussed from your touch, his lips indented with the markings of your teeth. He looks like he wants to consume you whole, like he wants to slide you up the couch and let you pin his face between your thighs and beg you to use him however you please.

But if you do that, your plans will be very much derailed - so you slowly sit up and away from him, mourning the distance.

"I'm gonna go get changed," you murmur, slowly tracing the exposed plating of his abdomen.

He shivers under your touch, swallowing heavily as he looks you up and down, his eyes dark and hungry.

"Wait for me in the bedroom, won't you?" you say, your voice dipping into something taunting, something tempting, something almost lascivious.

Without another word, you slide off of his lap and pad off to the bathroom, feeling his gaze burn into your back.

The moment the door closes behind you, a wicked grin overtakes your face. You've already given all of your gifts to him for the day-

All except one.

You kneel down and quietly open the cupboards below the sink, pulling out the small, inconspicuous box tucked in the back. It's been here for weeks, waiting for its time to shine.

Or, rather, your time to shine.

You swallow as you lift the lingerie from the wrapping, running your fingers along the soft red lace and decorative bows and ribbons. God, you pray this will look as good on you as you hope it will.

You strip, shivering subtly at the chill of the room; without any delay, you get to work putting on all of the pieces - girtle, garters (the moment you see them around your thighs, you know he's going to go absolutely postal), the skimpiest bustier you've ever seen in your life (and dear fucking lord does it make your chest look incredible), and plenty of other miniscule pieces that take you ages to figure out. The thigh-length stockings are especially agonizing, because they're essentially just twisting spirals of ribbon - but once you get them on, you know it was worth it. The ribbons are just tight enough to squeeze around your thighs and calves, and you'd bet your life that he's going to lose his mind over the subtle bulge of your skin in the spaces between. You add a few finishing touches - most important is the bow that you tie delicately around your neck, the ends dipping tauntingly between your breasts. Finally, once you're done, you take a long look at yourself in the mirror.

You realize rather abruptly that dating Boothill must have dramatically increased your confidence, because there isn't a doubt in your mind that you look phenomenal. You're a little worried he's going to go into emergency shutdown from overheating once he lays eyes on you.

Well, you'll resuscitate him. You're desperate to see the look on his face.

So, without further delay, you step out of the bathroom, then head straight for the place that you'll certainly be staying for a few hours at the very least.

The bedroom door creaks as you push it open, leaning in the door frame as dramatically and lasciviously as you can manage, and-

Boothill whips around and freezes like a deer in headlights at the exact same moment you do.

He's... He's completely bare, and in the process of wrapping himself in ribbon - bright, sparkling red and silver stands that wind around his chest and his limbs. It's a bit clumsy, a bit crooked, but it's genuinely quite good; you suspect he went through the trouble of looking through a guide of some kind. The ribbon crosses and loops to perfectly emphasize the curves of his body, framing the bulge of his plating and the dips in between. His whole torso looks fucking mouthwatering; he's perfectly framed his chest by a crossing pattern of ribbon that sweeps perfectly down into the dips and seams of his waist, which already looks incredibly grabable by default - but you actually feel your fingers itching, yearning to clench your hands just above those pretty little hips. His thighs are cradled beautifully by the winding stands, looping down around his calves and highlighting the sharp arch of his heels. He was just getting started on his arms, but one of his biceps is already beautifully bound and wrapped.

He breaks the silence. "Sweetheart, you..." he rasps, swallowing audibly. You were so distracted by ogling him that you honestly forgot he was ogling you - and he looks ready to pounce on you. "You're so gorgeous it's gonna put me six feet under."

"Well, you'll be taking me down with you," you mumble, a bit dazed, "because you look absolutely stunning."

Slowly, you lean away from the door, walking toward him like a lion on the prowl, your hungry eyes drinking him in like he's your next meal. You stop just in front of him, so close that you're able to reach up and trace the choker of ribbon that he's wound around his neck, following down to the ridges of his collarbones, into the center of his chest, then even lower, your fingernails running down the plates of his abdomen.

"Pretty boy," you murmur, partly to yourself. When you look into his eyes, you can see that the red dots of his pupils have blown wider than you've ever seen. "Can't believe we both had basically the same idea."

He takes a shaking breath when you slowly trail your fingers down between his legs, and his whole body shivers when you trace the seams of the plates that hide his cock.

"Honey, I'm..." he whispers, practically devouring you with his eyes. "I need you, darlin'. You look... Fudge, sweetheart, ya look so good I can't stand it."

Oh, how he makes your heart flutter.

When you smile, the edges are lethal, and your eyes glitter with mischief. You pout as dramatically as you can manage, but the curl of your lips gives you away.

"What, you aren't going to finish wrapping my gift? I'm wounded, honeybee." Before he can break out of his stupor, you reach down, twisting your fingers in the loose ribbon that hangs from his arm. "I guess I'll have to do it myself, then."

You see the realization in his eyes like a flash of lightning, and you can't resist the urge to hook your fingers beneath the ribbon at his neck, yanking him down into a kiss so hot that it could melt steel. You lick into his mouth feverishly, hungrily, almost desperately, scraping your tongue along his teeth. He moans, sweet and low in his throat, rumbling in his chest; his hands finally drift to rest at your hips, the cold chill of his metal bleeding through the thin material of your lingerie - and fuck, you love how small he makes you feel, how easily he could overpower you at any moment.

"Ah, ah, ah," you croon, pulling away. "Hands behind your back, honey."

The look on his face is positively agonized, and you drink it in like the sweetest ambrosia you've ever tasted. "But- But, sweetheart-"

You press your finger to his lips to shush him. "Gifts don't speak, do they?"

He looks like he wants to pin you to the wall and rip you apart. Instead, he opens his mouth and curls his tongue around your finger, his lips curling mischievously when you shudder. Entranced, you carefully trace his teeth with the pad of your finger, savoring the subtle sting.

"Turn around," you rasp, suddenly feeling parched.

He gives your finger a tiny nibble and your hips a thorough squeeze before obeying, turning his back to you, obediently holding his arms behind his back.

Time to get to work, then.

With a teasingly light touch, you wind the final stands around his arms, looping and crossing and tucking; then, you tie them together, hand to elbow, wrapped all pretty in red. You tie it off with a bow, and by the end, your favorite present of the day is standing there in all his glory.

You admire him for a long, long moment, circling him like a hungry hyena; all the while, he tracks you with his eyes, looking distinctly eager to pin you down and ruin you.

"You're so beautiful it makes me crazy," you mumble, nibbling at your lip.

"Keep talkin' like that, and I'll have to rip right outta this and tear you apart," he rumbles.

You smile, wide and wicked. "You won't, though."

You walk backwards until your knees hit the bed, and you settle into a lounge on the edge of it.

"You're awfully confident, sweetheart," he purrs, slowly prowling toward you like a wolf on the hunt. You watch him with dark eyes, spreading open your thighs so he can stand between them, looming over you in a way that might've felt menacing if he weren't looking at you like he wants to fuck you until you break like glass.

"Because I know you're a good boy," you croon, watching with delight as his jaw clenches, heat flashing in his eyes.

Low and sultry, you purr, "Down on your knees, bee."

Your gut clenches with arousal from just how quickly he obeys; he drops down in front of you, staring up at you like you're the most divine creature he's ever seen.

"See?" you murmur, your lips curling - though your brain is so hot that your lips shake slightly. "Good boy."

God, you think you could come just from the look on his face.

You take a breath, trying to compose yourself, and he takes the opportunity to rasp, "Let me taste ya, baby. Please. Wanna feel you on my tongue so bad I could die."

Well, who are you to deny such a polite request?

You watch his eyes dart to your cunt as you part your thighs just a bit wider, your lower lips visible through the sheer, soaked fabric. You sling one leg around his shoulder, pulling him into your orbit, watching him lean eagerly toward your pussy like a starving man to a banquet. You bury your fingers in his hair, holding him just out of reach, laughing openly at the tiny whine that escapes him.

"You want something, bee?" you say, your eyes shining. "Then take it."

When he looks up at you, you suddenly feel like you're the one on your knees. Without missing a beat, he leans forward, carefully pinching your panties in his teeth. You hold your breath as he drags them down, down, down, exposing your dripping cunt to his greedy eyes.

When he licks his lips, it reminds you very much of a wolf licking its chops before digging into its prey.

"You're gonna have to beg me for mercy before I'm done with ya, doll," he growls, sending a shiver up your spine. "And when I'm done, I'm gonna fill you up, and I'll make ya come until ya cry."

He's right, in the end. He ruins you, over and over and over and over, until you're utterly spent, until you're so come-drunk that all you can do is lay there and take it. He tears the fabric away from your body eagerly, muttering that he'll replace it later; then, he breaks you over his cock, rutting into you like an animal, marking your body with his teeth. He listens to the chorus of moans and whimpers and whines that spill from your lips, never sated, always starved.

And all the while, his arms stay bound behind his back, wrapped and tied neatly. And all the while, you're utterly helpless beneath him, pinned down and drooling.

(Merry Christmas indeed.)

@opheliaflavoredinstantnoodles @ikeagroceries @shadowstadium @theswashbucklingspy @cosmo112 @fxngtasy @rinzis

[ddejavvu]

anakin spitting in your mouth- WHAT WHO SAID THAT-

this post is 18+, minors dni.

cw for spit/spit kink, anything and everything to do with spit and sex. don’t like don’t read.

anakin spits everywhere.

sure, in your mouth, that's the most obvious place. sometimes he wants to watch it slide down your throat in a big glob, so he'll pry your jaw open and spit onto your tongue. he tilts your head backwards and watches his spit disappear down your throat, and it's even better when you cough/choke/gag on it. he likes watching it happen. other times, though, he wants you to keep it in your mouth. to let it mix with your own spit, to swish it around and get it all over every inch of your mouth. He wants it on and under your tongue, he wants it coating your teeth, he wants it to web up and stick from your tongue to the roof of your mouth when he has you open your jaw. if he's feeling extra nasty, he'll make you swish with his spit, then spit the combo into his mouth. then he'll swish it around in his, and swap it back to you. this goes on until you've both got your combined drool seeping down your necks in a glistening mess, sticky and cooling tight on your skin. then he'll lick it off of you, you'll lick it off of him, and you'll keep going. eventually he wants you to take half and swallow it, and he'll swallow the other half. it's disgusting, but it's what he likes.

he spits on your whole face too, though, not just your mouth. he likes getting flecks over your eyes that bead up in your lashes or streak over them so that you can't open your eyes if you don't want it dripping down. it gives him some sick little power over you; you can't open your eyes unless he helps you clean off your face. he likes watching it run down your chin, he likes watching you try to lick around your mouth to get as much of it off as possible.

he likes spitting on your tits: he likes to target your nipple and watch as it cools on your skin and puckers your nipple up, makes it all stiff and perky. he likes spitting on your collarbones too, and letting it drip down between your tits and trail to your stomach. he'll lick you clean, and he'll probably kiss you with it on his tongue.

he likes spitting on your ass: he likes to watch his saliva drip obscenely over the globe of your ass, especially if some of it gets stuck and pools between your ass cheeks. he'll lick it away for you, and he'll probably accidentally find the tight ring of your asshole with his tongue. if you think the spitting stops there, you're dead wrong. anakin's a messy eager, and your ass is gonna be covered by the time he's done.

of course he likes spitting on your pussy. he's gonna get saliva in there anyways, he's about to latch onto your clit and suck until you see the pearly gates. he likes splattering it over your cunt, sure, and getting flecks of it on your thighs and watching it drip down into your ass. but he also likes spitting on his fingers to then pump them into your cunt, feeling how wet his fingers are before he puts them into your hole and then feeling how much more slick there is on them than before. sometimes he can't see it, like if you're trying to do a quickie in public and he's just reaching into your pants, but he can always feel it and it goes straight to his dick.

even if he's not spitting, he still likes seeing his saliva on you. something just below his stomach clenches whenever he sees his spit glistening on your skin, whether it's where he'd just licked up the curve of your spine, lapped away slick that had pooled on your thighs, or kissed you sloppy and left your lips all shiny. it's a possessive thing, and it's a primally sexual thing, getting his gross spit all over you. and you like it, you like it when he gets his gross spit all over you, and he likes that you like it.

[watarfallar]

Merry Christmas eve! I bring presents

Grian: Can you PLEASE peer pressure me into doing my project? Scar: Do it or you're straight. Grian: I said peer pressure, NOT THREATEN!

Grian: Damn, the power went out. Scar: Don’t worry, I got this. Scar: shakes rapidly and starts to light up Grian: What-? Scar: I swallowed a glow stick! Grian, on the verge of tears: WHY WOULD YOU-

Scar: Don’t worry, I know exactly what I’m doing. Everything is going to be fine! Grian: How can you still say that? Scar: Because sometimes, when things get tough, denial is all we have.

Grian: When was the last time you cried? Scar: Uh 15 minutes ago, why?? Grian: really? That recent? Scar: Yeah voice crack is that a issue? starts crying again

Grian: I am so cool. I am an absolute Chad. I am the epitome of coolness and awesomeness— Scar: Hi. Grian: melts down in a flustered heap of softness

Grian: Look at me straight in the eyes and tell me the truth, Scar! Scar: You can’t expect me to look into your eyes and be straight.

Scar: I want to be with you for the rest of my life. Grian: Damn, that sounds like a marriage proposal. Scar, getting down on one knee: That's 'cause it is.

Grian: Is five a lot of followers? Scar: Depends on the context. Scar: On Instagram? No, not a lot of followers. Scar: In a dark alley? Yes, a lot of followers.

Scar, confused and exasperated: Grian, how do you plan on telling a bear to go vegan? Grian: Politely.

Scar: That's it, I'm cutting off the internet! Grian: No, please don't! I have a family to feed! Scar: Scar: What? Grian: I need to feed my Neopets!

Scar: Do you want to know your gay name? Grian: My… my gay name? Scar: Yeah, it's your first name- Grian: Haha. Very funny Scar- Scar: gets down on one knee And my last name. Grian: Oh- oh my god.

Grian: Hey guys, I’m making french toast sticks in the oven. I’m gonna take a quick nap, so wake me up in 5 minutes to flip them over. 5 minutes later Scar: Grian it’s been 5 minutes, time to flip your sticks. Grian: snnnzzzz… Scar: GRIAN YOUR STICKS!

Grian: Look, Scar, if you can fit your head down the gun’s barrel, you can assume it doesn’t have a non-lethal setting.

Scar, cowering in fear: What do you want from me?! Grian, standing in front of Scar: bites into the whole KitKat bar like a heathen Scar, crying: Please…stop…

Grian, at Scar: Of course you have blood all over you, and pronouns.

Scar: A banker? Me? Grian: Yes, Scar. Scar: But I don’t know anything about running a bank! Grian: Good. No preconceived ideas. Scar: I’ve robbed banks! Grian: Capital! Just reverse your thinking. The money should be on the inside.

Grian: Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know! Scar: The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus. Grian: Stop.

Cop: What are your names? Grian: Don't tell them, Scar. Cop, writing: Scar… Grian: Crap. Scar: Nice going, Grian. Cop: Scar: Uh oh.

Grian: Give me everything you’ve got! Scar: All your friends secretly hate you. Grian: Wait, what? Scar: I’ve got anxiety.

Scar: The saying “it is better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission” no longer applies to Grian.

Scar: COMPANY IS COMING! I WANT THIS PLACE LOOKING LIKE DISNEY ON ICE IN ONE MINUTE! Scar: GRIAN IF YOU HAVEN'T MADE YOUR BED THROW IT AWAY IT'S TOO LATE TO MAKE IT NOW! Scar: GET RID OF THE COUCHES, WE CAN'T LET PEOPLE KNOW WE S I T !

Scar is cleaning the house and they find an empty bottle of orange juice Scar: Clear orange juice? Scar: Oh, it's empty. Grian, who has been watching the entire time: I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot. I live with an idiot.

Grian: So we're gathered here today for a very special reason and I think you'll all agree with me here. Grian: And if you don't well then fuck you. Grian: I'm looking at you, Scar, you jealous mop.

Scar: Hey, wanna hear a funny joke? Grian: I only like dark humor. Scar, turning the lights off: What do you call a fake noodle? Grian: Scar: An IMPASTA!

Scar: Do you know the best way to respond to disagreement? Grian: With tears? Scar: No. Grian: tears up

[mrsparrasblog]

Mission save the human race Pt2

Pt1

You spend the night talking to John after you can't sleep anymore. Too many thoughts enter your brain. Getting pregnant at this time is dangerous, but it's what every good person would do, right? Save the human race.

"I'm a bit afraid."

"You don't need to be, Dove; I'm going to support you; either way, you saved Johnny." he reasured you.

"What if I die while giving birth? Then the whole thing is useless."

"First of all, you are a doctor; you can explain all these things beforehand, and we are soldiers going to take care of you; we would be better than delivery nurses, well, maybe except Kyle."

You chuckled. "And, um, do I need to sleep with every one of you?"

"Not at all, love; you have free choice; you can just choose one, or you can have more than one, you know since the chances are better."

"And they sure want me?"

"I think yes. Look at you."

"You only say that because I'm the only woman on earth."

"Not at all, dove; you're my type, even if there were millions."

"Liar," he pulled your hand and laid it down on his rock-hard dick.

"See how much I want you, and that's only by looking at you."

He stroked the hair out of your face and captured your lips in a kiss. The kiss was shy and thoughtful at first but turned more and more into a battle of dominance, and you knew you wanted him. "So fucking gorgeous. I wouldn't want to share you, but I'm a good man."

You rested your head against his shoulders. "I want to do it with all of you, but not together," he chuckled at your words and how flustered you got to admit your desire.

"We can talk further tomorrow; just let me cuddle you now." You fell asleep, almost suffocating in his strong arms.

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

The next morning, you went upstairs, entangling yourself from John's massive body.

You went straight to the room where Johnny lay, checking on his fever. He cooled down overnight. You were kind of proud that you managed your surgery well without proper equipment and medication; you're a fucking genius. If the Hopkins had seen this, they would have regretted declining you after medical school.

You rubbed a paste on Johnny's surgery wound and disinfected it.

You were a bit unprofessional as your eyes glanced down at his pure muscles; you wanted to trace them down with your fingers, of course only for medical reasons. You heard the door open, and Simon stood in front of you, only wearing briefs. His thick thighs were covered in scars, and his pecs were well-defined and so fucking tall. You wanted to climb him like Mount Everest, and you sure as hell will soon.

"My eyes are up here, darling." You blushed as he noticed you staring.

"Sorry, you're just so tall, and it's hard to look up." You laughed at your own lie.

"Price told me about the little plan." He walked close to you, pinning you against the wall with sheer force. His calloused fingers touched the hem of your shirt. "I look forward to helping you, and Johnny too. Play a bit with the other boys so you'll be stretched out for both of us."

"Both of you," you breathed out in fear and arousal at the same time.

"We like to share sweet little things like you," he said, pressing his erection towards you and fucking hell which horse was that.

"I know it's big," he said and you swallowed, afraid.

"I'm going to make your stomach swell pretty fast, Doll," he said, pushing you against the wall, his fingers groping against your round ass.

"Simon-"

"Shh, doll, it's okay. We're going to take care of you soon."

You just nodded, unable to do, think, or say anything.

"Just be a good girl today and give your sweet cunt to the captain; he has a thing for cute innocent girls like you." He kissed you around your neck and then let go, making his way back to his boyfriend.

So they would share you. Should this make you feel afraid or aroused?.

You tried to shake it away and went to the kitchen, preparing some fruits for breakfast.

Price awoke to find himself alone in the bed, the sheets cooling against his skin. He sat up and stretched, yawning widely, before looking around for you.

Finding you in the kitchen, he smiled and walked over, wrapping an arm around your waist from behind.

"I feel so domestic with you around me," you said, taking in his smell.

John chuckled, leaning in to kiss your neck. "Domestic? That's a new one. But I like the sound of it." He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes. "You know, I could get used to this—being with you, taking care of you."

"Already acting like I'm your little wife."

He smirked, his lips curling into a smile. "Well, if it means I get to be your husband, then I think I'm going to like this arrangement very much." He turned you around to face him, his hands sliding up your arms.

"Are you fulfilling your husband's duties then?"

John leaned down, his lips brushing against yours. "Oh, I plan to," he murmured before capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and dip, asserting his dominance and affection at the same time.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to go on your tiptoes to reach him.

John's body reacted to yours, his hands moving lower to squeeze your butt through your clothes.

He pulled back slightly, looking into your beautiful eyes as he trailed kisses down your neck and shoulders. "I love the way you respond to me," he said, his voice sounding horace and full of lust.

"And how do I respond, John?" You sounded cocky, and the awareness to not tease a man twice your strength left your body.

John's lips curled into a sinful smile. "With fire, Angel, just like this." He bit down gently on your earlobe, eliciting a soft moan from you. "You're so fucking sexy when you submit to me."

"What makes you think I'll submit to you easily?"

Price's eyes narrowed slightly, but his voice remained soft and commanding. "Because I know you want to," he said, trailing his fingers down your stomach and teasingly tickling your lower abdomen. "You love the feeling of being taken and owned." He pulled a slap on your ass, showing you how he in fact owns you right now.

"Oh, do I now?" you asked.

He chuckled, kissing your neck again. "Oh, yes. You do." He ran his hand up your thigh, gently caressing the inner part of your thigh and teasingly brushing against your pants, which were already soaked.

"You're so responsive,"

"John, everyone could walk in the kitchen any moment," you whined, afraid of what others would think of you. You gave in so easily that it didn't even take you a week to decide to become their personal fucktoy.

His eyes flickered at the door for a moment. "That just makes it more exciting," he said, his voice deep and husky. "The thought of someone walking in on us and seeing you like this turns me on."

"Oh, it turns you on how they see how good you take care of me."

"Yes," Price admitted, his voice low and raw with desire. "I love the thought of them watching me claim what's mine." He slid a hand down to cup your pussy through your panties, his fingers teasing your swollen clitoris through the fabric—you hadn't had this friction in a while, making you almost cum from it.

Mhm, John, stop, I didn't shave." Well, you trimmed, but try to shave properly in an apocalypse.

Price's eyes glinted with mischief as he leaned in to whisper against your ear. "I don't care if you haven't shaved—I even prefer it this way," he said, his beard tickling against your skin. "I want you just like this- all natural."

He nipped at your earlobe before trailing kisses down your neck, his hand still buried in your panties. "You're so fucking sexy," he murmured against your skin.

"You think so?" You knew you looked good, but good enough to be desired by these seven literal gods. You doubted it.

His eyes are burning with pure desire for you. "I fucking know so," he growled, pulling you closer and grinding his hips against your body—his erection was already there, and it was fucking big. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met, Angel."

"You're the most handsome man I've ever seen." Well, you couldn't quite decide which of them was the hottest, but he didn't need to know that right now.

He chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Flatterer," he teased, kissing you gently on the lips. "But I'll take it."

You kissed him deeper, moaning into the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a heated dance. He could feel your warmth through his pants, and it only made him harder.

With one swift move, he lifted you onto the kitchen counter, pinning you under his strong arms. He lifted you like you weighed absolutely nothing.

"Mhm, John needs you," you whined. You could not hold your composure anymore; you felt lust for him - primal lust for him—like nature wanted it to be; you were animalistic.

"You have me," John said, his voice rough with passion. "Always." His hands moved deftly to slip off your shirt.

Now you sat there on the counter only wearing a bra and some short skirt with spread legs so he could always reach your begging mound. You thought about how any of the boys could walk in at any second, and it only fueled your desire. In the deepest twisted place in your mind, you thought about them taking you at the same time. You blamed it on ovulation week or not being fucked for years straight.

And even though of the sex you had before was frustrating, your ex just couldn't get you off, rubbing on your poor clit like it was a lottery scratcher. How many orgasms you faked, and you asked yourself if you needed to fake one with them too? This would be disappointing.

Price took a moment to admire the view before him, his eyes roaming over your exposed skin. He reached up and undid your bra with practiced ease, letting it fall away to reveal your perfect breasts. His mouth watered at the sight of them. "You're so fucking beautiful." Price smiled as he leaned in, his lips brushing against one of your hardened nipples. "I could spend all night just worshipping these," he whispered before taking one into his mouth and sucking gently.

"Then do it," you whined, wanting him to suck your nipples.

"With pleasure," John replied. He continued to lavish attention on your perfect breasts, his hands teasing and pinching the nipples while his mouth moved from one to the other, lapping at them with hungry kisses. You could barely take it longer. Your eyes darkened from hunger.

You slipped off his shirt as he continued to suck on your hard nipples.

You oggled over his muscular frame; he wasn't the lean muscle type; he had thick, delicious muscles with hair on top of them; he was the pure definition of masculinity; your primal needs chipped in when you saw him, thinking of how you resembled the perfect pair.

He groaned as he felt your hands on his skin, his muscles tightening at the touch. He pulled away from your breasts for a moment, looking down at you with a predatory smirk. "You like what you see?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

"I love what I see."

"Good," he replied. He reached down and pulled your panties off, tossing them aside before leaning in to lick a path up your stomach towards your breasts again. You freeze because of your exposed sex; your wetness has already flowed down your thighs.

"I'm going to make sure you scream for me."

"Pretty sure of your skills?" The bratines never left your body; you were lucky that John was a soft dom, and you would regret your bratines sooner or later on Simon's Day.

"You have no idea," John growled, his voice thick with desire. He took your hardened nipple into his mouth once again, sucking and biting gently before moving on to the other one.

"John, I need your mouth somewhere else." You slowly grew impatient, your hole almost begging and crying to finally be stuffed.

"Oh? And where would you like that?" he asked, his voice still rough with lust. He continued to tease your nipples, flicking his tongue over them as he waited for your answer.

"You know where," you whined, hoping he wouldn't let you say it. For fucks sake, you were a medical professional, but you couldn't say that you wanted him on your vagina, stuffing you so badly that it reached your cervix.

Price smirked knowingly. "I've got a few ideas," he replied, his hands sliding down your body. Before he picked you up and laid you down on the kitchen table.

"A fine meal needs to be eaten on the dinner table." You blushed at this sentence.

He looked up at you, his eyes burning with desire, as he took in the sight of your exposed, dripping cunt. "You're so wet for me," he whispered before lowering his head and pushing his tongue into your pussy.

You screamed loudly at the sudden friction grabbing his hair.

John moaned at the taste of you, his tongue lapping up your juices eagerly. He used his hands to spread your legs wider, giving him better access to your most sensitive spots.

"That's it," he growled. "Let me hear you scream."

"John," your moan filled the whole house, and you just hoped you didn't wake Johnny up. Poor boy needs his sleep.

"Fuck, yes," Price panted between licks and thrusts of his tongue. He reached up to grab one of your legs, pulling it over his shoulder as he continued to eat you out.

"mhm feels so good." You moaned, your eyes closed.

"John hummed in response, his tongue swirling around your clit. He reached up to squeeze one of your breasts, eliciting a moan from you. "You feel so fucking good," he murmured, loving the way you were responding to him.

He pushed two fingers into your tight hole, fucking them in and out while he continued to eat you out.

"Don't stop," you begged and felt a bit pathetic. You let an unknown man eat you out, which wasn't the worst part. You let seven fucking men breed you.

"I won't stop," he promised, his voice low and rough with desire.

You shook completely under him, screaming in pleasure. He moaned at the sounds you were making, his arousal growing as he felt your body tense and quiver under him.

He picked up the pace, his fingers thrusting deeper and faster, while his tongue worked overtime on your clit.

"I'm going to---- fuck." you screamed.

He felt your walls clench around his fingers, signaling your impending orgasm. "Cum for me," he growled, sucking even harder on your clitoral area, leaving a small bite on your clit.

And for the first time in your life, a man was competent enough to let you reach an orgasm, and it felt better than everything you felt in your life before you saw stars shaking like you had an exorcism, and so you came squirting all over His tongue. He groaned in delight, his tongue thrusting deep into your pussy to catch every drop of your sweet nectar.

He continued to lap at you, savoring the taste of you as he held your hips down firmly, not allowing you to take away his meal. You thought they looked starved when they ate your food for the first time, but this was a completely new level of starving.

"Fuck," you were a bit embarrassed as you saw the wet puddle on the table and his beard completely drenched." I never squirted before. I'm so sorry," you apologized, your cheeks burning red.

He chuckled, raising his head to look at you. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he assured, his voice filled with warmth and understanding. "I've never had a woman squirt before, either."

"Was it bad?"

He smirked. "Oh, I'd say it was fucking incredible." He pulled his fingers out of your puffy hole slowly, licking them clean before leaning in to capture your mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste your cum on his tongue, and it was so messy and hot at the same time.

"Do you want me to suck you off, or do we go straight to the fucking part?" You asked, wanting to make him feel good too.

He stepped between your spread legs, his erection jutting out proudly. He looked down at you with a predatory grin, his hand reaching out to cup one of your breasts. "As much as I love to see you on your knees for me, we can't waste an ounce of cum, sweetheart."

"Can you go in slow? I didn't have someone inside in years," you asked, afraid, especially not someone so thick. His dick was perfect, comfortable, 7,5 inches curved to the right and fucking thick, and he had a vein that probably would press against your G-spot perfectly, and fucking beautiful dark curls between his legs, making him seem only more masculine than he already was.

He nodded and positioned himself at your begging entrance, teasing you with only the tip of his cock before slowly pushing inside. "You're so fucking tight," he groaned, savoring the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

"God, you're the biggest I ever had." He almost pulled you apart; it burned to take him inside, and without proper preparation, you sure as hell wouldn't be able to take him.

John chuckled at your words, pleased with the compliment. "You'll have to tell me how it feels when I'm balls deep inside you," he murmured, thrusting deeper into your shaking body.

Feeling you start to relax and take him deeper, Price began to move faster, his hips grinding against yours in a sensual rhythm. "Fuck, I love how you take my cock," he growled out between gritted teeth.

"Oh God"

"John is enough; no need to call me God Sweetheart." He picked up the pace even more, slamming into you with primal force. His free hand moved to grip your breast roughly, pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. "You like that? You want more?" he asked breathlessly.

"I want your cum, John," you whined.

Hearing those words sent a surge of lust through his body. He pulled almost all the way out before slamming back into you, hitting your sweet spot perfectly. "Gonna cum all over your pretty little pussy, going to make you so full of my cum."

"Yes, John," you whine.

"Going to make you all round, going to fucking breed you."

You whined and moaned; the primal need to let him fill you up and mark you as his own filled you. You needed this, and not only for selfless reasons; you enjoyed it as much as he did it.

"You're going to beg me for my cock after this." He pounded into you harder, his dick twitching with anticipation. "Feel that? Feel how much I love fucking you?"

"Yes, feels so good." You whined, "Breed me, John." You didn't know what took over you, but you didn't care. Shame is for post-nut clarity.

Hearing your whine only made him more turned on. He slammed into you again and again, each stroke deeper than the last. "That's it, baby. Take it all. I'm going to fill you up so fucking good." John leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "I'm going to make you a mommy," he growled out before slapping his massive cock against your g-spot once more.

He could feel his impending release as he continued to thrust into you; he never had something perfect like you—such a good woman between his filthy, not-worthy hands. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you tightly as he pushed deeper into you than ever before. You felt him hitting your cervix.

"That's it, baby. Take my cum. Let me empty myself inside you."

"Yes, please, Daddy, cum in me."

Price groaned loudly as he felt himself erupting inside you. His hips bucked wildly, driving his cock even deeper as hot, thick cum filled your wanting womb. He held nothing back, emptying himself into her before finally pulling out with a wet pop. "There you go, baby. That's what a real man does to his woman."

"And I'm your woman?" You asked completely out of your mind, probably about hormones.

John smirked, pulling you into his arms. "You sure as hell are." He kissed you passionately.

"Now we need to make you a mommy."

"Well, you already came to me," you giggled.

He rolled his eyes. "I've got plenty more where that came from, sweetheart." He traced his finger down your stomach. "Now let's see about making you a baby; besides, I don't want any of these muppets making you pregnant before me." You didn't strike him as the jealous type since he shared you with seven men, but maybe it was the thing about being the first that fueled him.

"You have the stamina for a second round? Price grinned, giving you a wink.

"With you? Hell yeah." He pulled you close and kissed you again, starting to nibble on your ear. "And this time, I'll make sure I hit the back of that sweet cunt of yours." He carried you to the bed and laid you down.

The bed dipped at his weight, his hard cock still rock-hard against his stomach. He positioned himself between your legs and looked into your eyes. "Ready for round two, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy." You knew how crazy it made him when you called him this.

Price leaned down and captured your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours as he thrust his hips upward. He groaned into the kiss, feeling the head of his cock push against your entrance once more. "God damn, you feel good."

You put your legs on his shoulders. He imideatly kissed your ankles and hit you deeper with every thrust. He couldn't help but moan in pleasure. He looked into your eyes as he began to move his hips back and forth, slamming into you with each powerful stroke. "Fuck, you're so tight."

You clenched around him, and it only fueled his primal instincts. "That's right, baby. Let's make you a mommy." His fingers dug into your hips, pulling her closer as he continued to pound into you.

"Mhm, going to cum soon, John," he grinned as he heard your moan.

"That's it, baby. Let it out." He felt your cunt clench around him as you shook from the orgasm he had just given you.

"Thank you, Daddy."

"You're welcome, Dove. Now let's see if we can get you pregnant." With that, he pulled out of your pussy and rolled over onto his back, beckoning you to straddle him once more. "Ride me until you're ready for another."

You let your hips fall on his thick cock, whining as he spread you in half, and so you began to ride him, your boobs jumping up and down.

He moaned at the sight of your ass bouncing against his full balls as you rode him hard. He grabbed your hips tightly, helping you to move faster and harder on his shaft. "That's it, baby. Ride me until you can't take it anymore."

He reached up, grabbed one of your perky breasts, and began to play with your nipple while you rode him. "Do you want me to crawl inside you again, baby?"

"Yes, Daddy," you nodded and clenched around him just at the thought.

Price loved the way you answered. "Then keep riding me, dove." He pulled on your nipple gently, watching as you let out a small cry of pleasure. He continued to play with your breast while he watched your ass bounce up and down on his cock.

"That's it, baby. Show Daddy how much you love his cock."

"I love it so much, Daddy."

He groaned as he felt your pussy clench around his cock. "Oh, fuck yes. You feel so good." He continued to play with your breast while he started to circle your clit while you rode him.

John's voice dropped to a whisper as he spoke his darkest desires into your ear. "I want to fuck you in every hole, dove. I want to mark you as mine and give you all the babies you want."

He continued to rub your clit in small circles as you rode him harder. Price could feel his orgasm building quickly. That's it, baby. Give Daddy what he wants." He reached up and pinched your nipple hard, watching as you let out a sharp cry of pleasure.

"I want you to cum for me, baby. I want to watch you squirt all over my cock."

"Mhm, fuck," you moaned. You couldn't take it any longer.

He continues His work on your abused clit Till you clench around him and squirt all over His dick.

John groaned as he felt your pussy clench around his cock and squirt all over him. "Fuck, yes. That's it, dove." He continued to rub your clit even after you came, wanting to draw out every last drop of pleasure from your body.

"Too much, Daddy," you whined as he overstimulated you.

Price chuckled softly at your whines, his fingers still working on your clit. "Sorry, dove. Did I go too far?" He asked teasingly, knowing full well that he hadn't. Instead, he loved pushing your limits and seeing just how much you could take.

"That's it, dove. Give Daddy all of it." He whispered in your ear before pulling out of your wet pussy and slapping his hard cock against your slick mound once more. "Daddy going to fill you up now, and you're going to take everything, understood?"

You were too fucked out to talk; you just nodded.

He fucked with a mean pace into you, his balls slapping against your ass, leaving his mark, but that wasn't enough; he needed to mark your breasts too, to show everyone he was the first to have you - the first to hopefuly impregnate you. You were his, and he was only a good captain for sharing his priceless angel. A pure act of selflessness from him.

With a final thrust, he erupted himself inside you. Hot, strips of his sticky cum painted your inner walls white. "Take it, sweetheart, let me fill you up." He pushed his cum in your hole all over again and then removed his dick out of your red, swollen cunt. He held your legs up. "I don't want my cum to flow out of you before the job is done."

You thought he would leave after the act, but he didn't, so his affection was real. He cleaned you up with a towel, massaging your sore thighs and almost forcing you to drink enough water since you squirted so much. "Did it feel so good for me, Sweetheart? I never had such a perfect woman before," he whispered against your skin. " Gonna worship you and give you everything you need, okay?"

You nodded and cuddled against his fury body, easily falling asleep after this activity.

[stevieschrodinger]

It was a fucking miracle that Eddie survived the upside down. He stopped breathing a couple of times, had lost more blood than Steve even thought was in a whole person.

Hawkins was a fucking shambles and the hospital wasn't any better, so a lot of protocols had gone straight out of the window. When they asked Steve, still covered in blood and upside down, what his name was, he'd told them. The Beta nurse had scribbled Steve's name down as Eddie's next of kin and in the thick of it all, absolutely no one questions it.

Been nearly two weeks on life support, covered in wires and machines and a tube down his throat to breath for him. Two surgeries, stealing skin off his thighs and ass to keep his guts in.

But Eddie is alive. And it still says Steve's name at the top of Eddie's notes, even if Wayne has told them he's Eddie's uncle and he's been trading off with Steve to keep watch over Eddie.

Which is why when a doctor pulls Steve aside to talk about Mr. Munson, Steve's kind of used to it and Wayne let's it slide since he can't be there as much as Steve, anyway.

"I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Harrington," and Steve starts to panic, but tries not to since he saw Eddie two minutes ago and knows he's doing pretty well, all things considered, "because of all the damage, it's very unlikely your Omega will ever carry a pup to term."

Steve sits. He sits hard.

"We haven't informed him as yet, he's still quite delicate. I wasn't sure if you felt the news may be better coming from you?"

Eddie's an Omega.

The newbie doctor standing in front of Steve thinks that Eddie is his Omega.

Eddie probably won't ever be able to have pups.

Steve drifts back to Eddie's room without really answering. He sits and watches Dustin and Eddie play cards. They look at him, now and then, because Steve has no clue what he must scent like but...fuck.

Eddie. Eddie who Steve left alone in the upside down is an Omega. Eddie who's managed to hide his designation this whole time. Eddie, who must be coated in hospital standard blockers right now...which makes sense. The scent of a distressed Omega in pain would fuck up every Alpha on this floor of the hospital, so standard practice with blockers makes sense; helping to hide Eddie's secret.

And now Eddie probably can't ever have pups. And that's probably Steve's fault.

"Hey, Steve, man, what's...what's up?". Dustin. Standing right in front of Steve and Steve has no fucking idea what to do except he knows he needs to face up to this.

"Can I get some time with Eddie? Just us?"

Dustin looks like he's about to argue and give them both shit, but there must be a look on Steve's face or something in his voice or something in his scent, so Dustin doesn't. Packs up his shit and very carefully hugs Eddie goodbye.

And Steve's got no fucking idea what to do or say once they're alone, so he finds himself perching on the edge of Eddie's bed, holding his hand. And sure, Eddie lets him, but he's also looking at their joined hands and then looking at Steve like he's lost his damn mind.

"The, the ah, doctor, they still think I'm next of kin, your, uhm, your Alpha."

Eddie, slowly and carefully, pulls his hand out of Steve's, watching with wide eyes, frozen, like he doesn't know what to expect. Like this could go any way. Like people who know Eddie's secondary gender haven't reacted too well in the past.

Steve swallows thickly, "they don't think you'll be able to have pups, Eddie."

Eddie plays with his own fingers in lieu of his absent rings. "Oh," he says, and then starts to cry. Covers his face for a moment and sobs a broken noise, but just as Steve reaches out for him, tries to offer comfort, Eddie pulls his hands away and straightens up. He wipes his face abruptly, "doesn't matter, probably never have any anyway. Never going find a mate," Eddie shrugs, "doesn't matter."

"Why?"

Eddie scoffs, still crying and wiping at his leaking nose, "come on Steve, if there's a diametric opposite to a good Omega, it's me."

"Well...maybe no Alpha even gets a chance to change your mind if they don't even know you're an Omega, Eddie."

Eddie just scoffs again.

"This is my fault -"

"Don't," Eddie snaps at him, "everything I do I choose to do, this is not your fault."

"Yeah, but-"

"What? If you'd known I was an Omega you wouldn't have let me go? Don't you fucking dare! I chose! It's up to me what I do, and maybe shit like this is the exact reason I hide!"

Steve holds his hands up in defeat, at least Eddie is angry enough to have stopped crying. His lashes are still damp though, and the anger has brought the first colour to Eddie's skin that Steve's seen for weeks. Steve always thought Eddie was pretty; at least now maybe he knows why.

Now is not the moment to say that to Eddie though, but maybe, maybe later. Maybe now it's all over. Maybe once Eddie's back on his feet.

"Stop fucking staring at me, Okay! I'm still just Eddie! This doesn't mean anything, nothing has changed."

"Right," Steve says, "no, of course. I won't tell anyone." That seems to appease Eddie, at least.

Enough that when Steve reaches his hand across the bed again, Eddie starts playing with Steve's fingers other than his own.

[runningfrom2am]

requiem // part five

summary: according to coriolanus snow, his best friend had the most beautiful voice in all of panem. she had been training her whole life constantly to get where she was; being up for a residency at the most elite opera house in all of panem. singing was her passion. her true love; and when that got stripped from her in a second, his world became a whole lot quieter. he loathed every minute of it.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 2.1k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: opera singer!mentor!reader (blink and you'll miss it), she's kind of a prodigy!! p cool imo, mute!reader, bestfriend!coryo, friends to lovers trope ooo, mentions of graphic violence early on (particularly the prologue) but after that it's pretty safe, depictions of ptsd/trauma, mental illness and minor suicidal ideation but at least she's not entirely alone, descriptions of minor medical treatments and use of medication.

a/n: fighting for my LIFE trying to sort out my student loans rn. also i'm sick. butttt i did just finally get my hands on hogwarts legacy so that's eating up all my time. anyway that's a small update on my life.

also, reminder to follow @runningfrom2am-library and turn on my notifications there to join my taglist for this series!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

Walking into the citadel and down some spiral stairs towards Dr. Gaul's infamous lab, you already have your notepad in hand prepared with the proposal you have made for her.

She likes those, right? Coryo wrote her several for the games and she put them to use. This should be no different.

You have a pencil clutched in one hand unless she has questions, which you are sure she will.

Your shoes click down the large hall as you make your way to the reception desk on the left side, manned by security rather than actual receptionists. Dr. Gaul was not your average doctor, after all.

You stop in front of the counter and slide a piece of paper across it to the man sitting there, a determined but kind expression on your face.

He doesn't even look up.

You let out a quiet sigh, rolling your eyes before knocking on the counter and waving a hand at him.

He looks up then, studying you for a moment with eyes lingering on the scar across your throat before recognition flashes in his eyes. "Can we help you with something?" He asks anyway, as if he was expecting an answer even though you both knew you wouldn't be able to give him a verbal one.

You tap the paper you placed on the counter, sliding it forward more toward him and he picks it up.

'I would like to see Dr. Gaul. I have a written proposal for her.'

He reads it, nodding a little to himself before looking up at you again. "She should have a few minutes, she has a meeting at 2, though." He says, and you nod to him in a silent thank you as he buzzes the doors open for you to enter.

Stepping into the lab that hosted incredibly high ceilings, tanks lining the shelves and walls as well as a pit in the floor straight ahead, you swallow as you look around. You had never been in here before, and you weren't sure if you were more creeped out or more in awe of the whole thing.

"If it isn't my favourite songbird." You look up when you hear the familiar voice of the doctor, resisting to roll your eyes at the nickname, despite her claiming that you had been her favourite of the two of you who had earned the name. These days, it never fails to form a pit in your stomach.

You give her a smile and a polite nod as she walks toward you from between some of the tanks, dusting off her red gloves on the somehow pristine white of her lab coat.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, chickadee?"

In response, you hold out the carefully prepared file folder to her, including your proposal and copies of your own medical records from the operations performed after your attack.

She raises her eyebrows in intrigue as she plucks it eagerly from your hands, opening it up.

Dr. Gaul's eyes widen slightly in surprise as she looks over the "title page" of your neatly formatted proposal, looking up at you again.

"Experiment in Language Efficiency on the Human Body: A Proposal." She reads, letting out a slight laugh.

You watch her nervously, hands clutched around your notebook against your chest. You nod in confirmation, wanting her to know you are entirely serious.

She quickly flips through the pages and your medical records, occasionally glancing up at you.

"Well, this seems to be a compelling proposal." She comments, closing the folder. "But no. I will not be turning you into any kind of experiment."

Your brow furrows in slight disappointment, and you flip open your notebook to quickly write something down for her.

'I volunteer.'

She reads the sheet as you turn it around and she shakes her head, a small smile forming on her lips. "I figured as much, but still, it is too dangerous. I do not experiment on humans. Especially Capitol citizens, and especially those as well-loved as you."

The irony of that is palpable, and your jaw tightens as you scribble your thoughts down on the next page. You thought she had done something to Clemensia, but you did not wish to fuel the rumour mill, so you kept that quiet.

'I believe that if anyone is capable it is you, Dr. Gaul.'

"I'm flattered, and I do not doubt that." She chuckles, holding the folder out to you again. "But that does not make it possible, I am afraid."

In response you just point over to the bird cages against the left wall, tilting your head at her.

Jabberjays: Birds of her own creation designed to mimic the human voice.

"You've done your research." Dr. Gaul comments, clearly impressed and pleased that you would bring them up. "You make a valid point, my jabberjays, they... They were certainly a successful experiment of mine. Undeniably relevant to your cause."

She gazes over at the caged birds thoughtfully. "But look at them now. As you point at them." She nods toward them before looking back at you again. "They were only free for so long before they ended up caged again. Useful, for a while, during the war, but their time of pertinence has passed. You know how that feels, don't you?"

The question was cruel, as she was known to be, but that knowledge didn't make it hurt any less. You take a deep breath in and out through your nose, feeling frustrated and defeated all at once as you turn to walk away.

"Ah, wait a moment, chickadee. I'm not finished." She calls after you, voice echoing in the large lab. You pause, turning around to face her again.

"I am having all my precious jabberjays rounded up from the districts and shipped back to me because, despite their redundancy, I am yet to give up on them. I wish to somehow give them a second purpose, maybe make some tweaks to their genetics." She explains, but you are still mostly uninterested and busy drowning in your disappointment. "What I mean, is that I will consider your proposal, depending on how that goes with them in the coming weeks."

Your heart stops and flutters for a moment at the exciting news. You can't help the hopeful smile that grows on your face as you nod eagerly at her.

'Thank you.'

You write quickly before showing her the sheet, pressing your hand to your chest to signal further your gratefulness.

"That is not a yes, mind you. It is very risky, but I will take it into account. I'll do some tests on defective birds and see if there is a way I can help." She warns you, tucking the folder under your arm. "Now, I have a meeting, if you wouldn't mind. I will be in touch with you, little bird."

You nod again, giving her a small wave before turning and walking back the way you came with a giddy smile on your face.

Walking into the now familiar lab, Coriolanus is slightly nervous. As he always is, in the presence of Dr. Gaul. The coldness of the room in both temperature and design makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, but he's used to the chill he gets when he walks in.

Especially now that he didn't know what she had summoned him for.

His worries are quickly dashed and then tripled walking down the spiral staircase, stopping in his step when he sees you coming up.

"What are you doing here?"

Your best friend's voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up, having just finished tucking your notebook into your bag. You had little to no interest in pulling it out again, hoping that your long-lasting friendship would allow you to instead just communicate telepathically and spare you the effort.

You just stare at him, just as surprised to see him, opening your mouth like you're going to say something and you try but you still can't. Shocking.

Instead of coming up with any meaningful response, you do the best you can do, pointing at him and then turning up your palm as if to ask him the same thing.

"Me? Dr. Gaul called for me." Coryo answers, thankfully understanding your wordless question. He was better at that than most. "You too?"

You're about to shake your head and try to explain why you were here, but then you think better of it.

He hates her. Hates her experiments, despite what he did to help her with the games. He'd probably flip if he knew the truth.

You nod instead, glancing back down the stairs.

Coryo sighs a breath of relief. At least he wasn't the only one. At least you might be able to give him some peace of mind. "Is it bad? Is it about the mentorship program? Is it-"

You hold a hand up to stop him from his mini spiral, lifting one finger.

'One question at a time.'

Right.

He had the sound of mind to only ask yes or no questions to get to the bottom of what he wanted to know, but he didn't quite get as far as realizing that all of them at once may not be helpful.

"Sorry, is it bad?" He asks again, and normally he would laugh, but he was too anxious to even see the comedy in it like the two of you normally would.

Unsure what else to do, you shake your head and shrug vaguely. As an extra measure, you hold up your hand and twist your palm.

'So so.' The gesture is meant to signal, considering it was a safe enough answer. Nothing Dr. Gaul could have called him here for could be all good news, after all. You don't think, anyway.

"Okay, okay..." Coryo breaths out, nodding to himself.

Feeling a little guilty you step up to the step he's on, gently patting his shoulder and giving him a small smile.

'You'll be fine.'

He seems to interpret this correctly, giving you a small smile in return and gently resting his hand over your smaller one on his shoulder.

You were meant to be reassuring him, but his touch works miracles to comfort you when you weren't even sure you needed it all that much.

These days though, you would cling to any sense of it you could get. Even the tiniest bits. Sometimes, for a flicker of a second, you didn't feel so alone. Coryo could still hear you.

"Thanks. I'll see you soon? Can I come by later?" He asks and you nod in confirmation, giving his shoulder another gentle squeeze as you take another step up so you're about at eye level with him, leaning back to kiss the side of his head in a small bit of encouragement before waving him on.

Coryo can't help the flush that forms on his cheeks as he nods at you, hesitating for a moment before continuing down the steps and you continue back up.

"Oh, Dr. Gaul?" Coryo says, catching himself before he leaves, and she looks up again from her corner desk stacked with papers, your deep red folder sitting right on top.

She looks up, anticipating his question.

"Did you offer an apprenticeship to Y/N as well? I saw her leaving on my way down." He asks, assuming that she must have extended it to you as well. That was why you were here, right? Both called for the same thing? Though, he didn't understand how that could have been a bad thing as you indicated it kind of was when he stopped you on the stairs.

But he knows you well. Having to settle for an internship under Dr. Gaul was far from what you wanted in life, so he can easily see how you could have seen it that way.

"No." Dr. Gaul answers after a moment, head tilted at him. "She just had a question for me."

Well, so much for your honesty.

You never lied to him. At least, Coryo didn't think you did, but here he was, being confronted with the fact that you had. It doesn't settle well.

He can't resist asking. "What about?"

"That is between the songbird and I, I'm afraid." Dr. Gaul responds with a shrug and a sly, knowing smile- taunting him for something she knew about you that he did not. "If she wished for you to know, she would tell you." She pauses, a feigned guilty smile forming on her red-painted lips at the irony of her words. "Well, you know what I mean."

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

[quitealotofsodapop]

"Uh, Monkey King?" MK asked, ducking as a rather expensive pensive looking cloth flew ive this head, "What are you doing?"

"Packing." Sun Wukong grunted, eyeing what appeared to be a ceremonial robe of sorts with a critical eye. MK felt apprehension build in him, remembering what happened the last time he found his master packing.

"Are you... going somewhere?" MK swallowed his anxiety, hoping beyond all hope the answer was no. The gods, however, did not grant his wish.

"Yeah." Wukong sighed, running his hand through his fur, "I got some business that requires me to be gone for about a week. I'll try to keep you updated."

"A week!?" MK parrots back in horror, "But what about my training!?"

Wukong paused, tail flicking, before turning back to MK as if shocked he'd even ask that.

"MK, after everything that happened, do you really think a short break in training would be that big of an impact!?" Wukong asked, legitimately confused by MK's worry, "'Sides, you knot definitely are far enough in your training some self-guided study would be a benefit. If you want i can give you some tasks to do while I'm gone, too."

"But where are you going!?" MK asked, "And don't lie about going on vacation like you did with the whole Lady Bone Demon thing! Wait... is this like the lady Bone Demon? Are you having me behind again!?"

"Uh, no." Wukong grunted, pushing MK out of his face. "I just have some kingly duties to fulfill that require me to take a trip. I'm not going to be gone more than a week, maybe two at most. And Macaque is keeping an eye on the island so if anything happens, he can send a message to me."

MK froze at that, confusion written in his face. He tilted his head as he looked at the other monkey,

"Kingly duties? I thought being the Monkey King meant fighting bad guys and taking naps whenever you want!"

"No." Wukong chuckles, choosing to be amused by his apprentice' backwards comment than offended, "Being the Monkey Kid means fighting bad guys and saving the world. Being the Monkey King is a biiiit more complicated than that."

"...Say what now?"

"Alright, let's just say... I've been kinda keeping a lot of what goes into being my successor a secret." Wukong's paw came up to rub the back of his neck, "With so many major threats popping up all over the place, I'd focused entirely on your training as a warrior, but there's a side I haven't even began to touch. I wanted to make sure you were the best warrior you could be before either tried to add the ksot political and administrative side of being my heir into the fold."

"Politics!?" MK spat out incredulously, staring straight his mentor in disbelief.

"I am the Monkey King, MK. That means I have a whole kingdom to run." Wukong continued, "Any and all of the free time i get is dedicated to training you on top of that! The Counsel of the Great Demon Kings happens every hundred years or so. I hadn't gone to the last four, but since I've made a public reappearance, and with an apprentice at that, I'm expected to go and can't wiggle out of it this time! Believe me, I've tried."

"So like... Are you just up and leaving without me?" MK now looked heartbroken, putting all the puppy dog eyes on full blast, "You promised not to leave me again though!"

Wukong groaned, catching on to what MK was trying to do.

"Kid... you don't want to come with me. It's not going to be fun or exciting at all. You'll be forced to wear uncomfortable ceremonial robes that weigh a ton and have to be quiet and well-behaved." Wukong explained, trying to dissuade MK from his train of thought, "And everyone there is mean! They are dying to sniff out a scandal or two to take advantage of!"

"So? You said yourself you neglected to teach me how to handle politics. This is the perfect opportunity to start!" MK grinned, "I'm sure Tang can lend me one of his robes too."

"First of all, you will NEVER go to one of these events with a stuffy old scholar's robe. I'd lend you one of mine if that EVER happened." Wukong pointed out, eye twitching, "Second, NO! This is a final test sort of deal, NOT a tutorial type of thing!"

hehe! We discussed in the dms about poor Wukong having to attend a political summit for demon kings, and MK getting "homework" for the week.

Pigsy is approving of the homework idea. He's raised MK long enough to know his son needs goals to fulfil or he starts getting into trouble.